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scribomaniac · 2 years

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Something Wicca This Way Comes: Chapter Eighteen

I Killian I

A Kieran demon? Unlikely. A Harpy? Perhaps, Killian pondered for a moment before shaking his head. Harpies didn’t have graves. “What about a Banshee?” He asked, looking up from the Book of Shadows and over to Emma. He pointed to a line on the illustrated page when she looked over, “This says they sometimes haunt grave sites.”

Emma frowned, “I think we’re looking for someone who actually has a grave.”

Killian silently agreed, but unfortunately that information left them with practically zero information. He’d been flipping through the Book for what felt like ages now, hoping to find something that would help them, begging an ancestor to intervene and show him something in a new light. So far though, nothing was working. “A witch, then?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Emma said. “But it’s not like we can just dig up the grave of every witch.” Running a hand down her face, she added, “We definitely don’t have time for that.”

Flipping through more of the pages, Killian wished he knew what to say. He could only imagine what she and Liam had gone through in Never Land. Neither of them had talked about it since their return. Not really, anyway. Liam was still recovering in his room, and although Killian had visited him twice now, the older brother had been asleep both times. Emma had given everyone a short summary of what had happened–how Pan had tricked them, how she’d made a deal with the demon to save Liam’s life, how that had been a trick too–but Killian had a feeling there was more to it. Emma had been quiet since her return. Quieter than usual. While Will was attempting to scry for the unknown woman and Killian looked through the Book, Emma merely sat in the corner, turning an athame over in her hands and staring out across the attic.

Killian watched her for a moment longer, then found himself asking, "Penny for your thoughts?"

Emma's eyes flicked over to his and she crossed her arms. It took a minute, but eventually the Savior admitted, “I’ve been running through some female demons in my mind and none of them fit. The only one I can think of is the Seer, since she helped Rumplestiltskin steal the throne but,” she shook her head, “she doesn’t have a grave. What are we missing?”

Brushing through a good chunk of pages, Killian hummed. “We’ll figure something out, Swan.” He shot a cheeky grin her way. “We always do.”

Emma rolled her eyes but didn’t try to hide the smile on her face. “I suppose that’s true, though how I don’t know.”

“Pure talent, love.”

Emma snorted, “Or a whole bunch of luck.”

“Both, perhaps?” Killian’s smirk widened, bordering on a smile, when he heard Emma laugh. He flipped through another set of pages, about to suggest they take a break, when a strong premonition overtook him.

A woman with long dark, curly hair walked hurriedly through a dark park. She clutched at the hand of a young boy, his eyes wide and bright as he looked all around him.

Through a wall of fire, the Source stepped into the woman’s path. With a blood chilling laugh, he mercilessly flung the woman back and grabbed for the boy. The woman screamed, but she could do nothing as the demon and child were engulfed in flame before disappearing.

“Whoa.” Killian’s world tilted and his vision was blurry as he returned to the present.

A warm hand suddenly covered his own. “Killian?” Emma whispered, her brow knitted and her green eyes alight with concern. “Are you okay?”

Nodding, Killian tried to get his heart under control. It pounded against his chest like a wild and vicious thing, trying to escape its cage and reunite with its mate. It was a terribly sappy thought, but it was also terribly true.

“Aye, Swan,” he said after he felt he’d regained control of himself. “It was just a vision.”

“Oh,” Emma said softly. “I’ve never,” she ducked her head away before taking a step back. Killian’s hand twitched at the loss of her own. “I guess I’ve never seen you have one before. A vision I mean.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I didn’t know it looked like that.”

“Like what?” Killian was curious. No one had ever said anything like this to him before. As far as he knew his visions took less than a second in real time and only occasionally left him stumbling or gasping for air.

“So what’s the vision?” Will asked, making Killian and Emma jump.

Killian winced. He’d forgotten anyone else was in the attic.

Rubbing a hand down his face, the middle Jones’ brother thought back. “I’m not sure. It was a mother and a child. The Source kidnapped the boy.” Looking up at Emma, he asked, “Sound like anyone you know?”

“No.”

“So helpful, love.”

Emma grimaced, but didn’t add anything else.

“What were you touching?” Will asked, peeking down at the Book of Shadows. “That’s usually a clue.”

Looking down, Killian read aloud the words on the page. “The Sea Hag. The Sea Hag is a malevolent magical being known for tempting mermaids–this can’t be right. Are we supposed to be looking for the grave of a Sea Hag?”

Will tsked, then said, “What about what’s on the back?”

Humming, Killian flipped the pages. His jaw dropped as he read, “Baelfire?”

Emma gasped.

Killian looked up, “The Source’s son?”

“The demons you vanquished?” Will asked.

Emma took a moment, then nodded. “The half-demon I vanquished.”

Half-demon? Killian’s mind mulled over the word. If Baelfire was half of a demon, then that would mean the other half was . . . Locking eyes with Emma, Killian knew they’d come to the same conclusion. “The woman!”

Standing up abruptly, Killian wracked his brain as he tried to remember details from the vision. “What do you know about Baelfire’s mother?” He asked Emma.

“Not much. She was mortal. She was an artist. Baelfire didn’t talk about her much–I think her name started with an ‘M’. Mina or Mia–no,” Emma froze as her mind focused on the past. With a snap of her fingers, she told them confidently, “Milah! That was her name.”

Killian flinched. Of all the names in the world, he thought, why’d it have to be that one?

There was a brief pause, and then Will asked, “Any chance you have a last name to go with the first?”

Emma shook her head.

“Any idea when she was alive?”

Again, Emma silently signaled that she didn’t.

Will sighed, then looked to Killian. “And you? Any other details you noticed in the vision?”

“Sorry, mate. It all happened a bit too quickly.”

Offhandedly, Emma said, “Too bad you can’t replay your visions.”

Killian stroked his chin in thought. Why couldn’t he replay his visions? Sure, he’d never done it before, but he’d never really tried, either. This power of his felt like watching the T.V. Maybe, just maybe he could treat it like one, and rewind the tape. Maybe even slow it down so he could get a proper look at all the details.

“I can do it,” Killian said confidently, his blue eyes flicking between his brother and Emma. “I can replay the vision.”

“Since when?” Will asked, incredulous. Placing his hands on his hips and looking altogether too much like some mother hen, Will added, “I don’t remember you having this ability before.”

Shrugging, Killian stared down at the picture of Baelfire. “I never had to do it before, so I never thought to.” He looked back up, “I know I can though. Just–just give me a moment.”

The psychic energy was still there, all Killian had to do was manipulate it into doing his bidding. Theoretically, that is. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Killian placed his hand on Baelfire’s page and closed his eyes.

A moment passed. Then another. And another.

Killian pursed his lips. Come on, he thought, work, dammit! Work!

A woman with long dark, curly hair walked hurriedly through a dark park. She clutched at the hand of a young boy, his eyes wide and bright as he looked all around him.

Killian stared at the woman–Milah–intently this time. Getting as close to her as the vision allowed. This time he noticed something in her other hand. A diary, perhaps, clutched against her chest. Etched into the leathery cover was the name Cassidy.

The wall of fire appeared, and this time when the Source made his entrance, Killian kept his gaze on Milah as she was flung away from her son. The diary flew from her grasp, opening onto a random page. Killian ignored the screams, the laughter, and tried to glean any information from the diary’s pages. Just as the vision began to fade away, he saw it–there. The date in the upper right corner. November 6th, 1888.

With a lung bursting gasp, Kilian was back in the present. “Milah Cassidy,” he said, almost breathlessly. “Her name was Milah Cassidy. She–the vision’s from the eighteen-hundreds. 1888!”

Will took the name and ran with it, bolting back over to his scrying crystal and map, muttering the name Milah Cassidy under his breath on repeat.

“Killian, that was amazing.” Emma’s hands were on his shoulders. Pride shown abundantly in her beautiful green eyes. He was just about to take a step closer to her, perhaps place his hands on her hips, when he felt her press down on his shoulders, guiding him to lean back in his seat. “You’re looking pretty pale though. Why don’t you relax for a few minutes. Let me and Will take it from here.”

“I’m not a baby, Swan,” he said, a tad bit grumpy.

Emma gave him a small, tender smile. “I know. I’m just,” she looked down, then on second thought returned her gaze, “I’m worried about you.”

Killian blinked, not expecting that. Her words got the behavior she wanted from him though–quiet and docile–and she gave his shoulders a firm squeeze before walking over to Will to help him in his search.

I Emma I

Dreading this upcoming interaction, and cursing Tink for orchestrating it, Emma knocked on Liam’s bedroom door. After locating which cemetery Milah was buried in–a local one, thankfully–Emma had gone downstairs to get some water and had run into the white-lighter.

Then, next thing she knew, a tray of food and tea was in her arms and she was being shoved unceremoniously up the stairs.

Knocking again, this time Emma heard a muffled, “Come in,” and opened the door with one hand, her other balancing the tray.

“Emma,” Liam said, surprised to find the Savior instead of one of his brothers. “What are you–?”

“Tink asked me to bring this up,” Emma answered quickly. Deftly, she placed the tray on the side table next to Liam’s bed. When there was still the look of confusion in Liam’s eyes, she added, “She said she needed to talk with the Elders and Will and Killian were too busy preparing for tonight.”

“Oh,” Liam nodded. He put down the book he’d been reading and reached for the cup of tea. “What’s happening tonight? Anything I can do to help?”

Giving the eldest Jones brother a quick once over, Emma could help but to ask, “You sure you’re in a position to offer help right now?”

To her surprise, Liam laughed. It wasn’t a deep throated one, but it wasn’t a scoff, either. Emma blinked, not sure what to make of the behavior.

“I suppose,” Liam paused and shook his head, “I suppose you have a point.” He took a sip of his tea, then placed the cup to the side. “I should be back in the game soon enough though, thanks to . . . thanks to you, Emma.” He took in a deep breath, then gestured to a chair in the corner of the room. “Please, take a seat.”

Warily, Emma accepted the invitation. Crossing her legs, Emma waited with raised brows. This is not where she thought this interaction would go.

“Being cooped up in here these past few days has given me a chance to reflect.” Liam swallowed audibly.

Emma guessed this wasn’t easy for him. Whatever this was.

“And, well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not listening to you in Never Land. I’m sorry for that stunt I pulled with the Dreamshade–for putting us in danger. And Emma,” Liam made sure she was looking at him when he finished, “I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. I’ve had no right to be so hard on you.”

Emma didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure if anyone had ever apologized to her. Not like this, with pure intent and sincerity.

Before she had a proper chance to respond, Liam barreled on, “I understand if you never forgive me, but I wanted to get that out there and to try and clear the air. I know how much Killian cares about you–”

Sitting up straighter, Emma’s chest tightened. They did not need to talk about this.

“–and I hope you care about him too, so I just wanted to make sure you knew I wouldn’t be getting in the way, or anything, if the two of you–”

“Okay!” Emma interrupted, getting to her feet. This conversation had begun with more sincerity and emotion than she was used to, and now, with this ‘big brother’ talk, Emma didn’t think she could handle it. It was way too much all at once. She needed time to process.

“I forgive you,” she blurted out. The two witches stared at each other for a quiet moment. Then, worrying he might think she was just trying to pacify him, she continued, “I do. Forgive you, I mean. I know you were just being protective.” She shrugged, “Maybe a bit overprotective, but I get it. If I had a family I’d probably act the same way. So yeah, don’t worry about it and ah–” she waved vaguely at his bed, “get some rest.”

She stepped towards the door, fully intending on making a quick getaway, when Liam said, “You do have a family, Emma.”

Freezing, Emma turned around to look at the eldest Jones.

“Mary Margaret, David,” Liam listed, “Tink–even Killian, Will, and me. We’re family now so don’t forget that, alright?”

Looking down to hide the smile threatening to overtake her face, Emma nodded. “Okay. I won’t.” Peering back up, she said, “I promise.”

They gave each other one last nod before Emma left Liam to his recuperation.

|Killian|

After making plans and gathering the necessary supplies, Killian and Emma waited until the sun had set before heading out on their mission.

The night was dark and cool as the two witches snuck into the graveyard. It was one of the oldest in the city and no longer took new residents. Killian wondered how long it had been since the place had a proper caretaker looking after it. The further back into the cemetery they went, back towards the oldest of the graves, the more wild the foliage became. Blades of grass reached above his knees, weeds ran amok, and the graves themselves looked like they’d seen their fair share of storms.

Some of the tombstones–old, thin slabs of stone–had broken in one way or another, or else the engravings detailing the owner’s life had all but disappeared due to time and the elements.

Aiming his flashlight over one particularly miserable looking stone, Killian grimaced, “How the bloody hell are we supposed to find Milah’s grave in all this mess?”

Emma shrugged, “Think scrying could help?”

Killian thought about it, but in the end shook his head. “We’d need a map of the cemetery for starters, and even then it’d still be too inaccurate. We’d need something of Milah’s to pinpoint it.”

"Let's try splitting up." At Killian's facial response, Emma rolled her eyes. "Fine, spread out then. So we can cover more ground but keep in each other's sight."

That, Killian could agree to. Emma walked further North while he went South. Weeds, weeds, and more weeds, he mentally sighed as he had to push some foliage away to try and read the degraded inscription on the bit of stone before him.

It wasn't until Killian had given up on reading his seventeenth tombstone when Emma called, “Hey, look at this."

Her light was focused on a large tombstone that was somehow still perfectly preserved. It had been placed far back in the lot, but it had clearly been taken care of over the years.

Killian frowned at the sight of it. “Milah Cassidy, 1859 to 1888. It looks brand new.” The stone itself matched those around it. Curved, thin, a testament to its time. But the stone looked freshly carved, the grass around it neatly cut. There were even wild flowers growing near the tombstone’s base and candles tucked away to the side. “Obviously someone’s been here.”

Emma kneeled down and touched one of the flowers. “Baelfire,” she said quietly.

“Baelfire?” Killian practically spat. “You’re sure?”

Emma nodded, saying nothing more. Standing back up, she held out her hand for a shovel. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Aye,” Killian said, feeling uneasy about this next part. Thrusting his shovel into the firm earth, he added, “The sooner the better.”

It took time–uncovering six feet worth of soil was no small task– and by the time they were three feet deep both were covered in a fine layer of sweat and panting lightly.

“Can I ask you something?”

Killian looked up, seeing Emma’s eyes connect with his, but then quickly flit away. He raised a brow, this would be something personal then. “Of course,” he answered easily enough.

Stopping her digging, Emma stood up straight and asked, “Why do you flinch whenever her name is brought up?” She gestured to the tombstone, Milah’s name highlighted in the light of the flashlight right behind him.

Grimacing, Killian hadn’t realized he’d been doing that. He took a moment, trying to think about the best way to go about explaining, but in the end decided to just lay it all out there. “I knew a Milah once, back in the Navy.” He leaned back against the side of the hole he’d been digging and looked down at the shovel in his hands. “Milah Fredman. We were in the same unit from day one. We were friends.” He looked up at Emma and gave her a small smile, “Nothing more, of course.”

They could have been, though. If they’d had the time. If they’d had the freedom.

“What happened to her?” Emma asked, her brows knitted with concern.

Killian took a moment. He hadn’t spoken about Milah to anyone in years. Not since he’d left the Navy. “We had an officer, Commander Robert Gold.” Here he had to pause again. It’d been a long time since he’d thought of the man, and anger quickly rose up from the depth of Killian’s heart. “He became obsessed with her. Wouldn’t leave her alone, wouldn’t give her a moment’s peace. He’d terrorize her when she was alone, play mind games with her, practically tortured her, and no one did anything.”

He still remembered the night he found her curled up on the floor of the kitchen, what was once soapy water had dried and crusted around her. The bucket of soapy water was across the room, a scrub brush beside it. Killian had asked her what happened, but when he saw her bruised cheek, her red hands with the skin practically rubbed raw, and the name Gold on her lips, his vision turned red.

Sighing, Killian tried to subdue his anger, to douse the fire that began to rage within himself. It was a long time ago, he reminded himself. All that was in the past. He’d moved on.

Finishing his story, he continued, “So one day, I did the most honorable thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Letting out a bitter laugh, he admitted, “I beat him to a bloody pulp. Next thing I knew I was being tossed out with a dishonorable discharge.”

“And Milah?” Emma asked.

“Milah,” Killian sighed, then nodded. “She got out not long after that. It was hard, but she managed it. Last I heard from her, she was in Florida. We haven’t kept in touch.”

She’d written him one letter. Just the one. To explain that she was safe, that she had escaped Gold and the Navy and she was doing well, but she asked he not look for her. She said he would just bring up painful memories for her, and she just needed to start over somewhere new, with new people. The letter had come from Florida, but Killian suspected she’d left the state as soon as the envelope was in the mail.

“Enough about my Milah, though,” Hook said, standing back up and returning to his shoveling. “We have a much more important Milah requiring our attention.”

They dug the rest of the way in silence, eventually hearing the dull thunk of metal hitting something hard. Not long after that they could see the mahogany casket containing Milah’s corpse. It was gruesome, this task of theirs, and even though Killian knew it had to be done, he couldn’t quite bring himself to reach down and open the casket.

Emma, either sensing his unease or perhaps just impatient, gave him a nudge. “Why don’t you keep look out? I’ll do the dirty work.”

She would, too. Killian could see it in her eyes, this didn’t bother her as much as it did him. He wondered if that had to do with her upbringing in the Underworld–surely she had done worse things than rob a grave–or maybe she was just better at masking her feelings. Both were certainly plausible.

“No, it’s fine.” He shook his head roughly. In case Emma really was just putting up an act then he couldn’t let her complete this task on her own. “We’ll do it together.”

The statement seemed to surprise her, with her brows raising and her eyes widening a bit. Looking away, she grabbed something from her jacket pocket, “Take this, then.”

She handed him a surgical mask.

“We don’t want to catch anything.”

Taking the mask and putting it on, Killian nodded, “Right. Thanks, love.”

Once Emma’s own mask was secured, Killian reached down and pried open the upper lid of the coffin. Finally giving way with a hiss and some dust, Killian found himself practically face to face with a skeleton.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. Quickly looking away, he searched for any signs of the dagger. And then, he saw it. “It can’t be that easy,” he said, feeling Emma peering over his shoulder.

But it was. In between Milah’s skeletal hands lay a silver dagger. It was unlike any dagger he’d ever seen. The blade was distinctive with its wavy edges; small, intricate designs had been carved along the blade, and along the flat edge was written Rumplestiltskin.

Grabbing what was probably the most dangerous weapon in the world, Killian tucked it away inside his jacket and closed the casket’s lid. “Let’s go,” he said to Emma over his shoulder.

Climbing out of the grave, the two witches made quick work of replacing the soil. Once that was done, Killian headed for the exit, but Emma hesitated. “Swan?” He asked, worried about what was slowing her down.

“Just,” she looked at him, then back to the disturbed grave, “just give me a second.” She took a step back towards Milah’s grave. Taking a deep breath, Emma chanted, “Personal loss should not be mine. Restore this grave, and make it fine.”

The brown soil shook, then glimmered with a white light as the grass they’d destroyed sprouted up again and the flowers they’d killed returned in full bloom.

Turning back around, Emma opened her mouth, then closed it. For a moment, Killian thought she wasn’t going to answer his unasked question, but then, very quietly, she said, “It didn’t feel right, leaving it like that.”

Something tightened inside Killian’s chest. So she was affected by all this after all, he thought.

Over an hour later, they arrived back at the manor to find Will and Liam seated in the kitchen. "Feeling better, then?" Killian asked his older brother.

Liam grinned, "Practically as good as new."

Humming, Will repeated, "Practically." Then, looking between Emma and Killian, he asked, "So? Did you find it?"

Grinning, Killian reached into his jacket and pulled out the dagger. "Aye, that we did." He placed it onto the kitchen table.

"Cool," Will nodded. "Now what?"

Liam leaned forward and grabbed the dagger, inspecting it closely. "I assume we stab him with it." He looked up at Emma, then offered the weapon to her, "Or, more accurately, you'll stab him."

Emma snorted and took the dagger, "Because I'm sure it'll be that easy."

"Good instincts, Emma!" Tink's voice echoed around the room as she orbed into the kitchen. Once she had fully reformed, she pointed to the dagger. "I've been up there researching that thing for an eternity and I've got some bad news. It's cursed."

With what could only be described as the final groan of a dying man, Will looked utterly done with the world as he said, "Of course it is."

#charmed #ouat #au #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #milah #liam jones #liam jones ii #aka will #tinkerbell #something wicca

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mccoyyy · 3 years

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moving this to my new blog so I can pin it again lol

@stregoni-benefici you are completely correct but I just wanted to expand on this a little bit - also i’m putting this under a read more cause this got a lot longer than i originally thought it would be

sexism: smeyers treatment of female characters throughout the entire series is extremely problematic. like you don’t even need to read deep into the books to see that. the backstories of all her female characters all involve some form of trauma and are significantly more violent than the male vampires (Rosalie and Esme enduring physical/sexual assault meanwhile Edward dies of the flu and Emmett gets vibe checked by a bear).

she also creates the idea that a woman isn’t complete without children/being a mother. every female vampire in the series is desperate for children yet can’t, its mentioned in pretty much every book and extreme emphasis is placed on how tragic this is. a female character wanting children isn’t wrong or sexist at all but the way its written in twilight makes it seem like its something a woman has to do in order to be happy and smeyer pretty much cements this idea by making Bella suddenly desperate to have Renesmee despite showing no interest in children/audibly voicing her thoughts against having children in eclipse and the start of breaking dawn (i’m pretty sure Bella has a line of dialogue in the books where she says something like she didn’t realise it was something she wanted/needed until it happened bit I’m not sure I try not to read/think about breaking dawn)

there’s also the way she writes female characters, specifically Rosalie. its mentioned throughout the series that Rosalie has extreme mechanical skills and multiple degrees in STEM fields but its barely ever shown, and instead her characterisation focuses on being obsessed with her looks (first couple pages of this, written by smeyer for new moon), and being a ‘stereotypical bitch’. for the first three books most of her character/dialogue is based on being cold and rude to Bella. She is unnecessarily painted as the villain for having different views on Bella (quite literally) giving up her life and future to be with a man (which is a whole other can of worms). the same is done to the character of Leah in eclipse/breaking dawn. Leah is a woman in the Quileute Tribe, she has been severely affected by the Cullen’s presence in the area and is painted as a character that the reader is supposed to dislike simply because she doesn’t like Bella/the Cullen’s despite having extremely valid reasons not to

anti-Native - smeyers treatment of native tribes is horrendous. she has profited fr years off of of native american culture for years and has done so without any acknowledgements. furthermore, she also demonises native american teens (especially in new moon) by calling them wild, violent, dangerous and out of control and then uses these stereotypes to create a contrast between the self control and patience of the Cullen’s and make them seem more like the good guys, and the wolf pack being lesser. She does this again with the treatment of Jacobs character in new moon and especially eclipse.

Jacob starts off in new moon as Bella’s best friend. he helps Bella come out of a severe depression caused when Edward left at the start of the book. however in eclipse his character makes a complete flip and he becomes moody, temperamental, argumentative and disrespectful of Bella’s boundaries. his character becomes unrecognisable and despite smeyers claims of a love triangle, it is obvious what the outcome will be. I have seen countless instances of people on this site claiming they hate Jacob because he is a dick/disrespectful/just as unhealthy as Edward. this was done on purpose by smeyer as she uses Jacob to make Edward seem like the obvious and correct choice for Bella. if you need more proof of this, take the scene where Jacob kisses Bella without her consent and she breaks her hand when punching him, Edward swoops in and almost gets into a fight with Jacob for touching Bella without her consent. this is an obvious attempt to make Jacob seem like the villain and Edward the white saviour

there’s also the treatment of the native characters by the white characters in the books. multiple times in the series, the native characters are called/compared to dogs/brutes and have a distinct unpleasant smell. I don’t think I need to explain how this is racist. the pack also helps the Cullen’s/saves Bella’s lives and never receive any acknowledgement/are treated any better by the Cullen’s/anyone really. the pack are only ever used as a way to make the Cullen’s look better.

there’s also some pretty obvious similarities to colonisation with the Cullen’s entering Quiluete lands which then forces them to start phasing into wolves (and I’m pretty sure none of the pack actually want to start phasing). also, remember Leah? the only female member of the wolf pack? because of the change she effectively can’t have children? that has implications.

and to top it all off, after doing all that, smeyer has never once addressed this or even acknowledged the Quileute Tribe.

pedophilic - I mean even without mentioning breaking dawn its pretty awful. first of all you’ve got the blatant sexualisation of minors throughout the entire series. Edward is 17 throughout the series and smeyer is writing literal paragraphs about his chiselled abs. Jacob is 16/17 when she has him running about forks topless with a 6 pack. this is way more apparent in the movies but its still a huge issue in the books and lead to Taylor Lautner being confronted by adult fans trying to get him to sign their underwear, and being forced into being shirtless for most of the movies which made him extremely uncomfortable (Elizabeth Reaser (Esme) briefly talks about this in the ID10T podcast on spotify). and just as a reminder, Taylor was 16 when the first one was filmed and 17 for the second.

Breaking Dawn is a whole other can of worms. the glaringly obvious issue is Jacob imprinting on a literal newborn baby. now the concept of imprinting itself has racist elements to it, but its heavily implied in the series that imprinting will inevitably lead to a romantic relationship. Jacob imprinting on Renesmee and waiting until she is old enough to enter into a romantic relationship (never mind the fact that shes ‘old enough’ she will still technically be 5) is pretty much grooming. The same happens with Quil and his imprint, Claire (a two year old) where I’m pretty sure there’s a scene in breaking dawn where Jacob and Leah are watching Quil play with Claire and talking about how Quil isn’t going to date anyone because he and Claire are ‘pretty much inevitable’ (i might be wrong though, like I said I try not to read/think about breaking dawn)

smeyer has also written a spin off book (its like 250 odd pages) called the short second life of Bree Tanner (Bree is that newborn vampire killed after the battle in eclipse by the Volturi btw). In this book, Bree is 15 almost 16, and another character Diego is 18 which is definitely pushing the boundaries of ok. (also as a side note, funny how Bree and Jacob are literally the same age and smeyer states multiple times how Bree deserved better and is only a child (who straight up kills people), yet when it comes to Jacob he has to be a responsible adult and is vilified for every mistake he makes)

racist - smeyer refused to let Catherine Hardwicke (director of the first twilight) have a diverse cast because she ‘imagined them a certain way’ (white) and it was a fight to get Edi Gathegi cast as Laurent and had to compromise with smeyer to make Bella’s friend group more diverse. this woman straight up refused to hire more diverse actors and only agreed to when they were side characters/villains.

Also in the official companion book/guide to twilight, smeyer literally writes that vampire venom makes you white

‘the venom leeches all pigmentation from the skin into a more indestructable vampire form…regardless of original ethnicity a vampires skin will be exceptionally pale’ (official illustrated guide pg.69)

this is a whole lot of bullshit cause she is literally whitewashing characters, but when you pair this with the idea that vampires possess inhuman levels of beauty it becomes extremely problematic and implies that being pale/white is more beautiful than darker skin tones.

also, if we go back to Laurent’s character for a second. so Laurent is one of the only characters who isn’t described as white (in the books he is described as having a pale olive skin tone) and in the first book he comes across as pretty reasonable (warning carlisle about James/Victoria, travels up to Denali and tries out the veggie lifestyle) but in new moon, his characterisation pulls a 180° (sensing a theme here) and is suddenly trying to kill Bella as a favour to Victoria and is Evil™ despite in the first book he literally says to Carlisle he didn’t particularly like travelling with James/Victoria and was only really doing it for convenience. where did this undying loyalty come from? yet again, smeyer is completely disregarding established characterisation in POC characters specifically to villainise them.

and finally, we have Jasper. for some reason (that reason being that she is racist) smeyer decides to make Jasper a confederate soldier in his human life. if you don’t have a lot of knowledge on the american civil war, the confederacy were the side of the US that seceded from the union in order to keep their slaves. Jasper was a confederate soldier, and not just any soldier, but a major. Jasper was a major in an army that fought for 4 years to keep the existence of slavery (and don’t even try to say that slavery wasn’t the root cause of the civil war. states rights aye? states rights to do what). now there’s an argument out there made by certain fans that a lot of people joined the confederate army out of pride/were forced into it cause of conscription to try and head canon the racism away but like that doesn’t matter. there was literally no need to make jasper a confederate in the first place. if she was so desperate to have a civil war vampire then she could have made him a member of the union. its been common knowledge that the confederacy was racist for a long time now, smeyer has absolutely no excuses here.

a lot of these issues overlap and I have probably missed heaps of issues (so feel free to add on) but hope this helps explain why smeyer can *ahem* get tae absolute fuck

#smeyer deserves jail #writing this pissed me off so much brb im off to buy a dartboard and a coloured printer #twilight #anti-smeyer #twilight renaissance #twilight resurgance #twilight revival #dont fucking buy midnight sun #edward cullen #jacob black #bella swan #the cullens #wolf pack #jasper whitlock #jasper hale

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

biblio - philia

@courtorderedcake often sends me posts and picsets, which I love, but I know she’s hoping they might spark a fic and as I generally have fifteen ideas on the go at any given time, I don't always have the spoons to follow through on even a promising prompt.

However.

This little ficlet is inspired by this post sent to me by Court. It... got a bit emotional. I hope you like it ❤️.

Words: 1.5k Rating: G Tags: modern AU, books, rough childhoods, some pretty sappy emotions, ngl.

On AO3

biblio - philia:

“So what kind of books do you like to read?”

Emma hesitates with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Um,” she says, then stuffs the bite in and takes her time chewing it as she tries to come up with an answer that won’t make her sound like a child.

“I really like short stories,” she says finally.

“Oh?” Walsh raises an eyebrow and it occurs to Emma, not for the first time, that he can be really fucking patronising. Why did she agree to this date, again? “Saki?” he asks with a smirk. “O Henry? Poe?”

“Fairy tales,” she replies shortly, irritated by him pulling author names out of thin freaking air as though he knows them. Maybe he does, but that doesn’t make it any less obnoxious.

“Fairy tales?” he says with a scoff. “Pretty princess stories?”

Emma frowns. There are no pretty princesses in the stories she’s talking about.

“Witches, more like,” she says. “Baba Yaga. Nourie Hadig. Vasilissa the Fair.”

“Oh.” Walsh looks taken aback, and she draws perverse pleasure from it. He doesn’t know everything, much as he likes to pretend he does. “That’s—well, it’s not what I would have expected.”

It’s not really what Emma would have expected either. She’s never been much of a reader. It was hard to be, bouncing from one school to the next, never really having time to settle in and form relationships with teachers and school librarians. No foster home she ever lived in had much to offer in the way of reading material, and she just never developed the knack of escaping into books.

Not like Killian had.

“Saved my life, is what they did,” he said, tracing the gilded title on his copy of Treasure Island. “When my father was drunk and my mum was crying. Liam made me stay in our room, said there wasn’t anything I could do to help. Which was probably true, but I could still hear them. I could hear—” He swallowed hard, gave his head a tiny shake. “Unless I had a book,” he continued hoarsely. “Then I could shut it all out, pretend I was sailing off in search of Flint’s treasure or taking the Ring to Mordor. Books kept me sane.” He looked up to meet Emma’s eyes. “I’d like for you to know that too,” he said softly. “That… transportation to another place, away from all things that trouble you.”

She shook her head, her chest aching. “I’m not like you,” she said. “Words don’t—I don’t know, they don’t vibe with me. I just get bored if I try to read.”

“What if I read to you?”

“What?”

His face was hopeful, his eyes a drowning blue. “What if I read out loud and you listened?”

“Um, well—” She thought about it. About Killian’s deep, smooth voice telling her a story. About sitting, cosy under a blanket, and just listening to him. “—yeah.” She gave a small shrug. “Maybe, if you wanted to.”

He smiled. “Let’s give it a try.”

And still, Emma thinks, she’s never read a book.

The date ends as early as she can manage it. Walsh drives her home, tries to invite himself in.

“Best not,” says Emma with a tight smile. “My roommate’s probably asleep.”

“Ah.” There’s tension in Walsh’s smile as well. “Sure,” he says. “Your roommate.”

She wants to ask him what the hell he’s trying to insinuate, but also she doesn’t really care. She gave Walsh a chance and it didn’t work out, and—

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” says Walsh. “Maybe we can—”

“I don’t think so,” Emma replies firmly. “I don’t think you and I are going to work.”

“Yeah.” Walsh sighs. “Yeah. Okay, then.”

He gives her a nod then turns to go. No further words are spoken.

Emma turns the key in the lock as quietly as she can, creeps into the apartment on the tips of her toes. The television screen wants to know if he’s still watching but Killian is sound asleep on the sofa. Emma smiles softly as she brushes back a lock of hair that’s fallen across his forehead. This is a turnaround, she thinks. Normally it’s her falling asleep, to the soothing sound of Killian’s voice as he reads her a tale.

She doesn’t think she can carry him to bed the way he does her.

“Killian?” she murmured, nuzzling sleepily at his neck as he lifted her from the sofa. The effortless ease of the motion, the smell of his skin and the warmth of his breath on her cheek had her heart fluttering, her belly clenching with sensations she couldn’t bring herself to name.

“Shh, love,” he replied. “Go back to sleep.”

“But is it finished?” she protested. “How did it end?”

Killian laid her gently on her bed and pulled the blanket over her. “We’ll read the end tomorrow,” he said softly, and she was sure she imagined the press of his lips on her brow as she drifted into dreams.

They never do read the ends, though, she thinks now. The next night is always another story, another ending she falls asleep before she can hear.

“Killian,” she says softly, brushing her fingertips down his cheek. “Killian, wake up.”

“Hmmm?” he mumbles, sleepy eyelids blinking open. “Swan?”

“Hey. You fell asleep.”

“So it seems.”

“I just thought you might prefer to do that in your bed, so you don’t wake up with a crick in your neck.”

“Aye.” He sits up and rubs the neck in question. Emma gulps as she watches the cords stretch as he does, and the ripple of muscle beneath his t-shirt as he rolls his shoulders. “How was the date?” he asks.

“Eh.” She shrugs. “There won’t be a second.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

“I’m not. I wasn’t that into him to begin with.”

“Well, so long as you aren’t upset.” He’s watching her so intently.

“Definitely not.”

His expression relaxes into a smile. “I’ll say good night then,” he says, standing and moving towards his door.

“Good night, Killian.” Her heart twists a bit as she watches it close behind him.

In her room she sits on the bed and kicks off her heels, reaches into the paper bag that sits on her bedside table. A soft knock sounds at her door.

“Come in,” she calls, letting the item fall back into the bag.

The door opens and Killian steps in, rubbing at his neck with one hand and holding a very familiar object in the other.

“We, uh, didn’t get a chance to read tonight,” he says. “And I thought—well, I thought perhaps you might be ready to see some of these endings for yourself. That you might like to keep this for your own.”

He reaches his hand out to her and she takes what he’s holding, staring wide-eyed at the worn cover, her thumb tracing along the F in Fairy Tales.

“But—” She looks up at him, dumbfounded. “This is your favourite.”

“Aye,” he agrees. “It’s seen me through some very tough times. That’s why I want for it to be yours.”

There’s a lump in Emma’s throat and she has to swallow hard around it. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I’ll take good care of it.”

He nods and turns to go.

“Killian!” she cries out, and he turns to her again. “I—I love this book,” she says. “I love it because you love it and because I—” She can’t finish the sentence but Killian’s eyes snap to hers and the look in them is ferocious. She grips the book tight to her chest and reaches into the bag on her table.

“I bought this today,” she says, pulling out another book. The same book. A newer copy, with a tougher cover and illustrated with real engravings. “I was going to read it tonight, but now—” Now she holds his book against her heart and knows she can’t part with it, not for anything. Not for all the world.

“Now I want you to have it.”

“I—” He takes the book almost reverently, eyes shining as he runs his fingers over the cover. “I don’t—”

“I want it to be yours,” she whispers.

“Emma,” he chokes, and then he is pulling her close, his fingers in her hair and their books knocking against each other. “I’ll treasure it,” he says his voice thick and rough with emotion.

The words he doesn’t speak are the most precious ones she’s never heard.

“I love these stories,” she says. “But only in your voice. The words are beautiful but it’s you speaking them that transports me. I bought the new book for the words but it doesn’t have you in it. This one, though—” She grips the old book tighter.

“That one is my heart.”

“And that one—” she nods to the new book, clutched tight against his chest “—is my hope.”

“Your hope?”

“For an ending,” she whispers. “A happy one.”

He rests his forehead against hers and she sighs into his embrace. “Oh, my love,” he breathes. “That, at least, I can promise.”

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ficlet #cs ff au #modern au #book lovers #they love books and each other #rough childhoods #captain swan #biblio - philia #profdanglaisstuff

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khadij-al-kubra · 4 years

Text

Worst Impressions are the First (ch 7)

Main Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil (Human AU)

Pairings: Romantic LAMP

Word Count: 5036

AO3

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Author’s (longer than usual but it’s for good reason) Note: *The Apocalypse—2020. Zoom in on a plague rat turned writer. She has survived thesis projects, getting a Master’s degree, burnout, writing and illustrating a children’s book, being a slave for the U.S. census bureau, months of overthinking anxiety spirals, and one or two incidents involving an asshole skunk. But now, battle weary yet unwavering in her love of art and love for her loyal readers, this onesie-clad tea slurping book dragon....has finally arisen from the ashes*

I LIVE BITCHES!!!!!!! And I am SO SORRY for taking so long!!! I’ve been hard at work, been editing like a mad woman, and I even have a beta now! The gorgeous and talented @humbletortoise So I am OFFICIALLY off hiatus!!! *cue confetti canon*

Also, one of the biggest reasons I’ve taken so long to update is because I’ve spent the past month or so essentially retconning the fuck outta this fic. I realized looking back at earlier chapters in this story that, although I was proud of them at the time and greatly appreciate the positive reactions, they were...not my best work. (shitty first drafts if I’m being honest) That’s because, at the time, I was trying to split my attention between writing this fic and working on grad school stuff, which resulted in my writing for this not being as best of quality as it could have been upon first posting. This story deserves my best, and so do all of you. So now I hope to give you that.

I encourage you to go back and re-read the previous chapters up till now (trust me, they’re near unrecognizable to the first drafts, but in the best way). Or if you don’t feel like doing that, you can just continue on from here. totally cool. For the sake of convenience and my own sanity, I’ll attach the AO3 Link to this fic from the start. I may also start just posting chapter updates on tumblr but only have the link to the chapter and add my reader tags. Again, for the sake of my sanity because Tumblr is a bastard when it comes to posting fics. (Also PLEASE let me know if there are any tagging issues if anyone’s on my tags list; yet another reason i’m considering just linking my fics in the future)

Anywho, without further ado, at LOOOOOONG last, here is the next chapter!

Chapter 7 - (POV Roman)

When Roman had offered to walk with Logan to class, it was only partly out of an innate sense of chivalry; a side of himself that he rarely got to show on account of being a socially awkward gay disaster. Though mainly, he saw it as a chance to get to know his second soulmate better.

He certainly hadn’t expected two long minutes of civil but silent walking. Well, as silent as a stroll through their school could be with its usual racket buzzing around them. With a vocabulary as big as the continents of Africa and Eurasia combined, you’d think Logan would be more of a conversationalist. Alas. He merely walked in step with Roman. They glanced over at each other every so often, but Logan stayed tight lipped and seemingly impassive; fiddling with his bumblebee hair pin every now and again. Damn. Looked like he was going to have to make the first move.

Roman was bad at this. How did people usually…Oh yeah, common interest. That’s a thing. He wracked his brain for some sort of ice breaker. One that’d make him look cool and calm or, something, in front of Logan. He was a fairly decent student though not quite mathletes level. He could compliment his outfit maybe? Was that too forward? Too shallow? Maybe he could find common ground? That was as good a place to start as any.

“So! So uhh…What kind of music do you like?” Roman asked. Yeah, that’s good. Everybody likes music.

Logan glanced at him. “Can you be more specific?”

Roman’s brow furrowed. “I mean, like, your favorite genre of music to listen to?”

“Classical,” said Logan in a clipped tone.

“That’s cool. I don’t really listen to classical myself.”

Logan only hummed, his face neutral. Roman was really hoping for more than that. A few awkward seconds passed, then Logan spoke up.

“Are you perhaps a fan of the classic Sherlock Holmes novels?” He inquired.

“Um, I haven’t gotten around to the books yet, actually,” Roman said, scratching his earlobe. “I mean, I’ve heard great things about them. And I’m a big fan of the Robert Downey Jr. movies.”

“Ah. I see.” Logan said, giving him the judgiest side eye.

Come on, Roman thought. Give me something to work with. “Oh! What about theater?”

“What a frustratingly vague inquiry.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to get to know my soulmate a little better.” Ay come jode, work with me here, man!

Logan sighed. “While I understand and appreciate your intention, I believe ‘getting to know someone’ as you put it, requires a certain level of specificity. Anything less indicates a somewhat shallow level of sincere interest, and I greatly despise shallow conversation. That said, if you’re inquiring as to whether or not I enjoy theater, no. I don’t understand the concept of professional make believe, though I appreciate it as an art form. I assume you’re a fan?”

Is he seriously implying I’m shallow? Roman groused, pushing his red frames up the bridge of his nose. Ugh, forget it Roman. He’s throwing you a bone here. Take it.

“Obviously,” said Roman, gesturing dramatically. “I mean I’m no actor—Eesh. No. Yikes—but everything about the artform enthralls me. And I like all kinds of genres and eras of plays, from Shakespear to Ruhl, but musicals are by far my favorite, because like, there’s so much you can do with them design wise. I mean just look at how groundbreaking Hamilton was.”

For a second, Logan’s face actually softened, his eyes lighting up. But just as Roman thought they were finally about to make some progress, his stony companion was back to wearing that platinum puss.

“Ah. How… original.”

Roman blinked. “Are you saying my tastes are basic?”

“Well, yes.”

Augh! Okay. Yep. I don’t like him. Patton was going to be so disappointed, and Roman was too. He’d wanted so badly to get along with all his soulmates, but Logan was a snob! Way less intimidating than Virgil and his ilk, but still a jerk. I wonder if soulmarks can make typos or something? Thank the stars they’d already arrived.

Roman and Logan filed in with the rest of the class for seventh period. Somebody had the liberty of opening a window– the AC was still busted in this classroom– so for once there was actually a decent breeze cutting through the usual mucky Florida humidity. Still smelled like it would probably rain later. Good thing Roman had packed an umbrella just in case, Mom’s orders. His hair looked too good today to be wrecked by frizz.

Roman took a seat at his desk, running distracted fingers over the carved letters in the wood while he mulled over his predicament. Just look at him over there, thought Roman as he glared at Logan, not two rows away from him. Sitting with his hands clasped on the desk all smug—of course he’d be near the front—and with such disturbingly good posture. What is he, a robot? Who is he to call my interests basic, the NERVE! And okay, sure, like Hamilton, sometimes I get over excited and shoot off at the mouth. But great Zeus, does that guy show passion for ANYTHING besides academics? Roman blew a raspberry, plopping his head in his hands.

He always thought soulmates were supposed to get along, even as just friends for life. Balancing each other out, bringing out the best in you and forming a deep connection—that was the whole point. He sighed to himself. Cymbals clashed less than he and Logan did.

He was stirred from his brooding by the bell. Apparently Mr. ‘Call-me-Terrence’ Williams had materialized without him noticing. Okay fine, he should probably pay more attention, but he was having a crisis here.

“Afternoon everyone,” Terrence greeted in that measured, upbeat tone of his.

He draped his navy blue blazer over the back of his desk chair and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbows. Roman pitied the poor guy; he had to teach sauna of a classroom all day. He could see the glisten of sweat on his teacher's smooth forehead as he wrote things on the board. Yet he still kept a pleasant attitude towards his students.

“Alright class!” Terrence started, “Today we’re covering the next section on the American Revolution. Specifically, the Battle of Yorktown...”

Roman mentally punched the air. My time has come. He opened his textbook to the right page but didn’t bother looking at it. He already knew most everything about Yorktown. Not just because he’d listened to the Hamilton soundtrack fifteen and a half million times, but also because he’d done actual research on the event and time period that the musical took place; There was always the off chance he’d get to stage crew or, heck, even dramaturg the show. He liked to be prepared.

“So the battle of Yorktown took place in 1781, but a great deal of its success was thanks to the French Allies. Many especially aided in fighting the British Troops surrounding New York. Now who can tell me where the French Soldiers first landed?”

Roman half raised his hand. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Logan.” Terrence called.

Roman turned to Logan desk, where his hand was held high and mighty.

“The French Ally ships first landed in Rhode Island, then made their way to Chesapeake Bay,” said Logan, adjusting his glasses. Not even a hint of second guessing in his voice.

“That’s right!”

He almost missed the quick smirk on Logan’s frustratingly pretty face. Look at that smug—thinks he’s so smart...Okay yes, he is smart, but he doesn’t have to be a show off about it. Terrence continued through the passages, calling on a student every now and again to review. Of course, Logan got called on most and he got every answer right. Roman didn’t feel like raising his hand anymore.

“Of course there were many turning points in the revolution, but Hamilton’s return to the field for Yorktown was a key point.” Terrence continued on. “And keep in mind- this was a man who up till now had never been in a position of command before. Not to mention the mental strains he must’ve been under, especially having had to miss the birth of his son Philip, the first of three children he had.”

Wait a sec. “Well, that’s not right.”

Even though he’d muttered, apparently Mr. Terrence still heard him. “Come again, Roman?”

Shoot. “Um, I said,” Stop sounding timid, you know you’re right. “I said that was, um, wrong.”

The whole class turned to him. Oh great, history class has its eyes on me. Roman cleared his throat and tried to look taller.

“What I mean is: Hamilton had eight kids, not three. And on top of that, Phillip was born a few months after they won the Revolution, not during, so Hamilton didn’t miss the birth of his son. I mean sure, it’s a small thing, but the devil’s in the details as they say. Heh.”

Terrence gave the most insultingly bemused look. And Roman definitely heard a few kids snickering behind him. He glanced quickly at the culprits and felt his ears go hot. This is what he got for putting himself in the spotlight.

“Roman, I applaud you for participating in the class discussion,” Their teacher started gently, “but I’m afraid you’re wrong on this one. If you read your textbook close you’d see in the fifth paragraph where it mentions from one of his later letters—“

“Actually Mr. Williams, if I may, Roman is correct.”

Roman saw Logan at his desk, one hand raised while the other adjusted his neck scarf. Was the teacher’s pet actually… backing him up?

“It is a common misconception that Alexander Hamilton only had two children, even more so modernly, what with the musical having only named two of them. However Roman has clearly done his research on the plays historical accuracies, which is more than I can say for some.”

Logan shot a cool but scathing look at their recently snickering classmates and they withered. Roman fought the urge to point and laugh aloud. He did however stick his tongue out real quick. What? He could be shy and petty at the same time.

“My guess,” Logan continued, “is that this textbook edition is also either misprinted or outdated, judging by the publication date in the copyright section.”

Brows furrowed, Terrence looked at the textbook laid open on his desk. He flipped back to the front, before pulling out his cellphone—“I’m the teacher, I’m allowed to do this. You guys aren’t.”—and after what Roman guessed was a quick Google search, their teacher looked up. His eyebrows drawn in a ‘hm, well damn’ expression.

“Looks like you’re right, Roman. And thank you Logan for bringing to my attention about the textbooks. I’ll have to talk to the principal about hopefully getting some updated materials. But we’ll see how that goes,” Terrence, muttered the last part, though Roman was close enough to catch it. Terrence cleared his throat and moved back to the board. “Maybe if we call on assistance from the inside. Much like how the Sons of Liberty sent in Hercules Mulligan to spy on the British...”

“Perhaps if we knew of an immigrant who was unafraid to step in,” Logan said just under his breath.

No one else seemed to notice the reference, but when Roman did, he felt like a mini volcano about to burst rainbow lava. Apparently there was a lot more to his soulmate than first meets the eye; and now that he knew, Roman was determined to see more of it. The rest of class passed quickly and everyone filed out to the halls as the first bell for the last class period of the day rang. Roman made sure to catch up to Logan on the way out and staccato tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Logan?” He said.

When Logan turned, he swore time slowed down for a moment. The brilliant boy’s skirt flared around his waist, and somehow his skin glowed even under the dull, inconsistent school lights. His posture was erect yet natural, he could have been raised among nobility. Amidst the stench and clamor of loud sweaty students, Logan was as poised and striking as the goddess Athena. Oh...

“Yes, Roman?” Logan asked.

Roman gulped. “I uh, just wanted to thank you for backing me up in there.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” Logan said. “I detest when someone is shamed by other students for speaking up in class, regardless of whether or not they have the correct information.”

“Well regardless, thanks for coming to my aid in the face of academic danger.”

“Dramatic, but my pleas—oof!”

A hurried passerby bumped into Logan from behind, rushing off with a half-assed ‘sorry’. Logan, caught off guard, stumbled right into Roman’s arms. The two looked at each other, cheeks filling with heat. Roman caught a whiff of something faintly floral on Logan, something natural– a lavender and honeysuckle perfume, perhaps. It was heavenly. They were still in the middle of foot traffic though, so he maneuvered them to the side. Which was tricky since Logan was still so close to him and also a good two inches taller with the heels.

“Well,” Roman flashed his pearly whites. “Seems you’ve fallen for me.”

Logan pulled away, but his lips quirked upwards in a teasing smirk. “Oh please, I merely stumbled into you.”

“Ah, but stumbling is the first step towards being swept off your feet.”

“Bold words from an abashedly charming homunculus in such an… eye catching ensemble.”

Did he call me charming!? He composed himself, “Hey, don’t let the sweater vest fool you. I may be short but I’ve got guns.”

“Aaah. But mind over muscle, as they say. Do you find yourself up to the task?”

“Only if it’s you, my brainy blossom.”

Roman’s class was in the other direction, but Logan didn’t need to know that. They walked through the halls, conversing. class was still in the next ten or so minutes, but Roman was having fun. Banter with Logan felt surprisingly easy. Natural like they’d been at it all their lives.

“By the way, was that a ‘Guns n’ Ships’ reference I overheard, pastel poindexter?” Roman asked.

Logan cleared his throat. “It… may have been, yes. I found myself unable to resist toppling the figurative dominos.”

“In other words, you seized the opportunity you saw,” Roman said, matching his own reference to the source’s cadence, which got a chuckle out of Logan.

“Precisely. Under more casual circumstances, I may have even recited Lafayette’s part.”

“You can rap? You can rap Guns n’ Ships? Like, the whole thing, no tongue twists?”

Logan stopped for a moment, turned to Roman. The taller boy cleared his throat, and after a moment wherein he seemed to mentally restrain himself, he simply adjusted his glasses. “I have an appreciation for poetry.”

Roman blinked rapidly. Holy shit, he’s an even bigger nerd than I am. He definitely needed to see that at some point.

They turned a corner, stopping just outside of the science room. Some students were going in to take their seats, and the teacher was already making notes on the board. Logan pulled an AP Physics book from his backpack, but made no move to leave, much to Roman’s delight.

“So then,” Roman leaned against the eggshell wall, “How come you acted so indifferent earlier and called my tastes basic? Oh, and I think I remember you also implied I was shallow?”

Okay, yeah, he was still kind of salty about that. But then he saw the shamed look on the nerd’s face, and Roman wished he could have taken it back. Logan looked at his shoes then back at him.

“To be candid I was… hesitant to show the full extent of my enthusiasm. In case you thought I’d be—I believe ‘being the most’ is the term— it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve caused someone to lose interest in conversing with me due to informational overload. I nearly bored my Aunt Patricia to sleep once talking about a fascinating article on jellyfish. And considering how I blundered our initial meeting—“

“Pfft, ya think?” He mentally slapped himself again when Logan went tight-lipped and turned to go. “No, no, wait. I—I’m sorry. Truly. ...Truth is, I was no gentleman either. I’m not always great at thinking before I speak. It’s why I’m so awkward around people. Takes a while for my true charming nature to shine through.”

“Clearly. Still, you show a level of interpersonal aptitude that I, well, lack.” Logan fiddled with his hair pin again and a stray hair came loose. “Reading people and expressing emotions has never really been—It’s something I struggle with.”

Much as Logan tried to maintain his cool composed posturing, Roman could tell that this was something that really bothered him. He tried so hard to seem put together and confident and serious, but really he was just as awkward and insecure as anyone. Roman smiled softly and stepped closer to Logan, reaching up to tuck the loose ebony strand behind his ear.

“Hey, everyone’s got things about themselves they can work on. Including me,” Roman smiled. “And believe me when I say that I will never judge you for being passionate about something you like. So if you ever want someone to ramble about jellyfish or Sweeney Todd to or—I dunno, calculators or something?—I’m all ears.”

Logan’s cheeks went pink and he gave a hesitant yet sincere smile. “That’s...very kind of you, Roman. And coincidentally, I also greatly enjoy Sweeney Todd. The use of iambic pentameter and alliteration to give a succinct synopsis to the story in just the first sentence alone is pure brilliance.”

“Right!? I mean the man’s a mad genius. I’m dying to design sets for one of his musicals someday. Like last year? I came up with the concept of having the Sweeney Todd sets done in a way that highlights the class differences with the characters.” Roman went into a small three minute ramble regarding the specifics before he cut himself off abruptly. Logan was blinking rapidly, a look of mild shock crossing his feature. Roman nearly started sweating; Had he messed this up again?

“That… that’s ingenious”

Roman’s ears were burning. Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!Ohmygosh!

“Hey, Logan!” They both startled and turned to an impatient cheerleader with a ginger undercut and they/them pronoun pin shaped like a coffin. “What’re you doing just standing out in the hall, ya dork? Oh, hey Roman.”

“Uh. Hey, October,” Roman said, waving awkwardly to them.

“I told ya, Red, you only get to call me that when we’re working on a show.”

“Wait, October? Red? You two know each other?” Logan asked, brow arching.

“Kind of. They sometimes help out with costumes for the drama club,” said Roman. And they have terrible timing. I mean seriously Tobes, we were having a moment.

“Come on Lo, class is about to start, and you promised to go over my homework with me real quick beforehand. See ya ‘round, Ro.” Toby grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him into the classroom. “You can fill me in on what you were doing with Red later.”

Logan followed his—apparently—friend into their classroom, but he shot Roman an apologetic look over his shoulder. Roman bounced a bit on the balls of his feet before following halfway into the room. Logan was in his seat with Toby showing him an open notebook. A teacher in a tight grey hair bun was writing on the board. Students at their seats were chatting, and some looked up at the short dork in red who burst in. For once Roman ignored them, his mind set on one last attempt at wooing his green skirted genius while he still had the nerve.

“Hey, Logan,” he said. “I’ve also got some great layout designs for an Into the Woods set. If you’re interested, maybe we can meet up after school and I can show them to you? Maybe we talk a bit more over iced lattes or something?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Prince, seventh period starts in five minutes,” said the teacher. “Unless you’ve suddenly transferred to my class, I suggest you stop distracting my favorite student and get going.”

“I’ll be gone in just a second,” he said. “Well?”

Logan smoothed the silky fabric of his pink scarf and said, “That sounds optimal, Roman. I’ll meet with you. By the first floor water fountain perhaps?”

Roman grinned. “I shall be counting the minutes.”

“Mr. Prince,” said the teacher with a warning glare.

Roman blew a kiss at Logan and then ducked out of the doorway. Was he embarrassed of himself? Oh definitely. Did he regret it? Absolutely not. He felt ten inches tall.

Now to complete the quest of making it to class in time. He slid off a shoulder strap to unzip his classic Mickey backpack, getting out the notebook and the relevant homework. He found them amidst the mess of spiral notebooks, granola bar wrappers, two textbooks and rainbow sticky notes. But something was missing from his folder.

“Where are those– it should be here.” He could’ve sworn he had his stapled the blocking notes in his folder. No, wait, the last place he saw them was— “Ah shoot! I left them in the tech closet again.”

Under normal circumstances, Roman would’ve grabbed them after school, but the auditorium was locked on weekends. He’d have to wait till Monday to get them and that just wouldn't do! he wanted to show Logan his notes today! I’ll bet David Korins never has these kinds of problems. Okay, okay. Still got four minutes. He could rush to the auditorium, grab the notes, and then head straight to class. I should have enough time, right? Right. Besides it was only Spanish Class, he was already pretty fluent after all those summers visiting his grandparent in Nicaragua. He spent most of class time dreaming up blocking notes anyway.

Despite not being totally convinced by his own argument, Roman immediately turned on his heel and started running in the opposite direction. After a teacher told him no running in the halls, Roman power walked through the halls with a skip in his step and a song in his heart, feeling absolutely gay in both senses of the word. Logan had actually called his idea ingenious! And the way those sharp eyes softened just for him- he would squeal if not for the fact that it would draw too many eyes to him. The halls were still filled with a few stragglers rushing to the last class of the day, and he was already trying not to get caught being late for class.

Now he knew how Maria felt in West Side Story. Y’know, before Act 2. Oh sure, they’d gotten off to a shaky start, but as the Bard’s adage on the course of true love said; and Roman felt it in his gut that this was certainly the start of true love. Not just with brilliant Logan but also with soulful Patton as well. He didn’t know how an awkward geek like him ever got so lucky in the soulmate department…Then again, there was still the matter of Virgil. So maybe not so lucky.

Roman touched his arm, remembered flustered yet flattering purple words. I know they both said Virgil is secretly sweet and I can sympathize with the terrors of closet town, but COME ON! Virgil? Really? That gloomy gladiator? There had to be a mistake in that. After all, Patton liked to see the good in everyone. Logan was much more of a skeptic, but he does seem to have a blind spot with sarcasm. Maybe Virgil was messing with them somehow. Even if he’s not a jerk jock, the guy’s still kind of a creepazoid; with his dark eyes and cheeta-esq gait and those probably huge muscles hidden under that bulky jacket and big hands...

His gay disaster train of thought came to a merciful halt as he reached the auditorium. Roman pushed open the doors, took a pause to breathe in the quiet comfort of this chapel of the arts. Okay yeah, chapel was maybe a little kind for the school’s auditorium which doubled as the drama Club’s rehearsal space/prop closet backstage/Mx Joan’s unofficial office because the school didn’t fund the arts programs enough. Even so this space was Roman’s sanctuary. The place where he could help create magic from the shadows, bring stories of those gone and living to life. Here, Roman found something of a community with his fellow backstagers, glee club losers, and budding thespians (the nice ones). So he loved every squeaky stage plank, every duck taped seat cushion and every speck of dust that floated in the spot lit air like fairies.

Mx. Joan wasn’t around for once, thankfully. Probably in the teacher’s lounge or rendezvousing with the school nurse or something. They were pretty chill and Roman knew he was their favorite student, but the choir director/drama club moderator/music teacher (this school really needs to fix its funding habits) wouldn’t have been too keen on Roman being deliberately late for class.

Roman walked down the aisle and to the side room by the stage. It was originally a janitor’s closet, but their club moderator transformed it into a ‘Crew Only’ Storage Unit… Okay it was still a closet, but with less bleach and more coils. This was where they kept important equipment for semester shows, like the lighting and sound boards, along with other supplies. Roman made a quick mental note to get more gaffer tape later, seeing their supply was low.

He looked through the small pile of scribbled and highlighted sheets with the lighting cues for the spring show. I’ve really gotta get a binder for these…Ah-Ha! Here you are! Roman pulled out the stapled sheets titled ‘Into the Woods Dream Set’ and carefully shoved them into his bag. Perfect timing too. He might just be able to make it to class after—

RIIIIIIIIIIING

“GAH!”

What the heck? He could’ve sworn he was alone in there, but that yelp just now said otherwise. Up close, Roman saw that the curtains were rustling, accompanied by sounds of heavy breathing and moaning, yet not a footstep to be seen or heard.

Holy SHIT, this place IS haunted! I KNEW that backdrop fiasco last semester wasn’t caused by cheap slit plywood. My supplies are the best quality allowance money can buy. Great Macbeth’s bloody knife, I TOLD Kai we should've sprung for a ghost light! Remus always teased him for being superstitious but look who’s laughing now.

He dashed back into the crew closet and grabbed the heavy push broom leaning in the corner. Roman Prince was NOT about to be caught unawares and possessed by the ghost of a disgruntled student without a fight. He would defend his domain of imagination!

Roman slowly climbed the stage steps, wielding his broom like a bow staff, turned the curtain corner where the noises were coming from and was about to release a war cry on the—

“Virgil?”

Roman nearly dropped his weapon at the sight of Virgil Alighieri—star athlete, object of his fears and supposed soulmate—curled in on himself trembling and crying.

His jacket was pulled over his head like a hood, yet Roman could see the tear stained face peeking out from underneath. Virgil’s eyes were squeezed tight, making the dark circles he’d never noticed before more prominent. There was no denying the athlete had muscle but he was more lithe—thin enough for Roman to wonder if the guy ate enough. Virgil’s trembling could rival a chihuahua, shaky hands clutching his knees, and he was clearly in the midst of a bad panic attack.

Roman had built Virgil up in his mind as being like some odd combination of Hades and Ares. The strong silent wolf within his pack of jocks, a surging thunderstorm just waiting for the right nerd to come along and piss him off enough to strike down like the bolt of Zeus.

Someone to be afraid of.

But now? Seeing him in this state, all alone and whimpering like a wounded animal...it broke Roman’s heart.

He set the broom down gently and carefully crouched down in front of Virgil. “Virgil,” he said softly. “Virgil, can you hear me?”

Virgil let out a breathy sob but otherwise didn’t seem to register him. Just how long had he been sitting here like this?

Roman was at a loss for what to do. Sure he knew plenty of people with anxiety but never saw someone having an actual panic attack before. He did know that if he didn’t help the other calm down soon, Virgil was liable to pass out. He’d never wanted to hug someone so badly in his life. Roman tentatively reached out a hand but stopped. What if touching him makes it worse? What if I startle him so badly he actually has a heart attack!? Maybe I should get the nurse. But I can’t just leave him like this.

He caught sight of the colorful soulmarks written on Virgil’s arm. Saw his own harsh thoughts: ’Dios mio, he’s staring right at me—like he wants to punch my face!’

Roman took his shame and forged it into steel. I won’t abandon you...my soulmate.

Virgirl’s let out a hiccuped cry, and this gave Roman an idea. Something from back when he was a child. It was probably stupid and a long stretch, but it was all he could think of. He readjusted himself so that he was now sitting right next to Virgil, making sure not to startle him. Roman cleared his throat, then as softly as he could, he began to sing.

“Come stop your crying, it’ll be alright.

Just take my hand, hold it tight.”

Roman one and carefully gentled his hand over Virgil’s. After a moment, he felt a light squeeze, and that encouraged him to keep going.

“I will protect you from all around you.

I will be here, don’t you cry…”

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elizabeethan · 3 years

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The Days We Defend (Will Turn To Gold)- Chapter 5

Everything is perfect, until it isn’t. Killian and Emma have spent months building a life together after finally defeating Neal and Gold, but when the Dark One dies and his power becomes untethered, everyone in Storybrooke is at risk, and some decisions may have lasting consequences.

Sequel to Walk With Me (I Think We’ll Find A Way)

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4

Read on Ao3

Thank you to my good pal @the-darkdragonfly for beta-ing for me!!!!!! You’ve been such a great help bringing this story to where it needs to be 🥲💗

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Killian didn’t plan on staying here long. He’d hoped to find the book, find Emma, and break the curse.

It hasn’t worked out that way.

Each day he does the same mundane things: he wakes with a start alone in one of Granny’s rooms, realizes where the hell he is, has some form of tantrum that could likely rival his toddler’s, then goes about his cursed life. He eats breakfast at Granny’s, sometimes alone, and sometimes with Henry in secret, hashing out their plans. He works second shift at the docks, rolling his eyes inwardly each time Mr. Smee shouts an order at him. He visits with his daughter, but is never allowed to take her away from the dreadful place. He’s forced to call her Talia in front of the women who care for her.

It’s been three weeks of torture. Henry continues to insist that they need a plan to break the curse, and Killian insists that he already has one. He knows that during the first curse, Emma needed to believe in magic before True Love’s Kiss could break it, so that’s what he’ll ensure. He just isn’t sure how.

As it turns out, his non-plan hasn’t gotten them anywhere, so Henry has initiated Operation Rattlesnake. “I know who we have to find,” Henry says from across the booth, barely paying any mind to his breakfast.

“Aye?” Killian asks, stabbing his fork into his eggs. “Who's that?”

“The Sorcerer. There’s a few pages in here about Snow White and Prince Charming finding the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, and he removed any chance of darkness from their unborn child. If the Apprentice can do that, then the Sorcerer should be able to get rid of the Dark One, right?”

Killian drops his fork, cocking his head as he looks up at Henry and considers his words. He looks back down at the pages and sees an illustration Snow and Charming talking with a bearded old man. “Where did these pages come from?”

“What do you mean?”

He raises a brow and scratches behind his ear. “Were these pages in the book all along?”

Henry shrugs nonchalantly and says, “I don’t know. I’ve learned not to question when weird things happen to this book.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning, there are missing pages, too. Here,” he says, turning a few pages and then rotating the book to face Killian. He points at the seam at the center and says, “see? These were torn out. The story after my grandpa died. What happened there?”

Killian nods, noting the very real depiction of the death of the Dark One in the room behind his shop, followed conveniently by absolutely nothing. “And what of this story about Snow and Charming?”

“You mean my grandparents?” he asks with a smirk. “Seriously, who are they here?”

“Seriously, not telling,” Killian mumbles, stabbing into his sausage link. “Show me that one.”

He flips through the book some more until he turns back to the story of the King and Queen, then explains its premise. It had been prophesied that their child had the potential for great darkness, so they used the Apprentice’s powers to remove the darkness altogether, thus likely making Emma the great proprietor of light magic, as Regina calls her. “Interesting.”

“Maybe that’s why my mom is the Savior,” he suggests.

The lad may have a point; eradicating any chance of darkness from Emma would certainly bode well for her becoming the Savior. “Perhaps,” he agrees.

“You’re weird,” Henry says suddenly, and Killian looks at him in shock.

“You’re weird,” he argues childishly.

“I’m serious! Some things you’ll tell me about before the curse, but other things are off limits? How come?” He shrugs. “Who are my grandparents? Who’s the Dark One?”

“I’m not telling you who the Dark One is, Henry. You don’t need to know right now.”

“What about my grandparents?”

“They’re lovely,” he says, looking up and smirking at him.

“So you do know them!” he says too loudly. “Can I tell you who I think my grandma is?”

He sighs, turning his head back down and taking another bite of his breakfast before saying, “you can tell me, but I’m not going to confirm or deny it.”

“My teacher, Miss Blanchard.”

He chuckles at Henry’s determination and wit, having to do his best to not give away that he’s completely right. He wonders if he knew during the first curse. He thinks he must’ve. “Can I ask you something, lad?”

“Sure,” he strugs, taking another gargantuan bite of french toast.

“Why is it so important to you that you know these things? What would it change if you knew?”

He purses his lips and narrows his eyes, the same way Emma does when she’s thinking, then shrugs again. “I don't know. I guess I’ve just always been thinking about it and now that you’re telling me it’s real…” another shrug. “And plus, maybe if I knew, I could help more.”

‘You’ve been plenty help, Henry. Truly. I would likely be in much lower spirits if not for your being here.”

He snorts and looks down, refusing to make eye contact as any almost-14-year-old would. “I thought you were supposed to be fearsome. Are you this gross and sappy without curses?”

“Worse.”

They continue eating in silence, Henry clearly over the sappy moments with the man he doesn’t know is his step-father, until he decides to speak again, bringing the conversation back to his original goal to gain more information.

“Did Regina cast the curse?”

Killian sighs, telling him, “I don't know,” instead of answering clearly. It’s not entirely a lie— it could have realistically been Bae who cast this curse, although he doubts it. He does wonder how they would have managed to cast it, what with the need to sacrifice the heart of the thing they love most, but he’s sure he’ll get that answer once it’s broken.

“Is it the Dark Curse? Like the one in the book?”

“I suppose so.”

“What about my mom? I know you know her somehow. It’s pretty obvious that you’re obsessed with her.” He blushes fiercely, shrugging. “And then there’s Tal- I mean, Corrine. You said she’s your daughter, but who the hell is having babies with Captain Hook?”

He snorts slightly, looking up at the lad through his lashes and then reaching for his mug of coffee. “I can assure you, her conception was not planned,” he mumbles.

“Ew.”

“Once the curse is broken, lad, things will make sense. I’ve no desire to destroy your concept of reality any further.”

“What does that mean?” Killian shrugs. “Is it about my mom?” He shrugs again. He’s never felt so childish around an actual child. “Oh my god,” he starts. “Is she… no way. You didn’t… with my mom, did you? Is Corrine my… my sister?”

He’s silent for a moment, unwilling to make eye contact with the lad as the pieces begin to fall into place in his mind. “Henry…”

“You kissed my mom?!”

He clears his throat, scratching behind his ear, desperately trying to stop himself from informing the boy that he’d done far more than kiss his mom. He considers how much it would destroy Henry to learn that they actually happily live together. “It’s not exactly what you think, lad.”

“I think I have a secret, cursed sister and my mom kissed Captain Hook!” he says a bit too loudly. Killian’s eyes bug out of his head and he holds up his hand, waving it in front of Henry’s face.

“You sound like a madman, Henry!” Killian hisses. He can understand the lad being outraged by the idea of his mother being with anyone, but he’s going to get them thrown into the asylum if he keeps up his shouting.

“You had a baby with my mom!”

“Aye, I did. And we need to break this bloody curse so that I can bring my child and her mother home. Now focus and tell me what we need to do to get a hold of this Sorcerer.”

Henry looks nauseated. “You live together!?”

He sighs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he leans forward to get Henry’s attention. “You live with us, most of the time. Now focus.” He hopes that giving him a task, a responsibility in solving their troubles, will help him to remain in high spirits. “You need to figure out how we find the Sorcerer. That’s how you can help me break the curse.”

“Ugh,” he says, shaking himself out. “I’ll check out some stuff from the library. I live with you?”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Killian grunts out, taking another swig from his mug and wishing desperately it was rum instead of coffee. “It only serves to distract you from Operation Rattlesnake.”

“Yeah, I don't think I want to know anymore,” he says with his face still screwed up in disgust. “I’ll meet you after school, usual spot.” Killian nods, placing some money on the table as Henry stands and walks out of the diner.

Despite his odd and confounding morning, Killian’s happy to finally have some semblance of a plan. Perhaps now, with Henry’s hunch that some Sorcerer can remove the darkness from Regina, breaking the curse will be easier. At least they’ll have an idea of what steps to take once it’s broken.

He anticipates having a somewhat good day, what with his plans to bring Emma to see Corrine once again. He’s found that the only source of joy over the last few weeks have been spending time with Henry, who allows him to speak freely about the curse (mostly), and seeing his daughter and her mother playing together as if they aren’t strangers to one another.

Each day that he spends time with Emma, he gets more information about her cursed life. She’s opened up to him quite easily and he continues to insist that she’s easy to read. It’s true that he has a lot of background knowledge on her already, but it’s also true that she’s always been an open book. He hopes that the more he talks to her, the more likely she is to remember her old life and perhaps long for it. Maybe that would be enough to make her believe Henry’s hunch.

Emma specified several times that, on the days that they go together to see Corrine, she’s only available during the afternoon, and she must always be home prior to dinner. Killian likes to see Corrine for lunch time so he can eat with her, then enjoy some playtime, so the schedule she insists upon works well. Several times a week, she meets him outside of Granny’s and they walk to the convent together, talking casually along the way.

In the days before this curse struck, Emma was distant. She struggled to open up to Killian unless they were in bed together, she was constantly on edge, anxious and angry, and she started to build her walls higher and higher each day. Walking along the streets with her now, it’s as if she’s a different person, and a part of him hates it. She's still closed off, but it’s in a different way. She trusts him, as she often tells him, but her made up experiences have vexed her. She’s not allowed to see her son without permission from Regina and Neal, the two people who should absolutely not have a say in when Emma sees her child.

She told him that she gave up Henry when the lad was born, but the reason she did it was because his father was sent to jail, and she didn’t think she could raise a baby alone. Neal found out about the adoption upon his release and reached out to Regina, then turned his life around and became the sheriff of the small coastal town. According to Baelfire and Regina’s reality, he made the noble choice and didn’t actually make Emma take the fall for his own crimes, then leave her pregnant in prison at seventeen years old. Rather, he found his son while Emma traipsed around Boston irresponsibly until Henry came to get her.

The Mayor is also beloved by all, apparently. Henry lives with her and visits his father frequently, so it would seem that their scheme worked. It also seems that Bae’s ploy to make everyone forget Killian worked based on his need to introduce himself to everyone he already knows, as if he truly is new in town. The only thing that makes no sense to Killian is the fact that Bae and Emma aren't together, at least it doesn't seem it. The entire situation makes him nauseous.

“Hello,” she greets as he walks out of the diner to meet her. She looks as beautiful as ever, in spite of the messiness to her hair and the shallowness in her face. She looks so stressed and tired, even though she seems happy enough, and he isn't sure what to make of that.

“Afternoon, love,” he says in return, stepping in time with her as they make stride towards the convent.

“So, tell me something,” she insists, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket and bumping her shoulder into his. “I feel like we’re always talking about my screwed up life.”

He chuckles. “And what would you like to know?”

“Why Talia?”

He rolls his eyes at her foolish made up name and says, “I had no say in naming her.”

She laughs. “No, I mean why her?”

Killian nods. He can't exactly tell her that he’s the child’s father and that Emma is her mother and Killian’s lover, so he thinks fast. “I believe I told you I knew her mother. I feel close to her, to both of them, when I see her.”

“Is that why you came to Storybrooke in the first place?”

“Uh,” he starts, clearing his throat. “I suppose so, yeah.”

“Is… um, is her mother coming back?”

He considers his answer carefully. He doesn't want to lie to her, but he also doesn't want to give her the impression that he’s unavailable or waiting around for someone who isn't her. Not that he suspects her to be anywhere near looking at him in that way, but he’d rather not chance in. “Not in this lifetime,” he settles upon, drawing a thoughtful hum from her.

“Well, I'm sorry she lost her mother,” she consoles, “and that you lost her, too. I’m sure she must've been important to you.”

He clears his throat again, scratching behind his ear as he considers how carefully he has to answer. How carefully he has to talk to her at all times. “Thank you. She is.”

When they arrive, the fairy escorts both him and Emma down to the communal room where Corrine is eating her lunch, and she smiles at him happily and tosses her cup down to the floor to reach for him excitedly. Before he can reach her, she’s starting to climb out of her seat just like she’d do at home, and she’s almost jumping by the time he catches her. It pains him to see her react so happily to him despite her not truly knowing who he is, though he wonders if a part of her remembers, just as it seems that a part of Emma trusts him inherently. He wonders if him being awake through the curse has anything to do with that. “Hello, darling,” he says as he lifts her into his arms and wipes her face with a damp disposable cloth.

“You're so good with her,” Emma points out as she takes a seat at the table, smiling at the lass joyously.

He smiles back, sitting across from Emma with Corrine in his lap. “She makes it easy, I suppose.” He doesn't miss the fact that the fairy hasn't left the room, continuing to watch him distrustfully.

“Hi!” she shouts to Emma, causing her to grin and blush as she leans towards the baby.

“Hello!”

Corrine reaches for her mother, making grabbing motions with her fat little fingers and grinning at her, and the sight squeezes his heart firmly. It took a few times meeting Emma for Corrine to fully warm up to her, confirming his thoughts that she’s under the curse as well, but now she’s comfortable with her. Part of him beams seeing the two of them sitting together once Emma stands to pick the babe up from his hold, but much of him tingles with pain and anger. It shouldn't be like this. Corrine shouldn't be spending any of her formative years not knowing that the woman she’s with is her mother.

They play with her after she’s finished her sandwich, filled with a strange mixture of fruity jam and peanut spread, and she looks so cute happily playing away with Emma. The fairy leaves the room eventually, which settles his nerves. He’s been here under this curse far longer than he thought he would be, so he knows he must stay in her good graces so that he can continue to see his daughter each day.

“Killian,” Emma starts, covering her eyes with her hands and then opening them up to shout boo! at Corrine.

“Boo!” Corrine says back, giggling as Emma tickles her belly.

“Aye?”

“Are you going to adopt her?”

He falters at her question, considering the meaning behind her words. What she means is that Killian isn’t her father here, and he would have to go through a tormenting legal system in order to officially claim a title that is already his.

He’s got to break this bloody curse.

“Dop!” Corrine says, grinning at Killian and pointing commandingly. “You, dop!”

“Yeah!” Emma agrees with a smile.

“I’m not sure,” he answers. “Perhaps I would.”

Blue summons them after two hours, coming to collect Corrine and see them off. Once she’s picked up by the fairy, she begins crying, reaching for Killian and Emma pathetically. He feels his own eyes filling with tears as he says goodbye and assures her that they’ll see her soon, although he knows she can’t fully understand.

He rushes from the area, desperate to remove himself and hopefully not drag out her tortured response to them leaving, and when they step towards the waiting area, they’re greeted by Henry. “Hey,” he says casually.

“Henry, you should be in school for another half hour, what are you doing here?” Emma asks frantically, guiding him out of the building towards the sidewalk and starting in the direction of the school.

“I actually came to see Killian, but I guess I should’ve known you guys would be here together,” he says with a repulsed look on his face.

“Lad, you can’t be here. You need to get back to school.”

“I didn’t—”

“Henry!”

The three of them turn towards the sound of a car door closing and are met with Bae stepping out of a patrol car and hurrying to them.

Emma groans beside her son and glances nervously towards Killian. “Neal,” she starts.

“Emma, what the hell? What are you doing? He has to be in school!”

“I know, I was just—”

“This is exactly the kind of decision that makes me not want to let you see him!”

“Mate,” Killian tries, but he’s cut off.

“Stay out of this, Jones.” He turns towards Emma and continues. “So, now you're spending all your time with the town drunk, is that it?”

“Neal, that isn’t fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you choosing a guy over your kid’s best interest, again. Come on, Henry.”

“Dad—”

“I said come on.”

“Neal— Henry!”

“I’ll see you at home, Emma, if you even decide to bother.” Neal says with disappointment dripping from his voice. Home.

As she watches Henry walk away, turning back once to stare at her apologetically, he feels her tensing beside him despite the fact that they aren’t even touching. Her bottom lip quivers and she bites down on it hard to prevent it from wobbling too obviously, turning to him and looking into his eyes with her sad and tearful ones.

“Sorry about what he said,” she tells him dejectedly.

He shakes his head. “Do you… do you live with him, love?”

She nods, the face she gives him telling him he should have known. “Yeah, he took me in when I moved to Storybrooke.”

“Ah,” he nods. His anger hasn’t dissipated. The more he learns of her life here, the more he sees how much Bae and Regina have manipulated all of them, especially Henry and Emma. Emma, who has a lucrative career in her non-cursed life, is jobless and forced to live with her ex while he does her job. Emma, who is perhaps Henry's only fit parent, is being told that she needs permission to see her own son. Emma, the strongest person he’s ever known, has been reduced to some pathetic thing who needs saving. It’s cracking his resolve, but he knows he must pull himself back together for her sake. “I hadn’t realized.”

She sniffles, taking a few steps away from him and starting down the sidewalk as he swiftly follows. “After Henry found me, Neal took me in. But he found out about my past… I mean, I have a bit of a record. Not a big deal, but he sees it as an example of me making bad decisions.”

“What happened in your past?”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “There was this guy, and he was just a bad influence. I was having trouble focusing on what’s important.”

“What, so he keeps an eye on you?” he scoffs. “Is that why you can only be out in the afternoon? Is that when he’s at the station?”

“It’s— no, it’s not like that.”

“Sorry. I realize that I’m overstepping, I apologize.” His voice was becoming vapid and he knew he needed to calm down. She shakes her head.

“No, it’s—” she stops herself from continuing, taking a deep breath and wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she walks. He wants to wrap his arms tightly around her. “It’s okay. I don't know why, but you're really easy to talk to. I mean, it’s easy to tell you stuff, even if it sucks.”

“You know you can, aye? Talk to me?”

She hums out a soft laugh and says, “yeah, I’m starting to see that.”

She stops walking to turn to him and smile, and he has a thought. He thinks she could kiss him right now— he would love to kiss her right now. But he wonders what implications that would have on the curse. Is he naive to think that what they have could be True Love? Does her cursed self have enough love for him to break the curse?

He doesn’t get the chance to test his theory. As her eyes start fluttering and she leans towards him, he reaches his prosthetic hand up towards her cheek and leans in but is interrupted by her phone ringing.

“Hello?” Emma asks into the phone, and he groans, wanting to press his forehead to hers but resisting the urge.

“Miss Swan,” Regina says, cluing Killian in to exactly who’s on the other end.

She groans quietly as well, separating herself from him and rolling her eyes in his direction, “madam mayor, hello.”

“What’s going on with Henry?” she asks, completely ignoring the greeting. “His father said he was with you rather than in school?”

“News travels fast,” Killian remarks under his breath.

“Miss Swan,” she says pointedly before Emma could answer her. “Need I remind you that your poor choices reflect poorly on any consideration we have for you seeing my son?”

“No, Regina, it wasn’t—”

“I really must insist that you take Henry into account when you choose who you surround yourself with.”

“I do! I always take Henry into account—”

“I hate to say this, Miss Swan, but you’re not doing a very good job at proving that. I suggest you consider your actions further, or this unsanctioned visit with Henry will be your last.”

She hangs up the phone before Emma even has a chance to argue with her.

Her bottom lip starts to wobble again and her eyes bug out twice their size and glass over in response to Regina’s abusive words. “Love,” he tries, but she pulls away, walls up, and starts walking again.

“Swan!” he calls after her as he runs to catch up.

“I can’t do this!” she shouts. “I can’t keep putting up with this! All I want is to see my son.”

“Swan,” he says again, softly as he takes her hand in his boldly.

“Everyone says I should just give up. Maybe they’re right.”

“No, love, that isn’t true.”

“All I want is for him to have a good life,” she says through her tears. “That obviously isn’t with me. It feels like everything I do is a strike against me, no matter what my intentions are. I think I might have to just go back to Boston.”

He pulls her hand until she stops walking and turns towards him. “You can’t, Emma.”

“Why?”

“Don’t let them dictate what you do. You’re Henry’s mother, no matter what anyone says.”

“Everyone says it. No one gets why I’m even here; Henry already has a mom. He doesn't need two.”

It’s crushing him to hear his Swan talk this way. She’s so defeated and he doesn't think he’s ever seen her so wilted and weak. Part of Regina’s curse must have been to punish Emma for not letting her see Henry, and if that were the case, he would say she’s succeeding. “Emma Swan, we will find a way to beat this,” he promises her.

She sniffles, her breath catching, and she looks up at him with watery eyes and rosy cheeks. “You think so?”

“I’ve yet to see you fail.”

She narrows her eyes again, cocking her head in thought as she considers his words. He wonders if she’s thinking back to three years ago when he said the exact same thing while she was searching for her son in Neverland, but he doubts it.

“I just… ” she sighs.

“Let me get you a hot chocolate.”

She draws her brows together and sighs, clearly downtrodden as she nods weakly and draws herself away from him. If this was really his Emma, he would take her in his arms and hug her close to him, but he doesn't dare do that now. “Okay,” she says softly, turning away and walking towards Granny’s.

When they arrive, she sits herself so heavily on the booth that he thinks she may break it. He orders a hot chocolate for her and a donut for himself, wishing he could rip a few pieces off and share them with Corrine, and hands her the mug as he sits down.

“I just…” she sighs heavily. “Henry keeps telling me something’s wrong, you know? And a part of me believes him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, every time I talk to him it’s like he’s trying to convince me that something is… off. He’s always talking about his book and showing me stories in it, but it’s like he’s trying to convince me to believe that the stories are… like…”

“Real?”

She sighs, shrugging. “Can I tell you something?” Her voice is so timid that he can barely hear her in the bustling diner.

“Of course, darling.”

“Sometimes… sometimes when Henry talks about his curse and how we’re all fairytale characters…” she shrugs once again, “I don't know. It just feels like it could be real sometimes. I almost want it to be real.”

His heart starts racing and his palms begin to sweat at her words. “How do you mean?” he asks, hoping to encourage her to say more and perhaps stir up some memories.

“Just that I think life would be a lot easier if… if I was a character in a fairytale.”

“Aye, perhaps it would.”

She nods, not looking up from her mug as she continues. “It just feels like anything I do is the wrong thing. I have the worst luck. And, just… my life sucks,” she laughs. “This can’t be all there is.”

Rather than argue with her, as he so desperately wants to, he tries to lighten the mood just a bit. “You know, if the curse were true, that would mean that you would be the person to break it,” he points out.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and smiling falsely. “There's no possible reality where I am a Savior. How the hell would I even break it?”

It becomes clear that, while she may not have lost her belief in the possibility of magic, she’s lost her belief in herself. “Why, True Love’s Kiss, of course,” he says triumphantly with a grin shot her way. It doesn’t go over quite as he wanted it to.

She rolls her eyes once more. “No one loves me, Killian. It doesn't matter who I love or how hard I try; no one can ever love me back.”

“That isn’t true,” he shakes his head, taking her hands in his and pulling them off of her mug until she finally looks up into his eyes. He can’t tell her that he loves her so he says, “it isn’t true, Emma.”

He’s never seen her like this. She’s completely defeated and overcome with a sense of failure that he thinks he might burst if this damn curse doesn’t get broken soon. He can tell that he’s close, but every second spent is a second too long.

“You’re…” she starts, glancing down but then right back up into his eyes. “You’re something else. Very intense,” she laughs awkwardly.

“Aye, I suppose I am.”

“I’m not really used to,” she waves her fingers around in front of his face, “all that.”

He smiles sadly at her, boldly taking her hand in his a squeezing, and says, “I think you may get used to it, love.”

She nods slowly and doesn’t pull her hand away. “Yeah.”

#the days we defend #walk with me #sequel #days we defend ff #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #once upon a time fanfic #ouat ff #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

Self Promo Sunday

I have honestly really enjoyed going back to my older fics and making picsets for them to post here on tumblr. This one is a cute little one shot that came to me because I did a brief stint in direct sales and was HORRIBLE at it! (I sold - or tried to sell - scrapbooking supplies). I know Killian is good at charming his way out of trouble and using his charm to steal things, but I imagined that being a salesman wouldn’t be as easy for him. You see, I was horrible at sales because I don’t like talking people into buying something when they clearly don’t want to. Killian Jones is very passionate about choice and free will, so I imagined the following story!

Words: 2k and some change

Rating: G for silly, sweet fluff

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan

Emma Swan really hopes Killian Jones has a second job. Because she’s never seen a worse salesman. The first time he comes into the diner, the last thing she would have pegged him as is a salesman. All mussed hair and black leather with piercings and a tattoo. The heavy black vinyl bag leaning against the booth next to him that says Buy the Book: Direct Sales is out of place.

He’s so bad at it that it takes him forever that first day to give her his sales pitch. Until his second cup of coffee, to be exact. That’s when he hems and haws as he gives her his business card. She stares at it, wondering how she can politely decline as he scratches behind his ear and slides a glossy catalogue across the table. She normally wouldn’t have any qualms at turning down either a sales pitch or a pick up line with a gruff not interested, but he’s so adorably nervous. He starts pulling sample inventory out of his bag, and that’s when she’s in trouble because Henry sniffs out the books like a bloodhound. Her son hops from his stool at the counter where he’s been doing his homework, and eagerly starts looking through the books.

“Look at this one, mom!” Henry exclaims, holding up a pirate sticker and activity book. “It’s not for babies. It’s got cool facts about the history of real pirates.”

Yes. Emma Swan’s son is not your typical ten year old. He’s both a bookworm and a history nut. And she loves him for it. Which is why she buys it. Not because salesman Killian Jones has killer blue eyes.

She pulls a twenty from her apron pocket, hands it to him (because there’s no way she’s giving a guy she just met her credit card information), and tries not to swoon when he smiles. It’s killer, too. She’s his first customer, he tells her, and she can’t help smiling back. He frowns, though, when he realizes he doesn’t have change for a twenty, and then Emma rolls her eyes because, really? It’s just a nickel. He smiles again at that and, well, crap. That smile!

She rolls her eyes later when she sees the ten he left for a tip along with a note telling her she’s “bloody amazing.” The fool went and gave the majority of his profit right back to her. Yeah, he really sucks at this.

*********************************************************

The second time he comes into the diner, he wisely comes in the afternoon again, ensuring Henry is there doing his homework. But this time, he tries (and fails) to chat up fellow customers to get a few sales. They seem skeptical of a salesman who looks more like a biker/rock star than someone who peddles used cars. Emma almost laughs when the only single woman in the diner’s face instantly falls when Killian Jones produces his business card and a catalogue. Seems his blue eyes and his smile are powerless against a woman scorned. She huffs as she tosses her tip on the table and exits the diner post haste, leaving a clearly baffled Killian behind.

When Emma approaches his table, he smiles half-heartedly and she feels sorry for him. Once again, he doesn’t try to sell her anything until she fills his coffee mug a second time. That’s when he pulls out a book he thinks Henry might like, all about knights and castles of the Middle Ages. Henry eagerly peruses it, and Emma is a sucker once again. She buys it because Henry loves history so much he’s the only ten year old Emma has ever heard of who was pumped about a weekend trip to Gettysburg. It’s not because of the way Killian Jones swipes his tongue over his lower lip when he’s nervous.

*****************************************************

The next time Killian comes into the diner, Christmas music is playing and a garland of evergreen hangs in loops over the counter. It’s mid-morning, so Henry’s at school. After his second cup of coffee, Killian admits he came when he knew Henry would be at school because he was hoping . . . and then he’s hemming and hawing again, rubbing at his neck and scratching behind his ear. Emma thinks for a split second that he’s trying to ask her out until he pulls his company’s Christmas catalogue out of his bag. She tries to ignore her disappointment when he asks if she’s finished her Christmas shopping yet.

She ends up buying a “Daily Inspirations for Teachers” desk calendar for Mary Margaret and Nicholas Spark’s newest bestseller for David (a guilty pleasure she loves to tease him about). For Granny she gets a book of knitting patterns. Killian pulls out a book he thinks Henry would like: a leather bound book of fairy tales with the title Once Upon a Time embossed in elegant script across the front. Emma knows Henry would love it, but gasps at the price. A forty dollar book is way over her budget, and like the horrible salesman he is, Killian doesn’t push it. She orders two graphic novels for Henry instead, and when she places the order she slides her credit card across the table.

Killian tells her it’s his biggest order to date and smiles so wide Emma is able to confirm her suspicions. There are dimples underneath that scruff. She begins to second guess her assertion that he’s a bad salesman. Because she’s pretty sure he could sell beachfront property in Kansas with those dimples.

*************************************************

In January, Emma is alarmed when a dejected Killian Jones enters the diner and slumps in his usual booth, his head in his hands. Emma decides to stop the charade when she approaches his table.

“You don’t have to wait till your second cup of coffee.”

Killian lifts his face to hers and quirks an eyebrow in confusion, “I’m sorry, love?”

“You know,” Emma says, gesturing with her order pad, “selling me books. What do you have for Henry this time?”

Killian sighs and leans back in the booth, “Alas, Swan, I am no longer in the business. I’m pretty much the worst salesman in the world.”

Emma hates that she chuckles, but she can’t help it, “Yeah, you pretty much sucked.” Killian, thankfully, laughs as well. “I’m glad I was your best customer, then. While it lasted.”

Killian winces, “Actually, love, you were my only customer.”

Emma’s jaw drops at that and her sympathy grows exponentially. She never bought that much, really. She glances around for Granny as she slides into the booth across from him. Although, based on Granny’s reaction to the knitting book (Why don’t you kiss the man already instead of buying all his books?), she doesn’t think she’ll mind.

“Are you okay? I mean, you don’t seem like you’re starving and destitute, so I’m assuming you have another job.”

“Several, actually,” Killian says, drumming his fingers on the table. “My brother and I do seasonal work on the Cape with a boat charter we own.”

“Cape Cod?”

“Aye. The Cape is beautiful in the spring and summer, but in the winter it’s downright depressing. So I like to come here to Boston once we winter the boat. The hustle and bustle is a nice change of pace, and I love city life during the holidays. Plus, like your boy, I’m a bit of a history buff. I work seasonally at the bookstore down the street.”

“So why the direct sales?”

Killian sighs, “A foolish notion. The bookstore only hires me through the end of December. I thought with this second job I could stay in the city until spring,” he shrugs. “Turns out convincing a customer in a bookstore to buy J.M. Barrie’s original Peter Pan instead of the abridged illustrated version is a mite different from selling books all on your lonesome.”

Emma’s heart drops at the implication of what he’s saying. “So what will you do now?”

“Slink back to the Cape with my tail between my legs and help my sister in law at the ice cream shop, as usual.”

So he’s leaving Boston. He’s leaving, and Emma is surprised at how much it disappoints her. “An ice cream place on the cape can make it through the winter?” She almost face palms. Can she sound any more desperate to convince him to stay?

Killian doesn’t seem to pick up on any subtext, thank goodness. “Elsa inherited the place from her aunt. She and her sister helped out there since they were kids. They know how to make it through the lean months. Dull as tombs, though. Yet, as they say, spring will come again!”

Emma tries to smile, but she knows it’s half-hearted. Killian reaches into his bag and pulls out the leather bound book of fairy tales she couldn’t afford at Christmas. Emma arches an eyebrow, “Still trying to make a sale?”

“Oh no, Swan, this is a gift. To thank you.”

“Killian, I can’t accept that. You need to sell off your inventory, or you’ll lose everything you invested.”

Killian chuckles sardonically at that, “Too late for that, Swan. Besides, you’re the only one who ever bought anything, and you know it wasn’t for the books. You felt sorry for me.”

Emma’s face flushes, and she wishes she could tell him that wasn’t it. She’s always despised pity and vowed she’d never doll it out. But how can she explain that while still guarding her heart? Instead, she accepts the leather book and hugs it to her chest, mumbling a soft “thank you.” Killian smiles in return and exits the diner without ever ordering a thing. And she hates the finality of his departure and the possibility that there could have been a them, but now she’ll never know.

She looks down at the book in her hands and notices a little rectangle of cardstock poking out of its pages. She pulls it out, expecting it to be Killian’s Buy the Book business card. Instead, it says Jewel of the Realm Charters with the names Liam and Killian Jones and a phone number. Emma’s heart flips in her chest when she sees that Killian has jotted a note on the back.

I owe you and Henry a free day of sailing. – Killian

The fool still knows nothing about making a profit.

********************************************************

In February, Emma Swan walks into Any Given Sundae along the shores of Cape Cod. She convinced herself there was nothing stalker-ish about her showing up here, but now that the bell is jingling above the door and the blonde woman behind the counter is smiling at her, she’s having second thoughts. Killian had mentioned his sister-in-law’s name, so it’s not like she had to be a private detective or anything to find the place. Still, who drives all the way from Boston to Cape Cod just to visit an ice cream shop? In February?

“May I help you?” asks the blonde, and Emma fiddles with the end of her scarf. She was kind of hoping Killian would just be there when she walked through the door.

“Um . . . I . . .” and she almost laughs thinking of the way Killian would hem and haw when selling her books. She glances around the store. It’s one of those tiny places that beach goers walk in and out of on hot summer days. There are no tables or chairs anywhere in the place. But in the corner a display table has been set up. A display table of books. Emma walks towards it. “You sell books?”

“Oh,” says the blonde – Elsa, she assumes – with a dismissive wave of her hand, “that’s a failed business venture of my brother-in-law’s. Please buy one. I need to get those out of here before tourist season.”

Emma reaches out and runs her fingers along the edges of the books.

“Swan?”

Emma turns to see Killian standing behind the counter with a large tub of ice cream in each arm. He deposits them quickly into their slots behind the glass then comes around to face her. They stand there staring at each other for a few moments, grinning like a couple of idiots.

“Wh-what are you doing here, Swan?” he stutters, and she swears he sounds more nervous than he did when he was trying to sell books.

“Guess it’s too early for that day of sailing, huh?” she teases with a shrug.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he teases back, “there’s a foot of snow on the ground, Swan.”

Emma bites her lip and fiddles with her scarf again, “Actually, I came to tell you thank you. For Henry’s book. He loves it.”

Killian raises his eyebrows, “You drove all the way out to Cape Cod to tell me that?”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes that makes Emma blush, and they just stare at each other again like goofballs. She sees Elsa laugh and shake her head out of the corner of her eye, and she thinks that she couldn’t possibly embarrass herself any more than she already has. So with a roll of her eyes and a screw this, she grabs him by the shirt collar and kisses the living daylights out of him.

He dives back in for more when she finally pulls away, and when Elsa tells them, “Easy there, tigers, you’re gonna melt all the ice cream,” they laugh against each others’ lips.

************************************************************

Two months later, Henry brings his book along when Killian takes them sailing. He reads parts of it out loud to them when Killian lays anchor, and Emma finds that it’s modern versions of classic fairy tales. Snow White is a bandit with a bow and arrows, Red Riding Hood is a werewolf, and Captain Hook is a hero who falls in love with a princess. And Emma thinks that she really likes this story. A pirate and a princess.

But she likes theirs better.

A salesman and a waitress.

Make that a horrible salesman and a waitress.

#cs ff #self promo sunday #cs modern au #fluff #killian as a salesman #a horrible salesman #emma as a waitress #emma and henry

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thekidultlife · 4 years

Text

The Most Convenient Escape | Jihoon Soulmate! AU (1)

⍟ Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Fantasy/ Soulmate AU

⍟ Genre: ANGST, SLOW BURN, fluff

⍟ Warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse, drinking, and sex

⍟ Word Count: 4.5k

⍟ Synopsis: For all your life, you have a deep disdain towards Soulmate Bonds, so much so that you are able to writeopinions about it in a local newspaper. However, as life would have it, you wake up one day bonded to a person you hardly knew. Throwing in an investigation, annoying roommates, and a revolution looming just beneath the surface, you had to seek for the most convenient escape.

AN OPINION ON THE SOULMATE BOND by Alex Fireflower

The Porta Persa Edition, August 17

If the appeal of romance and the idea that a person whose devotion to us shall surpass eternity exists in our midst, among the younger generations, if there was any doubt in this matter, then the recent excitement for the coming Soulmate Bonding Ceremony is its colorful illustration. Alas, our dear friends of the State! It is once again time for the great and olden tradition of Soulmate Bonding. Here in this land of abundance and prosperity which gifts are said to be owed to this venerable ceremony, we must lay upon our trust and our fate to ancient magic, which we wholly believe shall lead our hearts to our destined soulmate--our lifetime partner, the other half of our soul, and so on.

Yet our dear readers, allow this humble editor to argue the opposite.

It is established that the magic of Soulmate Bonding allows two persons, at most random strangers, to be paired together for a lifetime; sharing either emotions, thoughts or senses. Such a practice has always been placed under a rose-colored light by the government which, if simplified in broad terms is, in our opinion, a blatant propaganda for an obsolete tradition which endangers the wellbeing of our citizens, a practice which limits responsibility and free will, core values of which this land has been founded upon.

If we shall suppose that a relationship between soulmates is perfect and blessed upon by the great heavens, then cases of arguments and cases of abuses would not exist as pests of our society, the destroyer of families and the trauma of children. If soulmate relationships are the pinnacle of success in family life, then divorce laws do not have any purpose to exist in our civil code, as custody battles do not have a place in our respectable courts. We are all blinded by the garish lighting provided by this dictatorship; through their flowery and romanticised propaganda we hear in the radios everyday as we sit down for breakfast or as we enjoy our pudding after dinner. This poor excuse of a government which has deceived its own people, seeks absolute authority through the most invasive ways known to man, inside the most intimate partnership a human being could experience in their entire life.

By consuming this tomfoolery, we become puppets to romance, to impossible dreams, thus vulnerable to the mandates of this dictatorship. It is said that men, whose eyes are set high above the heavens, are doomed to fall off the cliff’s edge. There ought to be balance between idealism and pragmatism, lest we suffer the consequences of our own torn expectations of a perfect relationship and a good life. By relinquishing our right to choose, to exercise free will, we then must forget our roles as individuals, solely responsible for the effects of our choices. We then shall blame it on neutral magic, on fate and the Universe, the mistakes of our own doing. Aye indeed, let us ought to create the most convenient escape from our own flaws and our indecisiveness. Let us forever be destined to depend our lives upon the forces of the Universe, upon accidents of Nature!...

You smelled like ink.

The ugly, artificial scent of a printing press; ink. You had it on your hands as well, catching a freshly pressed newspaper as the midnight breeze blew upon a stack by the window. It was late yet the machine kept whirring, pressing, printing as piles of paper grew into hills and mountains of South Porta Persa.

It would truly be unlucky to trip and make a mess of everything right now, you thought, inspecting the warm paper for any misspelt words or misaligned layouts with a careful eye.

“Good enough for' ya, darlin’?” A voice deep and rumbling interrupted your close inspection, his tone mischievous and mirthful as he wiped his hands clean on his trusty apron, the metal wrenches on it clattering about.

It was good ole’ Jupiter, the ruler of the mechanical movable type in grand Porta Persa, a man late in his forties with a receding hairline to match. You had always liked him since you were a child, in his long beard and ink stained hands, and his various adventures at sea in his large Galleon. Yet now he is a master of the press, and you were his client.

Giving a satisfied smile, you shrugged, placing the newspaper on top a stack without minding.

"Better than anywhere else, my good Sir," you replied, a trace of a laugh hinting to escape. "Nowhere I can trust The Porta Persa Edition to anyone other than in your expert hands."

He chuckled, his belly rumbling; just as anyone named 'Jupiter' should be. "Then I'm honered lass! As I'm honored to be Alex Fireflower's avid reader!"

"Oh stop flattering me," you chuckled, patting his shoulder. "Ah, it seems quite late now, isn't it? I better go."

Jupiter nodded. "Aye lass, you're movin' to the Academy tomorrow, innit? Ya should hurry home now before anyone catches ya!"

"Aye, captain!" You replied in a singsong voice, quickly moving to the exit. "Oh and please tell Soonyoung, if he comes over later in the morning that I need help with the bags! Thanks, Jupiter! May Jove kiss you on the asscheeks!"

Kissing his cheek goodbye, you bounced down the stairs as you heard him bark in laughter and raced back to the home you have been staying since you were a child. Even as a daughter of the city alchemist, you lived humbly with your father in a two-story house with a style akin to stale bread. Yet he was usually absent, either in the homes of the sick or in some faraway place hunting ingredients for his potions. It didn't matter to you anyway.

Snuck behind the back door, you eventually reached your room and lit a gaslamp on your otherwise messy desk full of paper and books. It never gets cleaned up in some way or another, you thought.

Sitting on your bed, you watched the glittering lights of Porta Persa at midnight, wondering if Alex Fireflower's words in that widely popular newspaper would lit a fire in people's hearts. Despite your young age, being a writer in a prolific paper was anxiety inducing, knowing how much words could stir up a person's sentiments.

From afar, you could hear a faint melody of a love song between lovers, soulmates. A concept you disdainfully look down upon, if your writings were any indication to that. The bonding ceremony never sat well with you. You never understood those who excitedly and eagerly surrender their life to the whims of coincidence and then live to become happy. It was either a pretense or an 'anyone will do' type of situation.

"Oh, isn't the ceremony later in the morning?" You remarked, peaking at the calendar on your desk. You shrugged.

In any case, you have been prepared to deny this unwelcome intruder. It took a while to research but there were ways to suppress the connection between soulmates, mostly elaborate spellwork and potions. Yet you have been ready for years, almost a decade: casting spell upon spell on yourself and drinking disgusting potions, truly glad that you had an alchemist for a father. Now nothing will stand in the way between you and your aspirations.

Getting a bit sleepy, you snuck in your sleeping gown and laid on the bed. Closing your eyes, and for once, leaving the rest for the Universe's turn in this game of chance.

The next thing you came to was a dull throb on your head, something akin to a mediocre hangover, and a loud rapping on your front door. It was late in the morning. The birds were chirping, the loud clattering of bustling human activity and Soonyoung’s rather energetic shouting on your front door was grating on your ears.

You tried to think of any reason why you were particularly not feeling a hundred percent today yet was once again interrupted by Soonyoung calling you out.

Rolling off your bed however, made everything come crashing down on you. You lurched on the floor, thinking about throwing up yet none came, only your empty coughs and an uncomfortable pressure on your diaphragm were there. Your limbs were weak and trembled as you tried to lift your leg up, inevitably stumbling back to the floor and hitting your back against the bedpost in a painful thud.

What is this…?

In your pain, you grit your teeth, unable to utter anything with your dry throat. You tried to massage your temples to alleviate the throbbing, yet that was the exact moment you realized what was actually happening. With eyes as wide as saucers and a heart rate that seemed to increase in great increments, a cold sweat ran down your spine as you saw what was on your wrist. A cynical grin on your lips, you scoffed at the chances.

“...dammit,” you squeezed out, glancing at the bracelet-like tattoo around your wrist, in its clear straight horizontal bars and iridescent shine whenever you turned it around. You almost laughed at how ridiculous things were. Your greatest nightmare has happened while you were asleep. A bond has been formed.

Finally having some sort of clarity, you were suddenly feeling much better, knowing what to do next. Dragging out a chest underneath your bed, you fished out a concoction which would weaken the suppressants you had induced upon yourself over the years.

This was the side effect, you considered as you took the potion in one swallow. The suppressants would make you feel terribly ill, more so because this was day zero of the bond, but it will effectively block out the connection. On the other hand, you can weaken the blockage, yet it would as well restore the connection between you and your soulmate.

You cringed at the thought, yet there was no other choice. Today was moving day and you knew, without a doubt, that left alone for any longer, Soonyoung would break into your house, worrying something had happened to you. Something did happen, yet it was none of his concern.

And speaking of the devil, there he was rushing into your room; panting and sweaty from probably climbing the terrace and into one open window, as you hid your trunk of potions back under the bed.

“Y/N! “ he shouted, barging inside and spotted you dusting your lap as you stood up. “You weren’t answering the door, so I--“

“I’m fine,“ you interrupted, sensing energy forming at the base of your stomach as it wells up and stretches into a thin string. Hopefully, the amount of potion you drank was not too strong enough to lower your walls.

You shook your head. “Anyway, can you help me with my stuff? They’re already down the hallway, so we only have to carry them to the terminal.”

“Oh, sure, sure. But seriously, are you alright?” Soonyoung asked, noting you were more closed off than usual. You only turned your back at him and walked towards your closet.

“I’m fine, Soonyoung. Don’t worry,” you dismissed him. “Now, could you please allow me to dress myself up?”

He was quiet for a while but eventually nodded, and left you in your ministrations. Sighing as he closed the door and disappeared, you struggled to keep yourself up. Just by lowering the suppressants, a tidal wave of thoughts barraged inside your head, immediately overwhelming you. They were obviously not yours and now you wondered if this was your connection, and if your soulmate was also thinking what you were thinking at that moment. Before you could arrive at an answer though, the thoughts once again stopped and your mind calmed down.

You breathed in and out. There was no way you could truly understand what was happening. You can only form conjectures and draw theories yet none of them were absolutely irrefutable. You couldn’t understand why it suddenly stopped, but nevertheless it was a welcome development. You can finally finish your chores without disturbance.

As soon as you were done, you went downstairs to look for Soonyoung who seemed to have been waiting at the drawing room. He had already hailed a carriage to carry your belongings to the terminal, so you guessed it was only you they were waiting for.

“I hope no one has called the police when you climbed through the terrace again,” you greeted him with a smile, your personal trunk on your hands.

“Nah, they know it’s just me,” he replied, grinning back as he took your trunk.

Soonyoung was a childhood friend, the heir of a fine and lucrative shipping company among many in Porta Persa. He has a natural talent in mischief and a bundle of energy, yet surprisingly hard working. Together with you and Wonwoo, who was another friend, Soonyoung was currently preoccupied with The Porta Persa Edition as one of its editors.

"We'll be seeing more of each other from now on!" He remarked excitedly, helping you up the carriage before joining in as well. "If you know what I mean."

You sighed at his rather indiscreet methods of discretely conveying that you three were running a rather controversial newspaper.

"How was today's paper though?" You asked as the carriage began moving and jumping around the cobblestones.

Soonyoung grinned victoriously. "Folks were deliciously eating it by the news stands and Wonwoo said the Parliament and the Royal Elders were absolutely livid with Alex Fireflower's piece!"

You feel a sweatdrop roll down your cheek.

"It's kind of scary with the way you say that," you replied, and then continued with a more confident tone, "but I'm glad they got the message. People need to wake up from this farce."

"You seriously hate the soulmate thing, huh?" Soonyoung commented. "I mean, I can't really say anything since I don't have my bond yet."

You glanced at him, thinking of your own bond and instinctively hid your wrist underneath your gloves.

"Lucky for you."

By the time you both arrived at the terminal, it was all a breeze from there. The teleportation portals were not as busy compared to other days, thus with just a cart and Soonyoung by your side, you have officially moved to the Royal Academy of Porta Persa.

The Royal Academy of Porta Persa, or just the Academy, was a state-ran university, yet the most prominent among other universities in the area. Atop a hill overlooking the main port, it was constantly covered by wisteria and cherry blossom trees all year long thanks to magic, painting a surreal landscape for all of Porta Persa to see.

"Even if I've seen this from my window every night, this is still quite a sight to take in," you exclaimed as you both walked towards the dormitories.

Soonyoung gave a small smile. "I was like that last year, you know."

Due to the prestige of the Academy and its quality of education, only a select few can attend its venerable halls of learning: the elite and the intellectually gifted. You were lucky to be part of the latter group. The entrance examinations were intense yet you still made it, happy that you were finally able to attend their Effective Journalism class which was the reason why you wanted to go in the first place.

"I'm sure your dorm master will tell you later, but I'm going to say it anyway," Soonyoung started as he pushed your cart up a slope. "In the dorm rooms, the ladies and the gents are separated."

He made it seem so controversial that you made a deadpan look by the time he finished talking.

"I think that should be obvious by now."

"Eh? But aren't you disappointed? We can't brainstorm article ideas together with Wonwoo, you know!"

"But we can just talk in the courtyard." You shrugged, not really getting Soonyoung.

"We can't just talk in the courtyard! People will know we're The Porta Persa Edition!"

You stopped walking. "Soonyoung, the newspaper is registered in your name. I think, except my identity as Alex Fireflower, this is no longer any secret."

He gave an exasperated sigh. "You're such a killjoy!"

"Oh, look. We're here," you pointed out, totally ignoring Soonyoung's comment.

The girl's dormitory looked especially lavish with marble and ornate columns. Lilac wisteria trees dotted the surroundings, creating a flowery curtain around the dormitory. On the entrance way though was a female guard and the dorm master.

"I think I can manage from this point on," you said, taking the cart from your friend's grasps, "Thanks for your help though! I'll contact you later!"

"Oh if you say so then! Hope your roommate's nice though!" he replied, taking a step back and giving a small salute. "I'll wait for you and Wonwoo in the dorms! See you!"

You gave a cheeky smirk and saluted him back before pushing your way inside the dorm. As you entered, the dorm master welcomed you with a polite smile in her dark floor length dress and clipboard in her hands. She was an older woman yet lacked the frightening aura dorm masters seemed to have.

"Good morning! You are Ms. Y/N, I assume?" She asked and you nodded, showing your identification pin as proof.

"Well unfortunately, we don't have any room in the main building, which is why we have decided that incoming students have to stay at the refurbished building." She started as she began walking you across the courtyard. "There were a lot of students last year, we really had no choice."

"I see. Well, I'm ok with anywhere, to be honest. As long as I have a bed and a desk to write on," you replied, gazing at the fancy architecture prominent among all the buildings.

She chuckled. "Don't worry. The rooms are considerably bigger in the renovated building with a private bathroom and a small kitchen, though you have to share it with another person."

"That's quite fancy, huh? Looks like I still have my luck today," you replied with a chuckle, pushing your cart forwards.

Shortly, the building you were to stay for the rest of your years in the university pulled into view. It was indeed massive and frighteningly grand, and seemed like only the rich can afford such residence, which definitely worried you. It would be quite difficult if you got paired with a snobby and spoiled princess of some far away land.

Entering the building, you noticed that the hallways were no different with its golden inlays and dark marbled floors. Ceiling to floor windows graced on your left as the dorm master led you to the third floor (via an elevator) and to a wide ornate door.

"I think it's this room." Fishing a set of keys from her pocket, she opened the door and led you inside.

To no surprise, it was an extravagant room. In your front was a sofa set by a fireplace which serves a sitting room for guests. The common room proper was separated by french doors and a wall of glass which looked like sets of windows.

You slowly took it in, unused to this kind of place. Taking a step forward, you looked around: there were fresh roses on the side table, bookcases filled with heavy tomes and encyclopedias, a scent of nearby cherry blossom flowers from an open window.

This was definitely not what you had expected. This large room fit for royals was not what you had in mind when you imagined yourself living in the dorm rooms of the Academy. And it frightened you.

"Do...do I have to pay for this?" You asked the dorm master who was waiting for you at the doorway.

She smiled. "No need to worry, Ms. Y/N. All of your expenses here are paid by the state."

"Is it really alright for me to be here…"

Your words faltered, thinking about how lucky and privileged you were to be living in this kind of place in the next few years, while there were others who stayed in a much humble dorm room.

"Is it not to your liking?" The dorm master asked which you immediately denied.

"No, no. This is good," you said. Too good even.

Your thoughts you flushed out before it could convince you to just stay at your family home. That would definitely not be ideal at all. Tentatively opening the french doors leading to the common room, what you saw was definitely not what you expected.

Fresh from an immersive bath was a man, not much older than Soonyoung, in his half naked glory.

"Who on earth are you?" He asked and you froze.

Frozen because all you wanted to do was to wake up from this horrible nightmare of a day, or you wanted to evaporate there at your very spot from sheer embarrassment.

Without a word, you immediately closed the door and ran back to the door where the dorm master was looking at you in confusion.

"This…! This room is clearly occupied! By a man!" You nearly screamed at her, yet still held a bit of your composure.

You could still see the afterimage of the man in your mind, his dark black hair wet, his toned body only covered by a mere towel. You furiously tried to erase it out of your eye sockets before you sink into the gutter.

"Huh? But the records say this room is occupied by Iris Appleby," she replied in panic, checking her clipboard over and over again.

In the midst of her checking, the man emerged from the bedroom, now much more appropriate in trousers and a button up. He seemed to be a bit annoyed from the disturbance, you noticed.

"I assume there must be some problem here," he said coolly, hands in his pockets.

If anything, you thought the dorm master had seen a ghost from how pale she got just from taking a glimpse of the man.

"Sir Lee Jihoon! I must apologize for this inconvenience!" She exclaimed tearfully. Her panic had doubled and was now frantically checking the records.

You blinked several times upon hearing the name, and then finally, it clicked a second after.

The youngest parliament member, huh?

"I'm sure there was some mistake! We thought this room was occupied by someone else, Sir! And it's the only available room we have!" The dorm master cried, and you grimaced.

"Alright, madam. Please take a deep breath," you told her, patting her back. "We could check if there are other rooms left, okay?"

"I already did through the clipboard! We have the dorm rooms monitored by magic tracing, yet in some way, only this room was registered with a wrong name," she replied as her shoulders sagged.

"I don't mind her as a roommate," the third person involved finally spoke. "The rooms are separated and we only have to share the bath, the kitchen and the common room anyway."

The dorm master seemed hopeful for that solution as she gave you a questioning look. Lee Jihoon also glanced at you, his sharp eyes seemingly judging.

It's either here or back at home, huh? There was no way you're going back.

"As I said earlier, madam, I can sleep anywhere as long as I have a bed and a desk," you replied with a reassuring smile and then gazed at Jihoon. "It's not really as bad as it looks."

Ecstatic with your answer, the dorm master shouted her massive amount of gratitude and bowed farewell after giving you your keys.

Turning around, you faced Lee Jihoon who had his arms crossed, and an unimpressed look on his face.

"I'm Y/N! First year History of Magic major! Nice to meet you, my roommate," you cheerfully introduced yourself yet was met with only sheer silence. You narrowed your eyes at him.

"This is the point where you also introduce yourself while shaking my hand and we then go on with the particulars of our own lives, never to interact again except when sharing the kitchen and the bath," you continued, clearly irked.

He raised his brows at you in amusement. Taking your hand, he shook yours firmly.

"Lee Jihoon, Magical Law, 2nd year. A pleasure as well," he replied, and then gave the most sarcastic smile you've ever seen, if you've ever seen one, before dropping your hand.

"Let's actively avoid each other from now on," he replied with his back turned. Walking away, Jihoon waved at you and then went towards his own room.

Alone, the silence was empty. Yet you simply shrugged at the whole event. Having a politician as a roommate was way better than a princess.

Dragging your cart of belongings inside, you went to what you assumed was your room, opposite to Jihoon's. You noticed that the common room consisted of another ornate fireplace, a large gilded table and a high tech kitchen fueled by fire-charged stones. There were also a few pieces of expensive decor which would really suck if you managed to break one.

The common room was fancy, and your room was, of course, no different. It was a bit bare yet it was already filled with furniture. The canopy bed was at the center; a tall curtained window behind it, as well as a set of chairs just in front of a fireplace. A desk and a few bookshelves was at the far right, near the door. Your closet was a walk-in type, you observed, yet immediately grimaced, knowing you never had that much clothes in the first place.

Huffing, you sat on a lounge chair at the end of the bed. (It wasn't dusty, thank god.) Yet today was by far the most exhausting day you had.

Removing the glove on your right hand, you checked if the soulmate marking was really there or just an early morning nightmare of yours. It was still there though, glistening against the midday sunlight from the window.

It looked innocent that way, just black horizontal bars. Yet its meaning was something you wished did not exist at all.

--!!

All of the sudden, you felt a sharp pang on your head, followed by a sound of static on your ears and a barrage of muddled thoughts in your head. You grabbed a fistful of your hair to at least calm it down a bit yet it was for naught.

A bad migraine, you convince yourself. It was definitely not.

Struggling at the lounge chair for several minutes left you panting and nauseous. There was no solution to this as this was of course the result of you tampering with the connection. You felt like banging your head on the wall because of the pain and because of your own sheer stubbornness, yet that wouldn't really solve anything, will it?

Before you could even contemplate asking your roommate for help, the pain and the overwhelming confusion disappeared and left you in a state of clarity.

Exhausted, you closed your eyes and sighed.

"I never knew you detest me so much, my dear soulmate."

Those were definitely not your thoughts.

#seventeen #svtcreations #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen woozi #lee jihoon #woozi fluff #the most convenient escape #chapter 1 #i accidentally deleted the original post.....

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shireness-says · 4 years

Text

Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way) [4/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America’s back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that’s just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. ~4.9K. Also on AO3. Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

~~~~~

Killian sighs, but complies, rotating slowly to face a uniformed officer. “I have a key,” he tries. His second mistake — after the excess of hope — is falling back into flippant defense mechanisms.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” the officer scoffs. “Hands in front of you, you’re under arrest.”

Killian stands docile, wrists held out to let the other man snap the cuffs on. Some might call it shocking, just by what they think of him, but it’s the first time Killian has been in this situation. He can’t say he likes it. The policeman does look surprised when Killian offers the key once the metal cuffs are secured around his wrists, but his face settles into even deeper suspicion as he slides the little piece of metal into his pocket.

“Where’d you get the key, then?” he all but snaps.

“From David. Call him and ask if you like, I’m not lying.”

“Don’t think I won’t. Now into the car, we’re going to take a little ride to the station.”

Bundling him into the back of the police car seems excessive when Killian knows the station is just down the street, but he complies with the order. In a case where this truly is all a misunderstanding, especially where the sheriff doesn’t believe what he says, it’s easier to be cooperative, attempt to prove that he’s not the enemy of the law.

He hasn’t had occasion to inspect the police station, and it proves to be a small but well-kept building. There are only two cells inside, looking out into an open office space, but as the sheriff leads him into one of them, Killian is relieved to find that the cot and chair, though spartan, are neat and maintained. Someone takes pride in maintaining this place, and if he had to guess, it’s the sheriff himself. Killian would bet he takes that same pride in the whole of this little town, too.

The man in question is across the room at what must be his desk, paging through a thin telephone directory. He’s casual in his space in a way that Killian thinks must be unique to small town law enforcement — jacket draped over the back of his chair, holster and weapon removed and draped across the desktop, and the man himself leaning with crossed legs against the side of the desk.

“David? It’s Graham,” he says into the phone. The name fits; somehow straight-laced without being too regimental or dictatorial. “Listen, I caught someone trying to break into the garage…” Killian rolls his eyes as the sheriff — Graham pauses to listen to whatever David has to say. “He says you gave him permission to be there, but I know you wouldn’t…”

“Oh for the love of God,” Killian cuts in. “Tell him it’s Killian Jones — I swear, he knows who I am and what I’m doing.”

“That’s enough from you,” Graham snaps back. David must have heard, though, as the sheriff sighs heavily. “Yes, he said Killian Jones.” Pause. “You’re not telling me that means something to you?”

“It’s almost like I wasn’t lying,” Killian mutters to himself, just barely loud enough for the sheriff to shoot him a dirty look.

“You’ll have to come down to the station to identify him, David. I’m sure you understand, I can’t just release him without your verification that he is who he says he is -” Another pause for response. “Well, I’d hate to pull you out of bed just for this. I can keep him in the cells overnight and you can come by in the morning… Well, if you insist, then. We’ll see you soon.” As professionally concerned as Graham looked when he picked up the phone, he just looks put out when he hangs it up again.

“So he’s on his way to the station, then?” Killian calls from the cell. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Good man, that David Nolan, and good, law abiding men don’t have much cause to think that the cots in jail cells are even remotely comfortable.” As if to illustrate, Killian kicks back and lays down on the cot in question. By most people’s standards, it’s probably pretty rough, sure, but he’s a man that’s used to sleeping on the ground and park benches and in all other matter of unusual places. This is downright comfortable, bordering on luxurious.

David arrives before a half hour has passed with a distinctly displeased look on his face.

“I really could have kept him overnight,” Graham jumps to assure. “I didn’t mean to disturb you for this.”

“Believe me, you had already disturbed me as soon as the phone rang, Sheriff Humbert,” David replies back in a strained tone probably best described as false patience. He cranes his neck to search around the room before spotting the cells and Killian in the far corner. “You doing alright, Jones?”

“Aye, I’m fine,” Killian replies, pushing himself back to sit upright. “Sorry that you’ve had to come all the way out for this.”

“Not your fault,” David replies, before turning to address Sheriff Humbert again. “This is definitely Killian Jones — the man I gave a key to. Who was supposed to be at the garage. Is that all you need? Do we need to sign something, or…”

“No, that’s it.” Graham hastily moves to unlock the cell door, responding to the irritation in David’s voice. It’s a relief to have the handcuffs off his wrists; no matter how still he tried to keep his arms and wrists, they chaffed, scraping along his skin over and over.

“Well, thank you for your hospitality,” Killian can’t help but quip. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you around town?” Graham just glowers. “Or not.”

At a certain point, it’s just easiest to take the garage key and go before anyone says something they’ll regret.

Storybrooke has a whole new feeling at night as he and David walk back to the garage. Without anyone on the streets — that’s a small town for you — there’s an anticipatory feeling in the air, like the town is just waiting for sunrise and life to resume. Killian finds that he doesn’t much like it; then again, maybe he’s just still on edge from everything else that’s happened tonight.

“Thanks for coming to bail me out,” he tells David in a quiet voice.

David hums in response. “Is it truly called bailing you out if there was no bail to pay?”

“I suppose you’ve got a point,” Killian chuckles. “Still. I’m sorry to disturb your evening.”

For some reason, those words stop David in his tracks. Slowly, carefully, he turns to grasp Killian by the shoulders. “I want you to listen to me, Jones,” he says with a gravitas in his voice that Killian has never heard from David before. “This isn’t your fault. I gave you that key, and you used it. None of us could have known that Graham would arrest you; why would we think to tell him about this ahead of time? And that is not your fault. Do you understand?” David holds his gaze intently until Killian finally nods. “Good,” he nods in return.

They walk on in silence until they reach the garage again. “Well, this looks like your stop,” David says. It must be a joke, or at least an attempt at one; the side of his mouth twitches in an attempt at a smile. “I say we open up late tomorrow, what do you think?”

“I think that sounds just fine.”

The key slips smoothly into the lock, tumblers shifting in welcome. David claps him once more on the back companionably in farewell. “Sleep well, Killian.”

It feels like trust, and the brotherhood he lost.

(This was only supposed to be temporary — a few days, a couple of weeks at most — but the longer Killian stays here, the more Killian becomes attached.)

(The longer he stays here, the more he wonders if he might still find a home — in the people, if not the place.)

———

Emma is less than pleased about the debacle the next morning.

Killian hadn’t planned on telling her, honestly; he’s a little ashamed of it, for one, and he doesn’t much relish the idea of how Emma might react. Will she be mad at him? Unsurprised? He’s treasured the time they’ve spent together, and he’s a terrified that this stupid incident will color the way she sees him and cause everything to fall apart.

Emma surprises him, though, showing up at the shop with lunch only to pace furiously back and forth across the concrete floor. Lord only knows who she found out from; like any good diner, Granny’s is a known hive of gossip.

“I can’t believe he’d do that!” She fumes. “That absolute, utter — ”

“It’s alright, Swan,” Killian tries to assure her. “Nothing happened. It doesn’t really matter.”

She whirls on him in a toss of curls, staring at Killian in disbelief. “Of course it matters — and it’s not alright! This never should have happened.”

“Maybe not, but David got it all straightened out,” he soothes. “No harm, no foul.”

“Yes, but I just don’t understand how it happened. I’ve known Graham for years — ” Enough to be on a first name basis, it seems, though Killian tries to control his jealousy — “and I just can’t believe he’d do a thing like this — that he would think you were breaking into the shop, even when he knew you had a key —”

“You can’t believe it?” Killian interrupts. “Because I can. You look at me and see only the best, and I — I admire that in you, but that’s not what most people see. Most people look at all this —” he gestures to himself as if to illustrate, “—and see the leather jacket and the motorcycle, and they think I’m trouble. It’s a damn miracle this hasn’t happened before; we’re just lucky it was some place someone could vouch for me.”

“That doesn’t make it right!”

“No, but it doesn’t make it unexpected, either,” he tells her. “There’s nothing we can do about it now, except be grateful this just ended as a shitty story to tell someday.”

Emma is quiet for several moments, as if soaking his words in. “You’re a good man, Killian Jones,” she finally says.

“I’m glad you believe that.” Yours is the only opinion I truly care about, he doesn’t say, though it probably is splashed across his face regardless. He’s never been quite as good at playing the blank slate, devoid of emotion, as he’d like.

(I don’t know if I believe that, he doesn’t say either, but she probably knows that too.)

He expects Emma to fight him on it and insist he believe it too, or for her to finally drop it and let him have his sandwich in peace. He expects them to maintain this dynamic they’ve settled into of ignoring whatever current runs between them, practically electric.

“We should go out,” Emma says instead.

It’s… baffling, in a way. As much as Killian feels — comfort, trust, affection, all those kinds of emotions he thought were lost to him — he never dreamed she’d reciprocate so strongly as to make such a proposal, especially when they both know his time in Storybrooke is limited.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Killian forces himself to reply with the greatest regret.

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to you. I’m not… I’ll only be here until the parts come in. You deserve more than a man who’s destined to leave.”

“Maybe that’s my choice to make,” Emma shoots back. She doesn’t seem angry, he’s grateful to see; just stubborn, like he already knew she is. “Maybe I’d rather have a handful of good memories than a bucketful of what ifs. So tell me honestly, Killian — if your leaving wasn’t a factor, if we had all the time in the world… what would you do?”

Killian knows exactly what he’d do — he’s halfway in love with her already, his angel, maybe even more, and it’d be the greatest kind of bliss to feel he could express that. What can he say, though, when being honest and being fair are at odds with one another?

“I’d be brave,” Killian finally says softly, caving to the temptation of brushing a stray curl out of Emma’s face and back behind her ear. “I’d bring you flowers and take you to dinner and everything else. I’d romance you, court you properly.”

“Then let’s be brave,” Emma smiles back. “Who cares if we don’t have long? Let’s make the most of what time we do have.”

And as much as Killian has told himself that starting anything will only end in pain, the truth of the matter is that he’s weak for Emma’s smile and already can’t deny her anything.

“Alright, love. Let’s be brave.”

Emma beams at him — that response alone making this all worth it. Not that he’d ever deny the kiss she presses to his cheek immediately after — more than he ever thought he’d receive, let alone deserve. It leaves a phantom sensation behind, like her gentle lips are still pressed to his skin, making him feel beloved, and maybe even precious.

“I’m off the day after tomorrow,” she winks, before sauntering back out the door like the most beautiful whirlwind.

It looks like he’s got a date to plan.

———

He shouldn’t have underestimated David, or at least not his wife’s ability to wheedle news out of anyone in town. It’s not that Killian wanted to hide his and Emma’s planned date from the other man; he just hadn’t known how to approach it. It’s obvious that David views himself as Emma’s de facto brother, and Killian knows that she sees him the same way. There’s a bond there that’s deeper than blood — one of affection, and choice, and loyalty. David has already issued him a warning when Killian and Emma’s friendship began, and Killian isn’t looking forward to whatever talk he’s earned for this.

Any attempt at that is over, however, by the time David unlocks the doors the next morning. David finishes his morning routines in a complete, uncharacteristic silence that sets Killian’s teeth on edge, working at a pace best described as leisurely, before deigning to address Killian.

“I thought you said we didn’t need to have a talk,” he observes, deceptively mildly.

Killian fights the urge to gulp, like some exaggerated movie character. “In my defense, she was the one who asked,” he replies, his attempt at levity flopping between their feet.

“Doesn’t mean you had to say yes.”

“No. No, I suppose I didn’t.” He’s sure the nerves — hell, the entire mess of conflicting feelings must be evident in his voice when he responds to David.

“So why did you?”

Killian fiddles with the hem of his shirt as he thinks. Truthfully, he hasn’t examined this himself. Because she asked and to make her happy should be good enough answers, perhaps would be in any other circumstance, but with David staring him down, Killian feels like he needs a better explanation.

“I tried to turn her down, you know?” he says, daring a glance upwards to meet David’s eyes. “I reminded her that I’ll be leaving, that anything we had would be fleeting. I told her that it wouldn’t be fair to her, but she’s stubborn.” Killian can’t help but smile faintly at the memory, though it doesn’t hold. “At a certain point, I just figure… You know, I haven’t been particularly happy in a long while. Years, really. Not since my brother was killed. But being around her… it gives me hope that maybe I could be, again. Happy. And it seems foolish not to grab onto that, if only for a little while.” Somehow, Killian musters the courage to stare David down, hoping to show even half of the honesty and earnestness of his words. It feels like a staredown in a hokey western, the intensity of their stares making up for the mechanic’s tools around them.

It’s an unspeakable relief when David finally breaks the current to huff and shove a hand through his hair. “What am I supposed to say to that?” he complains — nearly whines. “I can’t argue with it. Hell, I might have been the same after the war if it weren’t for Mary Margaret.”

“I’m not looking for your blessing, Nolan,” Killian says quietly, making sure to maintain eye contact. “I’m just hoping for your acceptance. All I want is to make her smile — to make her happy, even if it’s only for a little while. The last thing I want to do is hurt Emma.”

“You promise?”

“Aye, I promise. And if I do… you’ve got my full permission to make me regret it.”

“I’ll be holding you to that.”

Even if they’ve reached an understanding on the matter, asking David for advice is obviously out of the question, Killian well aware that it would only cause the other man’s protective instincts to flare up again. Emma rather needs him alive if she wants him to take her on a date. Instead, he asks Ruby’s advice in the diner in a rare moment that Emma is trapped back in the kitchen. He can’t say he knows Emma’s friend very well, but she’s one of the handful of people in Storybrooke who was friendly to him from the very beginning. Plus, he knows how much she wants Emma to be happy; if she’s willing to assist, Killian thinks he can help with that goal.

Sure enough, Ruby is more than game, her regular opinionated and outgoing self. “You got that notebook ready, Jones?” she smirks at his request. “Because you’re going to want to write these down.”

———

It’s not much — not nearly as much as she deserves. But he’s been told that she’ll love this, and Killian has to trust that it’s true.

He takes her down to the beach — a little spot that Ruby had promised was secluded and where they can see the stars. Even his desire to impress Emma doesn’t temper his dislike for the ocean; he doubts anything will soothe that fear. But it’s a beautiful view from the sand, and besides, Ruby had told him how much Emma loves the waves.

(He probably could have guessed that, too; he remembers Emma talking during one of their late-night diner chats about how the ocean reminded her that there was a great wide world beyond her tiny hamlet. And if there’s one thing he knows about Emma, it’s her yearning to see all the multitude of places that exist beyond her personal horizon.)

Normally, he’d be a wreck worrying about how much Emma does or doesn’t want to be on this date, but that’s the small blessing of agreeing together to be brave — he knows she wants this, more than almost anything. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other things to worry about — the weather and the preparations and especially what the people of Storybrooke will think when they learn that he’s treating their precious princess to an evening out.

Truthfully, he expects to be chewed out by Granny when he stops by the diner to pick up dinner to go. Mrs. Lucas is a fierce old broad, stern and protective over those she views as hers, and Killian knows damn well that Emma counts in that number. Storybrooke’s matriarch surprises him, however, when he works up the nerve to approach the counter and collect their meal. Granny gives him a fond smile as she hands him the bag, and even pats his cheek briefly.

“Now, I expect you two to enjoy yourselves and have a wonderful time,” she commands. “I don’t want to hear anything else. Especially from Emma, but from you too. Is that understood, young man?”

“Aye, ma’am.” Killian already knows that it’s not wise to tell Granny no, and besides, he just doesn’t want to.

Emma, of course, is beauty itself when he picks her up from the small apartment she shares with Ruby. It’s not that she’s dressed particularly fancy — the light summer dress is nice, with a lovely draped neckline, but by no means the height of fashion. But it’s the exact green of her eyes, and the skirt swishes softly around her calves, and she looks beautiful. With what he has planned, there wouldn’t be any point to some fancy cocktail dress anyways.

“Swan,” he breathes, making a valiant attempt to drink in every bit of her with his eyes. “You look…”

“Yeah?” Emma’s hands nervously fiddle with her skirt, smoothing the fabric of non-existent wrinkles. She doesn’t need to; Killian would still think her to be the most beautiful creature alive if she had opened the door wearing a burlap sack.

“Aye,” he smiles back. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” The compliment makes her smile, and Killian can’t help but grin back, leaving them a pair of idiots beaming at one another in the doorway.

They probably would have stood there half the night, too, if not for Ruby. “Are you two planning to move at any point?” she jabs, though her voice is more teasing than annoyed. “Because some of us have to go work the night shift while you’re off on your little rendez-vous.”

That’s enough to snap them out of it, and after an awkward little laugh — his ears must be crimson red — Killian gladly escorts Emma down the stairs with a light hand at the small of her back.

(Never let it be said that Miss Ruby Lucas doesn’t raise a good, and timely, point.)

In a fit of whimsy, he insists on Emma closing her eyes as they approach the end of Main Street where the road gives way to the pier and the beach below. It feels unimaginably silly, but Emma smiles and laughs.

“Promise you won’t let me trip and fall?” she teases, eyes already shut. Her trust in him is astounding, wonderful, damn near miraculous.

“Never, love,” he vows.

As ridiculous as he feels carefully leading Emma down the stone steps of the pier with a hand covering her eyes, it’s easy to forget as soon as she gasps in pleased surprise to see the picnic blanket spread out on the sand. Besides their dinner from Granny’s — Emma’s favorite grilled cheese, onion rings, and potato chips, plus another bag with a carton of rocky road ice cream for the little parlor just down the road from the diner. Ruby had been indispensable in assisting him to arrange this all, from telling Killian about Emma’s favorite foods to arranging for him to borrow a blanket and basket from Mrs. Nolan. Now it’s all on him to make this memorable.

The sun was already setting when Killian picked Emma up, and by the time they’re through eating, the stars are on full display. He’d been concerned about the light, simultaneously worried there’d be too much and not enough, but the street lamps along the stone wall of the pier offer enough illumination to feel like he can see Emma but not so much as to obscure the stars above them. It’s the purest kind of joy to lay with Emma on the blanket, pointing out all the constellations he knows, and he lets himself enjoy every bit of it for once without reservation.

“How’d you learn all these?” Emma asks. She’d turned into his side to ask the question, and Killian can’t help but take that as an invitation to slip his arm around her shoulders and draw her closer. Her skin beneath his fingers is indescribably soft, though dotted with little bumps — perhaps goosebumps. He’d be covered in them too, if she had dragged her fingers along his skin.

He uses that same sensation, the warm silk of her arm, to ground himself as he answers. “My brother,” he tells her, smiling faintly. Talking about Liam like this, remembering the good times, is always a gentle thing, an indulgence to lose himself in the memory, even if the melancholy of current circumstances pervades the memory. “Liam loved astronomy, loved learning about the stars and planets and all that. He used to take me out to see the stars whenever there was a new moon, and we could see them all the more clearly. Came in handy when I joined up later, let me tell you.”

“I’ll bet,” she replies, just as softly. “I’m glad you could share that with him.”

Killian hums before steering the conversation back towards safer ground. “You want to know my favorite constellation, though, love?”

“Which one?”

“Give me your hand.” Twining his fingers together with hers, leaving only their index fingers free, he guides their fingers to the right quadrant of the sky, only to trace out the shape of an X. “Right there.”

“There?” She mimics the gesture, and Killian hums in confirmation. “What is it?”

“Cygnus,” he responds, before turning on his own side in order to whisper in her ear. “The Swan.”

In the faint beams of light that trickle over from the street lamps, Killian can see her awed smile. If he was a bolder man, less measured and patient, this might be the moment he finally leans in for a kiss, but there’s still one thing Killian wants to do. Gingerly, he pulls himself back up to a crouch, extending a hand back to Emma as she stands up herself. “Now what do you say, my Swan, to a little dance under the stars?”

Emma beams in response.

He’d managed to borrow Mrs. Nolan’s old crank-powered phonograph, and after a good bit of cranking, a dance tune finally warbles out. Something slow. Something heartfelt. Something that makes his heart soar and his feet fall into time, even as they both giggle and chuckle at the way their feet stumble in the soft sand in a search for purchase. As they settle into a swaying rhythm, he gazes down at Emma, his lovely Swan staring back with soft eyes and an even softer smile.

It’s perfect — the kind of fairytale moment he thought he no longer deserved.

Maybe it’s the stars, or the moment, or the way Emma’s slight build feels next to his own, but Killian feels all his hesitation and nerves wash away as if carried by the tide. Why should he feel nervous, when Emma smiles softly up at him as they sway in the sand? When she’s the most beautiful thing he can remember? When she’s the reason he wants to be brave?

It may be the moment, or the woman herself, but he’s not scared anymore for a beautiful, blissful moment, and it’s easy to lean down that last little bit to capture her lips with his own. It could be his own fanciful imagination, but Killian swears he can feel Emma sigh and sink into the kiss. It’s hard to tell much over the frantic thumping of his heart in his veins and ears.

There’s things he forgot in the time since he last attempted anything like this, like the logistics of noses, but even the brief moment they break apart to giggle at the attempt feels natural, feels right in a way that’s special to Emma. It only makes Killian twine his arms tighter around her back to draw Emma close against his chest and finally cave to the desire to snake his hand up and into all those glorious golden curls. Emma gives as good as she gets, too, taking the initiative to slip her tongue into his mouth to play with his own. Faintly, Killian is aware of one of her hands clutching at the lapel of his leather jacket, but it’s far easier to get lost in all the sensations than try to catalog every little detail, no matter how much he wants to.

They’re finally forced to break when the air between them finally runs out, though Emma refuses to let him go. Killian is more than fine with that; it’s a unique kind of joy just to lean his forehead against Emma’s, sharing the same space and same air as they both fight to catch their breath. At some point, the music must have petered out, as Killian can only hear the rush of the waves behind them; he’d been too caught up in their kiss to even notice when the song stopped.

“It’s about time,” Emma teases. Any chiding is severely undermined by the way her fingers fiddle with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I was wondering when you’d make a move.”

“I’m sorry to have ever made the lady wait,” Killian murmurs, dropping his lips to just below where her head and neck meet. Goosebumps bloom along her skin where his mouth just brushes. “But I’m more than happy to make up for it now.”

(And it may not have been a perfect date, but it still may have been just what they both deserve — a moment together, away from everyone else. A moment to be them without the pressures of family or expectations or time.)

(A perfect moment. And he intends to savor every bit of it.)

(It was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but he wouldn’t trade this for the world.)

~~~~~

Tagging: @kmomof4, @aerica13, @thisonesatellite, @searchingwardrobes, @let-it-raines, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @spartanguard, @scientificapricot, @snowbellewells, @welllpthisishappening, @tiganasummertree, @captainswanbigbang, @snidgetsafan, @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff

#csrt #captain swan #cs ff #Wherever You're Going (I'm Going Your Way)#50s AU #my writing

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xxjewellynwatts · 4 years

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Who Is She? - A James Gillies x OC (you) story!

Part 2: https://xxllewellynwatts.tumblr.com/post/623376771092480000/who-is-she-a-james-gillies-x-oc-you-story

Request: Hello. I saw that you want to write James Gillies stores and I thank you for that!! It would be great if you wrote something were the reader (in this case a women) had connections to James when he was still at the school. As he starts his killings. And maybe the have a little flirt going or something ^_^

A/N: You're welcome!! :) I'm so glad you requested! I tried my best to make it as short as possible, I'm sorry!! I could only cover his first killing but I could do a part 2 if you want to! And for the flirt part... well I imagined what 'flirt' meant to James and I guess it looks like that haha.

Like every morning, the physics students of the University of Toronto entered the class and found their seat. And like every morning, James Gillies, a brilliant student (if not the most, actually) sat next to another brilliant student called Robert Perry.

Unexpectedly, the professor did not take place at his usual desk. Instead, you entered the room in your beautiful white and blue Victorian dress and took place at his desk after the professor introduced you:

'Gentlemen, we have a new student. Please welcome her kindly as she will attend every class and exam just like every one of you.'

It may seem as an odd introduction but you were, in fact, the very first woman taking a physics course in the University of Toronto. And these 'gentlemen' didn't seem to take you seriously as you could tell from their small grin. Nevertheless, you stepped up and spoke with your mildly low but charming voice. You were confident, as always, and that sure erased the grins of these men - except for James and Robert. Though James' grin seemed more of a curiosity look.

'Good morning, gentlemen' you said. 'My name is y/l/n and I am very honored to be the first woman in this class. I am looking forward to discovering more on our Universe as well as on our Earth for we merely have theories that have yet to be experienced' you smiled a bit. 'I'm looking forward to working with you all as well'. As you said this, your glance caught James' who seemed to have been whispering to Robert's ear.

When the class was over, you heard Robert speaking with James on their way out.

'She must have had incredible results to have gotten here' said James.

'Or an incredible charm' said Robert mockingly.

You immediately stopped them even though it seemed inappropriate considering you've been eavesdropping.

'I'm afraid I have to tell you something Mr...?' you asked as you looked right into Robert's eyes.

'Perry' he said, surprised and confused as you could tell from his frowning face.

'Mr Perry, you should never underestimate a woman's capability. Be it physically or mentally. Or you might have surprises... and I mean... bad ones.' you smiled arrogantly, which made James chuckle in amazement as Perry took him away after one last angry look at you.

You'd been in the class for two weeks now and merely ever talked again with the duo. You later found out they were both the Physics' professor assistant (James) and Chemistry professor assistant (Robert). You would have gladly taken Robert's place to show him what you were capable of but you loved Physics much more. And that showed in your work. Which is why you were offered, after your first week, James Gillies' place as the professor's assistant. You had never spoken to James after that which is why you were even more surprised when you saw him sitting in front of you tonight, in the library.

The library was quiet and empty.

'Congratulations' said smoothly James.

You looked up from your work to him.

'Thank you' you said coldly.

'I'm genuine' said James as he looked at you with a small smile. 'I was considering quitting anyway but I'm glad a woman took my place.'

'It's a pleasure to meet a man who knows women and men are equal' you said as you handed your hand for him to shake. Which he did, immediately.

'So tell me... what made you want to become a physicist?' asked James.

'I've always been interested in physics. And I like to believe everyone should study physics to understand the world around us and the one that is out of our sight. How about you?'

'Same reasons...' he said, surprised at your answer. 'Though I also like to apply theories through experiments' he said with a spark in his eye.

You continued to talk with him for a long time before you two were thrown out of the library for it had to close. He invited you to the pub, but you refused kindly as you didn't want to miss your lectures the next morning.

The thing is, James was incredibly confused about you. You were very smart, you had proven it, but you were also a bit mysterious. It was like you had had a tumultuous life before you entered the school, which was certainly the case as James would later discover.

A few months later, you woke up to a terrible news. A professor had been killed by an invisible person. You were wondering why someone would do that when you saw James and Robert talk with Station Four Detective William Murdoch. You overheard them asking to follow the investigation to see how physics could apply to real life and that is the moment when you realised something was off about these two. They had been talking very discretely in the library everytime you saw them there. You even once saw Robert get mad and storm off the library as James sighed. Maybe they knew something would happen to the professor...

A few days later, you found them, yet again, talking with Murdoch to know more about the case. Why would they be so interested if they didn't have anything to do with it? Maybe it was a bit far-fetched to assume that already but you had always had a very good intuition. On that night, you decided to talk with James. You followed him as he headed to an empty class to take back his books which he had forgotten. You silently closed the door behind you and you stood in the dark in front of him as he struggled to see who closed the door.

'You said you like applying theories didn't you?' you asked suspiciously.

'Yes I did' he said with a smile. And you knew this smile by heart by now. It was an illusion meant to make him look like he had everything under control.

'You know...' you started walking slowly around the class as your face was lit every now and then by the streets' lights. 'Science can be used for so many things. And I find it highly satisfying when something you wrote on paper comes to reality.'

You stood in front of him.

'I like your mind' you said smoothly. 'You are a chaotic yet so logic person. You'd do anything to achieve your goals and see your plan come to reality.'

His smile had disappeared by now and he was slightly frowning.

'First time?' you asked.

'I beg your pardon?' he asked.

You stood in the light, closer to him. He tried to analyse your face, that grin of yours he knew by heart. You startled him as you took out a paper. There was an illustration. A mechanical object holding a gun which was supposed to shoot once the sand was out of the bag.

'First time killing someone, ay?' you said with a smile.

'Excuse me...!' he started to act shocked.

'There's no point in denying it, James.' You called him by his name for the first time.

'I won't go to the police. After all... my life would get boring if I didn't see your brilliant criminal mind work.'

The room was silent for a moment.

'What do you want, y/n?' he asked, saying your name for the first time as well.

You laughed. It amused you. You liked these little games. You two had been playing the perfect student all along. But now that you knew his flaws, you could show a bit of yours as well.

'I may... or may not have a criminal past.' you said as you started walking around the room again.

'How come you're not arrested?' he asked, as his smile grew wider.

'The art of disguise, Mr Gillies! I love acting. And I have to say, I'm quite convincing. Otherwise, how could I have been a constable for a few months and erased all evidence incriminating me?'

James didn't know if he could trust you or not. But you sure were serious... and convincing.

'What did you do?' he asked, now all interested.

'Ah! That's a story for another day. Now, Mr Gillies, if you'd like some advice from... a friend, I'd recommend you get rid of this Mr Perry.'

You leaned closer to him.

'He will speak. He will betray you. I can tell from his eyes and from the fight you had last time.'

James' smile faded away.

You kept the paper incriminating him with you.

'Have a good night. And if anything happens to you, I'll kill Mr Perry myself.'

For some reason, that made James' heart beat even faster. But not out of fright. It was out of excitement and.. curiosity.

He couldn't help but stand in that empty dark class and wonder...

'Who is she?'

#that was bad lmfao #still hope you liked it #murdoch mysteries imagine #murdoch mysteries #james gillies #robert perry #james gillies imagine #william murdoch #julia ogden #george crabtree #llewellyn watts #henry higgins #thomas brackenreid

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nad-zeta · 4 years

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Match up (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

ay I have an ikesen matchup, please? I’m an asexual cis girl who leans to boys. Yet, shy around them. Lacking some experience with general things. So I tend to be obvious. Sometimes sarcastic and bold, but with an innocent mindset. Since most dirty jokes fly over my head and I think some people mean well. Though being a little sensitive and may cry.

I’ve been told I can get lost in my own world. I’m a tan brown girl with dark brown curly hair. A petite figure, 5'6. I have a girly, pastel free attire. I love vintage things, post-rock, jazz songs. I love to draw and express myself through art. My dream is to become an illustrator or cartoonist. Including my love for stuff animals, Grimm brother tales.

Hi hi Love! 🌻❤Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy it and i hope you have the best day! Also sorry for taking soooooo long! ❤❤🌻

So I match you with…………. Hideyoshi

The first time you arrived at the castle, Hideyoshi did not trust you one bit. He watched you like a hawk from day one. He didn’t like it when strangers got so close to his lord.

You kept your head down and worked hard, and all the maids and castle staff really adored you. You were so sweet and kind, like a little rabbit. Even Nobunaga had taken a liking to you, and as classic standard procedure for him, he invited you up to his room that night. When Mamabear heard that Nobunaga has called you to his room, Hidemama, was on high alert. He and Mitsuhide had followed you as you made your way to Nobunaga’s room. They hid in the shadows, and when you finally entered their lord’s room, they placed their ears against the door ready to burst into the room at a seconds notice.

You shyly made your way up the stairs into Nobu’s room, you hadn’t seen him since he named you as, princess. It wasn't even 3 second into the conversations when he, made a pass at you, about wanting you to warm his bed for the night. A comment which mind you, flew right over your head. Your mind was so innocent and pure, and this boy legit had to explain his intentions to you, which left you blushing. You very kindly told him that you were not that kind of girl, “Fine then fireball, but I still expect you to entertain me somehow.” You were curious as to why someone so busy was still awake so late, and that’s when he told you that he struggles to fall asleep. You gave him a gentle smile and said that you knew a few tips and tricks that could help.

You told him to lay down in his futon, he did as you asked with the most amused glint in his crimson eyes. You then tucked him in and started playing with his hair. “You are treating me like a child, fireball.” You gave him another one of your gentle smiles, you couldn’t help but make a sarcastic comeback to his comment. Nobunaga simply smirked up at you, especially after you mentioned that you were going to tell him a bedtime story. You knew so many stories thanks to your love of the brothers Grimm tales. By the end of your story, Nobunaga’s breath had evened out, and he was now fast asleep.

Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide knew that if you were to do something, now would be the ideal opportunity. They strained their ears to hear what you were saying. You looked down at the sleeping man’s face and smiled, “Here is one more thing to make sure you sleep soundly.” When Hideyoshi heard you say those words, he opened the door to peek inside the room, it sounded like you were going to kill him. He was shook when you kissed the man’s forehead and stood up, extinguishing the candles. Hideyoshi is that moment realized he had majorly misjudged you, you weren’t an assassin, you were just an extremely kind sweet girl.

The next morning you woke up to your room that was filled to the brim with clothes, flowers and little trinkets. You were super confused, even more so when Hideyoshi had entered into your room carrying a tray of breakfast and a sunshine smile. You had to do a bit of a double-take cause you have never seen anything other than a scowl coming from Hideyoshi. “Oooh good you're awake, I brought you some breakfast, and I came to apologize for the horrible way I’ve been treating you.” He then bowed down super low to you. Honestly, it all felt like one big dream.

Hideyoshi then invited you out to the markets where he absolutely insisted on buying you even more gifts, to make up for his mistakes. You had come to really enjoy this new side of Yoshi, he was super sweet and kind, like a protective older brother

Since then every spare moment he got, he would spend with you. The two of you loved going out for tea together or just browsing the markets. When Hideyoshi had discovered that you enjoyed jazz music he would take you to any and every jazz performance he could find. He would usually make up a picnic basket, filled with delicious snacks and then surprise you with an outdoor picnic concert. The two of you would then sit and enjoy some good food, and music together.

Hideyoshi loved spending time with you, and the more time the two of you spent together, the more and more he found himself falling hopelessly in love with you. He loved your sweet, pure, innocent mind. You were honestly like the female version of his sweet angelic vassal. Who like you was blissfully unaware of Mitsuhide and Masamune’s dirty jokes and minds.

He also enjoyed watching your bold, sarcastic side come out. It would usually happen when he would confront Mitsuhide. In the midst of his arguments with the snek, you would be right there by Hideyoshi’s side, backing him up. Firing sarcastic comebacks at Mitsuhide whenever he gets on Hideyoshi’s nerves, or evades Hidemama’s questions with sarcastic remarks.

Hideyoshi also loves that you love animals. This boys heart melts into a puddle of goo whenever he sees you playing with Uri, his pet monkey. He will stand in the doorway, beaming with pure happiness at the sight of his two beloved girls spending time together. It was then when Hideyoshi started to make plans to confess his love for you. This doting mother is a hopeless romantic so its, go big or go home when it comes to love.

That morning you woke up to a little not resting next to your pillow, the note contained instructions to a game. You smiled as you solved the small riddle at the bottom of the page leading you to the next clue. After running around the castle solving all sorts of little puzzles, the final note led you to Hideyoshi’s manor. You open the main door to see a path of rose petals leading you outside. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, Hideyoshi standing in front of a candlelit dinner in the middle of his garden. Honestly, the best part was that he had dressed little Uri up like a waiter, who gave you a single red rose and the final note with the words sprawled across the page, “I love you.”

The two of you made the sweetest couple. Hideyoshi loved everything about you from your loving, kind heart to your sarcastic, bold side. He loved it when you would doodle small cartoon pictures on the napkins during your tea dates. He loved the beautiful art pieces that you would create, they expressed so much emotion and always left him breathless. He would proudly display all your art around the manor.

When you had told him your dream of becoming a cartoonist and illustrator, he was ecstatic and was determined to help you make that dream come true, even though you were now stuck in the past. Yoshi introduced some of your drawings to Nobunaga, who loved your illustrations so much that he commissioned you to start writing children’s books, to inspire the young minds to follow their dreams. And although Nobunaga would never admit it, he loves reading your children’s books at night, as they to help calm his cluttered mind enough for him to fall asleep.

Hideyoshi knows what a soft sensitive soul you are, and is always by your side to protect you against anyone or anything. If you are feeling low or sad, he would gather you in his strong arms and whispers words of love in your ears. Honestly, this man will shower you with love and affection from dusk to dawn. He absolutely loves to dote on you so, expect to be pampered like the sweet princess you are, cause this man WILL spoil you.

Yoshi loves to sit behind you with his arms circled around your waist and his chin propped up resting on your shoulder, as you draw your latest illustrations. He could spend hours just watching you bring the most beautiful and creative drawings and cartoons to life.

Don’t be surprised if he occasionally drops a few sweet kisses on your shoulder or cheek as you work. He will 100% brag about your work to everyone in the castle after you are done. He is your biggest cheerleader, and he loves everything you do.

Often the two of you cuties can be found simply holding hands in the teahouse, chatting away about everything and anything.

Other potential matches………….. Kennyo

I hope you enjoyed it and i hope you have a super good day! 🌻😳🐇@daydreamerneko123

#matchups #match ups #ikesen matchup #matches #hideyoshi toyotomi #toyotomi hideyoshi #ikemen sengoku hideyoshi #ikesen hideyoshi #hideyoshi matchup #submission

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alice-beaumont-ravenclaw · 4 years

Text

Grief (Pt. 1)

A/N #1: Finally wrote the first part of my “Rowan’s death” story. It’s around 5000 words long, so I divided it into two parts to make it easier to read. This is based on what went on in the game, with the original dialogue mostly intact, but I added stuff to fill in what went on between various part of the chapter and to better illustrate Alice’s reaction.

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"Avada Kedavra!"

As she heard those words, Alice couldn't help but stare at the green light that was coming out of Rakepick's wand. It felt like everything was in slow-motion, the light slowly making its way to Ben. As she was about to close her eyes, she saw a flash of blue and black pushing Ben aside, the green light hitting it instead.

"ROWAN!" she heard herself shout.

"No!" she heard Ben say as he stared in disbelief.

"Khanna..." she heard Merula whisper.

She looked from Rowan's body to where Rakepick was standing, feeling the rage growing in her body.

"We warned you that you owed 'R' a friend's life. Consider that debt collected," said Rakepick with her usual smug grin.

Alice felt herself getting up on her feet and lunging at her as she let out an animalistic growl. Before she could reach Rakepick, she disapparated, leaving Alice grasping at air. Realizing she was gone, her shoulders slumped as she turned her head to see her best friend's body, lifeless.

"No..." mumbled Ben as he approached the body with the others.

Alice, Merula, and Ben knelt next to Rowan, observing her, hoping, perhaps, that she was not...

"She's not breathing," said Merula, her eyes widening.

"No, no... There's got to be some spell... There has to be something we can do!" said Alice, shaking Rowan's body, hoping to wake her up. "This can't be the end... Rowan can't be... dead."

"The Killing Curse... There's no coming back..." replied Merula in a soft voice, still staring at Rowan's corpse.

"Rowan... She's gone," whimpered Ben.

They stared in disbelief at the young Ravenclaw's body. None of them had even considered this turn of event. None of them knew what Rowan had been doing in the forest. This couldn't be real...

"I'll go fetch a professor," said Merula, slowly getting up.

"We'll take her... I mean... We'll take Rowan to the edge of the forest. Just in case Dementors came back. Ok, Ben?" said Alice, looking at the Gryffindor boy.

Ben nodded. Alice took Rowan under her shoulders while Ben took her legs. Slowly, following Merula, they made their way out of the Forest. They laid Rowan down on the soft grass at the edge of the Forest as Merula began running toward the castle. Ben and Alice sat beside the body in silence, both of them still in shock. Alice wasn't yet fully realizing what had happened, while Ben slowly realized someone had died protecting him.

About 20 minutes later, they saw Merula running back, followed by the Heads of House, Hagrid, and Dumbledore. As they saw Rowan's body on the ground, they all let out a gasp, except for Hagrid, who let out a sob. While Flitwick and McGonagall were both making sure that Alice and Ben were uninjured, Merula explained what had happened to the other Professors. Hagrid gently took Rowan in his arms, cradling her body as he let out a few sobs. They all slowly made their way back to the castle.

When they entered the castles, Hagrid and the professors made their way to the infirmary with Madam Pomfrey, while the three students walked toward their respective Common Rooms. Merula went down to the gloomy dungeons, while Alice and Ben went up the silent staircase until they reached the fifth floor, where they separated without a word.

Alice answered the riddle before entering the empty Common Room where a fire was still burning in the fireplace. Even with the fire, Alice felt cold as she made her way to her dormitory. She was thankful both her roommates were asleep when she entered. She didn't feel like talking. She didn't feel like being asked where Rowan was.

The next morning, after a restless sleep, she was awoken by Tulip shaking her.

"Alice! Alice! Something is going on! We are supposed to go to the Great Hall for an announcement! Rumour is that someone died last night. I thought it might be you until I remembered seeing you when I woke up. Who do you think it is? By the way, where's Rowan?" asked Tulip as she looked at the empty bed next to Alice before looking back at her. Alice simply looked down. "Oh dear..." whispered Tulip.

Alice got out of bed and got dressed before following Tulip to the Great Hall. When she entered, she noticed the tables were gone and that the Hall was darker than usual, with only daylight and a few torches providing some light. As she made her way toward the front, she overheard Barnaby whispering: "Everyone is here... So it's true."

"I can't believe Rowan died last night," replied Ismelda.

"I heard that Alice, Merula, and Ben were there..." shared Liz.

When she finally reached the front with Tulip, she noticed everyone around her was either crying or looked sad. All except for Merula, Ben, and herself. Perhaps the sadness would come later for them, she thought. Perhaps they were still getting over the shock of what they had seen.

"This doesn't seem real... The idea that Rowan is gone..." she said in a soft voice.

"Gone forever," replied Ben, emotionless, Alice feeling a chill going down her spine as she heard those words.

"It only just happened. You're in shock. We all are," said Tulip as she approached the group of three.

"It's different for us. We watched it happen," pointed out Merula.

"I still don't understand how... Why Rowan was even there... It happened so fast..." said Alice, looking down.

"Actually... Alice, I think I may know why Rowan was in the forest last night," said Penny as she approached her friend.

"Dumbledore's here," whispered Andre before Alice could say anything.

Dumbledore made his way to the platform where the other teachers were standing and stood behind his lectern.

"Penny, what do you mean you know why Rowan was in the forest?" whispered Alice, hoping she could get an explanation before Dumbledore's speech.

"Let's talk later. In private," replied Penny, looking at Dumbledore.

Alice let out a sigh before looking up at the Headmaster.

"Last night, we suffered an unimaginable loss at the hands of unimaginable evil," started Dumbledore. "Rowan Khanna, a devoted student and friend, sacrificed her life to save another's."

As he said those words, Alice noticed Ben looking down. He seemed frustrated.

"There is no more noble deed," continued Dumbledore. "So today, we will not waste words on Rowan Khanna's killer, whom I assure you will be brought to justice."

"You can count on that," muttered Merula through gritted teeth, before Liz gave her a nudge with her elbow so that she would keep quiet.

"Today, we gather as one Hogwarts community to grieve, remember and honour Rowan and her final heroic act. Grief takes many forms. And it takes time," said Dumbledore, looking at all the students gathered in front of him. "Sadness... Fear... Anger... There are no wrong feelings. It is important in trying times that we be kind and patient with one another. And never forget that Rowan Khanna died a hero."

Hearing that Rowan was dead from the Headmaster, Alice felt a shiver down her spine. It was as if, until now, she was hoping it was perhaps just a horrible nightmare. Hearing some of her friends next to her sobbing made it all too real. Part of her just wanted to run out of the Great Hall...

"Some of you may know it was Rowan's ambition to teach ay Hogwarts one day. By constantly pursuing new knowledge and instilling a love of learning in ourselves and others, we can honour Rowan's dream. For now, I have temporarily suspended new lessons to give everyone time to grieve. But remember that if we let Rowan's noble goal be a guiding light in these dark times, then, just like this light," said the Headmaster as he raised his lighted up wand, "the memory of Rowan Khanna - a clever, brave, driven, and loyal companion - will shine on."

At the end of his speech, everyone slowly raised their wands, lightening them up in honour and in memory of Rowan.

After a moment, students started to walk out of the Great Hall, wondering what to do with themselves. Alice wanted to leave, but she knew Penny wanted to tell her something important, so she waited next to the door, looking at Penny, who was comforting her sister. As she stood there, lost in her thoughts, she felt someone's hand on her shoulder. She turned around to see Charlie before he hugged her. She stood there, not reciprocating the hug, as she felt like she was out of breath, needing space. Charlie, realizing she was standing still, took a step back, looking worried.

"Alice... Are you ok?" asked Charlie.

"Not really..." softly replied Alice, as she looked at the floor, rubbing her arm.

"Of course... That was a stupid question to ask," said Charlie, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No... It was not. It shows concern," said Alice, looking up into Charlie's warm brown eyes.

"I am concerned. You just witnessed something terrible. I'm surprised you're not in the infirmary," replied Charlie.

"Rowan would want me to be strong. Even when I had a cold, she would drag me to our classes," said Alice, a strained smile appearing on her lips because of the memory.

"True... But still, I'm worried. I..." started Charlie before being interrupted by Penny.

"Alice? Can we talk?" asked Penny.

"Yeah... I'll talk to you later," said Alice to Charlie before walking away with Penny.

Charlie looked at his girlfriend walking away, wrinkling his brows as he pursed his lips.

When Alice and Penny finally found an empty corridor, the young Hufflepuff stopped and turned to her friend.

"Alice... I'm glad we can talk in private. How are you holding up?" asked Penny.

"Numb? It's like it hasn't completely sunk in yet that Rowan is gone... Even if Dumbledore said she was..." replied Alice, letting out a sigh. She would probably get that question from everyone she knew.

"I know. It's as if Rowan could walk by us right now, off to study," said Penny, her shoulders slumping.

"It happened so fast, Penny... Instant," replied Alice as she felt a tightness in her chest.

"I can't imagine what you've been through, Alice. Dumbledore said there are no wrong feelings," said Penny, trying to comfort her friend.

"No wrong feelings and so many questions..." said Alice, looking out the window toward the Forbidden Forest.

"Like, why was Rowan in the Forbidden Forest last night?" asked Penny, following her friend's gaze.

"Yes. You said you knew," said Alice, looking back at Penny.

"I think so. Do you remember that night Bill taught us the Sea Urchin Jinx?" asked Penny.

"Vaguely? Remind me," said Alice, scrunching her eyebrows, trying to figure out what that jinx had to do with Rowan's death.

"It was after Madam Pomfrey was petrified. Bill kept you, Ben, Merula, and Charlie to talk about the Cursed Vaults... And Rowan and I wanted to stay and help, too. But Bill wanted to keep it to just those of you who were in the Buried Vaults with Rakepick," said Penny.

"It was for your own safety, yours and Rowan's," explained Alice.

"I know. You told me about 'R' the day in the Courtyard when Ben cast Langlock on Charlie. So I understood. But Rowan didn't understand..." said Penny before looking away. "Oh Alice... I've done something terrible..."

"Penny, tell me. Please, tell me everything," said Alice, pleading, as she sat down on a bench.

"Well, you remember what you told us before Ben langlocked Charlie in the Courtyard? That the wizard that escaped on his way to Azkaban was part of 'R,' which is not a person but a dangerous secret organization of which Rakepick is a member, and that he was after you," said Penny, sitting down next to the young Curse-Breaker.

"Yeah..." said Alice, raising an eyebrow.

"I told Rowan what I knew about 'R' and Rakepick. I know you wanted to keep 'R' a secret from anyone who wasn't in the Buried Vault..." said Penny, looking down.

"For your protection. I doubt I'd have told you if you weren't with Charlie when I'd needed to tell him," pointed out Alice.

"I know. And I explained to Rowan that I was only talking about 'R' so she could understand what you're facing," said Penny, looking back at Alice.

"And did it help Rowan understand why I'd been so preoccupied?" asked Alice.

"Yes, but it also made her want to protect you the way you're always protecting us. So she had been secretly following you from a distance," explained Penny.

"Ever since you both left that classroom?" asked Alice.

"She told me that was her plan. It would explain why she was in the Forbidden Forest," replied Penny before letting out a sigh, her shoulders slumping.

"I was so focused on what we were doing, I had no idea Rowan was following me, watching over me..." said Alice, looking down as she shook her head.

"If I hadn't told Rowan about 'R,' then what happened wouldn't have happened," said Penny, sniffing.

"You can't blame yourself, Penny," said Alice, looking back at her friend as she rested her hand on hers.

"But who else is there to blame?" asked Penny.

Alice let out a sigh as she looked away. "Rakepick is the one who killed Rowan, but... I blame myself. If not for me, no one would know about 'R.' Rowan never would've been following me. Perhaps it would have been better if Rowan had never met me at all..."

"Don't say that. Rowan valued your friendship more than anything," said Penny as she took Alice's hand between hers, squeezing it lightly. "I hope it wasn't a mistake, telling you all of this."

"You've only told the truth. Now at least I know why Rowan was there last night. She was being the best she'd been to me from the start, looking out for me one last time..." said Alice, looking outside the window behind her as she took a deep breath.

"I don't mean to interrupt," said a voice behind Alice.

Alice turned around to see Tonks, who clearly seemed uncomfortable.

"I mean, I know I'm interrupting... You may have even heard already..." continued Tonks, rubbing the back of her neck as she looked away from the two girls.

"It's alright. What is it, Tonks?" asked Alice. Life didn't stop just because Rowan's life had...

"Everyone's to report to their Common Rooms for an important announcement," said Tonks.

"About Rowan?" asked Penny, surprised.

"I'm not sure," shrugged Tonks. "I'm not sure about anything anymore. Especially with you, Alice... Do we talk about it? Do you even want to talk about it?"

"Rowan is your friend, too, Tonks," said Alice. "I mean... Was your friend... Our friend..."

"Yes... But not in the same way that Rowan was your friend," pointed out Tonks.

"It's true. Everyone knows, it's always been you and Rowan, from our first day here..." remarked Penny.

"From my very first day at Hogwarts..." mumbled Alice, looking down once again as she recalled the first time she met Rowan in Diagon Alley.

Penny and Tonks didn't say a word as they looked at their friend. She clearly was struggling to cope with what had happened, but she seemed to bottle up all her emotions. She was still trying to be the strong one. She was still trying to be the protector. How could they tell her she could let go? That it was ok to grieve. That there was no shame in crying, in showing emotions. That they were there if she needed to talk. They just knew all too well that she would fake a smile, say everything would be fine, and walk away. The only person she ever seemed to confide in was Rowan...

"Well... I suppose we should go to our Common Rooms, hear this announcement..." finally said Tonks.

"Yes, let's go," said Alice as she stood up along with Penny.

They made their way together until they reached the staircases, the Hufflepuffs going down, and Alice continuing up on her own.

-------

A/N #2: Hope you enjoyed it! This story is partly inspired by the “Low Energy” prompt from @yantarnii 2018 Inktober challenge. Part 2 is here.

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kalendraashtar · 5 years

Text

Fanfiction - Dark Shines

Friday 13th and a Harvest Moon call for witches and crime stories! This chapter debuts an incredible new moodboard, made with love by the amazing @sassy-sassenach and lovingly accepted by this author. Thank you so much! ❤

Part I, Part II

Dark Shines

Part III – Tasseography

Behind the ash wood door was a spacious room, substantially darker than the inside of the Beauchamp’s Cup front store. Still, that diffuseness didn’t feel like the dimness of depraved things, but more like the controlled atmosphere meant to protect old books and antique items.

Jamie could identify hundreds of glass jars and wooden boxes, made of a myriad of different colours and shapes. There were also books aplenty, some neatly stored in a massive bookcase against the back of the space, others – probably the ones more frequently used – stacked in piles between the two worktables and the imponent desk. The writing table was built from a beautiful white wood with an almost invisible grain, ivory-like, that Jamie eventually identified as holly, one of the sacred trees of the old druids.

There were also other objects scattered around the surfaces, stranger and somehow more disturbing in their simplicity – a small silver bell, a pendulum, several knives in different sizes, candles and a totally black tea-set, with seven delicate-looking cups and a robust teapot, which sparkled like an onyx stone would under the intense gaze of the moon.

“Tea first, I think.” Claire said amiably, pointing him in the direction of a plush burgundy armchair in front of her desk. Jamie nodded and tried not to stare openly around him, half-expecting her to go for the wicked looking set of porcelain. Instead, she retrieved a fairly common pair of tea-cups from a sideboard, reassuringly white with the rim simply embellished with soft pink lilies. “Do you have a preference?”

“Whichever ye’re having is fine.” The criminal profiler answered, studying the tea-maker as she prepared the infusion with the measured practice and solemnness of a ritual. After she offered him a cup, pungent with the fragrancy of mint and lemon verbena, Jamie thought he had endured enough politeness for the time being. “So, will ye tell me about the true nature of yer relationship with Morag MacKenzie and Mary Hawkins, Miss Beauchamp?”

The rumoured-witch sipped her tea placidly, blowing softly against the rim of the cup, a magnetic movement of her lips that drew gooseflesh on his arms. “They were faithful clients, almost since I founded the company a couple years back.” She nodded to herself, seemingly content either with the taste of the brewing or with the progress of the conversation. “And they were...curious, about other subjects. Sympathizers, one might say.”

“Do ye mean that they were some kind of witch-groupies?” The man raised a brow, mechanically stirring the liquid with an odd-looking small teaspoon, the point carved like a coiled snake.

“I’m not a member of the Beatles, Agent Fraser.” Claire rolled her eyes, scrunching her perfectly perky nose. “They weren’t groupies. They were interested in some aspects of power and the barriers that stop most people from using it.”

“Were they yer version of Muggles, then?” James Fraser smiled bitterly, silently reprehending himself for letting his own perspective on the subject so abundantly clear. He needed her help, as much as he was convinced that she was a blatant schemer. “I gather from what ye’re sharing that they didn’t have any…power of their own.”

Claire’s eyes fixed on his face, with an intensity that was almost predatory, and then they slowly descended to his upper leg, where he felt her gaze like the two gunshots that had once pierced his flesh, hot and devastating like speeding bullets. It was strange to be once again close to people who knew part of his story, even though they couldn’t possible fathom him.

When her lips moved, it felt like being underwater listening to the secrets of a siren, that he could never accurately reproduce. “Everyone has power. Maybe not what we’d prefer - but some. You won’t find any magical wands here, Mister Fraser, but there are still instruments – conduits, if you’d like – that one might use to do…what I do.”

“And what is that, exactly?” He raised his brow, his tone lowering to a not-too-subtle provocation. Jamie was trying to draw her out, to force her to show more of herself openly - most people revealed plenty with the simplest behaviours, like a choice of recurrent words or hand mannerism, but Claire Beauchamp was undecipherable.

“More tea would be nice, wouldn’t it?” She didn’t wait for his answer, diligently grabbing his cup to refill it from the steaming teapot. Claire squinted at the bottom of his empty cup and then smiled, a lopsided movement of lips that was the true portrait of light-heartedness.

“Found something amusing there?” Jamie asked, annoyed at the growing feeling of rawness, of extreme and unwanted exposure. “I dinna believe in fortune-telling or in the reading of tea leaves, so spare me the telling of some grand adventure in my future, aye?”

“You put too much sugar in your tea.” She revealed cheerfully, deliberately ignoring his borderline-rude remarks. “I don’t need to resort to tasseography to realize that you’ve already experienced too much bitterness in your life.” With ease, she returned him the teacup refilled with a second helping of the hot beverage. “Besides, there’s always more of someone’s past at the bottom of a cup than of the future. That’s the nature of the leaves themselves – they are the tea’s past.”

Jamie offered her a narrow and cold indigo look, retrieving a pen from his pocket to scribble down some notes. “Do people really fall for these tricks?”

“Do people really fall for the brooding and intimidating approach?” She quirked her lips as if she was about to laugh aloud and with a strange twitch his pen fell from his hand, as if it had acquired a life of its own. The policeman bent down haphazardly to catch it, furrowing his brow. “I’m guessing there was something else you needed from me, Agent Fraser, if you chose to come here in the first place. What brought you around, before I volunteered the information that I knew two of the victims?”

“I’m the one who should ask the questions here, Miss Beauchamp.” He clenched his jaw and, before he could continue, his pen – which had been innocently resting on the table, after a stalled first attempt at escaping his possession – slid from the edge of the table and rolled happily away.

“Must be an air draft. Edinburgh and old buildings, you know?” Claire sipped another generous gulp of her tea, her grin barely hidden behind the cup. “Ask away, Agent Fraser. I’ll be on my very best behaviour.”

Before Jamie could explain the mysterious symbols that had led him to her door, and show her some of the illustrating crime scene photos, his phone vibrated inside his pocket.

“Fraser.” John said, with a hint of excitement and consternation in his voice. “We have a fifth victim. Uniforms responded to a call from neighbours complaining of a dog who wouldn’t stop barking, and found another atrocious scene. Meet me there?”

“Aye. Text me the location.” Jamie said shortly and ended the call, when in all truth he wanted to yell a wholehearted “Fuck!”. “Miss Beauchamp, I’m afraid our interview will have to be postponed. I might come by tomorrow for some further inquiries.”

“Of course.” She raised from her chair, the dove around her neck seemingly flapping her wings for a short fraction of time, that left Jamie wondering about the true contents of his afternoon tea. “I’m not always here, so I’ll give you my home’s address in case you need to reach me.” She politely walked him to the door, the very impersonation of an impeccably mannered hostess.

“I’ll be in touch.” Jamie said; it was meant as a farewell, but somehow it sounded like a threat. Claire shrugged and waved him off as he closed the door behind him with more firmness than usual.

Only when the young, yet seasoned, criminal profiler reached his car did he realize that he couldn’t really remember the details of Claire Beauchamp’s face – only her striking eyes. It was as if she had hidden herself behind a curtain of undisturbed mist.

***

The scene in front of them was oddly, but not at all reassuringly, similar to the ones they had witnessed, either in first-hand or by way of photographs.

“Another woman. But I guess that’s not surprising.” John said in a murmur, shaking his blonde head. He was paler than usual, and a few wrinkles in his usually impeccable shirt denounced a bone-deep tiredness. “So far the forensic team couldn’t find any signs of forced entry. Again.”

Jamie nodded in agreement, their train of thought synchronized like a flock of birds during murmuration. “These women know the unsub. There’s no way around it, really. They willingly opened the door to let him in, probably entertained him for a while before things took a verra gruesome turn. They didn’t foresee any danger coming from that person.”

“But while they seem to know him, he doesn’t show any classical signs of regret or guilt, does he?” John pursed his lips in concentration. “The unsub didn’t cover her bodies or place them in any comfortable or nurturing position. Didn’t leave any tokens to show respect, as well.”

“Aye.” Jamie sighed and crouched down, his eyes slowly trailing down the cold body of the most recent victim, as if her skin could whisper the name of the perpetrator through its pores. “But this also isna sexual. He doesn’t engage in sexual intercourse with them perimortem, even if all of them were young and bonny. No evidence that he wanks in the scene or that he takes anything other than the forefinger to fantasize later.” His eyes searched for his companion’s. “This doesn’t seem like a true-born serial killer to me, to be honest. More like a hitman, eliminating specific targets for a very earthily reason.”

“I don’t know many hitmen that make such a spectacle of their killings, though.” They walked to the threshold of the room, watching as Denzel gave instructions to some uniformed officers to collect statements with the neighbours. “Usually a revolver or a good piece of sturdy nylon around the neck. This scene took time and intention.”

“Maybe all the production around the murder is the most important part of why he does it.” The redheaded profiler theorized. “It can all be about the ritual.”

“We’re still waiting on her ID.” John brushed his forehead. “But plenty of pictures around.” He pointed towards a large frame with his pen, where a photo of the victim surrounded by other women dwelled. She was abundantly black-haired, with a unique white streak in her bangs, and warm and sapient brown eyes. All the faces depicted were either smiling broadly or making funny faces, as they sat around a presumable beach bonfire.

“A mhic an diabhoil!” Jamie’s jaw dropped, as he slowly approached the image and almost touched one of the women’s faces. “I think that’s the woman I’ve just met at the teashop.”

#Dark Shines #Part III #Tasseography #Outlander fanfiction #Modern AU #Jamie and Claire #dark mood #Criminal Profiler vs. Witch

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whattimeisitintokyo · 4 years

Text

Somos Familia Ch 39: It Hits the Fan

Chapter 39: It Hits the Fan

Today was the day!

Miguel's birthday!

Héctor chuckled to himself as he finished shaving and wiping off the leftover shaving cream off his face, leaving behind the little tuft of hair that was his goatee. He had often considered shaving it off completely, being too old to have such juvenile facial hair, but at this point in his life it was practically trademarked. All his official photos and even illustrations of him all had it. He was practically stuck with it.

He chuckled again, letting his mind drift over these trivial things that made him smile. Any thoughts that didn't include what this day also was. Yes, he would put items on the ofrenda for his beloved daughter, tell her how much he missed her and loved her. Even give a respectful nod to Ernesto's foto. But other than that his thoughts were only on Miguel's birthday party. All the family would be there, everyone would feast on Miguel's favorite meals, presents, games, laughter and love. If he just concentrated on that then the pain wouldn't be so bad.

He didn't sleep well last night. He never did on the days leading up to Dia de Muertos. He vaguely remembered waking up crying once last night, but he was soon lulled back to sleep by his wife's calming presence and he was fine afterwards. She didn't even say anything when he awoke the next morning, and he was thankful for that. He could pass off the dark circles under his eyes on his age, and no one besides Imelda would notice.

He stepped into his walk-in closet and pushed aside Imelda's beautiful dresses to get to his clothes. He was feeling particularly festive today and pulled out his royal purple suit jacket off the hanger. Thinking about which tie would go well with hit, he looked up and saw something gleaming in between the hanging clothes.

The golden tooth of a grinning skull.

Immediately his mood dropped as he blankly stared at the headstock of his once prized guitar. He didn't feel any pride or joy in looking at it, hadn't even played it for over nine years, but he couldn't bring himself to hate it either. Many times he had considered giving it away or, in his more depressive states, simply throw it into the dumpster where he felt it belonged.

But he never could. Because his beloved wife had given it to him on his birthday, oh so many years ago.

'Y-you… bought this for me?! I don't know what to say…'

'You don't need to say anything Héctor. Feliz Cumpleaños. Now stop saving your money for it and go buy yourself some food, tonto.'

And then she had kissed him for the first time ever. On the cheek, yes, but it had made his whole head burst into flames and his ears buzz. It was the true beginning of their relationship, and this guitar was the key. It was a precious moment in his life: a fond memory. So no, he couldn't get rid of it so easily. But it wasn't going to stay in the closet anymore either. He'd have a talk with Chente later about sending it off to Rivera de La Cruz Records to be put on display to the public if they wanted it. It would still be his, but he wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Picking up a red necktie he pushed a bunch of clothes over the guitar, concealing it again, and walked away.

--------------------------------------

"Facundo! Don't smear icing on your sister's dress! Anselmo! Osvaldo! Stop fighting, you're in front of company, show some respect! Ay, Dahlia hold the baby for me, would you? You're the oldest, you need to help Papá."

Miguel walked into the courtyard with Victoria to absolute mayhem, with Victoria pulling him out of the way just in time before a sticky pastry struck the wall where his head was. Nodding his thanks to his niece he looked out to see Elena and Charlie playing with five other small, very rambunctious children dressed in their best church clothes. Soiled in mud, breakfast foods and sans shoes of course, but there was an effort to get Martín and Rosita's children dressed nicely for the special occasion. Martín was standing over them, trying not to be knocked down by the running, screaming children as he also tried not to drop the baby girl in his arms. Matty was also seated at the table set outside, holding Clara and looking very smug that his own children were behaving themselves properly, and Julio was looking out at the chaos with a thousand-yard stare.

Sitting down after finally passing the baby to his eldest, Martín slumped into a chair with a groan and leaned towards Matty in exhaustion. "Remember the Nazis? How easy it was with them? They were so neat and organized. Precise."

"They blew your leg off, amigo."

"At this point in my life, I wish they blew something else off."

"Papá, Papá!" One of Martín's sons came up to him, pulling on his sleeve and smiling with gapped teeth. "Charlie wants to play horses! Can we, por favor?"

"Ay, all right." Reaching down underneath the table, Martín fumbled around a little with belts and straps before pulling off and giving the child his prosthetic leg. "Don't get it dirty and do not, I repeat, do not… stick forks in it again."

Suddenly Julio sat up with a smile and shouted. "Hey everyone! The birthday boy is here!"

All the little children stopped immediately to look at Miguel standing in the doorway, before screaming again and running into him for hugs. This time Victoria didn't help, and Miguel let out a squawk when he was bombarded with seven sticky children. "Feliz cumpleaños, Miguel!" several little voices yelled out.

"Agh!... Gr-gracias… AHH! You guys are squeezing me to hard!"

"Ah, there you are mijo." Imelda swooped in and managed to pry the little ones off her son, brushing down his hair and giving him a kiss. "Fashionably late to your own party, I see. You look very nice today."

"Gracias, Mamá." Miguel said, pulling down his sleeves to cover up the wristbands that Victoria had made for him. 'I've gotta look nice for my performance tonight.' He said to himself. It wasn't a charro suit that he would have liked to wear, like a professional mariachi, but the bolo tie and shiny new boots were a nice touch.

"Well I hope your hungry." Imelda said. "We've been cooking up a storm all morning in that cramped little kitchen. And Wanda has made a delicious surprise for you."

"Cinnamon rolls!" Wanda said happily, placing a tray of pastries absolutely dripping with icing and candied nuts on the table. "My grandmother's recipe. I really hope you'll like them, but if you're anything like your brother then I know you're going to love them Miguel."

"No, I don't love them." Matty said, already double fisting the freshly glazed rolls with hungry eyes. "I'm damn near addicted to them. I crave them all day every day. But they're considered a Sunday food, and I'm forced to go without all week! It's torture, hermanito, pure torture."

"Which reminds me, since I'm making them on a Friday that means you've had them two times this week. So, we can skip them on Sunday and have them the next week."

"What?!"

"It's actually a little funny." Wanda said as Matty started to hoard as many rolls as he could in front of him. "Rosita's had three so far, but she's been pouring lime juice all over them. Lime juice! Can you believe it? How can you eat something so sour with something so sweet is beyond me!"

The others laughed a little and started to doll out the rest of the pastries to everyone else, with only Matty noticing the way Martín's face had turned pale white and he sunk lowly in his chair. "Lime juice?… Oh, no no no no nooo…"

Matty shook his head with pity, but mostly with exasperation, and ate his cinnamon roll. "Cochino…"

Breakfast was delicious, of course, and the party continued throughout the day. There were party games, cake and ice cream and even more sugary delights that threw all the little children into an even more manic frenzy until they had finally passed out underneath the shade of the tree. The ofrenda had been set up, decorated with flowers and offerings for Imelda's parents, Leti, the late Facundo and even Matty's friend Barto, while the adults shared stories of their dearly departed despite Héctor's best efforts to divert their attention to another party game or business idea he had. Even Chente and his best friend Javier had come to whish him a happy birthday to join the festivities. They always seemed really cool to Miguel, and he also felt like they understood his frustration with the lack of music.

Miguel absently kept checking the clock every so often, time seeming to move achingly slow as it creeped towards seven. He had hidden his guitar underneath the ofrenda table, somewhere he knew his father wouldn't be near that much, so it would be ready to be picked up when he left.

But for now his concentration was on opening the last birthday present, then he could go get his real gift. "Wow, sneakers! Gracias Tío Oscar y Tío Felipe!"

"Not just any sneakers." Felipe said proudly.

"But the new Rivera Freeflyers!"

"The new line of children's shoes-"

"-that goes on the market next year."

"Designed by us of course."

"But you're the first kid to wear them!"

"Feliz cumpleaños!"

Smiling, Miguel set the shoes back in the box. "That's really cool. Thanks again. Is that the last present? Aw man, that's sad. But I guess good things can't last forever. Well, if we're done I have some stuff I-"

"Atata. Not so fast, Miguel." Héctor walked up to him, smiling widely. "Because I also have a present for you."

Sitting back down, glancing at the clock again, Miguel's smile drooped a little in uncertainty. "Okay…"

Clearing his throat theatrically, Héctor stood next to his son in the center of the room spoke loud for all to hear. "Twelve years ago today, Miguel Rivera… beloved nephew, tío, brother and son… was brought into this world. A harrowing, frightful day for the whole family, especially for his dear mother, mi diosa, but one that ultimately ended in triumph. For that tiny baby was able to grow into a healthy little boy, and who has now grown into the fine young man standing before us all today."

"And since you are on the brink of adulthood, it's high time that we start thinking about your future, Miguel. Specifically what you're going to do for a living when you grow up. Now as much as we, and pretty much the whole world, loves your Mamá's shoes I get the feeling that's not where your passions truly lie. But after having a talk with Chente yesterday, we came to the conclusion that maybe your future lies with… Rivera de la Cruz Records."

Miguel noticed the way his father flinched at saying Ernesto's name, like he always did, but that didn't matter at the moment. There was a sudden bubbling of excitement and anticipation welling up inside of him, and he happily looked over at Chente for a confirmation. The former assistant, now CEO of the biggest movie and music production company in Mexico, gave him a silent smile and thumbs up. Turning back to his father with a big smile, Héctor continued.

"So your mother and I talked about it last night, and we both decided the best opportunity for you would be-"

Miguel could see it now: His name in lights, the crowd chanting his name, strumming a guitar just like, no better, than Tío Nesto's. Singing songs that he had written himself, the crowd singing along with him because they were so good, so memorable. Immortalized for all time by doing the one thing he truly loved to do: Playing the guit-

"-to start training you in business, just like your brother! And to start with that, we're going to enroll you in business management classes!"

…..

"… What?"

There was not a sound coming from anyone else in the room. Wanda, Julio and Coco looked at each other in complete disbelief and mild disgust, Matty slowly bringing his hand over his eyes in complete exasperation. The other adults in the room cringed and suddenly became very interested in their plates of leftover food and cake, except for Vicente and Javier. Poor Chente stared at Héctor like he had just condemned the man to his death, eyes wide and mouth agape in horror, while Javier was bent nearly in half in his chair. Shoulders shaking and biting down on his clenched fist, Javier was doing everything he could to not just bust out laughing at the entire fiasco in front of him. Oblivious to everyone's obvious displeasure of his grand announcement, Héctor continued.

"There's a school nearby. In San Benito. They specialize in training children for college. Mateo, you went there, remember?"

Nodding and smiling painfully, Matty said, "Yes, Papá. I remember going… I remember willingly going-"

"Well, you did so well there that we thought Miguel would too! Now, they've got a new program where they include room and boarding, and you can do your regular schooling there."

"Which" Imelda interjected, "I have already vetoed. They still have just the same smaller classes every other weekend that you went to, Mateo. I don't want our little boy to be away from home for so long."

"Right," Héctor said. "I agree with her. You'll still go to school here, so don't worry about that. You won't miss your friends or your family. But I feel like this is a great opportunity for you."

Miguel felt like congratulating himself for how well he was hiding his displeasure from his parents. No, displeasure was too light a word for how he was feeling. He felt like his face was about to break and shatter for how long he was holding the rictus of his earlier smile, and his heart and stomach freefalling down to his boots. He felt like he was slowly dying, and yet his parents were looking at him like they were doing this for his own good. And they were proud of it too!

Maybe it was his own fault: being so secretive about who he truly was and what his interests were. His parents didn't know who he was at all and thought he would be glad that they were practically dooming him to a fate worse than death.

Swallowing painfully, almost as if he felt like he was about to cry, Miguel croaked out. "W-well… That's… a lot to take in."

"It's just an idea, mijo." Héctor said gently, as if finally sensing that his son might not be totally ready for such a radical change in his life. "And you've got plenty of time to decide. We can talk about more in the morning alone."

"It's just that that- uh…" Miguel fumbled a little with his wristbands hidden under his sleeves. "I'm not like Matty was when he was my age. I mean… I'm more like a normal kid, you know. Not a nerd like him."

"…Hey…"

"I mean I not as smart as him. I won't be any good in a school like that."

"Don't worry about that, Miguel." Imelda said softly, placing her head gently on his head and smoothing his hair. "You'll have your family here to guide you. We'll help you every step of the way. You won't be alone."

"And to help you even more, here's another present!" Héctor said. From behind his back he pulled out a small briefcase, made from leather dyed in a brilliant shade of red, and the letters M.R. embedded on the front in solid gold. Placing in the boy's hands, Héctor smiled widely and clapped his hands with pride. "Look at that. Another businessman in the family! You look so professional already! Ha ha!"

Glancing down miserably at the briefcase, as if he were handed a live grenade instead, Miguel nodded and once more looked up at his parents with that same faked, gritting smile. "Gracias Papá… Gracias Mamá…"

"Aw, feliz cumpleaños, my boy!" Héctor said as he hugged his son happily. "And don't just thank me. Thank Chente, since this was also his idea!"

"Ohhh…." Vicente moaned, trying to ignore the way Javiar was applauding loudly next him with that stupid smug grin of his. "Please don't thank me…."

"Better watch out!" Héctor jokingly said. "One day Miguelito here will take your job out from under you!"

"…I'll do that…"

As the adults carried on with their conversation, Miguel kept looking at the briefcase in hands. It really was a beautifully designed briefcase, something that Matty probably carried around all the time and would probably love having himself, but all it did was make Miguel want to cry. This wasn't what he wanted at all. This wasn't him. And the fact that his own parents didn't see that in him, couldn't see that, broke his heart.

He would have started crying then and there until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning he saw Victoria standing next to him, giving him a look of sympathy and understanding. But also of defiance. Glancing down at the briefcase in disgust, she said, "Put that thing away and go get your guitar. Wanda and Papá will distract Abuelito and everyone else. It's showtime, Tio."

With a start Miguel looked over at the clock and gasped. All his inner turmoil had made him nearly forget about the contest! And it was in twenty minutes! With Victoria giving him an encouraging smile and a slight shove Miguel took off to the ofrenda room. Ducking underneath the tablecloth he flung the accursed briefcase underneath it and grabbed his prized guitar, feeling so much better now that it was in his hands. Glancing to his late sister's foto, and then to his Tío Nesto's, Miguel gave them a watery smile.

"Wish me luck." He whispered, and then headed out the doorway.

No one noticed he, Victoria, Matty and Coco leave the party at all.

Except for one little girl with a big mouth.

---------------------------------

Picking up a small, fried grasshopper from the bowl on the side table, he twisted it to and fro for his grandson to see. It was such a lovely surprise: Here he thought there wasn't many chapulines left for the season, and then all of a sudden Julio gifted him with a heaping bowl of the crunchy little things! Then Wanda had come up to him, saying that his grandchildren wanted to spend some time with their grandfather and to tell them stories. He was more than happy too, even if it was odd that he and the children were practically shoved into the kitchen and the door was slammed shut. But for now, with Clara babbling happily in his arm and with Charlie's rapt attention, he continued his story.

"So at the end of the day, there I was: Scratched up by dried alfalfa, bitten all over by every mosquito there ever was, and with a bag of caught grasshoppers slung over my shoulder. I took it to old Señor Perales and he would fry them up for the customers, and for my pay he would give me a handful of them on a stale tortilla. Sometimes that would be the only thing that I would get to eat for the whole day. But I didn't mind much, it was worth it for me. They're good, no?"

"They're salty." Charlie said as he crunched one with a grimace.

"Sí. Salty, crunchy and my favorite snack. And that was the first job I ever had at four years old. Your age, mijo! Grasshopper catcher extraordinaire."

"My friend Timmy likes to pick out earthworms from his Mommy's garden and eats them too, even with dirt on them! Is that the same thing, Grandpa?"

"No, your friend's just odd."

"Oh."

The sound of the door being opened caused the three of them to look, only to see Elena poking her head in. Héctor was immediately worried: His granddaughter looked very troubled, staring at the floor and lip trembling, trying to decide if she should come in or not. Shifting the baby in his arms to free his hand he held it out. "Elena? Is there something wrong?"

Nodding a little, she slowly edged her way in and closed the door. "My tummy hurts…"

"Aww, too much cake and ice cream, huh?" Héctor asked kindly, squeezing her hand when she took it. "I guess it also didn't help that your cousins gave you too much excitement as well. Well, if you want I can walk you home-"

"It's not that, Abuelito." Elena said softly. "My tummy hurts because I feel guilty."

"Guilty? Did you and your sister have a fight? Because if you said or did something to make her upset I'm sure she'll forgive you. That's what a family who loves each other does, mija. We always forgive each other with time."

Eyes widening, Elena looked up at her grandfather with a slight glimmer of hope. "Really? Family forgives each other for anything?. They don't… get really mad and hate them for it?"

"Of course not."

Elena smiled a little at that, looking like she felt a little better. Then her smile faded, and she shook her head. "No, no… Papá says that I should always do what my parents say…"

Blinking in confusion, Héctor nodded in agreement. "Uh, yes… Yes, children should do what their parents say. Your Papá's right."

"Buuuut…"

"…But?"

"But you're Mamá's papá…" Elena said slowly, nervously picking at her fingers and biting her lip hard in agitation. "So, she has to do whatever you say… right?"

Now he was growing concerned. Pulling his granddaughter close to him, Héctor made Elena look at him squarely in the eye. "Elena, if something is wrong with your Mamá you need to tell me, claro? Now, what's going on?"

"….Well…"

------------------------

"Congratulations, Señor Magallanes."

"Oh you too, Mrs. Rivera."

Chuckling and clinking their mugs of coffee, Julio and Wanda sat on the old boarded up well and each took a sip of the hot brew. They watched as the Reyes children ran around the courtyard in a wild frenzy, having woken up from their sugar comas and putting an end to their parents' moment of peace and quiet, and smiled smugly to themselves. Both because they were thankful that their own children were not as wild and rambunctious, and also for a job well done.

"Nice work on getting the fried grasshoppers so late and getting so many. I'm told they're a seasonal…delicacy." Wanda grimaced at the word.

"Gracias. And that was a nice move of giving him your kids. 'Charlie wants to hear all about you when you were his age!'" Julio chuckled at that. "It really was a nice distraction."

Wanda hummed and gave a sultry smile, gazing off into the distance. "Well, Matthew has always said that I am… a master of distraction. In more ways than one"

"…Uh, right…" Taking an uncomfortable gulp from his coffee mug and coughing awkwardly, Julio changed the subject. "So when should they be back?"

"Well Miguel is the first act." Wanda said. "So it'll start at seven, he'll sing his little song, then Matthew and Coco will bring him right back. So I guess they should be back in about half an hour? Plenty of time before anyone notices they're gone. And if they ask we'll just say he went to a friend's house."

"Thirty minutes?" Julio asked, a little downhearted at the thought. "So, he won't get to stay to see if he wins?"

Wanda nodded in sympathy. "Yes, it is a shame. But honestly do you really think he would win? I mean, I know he's very good, but he'd be going up against musicians who have been playing for much longer than he's even been alive. It seems a little unlikely, right?"

"Sí, you're right… It still would be amazing if he did, though."

"Honestly I think the poor boy just wants to be heard. Can you blame him? Especially after that… gift his parents gave him. Ugh…"

"Sí. Let him have some fun for one night." Julio nodded, bring the cup back up to take a sip. "Thirty minutes. Plenty of time. Go out, perform, come back. No one will suspect a thing."

"All will be well." Wanda agreed.

The sudden slamming of a door hitting the wall startled everyone in the courtyard. All the children skidded to a halt, the adults stopped talking immediately, and all eyes turned towards a very livid Héctor Rivera.

"MIGUEL IS GOING TO PLAY THE GUITAR IN THE PLAZA?!"

Clara started to cry in fright in her grandfather's arms, but Héctor paid her no heed as he marched up Julio and Wanda. "Elena just told me that Miguel's playing in the contest! Julio, is that true?!"

Julio stared at his father-in-law, chalk white and looking like he was about to drop dead on the spot. His mouth worked itself up and down, but all that came out was choked squeaks and croaks. "Uh-uh…uh uh…ah…uh."

With a growl, Héctor turned his glare to his daughter-in-law. "Wanda, did you know anything about this?!"

Wanda, also much whiter than usual, managed to give a nervous half smile and shrugged with a weak chuckle. "Uh… No hablo es-pan-ol?..."

"Forget it!" Héctor shouted, placing the now screaming baby in her mother's arms and turning out to the exit. "You all want to go behind my back?! Fine! I'll put a stop to this myself!"

As Héctor left the courtyard in a mad dash, Julio wilted with a moan. "No no no no! This has all gone to hell. We had one job to do and we failed even that! Matty and Coco are going to kill us!"

Wanda shook her head, trying to calm down her poor baby. "No, they won't!"

"You're right. Only Coco is going to kill only me!" Julio cried. "Elena, why did you tell Abuelito?! You promised you wouldn't!"

Elena was sobbing by now. This wasn't supposed to happen: Abuelito had said that he wouldn't be angry, that he wouldn't hate Miguel for what he did. But it was all a lie! "You don't keep secrets from family, Papá! I couldn't stand lying to Abuelito!"

"What is going on here?!"

They all turned to see Imelda, Rosita, Martín and the twins coming out of the ofrenda room, confused as to why everyone was either in shock, scared or crying their eyes out. With a sigh Wanda came up to them. "Oh, Mamá Imelda, you might as well know now. Miguel was going to play the guitar at the music competition in the plaza-"

"What?!"

"- and Papá Héctor just found out. He's going after them to stop him. I've never seen him look so mad! I think he's going to do something-"

"Stupid…" Imelda finished, hitching up her skirts to run as fast as she could in her high heeled boots. "Dios mio, Héctor! Héctor come back!"

"Oh Rosita, could you take the baby?" Wanda asked as she handed Clara to Rosita. "I need to go to! Matthew might need my help! Come on Julio, Coco needs you to!"

"Wait! Coco will need my help as well!" Rosita cried out. "Martín, mi amor, hold the baby and hold down the fort. Oscar, Felipe! Let's go!"

"Wait, what?!" Martín cried out, watching helplessly as all the adults ran out of the Rivera complex, leaving him alone with nine children all under eight years old, screaming and crying with fright. Looking at Clara in one arm and his own crying daughter in the other, Martín growled in frustration. "Oh sure! Leave all the kids with the one guy who can't run away! I see how it is! This is discrimination! I am a war veteran, I deserve some respect and a break!"

"Don't worry, Tío Martín…" Elena sadly said, taking Clara away from her uncle and holding the baby close. "I'll help you with the babies…"

"Ay, gracias Elenita." Martín sighed in relief, patting her head gratefully. "You're a good kid."

Burying her face in her little cousin's blanket, Elena tried to hide as the tears came pouring out again with her sobs. She wasn't good. She didn't deserve the praise. She deserved to be punished, not Miguel. Miguel was going to be kicked out of the family. Abuelito hated him now.

It was all her fault.

----------------------------------------

"I knew it." Miguel moaned as he, his siblings and Victoria made their way to the plaza. Clutching his guitar for dear life, as if he was afraid it would be ripped away from him, he hung is head low while Victoria guided him by his shoulders. "I knew Papá would never even consider letting me play music, he just hates it too much. I'm gonna have to play in secret for the rest of my life."

"Yeah." Victoria sighed with a pout. "I guess I'm going to have to as well. I'll never get to dance in the likes of La Scala or the Royal Opera House. I'd even settle for dancing at a rec center at this point."

"Cheer up, both of you." Matty said. "Miguel, you know Papá doesn't hate music. He just… has some hang-ups about it that is hard for him to overcome. A lot of bad things happened to him, and he attributes it to music. You understand, sí?"

"No, I don't." Miguel said. "And that's easy for you to say. Papá sang and danced with all three of you and let you play instruments. I never had that."

"That's not true, Miguel." Coco said. "Papá used to sing to you all the time, especially when he tucked you into bed. And he played his guitar for you, don't you remember that?"

"No. I was a baby, Coco."

Coco tsked and shook her head in mock sorrow. "Well that is a shame. You should remember stuff like that. I, for one, can remember stuff quite vividly all the way from when I was about two years old. It's a gift I possess."

Breaking out of his current funk, Miguel looked up at his older sister and smirked. "Gee Coco, maybe you should be the one in the talent show instead of me."

Matty barked out a laugh and nodded. "Yeah, you could tell everyone what you had for breakfast in May of 1936."

"Or recite an old shopping list you made ten years ago." Victoria added.

Coco huffed and crossed her arms with pout. "All right, all three of you can go kiss a burro."

"Well we can't do that now, because," Matty said as they rounded the corner, "we have arrived at our destination."

As they all walked into the plaza, Miguel smiled when he saw the gazebo decked out in the familiar decorations for Dia de Muertos: garlands of cempazuchitl flowers, papel picado and, most excitingly, posters for the contest. He also saw several other musicians dressed up in charro suits and practicing on their own instruments. They had probably been practicing for much longer than he ever had and were probably better than him too. But Miguel didn't care if he won or lost the contest, he just wanted to perform in front of people. To show them all that he had what it took to be a musician. And luckily for him there were plenty of people who had come to watch.

A very… large amount of people.

Practically the whole town. Even other kids from his school were there.

Suddenly Miguel felt a nauseous curl in his belly, and his breath seemed to stick in his throat. Without realizing it he took a step backwards, softly bumping into his sister, and flinched in surprise when she knelt down to speak to him.

"Miguel?" Coco asked softly. "If you're nervous you don't have to go up there."

"Wh-what?" Miguel asked, wincing when his voice gave an unexpected squeak and trying to cough it away. "Nervous? I'm not nervous!"

"You're really pale Miguel, and you started sweating bullets in less than five seconds." Victoria pointed out. "It's actually quite impressive."

"Callate!" Miguel grumbled.

"It's alright if you've changed your mind, Miguel." Coco said and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. "We can just go right back to the museum, and Papá will have never known you were here."

The very mention of his father, how much he hated music, how he would be forced to play music in secret again if he backed away now, how this might actually be his last chance to perform before he was to go to that stupid business school, steeled something inside of Miguel. Straightening up, jaw clenched tight and his guitar held up like a shield, he shook his head vigorously. "No! No way! I'm gonna play in mariachi plaza if it kills me!"

"That's the spirit!" Matty said. "And good thing too because it looks like you're on now!"

"What?!"

"They're beckoning you over! Knock 'em dead and break a leg, gordito!" With a hearty slap on the back Matty propelled his little brother towards the stage. As they all watched the boy meekly walk to the contest coordinators, Matty leaned into Coco. "He can sing, right?"

Coco nodded. "Of course! He has the voice of an angel, you're going to be blown away."

"Either that or he's going to blow his dinner all over the stage floor." Victoria said.

Miguel took his place next to the steps of the gazebo, turning back to wave at the siblings and niece, who all returned it with a thumbs up. With his back turned to them again Matty sighed wistfully. "Papá would really love this. He would be so proud. If… you know…"

"If he was like he used to be?"

"Si…" Matty nodded. "It just doesn't feel the same without him here. Miguel is so much like how our father was: Filled with a love of music, bursting with creativity. Miguel may look up to Tío Nesto, but I see Papá in him more than any of us."

"You're right." Coco sighed. "I wish Papá were here to see this too."

"SOCORRO! MATEO!"

Coco and Matty immediately felt their hearts stop, blood seize up, insides clench and air leave their lungs as they heard their full names bellowed out from behind. Turning around they saw a sight they had never seen before. Héctor Rivera, normally so jovial and mild-mannered with all he encountered, marching towards them red-faced and glaring holes into their very souls. As he got closer and closer to them, Coco whispered, "Itakeitback, Itakeitback!..."

Placing himself in front of his sister and niece like a shield, Matty leaned causally on his cane and smiled shakily. "H-hola, padre! Qué tal? I d-didn't expect to see you come to the plaza today. They're having a music contest right now so you might want to go back and-"

"Would you both care to explain to me," Héctor said as he reached them, very close to seething like a bull. "why I had to hear from Elena that my son is going to play the guitar, on a stage, in front of an audience?!"

With a loud groan Matty turned to glare at Coco. "You told la Lengua Larga about the plan?!"

"I told you it was a bad idea, Mamá."

"So this was your idea!" Héctor growled as he glared at Coco. Distantly they could hear Imelda calling out as she was making her way to the plaza herself, but they all ignored her for the moment. "You're letting your brother perform? After what nearly happened to you? What did happen to your godfather?!"

Coco glared back. "What happened to Tío Nesto was terrible, but it was an accident that could have happened anywhere! It had nothing to do with music! Why can't you see that?"

"It has everything to do with what happened to him!" Héctor shouted. "And I will not have the same thing happen to my-"

"Put your hands together for our first contestant, Miguel 'De la Cruzito' Rivera!"

As a loud smattering of applause and cheers erupted, the family turned to see Miguel taking the small stage of the gazebo. Smiling nervously and waving at the crowd, he didn't seem to notice the brewing turmoil taking place amongst the audience. Héctor gritted his teeth and was about to make his way towards his son to put an end to this nonsense, when one of the nearby bands decided to strike up some intro music for the young guitarist. After all, the son of the world's greatest songwriter, the patron of Santa Cecilia, deserved a grand entrance for his musical debut.

And they couldn't have picked a worse song.

As the trumpets blasted the upbeat version of Remember Me and the audience clapped along to the beat, Matty and Coco moaned in dread and instantly went into damage control. Coco and Victoria shouted in vain over the crowd to get the musicians to stop, but their voices were lost among the deafening cheers and song. Imelda heard the song playing from the distance, and with a curse tried to run even faster to her husband. Matty grabbed his father by the shoulders and shook him, trying to direct his attention to him. "Papá! Papá, listen to me. Listen to my voice. It's okay. It's just a song. Come with me, we'll get you out of here…"

It had been about a year since he had heard that song last. Not intentionally, of course, but when a song is that popular people are bound to either sing it aloud or try to play it themselves. One such incident occurred when he was out with Elena for a treat of ice cream, when suddenly he had heard it. A quite lovely rendition on a violin by that scarf-wearing kid with the weird facial hair whose named escaped him. But it was enough to do the trick. Several painful minutes of him hunched low to the ground, pressing the heels of his hands into his ears hard, trying to get his breathing under control. His own granddaughter, seven years old at the time, was forced to take action herself: Swatting that kid with her shoe in order to stop him from playing, then sitting with him silently and comfortingly until the panic had finally passed. They had both lost their ice creams on the ground that day, but the two had grown even closer due to the experience.

But those same feelings were rushing back just like that last time: Nothing had changed. Immediately his heart started hammering and it became hard to breathe, his insides squirmed and clenched painfully and those awful visions flashed in his mind again. As the song continued he didn't see his eldest son frantically trying to get his attention, but his youngest daughter wheezing her last breaths in his arms. Of Ernesto walking away from him to the stage, underneath the bell that would eventually turn him into nothing but a smear. And the blood, so much blood. He could smell it, practically taste it.

He was about to try to block out the sounds like he always did and then curl up in a ball, when he happened to glance at the stage again. Ernesto was there, about to perform with the bell perch precariously over his head. But no, that wasn't Ernesto standing there. It was-

"MIGUEL! NO!"

Breaking Matty's grip on his arms he made a run for the gazebo, pushing and shoving others out of the way. He didn't hear their exclaims of alarm and pain as they were roughly shoved aside or to the ground, nor the cries of his family as they begged him to wait, to come back. No, all he heard was that damned song playing loudly in his head, now a ticking timer to the point where, at the end, his boy would be no more.

Miguel didn't notice his father parting through the crowd at breakneck speed, too busy tugging on the emcee's sleeve to tell him to make those musicians stop playing the song 'That's the song I'm going to play.' But it was too late, and as the band played the last triumphant note he turned back to the crowd with an eye roll and hefted his guitar up to begin to play the song everyone had just heard.

Just in time to see his father diving straight for him.

Imelda reached her oldest children just in time to see Héctor tackle Miguel and send them both flying to the back of the gazebo. The incident was so shocking that aside from a large gasp from the crowd, it became so still and quiet. Quiet enough that everyone was able to hear the sickening crunch once the two of them landed in a crumpled heap.

A flash of terror made it's way down Imelda and her children's spines. "No…" she breathed, and then quickly made her way to the gazebo herself, the others following her.

The song was over, put panic was still surging through Héctor as he got up and immediately started checking over his boy. "Miguel! Are you all right?! Sit up, let me see!" He patted his body up and down, trying to see if there were any injuries, thankfully finding none. But the boy seemed shocked, and frantically he cupped the boys face to look in his eyes. "Did you hit your head? Look at me, mijo-"

"Papá…"

Miguel's eyes were widened with shock, but surprisingly the wind was not knocked out of him nor was he scuffed or marked in any way from the surprise tackle. The guitar in his hands, however, was not so lucky. It had taken the brunt of the assault and protected the boy from harm, but it had not survived. Three of the strings had snapped right off and were coiled in bent angles, the body was completely caved in from the center hole and up, and the neck had broken cleanly in half, now only connect by the remaining strings. His beloved guitar was now destroyed. His father had destroyed it.

"What-? Why?... What have you done?" Miguel whispered as he gripped the broken neck and tried in vain to get it to stick back into the position. "It's ruined…"

Héctor looked down at the broken guitar in his son's hands, taking in the cheap gold paint that had been sloppily painted all over it. The crude designs done in brown, and the headstock. That same mocking skull that looked so much like his own, except for the one personal detail that he had made for his older brother: The thin mustache above perfectly white grinning teeth. His worries and concerns over his son instantly vanished. He was fine. Now what came back was more comfortable, easier for him to handle: Rage.

"Where the hell did you learn to play guitar?!"

Miguel's attention snapped back to his father, and he shrunk back at the ferocious anger meekly. Before he was able to squeak out a pitiful answer, he felt eyes on him. Turning slightly he paled when he saw everyone in the crowd looking at him with morbid curiosity. The whole town had watched as his supposed debut had crumbled to ash, his most prized possession had been reduced to kindling, and his father was now bearing down on him about to start a very public fight.

It was all ruined. It was too much for him, and the poor boy broke.

With a choked-out cry of heartbreak Miguel flung what was left of his guitar away, shot up to his feet and fled from the gazebo. The crowd gave him enough room to make his getaway and he was grateful. He didn't want to be held back, didn't want to be touched by anyone. Especially his family. He heard his Papá angrily yelling at him to come back, his Mamá pleading with him to do so as well. But he couldn't even look at anyone right now.

He just ran and ran, broken sobs escaping as he gasped and panted.

He hated his birthday.

#coco #coco pixar #pixar coco #coco fanfic #Hector Rivera #miguel rivera #mama imelda #mama coco #worst #birthday #EVER

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