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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

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All Was Golden in the Sky (26/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

— Rating: Mature AN: In which Ruby knows things, Emma’s magic does magic-type stuff, everyone’s making out with everyone else and a wedding! Seriously, if you’re reading this, thanks for being wonderful.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

“Henry!”

Silence. Well, relative. A ship, Emma has quickly come to learn in the nearly eleven months since they first set sail for Camelot, is far from ever silent. There are near-constant footsteps and creaking wood and sails that flutter in a variety of different breezes. There’s a murmuring crew and a rowdy crew, depending on the amount of rum on board and how recently they’ve left port, and, in the last few weeks, there’s been a kid who likes to sleep well past dawn.

It’s a sleep schedule that Emma currently finds herself battling against, and they’d docked nearly an hour earlier.

In Misthaven.

They’re back in Misthaven.

And it’s not the first time – they return home fairly regularly with updates from other kingdoms and Camelot hasn’t burst into flame or open rebellion yet, so Emma assumes they’re doing a pretty damn good job of this whole envoy thing and the trip to DunBroch was easy. Fun, almost.

Enough that neither Emma nor Killian felt bad about bringing Henry with them and that was kind of nice too.

Because there’s also the clang of swords on a ship, mock fights and instructions that make Emma’s heart regularly fly into the back of her throat, a wave of emotion she’ll contend with eventually, she’s sure.

It’ll be easier now that they’re home.

Or so she’s told herself for the last three days.

“Henry,” she calls again, rapping her knuckles on the closed door in front of her. “C’mon, kid, we’ve got to go or Mary Margaret’s going to start sending flocks of birds after us!”

There’s a soft cough behind her, the telltale sound of movement on the stairs. Emma resists the urge to let her head fall forward, well aware that the wood of that door does not have much give and she’s going to have to get measured for a new gown.

And, really, she’s not that worried. Not really. Because they’re home. And things have been good. They’ve been diplomatic and magical and waking up with Killian’s arm curled around her has become something that Emma covets more than she originally expected, but she feels like she’s about to throw a wrench into all of this and they’ve got a wedding to go to and--

Mr. Smee coughs again. It’s slightly more pointed that time.

“Yuh huh,” Emma mutters, and her head, does in fact, drop forward. It hurts as much as she figured it would.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, your highness, but, uh--well, the lad’s not here.” Emma whips her head around. It makes her dizzy. “How is that possible?” “He walked, ma’am.” “Wow, that is just--” “--If you don’t mind not mentioning that to the Captain,” Smee says, squeezing one eye shut and wringing his hat in his hands. Emma lifts her eyebrows. “It’s just…” “Did he leave with Killian?” Smee’s eye snaps back open, nodding slowly and looking a little stunned that Emma is so consistently good at figuring things out. “Are you not supposed to be telling me this, Mr. Smee?”

He’s going to rip his hat in half.

“Ah, ok,” Emma continues, “so, let me get this straight. We get home, dock at some absurd hour this morning, the Captain promises me I don’t have to come on deck and then he--what? Sneaks off somewhere with Henry?” “I don’t believe there was much sneaking involved.” “And where, exactly, were they walking?” “I haven’t the foggiest.” “Well, you’re not help at all, are you?” Emma snaps, slumping back against the door and she does feel bad. But she’s also fairly certain the hat is actually making noise when Smee keeps twisting it, a scratch of fabric and strands of, possibly, wool, and it must be warm to wear and maybe she’s just losing her mind.

She a little--not jealous. That’s not the right word at all. It’s because it’s, actually, the perfect word and Emma is being petty and petulant and maybe she’s the kid in this scenario. She slept longer, anyway.

“When did they leave?” Smee jumps at the question, the hat falling from his grip. “The lad came up on deck while we were docking. Very good with rigging he is now and--” “--We’ve got to streamline this, Mr. Smee.” “Aye, aye, of course, mistress. That’s--”

He cuts himself off when he, presumably, notices the look on Emma’s face. She sort of feels like she’s going into shock. That’s never actually happened to her, so she can’t be entirely sure, but whatever is happening to her lungs makes her wonder if they’re also collapsing and the air around her seems to have disappeared.

Gods, jealous is such a good word.

And it’s not the first time the crew has called her that, but it doesn’t happen often. Usually it’s just a slip of the tongue or a slightly presumptuous rookie, which isn’t the correct term at all, but Emma’s still making jokes that are inappropriate for a realm where the kid she and her pirate boyfriend have quasi adopted is really good at securing the rigging.

Still boyfriend. Still a kind of lame title, all things considered. Probably going to scandalize several royals later.

It will absolutely make Will cackle.

That may be worth it.

Emma huffs, plastering an incredibly fake smile on her face and fluttering her fingers at her side. The hat flies into Mr. Smee’s chest.

“Oh,” he sputters, and Emma’s smile feels worse. “Thank-thank you, your highness.”

“Have been they gone long?” “Who?” “Oh my God,” Emma groans, glancing up when she hears more footsteps coming towards them and Henry’s smile does not look fake. Or forced. It looks somewhere between overjoyed and thrilled, a combination of emotions appropriate for a wedding and Emma figures he hasn’t been attacked by birds demanding the circumference of his waist yet.

Maybe they’re ahead of schedule. “Were you looking for me?” he asks, twisting around the wall until the sword strapped around his middle clanks against the wood.

Emma tries not to growl. It doesn’t work. “Nah, I’m just trying to beat down your door for fun.” “I wasn’t in there.” “Yes, thank you, I can see that.” Mr. Smee turns as red as his hat. He keeps shuffling his feet, rocking from side to side as he tugs the fabric down over his ears and it may be a miracle if he doesn’t actually melt before they get off the ship.

“Ma’am, if you--” “--Why were you looking for me?” Henry interrupts, and Emma waves a dismissive hand, tugging the ribbon off her wrist and all but yanking the hair away from the back of her neck.

“It genuinely does not matter anymore. How was the castle, then? Did you see Mary Margaret yet or…?” Henry furrows his brows. And tilts his head. The second one seems like confusion-based overkill. “Wait, what?”

“The castle. That’s--” Emma blinks, more nerves in the pit of her stomach and there are enough boots moving above her that she briefly wonders if they’re being boarded. “Wait, wait, wait, did you not actually go to the castle?” Henry shakes his head.

And her magic does something at that, flutters and flaps metaphorical wings until it feels like it’s flying up every one of her vertebrae, settling at the base of her skull and making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Including the latest set of footsteps.

“What are you lot doing down here?” Killian asks. He’s not dressed for a wedding yet either -- loose shirt and charms hanging from his neck, pants that Emma’s starting to find more and more offensive with each passing week of diplomacy and his sword belt is tighter than Henry’s. It doesn’t hang off his hips, the same blade the seeress had returned to them pressed against his thigh. “Swan, were you looking for Henry?”

She has to grit her teeth against the force of her magic -- frustration and not that and jealous and absolutely that and whatever happens to the ends of Killian’s mouth when he notices.

She’s staring, rather obviously, at his mouth.

Mr. Smee appears to be trying to cover his entire face with his hat now.

“No,” Emma lies, Killian’s eyebrows jumping. “Absolutely not.” “Right. Well, he’s here now.” “Yes, I do, actually, have eyes.” He grins. “Wide open, huh?” “Ok, I was not sleeping that much,” Emma argues, but it’s partially true and she’s going to blame the overall comfort of the cot. That they’d...borrowed from Arendelle. With magic. Altered sizes and covert exercises in petty theft and the specifics of it don’t matter, especially now, when Killian’s staring at her like that and it really is absurdly warm in this part of the ship.

Killian hums, quick feet down the stairs and the hand that lands on her hip catches her by surprise. “Right, right,” he laughs, lips brushing over the top of her hair. “Are you ok, love?” It’s a very loaded question.

With several different answers, some of which she’s not entirely sure of yet, but Emma’s always kind of acted on instinct anyway and--

She nods. It’s a pitiful lie.

“Yup. You didn’t go to the castle, then?” Killian’s lips part, a soft pop, and whatever noise Henry makes because there’s something going on. “Uh, no,” he says, the words somehow coming out quickly and impossibly slow. As if he can’t decide what speed this conversation should take. “That’s--no, we didn’t. We, uh--” “--Wanted to wait for you,” Henry supplies, far too enthusiastic to be the truth.

Emma blinks. “Yeah, you may have to work on that if you want it sound plausible in the future.”

“It’s not a lie!” “Sure it’s not. Did you actually help with the rigging or was that just--” “--No, the lad’s rather good at that, actually,” Killian cuts in, glancing at a slightly flushed Henry. “Most efficient crew member we have, by far.” Mr. Smee is still standing there. And, very obviously, not happy about it.

“And then?” Emma prompts. “If the rigging was so great, why leave the ship and not go to the castle? Regina’s probably burning things. Mary Margaret is genuinely going to send birds after us if we don’t get clothes for this thing.” “If we could not call my wedding a thing, that would be great!” Emma’s eyes widen at the same times Killian’s roll in especially dramatic fashion, Henry yelping and Mr. Smee staying suspiciously quiet. As if silence will help him disappear.

“So were you guys going to come up here or, like, what was your plan, exactly?” Will continues, not bothering to come any closer. That’s probably for the best. There’s not a ton of room below deck, and Emma’s already having a hard enough time controlling her magic.

That may have something to do with the hook tracing circles on the small of her back.

“Bastard,” Killian mumbles, mostly into Emma’s hair. She scoffs, smile feeling a little more normal even as her magic continues to thrum.

Henry clamors up the stairs, barely keeping his footing, with Mr. Smee tailing close behind, mumbling something that sounds like got to go get the men in order cap’n and Killian is not listening. He’s pressing kisses across the side of Emma’s cheek.

“I really doubt Regina is burning things.” “Gods, if this is your flirting, it needs some serious work.” Killian chuckles, nipping at the shell of her ear and Emma swears her whole soul nearly flies out of her body. He jerks back, probably because her magic apparently knows no bounds anymore, worry mixing with something like astonishment, and she grimaces hard enough it makes her teeth ache. “What was that?” “I don’t know.” “Swan.” “I don’t--” She clicks her teeth and this isn’t right. This isn’t the moment. She’s not sure what the moment looks like, only that this isn’t it. The moment should have more moonlight. Possibly fewer clothes. Certainly less crew members in close proximity. “Seriously,” she says. “Where did you two go? Was it a sword thing?” “Sword thing?” “Yeah, I mean---Henry came back armed.” “It would take a power much stronger than me to get the lad to remove the blade from his hip,” Killian reasons, and Emma knows that’s true too. It’s not exactly like Killian’s, but it’s fairly close, forged by the same blacksmith with the Misthaven crest etched in the hilt and Emma had been a little worried, until she saw Henry’s reaction and what it meant, proof positive that he was part of something and she’s fairly certain he only takes it off when he sleeps.

Maybe not even then.

“So it wasn’t a sword thing? Not like...secret instructions at a place that wasn’t the castle?” “We did not go to the castle, Swan.” “Are you going to make me guess?” “You can if you want.” She exhales, all drama and a distinct amount of flirting because, despite what she may have proclaimed, they are very good at this and that’s the crux of their problem. It’s not a problem. Oh, Gods, she hopes it’s not a problem.

She hopes.

Again and again and again.

Killian’s thumb drags along her jaw, a measured movement that helps Emma catch her breath and her magic doesn’t settle, per se, but it’s, at least, a little softer now, like the water on the edge of the shore, pushing lightly at the sand without overwhelming it.

Imagining herself as sand in this metaphor is, easily, the most ridiculous thing she’s ever thought.

“Every thought you’ve ever had,” Killian says, “resting right on your face.” “That’s rude.” “I never said they were particularly bad thoughts. Confusing, maybe. Since there seem to be several thousand of them in the moment, but your magic is also a fairly good clue.” “I’m fine,” Emma mutters, hoping that’s not the third lie she’s told in as many minutes. Killian hasn’t moved his thumb, fingers pushing into her hair. “You’re the one keeping secrets.” “Not secrets. Plans.” “That so?” “At least the possibility of them. Or, one, singular. There’s only one plan.” It takes her a moment to realize what’s happening to the tone of his voice -- not quite a shake, but maybe a quiver, that same sense of hope Emma’s been clinging to for years now, and especially, in the last few days and--

“What are you nervous about?” she asks suddenly, voice rising because things are starting to click and her hope feels like it could make the Jolly Roger fly.

“Nothing.” “Killian.” “Nothing,” he repeats, and it’s nice to know they’re both equally horrible liars. Emma gapes at him, waiting for the rest of the words and only a little disappointed when they don’t come.

She tugs lightly at the charms hanging over his shirt. “You know, I’ve heard quite a bit of talk over the last few curses regarding the Lieutenant's ability to dance.” His lips twitch again, color dotting his cheeks and there’s something just on the edge of his gaze that makes Emma’s heart feel like it’s growing. That may be another sign of shock.

“But,” she continues, letting her nails scratch lightly at Killian’s chest. His eyes close. “I’m not entirely sure if that’s based on fact, or just--” “--Fact,” he cuts in quickly, but just a little breathlessly.

“Ah, it’s difficult to believe when I’m only hearing rumors. All these years and I’ve never once been asked to dance. Rude, all things considered, don’t you think?” “That’s not true, at all.” “No?” “No,” Killian says. His eyes fly open, far too much blue and that something is, quite suddenly, everything and Emma doesn’t realizes she’s close enough to the door to be pressed against it until her shoulders are digging into the wood. “If memory serves, your highness, several attempts have been made to garner your interest and, once, there were even a few moments of rhythm on a rather precarious fire escape.”

“Does that count?”

The blue disappears, replaced with a glint and a flash, all fire and want, and Emma does her best not to gasp when his hips push against hers. “It certainly sounds like you don’t think so.” “Weird.” “Aye, the weirdest.” “So, uh, where do you think that leaves us?” Emma presses, one arm draped over his shoulders while her other hand does its best to touch as much skin as his shirt will allow. There’s quite a bit. “Because I’d imagine there’ll be a fair share of eligible suitors at this ball. Lots of very important royals with agendas and interest in Misthaven and--” She gasps.

It was probably inevitable.

Killian’s lips drop to the curve of her neck, mouthing at her until her back arches and, this time, her hips press into his and this wasn’t really her plan, but it’s certainly a good deviation on the plan and she gives up on doing anything except feeling. And getting her hands in his hair.

If only so he’ll gasp too.

It works.

Equal footing and all that.

“Are you having fun, your highness?” he drawls, dragging the words across her collarbone and back up, pressing them into the skin behind her ear and the pinch between her brows.

“Oh, you are annoying.” “No, no, Swan, I’m asking you a question. And you’re doing a rather pitiful job of answering it.” Killian leans back, gaze turning appraising with that lingering bit of hope, and it’s not quite the same as it was the very first time, years and curses and more than a few lines around his eyes, but there’s still a hint of it, memories and those same years that have meant so much.

“Are you alright, love?”

That doesn’t make her gasp, but it does give her pause -- a levity to the words that makes it clear this isn’t just a normal day and the lump of emotion that appears in her throat is particularly difficult to swallow back.

Emma nods.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “I’m--it’ll be fine.” Killian doesn’t look convinced, lips twisted and eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. The stuttering probably doesn’t help Emma’s cause much. “Dance with me later?”

Silence. Well, relative again. She can hear Will laughing and there are other voices, Henry and what sounds like Ruby, and Emma can’t believe she hasn’t dragged them up on deck yet, but she’s grateful and thankful and several other adjectives and--

“I can’t think when you look at me like that,” she adds, Killian’s laugh flying out of him and making the door she’s still pressed against rattle in its frame.

That’s more her magic’s fault than anything.

He chuckles lightly, nosing at her cheek while his fingers dance up her side. She forgot she was wearing his shirt. “Aye, that’s the point.” “Well, that’s cheating.” “Swan, your magic is doing things to our ship. Now, c’mon, love, let’s-- What?” This may be the least organized conversation ever. Eventually, Emma will blame several things -- ranging from the color of his eyes, to the absurd cut of his shirt to her aforementioned magic, but mostly it’s just how much she wants and she’s got several suspicions about a variety of different plans and she’s not lying about wanting to dance.

Or collective pronouns.

“Nothing, nothing,” Emma stammers, but she’s also having a difficult time standing, so she’s not all that surprised at the return of incredulous to Killian’s face. He smiles when he realizes.

“Isn’t it?” “That question doesn’t make any sense.” “Oh, it is, Swan. You shouldn't have to double check.”

She hums, not entirely a dismissal or disagreement, and she’s going to have to stop staring at Killian’s lips at some point. As it is, she’s still looking and they’re still moving, widening into another grin, a confidence that also makes it difficult to form sentences. “Ours, love,” he says again, and she may actually shiver. It’s absurd. “If anyone else even considers trying to dance with you later, I’ll challenge them to a duel.”

“That’s ridiculous.” “Factual.” “Regina will seriously burn things then.” “That’ll make it more interesting, at least. And I really don’t think she’s going to be all that preoccupied with us, when she’s got--” “--Oh my God, did you and Henry leave early to go gossip about Regina’s wedding date?” “Absolutely not.” “No?” “No,” Killian echoes. “That was...an unfortunate byproduct and a very excited on his wedding day Will who knows far too many things about far too many people and--” “--I think that’s a stipulation of being bartender. Ok, wait, wait, so Scarlet is on deck with…” “Ruby and Anna.” “And you didn’t go find him?” Killian shakes his head, several strands of hair falling distractingly close to his eyes. Emma sighs. “You are really infuriatingly good at keeping secrets.” “Only because you don’t want to guess. And it’s not a secret, love. It’s a plan. As discussed.”

She’s just about to respond -- something snarky and still in the realm of flirting, but then the noises on the ship are joined by the noise her stomach makes, a soft growl of hunger that leaves Killian’s shoulders shaking and Emma’s cheeks flaming.

“Oh shut up,” she grumbles, fully expecting that to make him laugh louder. “You cannot fight anyone later.” “I’m not really planning on it, honestly.” “No?” “No,” Killian says again, a quick kiss that’s not nearly enough, even when Will is shouting for them again. “We are going to dance every single dance, your highness. That’s all there is to it.” “Greedy.” “Pirate.” Her stomach makes another noise, and joy looks very good on Captain Killian Jones’ face. Emma hopes it stays that way. The metaphorical wrench is getting awfully heavy in the back of her mind. Particularly when his finger drift across the front of her shirt, like they’re drawn to the sound and Emma begs every single god she can think of that her magic doesn't react.

Nothing.

Miracles. Or whatever.

“C’mon, love. Let’s get you some food and Scarlet can regale you with tales of the romantic interludes of Misthaven’s ruling family.”

Will Scarlet does, in fact, have several opinions and fascinating tidbits of gossip to share, several hours before he, finally, gets married.

He keeps using that word.

Finally.

Over and over, again and again, a repeat that makes Emma mumble broken record under her breath and Anna asks what that is and the whole thing happens several times before Ruby makes a noise of complete and absolute frustration in the back of her throat.

It hardly makes him slow down.

He keeps talking -- updates and rumors, meetings and moments that are far less official than that, and they all continue to listen, even if Ruby also continues to make that noise in the back of her throat, because Emma has missed home just a bit and she’s very content on the deck of the Jolly Roger.

“You know,” Will says pointedly, “you never did pay me back.” Emma lifts her eyebrows. “For what?”

“I spent a lot of money on that jukebox and it got completely fucked--ah, damn, sorry, Henry.” Henry waves a hand, far too preoccupied by the food to properly scandalized. “Anyway,” Will continues, “That jukebox was expensive and it had some good albums--” “--Céline Dion.” “Is not a bad album. Let’s not insult Céline Dion on my wedding day, huh?” “I’m not sure those things go together.” “He’s going to mention wedding day at every conceivable moment,” Ruby mutters, twisting the amulet around her neck. “It’s been the same way for the last week.”

“That’s almost too much, isn’t it?” Killian asks. He’s leaning against the railing at the bow of the ship, an arm around Emma’s waist while his hand fiddles with half a loaf of bread. He keeps handing her pieces. She keeps taking them.

There’s probably a metaphor there as well.

“And,” he adds, “that jukebox was, like, third hand. You bid on that with some guy from, where was he from?” “I don’t remember,” Will answers sullenly.

“He was from Manitoba--” “--Oh my God, seriously,” Ruby squawks, Killian nodding seriously. “How much did you pay for the jukebox, Scarlet?” “What exactly is a Manitoba?” Anna cuts in. “Is that where Henry’s from?” Henry does not stop eating.

“The jukebox was a piece of garbage,” Killian says. “You knew it, we knew it, the guy from Manitoba certainly knew it. That’s why he stopped bidding with you when you went over two hundred. You overpaid.” Will glowers at him. “Yeah, well, you’re a pirate, your sense of money is all skewed.” “The insult does lose some weight the more you keep bringing it up.” “I know.” He sighs, slumping further, which is impressive since he’s also sitting cross-legged on deck and it’s a testament to everything that none of the crew was even remotely surprised by it. “Whatever, this is romance. I am romantic. And I am psyched--” “--Ah, use a different word,” Ruby mutters, and Will does a fairly horrible job of flipping her off covertly. Anna snickers.

“This is romance. Céline Dion is romantic. And, incidentally, I am not the only one with romance hanging in the air around me.” “Phrase that differently,” Killian mumbles, although that insult also loses a considerable amount of weight when he doesn't bother moving his head away from Emma to utter it.

Ruby blushes.

“Oh,” Emma breathes. “What is happening right now?”

“Nothing,” Ruby snaps, an almost audible clack of her teeth when she closes her mouth.

“Try that again.” “Lots,” Anna says, before Ruby can deflect anymore. “Like. Lots of stuff is happening. You guys need to come back to Misthaven more often. Because I, for one, am losing my mind with the burst of romantic-type information I’ve been getting.” “Been real busy, huh, Scarlet?” Killian asks knowingly. Will shrugs.

“I haven’t really had to say anything. Everyone’s just walking on clouds or something. Which, you know, how come you aren’t floating yet?” “Excuse me?” “That’s not a horror movie reference--” “--What’s a horror movie?” Anna asks, but Ruby has her eyes focused squarely on her shoes and Emma’s gaze haven’t left Ruby.

“So Regina isn’t the only one with a date to the wedding of the century, then?” “Swan,” Killian groans, both Anna and Henry laughing again. “Do not call it that. It’s going to do dangerous things to his ego and--” “--Yeah, let’s focus on Regina, real quick,” Ruby interrupts. “You know that’s all Tink’s fault.” “How is that possible?” “Pixie dust.” “I thought she used the last of that to get onto the ship we stole,” Emma says, Will mumbling secret pirate adventure under his breath. She’s going to get a headache from rolling her eyes.

Ruby shakes her head. “Nope. And that’s all you, Em, so really this is actually a you problem and you are to blame for the wave of romance we are contending with.” “You are riding that,” Anna mumbles.

And Emma is very confused. “Wait, wait, I--speak English.”

“I am,” Ruby grins. “Try and keep up. You, all powerful Savior, with your True Love and power of positive thinking--” Emma gags. “Stop that. You come home in a whirlwind of curse breaking and death-defying glory, only to sneak off on that little pirate adventure you didn’t bother telling any of us about.” “She’s very stubborn once she gets an idea,” Killian mutters, Ruby’s grin turning sharp. Emma elbows him in the side. Or tries. He catches her with his hook.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that sometimes. Anyway, you guys go to Neverland. You meet Tink with her pixie dust and find Henry. With his belief. You continue being disgustingly in love, save several different kingdoms and right the wrongs that magic had inflicted on this realm. That, according to Tink, helps the fairies repopulate their pixie dust supply.” Emma is breathing through her mouth. Her eyes have gone very thin. “I don’t--” “--Oh, I know, because in addition to being impossibly stubborn, you’re also kind of frustratingly humble, which is really stupid and disgustingly pure, but--” “--Focus, Lucas,’ Killian says. She doesn’t try to hide when she flips him off.

Emma hopes they don’t corrupt Henry. That won’t bode well for the future. But he’s also got a sword and if this story is going where she thinks it’s going, then maybe it’s ok.

“I will get there if you stop interrupting, Gods,” Ruby sneers. “Where was I?” “Regina was about to meet Robin in my bar,” Will says, smiling when Emma’s head snaps towards him. “Right?” “You are ruining this!” “You’re a bad storyteller, Lucas,” Killian shrugs. He kisses Emma’s cheek when she laughs, Ruby baring suddenly longer-than-usual nails at them.

Anna sighs. “The pixie dust can point people towards their happy endings. That’s...did you guys not know that?” “Faith, trust and a little bit of pixie dust, right Captain Hook?” Will asks, grunting when both Emma and Ruby try to kick him at the same time. “It is my wedding day!”

“Ok, ok, ok,” Emma says. She can only wave one hand. Her other arm is still hooked in a, well, hook. “So let me get this straight. Our magic and Henry’s ability to believe in things helped bring back Pixie Dust?”

“Why are you repeating what I just told you?” “And this led to Regina meeting some guy in a bar?” “Hey, c’mon,” Will groans.

“Pixie dust points people towards their happening endings,” Anna repeats. “Which, you know--Regina was happy and good, but, well, I think she was a little...lonely.” Emma blinks. Several times. “Regina?” “Is that really surprising? I mean---everyone else is kind of paired off and especially now that Ruby’s meet Dor.” Anna hisses when Ruby swats at her arms, pulling away so quickly she nearly slams into her own ribs. “What is wrong with you people? You are all so violent. Gods, anyway, Regina was kind of on her own and we could all use a good drink, right?” Emma shrugs. “The answer is yes. So Tink offered to help, but Regina is, well, Regina and--” “--Did she threaten to curse her?” Killian asks lightly. Ruby winks.

“It took some convincing,” Will adds, “but then Mary Margaret cornered her and you can imagine how that went.” “I’m going to tell her you said that,” Emma laughs. “Does this story ever end?” “Mary Margaret gave a patented speech of the power of love and believing and all that whatever--” “--I thought it was your wedding day,” Killian interrupts.

“Pay for a new jukebox, Jones!” “I could probably magic it,” Emma muses. “I’d have to double check with Regina. I’m not sure how electricity would work. Maybe Belle knows. Hey, where is Belle?” “With Ariel. And the little prince.” Her magic jumps. It twists and knots and turns and Killian doesn’t try to mask his wide-eyed stare, gaping at her like she’s just caused a variety of hurricanes. Which, really, isn’t all that far off, increasingly strong waves against the hull of the ship that make it rock rather dramatically.

Ruby’s eyes are impossibly thin.

“What’s happening right now?” Will demands. “I didn’t bring my sword so I can’t defend anyone’s honor if that’s what’s going on.” “It’s not,” Killian says slowly, eyes still locked on Emma and she’s not sure if the fluttering under her skin is her pulse or her magic. She’s certain it’s visible, though. “Is Bash walking yet?” “Nuh uh” “Good, that’s good.” “Is it?” Will challenges. “Because Ariel’s kid is pretty goddamn cute and will presumably continue to do that since Belle’s got him almost holding rings and that’s what they were practicing and--Em,” he says suddenly, “you’re doing that hair thing again.” Emma curses, trying desperately to take some kind of calming deep breath. It doesn’t work. There’s far too much salt.

“Swan,” Killian starts, but shakes her head deftly, flashing a wobbly smile that she knows doesn’t work. “Oh, you’ll have to do better than that.” “Honestly,” Anna adds. “That was bad. Plus, we’re getting distracted. Don’t you want to know who Regina met in the bar?” Will rolls his whole head. “My bar. It was my bar.” “Yes, we’re almost painfully aware of that,” Ruby hisses. “Any guesses, Em?”

“I’m not really in a guessing mood.” “That’s also been a theme,” Killian mumbles, and it can’t be good for Ruby’s eyes to change sizes that quickly. Her lips go thin, thoughts flashing on her face while she shakes her hair off her shoulders and sits up a little straighter.

And takes a deep breath.

“Holy--” she gasps, hands flying to her mouth. Will’s eyes are pinballs, bouncing from person to person and lingering on Killian who, in turn, holds onto Emma a bit tighter than usual, anxiety clouding his gaze and this is not the plan.

There was no plan.

He’s the one with the plan.

Gods, they have to go to a ball later.

“Robin of Locksley,” Anna shouts, leaping up in a mess of limbs and obvious frustration becuase none of them can stay on topic. “It’s Robin of Locksley! She’s been making out with him all over the city.”

Emma’s eyes are going to fall out of her head. Ruby hasn’t moved her hands yet.

“Or so the rumors say,” Will adds conspiratorially. “But it’s getting harder and harder to find dark corners when there’s all that love I was talking about before. Isn’t that right, Lady Lucas?” She ignores him. It’s disconcerting, particularly because it means she keeps staring at Emma who is doing her best not to breathe too loudly.

Or glow.

“Captain Jones,” Ruby says, and that’s the last thing any of them expect her to say. Killian startles, fingers gripping the side of Emma’s shirt until they threaten to tear the fabric. “Where were you and the young squire returning from when we crossed paths this morning?”

He rips the fabric.

And Ruby grins triumphantly.

“What is happening right now?’ Emma asks, turning quickly enough that she can actually see the color move across Killian’s ears.

“I have no idea.” “Huh.” “Em,” Ruby whines. “Seriously? This is the line of questioning?” Emma glares at her, but she’s never been as good at that as Regina is and maybe that’s changed now too. Maybe that’s a good thing. “Who are you making out with in dark corners? Also, Robin of Locksley? Like...like Robin Hood?” “Right?” Will chuckles. “He’s a good dude, though.” “You just called Robin Hood a good dude.” “Yeah, well, what would you call him? Plus, he’s got some skills behind the bar.” “You’re making Robin Hood bartend for you?” Killian scoffs.

“I had a wedding to plan! Anyway, this is not nearly as exciting because--” He mimes a drum roll in the air, Ruby muttering threats and Anna grinning like a love-struck maniac. Henry has finished an entire loaf of bread on his own. ”Ruby is dating, you ready?” “Tell the story, Scarlet!” “Dorothy,” Ruby growls. “Her name is Dorothy and she’s from Oz. Well, kind of.” Emma clicks her tongue. “How are you kind of from Oz?” “She’s from the Land Without Magic, originally. But there was a tornado and somehow she landed in Oz. There were more things, but now she’s working for that witches council they’ve got there and--” “--There’s been a lot of making out,” Will whispers. It’s not really a whisper. “So, really, you guys are going to have to battle for supreme couple at this wedding.” “Is that not just you and Belle by default?” Anna asks, draping over Henry’s back and she can do that now. He’s gotten very tall in the last few years.

Killian hums. “That does seem like how it should work, right? Maybe you’re actually the worst groom in this kingdom’s very vast history.”

“You do not know this kingdom’s whole history,” Will growls.

“I know enough and Belle probably knows more, so--” “--If I find you and Emma making out in dark corners during the course of my wedding, I will not only kick you out, I’ll cut off your entire alcohol supply.” “You definitely said those in the wrong order.”

“Get on my level! Seriously. It’s been, like, a lifetime, right?” Killian tenses, breath catching and Emma is fairly certain she’s the only one who notices. Signs, signs, signs. She’s going to horde them all. A sign pirate.

She can think of, at least, four good corners for making out within walking distance of the Great Hall in the castle off the top of her head.

Will’s eyes do that thing again, bouncing and darting towards Anna. She doesn’t nod, but she might be breathing a little heavier, fingers fluttering towards the rings around her finger. Ruby’s definitely inhaling with a purpose.

She laughs.

It’s loud and disarming, which has always been kind of her thing, but Emma’s never dealt with it in a situation like this, or dealt with a situation like this, and--

“Oh,” she grins, leaning back until she’s resting on the front of Henry’s legs and a bird lands on the railing next to her, “tonight is going to be fun.”

“M’s, you’ve got to stop making so much noise, people are going to think we’re being attacked.” Mary Margaret does not stop making noise. She makes more noise. That’s basically what Emma figured would happen, though, so.

She drops back, falling with a thump on the mattress that isn’t as comfortable as their cot. Mary Margaret sounds like she’s jumping now, unaware of any of the sounds of annoyance Emma is making, even when she throws her arm over her face.

They’re in Mary Margaret and David’s guest rooms, plural, because Mary Margaret and David have their own castle, singular, on the other side of the kingdom and the whole thing is only a little absurd, but that’s how royalty has always worked and Emma chances a glance up.

Mary Margaret is, in fact, jumping up and down.

“This is so good,” she says, and it sounds suspiciously like a chant. It is. She says it several more times, as if repeating the words will force them to be right and Emma chews on her lip, tempering her magic and the thousand different emotions churning in between her ribs.

"I don’t know if it’s--” Emma starts, but Mary Margaret shakes her head.

“Of course it is!” “I don’t think your magic works that way.”

Mary Margaret huffs, but there’s still an energy around her, an excitement Emma’s going to focus on for the next few minutes because her measurements hadn’t changed from the last ball they’d been to, but her dress feels impossibly tight and she doesn’t think it’s actually possible to go into shock as many times as she’s convinced she has already.

“Have you said anything to Killian?” Emma shakes her head. “Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret sighs, dropping next to her and there are no pillows left on this bed. “That’s ridiculous, you know?” “Do I though?” “Well, I do and I’m telling you, it is absurd. Like to the 'nth degree.” “You didn’t go to college either, your highness.” Mary Margaret chuckles, letting her head fall to the side and the whole thing feels like another repeat and more symmetry and the overall niceness of it is enough to ignore both of those things. Emma laces her fingers through Mary Margaret’s.

“That’s true,” she admits, “but I’ve always been very good at picking up on cues and believing in things and let me tell you something, Emma Swan, no one has ever believed in anything more than Killian believes in you. It’s the kind of things stories are made of.” “Says the lady who shares a heart with her fiancé.”

“If you knew that would have saved him, you would have done it too. This is not--what are you actually worried about? Because, you know, at this point, being worried about Killian seems kind of silly doesn’t it?” Emma barks out a laugh, but Mary Margaret has got a point and she’s always had several points and--”I’m not really worried about that,” she whispers, words going scratchy in her throat. Mary Margaret squeezes her hand. “There’s just...he’s got a plan and he and Henry disappeared this morning and--” “--Where?” “I don’t know, but I’ve got several cliché suspicions.” “So, one?” Emma makes a noise, half agreement and mostly just nerves. “None of it’s ever really been normal, M’s, but this--everything with him and us and both of us as unit it’s…” She can’t shrug. She’s on her back. She tries anyway. “When we were cursed he said that being around me was the one normal thing. And that’s always been true. Through all of it, every crazy, insane, absolutely terrible thing. It’s been us and I don’t--” “--Oh, that’s not going to change,” Mary Margaret says, a note of pleased indulgence in her voice. “Are you worried about---what? Being boring now?” “Ok, don’t say it like that.” Mary Margaret’s laugh rings out around them, not quite tinkling, but certainly light enough that she could rival several different fairies. With or without pixie dust. “That’s the dumbest thing I have ever heard in my entire life.” “Shit, M’s.” “It is. It is patently dumb and incredibly untrue. If anyone deserves to be boring, it is you two. Gods, even now. You’re always going somewhere and doing something and--” Her eyes widen, understanding settling on her face until the weight of it feels like it will do damage to the mattress. It’s really a garbage mattress. “That’s not going to change, Emma. And, for the record, I think you’re going to be incredible. Both of you. ” “The mind-reading stuff isn’t as cool now.” “That’s a complete lie. It’s very cool and you’re very impressed.”

“Maybe a little bit.” Emma mumbles, and Mary Margaret lifts her eyebrows. “A lot. Ok? Fine, is that better?” “Getting there. Seriously, what are you freaking out about?” “It’s weird when you say that with a crown on.” Mary Margaret’s eyebrows are quickly turning into a marvel of science. Emma scowls. “I just--I don’t know, after everything, curses and death and not death, do you really think we can just be normal?” “You just said you were.”

“You’ve got to stop that.” “I’m only pointing out what you’ve already told me,” Mary Margaret shrugs. “I’m going to say freaking out again, is that ok?”

“Not funny.” Mary Margaret shakes her head, a twist of her lips because she’s obviously trying not to smile. “Very funny, actually, and still an accurate depiction of what your whole face is doing. The answer to your question is yes, obviously. You’re going in circles because you’re you.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “Are you kidding?” “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

Mary Margaret’s lips part. It’s slightly worse than the previous twist and definitely ten-thousand times more terrible than whatever she’s still doing with her eyebrows, a bit of judgment that Emma doesn’t all together appreciate. “Aw, c’mon,” Mary Margaret mutters, tugging lightly on the side of Emma’s sleeve. “He can feel your magic, Emma. That’s...it was incredible when were here and we were young and didn’t understand anything and it was even more incredible when we were cursed and knew even less. But it’s always been that way. And you--”

She lets out a soft exhale, a sound that’s far too emotional when Emma may be dealing with more hormones than usual. “You have turned the world upside down for him. You’d do it again, I know you would.” “You share a heart with David.” “Exactly, so who better to understand than me? This is a good thing, Emma. The best thing, but for someone who’s dealt with curses and death and not death, you’re still not very good at dealing with the unpredictable are you?” Emma growls. It hurts her throat. And makes her whole body tense. She she knows Mary Margaret is right. Mary Margaret is always right.

But there’s a fluttering in her stomach that she hasn’t been able to shake all day because it’s someone’s wedding and Emma kind of wants it to be her wedding and her family and, well, she wants. Full stop.

The one normal thing.

“When are you going to tell him?”

Emma’s breath rushes out of her, enough that she swears she nearly flies off the bed. She doesn’t. Her magic, on the other hand. It soars, rattles the curtains on the window and the posts of the bed because, naturally, it’s a four-post bed and everything is so royal and important and the warmth that settles between her fingers is like--

Home. Her mind drifts, another memory that she hopes is a sign, a voice in the back of her mind that she’d never been able to forget, even when everything demanded she should have.

...it was the safest I’ve ever felt. Like I was home and protected, but that feeling went away eventually. It didn’t linger in the very center of me, didn’t take up root or grow and--Emma, I saw you and it felt like that.

“Oh shit,” Emma sighs, teeth finding her lower lip and it’s probably not a good sign when she can taste blood in her mouth. She can’t even see Mary Margaret’s eyebrows anymore. “Gods, that’s...” she stammers, pushing herself up on her elbows, but that, somehow, only makes the fluttering grow stronger. She’s dangerously close to phosphorescent and the inhale she takes is almost impressively long.

Emma keeps breathing. Deeply. Counting inhales and measuring exhales, letting her eyes shut and she’s not entirely surprised by the pictures that appear behind her lids. She’s been thinking about them for days anyone, possibilities and maybes and that same bit of hope she’s been clinging to for years.

She really wants to know where Killian and Henry went that morning.

“That might be a mark in the this is actually happening column,” Mary Margaret murmurs, and Emma’s fairly certain the noise she makes is a laugh. She wants it to be.

Gods, she wants so much.

Her teeth are still digging into her lip, but she lets her arm fall down, draped across her stomach and Mary Margaret’s answering smile is almost wide enough to be concerning.

“Yeah, maybe,” Emma concedes. “I just...well, I haven’t really had time to, you know, double check or anything.” Mary Margaret lets out a less-than-dignified snort. “And going into the city would probably alert several thousand people before you could actually tell Killian yourself.” “You’re really harping on this.” “I’m a big fan of happily ever after.”

“And you think that’s what this is?” “Obviously.” She tilts her head, smile going a bit placating, but with something just on the edge, as if she’s been waiting for this moment or, possibly, hoping for it as well and that’s always been Mary Margaret’s forte. “A gazillion years ago I told you that believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing. But it’s so much more than that, Emma. Because living with that kind of belief? That’s the most powerful thing of all. And you’ve got that. In spades.”

“You’ve been spending way too much time with Will.”

Mary Margaret laughs, tears spilling on her cheeks as her grip tightens. “He never notices when I hide the cards up my sleeve.” “You’re a cheat.” “Magic.” “It always comes down to that, doesn’t it?” “No,” Mary Margaret shakes her head. “It’s been more than that. And you get to live that. We all do, Emma. Happily ever after isn’t the end. It’s the start of everything else.” “You’re on a roll.” “I can tell you’re impressed.”

Emma hums, nodding against pillows and the glow around her softens. It hangs in between in her hair and wraps around the bend of her knuckles, drapes both her and Mary Margaret in pale light and--

“What the hell is happening in here?” David cries, the door nearly flying off the handle when he swings it open.

Mary Margaret hisses when Emma’s fingers turn vice-like.

“Are you supposed to be here?” Emma asks. David doesn’t respond. “So, that’s a no, huh?” “The door was shaking.” “What?” “The door,” he repeats, nodding back to the still swinging piece of wood, “was shaking. And I could see the light coming out of it.” “The doors here don’t go all the way down to the floor?” “Apparently not. This is why our castle is better.” “That’s the most insane thing you’ve ever said.”

David huffs, but Mary Margaret isn’t even trying to disguise her laugh now and--”Ruby said something was going on with you,” he adds. Emma is going to break one of Mary Margaret’s fingers. “And Killian too.” “What?” “Em, seriously, you’ve got to be more specific.”

She might open her mouth -- mostly so she can continue to breathe out of it, because Emma’s breath has turned into panting rather quickly, another spike of magic that she’s certain Killian will be able to feel, no matter where he and Will happen to be getting ready for this wedding and it’s almost impressive how quickly David puts several things together.

That is, until he gasps. Loudly.

Mary Margaret throws her whole head back when she laughs.

“Did you tell Killian yet?” David whispers, and Emma is a little annoyed that happily ever after seems to require her to feel as if she’s dying.

She glares. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Don’t insult me like that. I grew up on a farm and--” “--Oh my God, David!” “Ruby was talking about scent and palpable nerves and Henry’s doing that thing where he can hardly contain the excitement in him. Bobbing on the balls of his feet and--” “--He’s super psyched to meet Robin Hood,” Emma says, but it’s no use and Mary Margaret is still laughing. She sighs. It’s not exactly disappointment. Her heart should not be beating this quickly. “I don’t know for sure,” she whispers. “I don’t--it’s just a…” “I can actually help with that.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Oh shit,” Mary Margaret breathes, yanking her hand away from Emma’s so she can sprint to the other side of the room. She flips her wrist, closing her eyes lightly and David looks far too smug, Mary Margaret's yelp of triumph echoing off the ceiling beams. It’s almost enough that Emma doesn’t notice what else falls on the floor.

Emma blinks, Mary Margaret brandishing a chain in her face. There’s a charm hanging there as well, twisting in open air and reflecting the light that is, absolutely, coming from the end of Emma’s hair.

David chuckles softly, rocking back on his feet. “My mother’s,” he explains. “She had it for as long as I could remember, used to help the young girls who lived in the village. It’s uh--” “You’re blushing,” Emma grins. “It’s magic?” “She said she got it from traveling withces.” Emma makes a face, the fluttering growing to something stronger and more powerful, but her eyes drift from the charm to the small rectangle on the floor. She laughs. The sound feels like it explodes out of her, a surge of confidence and certainty and the charm is still twisting.

Until.

It stops.

And Mary Margaret gasps.

“What is that?” Emma asks, pointing a finger over Mary Margaret’s shoulder. It’s a silly question. She knows the answer. And she didn’t really need the charm.

Mary Margaret blushes as well. “Oh, uh--it doesn’t work anymore,” she stammers, grabbing what is, quite obviously, an iPod shuffle off the floor. “It was in my pocket before Isaac brought us back. But, you know, it’s not like there’s a ton of electricity here or--” Someone calls for them in the hall, a reminder that Emma still needs to have her hair pinned and the smile that stretches across her face is equal parts enthusiastic and anxious and she wants, wants, wants.

All of it.

Life. And the rest of everything.

“I think we can do something about that,” she mutters.

“Is this where Henry gets it?”

Emma rolls her eyes, but Regina’s got a point. She can’t stay still, bobbing on the balls of her feet and tapping her heels and Mary Margaret keeps alternating between smiling like a manic and giggling under her breath, like putting her hand over her mouth will help mask the sound.

Ruby is definitely sniffing the air.

Ariel keeps trying to get Bash to sit down, but she’s also wearing a dress that is only a little ridiculous and her kid appears very fond of standing on the wooden bench three aisles away from the altar. Eric’s shoulders keep shaking when his head falls to Bash’s back, an arm wrapped tightly around his waist.

“I’m just trying to time everything right,” Emma says. “Plus, if you want to get technical, Scarlet is way more nervous than me. Look at him.” Will doesn’t glare. She’s positive he can’t. “I am getting married.” “So we’ve heard.” He opens his mouth to say something else, fingers tugging on the side of a coat that’s only a little ostentatious, but then there’s another set of doors opening and it’s double because of course, all royal and wedding and that second one isn’t really an adjective, but Emma’s far too focused on the burst of magic in her finger tips.

And the absolutely ancient, nearly forgotten iPod shuffle in her grip flares to life.

She hits play.

Killian’s eyes widen, a burst of blue even at the fair end of the aisle, Belle’s arm looped around his and a bouquet of flowers that makes the whole hall smell like a field and another memory and maybe that’ll disrupt Ruby’s scent patterns.

Belle doesn’t have enough hands for one to fly to her mouth, smile wide and she’s some kind of cliché picture. All soft lace and not quite white, but maybe cream and her eyes are bright with every single thing she’s very obviously feeling.

Emma can’t blink.

She can’t bring herself to look away, Killian’s gaze boring into the very center of her with an intensity that makes her dig her heels into the ground. As if that will be able to keep her there.

Regina laughs.

Mary Margaret sniffles.

And the music rings out, Emma’s thumb moving in small semicircles, the sound of Will’s audible joy echoing in her ears and mixing with her magic and her emotions and she can just make out Henry jumping up and down in the corner of her vision. Eric’s also got a hand on his back.

“Did you do this?” Will whispers, not quite able to get his voice entirely quiet. Emma shrugs, still not able to look away from Killian, but she can hear Will’s scoff and mumbled thank you and Belle is beaming when the veil is pulled away from her eyes.

Will offers her his arm.

Killian winks at Emma.

He tries, at least.

“No quite,” she mouths, and his lips twitch. He widens his eyes again, another round of impossibly maneuvered eyebrows, taking a step back to Will’s side of the altar. There’d been several discussions about where he was going to stand.

Emma hardly hears the start of the ceremony, eyes falling to Killian’s mouth because his lips are moving and her magic is still racing through her and it takes a moment to realize what he’s said.

“I love you.” She turns the iPod off and Will’s hand finds Belle’s as soon as they turn back towards the altar.

#cs ff #captain swan #all was golden in the sky #that stupid witch fic #i can't even begin to apologize for how many words are here #i just...have no self control

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hogwartselementumrp · 7 years

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Beth said: the app is great. She has a good grip of the character and the dynamics. I high key want to accept her.

Livia said: she is brazilian, who cares???

Honestly, the app is absolutely incredible! You write Claire beautifully, your description of her was engaging and made me extremely curious about how you will play her!

So! Congratulations Maria! You have been accepted to play Claire Burke!

What could happen sometimes was that she wondered about having another job, for example, but she knew the importance of staying at the Ministry, under eyes that knew better, that could keep her from doing things she would later regret - after all, wasn’t that why she chose to work there?

This line in her para sample was heartbreaking! Claire is already a fully fleshed out character in your application!

serio??? eu estou super animada para ter voce no rp. vai ser incrivel ter outra brasileira. e tipo, vc é uma otima escritora e seu personagem vai ser incrivel!!!

Beth also came back and said later: Lily, this is the longest acceptance message ever. People are going to get jealous and you’re going to scare the new girl off too.

OOC Information

NAME/ALIAS: Maria (Fernanda)

PREFERRED PRONOUN: She/Her

AGE: 16

TIMEZONE: GMT -3

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I have three characters in another RP and my activity level there is high, especially because I’m only a high school student, but I’m not sure how things will be considering this is my second. I want to have only one character so things don’t get messed up and I manage a 6 or 7 out of 10 (level of activity) (and 6 out of 10 it’s more like… worst case scenario). [Also, I was reading the rules and… what sexuality section?]

HOW DID YOU FIND THE RP (NEW MEMBERS): I just started searching “harry potter rp” and varieties on tumblr, wanting to find a HP rp that was different than what I got used to seeing on tumblr, and I stumbled on this one.

Character Information

NAME OF THE CHARACTER: Claire Audrey Burke

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORDS:

Claire Burke isn’t one to complain - that’s probably one of the first things someone might notice about her. But different than people that are bubbly and positive, the reason why she’s ok with where she’s stands has all to do with her naivety and lack of malice. She’s not a fighter, not a rebel and definitely not a warrior - the Burke simply doesn’t have that thing inside of her that makes people want to fight, scream and live life with so much passion (often times, way too much). That’s not to say she couldn’t survive in a battle, of course, she was in Ravenclaw and, despite all the suppression of her nature, Claire is skilled and quick-witted more than enough to be alright in a duel. Only that, she’s that type of person who prefers to be neutral and interfere if things get really out of hand, or if there’s something connecting her emotionally to whatever is going on.

So far in her life she never hated anyone that I know. All reasons were given to her during life - how people always refrained her from using her powers, how they kept telling her everything they did was for her own good, etc. But two things are very important to consider and enough to explain her lack of hate: First, her lack of malice also means she’s way too superficial for anything that involves jealousy, angriness and even frustration. If there’s something bothering her, she’ll either be frank about it or find a way to fix the problem without using much of her feelings. The second thing is, Claire actually believes people are doing what they are doing because it’s right. She has always heard about how dangerous and terrifying her powers are, and she’s more than ok with the perspective of spending her life not bringing problems to people. Sometimes all the effort is tiring, yes, very tiring, but “it’s necessary” is what she tells herself when it happens.

Despite all the pressure everyone who knew about her powers putted on her, Claire never broke - she knew it was her responsibility to cope with Spirit as much as it was her duty to keep the good name of the family. It helped that she turned out to be a smart, quick witted, confident lady - often times spending hours in the library, actually curious about things. As much as she doesn’t want to change stuff, it’s interesting for Claire to gain knowledge - she’s particularly interested on how things work, and secretly hopes one day she’ll get Spirit enough to learn how to actually control it. She’s also very good with keeping information, and it’s unusual for her to forget what she considers important. She’s not really creative, though - all the things she could discover about her powers represent an amount of ‘creativity’ for a life time, really.

In terms of social skill, the ex Ravenclaw actually impresses people - some might think she focused too much on her duties, or broke with all the pressure, or even decided to hide from the world, but none of those things were true. Instead, Claire always has a cheerful enough face - she never minds talking to people and actually likes to meet them, to know their different backgrounds, etc. It’s true she makes an effort not to get too close, for reasons related to all her thoughts led by the brainwashing, but Claire is very skilled socially speaking. She knows how to have good, interesting conversations, the same way she knows how to escape possibly bad subjects. She’s not afraid of joking about herself because Claire doesn’t see herself as a victim - even though she can’t really use the word “monster” -, and she’s usually up for a discussion - good for her that she never gets angry or loses her head, then.

ANY CHANGES YOU WISH TO MAKE?: If I’m not mistaken her age should be 27.

DESIRED SHIPS, IF ANY: -

TITLES: -

RELATIONSHIPS:

Unlikely friend: Someone who has a really different personality from Claire’s, who is constantly challenging her and trying to show her that there’s more than the small bubble the Ravenclaw live in. Could be a person from her past (childhood/Hogwarts), or someone somewhat/entirely new.

Connection by association: Someone she met through her family, the time spent in Ravenclaw, her work on the Ministry, maybe even because of being a spirit. Doesn’t necessarily have to be a friend. Could be someone interested on Claire for a deeper reason, a person she notices (or not), etc… I’m really open for all ideas here.

Co-worker: As she works in the Ministry for almost one decade now (I imagine), Claire probably has a number of friends and acquaintances she met through work. Doesn’t have to be someone on her department, though.

(Former*) best friend: Claire isn’t a very deep person, so it’s difficult to imagine a best friend for her - even so, I’m open for ideas, maybe someone who has known her for the majority of her life, a person who knows secrets of hers that should stay hidden, etc. *I add “former” because could be someone that used to be her best friend but maybe they lost contact, fought, maybe that person had bad intentions and Claire found that out.

People from her past: Basically, if there’s a character who could’ve known her somehow, I really want to know. She’s a Burke - and, even though she’s a spirit, her family always tried to appear normal -, so hello people she might have met because of that. Ten years ago Claire was a Ravenclaw student, so maybe a younger person she tutored, someone her age who decided Claire was competition (even though Claire doesn’t have that “fire” inside her to compete, but hey, could be inside the other person’s mind), ex-roommates, normal friends. Of course, also people from other houses, even teachers because she definitely had to spend time with those (being a spirit).

FAMILY RELATIONSHIPS:

Parents: Despite not having malice inside her heart, Claire has always known her parents think she’s a bomb ready to explode - and she might be, a thought that had always been enough to lead her to a more conservative personality. She knows her parents love her, even though they are cautious, and all of her actions have to do with her own protection, besides the protection of others, so she tries hard to be the closest possible to a perfect daughter. It helps that she’s so passive and obedient, and not seeing reason to rebel or disobey means they have a very pacific dynamic.

Sisters: Truth is, even when Claire was almost an adolescent and Scarlet a little child, the Ravenclaw never really understood her younger sister. She didn’t know how someone so little could have so much life inside of her, but she also couldn’t understand where that life came from - what was the good in trying to move mountains if things were already good enough? Claire saw her as more of an alien than a real person. Within time, though, she grew to be fond of her sister, even if they were never close - if that’s how Scarlet wants to act and perceive things, Claire won’t stay on her way. (But she’s always there, somehow, trying to make sure her little sister doesn’t get hurt - she can only imagine how bad it would be, given all the difficulties Scarlet already faced, if something came close to breaking her completely).

PARA SAMPLE

[Off: I can’t help but think it’s badly written - probably because I’m way too tired to write anything that makes sense right now -, but I promise I’ll do my best to find her tone… and I’ll choose a better time to write next xD]

“Again.” The word almost repeated itself on Claire’s mind, as the thirteen-year-old-girl picked her wand from the floor, looking at her teacher standing just a few meters from her. They had been doing that for almost two hours now, repeating the same exercises until the Ravenclaw knew exactly what to do, how to do and the amount of power she should use. Within time the young girl had grown used to doing things her classmates usually didn’t - receiving special attention of her teachers, for example, not for her potential but because of how dangerous she could be if she didn’t manage to learn how to control her powers. And Claire was afraid - that maybe, one day, she would get angry about something and accidentally hurt a person passing by, or wouldn’t be able to measure whatever she wanted to do and bring bad consequences for her actions. Not that she usually got angry easily, but that’s one of the phrases her parents would repeat (and so would her teachers, healers, etc).

She took a deep breath before making the same movement, this time putting even more focus than the dozens of times before. They had been doing the same thing for almost two weeks now and she wanted to get past it. Of course, the Burke knew impatience would only be her enemy, but even her awareness couldn’t change the fact that she was thirteen. “Again.” And again and again and again. She sighed. And tried… one more time (and dozen others).

(…)

“Again” This time, there was a smile on Claire’s face as she reached out for her wand, making a sign with her empty one so the teacher would wait just a few seconds. She used the time she gained to fix her hair in a ponytail, finally able to concentrate. One thing the Burke hated about having a big hair was that it usually got in the way of her thoughts - so when training, especially for something as important as refraining her powers, she tried as much as she could to stop all things that could take her attention somewhere else. Nowadays, being fifteen, those hours training wouldn’t happen with so much frequency if compared to the other years - she was really growing up now, becoming a mature lady and not just a child anymore, and with that her powers should be growing too. So while she should focus, with the help of her teacher, in her own restrainment, it wasn’t good to really “use” her powers for too long - who knows, maybe something could happen and she could lose control of it (or at least that’s what they would tell her).

Things were good, though, as long as she made an effort - that way, there was no way her powers would develop too much, and she would never be guilty of hurting anyone because of it.

(…)

Ten years later, Claire found herself in a somewhat good position of life. She had a good family, yes, friends enough so she wouldn’t get bored, and her job was ok. It wasn’t the type of life she would think, maybe, if it wasn’t for her Spirit, but that was how things were supposed to be in the end of the day. Claire knew that it wouldn’t do any good to think of how things could have been, to wonder for too long, because the truth was, her fate could never be changed. And she really enjoyed her life, as much as she thought she should - thoughts like “not living up to her full potential” or “completely ignoring and suppressing an important part of her” never appeared on her mind. What could happen sometimes was that she wondered about having another job, for example, but she knew the importance of staying at the Ministry, under eyes that knew better, that could keep her from doing things she would later regret - after all, wasn’t that why she chose to work there? And yes, someone could argue that it wasn’t reeeeally her choosing, but it felt like it. Claire was a happy. As happy as she could be. And safe.

So things were, for her, just as right as they should be.

#accepted

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