#edit: tumblr did a weird thing and a point was repeating over five times. I now formatted the text properly.

[cafeleningrad]

Utena and Shrek, parallels in the true meaning of love

Alright, I recently rewatched "Shrek" and "Shrek 2", and I feel like unironically talking about Utena-Shrek parallels. I am joking a bit but noth this much, actually. Hopefully the Utena fandom has beheld this gem of a post. In a way, I can only half joke about it because re-watching Shrek, I noticed there is far more romantic sincerity beyond "hahaha let's make fun of Disney kitsch".

Most of all, the entire goal of each story is about the Princess being finally able to make her own choice.

Social outcast protagonist: Both Shrek and Utena don't conform to what their environment wants them to be. The lack of failing to confirm comes is something they can't help themselves with. Utena genuinely has interests in sports, doesn't feel comfortable in feminine clothing. Shrek is an ogre by birth.

Self-imprisoned protagonist: But to their authentic self comes a self-delusion they tell themselves to keep going. These lies allow them to stay within their own, limited circle, and telling themsleves that they're happy in it. Shrek tells himself that he's happy not participating with the outside world. Not because he's grumpy by default but because meeting fear, hatred, and disgust are much easier to endure if he tells himself that he doesn't need other people anyway. He practices this mindset so well, he has a hard time being honest to even himself. Utena was deeply fatalistic after her parent's death, seeing no point of living. Yet the the faded memory of Anthy made ger wanting to end the eternal suffering of another girl. Also, parentless Utena wants to be loved and admired. The only option to express her heroicness,  asl well as becoming a beloved figure without giving up her agency is taking the role of a "prince". Ohtori is as much a place as it's a state of despair. Throughout the plot, Utena seeks being taken seriously by Akio, defining her self-worth as performing as a prince, and finding a reason to live on beyond the confines of "princehood". By the difficulty of understanding herself outside of social roles, and figuring out how to love and be loved, the lie of the prince keeps her trapped at Ohtori.

Shame and fear shakel the princess: Both Anthy and Fiona are actually extremely self-sufficient. Fiona is a skilled material-arts-fighter, so good she can even do the Matrix-timeloop, is physically strong, can cook for herself, and mostly listens to her gut instinct. Anthy is capable of magic powers so strong, she can create a place rotating in a time-loop, changing her appearance, switching bodies, transforming people into animals, and generally knows how to push people's buttons to make them participate in duels, even without magic. So why are these two highly capable girls not escaping their own prison (Ohtori campus, the dragon-guarded tower)? The answer is that fear and shame keep them tied to their place of misery. Fiona is deeply ashamed of her ogre form, describing herself as "hideous and unloveable". She's not wrong to assume that most people would think of her that way. After all, we see how people treat Shrek. Farquard is only interested in Fiona's status and looks, and even Fiona's parents don't recognize her daughter at first. Anthy has nothing in the outside world waiting for her. After all, she has been hurt by the outside world before when she saved Dios. Getting spiked by swords of hatred doesn't sound like a promising change of landscape. In spite of being teenagers, most students at Ohtori avoid Anthy for "being weird" (with a strong hint of racist bullying). Even when Nanami discovers how Akio abuses his own sister, Nanami is rather afraid for herself, and is even more afraid of Anthy. With no perspective of sympathy (why would things anywhere else be different?) how things would be anywhere different for here, Anthy at least has the brother she once loved.

The futility of physical violence: Proving masculinity through violence is a strong plot element in Utena, barely appearing in Shrek. (Although, I am very guilty of being still hyped by the "I need a hero"-action sequence....) Still, it's interesting to me how the champions for the princess don't win her over by dueling/fighting other men for her hand, but talking to her directly. What does the princess want. (Ok, this point is messy but I find it quiet funny how Shrek wins over the dragon by cleverly setting up a trap, and how his Far-Far-Away-castle-conquest also is rather strategic than accomplished via brute force only. And then consider how Anthy stages most duels sometimes with absolute nonsense like distracting Miki, or weird manipulation of physics with Juri.)

Deconstructing heternormative relationship standarts: Ok, this is probably my favourite aspect of both stories when it comes to it's romantic component. Their motivation in sincerity of depicting romance may differ, however, I do think they strike a strong chord about actual romance.

Ok, with Utena, the point was to deconstruct all the trapping of hetero-normative romance - which are an extension of a gendered power hierachy. As we see with the Black Rose duelists, they're less interested in romance  rather than the symbolism their respective princes hold: Having self-confidence by being chosen by their prince, the promise of being cared for, being taken seriously by a socially higher person than them. Anthy is only desired as a rose bride for the power she holds. Anthy and Saionji demonstrate it best: The can use all the poetic phrases of love yet the interest in a prince or a princess is based solely on what they can get out of each other for themselves. Farquard and Prince Charming both want Fiona only primary for her status. Through her, both Farquard and Charming will become kings, apparently Farquard isn't uninterested in her looks either. But that's all that Fiona is to these men: A trophy, and access to social wealth. They aren't interested in her as a person. Her ogre-self is something that is supposed to be eradicated. Instead of understanding her, her greatest shame is treated as something that diminishes her value drastically.

Both Fiona and Anthy are deeply cagey about their shame - for good reason. But through slowly getting to know them, Shrek and Utena form a connection with them without being interested in anything but them. Of course, both parties feel understood and safe around the other. But they can also simply be themselves, goofing around, doing fun activities, exchange deeper thoughts and doubts. In the end, both Utena and Shrek are accepting that the princess might not love them, not even expect to have their love reciprocated. It pains them very much their relationship might not happen but what's more important is the autonomous choice of their loved one.

Love is stored in autonomy and honesty: Ok, ok, ok, ok, ok. I said in the beginning how the endgame of both stories are the final decision of the princess. Their choices are deciding on what makes them actually happy. Their simple choice changes everything! So much build up to the princess’ choice. The happiness of the princess probably shakes the status quo in it's foundation.

Anthy decides to no longer participate in the role of the Rosebride, and leave Ohtori all together. Her magic, her tricks to entice others in participation, is taken from Akio. Most importantly she decides that she has endured enough, all the lost love spent on Akio isn't as meaningful as the chance to somewhere, someday meet the person who loves her in spite of everything she's ashamed about herself, who loves her even though they hurt each other. Most of all, Ohtori makes it really hard to be vulnerable as well as express genuine love. For one, expressions of love between boys and girls get twisted fairly early in the pressure to adhere to roles of dominance and submission. (Ahem, all messed up siblings relationships. Even Tsuwabuki who still speaks with the honesty of a child is lead on to stage danger-and-rescue to conenct with Nanami.) Even same-sex love is overwritten by having to push it through a heteronormative mold. (Saionji and Touga weirdly switch between domination and submission while Saionji gets mocked for his desire to simply be an equal. Shiori isn't actually a mean person but the more Juri retreats from her, the less Shiori knows how to make a connection to Juri.) For one, Ohtori students are mislead in their genuine intention. On the other hand, vulnerable emotions, opening up to another person is often used against them. It took a great deal of pain for Utena to abandon her self-image of "the prince" on which she build-up so much of her character. Enduring Akio's abuse, becoming a person outside the safety of social requirements, that was all worth it to Utena as long as it meant giving Anthy a chance to get out of her coffin.

Fiona despises her “ogreness”. She tries to hide it, even from another ogre. The world tells her that this isn't what a lovable person should be. She performs her nobility at every occasion, singing through birds,  walk poised, reciting the poetry for the fair knight recuing her, not letting through that she's actually a skilled fighter. Yet, the bird blows up in smoke (literally), she farts and burps which she considers natural, or funny. Shrek is fine with who she is, and considers her beautiful no matter if she conforms to beauty standards or not. The entire finale of Shrek is about Shrek wanting to let her know he loves her. It costs him a great deal of vulnerability, still she should know that she's loved outside the purpose of Farquard’s vanity, and the expectations others have of her. Knowing that Fiona can be loved being who she really is, she can make the choice between the life of conformity, or the life of an ogress.

And this is why I think "Shrek 2" is such a great sequel. Fiona has made her choice to be married to Shrek. Marriage shouldn't be a cage but a shared life. Her choice marrying Shrek shouldn't become a more comfortable prison of conforming, but somewhere where she doesn't need to hide away again. In the beginning Shrek still limits his world to the comfort of his swamp. He gained more friends but unlike Fiona he's still afraid of the world outside the swamp. Repeatedly he works against Fiona's desire to meet her parents, get along with her parents, and make an effort of good will. Granted, King Harrold makes it way harder for Shrek than necessary, however Shrek prefers his comfort over Fiona's wish to reconnect with her parents. Again, Shrek and Fiona are faced with what the world wants them to be. Fiona should be a fair princess with a handsome non-ogre-husband, Shrek should simply not be seen outside the swamp. For one part, the movie re-confirms Fiona's choice. The pressure isn't only on conforming to the outside world, though. The pressure also comes from Shrek defining the confines of their shared life. Fiona being an ogre, doing ogre-stuff, living in the swamp corresponds to her proper desires. These desire perfectly align with Shrek’s living style, still Fiona is her own person with desires laying outside the swamp. Through the effort of giving Fiona her human appearance, being approached by a man Harrold would approve of  (funny enough not Lilian), Shrek is ready to give Fiona once again the choice to figure out if she actually, really is happy with being an ogre. He shouldn’t take her for granted. All her life has been decided for her. The fairy godmother used Fiona as a pawn for Charming’s success, her parents send her away without Fiona knowing the reason why, and now the Fairy Godmother wants to decide over Fiona’s head that she’s supposed to be human and Charming’s bride. The final fight is to make sure, Fiona doesn’t get kissed against her will without knowing that it would keep her a human for the rest of her life. Once again Shrek fights everything and everyone to make sure Fiona knows all she needs to know before she chooses herself – even if it means her not being an ogre anymore, and Shrek stepping out of his comfort zone. All that effort is worth It because Fiona’s happiness means so much more than Shrek’s comfort. (Also, I think that’s the reason why the sequels fail so hard. The two first movie were all about the necessity to be vulnerable, and respect your partner as their own person much more over the things they give you. The goals were Fiona’s autonomy. The third and fourth movie are only about Shrek’s masculine crisis. In of itself a good potential BUT: The first two movies were rebelling against conformity, against being what society wanted you to be. And movie 3 and 4 were confirming how good it is to live the nuclear family life in the end, even though a guy can have a little crisis over it. Fiona doesn’t even have much of a say in anything. She gets pregnant and automatically happy to be a mother. In the 4th movie being a nuclear family mother is the only perspective she’s contempt with…)

The honest friend: Donkey and Wakaba. These two are the key element in the development of the protagonists. Whereas Wakaba has a much richer inner life than just being the spunky gal, she often has Utena’s back. Hence why it’s so scary that Akio deceived her to the point she drives with him in his car. But a lot of things wouldn’t work without Wakaba. Akio and Anthy both were surprised Utena emerged as duelist. Utena only dueled Saionji to defend Wakaba after Sainoji mocked her. Without Wakaba, Utena would’ve had a much harder way out of her identity crisis after dueling Touga if Wakaba hadn’t fought so hard for confirming Utena’s true self. Everyone at Ohtori tells Utna how childish it is to still talk about “the Prince”, how she should not wear boys uniforms, wants to put her in skirts and dresses. Wakaba genuinely adores Utena. She doesn’t want Utena to be anyone but herself. “Being normal is not normal for you!” Wakaba in essence is the force driving Utena to action. (Also her being a robust Truck with many seats is such a cool aspect in Adolescence. I love Wakaba.) Before there was any princess, there was Wakaba giving Utena a sense of identity.

Donkey is also the driving force in Shrek’s emotional development. Before there was a princess, Donkey relentlessly peels away the onion layers in Shrek’s personality. In spite of his grumpy persona, Shrek rescues donkey anyway, he makes sure donkey never gets harmed no matter how annoying he is. Once pushed by Donkey, Shrek confirms how he actually doesn’t like being feared by everyone, how much that hurts him. In the worst state of despair, Shrek knowing that Fiona will get married to Farquard, it’s Donkey breaking through Shrek’s barriers. No, actually Shrek doesn’t want to be alone, actually he needs friends, he needs to do the hard thing and talk to Fiona. Due to Donkey’s help, Shrek can be true to himself.

Also, both are deeply loyal and funny.

Parents make the worst choice possible for their children: By any means, the Photir parents are notoriously selfish, if not cruel (except for honourable mention Utena’s dead parents). Form the bits we get about them they mostly use their children for themselves. Touga’s adoptive father is definitely the worst in it all. The Kaoru parents present their children as child prodigies however Kozue’s well-being is disregarded form the get-go. And when the father leaves the family for his lover, the children are supposed to get along with the procedure, and not stir trouble. Kanae’s own mother sleeps with her daughter’s fiancé behind her back which is so many levels of messed up. In total, Ohtori parents treat their children as property for their own interests, not because they would love them.

With Queen Lilian and King Harrold it is a bit more complicated. They love their daughter but ultimately, Harrold’s self-interest won. Harrold is characterized as a man with very conformist ideas what the world should look like. (There is a subtextual implication that he’s the frog king which would explain why his complex of being different is extended towards any other social outcast.) Fiona turning into a monster each night is perhaps the most socially stirring curse possible. Rather than accepting his daughter as she is, without her needing to be afraid of what she is at night, Harrold preferred sending her far away from any human eyes.

In the beginning of the family home, there was no love.

In the beginning of the family home, there was no love.

the ideal Prince: First it was joke but the more I think about it, Charming and Touga are actually so similar. Ok, Touga is emotionally stuck and egotistical due to abuse. Charming is a man-child because he's a pampered mama's boy. However, the stage for them to get the princess, and the power she holds, was set-up for them. In Touga's case him becoming the champion has a sinister reason (Akio wants to use his sword to crush at the Rose gate). In both cases, the Princess is kept in a stage of suffering, so the prince can play-act swooping her away, gaining her hand, her kingdom, and her power. Despite their conventional good lucks, having accomplished all society wants a prince to be, they're rather sleazy. Ok, now please restrain me before I draw paralles between Akio and the Fairy Godmother!

Épée-swordfighter turns from enemy to friend: Parallels between Puss and Miki. As we see

The scary gal is actually a great friend: So, Juri and the Dragonness. In this essay I will

Note: [I have my opinions about why the take "Utena deconstructs fairy tales" is not cutting anything. I don't want to fault anyone who has claimed so because the popcultural idea of fairytales being about princes on the white horse and princesses to be rescued is a massively popular- albeit a fairly inaccurate. Engagement with actual Grimm tales, and literary fairy tales (Kunstmärchen) proves how more often the female protagonist is rather proactive*, and the prince is mostly a happy ending decorum of her journey. (From the top of my head, I can only name Snow-White and Sleeping Beauty where the girls are in actual need of rescue, while also being of noble birth.) (*Female characters in Grimm fairy tale editions are an extremely messy affair. Post 2nd-edition of their fairy tale collection, the Grimms heavily edited the folkloric texts whereas the social convention, and their own sexism seeped through.) In any case I am very inclined to argue that Utena functions way more on fairy-tale-logic than on any deconstructive narrative. And Shrek was more about engaging with boy-meets-girl-formular Disney-kitsch, and basically Jeffrey Katzenberg producing a gigantic middle finger towards Michael Eisner. So, I do think the parallels go much deeper than an inaccurate take on fairy tales.]

#RGU meta #Revolutionary Girl Utena #Shrek #long post #I am old enough to not consider anything I do on here cringe anymore. ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ #edit: tumblr did a weird thing and a point was repeating over five times. I now formatted the text properly.

[heyheydidjaknow]

Chapter 11

Guess who's back? Back again. Back three hours late, but back nonetheless. I'd feel more sorry if I was more sorry. This is officially the longest chapter as of now, so, yay. Someone challenged me to not swear for a chapter, and I believe I fulfilled that requirement. I'm just gonna go sleep.

Update: APPARENTLY, TUMBLR DOES THE TRANSFER FORMATTING THING ON LAPTOPS AND I HATE EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE RIGHT NOW SO MUCH. I usually do all my editing on my phone, so I knew no such luxury. I have never been more pissed. That is a lie, but my anger is still very genuine.

Chapter 11

“Where were you?”

The younger brother looks up at his senior. “Huh?”

“You were gone all night.” Leonardo leans against the door, crossing his arms. “Don’t look so surprised; I started getting up early to meditate.”

He shrugs in feigned nonchalance, already dreading the ensuing conversation. “Out.”

“And where’s ‘Out’?”

Donnie slides out of his chair, deciding his straining eyes need a break. “Just went to check on Y/N is all.” He rubs them with his arm, quietly noting the sounds of fighting in the dojo were starting to cease as he sits on the couch. His rounds of sparring with Leonardo were finished a little over an hour ago; a part of him is grateful it took him this long to corner him.

This got a raised brow. “You were checking on her for hours?”

He does not look him in the eye. “It’s not impossible.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It wasn’t that late,” he argues.

“Donnie,” he presses, “you didn’t get home until five in the morning. Where were you?”

He feels his face heat up. “I said.”

Leo leans down to look his brother in the eye. “Final answer?”

He swallows a yawn. “Look, I know it was stupid—”

“I didn’t say it was stupid.”

“No,” he snips, mildly irritable from a lack of sleep. “You implied it.”

The doors to the dojo slide open, the disgruntled look on Raphael’s face all the evidence the other two need to know who won.

Mikey dives onto the couch, sprawling out next to his slightly older brother. “Did you ask yet?”

“I did.” He glances at the disgruntled boy. “Donnie was, apparently, at Y/N’s all night.”

The reaction is immediate.

“Details!” The small victor sits up, leaning forward on his knees in usual attentiveness. “Was she good?”

“What did you—shut up, Mikey.” Raph’s attention snaps back to his tallest brother. “What did you do to her? Did you—”

“Wait, hold on!” Donnie’s face feels uncomfortably hot. “N-Nothing happened!”

“Yeah, sure.” The second eldest rolls his eyes. “You think we fell off the truck yesterday? Who stays with a girl all night in her room without something happening? Nobody,” he cuts him off before he can defend himself.

The youngest’s voice rises over his brother’s before he can continue. “Dude, big picture!” He gestures to his brown-eyed brother. “He got with a girl first! He has valid info or whatever he says and stuff!”

“What are you two even talking about?” He wrings his hands. “Look, nothing happened!”

“Then what were you doing at her house,” Raphael eggs. “You weren’t just sitting there, right?”

“… no.”

“Then what were you doing there?”

He pauses, the two excitable boys waiting on bated breath. “She wanted me to spend the night,” he explains carefully, “because she was having bad nightmares and didn’t want to sleep alone.” He leans back, tossing his hands in the air. “That’s all.”

Silence falls.

“So,” clarifies Raphael, “you spent however many hours in her room, in her bed, and you didn’t make a move?”

“I—look!” The conversation is taking a shift for the worse. “I was trying to be nice! The last thing she needed was me doing whatever you’re insinuating!”

“He has a point,” Michelangelo nods knowingly. “Brownie points are key.”

“When did I say I was doing this for brownie points?”

“Look,” the eldest interjects. “Regardless of whether or not he was doing the ‘smart’ thing—” air quotes, “my bigger concern is that you didn’t bother calling to let us know where you were. You could’ve—Raph, do you have something to say?”

He rolls his eyes. “Are you really gonna act like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing if it were you?”

The leader pauses. “Would you like to take this somewhere more private?”

“Sure.” A venomous smile curls Raph’s lips. “Dojo?”

“Bring it.”

As the two leave, Donnie looks back over at Mikey. “Okay,” he sighs, “did I miss something?”

A shrug. “Man," he grins brazenly, "bold of you to assume I follow half of the things you guys say.”

He pulls his T-Phone from his utility belt. “Do you think I did the right thing? Honestly?”

Another shrug. “I dunno.” He looks over his older brother’s shoulder, reading the text on the screen curiously. “Can’t have gone too bad, though, if you two’ve been textin’ all day.

He pushes his head away with his free hand. “It hasn’t been all day,” he corrects. “She just filled me in on this week’s episode and we just kept talking after that.” He smiles faintly. “Although, she did check to see if I got home alright.”

“Hey, that’s totally progress!” He grins encouragingly. “I mean, the bed thing was bigger progress, but this is also progress.”

You push through the turnstile with a bit of difficulty, hopping on your good leg as you pull the walker over the divider using your free hand with an embarrassing clatter. “Sorry,” you wince, feeling your face heat up as you slide down the railing. “I’m still getting used to—”

“Holy—are you alright?” The distress is apparent in the youngest’s voice as he sees you for the first time in a month. “You look like you—”

“I’m aware,” you cut him off dryly, holding a paper bag as you stumble over to the couch. “Whatever you’re about to say, I’m aware.” You put it down in Donnie’s lap. “Here.”

He blinks, picking it up as you regain your bearings. “What is it?”

“Not poison or snakes. Open it.”

“Yo,” Mikey interrupts, pointing at your banged-up leg, “can I draw on your white thing?”

It takes you a second to figure out what he is referring to. “Oh, you mean—yeah.” You lean your head back against the back of the couch. “Just know that I’ll take white-out to anything that could get me kicked out of school.”

“Deal!” He runs off to your room as his brother pulls the bag open, pulling the pastry from its confinement.

“What is it,” he repeats, icing already on his fingers.

“Cupcake.”

He fingers the wrapper, his brick stare seeming almost to dissect it. “What is it for?”

“Besides being messy?” You smile gently as you watch him try to figure it out, feeling your heart swell. “It’s food.”

“How much of it is edible?”

“Everything except the paper bit.”

He peels the liner back. “And how do you eat it, exactly?”

You lean forward on your arms. “The goal is to eat the frosting and the cake part at the same time, so however you accomplish that.”

He smiles sheepishly, eyes softening as he looks back at you. “Is it possible to eat it without the frosting getting on your face?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

He tentatively holds eye contact with you as he takes a bite, unsurprisingly getting icing sticking to the space around his upper lip. You wait tentatively as he licks the excess off, blinking in delighted surprise. “What’s in this, exactly?”

You feel yourself beam at his tone. “It’s nothing too special,” you shrug nonchalantly, bubbling with excitement. “It’s a personal favorite; red velvet with cream cheese frosting.”

He takes another bite. “Do you have more? Follow-up question,” you note his speech quickening, “can you make more?”

“Totally,” you nod in agreement. “I wanted to make you something as thanks for—”

“Back!”

Donnie shoves the rest of it in his mouth as soon as you two hear him.

“Sorry for the wait; I couldn’t find my stuff.” He plops down with a cardboard box filled with various discarded art supplies. “I’d use spray paint, but he—” he nods to his brother, currently trying to choke the rest of the cupcake down—“said I’m not allowed because of fumes or somethin’, so.”

“Fair.” You allow him to drape your calf over his legs, digging into the cardboard box he was carrying and pulling out a pencil. “Got any plans?”

“You’ll see,” he grins, starting to sketch shapes out.

The taller of the two wipes the excess frosting off his fingers. “Oh,” he snaps his fingers, “when you two are done with that, Y/N, I still gotta do that physical.”

“Physical?”

He clears his throat in preparation for a very redundant explanation. “A physical,” he explains calmly to his over-excited brother, “as in a physical examination, not whatever you’re thinking of.”

He blinks. “Like a doctor’s visit?”

“Donnie was asking about my recovery time,” you add helpfully. “Apparently, it’s weirdly long, but I don’t have any weird medical problems, so he wanted to see what the deal was.”

“That, and your comment about how ‘insanely high’ we jump, apparently.”

“Do not air quote that!” You lean your head back to look at him, hair falling onto his lap. “Not when you guys put high jumping to shame.”

He adamantly avoids eye contact, face warming. “It’s not that high,” he mumbles. “Especially if we’re bringing a sport like high jumping into this.”

“I respectfully disagree.” You lay your head down properly, looking up at him from his thighs. “Considering your falling form, it is a miracle you still have working hips.”

“What’s wrong with my form?”

“It doesn’t include a parachute.”

“Okay,” Mikey interjects, “it may not last unless you cover it with something. Just, FYI.”

You lean your head up to look at him. “Noted,” you nod. “I’ll pick up varnish or something on my way home.”

He nods. “Oh,” he asks innocently, “mind turning over? I have to get the other side and I don’t want to hurt you.”

For some inexplicable reason, the boy you are currently laying on looks as though someone has put a gun to his head.

You do as asked with a bit of difficulty, bringing your knee closer to your chest as it is now closest to the back of the couch. “Like that?”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

You look up at Donnie. “Let me know if you need me to move,” you smile. “If your thighs go numb or anything.”

His voice is oddly tight. “You’re good.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Sure? You sound very uncomfortable.”

“Never better.”

“He’s alright,” Mikey reassures you, shooting a thumbs up at his brother behind your back.

“...Alright.” Your eyes focus absentmindedly on what you thought was a couch cushion; upon further inspection, it appears to be a repurposed training mat. You bring the arm not currently pinned to your side under your head, humming an earworm softly.

The boy currently under you is silently panicking as your fingers squeeze gently around his knee, making a conscious effort to stare at the television and only at the television with his hands hovering awkwardly over you. Surprisingly enough, out of the corner of his eye, he does not catch his younger brother trying to stare at you weirdly, sincerely focused on drawing.

You feel him, eventually, resting his hands down, one resting in between your shoulder blades, the other in your hair, twisting a lock of it around his fingers gently. “Still alright,” you ask.

His voice is almost airy, now. “Mhm.”

‘This is nice.’ You trace little designs into the mat as your mind begins to wander, the boys starting to talk about something you struggle to pay attention to. This is not the closest you have been to him physically, but it is nice not to be crying this time around. "Domestic, almost, even if he doesn't think so.’

‘I should learn how to braid.’ Braiding is not something he has necessarily needed to know how to do in the past, but as he wraps the fibers around themselves, curious about the texture, he wishes that he knew; using your hair as a material of sorts would certainly be interesting, and he knows he has the dexterity for it. Admittedly, the conversation is less of a conversation and more of a speech on his brother’s part, but he tries to pay attention.

“So,” Mikey continues, digging into the box and pulling out a pencil sharpener, “he’s watching this guy all stealth-like, right? The guy’s out here, giving out his plans like they’re candy or whatever, and he’s just kinda recording it on one of those little tape recorders you used for that one thing a couple weeks ago-- you know the ones, and-- you don’t mind spoilers-- long story short, the guy gets caught, and when the crew got there, he was totally messed up.”

“Sounds like Batman,” you mumble sleepily-- ‘He really is warm.’

“Huh?”

“Your story.” You hoist yourself up, looking over your shoulder back at him. “Sounds like this Batman cartoon.”

“Batman?”

“Universe…” you stifle a yawn. “My universe has this thing called Batman, and there's a crossover thing in a different iteration of this universe. I guess you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

“Different iteration?” Donatello looks down at your head in his lap, desperately in need of a cold shower.

You feel Michelangelo bend your leg forward. You nod in confirmation, trying to will yourself awake. “Didn’t I… did I?” You lay your head back down properly. “You guys are, like… mega-famous down-- back-- there.”

“I’m not sure if you did.”

“Well,” you giggle sleepily, “you are.” You try to count on your fingers. “You’ve got the original comic, the old cartoon, the two-thousand three animated show, the CGI movie, this one, the two live-action movies, the twenty-eighteen animated one-- gorgeous animation by the by that I have to show you later, Mikey-- that crossover movie with Batman, the live-action show, the other, older live-action movie, the IDW comic series, that weird one with the hats-- there’s a ton.”

“Dude, that is sick!” The resident artist grins. “I bet they were awesome.”

You consider telling him about the IDW comic. You quickly decide against it.

“How long have we-- as a property-- existed, exactly?”

“I dunno.” You shrug. “The first animated show was the eighties, I think.”

“...huh.”

You notice him fiddling with your hair, finally. You don’t mind.

“It’s been too long.”

You freeze, suddenly very awake and painfully aware of your current position.

One of the few good things about having your own apartment: you seem to have forgotten the fear of being walked in on.

“Please, relax.” You hear his smile. It does not help matters. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

The other two, astonishingly, do not seem nearly as anxious as you are.

You look up at him from your spot on his son’s lap. “You look as healthy as ever.” ‘I miss my grandpa. Is Grandma okay?’ You were unable to find your relatives on your father’s side through social media-- they could be dead for all you know.

“No thanks to my diet,” he chuckles. Yoshi walks out of your field of view. “Don’t mind me; how long have they been in the dojo?”

“Half an hour?” You hear the jostling of the box and the snap of an uncapped pen.

You hear him sigh. “Let’s just hope nobody’s died,” he mutters, walking into the dojo.

The three of you strain your ears to-- unsuccessfully-- hear what is going on. The door snaps open as the two brothers leave together in heated silence.

Mikey shakes what you can now identify as a paint pen. “Who won?”

“Nobody.” Leo’s voice, snippy. “Is she out?”

“She is not.” You turn your arm awkwardly to wave back at him.

“Then,” he shrugs, “nice to see you.”

“Likewise.”

“So,” Raph interjects, apparently very interested in the current situation, “can someone please explain what, exactly, is going on here?”

“I’m painting her white thing.”

“Of course. Donnie?”

The mortification would be apparent if you were looking at him.

“Nothin? Okay then.” You shut your eyes as he sits down on the other side of you. “You look terrible. Nice scar.”

“I am too close to very sensitive areas for you to give me a hard time, Raphael,” you warn.

“Whatever.”

“I’m heading out.” Leo nonchalantly bounds the steps, hopping over a divider.

“Tell her I say hi,” you call back. “Remember, consent is key, yellow roses lead to friendzoning, and to always use a condom.”

“... No comment.” He runs off.

“I have so many questions.”

“Ask me later.”

It takes him about twenty more minutes to finish covering the entirety of your cast in brightly colored characters and objects; if you have to describe it, you will say that the style is contemporary pop illustration with composition reminiscent of the renaissance period if the single art class you have taken is serving you right.

“This,” you smile, a little misty-eyed for some reason, “is absolutely gorgeous. Thanks, Mikey.”

He beams. “You’re totally welcome! If you ever get more white things, I’ll draw on those too, if you want.”

“Dude, for sure.” You nod in agreement, looking back at Donnie. “Isn’t it cool?”

Donatello has been quietly jabbed at for the past twenty minutes and is mostly desensitized to the quality of his brother’s art; frankly, it is not his area, and he cannot judge it one way or the other. Despite this, he gives his brother a thumbs up. “Very.”

“Don’t stroke his ego so much,” teases their older brother. “Donnie’ll get jealous.”

“Hate to steal her from you all,” he interrupts, “but I still have a physical to do, so if you would be so kind as to shut up, that would be great.”

‘Green with envy. Is that racist? No clue. Pretty colors.’ Donnie is talking to you. “Huh?”

“I asked if you were still on board.”

You nod. “Mind grabbing my walker?”

He shoots his snickering brother a glare. “Want me to just carry you to the lab?”

Panic. Immediate panic. “You sure you can carry me?”

He shrugs, smiling. “It’s only a few feet. Besides,” he points out, “aren’t you the one always going on about how strong we are by normal standards?”

You do not have a rational way to explain why the idea of being off of solid ground, held up by someone who can potentially drop you, is distressing. You also do not want to insult him in any shape, way, or form. “Promise you won’t drop me?” Your stomach turns.

“Swear it.”

“Can I paint your walker while you guys are doing that?”

“Of all the things you could've chosen--”

“Lay off.” He offers his arms. “You can trust me, I promise.”

You pause. The statement is entirely true, but your gut is screaming at you not to do that. The same gut told you that slamming your body into the person driving the car you were tied up in was a good idea.

You latch your arms around his neck, burying your eyes in the crook of his neck as to not see when and in what direction he is moving you. “Please,” you mumble, trying not to blatantly beg, “do not drop me.”

He does not exactly understand why you are clinging to him so tightly, but he is hardly one to complain. He slides an arm under your knees, picking you up.

Raphael is heckling you. You are more concerned with your body inaccurately telling you that you are going to die from this. Tears prick your eyes as you try to breathe.

He looks down at you, mind wandering as he walks away from his brothers. You look so sweet to him, shaking like a leaf in his arms. Cute. He had thought the same thing when you had started clinging to him during that movie forever ago, when you held his hand last night and pulled him back onto the bed with you. You are not normally openly vulnerable and, although he is hardly one to talk about vulnerability, it is always a sight to behold.

“Please don’t drop me.” He is not exactly sure if you are aware of your own, almost silent begging as you repeat the phrase over and over. ‘You trust me.’ His heart melts.

It takes no time to get you to his lab. He sets you down on a chair, but you do not seem to understand that as you still cling tightly to his neck.

He chuckles nervously. “I need my body to perform the physical, Y/N.”

You were not aware he had put you down. Your eyes snap open as you let your shaking, iron grip relax. “Sorry,” you mumble, face going a gorgeous shade of pink.

“No prob.” ‘Prob?’ His face changes color to match yours.

“So.” He claps his hands together just a bit too hard, slamming the door closed when he hears his brothers’ snickering. “Let’s get started.”

--

You sit on your couch, applying another coat of varnish to your cast as you listen to a cooking show because something something exposure therapy. Also, listening to people scream at one another about food textures is soothing.

Your results were not surprising to you; by the standards of humans in this universe, you are a walking talking coma patient. It was a bit funny, watching him freak out about a blood pressure that you knew-- through the help of google-- was completely normal. You are fine for the most part, if he was using the tools given correctly, and so, you are currently preoccupied with making sure the gorgeous painting on your fiberglass prison is going to stay gorgeous. The only thing he had insisted on, really, was that you not cook, after seeing your crudely applied bandages on your fingers.

You lean back into an actual couch, pulling out your phone and scrolling through pictures of gloves again. You are determined to find a good pair; the deep scars on your hands are not fading any time soon.

You can hear the window slide open. “If you’re planning on killing me--” you stop when you look up to see the look on Donnie’s face. “Something up?”

He says absolutely nothing, leaning his staff against the wall, closing the window in a daze and he stands next to the sofa. “Are you busy?”

“No.”

“Good.” His eyes glance at the space next to you. “Can I stay here for a bit?”

“As long as you like.”

He lays his head on your lap as he sits down, staring blankly at the television screen. He immediately understands why you like this-- your thighs are incredibly soft.

You immediately understand why he was awkward. You have no idea where to put your hands, but you eventually settle on his head as you turn the volume down. “What’s up?”

He takes a deep breath, licking his teeth as he sighs. “I,” he explains, “just realized what my reality is right now and I-- okay, I know this sounds stupid--”

“Not at all.”

“It does,” he insists. “I know it sounds stupid because I realized it did when I was working it out, but I just-- hear me out, okay?” His voice oozes exhaustion.

“I’m hearing you.” You listen to him, laying your phone face down on the coffee table. “Hit me.”

He takes another breath. “I just fought a giant… thing.” He rolls over, looking up at you. “Mikey called it Jacob or something, and it was about twenty feet tall and it looked like something out of a monster movie and it destroyed us in a fight.” You hear his voice rising, and you just nod along, letting him talk. “It wiped the floor with us. And the only reason it existed was that Leo, apparently, got a girlfriend named Karai-- you know her?”

“Hot alt chick with the wicked eyeshadow and eyeliner that could kill?” You nod. “Yeah, I’m familiar.”

“Her-- wait, should I…?” He trails off, shakes his head. “Another time.” He covers the side of his face with his hand, gesturing animatedly with his other. “Anyways, apparently he met this girl because she wanted to do a heist with him-- this girl, working for the Foot, of all people-- sixteen or whatever-- she goes and just touches a button to mix the DNAs of all the creatures an alien race could find on Earth, and then bails.” He realizes he is shouting, lowers his voice. “The alien creatures, in case you forgot, that look like brains and waddle around on tentacles which, by the way, makes no evolutionary sense whatsoever, decided to create a button that mixes the entirety of their samples of DNA together in a smorgasbord of wrong, okay?”

“Uhuh.” You nod along. You know what he means, even if the word he used was technically not correct.

“This thing,” he continues, officially ranting, “destroyed a building! It set the whole thing on fire, which was probably only Kraang, but also maybe had normal people in it, which is concerning.” He rubs his eyes aggressively. “So, to recap, an alienish creature named Jason or whatever got created by Leo’s crush and destroyed a building and that was just what happened today!” He raises his hands in the air, almost accidentally hitting you in the face. “I didn’t bat an eye at this!”

“Man, I feel you.”

“And I understand,” he continues, “the irony of telling you this, considering I am a giant, talking turtle created by the very same mutagen that created Justin or whatever its stupid name was, was taught ninjutsu by my ninja master father who is also a rat, and that you have already previously died--”

“All very bizarre things,” you agree.

“-- but this is just…” he sighs. “My life is getting so… weird? It was already weird, I know, but more so than I thought it reasonably should be.”

You wipe a bit of oil you notice on his cheek off with your thumb. “This world is a weird one,” you admit.

His voice is lower now as he follows your hand with his eyes. “I…” He takes breath. “I just wish we were more normal, you know? That our lives were more normal, that our existences made more sense, you know?”

You cup his face in your hand gently, remembering how your mother used to do the same for you. “I do.”

You feel him leaning into your touch. “I wish,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “that I was a normal, human teenager who went to school and didn’t know how to use a bo staff and had three, normal brothers who could try to get girlfriends without worrying about whether or not they wanted to kill them.”

You sigh, running your thumbs along the edge of his eye socket, feeling the soft skin shift under you. “You’re very well adjusted for a teenager trained in the art of assassination,” you joke softly.

He chuckles dryly, closing his eyes. “My mother is an empty canister in a locked cabinet in the kitchen.” He exhales slowly. “My stepmom was murdered by a man now actively trying to murder me and my entire family because of a decades long feud. Well adjusted is probably the highest compliment you could give me.”

“I’ve given you higher.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” You glance up at the television screen, then back at him. “You’re holding up better than I am, and you’ve been fearing for your life since you were real little.”

“Apples and oranges.” He rests his hand on yours.

“Look,” you shrug, “the way I see it, life is a series of events that all string together to the present.”

“Butterfly effect.”

“Exactly.” You smile down at him. “And if things didn’t happen exactly as they did, we never would’ve met, the world would be totally screwed, and we would be missing out on one of the greatest minds on the planet.”

He looks to see if you are being serious.

You are.

“You also wouldn’t have a broken leg and messed up hands,” he points out ruefully.

“Meeting you was worth it.”

He reaches up, running his fingers along the scar on your face. “I disagree.”

“It’s my body, and my physical detriment. It doesn’t matter if you’re stupid enough to think it wasn’t worth it.”

You feel his body relax

You two shut up for a bit, watching the show absentmindedly.

After a while, he pipes up. “It’s alright if you say no,” he starts tentatively, “but is it alright if I stay here again tonight?”

“Will your brothers mind?”

“They don’t care so long as I’m home before sunrise,” he shrugs. “I just like it here. Smells better.”

You smile brightly. “Sure,” you agree easily. “I sleep better with you here, anyways; I don’t worry about people sneaking in through the window.” You check the varnish. “I just have to wait for this to dry the rest of the way, first. You’re free to go to bed without me, though.”

In all honesty, you’re just happy not to be alone.

He nods, standing up and drawing the curtains. He sits down on the bed, untying the mask behind his head. ‘I could get used to this.’ He smiles slightly, slipping a hand into his utility belt and texting his brothers where he was to avoid his brother’s scolding in the morning. He slips that off too, dropping both onto the side of the bed and starting on the wraps on his feet and hands; he had learned his lesson when he had gotten up morning before, having gotten a few hours sleep at home, to large, noticeable indentations in his flesh where the foreign objects had been.

You glance over. “Do those go in the wash?”

He looks back. “Not usually, no.”

“Do you want me to wash them?”

‘You are too considerate.’ He shakes his head. “It’s alright.”

You shrug, putting your hands up. “Suit yourself.” You cross your hands across your stomach, staring absentmindedly back at the screen. “You can use the shower in the morning, but please do not use all of the hot water. Fridge is open if you need breakfast.”

“Nah,” he sighs, slipping the clothes into his utility belt. “I’ll eat at home.”

You nod in acknowledgement.

It occurs to him as he sets his knee and elbow pads with the rest of his things that, technically, he is stripping in front of you, and you are not batting an eye. As soon as that clocks, it also dawns on him that you are showing the most skin he has ever seen-- an A-shirt and gym shorts-- which had not even registered until he was laying in your bed. You are relaxed and in your warm apartment, watching a television program with him in your bed. You are awake and absolutely gorgeous and you feel safer with him of all people.

His heart swells as he slides under the blankets, the sound of the television white noise at this point.

You glance back at him, the phrase “Snug as a bug in a rug," coming to mind as you look over at him, struggling to keep his eyes open. “You gonna fall asleep?”

His face warms. He nods. "It's been a really long day," he admits.

“Then goodnight,” you smile. “Sweet dreams.”

He smiles sleepily. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he shuts his eyes.

You swallow.

You forgot how much you missed this.

Table of Contents

Chapter 10

Chapter 12

#tmnt donnie #donnie x reader #2012 donnie #donnie #donatello x reader #tmnt donatello #donatello #tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #teenage #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #hamato clan #donatello hamato #y/n #self insert #self insert fanfiction #tmnt x reader #reader insert

[ontowanderlust]

How to say I love you (5)

A/N:  Look, I don’t intend to change what’s written below and just above the story itself. You guys have to bear with this long ass introduction every time. On some unrelated news, first story of 2021! Whoop! Watch me as I update this one next year. lmao no. I’ll try my best to write the next prompt. Oh and as far as I know, this one serves as an AU since S2 is released. 

Stay safe people!

Special thanks to:  @grimpower-s .  My super duper proofreader! My beta! You are simply the best person to ever exist! Thanks for putting up with my mushroom tendencies! Pop pop!

One of the reasons why I haven’t posted this was because of the sucky title. Let me know if you guys have better ideas. The other reason was   just I’m too lazy to post this. My betas knew that I had a name written here but I had to revert to second person since… this is tumblr.   (Though, the last name is predetermined already, don’t fight me on   this.) Let me know if this sucks or if you guys like it.

Also some reminders:

Five is eighteen in this fic

The apocalypse had already happened

(Spoiler) They are sent back in time

And  there are some of the 43 involved in this fic- there are 16 actually. Find them all and hit me in my asks if you knew the reference of the names.

Alternatively: 7 times he confessed and the 1 time she accepted his confession / 8 ways to say I Love You

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Prompt: This prompt is brought to you by R. McKinley (you write beautifully, may I just say) and @chickenshit​‘s photo edit. I did say that I’m gonna write something about this, right?

=Masterlist=

Despite her being great at nearly everything, hearing is not one of them. (Which her whole family can attest to. Either because they had to repeat themselves for her to hear them or they had to shout to gain her attention.)

When Five first noticed that trait of hers, he had theorised that she liked to practice selective hearing whenever she's around people, in which she debunked and confessed that she just liked to crank the volume of her earphones up to its maximum capacity. 

When asked why, she would simply shrug and playfully say that it's easier to keep people away from her. (Five thinks she just liked internalising the songs she listened to... just like his brother, Klaus, much to his dismay)

Regardless of her quite near deafness, she still liked using earphones whenever she felt like it. Several people had already tried to rid her bad habit by giving her speakers on some occasions but she insisted on using earphones whenever she listened to music. Much louder that way, she would often say. 

And so, it wasn't a surprise for him to hear faint harmonies of trumpets and cellos as he rounded up the corner of her family's mansion, finding himself witnessing what seemed to be a private moment for her. 

Now, having grown up under the tutelage of one Reginald Hargreeves- the most stubborn and strict father in the entire universe and maybe even in some parallel and alternate realities too- Five never had the luxury of appreciating the mundane things people speak of. 

It was always training, enhancing his abilities and missions for him. 

And then, there's that apocalypse mishap. 

In the end, he couldn't understand what 'mundane' meant. 

...until now. 

There, in the middle of the kitchen she stood, looking as radiant as always- what with her hair thrown lazily in a low ponytail, her eyes still laced with remnants of sleep, and her clothes as ruffled as can be, dancing along to the music in her ears. 

Looking at her now, he would've had a hard time telling that she had snuck out in the dead of the night, her inner demons getting the best of her and now here she was, dancing without a care in the world.

Why was he here anyway?

Oh yeah, he needed to speak with that brazen older brother of hers. 

He needed to talk to Jack- he really, really needed to talk to her brother- however, for some reason it felt like his feet were glued on the spot, his eyes never leaving her figure as if he was entranced by a fae dancing by the morning light. 

Just as he became in tuned with her presence, he knew that this girl had developed a keen sense of his whereabouts because the next thing he knew, he was being pulled towards her- where on earth did this unnecessary strength come from?- and tugged him into some weird poorly choreographed dance moves. 

He knew that with her upbringing, she excelled in social dancing, the same way Reginald had painstakingly ingrained social dancing upon him and his siblings so why did it feel like she's been born with two left feet instead?

He had to admit, social dancing is something he has adequate skills in but dancing in general had never been his strong suit and yet, having been pulled into an impromptu dance party, he found himself not hating it. 

It felt silly- him dancing to a faint and almost non-existent music in the middle of someone else's kitchen but seeing her smiling at him, mouthing the words to the song, and satisfied with him dancing along with her, made everything feel less silly. 

He didn't know what prompted the feeling- was it her radiant smile? Or the way she closed her eyes as her face morphed into the appropriate emotion to the song she was mouthing to, or the stray melody that would leave her mouth unintentionally or maybe... just the way the situation all felt so raw- so candid to him. 

He just felt the need- the overpowering emotion taking over his system. It's not like she's gonna hear the words, right? Afterall, she's as deaf as she could be.

"I love you,"

There was a sharp intake of breath- one that never came from him but rather from the girl in front of him, her feet skidded slightly from the miscalculated momentum from the sudden halting of her movements, her mouth slightly agape while he scrambled to catch her should she fall. 

He couldn't have gotten a better timing, as soon as the words left his lips, the faint music he had been hearing disappeared all of the sudden- a sign that her performance had come to an end. 

Grimacing, he let out a residual laugh- one that could be mistaken from his stolen breath. "-r shirt. Is it new?" he added hastily though they both knew it was too late, stumbling on the words and he wasn't quick enough to salvage his embarrassment. 

Silence engulfed them as she reached out, closing her phone and effectively putting the playlist into pause, tilting her head at him with a smirk playing upon her lips.

"I never thought I'd see the day where dear little Five Hargreeves complimenting my shirt," she drawled slowly, eyes sweeping over him. "Seriously?"

She's giving him an out- another chance to compose himself and deny what had been uttered in a moment's weakness. 

"I love you," the words came out slow as if he was readying himself to whatever cover he would be spitting out. "For not stomping on my feet like a savage person." he tried taking on a slightly chiding tone, hoping this time, it would be believable than the first one. 

Pathetic, he wanted to scoff. He's been saying this phrase for what? Five times now and yet, this girl couldn't even take a hint. Honestly, is it that hard to believe?

Or maybe he's not trying hard enough?

She simply stared at him- her eyes seemingly searching for answers, baring his soul easily despite the walls he had built around him. 

She let out a laugh. "Gosh, you're hopeless," she stated, reaching for the extra mug she had prepared. "Jack's waiting for you in the backyard." she waved at him, pointing him to where her brother is. 

As he took his leave, he couldn't help but feel a slight pang of remorse.  I love you, he wanted to repeat. I love you so much. 

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfiction #the umbrella academy imagines #tua fanfiction #tua fanfic #number five #number five hargreeves #number five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves #number five x reader

[nellie-elizabeth]

Supernatural: Inherit the Earth (15x19)

That was somehow simultaneously a crowded mess, and a complete anticlimax. I'm literally just like... super confused and afraid about what the finale is going to be now.

Cons:

Sam's the dog person. That's part of canon. I liked the moment when Dean found the dog, or whatever, but I wish Sam had gotten a moment with the puppy too, before Chuck took it away. A small thing, but one of those typical wrong details in Buckleming episodes, where it just honestly doesn't seem like they know the characters very well.

Lucifer and Michael have a fight in the Bunker and Michael takes Lucifer out really, really easily. So like. Remember when the first five seasons of the show were the buildup to the Apocalypse, and Sam sacrificed himself for an eternity in Lucifer's Cage to stop it from happening? Apparently a fight between the two archangels is just a bit of fisticuffs, nothing to get worked up about. That annoyed me. But I guess consistency has never been something this show has cared much about...

Also just... Lucifer in general, coming back for like five minutes so he can mug at the camera and then be unceremoniously killed? Here's the thing: we had Billie as Death, and she hated them but maybe it would have been interesting to see her and the boys team up to figure out Chuck's ending... but instead, she's gone, Lucifer gets a pointless return, provides us with another Death, who is there for two seconds, says a couple of vaguely funny lines, and then dies... and we still never find out what's in the book.

The fight with Chuck was so badly edited! It was so weird to see him just wail on Sam and Dean, and repeated shots of him hitting them, and them getting up, while he kept saying "okay fellas, enough, please stay down" over and over again. Given that the whole "erasing the people from the world" thing was so much like Infinity War, I kept comparing this fight with God to the climax of Endgame. In that instance, you have a small group of intrepid fighters going up against a big bad evil, and then just at the moment when they're run down and helpless, the whole crowd of friends returns and joins in the fight. Instead of that, it's just Jack showing up and absorbing God's powers, and then they leave him begging on the beach. Not a bad ending for Chuck, which I'll get to in a moment, but the epic-ness was seriously missing from this final showdown.

So, when Jack returned the world to its normal state, did he bring back all of their friends, too? I want to believe this was something that Covid took away from them, where instead of seeing shots of Charlie and her girlfriend, of Donna, Jody, the girls, Bobby, Eileen, they were forced to use stock footage of just random people around the world returning. Would have been cooler to see the epic return... and also super weird that Sam and Dean sit quietly in the bunker talking about free will, and we don't see Sam pull out his phone and call his girlfriend, like... I get not wanting to muddy the ending of the episode with a lot of fallout stuff, and I'm sure we'll get that next week? Like, I hope, anyway? But as it stood for this hour of television, it was super weird to me that the boys didn't immediately want to check on all of their friends to make sure everyone had returned from the dead.

Jack becoming the new God is actually a totally appropriate ending, people were speculating that he'd be the new God or Death or Empty, or some cosmic entity, anyway... and this honestly felt very fitting... BUT, I will say that there are two really, really stupid things about it. One, his "I'm everything and everywhere now" speech was super cheesy... "I'm in the air and the rocks and every drop of rain" or whatever. Such a cliche, I was almost painfully embarrassed listening to him. I honestly would have preferred less is more, here. Like, what if he'd said the stuff about how humans can be their best when they need to be, that was a good line... and then Sam says "what if we want to see you? Grab a beer?" And Jack just says "I'm around" and then vanishes, leaving it vague? I think the idea of a hands-off deity is perfect, of course... makes sense for the "free will wins the day" ending we've got going here, but I didn't think stating it outright was the best move.

The second reason Jack becoming God was rendered kind of comedically awful in the way it happened is... well, elephant in the room, let's talk about how Cas was handled in this episode.

Here's a quote from last week's review:

"I'm worried that Cas dying is gonna get swallowed up with everyone dying and not get its due, thus making the confession completely isolated. Like, here you go, gays, have this one scene, which, in isolation is quite heartfelt from Cas' perspective, but can be carefully boxed up and not touched for the last two hours of the show. If they don't want to touch on how this would affect Dean specifically, they don't have to. He can be generally angsty and sad about Cas, but they could get away with never bringing it up again, and that is some grade-A level bullshit right there, my friends."

And... yeah. Look, I know there are people on Tumblr right now saying that this episode being the "brothers only" ending means that next week we'll get Cas back and Dean will confess his love or whatever... but y'all, it's not going to happen. I'm sorry. I'd love to be wrong. If I'm wrong, I will gladly eat crow and celebrate along with the rest of you, but I just... I've been burned before. I know what's going on here, and it's not what you think it is.

Dean was undeniably devastated in this episode. We see him drinking to excess, falling asleep on the floor, grasping onto tiny moments of joy like with the dog and then being furious and upset when they fall through. But that devastation was not textually about Cas specifically. Sure, there were moments, like him telling God to bring everything back, and then namedropping Cas specifically. Or the way he ran up the stairs when Cas' voice was on the phone. But what I'm saying is? Those are crumbs, there for those of us who care to gobble up, easily ignored and subsumed by the larger losses the boys are suffering. Sam is devastated too, guys. About his girlfriend, about Charlie, about Donna, and Jody, etc. etc. etc. Who's to say their grief is any different from one another, even though they're handling it with different coping mechanisms? The "I love you" wasn't even on the "previously on".

Like. There's a universe where Dean does get a moment of Cas-related catharsis in the finale, even though Misha's not coming back. Maybe he has a private moment to grieve just for him, to contemplate that specific loss. But I'm telling you: I don't care if an openly gay man wrote 15x18, I don't care that Misha found it moving. The bottom line is, Cas confessing his love for Dean was the moment of catharsis the show was willing to offer us. We ain't getting much else.

So going back to Jack, why on earth does nobody suggest that maybe when he's popping the rest of the world back to the way it's supposed to be, he also brings Cas back? This is what I'm talking about with contrived sacrifices. Last week, they could have written a way for Dean to get out of that scrape without Cas dying. And this week, Jack's determination to be a "hands-off" God is not enough to explain why he wouldn't restore his father Castiel from the Empty. Especially since Chuck brought Lucifer back from the Empty, proving that God can do that. Even though that contradicts earlier lore but whatever. The point is, I'm saying it's sloppy. Cas' death, Cas staying dead, does not feel like an earned inevitability to me. I'm prepared to eat my words if they bring him back in the finale, but even if that happens (which it won't), he's not going to be smooching Dean Winchester on the mouth, y'all. He's just not.

So then that ending. "Finally free," says Dean, completely unaware that he's echoing the theme from the end of season five but making it hopeful now for some reason? And that end montage felt like an ending 100%, and I won't say it was bad to see it, see all the memories, the characters... I mean, Charlie dancing in the elevator, getting glimpses of Ellen and Jo, Bobby, Crowley... I'm not going to complain about that, it was honestly quite fun, but it also felt extremely anticlimactic and gave us no sense of where the characters are going to go from here. And yes, I know we have an episode next week, it's just...

Here's the thing I'm scared of, and I'm going to go ahead and put it here in the "cons" section because I don't know where it belongs yet. Despite my complaints about this episode, thematically there was one thing it got right: the answer to defeating Chuck wasn't destined, it wasn't in a book of preordained endings. They had to come up with it by themselves, using the tools at their disposal, and they won, and they get free will now, they get the release from having someone else tell their story. Great. So... what does that leave us next week?

As mentioned above, I really don't think the final 43 minutes is going to be an epic gay love story where Dean fights to get Cas back, I really don't. That leaves us two options: either a tepid re-tread of the themes already established, an epilogue of sorts where we just get to see a life in the day, a new normal for the boys. I wouldn't be furious about this, but I also think it won't really feel like closure for me. They just keep hunting? They keep saving people? That's fine, I guess, but they can't really walk back the fact that God is their son, can they? When they die the next time, do they go to the Empty? Who is Death, now? Are Heaven and Hell okay? Are we meant to be convinced that nothing will ever come back to bite them in the ass, they'll live long lives, and a benevolent afterlife is waiting for them when it's over? I'm not convinced I believe in things being that simple, so it sort of seems like the show would end by saying "okay, and more of the same."

The second possibility is worse, though, that being a total status-quo shift, like the end comes and the Empty is after them and they have to become the new Death and Empty as some speculated, or some wild harebrained plot twist gets thrown in at the last second and undoes the actual good parts of the theme established here. I hope for the first, but I don't know that it'll make me happy, to be quite honest. I really don't want it to feel this way, but Cas being gone is the big elephant in the room, for me. It truly is.

Pros:

I did like the earlier parts of the episode, the eeriness and the helplessness of them being alone. Continuing with the Avengers comparisons, it was very similar to the long, slow opening to Endgame, where we see a lot of grief, a lot of helplessness, an lot of directionless moping. That felt appropriate and it made it all the more invigorating when Michael showed up, giving us a spark of direction in which to move.

While I thought the fight with Chuck was edited really strangely and didn't work for me, I did like this ending for Chuck. Very much like the end of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Chuck doesn't die, which he honestly would have found a satisfying, creative ending for his story. Instead, he gets to live on as a normal human, sans powers, and be forgotten. Brutal and appropriate! It ties back into the free will thing. Chuck can do whatever he wants with his remaining time, but he can't steal other people's choices from them any longer. It's the black and the white, the good and the bad, of being just... human. Which ties in with Sam and Dean being more or less hopeful about their outlook moving forward. (God, I'm so fucking scared they're going to screw up the few things I liked about this episode in next week's finales.)

Like I said, I did find Jack becoming God an appropriate ending for him as a character. It's the right type of bittersweet: he's there, and we can imagine that in the future, he does go visit Sam and Dean for a beer. Or maybe he doesn't, and that's okay too. Knowing he's at peace, knowing he's benevolent, and that he'll do the best he can for the people of the world(s). It's nice, a comforting deity instead of a manipulative overlord. And the fact that his benevolence and kindness and compassion are born out of a human mother, and two human fathers, and an angel who embraced humanity with everything in himself... instead of from Lucifer, who tried to create him in his image? Well, that's a lovely resolution for a character that became a surprising favorite over the years.

As I think I mentioned last week, I'm willing to let this show manipulate my emotions here at the end, when it can manage to do so. So yeah, of course I loved that Cas and Jack's names are added to the table along with SW, DW, and MW. Obviously that's adorable as hell. And as I said, the montage worked for me, it was certainly quite lovely. I just... like I said at the start of this, I'm just frankly terrified of what's coming next week.

I mean, here's the thing, I want an ending that honors Sam and Dean as the protagonists of this show, but I want it where they live in the bunker, and Eileen and returned-from-the-dead-Castiel live with them as their partners. If someone told me I couldn't change a thing about what's happened so far, but I could decide how the last episode went, that's how I'd end it. Showing a network of hunters getting support and able to live more stable, reasonable lives while still doing a dangerous job. Sam embracing his intellectual prowess and running things from the bunker, Dean and Cas going out on the road, Sam and Eileen going out on the road, or any combination therein. Jack watching over them benevolently from above. Jody and Donna and the girls living their best lives. Kaia and Claire as a couple, onscreen. A glimpse of a more stable afterlife, now that Jack is there to run things, the confirmation of a peaceful ending whenever our human protagonists do finally shuffle off this mortal coil. Peace, but change, too.

I just don't believe that's what we're getting. I can't believe it, and that makes me really frightened for what comes next week. I'm prepared to be pissed off. Quite frankly, I'm expecting it.

6/10

#review #supernatural #supernatural review #spn 15x19 #spn

[hyunarkarchive]

oh my stress;;

“'tis i, a writer, togetherslapper of words.” 

knowing that my own five year anniversary at rookies is in about two months makes me actually really emotional, and most of you know, i don’t really get emotional about stuff like this.

i’m here to talk about all the fucking shit storms i brought. starting from good ol’ ellyrk, who turned into yuriirk and currently known as hyunark, as well as, rkxwoozi, aka jihoonrk, fucking namtaerk, eunwoork, minhyunrk, younghyunrk 1.0, junhoerk aka younghyunrk 2.0. i am about 100% sure i’m missing someone BUT YOU KNOW, we can let that muse stay in dungeon vile. 

not even 10 minutes later 

oh yeah- minhork was it? minhxrk??? idk what his url was, shortlived lovely muse i tell you. jisungrk was a thing for like 6 months. however, as you can see, i have a lot of muses, 11 in total, well 8 if you remove younghyun 1.0 & 2.0 and jihoon.

its been nearly five years since i joined rookies and ive made a lot of memories here. good, bad, amazing, mediocre. a lot of memories than pretty much just range. can you believe i’ve actually cried a few times about rookies related thing? yeah, me neither, but here we are hahaha. i will probably not edit this at all, so if you see spelling mistakes, or maybe something is repeated, just ignore it please, its from the heart.

this place really helped me develop my writing, vocabulary and definitely social skills. i might suck at threading and replying on time, but i have to say, all the muns here are amazing!!! i remember when i first joined, oh boy was i fucking terrified of the fact that i SUCKED at writing. i was so cautious about what i write and how i spoke and i think some of you could remember it haha. i’ve also managed to make some amazing friends throughout my stay here, all of them older than me, as well haha and i was babied so much i always found it funny, but very thankful because some of the life lectures i got where definitely needed.

however, i will take a few minutes to write about the last three standing; hyunark, jihoonrk and younhhyunrk

hyunark: 

my first ever tumblr muse. my first rookies muse. my longest standing muse. she;s gone through a lot, and honestly, she will continue to do; i wasn’t all that good with her in the beginning, now i see a lot of gaps and weird stuff whenever i have to go read something to remind myself of events and so on. however, i really love her, and i’ve gotten a bit too attached to her haha. can you blame me tho? from ellyrk, to yuriirk, now hyunark, there have been alot of ups and downs but i am happy where she’s come. to being a potential walking scandal, to being in two survival shows, to being the first muse at rookies to not be offered a contract renewal, to another survival show, to a nova trainee after being cut short twice by hyunbin. she had gone through alot of character development and its shaped her a lot better than i ever could, for which i need to say my thanks to the mods of rookies for it, because without them, hyunark would probably be headed in a completely different direction haha. however, she still focuses on producing, writing lyrics and ever since she got into nova as a trainee, she’s focused on her dance as well because she doesn’t wanna be called an uncooked noodle anymore. her dream is to be a recognized producer and lyricist, and will fight for that title.

jihoonrk:

jihoork was previously known as rkxwoozi. i even used his original blog when i re-applied with him;; he lasted a bit under a year in all honesty the first time and i specifically remember that the reason for that was being signed under trc. it was a pretty unfortunate time for him to be signed, with all the scandals that happened and what not. i was a tad regretful that i dropped him to be honest, which is all the reason to why he was brought back. tbh, he didn’t change in that like 6 months gap he was away. he was the same moody gremlin everyone knew and loved. if you had asked me, a few years ago if i thought jihoon would debut, i’d laugh and say no fucking way, but here we are, when he is a member of convex and got to debut with his longets lasting friend, sehun and best friend seungcheol. so he is living the dream you know? even if he doesn’t show it, he is grateful and appreciates everything that’s happening around him and to him. his main goal right now is to be the variety ace of convex and is working slowly to achieve that goal.

yonghyunrk:

ahhh here we go;; my last muse who had to undergo something similar to jihoonrk;; i brought him in, because i had this idea of a metal head, who really just wanted fame and girl and guys. however, stuff happened, i couldn’t get him to have threads i wanted and so i dropped him. again, i pretty much reapplied a few months later with junhoerk which was basically younghyunrk 2.0 and eventually, i realized that the muse deserved its original fc and here we are again with younghyunrk. to be honest, i don’t even know how i managed to get him to go to mga4, but he went and caused chaos with chungha and we all know how much fun he actually had haha;; he still doesn’t like dance, and will probably not enjoy it until he gets signed and coach tells him he can’t dance and JUST out of spite, he will get better at it. ultimately, he wishes to debut on a band, he wouldn’t really mind if he gets placed at any instrument, as long as he gets to sing. he still wants to reach paradise city, as guns ‘n roses have said.

quick mentions to some of my other muses as well. its funny how all my other muses lasted for months as well;; honorary mentions will go to namtaerk, minhxrk and probably minhyunrk, i won’t be really talking about them, so focusing on eunwoork and jisungrk;

i can without a doubt say that these are my more interesting muses, or eunwoo at least. her dream was to become a musical actress and was a serial dater; she’d date a lot of people, girls and boys, and wouldn’t really bat an eyelash once it was all over. never really had long term relationships either. she was into photography and her photography instagram was more popular than her personal one and she didn’t mind haha.

jisungrk wanted to be a professional football player and he was never really interested in becoming an idol, which made him fun to play. however, he was a really young muse, i think i made him 16? yeah, i think he was 16 and after that i realized i can’t do young muses;; its just weird for me, i have no clue what middle school kids actually do haha, i remember i just slept and did nothing all day, didn’t even study whoops. 

but yeah, these two muses were very short lived but fun and i think that one day, if rkforthmuse is allowed, i highly doubt it, i will bring back eunwoork because she deserved more attention than i ever gave her.

now i will do a few mentions, by a few i mean it will be a lot;; i’m sorry if i get sappy or anything;; please accept my love <33

ABBIE - @seungcheolrk​ & @rkwon​ & @rkgwen​ - sunshine, my lovely amazing sunshine;; thank you. thank you, thank you. its been nearly five years of friendship, can you imagine it? soon, in just two months, it will be half a decade and i am extremely grateful;; i can’t explain it and i know that even saying it on a daily basis to you, it won’t be enough;; its funny how we started talking through rksoo and ellyrk, and now here we are, four years later, rkjicheol being in the same company, debuting together, in the same group. in all honesty, i remember when i dropped jihoon and then picked him up after like, literally two months, and it was one of the best decisions i ever made. i always have fun talking to you, plotting and threading and i honestly wish i did it a lot more than i currently do, but you know, uni is kicking my ass hasljdhlas anyway;; thank you, sunshine, thank you a lot and for these almost five years i love you a lot 🍅🍅🍅

HUNNIE - @yutark​ & @rksunwoo​ & @rkseokwoo​ - where do i even start?? like, oh wow, there is A LOT;; i can definitely say, we started talking when i suggested jihoon as sunwoo’s first kiss and look where the are now? dating, for what? seven months, can you believe that? SEVEN!!! this is insane haha;; and look and where we are now, talking on a daily basis, and its very very nice;; i don’t know what i would do nowadays without you, so i’m really really thankful you deal with my sorry ass so much ahdsdsalla it started with jihoon and sunwoo, then it transitioned to younghyun and yuta, and most recently, its been yuta and hyuna and their lil game of cat and mouse;; its always fun plotting with you, threading, talking, everything really;; and i really hope it will continue to be this way;; i love you

LYN - @rkxsnn & @rkavery - hello there mum!!! impressed im starting with you? anyway, i have A LOT OF THANK YOUS TO TELL YOU, starting from dealing with me, to helping me get through college, to life advice, to all the skype calls we had, a lot of things in these past few years. even if we don’t talk as much and i know you have life kicking u in the ass, i wish we could change that soon;; i miss you a lot;; all of your muses are amazing and i absolutely adore them, as much as i do you!! hmu soon;;  minsoo and elly were iconic, and he will forever be a huge part of her;; remember that mino and taehyun ship we had? good angst times lbr.

JEN - @yujurk - sup there mum number 2 even though i act older than you, you can’t even lie about that haha; you were one of the first people i started talking to in rookies, and still do on a weekly basis? daily? you get the point haha;; damn, i don’t think we ever argued as well, which is insane and you do give good advice and oh my god your muses are so funnnnnnnnnn bring all of themmmmmmmm innnnnnnnnnnnnn;; i’m so so happy that you came back to rookies after that hiatus;; really really happy;; jieun and hyuna are iconic partners in crime;; jihoon is grateful that jieun taught him how to sing;; hyuna thinks soyeon will forever haunt her, no doubt;; jkook is forever jihoon’s bunny you can fight him about it;; eunwoo says jkook never took her on a date, she’s upset about it haha

CLARA - @rkwendy​ & @rkjohnny​ - clara clara clara. you really love having me send the group chat into gay panic huh? i will forever continue to do it, do not worry. once a week sound good? hahah;; i wish we talked more than we do lately, but its always fun no matter what it is;; i also know for sure, you have my back and we can take over a country if we tried hard enough lbr;; i think we mainly stared talking when the brosquad/antisquad happened, which was pretty much when i joined rookies haha;; so again, nearly five years of friendship look at that!! we need to talk more and you need to tell me more baking recipes!! i think it was hyuna and wendy that we first got to interact and then wendy and jihoon and funny enough, i feel like jihoon and wendy are closer than hyuna and wendy haha;; then younghyun joined the picture to fully annoy wendy out of this word;; we need to thread more sobs;; lets make that happen yeah?

SHINOBI - @rkkangjoon​ & @rkgray​- hello there shinobi. i think our meet up scenario was the same as with clarea, huh?  brosquad/antisquad;; we should talk more, that’s a definite but i think that with hyuna&kangjoon we have gotten a lot closer than before and its really cute and nice and i love it qwq gray and hyuna need to release a hit song someday, we better make that happen yeah??? good!!

SACHA - @rkrose​ & @rkkyungri​ - i am super super duper ultra mega giga happy we got to talk a lot in the past few months, get to know each other and its very very nice;; i always have fun talking to you and i know i can lean on you if my day has been shitty, and i am sorry if i’ve had a lot of shitty days sadhljsajldnl ahhh, but yes, our muses will go through a lot and i’m really happy you enjoy it and i hope we can see them grow and develop!! 

ANI - @rkchungha & @rksohee& @rkmiya​ - what am i actually gonna do without you, that’s a very very good question i was asking myself recently. its really weird we never really talked a lot until younghyun was brought into rookies, which was i think this year huh? funny, very weird, what life was i living without you in it?? hahaha, anyway, i’m really glad and happy having chungha and younghyun so close got us to be closer as well, even if i set you into rp panic with random questions and potential scenarios haha;; i’m glad you enjoy them;;; love you lots!!

CARLY - @taeminrk & @rkluna & @danielxrk - we don’t really talk much, but in reality, i actually don’t know where i’d be rn if i couldn’t come to you with stupid questions and inquiries;; i wish you all the best in every possible aspect of life and love seeing you on the dash;; ngl i am also extremely and forever sorry that you have to read through hyunark’s post from like three years ago, that;s some nasty writing right there yikes;; but thank you for taking rookies under your wing and just expanding it and making it better and better with the rest of the mod team;; keep up the good work!!

a very special thanks to all of the royal girls, @rkxnarong , @rkyena , @rkella , @rkcheri , @rksoohyun , @rklisa , @rkrose who made royal survival a blessing, her stay in royal amazing as well;;  special thanks to all the royal boys, ex ones count as well, fight me @rkbyunbaek , @jaehyunrk , @kibumrk, @yienrk , @rkseonho,  thank you for being a part of hyunark’s journey in royal fun and emotional lbr;; you guys managed to make royal fun for me as well, so thank you so so so much to every single one of you guys;;

a huge thank you for og trc roster that’s still here and dealt with jihoon;s sorry ass back then; a huge thank you for the kt roster that had to deal with jihoon as well, even if it was for a short amount of time;; a huge thank you for sphere, and convex members @seungcheolrk , @rkhyun , @rkjinwook , @kibumrk , @rkjinkis , @rktaeyxng , @tenrk , @rkxroyal , @rkohsehun , @yienrk , @rkromeo , @rkzyx, who will now have to deal with jihoon like it not, but i apologize on his behalf;; even if i don’t say it often, i am really really happy jihoon got to debut with your boys and i’m happy i get to interact with all of you so much;; thank you, thank you, thank you;;

thank you rookies, for such an amazing time!! i can only wish and hope for many more!!!

#;wordcount/2715 #rkfifth #[[ im an emotional ball of sap rn #[[ thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you

[welllpthisishappening]

Tripping Over the Blue Line (45/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: I am...every human emotion all at the same time. I cannot possibly tell you guys what your response to this story has meant to me. It has been everything and then some and I have loved every click, comment, message, flail...everything. There is a totally finished sequel sitting in my Google Docs that will start posting in late January and a handful of prompts that are set to be filled (feel free to send some more if you’re down) and I don’t know that I’ll ever stop writing about this stupid hockey team. This story would be nothing at all without @laurnorder, @distant-rose and @beautiful-swan who read every word and flailed before anyone else. They are the absolute best.  Also hanging out on Ao3, FF.net and tag’ed up on Tumblr. 

It looked a bit like the ocean.

Everything was blue and white, waves upon waves of it, and more people than he’d ever seen in his entire life, hanging out of windows and off of scaffolding, dozens of them standing on cars and perched on top of phone booths Killian couldn’t quite believe were still on the sidewalks.

And, God, they were loud.

Screaming and shouting and yelling, all of them packed on top of each other, a sea of team-branded merchandise and signs with his face plastered on them.

“You look kind of stunned there, Jones,” Emma said, muttering the words against his ear as he wrapped an arm around her waist out of instinct.

“I might be,” he admitted softly, eyes tracing across the crowd when they started actually chanting his name and he almost didn’t hear Emma laugh against him. Almost. “Can you believe there are still phone booths in New York City?” “That’s what you’re getting out of this?” Killian shrugged and Emma laughed louder. “I mean, maybe? It doesn’t feel quite real yet, Swan.” “They’re literally chanting your name right now. That doesn’t throw it in kind of stark reality?” “I don’t know, love, it’s been a week.” Emma smiled at him, lip tugged tightly in between her teeth when she rested her palm against the jersey he’d been forced back into. “And Scarlet filming all of it, doesn’t really help.” As if on cue, Will appeared a few feet in front of them, sprinting from the other side of the float with a phone in his hand and a grin on his face that Killian was certain hadn’t faltered since he’d kissed the Stanley Cup in the Garden locker room.

“God, Cap, are you complaining again?” Will asked, pushing the phone into Killian’s face.

“I’m not complaining,” Killian argued and Emma clicked her tongue. “What? I’m not. But you’ve got to admit, Scarlet, you’ve been taking this job pretty seriously.” “Yeah, well, it’s important.” “And you’re going to milk it for everything it’s worth, huh?” “Just because your girlfriend didn’t ask you to be the official documenter of our post-Cup celebration is not my fault, Cap.” “I seem to remember you volunteering, Scarlet,” Killian said, tugging Emma a bit closer to his side. The crowd got louder. “Enthusiastically.” “Whatever,” Will grumbled. He pushed the phone closer to Killian’s face, making him pull back and he wasn’t quite smiling anymore, eyebrows pulled low and lips twisted just a bit and there’d been a very good reason why he hadn’t been the one to volunteer for whatever post-Cup documentation Scarlet seemed to be obsessed with.

Regina wasn’t at the parade, wasn’t on the float behind them with Henry and Roland and her own custom-made Locksley jersey. She was several dozen blocks uptown sitting in another office with front-office bigwigs and ownership and her face was probably going to freeze in death glare mode because this whole thing was taking just a bit longer than it probably should have.

It should have been simple.

The Rangers wanted him, Killian wanted the Rangers – they just couldn’t seem to agree on some of the finer points of that. And Regina would be damned if she didn’t get him every dollar he deserved.

Or so she said.

He didn’t really care. He just wanted to sign a contract and get Scarlet’s phone out of his face and then he and Emma were going to discuss that island they’d been so certain they needed before.

Emma tapped her fingers on the front of his jersey, tracing over the ‘C’ on his shoulder and Will, mercifully, pulled the phone away. “Soon, Cap,” he mumbled. “I’m sure it’s going to be soon.” “It’s not like they’re not talking,” Emma reasoned, falling back on arguments and explanations she’d been repeating for the better part of the last four days. Killian’s shoulders sagged at that, some of the tension falling out of them and maybe they should just leave now, buy the whole goddamn island and throw their respective phones in the actual ocean, so they could have five minutes by themselves.

And then maybe he’d tell her he kept looking at apartment listings.

And he’d lost that bet.

They could put the new apartment on their new island.

The crowd cheered again and the float – or whatever it was, he wasn’t certain they’d landed on float as the term for what they were standing on – stopped suddenly, the truck that was pulling them up the Canyon of Heroes shifting into park so quickly, all three of them nearly lost their balance.

“What the fuck,” Will muttered and Emma shot him a glare. “We’ll edit that out, Emma, I promise.” “Yeah, yeah, you know how many things I’ve had to edit out so far? You’re more trouble than this is worth, Scarlet.” “You’re going to hurt my feelings.” “I can’t send your feelings to season-tickets.”

“That’d be weird.” Emma laughed, shaking her hair so some of the ticker-tape fell out of it, landing on her jersey  – his jersey, again, but this time in front of a crowd that was probably somewhere in the tens of thousands and Killian couldn’t think about that for too long or they’d end up leaping off this float and possibly swimming to whatever island they hadn’t bought yet.

“It would be weird,” she agreed as the crowd starting chanting Let’s go Rangers again. “You’re missing some prime filming moments here.” Will hummed, nodding quickly and directing his phone back to the crowd, raising his other arm to try and egg him on and they still hadn’t started moving yet.

Killian glanced around again, pulling his hand up to rest on Emma’s waist, and he narrowed his eyes when he saw the flash of red in the sea of blue on either side of the block.

“Is that…” Emma started, leaning forward slightly and it absolutely was.

“If you start driving again before I get on that float, I will rip your goddamn truck in half,” Ruby shouted, jogging up the block and it wasn’t really working. The crowd just kept yelling and trying to push against the barricade and there were police officers every few feet, none of them all that interested in helping Ruby Lucas get on the float.

“Ruby what are you doing?” Emma yelled, a mix of stunned surprise and something that might have been awe in her voice.

“I am trying to get on your goddamn float, what does it look like?” “Aren’t you running press?” “Obviously,” Ruby sighed and she sounded a bit out of breath, groaning when the truck engine started to rev again. They were about to move. “God damnit, driver, what did I just say?”

“We’re kind of on a schedule, Ms. Lucas,” the guy said, leaning out of the open window to throw her an apologetic look. She glared in response.

“Jeez,” Killian mumbled. “Ruby stay there.”

He kissed the top of Emma’s head before he moved, ignoring Will’s quiet ah, shit, we didn’t get that on camera, and swung his legs over the side of the float. The crowd roared and he blinked once when they started cheering again, leaning over the sides of barricades and in between officers to try and get him to sign something or high-five something and Ruby was jogging towards him again.

“You’re breaking all the rules, Cap,” she laughed, smile tugging on the ends of her mouth as soon as his hand found hers, pulling her through the crowd that had been following their float for the last few blocks. There were more camera snaps and reporters shouting questions and none of the words they were saying made much sense.

They weren’t about winning or the crowd or even what the hell he was doing, pushing Ruby back towards the float and Will’s outstretched arms so they could get her up without either one of them dislocating anything.

They were shouting is it true, Cap and when will you sign and eight years sounds like the rest of your career and he only half heard any of it, pulling himself back onto the float to find Ruby staring at him like he’d committed several different felonies at once.

Ruby glared at him for half a moment more, but the ends of her lips were still quirked up and she was fighting off a smile. “Ok,” she said, stalking back towards the truck in front of them. “You can start moving again.” The driver didn’t say anything and Killian had been fairly positive Ruby wasn’t in charge of when the parade started or stopped, but his certainty wasn’t quite as strong when she turned back on him. “I have news,” she announced, glancing back down at her phone when it vibrated in her hand. “And, jeez, like sixty different outlets that want to talk to you, Cap.” “What?” Killian asked as what might have been an actual pound of ticker tape landed on his feet.

“Killian,” Emma muttered and his head snapped back around at the tone of her voice. She didn’t look up when he moved, eyes wide and focused on her phone, but her mouth was hanging open just a bit and something in his stomach seemed to shift at the look on her face.

Will muttered oh, shit, they did it under his breath and Killian couldn’t really breathe – the sounds of the crowd echoing in his ears as he took a step towards Emma. She bit her lip when the tips of his shoes nearly hit her flats, eyes pulling up slowly and she just nodded.

“So,” Ruby said pointedly. “You guys want the good news or, like, the exceptional news first?” “There’s more than one form of good news here?” Emma asked, shifting slightly so she was back on Killian’s side and her hand found his with practiced ease. He squeezed her fingers.

“Good and then exceptional.” “Go in order of goodness then.” Ruby grinned, but her head tilted as soon as she seemed to realize something. “Shouldn’t you be there?” she asked, glancing at Killian. “I mean, it is your life, right? You should be in on negotiations or whatever?” “Probably,” Killian shrugged. “But I trust Gina and whatever stare down she’s, apparently, excelling at.” “And he didn’t want to miss the parade,” Will added knowingly, pushing his phone back into the middle of all of them.

“That too.” Ruby made a face and she was still trying not to laugh. “Ah, well, then you’re going to want to make sure you get this on video, Scarlet. And if any of you swear, I’m going to push you off the side of the float. Tell him, Emma.” Emma took a deep breath, lip still in between her teeth as she pushed her phone into his hands. “Regina did a good job,” she said softly.

He didn’t look immediately.

He couldn’t really do it, was far too aware of Emma in front of him and Scarlet’s phone and the crowd was deafening now, chanting something that might have been his name and welcome back. Twitter, it seemed, had updated the world before he’d even gotten to see the numbers.

They’d used his name as a pun again.

Cap’ing off the season: Jones set to sign extension, return to Rangers

Killian didn’t really read it. He couldn’t seem to settle on a single word, eyes tracing across sentences and paragraphs, looking for some kind of actual confirmation that didn’t include the word report in it.

It came three paragraphs from the bottom.

Sources confirm that Jones is set to sign an eight-year extension with the Blueshirts, a deal that won’t just pad his wallet, but will keep him in New York, likely, for the rest of his career.

The rest of his career.

Eight years.

And while they might not be able to buy an island – or a mountain range – with the number of zeroes that were, reportedly, being offered to him, it’d be enough to pay for a moving service to get an obscene amount of pillows into a brand-new apartment.

He couldn't ask Emma to move in the middle of Broadway.

Soon.

He hadn’t been back to his own apartment since they’d won. There was probably several feet of dust on the floor.

“Cap,” a voice shouted from another float and Killian barely gave himself time to consider how he’d managed to hear Robin behind him before he was moving towards the sound.

Robin waved one arm over his head and Killian shrugged at the movement, smile instinctual as soon as he saw Roland perched on the top rung of the barricade, Henry next to him in head-to-toe team merch.

“Where is your phone?” Robin continued, staring at Killian as if he were about to jump from float to float and possibly shake some sense to him.

“What?”

“Your phone! Gina’s been trying to call you for twenty minutes!” “Oh, that’s good,” Ruby muttered, lips tilted down slightly with how impressed she was. “She did it before they even got it up on the web.”

“I didn’t bring my phone,” Killian yelled back.

Robin looked insulted. “What? Why? God, don’t tell Gina that, she’s going to kill you!” “I didn’t think I’d need it.” “She’s been in meetings all morning, you didn’t think you’d need it?” “No jinx or something.” “It’s a lot of zeroes, Hook,” Roland screamed and Henry nodded enthusiastically.

“More than whatever’s in that article,” Robin added, leaning over the side of the float so Killian could actually hear him.

“Did we send out a release yet?” Emma asked, her own phone already out and a determined look on her face when she started typing something. “Will are you getting this? This should be in the video.” Will nodded quickly, phone half an inch away from Killian’s still-stunned face. No one had actually said it yet and the world still felt like it was shaking just a bit.

That might have just been because of the crowd.

Eight years.

The rest of his career. On the side of the goddamn Garden.

“You’re not actually in charge of PR, Em,” Ruby laughed softly and Emma made a noise that wasn’t quite an agreement.

Killian forgot Robin for a moment, head snapping towards her and the grimace she was making.  “Swan?”

“Still here,” she said, not taking her eyes away from her phone.

“What’s going on?” “Nothing.” “Swan.” “Really, there’s not.” She glanced up at him, eyes bright and meaningful and it made his breath catch in his throat all over again. A two-bedroom apartment. They’d get a two-bedroom and a new mattress and something with a lot of light and windows and maybe they’d move closer to the park and the water.

“There’s not,” Emma repeated again, knocking Killian out of whatever kind of future he’d been planning. “At least not anymore.” “Anymore?” he asked and she shrugged.

“There was some talk,” she said slowly, “that the PR spot was going to open up because Mal was going to the league and maybe Zelena had mentioned that they wanted to move me over since I have all that experience, but….” “But?” “I kind of like community relations.”

She shrugged again and, yes, two bedrooms, at least, and a view of the river and and a cabinet full of cinnamon so she’d never be worried there wasn’t enough and her there every morning and probably for the rest of his life.

And he was the luckiest bastard in the entire fucking world.

“I love you,” Killian said, the words so obvious, he was surprised he hadn’t just been muttering them in her ear on loop since he’d lifted the Stanley Cup over his head. “More than anything.”

He could feel her smile when she kissed him, one hand in his hair and the other tugging on the laces of his jersey and Killian was only slightly aware of the still-yelling crowd and a still-yelling Robin and Emma’s phone was ringing, pressing up against the front of him while she tried to pull him closer to him.

“Turn the camera off, Scarlet,” Ruby muttered.

Will scoffed. Killian didn’t stop kissing Emma. Or maybe vice versa. Maybe they should just buy a house on the Island. Maybe he shouldhave proposed on the ice.

“I mean it, Will, turn it off,” Ruby continued, a quiet scuffle breaking out a few feet away when she, presumably, just grabbed the thing out of his hands. “Go yell back at Rol and Henry. Throw some ticker tape at them or something.” “I’m not just going to start throwing ticker tape, Lucas.” Ruby might have actually hissed or growled or something vaguely intimidating and Will stopped arguing immediately, practically hurling himself towards the ground to pick up a handful of ticker tape and throw it towards the float and the kids behind them and Killian didn’t really notice any of it – he couldn’t, not when he was far to preoccupied on maintaining some sense of control in front of fans and cameras while his mind raced towards a future he could finally, finally, start living.

With Emma.

A future with Emma.

“I love you too,” she mumbled against his mouth, groaning slightly when her phone stopped ringing, only to start again almost immediately.

“It’s probably Regina,” Ruby said, ducking her eyes slightly when neither Killian nor Emma showed any inclination towards not kissing in the middle of a parade. “Also, did you want the semi-good news or nah?” Killian laughed, glancing towards Ruby who was beaming at both of them. “What’s the semi-good news, Lucas?”

“Oh, I totally got Neal fired,” she said without preamble and Emma nearly dropped her phone, spinning to gape at Ruby.

“What?”

“Totally,” Ruby smiled, widening her eyes with a surge of pride.

“How?”

“I know some people in the league. And they were very, very interested in a PR director serving as an anonymous source.” Emma made a noise in the back of her throat. “And they just believed you? It’s not like his name was anywhere in those stories.” “No,” Ruby said, still smiling. “But Gold was. And, from what I’d heard before, Gold wasn’t very pleased with the way all of this shaped out. No Cup, no destroyed career for Cap, nothing. Rumor had it he was going to clean house again and Neal was pretty much on the doorstep anyway. I think he thought if he just told the league the truth, they’d give him his old job. Bygones or whatever.” “Did they?” “Nope. Kicked to the curb from the doorstep without so much as a second glance.” “You’re a fountain of clichés right now aren’t you?”

Ruby shrugged. “I hung out with Mrs. V at the restaurant for awhile, guess some stuff stuck.”

The phone rang again and then vibrated against his chest and Regina had started leaving voicemails now. “She’ll kill you if you don’t call back,” Emma chuckled softly. “Let’s avoid that if we can.” He groaned, but she was right and he was half surprised that Regina hadn’t also found her way to Broadway and through the ocean of blue jerseys if only to yell at him about answering your phone when there was an extension a signature away.

Emma pressed her phone into his palm, smiling softly when he hit the number that had already called four times in a row and left two voicemails.

It barely rang once before she answered.

“Are you kidding me, Jones?” Regina screeched and Killian winced at the sound.

“Jeez, Gina.” “Where is your phone?” “I found a phone.” “That didn’t answer my question, Jones.” “What the hell is that? You’ve never called me Jones in my life.” “That’s because I’ve never been this mad at you in my life! Where?” “At home.” “Home,” Regina repeated, the skepticism obvious in her voice. “You mean Emma’s apartment.” “Home, Gina,” Killian said sharply.

Regina sighed with all the drama of someone who’d missed out on a Stanley Cup parade and then been ignored for the better part of the last twenty minutes. “They want you up here,” she said and her voice wasn’t quite as hard as it had been. “Once you do City Hall and the photos. They want to make it official. Today. And tell Lucas you’re not talking until you actually sign something. They’ll lose their minds up here if you do.” He squeezed his closed again, trying to to will the moment in the darkest corners of his memory and his brain and whatever he’d think about when he needed to be happy – God, he was happy. “Ruby knows the rules, Gina,” Killian said.

“Even so.” “Sure.” “Four o’clock, Killian. Don’t take the Subway.” “Aye, aye your majesty.” “Ass,” she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “And congratulations.”

It was quieter than it had been all day – hours after the parade and City Hall and fans chanting welcome back when he got the goddamkey to the fucking city like he was some kind of superhero. Killian’s hand hadn’t shook when he signed, pen held firmly in his hand when he scribbled across a sheet of paper that would change his whole life.

Again.

This sport and this city and everything he’d done, consolidated into a few paragraphs and subparagraphs and Regina hovered over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t miss a single line or spot to initial.

It had been everything he’d suddenly realized he couldn’t live without and, now, hours after all of it – phone calls answered and text messages returned and Elsa had screamed so loudly when he’d picked up that she’d woken up Lizzie and he had to shout the specifics of the contract in between cries – but now it was quiet and it all kind of hit him...at once.

“You look like you’re trying to plan every hour of the next eight years,” Emma said, leaning up against the doorframe with her arms crossed lightly over team-merch and a small smile on her mouth.

“Not every hour,” Killian countered. “Just some of them.” “Eight years. That’s a long time.” “It is.” The bed dipped slightly when she sat down, swinging her legs onto the mattress and pressing her back up against the wall. She twisted her hair around a finger, pulling her leg up to rest on her chin on her knee. “What, Swan?” “I’m just...this is good. It worked...” She glanced at him, eyes just a bit cautious, like she was waiting for that other shoe or whatever cliche made sense in a moment like this and he knew, more than he’d known just about anything, that it wouldn’t come.

“It did,” Killian said, tracing his thumb down the front of her leg and her tongue darted out in between her lips, breath hitching just a bit. He moved his arm, pulling Emma back down towards him and against his chest and he fell asleep with hair in his face and her arm pressed against a bruise that still hadn’t quite healed, visions of the future dancing just behind his eyelids.

She absolutely, positively, was not crying.

And had not cried once. At all. Never. Emma didn’t cry. She didn’t do emotions – or hadn’t, not until this stupid team and this stupid city and the last two weeks had been a whirlwind of everything, every emotion she could name or feel, balled up into one, massive thing  that just seemed to send shockwaves of feeling through every single of inch of her consistently and without warning.

She was definitely crying.

It was, Emma reasoned, because Mary Margaret looked like some kind of actual princess, a picture of happiness with a smile on her face that hadn’t wavered once all day, even when NY1 tried to tell them it was going to rain.

It didn’t.

Emma was half convinced Mary Margaret had willed it not to.

“Are you crying?” David asked, nearly falling into a chair in the corner of the restaurant. He’d taken off his tie somewhere in between the ceremony and the photos, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up his forearms as he stared at Emma like he was trying to read her mind.

“Nah,” Emma muttered, brushing under her eyes quickly to get rid of the evidence David had absolutely already seen.

“She’s been crying all day,” Mary Margaret laughed, hand landing on David’s shoulder when she walked towards the table and Emma’s jaw dropped open. “Whatever, Reese’s. I take back every compliment I’ve given you today.” “That’s not how it works. I’m hoarding them all. Cherishing them, even.” “Is that weird?” Mary Margaret shook her head, lips pressed together as she tried not to smile. Or start crying. The three of them were a mess. “Of course not. My day or whatever.” “Or whatever,” Emma agreed and her throat felt tight and her eyes felt misty and she was totally going to start crying again.

“Are we having a moment?” David asked. “Is that what’s happening right now?”

“Can we have more moments? I feel like we should have run out of them by now.” Mary Margaret clicked her tongue and Emma was momentarily impressed by her ability to roll her eyes while she was still smiling. “The idea that there is some sort of limit on the number of moments we can have is absurd.” “You know, Reese’s,” Emma laughed, shooting a glance David’s direction. He bit his lip. “That was almost, almost, decidedly snippy.” “Almost,” David assured her when Mary Margaret made some kind of noise in the back of her throat. “Not quite, babe.” Emma shook her head. “Oh, God, they’ve started the nickname thing. Time to retreat.” “Rude.” “True. I’m surprised you guys are even still here. I thought you were just going to start attacking each other in the middle of the aisle.” “There wasn’t an aisle, Emma.”

She couldn’t even argue that – there hadn’t been, not really. There had been a line of flowers and a violin and Emma had cried then too, tears falling down her cheeks without her permission as soon as Mary Margaret appeared at the top of the steps in front of the castle.

They got married at a castle.

Like a fairy tale.

And Emma’s dress was blue and Ruby had complained a bit more than she probably should have, but David’s jaw actually droppedwhen he saw Mary Margaret and she’d needed to bite her lip so she didn’t just dissolve into feelings right there.

“And,” Mary Margaret muttered knowingly, a very specific type of look on her face when she leaned towards Emma. “We’re not the only ones making eyes at each other all night.”

David practically cackled, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut and Emma groaned, but she couldn't really argue that either.

She’d spent all of two seconds staring at David and Mary Margaret before her gaze drifted a bit to her side and Killian was sitting three rows back, Roland half on his knee and half on his own seat – he didn’t look away from her once, something just on the edge of his gaze that made Emma’s knees go weak and, well, maybe that was what she’d dissolve over.

It really wasn’t fair.

She should probably tell him that at some point, mumble the words in his ear and tug a bit on that ridiculously blue tie and she’d seen him in suits plenty of times, had seen him in blue more times than she could count, and none of it really mattered.

He still looked better than the best adjective she could come up with and Emma found herself staring at Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, while Mary Margaret and David kissed a few feet behind her at the end of what wasn’t actually an aisle.

And he told her she looked beautiful as soon as she found him, her thumb tracing over a scar on the back of his left hand when his fingers tugged on hers, pulling her away from the crowd and the team and anything that wasn’t another decidedly emotional moment.

They might have scandalized the cab driver on the ride from the park to the restaurant.

“I don’t make eyes,,” Emma mumbled and David was probably going to laugh at her for the rest of her life. “God, David, if this was a moment, you’ve absolutely ruined it.” He made a face, reaching his hand forward to rest on her knee and the light seemed to reflect off his ring.

Emma was far too emotional for her own good.

A waiter she’d never seen before in the restaurant appeared next to them as if he’d teleported there, a tray in their hands and an offer of food on his lips and Emma sat up a bit straighter, moving her finger through the air as she counted.

A round dozen.

“What?” David asked, eyebrows drawn low as he twisted his head between Mary Margaret and Emma.

“Don’t do it, Emma,” Mary Margaret warned. “I don’t want to hear it. I wanted all that food and we will eat all that food. And people will love it.”

Emma laughed loudly, her whole body shaking with the feel of it until it seemed to sink down into her toes and her fingers and she was so goddamn happy, it was somewhere close to ecstatic. Maybe she should find her boyfriend.

“You going to force me to take home food from your wedding too, Reese’s?” Emma asked. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.” Mary Margaret sagged forward slightly and Emma’s happiness ebbed just a bit, forcing her out of her chair and around David and if she wasn’t a crier, then she certainly wasn’t a hugger, but none of that seemed to matter.

She wrapped her arms around Mary Margaret, careful not to actually get anything caught on the dress and there were more tears and David laughed when he pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a picture of them.

“It’s absolutely a moment,” David said and his eyes were just a bit glossy too.

Emma scoffed, wiping the back of her hands across her cheeks as she did her best to salvage the ridiculous amount of makeup she was wearing. “How come you guys aren’t dancing? Shouldn’t you be all wrapped up in each other or something?” “We wanted to eat before we danced,” Mary Margaret explained.

“Well, when you’ve got so many appetizers to try….” Mary Margaret scowled at her, but it didn’t really hold much weight when she was still trying to hug Emma. The music changed, slower and more romantic than it had been before and the small crowd that had been dancing shifted automatically, arms around necks and hands on hips and Emma would have to ask Mrs. Vankald for a specific type of cliché in this moment.

“Well, that seems like our cue,” David said, tugging lightly on Mary Margaret’s arms until they moved away from Emma.

Mary Margaret beamed at him, taking a few steps towards the makeshift dance floor Ariel had helped set up the day before. She glanced back at Emma and it wasn’t quite like any look she’d ever had before – a mix of happiness and content and something just on the edge that Emma couldn’t quite name.

“Eat some food,” Mary Margaret said, reaching forward to squeeze Emma’s hand, her thumb brushing just over her wrist.

Emma nodded slowly. If she cried anymore she’d absolutely mess up her makeup. “Sure thing, Mom.” They were half a second away from another moment, but the music was still playing and someone was shouting for David and Mary Margaret to dance and probably kiss, the echo of silverware on glass sounding a bit louder than it probably should have in that absurdly crowded restaurant.

And for a wedding that was, decidedly, not Rangers-themed, there were a lot of New York Rangers at that wedding.

Will and Belle were dancing and Ariel kept taking pictures, shouting the word girlfriend at both of them every few moments. Ruby seemed intent on dealing with the blue of her dress by doing shots at the bar, camped out on the corner stool with Dorothy by her side and Jefferson behind her, none of them able to sit quite straight.

Regina had smiled more in the last three hours than Emma had seen all season, tugging Roland and Henry onto the dance floor with her and Robin until they made some sort of family square that couldn’t quite move perfectly to the music, but kept laughing when one of them would trip over their own feet.

And for as much as Emma had cried throughout the day, Ruth seemed determined to give her a run for her money, eyes just a bit redder than normal.

It was perfect.

“Seems a shame to waste the music, doesn’t it, Swan?”

Emma glanced up, something that might have been a giggle or just joy falling into the space between them. He’d been on the other side of the restaurant for all of ten minutes and she’d already forgotten how good he looked in that stupid suit.

It absolutely was not fair.

“You’re staring, love,” Killian murmured, smirk tugging on the ends of his lips as he held his hand out in front of her. She took it immediately, hardly even noticing when he started walking again, pushing through the small crowd in front of them.

“Yeah, well,” Emma said and it sounded like she sighed out the words when he moved his hand to her hip. “Your suit is dumb.”

“Dumb?”

“The absolute dumbest.” “I think you like this suit, Swan.” “I think you like my dress.” “I’m not arguing that.” They’d actually started dancing at some point and whoever was in charge of the music was either a villain or a genius or maybe a bit of both, because one song blended into another and the rhythm didn’t change as all, just as slow as ever with just as much meaningbehind all of it.

“What are we doing right now?” Emma asked, leaning back slightly to stare at him. That was a mistake. His eyes matched his tie and her dress and everything was almost oppressively blue. She heard Ariel’s camera shutter sound.

Killian quirked one eyebrow, the smirk as stupid as his suit and whatever was going on with his hair – pushed up in the back and twisted just bit in the front and both of those things were absolutely Emma’s fault.

“We’re dancing, Swan, obviously,” Killian said, squeezing his hand a bit tighter on her hip as if that, somehow, proved his point.

“No, no, I get that, but how?” “How?” “How do you know how to dance?” Emma pressed. “This is good. You’re good at this.” Killian didn’t answer immediately, the other eyebrow joining the first up his forehead and Emma groaned loudly. “God,” she sighed. “Why are you good at everything?” “I’m going to take that as a compliment.” “It wasn’t.” Killian laughed, brushing his lips across hers quickly and Ariel was definitely still taking pictures. “It’s like skating,” he said. “You find a rhythm and you stick with it. Simple.” “I don’t know about that.” “You’re doing fine, Swan.” “Gee, thanks” He moved again, pulling her flush against his chest and, while she’d absolutely never admit it, it did feel a bit like skating – gliding,jeez, in a tiny circle and she couldn’t quite understand how she could feel grounded and dizzy at the same time.

She’d blame the suit.

“I’m not mocking you, love,” Killian said and there was an earnest edge to his voice that Emma didn’t entirely expect. “In fact, what I’m trying to say is that you appear to be a natural.” He twisted her away from him and, for half a moment, Emma considered complaining about that, but Killian barely gave her a chance to even finish the thought, pulling her back and kissing her forehead and she couldn’t talk when she could hardly even breathe.

“After all,” he added. “There’s really only one rule to all of this.” “That so?”

He nodded slowly, Emma’s stomach flipping at the movement or maybe how much they were swaying and she bit her lip when he spoke again. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

There was a retort on the tip of her tongue – something slightly snarky that would probably make him smirk at her and then maybe kiss her again and it didn’t really matter as long as he didn’t move his hands – but she never got a chance, interrupted by a shout and Will Scarlet skidding to a stop next to them.

“Emma,” he yelled, backing up slightly when Killian turned to glare at him. “Jeez, Cap, relax.” “What, Scarlet,” Emma sighed.

“I want to talk to you.” “Yeah, I got that. Talk.” Will glanced at Killian, still glaring daggers at him, but it didn’t seem to worry him. If anything, he simply looked more determined to talk. “What,” Emma repeated.

“You’ve got to lay down the law on the last round of the bet.” Killian stiffened next to Emma, his hand going dangerously tight on her waist. “Shut up, Scarlet,” he hissed.

Will didn’t move, just looked a bit more entrenched in front of them, crossing his arms over his button-up and staring at Killian expectantly. “Fair’s fair, Cap. You lost. It’s time to pay up.” “I’m serious, Scarlet.” “Me too.” Killian huffed, teeth digging into his lip and he looked like he wanted to check Will into the boards. Or maybe the bar. Emma took a step in between them, keeping one hand trained on Killian’s chest when she looked questioningly at Will.

“What are you talking about, Scarlet? I didn’t think you guys bet in the last game.” “Cap,” Will yelled. “You didn’t even tell her?” Killian didn’t answer, just pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and he’d probably need offseason PT if he kept holding his shoulders that straight. “Fine, Scarlet,” Emma sighed. “I’ll bite. I take it you won, then?” “Obviously.”

“What were the stakes?” “Well, Cap wouldn’t let us bet on A’s kid…” “You wanted to bet on an unborn baby?” “You and Cap spend way too much time together, that’s exactly what he said.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Killian hadn’t breathed in hours – at least. “What did you win, Scarlet?” she continued impatiently and Will actually had the gall to grin at her.

“The better question, Emma, is what did you win?”

She made a face, pulling her head back in confusion and glancing at Killian quickly. He looked like he’d already come up with several different ways to kill Will and make it look like an accident.

“You're not making any sense,” Emma said.

Will clicked his tongue, grin widening as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Cap’s got to sell his apartment.” “What?” “Those were the stakes. If he lost, and he definitely lost, then he’s got to sell his apartment and tell you how he’s been looking up apartment listings since the week before we actually won the Cup and then he’ll probably say something stupid romantic too. I don’t care about that last part.” Emma turned before Will had even stopped talking, spinning on a visibly nervous Killian who couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. “Is that true?” she asked, voice softer than she wanted it to be.

“No, no,” Killian said quickly, ignoring Will’s pointed groan. “Well, not all of it at least. I wasn’t looking up apartments a week before the Cup.” “No?” “Nah, not until, like, a couple days before. At the earliest.” She wasn’t sure what she expected. It hadn’t been that. It probably should have. And they probably should have talked about this weeks before because she couldn’t remember the last time Killian hadn’t slept in her apartment or the last time she’d thought of her apartment as exclusively hers.

God, she wanted that.

She wanted all of that – every single emotion that had a name and then, maybe, an absurd amount of decorative pillows.

“Where?” she asked, well aware that it wasn’t nearly specific enough. There needed to be more words, more questions and, maybe, more kissing and she needed Will Scarlet to move, at least, six feet away from them.

“What?” Killian whispered.

“Where? Like where in the city were you looking?” He opened his mouth and closed it and then did it two more times before the air rushed out of him loudly and his shoulders visibly sagged, blinking quickly at Emma like he was a bit stunned to still find her standing there.

“Um, still uptown,” Killian said slowly. “Just maybe kind of farther up. By the park. Or something. It wasn’t very specific.” “That’d be nice.” “Yeah?” She licked her lips before she answered, the certainty that this might have been the most important conversation she’d ever had settling over her. Will still hadn’t moved and Emma knew Mary Margaret was watching a few feet away, could feel her curious stare boring into the back of her head like some kind of proud mother.

“Yeah,” Emma said, nodding once for good measure. “I mean, we’ve kind of been doing it already, right? When’s the last time you went home?” “Last night,” Killian answered immediately.

“What?” “I went home with you, Swan, last night. And every night for, what, the last two months?” Her heart exploded – or something equally impossible and it might have landed on the floor, which only seemed appropriate, since she hadn’t wanted to come to very first party in the restaurant uptown.

Until I met you.

“Something like that,” Emma mumbled. Killian beamed at her.

“God,” Ariel cried a few feet away, her phone still in her hand and Eric hovering nearby when she tried to actually climb on a chair so she could see both of them better. “Kiss her already!” She was never sure who moved first – him or her or maybe they didn’t really move at all, just kind of fell into each other, like they had from the very start.

And it didn’t take nearly as long as she thought it would have, or probably should have, Killian’s apartment selling quickly and easily and Emma refused to question it, certain she’d, somehow, managed to jinx all of it.

They moved into the apartment in August, just a few weeks before camp was set to get underway and a few days after they’d come back from Colorado, days spent in a backyard and something Liam kept referring to as mountain air and Killian had kept his arm trained around her shoulder when they left, the twins clinging to his legs while they tried to get in the car.

She’d thought that had been perfect.

This was, somehow, even better.

It was theirs in a way that nothing had quite been and they signed the paperwork together, hauling boxes in and there was another security guard in the lobby, nodding towards them with a quiet Mr. Jones and Ms. Swan when they brought another load of stuff into the elevator.

The entire contingent had been called on to help and, for the most part, they had – Robin and Will bringing in furniture with only a minimal amount of grumbling, while a starting-to-show Ariel followed behind with shouts to be careful and don’t strain anything. Mary Margaret had taken it upon herself to start putting away towels and organize the kitchen and she’d bought them a new set of tupperware.

David piled boxes in the hallway and they had a hallway and two bedrooms and a view of the river. The Hudson River. It was the Hudson. Emma had told Killian that when they looked at the apartment the first time.

Finding the apartment was easy – moving into the apartment took all day and left them with boxes and a Conn-Smythe in the corner of the hallway. The Hart Trophy Killian had won just before they went to Colorado was sitting on top of the oven.

It was an unequivocal domestic disaster.

It was perfect.

Emma had no idea what time it was when everyone left – Mary Margaret promising to bring food and leaving cookies before being pulled out the door by David, a knowing smile on his face – but it must have been late, the whole apartment quiet when she leaned against the wall behind the bed.

“You alright, Swan?” Killian asked, appearing in the doorway in a University of Minnesota t-shirt that left Emma somewhere in the realm of decidedly wooed.

“Better,” she promised. “Your Hart is sitting on the oven, you know.” “I think it looks good there.” “You want to keep a giant trophy on the oven? Where’s the Conn-Smythe?”

Killian shrugged, taking a step into the room and dropping down on the edge of the bed. They’d bought a new mattress.

God.

“Why not? Our apartment, we can do whatever we want, right? Maybe we should buy a trophy case to put in the kitchen, though. Just to make sure it’s organized.”

“Are you suggesting, Cap, that you’re going to win more massive trophies to put in our kitchen?” “Maybe.” “Confident.” “Nah, Swan,” he laughed. “Just consistently trying to impress you.” “I’m going to be honest, the Stanley Cup kind of helped.”

He laughed again, twisting back towards her until his legs stretched out over the blankets Mary Margaret had absolutely put on the bed earlier that afternoon. “Speaking of which,” Killian muttered, tugging something out of his pocket. “You know, we never did replace your laces.” “We have been kind of busy.”

“Seems like a pretty poor excuse.” “Maybe I’ll steal them out of the jersey I bought.” Killian made a noise, shaking his head quickly and Emma didn’t even try to move. “Actually,” he muttered. “I had kind of a different idea.”

She couldn’t really breathe, eyes going wide and mouth going dry when Killian flipped his wrist, holding his hand up towards her. “Calm down, Swan,” he laughed when she made some kind of impossible noise. “I’m not proposing.”

It was a ring.

It was his ring.

And it wasn’t as ostentatious as it probably could have been – not enormous or covered in diamonds, just a blue stone in the middle with the Rangers shield on the side, his initials and numbers etched inside the band.

“There’s supposed to be a ceremony,” Killian continued, voice scratchy and Emma couldn’t pull her eyes away from the ring. “We’re supposed to all get dressed up and you’d probably be able to auction off tickets for fans and it’ll still happen once we get closer to the season, but I, uh, I knew they came in earlier this week and, well, I wanted you to have it.” She needed oxygen. She needed to breathe. She couldn’t seem to do that, frozen solid in the middle of a brand-new bed in her homeand Killian kept his hand open in front of her.

Emma reached her fingers out slowly, brushing against the ring and Killian’s palm and he flinched slightly underneath her.

“I can’t take that,” she said softly. “You don’t...you won, Killian. You should keep it.” “I want you to have it, Swan,” he repeated. “I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. There’d be no Cup, no trophies on the oven, none of this. This is yours just as much as it’s mine. And, if nothing else, it’s a reminder that you’ve got a piercing-eyed, smoldering, Stanley Cup-winning hockey player who loves you.” “Had to add in that last part, huh?” “It’s true.” “Yeah, it is,” Emma agreed, shaking with her laughter. “And I love you too.”

He’d put it on a chain, muttering something about how it was indestructible, so it won’t break when you start tugging on it, and Emma ignored that, kissing him silent until he dropped the ring in between them.

It was heavy when she finally hung it over her neck, twisting slightly so the indestructible chain wouldn’t get stuck in her hair and Killian’s eyes widened when it hit against the front of her shirt – team-branded and blue and probably not quite perfect for whatever kind of moment they were having.

“I like it,” he mumbled, thumb tracing over her collarbone and across the front of her shirt and Emma forgot all the reasons she’d been exhausted just a few minutes before.

They moved slowly, like they were trying to memorize each other all over again, a new memory for a new space and a new start and Emma didn’t notice the pillow under her head until hours later, somewhere in the realm of the middle of the night, tugging it out with bleary eyes.

“What is that?” Killian asked, kissing along her temple when he pulled her against his chest and Emma hummed in response.

“The one thing I unpacked,” she answered and there was a sense of wonder in his stare that seemed to settle in Emma’s ribcage.

Killian smiled at her, slow and lazy and comfortable and he chuckled softly when her fingers found the ring around her neck, twisting the band between her thumb and forefinger. She’d done it almost as soon as the first box came into the apartment, pulling the pillow out and putting it in the middle of the bed, letting her fingers trail across the blue edges and the Rangers emblem stitched across the front.

He stared at her for another moment and Emma pulled her lips back behind her teeth waiting for him to say something, anything.

She was glad she did.

“Welcome home, Swan,” Killian whispered, ducking his head to kiss her once more and they didn’t ever get much sleep, but it didn’t really matter.

She’d found her way home.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs fic #cs #csbb #blue line #i'm a mess #just assume i'm weeping over the end of this all day

[ficbynic]

T A K E   C A R E  -  Chapter 13 - North London

"So you did have plans for tonight, didn't you?" Emilie asked before taking a sip of her water. Harry told her he would love to have an early dinner with her, but also mentioned he had to leave at some point. "Work." "Work?" "I'm performing at The X Factor tonight." "You are?" Emilie asked, furrowing her brows. "Why didn't you tell me? That's big, innit?" Harry laughed unexpectedly, his eyes beaming as he looked at her. "Innit?" Emilie looked confused. "Your accent's changing, babe. When I first met you, you would've never said innit." Emilie turned away, feeling her face redden. Maybe he was right.

Story page (Catch up!) | Author | Talk to me | Read on Tumblr only.

Being back in London, Emilie felt like she was on cloud nine. They arrived at Luton, a smaller airport in Northern London, at about three in the afternoon. A taxi brought Emilie and Harry back to Hampstead. Harry Lambert had his own transportation taken care of, going back to the city centre. On the way back home, they decided that Emilie would first go back to her room to drop off her stuff, before they'd meet up again later in the afternoon for an early dinner at Harry's. Walking up the Ainsley driveway while dragging along her little suitcase, Emilie figured it all looked a bit weird. She then assumed she could always say she stayed over at Tilda's and brought her own stuff if the family would ask her about it. Luckily, though, no one seemed to notice her. The car was missing from the driveway, as well, indicating the family was out. Closing her front door behind her, Emilie let out a sigh. Then a smile fought its way onto her face and she couldn't help but giggle out loud, standing there by herself in a quiet room. Milan had been absolutely amazing. It had been the best twenty-four hour trip of her life, and she was so glad Harry invited her. Everything went so well and Emilie was so happy to have spent more quality time with him, as well as to have gotten the chance to see him at what she supposed he called work. Everything from the flight to Italy, to the dinner at the hotel, to the concert and meeting everyone, to returning to the hotel, to the trip to the Gucci store... It had been truly incredible. Emilie bit her lip when she realised how much she fancied Harry. She felt so comfortable around him. Together, they had so much fun. Milan was an experience no one could ever take away from them. Her mind quickly wandered off to the night they spent together and what they had gotten up to. Having brought Harry to orgasm by giving him a hand job through his underwear was enough for Emilie to feel fluttering butterflies in her stomach. And now, she was just going to quickly freshen up and change before she would make his way to Harry's again to have something to eat. It was the perfect extension of their trip abroad. When she arrived there at around five, it was funny to see Harry changed clothes as well, looking cosy in the comfort of his own house. The two of them quickly ended up relaxing on the sofa, waiting for the food in the oven to be ready. "Oh. I was also still gonna forward you the pictures Tilda took of us at the bar in Golders Green," Emilie remembered, grabbing her phone again. She'd just sent Harry some shots she took at the concert in Milan that she thought looked cool and he would appreciate. But she had also wanted to share the photos of them together, taken nearly two weeks ago at the bar. "Got them, thanks." Harry opened his messages with Emilie a few seconds later and had a look at the images. "Well, I haven't got my eyes closed, so that's good." He stared at the photos another time. "You look pretty," he then commented. "The second one's quite nice, though, don't you think?" Emilie suggested. It was the one where they weren't posing because they didn't know it was being taken. He inspected the picture again and agreed. "Ahhhh," Emilie then suddenly went, a smile on her face. She knew, but seeing it was still a bit strange. "What?" Harry asked, looking up to see what was wrong. He then noticed Emilie was eyeing the screen of his iPhone. "That's not how you spell my name," she told him. "What?" he repeated. "L-A-R-S-E-N, you told me yourself." "I mean my first name." "What? What's it spelled like, then!?" It seemed like Harry seemed just as startled by him not knowing how to spell it as Emilie was. It was just odd to have come to known each other quite well over the weeks, for it to turn out that he didn't even know how to spell her fucking name. "It's with I-E, not a Y," Emilie told him, grimacing at the name above their message feed on Harry's phone. Emily Larsen. "Well, how was I supposed to know? You didn't tell me," Harry defended, immediately thumbing his way to edit the contact name. Emilie laughed. It wasn't that big of a deal and she'd expected it to be the case, Emily being the more common spelling, in English especially. There was something else he was yet to find out about her, though. "I should now also probably tell you that the way you pronounce my name, it's not-" Harry turned to look at her, baffled. "It's not what?" "It's not how you pronounce it. Emily's actually not my name," she started to clarify. "What!?" She chuckled. "Danish pronunciation. It works differently. Everyone here calls me Emily and I'm completely fine with it, but actually, my name is Emilie." She finally pronounced it the way it should be, the way everyone back home did, the Scandinavian way. Eh-mee-lee-yeh. Four syllables instead of three. Harry was dumbfounded. "You introduced yourself as Emily!" "I know," she laughed, "Because you can't pronounce Emilie, can you?" "Amelia." "No, not Amelia. Emilie." Harry sighed. "Don't worry about it," Emilie laughed again, amused by Harry's bewilderment and frustration, "It's not a big deal." From the start, she figured she would go by Emily being in England so it didn't matter. She actually loved the way Harry said her name. In fact, Harry could probably call her a bunch of names, pronounce them all differently, and Emilie wouldn't mind. Harry wasn't convinced, though. "Yes, it is," he argued, "What if I suddenly told you my name is Harria and it's also spelled with I-E?" Emilie burst out laughing. "You're funny." She made Harry's frown disappear. A few minutes later, the pizzas Harry popped in the oven were done. They had them at the coffee table, sitting down on the floor. "So you did have plans for tonight, didn't you?" Emilie asked before taking a sip of her water. Harry told her he would love to have an early dinner with her, but also mentioned he had to leave at some point. "Work." "Work?" "I'm performing at The X Factor tonight." "You are?" Emilie asked, furrowing her brows. "Why didn't you tell me? That's big, innit?" Harry laughed unexpectedly, his eyes beaming as he looked at her. "Innit?" Emilie looked confused. "Your accent's changing, babe. When I first met you, you would've never said innit." Emilie turned away, feeling her face redden. Maybe he was right. "But to answer your question," Harry continued, "Yeah, it's pretty big. First time going back there on my own." "That's so cool." "The band already sound checked this morning. We're doing Kiwi. Everything's all good. A car's picking me up at seven but I'll be back by eleven, tops." "Oh, okay," Emilie answered, not sure what Harry was implying until he clarified himself. "You can stay here if you'd like." "Oh. Are you sure?" "Of course. Make yourself at home." "Watch you on the telly?" Emilie smiled, bringing one of the last few bits of pizza to her mouth. It was then when the same thought Emilie was suddenly becoming aware of seemed to dawn on Harry, too. The fact Emilie would be here, by herself, just watching him on the telly, brought along a weird sentiment. "Or you can come with and hang out backstage? Harry will be there. So will the band and I'll be coming and going..." Emilie thought and shrugged. "No, that's fine. You're leaving soon, I don't want to change your plans last-minute." "That's alright, you are more than welcome to come with if you'd like." "Nah, I'm not dressed appropriately," Emilie made up, "I'm just gonna have a quiet one, I'm pretty tired anyway." "Then at least stay here and have a nice evening in," Harry offered, "Make yourself at home, you know your way around. I'll be back by eleven. You can stay over and we'll have the night to spend together." The thought of Harry's bed quickly did the trick. "Alright. If you're sure you're alright with me being here?" "Of course I am." ~~ The thought of Harry's bed was so appealing that he hadn't even left for half an hour yet when Emilie got underneath the soft duvet. She'd figured out the bedroom TV and brought a few snacks she'd discovered in the kitchen. She was gonna have herself a hell of a night. Soon enough, The X Factor started and Emilie was eager to watch Harry, popcorn within hand's reach. It took a while, but when he appeared he certainly didn't disappoint. He was wearing a bright yellow suit and was only on screen for about five seconds as a teaser kind of thing. Still, it was surreal to see him on television, knowing he was with her just a few hours ago and would be again, in just a few hours. When it was finally time for his performance, Emilie made sure to sit up straight in bed, paying full attention. Harry'd traded in his yellow suit for another piece of high fashion: a purple jumpsuit. Seeing him wearing it was a funny sight, as Emilie had never seen him in anything like that before. His stage clothes in general were quite far removed from what he'd wear in and around Hampstead, whenever they spent time together. He seemed to go all out for his stage persona, a seventies rock star straight from the runway wearing haute couture. Then again, at home, he'd look more like any other twenty-something English bloke, mostly wearing jeans or skinny trousers and comfy jumpers or hoodies. The performance was great and the fans in the crowd seemed to absolutely love it, as well. Kiwi was an amazing song to perform live and the energy on stage was insane. By the response to the performance in the studio, as well as online, Emilie knew Harry and the band killed it. It wasn't long after Harry's performance, though, that Emilie could feel herself getting more and more tired. Knowing Harry was done and wouldn't be on anymore, she made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and clean her face, fetching a big shirt from Harry's closet as she didn't bring overnight stuff, before she got back in bed and quickly fell asleep.

~~

"Hiii. Em?"

Emilie rolled over in bed, hearing something in the distance.

"Em. It's me," a whisper sounded again.

"Harry..."

"It's me, Em, I'm back."

"Harry," Emilie repeated, still half asleep.

"I just got home," he softly spoke, crouching down beside the bed to reach her level, leaning in to plant a kiss on her temple, "From The X Factor. I just got back here."

Emilie sleepily moaned, her eyes still closed, before she finally woke up just enough to be able to consciously form a sentence between yawns, "You were really good."

Harry chuckled. "Thanks, babe. You watched it?"

Emilie hummed.

"I'm just gunna go wipe the stuff off my face and I'll be back, 'right?" He was still whispering. "Be right back."

Another peck on the top of her head, his cologne suddenly engulfing her senses, before Emilie felt him moving away, heading towards the bathroom.

Noticing how Harry made his way around the room made her realise she was currently occupying Harry's side of the bed. She hadn't even noticed. Maybe she made her way towards Harry's pillow in her sleep because she was craving his smell, his presence beside her.

She managed to crawl back towards her side of the bed before Harry returned, but when he did, getting in bed wearing a shirt and boxers, it was obvious that he noticed.

"Get back here," he said with a smile, letting Emilie know he was more than aware of the fact she'd had been lying over at his side of the bed earlier. He moved towards her and captured her in his arms. "Sorry 'm late. It's almost midnight. Couldn't leave earlier."

Emilie hummed again, "'s Okay. I'm sleeping."

"Alright, you're sleeping," Harry chuckled, "Good night, baby. I'm glad you're here."

~~

"Healthy aisle, I should've known."

He looked up. It took him a second to realise it had been Emilie's voice addressing him. He didn't exactly expect to run into her this Monday morning, doing his weekly groceries at the local Tesco's. Even though he was rather surprised to see her, it didn't take long for a smile to reach his eyes. "Hey!"

"Hi." She then noticed he was eyeing her basket, the chocolate snacks and microwavable meals covering the few healthy products she was going to buy. "Don't judge!" She turned to move the basket away from his prying eyes.

"I'd never," he smiled.

"How are you?"

"How come you're here?" Harry asked in return, looking around, but unable to spot a buggy. "It's Monday, where's Charlotte?"

"She's at a nursery Catherine and David are planning on getting her into in the new year, after she turns two," Emilie told him, "She's there this morning with Catherine, to try it out, I guess. It's from eight to twelve. So I've got the morning to myself."

He tilted his head. "Oh, you didn't tell me."

"No, I just heard about it late last night." Emilie rolled her eyes. "You know how it goes."

"Should've called me, we could've gone for coffee or summat."

"Sorry, I didn't wanna..." Emilie didn't finish her sentence. She wasn't even sure what she was trying to say.

"Wanna what?"

"I don't know." She awkwardly laughed.

The truth was she did know. She didn't want to disturb him, be an intruder of his privacy, is what it came down to. The last thing she wanted to do was to overexpose herself, make him get bored of her. They'd already spent most of the weekend together. They pretty much spent three days in each other's presence. Emilie didn't want to risk what they were developing by simply overdoing it. Even though, in her heart, she knew she wanted to spend every spare minute she had with Harry, and she knew her timidity was only caused by a stupid insecurity.

"Or we could've gone for a run together," Harry said, now eyeing Emilie's outfit. She was dressed in work out gear and trainers. Her hair was up in a messy topknot. Her face was shiny and still a bit red, no makeup applied. She looked amazing, Harry thought, the fabric of her yoga pants tighter on her legs than any other pair of jeans or trousers he'd seen her in.

"No way," Emilie replied, "I'd never go for a run with you."

Harry frowned. "Why not?"

"You're in way better shape than I am, are you kidding?"

"I don't think we're that far apart," he disagreed, "I reckon that if we'd race, we'd... finish at around the same time."

Now Emilie was the one to frown, not understanding what Harry meant, especially not since he had that annoyingly attractive smirk plastered on his face.

It then hit her. Friday night in Milan. When they'd, like he called it, finished together. She felt her insides twisting as she made sense of his words. They hadn't talked about their first proper sexual experience after returning to London, and Emilie couldn't believe he'd make a comment referring to it like this, especially not now, while being in a public place.

"Oh... my God, alright, I'm going." She shook her head, trying to hide her smile, hoping she didn't blush.

Harry laughed out loud, watching as Emilie walked past him towards the till to pay for her stuff.

"Wait! What are you up to today?" he asked, still grinning.

"I have to pick Charlie up at twelve, Catherine's straight off to work. Have to shower before that. Then the afternoon will be as usual."

"Alright, let me know what you're doing when you're off work?"

"Maybe we can go for coffee tonight?" Emilie thought and proposed, "At the place we went to before?"

~~

The afternoon had been quite challenging for Emilie. After three and a half days off work, getting back to taking care of the girls was a bit weird. It was probably caused by the fact Emilie felt like instead of three and a half days, she had three and a half weeks off work. She supposed that that's what travelling abroad for just a day did to you.

On Monday night, she and Harry had coffee at the coffee shop they'd visited twice before. Instead of meeting up there or at the tube station, however, Harry'd asked if it was alright for him to pick Emilie up at the Ainsley's. He'd never seen Emilie's room before and was curious to find out what it looked like.

Emilie gave him a little tour of her room for as far as she could in the limited space and Harry said he liked it.

At the coffee shop, Harry asked her if she could maybe stop by for dinner sometime this week and it made Emilie feel at peace more than she would've liked to admit. She took it as proof that Harry liked her and liked spending time with her as much as she liked spending time with him. Even after nearly a month, after all the meeting up, even after Milan, the staying over, Emilie was quite surprised to notice how much she still needed the validation. She hated how she still didn't understand how she ended up in this position at times, and therefore needed to hear Harry say he wanted her around.

On Tuesday night, Emilie was forced to stay in as she had to babysit, so the dinner Harry had suggested happened on Wednesday evening.

Harry had gone all out again, preparing a full meal like he had when Emilie came over at his house for the first time. Instead of a curry, he'd now made a set of nice pastas. A mushroom Alfredo penne and a classic spaghetti Bolognese.

"Dinner was amazing, thank you so much for cooking again," Emilie raved as she helped Harry cleaning the kitchen after, walking up to him from behind and wrapping his arms around him.

"You're welcome. Glad you liked it."

He turned around with a content smile on his face. Emilie noticed Harry's gaze wandered off from her eyes to her lips, making her feel a bit on edge.

"What? Is my entire mouth red or something?" she wondered, bringing up the back of her hand to her lips to wipe off what she thought must be stains of the spaghetti sauce Harry prepared.

"No, you're fine," he answered, bringing up his hands to hers and removing it from her mouth as he stepped in and covered her lips with his.

Oh. That was what his gazing had been about.

He kissed her hard, making her step back until her back hit the kitchen island. Harry urged her to sit on top of the grey marble as he continued kissing her. He then carefully wrapped his arms around her back and lifted her from the countertop, taking him with her, Emilie's legs wrapped around Harry's hips.

Without knowing how or why, they quickly found themselves in Harry's bedroom. Harry had ripped off the denim button up shirt Emilie was wearing and was now hovering over her, her back hitting the mattress and the softness of the duvet.

When Harry's hands left her body, Emilie noticed he brought them down to his hips, fumbling with his own jeans, ending up popping open the button and undoing the zipper, before they went up to caress her sides again, moving up to her breasts.

His mouth pressed to hers, they kissed messily. Emilie felt Harry moving against her in an irregular rhythm, both of their breaths getting heavier.

"Harry-"

"Mmhm?"

"Harry, I-"

"'s Something wrong?" He momentarily let go of her.

"No, not at all." Emilie sighed when she felt the touch of Harry's lips on the skin of her neck again. "I just- I don't even know if I should tell you, I'm not thinking things, it's just that..."

"Thinking things?" Harry looked up and asked.

"I'm not saying it's what was gonna happen, I just... I'd like you to know that..." She paused. She somehow couldn't get the words past her lips.

"That?"

Emilie sighed. "I'm not on birth control."

It was a decision she made nearly a year ago. She wasn't in a relationship anymore and was never really interested in sleeping around with random guys. Especially after knowing what it were like to be with someone you love, Emilie couldn't imagine sleeping with someone new anytime soon and that's why she quit. The pill was doing crazy things to her, anyway. She thought it was a healthy decision to get herself off the artificial hormones and let her body find its natural cycle.

She deliberately didn't change her mind regarding birth control before coming to London. Meeting a boy had been the last thing on her mind. This trip was never about any of that. This trip wasn't about meeting someone she would end up liking, or going on dates. This trip was all about herself and getting away from home and starting a new adventure and being independent. She wasn't here to have sex, simple as that.

"Alright," Harry simply answered, continuing to make her lose her mind, currently probably leaving a small bruise on the spot below her ear.

"Do y- Do you get what I'm saying, though?" Emilie asked, just to be sure. Now that the subject had come up, she'd better get everything off her chest and make things perfectly clear, because she knew she wasn't going to want to start about it again in the future. "I'm not having sex," she filled in the blank before Harry had the chance to speak up.

"That's fine," he replied, seemingly unfazed about what he was just told.

Emilie couldn't help but wonder if he was actually being truthful. With their relationship, if you could already call it that, developing, so did their intimacy and their activities in - and outside of - the bedroom. She could totally imagine one of the next steps being sex and going all the way. In a way, Emilie wanted it. She wanted to share that with Harry, she wanted to feel him closer than she possibly could. She wanted to have sex with him and share that experience with him. Under different circumstances, she wouldn't have anything against it. Not at all.

She'd never had sex without being on the pill, though. She never took any risks regarding her sexual health and pregnancy prevention and always preferred using both condoms and birth control pills as contraceptives. It was pretty much what was most common in her home country, as well.

Though Harry was currently driving her wild with sloppy kisses in her neck, Emilie couldn't help but think about his thoughts about her confession. Was the double protection she now mentioned weird? She had no clue about the usual procedure in England. Maybe Harry thought she was crazy for being so cautious and guarded. Maybe it was weird for her to insist on using two methods. Maybe he thought that using a condom would be more than enough.  

Obviously, she didn't have a clue about Harry's sex life. She figured he was smart enough to be safe and protect himself. If that included making sure the person he was with was protecting herself, as well, she didn't know. Though Harry knew a tiny bit about her past relationship, she had no idea about Harry's past love life. Coming to think of it, she didn't even want to know about any of that. It would probably make things even weirder to be dealing with.

"Em, relax, it's all fine," Harry whispered in her ear before focusing on her neck again, his hands exploring different parts of her body and his lower half grinding against her, before his lips captured hers in a kiss.

Seven. Seven times. Seven times he'd now called her that.

Emilie tried to loosen up and closed her eyes again in pleasure.

~~

By now, Emilie had told David and Catherine that she'd met a guy whom she often hung out with. Or, better said, she told Catherine while helping her with dinner one evening and David probably overheard because he was sitting nearby in the living room.

Catherine found it extremely exciting. She started going off about Emilie falling in love and moving to London permanently and the Ainsley family being the initial reason of it.

She even joked about not having to look into getting a new au pair or nanny anymore, because she assumed the guy was going to make Emilie want to stay in Hampstead forever.

Despite the family now knowing, Emilie didn't tell them about Milan. In hindsight, she figured something like "Oh, by the way, I went to Milan last week. That's right, I got on a tiny plane and left the country for over a day." was just too weird. Besides, Emilie was aware of the fact she had known Harry for barely a month. She knew it was pretty soon to be taking someone on an overseas trip. She didn't want them to be freaked out by it because they simply didn't understand that within a month, she'd grown so close to Harry already. She didn't even understand herself so she couldn't expect others to understand it.

That's why she didn't further elaborate on Harry. She mentioned his name, but obviously refrained from telling his surname, not knowing if Harry Styles was a household name in the UK, but guessing at least Catherine would've heard about him. She didn't need them to know for now. It would only complicate things even more.

At the home front, Jonas actually seemed to have kept his promise to not tell anyone else about either Harry or Milan. Emilie knew that if he hadn't kept his big mouth shut, she would've heard something about it by now, and she hadn't, which was good.

The few friends from back home she was still in frequent contact with since being in London didn't know a thing either. Emilie had found out the hard way that it appeared to be difficult enough to keep up with her friends at home while being abroad. She figured that telling any of them about Harry would complicate things even more, so she didn't say a thing.

Although she therefore still had to talk around certain things when messaging or calling her family or friends at home, Emilie was glad that she could now at least be somewhat open about her plans in her spare time when talking to the Ainsley's.

When Catherine asked her if she was joining the family for dinner on Thursday night, she didn't have to make up a lie and simply told her that she wasn't, because she was going to spend some time at Harry's.

In fact, since Emilie had Fridays off, she'd planned to stay over at Harry's tonight and had been looking forward to it all day.

~~

That evening, Emilie and Harry had been lying in bed for about thirty minutes and most of that time was spent making out. Emilie's lips were starting to feel a bit swollen and sensitive. So were Harry's she'd imagine, but that didn't stop him from continuing locking lips, exploring the skin of her neck and going down to her collarbones before always returning to her mouth.

Emilie was almost glad to be able to catch her breath when Harry briefly let go of her and spoke up.

"I love kissing you."

Emilie smiled, simultaneously feeling a bit wary, looking for some deeper meaning behind his statement. "But?"

"No buts," Harry answered.

"Yeah there's a but," Emilie remarked, her voice tiny while she avoided eye contact.

"I don't mind," he replied, well-aware of what Emilie was implying. "We have plenty of time. And there's plenty of... stuff.... we can do."

"Is there?" Emilie teased, her mind already running wild. She looked up to Harry's big, green eyes.

He hummed in agreement, leaning in to kiss her again for another while, before Emilie really had to take a break.

"Where you going?" Harry immediately asked when she increased the distance between them and got out of bed.

"Just gonna put something on my lips and my face. Your stubble has done its damage," Emilie laughed, disappearing in the bathroom where she kept some of her toiletries in a drawer that was slowly but surely starting to look like it belonged to her personally. It was weird to realise it had only been two weeks since staying over for the first time. Putting some Vaseline on her lips, grabbing a tissue paper from a different drawer, Emilie was already so familiar with Harry's home.

"Did you know it's nearly one o'clock?" she asked, returning to bed.

"Is it?" A tiny smile appeared on his face.

"Time flies-"

"When you're having fun," he finished, moving closer to her again.

"You've been kissing me for, like, an hour, can you give me a break?"

Harry laughed. "I'm actually quite knackered, as well, if I'm honest."

With that, they decided to go to sleep, Harry turning the lights off using a button near his night stand.

"Come cuddle," he then whispered, reaching out his arms towards her.

With a smile, Emilie got comfortable moving closer to him, her arm across his chest, Harry's wrapped around her waist.

"'s Nice," Harry mumbled contently.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" he replied, his hand finding hers, his thumb drawing lines along her fingers.

"You're so sweet," Emilie confessed, opening up to him like this for what could be considered the first time.

Harry didn't respond but brought their intertwined hands to his chest. He made sure Emilie's hand was flat on the upper left side of his torso.

She smiled once she realised what he was making her feel. His heartbeat, beating rapidly in his broad chest.

~~

The next morning, Emilie was quite surprised to wake up wrapped in Harry's arms. It was probably the first time she woke up before him. For some reason, though, she was wide awake and felt like taking a nice and hot shower.

Getting out of bed, making sure not to wake Harry, she figured he wouldn't mind if she used his shower.

About half an hour later, Emilie returned to the bedroom and sat on the side of Harry's bed she'd occupied wearing just a robe she'd found in the bathroom. It smelled like Harry's shower gel and after shave. And Harry. Needless to say, Emilie thought it smelled wonderful.

Looking behind her, Harry was still fast asleep, lightly snoring, his lips slightly parted. She felt like an idiot for having left the bed early, as he looked absolutely amazing.

In a state of feeling confident and not giving a damn, she therefore got back in bed again, moving close towards Harry after getting rid of the white robe, leaving it on the floor beside the bed.

The moving around in bed seemed to wake him up, though, as he started twisting and turning, ending up blinking a few times before opening his eyes, narrowing them as they adjusted to the lighting in the room.

"Hi."

"Morning," Emilie giggled at how incredibly hoarse his voice was.

Harry's hand reached out to her, cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking past her bottom lip. He then lowered his touch to Emilie's arm, ending up near her waist. He was surprised to find it was bare. His hand travelled further down, expecting to find the band of her underwear on her hips. Harry frowned when he found nothing. Emilie couldn't contain the smirk on her face.

"Are you-," his throaty voice sounded, "You're..."

"Naked?" Emilie suggested.

His eyes widened a bit, moving the duvet to see her silhouette in the limited lighting. "You're killing me," he moaned.

Emilie laughed. "Oh please." She rolled her eyes.

"You are," Harry insisted.

"You're one to talk. You're always practically half naked in bed."

"And that's me making an effort to wear underwear whenever you stay over."

"You don't whenever I'm not here?" Emilie's eyes were wide.

"Depends." He smirked.

Emilie moved closer and kissed Harry's cheek, allowing him to hold her despite the fact she wasn’t wearing anything. She felt his warm hands exploring her skin, moving around a bit more than they would have when she was clothed, Emilie thought. He held her close, hugging her body against his.

"You're beautiful," he whispered in her ear.

~~

"How are you finding it to be away from home? Do you get homesick?"

Saturday night. A nice and quiet evening in at Harry's. Despite the fact Emilie enjoyed one last week on Saturday night, she was more than happy that this time, Harry wasn't at The X Factor, but occupying the spot on the sofa closely beside her.

Instead of watching a movie or settling on some Saturday night show on TV, Harry had gone through his record collection and put on some nice music. Bill Withers was singing in the background when they were talking, enjoying some red wine.

"Not really, to be honest," Emilie answered, "I was very curious to find out how I was gonna feel, but it's all okay. I don't really have time to miss them, I guess. I feel like I'm so busy that I'm just floating through time. The days are quite long but the weeks go by so quickly, in a weird way. I can't even believe I've been here for eight weeks already."

She didn't mention that she was aware of the fact that by now, she'd already passed the halfway point of her stay in London.

"It also helps that I talk to my family every day. Literally every day. So it almost seems that I'm not that far away and I don't miss out on anything."

Harry hummed. "Texting and calling always helps, yeah."

"I do miss my Mum, though. Living with her and having her near." Emilie snorted. "My Mum is the most important person in my life. I know it sounds silly to say but I wouldn't know what I'd do without my Mum."

"Yeah?" Harry listened attentively.

"She's just... She's my hero. The person I look up to most."

Harry chuckled.

"Silly, isn't it?"

"No, it's not. Not at all," he assured, "It's funny because I feel the exact same about my Mum."

"Growing up I was so worried about Jonas," Emilie continued opening up, "Not having a male role model in his life. Well, I mean, he had one, until he was about ten and it turned out our Dad wasn't any good. So I was so scared it would somehow leave Jo more affected than it would us, me and my sister." Her gaze went from her glass of wine, back to Harry, who was watching her keenly. "But when I look at him now, he's genuinely the kindest, smartest, wisest, most amazing twenty-one year old guy I know. He's nothing like our Dad. He's respectful and honest and protective... It makes me proud, you know? To see how we all turned out to be alright. Especially Jonas."

"I'm glad." He reached out for her hand and held it, making Emilie smile.

"When I told him about you last week, he said he always thought you seemed like a cool guy," Emilie smirked, "And he likes your music a lot."

"He does?" A smile appeared on Harry's face, his eyes lighting up.

"Yeah. I told him I'd tell you. I think he might be a bit obsessed with you, actually."

Harry laughed. "That actually reminds me of something. I found a few copies of the album lying around the house and I wanted to give them to you."

"Oh."

"As a souvenir, kind of thing. Of the concert. And Milan. You can give Jonas a copy, too."

"Aww, thanks, that's nice," Emilie smiled.

"Remind me to give them to you when you're heading back."

"Alright. I think I'm leaving soon, it's getting quite late."

By the time Emilie eventually decided to leave, though, Harry was the one to remember.

"Wait, lemme get you the albums. Just a sec." He made his way upstairs, Emilie waiting on him in the hallway, putting on her jacket and scarf and inspecting her appearance in the large mirror on the wall.

It wasn't long until he returned carrying a small, plastic bag.

"The one that hasn't got the plastic wrapping is yours." Harry opened the plastic bag for her to see four copies of his first solo album. One of them was indeed unwrapped from the packaging and the others weren't. "The other ones you can hand out if you like."

Emilie thanked him with a hug. "Can't wait to put it on and fall asleep to your voice."

Harry smiled and his dimple popped before he bent his head down to kiss her. A quick peck on the lips. "See you soon, right? I'll call you."

"Okay." She smiled up at him.

"Are you sure you don't need a drive?"

"I'm fine, Harry, thanks. Bye."

He opened the front door and the gate for her and watched her leave.

The journey back towards the Village was actually not something Emilie ever looked forward to, having to walk for nearly twenty minutes in the cold after leaving the comfort of Harry's home, but she had to admit, it did bring along a certain type of calmness.

Closing the front door behind her, she knew she would fall right asleep if she would get in bed right now. But even though she was tired, Emilie couldn't help but further examine the copies of Harry's album he just gave her. She knew the songs by heart but never held a physical copy.

She put the copies wrapped in plastic away and focused on the one without the packaging Harry told her was hers. She started flicking through the pages of the album booklet. He'd given her the deluxe edition which included a little book of pictures.

Spotting a familiar face, Emilie was surprised to see Mitch sported long hair when the album was recorded, meaning he must've chopped it all off relatively recently. There were a few pictures of Harry and his long locks, as well. He almost looked like a different person. Emilie realised she didn't see the Harry she knew, but Harry the celebrity. As if the person she knew wasn't the same guy with the long hair pictured in a booklet of an actual CD. It made her feel proud to know it was him.

Emilie then turned to the smaller booklet in the back, in which all lyrics and song information were described. She was touched reading the little opening message: "To my Family, I thank you every day for supporting me. And for loving me. H "

She turned the pages, recognising all the lyrics, once again feeling proud to see Harry's name written in the song credits. Turning the page after reading through the words to Ever Since New York, Emilie suddenly stopped.

At first she thought it was printed, but she soon realised it was actually handwritten, black ink scratched into the shiny paper. She was stunned to read a personal message, scribbled by Harry above a picture of his teary green eye.

Em - If I'd known you a year ago there would've been an 11th song and it would've been about you. H

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#1dff #harry styles #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry fic #harry fic rec #harry styles fic rec #harry fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagines #harry one shot #harry smut #harry fluff #harry styles story #original female character #1d fan fic #one direction fan fiction #harry fan fiction #take care 13 #ahhh it's gotten really long😱 i hope it's not too long.. let me know :) #it's harry's time off tour and a lot of things happen okay!!!! #hope you like this chapter :)

[captainoftherollyjoger]

Flight: Chapter 4

  A date and we get to meet Robin! Other surprise characters will make an appearance!

  Hope everyone is liking it! The entire fic is now in drafts, just waiting to edit still. Thank you for all the support people have given me, and I’m glad people are enjoying it. It’s been a blast to write.

  Thanks @followbatb for the request again! Thanks @thatwolfbookgirl for putting up with me, love ya bestie! @kmomof4 thanks for the kind words!

  I don’t really know what’s going on with the layout, that’s Tumblr not me :D

Prologue : Chapter One : Chapter Two : Chapter Three : Chapter Four : Chapter Five : Chapter Six : Chapter Seven : Chapter Eight : Chapter Nine : Chapter Ten : Chapter Eleven : Epilogue

 Emma had dropped Henry off at Elsa’s and prepared for her date. All she knew was it was a fancy restaurant, he pulled out all the stops, he had claimed. At seven he knocked on her bedroom door. 

“Swan? You ready?” She came to the door, she was dressed in a very light pink dress which went just below her knee. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail. He was completely taken by surprise. “You look beautiful.” He himself was dressed in a three piece blue suit and black tie. He had put a bit of gel in his hair, but knew she liked it a bit scruffy. He offered her a rose.

“Wow, thank you. You look very handsome indeed.” She smiled, taking the rose. 

“I know.” He smirked. “Now, just so you know I don’t put out until the third date. I’m not like you and go for the night before I’m even asked.” “You cheeky sod.” She hit him playfully. “Come on, I thought you were meant to be showing me a great night.” She took his hand and led him out the door.

  They walked to a Greek restaurant, hand in hand. Everyone inside was well dressed, the waiter showed them to their table with a bucket of champagne already on the table. Their waiter poured them their drinks and gave them a menu. “A toast.” He smiled. “To us, and Henry.” “I love it.” They had had their starters and were waiting for their mains. They were chatting about her work and the day’s events, James had won a race and was proud of his medal. Emma’s phone started to ring. Elsa. “Hello?” “Emma, I really didn’t want to ruin your date, but I can’t get Henry to calm down. He’s not warm or anything, he’s healthy. Just screaming. It’s been an hour. I’ve tried feeding him, playing with him, everything.” “Oh, I’ll come and get him. See you soon.” She hung up and sighed. Killian held her hand and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “What is it, love?” He smiled with a worried expression. “Henry won’t stop crying. He hasn’t settled down for an hour. I’ll have to go pick him up. He hasn’t been away from me this long. I’m so sorry, I know you planned a perfect evening.” “It’s okay. Henry is our priority, let’s go and pick him up. Let me just get our waiter.” Killian paid the bill and met Emma outside. He took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders, she smiled gratefully at him, he held her hand as they walked to Liam’s house. They heard him crying from outside, they knocked and Liam came to the door. “Sorry, we really didn’t want to call.” Said Elsa. “No, don’t worry. He’s been crying a lot recently. I think it’s teething.” She took the baby and thanked them for calling her. They walked home with him still crying. Nothing could comfort him. At the apartment, Emma was in her room trying to get him to sleep, whilst Killian ordered a kebab for them both. Henry finally settled and she walked to the couch. She had changed into some plaid pyjamas. She had still enjoyed the evening she had, even if it was cut short. Killian had rolled his sleeves up and took his tie off but left the waistcoat on. Emma thought he looked even better, especially because he had undone two of his shirt buttons. He handed her a beer and sat beside her, dinner was on the coffee table. “Not exactly the dinner I wanted you to have.” He smiled, clinking their beers together. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologise. It’s fine. This is just as good. I just looked forward to a few things.” He smiled. She raised an eyebrow. “Like a goodnight kiss.” “Well, that can be arranged.” She moved closer and put her arms around his neck. She initiated the kiss which started tenderly, then soon got heated. She pushed him back onto the couch and unbuttoned his waistcoat and pushed it off his shoulders. She started on his shirt. He pulled away. “Emma.” She sighed. He only said her name when he was being serious. “Are you sure?” She nodded and kissed him again, along his jaw and neck, then down to his shoulder. “Relax, handsome. I want this. I want you.” “Not here.” He sat up and smirk, he took her hand and led her to his bedroom. “This needs to be done properly.”

Emma woke up, she wasn’t in her room. Or her bed. She had muscular arms enveloped around her, then she remembered and smiled. It had been like a dream. Not what she expected from him, which had made it even better. It was early, she could tell by the early sun just peeping through the curtains, she sighed peacefully and turned around. Killian was fast asleep, his features were even more handsome in the morning sun. She could get used to this. Henry would still be asleep, she hoped he had a few more hours yet. She started placing lazy kisses to Killian’s neck, he didn’t wake, she started tickling his ribs. “Stop.” He smiled lazily. “So you are awake?” She kissed his jaw. “I think we have a few hours before Henry wakes, if you know what I mean?” He opened an eye. “Now I have your attention.” Killian rolled lazily on top of her and kissed her neck. “Mmm. A few hours you say?”

The next time she woke there was no Killian. She rolled over to his side and snuggled into his pillow. He had no clock in his room, she had no idea of the time, his phone was resting on the side. She picked it up and checked the time. 09:30. Is that it? Where was he? She noticed behind his notifications his lock screen was a picture of the three of them and Roger. Henry was sat on the dog, whilst Emma supported him and Killian was laughing whilst looking at her. Liam had snapped the photo on his phone, she found it cute, he really did enjoy their company. One of the notifications was from a man called Robin: What’s this about you having a new girlfriend? About time.    Emma laughed, she had heard a lot about Robin and his quest to set Killian up. That was the job of a lot of his friends. She didn’t know anything about any previous girlfriends, he never seemed to want to talk about it. She got up and found a t-shirt and walked to the kitchen. She found Killian bouncing about the kitchen with Henry, he was lifting him in the air and both were laughing. He was cooking pancakes, she noticed. He wore dark blue jeans with a white t- shirt and a red plaid shirt. He always wore too many layers. He had Henry on his hip and frying pan in hand. “Ready, lad?” He flipped the pancake and Henry giggled. He noticed Emma and screamed. “Mama!” He reached for her. “Hey, buddy.” She walked over and took him from Killian. “Mr Date Ruiner.” She laughed, kissing his cheek. Killian strolled over and gave her a kiss. “I don’t think it ended too badly.” He smirked. “Pancakes, love?” “Sounds delicious. Why are you up so early?” “It’s a Monday, no time for sleeping in.” He said, placing pancakes with apple sauce on her plate. “My pancakes are the best, I rarely make them, but first dates are a special occasion.” “Our jobs are hardly routine. We can afford a lie in.” She smiled, delving into his pancakes. “Oh my God, Killian. These are delicious!” She moaned. “Wow.” “Calm down, love. Small ears are about. No need to repeat last night.” He smirked. Henry was sitting on the high chair paying no attention. “I gave him a bottle this morning. Maybe we could go for a walk when you’ve done some work.” He poured himself a coffee and sat opposite her. “Have you thought any more about the offer?” “Well, I was a bit distracted last night. So no.” She saw him smirk in his coffee. “Apologies. I don’t want to take your mind off the important things.” “Well,” she interlocked their fingers. “You’re pretty important to me.” He smiled at her brightly, “Now, how about you get some work done? I’ll distract, Henry.”    Emma was typing away, she spotted Killian reading to Henry in the corner. It was a pop up book about pirates. He heard him make all the noises and voices. She picked up her phone and took a sneaky picture. Henry was pointing at the book and Killian was gasping as if he hadn’t already read him the book twenty times. It was weird to think how different her life was, would Neal have made the same noises if he had stuck around? Would he have took him for walks? Neal always made the excuse he was busy whenever they were dating. Killian never made excuses for anything. “My God, Swan. Your son certainly has a powerful smell.” He carried him over. “You don’t pay me enough for this.” He chuckled. “Here let me.” “No, no. You work. Oh, love. I forgot. At two I need to go meet a friend.” He kissed her temple. “I said I’d help him move some stuff about. Do you mind walking Roger later?” “Not at all.” “I’ll tire the cheeky monster out before I go. So you can do some more work when he’s asleep.” “How long will you be gone?” “Who knows? Robin’s girlfriend is moving in. I said I would help.” “Speaking of Robin, when do I get to meet the famous man? Everyone talks about him, yet I’ve never met him.” “He’s been down in London, but is coming back today. And as much as he is my best friend, I’m going to keep you apart as long as possible.” She giggled, “and why is that?” “Well, you get on with Liam better than I ever imagined. Always making jokes about me together. I fear you and Robin would get on too well.” He laughed. “We should invite him round this weekend.” She smiled. “We’ll see.”

   Killian had put Henry to sleep and left Emma with a kiss whilst she was working hard, to keep on top of her work she wrote a few days ahead in case something else came up. She would write columns in advance so she could send them off when Graham wanted them. It was a hot July day. He was excited to see Robin again, they spoke a lot but hadn't seen each other for a year. And that was only because Robin visited America.

   "Well, look at what the tide dragged in." He heard a voice behind him and grinned. He turned around and gave Robin a big hug. "I've missed you, mate." He slapped him on the back. 

  "You too. Where's this girlfriend I've never met?" Asked Killian. "She imaginary after all?" 

  "Shut up. She's with Roland. What about this chick you're apparently with? You didn't reply to my text." 

 "I elected to ignore it." Robin handed him a beer and they put two chairs in the sun and sat down. 

 "Is she your girlfriend then?" 

 "We haven't really put a title on it, but-"

 "But! She is!" 

 "No, she's not. I mean, I like her and I want to be with her. She has other priorities, like a son. He's so sweet and clever and cute. Honestly, he's adorable, Rob."

 "Have you slept with her yet?" Robin asked bluntly taking a swig from his bottle.

   "Robin! Honestly. That doesn't mean anything." Though he couldn't hide his smile. 

 "You have! You dog." 

 "Only recently. She's been living with me for a month, I mean I wanted to. Of course, but it wouldn't have bothered me if we hadn't yet." 

 "So she wanted you?" He smirked. 

 "I mean, we wanted each other. She initiated though, I mean maybe under different circumstances I would have took the lead." 

 "Have you been on a date?"

 "Our first last night. It got interrupted by her son, so we just went home and had a kebab." 

 "Classy. Wait, so last night was the night?" He couldn't contain his amusement. "No wonder you seem so easy going today." 

 "Can we move away from this topic?" 

 "Fine. So, she's not your girlfriend?" 

 "Urm-"

 "So she's just a friend. That you sleep with?" He was trying to rile him on purpose. "A friend with benefits?" 

 "No! She isn't that. We don't have a title. I like her a lot, that's it." He was scratching his neck again. Robin really wouldn’t shut up.

 "Tell me. Did you kiss her goodbye when you left?" He nodded. "And what is your phone background?" "Me, Emma, Henry and Roger." 

 "She's your girlfriend, face the fact. You’re a grown boy in a grown relationship now." They finished their beers and chatted about other things such as America and London. They got started on the house, the trucks had arrived and Regina was out with Roland to keep him out of the way. The sun was shining as they were moving things to the garden, Robin had taken his shirt off and Killian took off his plaid shirt. 

  "Left. Left. Left! Jesus, Robin. That's your right!" They were carrying a couch to the front room. "Ouch!" Killian dropped his side of the couch. 

 "What are you doing?" 

 "There's a nail sticking out! It's cut my shoulder." It had ripped his T-Shirt and cut a deep wound into the back of his shoulder. It was bleeding a little. 

"Bloody hell, what are you like?" 

 "Me? It was you!" 

 "Take your shirt off. I'll stick a plaster on it." At the moment that Robin was sorting his shoulder Liam walked in.

 "What are you two doing?"

 "I'm giving him a massage." 

 "Shut up! I caught my shoulder on a nail." 

 "You might need a jab. Rusty nails can have all sorts on them." 

 "I'll be fine."

 "Don't be stubborn. Come on, it won't take long. Let's get it sorted." They returned from the doctors. Killian wasn't happy. A cut shoulder and an injection was not his plan of a good day, especially when all Robin did was take the mick.   They finished and Killian just wanted to go for a shower. He blasted some music, Queen, his favourite. The hot water felt good on his achy muscles, and got rid of the day's sweat. His cut stung but he felt refreshed at least. He would need Emma to put a fresh dressing on it for him when it dried. Emma unlocked the door, she pushed the pram through and Roger followed lazily behind. Henry had fallen asleep on the way back. Killian was unaware of Emma’s return.

  "CAN AANYYYBOOODDDYYY FINNNND MEEE SOMEBODDDY TO LOOOVVVE?!" 

   What was that? 

   "Each morning I get up I die a little, can barely stand on my feeet. Take a look in the mirror and cry." Was it Killian? "Somebody. Somebody. Can anybody find meeee, somebody to love?" 

   Killian turned into Freddie Mercury in the shower. That was new. She never pegged him as a Queen fan. She heard him mimic the guitar and laughed. She heard the shower turn off and Bohemian Rhapsody play. He walked out of the bathroom rubbing his head with a separate towel. 

   "Hey, Freddie." She smiled. He practically jumped out of his skin then turned bright red. "I didn't think you'd be back yet."

  "I just came back from my walk. Carry on singing." She walked over and smiled. "You sound good. Maybe I can answer your song." 

 "What do you mean?" 

 "Maybe I can be your somebody." She smiled, playing with his hand. She wasn't looking at him. 

  "Are you saying?" 

   "Not yet... but maybe. One day." She was being all shy with him. Not like her. "I really like you and I want to be with you. I'm happy being with you, I just can't say those words. Not yet." 

 "I understand. Take your time." She looked at him then. "So, are we official?" 

 "What do you mean?" 

  "Can I call you my girlfriend?" He felt like a teenage boy, all nervous and excited, he was looking down at the floor. 

   "That does sound nice." She reached her hands around his neck. His chest was still wet along with his hair. He bent his head to kiss her. "Maybe our next date will be more successful." She grinned.

 "Next date? Have you one planned?" 

 "Chinese and a film? I don't know if Elsa would want to babysit again." She laughed. 

 "She will. Last night was just a shame. I think he just missed mummy. I can't blame him, he isn't used to sharing you." He chuckled. "Maybe if we return the favour? Liam and Elsa haven't been out alone for years, maybe we could babysit for them. 

 "That sounds lovely." Her hand felt his cut and he winced.

  "Ow!" He grimaced.

  "What's that?" 

 "A rusty nail. Cut my shirt open and scratched me, I got dragged to the doctors by Liam." She turned him around. It was quite deep and long. 

 "Poor, baby. Do you not like the doctors?" She teased, placing kisses around it. 

"Not when they inject me. Your treatment is much nicer." He turned to face her and wrapped his arms around her. "Maybe if you're lucky, there will be more of that to come." She winked. He smirked and went to her neck. "Not now. Later." She smiled. He was still peppering kisses up her neck. 

 "Mmm okay."

#cs ff #captain swan #flight cs fanfic #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan ff #cs fluff #captain cobra

[danandphilsecretsanta]

We Call Everything On The Ice "Love"

To: @tr4sh-c4n Message From Your Santa:  hoi from your secret santa :) i have stalked you and now i know where you live (or rather, know all your interests and want to be your friend right away) (please forget the ‘where you live’ part) (i actually feel really bad for writing that) (but i can’t find the heart to delete it for humour reasons) (okay enjoy the story now) (bye).

~*~

“Dan, you’re being silly,” Phil says as he sits on the bench near the ice rink. “You honestly can’t get away that easily.”

“It’s a completely valid excuse!” Dan protests. “I don’t want to skate because if there are fans here, the amount of Yuri!!! On Ice edits will break Tumblr...again.”

“You complain about anime edits like there’s no tomorrow, yet you have no problem with edits of your tongue down my throat.” He ties the final loop on his skate and looks up at Dan, whose skates are still beside him.

Dan crosses his arms. “I appreciate the art, but I don’t know how I much ice skating AU’s I can handle as it is.”

“Dan, I think you are just throwing this excuse because you don’t want to skate with me,” Phil retorts, and, if the cold weather wasn’t enough, Dan’s cheeks flush red.

“Of course that’s not it,” Dan nearly stammers.

“Then skate with me and admit that there is nothing wrong with phan — with a ‘ph’ by the way — Yuri!!! On Ice edits are completely fine with you.”

Dan sighs, defeated. “I’ll admit that I have no problem with the edits.” He presses his thumbs together and adds, “I’m not skating though.”

Phil pouts. “Why not?”

Dan looks down and mumbles something. Phil leans forward.

“Repeat that for the people in the back, Dan?” he asks sarcastically. Dan sighs.

“I don’t know how to skate.”

He looks up at Phil almost sadly and a mix of confusion and guilt flashes on Phil’s face.

Suddenly, Phil breaks into a smile and stifles a giggle. Dan’s frown instantly turns into a small, smug smile. “Stop laughing at me, you spork,” he mutters. “This is a very serious issue that constantly bothers me in my everyday life.”

“You should’ve just told me that you didn’t know how to skate!” Phil goes on his knees and Dan covers his mouth. Phil reaches over past his shoulder and grabs the ice skates beside Dan.

“Always leading me on, Lester,” Dan mumbles, and when Phil looks up with a confused face, Dan hides his blush behind his gloves and doesn’t repeat the sentence.

“Anyway, I am going to teach you!” Phil says brightly as he begins to take off Dan’s shoe and replaces it with an ice skate. Dan blinks.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m putting on your skate,” Phil replies, almost confused as Dan is. Dan shakes his head.

“You’re an actual spoon,” Dan says with a smile, grabbing the other skate. “I know how to put on ice skates.”

“Yeah, but you want to put them on properly, you see—”

“Phil, stop it, you’re squeezing my toe!” Dan says over Phil’s instructions. He continues to push Dan’s foot into the skate until he succeeds, and stands up proudly. “There, see?” Phil says happily. “This proves that skating is easy already! You should be able to put the other skate on properly as long as yo—”

“I already put the skate on five minutes ago,” Dan points out, and Phil looks down to see that yeah, it is on, but not in the way that his dad taught him.

He tells Dan that as he helps him walk, and Dan laughs at him — just as it should be.

~*~

“I can’t believe you convinced me to get a hot chocolate before we started,” Phil mutters as they sit on the same bench they were at half an hour ago.

Dan sips his drink and shrugs. “If this isn’t procrastination at its best, I don’t know what is.”

“Well, now that we are both done,” Phil sets both cups aside and pulls Dan off the bench, “it’s time to start skating!”

“I don’t know what possessed me to do this,” Dan mutters to himself as Phil drags him onto the rink.

Phil immediately glides onto the rink and oh my god he is an angel.

Dan watches on the side how Phil spins around with a big smile on his face and does a lap around the rink with his eyes closed and his head up proudly.

People watch Phil as well, pointing at him and smiling, as if amused at his performance. Dan stands there, almost dumbfounded. Phil spins around and holy shit he’s actually really good—

“Dan!” Phil’s voice snaps Dan out of his awestruck stupor. “Are you going to come skate with me or what?”

People are staring at Dan now — no doubt because, yeah, he was friends with the equivalent of Viktor Nikiforov — and it’s almost impossible for Dan to stop blushing now.

“I-I’m not sure I want to,” Dan says tentatively as Phil skates towards him. “I mean, you seem to be...pretty good.”

Phil immediately perks up. “Thank you! I hope you’re regretting laughing at my dad’s ways now, aren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Dan says slowly. “So do you want to go back for another round of hot chocolate…?”

“Oh no you don’t!” Phil says, grabbing Dan’s wrist. “We are going to skate, and it is going to be fun. I bet that by the time we are done, you are going to be a skating expert!”

Without time for Dan to react, Phil drags him onto the ice.

As soon as Dan makes contact with the ice, the only thing he can see is a blur of Phil and the sky because oh my god I’m falling.

“Gahhh!” Dan exclaims, and he’s falling forward—

—right into Phil’s arms.

A few huffs later, Dan’s vision clears and he sees Phil smiling down at him.

“Well, you sure know how to make an entrance,” Phil says, pulling him onto his feet. When they are both standing up, Dan can literally see Phil’s breath in front of him.

“Skating,” Dan says, looking down.

“Right,” Phil murmurs with a tiny grin.

~*~

“Okay, so it’s just like walking,” Phil says, skating beside Dan slowly, “and walking doesn’t require holding the edge of the rink.”

“I don’t want to break a leg, Phil,” Dan protests. “This seems like a perfectly good way to enjoy my skating experiencing while you continue to be a skating prodigy.”

Now Phil’s blushing, but he desperately tries to hide it.

“Why don’t you try skating a bit?” Phil prompts sweetly, skating in front of Dan and holds his hand out towards him. “My dad says that the more you fall, the more you learn about falling.”

Dan smiles shyly and takes his hand. Phil instantly pulls him off the ledge and walks him through a slow skate.

“All you have to do is kind of push with your strong foot backwards to give yourself a ‘running start’,” Phil instructs. “Lean on your weak foot.”

“It’s weak for a reason,” Dan manages to say, but goes anyway.

He stumbles a bit first — ”If you’re tripping, that mean’s your toe blade is hitting the ice first!” Phil says five trips later — but he eventually gets it. Afterwards, he’s skating without the help of the ice rink’s ledge, and then he’s skating without Phil.

“Good job, Dan!” Phil calls out from the sidelines as Dan slowly makes his way around the rink. “Remember to bend your knees a bit! And when you are gliding, you have to have parallel feet!” “Yes, master!” Dan yells with a smile as he passes Phil. He stops in front of him, shedding some snow off the ice.

“This is exhausting,” Dan comments when Phil leans over the edge of the rink. “Did you do this all the time when you were growing up?” Phil smiles, looking down. “My grandma used to skate all the time. She was the one who taught my dad, I think.” “Well, she was damn good at it,” Dan says with a matching smile. “Though I think two hours of skating is good enough, is it?”

“I guess,” Phil hums, nodding.

Dan hobbles back to the bench where they began and leaned forward to untie his laces.

“We should’ve filmed today, you know?” he says. “It would’ve been a pretty cool ‘Day in the Life of Dan and Phil’ for the audience — especially how you are such a good skater.”

Phil blushes. “Well, maybe for another time, I guess.”

Dan looks up at Phil and frowns. “You’re not taking off your skates.”

Phil looks down at his shoes and smiles. “I was kind of hoping that we’d get to skate before we leave...I know it sounds weird, but I haven’t skated with anyone in a really long time.”

Phil’s words could’ve melted the ice off the rink if Dan had anything to say about it. The glow around Phil was so infectious that it made Dan smile too.

“Of course we can skate together,” Dan beams. “It would be pretty cheesy, but I don’t see why we can’t.”

The corner of Phil’s lip lifts up slightly.

“Thanks!” Phil says, grabbing Dan’s hand and pulling him off the bench and onto the ice.

Dan holds his hand forward.

“Shall we skate?” Dan asks, mocking a regal tone, but Phil smiles despite his teasing attitude.

“Of course.”

~*~

And they skated for longer than both anticipated to. One skate became one hour, and one hour because three.

Eventually the sun began to set, and everyone left except for Dan and Phil, who were still smiling.

“Now is skating really that bad?” Phil says with a smug smile.

Everything around Dan seemingly froze, the wind through Phil’s hair being the only thing that was still moving. There was a dead silence around them, with old feelings resurfacing.

“Let there be edits,” Dan whispers when Phil is close enough, his lips barely grazing Phil’s. His eyes widen, and Dan smirks. “After all, we call everything on the ice ‘love’.”

#dpss2k16 #tr4sh-c4n #phandom

[brooklyndrinksandgoeshome]

Good Ideas, Best Decisions

Being in J.’s basement was like being in a time capsule that contained over 200 years of memories brought together by punk rock, mutual friends and bad decisions, but what came out of it was a camaraderie of friendship that felt as if we spoke only a week ago as opposed to ten years since everyone was actually together. A. didn’t want to rehash his pre-heart attack pre-born again Christian stories of drinking, fighting and possible kidnapping, not because he didn’t find them hilarious, but because his wife was never privy to what kind of person he was before they tied the knot over 13 years ago. J. proudly came down and laughed about his teenage days of taking acid and exposing himself to the red eyed drivers on I-275, something of which would make him a reluctant internet celebrity and earn an instant registration on the national sex offenders list. LD. was reminded of her brother’s legendary Wyandotte, Michigan eviction party where, looking back on it, most of us met in the first place: Broken furniture, walls tagged an exploding toilets and an alleged police investigation because of the roomfuls of splattered Jello that resembled a torture scene.* 24 years later, we still laugh about it especially knowing that LD’s brother moved back into said apartment 9 years later without realizing it. LD simply rolled her eyes; she heard all these stories several times before and she’s still known as the little sister who never drank, got in trouble nor were we allowed to date her --she looked way to much like her brother anyway.

Nobody brought up why we were there in the first place, that wasn’t the point of the impromptu wake. We were there to celebrate life, memories and friendships over beers and the records we still listen to 25 years later. We don’t do this enough and as much as I hope my friends and family would do the same for me, I also hope that it doesn’t take another passing for us to be together again. 

To Sandy. I know we haven’t spoken all that much in the last 20, but you brought a lot of love and friendship together over the years like it was yesterday. Nothing will be forgotten. 

*Two years later, a couple of knuckleheads in the neighboring city of Trenton tried to repeat this event going as far as posting flyers around town like it was some punk show. Although the apartment eventually got a giant mouse hole between the living room and bedroom that was big enough to safely jump though, all it led was a couple of arrests, historically bad credit and the organizers having to spend the rest of their married lives putting everything in their wives name.

@@@

Shrinks are expensive and I can’t help but resent how mental health is treated like an elective secondary treatment, like we choose to hate ourselves, feel guilty over some shit that happened over 30 years ago, that completely disappearing off the face of this Earth seems like it would be the best for everyone; just taking up all this room, being more of a walking environmental waste than a human being. It’s way easy to take up too much Tumblr space about my problems because this RAM (or broadband or whatever it is that makes all the room to publish data on here) could be easily used for puppy GIFs instead. I mean seriously! Puppy GIFs > Pages of my depression any day. 

So yeah, this is one of the many reasons why I’d rather see someone in person and talk it out. I’m not about posting way too personal information on the internets anymore; I mean as positive as it is to share and relate similar experiences with everyone on here, the well meaning advice from friends and complete strangers can be conflicting from either channeling one’s own issues and insecurities onto me, or unintentionally providing me with dismissive answers as if it’s simple and not daunting to go back to school and completely change careers at 40, or start a food truck like there’s no overhead and that everyone in Detroit wants a vegan Coney whatthefuck.

Can’t say I expected this year to start off the way it did, and that’s not exactly a bad thing. But living life without much of a  safety net and actually doing things for myself instead of putting others in front of me is a new feeling and I feel like I don’t completely deserve this in the first place --frankly, that’s been the most difficult part of what I’ve been trying to call Funemployment these past five weeks and counting. The network of family and friends around me is stronger than I imagined even if they provide the conflicting, well meaning, aforementioned advice --”leave Detroit,” and “don’t move to NYC” has been a common theme among everyone, depending on which side of the country they’re on which if anything, has given me the additional worst case neurosis' that no one wants me around. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with going to the library to write this out, there’s nothing wrong with taking a nap when you get home, there’s nothing wrong with sleeping in until 10AM just so as long as you get everything you need to get done and there’s nothing wrong with watching all ten episodes of The People Vs OJ Simpson in one sitting. Seriously, that’s a great miniseries you should all check out. 

It’s also a weird, almost unwelcoming feeling to make a decision on what you want to do next, whatever that it. It’s also way worse to...(edited out)...Ugh!

The above is what I’m currently stressing over at the moment. Maybe a vegan coney dog food truck is something Detroit needs after all. 

#hellodepression #wyandotte #Detroit #funemployment #veganconeydog

[welllpthisishappening]

You Play Ball Like a Girl (40/?)

“You look tired,” David commented when Emma walked into the living room 20 minutes later.

She threw him a glare – which he answered with one of his own – and sank onto the couch next to him. “You’re going to make such a good detective,” she muttered. “So quick to notice the little details no one else can.” “Hysterical.” “It’s because I’m so tired. The sarcasm gets amplified with how exhausted I am.”

Maybe closing in on the end on Ao3. Is that possible? It might be! And tag’ed up from the start on Tumblr as well. 

She stopped referring to him as Jefferson the new sports editor a week later.

Instead, Emma started referring to him as Jefferson the pain in her ass.

It seemed more appropriate.

Jefferson wanted to be involved in everything and he had an opinion on everything. It was driving Emma insane. And it had only been a week.

“Emma,” he said after they had filmed their first video update on the Knicks season – formally introducing him as The Record’s brand-new sports editor. “We’ve got to do something more on these.” “More?”

He nodded enthusiastically and Emma eyed him warily. In the short time she had known Jefferson, Emma realized he did everything enthusiastically. And maybe a bit manic. And over-the-top.

He clapped his hands quickly, bobbing up and down on his feet slightly and nodded again. “Yeah. I mean, there’s so many options on camera. We could play horse!” “You want to play horse? Like the game?” “Don’t you?” “Not particularly. I’d rather not embarrass myself if I don’t have to.” “Imagine the hits!”

It was definitely a bit manic. Emma tugged on the chain around her neck absently, only dropping her hand when she realized Jefferson was staring at her. Emma shrugged her shoulders and made a face – this had to end now.

“I don’t really have time, Jefferson,” she said, resisting the urge to tug on the chain again. “I mean I’ve got a game tonight and then I’ll be in Cleveland this weekend and that is going to be an absolute disaster. I don’t know when we’d get a chance to film another video.” “We’d make it work.” “Don’t you have other stuff to do?” Emma argued. “A section to put out and stories to edit and whatnot? And when do you even sleep?”

“I don’t sleep much,” Jefferson said, brushing her off quickly as he glanced up towards his office door. Will was standing there, an entertained smile on his face as he took in the conversation happening in front of him.

“Hey Jefferson,” he said and Emma knew he was trying not to laugh. “A couple of the guys want to talk to you about layout for tonight if you’ve got a chance.” “Sure,” Jefferson said, standing up and pushing his chair back behind his desk – Killian’s desk. Emma bit her lip tightly. “Think about the videos, Emma, ok? We can figure out the schedule of it later. The hits would be through the roof.” Emma did her best to nod encouragingly – like she was actually about to play basketball on camera any time soon – and followed Jefferson out of his office. She was ready to walk back to her desk – maybe see how Mary Margaret was faring in her first week back at school – when Will grabbed her arm, pulling her up short.

“What’s your deal Scarlet?” Emma asked sharply.

He made a face at her and tightened his grip. “What’s your deal, Emma?” “I don’t follow.”

“Just friendly curiosity with how you’ve been faring the last week or so.”

Emma lowered her eyebrows and twisted her mouth slightly. “That so?”

Will did his best to keep his face neutral, but Emma knew – without question – what he was really asking her. Hell, he was living in Killian’s apartment now. He knew how long he’d been gone.

Emma had fielded this question several dozen times since she had walked back into her apartment with red eyes and slumped shoulders. She didn’t cry in front of Mary Margaret or David – both of whom seemed to be expecting a torrential downpour from her – or when Ingrid and Elsa called a few hours later.

In fact, Emma hadn’t cried once since Killian got in the cab.

She was kind of proud of that.

But she also knew there was something else going on – something she was desperately trying to avoid admitting. Emma was compartmentalizing. She was ignoring and, she thought, doing a pretty good job of it.

Mary Margaret totally knew.

She didn’t say anything, but she totally knew.

Everyone else seemed to be playing along – Killian included. Because, and this may be what worried Emma the most, he was ignoring too.

“Of course that’s so,” Will said and for one slightly-terrifying moment Emma thought he was going to ask her about Killian.

He didn’t.

She started to breathe again.

“So what do you think of the new guy?” he asked, nodding towards Jefferson who was now surrounded by several layout editors, all of them staring at a computer screen in the corner of the office.

“You’re just calling him ‘the new guy?’” Emma asked, not even trying to disguise her laughter.

“Isn’t that what he is?” “He’s the new sports editor.” “Still a guy.” “Still your boss.”

“That is true,” Will admitted. “Doesn’t make him any less insane.” Emma grimaced, glancing back at the layout computer to see Jefferson’s hands waving frantically and three slightly terrified editors surrounding him. “Yeah, that might be true,” Emma admitted. “He’s very enthusiastic.” “What was he saying about hits?” “Oh,” she groaned. “He wants to play horse on camera.”

“Like the basketball game?” Emma nodded. “With you?” She nodded again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Emma,” Will continued, “but I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“Neither am I if we’re being honest. And, as I pointed out to Jefferson, I don’t exactly have a ton of extra time to be staging basketball-shooting competitions on camera. I’ve got to be in Cleveland this weekend.” “How exciting.” Emma shrugged. “I’m kind of pumped actually.” “For Cleveland?” “It’s the first time I’m traveling for a game.” “Ever?” “That’s usually what the word first means.”

“The sarcasm is a little much,” Will eyed her – his own sarcasm obvious in his eyes. Emma sighed. “When do you leave?” “Friday. Game Saturday. Back here on Sunday.”

“That’s efficient.” “Jefferson wanted me back here on Monday to film again,” Emma sighed. “He was very enthusiastic. I just don’t understand where this obsession with the video stuff came from. I mean, they were into it when Killian and I were doing it, but this is like a whole new level of enthusiasm.” “Oh, I know why,” Will said suddenly. Emma raised her eyebrows speculatively. “Gold wanted it. Or at least that’s what they’re saying on lifestyles.” “Lifestyles is talking about sports videos?” “No, lifestyles is talking about lifestyles videos. But apparently Gold ordered those too. From what I’ve been told, he saw the numbers you and Killian were pulling and wanted to start a whole thing for every section. He was super adamant about getting his people on camera too.”

“His people?” “You know, like Jefferson and that new woman in news – Belle, something or another?” “French,” Emma supplied. “Her last name is French.”

Will made a face and pressed on. “That’s why all of this is happening anyway.”

“So, wait a second,” she said slowly, something bordering close to realization sweeping over her. “So if Jefferson is Gold’s guy , then when did they decide he was going to take over sports? Killian only put his notice in like a month ago.” “You really want to hear that rumor?”

“Sure.”

“From what I’ve heard, this was kind of months coming,” Will said slowly, eyeing Emma nervously. She chewed on her lower lip, hand rising to the chain almost automatically. “Like Gold was going to bring Jefferson in no matter what.” Emma was certain she bit her lip in half.

“Yeah?” she asked, trying to sound like this was the least important news she had heard all day. Will nodded slowly, thin eyes staring at her.

“I guess they were going to force Killian out. Doesn’t make any sense to me at all. But I guess he and Gold knew each other?”

Emma shrugged, hoping to play off her lack of knowledge. Killian had been right.

And she had been angry.

Now she was mostly sad.

“Good thing the Sox wanted him, huh?” Will continued, not realizing Emma was staging some sort of mental battle with herself and the continuation of no-crying trend.

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Absolutely. Definitely a good thing.” She was babbling now. Will had that entertained look on his face again. “You sure you’re ok, Emma?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she repeated, waving her hands in front of her. “Totally.” “If you say so.” Emma nodded, desperate to turn the line of questioning away from her and how not-fine she actually was. “So I’m kind of close to you now,” Will continued. “You know, housing-wise and everything?”

“Yeah, I’d heard that rumor.” “There are rumors about the apartment I’m subletting?”

“There are rumors about everything here.” “That’s true,” Will sighed. “So are the rumors true?” “About?” “Being kind of close to you now housing-wise.” Emma nodded her head in understanding. “Yeah, yeah, they are. I’m about five blocks away from you.” “It’s a pretty insane apartment. No wonder Killian didn’t want to give it up.” “What?” she asked sharply.

“Well, I guess he’s on like a six-month lease or something like that and he signed it even though he knew he’d be going to Boston.”

“Why would he do that?” “Beats me,” Will said, making a face. “But he told me he wasn’t quite ready to give up on it yet. Seemed kind of like a weird thing to say about an apartment.”

Emma pressed her lips together tightly, not trusting herself to say anything more than a slightly speculative grunt.

He kept the apartment.

He re-signed his lease.

She wondered why he hadn’t told her.

“I mean,” Will continued, still oblivious to Emma’s thoughts, “kind of makes it seem like he’s planning on coming back doesn’t it?” “Maybe,” she said dismissively, unwilling to go down that path and those possible-expectations. “Listen, I got to head to the Garden. Go make sure those layout guys don’t have a heart attack over everything Jefferson wants to do tonight, ok?”

“I can absolutely do that.” Emma nodded once, tugging on the chain as she spun away from Jefferson’s office – Killian’s office – and heading back towards her desk to grab her stuff.

She never asked him about the apartment.

“You promised.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed slowly, all but collapsing on her bed while Mary Margaret stood expectantly in the doorway. “I did. But that was before they pushed me off my original flight onto one that left at two in the morning and I got approximately four hours of sleep.” “And I understand that. But David is so excited and we were supposed to celebrate the exam and the travel and, well, you promised.” Emma groaned softly, throwing her arm across her eyes. “Give me five minutes to take a shower.” She could practically hear Mary Margaret smiling at her. That almost made this worth it. Almost.

Jefferson had texted her the night before while she was walking out post with a suggestion that was bordering dangerously close on a demand.  Hey, Emma , he wrote, so change of plans. We’re going to get you out on an earlier flight and you’ll be back in city by Sunday morning .

Turned out when he said Sunday morning, he, literally, meant Sunday morning. Like five in the morning. Because her flight was at two. In the morning.

The game itself had gone well – the Knicks only lost to the Cavaliers by 12 and that was basically a win – and if Emma had managed to get any sleep between Saturday and Sunday she probably would have been in a ridiculously good mood.

But she hadn’t gotten any sleep and she was exhausted and her ridiculously good mood had taken a ridiculously hard hit as soon as she realized there wasn’t any extra leg room on the red eye from Cleveland to JFK.

“You look tired,” David commented when Emma walked into the living room 20 minutes later.

She threw him a glare – which he answered with one of his own – and sank onto the couch next to him. “You’re going to make such a good detective,” she muttered. “So quick to notice the little details no one else can.” “Hysterical.” “It’s because I’m so tired. The sarcasm gets amplified with how exhausted I am.” “Then I’ll prep myself for a night filled with biting sarcasm and scathing comments on my future as a police detective.” Emma rolled her head along the back of the couch and smiled at him, flicking David’s arm. “Hey,” she muttered. “You it’s not all sarcasm, right? There’s a bit of pride in there for New York’s finest as well.”  He rolled his eyes at her at the latest round of sarcasm, but he returned her smile with one of her own. “How did the test go?” Emma added, trying to make sure she kept her eyes open for his answer.

“No, no, no,” Mary Margaret said, rushing into the living room with her hands raised.

“What is wrong with you, M’s?” Emma asked, threat of over-tired laughter threatening to burst forward.

“She’s made rules,” David said softly.

“For?” “For tonight.” “And we are going to follow them,” Mary Margaret said forcefully, pushing her hands onto her hips.

“Teacher voice,” Emma muttered to David. He barked out a laugh, quickly trying to turn it into a cough. Mary Margaret didn’t look amused.

“The rules,” Mary Margaret continued, ignoring her exhausted roommate and thoroughly entertained boyfriend, “are no talking about anything – the exam or Emma’s game until we are at the bar.” “What are we supposed to talk about before we get to the bar?” Emma asked.

“We’re all supposed to like each other, we should be able to figure out something to talk about that isn’t career-related while we walk to the bar.” “I’m not walking anywhere,” Emma objected quickly.

“It’s ten blocks away.”

“No walking, M’s.”

Mary Margaret sighed dramatically – they were throwing quite a wrench in her Sunday night plans. “Fine,” she groaned. “We can take a cab. But no work talk.” “Deal,” Emma said, grabbing her boots from the floor in front of her. “You want to play eye-spy in the cab?” she asked David, earning a smile and another groan from Mary Margaret. She had done it only for the reaction.

“Absolutely.”

They got out of the cab 15 minutes later – after finding four stop signs, three yellow cans and one green cab, much to the disappointment of Mary Margaret who wanted to talk about things – and walked into the bar, grabbing a table in the back.

David was quickly elected to get drinks –  You’re the guy, David. You can push through crowds. Flash your badge! – and Mary Margaret stared at Emma from the other side of the table once he walked away.

“What?” Emma said slowly.

Mary Margaret held up her hands. “Nothing. I’m not even remotely worried about you, my best friend in the entire world, who looks like they’re about to pass out in this bar and has been decidedly ignoring the fact that her boyfriend and former boss moved to the one city she hates more than anything else in the world last week.” “That was a run-on sentence.”

“A run-on sentence that totally wasn’t filled with concern.” “We’ve talked about this.” “No we haven’t. I have tried and you’ve ignored me.” “I’d never ignore you, M’s.” Mary Margaret threw Emma a disbelieving look – something that was much funnier in Emma’s exhausted state than it should have been.

“I know it’s tough,” Mary Margaret continued, “but I think you’ve got to talk to someone. I know you’re not talking to Killian.”

“Ok, several things. First of all, I am talking to Killian. Secondly, I don’t need to talk about anything else to anyone. And thirdly, I especially do not want to talk about this now because I’m tired and more liable to cry over this nonsense. I want to hear about the exam, drink and then go home and possibly collapse.” Emma widened her eyes waiting for Mary Margaret to try and talk more, but she didn’t. She didn’t say anything, just nodded and smiled.

“Nothing to add, M’s?” “Nah. That’s fair. I mean, we’re kind of drifting into uncharted emotional and advice territory for me.” “Yeah?”

“David and I have never really done the long-distance thing, let alone the long-distance thing quite as suddenly as you two have. Seems almost wrong to try and force you to talk about that when I know you don’t want to.” Emma was taken aback – she was going to cry for a completely different reason. “Thanks, M’s.”

Mary Margaret reached across the table and squeezed Emma’s hand at the same time David returned, three glasses balanced in his hands. “Did I miss a moment?” he asked, sliding into the booth.

“Nah,” Emma objected, grabbing her drink and rolling her eyes at Mary Margaret. “M’s and I don’t do moments anymore.” “No?” “All that romance is just for you guys. I’d hate to infringe on your territory.”

“Well, thanks,” David said, voice awash in sarcasm, as he lifted his glass. “To Emma,” he announced, nodding towards her and Mary Margaret. “For making it out of Cleveland alive and surviving a flight that did not include extra leg room. The tweets were good again.”

Emma made a face, ignoring the blush on her cheeks, and lifted her own glass. “To David,” she said, earning a wide-eyed stare from him. They never toasted anyone else. “For absolutely ace’ing the detective’s exam and setting up a career chock-full of catching horrible, awful criminals, making the streets safer for little, old ladies.” “Only little, old ladies?” David asked, staring at Emma over the rim of his glass.

Emma shrugged. “Little, old men too. You know if you’re feeling particularly charitable.” “I think those are the rules.”

“And how dangerous are these criminals we’re talking about?” Mary Margaret added, one eyebrow raised slightly.

Emma flailed her hands slightly – God , she was so tired – and made a face at Mary Margaret. “I hadn’t given it that much thought M’s, just general run-of-the-mill danger. Give me a break, it was my first toast!” “Thanks a lot, Emma,” David mumbled, wrapping his arm tightly around Mary Margaret and kissing the top of her head. “They’re not that dangerous, babe. Just criminals. Run of the mill, like Emma said.” “Exactly,” she added. “Can we clink glasses now so I can drink?” “Of course,” Mary Margaret said, some of the tension relaxing out of her shoulders as she leaned against David’s side.

The three of them clinked glasses – as tradition dictated – and Emma took a sip of wine. “So, how did the exam actually go?” she asked.

“It was long,” David said. “And exhausting.” “Don’t talk to me about exhausted.” “Fine, fine,” he laughed. “You win the exhaustion battle. You cool, now? Crazy competitive weirdo.” “I am cool now,” Emma said, fighting off the urge to slide down the back of the bench. “Thank you.” “Yuh huh.” “And you’ll find out…” “Congratulations on your ability to interview so intensely while you claim to be exhausted,” David said and Emma eyed him impatiently. He sighed and shook his head. “Probably in a couple of months or so.” “Why did they move your flight up so early?” Mary Margaret cut in, clearly intent on changing the subject quickly. Emma noticed half her drink was gone already.

“I have no idea,” Emma answered honestly. “I left the game and had a text message from Jefferson telling me they had bumped me up. It was probably a money thing.” “Jefferson the new sports editor?” “I’m trying very hard to just think of him as Jefferson.” “And how’s that going?” “Not great,” Emma admitted. “He’s...very enthusiastic. And,” she added quickly. “Apparently there because of Gold.” “The new owner?” Mary Margaret asked, downing the rest of her drink.

“Yuh huh,” Emma nodded. “Will told me that Jefferson is one of Gold’s people or something like it’s fucking 1972.” “Did people only have other people in 1972?” David asked. “That seems oddly specific.” “Sarcasm,” Emma muttered. David nodded solemnly and Emma blinked several times. “Anyway, I’m trying to do my best to make sure things go ok with him, but he’s insane. Like he’s going 110 miles a minute. All the time. And I am so tired.” Mary Margaret squeezed Emma’s hand again and smiled at her. “It’ll get better,” she promised. “He’s probably just trying to get settled in. Maybe he’ll calm down a little bit once he’s got a few weeks under his belt.” “Yeah, maybe,” Emma replied quickly, not entirely believing it. She was far too tired to be optimistic.

Emma lasted almost two more hours in the booth before she nearly started falling asleep with a drink in her hand. She heard Mary Margaret say something about leaving and felt David’s hands on her shoulders as he dragged her out of the bar and back onto the sidewalk.

He hailed the three of them a cab and, somehow, Emma managed to get back into the apartment. She was ready to fall face-first onto her bed when Mary Margaret grabbed her forearm, pulling her up short.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “Thanks for this.” “What?” Emma asked. She was confused. “I didn’t do anything.” “You put up with my rules and sat in the booth for hours and I know you’re going through some shit, so I just appreciate it.” “Did you just say shit M’s or did I dream that?”

“Said it. Consider it a present.” “Deal.” “Go to bed Emma.” “Deal.”

Mary Margaret smiled at her again and Emma moved down the hallway slowly, sinking onto her bed so she could pull her boots off. She hadn’t even taken her jacket off when her phone rang.

Killian.

“Hey,” she muttered into the phone, desperate to try and keep her eyes open.

“You ok, Swan?” he asked and Emma felt her stomach flip slightly at the obvious concern in his voice.

“Fine, just kind of tired.” “Kind of?” “Very.” “Didn’t you sleep?” She had texted him after she landed – complaining about the lack of extra leg room, a fact Killian was also very upset about – but hadn’t told him she went out with Mary Margaret and David.

“Swan?” he prompted, trying to get an answer out of her. It was more difficult over the phone. He couldn’t just raise one eyebrow at her. “You gotta answer me, love.” “I didn’t.” “Swan.” The nickname sounded like eighteen syllables as he drew it out and Emma fell back onto her pillows, groaning slightly. She heard him laugh quietly into the phone.

“What?” “You need to sleep, Swan,” he said and there was that concern again, making Emma’s stomach do somersaults. “You’re not an asset to the paper if you’re too tired to write.”

“You’re concerned about my ability to be an asset to the paper?” “Of course not.”

“Yuh huh.” “I’m worried about you.” “I just...haven’t been sleeping very well the last couple of days. Even without the extra leg room.” Killian was silent for a moment and Emma was certain the call had dropped out. She pulled the phone away from her ear and glanced quickly at the screen. He was still there. “Killian?” she asked. “You ok?” “I haven’t been sleeping much either, he said quietly and Emma got the distinct impression that it was an admission.

“No?” “No.”

“Why not?” “I’m sure you can figure it out,” he sighed.

“Probably,” Emma answered quietly, closing her eyes lightly. She wouldn’t cry. She might fall asleep, but she wouldn’t cry. “Hey,” she said suddenly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, love.” “Will said you resigned your lease. That you kept the apartment. Like for another six months.” “That’s a statement, not a question.” “I’m too tired to argue.”

He sighed again and Emma knew he was running his hand through his hair. She grabbed the chain around her neck without thinking about it – this was becoming a habit, whenever she was feeling somethin g , she tugged on the ring – waiting for him to respond.

“I thought it was a good idea,” he said after what felt like an eternity of silence.

“For?”

“The future.” “The future?” “Let’s not do this repeating thing, Swan,” he said quickly. “I thought it was a good idea to have in case...something happens.” “I don’t understand.”

“You really going to make me do this?” “I really don’t understand.” “You’re always going to be in New York, Swan,” he whispered, words all jumbling together in an effort to get them out. “And I just figured that if you’re always going to be in New York, then I should have something in New York. In case something happens.” Emma was exhausted, but she got the distinct impression that he was talking about a future where they were living together. Maybe this whole conversation was a dream. That would have made more sense.

“But you’re not in New York,” Emma said quietly.

“I know that, love, but you are.” “Ok…” He laughed softly and Emma’s heart fluttered in her chest. “You’re tired, Swan. You should sleep. We can, uh, we can talk about this later.” “I’ve got to film again tomorrow too.” “Already? Didn’t you just do something before the Cleveland game?” “Jefferson is very enthusiastic,” she said, not telling him that his replacement was only there because Gold had made sure of it. Emma didn’t want to ruin the conversation.

“You’ll do great, love. The last one was good. I mean, it wasn’t us good, but it was good.” “You watched the last video?” “Of course I did,” he answered quickly, sounding slightly scandalized that Emma even had to ask.

“Thanks.”

“Go to sleep, Swan. You can’t even string complete sentences together.” “That was a full sentence!” “That was a word. Go to sleep.” “Fine,” Emma huffed, sitting up quickly to, at least, slide her arms out of her jacket. “I am going to sleep now.” “Good.”

“I love you,” she said, leaning back down on the pillow and rolling onto her side.

She could practically hear him smiling. “I love you too,” he answered. “Let me know how tomorrow goes.” “Won’t you be busy PR’ing?” “Not too busy for you, love.” Emma smiled and shut her eyes. “Bye.” “Bye.”

She dreamt about that future he talked about.

But this time it wasn’t a picket fence in Storybrooke. It was his downtown apartment and pictures in frames and notebooks filled with column ideas and stats strewn across a coffee table.

It was perfect.

And when Emma woke up her entire body ached from how much she wanted it.

#cs fic #cs ff #cs au #cs fanfic #cs #ypblag #there's like...a lot of friendship in this one #i just want emma to have friends #basically