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mmvalentine · 3 years

Note

Would you mind doing random fluff oneshots for feysand, with like tonnes of fluff in them? 🥺 Just them being together and happy and maybe some with Nyx too?

Haha fluff... without smut?! What is this you speak of??? Okay let me see. Did I ever tell you about...

1. The time they finally took a weekend (baby Nyx) Feyre wakes up alone and can’t believe how much she’s slept in. She goes out to the kitchen and for a moment just stands there, watching Rhys potter around, singing softly in a language she doesn’t recognise. She didn’t know he sang, before Nyx. She steps forward and as her bare feet hit the floorboards he says without turning, “Morning, Feyre darling.”

“Morning,” she says. “Where’s-” And then Rhys turns around, spatula in one hand, and there’s Nyx bundled and bound across Rhys’ chest in a swath of soft grey fabric. “Happy day off,” he croons, and kisses her on the forehead. “How did you get him to sleep so long?” she asks, stroking her son’s little head. “I’m making him dreams of flying, so he doesn’t have to wake up and do it.” “And that’s keeping him asleep?!” Feyre asks in disbelief. “And also dinosaurs,” Rhys adds. “He’s dreaming of flying with dinosaurs.” Feyre laughs, and half way through she is interrupted by Rhys’ mouth on hers. “I’ll never get tired of seeing you laugh,” he murmurs, and kisses her again. At that moment, a letter appears on the kitchen table, and Rhys groans. “That’ll be Helion,” he says. “He’s been on my back about getting a meeting together to discuss-” “Nothing,” Feyre interjects, eyebrows raised. “You’ll be discussing nothing because today is our day off.” “I’m sorry my love,” he says, handing Nyx to her. “Just give me five minutes.” But Feyre knows what five minutes is when the high lords get going. She puts Nyx on her hip and draws herself to full height. She snatches the paper up and dictates, words appearing as she speaks. “The High Lady of the Night Court declines your invitation,” she states clearly. “The Night Court will be unavailable for the next two days, as stipulated in the previous meeting of the courts.” She fixes Rhys with a steely gaze, and the letter disappears. “Mmm,” Rhys purrs. “You’ve no idea how much I enjoy it when you take charge, High Lady.” He bends his head to run his nose along her jaw. But Feyre steps back. “Good,” she says in a clipped voice. “Then take this,” she plops Nyx back into his arms, “and this,” she conjures two already packed backs and slings them over Rhys’ shoulders like a pack mule, “and close your eyes.” Then she wraps her arms around the two of them, and winnows. They appear in the cabin in the mountains, and in Spring the whole place smells like pine and honeysuckle. Feyre has already set up the place for the perfect weekend- Rhys’ favourite books stacked next to the arm chair, Nyx’s toys in a basket on the floor, paints on the table, and best of all, wards that redirected any business letters from arriving at all.

2. The time Amren babysat (2yo Nyx) Nyx has learned to fly and has been getting into unimaginable amounts of trouble. Nothing can be placed out of reach anymore, there is no place safe from his grabbing hands and sucking mouth and tiny, sharp little teeth. So Feyre and Rhys have been chasing him around the house for a week now, trying to get work done at the same time as not letting him throw books down from the top shelf or put his mouth over candles in the chandelier or push over Rhys’ crystal decanters. They can’t even sleep- now instead of crying when he wakes up in the middle of the night, Nyx just floats into their room and drops whatever he finds onto their bed. From a height. At their faces. By the end of the week, they both look so ridiculously tired, that Amren caves. She isn’t usually one to spend one-on-one time with the baby, but everyone else is off on business and she honestly isn’t doing anything else. So she shoos them off to bed and takes the little squaller in her arms. Feyre and Rhys are too tired to even argue, they just smile gratefully and walk up the stairs like zombies. When they fall into bed, Feyre is asleep almost immediately. But Rhys curls himself around her, tucking his chin into her neck and tangling his knees with hers. He inhales at the top of her spine, and places kisses over her shoulder. Feyre doesn’t stir at all. And Rhys wants to fall asleep too, he does, gods know he needs it. But he also needs to hold Feyre for a minute and know that she isn’t going to bolt away at any second because Nyx has his fingers in the light fixtures. So he lies there, for as long as he can keep his eyes open, and trails his fingers down the cello curves of her. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Rhys will wake up and wonder whether this is all real. Even now, he thinks that it is possible that he has gone mad, and he is actually still trapped under the mountain and his mind has created a paradise for him because he cannot endure it any longer. When he can’t see his way out, he usually buries himself in Feyre’s body, and it’s the only thing that can convince him this is real. But for now, there’s just bone-deep tiredness, and peace. So he fights his eyelids, and touches his mate’s skin, and he does not know when he falls asleep but he wakes up when Feyre is tugging out of his arms. He frowns with his eyes closed, and tightens his arms so she can’t get up. Feyre chuckles, and lets him keep her, at least for another few minutes. When they make their way downstairs, they find Amren and Nyx in the living room. Amren is poring over an ancient text with laser focus. And Nyx floats above her, with a string that has one end tied around his waist and the other tied around Amren’s wrist like a balloon. “Amren,” Feyre says in disapproval. She looks up, with no embarrassment in her silver eyes. “What?” she said. “It works.” Indeed Nyx seems perfectly happy, flying in little circles but unable to get far enough to touch anything. Rhys tips his head back, and laughs.

3. The time Rhys and Nyx made pancakes (4yo Nyx) Feyre doesn’t often get breakfast in bed, but this time was actually Nyx’s idea. He wakes Rhys up early, and the two of them steal down to the kitchen. Rhys tries to help, but Nyx wants to do everything by himself, and as a result makes an enormous mess. Rhys manages to clean most of it up by magic, but Nyx has recently decided he doesn’t like the way magic feels on his skin, so he remains covered in flour and blueberry juice. Eventually though, they make a proud albeit wonky stack of pancakes, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a cup of tea. Nyx wants to carry the whole thing up the stairs, and Rhys balances the tray with magic and prays Nyx doesn’t notice. When Feyre sees them, she smiles so beautifully Rhys’ heart stops for several beats. Her face is pink and her lips are swollen from sleeping, the honey tangle of her hair tumbles over her shoulder, and the left strap of her nightgown is falling down. He wonders if he will ever get over the perfection of her. “Mommy we made you pancakes!” Nyx announces, and she takes the tray from him before he can spill it over the bed. “You did?!” she asks, pulling the child into her lap. “We did and daddy didn’t help me at all.” Feyre laughs, and wipes the flour from his face with her thumbs. “Well that’s good,” she says, “because daddy has no idea how to make pancakes.” Rhys looks offended. “I do too,” he says. “Cassian taught me.” Feyre’s eyes twinkle at him, and he sits on the foot of the bed. Watches as she puts the first bite into her mouth. “Mmmm,” she hums, eyes closing in pleasure. “These are the best pancakes I have ever eaten in my entire life.” She takes another bite, and moans again, and the sound of it tugs something in deep in Rhys. “Okay I’m gonna eat the rest of the blueberries!” Nyx says, and then runs off down the stairs. The sounds of his little footsteps thundering away fade, and Rhys pounces. In one fluid motion he rises from the end of the bed and has her pinned on her back, the tray forgotten. “Do you know what I think is delicious?” he purrs. “Tell me,” Feyre answers, eyes dancing. “You are,” he says, and puts his mouth on her neck. At that moment, Nyx bursts back into the room. “Daaad I spilled them!” he wails, and Rhys drops his head on Feyre’s chest with a growl. Next thing he knows, little Nyx is climbing up onto his back. He keeps the weight off Feyre as Nyx’s wings are getting heavy, but she reaches up for him and drags him between the two of them. “Nyx sandwich!!” she says. Rhys flares his wings out, wraps them all up and rolls onto his back taking them with him. “Nyx burrito!” he says, and Nyx’s peals of laughter are worth the tea and orange juice that is spilled all over the bed.

*****

Thank you anon for this lovely prompt, I hope this is fluff enough for you!! Are there burritos in Prythian? I don’t know but there are now...

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @asteria-of-mars

MASTERLIST

#asks #prompts #prompt fill #feysand #feysand fic #acotar #mine #fluff

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arsonanddahlias · 3 years

Text

You’re my rock

Here’s a little Alex for you lovelies, because i had this in my mind and i had to do a little rescue. Trigger warning for period typical homophobia, I think its pretty obvious this is a coming out fic, hope you enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28570506

“I’m gay” Alex had prepared for this. He’d prepared for acceptance, and love, the unconditional love that his parents had promised him. He’d prepared for that even with the knowledge it was probably wishful thinking. He’d also prepared for violent rejection, to be kicked out and forgotten - he’d even packed a backpack to be able to leave quickly. He’d thought of every possibility, some might say he was an overthinker, but in situations like this he didn’t want to make any stupid mistakes.

What he hadn’t prepared for, however, was silence.

He hadn't expected it to be so loud.

He hadn’t expected the not-so-subtle glances at each other, almost blaming, or maybe guilty. He hadn't expected the fear.

His mother took a deep breath, sounding like her lungs had collapsed under the weight of the seemingly simple statement. Rage seemed to be building in his fathers eyes, as he opened his mouth to say something that was lost in his throat.

His mother choked out a quiet “no”, and it sounded so different from his mother, you’d think she’d been possessed by the ghost of a mouse. Where there seemed to be anger and disappointment on his fathers face, in hers she could only find fear.

The tears started welling up in Alex’s eyes, he could handle violent rejections, going to cry into his boys arms with Reggie holding him tightly while Luke and Bobby loudly discussed the different ways they would murder his parents. What he couldn't handle was the knowing that, technically, nothing would change but, in reality, everything that made them love him was cast aside. He couldn't look his parents in the eyes, so he cast them down, watching the floorboards start to swim beneath his feet.

“Boys don’t cry” his fathers voice swam in his head, you’d think it was the family motto with how much it was tossed around the Mercer house and, although Alex wasn’t sure he wanted to be a Mercer anymore, the words were so branded onto his brain that he felt a pang of guilt when he saw a tear splash to the ground.

He thought about baking french patisseries with his mother, the way she smiled and sang along to whatever was on the radio, the way she gently scolded him for adding too much milk and held his hand to help him sieve in a little more flour. He thought about family board games night, every Thursday, when the Mercer’s all gathered at the dining table and played board games, and laughed at his little sisters consistently rolling dice off of the table, and groaning at his dad’s bad jokes. He didn’t think they would be the same now, not with the spark in his mother’s eyes gone, and his fathers clenching and unclenching fists.

“I think you should go to your room, Alexander” Alex’s mother said curtly, “Your father and I have something to discuss”

His father followed him up the stairs, from a distance, making sure he made it to his room and didn’t eavesdrop. He, of course, was going to eavesdrop anyway, but gave his father the courtesy of going into his room. He heard a gentle click from his door, and when he tried the handle, it was locked. Okay, he thought, don’t panic. They just want privacy. He willed himself not to hyperventilate, not to cry, not to clench up and panic and get sweaty hands and dizzy, and pushed his ear up against the door, so he could hear the faint conversation from downstairs.

“This is because you let him go to dance class” His mother’s usually melodic voice drifted up the stairs, sounding way too harsh.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is that band you let him join. Drumming was fine, but those boys have turned him… like this. They broke him, we should have been more suspicious of that… Lucas” his father said, avoiding the word “gay” as if they said it too many times it would infect them like a disease.

“Don’t blame me for his friends. Look, we’ll ground him, and make sure he doesn’t talk to those boys again. Call his teachers to move him in class, make sure he stays at home after school and on weekends. And we can sign him up for a… healthier activity. Soccer, or baseball. We’ll fix him.”

Take away his boys? He’d tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, but he couldn’t survive without his boys. And he had an aching feeling that “making sure he stayed home” was code for locking him in his room. “Fix him” lingered in his head and sent shivers down his spine, and called out memories of finding out about conversion camps and - he couldn’t do that. He desperately tried to think of something else.

Luckily, he’d prepared to leave tonight, so he grabbed his fully prepared backpack and went over to his bedroom window, scouting out a route from it to the ground. He reached up to grab the key to his window and-

“Fuck”

Good forward thinking, Alex. Well done on the whole overthinking-the-wrong-thing-and-forgetting-to-steal-back-his-sisters-window-key-after-she-lost-hers. Nice one. He sat on his bed, before laying down uncomfortably on top of the backpack. He desperately raked his mind for ideas, but came up short, sighing gently and cursing his own stupidity.

Tap. Tap tap.

Alex looked up sharply, and turned his head towards the source of the tapping, only to see none other than Luke, his boyfriend, tapping frantically on his bedroom window. Alex jumped up immediately, checking quickly over his shoulder out of instinct - Bobby would call it paranoia - for his parents.

“Luke? Why are you here?”

“Dude, you haven't missed practice in 3 years, what's going on?”

“Shit, that's tonight.” Alex once again cursed himself for overthinking the wrong things.

“Lexi tell me what's going on.”

“I-” Alex’s voice cracked a little and he turned his eyes to the ground again “I came out. I told them. They don't want me to see you again.” He cast his eyes back over his shoulder at the door, paranoid.

“Screw that, we’re commencing operation Break Alex Out of His House” someone else shouted from outside his window, and Alex looked down out of his window to see Reggie and Bobby holding up a ladder that Luke was perched precariously on, Reggie not so much holding as he cupped his hands around his mouth to shout to Alex. Bobby gave him a quick slap on the arm to remind him that Luke was literally going to fall if he didn’t stabilize this ladder.

“Where did you get that- okay. Look, I don’t know how to get out, my dad locked the door to my room and I don’t have a window key.”

“Okay, step back.”

“Luke I swear, if you throw a rock at my window I’ll kill you”

“Dude do you want to be locked in your room forever and never see us again, or do you want me to throw a rock at your window.”

“You're going to be arrested for property damage”

“Bobby pass me a rock”

“I feel like there’s another way to-”

“That’s fucking tiny Bobbers a bigger one”

“Lucas, please, for the love of-”

“Do you have double glazing”

“I don’t think so I-”

“It needs to be sharp, Luke, i've got a screwdriver you can hit with a rock, that'll break it” Reggie called up

“Physics genius Reggie” He called back “Step back, Lexi”

Alex complied - protesting but not being willing to get hit by a rock - as Luke whacked a rock against Reggie’s screwdriver and the window shattered. Suddenly, Alex was in fight or flight, and ignored the pain of climbing through a broken window - thanks Luke - in his panic to get outside before his parents caught up to him, it was inevitable that they would catch on with the noise. He slid down the ladder, like a cartoon, he thought absentmindedly, and ran as fast as he could to the van, his boys in tow. Reggie hopped in the driver's seat (he did not have his license yet and Alex made a mental note to scold him later, but for now they just needed to leave fast), while the other 3 went to the back, and they were gone.

Bobby, forever the only member of Sunset Curve with a brain cell, pulled out the first aid kit they kept in the van and started dressing the cuts Alex had gained from climbing through a broken window - thanks Luke - while Alex sat, completely shell-shocked and completely still, until his boyfriend started rubbing his back in a way that they both knew Luke had learned for Alex’s panic attacks.

Alex rested his head on Luke’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes tight to try and stop the flow of tears. He allowed himself to be pulled up and led to the studio behind Bobby’s house, the whole band's safe space. He sat down on the sofa, and Reggie was immediately by his side, hugging him tightly in a way that let Alex know he wasn’t going to be released in a long time. He leaned into the hug, thankful for the contact he so desperately needed, and listened as Bobby breathed out sharply.

“I am going to murder your parents Lex”

He wasn’t prepared. But at least he had his beautiful, predictable boys to fall back on.

#Arson writes #Alex jatp #alex mercer #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #coming out #queer theme #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #Jatp #Fanfic

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unfolded73 · 7 years

Text

This Graceful Path (12/19)

Summary: Emma has just moved in with Mary Margaret and started working as a deputy in the Storybrooke sheriff’s department when she meets Killian Jones, the town’s introverted harbormaster. When a prominent Storybrooke resident is found murdered, Emma tries to juggle solving the case with new friendships, parenthood, and romance. A Season 1 Cursed!Killian AU.

Rating: Explicit per CSBB guidelines (violence, sex); more of an M on unfolded73’s scale. The sex, when we get there, is not extremely graphic in nature. Same with the violence.

Content Warning: This fic contains two major character deaths, one canon and one not. (You’re already past them.)

Total word count: ~ 75,000

Acknowledgements: Thank you to @j-philly-b for betaing this monstrosity. Thank you to @caprelloidea for all of the read-throughs and cheerleading; not sure I could have written it without your excitement early on. Thank you to @teruel-a-witch for the original prompt on tumblr which sparked this fic. Thank you to @pompeiiablaze for the wonderful art which accompanies Chapter 3 and 9 and one later chapter. Thanks to the CSBB mods ( @sambethe in particular, who had to look at my check-ins) for your support and for enduring my neuroses.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 – AO3 Link

Chapter 12

Regina looked at the apple in her hand for a long, long time.

She could remember the day Snow White took a bite out of that apple like it was yesterday. The tears on her face, the sadness in her eyes. The way she had fallen, lifeless, at Regina’s feet. Now she needed that kind of magic one more time.

It had taken a lot of effort to bring the poisoned apple through into the Land Without Magic. It took allying herself with the Mad Hatter once again, making deals she didn’t want to make; it took giving up the last memento she had of Daniel, her first and only love. But finally, she had done it, reached through and plucked a poisoned apple out of that place and brought it through to this one. It was her last hope; if she couldn’t stop Emma Swan with this, then the curse would be broken.

Baking was soothing to Regina, and she secretly loved every convenience in her modern American kitchen. The pleasing fall of the flour in gentle waves from the sifter into the bowl. The precise leveling-off of baking powder in a teaspoon as she scraped it along the sharp lip of the can. The smell of cinnamon pervading the kitchen as her apple slices cooked on the stovetop. The sensation of butter under her fingertips as she blended it with the flour, the little blobs getting smaller and smaller and smaller as she worked. She pulled out her rolling pin, running her hand along the smooth, polished wood, and smiled.

Once the baking was done and the product of her labors was cool enough to pack away, she carried it to her car, glancing at the time on the dashboard. There were still a few hours until Henry was done at school: plenty of time.

Regina mounted the stairs to the loft apartment that Emma shared with Mary Margaret Blanchard, eyeing the peeling paint and the dirt in the corners of the stairwell with distaste. She hadn’t wanted to set foot in this peasant’s dwelling, but when she’d called the sheriff’s station, David had informed her that Emma was taking the morning off and wouldn’t be in until the afternoon. Typical laziness, Regina thought with a sneer. But it would work in Regina’s favor; if Emma was home alone, there was less risk that someone else would eat the apple turnover.

She knocked on the door.

Emma opened it, her eyes widening in surprise. “Regina! What are you doing here?”

Regina huffed. “I’ll excuse your rudeness on account of the fact that you look like death warmed over. Are you sick?” She took a step backward, tempted to cover her nose and mouth with her arm.

“I’m not sick, I just haven’t been sleeping well the last couple of nights.” Emma stood back from the door. “Come in, I guess.”

Regina stepped into the apartment, grimacing at its shabby chic decor. If possible, Snow White’s cursed taste was worse than it had been back in the Enchanted Forest.

“What brings you here, Regina? Come to tell me to stay away from Henry again?”

“On the contrary,” she responded, holding the plastic storage container out toward Emma. “I came to make a peace offering. And to discuss how we might… compromise regarding Henry.”

Emma took the container, eyeing it distrustfully. “What’s this?”

“One of my famous apple turnovers. It’s a very old recipe.” “Thanks.” She set it down on the table. “What kind of compromise did you have in mind?”

Regina gritted her teeth. Even knowing she didn’t intend to follow through with any offers she planned to make to this woman, she still could barely get the words out. “I recognize that once one opens Pandora’s box, it cannot be closed again, and Henry is determined that you be part of his life, no matter how ill-advised I know it to be.” She held up a hand to stop Emma’s protest. “He is still my son, not only in the legal sense, but because I was the one who was there for him from the beginning. I changed every diaper, dried every tear. He may not want to acknowledge it now, but he is my child.” Regina pressed her nails into her palms, trembling with emotion.

“I’m not denying that, Regina.”

“As such, I am not offering you any kind of joint custody. But I am resigned to the fact that you are going to be a part of his life. So you can see him for visits on some school day afternoons, and also for some weekend activities, so long as I approve them.”

She could tell Emma was surprised. “Thanks. Really. I appreciate that.”

Regina nodded curtly. “Let me talk it over with Henry tonight, and then perhaps in a day or two you can have him over here to eat dinner, assuming you’re capable of preparing something more nutritious than grilled cheese.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’ll make sure he eats his vegetables, Regina.”

Regina nodded, glancing down at the turnover. “I’ll go, then. Enjoy the turnover.”

~*~

Emma was still in shock as she drove the police cruiser down Route 83. She’d been at a loss for what to do about Henry, had still been half contemplating kidnapping him and fleeing Maine despite Mary Margaret’s logical arguments against it when in walked Regina and surrendered. Or, as close to surrender as she would imagine Regina could ever get.

She pulled up in front of Gold’s cabin and killed the engine. After their impromptu nap the day before, Killian had seemed afraid of overstaying his welcome and had refused Mary Margaret’s offer to stay for dinner. But outside the apartment, saying goodnight, he had kissed her like he might never have the opportunity to do so again, with a desperate hunger that left Emma’s knees weak.

She’d awoken this morning with renewed purpose. The sooner she figured out who had really killed Gold, the sooner she and Killian could move forward with whatever they were becoming. Calling David and offering to work the late shift at the station, she decided to spend her afternoon going more carefully over the cabin, looking for clues she might have missed the first time.

The sun was bright, melting snow that had drifted down during the night so that it fell from weighed-down tree branches onto her car in fat droplets. Even though it was a cold day, the blue sky and bright sunlight made Emma feel optimistic and hopeful. Things with Killian were good. Mary Margaret and David were disgustingly happy together. Regina was going to let her see Henry. Finally, it felt like her life was settling into place.

Emma tore away the crime scene tape she had David had put up over the cabin door and let herself in.

The orderliness of the main living space of the cabin had led her to conclude that nothing had been disturbed initially, that nothing had been tampered with. But clearly, the killer had been here, based on the blood they found in the bathroom. Perhaps her assessment had been wrong. She went over everything again, looking under furniture and in kitchen cabinets, behind shelves and under rugs. Nothing.

She walked the length of the room, her boots thumping against the wooden floorboards. The murder weapon could be anywhere in Storybrooke, but something about this cabin still niggled at her. The killer had come here and washed the blood off his hands. Wouldn’t it have been too tempting a place to hide the murder weapon, rather than bringing it back into town and risk being caught with it?

She continued to pace, eyes touching on everything in the room.

There was still a voice in her head, whispering that despite her gut instincts, despite her superpower, any logical person in her position should still consider Killian a suspect. She’d argued it around and around in her head all morning, all the reasons he was suspicious, all the reasons he wasn’t. It was driving her crazy. She needed to solve this crime before it was too late, before she fell completely in love with him.

It’s already too late, the voice in her head muttered.

Her foot connected with one of the floorboards, and the rhythmic thump of her boot heel changed timbre. Echoed. Emma looked down at her feet.

The fucking floorboards.

Dropping to her knees, she felt around the edges of the board, feeling it wiggle slightly as she looked for purchase to lift it out. She clawed at the end, fingernails slipping into the tiny gap, and pulled. One of her fingernails ripped.

“Fuck.” She sucked on the end of her finger, then almost slapped herself on the forehead when she remembered she had a Swiss army knife on her keychain.

Using the knife blade for leverage, the board lifted away easily, revealing a narrow dark space underneath. Putting away her knife, Emma pulled the flashlight off of her belt and clicked it on.

At first, the space looked empty, but then she noticed a black lump. Reaching down into the hole, she grabbed it and pulled it out, her hand trembling with excitement.

The hilt of a knife stuck out from a tightly wrapped bundle of black cotton. It looked like a T-shirt, stiff with what must be dried blood. Careful not to touch the knife hilt itself, she set the bundle down and stared at it.

The blade was completely covered, so she couldn’t tell if it was curved like the coroner’s report had indicated it would be. Her hand reached out to start to unwrap it, but then she jerked it back.

In her haste to get out here, she’d forgotten her evidence kits. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally destroy evidence. Anxious as she was to see the blade, it would have to wait until she could get it back to the station.

Her cell phone rang.

Emma touched the screen without looking at who was calling and put it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Henry.”

“Henry, I’m working right now; what’s up?” Picking the bundled knife up, still avoiding the hilt, Emma stood.

“I just talked to Mom. I think you’re in trouble.”

“Actually, no. I saw Regina this morning, and she’s agreed to let us see each other sometimes. It was almost a good talk.” Emma left the cabin, setting the evidence on the passenger seat of the cruiser.

“Exactly. Something’s fishy. Why would she suddenly change her mind like that? I think it’s a trick. The Evil Queen always has a trick up her sleeve.”

Emma walked back to the door, resecuring the crime scene tape. “Or she’s decided to be reasonable for once.”

“No way. If she’s being nice to you, then you’re in danger.” She could hear a hysterical edge coming into his voice, and the image of Killian pushing Henry out of the way of an oncoming car flashed in her mind.

“Henry, where are you?”

“Pay phone near Granny’s. I couldn’t risk calling you from her house.”

“Okay, okay, just … go to the loft and wait for me there. Can you do that?”

He sighed. “Yeah, I can do that.” He sounded calmer.

“Watch out for cars when you cross the street, okay, Henry?”

“Duh,” was the only response she got before he hung up the phone.

Emma got behind the wheel of the car and looked longingly at what was almost certainly the murder weapon sitting on the seat beside her. She needed to get back to the station and examine it, then lock it up somewhere safe. But she also needed to go calm Henry down.

With a grimace, she put the car in gear and peeled out.

~*~

Henry was sitting on the steps next to the door of the loft, waiting for her.

“Here you are! I was starting to worry that Mom got you.”

Emma unlocked the apartment, ushering him in. “I was out in the woods doing some work. Regina didn’t ‘get’ me.”

“She’s got a plan though, I know it. She doesn’t surrender. She knows you’re close to breaking the curse, and she’s making a move.” His voice rose in pitch.

Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes as guilt churned in her belly. His break with reality was getting worse. Her son was so damaged, and nothing she or anyone else did was making him any better. She’d given him up because she thought it would give him a better life, and instead he was delusional. As poisoned by this town as Graham. As Killian.

“Henry,” she said, swallowing against a lump in her throat. She knelt down, taking his arms in her hands. “There’s no curse. There’s no evil queen. There’s no fairy tale. There’s just us, doing the best we can to get through our lives. Regina too, maybe she’s doing the best she can with a difficult situation—“

“No!” Henry shouted, jerking away from her. His gaze settled on the kitchen table. “What’s that?” he said, pointing at the plastic container that Regina had left.

“I don’t know, some kind of dessert that Regina brought over.”

Henry ran over, ripping the top off. “Is this apple? Don’t eat it,” he said, hysteria in his voice.

“Why?”

“It’s poisoned. This is the trick. She’s trying to curse you.”

“With a poisoned apple? Henry, that isn’t a real thing.” Emma walked over and picked up the pastry. “Here, I’ll show you.”

“No!” he shouted, jerking it out of her hand and backing away. “I’m sorry to do this, Mom. But you’ll be able to save me. You may not believe in the curse, but I believe in you.” He took a bite of the apple turnover.

Emma watched him sadly as he chewed and swallowed. “See? There’s no—“

Henry collapsed to the floor.

“Henry?” She fell onto her knees at his side. “Henry! Henry!”

~*~

“What did he eat?” Dr. Whale was asking her while another doctor and nurses fussed around Henry’s gurney in the hospital room. Emma watched, paralyzed, as an IV needle pierced the tender flesh on the top of his little hand.

“Sheriff, what did he eat?” Dr. Whale said more sharply.

“It was… it was an apple turnover that Regina made. What’s wrong with him?”

“We don’t know yet,” he looked at the monitors. The colored lines and numbers swam in Emma’s vision.

“Could this be, you know, psychological? He was trying to convince me…” She trailed off.

“No way,” he said. “His brain waves are minimal, heartbeat slow and thready. Something happened to him.”

Emma looked around, just in time to see Regina run into the hallway on the other side of the glass wall. Rage poured into her, filling every crevice. Emma hit the doors full force, barreling out to meet Regina head on.

“What the hell happened?” Regina asked.

“You did this,” Emma grated, trembling with anger. “The poison that was meant for me. Henry ate it instead.”

If there was any doubt left in her mind, the look on Regina’s face destroyed it. “No…”

“You hated me so much that you poisoned your own child.”

“I didn’t… it wasn’t…” Tears fell from Regina’s eyes, and she made no move to brush them away.

Emma didn’t care. She felt no sympathy for this monster of a woman. She shoved her against the wall. “Do you have something that can fix this? An antidote?”

Her face crumpling under the weight of her grief and guilt, Regina shook her head.

“Then get the hell away from here. I have no use for you, and neither does my son.”

Emma was too shaken, too horrified by the events of the last several minutes to even be surprised when Regina obeyed her.

It was only seconds later, as she stood in the corridor breathing deeply and trying to calm herself down, that Killian arrived. She didn’t remember calling him, but she figured David must have. Without thought, she stumbled over and fell into his arms.

“Emma, what happened?”

“Henry,” she gasped, but couldn’t get any more words out.

“Dave said something about poison?” She nodded, clinging to him. Now that he was here, she felt like she had to luxury to fall apart a little bit.

“I’m sure the doctors are doing everything they can to make him better. Tell me what I can do. I’ll do anything you need. Anything.”

Emma looked up into his kind eyes. “Just be here. All I need is for you to be here.”

“Always,” he said, and she got the sense that he wasn’t only talking about Henry and the hospital.

Mary Margaret and David ran through the double doors, both of them out of breath. “I’ve got the apple thing,” David said, holding up a plastic bag.

“Take it to Dr. Whale,” Emma said, pulling away from Killian.

“I brought his backpack,” Mary Margaret offered, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know why; I saw it in the loft and I thought he might want it.”

Emma nodded, swallowing against a sob that was struggling to break free. “Thanks, Mary Margaret.”

~*~

Machines beeped, and Emma listened to the beeping, trying to discern if it was getting slower. She felt a squeeze of her hand and she squeezed back, her fingers interlaced with Killian’s.

“Maybe if Dr. Whale keeps working on it…” Mary Margaret said.

“He can’t find anything that would explain Henry’s symptoms. And if he doesn’t find something soon, Henry’s going to run out of time.” A cold detachment was seeping into her. Her son was lying in the middle of that sterile bed, wires and tubes everywhere, looking so small, and she couldn’t do anything. Well, maybe there was one thing she could do. She could wrap her hands around Regina’s neck and squeeze until the life drained out of her.

“Don’t give up hope, Emma. Henry wouldn’t want that.” Mary Margaret, sitting on her other side, reached down into his backpack and pulled out the storybook. “That’s why he loves these stories so much. Because they give him hope.”

“False hope,” Emma said.

Silence settled over their vigil once again.

Killian cleared his throat. “Why don’t I go get us all some coffee?”

David smiled gratefully. “That’s a good idea. Here, let me…” He started reaching for his wallet.

“I got it, mate; don’t worry about it.” He gave Emma’s hand another squeeze, standing. “Do you want coffee?”

She didn’t, but she nodded. Killian left the room, making minimal noise as he did. Everyone was moving around silently, like they were in the presence of death and didn’t want to attract its attention.

Emma watched as Mary Margaret ran her fingertips over the embossed words on the cover of Henry’s book before opening it and paging through. “Maybe I should read to him?” Mary Margaret asked.

Emma frowned, looking at the book. A part of her wanted to burn it. “He wants that story to be true so badly. Wants… wants you to be those people. My parents.” She smiled in spite of herself. “He’s so convinced that Snow White is my mom and Prince Charming is my dad.”

David and Mary Margaret shared a significant look. “Emma, do you ever…” Mary Margaret trailed off, her eyes pleading with David for something.

“What?”

“I’m not saying we’re Snow White and Prince Charming,” Mary Margaret said with a nervous laugh. “But sometimes I think… I don’t know, maybe in a past life or something, we are your parents?”

Before Emma could react to that, David chimed in. “Mary Margaret and I have always felt this pull, like we were meant to be together. Like, no matter what we did or what roadblocks were in the way, we would find our way to each other. And we realized recently that in a different way, we felt the same way toward you. That we’re meant to help you.”

“It’s more than that,” Mary Margaret said. “When you moved in with me, something… clicked, like that was where you were supposed to be.”

“Same when we started working together,” David added.

“I don’t know, Emma; I know it’s crazy,” Mary Margaret said. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it feels true. Doesn’t it?”

Emma was crying. She wasn’t sure when she started, but tears were running down her cheeks and falling onto her lap. “It feels true,” she echoed, looking back and forth between David and Mary Margaret. “But it can’t be. You can’t be my parents.”

Mary Margaret held the book out to her. “Unless… unless Henry’s right. Unless the curse is real.”

Emma laughed sharply through her tears. “Not you too. You can't believe this stuff.”

“All I know,” and now Mary Margaret was crying. “All I know is what I feel when I look at you, Emma.”

“And what's that?” she asked, her breath hitching.

David got out of his chair, coming over and kneeling in front of her. “I was in a coma for years, and all it took for me to wake up was the sound of Mary Margaret's voice. Anything is possible. What I know is that somehow, long ago, we lost you, but now we've found you again.”

“Henry is the truest believer I've ever known,” Mary Margaret said, still holding out the book. “Maybe he needs some of that belief from us now.”

Emma looked over at Henry, lying there so helpless, and reached out and took the book from Mary Margaret.

A rush of images filled her head.

A woman, screaming as she gave birth in a canopied bed. Tears over the baby. Saying goodbye. A man holding the baby and fighting off four, no five guards. His blood soaking his shirt and dripping onto the floor. Kissing the baby, and putting her in a wardrobe.

“Find us.”

Emma gasped.

“It’s true.”

Suddenly a very different chaos filled her head. Beeping machines. A rush of doctors and nurses. She was screaming. Strong arms pulled her away. Strong hands doing CPR on a tiny body. Regina on the other side of the glass partition, her face a mask of pain. Everything through a blur of tears. A slowing down. A nurse started to disconnect things from Henry. Through it all, Emma clutched the book.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Whale said, and it sounded like his voice was coming from the bottom of a well. “We did everything we could. He’s gone.”

Released by David, Emma stumbled to the bedside. Henry looked so peaceful, lying there. He couldn’t be dead. Death couldn’t be so peaceful, could it?

“I’m sorry. You were right about the curse. I should have believed you.” Her voice sounded strange, high-pitched and reedy. Trembling, tears running down her face, Emma smoothed his hair and bent over. “I love you, Henry.” Gently, she kissed him on the forehead.

Behind her closed eyes, Emma saw a strange, prismatic light, almost as if she’d looked at the sun too long and was seeing some kind of afterimage on her retina. At the same time, a wind blew her hair back, made her stumble away from Henry. Emma blinked, startled, looking around for the source of the disturbance.

Henry gasped, and sat up.

“Henry!” Emma couldn’t believe her eyes. He was sitting right there, breathing, impossibly alive.

“You did it,” he said to her. “You saved me.”

There was a commotion behind Emma, and she looked over to see David and Mary Margaret in each other’s arms.

“You found me,” Mary Margaret said.

“Did you ever doubt I would?” David responded. Both of them seemed very close to breaking down into sobs right there in Henry’s hospital room.

“What… happened?” Emma looked around and saw that everyone, doctors and nurses alike, seemed to be in a state of shock and confusion, but it wasn’t directed at Henry.

“I think you broke the curse,” Henry said.

“Emma,” David gasped. He stumbled over, pulling her into a hug, his hand cradling her head. “Our daughter.” Mary Margaret joined them, her hands clutching at Emma. At a loss for what else to do, Emma hugged them back.

~*~

Regina’s hands pressed against the glass, her heart hammering in her chest as she watched Henry sit up. She laughed with momentary joy. Her son wasn’t dead. Emma had saved him.

Gradually, she became aware that something else was happening. Mary Margaret and David weren’t focused on Henry, they were focused on each other. A nurse dropped a tray of surgical implements in the hall, a look of shock on her face. Dr. Whale ran past, a panicked, crazy look in his eye.

“The curse is broken, your majesty,” a voice growled in her ear.

Regina whirled, coming face to face with Killian Jones. No. Coming face to face with Hook.

He may have still been dressed in jeans, his innocuous prosthetic hand still in place, but it was immediately obvious that he carried himself differently. There was no question that he knew who he was.

“Let me give you a piece of advice, free of charge,” he said. “Everyone is getting their memories back, and they’re realizing what you’ve done.” He leaned even closer, and Regina had to force herself not to back away. “You need to find a place to hide.”

“You killed him, didn’t you?” she whispered. “You killed Rumpelstiltskin.”

He grinned, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “You’ve been trying so hard to get your hands on that dagger. Looks like your time ran out, Regina.” He glanced around as if expecting someone to jump out and attack her at any moment. “Now run.”

Chapter 13

#csbb #cs ff #captain swan ff #this graceful path fic #my fic

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zillowcondo · 6 years

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How to Hygge – Tips for a Wonderful Winter

The Scandinavians know a thing or two about enjoying Winter to the full and so it’s no surprise that the Danish have come up with the concept of hygge. Symbolizing a sense of comfort and special moments with family and friends, it has huge appeal worldwide.We’re sharing our tips for a wonderful Winter and how to hygge, to help brighten up these dark days…

Definition of Hygge

There are actually quite a few different definitions of hygge. It epitomizes a feeling of coziness, conviviality and finding joy in the everyday. According to the Danish writer and translator Tove Maren Stakkestad , Hygge was never meant to be translated. It was meant to be felt. If you’re wondering how to pronounce hygge, it’s “hoo-guh”.

How to Hygge – Hygge Decor

Danish style is about functional but comfortable furniture and a minimalist vibe. Scandi living should invoke a sense of warmth, with log fires and plenty of books scattered around. For a cosy home, opt for tactile, natural fabrics such as sheepskin rugs, fake fur throws, wood, unadorned metal, ceramic and stone. A warm blanket and a hot drink go a long way to create the hygge home decor look, like in this lovely hotel in Verbier. Houseplants bring nature indoors and succulents are particularly suitable thanks to their clean lines. In terms of colours, shades of white, cream, brown and grey are ideal. Consider incorporating accent colours such as red and green for their festive vibe.

Hygge lighting will ideally be fairly low, so think wall lights with dimmer switches, fairy lights and scented candles. The appropriately named Hygge candle is by Danish brand Skandinavisk. It has a smart beechwood lid that doubles as a coaster when the candle is lit and smells absolutely divine! It’s described as echoes of baked strawberry cake, brewed tea, wild mint and rose petals but it reminds me of freshly laundered sheets. The candle is hand-poured from a blend of perfume and vegetable wax and will burn for at least 50 hours if you let it burn for no longer than 3 hours at a time. Get yours at PAD Lifestyle, the cool online concept store that curates independent labels and designs its own range of bespoke, limited edition furniture.

A hygge bedroom should have plenty of pillows, a faux-fur or quilted throw on the bed. You could also change your Summer duvet cover for a heavyweight one in a warmer Winter colour such as teal. Wooden furniture or floorboards will add a Scandinavian element or hang objects on a wooden branch for a quirky touch. Sheepskin rugs will also enhance the cozy ambiance. Try to keep tech out of the bedroom for a more relaxing sleep. Blue light from smart phones and laptops disrupts sleep patterns so it’s best to turn these devices off or remove them from the room altogether.

Hygge Clothing

To complement your hygge interior, choose comfy warm clothes in fabrics such as lambswool and cashmere. Baukjen is a London based studio that designs timeless classics such as this V neck sweater with a playful star pattern. Amsterdam born founder, Baujken de Swaan Arons and her team specialize in everyday comfy yet chic clothing. The Loxley Intarsia jumper is a super soft wool blend that would work perfectly with skinny jeans, leather leggings or simply for relaxing at home. Truly versatile and a wonderful Christmas gift for yourself or a loved one.

These cozy woollen Somerville hygge socks are just the job for lounging at home. In an attractive olive shade, they have a non-slip design and some lurex to add sparkle. Another great British brand, Somerville recently celebrated their 10th anniversary. They’ve come up with some lovely pieces for Winter including cashmere neck warmers and charming faux fur pom pom hats.

Comfy nightwear like these stylish Clara Swan Print Pyjamas by Cyberjammies is a must. Made from cotton and modal, they have an elegant swan design, with a smart black, white, grey and teal blue colourway. This British brand is available online and at over 250 stores in Europe, the USA and Australia.

Hygge Recipes

Now is the time to brew up some mulled wine and it only takes a few minutes to prepare. Just take one bottle of red wine, and heat it gently for 10 minutes with a stick of cinnamon, a couple of star anise, a few cloves and 4 tablespoons of caster sugar or honey, as well as a few slices of orange. Take it off the heat and allow to infuse for a few minutes before serving.

Hot chocolate is another delicious Winter beverage and no one will blame you if you add a few marshmallows on top ;-). Talking of which, a melted chocolate and marshmallow fondue makes a great sweet alternative to a savoury cheese fondue.

Bircher museli is a lovely Winter warmer – OK, so it’s the Swiss who actually came up with Bircher museli but it fits well with hygge. This healthy mix of nuts, dried fruit and raw oats soaked in yogurt milk will set you up for the day. Prepare it the night before by soaking 150 g of rolled oats in 420 ml milk, 60 ml of apple juice and 3 tablespoons of lemon juice. The next morning, add your favourite toppings such as blueberries, nuts and dried fruit. If you prefer, you could make it the same day using quick oats which only need to soak for 30 minutes to an hour.

Use a slow cooker to prepare delicious meals such as stew in the morning that will be ready for you when you come home from work. It’s also easy to rustle up fresh waffles if you have a waffle iron. Simply mix together 1 and a quarter cups of flour, 3 teaspoons baking powder, a pinch of ground nutmeg and salt. Add 1 egg and half a cup of milk and blend until smooth. Then spray the heated waffle iron with a non-stick spray and pour a few tablespoons of the batter in. Serve with chopped bananas for a delicious Wintertime treat.

Hygge Christmas

Nothing spells Christmas quite so much as a festive wreath and this bespoke one by Phillo Flowers really has the wow factor. This RHS award winning florist is one of the most renowned in London for their magical designs. They can adapt the colours and decoration used to you or your chosen recipient’s preferences, using fragrant Winter foliage and berries. The end result is simply stunning and very long lasting. Aside from wreaths, they also supply decorated Christmas trees, table pieces and floral arrangements as well as scented candles for businesses, private residences, parties and weddings. If you’re in London, head to their Notting Hill boutique on Chepstow Road to marvel at their creations. There’s a great selection in their online store too and if you’re not sure what to pick, then their gift voucher is an excellent choice.

A Danish nisse or elf makes a cute Christmas decoration.

Skin can get very dry at this time of year, so good quality skincare is a must. When it looks as good as this REN Silent Night, Wake Wonderful set, then it’s the perfect gift. The beautifully packaged set includes their signature V-Cense Revitalising Night Cream, Flash Rinse 1 Minute Facial and Wake Wonderful Night Time Facial. The night cream has vitamin C and citroflavonoids from Calabrian oranges to reduce free radical damage, as well as frankincense and boswellic acid to relax facial muscles and phytosterols to boost lipid content. The 1 Minute Facial also has vitamin C and boswellic acid, as well as glycogen magnesium which boosts radiance, while the night-time facial contains glycolic and lactic acids and other ingredients to moisturize and refine skin tone. Now there’s no excuse not to look great on Christmas Day!

Have you heard of hygge before? We hope you’ve enjoyed finding out more about how to hygge! What are your best tips for warming up Winter?

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How to Hygge – Tips for a Wonderful Winter published first on http://ift.tt/2pewpEF

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