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kmomof4 · 1 month ago

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Independence Day - A New Fic by @kmomof4 Ch. 1 July 2

IT'S HERRRRRRRRRRRRRRE!!!!!

I'm a little excited... I know y'all are so surprised... but seriously, I love this movie and I love this fic! It was so much fun to write last fall and I've been absolutely beside myself waiting to share it for the last nine months!!! I'm very happy with how it turned out and I so hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!

Before we get to the fic itself, I must give shoutouts to a few folks who were very instrumental in bringing this fic to you. My betas @snowbellewells and @jrob64 had quite a chore ahead of them since I didn't want them to start on it until I was finished writing. I think when Joni saw the length, she wanted to stop before she'd even started! Thank you so so much, ladies! I couldn't have done this without you both!! @hollyethecurious was my military consultant along with my dad, retired Air Force Lt. Col. And finally, @motherkatereloyshipper is an absolute angel and was responsible for the manips of Mary Margaret, Will, Lance, and Mulan I used in the artwork. Mulan will be in the artwork on the 4th. Don't they all look great? Please go give her all the love!!

And now on to the fic. It is three chapters covering three days - July 2, July 3, and July 4 - and the three chapters will post on their respective days. I hope the daily word count doesn't overwhelm you too much - I know the chs are long - but I think once you start reading, you'll find that they go quickly. Thank you so much for reading and sharing! I hope you let me know what you think!

Summary: Alien invaders attack on the Independence Day holiday weekend and a small group of survivors are called upon to defend Planet Earth.

Rating: T (mild language)

Words: 9500 of 34k

Tags: Inspired by Independence Day (movie)

On ao3

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @djlbg

@lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic

@elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90

@suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites @myfearless-love

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Chapter 1: July 2

A shadow.

A shadow moved over the surface of the moon where rested the Apollo 11 descent stage which bore a plaque that read

HERE MEN FROM THE PLANET EARTH

FIRST SET FOOT UPON THE MOON

JULY 1969, A. D.

WE CAME IN PEACE FOR ALL MANKIND

The bottom of the plaque bore the signatures of Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, Buzz Aldrin, and US President Richard M. Nixon.

As the shadow advanced over the lunar landscape, Neil Armstrong's footprint - still clearly visible on the surface of the moon next to the spacecraft - slowly disappeared as the vibrations created from the advancing shadow caused the dust of the surface to fill in the bumps and ridges of the mark left by the astronaut so many years ago.

~*~*~

S. E. T. I., New Mexico

Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence Institute

Sean Herman hated the night shift. Well, mostly. There was always more to do and people to do it with when SETI was fully staffed during the day. Plus the fact that he’d much rather be in bed with his wife, Ashley instead of doing nothing but practicing his putting and listening to ‘80’s pop, as the long night stretched out ahead of him.

He leaned over his putter, The End of the World As We Know It by R. E. M. playing loudly in the background, and prepared his shot. A flashing red light caught the corner of his eye and he looked up, his mouth hanging open slightly as his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing.

He rushed over to where the music was playing and turned the volume down, his eyes widening in disbelief. A sound not unlike old Morse Code - but much quicker, almost like machine gun fire - came from the speakers and Sean hurried over to the red line to alert his boss.

“If this is not an insanely beautiful woman, I’m hanging up,” the man grumbled into the phone.

“Sir, Sir,” Sean stammered, “I think you should listen to this.” He rolled his chair from the screen to the speaker and held the earpiece of the phone to it, the sound still coming through crystal clear. He didn’t move for a few moments and then brought the phone back to his ear to hear his boss sputtering and cursing. “Sir?” he asked confused, his extreme excitement tempered a bit by the stream of expletives pouring from the chief’s mouth. It took a few moments, but when his tirade finally died away, Sean waited for directions. Once received, he hung up and contacted the rest of the staffers.

Ten minutes later - when the chief finally arrived, his hand holding an ice pack on his head - everyone was at their stations.

“This better not be some Russian spy job…” the chief muttered as he entered the command center.

Billy looked up from his screen and pulled the phone away from his face as he reported, “Guys from air traffic control say the skies are clear.”

A wide grin broke out on Sean’s face. “It’s the real thing! A radio signal from another world!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here…” the chief told Sean, making a placating gesture with his unoccupied hand. “Get on the line with space command.” Sean’s wife, Ashley nodded and turned toward her screen. “They’re going to want to know about this.” The chief moved toward one of the many screens in the room, but tripped over the golf balls Sean had been too excited to clean up. “What were you doing? Golf balls? Are you kidding me? You’re trying to kill me…”

“Wait, a minute,” Ashley murmured, typing away while she looked at her screen, her brow furrowed in confusion. “This can’t be right…” The room was silent as they all waited for her next words. But when those words came, they were all as stunned as she was. “The calculated distance from the source is only three-hundred-seventy-five-thousand kilometers…” She turned and met Sean’s then the chief’s eyes in turn. “It’s coming from the moon.”

~*~*~

Space Command, The Pentagon

General Lance Knight strode down the hallway of Space Command inside the Pentagon, Commander Arthur King by his side briefing him before they entered the secure area.

“Who else knows about this?” Lance asked.

“SETI in New Mexico, Sir,” Commander King replied, opening the door for him and waiting until he entered. “But they’re even more confused than we are.”

The men made their way toward the large table in the center of the room as Major Percy pulled out infrared images of some object approaching earth that they were all rather at a loss to explain.

“It has an estimated diameter of five-hundred-fifty kilometers,” Commander King continued, “and mass roughly one-quarter the size of our moon.”

“Is it a meteor?” Lance asked, looking between the two men. They both shook their heads and answered simultaneously.

“No.”

“Definitely not.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s slowing down,” the major answered.

“What?”

“It’s…” Major Percy glanced at Commander King, and at his sharp nod continued, “slowing down, sir.”

Lance left the table and picked up the red line. “Get me the Secretary of Defense.” He listened for a moment and then barked, “Well, wake him!”

~*~*~

First Family Residence, the White House

The phone rang on the nightstand, and President David Nolan picked it up, a soft and rather goofy smile touching his lips.

“Hi,” his wife, Mary Margaret, greeted him.

“What time is it there?”

“2:45,” she replied. “I know I didn’t wake you.”

David chuckled good naturedly. “As a matter of fact, you did,” he said, his smile still firmly in place.

“Liar.” He could hear her smile in her words, and he was reminded of just how much he loved and missed her.

“You need to get some sleep,” he cajoled.

“I know, I just wanted to tell you good morning before I did and that I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he replied. “I’ll talk to you later. After you get some sleep.”

“Alright. Bye.”

“Bye.”

David got out of bed and left the room. The McLaughlin Group was playing on the TV as he tied his robe closed and sat down to his cream cheese bagel and coffee breakfast. His perfectly put together - even before six in the morning - Press Secretary Regina Mills entered, holding the morning newspaper just as John McLaughlin posed a question to his panel.

“President Nolan’s approval rating has dropped below 40%. Is the honeymoon period over for President Nolan, Morton?”

David rolled his eyes as Morton Kondracke, a reporter for Roll Call - essentially a Capitol Hill newsletter - answered McLaughlin’s question. “Leadership as a pilot in the Gulf War is completely different than leadership in the political arena.”

Elenor Clift, pundit for Newsweek magazine jumped in. “That’s the problem, they elected a warrior and they got a wimp!”

“Regina, you’re up awfully early this morning,” he observed as she sat down across from him at the small table.

“They’re not attacking your policies, they’re attacking your age,” she ranted. “Listen to this. ‘President Nolan seems less like the president and more like the orphan Oliver asking, Please, sir, I’d like some more.’” She folded up the paper and shot him a glare across the table. “Your age was never an issue before. Not when you stuck to your guns. You were thought of as young, idealistic…” she continued, her hands waving about for emphasis. “A breath of fresh air!”

“Isn’t it amazing how quickly everyone can turn against you,” he interjected, before taking another sip of his coffee. A staffer entered the room, catching both their attention.

“Good morning, Mr. President. The Secretary of Defense is on the line.” David stood from the table and picked up the phone.

“Good morning, Isaac,” David greeted. He listened carefully as his Defense Secretary, Isaac Heller spoke. But he still couldn’t be quite sure he was hearing correctly. “Would you say that again?”

~*~*~

Central Park, New York City

Robin Locksley looked at the chess board, calculating his next move. His father, Marco sat across from him puffing on his cigar and staring at him as if his unblinking gaze could somehow get Robin to move before he finished smoking it.

“What’s taking so long?” Marco asked.

“I’m thinking.”

“My social security will expire and you’ll still be there thinking,” Marco groused, taking a sip of his coffee.

Robin didn’t even look at him. “Do you have any idea how long it takes for one of those styrofoam cups to decompose?” he asked, conversationally.

“If you don’t move soon, I’m going to decompose.”

Robin made his decision and moved, Marco moving only seconds later. Robin looked up, his countenance clearly expressing his irritation. When his father simply looked back at him, completely nonplussed, he looked back at the board between them.

“Listen, Robin. I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Marco began.

Robin had a pretty good idea of what his father wanted to talk about and shot him a warning glance before he could get going. “Don’t start.”

Unfortunately, Marco didn’t take the hint and plowed ahead. “It’s been four years, Robin. Come on. You need to take off your wedding band.”

“It’s been three years,” Robin reminded him. “And, no.”

But Marco wasn’t to be deterred. “This isn’t healthy, son. It’s time to move on.”

“No, this,” Robin said, pointing to the cigar in Marco’s mouth, “This is not healthy.” Robin moved his chess piece and looked up, a satisfied smirk on his face. “Checkmate.”

Marco’s mouth dropped open, and he barely caught the cigar as it fell. “What? No! This is not checkmate.” He looked at the board and traced Robin’s last few moves before clenching his fist and hissing in displeasure.

Robin rose from his seat and kissed Marco on the top of his head. “See you tomorrow, Papa.” Marco continued his complaints under his breath as Robin hopped on his bicycle and started toward work.

Once he arrived, Robin rode his bike in between the desks toward his office. His assistant, affectionately nicknamed Little John - though the only time the bear of a man might have been little was the day he was born - called out to him over the din of an even more chaotic bullpen than normal. Everyone was on the phone, raised voices assuring whoever was on the other end of the line that everything that could be done was being done and that their cable would be restored as soon as humanly possible.

“Robin! Where have you been?” Little John cried. “What’s the point of having a pager if you don’t turn it on?

“It was turned on,” Robin replied, grinning at his colleague. “I was ignoring you. What’s the big emergency?” He got off his bike and leaned it against the glass wall of his office, then walked around to his desk.

“It started this morning,” Little John informed him. “Every station is acting like it’s the 1950’s. We’ve got static, we’ve got snow, all sorts of distortions.” The man tossed the Coke can he held into the trash bin just outside Robin’s door and waved his arms around in dramatic frustration.

Robin shot him a glare and retrieved the can from the trash himself. “We have recycling bins for a reason, Little John! Use them!” He tossed it into the recycling container and sat back down at his desk.

The annoyed glare Little John sent him was so out of character, Robin was taken aback for a moment. “So sue me! Robin, we have a problem!”

“Ok, ok,” Robin tried to calm the extremely agitated man down. “Did you try switching transponder channels?”

Little John’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “Seriously, Robin? Do you think I’d be this panicked if it was something simple?”

“Point the dish at another satellite, then,” Robin suggested, turning to his computer.

“We tried that,” Little John informed him, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “It’s like they aren’t even there.”

Robin picked up the sheet of paper from the printer and began to look it over, his forehead furrowing after a few moments.

“What?” Little John asked.

Robin looked back at his assistant, confused unease on his face. “This is impossible.”

~*~*~

Imperial Valley, California

Nicholas Hatter stood at the stove of the family motorhome, cooking scrambled eggs for his two younger sisters, Grace and Ava, the former banging the side of the small antenna TV, which showed only snow on the screen. Suddenly an old beat up Chevy truck pulled up outside the motorhome, honking furiously. Nicholas turned the stove off and they ran outside to see what all the commotion was.

“Michael?” Nicholas asked as a man threw open the door of the truck and stomped around to the bed. Reaching in, he picked up a double handful of greens and marched toward where Nicholas and Grace were standing.

“I’ve got a whole field of rotting vegetables,” Michael seethed, tossing the vegetables to the ground at their feet. “If your dad isn’t dusting my field in twenty minutes, I’m getting someone else.”

“I’ll find him,” Nicholas assured him. “I promise.” Michael drove away and Nicholas turned to Grace. “I’ve got to find Dad. Make sure you both eat breakfast,” he told her. Grace nodded as he ran toward his motorbike.

Nicholas first sped toward the only bar in the tiny town about an hour east of Los Angeles. When he couldn’t find his father there, he drove towards the outskirts of town until he could see the telltale plume of pesticides falling from a single engine plane toward the earth below. Nicholas waved frantically at the plane.

“Jefferson!” he hollered as loud as he could. He could see his father waving back enthusiastically before he brought the plane in for a landing. Nicholas caught up as Jefferson climbed out.

“This is the wrong field, you idiot!” Nicholas hollered. “Darling’s farm is on the other side of town!”

His father just stared at him for a moment, rather bleary eyed. He grabbed a flask from his pocket and took a long swig before turning back toward him. “Are you sure?” he asked. Nicholas just shook his head and rode away.

~*~*~

The Oval Office, White House

Regina entered the Oval Office to even more chaos than she expected. White House staffers, Pentagon officials, and members of David’s cabinet were scattered around - some on telephones, others shooting ideas back and forth - the anxious tension in the room so thick it could be cut with a knife.

“We don’t know enough about what we’re dealing with to make any kind of informed decision,” David said, thoroughly exasperated.

“But, that’s not stopping the press from making up their own stories,” Regina informed him, her grim words and countenance getting everyone’s attention.

“We may need to upgrade to DEFCON 3,” David declared.

“Absolutely,” Defense Secretary Isaac Heller agreed. “Contact NORAD and tell them we’ve upgraded to DEFCON 3.”

Regina moved in close to her boss and whispered, “Are you sure that’s the right plan at the moment? Seems a little premature to me.”

“I said may,” David allowed, his gaze settling on Heller. “Though Isaac is a little too enthusiastic about the idea.”

The door to the Oval Office opened again, admitting two Pentagon soldiers. They approached the President and laid the case one of them carried down on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

“Our intelligence shows it settling into a stationary orbit,” he said after opening the case so everyone could see the infrared photos inside. “Part of it has broken off into nearly three dozen smaller objects. Smaller than the whole, sir, yet each over fifteen miles in width themselves.”

Silence followed the man’s words until Heller asked the question they were all thinking. “Where are they heading?”

“They should be entering our atmosphere within the next twenty-five minutes.”

The silence in the room was deafening and David’s face was grim when he finally spoke.

“Take us to DEFCON 3.”

~*~*~

Downtown Manhattan, New York City

Robin typed away on his computer and then hit the print button as Little John entered his office.

“Please tell me we’re getting somewhere,” he moaned.

“Oh yeah, we’re getting somewhere,” Robin informed him. “The problem isn’t our equipment. There’s some sort of weird signal embedded in the satellite feed. And it has a definite sequential pattern. So as soon as I find the exact binary sequence, then I can calculate the phase reversal with the analyzer I built you for your birthday and apply it. We should be able to block it out completely.”

Robin looked at his assistant amusedly. He looked completely lost until almost the last sentence he spoke, then broke into a wide grin.

“And we’ll be the only company on the east coast with a clear picture!” he exclaimed. Robin nodded in agreement. Little John pumped his fist. “Yes, yes, yes!” Then he picked Robin up off his feet and hugged him as tightly as he could.

Robin was having trouble breathing but still managed to choke out, “Oof, oof, not necessary, Little John!”

~*~*~

People all over the world - in major cities across Europe, Asia, Africa, the Middle East, and the United States - looked skyward as a phenomenon utterly foreign to all mankind occurred.

The sky was split across the horizon - dark, rolling clouds lit up from within by fire - until even the clouds were split as a huge object emerged from the conflagration. The object - shaped like a round, flat disc - cast a shadow covering huge portions of each city, as the people poured into the streets to try and figure out what was happening.

Jefferson Hatter sat in a cafe in southern California, staring at the flask in his hand, until the sudden silence around him made him look up and outside through the front windows. He staggered to his feet, his mouth dropping open at the sight. His kids, back at the motorhome, thought it was an earthquake. Nicholas gathered his sisters in his arms and got them out of the shaking vehicle, before staring dumbfounded at the object in the sky over Los Angeles.

Elsewhere, across America and around the world, children on the playground halted their games, vehicles came to a stop in the middle of the street, people left their desks, their houses of worship, their shopping, their homes, all to bear witness to the sight above. As one, humanity watched and then, aghast and terror-stricken, ran for whatever semblance of safety might be found when their entire world - and worldview - burned in the inferno of the skies above.

Inside the Oval Office, everyone was on a phone confirming sightings of the alien ships around the world. A submarine in the Persian Gulf confirmed two alien crafts heading for Cairo and Baghdad, while the TV showed a broadcast in Russia, panicked citizens in the background, reporting a craft moving toward Moscow.

General Lance Knight pressed the speaker button on the phone and hung up. “Captain, the President is listening. Tell him what you just told me.”

After a moment of static, the captain of a Boeing E-3 on the California coast came through.

“We still have zero visibility. Instrumentation is malfunctioning. We can’t get any kind of reading on what’s in front of us.” The captain paused for a moment as the people in the Oval Office held their breath. “Wait a minute. There may be some clearing up ahead.” There was a longer silence, until shouts from the plane reached their ears. “PULL UP! PULL UP!”

In the silent aftermath of the terrified shouts, Lance picked the phone back up and tried to re-establish a connection for a moment before hanging up and looking around, his face grim. “Line’s gone.”

Next to Lance, another general put down his phone. “They’re tracking two more on the east coast. One is moving toward New York. The other… here.”

“How much time do we have?” Lance asked.

“Less than ten minutes, Sir.”

“Mr. President,” Lance said, “I strongly recommend we move you to a secure location, immediately.”

Heller moved toward David to escort him out, but the President didn’t move.

“No. I’m not leaving.” Heller, Lance, and Regina exchanged stunned and fearful glances.

“We need to maintain a functioning government,” Heller said.

David acknowledged the man with a nod, but still didn’t move. “I’m staying here. I’m not going to contribute to a panic that will cost lives. Get the Vice President, Joint Chiefs, the entire cabinet and move them to a secure location.”

“You heard him,” Heller said to the aide at his side. “Take them to NORAD.”

“Regina,” David continued, “engage the Emergency Broadcast Service. Advise people not to panic. The best idea right now is to stay in their homes.” Regina nodded and, signalling to two other staffers, left the office.

Silence descended for a moment as everyone had their marching orders and hurried to carry them out. Lance looked at David with a proud, but resigned smile on his face.

“Mr. President,” he said, “with your permission, I’d like to remain at your side.”

“I had a feeling you would,” David replied, a soft smile on his face as he looked at not only his mentor, but his friend.

“And what happens if they do become hostile?” the General asked.

“Then God help us all.”

~*~*~

Downtown Manhattan, New York City

Robin entered the bullpen, printout in hand, barely registering the voice of General Lance Knight on the TVs that encompassed the entire wall behind him.

“There is no evidence that these phenomena are endangering anyone,” the General said. “Thus far, reports of aggression…”

“Little John, listen to this…” Robin interrupted. “I got a lock on the signal so we can filter it out. But, if my calculations are correct, it’ll be gone in like seven hours anyway. It’s reducing itself every time it recycles… so eventually it’s going to disappear…” Robin looked up from his printout to see no one listening to him. Their eyes were all glued to the wall of TVs behind him.

A moment later, Little John’s gaze met his. “Robin, haven’t you been listening?” he asked, gesturing forcefully at the monitors behind him. Robin turned to see his ex-wife, Regina Mills step to the podium in the White House briefing room.

“Good afternoon.” It had been three years since he’d seen her in person, and Robin’s heart still fluttered in his chest at the sight of the love of his life. She was the consummate professional, but he could see the strain around her lips, eyes, and shoulders that betrayed to him - though likely not to anyone else - just how unsettled she was. “So far, the phenomenon has not caused any damage. We have to ask you to please stay calm and not panic. One is heading toward Los Angeles, the two on the eastern seaboard are heading to New York and Washington DC.”

Robin looked around at his colleagues, his own alarm reflected back to him from over two dozen pairs of eyes.

“There’s an old bomb shelter in the basement,” Little John called, “Everyone head down! Walk! Don’t run!”

~*~*~

Irvine, California, suburb of LA

Five-year-old Henry Swan ran down the hallway towards his mom’s bedroom, water gun in his hand, making shooting sounds. He burst into the room where she and her boyfriend were still asleep.

“Mommy,” he cried, “lookit! Lookit!”

Emma sat halfway up, her eyes stubbornly remaining closed. “It's too early, baby,” she moaned before falling back to the bed.

Killian turned over and pulled her back into his arms, nuzzling behind her ear. “Earthquake?” he asked.

“Not even a four pointer,” she mumbled. “Go back to sleep.”

~*~*~

Washington DC

Six-year-old Leo Nolan sprinted into the Oval Office and straight into his father’s arms as a shadow from outside darkened the room considerably.

“What’s happening, Daddy?” he asked, burying his face into his dad’s neck in fear.

“It’s going to be alright, son,” David assured him as he and the other staffers moved out of the Oval Office to the balcony. The ship above them cast its shadow over the mall from the Lincoln Memorial in the west to the Capitol, Library of Congress, Supreme Court and beyond in the east, encompassing the White House to the north, to the Jefferson Memorial on the other side of the Tidal Basin to the south.

“Now what do we do?” Regina asked from behind him.

“Address the nation,” he replied, grimly. “There’s gonna be a lot of frightened people out there.”

Regina leaned forward, her chin inches from his shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I’m one of them.”

~*~*~

Manhattan, New York City

Robin took the stairs toward the roof two at a time as the other workers in the building moved as quickly as possible in the other direction.

“Robin, you coming?” someone asked.

“I have to see it,” he said, hardly sparing them a glance.

He opened the door to the roof and emerged into the unnatural darkness caused by the ship above. He watched as it slowly moved across the sky - covering the heavens in every direction - until what looked like the center of the craft came to a stop over the Empire State Building.

Robin looked down at the printout still held in his hand.

“The signal…” he breathed as the puzzle came together in his mind. “My God…” He ran back inside and down the stairs to his floor as fast as his legs would carry him to find the floor empty but for Little John who was on the phone with his mother. The TVs were still running with broadcasts in between bursts of static from around the world showing the ships over London, Paris, Beijing, New Delhi, and Rome.

“I know, Ma,” Little John cajoled. “But could you please just try not to panic?”

Robin came to a stop in front of him. “Tell her to pack up and get out of town,” he said urgently.

Little John met his gaze, but didn’t question him. “Ma, pack up your things and go to Aunt Edna’s. Don’t argue with me, just do it!” he shouted before hanging up. “Robin, why did I just send my mother to Atlanta?”

“No!” Robin hollered from inside his office, “Not Atlanta! Out of town! Out of the big cities! Atlanta will be next!” He grabbed his messenger bag and bicycle and hurried back out into the bullpen to find Little John just outside his office door.

“What? Why? What’s happening?”

Robin didn’t break his stride as he moved with purpose across the room. “Didn’t you hear me tell you that the signal was winding down? In the satellite feed? That it’d be gone soon?”

“No, not really.” If the situation wasn’t so dire, Robin might have chuckled. As it was, he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“It’s a countdown,” Robin informed him. Little John stopped in his tracks, confusion all over his face.

“A countdown to what?” Little John shouted as he chased his boss across the room. “Robin!”

Robin finally came to a stop just before climbing on his bike, resigned to explaining as much as he could to his assistant and friend. “It’s like in chess. You strategically position your pieces, and when the time is right, you strike.” He pointed to the TVs. “They’re positioning themselves all over the world, using this one signal to synchronize their efforts. And in approximately six hours,” he continued roughly, checking his watch, “the signal’s gonna disappear and the countdown will be over.”

Silence met his words. “And then what?” Little John whispered.

“Checkmate.”

The blood drained from Little John’s face, his eyes wide as saucers. “Oh, my God,” he breathed.

“Get out of town as soon as you can,” Robin urged him. “Stay away from the big cities.”

Little John nodded but didn’t move.

“Go!” Robin shouted, finally prompting the man into action. Robin turned to the wall of screens behind him as President Nolan came to the podium.

“Good afternoon. A historic and unprecedented event has occurred. The question of whether or not we’re alone in the universe has been answered. Although it’s understandable that many of us feel a sense of hesitation, or even fear, we must attempt to reserve judgment.”

Regina was standing in the wings watching David address the nation when an aide got her attention, a phone in his hand. “He says he’s your husband.”

Regina’s eyes widened in disbelief, her lips pressed together as she took the phone, a whispered oh my God under her breath emerging from her lips. “What do you want?” she asked as smoothly as possible, hoping no one around her could hear her thundering heartbeat, now for a completely different reason than just a few minutes earlier.

“You have to get out of the White House,” Robin burst out.

Regina turned away from where David was still speaking, and moved further into the hallway away from the other staffers. “This is hardly the time or the place to have this discussion, Robin.”

“No, you don’t understand. You have to leave Washington.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re having a bit of a crisis here,” she said, her voice now an agitated whisper.

“They’re communicating with a hidden signal, they’re going to attack.”

Regina fought not to roll her eyes. “You’re just being paranoid, Robin.”

“It’s not paranoia,” he insisted. “The embedding is very subtle, it’s probably been overloo...” A dial tone met his words.

Robin’s attention turned back to the TVs as President Nolan continued. “My staff and I will remain in the White House as we attempt to establish communication. If you feel compelled to leave these cities, please do so in an orderly fashion.”

Robin gulped hard as he got on his bike, knowing exactly what he needed to do.

~*~*~

Irvine, California

Captain Killian Jones of the United States Marine Corp woke up some hours later and shuffled his way to the bathroom. Through the window, he could see the neighbors all the way down the street leaving their homes with suitcases in their hands.

When he entered the kitchen, the small antenna TV showed a news report that he still wasn’t quite awake enough to pay attention to. He looked at the screen and saw a map of the affected region with the news person urging people to stay off the roads.

“Hey, Emma,” he called. “The news is reporting on the earthquake. I think it might have been bigger than we thought.”

A small arm holding a water gun snaked around the edge of the door leading outside and a stinging stream of water hit his naked chest. Killian chuckled and grabbed the arm, as his other hand rubbed the spot where the water hit him.

“What are you doing, lad?” he asked, hugging the little boy to him.

“I’m shooting the aliens,” Henry replied, shrugging. He returned Killian’s hug, then broke away and ran back outside as Emma entered the kitchen, pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail.

Killian couldn’t pass up the opportunity and grabbed her around the waist, nuzzling into and then kissing up and down the slope of her neck before capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. Probably a bit too passionate with Henry right outside. But he couldn’t help it when she enthusiastically returned his morning greeting.

Killian finally released her, his eyebrows waggling at her flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips, and walked out to get the paper, tripping over Henry’s toys along the way. He stood in the yard and opened the paper before the shouts from the neighbors on both sides registered in his brain.

“Come on, let's GO!” a man shouted, followed closely by a car door slam. Killian’s eyes cut to the right and left to see what was going on, then looked up to a helicopter flying toward Los Angeles in the distance. Killian’s face went slack in stunned disbelief as his brain tried to register what his eyes were seeing.

A huge black disc - from this distance, looking to encompass the entire city - hovered over the valley. Killian stared, his mouth hanging open, as Emma ran out with a mug in her hand.

“You want this coffee, babe?” Her words registered, but he couldn’t respond. “Babe?”

She looked toward the valley in the distance and the distant shattering of the mug she had held in her hand reached his ears. Henry appeared between them both and shot his water gun at the ship in the distance.

Some thirty minutes later, Killian came out of the bedroom, in uniform, his bag packed. Emma paced angrily in the living room.

“They can’t do this,” she growled. “You have to call them back!”

“Yes, they can, Emma. I have to report to El Toro.” He knew she was angry, and disappointed - their limited time together lately responsible for their very late night the night before and lie-in this morning - but he didn’t have a choice. Not with the alien spaceship covering the horizon above Los Angeles.

“But you had leave for the 4th!”

“Well, they canceled it!” he shouted through grit teeth. “Look, the Black Knights are the first line of defense against them. I can’t just think about you and Henry! I have a duty to my country. Who do you think is gonna go up against them? Those idiots down there shooting their guns into the sky?” he asked, referencing a news report they’d listened to as he packed.

Emma stared at him, her stance as rigid as a board, arms crossed, the emotions parading across her face going between anger, frustration, and stunned disbelief, all over a layer of unadulterated fear, as he moved toward the door.

“I was a Marine and pilot before I met you, Emma, and this is what it means to be in the Marine Corp. I don’t have a choice,” he said, quietly looking out at the alien ship before turning back toward her again. “Look, I don’t think they flew ninety billion light years to come down here and start a fight, so just relax. I’m going to report to El Toro and find out what’s going on.”

Killian chuckled when he saw Henry sitting in the driver’s seat of his classic Chevelle convertible - restored by his own hands - as he walked down the front walk.

“What are you doing in there, lad?”

“I’m a racecar driver,” the little boy said before resuming his vroom vroom sound effects. Killian chuckled again as he lifted him out of the seat and gave him a handful of sparklers.

“You be careful with these, alright?” he asked. “Don’t use them without your mom around. When I get back, we’ll go see some real fireworks.”

“Ok.”

“Hold on,” Emma called, running out of the house toward them. “I want to tell you something.”

He turned to her, trying his best to remain stoic, but he couldn’t help the surge of hope within him that she might tell him how she felt about him. How she felt about them. She’d been through a lot in her life, and he’d taken his cues from her as their relationship deepened over the last eight months.

“What is it, Emma?” he asked, searching her eyes. Her chin trembled slightly and her own stoicism melted into vulnerability and fear before she spoke.

“You come back to me, you hear?” It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but he’d still take it. He knew she cared about him, and that was going to have to do for now.

“What have I told you, Swan?” he asked with a smirk. “I’m a survivor.” His smirk turned soft, and he tenderly ran his knuckles down the side of her face. “I’ll come back to you, Swan. I promise.” She smiled softly in return, and Killian could hardly breathe. “Listen, why don’t you go pack a bag for you and Henry and come stay with me at the base?”

The smile on her face was a mixture of joy and stunned surprise. “You’d do that? Really?”

His cocky Captain’s persona slipped into place with her question, masking his own vulnerability and fear of rejection in making the offer in the first place. “Well, I’ll just have to tell all my other girlfriends…”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she interrupted, grabbing his tie and pulling him to her for a passionate kiss.

“Why, Swan,” he said, waggling his brows, his grin full of joy when she finally released him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

“Jealous over you?” she asked, scoffing, with a roll of her eyes. “Pfft… you with those elf ears.” Her words were laced with affection as she stroked the tip of one, but then her countenance turned mischievous and smug. “But you are not as charming as you think you are, sir.”

He smirked and waggled his brows at her again. “Yes, I am.” Then he hauled her to him and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.

~*~*~

The Bronx, New York City

Robin wove his bike in between the stopped and abandoned cars that littered the street. His father’s neighbors were in full blown panic mode, running down the street, their arms filled with everything they could carry. He took the steps up to his Papa’s front door two at a time and banged as hard as he could. Only a moment later, Marco threw open the door, a shotgun in his hand. Robin grabbed it.

“Papa?!” he shouted.

“They’re nothing but hoodlums!” Marco shouted right back, poking his head out and turning left and right, looking for whoever might be coming after him next.

“Do you still have the Plymouth?” Robin asked him.

That got his Papa’s attention. “You want to borrow the car?” he asked, completely dumbfounded. “You don’t have a license.”

“You’re driving. Let’s go!”

~*~*~

David sat down on the bed as the line connected him to Mary Margaret.

“I really want you out of LA.” He didn’t have time for niceties, but he also knew his wife, who did not like to be told what to do. Even in a situation like this. His chances were maybe slightly better than half that she’d just do what he wanted her to do without questioning.

“You’re doing the right thing staying there as a calming presence,” she said, loyally. “I’m behind you 100%.”

“I appreciate you’re trying to help me,” he said, keeping his voice calm, though he was afraid he couldn’t completely hide his frustration from his beloved wife.

“Liar,” she accused, without heat. “Stick with the truth, it's what you’re good at.”

Her spirit made him smile. “Ok, I’ll tell you the truth,” he said. “I don’t want you anywhere near any of those cities.”

Mary Margaret sighed and stopped her pacing.“I’ll leave as soon as the interviews are done.”

“Thank you,” he said. “There’s a helicopter waiting to take you to Nellis. In Vegas.”

“And Leo?”

“He’s going to meet you there.”

“Alright,” she said softly. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

~*~*~

For some reason, the interstate heading south toward Washington DC was completely clear while the opposite direction was bumper to bumper traffic. Robin’s gaze bounced between the road ahead of them and his father, going a full ten miles an hour below the posted speed limit.

“It’s the White House!” Marco exclaimed. “You can’t just drive up and ring a bell. It’s the president, my boy!”

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” Robin asked. Marco carried on his monologue as if he hadn’t even spoken.

“You think they don’t know what you know? Believe me, they know. They know everything.”

“They don’t know this…” Robin murmured.

“Ohhhh, you’re going to enlighten them…” Marco said, a hint of condescension coloring his words. “Tell me, if you’re so smart, how do you spend eight years at MIT to become a cable repairman? If they want HBO, they’ll call you.”

“Can’t you drive any faster?” Robin was having trouble keeping still, his own leg itching to hit a gas pedal that wasn’t there.

“I can’t go any faster, they’re cutting me off here!” Marco said, gesturing to the other cars around them.

“No one’s cutting you off!” Robin nearly shouted. “Nevermind, I don’t want to argue. Just get there! As quickly as possible.” He covered his eyes, hoping his blindness to how slowly they were moving would help lower the tension inside of him.

“What?” Marco asked, not a hint of sarcasm in his words. “You think we’ll get to Washington and it won’t be there?”

Robin looked over at his father incredulously. Yeah, Papa, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

~*~*~

Imperial Valley, California

Nicholas, Grace, and Ava Hatter stared at the TV - various looks of shock and dismay on their faces - as they watched the police lead their father away from City Hall where he’d been arrested for dropping leaflets from his plane and then disturbing the peace by yelling at passers by about the alien invasion.

“We’ve got to stop them!” he shouted into the camera. His eyes were bloodshot and crazed and Nicholas could do nothing but shake his head. “I was kidnapped by aliens ten years ago. They’ve been studying us for years! Finding out our weaknesses. We’ve got to stop them!”

Nicholas couldn’t watch any more. He stood up and snapped the TV off. “Come on, we’re leaving.” He settled himself into the driver’s seat of the motorhome and cranked it up. As he was pulling away from the camp, a pickup truck stopped and a very familiar silhouette staggered out of the passenger seat.

“You read my mind!” Jefferson hollered, flagging down his son. “We have to get as far away from these things as we can.”

Nicholas climbed out, not believing what his eyes were seeing. “They let you out?”

“You’d better believe it,” Jefferson answered, looking to the sky. “They have much bigger fish to fry right now! Let’s go!” He patted Nicholas on the shoulder and they both climbed back in the motorhome.

~*~*~

Squadron 314 The Black Knights Headquarters

El Toro Marine Base, California

Killian entered the squadron headquarters to find all his fellow pilots surrounding the TV. He found his best friend, Will Scarlet and tapped his shoulder, getting the man’s attention.

“I think we can do something better with our time, gentlemen,” Killian called out before heading towards his locker. When he arrived, he found an envelope sticking out. He turned it over and caught his breath. It was from NASA.

“Oh, no, no, no…” he all but moaned, handing it to Will. “I can’t do it… You’ll have to do the honors.” He turned his back to his locker and leaned up against it, not sure his legs were going to be able to hold him up. No matter what the official letter said.

“You wuss,” Will teased.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just read it.”

“It says, Captain Killian Jones, loser.” His tone was playful and teasing as his friend pointed his finger at him. Killian banged his head against the locker behind him. “United States Marine Corp, blah blah blah blah,” he continued, before his tone turned abruptly serious and despondent. “We regret to inform you that in spite of your excellent service record…”

Killian blew out his held breath and turned around to his locker, trying desperately to blink away the tears that threatened to spill.

“I’m sorry, man,” Will sympathized.

Killian opened his locker and glanced at the picture of the flag on the moon inside the door. All he’d ever wanted to be was an astronaut, and this morning, that dream seemed as unreachable as the moon itself.

“You know what you need to do?” Will asked, some of his cheeky spunk back in his words. “You need to kiss some serious booty to get ahead in this world. That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Killian glanced over his shoulder to see Will getting down on one knee behind him. Killian rolled his eyes. “See, for me, I like the one knee approach. It puts the booty right in the perfect position…”

Killian reached into his locker and a small box fell out. Will grabbed it, being closer to the floor, before Killian could make any move to pick it up. As Will opened it up, Killian scratched behind his ear in nervousness.

“This is a wedding ring,” Will said, holding it in both hands, his eyes wide. He looked every inch the man proposing to his love as he held the box up toward Killian.

He took the box from his friend and stared down at the ring inside - a cluster of diamonds making up the body of a swan and a half-carat solitaire nestled in the curve of its golden neck. “I’ve been looking for months for a ring,” he murmured quietly, “But there was nothing out there… that was just her, you know? Nothing was exactly right. So, I designed this and had it made. I thought she’d like it.”

Will stood up and put his hand on Killian’s shoulder. “She’ll love it, man. You know I like Emma,” he said after pausing for a moment, no hint of teasing in his tone. “You know that, right? But, Killian, you are never going to fly the space shuttle if you marry a stripper.”

~*~*~

Robin could see the Capitol Building and Washington Monument in the distance as they drove into Washington, the familiar spectre of the alien ship hovering over the city. The northbound lanes of the interstate were bumper to bumper and unmoving, people abandoning their vehicles, taking everything they could carry with them, walking and running along the median.

Robin pulled his laptop out of his messenger bag and opened it.

“What are you doing?” Marco asked as Robin started typing.

“Regina always has her portable phone listed for emergencies.” Marco’s gaze bounced between his son and the road ahead as he typed in R. Mills, Q. Mills, EQ Mills.

“EQ?” he asked.

“Evil Queen,” Robin said, a smirk on his face as he remembered. “It was her nickname in college.”

“Did you try Locksley?” Marco asked.

Robin turned disbelieving eyes on his father. “She didn’t take my name when we were married,” he said. “What makes you think she’d be listed that way now?”

“Just try it,” he urged.

Not having anything to lose, Robin typed in R. Locksley, then EQ Locksley when that didn’t work. Regina’s number suddenly appeared on the screen and Robin looked over at his Papa, who looked quite smug.

“So what do I know?” he asked his son.

They pulled up outside the gate of the White House, driving slowly to avoid all the protesters. Robin called Regina’s number and blew out a frustrated breath when he was met with a busy signal. He reached into his bag and pulled out a handy little gizmo that he affixed to the top of the Plymouth.

“She’s using the phone,” Robin murmured. “With this, I’ll use her signal to triangulate her exact position in the White House.

“You can do that?” Marco asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Robin replied. “All cable repair men can, Papa.”

In the hallway outside the Oval Office, Regina hung up her phone and immediately it rang again.

“Don’t hang up, sweetheart.”

“Robin!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “How did you get this number?”

“Look out the window.”

Regina moved toward the window at the end of the hall and pulled back the draperies. “What am I looking for?”

“See us?” Robin asked, waving as soon as he saw her beautiful face in the window.

“How does he do that?” she mumbled to herself.

~*~*~

Regina led Robin and Marco into the Oval Office.

“He’s not going to be happy to see you,” she said with a shrug.

“Then we’re wasting our time,” Robin replied. “You have the information, you can tell him.”

“You need to be the one to tell him,” she insisted. “You’re the expert.”

“Why won’t he be happy to see you?” Marco asked.

Not taking his eyes off Regina, Robin answered his father. “The last time he saw me, I might have punched him,” he said, pursing his lips and shrugging.

Marco’s eyes widened in surprised horror. “You punched the President?”

“He wasn’t the president at the time.” Robin did his best to downplay what had happened and refute Marco’s conclusion, but there really wasn’t any way around it.

“Why did you punch the President?”

“It’s not like that, Papa! He punched me back! It was a fight!”

“A fight that you started,” Regina reminded him before turning back to Marco. “Because he blamed David for me… for the breakup… for the divorce,” Regina stammered. “I’m going to get him. Don’t touch anything.”

“You punched the President?” Marco asked again as soon as she’d left the room.

Robin sighed in acquiescence. “I punched the President, Papa.”

Regina entered the cabinet room where David and the rest of the staff watched as reporters filled the screen and helicopters prepared to take off in an attempt to communicate with the alien ships.

“Since we have been unable, so far, to communicate with our visitors,” the announcer began, “these Skylift helicopters have been retrofitted with a visual communication device.”

“They’re just about to lift off,” Lance informed Regina as she moved quickly towards David and leaned over, whispering in his ear.

“I need you to come with me,” she said.

The broadcast continued in the background. “Welcome Wagon is in the air.”

David turned toward her, confusion in his eyes. “Now?”

“Roger, Welcome Wagon. Echo One, right beside you,” a voice came over the broadcast.

Regina nodded and motioned the President to follow her before turning and leaving.

David looked back to the screen and then got to his feet and followed her out.

“You’re leaving now?” Isaac asked. David ignored him and left the room.

~*~*~

Robin was typing away on his laptop when President Nolan and Regina walked in.

“I don’t have time for this,” the President snapped, turning back towards the door of the Oval Office.

It only took Marco a moment to approach the President, hand outstretched, while Regina crossed to Robin as he frustratedly closed his laptop.

“Mr. President, Mr. President,” Marco began, “Marco Locksley, Robin is my son…”

“I told you he wouldn’t listen to me,” Robin said, coming to meet Regina in front of the desk.

“You have to tell him now,” she insisted.

“Regina,” David’s voice contained a warning that she ignored, her voice raised above them all, silencing everyone.

“Robin, tell him!”

Robin cut his eyes over to the President, who stood, warily eyeing him, his hands on his hips.

“I know why we have satellite disruption.”

Cautious attentiveness sparked in David’s eyes as he took a step closer to where Robin stood.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m listening. Go ahead.”

Robin grabbed a sheet of White House stationary from the desk and turned it over, drawing a rough image of the situation facing them - earth in the middle with three large objects forming a sort of triangle around their celestial home.

“Let’s say that you wanted to communicate with spaceships on opposite sides of the planet.” He drew straight lines from the apex of the triangle, missing the earth and the objects forming the two bottom angles, then held up the paper for David to see. “You couldn’t send a direct signal.”

“You’re talking about line of sight,” David said, nodding in understanding and taking a step closer.

��Right,” Robin replied. “The curve of the earth prevents it. You’d have to bounce the signal off satellites to reach your other ships.” He drew satellites in position and then drew straight lines from the satellites to the two space ships on the other side of Earth and held it up again for David to see. “Well, I found a signal hidden inside our own satellite system. They’re using that to communicate.”

Everyone was silent as the implication became crystal clear.

“They’re using our own satellites against us,” Robin continued. He opened his laptop and turned it around so they could all see the descending countdown which now read 27:59. “And the clock is ticking.”

~*~*~

David burst back into the cabinet room, barking orders.

“General Knight, coordinate with Atlantic Command to evacuate the cities. As many people as they can.”

“Yes, sir,” the General replied, before picking up the phone in front of him.

David pointed at the screen. “Get those helicopters away from the ship. Call them back immediately. Johanna,” he continued, turning to the woman standing behind him, “my son.” She nodded and hurried away.

“What the hell’s going on?” Isaac asked.

“We’re leaving,” David informed him and the rest of the staffers scattered around the room.

Suddenly, from the TV, they heard the pilot of the helicopter speak. “Something’s happening.”

“They’re responding,” Isaac repeated, excitedly. They all stopped what they were doing and watched as an ice blue light could be seen in the opening crack across the middle of the ship.

“There’s some kind of activity here,” the pilot said. “Something is opening.”

From the other helicopter, they heard another voice. “We see it, too. Can’t identify it.”

Suddenly a beam of light came from the ship and the hovering helicopters burst into flames. Horrified silence filled the room before everybody moved towards the door, the announcer in the background expressing condolences to the families of the fallen soldiers.

It took only minutes for the President - holding his son - Regina, Lance, Robin, and Marco to emerge into the night to the waiting helicopters, followed closely by several Secret Service agents.

“We are evacuating,” one of the agents reported into his earpiece. “I repeat, we are evacuating the White House.”

“Is my wife in the air?” David asked as he strapped himself and his son in their seats.

“She will be shortly,” Lance replied, doing the same.

As soon as Robin was strapped in, he opened his laptop. The countdown showed 9:11.

On the other side of the country, First Lady Mary Margaret Nolan stopped just before climbing into the waiting helicopter and turned toward a nearby skyscraper with people on top welcoming the alien ship. They were in a frenzy of ecstatic joy and couldn’t be bothered to obey the police helicopter circling ordering them to disburse. She couldn’t turn away from the scene, having a pretty good idea of what was about to happen.

“Mrs. Nolan,” the Secret Service officer called, carefully grabbing her arm to get her to move, “the President has ordered our evacuation.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed, turning once more toward the helicopter.

The moment Mary Margaret was strapped in, the agent closed and locked the door before speaking into his earpiece. “The First Lady is secure. We’re on the move.”

Emma and Henry Swan were stuck in standstill traffic in the Second Street Tunnel trying to get out of LA. Emma glared at the radio as the announcer informed the public that the authorities had called for a complete evacuation of Los Angeles County and to avoid the highways wherever possible.

“Great,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Now he tells me.”

Around the world, people in the cities directly underneath the spaceships saw what could only be described as a blooming flower as the ships opened up from the center, the unfurling arms looking like petals opening to the sun. An otherworldly blue light shone down on the earth beneath the craft, completely covering the largest and most prominent cities across the globe.

At Joint Base Andrews in Maryland, David and the others disembarked from Marine 1 to load Air Force 1. Everyone rushed to a seat and strapped in. The moment Robin buckled his seatbelt, he opened the laptop.

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

“Checkmate,” Robin breathed.

Air Force 1 taxied down the runway, as a beam of blue light shot down from the alien ship to the White House. The resulting fireball chased Air Force 1 into the air, everyone inside the aircraft holding their breath and gripping their arm rests, absolutely terrified. The lights inside the plane flashed and the rattle from the vibrations of the explosion had more than one person breathing a prayer to God above to keep them safe. Would the flames reach them? Would they make it out alive?

Still sitting inside the tunnel, Emma became aware of people running past her classic yellow bug. She looked in her rearview mirror, to see nothing but fire coming at them. She turned around - just to see it with her own two eyes - before she scrambled out and grabbed Henry from his booster in the back seat. Holding him to her, she joined the other people and ran as fast as she could, in and out and between abandoned vehicles, until she caught sight of a utility closet in the wall of the tunnel. She ran toward it and kicked the door in - a flying motorcycle just missing them as they ducked inside the small closet - the fireball passing them by.

Then there was silence.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! July 3 will be up in the morning!

#independence day #krystal writes #inspired by independence day (movie)#manips by kit #art by krystal

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hollyethecurious · 7 months ago

Note

Can you add me to your tag list? Part 1 is great, can't wait for Part 2!

Of course! Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed Part 1. I am diligently working on finishing Part 2, so I hope to have it ready for y'all soon.

I also want to congratulate you on being the first person added to my 2025 Curious Crew Tag List! Each year I start over with my tag list, allowing people who may have moved on from the fandom to gracefully exit the list.

So...

Look alive, ya filthy bilge rats! It's time, once again, to sign up for me crew!

It's a clean slate for the new year, so if you'd like to be tagged in my 2025 fics/updates, then please comment on this post, send me an Ask, or slide into my DMs.

I set a writing goal for myself of an average of 300 words per day, which will give me just over 100k words this year, and believe me... I have at least that many words of ideas in me!

Just a reminder, though. I do not do individual lists for each fic. I have one tag list for all updates and new works, so if you asked to be added you'll get notifications for everything. However, you can exit the list at anytime by just shooting me an Ask (I won't post it) or a DM. No worries at all.

Finally, I have made the decision to no longer post on FanFiction.net. I'm sorry for the inconvenience this may cause for some of you, but the site has become so burdensome. Going forward, you can find my fics here on Tumblr and on AO3. I am HollyeLeigh over there.

I look forward to sharing my works with y'all. If you're curious as to what I'll be working on this year, feel free to send me an Ask. I love talking about my ideas and having it out there will keep me accountable, lol!

Thank you to those who have been with me both this past year and the years prior. Your continued support and encouragement means the world to me!

Tagging the 2024 Curious Crew so they can decide weather to come aboard.

(add to tag list)

@kmomof4 @jrob64 @zaharadessert @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @killianxswan @mie779 @motherkatereloyshipper

@jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @superchocovian @caught-in-the-filter

@winterbaby89 @wyntereyez @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @gingerchangeling

@exhaustedpirate @cocohook38 @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

@jackieorioncat @paradiselady19 @snowbellewells @earanemith @ultraluckycatnd

@pirateherokillian @calmjoonie @unworried-corsair @tiganasummertree @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @kday426 @djlbg @fairytalepretzkle @maggiegreenvt

@natascha-ronin @ilovemesomekillianjones @iamstartraveller776 @deckerstarblanche @shadowsaur

@qualitycoffeethings @idristardis @phoenix-untamed @bluewildcatfanatic @bananachickens

#cs ff #cs rec list #the curious crew #new year new list #all aboard #we are setting sail #words by hollye

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undercaffinatednightmare · 5 months ago

Text

My goal is to make @xarandomdreamx laugh while she betas my writing 😂

Curse of the Leprechauns?

Or on FFN

🍀🍀🍀

Killian gets into a drinking game with the king of the leprechauns on St Patrick’s day . He emerges with his left hand…and a catch. The hand is cursed sort of. After Emma catches him a second time, she decides it might be time to give him a hand. Or rather she can give him a hand until the curse ends.

Tag!

@jrob64 @resident-of-storybrooke @lfh1226-linda @fleurdepetite @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @beckettj @zaharadessert @winterbaby89 @earanemith @everything-person @elizabeethan @elfiola @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @tiganasummertree @teamhook @caught-in-the-filter @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jonesfandomfanatic @kmomof4 @laianely @stahlop @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @exhaustedpirate @ultraluckycatnd @xarandomdreamx @belovedcreation @shady-swan-jones @ohmakemeahercules @bdevereaux-blanche @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @poptart-cat-78 @snowbellewells

#undercaffinatednightmare fics #captain swan #writing weekend #cs curse of the leprechauns

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donteattheappleshook · 2 years ago

Text

(not so) young, drunk and alone 1/1

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else. Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

(We'll give this a light M)

Oh hey, it's me, neglecting all the WIPs for something new.

This fic is a little birthday present to myself. It's completely ferral and I had very little control over it but I listened to Dial Drunk on repeat for 3 days and then this happened. This fic is unbetaed but thank you @the-darkdragonfly for answering all my texts and rambling calls while I was writing it!

A Silver hook story because apparently everything I write is now...

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work)

******

(not so) young, drunk and alone

She shouldn’t be allowed to look at him like that. Not with a smirk caught between her teeth in a way that makes his throat dry and his pulse race. Not with the barely restrained promise of a laugh he’s sure would come out in different company that makes his face burn and and his eyes unable to meet hers. He can’t look at her when she looks like that, and she’s looking at him like that, and he looks - he assumes not great.

So he focuses on the floor instead. The floor is safe. The floor doesn’t stir up conflicting and confusing feelings he’s managed to ignore for the better part of a year. The floor doesn’t make him question every terrible decision he’s made in his life that led him to this exact moment. The floor is… moving. It’s not supposed to do that. Although that’s likely the booze, he rationalizes. But the floor isn’t interested in being rational so Killian lets his forehead fall against the bars he’s already holding onto in an attempt to stay upright. The bars are nice, they’re cool and solid and it slows the spinning in his head a fraction.

“Big night?”

He takes a full ten seconds, counted slowly, and a few deep breaths before raising his head again and facing that smirk. It doesn’t help. The absolute delight in her eyes delivers the same gut-punch it always does - even if it’s at his expense - and the soft blonde curls that have fallen from her probably hastily pulled up bun make him ache to reach out and brush them away from her face just so he can feel the strands between his fingers.

He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it. He should have just let the sheriff keep him in this bloody cell. It’s not as if he hadn’t slept it off a night or two in another cell in another town throughout his youth. But he’s not so youthful now and the sight of the cold, hard bench, the thought of his aching back and the copious amounts of rum still coursing through his blood had been enough to send him over the edge into madness apparently. So he’d pressed the blurry little “absolutely not” in his contacts and called the only person he knew in this whole bloody city.

“Swaann.” He attempts a smile but it turns into a wince as he manages to slur the single word. When he works up to meeting her eyes again - so green, like the sea glass he used to collect on the beach when he was a boy and that takes his breath away every time - there’s a bit of pity mixed in with the amusement.

He feels pretty pitiful. Forty-five and so stumbling drunk that he’d been tossed out of the pub and into a police car, only to be forced to face the one person he’d hoped the rum would chase from his mind. He’s too old to be acting like this. Even with his wits sloshing around in the drink he’d tried to drown them with he knows he’s too old to be acting like this. When you’re young, it’s funny, an anecdote for another time - spending the night in the drunk tank. When you’re his age, it’s just pathetic.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Her voice is sweet, with a laugh still hiding somewhere behind it, and it’s the first sound since he was brought here that hasn’t made his head feel like it was being scratched at from the inside.

“You shouldn’t’ve come here. S’the middle of the night,” he tells her. She doesn’t belong in this sad little room in this sad little jail with the lightbulb that keeps flickering in and out. Still, he can’t stop the stupid smile that finds residence on his face whenever she’s near - because she is here. She came to get him.

Emma raises a brow in a way he thinks she may have picked up from him. “You called me three times.”

He blinks. Fuck. He doesn’t remember that. He looks at the sheriff waiting a little ways back who nods in confirmation, giving Killian his own pitying wince like he tried to stop him. Killian sighs. “‘Mm usually much more charming.”

She rolls her eyes but smirks again as the sheriff slides a key into the ancient looking lock. “Yeah, I know. Come on, Graham’s going to let you off with a warning -”

He nearly falls flat on his face when the door he’d been leaning against swings open.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with him, Em?”

Oh great, they know each other. He’d be more annoyed at her cozy relationship with the unreasonably attractive sheriff if he wasn’t a little bit grateful to the man who caught him and is still holding him up now. If he can just get his legs to go back under him where they belong…

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

Killian feels himself being passed from the man who smells strikingly of the forest, to the woman with the irreplicable scent of honey and drugstore soap that overwhelms him with the memory of every time he’s had his mouth or his hand on her skin. The fingers of his one remaining hand burn with the urge to feel her under them again so he balls them into a fist as she drapes his arm over her shoulders. “What about you?” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s who the question is directed at. “You going to be okay to walk out of here?”

Sheer determination not to make an even greater fool of himself than he already has in front of Emma Swan is the only thing he can attribute to both not falling right over with the nod of his head, and the steadiness of his first step as she leads him out the door.

He stumbles three times between the building and her car. She catches him every time with a hand on his chest, her head turning so that her hair brushes his cheek and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose after the first time - though he can’t really trust his own thoughts at this point since they have to be yelled at him through an ocean of rum.

“It’s your bug!” he beams at the old, yellow car. “I love your bug.”

“You hate my bug.”

Oh, right. He does hate the car that broke down every other time they drove to his hotel in the middle of the night, the one that had broken down the night they met. ‘I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just my car is literally on the side of the road right now and the tow won’t come for another hour at least and there’s… smoke.’

It had been an interesting night, getting an Uber in a strange city to go pick up a stranded woman from a dating app who'd been on her way to his hotel for anonymous sex - a woman he found out had lied about her age when she pointed out that the 1993 beetle was older than she was. ‘I didn’t think you’d swipe right if you knew there was a whole high school senior between us.’ ‘Anything else I should know about?’ he’d teased when they were back at his hotel room where she’d managed to get him out of his shirt with impressive speed. ‘Is Anna even your real name?’ ‘Uhhh, about that…’

She leans him up against the aggressive yellow of the door as she fishes in her pockets for her key. Her cheeks have gone red from the cold and it reminds him of the flush that would sometimes come over her skin if he found the right words or the right touch.

“You’re so lovely.” His thumb is tracing over her cheek though he doesn’t remember raising his hand or reaching for her.

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, Jones. So not gonna happen tonight, but nice try.” This time her smirk is wicked and if he had any real control over his body or his brain he would kiss it right off her smug mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything!” he swears, prosthetic on his heart as she unlocks the passenger side door. “I’m just grateful you came all the way out here to rescue me. My knight in awful yellow armour.” He gasps. She rescued him from a dungeon. “Bloody hell, Swan -” He speaks slowly, managing to get almost every word out coherently. “I’m the princess.”

He’s waiting for her to come to the same mind-blowing realization as he has, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Get in the car, your highness.”

It takes an impressive amount of self-control for him to sit still and keep his hand to himself despite his racing heart and thoughts as she leans over to help him secure his seatbelt. Because he’s not supposed to have those thoughts. And his idiot heart can keep its cruel reminders to itself. He shouldn’t have called her. He hasn’t called her - not in months. Not since he realized his mistake and knew this thing between them had to come to an end.

He’s missed her so bloody much.

“Killian.” She’s beside him now in the driver’s seat and saying his name like it’s not the first time she’s asked him this question. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I…” Shit. He knows this. He’s got this. Think. There was a hotel. A big hotel with really good room service. Maybe they could go there and he could buy her room service. She always liked that. ‘Listen, I know I came over here for sex and that was great and everything, but there’s a freaking lobster grilled cheese on this menu so do you think I could be here for sex and room service tonight?’ She’d looked at him with that same wicked, eager smile and he was already reaching across her for the phone. ‘I feel like I should be concerned that you seem more turned on by this sandwich than you did by anything else tonight.’ ‘Well, it’ll probably take them a little while to deliver it if you want another go at out-seducing bread and cheese.’

“A hotel,” he tells her finally.

“Yeah, I kind of figured. Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which hotel, Killian? Which hotel am I driving you to?”

“Oh.” He knows this one! “Mine.”

She sighs, forehead falling against the steering wheel for a long moment. He waits, not sure what he did wrong but positive that he did something. “Okay,” she says, sitting up and starting the car. “It’s late. You can sleep it off on my couch for tonight and I’ll drive you back in the morning when you’re less… wasted.”

She sounds frustrated and he thinks it might be his fault. He looks at her carefully as she turns out of the parking lot, really looks at her for the first time since she walked back into his life a moment ago. Holding his breath against the eyes and hair and skin that always try to steal it away, he takes note of her messy hair, the lack of any makeup, the grey sweats he knows she likes to sleep in. He looks at the clock next, the late - or rather early - hour shining angry, bright and orange. He can figure this out.

“I’m sorry.” He’s an idiot. She glances at him before turning back to the dark highway ahead of them.” “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He hangs his head, hoping he looks sincere and not just as pathetically pissed as he is. “I woke you up.”

“Really, Killian, it’s fine. I was just going to bed.” He looks at the clock again and he envies her youth not for the first time since meeting her. He supposes he’s up this late as well, but that wasn’t by choice. That was the rum’s decision. The rum always makes bad decisions.

“But it’s cold.” She must be cold. She’s always cold and he made her go outside. She hates outside. She probably hates him now. ‘Listen, I’m all for this whole hooking up when you’re in town no strings thing.’ She waved a hand in his general direction. ‘Big fan of everything you’ve got going on here. But it’s cold as balls outside, so from now on you can come to mine and I can stay inside where it’s warm, or I’ll see you in the spring.’

The smirking curl of her mouth tugs at her cheek but he doesn’t reach for it again. “Yeah, it’s November.”

November. The last time he saw her it had been the dead of summer, both of them hot and sticky and barely dressed, stretched out in front of the single standing fan by the bed in her little apartment with no bloody air conditioning.

He misses that apartment. Misses being there with her and letting her make him boxed mac and cheese while he complained about her eating habits. Misses the ridiculous sheets with little Millennium Falcons on them that she’d found when he was running late to meet her that one time. He’d made her wash them before putting them on her bed - ‘fine, mom’ - and then listened to her make Star Wars puns from between her thighs until they tightened so hard against his ears he couldn’t hear anything at all.

And he misses the way she would smile at him when she opened the door, just before she dragged him inside, asking about his flight between heated kisses and frustrated hands. ‘I hate your stupid ties’.

He’s a bloody idiot and he should have never stopped calling. Or he should have stopped calling a long time ago, before there was anything to miss. They had a good thing going, an understanding, no strings. He’d reach out when he was in town for work and they would meet for one or however many nights he was staying. No expectations or dates or sleepovers, none of the complicated stuff. And he’d screwed it up.

His feet slip dangerously against the icy ground - at least he’s pretty sure there’s ice, or the ground isn’t staying still again - as Emma practically hoists him out of the car. “You remember the stairs right?” she asks, ducking under his arm again to steady him. She fits well there with her arm wrapped around his waist.

He hadn’t remembered the stairs. Though he should have, he’d complained about them enough times. ‘What’s so wrong with an apartment with an elevator?’ ‘Aw, can your old knees not handle it?’ He’d caught her as she bolted up the last few flights at his glare, laughing the whole way, and he’d spent enough time on his ‘old knees’ to make her take it back. This time, he’s not so sure he can handle it as he looks up at the rotating stairs that seem unable to settle on a height.

“It’s either that or you’re sleeping in the lobby, Jones.”

He considers it. “Is that David guy still your landlord?” The one who was particularly hostile to the man in his forties coming over at random hours of the night to visit his twenty-eight year old tenant. ‘Give him a break, he still thinks I’m the sixteen year old kid he illegally rented to when I first moved here.’

In fairness, Killian would probably judge himself too if he were in the landlord's shoes. He has judged himself many times for becoming a stereotype of Dicaprio-sized proportions. But the alternative would have been resisting Emma Swan, something he’s incapable of doing - or at least had been until that morning he ruined everything.

“Okay.” The stairs are still moving.

“Hold on.” She takes out her phones - there’s definitely two of them - and holds them in front of his face. “I just want to get you on camera saying that I’m not liable if you fall down these stairs and break your neck.”

“Is that really necessary?” He got that whole sentence out in one try.

“I know you have a lawyer.” ‘You have a what? Wow, I knew you were older but I didn’t know you were like, old old.’ ‘I don’t think it counts if you’ve stolen from parent’s liquor cabinet.’

“Fine. Don’t sue Emma if I die. She’s very nice and doesn’t have any money anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“It’ll never hold up in court.”

“That would be way more convincing if you could pronounce all your consonants.”

The climb takes twice as long as it should and he’s forced to stop once when he makes the mistake of looking down and his stomach rolls violently. ‘I swear to god if you puke in my hallway I’ll leave you here to sleep in it.’

“I don’t remember there being this many floors.”

“It’s four floors. You’ve done two.”

He might die.

He doesn’t die, but just barely, and when Emma leads him through the door and into the studio, she practically drops him onto the old couch. It’s not her fault; he’d made himself very droppable in the last few minutes. At least he landed on the couch and not the collection of wooden crates she’s glued together next to it. ‘That’s not a coffee table, Swan.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is that or is that not your coffee cup on it right now?’

He doesn’t see her for a few minutes, his head too heavy to lift, but he can hear her moving around the apartment and he can picture her, walking through the kitchen on her toes. ‘It’s not weird, shut up.’ ‘I just thought you’d like to know that most people use their whole foot.’

When she finally comes back, he forces his eyes open, unsure who exactly glued them shut or how they did it without him noticing. Fuck she’s beautiful. Even through the boozy marinade he’s made of his head he can see that, and he wants to tell her. He could. He could blame it on the rum. But that would be a bad idea. Complicating things between them would be a bad idea. They’d already gotten complicated enough. God, he’s such a fuck up. Things were good, they could have stayed good. He just had to go and ruin a good thing with his stupid, greedy heart.

“Here.” Two little pills and a frighteningly large bottle of water are set down in front of him. He’s not sure what the pills are but he’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t try to poison him even if he is an asshole who called her in the middle of the night after ghosting her for months. Pretty sure. The water sounds like a good idea.

“Have you eaten anything or did you have rum for dinner?”

“There were peanuts at the bar,” he tells her after guzzling down enough water to drown himself with. She shakes her head and walks out of his line of sight again. This time she comes back with a bag of crisps and he thinks maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as he thought because they’re the kind he likes most.

“Eat that, drink that, and take those,” she orders, pointing to each with a stern look. “And then lie down on your side so I know you won’t choke to death in the night, and get some sleep.”

“Yes ‘mam,” he salutes.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He wasn’t trying to be cute. But it makes him unreasonably happy that she thinks he is. She rolls her eyes at his probably once again dumb smile and repeats, “eat,” before disappearing where he can’t see her again.

When she comes back this time her hair is down, falling over the shoulders of her oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt she’s apparently had since she was twelve, and he wants to whine or cry at how desperately he wishes he could reach for her and what an idiot he is for being the reason he can’t. She’s carrying an empty garbage can, a blanket draped over one arm.

“Do not puke on my rug. It’s the only new thing in this whole apartment and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.”

Killian leans over from where he’s stretched out on the couch that’s too small for him, running his fingers over the blue and white pattern and nods. “It’s lovely, very soft.”

She’s silent for long enough that he looks up again, only to find her with her lips pressed so hard together against a laugh that he can see her chest lurch with the force of containing it. He frowns, looking from her to the rug and back again before realizing that he’s been stroking the rug with his prosthetic hand.

“Emma… I might be drunker than I thought.”

The laugh that bursts out of her is loud and horrible and obnoxious and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time. He’s missed that sound, the one that had shocked him so completely the first time he heard it that they’d both ended up on the floor, stomachs hurting and eyes tearing, neither able to remember what had set her off in the first place and unable to stop giggling like teenagers.

“Aw, babe,” Emma crouches down in front of him with a pitying look before beginning to work the straps of his false hand loose. Her hand settles soft against his cheek once it’s free, smirk still lingering on the corner of her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as drunk as you are right now.”

Her face is so close to his that his heart forgets how it’s meant to work, stopping and racing of its own accord. He wishes she would close the distance, that he could feel her mouth against his for the first time in months, or that she’d simply stay here with him for the rest of the night because the distance and the silence between them has been more than he can take. He doesn't know how he ever convinced himself that staying away would eventually make the ache for her fade.

She smiles at him again, giving his cheek an affectionate pat before draping the blanket over him, the soft one he knows had been her prized possession before the rug. “Get some sleep, Killian. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as hungover as you’re going to be tomorrow either.”

He’s not sure whether or not the way his fingers close around hers before she can pull away was his idea or the rum’s, but she’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something and he doesn’t know what he was going to say or what he was thinking. He just knows that he missed her and he screwed it up - and then he screwed it up again, possibly beyond repair the second time.

Being in this city that he managed to avoid for months in the hopes that he could forget about her has been one of the worst decisions he’s ever made. To think he really believed that he could live here, that he could take the job that was offered and not be haunted by her every waking moment, not dread and hope to see her around every corner.

Being naive enough to think he could ignore the draw of her is how he ended up in that bar tonight. He’d tried to figure out how many shots of rum it would take to make him forget that he loves Emma Swan, but it seems there isn’t enough rum in the world for that - or at least not enough in that bar.

She’s still looking at him and he wishes she wasn’t watching him with a hesitation and a carefulness that hadn’t been there before. It had always been so easy between them; he’d never felt less self-conscious with another person in his life and now it’s all consuming. She’s lost the carefree warmth he used to see in her eyes, like he took it with him when he left that morning and didn’t come back.

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment in her sigh. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “Not for calling you tonight. For not calling you. Every other night. I’ve been an ass and I’ve been a coward. You didn’t deserve that.” By the grace of whatever gods might be listening to his poor apology, he doesn’t slur a single word.

Her pause is long enough that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he can’t read her expression through the haze of booze and exhaustion swimming around in his head. He should let go of her hand, but he’s painfully aware that this could be the last time he gets to touch her and she’s not pulling away.

She sighs again. “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re feeling better?”

He lets go. “Aye, Swan, whatever you want.”

She walks away. Beyond repair then.

***

Killian jumps, heart pounding. He feels like he’s woken from a coma, body so heavy with sleep that parts of it aren't responding to him and never having been more confused than he is in these first few moments. It’s daytime, but it’s not morning, the light is too dim, and he’s asleep but not in his bed or in his hotel room, on a couch he recognizes but can’t really place. He has a vague recollection of things that may or may not have happened while he lay here; the sound of someone moving around the room, someone saying his name, a door shutting, an angry car somewhere far off and the bark of a dog somewhere close, the sound of keys and the strange sensation someone poking him in the face - hard.

All of it feels like a fever dream now as he looks towards the tinny sound of the belligerent man’s voice coming from the phone in her hand.Oh no. Oh god what the hell had he done last night? He recognizes the room, the soft blanket he’s under, the long legs clad in grey sweatpants perched on the table in front of him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to look at her.

“Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

If you’d like to save this message, press - there's a loud beep before another message begins to play. Bloody hell. He remembers the pub, and the cop - sort of - and he remembers that little line on his phone screen. ‘Absolutely not’. From the looks of it, he absolutely did.

“Heey, isme again. I don’t think I told you where I am. Is’not great, Swan. They put me in the jail.”

He winces, sitting up carefully, head still light and disoriented. “Did I…”

“Mhm.”

Another wince. “Are they all-”

“Oh yeah.”

“‘M not even that drunk. The sherfs just got a commpelex or something.”

“Swan, we really don’t have to -”

“Shh, this is my favourite part.”

Killian hangs his head. “I - Oy, I’m on the phone, sherirff! Don’ they teach you manners at cop school? The cops in your city are rude, Swan. Hey! No - iss my phone. I can call whoever I want.” There’s a shuffling sound that stirs up a faint memory of trying to back deeper into the cell, then a small shout and he remembers why his ass hurts and that he’s probably got a bruise on his hip the size of the one on his ego. Emma has her lip caught between her teeth again, flashing him the same look she had when she arrived at the station.

“Hello? Swan? Oh, right. Yur prolly asleep. You should be asleep, that’s good. I jus’ called ‘cus I…” For a blissful minute he thinks he might have had the sense to hang up, the silence on the other end dragging on and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then the message rings out again. “I can't remember why I called you. I think somethin’ made me think of you.” His voice gets softer and so does her expression for just a moment.

“That happens a lot. I been thinking ‘bout you a lot, all the time, really. And not just in a sexy way and not just yer face.” Killian hangs his head. “Even though I’m a fan of your face. And all your other parts too.”

He wishes he could just perish right here and now, wishes the dull ache in his head would become an aneurysm and take him out without a fuss.

“I been thinking about those ridic’lus tiktoks you used to send me and when I was in meetings ‘n I jus’ wanted to be with you. I don’t know anything about Taylor Swift anymore, Swan - I don’t know how to find those myself.” There’s another pause but he knows better than to hope this is over, much of this coming back to him now in mortifying waves.

“I’ve too many shirts in my closet now - It’s so many shirts. I always brought extra ‘cause I knew you’d steal ‘em an’ then you’d walk ‘round your kitchen in ‘em with no pants like yur a sexy Winnie the Pooh or somethn’ and I had to watch you climb yur counters while I had a heartattack ‘cuz you wouldn’ jus’ let me get things off the top shelf for you. Bloody stubborn.” There’s a sigh over the machine. “I don’t want this many shirts, Swan…

‘Anyway I - What? Who does? Sorry, Swan the sherf is being rude again. He wants to know if yur picking me up. Are you picking me up?” There’s so much hope in his past self’s voice that he almost feels bad for him. But he also knows what a bloody idiot that man is and it’s hard to feel anything but the overwhelming urge to disappear into this couch and not have to listen to any more of his drunken rambling. “That would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. Gnight, love.”

To delete this message press - She hits a button. Message saved.

Killian braces himself for the next one. Gods, how many of them are there? But this time it’s not his voice that comes out over the speakerphone, it’s another man, Irish and vaguely familiar through the sleep and the unfortunately returning memories.

“Hey, Emma, it’s Graham.” Killian’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of another man calling her in the middle of the night. Of course she wouldn’t have sat around pining like he did, not for a man who treated her as carelessly as he had. Of course - “Listen, I don’t know who this guy is but he says he knows you. I thought maybe he was one of your clients but when I asked him how he knows you he just asked me if I’ve ever been in love...”

The brow Emma raises at him is equal parts question, challenge and amusement and he feels the blood rush from his face. Fuck. He wonders whether four floors would be high enough for him to end this misery if he just went out the window.

“Anyway, just let me know if this is another Walsh situation and I’ll make sure he stays in here, alright? Goodnight, love.” Killian can’t even begrudge the man or the endearment he adds to the end of his message when he’s only looking out for her. Probably a good thing she has someone to keep old, drunk dickheads away from her.

He hears another beep of her mailbox and braces himself for whatever’s coming next. “Hi, love, ‘m sorry for calling so much. I know I made too many ms’takes to be ‘loud to say this, but… I miss you, Swan… And I’d jus’ really like to see you again.”

End of messages. To -

Emma shuts the phone off, setting it down next to her on the coffee table. She tilts her head to see his face which he’s currently trying to bury in his hands. “Sounds like you had quite the night.”

“I thought I’d be more hungover.” His head hurts and he’s tired and his mouth is dry but he expected to be near death after the way he threw them back last night.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Oh. He does the math of how long she’d let him sleep in her apartment after everything he’s done - after she picked him up.

“At one point I had to make sure you were alive. But I figured if you were able to leave such eloquent voicemails last night that you probably weren’t in danger of alcohol poisoning.”

“Swan, I…” He’s fully aware that he deserves her mocking but he’s too humiliated to even begin to try and explain his behaviour last night. How can he without explaining everything right down to that morning in July where he messed up the best thing in his life.

She takes pity on him, giving a small shrug. “Forget about it. Everyone says stupid stuff when they’re hammered. Everyone calls people they know they shouldn’t.”

“No, Emma -” He finally lifts his head to look at her. “That wasn’t…” He needs her to know that wasn’t what this was, she wasn’t just some drunk dial in the middle of the night. He thinks of how many times in the last three three months he’s looked at that contact in his phone, her name replaced with a reminder that he should not and absolutely could not go there. She mistakes his hesitation.

“You okay?”

“No.” He needs to talk to her, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. But he can’t find the words in his tired, muddled head to tell her without telling her everything. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

Emma smirks. “Yeah, we established that last night - a bunch of times.”

“I mean it. It wasn’t -” He rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep and avoid looking at her. “I didn’t just call you because I was drunk. I’ve wanted to call you. For months. Last night just gave me an excuse.”

“You needed an excuse to call me?”

He sighs. “I was coward enough to convince myself I did.”

When he finally forces himself to face her, he finds her watching her phone, fingers wrung in her lap and lips pressed together tightly the way they always are before she asks something that’s answer matters to her.

“How much of last night do you actually remember?”

“Most of it, I think.” It’s been coming back to him in increasingly horrifying details since she played that first voicemail.

“You said a lot of stupid stuff.”

“I know.”

“How much of all of that was true?”

“All of it.”

She raises a brow. “All of it?”

“Aye.”

“Sexy Winnie the Pooh?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I stand by what I said.”

He wonders which parts of what he said she’s focusing on as her silence stretches between them, heartbroken when he sees a little wall go up. This is why he stopped calling. He knew this would happen.

“It’s fine. It’s not like you owed me anything. We weren’t -”

“Don’t do that.” His hand reaches out for her, fingers playing carefully with the fabric of her too-big sweatpants. “We may not have been in a relationship but we weren’t nothing.” He won’t let her excuse his behaviour, not after they spent over a year in each others’ lives only for him to disappear from hers. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were.”

“So then why did you stop calling?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard her sound even though she hides it well and he can’t bring himself to look at her. “I liked what we had going. I liked spending time with you.”

“Aye, so did I.” Too much.

“I guess I thought - I guess I thought we were friends at least.”

“We were.” His fingers dance along her calf through the fabric he can’t stop fiddling with and he feels the muscle tense but she doesn’t pull away from him.

“So then what gives?” The anger in her voice makes his gaze snap up to hers. Finally. He’s been waiting for her to be angry with him, she deserves to be angry and he deserves it too. It gives him that small flicker of hope he’d been unable to find until now, a hope that if she’s angry, it’s because she cared enough to be hurt. “Why did you just…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Disappear.

“Because I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what? Hook up? Jesus, Killian, I’m a big girl. You didn’t have to run away because you were over the benefits part of this friendship.”

“I wasn’t. I left because I broke our rules.”

“What rules?”

The ones they’d so carefully established when they decided to continue this arrangement beyond the first and second time he saw her. The ones that were meant to keep either of them from getting hurt like they both were now.

“The last time I was here, we fell asleep and woke up in the morning still in your bed and I…”

“That’s why you freaked out? Because you accidentally slept over? That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He can hear the disbelief in her voice and also the relief but he’s not done. “It wasn’t like a hard and fast rule -”

His fingers curl around the back of her knee, squeezing as he draws her attention. “That’s not why.” He traces his thumb over the fabric covering her shin and he knows he has to tell her because he can’t do this anymore without telling her and he can’t go back to how things were.

And he thinks that just maybe, she’ll want to hear it. Because as small and insignificant as it may seem, those aren’t her sweatpants, they’re his, lent - stolen - after a rather frantic afternoon in his hotel room six months ago where he may have torn her skirt in his haste to get it off. ‘You need better quality clothes, love.’ ‘Is this you finally offering to be my sugar daddy?’ They have his bloody initials on them - a strange gift from his lawyer friend. And she hasn’t gotten rid of them, didn’t toss them away when he did the same to her. She still sleeps in them.

“I freaked out because I liked waking up with you, and I started thinking that I’d like to wake up with you every morning.” He’d been hot and sweaty and sore from sleeping on her old mattress but he’d looked down at the woman wrapped around him despite the stifling heat, her cheek pressed to his chest and her hair in his mouth and he knew that he wanted this, wanted her, maybe forever. He hears her small intake of breath, his thumb still stroking her skin though the fabric as though it’ll give him the strength he needs. “And I hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…” He can’t finish and so she does for him.

“Milah?”

“Aye.” His reason for never wanting anything more, love lost in the same instant that cost him a piece of himself. He’d told Emma about her, one night when they’d lingered a little too long entangled in the aftermath. He didn’t know the details of her reason, only that she’d been far too young and that he’d hurt her deeply enough to make her wary of anyone who claimed love or devotion.

“I hoped that if I stayed away for a little while that it would fade away and that we could go back to how things were because I knew that if I told you I would lose you. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed you and the more I wanted you and I realized it wasn’t going to go away - because I loved you.”

Killian watches her for a reaction as he tells her the truth he’d been hiding from her for months and from himself for far longer, but she remains unreadable, fingers still wringing nervously in her lap, breathing a little shaky. But there’s no abject terror in her gaze as she waits for him to finish.

“And by then I’d avoided you for too long and it was too late to tell you or try to go back to how things were and I lost you anyway. Then I managed to convince myself that it was for the best because this wasn’t what you wanted and you deserved better anyway.” Better than an old widower with a used up heart who’d run the moment things became real. “But I thought you had the right to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you. I left because I cared too much.”

Fabric slips from his hand as she stands, circling the coffee table and leaving him feeling untethered without her and with a barrier set between them. He focuses on the rug, her reaction expected but no less painful, as she paces the length of her glued together crates a few times.

“Okay two things.” Her tone snaps his gaze up to where she moves anxiously and restlessly in the small space. “First of all, that’s the last time you make a decision for me.” He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I don’t need anyone to decide what I do or don’t deserve or what I can or can’t handle. If you want to know what I want, you ask me. You talk to me like the grownup you keep pretending that you are.” That one hurts but he nods. It’s all rightly earned.

“You’re right.”

“Good.” She stops, shoulders squared as she faces him from across the table. “Second.” He waits, the anger from before no longer sustaining her as he sees the wall she hides behind slip just a little. “You said you loved me.”

He’s not sure what answer she wants, but he gives her the truth. “I love you, Swan.” Try as hard as he did not to, he knows it’s not going away. And he’s not willing to attempt another eight shots of rum a second time to make sure.

She nods. He waits, or she waits, he’s not sure who’s supposed to speak here only that he needs to know how she feels and he’ll wait as long as he needs to.

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want?”

“What do you want?” He’d give her whatever she asked for at this point as he watches her bite her lip and definitely doesn’t wish he was the one biting it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Fair enough.

“Look, I get running away from feelings - I’m very familiar with the concept. But the way you did it was really shitty and -” Her voice goes quiet, arms wrapping around herself in a move so full of self-preservation that it breaks his heart a little. “It hurt, okay?”

Her words, thick with betrayal and rejection, pierce sharp through his chest, painful and deserved as she avoids his gaze as determinantly as he’d avoided hers. God, he’s an ass. He’d pieced together enough about her past from the small glimpses she’d given him late on those nights where they were still tangled naked in her sheets and the dark lent them the boldness to be vulnerable to know that she’d been left before.

He joins her on her side of the table, reaching to touch the soft, golden waves that he’s spent months wishing he could tangle his fingers in again. “I’m sorry.” He pushes them behind her ear, thumb stroking over her cheek like her skin could break beneath his touch.

When she looks up at him her eyes are red and wet he pulls her to him without thinking. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, Emma feeling fragile in his arms for the first time since he met her. She’s a force, his Swan, a tempest that could devour a thousand ships and it hurts to see her storms wane.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brings a hand to stroke the hair at the base of her neck, feels her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks against her brow. “I’m so sorry, love.” His lips brush over the crown of her head and he feels her arms slip around his waist, holding tight to the back of his shirt. He holds her just as tightly, nose settling in the crook of her neck where he presses another kiss and whispers a thousand more apologies. “I’m an ass.”

“Yeah, you are.” Her voice comes muffled from where her face is pressed against his collarbone and he laughs in relief to hear her tease him. He pulls back enough that she can lift her head to face him, eyes still red as he wipes at the dampness left on her cheeks. All he wants is to kiss her and spend the night and the next day and every day after that making this up to her, but he knows better than to push her.

Her hands slide from his back to his chest as she meets his gaze and takes a steadying breath. “I still don’t know what I want. You’re not the only one who’s bad at dealing with feelings and you just put some pretty big ones out there.”

“I know.” He doesn’t expect to hear the words back, not after three months of silence. But if she gives him the chance to stay and try to win her heart then he’ll spend forever earning back her trust.

“But maybe, if you’re still in town for a bit, you could stay for dinner.”

It takes everything he has to contain the ecstatic smile that wells up from his chest, afraid he’ll scare her off. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He’s not leaving her again. Not unless she sends him away.

***

“When do you go back?” she asks when they’re sat at the kitchen island. ‘What, exactly, do you have against real furniture? Especially tables. They seem particularly discriminated against.’ ‘Do you see any room in here for a twelve-piece dining set?’ He swallows the bite of the boxed mac and cheese she’d made him cook ‘Because I’m still pissed at you and I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer through this.’ ‘Sadist. Can I at least add -’ ‘No.’

Killian looks at his watch. “My flight was an hour ago.”

“What? You should have said -”

“And miss all the delicacies that Maine has to offer?” he asks, lifting his mismatched bowl. “It’s fine, Swan,” he adds when she looks genuinely concerned. “I’d rather be here.” He can get another flight at the last minute before he’s due back in New York on Monday. Getting his things back from the hotel, however, may be a tad more difficult.

“That’s sweet and all but I think you’d also rather be employed.”

“Aye, well, I may not be employed there much longer anyhow.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh god, don’t tell me you left them voicemails too.”

Killian snorts. “No, I’ve just… had another offer.”

His heart pounds frantically as she asks, “where?” terrified that he’ll scare her off.

“Here.”

“Here?”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to take it, not after realizing how much I’d miss you if I was here. But, well, that was before I drank a full bar. And this town does have its benefits.”

She gapes at him and he can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “You’re not moving for me, right? You want the job? Because I told you I don’t know what I want or if I can even do… whatever this maybe is and I -”

He reaches for her hand, calming the rambling that had started. “I do want the job, but of course I’m moving for you, Swan. And I know you’re not ready to decide anything, and I’m not asking you to. But whether you do or don’t decide that what you want is me, I’m going to be right here while you figure it out. I’m not going to leave you twice, Emma. I don’t want to miss you like that again.”

Emma just stares at him, mouth opening and then shutting with questions that don’t find voice and he sits, stewing in the worry that he said too much, asked for too much. He swallows as she jumps out of her seat, his turn to ramble now as she rounds the island.

“I mean, I will have to go home and get my things and resign but I -”

“Shut up,” she tells him, hands sliding into his hair and mouth colliding with his.

He’s more than happy to do exactly that, wasting no time in gathering her up in his arms and pulling her close, returning the kiss he’d missed so damn much all these months, missed the feel of her soft and warm against him like this, for the little sound she makes when his own hand tangles in her hair just hard enough that he can keep he there a little longer.

“Wait,” he breathes and her hands pause where they’d been working the buttons of his shirt free. “Maybe we should slow down.” There’s a part of him screaming at his stupid mouth right now for the words falling out of it. “You said you don’t know if this is what you want. So maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”

She barks out a small laugh. “You’re moving to another city for a ‘maybe’ and you don’t want to rush things?” He doesn’t really have an answer for that.

Her brow and mouth quirk up in one devastatingly attractive motion that has him ready to go back on everything he just said. “This was never our problem,” she reminds him, fingers tugging the buckle of his belt loose. “We’re good at this part. Everything else is where we get messy.” She works the button of his jeans open next. “So just try not to make any more big confessions while you’re inside me…” She runs her teeth over the skin below his ear as she slides her hand into his jeans and he nearly chokes. “And we should be fine.”

“Bloody hell.” His rational self may judge him later, but his current self has Emma Swan with her hand around his cock trying to get him out of his clothes and he’s already established that he’s not a very smart man. “I promise.”

***

It’s a strange feeling to be laying here, wrapped up in an old duvet and Star Wars sheets with Emma’s head on his shoulder and her fingers drawing patterns over his chest. They’ve never done this part, never lingered beyond the time it took them both to catch their breaths before untangling themselves from one another and going about their day - or tangling themselves again. He likes it, but it’s strange, new, something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not with anyone.

“This is kind of weird right?” she asks, breath warm against his neck.

Killian laughs. Bloody mind reader.

“Aye, a bit. I think I’m out of practice.”

“I never practised in the first place.”

He presses a kiss to her hair. “But, it’s not bad, right?” She can probably hear his stupid heart racing as he waits for her answer.

“No,” she shakes her head, sliding her arm around his waist and fitting herself more snugly against his side. “It’s not bad.” He can feel her smile against his skin, glad she can’t see the absolutely ridiculous one stretched across his own. They lay there a little longer, the room darkening with the earlier and earlier nights as he begins to dread the fast approaching hour where he’ll have to leave, until Emma shifts. “My neck hurts.”

“My arm’s asleep.”

She sits up and his arm is flooded with the sudden relief of no longer being squished, but he misses the warmth and the closeness of her immediately. He has two arms. Who really needs both? He’s done fine with one hand. “Where are you going?” he asks when she rises from the bed, reaching for his shirt that she tossed on the floor and he made himself leave there. ‘Do not fold your clothes while we’re in the middle of having sex or I swear I’ll put mine back on you fucking weirdo.’

“Thirsty,” she says as she finishes buttoning it. “You?”

“Aye, thanks.”

“Water? Or would you prefer rum?”

“Hilarious.” His stomach rolls, not finding her so funny. She certainly seems to think she is, smirking as she fetches two water bottles from the fridge. “You know you’re going to have to give me my shirt back this time. It’s the only one I’ve got.” At least until he finds out if the hotel hung onto his suitcase when he missed his checkout. “Unless you have the others squirrelled away here somewhere.”

“I thought you had ‘too many shirts, Swan,’” she reminds him in a poor imitation of his accent and he rolls his eyes. She hops back onto the bed, climbing into his lap to sit astride his hips. His hand and wrist settle on her waist, the shirt in question riding up and making him groan at the feel of her pressed against him.

“Aye well I’ve only got the one to wear out of here tonight and while you look infinitely better in it than I do -”

“Like a sexy Winnie the Pooh, would you say?”

He sighs. “I’m never living that one down am I?”

“You want to show me your hundred acre wood?” Killian lets his head fall back against the headboard as she laughs herself silly. “I have another solution,” she tells him, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking, maybe, since you’ve already missed your flight, and you probably don’t have a hotel room anymore, that you could stay here tonight. And maybe we could give that whole waking up together thing a shot.”

Her cheeks are flushed, freckles bright against the soft pink as she looks up from her hands to catch his eye. He kisses her hard enough that she’d have fallen right off his lap were it not for his arms holding her steady and close to him.

“That a yes?” she asks, mouth curling against his and he catches that smirking bottom lip between his teeth like he’s wanted to since she showed up at the station.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods and it’s him smiling against her mouth now. “For tonight at least. But I think there’s still a lot of grovelling in your future before it becomes a regular thing.”

He kisses her again, rolls her onto her back beneath him. “Then I’d better get started right away,” he says, lips finding the length of her neck as he begins to work free the buttons of his stolen shirt.

“Well, you did promise you would write poetry about my boobs.”

“I what?” He looks up only to see her wearing the same confused frown as himself before her eyes widen with laughter and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god. You haven’t seen your texts have you?”

Fuck.

*******

Tagging the usual people but let me know if you want to be removed or added!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @kazoo5480 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12 @anmylica @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr @killiansprincss @goforlaunchcee @motherkatereloyshipper

#captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs angst #but also just a lot of funny drunk Killian #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan #this thing is ferral guys #I don't even know what this is but I hope you like it #silver hook #silver killian

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snowbellewells · 9 months ago

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Halloween ReRuns: Something Spicy & Something Sweet ;P

So, I had started the first of my Autumn Prompt Bingo Card stories and had hoped to be able to post it, but it isn't ready yet. Then, I had the thought that I could post a couple of stories I've written for previous Autumns/Halloweens and maybe some new people would see and enjoy them who hadn't before. The "spicy" one (which, it's me, so for most people probably not actually that spicy) was written for @kmomof4's birthday in mid-October some years back, and the sweet one is totally self-indulgent, prompted by a hilarious post I saw on here once about what Killian would make of the Girl Scouts and their cookie sales, and how he would be a total pushover for them and buy all the cookies.

Anyway, if you're interested, here are a couple of my older Halloween fics for your evening's entertainment!

Spicy: "The Sweetest Treat"

Summary: After Storybrooke’s first Harvest Day Festival winds down, Emma has a sweet and sultry surprise in store for her pirate husband. (hard T - or maybe an M?)

Sweet: "Do-Si-Dos and Tagalongs"

Summary: Originally written for a CS Halloweek on Tumblr... featuring lots of fluff and a pirate captain who can't resist adorably mischievous Girl Scouts. ;)

Set somewhere in the vague post-s6 future, assuming everyone had stayed in Storybrooke and they all carried on from the happy beginning we saw in the Season 6 finale.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @anmylica @xarandomdreamx @lfh1226-linda

@xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @apiratewhopines @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @goforlaunchcee

@belovedcreation @myfearless-love @teamhook @revanmeetra87

@stahlop @jonesfandomfanatic @eastwesthomeisbest @spartanguard @ultraluckycatnd

@searchingwardrobes @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @motherkatereloyshipper @bromfieldhall

@everything-person @undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook

@shady-swan-jones @let-it-raines @the-darkdragonfly @therooksshiningknight @resident-of-storybrooke

#cs ff #cs halloween reruns #two cs one shot fics #do-si-dos and tagalongs #the sweetest treat

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elizabeethan · 11 months ago

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Not With Haste

An Overboard Conclusion

Oh hi, where the hell did this come from? I'm wondering the same thing. in reality, @donteattheappleshook talked to me about oarfish maybe 2 years ago and I started writing something stupid. I always intended to finish it and post it for @the-darkdragonfly's birthday, but I never found it in me to complete it. Then tonight I found that stupid thing and I finished it. You never know when that funny little creativity bug might bite, I guess.

I've always wanted to write some form of conclusion for Overboard because it's one of my favorite things that I've written. I first published Overboard way back in May of 2021, and looking back, I've grown and learned a lot and there are things I would probably do differently if I started the story over again, but I can't see myself ever editing it because I love what I wrote. Would I rewrite it into a novel and really flesh out the story and the characters? A girlie can dream, never say never, you never know when the creativity bug might bite, etc.

I hope everyone here is well, I know I am for the most part, and I'll never stop being grateful for this little community that I found all those years ago. More than that, I'll never stop being grateful for the feeling of being able to come back after a time away. It's been fun to log back in to everything and pick up where I left off as if no time has passed. (It's been so long since I've done this so if the formatting is all messed up, I'm really sorry, but I barely knew what I was doing.)

Long story short, this story is finally complete. It's barely edited and it's not beta'd, so thank you for giving it a chance.

Rated T I think

~2300 words

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

Even after sixteen years of marriage, Killian often finds himself wondering what on earth could possibly be going through his wife’s head.

The thoughts of wonderment and confusion strike him at the oddest of times, always in response to something she’s said or done and never with any sort of answer. The first time he knew he was in trouble was fifteen years ago, when he returned home from a trip to find she had adopted a rottweiler. Still, Ripple refuses to retire from her post as the Jones’ Harbor Tours’ mascot, and Emma often tries to convince him that it’s because she’s as stubborn as her father.

In truth, Emma Jones is the most stubborn person he has ever met in his life, a fact which will likely never be contested.

He finds himself confused so often that he can barely recount any examples of her free spirited nature. (She calls herself a wild child, although she often shouts at him whenever he uses the term in bed.) There was the time she impulsively began tearing up the tile flooring in the bathroom after watching three whole YouTube tutorials (her words), only to sob into his already sea-soaked sweater when she realized how physically taxing reflooring an entire room is without any experience, general tiling knowledge, materials, or help. Then there was the time she randomly asked him if he would still love her if she was a worm, and then became irrationally angry when he found himself unable to answer without first asking clarifying questions. And the incident when she questioned his loyalty to her when he refused to hunt down and kill the person who bumped into her parked car and drove off. He later discovered that the question came after she had finished some romance novel about the mafia. He chose not to dig any deeper into that one.

All this to say: Killian’s wife is a free spirit, a wild child, a confusing, strange, barely-readable woman who stole his heart in one breath and has yet to give it back almost two decades later.

And, he has no idea what the bloody hell she’s talking about more than half the time.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Emma (Trophy Wife): have you ever see this??? In the wild??????

Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Image

Killian: What are you doing?

He shakes his head, as exasperated as he is filled with a warm sense of comfort, just like he always is whenever he sees the name she gave herself the moment their vows were exchanged pop onto his phone screen.

Emma (Trophy Wife): they inhabit the atlantic ocean. *vomiting emoji*

Killian: Stop watching National Geographic if it’s going to make you nauseous.

Emma (Trophy Wife): that’s where you worked!!

Killian: That’s also where we live.

Emma (Trophy Wife): you never saw one in your sexy fisherman days? LOOK at that thing.

Killian quickly discovers that she’s referring to an Oarfish. They’re the longest known bonefish and inhabit very deep water, are rarely seen or caught alive, and are thought to be generally harmless. Still, he knows that these facts will not prevent his wife from overreacting, so he chooses not to bother.

Though she’s always hidden it well, Emma has a strange fear of creatures of the deep, as she often calls them. She’s told him that the tuna he used to pull onto the deck of his boat didn’t bother her– even though they were often almost twice her height in length and weighed upwards of 1,000 pounds– because they were no longer in the water. But the thought of running into one of those slimy bastards while swimming gives her panicky symptoms— her words. He hasn’t bothered to point out the absolute impossibility of her ever running into a giant bluefin tuna while swimming, either. After sixteen years of marriage, he’s learned which battles are better left unfought.

Of course, there are times when his correcting her drives her absolutely mad, often to the point of her feeling compelled to kiss him in order to shut him up, and he navigates those moments very carefully and with a smirk on his lips.

Killian: They aren’t known to be predatory.

Emma (Trophy Wife) disliked “They aren’t known to be predatory.”

Killian: Attached: 1 Image

Killian: You see? They have small mouths and no teeth. Harmless.

It’s unlike her to wait so long to reply, as she’s often glued to her phone at least when she’s mid conversation. But it’s almost a full two minutes that he finds himself standing in front of the display of pasta sauce, looking like a complete fool and blocking the path of an elderly woman, breath bated as he waits for a response from her. Bloody hell, he thinks to himself as he shakes his head. He’s known the woman for eighteen years and he still can hardly breathe in anticipation of whatever adorably inane thought leaves her mouth without any sort of filter.

Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Video

Lovely. Even as he watches the attached video of her silently dry heaving, he’s desperately in love with her. He watches it again.

Her blonde hair has gone lighter over the years, streaks of white coloring through the gold in a way that makes her look somehow even more sexy and playful than when he first laid eyes on her. There are soft creases beside her eyes as she squeezes them shut, her mouth open and her tongue out as she pretends to be so violently offended by the image he sent her that it’s made her ill.

Emma (Trophy Wife): expect consequences when you get home. even if you get the good mac and cheese.

Emma (Trophy Wife): you KNOW how i feel about serpents and sea monsters.

Killian: I do.

Emma (Trophy Wife): … and????

Killian: I’m sorry for traumatizing you with my serpent.

Killian: And for how that just sounded.

Emma (Trophy Wife): if you’re not home in 34 minutes i’m not touching your serpent for two whole days.

Killian: Well, now that I'm familiar with your gag reflex…

Emma (Trophy Wife): 33 minutes.

~~~~

Ripple is the oldest dog Killian has ever known. Her silver snout and eyebrows catch in the setting sun, and it’s painfully obvious from her gait how sore her joints are, but still, at his arrival home, she hurries her way towards him with as much enthusiasm as she can muster.

Their vet has told them that she’s the healthiest dog he’s treated in a while, considering her age, and Emma uses that as a point of pride for their perfect child.

“Hi, darling,” he says when she finally reaches him, her soft smile lighting up her face once he drops the reusable grocery bags in order to give her a scratch behind the ears. Killian’s getting up there in age, too, but he still manages to squat down to her level and kiss her nose.

The two of them make quite the pair while Killian struggles back into a standing position and then they both hobble towards the front door. His fishing career was lucrative and rewarding, but dammit if it didn’t lead to stiff joints that his wife pokes fun at. She’s never met a “my husband is older than me” joke she hasn’t loved.

“I’m glad you both made it,” she happily chortles from the kitchen, making him smile. He’s never smiled more widely than he does with Emma.

“The abuse I’m subjected to,” he mutters as he drops the bags on the floor for her to peruse. It’s a deal they made years ago; Killian does the shopping because the grocery store makes Emma too itchy, and she puts the groceries away in exchange.

She snorts when she pulls out the bag of goldfish, sending Killian a playful smirk. “Looks like a good haul.”

“Aye, love. I thought you might enjoy a fishy treat after our conversation.”

“Always so thoughtful,” she murmurs as she makes her way to him. The kitchen is small, but they’ve always had just enough space for the three of them.

“It’s a difficult cross to bear,” he nods, catching her wrist as soon as she’s close enough to pull towards him. “But anticipating your needs is one of the many responsibilities I take very seriously.”

Emma’s hands land on his neck, fingers tangling with the silver hair at the back of his head while her thumbs trace along his jaw. She likes to call him a silver fox when she’s feeling playful. “My perfect husband,” she says softly, voice syrupy sweet in that way that still manages to get him excited.

“I couldn’t be a perfect husband without my perfect wife,” he answers, earning a beaming grin that he barely catches before her lips press to his.

It never ends. The way he wants her has been an inferno so intense since the day they met, and it hasn’t been snuffed out in all these years. The moment she’s near him, his blood starts to simmer, and once she touches him, kisses him like she is now, he’s a goner.

Her tongue is soft as it sweeps over the seam of his lips, lazily working to deepen the kiss they share. She kissed him with urgency, but not with haste, never rushing but always desperate. It’s enough to have him pushing her backwards, her lower back softly pressing against the counter before he lifts her onto it. Emma’s legs part seemingly without her even thinking about it, and before either of them have a chance to put the rotisserie chicken in the refrigerator, he wonders if he should just carry her to their room. Part of him has this never ending need to show her just how desperate he still is for her.

But then, she speaks.

“Wait,” she breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly as her warm breath fans over his mouth, her forehead still pressed to his and her fingers clinging to the collar of the light sweater he wears.

“Yes, love?” he asks, perfectly prepared to answer whatever silly question she likely has as long as he can have her after.

“About the oarfish…”

He fights a groan. “I promise you, there is absolutely no chance of you ever seeing an oarfish for as long as you live.”

“I know, I did plenty of research while you were gone.”

He breathes out a soft laugh, his smile growing when she kisses it. “What’s wrong, then?”

“Would you still love me if I was an oarfish?”

His world stops for just a moment. Just a second, really, as he tries to right his mind and will a tiny bit of blood back to his brain so that he can answer this very unimportant and yet somehow very vital question correctly.

“If you were an oarfish,” he starts, hand sliding up from her hip to her ribs before finding her cheek, “then I would be an oarfish. And we would be married and have a pet… eel, perhaps. Named Ripple. And we would live in a tiny oarfish cottage and be happy and in love for as long as oarfish live.”

Emma sighs, the softest smile on her perfect lips making him crazy as her arms wrap around his neck in one of his favorite hugs.

“I love you,” she whispers into his ear. He’ll never tire of this. Of the soft, almost unfathomable way that the love they have for one another strikes at the most random times.

“I love you, too, Swan. Always. No matter what species we are.”

“And I love you, no matter how much older you are than me.”

He grabs her then, hoisting her against him to the best of his ability as her ankles cross at his back. “Disrespectful,” he murmurs, carrying her from the kitchen and happily forgetting about the frozen broccoli florets, not cuts she made him buy.

“You better teach me a lesson, then,” she taunts with a smirk, as if that isn’t exactly what she was after.

“Don’t act like that isn’t exactly what you want, love.”

“Don’t act like you don’t get off on giving me exactly what I want.”

To that, he just returns her smirk and offers a quick smack to her ass before dropping her onto the bed they share, because he knows she’s right. For the rest of his days, he’ll be happy, as long as he has his family.

~~~~

I'm using my old tag list from 2 years ago. If you don't want to be tagged, I'm real sorry and let me know if I should remove you

@kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones-blog @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @pirateprincessofpizza @killianslefthook

#cs ff #cs ff au #overboard #not with haste #overboard ff #captain swan au #cs fluff #captain swan fluff

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jrob64 · 2 years ago

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Tag List Reset for 2024

If you are on the list below, I appreciate you wanting to be tagged for my Captain Swan fanfic stories. However, I understand that some of you may have moved on from the OUAT fandom, or you simply don't wish to be tagged anymore.

IF YOU WANT TO CONTINUE TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE COMMENT ON THIS POST TO TELL ME.

IF YOU WOULD RATHER NOT BE TAGGED ANYMORE, YOU CAN EITHER COMMENT TO LET ME KNOW OR DON'T RESPOND AT ALL AND I'LL REMOVE YOU.

If you are reading this and would like to be added to my tag list, please let me know that as well.

THANK YOU to all who have read any of my stories in 2023. Here's hoping for much more CS comment in 2024. Let's keep this fandom alive!!!!

Tagging: @qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @wyntereyez @the-darkdragonfly @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @julesep3026 @courtorderedcake @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @captainswan4life85 @bluewildcatfanatic @eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426 @julieenchanted-swans @andiirivera @djlbg @huntressandlioness1 @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @laschatzi @zaharadessert @jennjenn615 @yasbio2015 @lyssapup27 @nachocheese-itsmycheese @singersdd @mie779 @jackieorioncat @bdevereaux-blanche @searchingwardrobes @jarienn972 @apiratewhopines @softkilly @goforlaunchcee @captainswan217-blog

#tag reset #jrob64

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cs-c-ocktoberfest2023 · 2 years ago

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CS(C)ocktoberfest2023: Mini-event

Art by @iverna

CS(C)ocktoberfest2023: Mini-event The one time size doesn't matter

Hello all!!! So here we go again. Years back there was an event called Cocktoberfest led by the lovely @initiala and with her blessing I come to offer this one. A smaller version and I hope it's enjoyable.

To check out the original click on the link.

I'm hoping for at least one item per day. Art, fic or any submission is welcomed.

More info to follow :)

tagging:

@allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @andiirivera @anothersworld @apiratewhopines @artistic-writer @batana54 @beckettj @bethacaciakay @brooke-to-broch @captainodonoghue @carpedzem @chasedancer17 @cocohook38 @courtorderedcake @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @demisexualemmaswan @djlbg @donteattheappleshook @dovelyheart @elizabeethan @gingerchangeling @gingerpoliglot @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate @hookedonaswanprincess @hookedonhiddles @ilovemesomekillianjones @imlaxdris71 @itsfabianadocarmo @jarienn972 @jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @k-leemac @karlyfr13s @kday426 @killian-will-do @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @kwistowee @kymbersmith-90 @laschatzi @lassluna @let-it-raines @lfh1226-linda @lonelyspectator12 @mariakov81 @motherkatereloyshipper @officerrogers @ohmakemeahercules @onceratheart18 @pirateherokillian @purplehawkcaptain @resident-of-storybrooke @revanmeetra87 @sailtoafarawayland @sals86 @scribomaniac @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @shardminds @shireness-says @snowbellewells @sotangledupinit @spacekrulesbians @spartanguard @stahlop @superchocovian @swanslieutenant @tehgreeneyes @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @thepirateandhisson @therealstartraveller776 @thislassishooked @thisonesatellite @tiganasummertree @tomeandflickcorner @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @wellhellotragic @whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89 @iverna @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @zaharadessert @myfearless-love @grimmswan @fleurdepetite @hookmecaptain @once-upon-a-pirate-ship @undercaffinatednightmare @4getfulimaginator2022 @nachocheese-itsmycheese @booksteaandtoomuchtv @OUATadmire @lifeinahole27

#captain swan #cscf23

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the-darkdragonfly · 1 year ago

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NEW CHAPTER! Tempest - A Captain Duckling Tale

Chapter 9

HEY!!! Tumblr hated me yesterday, but I'm back online now! I actually am not really sure why this chapter fought me so hard... but she was a tough nut! A million cookies to Maddie for cleaning up my mess 🥰

♥️♥️♥️♥️

A clawed hand, fingers gnarled like the branches on the oak tree her mother had taught her to climb as a child, reached through the bars towards her, Neal’s forearm pressing her solidly into the space between himself and the cage which held the creature.

His father.

She’d shaken her head- you’re an orphan, you told me that you were an orphan- when he’d revealed to her who and what the creature was.

“Emma…”

Her name was the creaking whine of an old door, hinges displeased, moving in the wind- Emma- the snap hiss of cold against metal.

“Don’t be afraid,” Neal soothed, pressing her closer to the bars, her slippered feet scrambling on the damp stones, unable to find purchase. “I told him about you, he’s been waiting to meet you for a long time.”

She’d trembled, skin cold from fright, fingers tingling with the chill of the damp and the fear which ratcheted through her blood.

An orphan, that’s what he had said.

But it had been a lie.

Not a lie, a secret- he’d whispered in her ear, as he pressed her steadily forward, the creature’s fingernails grazing her skin before she managed to twist away, bolting up the stairs barefoot, slippers discarded on against the stone twist of the hallway, her back slamming against the door which guarded the dungeon she hadn’t know existed until Neal, Baelfire, led her down into the depths of the earth.

That’s the name the creature had called him, pacing across the back of his cell, floor worn smooth from the action.

How long had the man been down here, she wondered, Neal’s hand warm at her elbow, a deceitful type of comfort she’d quickly learned, skin prickled with the chill of suppressed magic. Of evil.

I know you can help us, Emma.

♥️♥️♥️♥️

Read the rest here

It’s been a while - catch up here

Read my other stuff here

Tagging the usual suspects

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @teamhook @wefoundloveunderthelight @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgood @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @gingerpolyglot @xarandomdreamx @justanother-unluckysoul @zaharadessert @karlyfr13s @tiganasummertree @wyntereyez @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @rkrbirdgirl @ouatdaily @blowmiakisscolin @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @pirateprincessofpizza @superchocovian @deckerstarblanche @alexa-fangirl-forever @stahlop @undercaffinatednightmare @lostintheskyfaraway @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @last-tsarina @lfh1226-linda @hookedmom @yikes-00 @midnighth0ur @paradiselady19 @jonesfandomfanatic

♥️♥️♥️♥️

#tempest #the darkdragonfly #a captain duckling tale #captain swan #killian jones #emma x killian #emma swan #sassy pants will scarlet

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teamhook · 2 years ago

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Captain Swan Event

Hello, CS crew!! I come today with an event idea that has been tossed around in the discord server I run. (originally used for a different event >> CSMM) Okay, the new event (Captain Swan Co-Storytellers Collaboration) would consist of groups of 3-4 people working together to write a captain swan story. This is not a one person writes one part and passes on the document and so on until it reaches its end. No, this would be the ultimate team effort in an ensemble of amazing writers! Of course there are details to be ironed out but I wanted to know if anyone here was interested to join. I will share the form to get an idea of who is interested and for a way to contact anyone that wants to join in on the fun. As soon as I can I will reach out to you.

ENSEMBLE FORM

Gonna tag some people I know and I'm sorry if I don't tag everyone. If possible reblog. Thank you lovelies!

@allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @andiirivera @anothersworld @apiratewhopines @artistic-writer @batana54 @beckettj @bethacaciakay @bixisarusher @branlovestowrite @brooke-to-broch @captainodonoghue @carpedzem @chasedancer17 @cocohook38 @courtorderedcake @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @demisexualemmaswan @djlbg @donteattheappleshook @dovelyheart @elizabeethan @gingerchangeling @gingerpoliglot @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate @hookedonaswanprincess @hookedonhiddles @ilovemesomekillianjones @imlaxdris71 @itsfabianadocarmo @jarienn972 @jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @k-leemac @karlyfr13s @kday426 @killian-will-do @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @kwistowee @kymbersmith-90 @laschatzi @lassluna @let-it-raines @lfh1226-linda @lonelyspectator12 @mariakov81 @motherkatereloyshipper @officerrogers @ohmakemeahercules @onceratheart18 @pirateherokillian @purplehawkcaptain @resident-of-storybrooke @revanmeetra87 @sailtoafarawayland @sals86 @scribomaniac @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @shardminds @shireness-says @snowbellewells @sotangledupinit @spacekrulesbians @spartanguard @stahlop @superchocovian @swanslieutenant @tehgreeneyes @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @thepirateandhisson @therealstartraveller776 @thislassishooked @thisonesatellite @tiganasummertree @tomeandflickcorner @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @wellhellotragic @whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89 @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @zaharadessert @myfearless-love @cosette141 @grimmswan @fleurdepetite @hookmecaptain @once-upon-a-pirate-ship @undercaffinatednightmare @4getfulimaginator2022 @nachocheese-itsmycheese @booksteaandtoomuchtv @iverna @OUATadmire

#Captain Swan #CS Crew #Captain Swan Co-Storytellers Collaboration captain swan csff Captain Swan Ensemble Cast Fic CSEC CSCSC CSCW23 Captain Swan Collab Words 23

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piinfeathers · 2 years ago

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Let's spread some love 😘. What are some of your top five favourite cs fics?

i love this oh gosh, also god i have too many ;;

ok in no particular order:

breathless by AcrobatElle - LINK

genuinely cannot emphasis enough how much EVERYONE needs to read this one. there is spice, but like the most heart wrenching, bring you to your knees, soul moving thing you've ever read. i won't spoil it but please, run don't walk to read this one

a uniquely portable magic by @wistfulcynic - LINK

listen, it actually pains to pick only one of saira's fics because i love them ALL. but if i HAD to, it would be this one. this is my desert island fic, the one i reread over and over. i can't even describe how beautifully she writes and how much every fic of hers feels like coming home, but they just do. cannot recommend highly enough just going through her archive <3

running home to your sweet nothings by @sotangledupinit - LINK

gonna be a little stinker and pick mary's most recent fic. i would have also said her run rogers run fic from christmas last year buuuuut, listen. i love her current fic. i am a sucker for EF lieutenant duckling AUs where Emma is actually given a sword and allowed to go buck wild (aka what should have actually happened in the wish realm episode SORRY) so this one really hits the spot so gooood

tactical magic by @iverna - LINK

my one true love in cs fics is witch!emma in a urban fantasy setting and i love, LOVE what svenja does in this fic. also i just love the way she writes emma and killian in all her fics, they always feel so true to the characters every single time, and she treats them both with such love and attention

iridescent blue by @pirateherokillian - LINK

listen only pip could write a werewolf story about a mauling for an event called january joy and still make it one of the sweetest things you've ever read ;; i love how she writes both emma and killian in all her fics, they always feel so real to me whenever i read her stuff

also massive shoutouts to the authors i first read when i got into the fandom and got me hooked @hollyethecurious , @the-darkdragonfly , @elizabeethan and @cosette141 please just go and raid their ao3's i'm so serious

#asks #oh god this is so long i'm SORRY #but also hey if you got witch emma fics please send them my way they're my favourite thing #cs fic rec

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kmomof4 · 28 days ago

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Independence Day Ch. 3 July 4

We are back with the final ch, y'all!! I think you’ll really like it!!! And there’s Mulan!!!! Doesn’t she look FANTASTIC???!!! Please go give @motherkatereloyshipper all the love she deserves!!!! Enjoy!!!

Summary: Alien invaders attack on the Independence Day holiday weekend and a small group of survivors are called upon to defend Planet Earth.

Rating: T (mild language)

Words: Almost 11,800 of 34k

Tags: Inspired by Independence Day (movie)

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Ch

On Tumblr July 2 July 3