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anmylica · 2 years

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Chapter Four: Can We Panic Now?

“The Fields of Asphodel”

Chapter Four: Can We Panic Now?

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Regina and Robin made their way to Town Hall as quickly as they could, making sure to keep a watchful eye on the people milling about just in case the pirate was amongst them. Everyone had the same melancholy, hopeless air of despondency about them. Regina couldn’t help but notice the dead looks in their eyes. She pulled her coat tighter around herself in an unconscious attempt at keeping the sadness at bay.

Robin reached out to place his hand on her lower back as they crossed the street, both needing the contact of each other in reassurance. They finally arrived at the mayor's office without any sign of Hook.

“No luck so far,” Robin stated, looking about, an expression of resignation on his face.

“No,” Regina agreed. Finding Hook was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. “Why couldn’t he have made it easy for us to find him?”

Robin grinned. “Because he wouldn’t want to make it too easy on you, love.”

Regina chuckled. Hook certainly did like to push her buttons, even if they were on the same side now. Her face dropped at the thought of their last interaction. Regina didn’t have many regrets (they were a waste of time, and besides, had she not done what she did, she wouldn’t have this life that she wouldn’t trade for anything), but she regretted not trying harder to make Hook see sense before he went that far. Had she said something just a day sooner, could all of this have been avoided? Had she refused to back down from him the first time she confronted him about his guilt for what he did to his father (at her behest), would he have listened to reason and allowed them all to work together? Could Emma’s plan actually have worked had they all just put their heads together?

This was the problem with regrets. They were a waste of time. Nothing could change what was done.

On the other side of the flames, a man took shape. Regina gasped in horror once she made out who it looked like.

“Daddy,” she breathed, her voice a broken and tortured whisper.

“Are these meant to be your parents?” asked Robin.

Regina sniffed and wiped away a tear. “I think so.”

“What does it mean that you’re seeing them in the fire?”

Regina shrugged. “I don’t know, but if they’re here… they must be here because of me.”

Robin put his hand on her shoulder in comfort and pulled her in close. “You don’t know that. They may not even be here.”

Regina nodded, wiping away a few more tears. “I have to find out.”

“We’ll keep our ears peeled in case someone says something at Granny’s, and we’ll look into it further if we have to. If they’re down here being harmed, we’ll make sure to save them, Regina,” Robin reassured her and hugged her tighter.

Regina returned the embrace and after a moment let go reluctantly. “Let’s go to Granny’s and see if he’s there. There’s nothing here but a dead end.” The two of them quickly left the office and hurried through the rest of Town Hall. Robin shoved open the door, only to stop short of leaving. Regina nearly bumped into him, and was about to ask, perplexed, what the hold up was when she spotted what had stopped Robin.

It was Roland. He was lying on the ground, deathly still. The world around him had faded to almost black; everything was slowly losing visibility.

“Roland?” Robin asked with a small amount of uncertainty, not sure he believed what he was seeing. They had left Roland back in Storybrooke with the fairies. How did he get down here?

Regina and Robin stared as Roland woke up and slowly stood, turning to face them. “Daddy?” asked Roland.

“I’m here, buddy. How’d you get here?” Roland asked, beckoning his son to come to him. “Come here; it’s not safe for you here!”

Roland smiled and then turned and ran in the opposite direction. Flabbergasted, Regina and Robin took one look at each other before sprinting off after the toddler. The boy ran fast, and soon the two adults were out of breath from chasing him. As suddenly as Roland started running, he stopped and turned to face them. Regina and Robin stopped too, clutching their sides and panting hard.

“Roland, come here, son!” Robin called.

A fire started just behind Roland. Regina frowned in confusion. Why would a fire just randomly start up in the middle of Storybrooke? But before she could work out an answer to that question, Roland began speaking.

“You can’t save me, Daddy. You can’t. I have to go into the flames.”

“No! Don’t!” cried Robin, lunging forward to stop his toddler, but he was too late. Roland turned and jumped into the fire, quickly becoming engulfed in flames. The flames rose so high and hot that it drove Robin back, him shielding his eyes from the heat and embers. Regina cringed at the sight, squinting her eyes against the heat and holding her hand in front of her face. That little boy had become like a son to her in the time she had known him, and her heart thumped so hard in her chest it felt as if it were going to beat its way loose.

Robin sank to his knees in despair as he watched the flames rise higher and hotter. As quickly as they had appeared, they vanished, leaving nothing but a pile of ash in its wake. Robin lunged for the ashes, grasping at them. They were cool to the touch, as if no fire had been there before. “No,” he whispered. “No, no, no, this can’t be!” He ran his hands wildly through the ashes, searching for any trace of his son. Tears started running down his face, staining his skin where before the soot had clung to it. Silent tears started pouring down Regina’s face. She could only imagine how it felt to be in Robin’s shoes.

Robin turned to her and looked up at her. She slowly sank down to embrace Robin, trying to offer the only amount of comfort she had, knowing full well that nothing could stem this pain. She recalled how it had felt in Neverland to nearly lose Henry, and she wept harder. They stayed in this position for several moments, not wanting to believe what their eyes had seen.

Then, a voice interrupted their mourning. “Well, isn’t this precious?” it said. Regina and Robin looked wildly around to find the source but found none. “All this pain, this despair, just ripe for the taking.”

“Who are you and what do you want?” Regina called out, her voice quivering but forceful.

“I want your despair, your hopelessness. Every time you lose a bit more of your hope, I grow stronger.”

“You would kill a child just to drive us to lose hope?” hissed Robin. “A poor, innocent child who had nothing to do with any of this?!”

“Ah, yes,” chuckled the voice. “Little boys who venture where they shouldn’t get what they deserve.”

“MY SON DIDN’T DESERVE THIS!” roared Robin.

“No, but his parents did.” A man in a black suit with a black dress shirt and tie appeared before them. His hair was a shock of blue flames. He smirked. “Hi, I’m Hades. Lord of the Dead. How are you doing?”

“You’re Hades?” Regina repeated, not believing her eyes.

“Oh, yes. Lord and Master of the Underworld.” Hades placed his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Where’s Killian Jones?” demanded Regina. Robin stood silent beside her, shaking with fury.

Hades held out a finger in caution. “Uh, that is for me to know and you never to find out.”

“We’re not leaving this place until we find him!” Regina insisted.

Hades pursed his lips and cocked his head. “You assume that I’ll just let you leave.”

“If there’s a way in here, there’s a way out.” Regina sneered.

“That’s true,” nodded Hades sagely. “But only if I allow the exits to open. You forget that this is my realm and I am its Lord and Master.”

“After you murdered my son, letting us have the pirate and opening those exits is the least you could do. You’re lucky I don’t kill you where you stand!” Robin hissed.

Hades laughed. “You can’t kill me! I’m a God! And you are the ones who owe me. You came to my realm, and now you’ll pay the price.”

“And what price is that?” Regina asked sardonically, a smirk playing at her lips, her expression defiant in a way that only a queen could have.

Hades smiled an evil, cruel smile. His hair burned a brighter blue. “Your hope,” was all he replied. He waved his hand and then he vanished in a huff of jet black smoke. Regina and Robin were left in the street, everything turning back to normal around them. The pile of Roland’s ashes vanished along with the darkness and shadows. Departed souls meandered listlessly around them, staring at the couple in idle curiosity, but too despondent in their hopelessness to care about the plight of two other beings. Regina and Robin stared at each other, wondering what they were supposed to do next. Tears streamed down Robin’s face at the thought that his son, his only tie to his beloved wife, was gone. Neither spoke for a long time.

Regina looked at Robin and embraced him. “We should go find the others,” she said. “Tell them what happened… what we’ve learned.”

Robin nodded his head and slowly they began to trudge back to Granny’s.

Snow White didn’t fear too many things. After living most of her young adult life on the run from the Evil Queen, losing both of her parents too soon, enduring (and awakening from) a sleeping curse, having to put her newborn daughter into a portal to another world, and then having her newborn son kidnapped to take part in a dark magic ritual to summon a time portal, she figured there wasn’t much point to being afraid. To be honest, this belief had served her well through these last years in Storybrooke. After all, the events of these last years had been enough to drive a lesser person to the brink, and yet they had all managed just fine.

So far, this sojourn to the Underworld seemed to be like anything else they had done. It shared many similarities with Neverland. Granted, that experience had been the closest she’d felt to real fear in a very long time, but they had all escaped, if not unscathed, then at least with their lives and, most importantly, together.

She was even more grateful to have David by her side. She had never been more thankful that he had been able to leave Neverland until this moment, because she didn’t think she’d have been able to handle this trip without him. She felt she was barely hanging on for Emma. She was so worried about her daughter.

David took hold of her hand, startling her out of her reverie, as they crossed the street to the library. Once they got there, they pulled at the doors, only to find them locked.

“Well, I guess that means that Hook isn’t here,” David stated.

“It was a long shot anyway,” Snow sighed.

David looked around them, observing the dead meandering sadly about. “Let’s go on to the loft. Maybe he’s gone there.”

“That’s probably another long shot,” Snow stated.

“Probably, but we have to hope that we’ll eventually find him.” David took her hand once more and they pressed forward, hurriedly walking the short distance to the copycat of their Storybrooke apartment.

“That’s all we have is hope right now.”

David nodded in agreement. “I’m worried about Emma.”

“So am I,” Snow replied. “I hope we can succeed. I don’t know how she’ll react if we don’t.”

David nodded. “At least she knows we’re there for her. I’d hate to think of her facing this alone.”

Snow nodded in agreement. “And she’ll always have us,” she replied firmly.

“Always,” David affirmed.

Though Snow had always regretted sending Emma through the wardrobe, she wouldn’t change anything about how their lives turned out. Snow would make damn certain that her daughter wouldn’t feel let down or abandoned this time, regardless of whether Hook returned with them or not.

They quickened their pace and fell into mutual silence. A few minutes later, they were approaching the door to their building when Snow felt the hairs of the back of her neck stand on end. Something was watching them.

David reached for the door that led to their stairwell when the lights suddenly grew very dim. Fog rolled in around them, muffling the sounds coming from the rest of the town proper until they couldn’t hear anything but their own breathing. They both were instantly on their guard, reaching for weapons they didn’t have.

“On the count of three,” David said. Thankfully, the door was still beside them.

Snow nodded and began the countdown. On three, David wrenched the door open wide enough to ensure Snow could get in and then slipped through the opening, pulling it firmly shut behind him. Snow sprinted up the stairs, hoping against hope that her bow and quiver were in the Underworld version of the loft. David tried to secure the door as best as he could with nothing to work with and hurried after his wife. Before he climbed more than a couple of steps, a black cloud descended in front of him, impenetrable. He hollered a warning for Mary Margaret, but he had no indication that she had heard him, and soon she had left him behind. He only thought of trying to get to the loft as quickly as possible. Snow clambered up the last flight of stairs and stopped dead in her tracks at what she saw in front of them.

Emma was at the top standing in the shadows (that always seemed to linger about in the Underworld no matter how much light there was) and staring down the steps, not moving, not blinking. An indescribable look was on her face. Snow suddenly felt a swooping sensation of dread.

“Emma, I thought you were going to your house to look for Killian,” Snow stated.

“You thought wrong then, didn’t you?” Emma stated, coming out the shadows just enough for her mother to see the distasteful expression on her daughter’s face.

“Oh, well, if you want you come with me we can check to make sure if Hook is in the loft.”

“I don’t care about that,” Emma replied softly. “I care about why you abandoned me in the first place.”

Snow blinked. “Abandoned you? What are you talking about?”

Emma stepped down one step and stopped. “I’m talking about the wardrobe. Sending me to the Land Without Magic in the first place. Refusing to be the mother I needed,” Emma said slowly, enunciating each syllable in the words she spoke.

“Oh, Emma. I thought we were past this. I thought you understood why I did it, that I wanted to give you your best chance at a happy life.” Snow’s heart felt as if it were breaking. Did her daughter truly still believe this? After all the time they had spent together as a family?

“My best chance was with my family,” Emma spat. “And you took that away from me.”

“No!” Snow protested. “No, I never did! I wanted you with us, but you weren’t safe from the Curse. I had to do what I had in order to protect you!”

“And look where your protection has gotten me! We wouldn’t be here if you had just trusted me to handle the Darkness on my own! But no, you had to meddle and try to stop my plans. You don’t love me; you never did!”

“That’s not true!” shouted Snow, tears streaming down her eyes.

“Well, it’s definitely not a lie! You tried to stop me from saving Hook’s life to begin with! You tried to take the only man who had ever chosen me away!”

Snow sobbed, “Of course not! I never wanted you to lose him. I came down here with you to save him!”

Emma laughed a cold laugh. “And you tried to talk me out of it in the first place! You’ve done so much damage to me, to my life, and you’re still ruining it!”

Snow sobbed. “Well, what do you want me to say? That you’re right? That I did all of that to hurt you? I’ll say it right now, but none of it would be true! I wanted you to have your best chance!”

“My best chance is having you out of my life,” Emma sneered.

“You don’t mean that! You don’t!” Snow stammered out, but it was pointless. Her protests were growing feeble. Had she really tried to hurt Emma? Had her actions really been out of a lack of maternal affection? Had she failed her daughter that badly?

“Of course I do. And I’m going to make sure you don’t do this to my brother.” Emma looked behind Snow. Snow hastily turned around, wary about what Emma was looking at but desperate to keep her guard up in spite of the pain she felt. Snow gasped when she saw what was behind her.

A man who looked a little like Neal was standing a few steps below her. Snow stared. She didn’t understand how this was possible. When she left he was just a baby…

“Hello, Mother. Or should I even call you that?”

Snow blinked. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Neal stepped closer. ‘You’re not much of a mother are you? You abandoned my sister, me…. It seems to me that ‘mother’ isn’t the right word for you.”

Snow stared at her son. “I didn’t abandon you! I never will!”

“But you already did,” Neal said, his green eyes flashing. “You did when you followed Emma here. And now you’re going to have to stay here, and I… will grow up without a mother. Just another Lost Boy.”

“No, I’m coming back! Your father and I, all of us! We’re going to come back to you, you have to believe me!”

“How can he?” Emma asked. “You’ve never given us any reason to think you’re sincere. You never came to find me during the Curse.”

“I was cursed; I didn’t have my memories!” Snow protested feebly. “Ask your father! Where’s David, he can tell you!”

“Oh, don’t get me started on him,” Neal scoffed. “He’s just as guilty as you are.”

“He was in a coma!” Snow gasped. It felt as if the walls of the stairwell were caving in on her. She wondered where David was. What was keeping him? He shouldn’t be taking this long to travel three flights of stairs. But her worries for her husband were short-lived as Neal and Emma both pressed closer.

“Aren’t you guys the ones who say you’ll always find each other?” Neal hissed.

“So why couldn’t that apply to your children?” Emma spat.

Snow’s heart felt as if it were breaking into a million pieces. She sobbed, unable to refute their words any more than she had. She had failed them, hadn’t she? Always putting others’ needs ahead of her own children’s. She could have done more; should have done more. Her knees started to give in, and she collapsed to the stairs.

‘We deserved a better mother than you,” Neal stated.

“We didn’t deserve to be abandoned,” Emma continued.

‘It’s all your fault,” Neal and Emma said simultaneously. Snow curled up as close to being in the fetal position as she could get while sitting on the stairs, sobbing uncontrollably. She couldn’t say anything more; she had failed them. She had never felt more hopeless.

David, meanwhile, was frantically trying to break through the fog. He didn’t know how long he had spent trying to push through it, crying out Snow’s name all the while. He was panicking; he didn’t know what to do. All he knew was his wife was in trouble and he couldn’t get to her. If something happened to her down here, he didn’t know what he’d do or how he’d survive. All he knew for sure was that he couldn’t give up. He had to keep trying to break through the fog. He couldn’t lose hope!

Panting heavily, and feeling on the edge of an emotional breakdown, he paused and looked around, searching for a weak spot. He felt desperate in a way he hadn’t been in years, at least not since Regina had been hunting them down in the Enchanted Forest. No, that wasn’t true. He hadn’t felt this desperate since Emma was trapped in the ice cave with Elsa when she first appeared in Storybrooke. This situation was so much like that one, only worse because it was his wife in this situation now. David finally understood what Hook had gone through for that stretch of time in which they weren’t sure if they could get Emma out of that ice cave.

There was no way in. The fog was as impenetrable as stone. All he could do was wait and hope for a miracle. Finally, after waiting for seemingly ages, the fog began to dispatch just enough for him to be able to thrust his fist into it. This seemed to be the catalyst he needed because the fog opened up enough for him to slip through.

“MARY MARGARET!” David shouted, thundering up the stairwell as fast as he could go, skipping two or three steps at a time. “Mary Margaret, where are you?” he called out again.

He started up the last flight of steps and stopped short. Mary Margaret was sitting on the steps at the top, curled in around herself, her arms hugging her knees and sobbing so hard she was almost hyperventilating. David looked around them, assessing their surroundings, but there was no one there. The fog also had seemingly vanished. Just what was going on?

David climbed the stairs slowly, keeping an eye out while also trying to get to his wife. When he got close enough to touch her, he crouched down and sat on the step beside her.

“Mary Margaret, are you alright? What happened?”

She just sobbed harder. He took her into his arms; she went willingly enough, not having the strength to refuse the comfort her True Love was offering to give, but he noticed that it was like she couldn’t resist. She acted as if she didn’t even notice he was there.

“It’s okay. I’m here. Can you stand Mary Margaret?”

But she didn’t respond. It was as if she had reached a pit of despair so deep she went catatonic with it. He continued to hold her, at a loss for what more could do. David felt hopeless.

From a lower level, two beings spied on the couple with twin smirks. One had a red tail, and the other had a blue tail. Though they looked human at first glance, it was easy to tell they were something else, something more sinister. They exchanged satisfied glances before looking down at a large crystal jar that rested on the floor between them.

The crystal jar was filled with a murky swirling substance that glittered and shone a myriad of colors, depending on the direction the light hit. It was about three quarters full.

“His Lordship will be most pleased, won’t he, Pain?” asked one of the beings. “We gathered quite a lot of lost hope here.”

“Oh, yes, this will do nicely,” Pain answered.

“It’s a shame we couldn’t drive the man into a deeper panic,” observed the first being. “We could have gotten more hope into the jar if we had succeeded.”

“Oh don’t worry, Panic, my friend,” reassured Pain. “You’ll get to use your spectacular talents to perfection soon enough. We just have to wait for the right moment.”

They exchanged evil grins again and then blinked out of existence, the nearly full jar of lost hope disappearing with them, leaving Snow White and Prince Charming to their despair.

#The Fields of Asphodel #once upon a time #captain swan #captain hook #killian jones #emma swan #ouat #anmylica writes #Csff #season 5 fix it #whumptober 2022 #No 24 #fight flight or freeze #catatonic

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lindyloosims · 2 years

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When we arrived in Moonwood Mill, Rory was waiting outside her house for us, and she didn’t look happy at all! “You requested a meeting?” She grunted at me in response, this was gonna be fun! “So what’s the problem Ms Oaklow?”

“I don’t appreciate being made a fool of Mr President, or Mayor or whatever you go by these days!”

“Pussy whipped fanger more like!” Lou chortled behind me, I would deal with him later over that one, his jealousy was becoming a bit of a problem lately.

“Can we discuss this inside? My sister doesn’t have my immunity to the big yellow ball in the sky!”

Another grunt from her in reply to my request, how I’d made a fool of her was a mystery to me, but I was concerned that whatever had happened was going to break our peace pact!

<Previous_Next>

#TheTartosaVampire #ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4

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glapplebloom · 2 years

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A mini-series that shows my take on Diamond Tiara could work…

Welcome to White Tail Woods where the girls are going to go camping by themselves. What about Scootaloo and her fear of the dark? Well if the woods were as dark as an Evil Dead movie I can totally see why she would be afraid but the White Tail Woods look like a cinematic shot of the landscape movies made to show you how pretty it all looks. But after setting everything up, they find a ton of litter.

So instead of camping, the girls gathered volunteers to help clean up the forest. While Silver Spoon complains about having to do it instead of those who actually did the litter, Diamond Tiara steps up to really give a rallying speech to the others that they got to be the ones to keep this forest clean. We find out because these forests are actually dear to their family, as Filthy Rich’s Grandma used to live here and tell stories about the Spirit of the Forest.

The next weekend, they find the campsite once again trashed. So calling back on their times as Detectives, the girls go on a stakeout to find the culprits. Bad news, they fell asleep. Good news, they did find the people responsible: the workers of Filthy Rich’s Lumber Mill. Apparently these guys eat on their way to work instead of eating breakfast at home or waiting till their lunch break. So the girls try to talk to Filthy Rich about stopping it. Thing is, they also begin to notice that maybe the litter isn’t the worst part.

So while Filthy Rich told the workers to stop littering and plans on adding more trash bins to prevent it, the girls left, seeing that it was worse than they thought. Next issue, they bring their sisters in to help. But they couldn’t convince Filthy Rich to stop and the Mayor couldn’t help because the Mill was pretty much sanctioned. She does offer a pamphlet to find a way to help legally, but they refuse. That’s all the Adults can do to help, so the girls have to think of their own plan. And thanks to Diamond Tiara, they figured out an idea.

Like a Scooby Doo villain, the girls dress up as a ghost to scare the workers away to close down the business. It works as Filthy Rich temporarily closes it down. But since it affected others who relied on those woods, that means the Scooby Gang arrived to solve this mystery. And with a trap set and them falling for it, their sisters in an unfortunate situation actually helped Filthy Rich solve the mystery and re-open the Mill.

On the third issue, the girls are desperate to try to figure out a way to stop Filthy Rich. Luckily for them Diamond Tiara comes with the same goal in mind: prevent the Mill from ruining the White Tail Woods. Thinking that the spirit is real (despite DT saying it was just an old pony’s tale), the girls decide to look into the woods for it. Despite searching six moons worth, they couldn’t find it. But Diamond Tiara, seeing the beauty of the woods, figures out a Hail Mary Play!

Convincing her father to go for a walk to the cabin, she pretty much places the cards on the table. The Spirit of the Forest isn’t real, but that means they have to be the ones to protect the forest. And not just an area around the cabinet, the entire forest. For every tree they cut down, plant a new one. Stop having the pollution go down the river. Get your workers to stop throwing litter in it. Sure, you won’t make a lot of money in the short term but keeping up this method means it's a renewable source that can keep a financial flow for a longer time than cutting up the woods till nothing is left.

With Filthy Rich convinced by his daughter, he makes these changes and everyone is happy, including the Spirit of the Forest who shows up in the end. Overall, of the environmental comics IDW has done, I think this is the best one. It showed that litter isn’t the biggest problem. It showed that just shutting it down affects others in a negative way. And it also shows Diamond Tiara being a better pony. I would have loved to see this be an episode. I also really love the art in this.

Sadly, I don’t think I can make this canon, at least not all of it. With Diamond Tiara already on equal footing with her pops when it comes to business, she could make these changes much sooner than before the girls could discover it. But a nice place in the woods I would totally love to keep.

#mlp review #MLP Revisit #Green Lantern Apple Bloom #IDW Comics #comic specials #spirit of the forest

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atlanticcanada · 2 years

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Hundreds in N.S. still waiting for phone, internet, cable service to be repaired a month after Fiona

A month after post-tropical storm Fiona hit, hundreds of customers across Nova Scotia are still without phone, internet and cable service.

At Laurie and Maxine Monk’s property in Brookfield, N.S., the problem lies at the back of their property but sits top of mind.

“I still don’t have any cable television, I have no Wi-Fi and I have no telephone landline,” Laurie Monk said.

Monk said Eastlink has told them crews would be there on Oct. 31 to repair the issue.

“That’s promise number five,” he said, noting the company has told his family they would fix the issue four times already but said all four times, no one showed up.

“It’s ridiculous,” he said. “Don’t say you’re coming if you have no intention of doing it.”

Down the road, Julie Walters faces a similar problem and response.

“You call and you sit on hold and sit on hold and sit on hold,” she said. “And even when somebody calls you back, they make an appointment for you and the day gets here and you get excited and think, 'OK, today’s the day,' and nobody shows up and then you call again.”

Walters said Eastlink has told her they would come four times already but never have. It’s been a month since Fiona hit and she still can’t work from home. The customer is now considering switching providers.

“Terrible service. No customer service whatsoever in my opinion,” she said.

"We understand that being without service for an extended period of time has been very frustrating and we apologize for delays," said Jill Laing, Eastlink's director of public affairs, pointing out that hundreds of customers across the Maritimes are still waiting for repairs.

The Eastlink spokesperson said on-the-ground crews, including additional resources brought in, are nearing completion of their work repairing storm-damaged equipment.

Laing said when crews responded to Brookfield, they found challenges in heavier wooded areas, such as downed trees, that may have damaged power lines.

"These hazards may have since been cleared and we are sending a crew back to this area so that we can complete the repair work in the coming days," she said.

Last week, CTV News spoke with several frustrated Bell Aliant customers in Mill Lake, N.S., who echoed complaints about poor communication. They’ve since been reconnected.

Nick Payant, Bell's vice president operation services and core network, said as of Monday afternoon, about 600 customers in Nova Scotia are still waiting.

“Because the damage as you know,was so spread out, there’s lots of tree trimming and things like that that have to happen for us to restore service, but we’re focusing right now on the northeastern part of Nova Scotia,” Payant said.

Deputy Mayor of Colchester County Geoff Stewart said telecom companies need to up their game.

“I think they have to have better contingency plans put in place, I think they have to have better maintenance programs to maintain the infrastructure they have,” Stewart said.

Payant noted that one of Bell Canada's take-aways is to look at improving customer communications.

"We're going to look at everything we can do as an industry to improve the resiliency for our customers," he said. "Obviously we're looking back at everything that has to do with comms [communications] for customers, everything that has to do with infrastructure."

The same afternoon CTV News reached out to Eastlink, the company called Walters to make an appointment to fix her connection on Wednesday.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/gIWt180

#new brunswick #prince edward island #nova scotia #news #politics #canada #CTVAtlantic

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

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One Foot In (4/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9.3K and I seriously don’t remember writing all of this AN: This is the part where we kind of deviate from Pushing Daisies (although there are some jokes from other episodes) and move into magic and meaningful conversations and it’s going to get relatively exciting from here on out. I hope, at least. Thanks for reading this. I think you guys are swell.

@shireness-says @optomisticgirl @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488, @greymeetsblue, @jennjenn615, @heavenlyjoycastle, @klynn-stormz, @superchocovian, @onepunintendid, @jonesfandomfanatic, @lfh1226-linda

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam. Or, you can take it from the top.

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-three days and, approximately, twelve hours and forty-two minutes old when her shoulder is nearly ripped out of her socket.

“Ow, jeez, what the hell, Ruby?” she hisses, gaping at her partner as soon as she tightens her hold on Emma’s wrist. “My health insurance is garbage. I can’t get injured here.” “Don’t you think we could sue the town of Storybrooke? I think you’re technically on city hall property at this point.” “Town hall,” Killian corrects. He’s leaning against the back door of Emma’s car, feet crossed at the ankle again which is only kind of infuriating in the way it makes Emma’s heart jump, but he’s also got a pinch between his eyebrows that wasn’t there when they left the restaurant.

It’s because Emma made him sit in the backseat.

And Ruby agreed.

His arsenal of curses has gotten far more creative in the past two decades. One of the more nautical ones even made Ruby blush.

Emma didn’t think she was capable of that.

“Storybrooke is a town,” he continues when Ruby quirks a vaguely annoyed eyebrow in his direction. “If you want to get technical. The state of Maine is weird like that. Anything can really be a town, but a city has to be incorporated by a special act of the state legislature.” “Why do you know that?” Emma asks. “And, really? Anything can be a city? There’s not like...a population requirement.” “Usually. But Maine’s a strange place with strange laws and as discussed before, I’ve read some things in the last few years.” “That includes the requirements for a city to be formed?” “Incorporated.” “What a ridiculous word.” Killian hums, but the pinch between his eyebrows is still there and he looks a little cautious. Or nervous. That’s really the word for it. He looks nervous, as if whatever they’ll find out from Cora Mills at the Storybrooke Town Hall is going to change everything.

Ruby still hasn’t let go of Emma’s wrist.

Emma is slightly concerned about the blood flow to her hand.

“The specifics of any of this could not possibly matter less,” Ruby hisses. “Jones, I need you to take a walk towards those very high bushes.” The pinch between his eyebrows is never going to disappear. “Excuse me?” “Did none of these encyclopedias you’ve read teach you how the English language works?” “Why do you think I was reading encyclopedias?” “Were you not?” “I mean,” he shrugs, “maybe at one point. Nemo had some really old ones that were mostly focused on the naval history of the world, but those weren’t very interesting and the pages were really fragile and—” “I do not care,” Ruby shouts, and Emma blinks at the absolute acid in her voice. She tries to yank her arm back to her side, but that works as well as trying to understand the absurd inner-workings of the Maine census bureau and only ends with Emma elbowing herself in the ribs. Ruby huffs dramatically, lips pursed. “A walk,” she repeats. “Towards those bushes where, presumably no one can see you and realize you’re breathing.” “Why are we yelling this?” Emma mumbles. Ruby’s answering glare could probably melt several thousand diamonds.

Her grip could certainly crack them.

And Emma isn’t really sure what’s changed in the car ride from her restaurant to the Storybrooke Town Hall, but there had been a lot of cursing and mumbling about acting like I’m a little kid and sounds like Liam and that second one had made her breath catch in her throat and Ruby was always very good at reading her face.

Which she could see perfectly. From the front seat of Emma’s car.

Oh, damn.

“Maybe just one second,” Emma says, glancing at Killian to find him staring at her like it’s the first time he’s ever seen her. Ruby squeezes her nails into Emma’s wrist. “Or,” she amends. “Like thirteen seconds. Just...to come up with a plan of attack.” Killian clicks his teeth at that, eyebrows lifting, which doesn’t do much to help the very obvious whatever that settles on every inch of his face – something that looks like surprise and feels like disappointment and the buzzing in between Emma’s ears sputters into nothing. He’s chewing on the side of his tongue, a nervous habit he picked up when he was seven and Liam let them watch Friday the 13th on Halloween with the lights off and enough candy to make Emma regret her distinct lack of dental insurance again.

“Huh,” he mutters, barely audible over the sounds of the town.

They’re familiar sounds – a few cars and some kid riding their bike because it’s August and there’s a hint of humidity in the air that’s already starting to make the ends of Emma’s hair curl. She can hear an ice cream truck a few blocks away and mosquitos and someone needs to get their air conditioner checked out because it can’t be good for it to be that noisy.

Emma shifts awkwardly on her feet, trying, and failing, again, to regain control of her right arm, but Ruby must have been a wrestler in another life because she’s got some kind of choke-hold and, clearly, no intention of letting go.

“It’s just thirteen seconds,” Emma says, but her voice sounds like the lie it is and her own nerves are obvious in every single syllable. Killian’s lips twist.

“At least. For your plan of attack.” “We just...you know, we like to be prepared going into stuff like this.” “Murder investigations.” “Well, to be fair, I’m not usually dealing with people who are alive. We’ve got more time and I don’t want to, you know, waste that.” “Seems impossible when you’re used to only a minute,” Killian says, and Emma is single-handedly digging herself into the world’s biggest ditch. She’s a little worried Ruby’s nails have cut her arm.

“You don’t actually have to stand in the bushes.” Ruby scoffs, her own mumbled curses, and Killian’s lips twitch. “I had no intention of standing in the bushes. You better attack though, Swan. Lucas looks like she’s growing talons.” “Claws, honestly.” “I am standing right here,” Ruby seethes.

Emma shrugs, glancing over her shoulder and she hadn’t realized she’d moved away from Ruby. Or closer to Killian. Honestly she’s going to write a twenty-seven page research paper on the possibility of magnets in the real world and how goddamn inconvenient they are.

“And whose fault is that?” Emma asks. “Alright, I really do have garbage health insurance, so if we could avoid bodily harm before we deal with a maybe murderer, that’d be great. C’mon.”

She, finally, regains control of her arm, moving a few feet down the sidewalk and leaving Killian with the car and the anxiety practically radiating off him.

And, really, Emma has every intention of controlling the conversation from the get-go, a determination that’s almost impressive because she’s having a very difficult time remembering to breathe consistently, but then Ruby is in front of her and the sun appears to be reflecting off the highlights in her hair and she’s doing that foot tapping thing.

Emma hates that foot tapping thing.

“Is this where you yell?” Emma asks, Ruby already shaking her head.

“No, this is where I do the asking several very important questions and you tell me the God’s honest truth or I swear to God I will push you in traffic.” “In traffic?” “Is that not threatening enough?”

Emma makes a contradictory noise in the back of her throat. “I feel like people would probably stop their cars. Or I’d still have the ability to dodge. I think I could dodge.” “Your reflexes are not that good,” Ruby promises. “And we are wasting time. Also, do you think Jones knows how to read lips?” “I’ve got no idea.” “What do you know about him?” The question seems unfairly large to start with, but Emma’s got a sinking suspicion that’s not actually one of Ruby’s questions and the weight of disappointment that settles in her gut at the realization that she may not actually have an answer is somewhere close to horrendous.

“Your silence is overwhelming.” Emma blinks, trying to push impossible tears back in their ducts and she’s going to chew her lower lip in half before the day is over. “It’s not...ok, I know that’s not what you wanted to ask, so can we get to the point of this—” “—No, no, I wanted to ask that. Because I think there’s some seriously shady things happening here and a group of goons on some tourist cruise who call some other dude master is a little terrifying, don’t you think?” “I don’t think Killian was working for that guy.” “Do you know that for sure? Can you know that for sure?” Emma bites her lip again. There’s blood in her mouth. It’s disgusting. And Ruby sighs. “All I’m saying is maybe we should be careful and I…” She exhales, eyes going dangerously thin and Emma braces herself for the riot act. What she gets is almost worse. “Are you in love with him? Is it that brand of stupid?”

Emma’s right knee gives out. Only her right one. It’s kind of weird, but that seems to just be the sub-headline of her life now. And, at least, she doesn’t fall down.

So, comparatively…

“No,” Emma says, but the word feels heavy and incorrect and Ruby’s head tilt is almost vibrating with judgment. “No.” “No?”

“No.” “I’m going to tell you that I don’t believe you, but—” “—I killed his brother.”

The words fly out of Emma’s mouth, her eyes widening with her own surprise and the noise Ruby makes is not of this world. It sounds like an alien has settled into her body and realized what a god awful race humans are and then decided, unequivocally, that Emma is the worst of the worst and is now desperate to get off this planet.

The greenhouse gasses are pretty horrible anyway. That’s probably Emma’s fault too.

Ruby brings both her hands to her temples, blinking far too quickly to be anything except jarring and Emma is running out of lip to bite. She moves to her cheek.

“Ok, hold on a second,” Ruby mutters. “That is...when? Recently? I thought he said his brother died when he was ten.” “He did.” “And?” “And what? I…” Emma trails off, yanking on the ends of her humidity-ruined hair. They are going way over their thirteen-second limit. “The very short story is that the EMTs said Ingrid suffered a brain hemorrhage. Incredibly rare, immediately fatal and I...didn’t know that. So—” “—Oh my God, you touched her,” Ruby finishes. This is not the first time she’s heard this particular part of the story. Emma nods. “And that meant that…” Her hand flies to her mouth, but it doesn’t do much to silence the gasp she makes. Emma swats at both of her arms, desperate to quiet her or silence whatever guilt is bouncing around her skull and neither thing works. She can feel Killian casting curious glances their direction.

“I am going to push you in traffic,” Emma warns. “And you will trip over your own heels.” Ruby scowls, absurd with her hand still plastered over her mouth. “You are questionably obsessed with my fashion choices. But Ingrid died. That’s why you had to leave Storybrooke.” “I know. But, ok, you cannot make any noise, do you understand me?” Ruby nods slowly, and there will probably be handprint marks smearing her lipstick. “I came into the kitchen and Ingrid was dead. Sudden and real and I was nine. I didn’t think...I just reacted and then she was alive and I was so happy, but then...well, the universe is a dick and—” Emma can’t bring herself to finish.

The tears on her cheeks are distracting.

Ruby pulls her hand away from her mouth – lipstick somehow in place, which is actually almost comforting – wrapping her fingers around Emma’s wrist in a way that’s even more comforting. “Does he know?”

Emma shakes her head. “No. I didn’t know at first. I had no idea what the rules were or are and I wasn’t trying to do that. I...I loved Liam too and he was so good for Killian and Killian...oh, he idolized him. But then I was leaving and he kept saying I was going to come back and—” “—You didn’t ever come back.” “No.”

“Did you want to?” “Every single day.” Ruby exhales through her teeth, and they’re all going to need extensive dental work by the time this is over. “Ok, so, uh...that leads us almost directly to my number one, top of the list, most important question of all time. Who died to make sure Killian Jones didn’t?” “I have no idea,” Emma admits, those particular words far more difficult to say than a secret she’d like to kept under metaphorical lock and key for the rest of her mortal life.

“Yeah, I figured you were going to say something horrible like that. How does that even work? Is it an age thing? Does it have to be relatively similar.” Emma shrugs. “I think it’s a general proximity thing.” “I was like twenty feet away from you!”

“I wasn’t really thinking,” Emma reasons. “That’s not an excuse, it’s just a fact. I would have been upset if you died.” “Wow, your charity is overwhelming, Em. You know what, I’m going to take all of your reward. Screw that. I didn’t realize I was playing with fire here.” “Metaphorically, I guess.” Ruby kicks at her ankle, nose scrunched. “You make jokes when you're nervous. It’s a coping mechanism.” She grits her teeth, more exaggerated breathing that Emma supposes is warranted in the moment. “And you know what this means?”

“Should I?” “There’s another body somewhere with no reasonable explanation for its death.” Emma’s left knee gives out. “Oh, well, shit.” “That’s eloquent.” “You have something better to suggest?” “Nah,” Ruby says, a grin that feels wholly out of place in a conversation filled with so much death. Emma wishes there weren’t always so much death involved. “But I bet if you ask your boyfriend he’d be able to help. I think he was using some pirate ones before. He seems like a practical treasure trove of frustrated curses.” “Are you making jokes now?” Ruby shrugs, hand moving to Emma’s shoulder. “It’s an observation. And you didn’t contradict boyfriend, just for the record or whatever.” “I don’t have time to be worried about antiquated relationship qualifiers,” Emma mumbles, but the butterflies in her stomach have returned and she wants to know every single thing Killian has learned in the last two decades.

She really doesn’t want to tell him she killed his brother.

On accident.

Kind of.

She wouldn’t mind kissing him again.

“Yeah, sure you don’t,” Ruby laughs. “Alright, well, we’ve got a serious check-list of things we need to accomplish before anyone else realizes we’re trying to accomplish them. No time like the present, right?”

She’s gone before Emma can begin to formulate a response – a twist of red and hair that doesn’t appear prone to humidity and a very particular shine to her shoes that Emma is almost certain she’s developed on her own.

And Killian is exactly where they left him.

He licks his lips as soon as his eyes dart towards Emma, eyebrows raised in silent question. They’d always been very good at that, silent communication that used to drive Ingrid and Liam insane in equal measure until Liam threw his whole head back and taught them morse code so they could at least learn something practical and they used to flash lights at each other from across the street when they were supposed to be asleep.

“Everything alright?” he asks, and Emma makes a noise that is the audible version of the worst lie she’s ever told. “That so?” “I didn’t actually say anything.” “Yeah, you didn’t really have to, did you?” “The mind reading thing isn’t nearly as cute as you think it is.” The tongue stuff has got to stop. It means Emma keeps thinking about Killian’s tongue and that’s a dangerous line of thought and maybe they should get him some new clothes. Seeing him in the clothes he was supposed to be buried in is disconcerting.

“So you think I’m dreamy and cute?” Killian asks, pushing off the car at the same time his eyebrows defy several laws of gravity. Emma swallows. She wonders how much it would hurt to have to get stitches in her lip. “That’s quite a tandem don’t you think?”

“I think you’re way too confident for your own good and it’s going to get us in trouble.” “What other trouble could I possibly get into, Swan? I’ve already been dead once in the last forty-eight hours, seems to cover most of my bases doesn’t it?” Emma sighs. “Can you pull your hat down? There’s too much of your hair showing.”

He does as asked, tugging with almost too much force. “No one is going to notice me,” Killian says, a promise he can’t possibly make in the middle of a town that knows far too much about both of them. “It’s the middle of the day, anyway. Cora’s probably the only person in the building. You know how she hates to delegate, works through lunch and—” “Yeah, uh,” Ruby interrupts, moving back towards the sidewalk and Emma hadn’t even realized she’d gone into the building. “No one’s really doing anything with lunch in there. Or doing much of anything. At all.” “What does that mean?” Emma asks.

“This creepy Cora? She’d likely be at a desk that says mayor on a very fancy plaque? Dark hair? Suit that costs more than my yearly rent?” Killian nods. “All of the above.” “Yeah, she’s very dead.” Both of Emma’s knees give out – and she knows Killian moves, an immediate reaction that is equal parts dreamy and cute and absolutely impossible because she’s not wearing nearly enough clothing and there are rules and he can’t catch her.

She stumbles forward, balance no more than almost precarious as Ruby’s fingers curl around her elbow. “Deep breaths, Em. It’s fine. It’s...you know, it’s fine.” “That was almost as bad as Swan,” Killian mumbles, arm still outstretched like he’ll be able to do something. It takes them all a moment to realize it’s his left arm. He grimaces as soon as his eyes land on the skin there, the sleeve of his shirt hanging over the edge and Emma wants a lot more than she should ever be allowed to even consider, but more than anything she wants to pull his arm into her hands and hold him there and promise it will be ok because he’s ok and it doesn’t matter, none of it matters, them or him or whatever they may be dealing with in the moment, because he looks at her like nothing is wrong.

He looks at her like he’s been hoping to find her every single day he’s woken up and it’s a feeling Emma understands and wants and maybe Ruby is right.

That’s kind of annoying.

Emma hates when Ruby is right. She’s a bad sport about it.

“Did it...well, what do we do?” Killian continues.

Ruby grins. “What we normally do.” “You want to—” He glances at Emma, mouth hanging open. She tries to smile. It fails miserably. “Oh, yeah, ok,” Killian nods, sounding as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Is that ok, Swan?”

She wishes things would stop surprising her. It can’t possibly be good for her blood pressure or the apparently shoddy state of her knees. But he says it with such sincerity and that hat looks absolutely ridiculous, makes the slight point of ears Emma always teased him about when they were little even more obvious, and he keeps having to push the sunglasses they found in the glove compartment up.

Emma nods brusquely. “Yeah, of course. I mean...that’s what you were saying before, right? This is kind of my schtick.” “That’s not what I meant. I just...you were plotting.” “I wasn’t plotting without you.” “That’s not what it looked like.” “Ok, we genuinely do not have time for this,” Ruby says, cutting in before Emma can say something absurdly sentimental and decidedly out of place for what has just become another crime scene. “We have negative amount of time for this. Let’s go talk to creepy Cora Mills and get the hell out of here before someone realizes the lurker in the weird hat is dead.” “He’s not dead,” Emma growls, but Ruby just waves her hands in her face and nods as if that word isn’t kind of offensive.

Killian smiles at her. “It is a kind of weird hat though, Swan.” “It’s not a weird hat! And you’re not dead. Can we please stop using that word? It’s--it’s messing with my head and, like, my lungs and—” “—You’ve got to breathe, love.” “How are you so calm about this?”

They’re frozen in the doorway of the Storybrooke Town Hall, far too close and not close enough. Ruby is tapping her heel on marble tile now. “I’m not,” Killian says with an ease that belies the look on his face. “I’m frustrated and annoyed and pissed off. At the world and Cora Mills and goons one through six and kind of at you for never coming back because I always wanted you to come back and I wondered and—” She can see every single one of his teeth when he cuts himself off, and Emma wishes he’d stop doing that, but she figures it’s kind of unfair to demand proper sentence structure at this point.

“I was dead, Swan,” he says, expression softening when Emma makes a face. “That’s a fact. But then you showed up and changed that and I...well, I wasn’t...if this is as dangerous as it might be then I don’t want anything to happen to you.” “Oh.” It’s the worst response. It’s an absolutely lame response, but Emma’s always been a little worried that she’s missing some fundamental piece of her empathy chip and she twists her arms behind her back again to stop herself from touching him.

“Oh?” “Oh,” Emma repeats, whatever disgusted sound Ruby makes at their distinct lack of conversational progress bouncing off the far too ostentatious walls around them. “I—well, that was kind of nice.” “That was kind of the goal.” “Right. Right, well, mission accomplished, I guess. And, uh...that hat came from a baking contest a couple years ago.” “You were in a baking contest?” “You were making jokes about award-winning pie, but it’s almost true. The five-berry one was described as something close to life-changing.” “Seems to be a trend,” Killian mutters. He moves his hand again, a quick brush of fingertips over the curve of Emma’s shoulder and he shakes his head as soon as she tries to tell him to stop that, God. “That was the last time. Just...making sure.” Emma doesn’t have to ask what he means – knows he’s making sure she’s there and real and this would almost make more sense if it were some very lucid dream. But she figures she wouldn't want to torture herself even in a dream and Emma’s inability to touch a guy she maybe hopes could be referred to as her boyfriend in regular conversation is something she’ll have to contend with eventually. Once they solve his murder and the trail of bodies that seem to be piling up behind him.

“Let’s go,” Ruby groans from the other end of the hallway.

“It’s not like Cora’s getting up and walking away,” Emma mutters, working a laugh out of Killian.

“At least not yet. C’mon, love, I’d rather Cora’s assistant didn’t find us while we were in the middle of this.”

Cora Mills, mayor of Storybrooke since, quite possibly, the dawn of time, looks almost exactly the way Emma remembers her.

There’s more gray to her hair, a few more wrinkles around her eyes, but she’s still got an air of superiority around her that sets Emma’s teeth on edge. Her suit definitely cost a ridiculous amount of money and the manicure looks nearly immaculate – except on her right hand. It’s not the whole thing, but three of her fingers are missing nails and—

“Oh my God, Cora Mills gets acrylic nails,” Emma laughs.

“Is that a clue of some sort?” Killian asks, earning more laughter for more sincerity and it is really getting very difficult not to hold his hand.

“Ah, I like that you said clues. And, no, well, maybe, but...I guess it’s just funny. Acrylic nails are so...tacky.” “Ok, that’s not true at all,” Ruby argues. She’s already picking her way through piles of paperwork, a determined look on her face that usually ends in several stacks of bills untraceable by the IRS. “These aren’t just acrylic. They’re gel and hard gel at that.” “I feel like she’s speaking in code,” Killian says, perched on the edge of Cora’s desk.

Emma lifts her eyebrows. “Should you be up there?” “What’s she going to do to stop me?” “Jesus,” Ruby growls. “The flirting is honestly disgusting. Also, I am not speaking in code. I am speaking in spa.” “What’s the difference?” “The difference is that hard gel eventually becomes, as its name implies, hard enough to basically be an extension of the nail. Getting those off is some kind of serious bitch. You’ve got to be totally committed to the color.” “None of this makes sense,” Emma fumes, bobbing on her feet and she’s unreasonably nervous to touch a dead person in front of Killian. “Can I just touch her so we can get out of here?” Ruby doesn’t look up from the papers she’s leafing through when she answers. “No one is stopping you, but you’re missing a very important point.” “You lord information over other people when you want to feel in control of a situation.” “And why do you think might I feel out of control in this particular situation?” “Oh, shit, no I get it,” Killian says, jumping off the desk with enough enthusiasm that Emma is really starting to wonder if time travel is possible. “Fuck, that’s not great, is it?” “We won’t know until Emma touches her.” Emma rolls her whole head. “What am I missing?” “Lucas is right, we won’t know until Cora tells us, but,” Killian starts, grinning like a maniac who just discovered what was underneath that one man hole on Main Street, “If hard gel requires a commitment to the color scheme, that means it would take one hell of a fight to pull the nails off, right?” Ruby nods, something that feels like PI pride hanging off her shoulders. “And that means that Cora didn’t just die under natural circumstances.” “I kind of figured that part was obvious considering your rather untimely murder,” Ruby muses. “But I wasn’t sure there was a fight until I noticed Madam Mayor’s rather grimy hands. She didn’t go down quietly.” “If you knew Cora, you’d understand that’s very in character.” “Well, I feel as if it’s time for me to meet the great and powerful Oz.” “That wasn’t funny,” Emma mumbles. Ruby laughs anyway. “Alright,” she huffs, jumping up and down as if that will work out her influx of nervous energy. Killian smirks at her. “I am nervous about this with you here.” “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Ruby gags. Again. For at least twenty-one seconds straight. “There is a dead person here. Let’s try and keep some perspective. Also what did you say about that assistant?” “Aurora was terrified of Cora,” Killian reasons. “I doubt she’ll be back before the end of lunch. And you’ve got nothing to be worried about, Swan. It’s not going to change anything.” He can’t possibly mean it the way it sounds, but Emma’s brain doesn’t care. It latches to those words and that particular curve of his lips, confident in her and whatever magic she may be in possession of to fix things and control things she shouldn’t be able to control. Killian nods again when Emma wavers, his smile shifting slightly when he raises his right hand to cover his eyes.

“That better?” he asks.

Emma has to look down to make sure her entire body has not exploded into flames. It has not. That’s nice. “Yeah,” she breathes. “That’s...that’s good.”

“Can we get on with it?” Ruby drawls. She’s started opening drawers.

“You may want to move,” Emma suggests. “Sometimes they can get a little flaily when they just wake up.” “Oh, yeah, good point.” She takes the whole drawer with her when she steps to the other side of the office.

Emma takes a deep breath, tugging her phone out of her pocket and setting the timer and she’s almost pleased to notice that her finger doesn’t shake when she brushes over Cora’s hand. Killian’s fingers shift.

He’s still smiling.

And Cora does, in fact, flail. Her limbs are everywhere, impossibly agile and decidedly threatening, even with a few less nails than she’s normally used to. She jerks back as soon as Emma touches her, eyes crazed with a snarl on her face that’s only slightly intimidating.

Her head snaps around, taking in her surroundings as if she’s surprised to find herself still in the office where she, presumably, died a few minutes earlier.

“Oh,” Cora says, some of the fight almost visibly falling off her. “That’s—” She glances around again, and the curse she growls at all of them as soon as her eyes land on Killian is enough to make Emma’s hair curl without any humidity involved. ‘No, no, no,” Cora stammers. “What the hell are you doing here?” “That’s the million dollar question isn’t it?” Killian asks. “Who killed you, Cora?” “Where’s your hand?”

“Full of tact as always, ma’am.” “That’s not a question of tact, although if you’d like to discuss upbringing, I’d be only too happy to share some thoughts on your uncles and what they’ve done to that beautiful house.” “Did you think I had both of my hands when I died?”

“I didn’t think they’d take it, no.” “They?” “Listen,” Emma interrupts. “You’ve got like...fifty seconds to tell us everything that’s happened to you today and why you’re missing nails.” Cora blinks. “I wasn’t going to sit there and take it. That goon—” “—A goon,” Ruby cuts in. “What kind of goon?” “Is this heaven? Because that’s...well, that’s a little surprising, honestly.” “It’s not heaven,” Killian promises. “But there’s the possibility for some serious karmic retribution if you answer our questions. I make no guarantees about where you’ll end up, although I imagine not being a complete and utter harpy can only help you.” Cora laughs, dark and threatening. “Oh, you were always far too confident for your own good, Jones. I’d imagine the people who killed me are the same people who got rid of you. Although why they brought you back to Storybrooke, I’ll never understand.” “Is that why you offered the reward?” Ruby asks. “Covering your own ass?” “That’s a little crass, but sufficient.” “Who were these people?” Killian presses. “You never actually said.” “And yet you were only all too happy to agree weren’t you? Desperate to get out of this town and away from this life. It was the perfect opportunity for both of us.” “Explain that.”

Cora bristles at the command, Emma still sitting there silent and nervous and she hates how knowing the gaze that flashes towards her is. “Oh,” Cora says. “There’s something interesting about you, isn’t there? And it...it matches up with his.” Emma jerks her head up. “Who’s what?” “Jones. Can’t you feel that? Ah, well maybe you can’t, but that’s always been my own particular talent. That’s why they recruited me of course.” “Who?” Killian shouts, standing up and Emma hears Ruby’s breath hitch. He’s furious, that much is obvious, but it’s more than that, a hint of darkness and frustration that wasn’t there when they were kids and it makes him feel taller and more threatening than anything else in that room. “You’re running out of time here, Cora. Straight answers.” “Fine,” she snaps. “Sit down, you’re acting like a petulant child. I’ve...well, I’ve been endowed with several gifts in my life and one of my more...appealing gifts is the ability to see into someone’s heart.” “What?” “If you’d like an explanation, then it’s probably in your best interest not to interrupt.” Killian doesn’t sit down, but he doesn’t say anything else and Emma moves to the front of her seat when his fingers wrap around the back of her chair. “As I was saying,” Cora continues. “I’m rather good at seeing what people want. Deepest desires and darkest feelings, those hopes and needs we’ve done our best to hide away from the rest of the world. And our mutual employer found that very interesting. He wanted someone with your particular abilities to help him, Mr. Jones.” “I don’t have any particular abilities,” Killian says. Emma hopes she doesn’t crack the chair.

Cora shakes her head, smile turning mocking. “I believed that for a very long time too, but that’s not true. I can see it, Mr. Jones and I can feel it. It’s...not quite as strong as Ms. Swan, yes, I remember you too, but it’s there. And it seems to time up very well with hers.” “With my what?” Emma demands, almost too aware of the ticking seconds on her phone.

“Why your magic, of course. Both of you. It’s admittedly unfortunate that you had to die for it, Mr. Jones, but I’d imagine you walked right into it.”

“There’s no magic here,” Killian says, but Cora is already shaking her head and looking far too smug. She narrows her eyes.

“The darkness is always interested in finding more of us whenever he can.” Emma freezes, mouth hanging open and breath coming in decidedly unattractive pants. Killian curses – loudly. And they almost suffer another disaster, a case of proximity and the whims of the universe, but Ruby’s shrill Emma, fuck wakes her up and she more or less slaps Cora across the face.

It’s oddly satisfying.

None of them say anything. There’s not much to say. Magic is a child’s story, but Emma can wake the dead and make sure they stay dead and the buzzing in her head roared to life at Cora’s words, like it was reveling in them and there’s got to be an explanation for this.

This explanation, however, only seems to spark more questions.

That’s less satisfying.

“So,” Ruby says, eventually breaking the silence and Cora looks worse now than she did when they first found her. “That uh...didn’t really help us much at all, did it?”

“None of that made sense,” Killian mutters. “That’s—”

“—You going to tell me that magic is impossible when you just watched your girlfriend undead and redead someone?” “There’s got to be a better way of phrasing that,” Emma mumbles. She lets her head drop forward, colliding with the wood of the desk painfully.

Ruby makes a noise that is, hopefully, an agreement. “Yeah, probably. So, uh...you do anything magical recently, Jones?” “That’s the part that doesn’t make any sense,” he says. “I never even learned how to do card tricks. I...I wanted to get out of Storybrooke and Cora gave me an avenue to do that while helping Nemo. That’s all there was to it.” “Still doesn’t help us much as far as figuring out who you were both, apparently, working for.” “She said him,” Emma whispers, the realization striking her like lightning and several other natural disasters. She hears Killian shift, letting go of the chair to move around her and he’s crouched next to her when she moves her head. “Cora, I mean. Whatever she was talking about with magic. She said the darkness is looking for that, but she said him. As in a human male.” “Or an alien male,” Ruby suggests. “Let’s be as inclusive as possible. Could even be an animal, right? A really dangerous...dark cat? What’s a terrifying animal? Oh, God, what about an alligator? Right, right? Apex predator.”

“It’s a crocodile,” Killian mutters. His knees must be killing him. He doesn’t try to stand up. “Those jaws could snap a whole person right in half. Plus, they’re scaly, so that just makes them untrustworthy. Thoughts, Swan?”

Emma can’t shrug when she’s more or less draped across a dead mayor’s desk and they are pressing their luck staying that office with the same dead mayor, but she makes a valiant effort and that’s really all she can ask of herself right now. “You said it was shady, didn’t you? The whole thing on the boat—ship, yeah, God, that’s...it’s stupid that you keep doing that.” “It’s a control thing,” Killian admits with a smile. “But, yeah, it felt incredibly shady. And...wrong.” “What does that mean?” “I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like a complete and total crazy person. “Try me.”

Killian sighs, but it’s not frustration. It’s more nerves and concern and Emma knows part of that, most of it really, is directed at her. She’s going to give herself carpal tunnel from tensing her fists so often. “It felt wrong,” he starts. “I don’t...it was like I could hear it.” Emma’s elbow falls off the desk. She’s very glad she’s already sitting down. “You could hear what? Exactly?” “Buzzing?” “Why was that a question?” “Because you seem to already have a very strong idea of what my answer was going to be, Swan.”

“God,” Ruby chuckles. “When this is all over, Jones, remind me to offer you a job. You’re incredibly good at reading people.” He shakes his head, eyes not leaving Emma. “Just her.”

The rush of everything that shoots from the top of Emma’s head to the very tips of her toes isn’t quite as overwhelming as it probably should be. She’s got her suspicions about that – the look on Killian’s face and how goddamn blue his eyes are and whatever his mouth does when, she assumes, he feels it too – but Emma’s never been very good at actually voicing her emotions.

And Killian has always known anyway.

Plus Ruby would probably make fun of them.

“Did you feel that?” Emma asks softly, another unnecessary question. They need to get out of Storybrooke. She’s going to bake twenty-six pies. At least.

Killian nods. “Did you hear that?” “The buzzing?” “The buzzing.” “Yeah, I did.” “Ok, good.” “Good?” Emma echoes, and her voice cracks traitorously on the word. Killian moves, shifting his weight back onto his heels as soon as she presses her lips back together. He wiggles his fingers, like he’s trying to stop himself from touching her and Emma is fairly sure she doesn’t imagine his mumbled fuck it before he reaches forward, stopping just short of the bend in her knee. He doesn’t touch her.

That’s for the best.

Or so she’ll tell herself on loop while she bakes those twenty-six pies.

“It means we’re both equally crazy,” Killian mutters, Ruby cackling at the sentiment. Emma blinks, not quite crying, but drifting dangerously close and her shoulders droop when she exhales loudly.

“Yeah, I think it might be exactly that.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled all of that,” Ruby announces, stuffing what appear to be a few receipts into her jacket pocket, “let’s say we evacuate the crime scene, do a little bit more research on some kind of mythical darkness from the outer reaches of space and then maybe get Jones some new clothes to wear?” "I really don’t think we’re dealing with aliens,” Emma reasons.

“And where exactly do you suggest we get me new clothes?” Killian adds, holding his arm out when Emma moves towards the office door. She mutters gentleman under her breath and he winks at her. “I don’t know that some kind of makeover montage is really in order,” Ruby sticks her tongue out. “I have clothes.” “I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my balance in your heels.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re absolutely hysterical. And you couldn’t even hold your own in my heels. But you might be able to do something in some t-shirts.” “At least solve a few more crimes.” “I think we’re still just dealing with one.” “Small miracles,” Emma mumbles. “Although you should get some new clothes. These are…” She doesn’t finish – not sure if it’s offensive or just plain ridiculous, but they were also just talking about aliens, so Emma figures she’s well within her right when it comes to ridiculous.

“Yeah, it is a little macabre, isn’t it?” Killian asks.

“Good word.” “Voracious reader with a very smart vocabulary.” “Is that what you tell all the girls when you meet them?” He snorts. Ruby groans. “No,” Killian says. “That’s what Shakespeare used to say when I’d use that same smart vocabulary to tell him that no one was interested in hearing another soliloquy.” “Did he recite soliloquies often?” “Almost as often as he liked to critique my clothing choices. He was never very big on the leather jackets.” Emma’s reaction to that is one-hundred percent more ridiculous than the alien idea. “Huh.” The tips of Killian’s ears go red.

“That was super smooth, Em,” Ruby mutters, ushering them both back into the hallway as soon as the footsteps in the hallway start to grow louder. “But I’m not super interested in getting arrested this afternoon, so, if you two would be so kind…”

Emma nods quickly, Killian tugging his hat further down and pushing the sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. They’re back in the car, key turning in the ignition when they hear, what Emma assumes, is Aurora’s scream.

“How did you decide you wanted to open a pie place?”

Emma tilts her head, several hours after a fashion clinic in Ruby’s apartment and Ruby’s absolute refusal to explain why she had so much disposable clothing of the men-type variety. “Pie place,” she repeats slowly, stirring the mixture in front of her.

Killian grabs a strawberry.

“Ok, stop that,” Emma snaps, but there’s a distinct lack of annoyance in her voice. It’s almost too obvious how easily he’s charming her. “We’re not going to have anything to put in the pie. And this was your idea.” It was – laden down with at least a week’s worth of clothes and a few options for shirts because, you know, you need some extra shirts, Jones, Killian and Emma had walked back to her restaurant, slightly cautious steps because, for the first time since this had all started, there was a break in the action and a lull in the momentum and he asked if she’d bake something.

“I can help,” Killian added quickly, flashing her a smile, her smile , and Emma couldn’t argue with that. He’d probably been banking on that.

“And it was a very good idea,” Killian says. “I’m just trying to spark some conversation while you do whatever it is you’re doing. What is it you’re doing, incidentally?” “Making crust.” “You make your crust?” “Oh my God, that’s honestly the rudest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Killian shakes his head, reaching forward to try and steal a handful of raspberries. “That can’t possibly be true.” “It is and then some,” Emma promises. “You think I...what? Use frozen pie crust in my actual pie restaurant? That’s ghastly.” He nearly chokes on his handful of raspberries. “Did you just suggest that frozen pie crust is ghastly? Did that really just happen?” “It is. It’s all processed and there’s way too much sugar in it and it’s not good. It’s...there’s no feeling involved.” Killian doesn’t freeze, exactly, but it’s awfully close and Emma wonders if, maybe, some of Cora’s claimed magic has shifted to him. Like a magical barnacle. She kind of feels as if he can see straight into her or through her, she’s not sure which is worse.

“You bake with a lot of feeling, Swan?”

“No,” Emma grumbles. She needs to find a whisk. And buttermilk. “Can you open the fridge for me? And if you try and steal any more of my filling, I’m going to hide all your clothes on you and then what will you do?” “That seems to suggest you think I won’t leave the apartment in your clothes.”

“I bet you a magillion dollars you would not do that.” His shoulders shake with his laugh – the sound finding its way to Emma’s ears despite most of his head pushed into the refrigerator. “How many zeros would you say are in a magillion? Also what am I looking for in here? You haven’t actually given me any instructions.” “Oh, uh, buttermilk and just like...as much butter as you can carry.”

“That is not very specific.” “I don’t need it to be specific.” Killian glances at her over his shoulder, a wry look on his face and the prickle of something at the base of Emma’s skull kind of feels like sticking her hand into a fire. It’s not uncomfortable, just little brushes of warmth and familiarity, but she’s a little worried about getting burned by the whole, entire thing.

She wishes she’d stop thinking in metaphor.

“Isn’t baking some kind of exact science?” Killian asks. “I always thought you had to follow a baking recipe to the letter.” “Whoever told you that was a great, big, enormous liar.” “Wow, that is just...a sweeping judgment.” Emma shrugs. “It’s true. Baking is, well, at least for me, it’s instinctual. God, did that sound as weird out loud as I think it did?” “It didn’t.” He has to bump the refrigerator door closed with his hip, which probably shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “But it did sound as if you’re baking with a little bit more than feeling, love. So, let’s have it. Why’d you open the pie place?” Emma considers her answer for a moment – the idea of lying about it particularly appealing, but then he’s dumping ten sticks of butter onto her counter and there’s a jug of buttermilk pinned to his side with his blunted arm and anything except the absolute truth seems entirely unfair.

To both of them.

“It always felt like home,” Emma says. “And I’m...well, at the risk of sounding like a melodramatic idiot, this is something I’m really good at.” “That’s not melodramatic. It’s not entirely true, but it’s not melodramatic.” “You don’t know enough about me to know it’s not true.” Killian shakes his head, the smile on his face making it very difficult to come up with all those reasons Emma was so certain of a few seconds before. “I think I still know you pretty well. And I know you’re far too hard on yourself. It’s not necessary. Although,” he adds, grabbing a stick of butter and a knife, “you want these chopped?” “Yes, into, like...just, you know follow the lines on the wrapper? Was that your follow-up question?” “No, no, I just figured I should continue to pull my weight around here.” “It’s been kind of a ridiculous few days, I think you could get a pass.” Another head shake. This one is a little more tired and a little more anxious and several of Emma’s internal organs lurch at the sight. “I’d be very interested in knowing every single about you from the last twenty years.” She giggles. An honest to God, real life giggle. It feels like it bubbles straight out of her soul and explodes into rainbows and those little animated hearts that showed up on the Saturday morning cartoons they used to watch when they were kids, the ones that always showed how in love a character was.

Damn, Emma hates when Ruby is right.

“What do you want to know?” Emma asks, and Killian beams. While cutting up butter.

They’re sitting on the floor of the kitchen twenty minutes later, pie in the oven and a bowl of berries in between them – We’re getting real berries, Swan, if you’re going to bake the pie, the least you can do is eat it too – and Emma knows her teeth are stained blue. It doesn’t seem to be bothering Killian, who doesn’t seem to have an end to his list of questions.

“Ok, what about prom?” “What about it?” “Did you go?” “And you dare to suggest you know me.” He rolls his head onto his shoulder, unimpressed. “I don’t need to rehash old points of the conversation, Swan. An answer, please and thank you.” “No,” Emma shakes her head. “I was...somewhere at that point, shit, when are you supposed to go to prom?” “I don’t know, I didn’t go.” “You didn’t go?” “Do you know me? It was far too middle America. I had no use for corsages or tuxedos or spending all that money on a limo to just stand awkwardly on a dance floor. Plus, you know, it’d probably help to have some friends who would want to go. Or a girl.” He mumbles the last few words, refusing to meet Emma’s gaze and she hates how stunned she is. She’s incredibly stunned. “God, what a bunch of idiots.” “Who? Me and you?” “No, well, yes, but mostly the teenage population of Storybrooke whenever you’re technically supposed to go to prom. Probably like sixteen, right? They’re the idiots. I bet you’d be a great dancer anyway.” Killian chuckles, soft and still a little nervous, which makes Emma’s organs react again, but she’s also pretty positive she can feel something in the admittedly minimal amount of space between them and it might be magic.

She kind of hopes it’s magic.

It feels a lot like what she thinks magic would feel like.

“That’s an awful lot of confidence you’re throwing my direction, Swan.” “I’m not throwing it,” Emma argues. “I’m placing it. Lightly. At your feet. Which I’m sure are incredibly rhythmic.” “I’d at least be able to ask Shakespeare for some lessons. I’m sure he’s got tips.” Emma hums, not entirely in agreement, but mostly in contentment. “When’d you get your first leather jacket?” “I was fourteen.” “Wow, a bad boy from a very young age.” “Nah, a wanna-be. Mostly because I thought it’d make me look cool and, well...I remembered Liam having one when he was younger.” Emma doesn’t gasp. She’s proud of herself for that. She does, however, lick her lips and that might be worse because Killian notices and that means Killian is looking at her lips. It suddenly feels impossibly warm in her kitchen.

“That must have been before I got to Storybrooke,” Emma murmurs, and Killian nods.

“Yeah, I think it must have been. Ok. What about…movie...snack?” “Popcorn. With melted malt balls on top.” Killian makes a scandalized noise, complete with tongue and that only means Emma is also staring at her lips. Maybe they are the idiots of this story. “That is disgusting,” he proclaims. “How do you make that?” “Oh, it’s a very refined recipe. Lots of boiling and melting and—” She can’t help but laugh when he gapes at her, some of the tension twisting in between her shoulders loosening at the color of his eyes. “C’mon. I use a microwave. It’s the least complex thing I make.”

“That still sounds disgusting. It can’t be very healthy.” “Strangely enough I’m not thinking about my blood pressure when I’m watching movies.” “Favorite?” “Hmmmm?” “Your favorite movie,” Killian says, pausing between every word as if Emma is under oath and the fate of several different galaxies rests on her answer. They’re not actually dealing with aliens. “When we were kids it was—” “—Still is. That, uh...that hasn’t changed.”

He’s silent for a moment, another far too charged moment with irregular temperatures and the growing scent of a pie with way more berries than the recipe called for hanging in the air. And then he’s moving, reaching up towards the counter and knocking the roll of saran wrap on the floor, plastic spilling at his feet.

“Ah, damn,” Killian sighs. “That’s not nearly as romantic as I was hoping it would be.” Emma clicks her tongue. “I think it went ok.” “Something about kissing, right? At the end? Most passionate, most pure...this one left them all behind. That’s how it goes?” “Yeah,” she breathes, yanking off a far-too-long sheet of saran wrap. “Is this a kissing book?” “I’d very much like it to be.”

Emma giggles again – straight into the plastic and against his mouth and she sees him shift, doing his best to keep any other limbs away from her and how much she wants to touch his goddamn hair. They stay in each other's space for a moment, quick kisses that turn back into longer ones that turn into quick and bruising and a slew of other adjectives that probably look ridiculous to anything else.

It feels a little life-changing to Emma.

Killian is the first one to make a noise that time, a victory of the make-out variety for Emma and her distinct lack of make-out experience. He opens his mouth against her, like he wants to tug on her lower lip or do something that involves the tongue that’s been distracting her all day, and both of those are impossible. Emma appreciates the effort.

“I stole gloves from Ruby’s apartment,” Killian mumbles through the plastic against her chin, and Emma startles at that.

“Is that code?” “We should come up with a code. I bet that’d infuriate Ruby.” “You’ve known Ruby for point two seconds and you’re already trying to infuriate her?” “Don’t forget stealing from her. That’s really the important part.” “Why’d you steal glove?” Emma asks, still a little breathless and a little giggly and a little something after all those kisses. And she kind of knows the answer.

Killian kisses her through the crumpled-up plastic again. “To hold your hand.”

“Emma. Emma, are you there?” Emma blinks blearily, trying to take in her surroundings and there isn’t anything there. She’s standing on nothing, nothing but darkness around her and a distinct lack of anything. The voice yells her name again.

“What the hell…” Emma starts, stumbling backwards when she blinks and there are two people standing in front of her.

The woman is shorter than the man, dark hair in a pixie cut and a soft look to her eyes that feels like it could wrap around Emma and protect her for the rest of forever and, at the same time, cut down anyone who dared to threaten that. The man isn’t much taller than Killian, hair almost sandy in color and a set of his jaw that feels far too familiar.

Emma curses. It’s distinctly piratical.

The woman’s eyebrows leap. “Oh,” she mutters, but the man is laughing and he sounds kind of proud. “Well, that was...I mean, that’s fair.”

“What is going on?” Emma demands.

“You have to listen to us, Emma. This is important and there isn’t much time. But...things are happening now that have been destined to happen since, well, the dawn of time—” “—What?” “Don’t interrupt,” the man chides. He’s smiling at Emma. And it all feels like déjà vu and answers to questions Emma’s never wanted to ask for fear of what she’ll find out. She bites her tongue.

“It’s going to get difficult, sweetheart,” the woman continues. “But it won’t always be like that. You won’t always be like that. And, I promise, he’ll understand.” Emma blinks. “Who? Who will understand, what?”

“It’s going to be worth it, Emma. No matter what you think. Love is always worth it.”

Emma opens her mouth to ask what the hell are you talking about again, but she takes a breath and everything shimmers and her phone is ringing.

“You’ve got to answer that, love,” Killian mumbles, back on the living room floor with a glove on his right hand and fingers brushing Emma’s forearm.

Emma shakes her head, trying to get rid of metaphorical and possible literal cobwebs and she’s already having a difficult time remembering what she just saw. She grabs her phone off the coffee table, nearly hitting her head in the process and Ruby is already talking as soon as Emma swipes her thumb across the screen.

“Em,” she says sharply. “You’ve got to get down here. They found another body.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #one foot in #MAGIC #MAKING OUT #MAYOR MILLS BEING A PROBLEM #nailed the alliteration #i'm still sad about the rangers that's my excuse for everything

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artbyblastweave · 2 years

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My crack headcanon for Steven Universe is that the townies have had to deal semi-regularly with gem monsters and gem weirdness on their own, and basically every adult in town has had to take down at least one when the Crystal Gems were occupied somewhere else.

I’ve got exactly three compelling pieces of evidence for this-

In Island Adventure, Sadie, a run-of-the-mill twenty-something who works in retail and has been trapped on an island for a week and a half, manages to skewer an invisible gem monster with a pointed stick. This accomplishment takes a complete backseat to the interpersonal drama, and it’s never brought up as a salient accomplishment or point of character development. Also, this implicitly puts gem monsters in a... pretty low bracket, in terms of things early humans could successfully hunt. The stick didn’t even have flint on the end.

In Bubble Buddies, The boat at the docks as a weapons-grade harpoon on it. Not clear what that’s for.

Vidalia, who keeps her garage open to vent the paint fumes, has a shotgun for home defense in one of the most human-on-human crime-free towns in fiction.

If you roll with this, the general disinterest/ ingratitude/ occasional disdain exhibited by the townies towards the gems makes a lot more sense. They don’t ever seem to acknowledge that the gems are essential for the town’s defense because, in practice, they aren’t. Bar the truly apocalyptic mid-to-end-of-series stuff, and a few particularly pernicious monsters like the pufferfish, 80 percent of all gem-related messes are things the townies can potentially deal with if need be. And many of the ones they had no chance of containing (Onion Trade, Ocean Gem, the melon uprising) were created by the crystal gems themselves.

I’m gonna have some difficulty articulating this next part, but I think there’s some value to a read of the story where the CGs have an inflated sense of their own necessity, and the stakes are vastly lower than what’s presented.

It changes the dynamic of the “fitting in” episodes a lot, to start, because putting the gems on a more even footing with the townies centers the part about alienated loners being brought into the fold, and mitigates the sense that the gems actually do have license to blow off the civilians in the name of their mission. .

It adds an extra layer of tragedy to Steven’s Atlas Complex, because he’s being groomed for a role that isn’t strictly necessary, or at least doesn’t need to dominate his life to the degree it would if you assume that only the gems are capable of handling stuff; it reinforces everything he says in Mr. Universe.

It hammers home Future’s arc about how Steven’s flashy innate powers were always kind of beside the point in terms of how most problems actually got solved, and the problem BEING that Steven has power in excess of any practical application- because now you can backdate that issue to the gems as a group during the monster-hunting period of the series.

And, like, these are beats the series was hitting already, particularly with the Mayor Kofi stuff in season 5. But I did sometimes feel like there was a tension with the fact that the gems were, to some degree, actually All That, and so Future reads more as the fallout of asking a kid to take up a necessary burden that they don’t get the gravity of, and the tragedy of things aligning so that they have to do that. I’m looking to hollow out the whole premise a little bit, jam in a few more questions about how much any of what happened was necessary.

#steven universe #meta #thoughts #su #steven universe meta

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mintaka14 · 3 years

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This is a bit of something that got in my way while I was working on the ML ballet AU. Turns out I still have a grain or two of Lila salt in me. Quickspinner’s Out of Your League (from the All That Remains collection) needs the credit for a bit of backstory that I had in mind here. And yes, this is Lukanette. Always.

Lila wasn’t above using her mother’s sense of guilt to her own advantage. She also had no problem with feeding that guilt. A few sighs and teary comments when her mother (yet again) had to cancel on Lila to deal with something at the embassy, or a subtle reminder about all the times Lila had been left on her own in their apartment was all grist to the mill, and Lila had to admit that it had paid off in a big way this time.

Her mother had pulled every string and favour at her disposal for Lila’s birthday party, and Jagged Stone himself was going to be putting in an appearance. Lila was jubilant.

She watched the ballroom at the embassy – how her mother had managed that one Lila didn’t know, and honestly didn’t care – filling up with her classmates and everyone she’d ever met, and she allowed herself a satisfied smile.

Of course, Marinette wasn’t there. Lila had had an enjoyable month of it, tormenting the goody-two-shoes over it, and the beautiful part was that no one had even caught a hint of what she was really doing. She hadn’t been so crass as to leave Marinette out of the party invitations, oh no! She had handed the girl a gilt-edged invite with her most charming, and insincere, smile as she made a point of telling Marinette how much she hoped that Marinette would be there. Their classmates had eaten it up with a spoon, falling all over Lila to tell her how generous and forgiving she was, given the way Marinette had been so hostile to her, and all the while Lila had smiled sweetly and watched Marinette twist in the trap.

If Marinette begged off the party, she was the bad guy for refusing Lila’s olive branch. If Marinette came, then Lila won, and she would get to watch Marinette swallow her pride and suffer all night, or crack and create drama. Either way, it was all good, and Lila had had fun making little digs and comments about the party in front of Marinette for the weeks leading up to it.

As Lila accepted everyone’s tributes and praise, greeting each new arrival with becoming diffidence and subtly trying to gauge the worth of each gift that they piled on the table at the entrance, she came to the conclusion that Marinette had decided not to put in an appearance. Her smile grew wider.

“Lila!” Alya had arrived, and swept her into a hug, surveying the ballroom, and the tables of food, with an impressed eye. Behind her, Nino grinned and bobbed his head in greeting. “Amazing party, girl. And I can’t believe you got Jagged Stone to come!”

Lila gave her a modest smile. “It’s all about who you know, and Jagged was more than happy to come when he heard it was for my birthday.” She looked around as if searching for something, and made her eyes wide and hopeful. “Did… did Marinette come with you?”

Alya shifted uncomfortably. “Er… Marinette couldn’t make it. But she asked me to wish you a happy birthday.”

Oh, no, she didn’t, Lila thought, suppressing the smirk that pulled at the corners of her mouth. Alya, you liar.

She forced her face into a sorrowful pout with just the right touch of hurt. “It’s okay. It would have been nice if we could put aside whatever this grudge is that Marinette has against me just for once, but I guess not…”

Alya and Nino smiled awkwardly. And then her mother touched her arm, a harried expression on her face as she drew Lila away out of earshot for a moment.

“Lila, sweetheart, there’s some bad news,” her mother said anxiously, and Lila felt her smile slip a little. “We’ve just had word that Jagged Stone had to cancel at the last minute.”

“What do you mean, Jagged Stone cancelled?” Lila almost shrieked. A few heads turned towards them, and Lila brought herself back under control before they could overhear. “Mama, you need to fix this. Get him back!”

“Sweetheart, I can’t. His agent said it was unavoidable, and they’re paying the late cancellation fine in the contract. At this late notice I can’t get anyone else to come instead.”

Lila let her eyes fill with tears – she’d practised tearing up in front of her mirror, but in this case the tears were very real.

“Mama,” she insisted, and the harried lines on her mother’s face deepened.

“You’ll still have a lovely party,” her mother said weakly. “The food is wonderful, and you still have the DJ for entertainment.”

“But I told everyone that Jagged Stone was coming!”

“I’m so sorry, darling.” Her head turned towards the doorway, where an aide was waving a phone at her. “I have to go take this call.”

The moment that her mother had turned away, Lila’s mouth pinched with anger and frustration, and she barely stopped herself from stamping her foot.

“Hey girl, is everything okay?”

She heard Alya’s voice call out to her, and she smoothed out her face, spinning around with artificial enthusiasm. Several of their classmates were clustered behind Alya, and she turned a smile on them as well.

“So,” Alya continued, “we’re all really excited! When’s Jagged getting here?”

Lila gave a moue of only slightly exaggerated disappointment.

“Can you believe it?” she sighed, one hand fluttering up to her chest. “Jagged had to cancel. It was last minute, and I’m so worried it’s because that awful throat condition of his has flared up again.” Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh no! You can’t tell anyone about it, no one is supposed to know, but that was why he couldn’t do the zoom call with the class last month like he’d promised.”

There was a ripple of sympathy and concern through her classmates, but then Alix made a sceptical noise at the back of the group.

“Throat condition? But you said it was sunspot interference with the internet connection.”

“No, I was trying to keep his throat problems secret-“

“It was Clara Nightingale you said had a serious throat condition, and that was why she had to cancel helping out with the charity auction like she’d told you,” Alix interrupted.

“No, that was Jagged-“

“If recall accurately,” Max spoke up, “and I do, Clara Nightingale had the throat condition. I could have Markov replay the conversation,” he added helpfully, and Lila spun around in dismay.

“No, that’s not-“

“There have been a lot of cancellations,” Alix said in growing suspicion. Lila could see the faces around her registering confusion, and there was a growing murmur as her classmates tallied things up. She had to stop this before they came to the realisation that…

“What about that interview you promised me with Ladybug?” Alya was asking her, her voice sharp. “The one that got cancelled because of an akuma, except I could never find anything about that akuma, and you never rescheduled. And that meeting that Nino was supposed to have with that director?”

Nino wasn’t saying anything, his face hidden by his cap as he stared at the floor. The muttering was growing louder now as more people were working things out and the number of promises mounted up.

“Oh my god,” Juleka mumbled behind the fall of her streaked black and purple hair. “He was right.”

“Who?” Rose asked, but Alix was talking again before Juleka could answer.

“You didn’t need to fib about Jagged Stone being here to get us to come to your party, Lila,” Alix said as the expressions turned to disgust and disbelief.

“But I didn’t!” Lila protested, and for once she had been telling the truth. “I swear, Jagged really was coming. You have to believe me!”

“I said it was a bit hinky that Jagged Stone would have agreed to play a teenage party like this,” Alix told the group around her.

“I’m not lying!” Lila insisted, her voice growing shrill as the expressions turned to disgust and disbelief. “He did a signing for Chloe.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Chloe, and the mayor himself roped him into that.”

“But my mother works for the embassy! And I saved his kitten!”

Again, Alix snorted, and Alya had her arms folded now, frowning.

“You know, I couldn’t find anything about that online, or about Jagged even having a kitten. The more I think about it, the more I wonder why I believed that in the first place.”

“You believed Marinette,” she couldn’t help the slight snarl at that name, “when she said she designed stuff for Jagged and he came to her house.”

“But she didn’t say that,” Nino pointed out. “We saw all of that for ourselves. But now I think about it, I haven’t seen anything that proves you’ve even met him.”

“But I have! He really was coming, and he was going to sing Happy Birthday to me! He just had to cancel.”

“Sure, Lila.”

After all the stories Lila had spun, and the lies and embellishments, how could it be the truth that they refused to believe? The group drifted away from her while Lila stared after them in open-mouthed shock. She was left in a spreading circle of isolation at her own party.

The only person who acknowledged her existence was the tall boy with the blue hair over near the buffet table. Lila frowned, trying to work out where she knew him from. He was older than her class, and the ripped jeans and scruffy hoodie were out of place among the smartly dressed guests, but he looked familiar, and what was he doing at her party anyway? He raised the vol au vent in his hand in an unsmiling salute.

Lila made her way over to him.

“Now, where do I know you from?” she asked with an attempt at coyness, in spite of the fury still seething through her at her classmates’ revolt. His expression didn’t change.

“We’ve met before. I’m Juleka’s brother, Luka.”

Juleka’s brother. Marinette. She had a sudden memory of the steps outside the school and an older boy with blue hair and a guitar slung over his back, coolly warning her about what would happen if she messed with Marinette or his sister. Her eyes narrowed.

He said, “I just wanted to say Happy Birthday, and I’m sorry to hear that Jagged fell through on you.”

“Jagged?” Lila sucked in a breath at that. “What do you know about Jagged Stone?”

“You underestimated Marinette,” the blue-haired boy said calmly. “It’s all about who you know, isn’t that what you said, Lila? It’s all about connections. Except Marinette’s are real.”

She let out a smothered shriek.

“Marinette did this! How could she-“

Luka was shaking his head. “Marinette didn’t do a thing. She’s been trying so hard to take the high road, and she’s not vindictive. I did warn you, though, what would happen if you threatened someone I care about again – just because I don’t want to play your kind of games doesn’t mean I can’t or won’t.”

“Then you turned them all against me! You-“

“I didn't even need to do that,” Luka said, and gave her an infuriatingly composed smile. “In the end, all I really needed to do was tell my dear old dad how you treated his favourite designer. I didn’t even have to bend the truth to do it, and the music just played from there.”

Lila’s mouth fell open. “Jagged Stone… is your father?!”

“Surprised the hell out of me, too,” Luka muttered, and finished the pastry he was holding. He dusted the crumbs off his hands.

“Connections,” Luka said, and shoved himself away from the table. “I have them too, and I’m more than willing to use them for Marinette’s sake. Thank you for the lovely party.”

He gave her a little wave and walked away, leaving her standing there in the ruins of her reputation.

#Lila salt #Lukanette endgame

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 3 years

Text

Dead Man’s Cell Phone--Chapter 1

Summary: When Emma Swan starts getting phone calls and texts from an unfamiliar number, she decides to check it out–only to discover the number belongs to a Killian Jones, who was killed in a robbery gone wrong six months ago. With some help from a medium, Merlin Emrys, Emma hopes to find out why a dead guy is contacting her–and why she feels such a strong pull to someone she has never met before.

Rating: K+

Welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer! A big thank you to @cssns, the ladies on the Discord! Thank you also to @eastwesthomeisbest, my artist and my beta @veryverynotgood!

Other Chapters: Prologue 2 3 4 Epilogue

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Six months later

Emma Swan pulled open the foil packaging of her Pop Tarts and smiled as she breathed in the sugary, fake blueberry scent. There was no question. Junk food was the only thing that got her through these long, seemingly endless stakeouts.

Emma had made quite a name for herself as one of the best private investigators and bail bonds persons out there. She had the unique ability to either blend into her surroundings--or stand out in the most distracting way, as happened when she pulled her honey traps--and she knew exactly how to use those abilities to her greatest advantage. When Mayor Regina Mills of Emma’s hometown of Storybrooke needed to determine who had been breaking into town hall and stealing town secrets, Emma was naturally who she called.

The job promised to pay well, but it was also turning out to be one of the most boring jobs she’d taken in ages. Tonight was the third stakeout in a row in front of town hall, and just like last night and the night before, she was coming up empty.

If she didn’t come up with anything new tonight, she might have to revise her strategy. Patience was paramount in this business, but there was only so much time she could spend hunched down in her yellow bug staring at the entrance of town hall before she went crazy.

Emma took a bite of her Pop Tart humming in appreciation as the taste hit her tongue. She was just about to take a second bite when it happened.

Her cell phone rang.

She frowned. Who would be calling her at this time of night? Fishing her phone out of the cup-holder where she’d stashed it, she glanced down at the number. Not only was it an unfamiliar number, it didn’t even appear to come from the US.

Clearly someone had the wrong number. Shrugging, Emma dropped the phone back into the cup holder and took her bite. As a rule, she avoided calls from numbers she didn’t recognize. Best way to avoid telemarketers.

A moment later, her phone buzzed again, and Emma looked down to see that the unknown number had left her a message.

That was weird.

Emma took a moment to look carefully at her target and the surrounding area to make sure there was nothing she was missing, and then curiosity got the better of her. Swiping through her phone, she saw she had one single forty-five second voicemail from “UNKNOWN NAME”.

She pressed play, bringing the phone up to her ear as she looked back at town hall. For a moment she couldn’t hear anything, but gradually she began to notice something.

It sounded like breathing, harsh quick breathing, like the person on the other end of the phone was in some kind of emotional distress or had just completed a difficult workout.

That wasn’t creepy at all.

Aside from the breathing there was some other sound that she couldn’t quite place--some sort of beeping.

Emma continued listening until the end, but there was nothing else to hear, only the breathing and the beeping.

Weird. Must be either some kind of a lame prank call or a butt dial.

A movement caught the corner of her eye, and Emma peered into the darkness. There, at the edge of the building stood a single figure. Finally! Got ‘em!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma Swan always got her man--or in this case, her woman--and the town hall job was no exception. She’d waited until the intruder had actually broken into town hall, and then she’d nabbed her, pulling off her mask to reveal Zelena Mills, Regina’s slightly unhinged half-sister.

She had no idea what kind of family drama had brought all of this on, but luckily that wasn’t her problem. She’d done her job and done it well. It was up to the mayor to sort out the rest.

After another successful case, Emma had let herself sleep in the next morning. She had a few cases she still needed to do research on, but there was nothing pressing, and Emma decided after three long nights of stake-outs, she’d earned the extra rest.

It wasn’t until she was back at her desk in the office and she’d turned on her computer that she remembered the weird phone call and voicemail from yesterday.

There was just something about that call, some weird feeling she couldn’t shake. Who was it that had called her and why? As the morning continued, Emma tried to push the curiosity to the side. After all, wrong numbers happened; why was this any different?

But by the time she broke for lunch, the questions swirling in her head would no longer be denied. One of the perks of being a private investigator was that she had all kinds of resources at her disposal. What would it hurt to use one of them to trace back the number and find out who’d called her?

Emma plugged the phone number into a program on her computer and found out that the number belonged to someone named Killian Jones, who was from England.

After a few minutes of Googling, Emma discovered something that sent a chill down her spine.

Six months ago, Killian Jones had been found beaten to death after an apparent robbery gone bad.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Getting a creepy voicemail from a dead guy was weird, there was no denying that, but Emma lived in the real world. In the real world dead people did not make phone calls. Dead people did not leave eerie voicemails consisting of harsh breathing--dead people didn’t breathe at all. Ghost stories were fun and all around campfires or at Halloween, but that’s all they were. Stories.

And so there was one thing Emma knew for certain. There was a perfectly logical, rational explanation for the phone call she’d received. Maybe one of Killian Jones’s relatives inherited his phone and had neglected to change it to their name. Maybe the thief in the robbery gone wrong had stolen the phone and was using it. Maybe there was some other explanation.

What Emma knew for sure was that it was NOT Killian Jones calling her, whoever he’d been.

Despite reminding herself of this fact, Emma couldn’t stop thinking about her phone call from the dead man’s cell phone. Why did the phone call her? Why did it leave a message? Why did she feel this strong, inescapable connection to a man she was fairly certain she’d never met in her life?

But Emma hadn’t gotten where she was in life by indulging flights of fancy, and so she’d done what any rational person would do--she resolutely put the phone call and the resulting pull to the phone’s owner out of her mind and went back to her ordinary life, an ordinary life that did not involve messages from the dead.

It worked well for a week, but then it happened again--a second phone call from the same dead man’s number.

Emma’s heart pounded and her breathing picked up as she looked down at the phone. This was NOT happening! A part of her was curious what would happen if she answered the call, but the larger part was just so weirded out that she stood staring at the phone until it stopped ringing.

After a moment of silence, there came the voicemail beep.

With shaking fingers, Emma opened her voicemail box and clicked on the new message--only twenty seconds this time. It was the same as before: harsh breathing and some sort of distant beeping.

This time, though, there was a chilling addition. Just before the message ended, Emma heard a faint, other worldly voice speak two solitary words: Help me!

Notes:

--And so the cell phone has made contact. Things look pretty impossible right now, but don’t worry; there’s always a happy ending in my stories. Just how that can happen in this story, you’ll have to stick around to find out--but there’s actually a subtle clue in this chapter.

--Up next: When Emma starts getting texts as well as phone calls from Killian’s phone, she mentions it to her best friend and sister-in-law Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret convinces her to visit a medium, a man named Merlin Emrys.

Next Chapter-->

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ghost story au #my fanfiction #dead man's cell phone

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the-magnificunt · 3 years

Text

headcanon: Horseshoe Bay mayor

I've decided that the mayor of Horseshoe Bay (that I'm almost positive we've never seen) is secretly a supernatural creature of some sort running the town. Are they an ancient being of myth and legend, like a centaur? Or just your run of the mill druid, pulling the strings to keep the forests around town from being torn down by developers? Or something more sinister, bent on town and citizen domination for their own benefit?

This could lead to all sorts of new hilarity and problems for the crew if we ever meet them. How will the crew discover the mayor's plans? Will the crew help or hinder? Will the mayor/creature have a vendetta against the crew for meddling? Will they dislike certain types of supernatural creatures because of their own prejudices or history? What kinds of new problems would we see? C'mon, Nancy Drew writers, give this to me!

#horseshoe bay #nancy drew #magnificunt headcanon

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years

Text

Void of Extinction by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 2/9

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Chapter 2: Mother

“Good morning James, it is time to get up.”

James woke to the sunlight beaming on his face, stretching his arms to the sky as he groaned. He sat up in bed, wiping his face with the palm of his hand to wake himself from sleep. He slid his legs to the side, feeling his toes touch the light carpet beneath the bed. Shaking his head, he stood from the bed. “Status report.”

“It is currently 9am, pollution level 68%, you have no appointments today.”

“Bloody hell.” He groaned. “What happened to my 7am alarm?”

“You cancelled that alarm, James. Your alarm was set for 9am to begin work at 10am.”

“I cancelled it…” He stood in the middle of his room. “When did I cancel the bloody alarm?”

“I show you cancelled the alarm at 1:30am and set a new alarm for 9am.”

“What the bloody…” He didn’t remember doing anything at 1:30 am. As far as he knew he had been sleeping. He sat down on the chair next to him, running a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes, trying to remember anything happening during the evening that would have caused him to reset his alarm. The longer he thought about it, the more his head hurt. He didn’t need a migraine this morning, he was already late for work now.

He dressed quickly, exiting his apartment to head to the diner.

He was certain that Granny was going to fire him for being this late. When he stepped into the diner she shook her head and pointed to the kitchen.

“You need to get that alarm of yours fixed.”

“Yes Ma’am. I’m going to call a repairman straight away.”

“Get to work.”

The rest of his shift went as usual, James stayed two hours after his shift to assist Granny with the late evening rush, feeling guilty about being late once again. Once the diner had died down, he gathered his coat and was headed to the door. A man sitting in a corner booth caught his attention. It wasn’t that he recognized the man, not entirely, but he seemed familiar.

Something about him gave him a sense of Déjà vu. The headache blinded him as he tried to access the information, the man took notice of him as he grabbed ahold of the nearest bench, trying to steady himself.

“Oi, you look like you could use some help.”

“I’m fine.” He tried to brush him off, pushing the door to the diner open and stepping into the busy street. The man followed him, which annoyed James. “I said I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Mate.”

He glanced at the man, narrowing his eyes, there was something about him. “I’m…” The headache blinded him again and he staggered to the edge of the diner, walking back toward his car, and reaching in his pocket for his inhibitor.

“I wouldn’t take that.” The man warned behind him.

“Who are you?” He asked angrily, tripping backwards against his car.

“I’m Will, we spoke the other day. I just want to talk to you about Emma.”

James fell to his knees as it felt like pins and needles were attacking his body, he pulled the inhibitor toward his arm and the man reached down and grabbed at the injector. “Get away from me, what are you doing?”

“Killian, don’t inject that.”

The name shook him, pictures flashed in his brain, the blonde-haired woman from his dreams staring at him with emerald, green eyes, the name falling from her lips like it somehow belonged to him. Killian. He was losing his mind. He pressed the injector to his arm and pushed, a loud hiss emitting as the cool liquid entered his veins. He fell back against the car, exhaling with a groan.

“Dammit mate, I’m trying to help you.”

“You stay away from me before I call the cops.”

“Bloody hell…look, the more you inject that stuff, the more you forget. They messed with your brain, made you all foggy and shite.” James stared at the man as if he had just grown two heads. “You keep getting headaches right? Things don’t add up, and when you think about them, you get a headache.”

“You’re bloody crazy.” He stood up, grabbing the door to his car and yanking it open. “Stay the hell away from me.”

“Will Scarlet.” He shouted before James shut the door.

“Will what?”

“My name, Will Scarlet. Write it down or something.” He turned and left the alley, running in the opposite direction of the diner.

James shook his head, looking at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Write it down.

He didn’t need to write it down, did he? The man was a lunatic. But…he knew about the headaches; how did he know about them? How did he know that things were out of place?

He looked around the floor of his vintage car, trying to find anything to write with. People thought he was crazy for hanging onto a relic from the 1900’s. It cost him a fortune to repair it. And somehow he knew how to fix everything on his Chevy Chevelle, but anytime he tried to remember how he knew, the headaches came.

He found a marker lying under the mat of the passenger side, grabbing it, he tried to find something to write on. With the absence of paper, he ripped the sleeve of his shirt up and scribbled against his flesh in black ink.

Will Scarlet

~*~

“It’s not like him to be gone for this long without contacting me. Even if he were working on something, he would have mentioned it.”

“Could the resistance have removed him from the playing field?” Mayor Mills asked from her place at her desk.

“Was he working on a case that had to do with the resistance?” David questioned.

David’s new partner, Killian Jones had been missing for weeks now, no message, no contact, just gone. Killian had been quiet about his most recent case; he knew it had something to do with a contact who had reached out to him, and Killian was following a lead, but he wasn’t ready to share information yet. He hadn’t known the man long, he was aware that he was mostly a private person, but he would never just take off without talking to the Captain first.

“Officer Jones case was confidential. We need to find him but keep it quiet. Killian could have found something that could destroy the Resistance, we have to get to him before they do.” She turned to the holo screen in front of her.

David glanced at the screen in front of the Mayor. “Resistance riders made it past the walls?” He inquired nervously.

“Yes, last night we had a breach on the west side. Officer Locksley apprehended two of them. But the rest got away.”

“What were they after?”

“Trying to take down the security net near the harbor. I suspect they have a group in the foglands.”

“What are the plans to take that out?”

“No plans. We’ll let Hive do that for us.”

David exhaled, a look of shock on his face. “You want to work with the Hive?”

“Of course not.” She snorted. “But, when you have an infestation, it’s easier to let the predators take each other out. It’s the natural order of things.”

“I don’t trust the Hive any more than I trust the Resistance.”

“Officer Nolan, The Hive operate outside the walls, they remove the danger before it breaches our city. And if something were to sneak its way inside, to infest our people with lies and misinformation, we have the Gold Collective to remove it, for the good of Storybrooke.”

“That’s another group I don’t trust, how is it for the good of Storybrooke to let them make pod people!” He exclaimed.

“The Void are able to become trustful members of our society again, the Gold Collective has done a great service to our community. And as far as the Hive are concerned, as long as they continue to operate outside our walls, I welcome their removal of our shared problem.”

“So how are either of them any different than the Resistance?”

The Mayor stood. “The idea of the Resistance threatens to destroy everything we hold dear. If even a single one of them is left standing, everyone we know and love, our values, our safety, are in danger. They will bring the plague to Storybrooke, they cannot be trusted, and they must be destroyed.”

David nodded, taking his leave as he returned to the lower levels of the station. He knew that Regina was right, the Resistance stood to destroy everything they had worked so hard to build after the plague hit. He knew that locking people out, building the walls, was not something that the town initially embraced. He too felt guilty when they seemed to doom so many on the other side of the wall. But they had to protect their town.

When the Gold Collective first appeared, run by a man with no past yet unlimited money, taking people off the streets and experimenting on them, the Mayor went after them with the full force of the Storybrooke PD. Then the Hive came. They had kept the Hive from breaching the station walls, drove them back behind the walls and ended their yearlong power grab.

But then a strange thing started happening, townsfolk who had disappeared, those who had been experimented on during the war, returned, with no memory of who they were. Loved ones who no longer recognized their family or friends.

The Mayor came out publicly, condemning the Collective for their interference with her citizens, and then six months later, quietly began accepting the practice. David didn’t know what had changed, only that Regina seemed to think that whatever Gold and his collective was doing, was protecting them. The people who had disappeared were a danger to society, conspirators who agreed with the Resistance, they needed to be stopped before their reckless behavior allowed the plague to spread inside the walls of Storybrooke.

And so, they stopped searching for the agents of the collective, when someone showed up without their memories, the town simply helped to get them acclimated to their work. People turned a blind eye to the reason they went missing, accepting them as new members of their society.

At the same time, the Hive stopped advancing on the town, disappearing into the shadows on the other side of the town’s walls.

Only the Resistance fought back, the war outside the walls between the two factions was escalating. At night they could see the fires burning beyond the mountains. The smoke had become so heavy that they could no longer see the horizon over the water. The area became known as the foglands. The heavily guarded wasteland that the Resistance currently controlled.

Many nights they would send raids to the walls, trying to take down the security net that connected the walls. The resistance would not stop until it fell. And if the walls fell, the plague would take them all.

He had not heard of a single soul surviving the plague. No cure had been found. Without the walls, they would all die. The Resistance had to be stopped.

His com unit beeped, alerting him that he had reached his destination. Stepping out of the electric vehicle he walked the stairs to his home. Opening the door, he smelled the fragrant aroma of chicken baking in the back of the house. He could hear his wife’s voice in the background, the alluring melody of the song she was humming making his heart smile with joy.

When he turned the corner, Mary Margaret had her back to him, swaying back and forth to the music she was singing softly to. He crept up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck. “Mmm it smells wonderful in here.”

She melted into him, humming lightly. “You’re late, darling.”

“I’m sorry, I had a meeting with Regina.”

“And what did the Mayor want with my husband.” She sang softly.

“The usual, how to destroy the Resistance.” He chuckled and then paused. “But she’s more concerned about Officer Killian at the moment.”

She turned in his arms, a grave look on her face. “Is he still missing? Hasn’t it been weeks, David.”

“I know. Regina thinks the Resistance might have gotten to him.” He sighed. “I hope she’s wrong. I’m worried about him, it’s not like him to just go silent.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve been to his apartment, the diner on 5th, the Chinese place he goes to, no one has seen him in weeks.” He sat down at the table. “Regina told me to keep digging, she thinks he’s important, whatever he was working on before he disappeared might be what we need to take down the Resistance once and for all.”

She embraced him, pulling him against her chest. “I know if anyone can find him, you will.”

He looked up and smiled at her as she bent down to press her lips to his. “I love you.”

“I love you too, my Prince Charming.” She broke the contact, turning back to her dinner. “Oh, by the way, I have to go out tonight. I forgot to buy the ham for dinner tomorrow.”

“You should have told me; I could have picked it up for you. If you want, I can call the service, I know you don’t trust the LRU’s but they provide quick service.”

She snorted, “Never, why would anyone trust something called a Life Replacement Unit? Even the name blatantly calls out that they mean to replace us. It’s no bother for me to go to the store. It’s how they did it years ago, and besides I enjoy getting out of the house.”

“Well, I have some work to catch up on so I’ll try and get it done before you get back, maybe we can spend the evening watching the holo.”

She turned back toward him and smiled. “I would love that.”

~*~

James parked his Chevelle in the assigned spot at the back of the building, watching as the platform descended into the ground, sending the car to rest beneath the apartment.

He looked up at the building, noticing the way the fog had rolled in from the harbor and hugged the side of the building. He glanced ominously toward the horizon; the smoke looked darker than it had in days. No one was talking about what was happening outside the walls, in the depths of the waters that banked against the town.

“Hey.”

He jumped and turned toward a dark-haired woman. “It’s bad form to sneak up on a man, lass.”

“Sorry about that.” She giggled. “I was wondering if you could spare a lightstick?”

Killian shook his head. “I don’t use those. Bad for your health.” He shrugged and stepped away from the woman.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” She chased after him.

“Look, I already told you, I don’t do the stuff. Neither should you, lass.” Before he could enter the building the woman grabbed him by the arm. He turned toward her quickly as she glared at him. “Listen you siren, while I appreciate a beautiful woman such as yourself getting all handsy with me, I’m not in the mood tonight.”

“I just want to talk.”

“I’m not in the mood for that either.” He growled. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving now.”

With a quick move, she tightened her grip on his arm, pushing his sleeve further up his forearm, staring at the black ink on his arm. “How do you know Will Scarlet?” Every sensor in his brain went off at once.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded. “If you know that lunatic, I want nothing to do with you. He’s crazy as a loon and so are you.” He reached for the door to his building before he felt a pain in the back of his neck and the world around him faded to black.

He heard noises around him as the ache in his neck seemed to radiate through his body. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but he knew he wasn’t near his apartment anymore. He could hear the sound of seagulls off in the distance and the slosh of water all around him. He opened his eyes but could only see darkness and the fabric placed over his head clung to him. Whoever had taken him didn’t want him to see where he was going or how he got there.

He tried to sit up when his leg hit something hard next to him, sending a clatter of noise off to his right as something smashed to the ground.

“I think our guest has woken up.” Someone grumbled.

“We’re almost there.” He heard another voice.

“She wants to talk to him as soon as we arrive.” He heard the woman’s voice from the apartment.

“This is a stupid idea.” The first voice whispered. “Bringing him here is going to get us all killed.”

“We don’t even know if he’s on our side.”

“Stop talking.” The woman’s voice rang out again. “I’m going to go help dock the boat.”

James sat for what felt like a lifetime as he waited for the voices to come back, instead he listened to the strange sound of the engine, the whirl of a generator somewhere deep below him. He fell forward as the boat hit against something solid.

“Land ho.” A voice boomed to his left.

Arms suddenly were grabbing him, dragging him to his feet. “Who are you, just let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He begged.

“You ain’t in no danger ‘ere.” The man squawked. “Just don’t be no trouble.”

James tripped over the stairs and the woman’s voice shrilled behind him. “Would you idiots be careful; mother will be really angry if you injure our prize.”

“Sorry Ma’am.” The voice to his right said apologetically with a loud sneeze.

“Maybe if he learned to walk, sister, we wouldn’t have no trouble.” The voice to his left grumbled angrily.

Once he stepped down again, he could tell he was standing on planks that were connected to a dock. The sway of the ground meant he was over water still. “I’ll take him from here.” He felt the woman slide up beside him, grabbing him by the arm. “She just wants to talk to you, that’s all. If you aren’t interested in what she has to say, you can go back to your miserable existence afterwards.”

“Who’s this she?” He asked nervously.

“The Mother of the Resistance, of course.” She said with a laugh and James felt his blood run cold. He was in the foglands; he had been taken by the Resistance.

He heard a metal door squeal open on rusty hinges and he stepped onto solid ground, as soon as it slammed shut, the itchy fabric was pulled from his head, and he tried to adjust his eyes to the dark glowing lights around him.

“Welcome to the foglands.” The woman announced.

“I’m positively glowing with anticipation.” He said smugly and the woman snorted beside him.

“Oh, they said you were a sarcastic one. I wasn’t sure if you retained that in your new existence.”

“Retained what? New existence?” he asked in confusion. “What are you on about?”

“I don’t think you’re ready for all of that yet.” She grinned as they stepped into a large metal room, water swirling around at their feet.

“Do you intend to drown me, leave me for dead?” He asked incredulously, staring around him at the boxed in room.

“No one is leaving anyone for dead.” A loud voice boomed and echoed through the room. At the other end of the box, a woman stepped out of the shadows, the moonlight illuminating her face through a grate in the ceiling.

“And just who the hell are you?”

“Me?” She laughed. “I’m the Mother of the Resistance.” She paused, stepping closer to him. “But you can call me Mary Margaret.”

#void of extinction #stacy's fics #emma swan #killian jones #captain swan fics #captain swan modern au #captain swan au #captain swan

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