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outsideratheart · 5 months

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On a Night Like Tonight (Alex Scott x reader)

Retirement. A word that had been playing on your mind for a the past 12 months. After Australia, Team GB went on to win gold in the Olympics and it left only one trophy missing from your cabinet. The World Cup.

2027, Brazil. It was the day that you gave the fans the thing you promised 4 years ago. You lead your team to their first World Cup star and did so by beating the United States on penalties.

Unlike last year Alex was pitch side with Fara eagerly waiting for you to come over and when you did she welcomed you like the champion you now were or at least she gave you the PG version given you were live on TV.

You were overcome with emotion as Alex held you in her arms. To the outside world the tears you were clearly shedding were that of happiness but between you and Alex you knew they were sad tears too.

The celebration awaiting you back in England was unlike anything you could have imagined. It put the euros one to shame. The whole country showed up to celebrate you and you made sure to savour every moment.

Each player had their turn on the microphone and the fans loved it but when it was your turn to speak the fans took one look at your face and went silent. You could hear a pin drop in Trafalgar Square.

“You all know I hate being a bench warmer and I don’t want to be one of those players the play long after their time is up. It has been my greatest honour being your captain for over ten years but it is time that I pass on the torch and hang the boots up”

It was announced the following day that England’s match against Germany at Wembley in one month’s time would be you final game in an England shirt. The match sold out in minutes and it set the perfect scene for your send off.

The days leading up to it was hectic, you barely had a second to yourself and most of all it was extremely overwhelming. You questioned if you had made the right decision. You were still playing world class football, why stop now? Your question was answered one night at St George’s Park. It was the night before your final game and the entire team could tell you were having an hard time. It’s the reason Sarina allowed Alex to stay in your room even though it was against the rules.

“I don’t think I can do it”

Alex looked up from where she was laying on your chest.

“Can’t or don’t want to?”

“Football is all I’ve ever known Al, I’m not sure I can give it up”

“You’re not retiring completely. In a week’s time you will be back at Cobham with Chelsea”

“I’m going to be home a lot more”

“You make it sound like a bad thing. Remember the reason that made you consider retiring in the first place?”

It was a night you remember well. You and Alex spent over an hour talking about the future and what it could look like. You got so caught up in the hypotheticals that reality became disappointing. It made you want to skip the next few years so that you could start the next chapter of your life, the one where being captain was no longer the highest responsibility you had.

You feel asleep that night dreaming of the future and when you woke up you were ready to say goodbye to the team that you loved so much.

It was a bitter sweet feeling as the final whistle was blown. The entire England team, both the players on the bench and on the pitch, came running to you. It that moment you felt loved and appreciated. It was a moment that you would remember for the rest of your life. As you take a lap around the field you try to take in as much as you can.

“You know you don’t have to retire” Leah appears by your side.

“It’s my time. I have loved playing for this team and every time I wear this badge it is a great honour but this is my final curtain call Leah, my swan song” You pull the blonde into your side and kiss the side of her head.

“Don’t be getting soft. Save that for Alex because we need to go do media” Truth is Leah didn’t want you to leave, she had told you this much but your mind was yet.

“I know but before that there’s something I need to do”

You pull Leah towards the middle of the pitch, away from the shouting fans, the centre circle becoming your own little bubble.

“I have been captain of this team for almost ten years. I have lead them to the highest highs and the lowest lows. It takes a lot from you when you wear this band but it can also reward in the best possible way. I have spoken with Sarina about who I want to be my successor and that person is you Leah”

With a heavy heart you take the armband off and pull it up Leah’s arm. You were passing the torch, this was a changing of the guard and you were doing it for the whole to see.

By the time you reach Alex and the BBC team you are on the very line fine between keeping it together and breaking completely.

The world now knew about the two of you but with a camera pointed straight at you, you felt the need to stay professional but Alex soon changed that.

“We’re not rolling. It’s playing her career highlights” one of the camera men tells Alex.

“Come here” The BBC presenter pulls you into her arms and for a brief moment you allow yourself to feel, feel everything that you have been bottling up since you woke up.

“It’s over. I’ve played my last game as a lioness” you could feel tears falling down your face and you were aware that there were multiple people watching the interaction but no longer had to strength to bottle up your emotions.

The same man who told you that the cameras were rolling informed you that they would be live in 5, then proceeded to count down using his fingers.

As a way of regaining control of your emotions and in attempt of staying together you move away from Alex and closer to Jill and Fara. As if knowing that you still weren’t ready to answer the unavoidable questions Leah takes charge of the interview and the presenters follow her lead. It is when she is asked a question only you can answer do you need to get involved.

“Jill asked what’s next for you?” Leah nudges you.

“I go back to Chelsea. As for the next international break, well I have no idea. Maybe go on holiday, what do you say Al, fancy the Maldives?”

“Sure, why not. Fara can cover for me”

“Seriously though Y/N. What’s next? When asked about retiring you said that you have given over 15 years to your country and that it’s time to prioritise your personal life. I think I remember you saying it’s what our dear Alex over here deserves”

Leah switches places with you when Alex is mentioned. Sensing that being next to your person may bring you more peace and encourage you to answer the question without making jokes.

“If the song is right then I believe I hear wedding bells” Jills says.

You wonder what song she is referring to and upon turning to Alex you see that she is also at loss.

“You know the song. The one about kissing in a tree. I won’t sing it seen as though we are live on air and I am a professional”

With Jill’s clue you know exactly the song she is talking about although you think you may have been in high school when you last heard it.

“Since when are you a professional?” You scoff. You refused to bite.

“I get what you’re saying. I believe it says first comes love”

“Check” Alex plays along.

Before Leah continues you turn to Alex. Your hand sat on the small of her back and unknowingly to the women around, you tap you ring finger which was missing a very important piece of jewellery. Alex leans into you with her head on your shoulder and tells you to go for it.

“Then comes marriage-“

“Check” you were proud to finally announce that you had in fact married Alex but up until this moment it was only your immediate families that knew.

The faces of your friends were priceless. In that moment you wish you had a camera to take a photo but then you remember you are on live TV. Oh god, you were live on the BBC. Not only had you told your friends about your nuptials, you had told the entire world.

“Shit”

“Y/N” Alex playfully slaps your arm “We are live”

“I am now aware of this Al”

“I would like to apologise for the language made by Y/N Y/L/N”

“Don’t you mean Y/N Scott?” Jill asks.

“No she does not” you say rather defensively “Alex took my name, she is Alex Y/L/N”

“How about we discuss the details of our marriage when we are not live on TV.” Alex tries to get the interview back on track which you are happy to do.

You then proceed to talk all things football. Jill recalls your first training session as a lioness, Fara tells her favourite Y/N Y/L/N stories, Leah brings you to tears once again when she tells you about how you showed her what is possible and Alex grins ear to ear when she explains all the ways that you have changed the game and how a lot of people have you to thank for how far the game has come.

Almost an hour later you are in one of the hospitality suites at Wembley. The news of you and Alex had spread to rest of the team and the party that was originally planned for your retirement has now turned into a retirement / wedding party.

It doesn’t take much for you to get overwhelmed, how could you not. You escape to one of the boxes near the suite, the cold air grounds you and the silence is welcoming. Looking out at the pitch you are filled with nostalgia as memories flood your mind, it’s as if a highlight reel is playing.

“People are asking where you are?”

You feel your body relax upon hearing your wife’s voice. It is one of the things you love most about her.

“You found me. Any chance I can persuade you to stay here with me for a moment?”

“I can think of a few things”

“Can one of them be a hug? I could really use one”

Alex’s eyebrows furrow. You were a cuddler, Alex learned this very early on in your relationship but there is something about you asking now and the way you did it. You sound so vulnerable.

Your wife doesn’t say anything, instead she opens her arms and you melt into her hold.

“You know a lot of people are in there waiting to celebrate you, with you. Yet you are out here alone or at least you were until I found you”

“I want to celebrate with you though and everyone keeps stopping me from doing that. They want Y/N the England captain or I guess now it’s former captain but I just want to be —“

“Y/N, my wife”

Her wife. It sounds cliche like something that would be said in a movie or a line in a book but you loved hearing her say that and even now as you both wear your rings, you couldn’t believe that she had agreed to marry you.

“Can we go home?”

Alex knew that you liked to party and it didn’t take much to persuade to celebrate something no matter how small. It wasn’t like you to leave early and Alex knew that you might be feeling more than you are letting on if you want to leave a party that was honouring your international career.

“I didn’t tell you this but Ella and Alessia have wrote a speech. They read it to me and you’ll want to hear it. If after that you still want to go home then we will, I promise”

You stayed for the speech and boy are you glad you did. It was one of the most heartfelt yet hilarious speeches you have heard. You did end up going home but not till hours later. After hearing your plea, Alex stayed by your side the entire night and her presence allowed you to relax and have fun. A chapter of the book you called life was over and the chapters that followed would go on to be some of your favourite because each and every one of them included you wife Alex Scott.

#Alex Scott x reader #Alex Scott imagine #Alex Scott one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #engwnt x reader #engwnt one shot #engwnt imagine #awfc x reader #awfc one shot #awfc imagine

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queensharotto · 4 months

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Brittle Doughie’s Cookie Run x Reader Masterlist (Part 5: Late 2023)

A masterlist of @brittle-doughie’s Cookie Run stories organized by month.

September 2023 🍂

• “Lord/Lady Harbinger Cookie”

• “Lilac Cookie: Bully Hunter”

• “Harbinger Cookie’s Relationship with Pomegranate Cookie”

• “All Aboard (Milky Way Cookie)”

• “Napping in Goblin Cookie’s Bag”

• “Yandere Dragons”

• “Y/N Cookie Meets Golden Cheese Cookie”

• “Golden Cheese Cookie’s Greatest Treasure: Y/N Cookie”

• “Y/N Cookie as a Shagaru Magala”

• “Golden Cheese Cookie and Ancient Y/N Cookie”

• “Golden Cheese Cookie Body Pillow”

• “Golden Cheese Cookie showing off her wealth”

• “Satellite (Stardust Cookie)”

• “The Greedy or the Honorable (Pirate Cookie vs. Captain Ice Cookie)”

• “Halt! The Restriction Mayhem Update!”

• “Bastet Y/N Cookie”

• “Smoked Cheese Cookie x Y/N Cookie”

October 2023 🎃

• “Shining Glitter Cookie and Black Lemonade Cookie fighting over Y/N Cookie”

• “Can’t Take What Isn’t Yours”

• “Paying Golden Cheese Cookie to use her gold in Character Designs”

• “Last Cookie Standing Challenge: Punch Y/N Cookie in the face”

• “Dragon Person Y/N Cookie in the Golden Cheese Kingdom”

• “Courtship Dance with Smoked Cheese Cookie”

• “Off to Wish Camp!”

• “Y/N Cookie Cherished by Golden Cheese Cookie”

• “Halloween Party with Chili Pepper Cookie”

• “Last Cookie Standing Reward: Y/N Cookie”

• “Spooky Cookie Tales: Prikaza”

November 2023 🌾

• “Sitting on the Golden Goddess’ Lap”

• “Archaeologists of the Golden Cheese Kingdom”

• “Beneath Burnt Cheese Cookie’s Mask”

• “The Corrupted or the Fooled (Abyss Monarch vs. Black Pearl Cookie)”

• “Robbing a Bank with Timekeeper Cookie”

• “Pocky Day with Y/N Cookie”

• “Rockstar Cookie x Y/N Cookie”

• “Stollen Cookie x Y/N Cookie”

December 2023 🎄

• “Icicle Yeti Cookie and Y/N Cookie”

• “Y/N Cookie in The Holiday Express”

• “Linzer Cookie Writing her own Y/N Cookie x her story”

• “Y/N Cookie in the Christmas Academy”

• “Linzer Cookie’s Story: A LOT of cut material”

• “A Happy Ending Just for You”

• “Kissing Golden Cheese Cookie’s Hand”

• “Sugar Swan Cookie x Y/N Cookie”

• “All I Want for Cookiemas is Y/N Cookie”

• “The Sweet Signals from Space”

#brittle doughie masterlists #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ovenbreak #yandere cookie run #cookie run angst #cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #yandere cookie run kingdom

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writeforfandoms · 11 months

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Waking Lions 3

Find the series masterlist

We see more of Ace doing her job (and she is very much morally gray), see Captain again, and start down the slow path of curiosity towards yearning. I did mention this is a slow burn, didn't I?

Warning: Swearing, mentioned violence, events of MW2019, tension. Morally gray characters.

Word count: 1.9k

You were in Greenland when you got the call.

“What intel do you have on Al-Qatala?” Laswell sounded cool, in control. As always.

“None,” was your immediate response. “I may have contacts in low places, but I’m not suicidal.”

“You always know something,” Laswell said, faintly impatient. “What about their connection to the Russians?”

“Bad news,” you grumbled. “That��s my intel. They’re all bad news and they don’t care if they blow up the world. Pretty sure some of them live in hope of that day.”

“I need anything you’ve got.”

“This is not my department.” You glanced around, ensuring your privacy. “This is, in fact, so far outside my department that it should be your people’s job. I don’t get in bed with that kind of asshole, Kate.”

“I need whatever you can find on them,” she said, temper audibly fraying. “Anything and everything. As soon as you can get it to me.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I won’t get the kind of intel you want,” you growled. “I don’t have those kinds of contacts.”

“Then get me whatever intel you can,” she snapped back.

“Kate,” you finally snapped, curling your fingers into a fist. “Why the fuck are you asking this of me?”

She was silent. Five seconds passed. Ten. You almost thought she wasn’t going to answer, but– “I can’t tell you everything, but… Keep an eye on the news. When it happens, you’ll know.” She hung up.

You thought, briefly, about calling her back just to yell at her. Or remind her that you were an independent intelligence agent, not one of her lackeys.

But you shoved the urge back down and breathed deep. A few times.

Then you started working, using your phone to type out a few emails. This was going to burn more than one bridge, you could already tell.

Laswell was going to owe you for this one.

There were a lot of things you could get information on with varying degrees of ease. It was all about knowing who to ask. And you had built up quite the network of connections over the years, all over the world. It was how you kept in business, how you were able to swan around the world as you pleased.

Most of these contacts were straightforward. Money for intel. You’d weeded out the ones who were unreliable or lied to you. This was also the one time you bent your own rules about names. Because you took care of your trusted contacts, in your own way. Unreliable people got blacklisted.

And if sometimes that ended in bloodshed, well, that wasn’t your problem.

But even with your resources and your contacts, asking questions about Al-Qatala was dangerous. It took time. You had to be very careful who you asked and how you asked. You absolutely did not want your name floating around, or any of your aliases, not for this.

When you finally had a chance to sit down and turn on the news, you understood why Laswell had called you.

They’d bombed civilians. In London.

You breathed deeply for a few minutes, watching the shaky news footage and the interviews. Then you changed channels to another news station, watching their footage.

You’d seen a lot of shit in the world. Much of it you were hardened to, jaded after all this time.

But this… Well. This hurt. This wove into your chest, tracing the singular path to the soft of your heart.

I’ll have everything I can manage for you in 36 hours. Send me a drop off location. The text was perhaps brusque but Laswell wouldn’t mind. She might not be happy about the timeframe, since these things tended to be pretty time sensitive, but if she was asking you for information… She knew what she was getting into.

And then you flipped through your little black book, just in case there was anyone you hadn’t thought of to reach out to. If nothing else, it kept you busy for a little while.

You didn’t leave your hotel room at all for the next 24 hours, busy compiling all the information you were getting back. You stopped long enough to book a flight to London, using a smaller company.

With two hours to go until the drop point, you pulled out your laptop again and finished compiling all the information, including the last bits that had come in while you were on the flight.

Thirty minutes to go, cutting it close. You were ready to move, waiting on a final location, USB tucked safely in your pocket and your hands stuffed in your pockets as well to hide your fidgeting. This had left you keyed up, extra paranoid.

Finally, though, Laswell texted you. Pub called Lion’s Head. You’ll recognize him.

It took moments to find out where the Lion’s Head was, and you strode off with purpose.

The pub was not busy this time of day (and you had to glance at your phone to see what time it actually was), so it was not hard to spot him sitting at a shadowed table. He looked just the same as last time.

His gaze met yours across the room, holding you in place for two beats, not even breathing. His eyes couldn’t hide the rage, although you doubted it was aimed at you. Given the info you’d been accumulating, you were fairly certain you knew exactly who it was aimed at.

You squeezed your hands into fists and strode over the table, shoulders set. No teasing this time. Not with this.

“Captain.” You dipped your head in a small nod of respect to him, holding out the USB. He took it, much larger fingers brushing against yours, a tiny spot of warmth in the shadowy room.

“No weather comments this time?” But his voice was muted, fingers quick to tuck the USB away.

Your jaw clenched. “Not this time. Won’t even quote movies at you.” You shrugged, leaning back. “Password is imperial, all lower case.”

He nodded acknowledgement and stood. It was his turn to leave a cash tip on the table. But you didn’t move out of his way just yet, holding his gaze.

“I hope that helps you.” You kept your voice quiet, more sincere than you usually allowed yourself.

He blinked, surprised, before he nodded more slowly. “You planning to stay in town?” he asked, holding your gaze.

You shrugged. “Hadn’t decided yet,” you admitted. And that was enough honesty. You mustered a bit of your usual flirtation, smiling. “Why, want to see me again so soon?”

He snorted softly. “Might want to be elsewhere for the next few days,” was all he said, low and dry, before he stepped around you. He left you standing there, walking out of the pub and vanishing.

With a wry smile at the swapped roles, you left after him. Normally you were the one leaving people behind. It was an interesting feeling to be the one being left.

In all honesty, you were curious about Captain. More than you should be. He couldn’t be intimidated or flirted with, refused to be cowed, and had openly challenged you. He also had no designs on you, acting solely as a go-between.

And that was rare. Very rare.

But you had your rules to consider, too. No names, for starters. He only knew the codename Laswell had given you, and you didn’t know his name. It was, honestly, safer that way.

But still.

Shaking yourself, you pulled out your phone with a little huff. He’d recommended getting out of London, so you would. You didn’t feel like disregarding that kind of advice.

Maybe it was time to go back to the US for a while. You generally avoided it, but you knew of several delightful hotels on the California coast.

It didn’t take long to get the flight booked, and then you had to go back to the airport. You didn’t have much with you this time, since you’d left Greenland in a hurry, but that was fine. You had a stash in California that you could raid.

And, really, you could do some work in the US. Visit some old contacts. Maybe see about finding a few new ones.

Maybe drop in on Laswell and have a very polite conversation.

You had just boarded the plane when your phone vibrated with a text. You settled in your seat and then pulled it out, humming under your breath.

Thank you for your help. Standard payment?

You hummed, leaning back in your seat. You could accept payment for this as usual… Or you could keep this in your pocket.

Keep it. You’ll owe me one. Your lips curled in a satisfied smile as you turned your phone off in preparation for the flight.

California this time of year was sunny. (Well, many parts of California were sunny all year long, actually.) You booked a hotel on the coast and spent three days lounging on the beach and keeping a very close eye on the news. Some of it didn’t surprise you. Some of it did.

Some things you learned from your contacts, because the news outlets didn’t go near some of those messes. You heard through the grapevine about the usurping in Urzikstan, a near-massacre of the Russian forces there.

Honestly, you kind of expected a call from Sergio about that one.

Not that he was military, but he had fingers in a few pies.

But you never heard from him.

The attack on the embassy ended up on every news channel, not that you were much surprised. It was pretty much a clusterfuck, and one you were happy to stay out of.

Big events like this tended to draw a lot of attention, and you figured there were two ways this could shake out: either you’d get a lot of requests trying to take advantage of the chaos, or you’d have radio silence. Either way was alright with you, honestly, just so long as nobody wanted anything to do with Al-Qatala or the Russians.

This one turned out to be quiet, wary of the chaos and the threat of chemical weapons. Not that you could blame them.

You’d seen what gas attacks could do.

One more week on the quiet coast left you feeling refreshed and ready to go again. You checked in with all of your people - two had fallen off. You weren’t sure if that meant they were dead or hiding. Either way, you’d go poking later.

You had other things to do, for now.

Downtime like this was good for checking finances, so you did. Downtime like this was also good at bringing up things you’d rather not think about, so you threw yourself in the ocean, and promptly regretted all your choices. (The Pacific ocean was too fucking cold for swimming, anyone who willingly ventured in there was a masochist as far as you were concerned.)

And then it was back to work, this time with new intel coming in from an arms dealer you knew. So you booked a flight.

Almost idly, you wondered how much Captain had been involved in all that trouble. If you did enough digging, you could probably find out. Find a name. A picture.

But you wouldn’t. Because that was against your rules.

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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atheliasnotebook · 1 year

Note

Congratulations on the one year anniversary and 300 followers!!! ur blog is awesome 💕. I'd like to request prompt no.2 and kaeya with 🌶. Have a great day

Melting In His Hands

Kaeya Alberich x Gender Neutral Reader smut

This post contains sexual content. Viewer discretion is advised.

WORD COUNT: ~3.2K

TAGS/WARNINGS: kinda domestic leadup, slight jealousy, little angsty, pet name: "babe/baby," reader's virginity loss, size kink, (maybe masochistic-ish reader?), pre-established relationship, masturbation while thinking about the reader, riding, pygophilia (bc kaeya is totally an ass guy), cumming inside

NOTE: if you happen to be vegan or vegetarian, please do not read the following (for the reader makes soup)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I think I got super carried away with this one (also because I designed a banner)... yet, I'm so happy that you like my blog <3 and I hope you're satisfied with how I've interpreted your request <3 I attempted to make this realistic while still trying to make it romantic :> Tell me what you think!!!

You hear something creak open as you stand in the kitchen, all while you're pouring water into a pot full of browned meat. You rotate your head, watching the mahogany door leisurely squeak ajar and drag your eyes to the floor. You notice the decorated black boots with the signature gold diamond cross the frame and step onto the polished wooden floors, accompanied by the familiar sound of gentle swinging chainlinks clinking against one another.

You call out to Kaeya, your boyfriend—welcoming him back with a smile on your face as you close the pot with a metal lid. The air smells of garlic and the mouth-watering smell of meat, and you throw your thick oven mittens off to hear the man's sultry chuckle from just beyond the door.

"Well, it certainly smells good around here~" he chimes as he begins to take off his coat. "What are you making today, babe?"

"A warm and sour pork-vegetable soup with some rice~" you begin. "I recently got them from Childe, who actually visited while you were gone."

"Ohoho, so that's what was in the paper bag when he dropped the headquarters today... I actually recall him saying that it was a gift for a friend,' but I wouldn't have thought that it would have just been food."

You smile, nodding happily as you take Kaeya's coat just hanging off the tips of his fingers, slinking it onto a branch of the coat rack just in the entryway of your cozy abode.

"I'm really happy about it... tonight's dinner is a recipe that my parents had left me before I moved to Mondstadt and joined Albedo's team!" you remark, smile, and wink as you walk over to restack the awry-clothed cooking gloves.

Kaeya cracks a grin at you as he slips out of his boots and leaves them in the tile entryway, approaching the kitchen as he cracks his digits and joints and glides almost like a swan across the space. You feel him immediately wrap his arms around your waist from behind, along with pair of chapped lips pressing gently on your jawline. He's domestically adorable and cutely charming at the same time that you promptly turn around and slide your fingers through his conditioned locks, burying them in the roots of his hair. Regardless of your height, you raise yourself by standing on the balls of your feet and running your thumb across his lips, before slowly retracting your hand to cup his cheek and replacing the gesture with the sensation of your silky-soft lips. Both of you stayed like that for just about a third of a minute, floating on air

Kaeya sinks his head onto your shoulder, resting the tip of his jaw on your shoulder. He sighs of contentment and ponders on wandering thoughts with closed eyes. Perhaps this is what love is? Is it as though tenderness or affection secretes off of a person like an oozing saccharine type of honey? Or is it closer to being a chilling comfort in a swarm of heat, or the other way around? Kaeya wonders what it means. After all, being the notoriously-charming "Cavalry Captain" of Mondstadt certainly brings its reputation, and you are certainly not the first partner he's had. Yet, the way he flushes red at the very tips of his ears almost argues that he's new to romance. The manner in which he brushes his fingers through your hair while you two are talking about your day. The methods in which you two cuddle are intimate—with the two of you always facing each other and weaving your limbs around each other's bodies like meticulous and needled-to-perfection embroidery.

But it seems like there's a new scent that dangles on the edges of your clothing this time. What is it? It's... slightly floral, sweet, and just enough bitterly combined with your sweat to create a rather... intoxicating scent that attracts Kaeya like a bug to a flytrap. He's... not sure. Yet, little to his knowledge, you had bought some new candles and were mixing together some condiments and spices to test a new sauce that could go with braised pork.

"Pray... tell... is there a reason why you smell so good this evening?"

You turn to look at him confusedly (despite the fact that he rests himself on your shoulder with his arms wrapped around your waist), and then proceed to look around the counter, searching for an inch of reason as to why your lover would prompt such a question.

"Well... I'm not sure, I know I was folding fresh laundry and aired out the blankets in the sunlight earlier this afternoon, and then after I set the bed—I started making dinner a couple of hours ago. Of course, I did get some special honey from the bag that Childe gave me, so—"

You feel a hot inhale on your clothes that breathe in you with just a smidge of desperation, and a chilly exhale that clamors with a fit of slight jealousy. While shivering at the gesticulation, Kaeya's arms tighten a little more, and his breathing hitches uncharacteristically for just a moment.

"Sorry... you talk about him so much, and I'm not... quite too sure why I feel so irked."

You ruminate on his expressions. After all, after a few months of dating, the relationship between you two feels a little stagnate. But... naturally, you come to the conclusion that he may be envious, even if the Captain himself doesn't realize it.

"I... need you..." he mutters to himself merely as a passing thought, completely forgetting that he's resting on you and following you around while you're putting things away.

"Need me for what, (preferred pet name here)?"

He lets go of you immediately, brushing himself off as he hides his face behind closed hands—praying that you don't catch a glance of his flustered expression.

"No need to worry about what I said... I was only talking to myself. I shall be in the bedroom if you need me, but I need some time to think. Alone," he says, nearly stuttering with his words as he deflects your question.

Rather strange, he's always... so straightforward with his intentions, even if his words are laced with glitter and gold. You watch as he swiftly walks off, fading into the darkness of the hallway like a fleeting shadow in the night. Kaeya vanishes with a pounding heart and a racing mind. How could he say that? How could he say such a thing to you? At this rate, he'll scare you away! No matter... he retreats behind the painted white door, shutting himself into the bedroom, where he catches the floral scent that lingered on the threads of your attire. Hurriedly, he unbuckles his belt and sets his sword sheaths and bindings gently on hanging wall hooks, letting his waist accessories simply drop to the ground. Leaning on the wall with his right arm, he looks down at the bulge growing bigger on his left side, sucking in a breath from how tight it feels in his skinny pants.

He groans, wrapping his hand behind him as he undoes his own corset with one hand—allowing it to loosen and drop down to the floor as he steps out of the black-stringed bodice. He can't stop thinking about how happy you were when you kept allowing Childe's name to escape your lips. Why talk about him so much? And Kaeya knows better than to be jealous of an acquaintance or friend or... whatever, of yours—but he can't help but just want more of you.

You are the longest partner he's ever had. The reason that lovers had left him in the past was that they couldn't handle the fact the Knights get busy from time to time.

And now that you're here, patient with him, more importantly—gentle with his heart, he's afraid to move as fast as he normally does.

He wants to bond with you. Although sex is a pleasure to relieve stress, he values and thinks of it as a way to bond. He thinks of it as a form of trust, watching one another in the barest of forms. Yet, Kaeya acknowledges himself better than to drag you into such... impure antics. He put aside his own desire, all so he can move at your pace.

But it eats away at him too.

He wants to know what it's like to truly pin you under his grasp, and kiss you in your most sensitive spots. Watching your squirm nervously... to watch you shudder, shiver, and moan at the way he touches—he's dying to view such a gorgeous sight. He wants your affection, but even more so than he does currently.

It's that he's just too afraid to ask.

But as he slips off his shirt, he brushes off his existential thoughts of desire mixed with self-loathing and overwhelming palms at his cock, thinking about you and how your clothes cling tightly to your skin. He doesn't care for your size. What matters to him? The fact that you're willing to embrace his imperfections just as much as he embraces yours. After stripping off everything but his pants, he lies in the middle of the bed with his body laid against the backmost board of the bedframe. He slips his hand beneath his briefs, letting the band gently slap against his skin before pulling down his black slacks just above his knees so that he can begin to embrace beauty.

"Embracing beauty," as in beginning to pump his hand up and down his hardened cock to the thought of you begging for him. Slumping into the mattress, he spits on his hand, letting the saliva drip down onto the tip and down his shaft. Hence why he trembles and spasms at the sudden temperature change in temperature, forcing more blood to rush down to the aroused appendage.

Unrecognizable in the haze of stimulation, you've been peeking through the slit of the door that you cracked open without him knowing.

He's kinda big...

Well, "kinda" is an understatement. You're sure as hell that if you were to put that thing inside you, it would (most likely) rip you in half, especially for a first time. But... what is it like to have sex?

He gasps, rapidly jacking himself off... muttering incoherent phrases as he runs his tongue over his lips to dampen them. "Haaaah... I love you... I love you... _______..."

You squeak, throwing your hand over your mouth to stifle your shocked babbles, but stumble through the door and collapse onto the floor. With a yelp, you try and redirect your gaze to the drawers beneath the mattress, rather than any direction pointing to Kaeya.

Attempting to lie, you frantically search for a reason as to why you're now in the room while the gentleman is only trying to please himself in the secrecy of your shared space.

"I'm sorry Kaeya, I just wanted to check on you—" you mutter, standing up wobbly.

Your gaze drifts to the pillow that Kaeya has placed over his crotch, and how his pants are slightly down. In a flustered fit, your boyfriend refuses to make eye contact with you. However, you see tears pricking at the edges of his lashes before he blinks quickly in succession and turns to you.

"Sorry that you've caught me in... this predicament, ______."

You reassure him, accepting whatever he's trying to be sorry for. Still, in your tightly clinging shirt and trousers, you climb onto the bed and crawl closer to him.

"I want to help you."

Like a lightbulb that's lit up, his eyes widen as he lifts his left palm to wipe the teardrops out of his eyes.

"I appreciate that... but are you doing this for me, or are you doing this for yourself?"

"Both."

You lean in to press a kiss against his now-moist lips while ignoring his previous reservations, and his lips waltz with passion as they dance with yours—bobbing in and out tenderly before they dive in to explore your oral cavity. His groans and your moans sing an orchestra of arousing verses, and before you know it, he's guiding you by your love handles with his calloused palms and placing you atop his thighs. Still making out with him, a smile curves on his lips, infectiously spreading to you as the both of you erupt in giggles and laughter, embracing one another as you scoot up his lap.

Fluid actions encapsulate the motions of your body. Kaeya nips at the skin on your shoulder, sucking into it as he runs his hands all over the sides of your body—eventually resulting in him trailing down to your nipples and giving them a gentle pinch with his thumb and pointer fingers.

"Is this your first time, babe?"

You nod nervously and spasm at the feeling of Kaeya's cold fingers circling around your hole. Whimpering at how thick it feels against your most sensitive parts, he only teases the rim, pressing the pads of his digits to stretch and tease the entrance so he can bond with you in a form most intimate for lovers like yourselves.

"It might hurt for just a second, okay?" Kaeya remarks, cupping your face with his left hand, looking to you for confirmation. And as you give a muffled "mhm," he teases his fingers and feels your natural lubrication suck his fingers in, plunging them in with some self-restraint.

"Ahah~ you're tight~ and I can feel you throbbing around me..." he chuckles, staring right into your lewd countenance. "You're really excited, aren't you?"

You've had passing thoughts of losing your virginity to your boyfriend. You too, have masturbated to the thought of him fucking you silly. And luckily, your fingering and self-fucking have helped deflower any previous and uncontrollable constrictions within your gummy walls. Nodding dazedly, you wrap your arms around his shoulders for stability—your legs nearly giving out, making you feel as though you're about to collapse on top of him.

He kisses your cheek, slowly inching in to start making out with you again. "You're so good... I wonder how I managed to find someone as sweet as you~" he says, beginning to nibble on the top of your earlobe as takes out his fingers gently, watching you vibrate and whimper helplessly without his touch.

With the same hand he just used to prep you, he wraps that arm around your waist and pulls your body closer to him—your chests literally snug up against each other.

"I'm going to ask this one more time... are you sure that you want this?" he mumbles, creasing his eyes with careful concern.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins to create a blur of muddled thoughts, all to where you don't even skip a beat or even reconsider your choice of words.

"As long as it's with you, I'll do anything."

Kaeya squeezes your ass, digging his fingers deep into your flesh as he bites softly into your shoulder—which elicits a whimper or a moan out of you.

"I promise to be gentle. Just make sure to tell me if it hurts," he begins, using the entirety of his strength to lower you atop his hard-on.

Just feeling the tip feels... comfortable. Comforting. It slides in, but for Kaeya, it feels like you're practically sucking him in without any regard for control. Noticing your lack of discomfort, he decides to lower you more so. And just after another inch or two (maybe about three or four in), you begin to feel the stretch and the burn. It's only when you get one more in that it feels like everything is on fire, and that your lower half is splitting in two. Mewls of pain and pleasure escape your lips—you know that the pain won't be forever, and choose to bear through him. Your panted breathing evokes a minusculely fleeting moment of anxiety in him. Before he can answer, you just keep reassuring him—and sink yourself down on your own accord. The both of you gasp, with Kaeya trembling in pleasure from the suffocation of your sensitive flesh, while tears trickle down your cheeks from the masochistic tendency and natural reaction of your body.

A minute passes of pain-wreaking havoc blended with the tingling phenomenon, sniffly tears, and hushed reaffirmation mixed with kisses that gently rid of your tears.

"You feel amazing," he remarks, embracing you tightly as he breathes in the scent of the honey-blossoms and freshener. "I'm going to move now—just relax..."

You yelp in a choked voice, feeling his balls press up against you while the entire length bottoms out inside of you. Slowly, he bucks his hips upwards into your groin as he throws his head back, brushing the bangs and locks obstructing his vision of you (who he considers his "whole world"). You catch a whiff of his cool, yet minty breath, all due to the natural composition that his body receives from his Cryo vision. Pressing your thighs together out of instinctual reaction, you close him in, accepting a slightly-more powerful thrust that's got you convulsing.

"If you keep squeezing around me like that, baby—" he utters, bouncing you up with a swift motion with a loud smack of your bodies against one another. "—I won't be able to hold myself back."

You're helpless when he mutters such a promise. With a drawn-out growl escaping Kaeya's lips, you can feel his pace quicken as you embrace him from both ends of your body—unable to ignore the knotting-like intricacies weaving in your belly at the speed of light, feeling as though the feeling will snap in half the longer he keeps up at this.

Naturally, Kaeya believes that you are his other half. While he is chilly and ice-cold at times (not just in his body, but his demeanor), you happen to be a flickering fire that lights up the whole room. Despite him taking the lead, he feels as though he's the one melting in your hands, ready to give the rest of himself to you as if he has nothing else.

He keeps pounding more, and more, and more, until neither of you can keep the feeling. You keep muttering and moaning in his ear about how you're about to finish, and he nods through hitched breaths, sharing the same unified sentiments. Cursing through his teeth, you feel his cock twitch as the pouring of a hot liquid fills your insides, practically boiling you as you cum and violently shake around him.

Collapsing around one another, he slides down the backboard stained with sweat to lay flat on the soaked and sticky bedsheets. You lay on top of him, still seizing from the pleasure from however long you lasted. After all, Kaeya makes sure he matches your pace, regardless of the speed. Subsequently followed by some deep breaths from the both of you, he chuckles, still keeping himself inside as he peppers kitten kisses on your forehead while ignoring your dozy exhaustion.

"Huff... I love you so much, babe."

Interested in my 1-year anniversary event? head to the event landing page to learn more and feel free to request!

#kaeya smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #kaeya alberich smut #kaeya x reader #kaeya x gn reader #kaeya x male reader #athi.1year

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thatgordongirl · 1 year

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Ghosts Season 1 References to the ghosts’ lives

Finally got through the first season on all the references and inferences to the ghosts’ lives, hope everyone likes the results?

Episode 1 - Who Do You Think You Are?

Fanny is Heather’s Great-Grandmother

Mary could make baskets and died in a witch trial

Kitty ate and dislikes eggs

Julian mentions his by-election victory speech from 1991- very inspiring, very long, and a few smutty jokes. This particular by-election occurred after the death of a conservative member on 20th September 1991 in which a labour member took their place. Whether it is altering that by-election to insert Julian or if it is completely unrelated all together is unknown (Take with a grain of salt, I am an Aussie who doesn’t know the intricacies of British politics)

Robin lived on the land first, but Fanny owned the house

Both Alison and Captain love gardens/garden views

When Thomas was alive, he heard a rumour that a plague girl could be heard singing in the pantry

Julian is wearing two rings: his wedding ring and presumably his Cambridge ring

Fanny was pushed out of the window by her husband George

George was having an affair with two other men

Mary could milk a cow

Episode 2 - Gorilla War

I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major-General was written in 1879, so Captain most likely heard it when he was alive

Kitty sings The Lark in the Morning, dating back to 1778

Julian is a first from Cambridge

Once, a bear was able to see Robin

Julian references compact discs, but also seems to have some knowledge of technology

Robin references a cousin

Julian claims to have, as a lead envoy, solved the Arabian crisis in 1991 by starting a war

The plague ghosts know how to fix the old boiler, they were most likely there when it was fixed previously

Not a living thing, but Pat calls Thomas Tom in this episode and it’s adorable write that down

Julian refers to the Watney MP having sexual relations with horses (That’s right, plural)

Julian references a liberal in a sailor sauna (And he was not there to learn about boats)

Thomas most likely read Romeo and Juliet when alive

Episode 3 - Happy Death Day

Pat was killed when teaching his scouts archery, in which Keith accidentally shot him. He died calling out for someone to call his wife and driving the bus into a tree. (Self-explanatory, still horrified me)

Captain references a speech made by Winston Churchill

Robin talks about fighting with rocks and sticks and bears (recurring theme apparently)

Kitty thinks her father is dead, which may imply he didn’t die on the grounds

Kitty’s sister Eleanor told her that people made babies by pressing their ears together

Captain references The Blitz, a German bombing campaign that occurred during WW2, and the Luftwaffe, the German airforce

The east wing’s drainage was put into the house in 1894

Pat’s death day was October 27th 1984

Julian mentions extending the Bramptons in 1986, he ran it through the MP expenses

Robin has a flea in his ear and worms

Julian shot fish in a barrel once at a Party Conference in Bournemouth

Pat’s family come every year on his death day to the tree that he crashed into, which came down after the storm of 1987

Pat has a son, Daley, and a wife, Carol

His best friend Morris had his own set of keys to their house

Pat came home one Sunday from camp and found all Morris’ clothes on the floor, he and Carol had an affair

Captain mentions the Western Desert campaign and Bernard Montgomery

Thomas had probably eaten figs and drank wine

Julian has taken part in a ‘Norwegian picnic’ and ‘Himalayan Campsite’

Mary says that when you saw a swan in her town it was the devil at play

Julian is wearing a watch on his left wrist

Daley had (what I think to be) beige pants, he’s an accountant, he’s happy

Carol is busy with the bowls club, Morris is sweet but very small

Pat’s grandson is named after him, and has Pat’s legs

Episode 4 - Free Pass

Julian remarks that he was never fond of cornflakes

Thomas liked eating an egg atop a cutlet, a thin slice of meat from the leg or ribs of mutton, veal, pork or chicken

Button House is from the 15th century, 1469 to be precise

The facade is mid-16th century

Captain assumes the actors will be dressed in loincloths, oiled up, and kissing each other. I don’t know if that’s a Tim period thing or if Captain’s just seen freaky stuff

Henry VIII dined in the banqueting hall, he had swan, hog, dumplings and figs and stank out the privy (I’m dying rn)

Mary is from the Stuart era, Humphrey from Tudor, and Thomas from the Regency

Pat dislikes veggie sausages

Julian likes to bet on horses

Julian’s free pass was Samantha Fox

Both Julian and Margot had lists, Margot’s included Wolf, Cobra and John Fashanu from the 1992 show Gladiators

Thomas’ rivalry with Lord Byron is mentioned

Pat references video cassettes

Thomas believes that Lord Byron stole one of his verses

Robin asks why Toby is doing a rain dance

Julian remarks that the free pass wasn’t a joke in his marriage

Episode 5 - Moonah Ston

Fanny falls from the east wing window, and is notably dressed in grey

She’s Edwardian. This era is placed between 1901-1910, but some say it ended with the beginning of WWI in 1914. As Fanny mentioned having a ticket for the titanic, this would place her between 1910-1914

Julian met Barclay at a party fundraiser at Button House

Julian heard a funny story on a golf course involving Bruce Forsyth-Johnson, a British entertainer

Pat loves dogs so much he’s willing to get sick, bless him

Julian references The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde

Fanny possibly ate turtle soup, oyster rissoles and pheasant

Captain is unsurprisingly able to shoot a gun

“Gleaming bundook op from the civvy” and “boshing jerry” is Captain just saying that the civilian is good at shooting and he’ll be out fighting Germans in no time

Mary knows how to properly prepare a pheasant

Robin had his own site on the grounds that Stonehenge apparently copied, and he remembers the ritual reading

Fanny is disgruntled by the cutlery and says they should be on the outside, which was how she was taught

Fanny also seems to have knowledge on Barclay’s family

Kitty says she’s wearing what she died in, pretty self-explanatory there

Thomas is well aware of techniques for public speaking such as dramatic pauses, but clearly wasn’t good at using them

Thomas references Saint Cuthbert

Pat references Betemax

Julian is aware of Barclay’s poker ability and his bank account in Fiji

Robin’s connection with the moon is rooted in it being the only thing that’s been around as long as he has

Captain mentions light pollution, which only began getting addressed in the 1950s, though he could’ve learnt about it earlier or later

Episode 6 - Getting Out

Robin liked eating cooked meat

Julian likes fondue

The house was worth a thousand pounds in Fanny’s era

Julian has committed fraud to get money

The plague ghosts have had falling outs before, but they’ve never lasted longer than 20-25 years

Pat describes having music on the go, unaware that it already exists

Fanny hid an Arabic jewel in a box under a floorboard, it was given to her husband by Queen Empress Alexandra. He pawned it.

Captain has ear hair

Captain’s limbs creak, it is a joke of course, but canonical so my hands are tied

Kitty likes to talk about balls and eligible men

Robin has seen many people come and go from the house

The plague ghost skeletal remains are under the house

Captain was aware of the bodies in the basement

#bbc ghosts #the captain #pat butcher #fanny button #julian fawcett #robin bbc ghosts #kitty bbc ghosts #mary bbc ghosts #thomas thorne #bbc ghosts humphrey #alison cooper #mike cooper #barclay

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scribbledbeans · 2 years

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Eating Isn't Something Earned

Summary: You overthink how hard you work for the crew and decide you don't work enough to deserve to eat. Sanji reminds you that food isn't earned. Warnings: ED, mentions of not feeling worthy of food, self hatred Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: This is completely self-indulgent but I figured other people may benefit from some Sanji love [GN!Reader so everyone can enjoy <3]

"And~ Voila!" The table bursts into cheers and ogling once Sanji reveals the giant fish from under the cloche. The fish was caught earlier in the day by the crews sharp shooter. Immediately, Sanji had recipes flooding his brain the moment he laid sight on it.

"WHOAAA~!" Luffy's eyes shine bright, mouth watering at the sight of the monster of a creature plated in front of him. Before the plans in his head go into action he quickly gets smack to the back of the head.

"Let me cut into it first." Sanji's brow twinges in anger. Like he would allow the captain to demolish this perfect feast before anyone else could even taste it. Sanji portions out plates for the crew, making sure Robin's, Nami's, and your plate were delicately crafted to make sure the perfect bites could be crafted. The captain obviously given the largest plate. The table commences their dinner feast, laughing and sharing stories from their day.

"I swear to you, I was practically horizontal reeling this bad boy in!" Usopp already exaggerating the story of his 'great catch'. "You know me though, I couldn't let the beast get away! I reeled and tugged and reeeeeellled and tugged," His movements are dramatic like that of a children's theatre play, "and BOOM that monster was flying through the air! I had to beat it into submission ya know? Really had to teach it a lesson after making the God Usopp work so hard- I mean it wasn't hard work at all it was s-super easy bringing him aboard!" He rubs his finger under his nose to hide his nervous laughter.

You giggle at the long-nosed man's clear cover up for his struggle of tugging the fish out of the water. Your day was generally uneventful compared to the rest of the crew's. The only thing of substance was sparing Zoro. Nothing crazy happened during that either, he was mainly just re-going over basic stances to maximize defense.

Dinner does look delicious, you can't deny that Sanji's cooking always looked so appetizing. No matter the beauty of the dishes he creates, you can't bring yourself the do more than push around the contents of your plate. Listening to how active the rest of the crew is you start to wonder if you deserve the meals prepared for you. You weren't studying like Robin, Nami, or Chopper. You didn't benefit the ship by fixing things like Franky or Usopp. You didn't entertain the others like Luffy or Brooke. What were you doing to help? These thoughts have been plaguing your brain recently, unable to make them stop.

Sanji watches the crew dive into his master piece, smiling at the happy faces and bellies he creates with his meal. He grabs the wine bottle from the table and starts making the rounds to refill the glasses of those who wished to partake in the delectable pairing he chose. He slowly makes his way over to you and notices not only was your wine glass untouched, so was your food.

Leaning down to your ear he whispers, "Did you not want fish, y/n-swan? I can make you something else for you if you'd like."

You were pulled out of your trance of over-thinking by his smooth voice. "Oh, no, it's alright Sanji. I think I'm just not very hungry tonight. I'm sorry."

"Please, don't apologies. Don't force yourself to eat on my behalf." The blonde smiles down at you, his hand laid softly on your shoulder. "If you get hungry later I can warm this up for you or make you something else, okay?"

"That would be nice of you, thank you." You give the chef a small nod.

"Anything for you, y/n-swan~." His smile warms your heart, but did you deserve such kindness?

You excuse yourself from the table and make your way to the main deck. The rambunctious crew still able to be heard. Leaning down on the railing you stare out to the sea. Your mind still reeling with the same worries. You didn't deserve the food served to you without hesitation. You don't deserve to eat with the crew that grinds tooth and nail to keep the group afloat. You don't deserve to eat. You aren't worth the love and effort put into the dishes made for the people who put their hearts and souls into everything they did. Your eyes start to burn with tears, trying to choke back sobs so you don't disturb the merry making happening behind you. Your head falls to the rail you were leaning on, hands grasping your hair.

"Y/n." A voice calls out to you, quiet enough that you almost miss it over your own sobs. Quickly you wipe your eyes and try to slow your breathing. Foot steps slowly approaching you from behind. You turn to see the curly browed man coming over to you.

"Sanji, hello, did you need help with the dishes?" You try to even out your voice as much as possible, small wavers giving away that you weren't okay.

"Chopper told me that you've been giving your plates to Luffy more often recently." The chef states, ignoring your question. "I know it isn't my food, you've taste tested these dishes for me hundreds of times. Please, y/n, tell me what's troubling you." Finally only a foot away from you.

You can't hold back your tears from him anymore. He's so sincere with his plea. "I don't deserve them. I can't accept something I didn't earn." You hide your face in your hands, attempting to hide the shame of your lack luster performance on the team. Quickly arms surround you, the hold is comfortably tight.

"Don't you ever say that again!" Sanji sounds so stern but he means it in the most genuine concern. "You deserve to eat, you work so hard every day. You improve yourself little by little, you may not see it but everyone else can. You give so much of yourself into everything you do."

He grabs your cheeks so he can see your face clearly, wiping away tears with his thumbs. A gentle kiss was placed on your forehead.

"Eating isn't something earned. It's something you deserve. Everyone deserves to eat, even if they aren't working themselves to the bone. Please, never feel like you don't deserve to eat." Sanji rests his forehead on your own. "Now, if you actually aren't hungry I won't make you come back with me. If you are though, please let me make you something to eat. You deserve something special, just for you."

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #one piece #one piece x reader #op sanji #sanji x you #sanji angst #sanji vinsmoke #black leg sanji #gn reader #sanji x gn reader #angst #comfort #sanji comfort #hurt/comfort #bean's writings

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captainodonoghue · 5 months

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It's that time of the year again! My absolute favourite time!

I was sad to see that there wasn't a Captain Swan Secret Santa event this year so I decided to take matters into my own hands and make gifts for everyone.

How to join.

You just send me a message, telling me what you want. Be as specific as you want. You can even write me more than one thing if you would like an element of surprise. (If you feel more comfortable, you can send me an anoymous message.)

(Also it doesn't have to be Captain Swan, I'm more than happy to make something Killian centric/Killian + other characters.)

What I make.

I make all kinds of gifsets and edits/graphics.

Deadline.

January 2nd will be the last day you can join.

When you should expect your gift.

I'll start posting gifts from Christmas Day up until a few days after the deadline. (depends on when you send me the message but the starting day is the 25th)

Happy Holidays everyone!!!

(Hope at least one person joins and this doesn't flop.)

#cs graphic #captain swan #hookedit #emmaswanedit #ouatedit #cs edit #csedit #ouat #once upon a time #mine #my gifs #mine: OUAT #mine: CS #*OUAT*#OTP: The Princess & her Pirate

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fairytales-and-folklore · 6 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @marimbles! ♥️ No pressure tags: @litfeathers @lollytea @ashanimus @greyhavenisback @princecharmingwinks @tails89 @nutellarghh @ash-mcj @childlikegoblinqueen @daydreams-and-honeybees @avatarmerida @asarcasticwitch @sailahina @secretly-of-course @sapphic--kiwi @haystarlight @zyrafowe-sny @peachytea04 @slightecho

1. How many works do you have on AO3? just hit 100 last month!

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 479,814

3. What fandoms do you write for? I've dabbled in quite a few over the years, but the ones I've written the most fics for are doctor who (eleven/amy) teen wolf (sterek) and the owl house (huntlow)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Error 404: Brain Cell Not Found (teen wolf | sterek) You Always Want What You're Running From (sleepy hollow | ichabbie) What To Do When Your Emotionally Constipated Werewolf Boyfriend Gets Cursed By A Witch: A Guide (teen wolf | sterek) Gold Rush (the owl house | huntlow) Lovesick (the owl house | huntlow) 5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I do! Every kind comment means so much to me, so I always take the time to respond to all of them (though I'm not always great at getting to them on time.)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm probably The Courtesan and the Writer (doctor who | eleven/amy) I used to dabble in angst a bit more when I first started writing fic, but these days all my fics are pretty much guaranteed to have a happy ending, because real life is hard enough lol

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Pretty much all my fics have happy endings, but one of the happiest I wrote would probably be my huntlow college AU Until You Meet Someone Who Makes The Fall Feel Like Flying

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I wouldn't call it outright hate, but I have gotten a handful of rude comments over the years (complaining that I don't post often enough, telling me my headcanons are wrong, telling me how they think my story should have ended — one time someone yelled at me in all caps because I said that a character chilled red wine lol that one was wild)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do! Smut is fun. Mine is typically more focused on the emotional aspect than the physical, is usually the result of a long tension-fueled slow burn buildup, and is usually tooth-rottingly fluffy, soft, and sweet.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have! Back in the days where superwholock plagued tumblr, I wrote one of the silliest cross-overs imaginable, combining doctor who, torchwood, bbc sherlock, supernatural, the avengers, and sleepy hollow: Lords, Gods, and Madmen

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yup 🙃

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! But most of them never saw the light of day 😂 one that did is called An Eggcellent Morning For Cooking Lessons co-written with @ash-mcj @tails89 and @nutellarghh

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

I think my top three ships are reflected in who I've written the most fic for: huntlow, sterek, and the eleventh doctor/amy pond

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Luckily, everything that's posted to AO3 is finished, but at this point I'm thinking I'll probably never get around to writing the little nightmares, reylo, and captain swan WIPs I've had sitting in my drafts since 2019

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've been told I capture the characters really well, which means a lot to me. I've also been told that my writing is cozy and comforting and fills people with warm fuzzy feelings, which is always nice to hear 🥰

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I will sit there and agonize over the same paragraph trying to make it sound perfect instead of just letting the writing flow, so sometimes a fic will be in the works for a very long time until it's finally ready to be posted (by which time I'm probably sick of it and never want to look at it again 😂)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've dabbled in this a little bit, but it's usually been plot-relevant, like a character learning to speak the language (i.e. when Hunter tried to learn Spanish in Being Human.) When I do write in another language, I always do my best to research and try to get the translations as accurate as possible, and I always include the English translation either in the fic itself or as an author's note so readers don't have to break away from my fic to google anything. (And also so that they know what my intention was, on the off-chance I translated something wrong and accidentally wrote something offensive.) 19. First fandom you wrote for?

Does anyone remember that vampire show that came out back in like 2009? Moonlight? Yeah, that one lol

20. Favourite fic you've ever written? God, that's like asking me to pick my favorite child. Okay fine, it's Until You Meet Someone Who Makes The Fall Feel Like Flying

#tag game #writer tag #writer tag game #fan fiction

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ohmightydevviepuu · 2 months

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imperfect boys. perfect ploys. (this is a song about tragedy) [1/6]

“My ‘story’ is that I left a fucked-up situation and it kind of fucked me up,” he’d said. But it was the way he’d said it, like it hadn’t broken him. Like it was just a fact. But Emma’s life was a story, too. A fucked-up situation that had kind of fucked her up. She wasn’t that kid anymore. Confidence could be learned. And maybe—maybe—she wasn’t broken, either. Not if she picked up the pieces. Not if she told herself a new story. About who she was. About what she wanted. Roots, family, friends, a sense of the familiar—these did not have to be fairy tales. "You owe it to yourself," Mary Margaret said. "Happy endings always start with hope."

S3 post-neverland canon divergence. 20k of no-curse renaissance.

read it on AO3

to @wistfulcynic and @thisonesatellite who sat with me while we daydreamed on a hilltop in cornwall on the summer-iest summer day england has ever seen. it took me eight months but i got there in the end.

thank you to @shireness-says for time and feedback and kindness to the IAS @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @idoltina @initiala @thejollyroger-writer for always giving me a cheer when i needed it (including--in B's case--occasionally getting random, context-free paragraphs dumped into her DMs)

one. 'when you leave, you just miss it'

The sun was shining.

Almost a week since they’d seen real daylight—maybe more, maybe less. No one was sure. Time, like light, did not work properly in Neverland. That’s what Hook had said, and Neal had agreed, an uneasy peace between them; Regina grumbled and Gold snickered but it had been a week or a lifetime and the sun was shining and she had slept last night, for the first time in a week.

Or a lifetime.

She heard the wind rustling around her through the open portholes. Tasted the salt on the air, sweet and slightly cool. Emma sat up and the chill danced around her skin as the sheet fell. She felt good; rested, refreshed. Free.

Her clothes were were on the floor where she’d left them. She slipped from the bunk and picked them up, one by one and hanging from her fingertips. Because time might not have been real in Neverland but everything definitely smelled like she’d been wearing it for a week. When they got back to Storybrooke she wasn’t just going to wash the clothes. She was going to burn them. Just thinking about it made the power well up inside her. It wasn’t anger or darkness or the unrelenting terror of the Dark Hollow. It was something else—warm, gentle flames that tickled.

Or maybe she just really needed a shower.

God, a shower.

She dressed quickly and found her way above deck, stumbling over a dozen dozing Lost Boys and one wide-awake former fairy. Neal and Wendy leaned up against the bulkhead, their legs sprawled out in front of them. Wendy had curled herself against Neal like she wouldn’t let him go.

Emma wrapped her arms around herself and glanced up. The sail billowed, but the Shadow cast no shadow here. Tink turned and spotted her. The way her eyes lit up made Emma’s breath catch. They were going home.

“We’re nearly there,” Tink said. “I almost can’t believe it. Where’s Hook?”

Emma shrugged. “I thought he needed to be here. Steering.” Behind them, the giant wheel turned on its own.

“Magic,” Tink said. “The ship, it has magic. Not my kind—I’ve no idea how it works.”

“And I’ll never tell.” His hair was mussed by the wind but his coat hung heavy over him. Weighing him down. The words were heavy, too, weighted with meaning—something in his eyes before he cleared his throat. Then Captain Hook inclined his head and it was gone, replaced with twinkles like tiny blue gems in his eyes. “Tinker Bell.”

“Hook.” A speculative syllable as the fairy stared intently and he blushed. Emma looked from one of them to the other until Hook’s eyes caught hers and held. He raised his eyebrow, just the one.

Emma raised hers. Both of them.

“Swan,” he said.

“Hook,” she said.

“Mom!” Henry ran across the deck, leaving Regina behind in the companionway with a genuine smile on her face. Neal’s eyes opened immediately at the sound of his son’s voice and he scrambled to his feet, catching Henry in his arms but barely slowing him before he angled back toward Emma. She nearly fell over as she absorbed the fullness of his hug. Her son’s arms around her, finally.

Six days. Not even a week. But her life had changed in less time before: The time it took to steal a car, to open a locker. Sixteen hours to give birth. Ten hours on a beanstalk.

The kiss it took to break a curse.

A week was plenty of time for her world to turn itself upside down. Again.

“The sun is fully up,” Hook said. “We’ll be arriving shortly in Storybrooke.” A fairy-tale land full of fairy-tale people encased in a magic shield that they were going to pierce with a magic boat piloted by a pirate and guided by a demon’s Shadow. Hook spoke and the ship turned on a dime, the wheel spinning, the Shadow-filled sail briefly flashing white, and there it was.

The harbor. The clock tower. The neon sign of the B&B.

“Home,” Mary Margaret whispered, coming to stand next to Emma.

David rested his hand on her arm and Emma tensed. His smile gentled and he moved, stepping back to pull Mary Margaret closer. “Together. Heroes, villains—pirates.” Pride glowed briefly in his eyes. “Just like you said.”

Heroes, villains, pirates. Parents.

Storybrooke.

Home.

The rest of the fairy-tale folk rushed to the rails, hanging over the sides for a closer look at their heroes’ welcome. A faint sound carried on the breeze—laughter. Cheers.

They were in the water. They were in the harbor. The gangplank lowered. Henry was practically trembling with excitement as he hurled himself onto the dock, zooming between his father and his grandparents and Granny and—and—and—

But it was Neal Emma was watching. Hugging his father. Hugging Belle. Escorting Wendy. No longer a Lost Boy but a found one.

“Home. The place that when you leave, you just miss it.” He’d told her that the night they’d met. Her lifetime had been a series of moves from place to place to place and every time, she’d only known one thing for certain: She wasn’t home. Not yet. She’d been seventeen and Neal Cassidy had kneeled in the dirt and picked the lock and when he turned the amusement park lights on and smiled at her, knowing and full of confidence, her entire world had shifted on its axis.

“My ‘story’ is that I left a fucked-up situation and it kind of fucked me up,” he’d said. But it was the way he’d said it, like it hadn’t broken him. Like it was just a fact. Or maybe it was a secret he was sharing. With her.

Home. Neal wrapped Wendy and her brothers in a group hug with an expression Emma had never seen before. But Emma’s life was a story, too. A fucked-up situation that had kind of fucked her up. She wasn’t that kid anymore. Confidence could be learned. And maybe—maybe—she wasn’t broken, either.

Not if she picked up the pieces. Not if she told herself a new story. About who she was. About what she wanted. Roots, family, friends, a sense of the familiar—these did not have to be fairy tales. The flame warmed inside her again, as if the idea of wanting—of knowing what she wanted—was its own kind of magic. Maybe it was.

Possibilities. Hope.

In her. In the magic. In this town. It wasn’t a home—yet—but for the first time Emma felt like it could be. If she let it. If she wanted it. If she chose it.

Henry turned back to her, waiting. An impatient gesture. She took one last long look around the decks of the ship. Hook stood at the helm, tracing the scratch marks in the wood.

Home.

With a deep breath, Emma stepped onto the dock.

two. 'i quite fancy you'

The realization hit at approximately the same time Emma Swan hit the water, the waves enveloping her and dragging her down, though he didn’t think about it. Not then. Not in the midst of the magically-intensified storm and the maelstrom wrought by his own frustrations: Baelfire’s death, his son missing, the Dark One on his ship and Prince-bloody-Charming up in arms and in Killian’s face, so certain it was he who was the captain here—an uncomfortable thought all on its own, and similarly ignored.

But then she’d hit the water and it was all hands on deck.

Nothing else mattered as they retrieved her from the deep and lowered her to the deck and waited. Waited for her to breathe, to move, to cough out the water, her body wracked by the effort but alive. The storm vanished as quickly as it appeared but the weight lingered.

Killian did not like to think about the last time he had seen a woman laid out before him on his ship. About how it had ended. So he ignored it. Ignored it with the patience and practice of a man accustomed to counting time in centuries rather than minutes and it was easy enough. In Neverland the only thing real was the here and the now; their horrific, indeterminate trek across the island was more than enough to occupy his mind.

Until it wasn’t.

He set himself up a good bit away from the others as they made their camp. He refused to watch the undisturbed slumber of the Charmings. Even Regina slept, but not Killian. Never Killian, never on Neverland. Whether it was better or worse to be alone and surrounded by the haunted cries of the Lost, Killian did not know. He’d thought and hoped never to hear them again no matter how unnaturally prolonged his life might be. But he knew this—it was too easy for Pan to grab on to a person in the netherworld of Neverland at night and it was darker now than Killian remembered it being, unless it was just the effect of the rum.

He almost wished it was.

Either way, there wasn’t enough of the bloody stuff to soothe the ragged edges of his soul.

He’d said it as a joke. Or a feint. An instinctive push in their ongoing tug-of-war. “I quite fancy you sometimes,” he’d said. But here in the dark surrounded by the cries he had no choice but to admit to himself that he’d meant it.

Horrific thought.

Idly, he wondered if Tinker Bell was still here. Their tactics for sleep--and mutual exhaustion--had always proved more then satisfactory in the past. Pleasurable, even; some of the only good memories Killian had of this place. Only that felt somehow…disloyal. A betrayal to an idea that his heart was apparently already committed to. Killian took another pull from the flask and reminded himself that villains didn’t get happy endings and if Captain Hook had been anything in his life, it was that.

After all, if he had been a better man, perhaps Baelfire wouldn’t have left.

It was with that happy thought that the cacophony of cries reached its crescendo—midnight, then, or near enough on this cursed island where the night felt endless. Perhaps it was endless, now. The days seemed shorter—nonexistent—the darkness constant. The island was changing. Dying. Killian knew only too well there was nothing Pan would not do to prevent that happening. Every instinct told him that Henry was the answer Pan sought.

Killian had not been lying when he told Emma that on this island, he was not the villain. Perhaps that was why he waited. Waited to hear the whisper of movement and the moment she finally gave up. When she finally got up. He had never wondered if she might hear the cries. It had been very nearly his first thought upon meeting her. She’d had the Look and few knew it better than he. Maybe Baelfire—Neal—had recognized it, too.

He could hear the muttered imprecations under her breath and was only gratified that she had sense enough to take the cutlass with her as she began to roam the surroundings of their camp. And then he heard something else.

Not words. A voice. A voice that taunted him still, lurking on the edges of his nightmares. Even worse, he knew what it meant. To be approached by Pan was to have a quest assigned, a task given. When Emma stumbled out of the woods clutching a scrap of parchment, he stood to meet her, already on alert.

Pan always did like his games.

three. 'you owe it to yourself'

The shower felt incredible. One after Granny’s; one before bed; one when she woke up. Part of her felt like she might never not be covered in dirt and sweat again. Part of her just wanted the warmth and the solitude. Even in a loft built for one and sleeping four, the shower was a one-person-at-a-time activity.

She hoped.

Exhausted but too restless to sleep, Emma had lain in her bed and stared at the exposed beams, counting the wood scratches and feeling it every time someone in the apartment breathed. Henry’s little snores made her smile with every exhalation and though here Mary Margaret and David were only—breathing—it was hard not to think about the other things they could be doing in the bed they shared at the bottom of the ladder.

Ew.

Emma really needed to get her own place.

Henry would want to go back to spending nights at Regina’s again, anyway. As he should. She was his mother.

Emma couldn’t help but think of Regina at the Tree. Regina with ‘no regrets’. She wasn’t sure if she believed any of it, but she couldn’t argue with the result—all of them, still standing, at the end of something horrible. Even if Emma thought Regina should have a few regrets—surely some of the murders had been unwarranted—maybe it was time to follow Regina’s example. Leave the past behind and focus on what she had.

What would it be like, to live with no regrets?

A new beginning.

A steam cloud followed her as she opened the frosted glass sliding door and followed the sweet smell of coffee to the kitchen island—a little pot, in an honest-to-goodness tea cozy, left in the blessedly quiet loft. Mary Margaret hadn’t done that in—she hadn’t done that since—

Before.

The texts had accumulated on her phone while she showered. She recognized most, but not all, of the phone numbers—David, Mary Margaret, Henry, Ruby—and remembered suddenly that she didn’t know which one might be Neal’s. Being presumed dead made that easy enough to excuse.

She was glad he wasn’t dead.

Emma sighed. Maybe it would have been easier if she’d set a time, or maybe it just would have been funnier: An hour to process Felix into the cells. Another at the pawnshop to watch Pan sealed beneath the floor—a tiny box to hold so many nightmares, but both of her parents standing next to her in spite of the dreamshade. Henry flanked by his mothers, his father, three of his grandparents.

Of course Neal had approached her—exactly down to the minute on the timer she had not set—cornering her at Granny’s. The beer was flowing, the food was hot, the noise was crushing her skull. Tick, tock.

“Emma, can we make some time to talk?”

She hadn’t even gotten her coat off, and it was weird to suddenly need it again after six days and a lifetime sweating in an otherworldly jungle. She saw Hook at the bar with Tink, a glass mug of amber liquid in each of their hands as they toasted. Mary Margaret and David pushed in behind and around her to head for a table. Regina and Henry were tucked in together at a booth.

Tick, tock.

She forced her attention back to Neal. “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?” she said. “Unless—are you trying to ask me on a date?”

Yes.

Yes, he was and yes, she would make time—because they needed to know what would happen. Emma had a few ideas and as Mary Margaret always said happy endings start with hope. It was the look on Mary Margaret’s face as Neal settled himself back into his booth that had her worried. The big eyes, the bright smile. It was a look she wasn’t totally used to seeing on her friend’s face because it was such a Snow White look.

“You owe it to yourself,” Mary Margaret had said.

Tick, tock.

A motherly look. She wasn’t used to that yet, either. Six days or a lifetime hadn’t quite given her enough time to digest the shift from best friend to parent and almost every minute since the curse had broken had been one unrelenting nightmare after another. Ogres, giants, beanstalks. Cora. Hook. Neal. It didn’t help that even while Mary Margaret was urging her to take the chance—“You owe it to yourself”—Emma kept thinking about the chances Mary Margaret and David wanted to take.

Tick, tock.

They were home now, the three of them—four—five—six—or maybe eight—one big modern fairytale family—and that mattered, even if Mary Margaret had looked her in the eyes and promised that she wouldn’t be an orphan anymore and then decided that she would stay in Neverland forever if she had to. The thin leather strap of the waterskin crossed over David’s shoulder didn’t feel like much against that, but it was everything.

The water. From Hook. And every time she’d turned Emma had seen Hook watching, his eyes tightening slightly every time David moved. Like he was waiting for something. Tick, tock.

Shaking herself, Emma finished her cup of coffee and hauled herself back up the ladder. The curling iron felt comfortable in her hand; it was a relief to look in the mirror and see someone she recognized, from Before. Her blue leather jacket because it was warmer, her favorite tank top layered underneath, and she was going to go to Granny’s and have a goddamn normal day. Whatever that meant now—now that it wasn’t Before, but After. After the curse. After the Enchanted Forest. After Neverland.

After—everything.

She wasn’t a tiny princess under a mobile of glass unicorns; none of them knew what to do with a goddamn adult with a past. A history, a trauma, that was not part of their storybook fantasy, and more than a missed opportunity that they could recreate.

She refused to just be that. She was a mother, too. A sheriff. A Savior.

An orphan.

If what they had was unique, to use Mary Margaret’s words from the Echo Cave, then they had to be able to make their own definitions. Their own rules and wants and needs and hopes. Their own story. And what Emma wanted, more than anything, was to carve out her own space in this world—parents, children, magic, exes, and evil queens—and know that it was hers. That she belonged. Emma wanted to know that when Henry came for her he wasn’t just looking for her to break a curse. He was bringing her home.

How did Snow White, of all people, not understand that?

She glanced at her phone, at the time and at the last text message. Pulled on her shitkicker black boots and closed the door behind her.

She had a date to get to.

#cs fic #canon divergence #season 3a #no curse renaissance

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 8 months

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Witchy Woman (3/10)

0.5 | 1 | 2 | AO3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

art by @cocohook38

Summary: When Emma came into her position as Storybrooke Coven Leader, she ended things with the powerful Vampire Overlord, Killian Jones. She’s spent over a decade working alongside him and ignoring the growing tension between them.

During his best mate’s wedding, Killian decides he is done waiting. He is ready to have his mate back in his arms (and bed) again. Emma is not an easy woman to woo, but Killian has never backed down from a challenge.

When Emma’s jilted ex-boyfriend returns to town and Emma goes missing, Killian will stop at nothing to get her back and ensure that nothing can ever separate them again.

Rating: E

CW: Mention of domestic abuse, blood and blood drinking (vampires), threatening situations, minor violence, death, mention of parental death

Entry for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2023 (@cssns)

Tagging: @anmylica, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4 , @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert

Author Note: Thank you so, so much to @ultraluckycatnd. I am sure commas haunt you in waking and sleeping hours.

“What the hell was I thinking?” Emma muttered to the clothing piled on her bed. The clothing offered no response. She wasn’t sure what she expected given this particular pile of useless clothing seemed incapable of being helpful in the ways that clothing should actually be helpful. None of the dresses seemed to fall right, the shirts seemed too professional or too casual, and the skirts merely mocked her with their soulless neutrals and business styles. She didn’t date and the clothing that refused to cower under her darkest glare was a testament to the decade she spent prioritising her career over most everything else.

A light knock on her bedroom door sent her heart racing. She whipped around to see Elsa pushing open the door a bit more. Elsa’s eyes widened at the scene before her. “Good. You aren’t nervous about tonight, then.”

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.” Elsa gave her a reassuring smile. “You’ve been protecting your heart for so long. Letting yourself be vulnerable with Killian isn’t going to be easy. But, I think it’ll be worth it.” She tugged a crimson dress from the pile and handed the hanger to Emma. “This one is perfect.”

“Thanks." Taking the proffered dress, Emma attempted a smile. "I wish I were as certain as you were…"

"I am not telling you what I saw," Elsa's tone was final.

Emma huffed out an annoyed breath and slipped the dress over her head. The red silk flowed gently to her knees, the deep plunge of the neckline and clenched waist was exactly the balance between flirty and sexy she was seeking. “It would be so much easier if this were actually a first date. There is just all this…,” she paused, searching for a way to summarise over a decade of yearning and regretting the decision she made, even as she continued to believe she’d made the correct one, “history.”

Elsa raised her eyebrows. “Is ‘history’ what you call over a decade of ignoring whatever it is that burns whenever you two are in a room together?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“What happened to Aunt Ingrid was awful, but you can’t let it stop you from finding happiness.”

Their aunt had been a powerful witch who’d fallen for a vampire who was hungry for that power. He courted her, dazzling her with his adoration of her, showering her with gifts and praises, waiting for the day she would trust him above all others. When she surrendered to him and allowed him to drink from her, he drank even after she demanded that he stop. He kept drinking until he had consumed enough to make her powers his. At the loss of her power, Ingrid had become a hollow ghost of herself.

“I know,” Emma sighed. “Well, I think I know.” The fear of a similar loss still sat like a heavy boulder in her chest. Emma could not imagine a fate worse than losing her powers and having to navigate life without the constant companionship of her magic. The connection between her and the power flowing through nature all around her was as deeply a piece of her as the relationships with her sisters. Living without it would be like living without her heart.

Elsa made a small noise of understanding. “Killian’s a good one.”

“Yeah, I should probably put an end to his waiting.” Emma checked her reflection one more time before leaving to meet said vampire for dinner.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

Killian was seated comfortably in the booth tucked in the back of the busy restaurant. He was nursing a strong pour of spiced rum and watching busy tables in an effort to pass the time until Emma arrived. He watched the patrons as they enjoyed their meals; couples chatting about their days, urging each other to try a bite of their meal, and enjoying the restful quiet which accompanies people so familiar with each other they no longer feel threatened by the absence of noise or distraction. Closing his eyes against the yearning that gripped his heart, Killian took a long pull of the burning liquor to steady himself. Emma was late, but that was like her. It did not mean she wasn’t going to come.

I can’t take the chance that I am wrong about you. Her words from that night echoed in his head, clear as the moment she’d spoken them and ended their courtship without allowing him a single word to challenge her decision.

Yesterday, when she pushed her way into his office, he’d taken that as evidence she was ready to take that chance on him. After over a decade of working alongside her and adhering to her strict boundaries, even when she crossed them, he hoped that he’d earned her trust. But as another minute ticked by, he grew more certain she reconsidered.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?”

Killian brought his focus to the young man - vampire - now standing at the end of his table. “Another drink would be welcomed.”

“Right away,” the waiter lingered a moment. His voice lowered so only Killian could hear him. “Sire, there is a vamp outside that…”

“I’ll see to it,” Killian said, interrupting whatever explanation that followed. “Forget the drink,” he said as he stepped from the booth and paid for the drinks he already consumed. His jaw muscles jumped as he strolled toward the exit, annoyance rolling from him in waves. Emma hadn’t shown up, but he could think about that after he dealt with whatever asshole was causing trouble outside of the restaurant.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

Emma hurried toward the restaurant where she knew Killian would be waiting for her, halfway through his first drink. She was trying to think of a ridiculous excuse for her tardiness that would bring a smile to those deliciously tempting lips. There was a three-person pile-up in front of the library. Traffic on the sidewalk was unbelievable!

Between one step and the next, she was suddenly pulled off balance and slammed into the wall of the restaurant. Dark spots danced in her vision at the impact, but she could clearly see Neal's sneering face as he held her firmly against the wall, his fingers digging bruises into her arms.

She reached for her magic to shove him off, but it had scattered when her head hit the wall and she couldn't quite grasp it yet. She refused to give in to the panic that had her heart pounding in her throat. She needed to try to calm down and focus on pulling the threads of her magic back to her.

“Let go of me,” she demanded. Her rising anger and panic made her too flustered to accomplish more than an ineffective spark between her fingers.

“I am not letting you go in there,” Neal replied, calmly.

“You don’t have a say in this,” Emma snapped, still trying to get free from his grasp. He tightened his hold, forcing a grunt of pain to escape her.

“You are not going in there,” Neal replied as if he were talking a child down from a tantrum. He leaned in and she could feel the hot moisture of his breath against her skin; the sensation made her feel sick. She couldn't discern his intentions; did he mean to bite her? Kiss her? Was he going to threaten her again?

He whipped his head back suddenly, turning to focus on something behind him. Emma pulled her knee up in a quick, decisive movement that had Neal releasing his hold on her and bending in half as she ran blindly away from him.

She didn't make it far before she collided with a patron walking out of the restaurant. Their hands wrapped around her to prevent her from falling, but she flinched at the contact and they dropped their hands.

"Are you okay, love?" The accented voice pulled her back to the surface. Her mind and body calming, no longer drowning in the fear she'd felt moments ago. Her eyes started to burn with tears as the adrenaline flooding her system started to wane and she tried to nod in answer to Killian's question. Killian watched her quietly, the concern on his face unmistakable. "Let me take you home?"

Numbly, Emma nodded. Killian threw his coat around her shoulders, the sudden warmth and familiar scent of him surrounding her with unexpected comfort.

"Is this okay?" Killian asked, indicating his intent to place his hand between her shoulders to help guide her to the car. It was a casual touch like so many between them, almost habitual, but tonight it felt like a lifeline, pulling her back to safety. Again, she only nodded. They were quiet as they walked to Killian's sleek Aston, both on alert for any indication of danger.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

Other than Emma quietly asking him to take her back to his house, the drive was quiet. Killian hadn't stopped scanning for threats or glancing over to assess her injuries until they'd crossed the threshold into his den. He'd turned on the gas fireplace, despite the warmth of the evening, and laid a blanket on her as she sat curled up on the couch. It wasn't until she was holding a warm cup of hot chocolate sprinkled with cinnamon that he finally broke the quiet - Can you tell me what happened? He settled on the floor in front of her, watching her intently, but giving her as much space as he could with his instincts demanding he sweep her into his arms and never let her go.

"I was distracted. I didn't see him," Emma offered, quietly.

"See who?"

"Neal.” Emma continued, her words rushing out, skipping details. "When my head hit the wall, it messed with my magic. I couldn't throw him off."

A wave of anger at Neal and at himself for not being there crashed through him. While he would enjoy ending that pathetic creature's existence, Killian filed away the various gruesome images that accompanied that desire. He could not give in to his anger until he knew that Emma was okay.

He moved to sit next to her on the couch. When she didn't shy away, he gently pulled her into his arms. She relaxed into him, moments of the evening's encounter spilling from her in the same disjointed manner. Killian listened intently, saving his responses for later. Emma needed someone to hear her tonight. When she had time to process, they could discuss a few details that were nagging at him.

He held her firmly, keeping her rooted in the present where she was safely tucked in his embrace. They stayed together like this in a comfortable quiet for a while after she'd finished talking.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked her softly.

A soft snore filled the room.

Killian was filled with a sudden need to capture every detail of this moment - the weight and warmth of her against his chest, the softness of her hair tickling his beard when he looked down at her, the way his arm - currently draped around her waist - rose and fell with her steady breathing, the familiar sweet vanilla fragrance, the softness of her in sleep, and the freeing absence of the all-consuming yearning he'd been slave to all these years - and burn it into his memory.

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nerdy-girlramblings · 6 months

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Ouattober Day 27 Prompt: Tears

Happy tears at these Captain Swan scenes!

#once upon a time #ouat #ouattober2023 #killian jones #emma swan #hope swan jones #captain swan #nerdygirlramblings

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alannacouture · 1 year

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Happy Valentine’s Day, Captain Swan fans 💖💖💖

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spartanguard · 6 months

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cryptid chaos (A Tall Tail)

Summary: It's almost Halloween, and the recently freed Author has decided to make Storybrooke into the setting of a horror novel. Emma suddenly has actual swan wings; Killian is even more of a mer-creature than usual. But how do they undo all the changes when no one knows how the Author's power works? Can they figure it out--or are they stuck? a/n: Welcome back to the A Tall Tail verse! So I definitely meant to have this done for Halloween, but…it's still spooky season, right? Hope you enjoy some silliniess! rated T | 8.7k words | AO3 | A Tall Tail

Emma let out a long sigh as she stared across the water of the harbor, the full moon’s dappled reflection dancing in the waves. What a freakin’ week. In all the chaos of the so-called Queens of Darkness and locking Gold away, they’d kind of forgotten about one of the bigger things they’d been trying to do: tracking down the mysterious author of Henry’s storybook in search of Regina’s happy ending.

Once things had settled down a bit, they got back into it—kind of literally; it turned out the Author (whose name was Isaac, apparently) had actually been trapped inside the book. She was becoming more and more used to (or jaded by) magical bullshit, so to see a man emerge from the pages of a gigantic tome from a key inserted to an illustration of a door wasn’t the oddest thing she’d seen, but it was still weird.

Although now it’s just a headache, she complained to herself.

Since his arrival—or, rather, escape—the squirrelly man had been causing all sorts of drama across town; I guess that’s what a writer does, huh? It had all been petty nonsense, or people with bones to pick about how their life had gone (and really with no one to blame for it but themselves), but everyone had been demanding her help in dealing with it and she needed a damn break.

Which was why she was waiting for Killian on the deck of the Jolly Roger; he’d gone out for one of his usual swims to calm his magic, but they had plans to spend the night together. Alone. And very close, with few clothes. (Maybe with some rum in there, too.) Technically, Emma was early, but her little brother was teething and, though she felt bad leaving her parents to deal with that, she’d needed to get away from the chaos of the loft.

Being by the water was definitely calming her down, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off; maybe it was just Isaac, and the psychological upheaval he seemed to be inducing in most of the town; or maybe it was just the fact that it was a full moon and they were a few days away from Halloween—gods only know what kind of trouble that can bring to a town like this.

That was a problem for future Emma, though; current Emma smiled when she heard footsteps fall on the gangplank and began to turn around to greet her True Love.

“Was wondering when you’d…oh.” Her face fell; it was Isaac. “Can I help you?” (...Get out of town, preferably.)

“Actually, I was hoping it’d be the other way around,” he said, in a way that reminded her of an appliance store salesman.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Have you ever heard of the legend of swan maidens?” he asked, moving closer to her; she wanted to yell at him about setting foot on deck without the captain’s permission, but she was too confused.

“Uh, some of it, I guess?”

He pulled out a pad of paper and an antique-looking pen from his coat pocket as he went on. “Well, there’s a few, but I’ve always been a fan of some of the Irish stories—the ones where their goddesses choose to take on the form of a swan, only identifiable by a chain around their neck,” he said, nodding at Emma’s own silver necklace. Instinctively, her hand went to it—to hide it, she guessed, even though her old swan pendant was long gone and the necklace she’d fashioned for her magic seashell was made of leather. What the hell is he getting at?

He looked down at his notepad and started to scribble something down. “I imagine that would come with a lot of freedom—especially from some unwanted burdens,” he continued. Oh, like your presence? Emma quipped in her head. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“I guess,” she said, unconvinced. Her phone then vibrated in her pocket; hopefully, Isaac was almost done here.

“Good,” he replied, with a smile on his face that she couldn’t quite read. Then he tore the page off his notebook and handed it to her.

Not thinking, she took it. She tried to read the drying ink on the paper, but only managed to recognize the word “wings” before a blast of magic sent her falling backwards—and over the railing of the ship into the water below.

Please let Killian be here, she hoped; but no such luck. Instead, she fell into the sea with a splash and the cold water stole her breath. She tried to move her arms up and down to ascend, but it felt like they were made of lead. Still, she pushed through, and finally broke through the surface.

She gave herself a minute to float and catch her breath before swimming back over to the ship (and punching the crap out of Isaac).

It was odd, though—usually, she needed more lower-body effort to tread water, but her arms alone were keeping her above surface-level.

So that’s when she looked at her arms—and screamed. “What the fuck? What the FUCK?” She didn’t care who heard her swear—but, on second thought, she did care who saw her.

Because she now had freaking wings where her arms had been. Not, like, angel wings coming from her back or something—literal long, feathered appendages where her much-shorter arms had been a minute ago. In fact, they looked like…”A swan,” she realized on a breath. Just what the hell did Isaac do?

She glanced around for the piece of paper he’d given her, but it was floating ahead of her, completely soaked—and illegible. But it had to be him, right?

Well, first thing first: she had to get out of the water. Can I fly? She flapped her arms—wings—whatever they were, if only to see what would happen. Astonishingly, she did rise out of the water a bit, before falling back even farther in.

Undeterred (and starting to feel self-conscious), she did again, and again, until, somehow, she was in the air. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but some new sort of muscle memory took over and all too soon, she was soaring around the harbor. This is actually kind of cool, she acknowledged, but definitely not something I want permanently.

Isaac was no longer on the ship; she should probably try to track him down, but she had no clue how to counter…whatever it was he was doing. She was still pretty fuzzy on his powers and how they worked. Regina was the most likely person to find, but for some reason, she didn’t want to bother her just yet; nor did she want to terrify her parents by turning up at the loft like this.

And she definitely didn’t want Killian to see her. So she headed to the only place she could think of—the cove; he wouldn’t think to look for her there, and she could stay away from prying eyes. And gods only know what this wind is doing to my hair.

Somehow, she managed to land on her feet on the rocky shore, though she wouldn’t call it graceful. Her wings instinctively folded in on themselves; that’s gonna take some getting used to. And she paced the beach while thinking of what to do—and coming up with no ideas.

She was the Savior and the Sheriff; shouldn’t I be out there trying to stop him? But how could she when she didn’t know how? And was this a targeted attack, or was he going to do this again? Is this why I can’t shake this weird feeling about him?

Her thoughts were interrupted by splashing near Killian’s rock. Oh crap; that better not be him. Cautiously, she stepped closer, but extended her wings in case she needed to make a hasty escape.

Something reached up from the water—but it wasn’t her True Love. It had webbed fingers, and blue-toned skin covered in scales, like some creature out of a horror film.

Nope. Not dealing with monsters, too. Before whatever-it-was could climb out of the water and terrify her further, she took flight (much faster this time) and flew off into the night. She didn’t know where she was headed, but she was getting as far away from the water as possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killian broke through the surface at the cove to see something flying away. Bloody hell; I bet that was her. Given what had just happened to him—and comments that bloody author fellow had made—he had to assume something similar happened to Emma. And whatever that creature was looked particularly like a swan.

He’d been out for his regular swim, with plans to meet Emma at his ship for a much-needed evening alone. There were times when he was under water that he lost track of time, but tonight was not one of them—not when he knew he’d be having much more fun above the surface.

But when he ascended to the deck of the Jolly Roger, he was shocked to see Isaac there. Alone. When he asked if he could assist him, the man instead returned the offer, then pointed to Killian’s tail, on full display as he perched on the railing. “What a plot twist,” the man commented. “I never could have anticipated that. Makes for an excellent story.”

“Aye; I suppose,” Killian had responded, confused. Isaac continued on, though, talking about other creatures of the deep; honestly, Killian was distracted, and starting to get worried about Emma, when he mindlessly agreed to something Isaac had said—perhaps about truly embracing his powers?

The author had written something with a queer-looking quill on a notepad, then tore it off and came closer to Killian. “I’m glad you agree; Emma did, too.” Then he handed the sheet over.

“What did Emma—” Killian started to ask as he took the slip of paper, but he didn’t get to finish his question before a wave of magic came from nowhere and toppled him off his seat.

He was distinctly aware of the way some odd magic was wrapping around him as he fell back into the ocean—it was definitely transformation magic, but unlike the kind he usually felt, which focused on his lower half, this went all over. It’s like when the Dark One cursed me…but at least not painful.

Once he regained his orientation underwater, he gave himself a checkover; for starters, he could see much clearer than he should have been able to at this time of night. He definitely had gills on his neck again—but also a few along his ribcage as well. He ran his fingers over them, which when he noticed that the webbing between them had returned—but rather than his usual pallor, his skin seemed to have taken on a bluish hue and was covered with even more scales. And he took my bloody chest hair again.

The real question was if it had the same effect on his ability to breathe out of the water; thankfully, when he broke the surface, he didn’t suffocate. That will at least make this easier—whatever this is. He hated to make a retreat, but he didn’t want to draw any undue attention by his odd appearance now, so he dove back under and made for the cove; he had to hope Emma would understand—and prayed she wasn’t dealing with a similar transformation of some sort.

But seeing the winged creature fleeing the beach seemed to confirm his fears; and knowing Emma, despite everything, she’d want to deal with it on her own. Like hell I’ll let her, though.

But he’d give her a moment to calm down, and took one of his own to assess if this new spell had altered his powers; thankfully, as a whirlpool formed in the water in front of him where he sat on the edge of the rock, he seemed to be alright on that front. He wasn’t sure what was ahead, but had a feeling those would be necessary.

Then he reached for the shell necklace that always hung around his neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emma was trying to live up to the bird stereotype by perching in a tree in the middle of the forest. Trying being the operative word; oh right—swans are waterfowl. But she eventually managed to find her balance high up in a birch. It was only a temporary solution, but it was the one she felt most confident about right now. She just wished her unexpected dive hadn’t fried her phone so she could let her parents or Killian know she was fine; not like I could really use it now anyway, what with the lack of fingers and all.

Of course, that’s when her other means of communication made itself known. “Swan?”

She cringed for a moment; normally, she loved the way Killian said her chosen surname, but it was a little too on the nose right now. (At least I don’t have a beak too, I guess?)

Taking hold of the shell was a whole other thing, though; it worked best when held in a hand, but she wasn’t sure how it would work with—gods, what even was her bone structure right now? She’d never had an ornithology class like Henry did.

Regardless, she had to figure out how to get some sort of grip on the shell hanging around her neck; it took a fair amount of fumbling, but she somehow managed to bend her wings just enough to prop the shell on her elbows(?) and bring it closer to her mouth.

“Hey, I’m here,” she finally answered, though her tone was far from casual.

“Are you…okay, love?” He sounded like he already knew the answer; it wasn’t her thing to stand him up without a word.

“I…don’t really know,” she answered.

“Something happened,” he said more than asked.

“Yeah.”

“Isaac?”

Uh-oh. “Yeah,” she replied, a bit more confidently.

“Me too.” He at least sounded less morose than she did, but this—this wasn’t good. “I’m at the cove; meet me here?”

“I, uh,” she stammered. “I don’t know if you’d, ah, want to see me right now.”

“Emma, you know I always want to see you. Besides, I likely have more reason to say that—although I dare say you’ve seen me looking less than ideal before.”

Gods, what had happened to him? He was right, though; he always freaking is. “Yeah, okay; just—give me a few.”

“I can’t wait.” She smiled; regardless of—whatever was going on, she knew he was telling the truth.

Flying was getting easier; she wasn’t sure if that was good or not, but was really just concerned about what kinds of phone calls were coming into the station about some giant bird flying over Storybrooke. Not a problem for tonight though.

Landing, however, was still hit or miss; in this instance, a miss: she didn’t quite slow down enough as she came into the cove and ended up rolling across the pebbled shore. “Owww,” she moaned as she stood and shook the sand from her feathers—then froze when she heard a gasp come from behind her.

She turned—and her own breath stilled. It was definitely Killian seated on the rock (who was definitely the owner of the hand that had scared her earlier, she was embarrassed to admit). His whole upper body was that blue color, made all the more apparent by his lack of body or facial hair (goddammit, Isaac took his beard?)—like when he was under that weird merrow curse, but apparently without the confinement to the water.

Slowly, she moved closer, noticing other new features and—was it just her, or were his eyes an even brighter blue? Or did they just seem like that with how much younger he always looked without his scruff? She wanted to touch his skin, to see what it felt like; she started to reach for him until she remembered—she couldn’t.

Killian, for his part, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her; his expression was unusually unreadable. “What?” she had to ask, feeling even more self conscious.

He smiled, his dimples even more visible. “Still so beautiful, Swan.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, emphasis on the swan part.”

“I dare say you ‘rock it’, as Henry says.”

Well, that made her laugh. “Okay, fine, but they shouldn’t be here at all,” she complained, her subsequent huff even more visible now.

“Nor should this,” he countered, waving his now-webbed fingers at her. “And we’ll figure out how to get back to normal. But perhaps we'll leave it for tomorrow?” He stroked the edge of her wing with the back of his hand, sending a chill up her spine—a good feeling for the first time since…has it only been an hour? Damn.

She knelt down next to him and, awkwardly, wrapped her wings around him in the best approximation of a hug she could manage. He slipped his arms around her waist to pull her close; he was even colder than usual, but it was the closest she’d felt to normal since this all started, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

It certainly wasn’t how she planned on spending their night, but it’d have to do for now; with any luck, they’d at least be able to go without interruption for a bit.

“Mom? Hook?” Spoke too soon. She didn’t move away from Killian, but she did sit up and look over her shoulder; Henry was standing not far from them, looking confused and concerned. “Something weird is going on.”

Obviously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s the matter, lad?” It was obvious to Killian that Henry was avoiding eye contact, and he didn’t blame him—he was sure they were quite the sight. But hopefully if he remained somewhat calm, Henry would, too.

“Well, I…uh, I was going to say that Isaac has been going around and changing things, but I think you might kinda know?”

“What else has he done?” Emma asked, stiffening in Killian’s arms.

“A bunch of things,” Henry explained. “It started with my mom—I don’t know exactly what he did, but she ran off to her vault, and was covering her face. So I went to see Grandma & Grandpa, but they didn’t answer—I just heard some weird noises behind the door. No one was at Granny’s but I think she’s a wolf again, because there was a big silver one hanging out with Ruby. And I think I saw a swarm of fairies or something? I’ve never seen them small like that.”

Bloody hell; what a mess. It would have been naive to assume he and Emma were Isaac’s only targets, but he’d thought the man was trying to help Regina; why had he attacked her, too?

“What the hell is he doing—making his own little circus sideshow?” Emma complained; that’s certainly what it felt like. “I didn’t think he could even do that.”

“I’ve been working with Belle to figure out how his powers work, but we haven’t gotten very far,” Henry said. “And he won’t say.”

“To the library, then?” Killian posited; one of the best things about regaining his legs was his ability to help out there again. But, speaking of—

“How can we get you there?” Emma wondered, reading his mind. “I can barely fly myself, let alone both of us.”

“Maybe my cuff still works? It’s still on the ship.”

“I’ll go get it.”

Watching Emma take flight was somewhat amusing, but also somewhat beautiful, particularly when she opened her wings fully to lift her off the ground. And much like how quickly he adapted to a lack of legs, there was something almost natural about her flying.

“Wow,” Henry gasped as she took to the air. “That’s…wow.”

“Aye,” Killian sighed. “Obviously none of this is ideal, but I don’t think anyone would complain if you managed to get some pictures with your talking device?”

Henry smirked. “I’ll try.” But his face quickly fell.

“Hey—we’ll figure this out,” Killian assured him. “We always do.”

“I know,” the boy answered. “It was just—the way my mom looked at me before she left. It was Ike she was scared…of me.”

No wonder he’s shaken; poor kid. “Whatever it was, I’m sure she was just trying to keep you safe; I’ve never known her to have any other motivation,” Killian told him, hoping that comforted him.

“Yeah; I’m just worried.”

“Understandable. But let’s try to channel that into focus, aye?” He’d had many an anxious deckhand over the years, not to mention his time spent with Henry’s father, so coaching a nervous young man was nothing new.

Henry nodded just as Emma returned; damn, that was quick. Her land was much more graceful this time around (still far from perfect, but just as endearing).

She had the cuff in her mouth and nearly spat it at him. “Sorry; wasn’t sure how else to hold it,” she explained, before opening her mouth to stretch her jaw.

“It’s fine,” he waved off, ignoring the new teeth marks in the leather. “Here’s hoping this works.” He slipped it on and felt the familiar transformation magic take hold; at least it’s welcome this time.

It worked—mostly. “Huh,” was all he could manage to say when he pulled his legs from the water. He had them, at least, but they had the same pallor and texture as the rest of his skin. (At least, for Henry’s sake, my briefs returned, too.)

“Well? How do you feel?” Emma asked as he stood up.

“Parched,” he answered honestly. Despite being able to breathe out of the water, he immediately felt dehydrated.

“Yeah, you look a little…dull,” Henry confirmed.

He mused for a second, then called up some water from the sea. It swirled around his legs and waist, creating a sort of aquatic garment. It likely looked strange, but he immediately felt better.

“Shall we?”

The three of them surely made an odd sight as they walked through town—of all the weird things Storybrooke had seen, a harpy and a creature from the depths traipsing down Main Street was definitely up there. Despite knowing he wasn’t the only one in a new form tonight, Killian couldn’t help but feel rather like a fish out of water, quite literally; he didn’t often feel self conscious, but the sooner he stopped dripping water down the sidewalk, the better. He just hoped that idiot author hadn't done anything too drastic to anyone else.

The library was unlocked—unsurprising, given the unusually late hours Belle kept it open (typically for situations just like this)—but the mess that greeted them in the foyer was a shock. What in Poseidon’s name happened here?

“Belle, love? You here?” he called out; the worry in his voice was obvious. It wasn’t like her to leave things like this unless something was wrong.

“Back here,” Belle’s voice said, but—why is she so loud?

The three of them made their way to the back part of the library—he was careful not to drip on any of the strewn books—to where it looked like even more of a disaster area. Shelves were knocked down domino-style and ceiling tiles were scattered over them. A few lights had been knocked out, too, making the farthest part of the library dark—but not so dark they couldn’t still see Belle.

It would be hard for her to hide—she was probably 20 feet tall now, if not more, but she’d somehow managed to curl up along the back wall.

“Well, you’re finally taller than me,” Killian eventually quipped, once he found his voice again. What else was he supposed to say? Emma tried to slap him with the back of her hand, but only ended up smacking his chest with the end of her wing and making him stumble backwards.

Belle chuckled—making the whole building vibrate—but then admonished, “Don’t you dare drip on any of these books?”

I’m bloody trying! Regardless, he acknowledged the order with a salute, but Henry got down to business. “What happened?”

“Isaac,” Belle spat. Now that they were closer to her, though, her voice boomed in the comparatively smaller space, making them all wince. “Oh, sorry,” she said softer—but that just brought her back to normal volume. “Something tells me you lot have seen him too?”

“Yup,” Emma confirmed, concurrent with Killian’s “aye”.

“He was commenting on my height,” she started—throwing a pointed look at Killian— “and how impressive it was that someone so small had such power over the Dark One.” The roll of her eyes was almost audible. “Then he said something about my stature matching my personality; I thought he was joking so I said ‘sure’, then he handed me a piece of paper and—this happened.”

“Yeah, that’s what he did to us, too,” Emma said; evidently, Isaac could alter things by writing them—but how?

“Do you have the paper?” Henry asked.

“Um,” Belle hummed, glancing around at the debris surrounding her. “Yeah, here it is,” she said when she found it, placing her (massive) finger on it and sliding it across the tile to them.

Henry picked it up and read aloud: “A giantess: so your stature matches your spirit.” His brow furrowed. “He’s turning people into cryptids?”

“At least, various kinds of mythical beasts,” Killian concurred; if there were actually any beasts out there that resembled him at the moment, he’d have likely encountered them by now. “But you had to agree with him first, right, Belle?”

“I guess so; was it the same with you?”

“He can only change our fate if we want him to,” Emma concluded; he agreed with the hypothesis. “Isn’t that why he was working with Regina?”

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed. “But he did something to her, too.”

“Do you know anything about how his powers work?” Killian wondered, turning back to Belle.

“Only what I saw firsthand,” she supplied. “It’s definitely connected to writing, but I don’t know yet if it’s his own magic or if there’s a conduit, like the pen or the ink. Regina might; or…” She chewed on her bottom lip and ducked her head. “Or Rumple would.”

Of bloody course he would. But they all cast their eyes downward, knowing the Dark One was still locked up in a cell a hundred feet below them.

Before he could start to steel himself to face the Crocodile again, Emma decided. “Regina first,” she stated. “Before we go, do you need anything? Like, can we help you get out or anything?”

“No; I’m fine for now; but I might need some food if this goes on much longer.”

“We’ll do our best to get it worked out,” Killian assured her; there was no way he was going to let his best friend essentially become a prisoner in her favorite place. And who’d have thought it’d be an author that put her there?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After saying goodbye, they hustled across town to the cemetery. Along the way, they were startled by the two wolves prowling the patio at Granny’s, and it felt like there was something lurking down every alley, hiding in the shadows.

A stream of colored, bobbing lights flew overhead—the fairies, in their true form, Emma had to assume. Farther up the street, it looked like the dwarves had gathered together, too. Oh gods—what did he do to them?

Surprisingly: nothing. “That weirdo tried to ‘revert us to normal’ or something, but whatever he did, it didn’t work. Probably because we’re already technically ‘magical’ creatures,” Leroy explained, using plenty of finger quotes. “So we’ve just been patrolling for trouble since it seems like we’re the only ones not dealing with shit.” He heavily glanced at Emma’s wings then.

“Uh, thanks,” she said, studying the pavement. “If anything happens, text Henry or Regina, okay?”

“Will do, sister; think we filled up the answering machine at the station anyways.” Yeah, that checks out; she sighed and carried on.

The vault door was open once they got there, but the crypt was closed over the hidden door; that was easy enough to move, though.

“Mom?” Henry called out as he descended the steps ahead of her. “Are you okay?”

Regina was nowhere to be seen in the first room at the foot of the stairs, so Emma called out for her, too—while being careful to keep her wings tucked in and not knock anything over.

“You shouldn’t be here!” Regina’s voice came from…somewhere farther back in the vault—a part Emma had never been to.

“Wait here,” she told Henry, then crept off in the direction it sounded like Regina was hiding in. It was dusty and, weirdly, she felt it settle on her feathers in a way that itched. But down a passage and behind some shelves, she saw a huddled form. “Regina? You alright?”

“Why are you here, Miss Swan?” she bit back, hiding in the shadows. “And why did you bring our son?”

“Because he’s worried about you,” she tossed back. “And honestly, I am, too; what’s going on?”

“That stupid author—that’s what,” Regina spat. “Supposedly, this is how he’s helping me get my ‘happy ending’.”

“...By making everyone else something out of a horror movie?”

“And by making me an immortal, apparently.” Regina stepped into what little light there was. She looked a bit pale, but not a lot more than usual. If anything, she was somehow more gorgeous. (Yes, despite their past issues, Emma could still admit that Regina was an impossibly beautiful woman.)

“Immortal how?”

Regina smiled—kind of; more like bared her teeth. But that’s when Emma saw it: she had fangs. Like a… “Vampire?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Regina said sadly. “I didn’t even know what he was getting at when he started writing it down; he just went on about ‘getting away from my problems someday’. I didn’t think he meant outliving them.”

Who on earth would think that was a good idea? “Is that why you ran away from Henry?”

Regina nodded. “This is going to sound awful, but…his blood smelled amazing.”

“Shit.” I’d run away, too. “Uh, do you need me to leave, too?”

“No; apparently, I don’t have the palate for bird blood.”

“Hopefully you don’t want fish, either,” she quipped back.

Brow furrowing (in a way that absolutely made her look like something out of Buffy), Regina sniffed the air. “Hook? What did he do to him?”

“Did you ever see The Shape of Water?”

“Oh, wow. Well, uh, have fun with that.”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No—and definitely not in front of Henry.”

They both giggled, but it was only a brief moment of levity. “So can you tell me anything about how this happened—like, how the author powers work? So we can undo it?”

“Some, but he hasn’t been very forthcoming with the details,” Regina answered; she confirmed that his powers were tied to his pen and ink, as well as their theory that it has to be something they want. “He can change things but he still needs some level of consent from at least one party. We should be glad he didn’t write us into an entirely new reality.”

Emma shuddered. “So, what—we just track him down and force him to change it?”

“Maybe? It’s a good theory, but Rumpelstiltskin knows far more about this than I do.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Sorry. Just…don’t bring Henry down there, okay?”

Emma was about to protest—where the hell else am I going to take him to keep him safe from Isaac?—when Regina’s phone rang.

“Crap—what did he do to them?” the mayor complained when she saw who was calling—Snow. She answered the call with a snarky “And what shape are you in?”

Except—she didn’t get a response. Normally, Snow would huff at Regina’s sass, but the only thing that came across was just a series of grunts and grumbles.

“Snow?” The grunting seemed to make a noise of affirmation. “What is going on over there? This better not be the world’s worst butt dial.” (“They don’t sound like that,” Emma quipped, cringing.) But then crying came over the speaker—definitely Neal.

“He’s still teething?” Regina winced. “That was the worst.”

“Yeah—but who’s there with him?” If her parents were fine, nothing would be stopping them from trying to soothe him; Neal pretty much only wanted to be held by her dad right now. “We better check that out first.”

“Absolutely. And let me know how everything else goes.”

“Will do. Do you need anything before we go?”

Regina chewed on her lip, her fangs even more apparent. “Did you see any squirrels up there? I’m starving.” Emma bit back a giggle. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious. And if you ever bring this up again, I can make sure those wings are permanent.”

Emma definitely laughed to herself all the way to the loft, though. Until she heard the sound of her brother crying and her motherly instincts kicked in. “Wait here; let me see what’s going on first,” she told the boys, then knocked on the door with one of her elbows (or whatever those joints were). The same grunting she heard on the phone came from the other side, but somehow more urgent.

Henry ended up having to turn the knob for her, but then she slipped in—and, yet again, her jaw dropped.

“Well, Mom does always say you have big feet,” she said, once she regained something resembling her faculties.

The sandy-blond sasquatch that had David’s eyes huffed in annoyance. Meanwhile, the snow-white yeti that vaguely looked like her mom wasn’t hesitating to take her by the wing and drag her to the bassinet, where Neal was inconsolable.

“He’s scared of you?” Emma guessed; Snow nodded sadly.

(Seriously—Snow, a yeti? At least Isaac has a sense of humor.)

“Okay, but I can’t do much either,” she said, flapping her wings. “Henry? It’s okay; can you come in?”

She saw his phone come through the door before he did, no doubt taking plenty of photos and videos for them to look back on. “That’s just wrong,” he concluded at the sight of his (much hairier) grandparents; Killian was clearly holding back a quip, no doubt in response to David’s many jokes in the past about his chest hair (especially given the current reversal of that situation).

“Kid, think you can take care of your uncle while we figure the rest of this out?”

He pocketed his phone and quickly scooped up Neal. “Sure thing. We got this, right, little dude?” Neal quieted for a little bit, but then let out another ear-piercing scream. Everyone cringed.

“Okay; good luck with that—bye!” she called over her shoulder as she shoved Killian ahead of her in a hasty escape.

“Will they be okay?” Killian asked as they headed back down the stairs.

“Oh yeah, they’ll be fine. My ears will not be, though.” They shared a laugh. “Alright; let’s get this over with.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Back again?” Belle greeted them at the library, having moved slightly from her cramped spot in the back to a no more comfortable, but at least larger spot, having shoved the ruined shelves aside and laying across the whole room.

“Aye; into the belly of the beast, as it were,” Killian replied as they headed to the elevator.

“Good luck,” she said, sounding more bored than anything; despite the public’s requests, the library had yet to seriously invest in any large-print books that might help her pass the time.

As they descended in the creaky elevator, he wasn’t sure if the creeping chill he felt slipping up his spine was due to the inherent cool temperature of the caverns below, or his own emotions at facing his longtime foe for the first time in a long while—since Rumple nearly killed him that day on the docks.

Emma’s feathers brushed against his hand, startling him from his thoughts. “Sorry; I was trying to grab your hand, until I forgot I can’t. You gonna be okay?”

“I will,” he answered, hoping he could convince himself as much as her. There was nothing the Crocodile could do to them, he knew; but despite thinking he’d moved past what he’d experienced at the Dark One’s hands, his anxieties were creeping up.

“I’ll take the lead, though, okay?”

“I appreciate that, love,” he thanked, and squeezed the edge of her wing.

The caves below the library were little changed from his last trip down here, even if he was on the opposite side of things now—with the heroes, rather than against. However, this was the first time he’d seen the cage that had been fabricated to hold the imp. It was set deep into the wall, not unlike the one that had once held him back in the Enchanted Forest, but with solid metal bars clearly from this realm. It wasn’t hard to feel the magic radiating off them, though.

“Rumple? You there?” Emma called out; this cell went farther back than the light could reach, so it was easy for the man to hide. For the first time, Killian wondered what his mental state might be, given his brief insanity after being held hostage by Zelena (body sharing with his son notwithstanding).

“No,” the Crocodile’s voice called out from the shadows. “Come back later and I might be, though.”

“Ha. We found the Author.” She stood in front of the far edge of the cell.

She’s wise not to ask for help, he noticed. Handing Rumpelstiltskin any cards was a terrible idea.

“Good for you; what does that have to do with me?”

Emma had been fiddling with something on the wall with one of the joints of her wings; all of a sudden, light flooded the cell, revealing a rather dusty but otherwise normal-looking Dark One, still wearing the same (stylish, he hated to admit) suit as the day they locked him up.

Rumple blinked his eyes at the sudden brightness, but once his sight had adjusted, he skimmed over Emma and then Killian. “I see,” he said. “I’d be happy to undo it, if you let me out.”

“Nice try, but no. We’ve just been trying to figure out how his powers work. We know his pen and ink are involved. Trying to figure out if it’s worth it to steal it back.”

Killian had to school his features; he was genuinely impressed at Emma’s negotiation tactics here. Obviously, they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t need help, but outright asking would get them nowhere. As such, it was taking more effort than expected to keep a proud (or smug) look off his face.

“It’s not,” Rumple replied. “That’s only half of it.”

“Really? Regina seemed to think that’s all we needed.”

“Regina is wrong. But the only person who can actually help you is currently locked away.”

“Again, you’re not getting out.”

“Not me,” he hissed. “But the pirate knows who.”

Emma turned to Killian, confused. “Huh?”

For a brief second, he was also unsure—until he glanced over at the Dark One, who was smirking—and wiggling the fingers of his left hand.

Oh, bloody hell. Killian sighed and curled in on himself a bit. “The old man.”

“Otherwise known as the Sorcerer's Apprentice—and a thorn in my side for quite a few years, until I finally had some assistance locking him away.”

Shame flushed hot on Killian’s unusually cold cheeks. “He’s in the hat box, love,” he said quietly.

“Ah, crap,” she cursed. “Does Regina know how to get anyone else out of there, or was that a one-time thing?”

“I’ll tell you if you let me—” Rumple started, only to be cut off.

“No!” Emma interjected. “C’mon; I bet Belle knows.”

“How…how is she?” the Dark One asked, suddenly sounding rather genuine.

“She’s a bloody giantess and stuck in the library right now, thanks to that idiot author,” Killian jumped in. “But otherwise fine.”

The Crocodile opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and slumped in on himself. “The fairies,” he said, resigned. “They’ll know how to get him out by now.”

“Thanks,” Killian said quickly, then grabbed Emma by the wingtip and practically dragged her back to the elevator.

What little adrenaline he had faded on the slow ride up, and he simply wrapped himself around Emma. “Hey—this doesn’t feel like okay,” she said softly as she folded her wings around him—a feeling he was coming to quite enjoy, odd as it was.

“Just—being reminded of the man I used to be, even not that long ago,” he admitted. “I’m so sorry, Emma.”

“Hey—we’ll figure it out. And remember: that was way more Rumpelstiltskin than you.”

“I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit, love.”

“This is the one time you should just accept less of the blame, alright?”

He chuckled a bit; she knows my tendency towards self-flagellation well. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. So now, we find the hat, and then the fairies. And then maybe it’ll all be done?”

“Let’s hope.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is this night fucking over yet? Emma took a moment to breathe after Killian left to retrieve the Sorcerer’s hat box thing from Gold’s shop, per Belle’s instructions. The fact that their to-do list kept growing was really annoying, and gods only knew what else Isaac had done in the last few hours.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel, but it still seemed like it was incredibly far away.

And she was craving fish sticks. Is that a swan thing? Or is that an I-never-had-dinner thing?

She gave herself one more minute to brood before starting the search for the fairies. On the bright side, they literally were—bright; she just had to be on the look out for a cloud of multicolored lights (giving off far more Christmas vibes than Halloween). But they weren’t in the middle of town, so that meant actually looking, and she did not have the energy to go traipsing around on her own right now.

Might as well use these while I have them. For hopefully the last time, she took to the sky, hoping a (literal) birds-eye view would help her locate the swarm of fairies faster. Sure enough, once she was fairly high above Main Street, she saw the floating baubles—near the convent, unsurprisingly.

They were a little miffed when she accidentally flew through the middle of them, but when she explained what was going on and what they needed, they practically carried her back downtown on their breeze.

Killian was already standing outside the library with the golden box, looking visibly uncomfortable with it. Don’t blame him. Before she even had a chance to (try to) properly land, Blue was buzzing in front of him, conducting a few other fairies to take the box and hold it in front of her.

She stood next to Killian and watched as the head fairy went to work quickly, waving her wand and muttering something over the cylinder. The starry blue top began to swirl, like it had when they released the fairies, and glowed as it became something more resembling a portal.

All of a sudden, it stopped, and an old man that Emma had seen around town a couple times was seated on the pavement, looking rather bedraggled (though I think he kind of always did).

Killian didn’t hesitate to rush forward and help the man up, no doubt uttering profuse apologies as he did. The Apprentice was trying to get his bearings, it seemed, but was at least appreciative for his freedom.

“Hi,” Emma jumped in, not wanting to delay things any longer. “I know you just got out of that hellhole, but we were kind of hoping you could help us with something.”

He looked her up and down, and then Killian. “I can see that,” he said gruffly. “I don’t recall the Savior having wings.”

“Uh, yeah, recent addition. What can you tell us about the Author?”

She didn’t think it was possible for the man’s bushy brow to furrow further, but it did. “That blasted fool…this was Isaac’s doing?”

Everyone nodded—and that was a lot of everyones; at some point, more and more townsfolk had converged on the main intersection, and it was apparent that all manner of mythical creature and cryptid were now among its citizens.

The Apprentice looked around at everyone, then tutted. “Shameful, shameful—abusing his powers like that. That’s why I banished him in the first place. Whose brilliant idea was it to free him?”

“Uh, mine,” Regina said, stepping forward (with a scarf wrapped around her face, likely to block the smell of…everyone).

“Yeah, that checks out,” the Apprentice huffed. “Well, on the bright side, he’s probably ran out of power by now. He can no longer do harm, but he also won’t be able to undo what he’s done.”

“Can’t you just give him a magical eraser or something?” Emma wondered. (Regina smirked, even under the scarf.)

The Apprentice chuckled. “No; I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. However, if Isaac has lost his powers, then a new Author needs to be chosen, and I have a feeling we’ll find one here.”

“Where?” Killian practically demanded.

“The Author has to believe in the stories, truly—in their heart,” he said dramatically, placing his hand on his chest.

She and Regina exchanged a look; we know someone who fits that description exactly.

Emma called up to Blue, asking them to find Isaac and bring him there, while she took off in the direction of the loft.

In the time it took her to get her son (and her parents, because they should really be there for whatever was about to happen, too), something resembling chaos broke out in the scene that she had left. An angry mob formed in the crossroad, surrounding Isaac, who lay prone on the pavement, being held down by an irate Regina, baring her fangs.

“You did this to me,” she hissed. “Why shouldn’t I use it against you?”

The man looked terrified; serves him right. The crowd was shouting for him to fix what he’d done (her parents grumbling incoherently in agreement), several voices demanding he undo it.

“I can’t!” he shouted back. “The pen doesn’t work for me anymore!” To underline his point, he tossed the enchanted quill away.

“I warned you not to abuse your power this way,” the Apprentice said, his voice deafening even the most frantic shouts around him. “You deserve everything these people might do to you.”

Isaac glanced at Granny and Ruby, who were snarling at him, and whimpered.

Emma was distracted, though, by Henry. He had something of a faraway look in his eyes, and almost mindlessly passed Neal off to Snow (at least the kid was asleep). His focus narrowed on something ahead of him, on the ground: the pen.

She watched as he carefully moved forward, almost as if he was drawn to it. Emma’s gaze darted briefly, first to Regina, who was also watching; then to the Apprentice, who almost seemed to be smiling where he stood next to Killian.

The crowd also realized what was going on and a hushed silence fell as Henry neared the object.

He knelt in front of it, reached out, and carefully picked it up. It glowed as soon as his fingers touched the enchanted instrument.

“I thought so,” the Apprentice said warmly. Emma couldn’t help but beam with pride and ruffle her feathers; Regina grinned too, not bothering to hide her fangs.

Henry blinked and stood. “Wait, what?”

“You, young sir, are the new Author,” the Apprentice explained, approaching Henry. From thin air, he produced a vial of ink. “And I dare say far more worthy than your predecessor.” He threw a dirty look at Isaac, who was still cowering.

Cautiously, Henry took the ink. “Thanks, but…what does that mean?”

The Apprentice chuckled. “I’ll explain it all; don’t worry. But right now, I believe there’s some unnecessary plot twists that need to be straightened.

“Right!” Henry felt around his pockets for—something, but came up empty. “Crap, I don’t have any paper.”

“Over here!” Belle called out from an open window in the library, her face taking up most of it. “Henry—here!” A few pieces of paper looked no bigger than a Post-it in her fingers as she reached through the window. Henry ran over and grabbed it, but wasn’t sure what to do when he returned.

“I can help you with this first one,” the Apprentice offered. “Start with the ink.”

A few people chuckled as Henry struggled with getting ink from the bottle to the quill tip, Killian included; assholes—ballpoint pens were invented for a reason.

“Now, you’re not supposed to change or influence things, but undoing an abuse of power like this—that’s okay. Try writing…this: ‘those whose physical forms had been affected by the previous author’s changes that night were reverted back to their original forms.’”

“To…their…original…forms,” Henry repeated, writing the words, then ended it with a forceful period. No sooner had the pen left the paper than a burst of magic rippled through the crowd.

Emma curled in on herself as what had been done was undone; she’d been too distracted when Isaac first came after her to really pay attention to the magic happening, but now that it was being reversed—ugh, it’s like my feathers are being plucked. (She wished she’d been standing closer to Killian so she could lean on him, but he’s probably going through something similar.)

Thankfully, it didn’t last long. Once the odd sensation passed, she stood up straight, rolled her shoulders back, and stretched her arms—just arms once more—above her head. “Thank frick,” she sighed.

Behind her, her parents laughed; she turned to see that they were back to normal (and Neal was clamoring for David). All around, everyone was standing and stretching as they shook off the effects of what they’d just been through. Regina was hugging Henry tightly in the middle of it all.

To little surprise, Granny and Ruby were still fierce, and were dragging Isaac in the direction of the cells below the hospital. Well, he’s still gonna be a headache—but one that could wait a day or so.

Across the way, Killian was talking to a normal-sized Belle while standing in a puddle; his skin was back to its normal pallor and the gills were gone. (His beard and chest hair had also returned, thank the gods.)

He caught her gaze and appeared to excuse himself from Belle, then headed her way. “That looks better, Swan.”

“Not literally, thankfully,” she quipped back. “You look much improved yourself,” she added, resting her hands on his chest.

“Certainly feel more like myself,” he answered. “Although—I’m not generally this exposed around so many people.” He was only wearing his usual swimming briefs—and a blush that was creeping up his cheeks.

“Mm, then perhaps we should find somewhere private to be half naked.”

“I like the way you think, love.”

“Too bad I can’t fly us away anymore, though.”

He hummed, then pulled his hand between them, where a white feather was twirling in his fingers. “Maybe you can channel that?”

She giggled, and transported them back to his ship. Placing a kiss against his (scruffy) cheek, she grabbed his hand (finally!) and pulled him toward the stairs. “Let’s get to what we were going to do earlier.”

“Gladly,” he sighed, and followed her to his cabin…

…where they promptly fell asleep. (But got to the fun stuff the next morning.)

Cryptid Night, as it came to be known, went down in Storybrooke legend; and thankfully, no one experienced any long-lasting effects. (Well, other than David complaining about finding fur around the loft for a few weeks after.)

Emma did notice, though, that the pure white feather Killian had picked up was displayed prominently on a shelf in his cabin. As much as she never wished to relive that night, she always smiled when she saw it—and was glad Henry had taken plenty of pictures.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

thanks for reading! tagging some mermates: @cocohook38 @kat2609 @mryddinwilt @xpumpkindumplingx @optomisticgirl @shipsxahoy @clockadile @kmomof4 @initiala @snowbellewells @word-bug @idristardis @wingedlioness @theonceoverthinker @annytecture and I can’t remember who else was into this

#cs ff #cs halloween #mermaid!killian #a tall tail #my ff

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