#Neal is such a weird study

[rainydayandmondays]

Thanksgiving Potluck

Summary: It’s time for the annual Thanksgiving potluck at work. Andy wants to make sure that he brings something special for you. You worked so hard, you deserve it.

Pairing: Andy Barber X Reader, Jake Jensen

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+ only. Explicit language, explicit sexual content, male masturbation, slight non-con

Author's Note: This came about after seeing a challenge to write a spicy Thanksgiving story. With the blessing of @georgiapeach30513 to use Andy Barber, this is what I got.

You had been planning the department’s Thanksgiving potluck for weeks. Running around, trying to get everyone to sign up to bring in something, even if it was just silverware and napkins. Andy never participated in these get-togethers. They were some weird kind of team building bullshit that he had never really subscribed to. Why play nice that one day, while all the remaining days everyone was trying to one up each other. Comparing their win-loss ratios like they were some goddamn a-list athletes. The fucking Red Sox, they were not.

But you had started earlier this year, right around Valentine’s day. He remembered your first day, you wore your pink button down shirt the first two buttons undone and your simple gold necklace nestled in the crux of your shirt. Your pencil skirt was knee-length but seemed to hug from your waist to your hips. He imagined his hands could skim down the sides of it as if it was a second skin. Then your sensible flats, all that up top and did you finish with three-inch heels? No, just sensible flats. The red nail polish on your fingers with a small heart decals on each ring finger, let him know that you enjoyed celebrating holidays.

He watched you as you grew into the department, quickly planting roots and befriending each person you met. You were easy to get along with, never really asked for much, but always willing to give. He had spent most of October working with you. You were assisting on the research for his latest case, spending nights in the conference room with law books spread out in front of the two of you and boxes of half-eaten Chinese in each of your laps. You had asked about his story as you took a break from the mind-numbing reading of passage after passage. He had given you the cliff-notes version. The “everything is pretty on the outside” story. Loving wife at home and kid excelling in school. It was easier that way. Even if he could tell you didn’t totally buy it, you let him lie.

You on the other hand, were open. Told him everything. You were a paralegal, barely starting out with dreams of making it to law school one day. A sick mother at home had meant your law school dreams had taken the back burner. Your mom had been part of the last of the baby boomers and their idealized version of marriage. She had taken care of the household, you and your dad. With her bedbound, your dad was completely lost. You took over and everything else had been pushed aside. No sign of any romantic partners or life outside of work and home. But the glint in your eye talking about becoming lawyer, let him know you had more to offer. You had told him how you had aced your LSATS, spent every night up until 4 in the morning studying for them. You were younger then, could handle the late nights. Shit, you are younger now. Just barely hitting your late 20s, if he had to guess.

After those nights spent over cold takeaway dinners and finishing the McDonald v. City of Newton case, he realized that family dinners with little more than polite conversation paled in contrast to those talks and stale fast food. He had tried to get you on his next case, but Neal had snatched you up the moment you were free. He remembered the apologetic look you gave him when he swung by your desk with some briefs to review.

“Sorry Mr. Barber. I’m already working with Mr. Longudice. But you can leave those here and I’ll look at them when I get a chance.” You fidgeted with your pen, twirling it between your fingers. It was your nervous tick, he had noticed it the first night when you had found a passage that completely derailed his current case plan.

He nodded and walked away, noticing Neal looking on from the corner smirking. Fuck him, he wasn’t going to just use you to improve his standing in the department. He watched as the month progressed and Neal worked you into the ground. He found you more and more frequently in the break room, loading up on coffee. You were up to four glasses a day. That couldn’t be good for you. Not if you still had to go home and get your mom ready for bed.

He started to stay later and later, just to make sure someone was still here when you left. Neal took most of his case work home, leaving you with a list of readings to cover and present the next day. He watched as you flipped through pages, making notes in the growing stack of legal pads, and only the small desk lamp providing any light. He told Laurie that he had a big case he was finishing up. It was easier to keep working at his desk, instead of making the trip home, only to end up in his study. It didn’t take much to persuade her. He was pretty sure she preferred having the time to herself, she barely moved when he finally made it home to bed.

One night, he had timed it just right to meet you at the elevators at the end of the night. He walked up behind you, watching as you raised your right foot to scratch at the back of your left calf. Your pencil skirt rippled around your hips as you ran your foot down your leg. The sensible flats, the same ones you had worn that first day skimmed down the back of your left calf and he wondered what it would be like to have you run those sensible flats down his pant leg. He could feel himself twitch in his dress pants. This was a first. Up until this point, he had found you endearing, wanting to help you as much as you helped everyone else. But now, right now, he could imagine grabbing onto your hips, dipping his head into the crook of you neck as he ground against your pert ass. He felt his cock harden that bit more at the image, starting to push against the fly of his dress pants. Using his overcoat from that day’s chilly morning, he covertly covered the front of his slacks.

It wasn’t until the chime announced the elevator’s arrival and you turned around, that he came out of his brief stupor. You smiled and waved him into the waiting lift. That smile did nothing to help him, he shoved his hand into pocket to discreetly adjust himself before walking towards you. Standing next to you, he could smell those last remnants of your perfume. Was it your perfume? It had been a 12 hour work day, maybe that smell was just you. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? You chatted with him, promising that you were going to get to those briefs he left. It would be the first thing you would work on the next day. He listened and tried his best to feign interest, but you then looked up at him as you made your promise to him, and all his brainpower was immediately redirected to willing away his excitement. His hand still in his pocket, it brushed against his tip and he cleared his throat to cover the small groan that wanted to escape.

Reaching the garage, he offered to walk you to your car. You had gestured to the nearly empty lot, but he only uttered, “Better to be safe.”

You only nodded, leading him to your small late 2000s sedan. Reaching the car, you opened the squeaky driver’s door and threw in your workbag and handbag, before easing yourself into the seat. Andy held the door open for you, only to close it once you had settled. Lowering your window, you gave him a smile, thanking him for the escort, “You really didn’t have to do that. You’re a good man, Mr. Barber.”

He leaned down into your window, sighing before bidding you a good night, “You get home safe, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t meant to let the term of endearment slip, but your bashful smile was all it took to let him know he would be using that name again. Watching as you drove off, he made his way to his car. Popping the trunk on the Audi and throwing in the coat and briefcase, he hustled back to front of the car. Giving one more look around the lot, he noticed the security cam pointed at the opposite corner of the garage. Slipping into the driver’s seat, he only took a second to think through his next action. Closing his eyes, he remembered your big eyes looking up at him in the elevator, promising him something and his hand reached down to his pants.

He hadn’t gone down, no matter how he tried to calm himself, his coat had been his only saving grace, hiding away his reaction to you. Wrestling with his belt and button of his pants, he shoved his fly open, grabbing onto himself through his boxer briefs. He had already been steadily growing a nice wet spot on the front side of his briefs. Admittedly, bumping against himself with his hand in his pocket as he walked with you, might have gone a long way to making that spot. A couple of strokes, he reached in and pulled himself out.

Fuck, his hands were still cold from outside. It made his cock jump in his hold and he imagined your little hand taking him. You would apologize to him about your cold hands.

“Sorry Mr. Barber. Let me warm up my hands.”  The imaginary you whispered to him.

“Andy. Call me Andy, sweetheart.” He mumbled into the empty car.

He spit into the palm of his hand, before wrapping it around himself. He could feel you next to him, cuddling as much as possible against him, reaching across the console. Your hand stoking up and down, making sure to twist around the head of his cock. He dribbled onto your fingers and you took your thumb rubbing it along the tip urging more to come out.

“Fuck sweetheart. That feels so good. You’re making me feel so good.” He grunted, his head falling back against the headrest.

He could hear you giggle at that, pressing hard against the vein on the underside of his cock, causing it to throb in your hold.

“Ah shit, sweetheart, squeeze me. I know your hand is so little but try my sweet girl. Come on, try for me.” You would hum at that, reaching between his legs and grabbing onto his sack. Rolling his balls in one hand as you steadily stroked him with the other, giving a squeeze to his cock before a squeeze to his sack.

“What do you need Andy? Whatever you need, I promise I’ll give it to you. Please Andy, tell me what you need.” The imaginary you nipped at his neck, murmuring another promise into his neck.

“Fuck me, sweet girl. Look at me, watch me cum for you. Just for you, sweet girl. Just for you…” He reached for the empty coffee tumbler in his console, placing it under the tip of his cock as he let go. Groaning he pulsed a couple times, continuing to stroke himself until he drained himself fully, because that’s what you would do. You would never do a half ass job.

Sitting back, he looked into the tumbler, seeing a layer of his cum coating the bottom of the cup. He hadn’t cum that hard in a long time. But he supposed a sexless marriage would leave him with a lot of pent-up energy. Remembering Laurie, he grabbed a couple of napkins from the glove compartment, wiping himself before shoving them into the tumbler. After buckling his pants, he started the car, backing out lot and turning onto the freeway for home.

That night had been a couple of weeks ago and he found himself hovering around your desk as much as possible, asking for help finding a text. He would time your coffee breaks and bump into you in the breakroom to make small talk with you. Each time he saw you, he tried to get you to smile. Even on your most stressful days, your shoulders hunch, he would make quick jabs at Neal which would inevitably cause a small giggle to pass your lips. He liked those times, the sound of your laugh would get stored away in his mind, coming out only in the shower as he painted the walls for you.

When you came by with the potluck sign up sheet earlier this week, you mentioned that there were still a few sides left that no one had chosen. Looking at the list, he saw the mashed potatoes listed and quickly jotted his name down beside it. He could probably get Laurie to make it for him. She had been in a better mood recently. Had waited up for him when he worked late. She would welcome him to bed and curl into his side, rubbing circles along his chest. He wasn’t sure what had changed, but if it meant not having to deal with a moody Laurie daily, he would take it.

The day of the potluck, he walked in finding most of the office milling about. It didn’t look like much would be getting done today. With Thanksgiving tomorrow, most had spent the last few days easing into their vacation. He looked at the conference room to see the spread already laid out, you were flitting around making sure everything was set up just right.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you jumped a little as he came up behind you, placing the dish of mashed potatoes in front of you.

“This will be perfect,” you took the dish moving it next to someone’s version of cornbread stuffing.

Turning around, you smiled at him. He thought about stepping back from you, but instead stood still. Reaching up to his arm, you grabbed his elbow and let out small breath, “I should let everyone know it’s ready.”

Slipping from around him, you walked out to the bull pin area, inviting everyone to come and dig in. He watched as everyone hustled to the conference room as he stepped out of the other door. Making his way towards his desk, he settled down, starting up his computer to check some late correspondence. He needed to spend time with you but not with everyone around. He placed his coffee tumbler on the clay coaster that Jacob had made him back in 4th grade. Sighing, he would wait to talk with you later.

The din in the conference room started to slowly die down and looking at the clock he saw that it was nearly half past 2. Most of the office should be heading out for their holiday and he figured, now would be his best bet. Grabbing his stuff together, he headed back out to find the room mostly empty. He couldn’t possibly have missed you, could he? Staring out to the row of desks, he spotted your workbag and handbag still on your desk. So, you were here, just not in the conference room.

Walking into the breakroom, he saw you at the sink scrapping off food into the trash and rinsing off dishes. Standing in the doorway, he watched this small glimpse into the domestic side of you and fuck, if it didn’t do something for him. Imagining coming home to you in the kitchen, prepping dinner for the two of you. You would still have your work clothes on but only now you would be barefoot. You would relax into him as he came up behind you, arms circling your waist.

He let out a quick breath, shaking himself from his daydream, before setting down his bag on the small table in the room. Coffee tumbler in hand, he approached you, quietly interrupting your dishwashing, “I bet you haven’t even made yourself a plate.”

Looking down, followed by a small bashful smile, you nodded, “There was so much to do.”

Grabbing onto his mashed potatoes, he looked for a spoon before starting to serve a portion onto a plate, “Come on. It’s your potluck too. You should get to enjoy it too. Besides, you got to at least try these mashed potatoes. A lot of effort went into making them. Go on now, sit down.”

Watching you sit down, he turns back to the counter, grabbing the gravy boat beside the sink. Taking the coffee tumbler, he had set down, he carefully removed the lid before emptying the contents into the remaining gravy. He stared as the viscous liquid drizzled out. With the spoon, he quickly mixed the gravy with the new ingredient together before pouring out the mixture on the mashed potatoes.

Turning back towards you, you sat at the table patiently waiting for him as he set the plate in front you. Quickly thanking him, you dug in, spooning a generous amount, gravy and all, onto your utensil and bringing to your mouth.

“Mmm, that’s really good Mr. Barber. Kind of earthy tasting. Are there mushrooms in the gravy?” You looked at him, a small amount of gravy stuck to the side of your mouth.

“Something like that,” he whispered, eyeing that speck of gravy and reaching out to clean it from your lip.

“Oh, I’m a mess,” your cheeks heated as you grabbed a napkin to clean the corner of your mouth.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he replied, taking his thumb with gravy still on it and licking it clean, “Go ahead, finish it all.”

You followed his direction, cleaning your plate, your spoon making a sound as you laid it down. You had eaten it all. Enjoying it, if he were to go by the little happy noises you made as you ate. He knew you would love it.

“Here, let me put this up for you,” he took the plate and spoon back the sink and as he rinsed the plate, he asked over his shoulder, “Did you like it, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mr. Barber. I promise.”

He gulped, steadying himself against the counter at your promise.

“You know, what, why don’t you take the rest home? There’s still a little bit of mashed potatoes and gravy left,” he asked already reaching for the lid of the Tupperware Laurie had used when packing it this morning.

“I couldn’t do that. You made it, you should take it home,” you answered next to him, and he realized that you must have gotten up from the table.

Locking the lid on the dish, he turned to you, already handing over the remaining potatoes covered in his gravy, “I insist.”

He had made that gravy just for you. After stroking another one out in the front seat of his car in the courthouse parking garage, he had sprayed another load into his tumbler. Looking at the cup again, he swore each session’s load was getting bigger even though this was a daily occurrence at this point. It had ended with a particularly bountiful finish, as he imagined you between his legs. Head bobbing on this cock, tits hanging from your top, before you had spit onto his cock, trapping it between your breasts and finishing him with a hard snuck to just the mushroom head of his cock.

It hit him then what a waste it was to rinse out his tumbler every night when he got home. You would love the taste of him. He knew would. Over the next few days, he collected each load, storing it in his coffee tumbler on the top shelf of his fridge at home. He had a couple of close calls when Laurie asked why he was keeping his coffee cold. He brushed it off, saying it was just water. He was trying to stop drinking so much coffee. Bad for his health. She had just nodded, leaving the tumbler alone.

“Thank you, Mr. Barber,” you nodded taking the dish with a smile.

“You can call me Andy. Promise you will?” He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, giving himself room in the suddenly tight pants.

“I promise. Thank you, Andy,” smiling up at him, he swore you could feel what he did. He swore you knew exactly what he had given you. Swore that you were happy and willing to take it. His sweet girl would take anything he gave her.

“You almost done, Ace?”

Andy was interrupted from his trance, hearing a male voice enter the room.

“Jake!” You called to the blonde man walking into the room. His shirt was untucked and his tie not quite knotted straight.

“I’m supposed to take you out for a Friendsgiving dinner today, remember?” Jake moved towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

Who in the ever-loving fuck is this guy? Andy watched as you hugged Jake around the waist, shaking your head, ready to apologize, “I’m sorry Jake. My day got away from me. Oh, this my kind of boss, Andy. Andy Barber.”

Jake reached out a hand to him to shake while his other still stayed slung along your waist, “Jake. Nice to meet you.”

Andy looked at the hand in front of him, before nodding and giving this fucker a firm handshake. If he squeezed a little harder than he should, well that wasn’t on him.

“Go get your stuff together and then we’ll head out,” Jake whispered down at you, to which you just nodded and flitted out the room.

Stuck with just Jake in the room, Andy leaning back against the sink giving this other guy a once over. He wouldn’t be an issue. No way did this guy have the prowess or charm to lure you away. You were his sweet girl. This fucker wouldn’t change that.

“I’m only going to say this once, leave her alone.”

Andy looked back at Jake, eyebrow raised, before scoffing, “And who are you exactly?”

“I’m guy who knows how to download the feed from the parking garage’s cameras.” Andy swallowed hard as Jake stared him down. He refused to nod, instead crossing his arms and looking down.

“I’m ready Jake!” You came back in, your handbag slung over your shoulder and the mashed potatoes in your arms as Jake took your workbag from you.

“Let’s shake a leg then, Ace,” you giggled at Jake and Andy frowned. When did that giggle change from just being his?

“Bye Andy. I’ll see you next week. Happy Thanksgiving!”

Waving goodbye to the two of you, Andy waited to hear the ding of the elevator before grabbing the tumbler and throwing it across the room. It clanked against the wall before rolling back towards his feet.

Hands on hips, he looked down at the cup. It was okay. Jake couldn’t do anything to him. He had checked to make sure the cameras were never pointed at him. But you, his sweet girl, he needed a new plan. Grabbing the cup from the floor, he rinsed it before setting it next to the empty coffee maker.

It hit Andy then. You did love your coffee. And you always made sure to have cream with it.

@buckybarnesisdaddy, @theinheriteddutchess, @sarahdonald87

[bodiesbodiesbodiesx3]

wait, genuinely, what's the black history behind dyke? i've never heard anything about it, so i'm genuinely curious to learn, if you don't mind explaining? (completely fine if not!) (also apologies if i worded the question a bit weird, wasn't sure how else to say it)

it's fine, its fine!

So consider this a LOOSE timeline, like loose, I had to research this for cultural studies

In the 1920s, around 1919-1921, "bulldyking' and bulldyke, both of which are considered to be dyke's predecessor was heard and noted down by white professors to be AAVE, specifically used by black women with the first woman to use dyking around being a (black) woman from a Harlem prison. However, bulldyke has been recorded far earlier than that in the black community with Harvey Neal as it was their nickname and was mentioned in the 1890s as a woman won their affections. Knowing the meaning of Bulldyke, Harvey Neal was most likely a black butch lesbian of their era and was also recorded in 1906's Human Sexuality as vert specifically being the speech of Philadelphians (historically black) and Backcountry Black Americans, reaffirming it as AAVE.

In 1926, Nigger Heaven was released and written by a white man based around the black people of Harlem, specifically around the Harlem Renaissance and was the first time Dyke as a term was used to mean lesbian, coming from the shortening of bulldyke or more particularly, BD Woman (bulldyke woman). This was the true first instance of dyke ever being used to mean lesbian in any instance.

It was then recorded in the 1930s in the American Slang Dictonary as an alternate term for lesbian and during that era, wasn't even considered a slur but simply black people slang.

Dyke became a slur during the fifties when white people and this unfortunately includes white sapphics of that era began using it as a slur against black lesbians (and other lower class lesbians but this often again mostly is black people of that era) and in thw 60s, was used against all lesbians because of association of black masculinity and then merged to lesbianism as a whole.

It was ""reclaimed"" in the 1980s but with reclamation, came erasure. Most non-black sapphics in that era simply refused to acknowledge its history if they were aware and any connections we had as black lesbians were lost outside the black community because it meant acknowledging the origins. This is where the alternate etymologies began showing up.

[phoenixwrites]

Be warned, Phoenix is about to get super emotional.

Once upon a time - in 2011, when I was in college studying for finals, my best friend Uni suggested I watch Once Upon A Time, as she knew I was a fairytale freak. I said 'nah, looks like a ripoff of 10th Kingdom, shan't.' But she kept bugging me. And I watched it. And I loved it. And in the episode where Graham died, I said FUCK THIS SHOW and told Uni I was never going to watch it again.

Uni said, "Just watch until the Beauty and the Beast episode and then stop."

She is an evil genius.

I remember seeing Belle, recognizing Emilie (OG Lost fanfic writer!), and being confused on who was going to be the Beast, since different characters were playing different fairytale roles.

And then when it was revealed to be Rumplestiltskin, I went "HIM?! HIM IS THE BEAST?! THAT WEIRD FUCKIN LIZARD DUDE?!"

Little did I know, that this episode would be the fucking springboard to...

A THIRTEEN YEAR friendship with @thestraggletag who remains one of my best and oldest friends.

My fascination with Swanfire. (I still love you, Graham, I just loved Neal a wee bit more and you and him would've totally been friends, there would've been no stupid fucking love triangle, they both would've been like "whoever Emma chooses her happiness is most important".

A certain Swanfire fanfic.

A Swanfire fanfic that became my novel.

That after seven long years, finally is coming out next year!

So I'll be crying a lot out of nostalgia and happiness because of what this singular episode and how it changed my life forever.

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair: 6/?

Finally, another update, and just in time for Halloween! Which is fitting because here’s where everything gets weird and crazy. So strap in, folks, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Oh, and I apologize for not linking to previous chapters on Tumblr. This site is being annoying, I’m tired, and it’s a weeknight. I’ll make sure there’s a master post at the end. But here’s your link to Ao3 if you prefer reading over there (which I do!)

*Reminder that this is an M rated fic that includes rape/non-con, and later, dubious consent of a magical variety.*

Chapter Six

Killian wiped his arm across his sweaty brow as he slid the last can of paint onto the shelves of the garage. Next to him, Liam was red-faced with the heat and utterly apologetic.

“You’ve been working on a construction site all day, and before you can even take a step into the house, I’ve put you to work again.”

Killian waved him off as he lifted the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe his face more thoroughly than his sweaty arm could. 

“It’s okay. We’ve been putting this chore off too long.”

While Ingrid had loved the new arbor in her flower garden, she hadn’t loved the mess they’d left in the garage from building it. She’d been on them since Mother’s Day to clean up the mess. It was rare for Liam to leave a mess behind, especially where Ingrid was concerned, but he’d gone straight from finals week to teaching a summer school course. 

Killian was just about to head inside for a much needed shower when he heard a rattling in the corner. He turned around to see Liam wrestling with a familiar, rusty shopping cart.

“This is still in here?”

Killian reached out to spin one of Mary Margaret’s whirligigs. “Yeah, I put it in here pro- you know, that night?”

“Oh, that’s right . . .” Liam’s voice trailed off. 

Emma’s rape had made Killian completely forget about the drama with Mary Margaret, but now that he saw the cart with all of her things, it came rushing back. 

“Is she still in jail?”

Liam shook his head. “No. Ingrid called to check. Since no one pressed any charges, they had no reason to hold her. Ingrid’s beside herself, though, because they just let her walk out and back onto the streets.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “It isn’t like her not to come back for her stuff, right?”

“No, it isn’t, and that’s got Ingrid worried. As if we don’t all have enough weighing on us.” Liam’s expression turned uncharacteristically dark. “If I could go back in time and change things, I would. I should have made them go in the limo with the group.”

Killian held his brother’s gaze, and understanding passed between them. No one had yet voiced the regret, and Killian was relieved to hear his brother confess it.

“I should have gotten to her sooner.”

Liam’s eyes turned to slits of rage as he studied Killian. “No. Neal Cassidy should have driven his car into that river on his way here.”

“Or one of Mary Margaret’s glass bottles should have sliced him through the jugular.”

“I hope he suffered in that river.” Liam’s jaw was in danger of cracking, he was clenching it so hard.

“I hope he’s burning in hell.”

“Like a pig on a spit.”

The venom in Killian’s voice was matched by Liam’s and his voice cracked when he confessed the full depravity of his fantasies.

“I imagine torturing him in a thousand ways, Liam. I want him to suffer the way Emma has suffered. No, worse. If you only knew what I think about sometimes, the rage I feel -”

“I wouldn’t be shocked. I promise you.”

Killian let his breath out in a hot rush and muscles he hadn’t even known had gone rigid relaxed. He blinked, trying to clear the burning behind his eyes. Liam grasped his shoulder and squeezed in understanding. Killian was alarmed to feel a lump rise in his throat and as a quick sob escaped, Liam yanked him forward into a brief yet fierce hug. 

“This family is strong, little brother.”

Killian nodded as he pulled away, clearing his throat, slightly embarrassed, though he knew he shouldn’t be. Liam returned his nod, his eyes shining with tears of understanding. 

“Well,” Killian said, voice scratchy, “I better get a shower.”

Liam gestured to the shopping car. “I’ll hide this somewhere.”

Looking at it once again, Killian suddenly remembered something else from that night. Something that was upstairs in his desk drawer. 

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

Emma set aside her dog-eared copy of A Wrinkle in Time to massage her brow. She’d been having headaches a lot lately. Her therapist said it was a common physiological response to stress. Headaches were also sometimes a side effect of medication for anxiety, so there was also that. 

It wasn’t the book, though. Reading about Meg, Calvin, and Charles Wallace was a balm to her soul. She especially loved Aunt Beast, which was the chapter she was reading right now. She would love to have a giant, soft, and furry creature to hold her and heal her jagged inner wounds. She was re-reading all of her favorite childhood books. They were like comforting, old friends. In their pages, she could be rocked to sleep by Aunt Beast, tumble in the grass with Aslan, or fly away to Neverland. 

“Hey.”

Emma looked up at the sound of Killian’s voice and his swift knock upon her door frame. The sight of him shouldn’t have made her heart flip over the way it did. Not when he was absolutely filthy.

Or maybe that was exactly why her mouth suddenly went dry at the sight of him. 

His face was beaded with perspiration, and his damp, dark hair was tousled. His thin, white t-shirt was so damp with sweat that it clung to every muscle of his torso. He noticed her staring, and glanced down at his shirt, which was stained with dirt. 

“Oh, sorry, I know I’m disgusting.” He pulled it swiftly over his head, causing his hair to stick up even more crazily than before. 

Yeah, that didn’t help. At all. Now she could feel her cheeks burning as she tried not to stare at his bare chest. He balled up the shirt and used it to rub at the back of his neck. The motion only made his muscles even more noticeable. 

Emma cleared her throat and picked up her book, hoping it wasn’t upside down, or something equally embarrassing. 

“So take a shower,” she snapped. “You stink.”

Killian just laughed. “On my way, I promise.” 

It didn’t stop him from striding all the way into her bedroom. She schooled her features into one of indifference as she glanced up at him. 

“I’m trying to read, and now I can smell you even more.”

He reached into the back pocket of the Wranglers he had bought for work. Wranglers should not in any universe be sexy. They were loose fit, which wasn’t Killian’s style at all, and they were that actual denim blue, which hadn’t been in fashion since the OK Corral. And yet . . .

They hung low on his hips, which did decidedly uncomfortable things to her pulse, and damn if that shade of blue didn’t light up his eyes. She was so distracted by this very obvious display of masculinity, that she almost didn’t see the slim book that he was handing to her. He had to wave it a little bit before she took it. 

“It’s Mary Margaret’s,” he told her softly. 

Emma ran her hand over the faded green cover. “Wh- where did you get this?”

“The night of the prom, it fell out of her shopping cart. When I saw what was written on the inside cover, I kept it. I thought you might like to have it.”

Emma flipped it open and read, To my daughter, Emma. I hope you understand one day. Love, Mother. She snapped her gaze back up to Killian.

“I didn’t read it,” he assured her, lifting both hands in surrender. “I just completely forgot about it after . . . everything.” 

Emma swallowed nervously as she flipped through the pages. She didn’t register any of the words, but the handwriting was neat, the cursive looping and elegant. Not at all what you would expect in the journal of a crazy woman. 

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to,” he assured her. 

Emma just nodded, her emotions on a roller coaster. Did she want to know what her mother had to say? Would these words reveal a slow descent into madness? Or for once could she understand the person her mother once was? The sweet friend Ingrid remembered?

Killian left the room quietly, and she scarcely noticed. That proved how much her mother’s journal had shaken her. 

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

Killian meant it when he told Emma that she didn’t have to read her mother’s journal if she didn’t want to. Killian also felt that it was a private matter, so he didn’t ask her about it, nor did he mention it to the rest of the family. 

If he were in Emma’s shoes, if he somehow found a letter or a journal from his dad “hoping Killian would understand one day,” he wasn’t sure how he would react. He might burn it without a second thought. Nothing could make sense of a man abandoning a woman sick with cancer. Killian would never forget the day he sat in a social worker’s office, the day after his mother passed, and saw Liam’s imposing frame fill the doorway. At seven, he had a difficult time understanding that this big, superman was his brother. Half-brother, technically, though Liam never liked that term. 

“We’re brothers, end of story,” was what Liam always said.

Not many twenty-three year olds, especially those just starting graduate school, would consider taking custody of a baby brother they never even knew existed. But that was Liam Jones. 

In a way, he supposed, he was blessed. Liam was a better father than Brennan Jones had ever been or ever could be. Nothing the man could ever say would make Killian want him back in his life. 

So yeah, if Emma had taken a lighter to that journal and watched it burn, he wouldn’t judge her. 

It was for that reason two weeks passed before Killian gave the journal another thought. He was also just too plain exhausted to bug Emma. The contractor he was working for was fair, safe, and honest. Nevertheless, the hard physical labor had Killian wearily ascending the stairs to the attic every night for a much needed shower, followed by a quick dinner and then collapsing into bed. The money was good, though, so he couldn’t complain.  

Killian had just stepped out of the shower one night at the end of June when his phone buzzed on his nightstand. He was surprised to see that it was a text from Emma.

I need you.

She didn’t have to say another word. Be down in a minute he texted back, and then rushed to throw on a pair of pajama pants and a clean t-shirt. When he got to her room, he found her sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her mother’s journal lay on the comforter in front of her, and she was staring at it as if it might bite. He paused in the doorway, and she looked up at him with a stricken expression on her face. 

“Shut the door.”

He nodded and did as she asked. She scooted over as he neared the bed, and he sat down beside her. He couldn’t help eyeing the journal as he did so. 

“Did you read it?” 

She nodded her head. Then she looked at him, her expression pleading. “Do you remember that day we got ice cream?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember what you swore to me?”

Killian nodded. He would never forget that day. “That you would never lose me.”

“Yes, that, but the other thing.”

Killian rested his head on the headboard, thinking as he looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, you mean that I would never think you were crazy?”

Emma picked up the journal and handed it to him. “Remember that.”

Killian looked down at the journal, then back at Emma. “You want me to read it?”

Emma nodded, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Her eyes were wide as she watched him open the slim volume. A sense of dread snaked through his veins, but he began to read nevertheless . . . 

My dearest, precious daughter Emma,

I found out today - officially on the ultrasound - that you’re a girl, and my heart broke all over again that your father isn’t with us. When we talked about baby names, we always liked Emma for a girl. I want you to know first of all how much your father and I love you. David was so excited when I found out I was with child, and he went to the market the very next day and bought an obscene amount of stuffed toys. His absence is not by choice. Of course, I’m getting ahead of myself . . . 

I’m writing this because I fear that time is running out. The future is uncertain, and I want you to know the truth. It will be difficult for you to believe, I know that. I just hope and pray that my words are enough. Believe, my darling daughter, even when it seems impossible. 

The second thing I want to say is this: I am not insane. I am writing this with full mental capacity. The woman you likely know now as your mother is not who I am as I write this. However, I fear madness is a curse I can not outrun. Some may tell you to ignore this journal as the ramblings of an unstable woman. That, I promise you, is not the case. Ingrid will tell you that during my pregnancy, I was completely sane. 

Speaking of Ingrid, it brings me great relief to have met her. She doesn’t understand when I talk about it, because she knows how much I want you and has no reason to believe I cannot care for you. However, she has promised to raise you if I cannot. She is a wonderful woman and a dear friend. I know you will love her, too. 

Well, I suppose I shall get to the point. You will grow up in a world, Emma, which does not believe in magic or fairy tales. However, that doesn’t mean they do not exist. The world you will grow up in, the world I find myself in right now, even has magic. Most people just aren’t aware of it. 

This is not the only world there is, however. I’m not talking about space aliens, don’t worry. Or perhaps you’ll think it’s worse. I’m talking about other realms. 

I am from a place called the Enchanted Forest. It should have been your home too, Emma. My name is not Mary Margaret. It is Snow White. I know that sounds crazy to you because since I arrived in this strange realm, I have discovered that my family, my friends, almost everyone I know, are considered nothing but stories here. It sounds impossible, but it’s true. I am Queen Snow White of the kingdom of Misthaven and your father is my Prince Consort. Yes, my Prince Charming. I actually do call him charming - it’s a silly nickname, really.

But that’s a story for happier times. Hopefully when we are all reunited. 

Just like in the fairy tales you’ve heard about Snow White, my mother died and my father remarried an evil witch - the Evil Queen. She murdered my father shortly after the wedding, and I had to flee for my life.  It’s a long story, but your father helped me win the kingdom back. (And yes, a poisoned apple was involved, but again, that’s a story for another time.)

We were young and knew little about battles or politics, especially when we were up against an evil queen. We made a grievous mistake. The Dark One, also called Rumplestiltskin, came to our court offering his help to defeat the Evil Queen. We knew The Dark One’s motto - “magic always comes with a price,” however, his deal sounded so simple. 

The Evil Queen was drafting boys as young as eleven into military service against the ogres. The Dark One’s own son was among them. If we accepted his help, our first royal decree must be to absolve the draft. It seemed perfectly reasonable. After all, we found the law despicable ourselves, sending innocent children into battle. 

Rumplestiltskin brought us victory, his son was spared, and all seemed to be well. Or so we thought. 

Unfortunately, the ogres weren’t routed so easily. We continued to battle their terror across the realm. Finally, in the fifth year of our reign, the ogres were finally defeated in a decisive battle. Shortly after, I discovered I was pregnant with you, Emma. It seemed like we finally had our happy ending. 

We were feasting, celebrating our victory, when thunder and lighting descended upon the banquet hall. Red smoke filled the room, and when it cleared, The Dark One was in our midst. 

His manic, high pitched voice is seared into my memory: “I warned you, Your Majesties, all magic comes with a price!”

We abolished the draft, but when Rumplestiltskin’s son came of age, he joined our army against the ogres after all. Just in time for that last battle. 

“I held my bleeding son in my arms, with death all around me!” Rumplestiltskin shrieked. “You promised me my son’s life!”

We pleaded our innocence. After all, how could we control his son’s life? His choices? Your father expressed his deepest condolences to The Dark One, and that’s when things became most bizarre. Before our eyes, Rumplestiltksin seemed to split in two, like another being was fighting to come out of him. For one moment, his son Bealfire stood before us! Baelfire pleaded with his father to let him go, let him die an honorable soldier, then he began to writhe on the floor as The Dark One battled with him. Then Rumplestiltskin, and him alone, was before us once again! The Dark One had absorbed his son with Dark Magic, keeping him alive - or at least, in a way. 

Then the Dark One pronounced his curse upon us:

“Your entire kingdom will be ripped away, trapped in a realm where there is no magic and no happy endings. None of you will remember who you really are. Except for you, Snow White! You will be separated from your love, and you will know it, with all your memories intact. You will wander alone in this strange realm until you give birth to a baby girl. Yet you will only hold her for a moment before madness descends upon you. She will be taken from you, and she will detest you for the rest of your days.”

I nearly collapsed with the cruelty of this curse, and your father fell upon his knees and begged the Dark One for mercy. He gave that eerie little giggle of his and practically danced with glee. 

“Mercy? I don’t do mercy. I do, however, love games. So I’ll tweak the curse just a tiny bit. I’ll give you a riddle, in the form of a song. Solve each riddle and perform the three tasks by the time your baby is born, and the curse will be broken.”

My royal lineage overtook me, and I stood to my full height then and vowed that the true love I felt for your father would help me conquer this riddle. Little did I know that The Dark One’s sadistic cruelty wasn’t finished.

“Well,” he squealed, “if you don’t solve it, perhaps your daughter will. When she is seventeen years of age, I will find her, my son will woo her, and she will give me another child to replace the one you took from me.”

“Our daughter will never be wooed by the son of the Dark One!” your father thundered.

Rumplestiltkin’s answer rattled the windows. “Then he will take her by force!”

Emma, my heart grows sick to think that The Dark One will find you. I pray that you read this in time. He’s here, Emma! I’ve seen him! He taunts me, sneaking around and showing up in the most random places. I’ve seen his son too, and after months of sharing body and soul with his father, he has become dark and twisted as well. He’s no longer the heroic boy he once was. Beware of him! He goes by the name Neal Cassidy in this realm. 

Killian stopped reading then, his face pale, his hands shaking. Emma rested a slim hand on his leg. 

“You saw his name, didn’t you?” she whispered. 

He couldn’t answer, he could only shudder, his hands gripping the journal until his knuckles turned white. 

“Keep reading,” Emma ordered gently. 

I have tried to solve the riddle Emma, but I can’t even figure out how to complete the first task! How does one make a shirt with no needle or seam? There are two other tasks. The second is to find a town that no one knows, and I am certain that’s where your father is. If I do not succeed, Emma, it will be up to you. Solve the riddles, complete the tasks, find us, and break the curse! I know it’s overwhelming, but also know this: In this family, we always find each other. If I can’t break the curse, I know you can. 

If The Dark One has found you already when you read this, then also know this: if you do not break the curse by the time your baby comes, you will also descend into madness, and all of The Enchanted Forest will remain cursed forever. Here is the riddle:

“O, where are you going?" "To Scarborough fair,"

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

"Remember me to a lass who lives there,

    For once she was a true love of mine.

 And tell her to make me a cambric shirt,

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

Without any seam or needlework,

    And then she shall be a true love of mine.

 And tell her to find the town which no one knows,

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

And reunite the lovers there with a kiss ,

    And then she shall be a true love of mine

 And there she must sow an acre with but one kernel of corn,

    Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

Upon the seashore before the tide comes,

   And then she shall be a true love of mine

All my love, my darling daughter, and may hope and truth be yours. 

Love,

Mother

Killian snapped the journal closed and dropped it on the bed. He turned his head to look at Emma, seeing for the first time that she looked a bit sick and green. 

“And you believe this is all true?”

“How else do you explain his name being there? And remember what I told you? How Neal changed? And he said the same thing my mother wrote about! All magic comes with a price.”

Killian felt sick. Sick with the certainty that it was all true. He knew it like he knew his own name. There was just one thing . . . 

“But Emma, you aren’t pregnant.”

Her face was stoic as she reached under her pillow and pulled something out. She pressed it into his hand. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see at first, but then he looked down. 

A white stick with a tiny pink plus sign rested in the palm of his hand. 

Tagging  @snowbellewells​ @teamhook​ @kmomof4​ @jrob64​ @xhookswenchx​ @thisonesatellite​ @welllpthisishappening​ @spartanguard​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @tiganasummertree​ @sparlecorn93​ @sals86​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @xarandomdreamx​ @zaharadessert​ @huntressandlioness1​ @jamif​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @onceratheart18​ @sparlecorn93​ @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza​ @xarandomdreamx​ @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1​

[lilacmoon83]

Lightning in a Bottle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 77: Call Sign, Pt 2

Emma looked at her reflection in the full length mirror. Margaret had picked out a beautiful dress for her and she looked stunning, however, she had never been more nervous.

"Were you nervous at all on your wedding day?" Emma asked. Margaret smiled.

"I know that everyone said I would be…but no, I wasn't. I couldn't wait to make it official. It was mainly for everyone else. David and I already felt married long before we went to the altar," she answered.

"Yeah…you guys are not the typical example," Emma said.

"It doesn't mean that you and Neal don't share an amazing love too," Margaret replied.

"You're right…you and my brother are just weird," the blonde teased.

"Haha…but yeah, probably," Margaret agreed.

"In a good way," Emma assured her.

"Everything is going to be fine," Margaret said.

"What if it's not? What if he dies tomorrow?" Emma asked.

"He's not going to. The Callings have done so much good. We're going to follow them and it's going to save him," Margaret replied. A shudder of fear rippled through Emma. How did she even begin to tell them that she had defied a Calling? And that those very dangerous men that should be dead now, had she done as the Calling asked, might go free at trial. She shook her head and pushed those terrifying thoughts away. If she focused on that, she would lose her mind and Neal needed her. They were getting married and she was going to be happy. Margaret was right. The rest would figure itself out.

~(~

Gold helped his son straighten his tie and looked at him wistfully.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"No…just anxious for the ceremony to start. I can't wait to be married to the woman I love," Neal replied. He didn't add the even though it might be for only one day, but the

possibility of that hung in the air around them.

"I'm very happy for you, my boy," Gold said.

"Thanks Dad…glad we're a family again. Didn't think that could happen," Neal replied.

"Me either…but it means the world to me that you have forgiven me," Gold said, as they shared a hug.

~*~

Olive looked at the house, decorated with all the pomp of the wedding, and smiled.

"It's like a dream…it's amazing," she mentioned, but noticed that TJ seemed to be a million miles away. She sighed.

"Okay TJ…what's going on with you?" she asked. He sighed.

"I'm leaving," he said and she looked shocked.

"A few weeks ago, I applied for a grant to study in Egypt. And it went through," he explained.

"Egypt?" she questioned.

"Look, coming back on 828, not dying in the nightclub fire…I survived twice for a reason," he said.

"Yeah. To live your life," Olive argued.

"But it's more than just that. I think I'm still here to find out what the Alzarus book means. And maybe I'll find a clue about the Death Date," he said. She scoffed.

"I'm sorry, Olive," he said, as tried to comfort her, but she pulled away.

"Please, I don't...I can't do this. Not now," Olive said, as she walked off.

~*~

"Good of you to come, Killian," Ruby said, as she handed him a glass of champagne.

"Anything for Emma," he replied, as he looked around. He couldn't help but think that this should have been for them.

"For what it's worth…I'm sorry. I know you still love her," Ruby said.

"It's fine…it just didn't work out for us," Killian replied.

"Yeah…it's not awkward or anything," Ruby joked. He smiled.

"Yeah…" he agreed.

"I think I may need something stronger than champagne," he said.

"I'll see what I can do," she replied, as she went to find him some hard liquor.

~*~

"Are you ready?" Margaret asked. She nodded.

"As ready as I'll ever be. I just wish I knew I was doing the right thing…that stopping his treatments is okay and that the Callings will save him," Emma replied.

"I can't answer those questions, but I know respecting what he wants is the right thing," Margaret replied.

"What if it was David asking this of you?" Emma asked. Margaret took a breath.

"Then I would be a mess…but being with him every moment would be my priority and I would have hope to the very end," she said.

"All good things, Emma. I spent almost six years without him…but something brought him…all of you back. Whatever it is…it's good," she promised. Emma smiled.

"All good things," she repeated, as they exited the bedroom door where David was waiting for them in his tux.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded, as they hugged her between them.

"This is a happy beginning…not an end," he promised.

"You have no idea how much I hope you're right," Emma said, as they led her into the living room for the main procession.

~*~

The moment he saw her, he felt like he couldn't breathe. As Ruby returned with some rum, he handed her the glass of champagne.

"I'm sorry…tell Emma I'm sorry. I can't do this," he said, as he fled the scene before she could see him. He got into his car and put it in gear, driving off, unaware of the van

parked outside the Nolan house with the three escaped convicts.

~*~

David and Margaret walked Emma down the aisle and they met Neal there, before the Holy man. They each kissed her cheek and then took their seats in the front row.

Margaret smiled and took the baby from her father-in-law, as the ceremony began.

"We've gathered today to witness and affirm the choice Neal and Emma have made to stand together as partners in life. And they have written their own vows of commitment

to one another," he began, before looking at Neal.

"Emma… we'll never have enough time to do everything that we want, to create all the memories we'd like, but having you believe in me, care for me, love me has been the

greatest gift of my life. And I vow, however long I'm privileged to be your husband, to fill your world with all the love you deserve," he promised. She smiled.

"Neal, I want to be the best wife that I can be, which to me means I will stand beside you, loving you and supporting you in whatever choices you make in your life. I will

never give up on you. And I will fight for your life... our life together for as long as we both shall live," Emma said. The minister smiled.

"By the power vested in me by the state of New York... I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride," he announced. There was applause, as they kissed

and their marriage was official.

~*~

The reception followed and several dances were shared, before Emma found her way to her brother.

"MM says you had cold feet for a minute there," he said.

"Do you ever not tell each other things?" Emma asked. He smirked.

"No…and it makes for a great marriage," he replied.

"Yeah…for a minute there, I wondered if I was doing the right thing, but MM reminded me that following Neal's wishes would always be right. All good things…and hope. That's

the key or at least, I hope it is," she said. He smiled and kissed her hair.

"It is," he promised, as he joined Margaret again on the dance floor, while Ruby sided up to her.

"I thought I saw Killian…where did he go?" Emma asked.

"He left…he said to tell you that he was sorry, but I think it was too hard for him," Ruby confessed. Emma nodded.

"It's okay…I get it and I don't blame him," she replied.

"Just put it out of your mind…and be happy. You deserve it," Ruby said, as Emma smiled.

"Thank you," she replied, as Neal held his hand out and she joined him for a dance.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I'm better than alright. I'm with you. That's all that matters," she replied.

"So you're glad you said "I do"?" he asked. She smiled.

"Yeah. Of course," she answered.

"I know you've had reservations. Didn't know if you still had second thoughts," he mentioned.

"Our situation is anything but normal. But I love you. Don't ever doubt that," she said.

~*~

The crickets chirped, as TJ and Olive walked outside together to talk.

"Why don't you come with me? To Egypt. You're graduating in the spring. You can meet

up with me right after," he suggested.

"TJ, I'm…" Olive trailed off.

"Olive, I love you. And I want to be with you," he added.

"I wish I could. But I...I-I want my baby sister to know me. And I want to be able to spend as much time as I can with my mom and my dad and Cal before…" she said,

trailing off again.

"You're my best friend," she added.

"And us...breaking up, it…" she said, but he cut her off.

"I'm not breaking up with you. I'm going on this trip so that I can try to solve the Death Date so that we can have a future together. Just don't give up on me," he pleaded.

She smiled.

"Never," she promised.

~*~

Emma sighed, as she had a glass of champagne and talked to Regina.

"Congratulations," Regina said. Emma smiled.

"Thanks," she replied.

"You okay?" Emma asked. Regina sighed.

"I just feel like I failed Neal…and you," she said. Emma shook her head.

"No…you did everything you could. Neal has all but given up, but I haven't. David insists that the Callings will still come through and I'm trying to have that same hope that he

and MM do," she replied.

"Hope has never been easy for me either…but in this instance, I hope they are right. I quite like having a brother," Regina said. Emma smiled, as Regina's cell phone chimed

and she saw that it was unknown.

"Call me if you need anything…I need to take this," she said, as she went outside to answer it.

~*~

The reception was winding down at that point and Neal was hugging his father.

"Papa…I know that tomorrow might, well…you know. And if it is…just know that I love you and I've forgiven you, ten fold," Neal promised. Gold had tears in his eyes, as he

hugged him again. Henry hugged him next and he ruffled the boy's hair.

"I don't know how I can ever thank you, Henry. You saved my life, in more ways than one. You introduced me to your Aunt Emma, you know?" he said. Henry sniffed.

"You gave me the best bachelor party I've ever been to," Neal added, as he sniffed.

"You be good, little man and keep working on those chess skills. This guy here is the best there is at it. Maybe you two can play," Neal said, as he motioned to his father.

"I would love that, my boy," Gold said. Henry smiled.

"Me too," he agreed, as Emma was saying her goodbyes to her father and then finally David and MM.

"I promise you that I'm not going to give up. I'll follow the Callings to the end of the Earth if it means saving Neal," Emma said, as David and Margaret hugged her between

them.

"We know…and we'll be there to do whatever you need," he promised, as they saw the couple off to their car so their honeymoon could begin. They got in the car and drove

off.

~*~

Regina waited at the meeting point that had been texted her and looked around nervously. There was a tap on her shoulder and she turned around. When she saw no one,

she turned back the other way, only to practically jump out of her skin when seeing Vance now standing there, like he had come out of nowhere.

"Geez…don't do that!" she hissed.

"David sent the SOS so here I am. It better be good…because this is risky," Vance said.

"What's this about?" he asked.

"The Major…she had me fired and locked out of my lab. She had my license revoked and all my research has been taken," Regina replied. He looked intrigued by that.

"What? What do you know?" she asked.

"A couple days ago, the switchboard at the DOD lit up like a Christmas tree. The Major found a breakthrough with your research. She needs to make sure what she discovered

stays in her hands and her hands only," he revealed. Regina looked stunned.

"She must have cracked it. Gotten rid of the DNA anomaly permanently," she realized.

"I think it's time for me to make you disappear," Vance suggested. Regina looked shocked at that.

"Run away?" she questioned.

"It's for your own safety," Vance answered.

"No, I don't think you understand. I am not hiding from her. I am coming after her," Regina insisted, giving Vance a moment of pause at her determination.

~*~

"All cleaned up. Our house is officially a pumpkin again. Dishwasher's loaded. We're off the clock. You want to watch a movie?" Olive asked her little brother.

"You pick. I'm gonna go fire these babies up," Henry said, referring to the sparklers that he'd been given. She rolled her eyes and went to pick one out, while Henry went outside in the front yard to light up the sparklers.

~*~

The baby cooed, as Margaret sang softly to her in their bedroom. David smiled and then was suddenly seized by a Calling. This one was intense and he saw the plane

exploding in mid air.

"Honey?" Margaret asked, as he breathed heavily.

"Another Calling?" she asked. He nodded.

"But different…I saw the plane exploding in mid air," he said, in confusion.

"But that didn't happen," Margaret replied.

"I know…maybe it's metaphorical for something else. Like something's about to happen," David said. Margaret squeezed his hand. A Calling like that couldn't mean anything

good.

~*~

Henry stood in the front yard and twirled his sparkler, moving it around to use the smoke as air writing. Three shadows approached him in the yard. The sparkler went out, as

the shadows loomed and he turned around, looking up into darkness…

~*~

Neal smiled at her, as she drove them toward their destination when the phone rang.

"Who's calling us on our honeymoon?" she wondered, as she pressed the button on her steering wheel to answer her phone, which was bluetoothed into the car.

"Hopefully someone with good news," Neal replied.

"Hello?" Emma answered.

"Aunt Emma…help!" Henry cried, sending their hearts into their throats.

"Henry…" she uttered.

"Shut that kid up!" a man's voice growled and a cold chill slithered down Emma's spine. It was Jace…she was sure of it.

"Listen, you sick…" Emma hissed.

"No, you listen, bitch!" Jace hissed back.

"You have two choices...you get us back or stash or you bury your nephew!" he warned.

"Don't you dare touch him!" Emma warned.

"Don't tempt me. I warned you. Now you're gonna pay," he said, as the line went dead.

"HENRY!" she cried and the realization came crashing down on her. She was responsible for this. She ignored a Calling and the trio of drug dealers didn't die as they

were supposed to. And now they had Henry. The brakes screeched, as she did a u-turn to head back to her brother's house.

[keepsmagnetoaway]

Marvel Team-Up 69 (May 1978)

Chris Claremont/John Byrne

Nice. We're baaaaasically back to the regular run of the regular X-Men after long wanderings in various other titles, but before we get back to that with X-Men 111, we have this, which is basically X-Men 110.5: created by the Claremont & Byrne team, it updates us on what Polaris and Havok have been doing since we saw them last and introduces the plot threads that will run through the next few issues. But also Spider-Man is here.

Speaking of here, the Egyptians are here! Remember those guys, who we saw in a baffling three-issue arc of the original run? The Living Pharoah, aka the Living Monolith? They don't make any more sense here than they did in their original appearance.

The specifics here don't really need to detain us: the Egyptians show up kind of because they're X-Men baddies (and end up briefly capturing Havok, but he gets away again) but then are transferred, through the magic of Marvel Team-Up, to Spider-Man villains, and in the next issue he teams up with Thor to fight them instead. What's important for us here, aside from the reappearance of Havok and Polaris, is the return of a previous X-Man, Beast, who discovers that the rest of his old gang have gone missing, handily setting up the next X-Men storyline.

What's interesting artistically about this issue, though, is the way Byrne uses it to pay tribute to the incredible Neal Adams art we saw in X-Men 56, the conclusion of the original arc. Here's a page from that issue:

And here's a page from this one:

Or, again, here's the Living Pharoah becoming the Living Monolith, by Adams:

And here it is by Byrne. As with the previous comparison, it's not a straight crib, but it's drawing heavily on Adam's technique:

I love this: Adams, as I said at length, is one of the greatest to ever do it, and it's fascinating to see Byrne study him, learn from him and pay tribute to him like this. I love thinking of Byrne poring over the older issue as he drew this one: it's what turns this from a weird little side story into a genuinely interesting nugget of comics artistry.

[theam-cjsw]

The AM: September 18, 2023

This week's AM shares three hours of fall vibes, with a blend of ambient jazz, hazy psych-folk, and other sounds that mix melancholia and coziness in that uniquely autumnal way. For best results, serve with crunching leaves and hot cider.

CJSW stream

Listen on Soundcloud

Spotify playlist (includes most AM tracks from the last month)

Hour One

Abstract Sky Violeta Vicci • Cavaglia

SLEEP: Tranquility Base (Kelly Lee Owens Remix) Max Richter • Single

Fog Dance Various Artists, featuring Sun Rain • Cosmic Vibrations Vol. 3

Our Place Joseph Shabason, featuring Thom Gill • Single

Order and Class Ecotype • Field Study

Last Traces of Infrastructure Josh Semans • To Will a Space Into Being

The Light Without Love Veryan • Reflections in a Wilderness

Wanderlust - The Field Remix Wild Beasts • Single

Windows Leland Whitty • Anyhow

Dominoes Moondiver • Single

Hour Two

Reflections Tristan De Liège, Jambal • Enterprises of Great Pith and Moment

Salute Daneil Villarreal, featuring Jeff Parker, Anna Butterss • Lados B

Taivshral Enji • Ulaan

More Easily Makushin • Move into the Luminous

The Surface of the Water Circus Underwater • Circus Underwater

Sleepwalker Faunts • M4

Well (refilled and set in sand) Azeda Booth • Tubtrek

Five Four Child Voice Fridge • Happiness

Drumheller Caribou • The Milk of Human Kindness

Hour Three

Have You Seen a Horizon Lately Yoko Ono • Approximately Infinite Universe

Discover Who I Am Blossom Dearie • Discover Who I Am (The Fontana Years London 1966-70)

The Sea Baby Cool • Earthling On The Road To Self Love

Salade Sauvage Deluxe Dressing Mix Les Chouettes • Ha Ha Happiness

Kings & Queens Apostle of Hustle • Folkloric Feel

Three By Noon Bart • Today, Tomorrow, & The Next Day

L’Étau de Zálmoxis YOCTO • Zepta Supernova

My Odyssey Various Artists, featuring Fenella • Weird Walk presents Leyline

D-85 teardrop Chad Vangaalen • NTH 2

I’ll Be Your Star Lael Neale • Single

Bang Melenas • Ahora

1000 Times Big Blood • Quarantunes Series No​.​027

[firebirdsdaughter]

Before I go to bed too late…

… On the rerewatch, I wish Sara had had to learn about El being kidnapped. Bc if I’m gonna throw Neal under the ‘should have said something to Peter’ bus, I gotta throw her under as well, no special treatment. This is a massive case of young(er, in Mozzie’s case) people not considering the consequences of their actions. Despite the fact that Keller had Peter kidnapped, apparently no one considers he might target the Burkes again. ‘Ooooo he talked to Sara’ are you forgetting he’s well aware that the Burkes are your parents. Keller won’t try to touch Sara, she’ll beat his ass, but it’s easier to go after a civilian. Like this is literally no one considering the stress and harm they are causing the parents. Mozzie and Neal are being self centred, Sara, I don’t know, gets caught up in the romantics?

A running theme w/ Neal is that he rarely considers how his behaviour will effect those around him, and I feel like it’s esp clear w/ Peter and El. Maybe it’s the little kid in him, but he seems to take them for granted, likely not helped by Peter’s dedication to him and ability to manifest whenever he’s in trouble. Neal doesn’t think about Peter and El getting blow back from his shit and esp doesn’t register the danger he causes them early on—when something happens, he’ll come through, but he just… Doesn’t seem to take them into account sometimes and, like I said, not just on the ‘going after them to get to him’ angle but in the ‘they care about you and you being reckless is stressing them out and making it hard to trust you.’ It’s a lesson El, bless her heart, tries to give him multiple times but I think he… Doesn’t totally understand the implications. It’s not just that they could get hurt, literally or reputation-wise bc of him, it’s when he does reckless, impulsive shit it scares them, whether he’s putting himself in dangerous situations or keeping secrets and acting suspicious. Perhaps a better description would be he doesn’t realise how those effects change as they get closer—it becomes more personal for them. It’s more painful. That’s why I love s3 bc of the oblivious and sometimes intentional guilt slinging. Sure, Neal didn’t ask for this, but he also didn’t walk away, and he didn’t tell Peter the moment he found out. If he had, Peter might’ve kept Mozzie’s name out of it (and yeah, part of this is Mozzie being a bad influence, he’s lucky he’s likeable the rest of the time). It’s like my post about Honour Among Thieves; the reason Peter is suspicious is bc Neal is suspicious. In so many ways Peter throws himself all in on this and Neal just… Doesn’t reciprocate. And the more Peter cares about him, the more harsh the possible/apparent betrayals are. And Neal… Doesn’t seem to entirely clock that. Peter’s clearly out of sorts and overly emotional about the whole thing, and Neal’s initial response is being all shocked Peter ‘turned against him,’ just keeps trying to deflect suspicion. Predominately thinks Peter is going after it just bc he’s Peter, doesn’t seem to realise Peter is so obsessed w/ this bc it’s personal, bc to Peter this is not just a crime but a massive, very personal betrayal. Again, it’s Mozzie and Alex and Adler’s influence, but Neal just… Doesn’t seem to get how badly lying and deceiving can hurt people. It’s not just that he’d do it, Peter acknowledges early it could have been Mozzie or Alex who actually pulled the theft, it’s that Neal would keep it from him, outright hide it from him, and participate in the plan to run at all. It’s that Neal doesn’t tell him things until it’s critical, that’s why he’s so cagey during s4. Bc he loves him. And I don’t think Neal really gets that that’s love? I dunno, I’m rambling now, but while his relationship w/ Ellen was sweet, I think it’s telling of how he turned out that she acts like Peter was in the wrong for arresting Neal, too. Most of the people around Neal enable and/or encourage his reckless and more self centred behaviour, even the ostensible parental figure; Peter and El are the first ones to hold him to a higher standard not based on allowance or conning, as Peter says, trying to help him be the man they think he can be, give him a future where he doesn’t have to run all the time. What started as more a matter of convenience and fondness goes into them being full blown invested in helping this kid change his life. They’re the first ones to care about him and just. Be there, even when he makes being there really hard. They are literally his parents. And maybe partially he’s not used to having parents this invested in him but… Look, I’ve lost my train of thought but it’s like he sees some levels of consequences, but not all and not the right ones. Expects a level of separation that’s no longer there and doesn’t always realise the everyday pain he causes w/ his behaviour, and doesn’t seem to realise how much not knowing hurts, and definitely doesn’t always think about the fact that they’re intense connection to him makes them even bigger targets.

And he really doesn’t get the stress his improvisation and wonton nonsense put Peter through on a regular basis. Like how does Peter even sleep at night having to put up w/ that?? It’s no wonder her wants to put a tracking anklet on the second kid, Neal’s gotta be responsible for every single grey hair on his head and a few counts of high blood pressure. How has this man not had a heart attack yet, I would be dead.

[themilkybarboy]

community bits that deserve more love 🥰

Asian population studies when Annie is like change the subject and Chang goes CHANG the subject !!!!!!! And u realise he has been up there the Entire time

Jeff singing the song from ghost from outside the pottery class

The weird noise the Dean makes when Shirley is giving birth

Brittas dorky Halloween costumes like babe I love u

The continual shut up Leonard run

The bit where Chang is like to britta don’t wear as much lipstick as you did on Valentine’s Day it makes your mouth look like a coin purse then when it’s all tense because britta has just declared she loves Jeff and Chang is like brittas hey britta ur lipstick looks better

In dungeons and dragons when Jeff is like i can fix this,I’ll find a fatter neal

Abed whole build up of a story about going to cougar town and they way he ends it so solemnly with I pooped my pants

Abeds face when him and Jeff have “ a real conversation” and he realises oh no Jeff is mentally unstable

Th Dean walking up to Annie and handing her the orange and she is like what’s this and he goes scene four

Troy and abed having a pierces mom memorial tunnel in their blanket fort

Abeds hair flick when he was dressed as Jesus at the study group table

The way the professor professorson was like just talk to your father Craig

Pierce giving Gilbert a gun in the video game episode to kill their father

The whole bare naked ladies fight in early 21st century romanticism

The hobgoblin interrogation scene in the second dungeons and dragon episode

Abed giving Troy all the cups and blankets in the ass crack bandit episode

The deans map in the kfc spaceship episode where he has like rated or recorded in some way his hookups idk what exactly it was but it was funny

Baby boomer Santa song I honestly think that was the best original song to come out of community but that’s just me

The way britta was like OMG I know what we need to do you need to bang that kids mom and the way her and Jeff got so excited for it

Abed and Annie’s weird cow handshake coz they’re adorable

When annie is like minuses are made up and neal pushes the book trolley over and like how fuckin QUICKLY they descended into a riot like green dale is always one breath away from going absolutely batshit insane and I love them for it

When Chang kidnaps those kids and is like I am NUTS Jeff get with the program

The s5 finale when brittas is like hey Chang become a bad guy again and he attempts to rip his face off and he is like I guess it’s not more complicated than that and he is like I think I’m just mentally ill

[genuineformality]

A, B, N, R and Y for the fic meme! <3

Ask games! You too can ask me questions for which I will give excessively long answers.

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

In Six of Crows, I'm really pleased with The Lies We Tell Ourselves, which I wrote for the SoC Mini-bang, which wound up being a lot more challenging than I thought it would be, since 3000 words isn't a lot and I picked a topic and a title for the fic before I had a plot. I wound up reworking it a few times before I finally published it (or even handed it to a beta), but I love the flow of it and the understated arson.

I wrote a bunch of Potter fic a million years ago (according to FFN, I was fairly active in 2005, so 17 years ago 😱, which in internet years may as well be the cretaceous period), and I wrote a weird little outsider POV about Snape that I still have a lot of fondness for, even though it's not something I would write now.

(I have a lot of very complicated feelings about Harry Potter, JKR, identity as a Jewish enby and how utterly unkind JKR has been to my intersections of identity, formative fiction, etc. I'm glad for the friendships I made in that fandom and don't regret the time I spent in it, but I'm more than content to leave it behind.)

(More behind the jump. Like, A LOT more.)

B:  What was the first fandom you read fic in?  Which was the first you wrote fic for?

Reading: Almost certainly X-Men. I was on an X-Men fandom message group in the late 90s/early 00s (now defunct and I'm pretty sure the entire archive was blown up in some early 00s internet drama). Nightcrawler has been my boy ever since I learned to love comics (although I find comics to be a difficult medium to read for a variety of reasons).

Writing: I've been writing fanfic longer than I've known what fanfic was. I've definitely referenced my love of Andre Norton's Scarface and the various stories I wrote for myself in that book. I wrote some Valdemar fanfic in the 90s that I never let see the light of day. My first original fiction as a tween/teenager was heavily inspired by Andre Norton's High Hallack novels (The Crystal Gryphon especially) and Norton's Dipple novels (Night of Masks still gets a reread every few years).

Published/let anyone else see: X-Men, again on that now-defunct message group. It's probably for the best that those stories have disappeared. I published one of the only ficlets I had a copy of on FFN, but the rest are lost to time.

N: Any fic ideas brewing that you’d care to share?

You are certainly the person I natter at the most about projects, so none of these are likely a big shock:

Wylan Grieving Matthias Religion Continuing Inej's Modern Anti-Slavery Ops (this is what I'm working on right now) Yentl Fix-It (y'all motherfuckers need polyamory) Deus Ex Character Study (losing the majority of your body and having it replaced by cybernetics is traumatic, yo) Bucky Barnes Character Study (Trauma. It's trauma all the way down)

R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing?

Andre Norton was foundational and formative for me, and the more I write, the more I realize how much of how I shape stories is directly influenced by her. She wrote deeply sincere, tightly paced adventures about misfits and people who did not belong in fantastical places and while a lot of her writing feels very dated at this point, there's so much sincerity and heart in what she wrote. As a cripplingly sincere misfit myself, it's pretty clear why her work speaks to me.

Other writers of note whose works are constant companions and if we are ever talking, please know that one or more of these is never more than a couple of conversational jumps away: CJ Cherryh (Downbelow Station), Neal Stephenson (Cryptonomicon), Ted Chiang (Stories of Your Life and Others), Becky Chambers (Wayfarers Series), Martha Wells (Murderbot)

Y: What are your thoughts on your personal satisfaction with something you’ve written vs. the popularity of your stories?  Do you tend to be most satisfied with your most popular stories?

I've been in this iteration of my fanfiction career for *checks notes* five months and have published very little so far. I'm still gathering data on what is and is not popular, but I have a small data set with which to work now.

My impression of the SOC fandom is that canon-compliant-ish stories are generally more popular (or at least get more clicks), but I'm also still building a reputation as a writer in this fandom. My first stories were a modern AU (and kind of a weird one at that), but it's hard to tell whether their lack of traction was more about their subject matter, my writing style not clicking, or just that no one had heard of me and therefore had less investment in checking out what I'd written. I am noticing that having more recent fics is driving traffic to some of the older fics now, and that's really interesting to me; apparently there's enough interest in my writing (style or subject matter - unclear), that readers are interested in seeing what else I've done.

I'm a giant data nerd and I'm finding the ways that fandom popularity ebbs and flows really fascinating; my last fandom forays were significantly less social-media driven (largely because these particular social media platforms just didn't exist).

The relative popularity of my fics is not a driver in my personal satisfaction of my fics, although as someone who is chronically dopamine deficient, every kudos and comment is giving me life. I really love Exit Strategy, for example, but it's by far the weirdest, least popular fic I've written for this fandom (second only to The Cleaning Lady, which is currently winning the award for fringiest, least popular fic, which makes sense because it's fanfic of a modern AU fanfic, and if I wanted to distill the circumstances under which a fic could be overlooked in an otherwise popular fandom, I couldn't have created more ideal conditions).

[emospritelet]

Twisted Fate - chapter 28/28

Last time, Belle made up with her father, and Gold and Neal had a heart to heart. After all the crap I've put these idiots through, I'm pleased to say that they get their HEA. This is it :)

[AO3]

x

Gold waited for Neal to call Emma, pacing nervously in the hallway as he did so. He tried not to listen to the one-sided conversation, the ‘okay’, the ‘yeah, I know’, and the ‘I guess we’ll see’. Despite their hug, and the tears that had been shed, Neal still sounded cautious. He supposed that was only to be expected; Neal had taken less than a day to consider the matter, and there were tests to be done before paternity could be confirmed, after all. Gold had been honest when he said the outcome didn’t matter to him, but after decades of thinking his father hadn’t even known of his existence, it would matter to Neal. How could it not?

He was pleased that Neal had agreed to come to brunch, and to invite Emma and Henry along with him. It was unlikely that Henry would be told at this stage, but there would be time for that. Neal was willing to talk to him, and to let him get to know his family. All things considered, it was a more positive outcome than he had anticipated. He was trying not to think about how Neal might react if the test came back negative.

The muffled sound of talking ceased in the lounge, and Neal entered the hallway, closing the lounge door behind him and shoving his phone in his pocket.

“Uh - they’re gonna meet us there,” he said, and Gold nodded.

“Right.”

“They’re not far,” added Neal. “We took Henry to the bookshop this morning, and I thought, since I was in the area - well, I thought I may as well stop by.”

“I’m glad you did,” said Gold sincerely, and Neal hesitated only briefly before nodding.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

The walk to the diner was made in relative silence, Neal’s hands shoved in his pockets as he sauntered along with his head down, seemingly lost in thought. Gold wanted to speak to him, but held back, feeling awkward and unsure of what to say. It was a relief to get to the diner and see Belle seated at one of the tables in the window, a book held open in front of her, pressed flat by the fingers of her right hand, with her left gently rocking Gideon’s stroller as she read. She looked up as they entered the diner, and her face broke into a beautiful smile that made him want to propose there and then. He pressed his lips together and told himself to bloody well wait until he wasn’t an emotional wreck.

“Hey!” she said, reaching out to touch his arm before squeezing Neal’s hand. Neal sent her a lopsided grin.

“Hey there, Mom,” he said, and she giggled, her eyes sparkling.

“Okay, that’s a little weird, not gonna lie.”

“You’re telling me,” he muttered, but he winked at her.

“Are you joining us for brunch?” she asked.

“Yeah, I asked Emma and Henry to come too.”

“Oh, great!” Belle looked from him to Gold and back again. “Does - does that mean..?”

“It means we’re having brunch,” said Gold easily. “And that Neal and I have agreed to take a test and get some answers.”

“Oh. Well, that sounds like a good idea.”

“Yeah, it’s - well, I guess we have to start somewhere, right?” said Neal, scratching the back of his head and pulling a face. Belle closed her book.

“And what better place to start than with cinnamon pastries and good coffee?” she said, and Neal chuckled.

“Wow, you really did become a mom.”

“Loving it so far,” she said, and patted the seat next to her. “Come on, sit down. They do the best Eggs Benedict here. And the pancakes are awesome.”

“One order of pancakes here,” said Neal immediately, taking a menu from her. “Emma’ll probably have the eggs, though.”

“Why don’t I get some drinks?” asked Gold. “Belle? Tea?”

“Iced, please.”

He nodded, smiling, and raised a hand to attract the attention of the waitress. One step at a time.

Their drinks arrived shortly before the rest of the family, Henry running ahead of his mother with a wide grin on his face, interrupting the conversation just as Gold was tentatively suggesting that they might want to visit Storybrooke one day.

“Hey Mr Gold!” said Henry excitedly. “Hey, Belle! I got a new book! It’s about a princess and a dark wizard!”

He waved a hard-backed book in the air, almost knocking Belle’s iced tea over, and she put a hand over the glass as Emma rolled her eyes with a sigh.

“It sounds wonderful,” said Gold, shooting Belle an amused look. “You can read some of it to me after we’ve eaten, if you like.”

“Cool! Can I have pancakes?”

“Take a look and see what you want on ‘em,” said Neal, and Henry flopped into one of the chairs and took the menu from Belle.

“Wow, they have different kinds!”

“I’ll take that menu after you, kid,” said Emma, sliding into the seat between him and Neal. Gold noticed her give Neal’s leg a reassuring squeeze and receive a pat on her hand in return.

“Dad, did you see these waffles?” Henry held up the menu. “They have strawberries and cream!”

“Yeah, they look good, huh?” said Neal. “Did you make a choice yet?”

“Not yet.” Henry bent his head over the menu again, chewing his lip, and Neal and Emma shared a glance.

“Henry,” said Neal. “How would you feel about going up to visit Storybrooke, in Maine?”

“What’s in Storybrooke?” asked Henry curiously, looking up.

“Belle used to live there,” said Neal. “And Mr Gold has a house there. A big one. He says we could stay over for the weekend with him and Belle sometime.”

“There’s a cabin, too,” said Gold. “It’s by a lake in the woods. Plenty of space to play.”

“Ooh! Can we have a barbecue?” asked Henry excitedly, and Gold laughed.

“Yes, we could do that,” he said. “Did you decide what you want on your pancakes?”

Henry wrinkled his nose.

“Actually, the waffles look really good,” he said. “Can I get one of those?”

“You can have whatever you like,” said Gold. “That goes for everyone. This is my treat.”

“That’s really nice of you,” said Emma.

“It’s been some time since I was able to treat anyone,” said Gold, catching her eye. “Looks as though I have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

Emma held his gaze, and nodded.

“You’re here now,” she said. “That counts for something.”

“Yeah,” said Neal quietly. “It counts for a lot.”

He too held Gold’s eye for a moment before turning to help Henry with his brunch choices, and Gold felt something loosen inside his chest, a sense of something that was almost relief beginning to spread through him. He glanced at Belle, and she was smiling at him, a soft look in her eyes that made him want to crawl across the table and kiss her. It was going to be alright. Everything was going to be alright.

-

Two years later

It was a bright and pleasant day in early May when Gold’s Cadillac pulled up outside the pink Victorian on the outskirts of Storybrooke. A U-Haul van was already there, Neal in dark jeans and a blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, opening the back to reveal stacked cardboard boxes. Belle got out of the car, turning her face up to the sun with a sigh of pleasure as she stretched. It felt good to be back in Storybrooke at last, although she had loved the Boston apartment that had been their home for the past couple of years. Her studies were done, Gideon had just turned two, and they had decided to move back to Storybrooke permanently.

“God, someone open the damn door, I gotta go!”

Emma had climbed out of the U-Haul, almost waddling to the path, her hand on her swollen belly. She and Neal were due to have their second child in three weeks, and she had been grumbling about her discomfort for the past two. Gold followed her with his swift, limping stride, reaching the porch before her and fishing out his keys to unlock the door. She headed for the stairs immediately, not looking back, and Belle grinned, remembering her own frequent bathroom trips at that late stage of pregnancy.

“Here, you want a hand with the kids?”

Neal appeared at her side, grinning widely, and Belle smiled back.

“Could you get the stroller out?” she asked. “I can get Gideon.”

“I’ll get him.”

Gold had reappeared, pocketing the front door keys, and leaned in to kiss her with a smile before heading around to the other side to un-clip Gideon from his car seat.

“Here we are, Gid,” he said easily, lifting him out. “Welcome to your new home.”

Belle smiled as Gideon looked around, supremely unconcerned at the news. They had visited Storybrooke a number of times over the past two years, though not since before Christmas. She was looking forward to spending their next Christmas in the house with all their family, including Emma and Neal’s new little one. Though she could have done without the ‘Grandma’ title Henry had cheerfully given her.

Neal had taken out the stroller and unfolded the frame, and Gold put Gideon down, ruffling his hair absently.

“Guess I’ll start taking the boxes,” said Neal.

“I’ll help,” chirped Henry, appearing at his side.

“Don’t lift any of the heavy ones, leave those for your dad,” said Belle, as they headed for the van.

She turned back, watching as Gold reached into the rear of the car to un-clip the seat carrying their new baby daughter. Florence had been born in early April, and Gold was besotted with her. She stared up at him with wide, dark eyes, her head covered with soft brown hair.

“Here we go, my princess,” he said softly, a wide grin on his face, and Belle smiled as he clipped the seat into the stroller and closed the door.

“I’ll take her in and get her changed,” she said. “She’s probably due a feed, too. Would you warm the milk?”

“Of course.”

Gold scooped up the bag containing Florence’s baby things and hurried towards the house. Belle shook her head as he disappeared through the door, wondering where he got his energy after a restless night and a long drive with two small children. Gideon hurtled up the path after his father on sturdy legs.

“Gid, slow down!” she called.

He looked around at her, still running, and tripped, hitting the path with a thump as his arms tried to break his fall. A wail went up, and Belle sighed.

“I’ll get him,” said Neal.

He shifted the box he was carrying into one arm and went to scoop up his little brother. Gideon wrapped his arms around Neal’s neck, still crying, and Neal shushed him, bouncing him in the crook of his arm.

“Hey little guy,” he said soothingly. “You’ll be okay. See what happens when you don’t listen to your momma?”

Gideon calmed in his big brother’s arms, and Neal kissed his cheek.

“There, see?” he said. “All better. What do you say we go see Papa and get a nice cool drink in the kitchen?”

“Cookie?”

“If your Mom says so.” Neal glanced at Belle, who nodded, and he tickled Gideon’s ribs, making him squeal.

“Yeah, let’s get a cookie,” he said. “You’re getting bigger, huh? I bet you’ll eat as much as me at dinner.”

“Go see Ganny?” asked Gideon excitedly.

“Yeah, we’re going to Granny’s for dinner,” promised Neal. “You can show her your new book, how about that?”

“An’ cake!”

“Yeah, you can have some cake, too.”

Belle watched them head up the path, Neal balancing Gideon on his hip with the box in his other arm. She could hardly keep the smile from her face. In the past two years Neal, Emma and Henry had truly become family. At times she had caught Gold looking at his son with pride and something approaching disbelief on his face, as though he was half-expecting to wake up from a dream at any moment.

It hadn’t all been perfect, of course; there had been difficult moments as they went through therapy, and tears on all sides, but it had brought them closer together. Emma had even been talking about getting a job in Storybrooke sheriff’s office in a year or so, and Gold had offered to help Neal set up his own accountancy business. They hadn’t made a firm decision on the move yet, but Belle thought it was only a matter of time. Henry was certainly enthusiastic about the idea, and had already made friends with a couple of the local children. The thought of having her whole family in Storybrooke was wonderful.

She inhaled deeply, drawing the scent of cut grass and fresh flowers into her nose, and began pushing the stroller up the path towards their house. It was good to be home.

-

Belle licked her lips, fingers gripping the sturdy brass key and turning it. It moved smoothly in the lock, a satisfying click sounding, and she pushed open the door.

The library smelt of fresh paint and beeswax polish, the contractors having finished with the decorating the week before. The wooden floor and circulation desk had been polished to a high shine, empty stacks lined up, waiting to be filled with the collection of books that were stacked in cardboard boxes along the wall. Towards the back, there were folding tables and chairs, some sized for adults and some for small children. Belle intended to run some after-school and evening classes, and had already spoken to Mary Margaret about a collaboration with the school.

Stepping forward, her heels clicked on the polished wood, and she walked slowly towards the circulation desk, running a hand along the curved edge as she let her eyes roam around the space.

“Surveying your new domain?”

She smiled at the sound of Gold’s voice, and turned on her toes to face him. He was standing by the doorway, the spring sunshine silhouetting him through the glass, dust motes dancing in the air around him like fireflies.

“Where are the kids?” she asked, and he glanced over his shoulder.

“Emma and Neal are watching them,” he said. “I have you all to myself.”

He was grinning, and Belle shot him a level look.

“No hanky-panky in the library,” she said severely. “I want this place to be successful, and it won’t be if no one comes in because they’re worried about catching us in a compromising position.”

“You say that like it’s inevitable.”

“Do I need to remind you about David walking in on us in the pawn shop that time?”

Gold waved a hand.

“The sign very clearly said Closed,” he said. “It’s not my fault he can’t read.”

Belle giggled, and turned back to look over the library. He stepped forward to stand by her side, eyes flicking over the freshly-painted walls.

“It looks good,” he said. “All ready for the inimitable touch of Storybrooke’s wonderful new librarian.”

Belle slipped her arm through his, resting her head briefly on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have it if not for you,” she said. “I’m still amazed you got the Mayor to agree.”

“Well, exerting influence is what I do,” he said. “Besides, she’s an intelligent woman. She knew the building was only standing idle. A relatively small investment of town funds was worth it to provide a valuable public service.”

“I certainly intend to make the most of the opportunity,” said Belle, turning back to run her eyes over the empty stacks. “I thought next Saturday for the grand opening. I’ve asked Granny to prepare some party food, and I need to make some flyers, design some activities for the kids…”

“Get some books on the shelves?” he teased, and she grinned.

“I thought you, Neal and Henry could help with that tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” He looked amused. “I suppose Emma shouldn’t really be carrying books in her condition.”

“She can supervise,” said Belle. “I’ll give her a crash course in the Dewey Decimal system and she can hold a clipboard and boss us around.”

“Sounds like something she’d enjoy,” he said dryly.

“You like being teased by your daughter-in-law, admit it.”

“Certainly not.”

He was grinning, and she turned on her toes to face him, twining her arms around his neck as she leaned in to kiss him gently.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For believing in me.”

“Well, how could I not?” he said, his grin widening. “Miracles happen whenever you’re around.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“I never exaggerate,” he said gravely. “You should know that by now.”

“I know that I’m a very lucky woman,” she said, and he smiled.

“I’m the lucky one.”

-

The silvery chimes of the old music box played, and Gold crooned a low lullaby as he rocked his baby daughter in his arms. There was a faint sound of laughter and conversation from down in the kitchen, but Florence barely stirred as Gold kissed her forehead and laid her in the crib.

“Sleep well, my darling,” he whispered.

He took a step back, turning to the music box and winding the key to ensure the tune continued to play while she settled into sleep. The music box had sat in the nursery in Boston, playing its tinkling tune first to Gideon, and then to Florence. He was pleased to be returning it to Storybrooke, where he had first acquired it, and where he had painstakingly worked to restore it over the long months when he and Belle were trying to rebuild what was broken between them.

“Is she asleep?”

Belle was leaning in the doorway, and he looked up with a smile.

“Out like a light,” he said. “What about Gideon?”

“Fell asleep before I finished the story,” she said, and he smiled and held out a hand to her.

“Care to dance, Mrs Gold?”

She stepped forward with a smile, taking his hand as the other crept around her waist and pulled her close. He breathed in, pulling the scent of her in through his nose and sighing it out, and Belle let out a tiny noise of contentment.

“I’m so happy I met you, Alexander Gold,” she said.

“So am I,” he murmured. “I got a second chance with you, Belle. A second chance at life. I swear to you, I don’t want to miss a second of it.”

Belle raised her head, shaking her hair back off her shoulders.

“You won’t,” she said decidedly. “We’re going to have an amazing life together.”

“It’s already more than I could ever have dreamed of,” he said sincerely. “I have a beautiful wife who gave me two incredible children. I have my son back in my life, and a daughter-in-law, and soon I’ll have two grandchildren.”

“More family than you know what to do with,” she teased, and he chuckled.

“Oh, I think I could stand to have more,” he said, grinning, and Belle swatted his arm.

“Give me a year or two and we’ll see,” she said, and Gold laughed.

“Deal.”

Her smile grew, and she rested her head on his shoulder. The music tinkled on, and he held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his as they moved in time. Life was beautiful.

[royalsunshinehotel]

Hi, I love your work so much. Do you do male readers? If so, I'd love a fic about being Neal's boyfriend who doesn't work at ACN (for the sake of wish fulfillment going all the way, an English lit grad student or something) and being introduced to his coworkers at a party. Just getting the protective work family talk while Neal is kind of mortified, kind of appreciating the view of his boyfriend being dressed up?

A/N: I’ve never done a Male Reader before!! Thank you so much for sending this in, it really made my day. Also, I definitely wear my deceased grandfather’s clothes. Tell me what you think?

The Barista (Neal Sampat x M!Reader)

Neal Sampat considered himself above-average at most things. This hadn’t always been the case, of course, but it was now that mattered.

And then there’s you.

When you handed Neal his quad-shot mocha with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, you were pretty sure you had Neal Sampat pegged. You knew what guys like that looked like when they thought they knew everything, but you smile at him, and his sharp mind goes blank.

“Have a good day!” You say, chipper, and Neal Sampat felt his knees buckle.

Neal Sampat assumed that he was straight. This was incorrect. This was new and he had to follow this feeling as far as it could take him. Or try, at least. That’s all anyone could do, right?

And so he did.

He came in every day for two weeks from the ACN building across the street and tried to make conversation. About anything at all, but Neal, the player, would open his mouth, and no words would come out.

You were just so handsome, the words wouldn’t happen beyond a sad little groan. You genuinely had no idea what had him so worked up. You were just standing at work in your cardigan, minding your business.

He tries. Neal keeps trying, that’s what matters. And you wait, until one day, you realize Neal’s hair has grown out, just a little bit, and it’s curling at the ends. He thought he looked good that morning, today was the day he was going to speak to you.

“So...coffee. Is this what you do?” Neal kept his eyes down, focusing on his strawberry banana smoothie with whipped cream.

“I’m an English lit student.” You replied softly, unprepared for the dazzling smile he was about to give you.

“So do you want to study… some British?” He tried, grammar failing, but his charm saving him

“My number’s on the cup!” You tried to keep your voice down, but it felt as if the regulars who’d withstood weeks of this standoff were all watching.

“Oh, Hi, good! I’ll text you!” He stammered, face going hot. “I’m Neal, expect a text from Neal! It means blue jewel!”

“Nice to meet you Neal,” You grinned, “ I’m YN.”

The feeling that your name gave him was unreal, he was going to chase this feeling down alright, as far as he could. He was going to keep trying.

And he did, he kept trying for six whole dates. You’d never gotten to date six with anyone before, he hadn’t either. Usually your books kept you out of a social life, but there was a date where he just watched you read under the guise of “a library date”.

And then came the first test. You knew Neal was from the UK, obviously, when it came time to “meet the family”, what he had to offer was his “work family” in the Newsroom.

It’s easy to talk about something ‘in theory’ but putting it together wasn’t fantastic. Mostly Neal’s fault, as getting information about the people he was closest to was like pulling teeth. You made it work though, doing your own research on the hierarchy of ACN and what topics to avoid. You’re just smart like that.

Running a hand over your face, you gave yourself a once-over in the mirror

You looked handsome, or at least passable for a work party, a cream sweater, tan slacks, and some leather shoes that belonged to your grandpa.

Okay, it’s a weird thing to wear your deceased grandfather’s shoes, but your Mom wouldn’t let you throw them out. Why not wear them? It was the English aesthetic that Neal liked so much. Locking your door, you headed out into the night, nerves prickling at your hands.

Across town, Neal was pretty sure he was going to pass out. The two of you hadn’t actually defined your relationship and here he was bringing you to a work party, just tossing you into the deep end, and himself too, he thought. Neal Sampat had to justify himself constantly at work. He’d had to fight to get his point across, maybe this wasn’t the best place to let people know about his new discovery about himself...

No, fuck that. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation, he just wanted to show you off.

“So Neal, where’s this new girl?” asked Jim, drinking a gin and tonic (or “jim-and-tonic”) and spinning himself in circles in an office chair he’d stolen from Maggie.

“What makes you say there’s a girl?” replied Neal, smoothly, trying to keep his voice even.

“You seem twitchy, you must really like this chick.” Jim takes a loud sip, Neal laughed at him, as he was something of a lightweight. Jim would never admit to it, but Neal had receipts.

“Who’s that?” asked Maggie, coming up behind Jim, and spinning him one more time. Neal looks up from his shoes, to see you, hovering at the glass doors.

Would this be good? Would you like him after this? Neal stewed. He was just following his feelings, and everything said he had to be with you.

Across the room, you felt the same, walking right up to him and giving him a peck on the lips. Neal exhales for the first time that day, resting his forehead against yours, and taking your hand in his.

“Jim, Maggie, this is YN!” Neal greeted, once he remembered you both had company.

“Your…” Jim lost the back half of his sentence, this was a good thing.

“Boyfriend, I’m a grad student, and I make coffee.”

“Oh...cool!” blinked Maggie, taking a moment to digest, and going right back into her usual bouncy demeanor.

“So YN, Jim here drinks Gin and Tonic, but he calls it a Jim and Tonic. How much do we hate that?”

“A medium amount.” You replied bluntly, making Neal honk out a laugh.

“Amazing!” Maggie comes in for a hug, empty wine glass hanging on by a thread.

And that’s that. You’re in.

The two of you make the rounds, Neal sticking close to your side so you didn’t find yourself stuck with a stranger.

You make it through the bookers, earning a nod from Kendra. The one and only Kendra, and finally find your way into the center of the office, hearing a loud British accent and a large hand gesture.

“YN, these are my bosses, Will and Mac.” Neal grins at you, keeping your hand in his

“Oh, Hello!” The dark haired woman had an angular face, “You look lovely!” You smiled at that, as the man with the hand gestures sipped his beer, looking a little wobbly.

“Hi. You’re a guy.” You blinked, before you retorted, “No, I’m a lamp.” Honestly, wow.

You held eye contact with the great Will MacAvoy for a moment, as Neal held onto you like he was going to wither up and float away.

"Will-" Mac warned.

"You think I'm going to not give him talk?" Mackenzie took a large drink while the 65 year old drunk newsman tried to figure out what he was going to say.

"Let me tell you, this is our boy." You blinked, nodding slowly.

"He's a man but okay."

"This- whatever- this is our boy man okay? He's the backbone of this whole place so if you hurt our boy man, you'll never read a book in this town again." Will seethed, trying to forget the fact that he'd just been in a fierce debate with Mac about pie flavors.

"How did you know he studies English lit?" Asked Neal, cocking his head, sending Will into a scramble. He'd done a deep-dive on you, but he'd never admit it. If you weren't dating someone so important to him, you wouldn't have a file in his desk. That's on you, his drunk brain thinks.

"Um. You look bookish." He tried, hoping he was just drunk enough that Mac, you and Neal would buy it.

"That's funny, you don't." You snapped back, Neal clinging onto your arm for dear life.

“Neal? I like this one, you should keep him. He/him?” You nodded, tension broken with a giggle from Mac.

“Alright Neal and Neal’s boyfriend,” Mac continued, “we were just discussing something really important! Snickerdoodle or Chocolate Chip?” Your jaw dropped as you wanted to say that you’d perfected a recipe where you found a balance of cinnamon-sugar AND chocolate but now maybe wasn’t the time.

Was it? Mackenzie had gone into a fierce tirade regarding the ethics behind modern chocolate and how snickerdoodles were morally superior, and Neal cleared his throat, before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You should ask YN,” and with four words, you were lovingly placed into the deep end between two other amateur bakers. Will didn’t bake per se, but being from Nebraska, that made him something of an expert.

And it clicks. Just like that, hours have passed, everyone was either heading home or to the next destination. The party was winding down.

"You look nice!" Neal wrapped his arms around your waist, enjoying the softness of your sweater.

“Are you drunk, blue?” You asked, soft, laughing lightly to yourself as Neal nodded ‘yes’ with his whole head. For someone so tall, he went down quickly after only three glasses of champagne.

You let your wobbly date rest his face in your neck. The reception of his co-workers had seemed positive, and that had to be a weight off him. Maybe you smelled his hair just a moment, while he was so close, that is.

“Take me home?” He batted his puppy dog eyes at you as you laughed, your boyfriend snuggling into you.

[jessalae]

@yourtinseltinkerbell tagged me! Thank you, I love getting tagged even though I barely tumblr <3

Three ships: quentin/eliot, (...other ships exist?), uhhh let's go harrow/gideon and miguel/chel/tulio

First ever ship: kel/neal from the protector of the small quartet

Last song: holly bowling's cover of "fly famous mockingbird" by phish. highly recommend all her stuff, especially for studying/working, she does amazing piano covers of jam band music

Last film: spiderman: no way home, which was a blast!

Currently reading: nothing, I am trapped in a weird guilt spiral where I want to be reading so badly that I cannot pick up a book

Currently watching: finishing up s2 of the witcher and loving it

Currently consuming: just water at the moment. contemplating an after-work string cheese snack

Currently craving: a massage... my shoulders are so damn tight

Rules: tag 9 people you want to get to know better. I am breaking this rule because idk who's been tagged, but consider yourself tagged if you want to play!

[karlyfr13s]

Oathkeeper, Chapter 3

Thank you: @veryverynotgood my phenomenal beta--you keep me going when I'm busy wallowing in doubt, and you make me less of a walking run-on (hooray!).

Bless y'all: the CSMM Discord crew--it's like a community of flails, encouragement, and collaboration...such magic!

Head's up: No description of violence nor abuse; however, they are mentioned.

AO3 Links: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Most days, Killian occupied himself either by helping Granny with the more physically taxing chores around the inn and diner or on board his ship ensuring her seaworthiness. Granted, the Jolly was in top form and she certainly had no need of repairs nor did she have a heading before her; but it quieted his mind to see to her every need and to painstakingly mend every frayed hem of a sail and worn bit of paint. Lately, he’d taken to wandering Storybrooke as Granny increasingly gave tasks over to young Felix.

The boy was coming along, a bit less surly now. Killian was certain this was due to Ruby’s unending praise of his efforts--no sixteen year-old lad could resist her charms. He’d had a hard time containing his laughter when he witnessed the latest scene: Ruby, clad in a button-down shirt she must have sewn onto herself each morning, batting her eyes at young Felix as she asked for his help bringing up kegs from the cellar. The boy had practically tripped over his own feet as he scrambled to assist, then struggled mightily as he puffed up the stairs with a metal cylinder that likely outweighed his slight frame. Killian had watched as Felix professed the task “no problem”, but had also seen his eyes widen to immense saucers when Ruby cheerfully called there were only “five more to go”. At that, Killian offered his assistance quietly, assuring the boy Ruby would never know that he had not fulfilled the task single-handedly. She was occupied cleaning up after the lunch crowd filtered out, so Killian helped Felix make short work of the task before ducking out the back and allowing the young man credit for the entire endeavor.

Today, however, there was little for him to do and it made Killian antsy. He took to wandering the shore as his mind drifted to the Crocodile, the Princess, and the confusion of his present state of affairs. His increasingly cloudy thoughts were interrupted by a shouted “Ahoy, Captain Hook!” and Killian’s eyes snapped to a strange wooden contraption where young Henry Mills stood, waving to him and grinning from ear to ear.

“Good afternoon,” he sketched a brief bow to the boy as he stepped up to what he now realized was Henry’s castle. Emma had mentioned it in passing as the place the young lad took refuge in his own thoughts, an all-too-familiar notion for Killian. “I was given to understand this time of day was set aside for studies, lad. Or am I mistaken?” He raised an eyebrow up at the boy who shook his head, informing Killian school had ended an hour ago.

“My moms are busy though,” he explained simply. “Regina has a meeting with someone who wants to open a new store, and Emma is in the mines because ‘ the dwarves are flipping out about some property rights ’.” Killian chuckled at the boy’s impression of his mother. He was invited into Henry’s castle where the two sat and looked out at the waves lapping against the shore. At first, the conversation was largely Henry reporting out about his school day. It seemed he was struggling with something math-related, and while Killian’s formal schooling was long behind him, he did offer the boy assistance.

“If, that is, your parents will allow it,” he added quickly, unsure where he stood in the strange dynamic of this town and particularly this family.

Henry snorted at that. “Regina might get weird about it, but she’s trying to make up for the whole...Evil Queen thing, so I think I can manage one mom. The other mom…” he shrugged “I don’t think she’d mind as long as I’m not asking her the math questions. She said it was her least favorite subject in school.”

Killian steeled himself for his next question, taking a deep breath and levelling his gaze at Henry. “And your father?”

Henry made a face at that. “I don’t really know,” he admitted in a tone Killian couldn’t quite decipher. “He was supposed to pick me up from school today,” Henry tucked up his knees and rested his chin on them in a pose Killian had seen Emma take up as well. It seems they both made themselves smaller in these moments of questioning.  “I don’t know if he forgot, or if something came up...I don’t think he knows what to do with me.” Henry peeked up at Killian, looking so uncertain of himself that it nearly broke the man’s heart. He knew what it was to feel on uneven ground with one’s father, to feel more a burden than a blessing, and he refused to allow Henry’s mind to wander those dark halls. While he could offer no real comfort when it came to the man Neal seemed determined to remain, he could offer a promising distraction that should spark young Henry’s curiosity.

“Well, whatever may be delaying him, it certainly has come at an opportune moment for me. Would you care to join me on board the Jolly , Master Mills? It’s past time she received an inspection from a keen eye such as yours.” The boy’s face lit up immediately and he jumped up, grabbing a device from his jacket pocket. After a moment’s pause, Killian heard a tinny version of Emma's voice as Henry hurriedly explained the plan to his device, suppressing a smile as Henry rolled his eyes at his mother’s questions.

“Yes, we’ll stay in the harbor,” he glanced at Killian who nodded along. “Yes, I will stay away from the railing and listen to everything--did you just call him Killian ? That’s weird, Mom, he’s a Captain...well, you’re supposed to address him by title because it’s his ship, of course…yes, yes, no….Mom, I’m not gonna die. I’m gonna go around the harbor with a master sailor…”

Killian knew the lad had won out when a rushed series of ‘thank you’s’ left his mouth before he tucked the device away once more. “She says, ‘tell The Captain that if you come back with one hair out of place, I’ll shave his off with David’s longsword’. She’s just being weird, I know we’re gonna be great--let’s go!” The lad took hold of Killian’s hook and led him down the small stairs onto the sand, setting off in the direction of his ship.

Once aboard, Henry was clearly overcome with curiosity. His return trip from Neverland hadn’t afforded him much time to explore or ask questions. In fact, he’d largely been asleep from pure exhaustion. For Killian, the afternoon with Henry was a remarkable chance to see his ship through the eyes of another. The boy’s questions seemed endless, and while they started with simple questions of identification--what parts of the rigging were called, the names of the various decks and quarters--they quickly expanded to encompass how everything came together to make her sail. His enthusiasm was infectious, and it brought Killian so fully out of his earlier sour mood that it nearly felt like Henry had his own kind of magic.

“Okay, but how do you get up to the crow’s nest?” Henry scrutinized the location through narrowed eyes. Killian stepped in behind him, pointing out the most logical route through the rigging. “Cool! Can I try?”

“I...don’t think that’s wise, lad. I prefer my head firmly attached, and your mother may well remove it if she finds out I let you free-climb the rigging.” Henry turned to face him, a mischievous smirk on his face as he intoned that she didn’t have to know about it.

“While I appreciate the enthusiasm, I need her to like me far better than she does before I conspire against her wishes. A rogue can only get away with so much when it comes to the tenacity of a mother,” he winked, and hoped like hell the boy would let it go. Of course, as Emma’s child he should have known that would be improbable at best.

“Oh, she likes you well enough.” Killian furrowed his brow at this while Henry grinned. Obviously the lad knew how to catch his attention, though just how aware he was of what Killian felt for Emma was still unclear-- the notorious Captain Hook, bested by a child . “You earned a ton of points with her in Neverland,” Henry clarified. “I know she didn’t tell me everything, but she did tell me you saved my grandpa, and I already know you saved me. Since she just got this part of her family back, you gotta know that earned you like...a million points in her eyes. You could totally stand to lose a few of them and teach me how to get up there.”

It took Killian another five minutes to finally persuade Henry that rather than risk a broken arm, or worse, he should simply ask Emma for permission before he learned to scout from above. The cost of negotiations wasn’t much, Henry simply wanted to learn to steer the ship, and so Killian guided him in his quest as they toured the harbor together. The lad had adventure in his blood, that much Killian was certain of, and it seemed he just might be falling in love with the sea as well. The idea tugged at Killian’s heart, as did the pure joy he saw in the boy’s face when they returned to port after the successful little journey.

After receiving a message on his device, Henry mentioned needing to return to his grandparents’ loft, and Killian was happy to escort him, listening to Henry’s re-telling of their afternoon on the Jolly and basking in the shared moment. To hear Henry tell it, you’d think they’d travelled across a realm or two rather than simply around Storybrooke’s small harbor.  He wondered how the boy would tell it to his mother and what she would think. Would she be angry at Killian and think he had overstepped? Would Henry mention his father’s neglect today?

His thoughts were interrupted when they arrived at the door and Henry flung his arms around Killian. He hesitated only a moment before returning the fierce embrace. “Thanks, Captain,” the boy grinned up at him. “Next time, I’m going up that rigging though. And I’m learning how to use your spyglass up there, right? I wanna see everything--as far out as I can!”

Killian chuckled, “So long as you have it in writing from your mother, aye lad.”

---

Two nights later, Killian awoke to someone pounding on his door in the middle of the night and he bolted upright, grabbing his hook from the bedside table as he crossed the pitch-black room. He swung the door open to reveal a distraught Emma Swan, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm at her side.

“I didn’t know where else to go, but I couldn’t stay in that loft for another minute,” she explained, voice cracking. “Can I come in?”

Killian stepped aside, allowing her to pass before he followed and shut the door behind them, clicking on the lamp by the bed and sitting down. There was little room, and she took a spot near him on the bed, her right leg bouncing as she stared down at the floor. He gave her a moment, but when she showed no signs of relaxing he gently spoke her name, “Swan?” Her leg stilled and she looked up, tears tracking down her cheeks. “Swan, what’s wrong?”

As he waited for her response, Killian wracked his memory--what had happened over the course of the last few days? He’d seen her in the diner each morning when she picked up her coffee and there had been no hint of whatever was on her mind. He’d run into her at the library when Henry was doing research for a school project and he was reading up on this realm’s history, but she’d been perfectly fine and that was only yesterday. They’d even discussed finding volunteer work for Felix as he was starting to grate on Granny’s nerves, Swan mentioning it may be best if the boy also enrolled in school. What could have changed so much since yesterday? He searched her eyes and waited, hoping she would reveal the problem in due time.

“I yelled at them,” she murmured at last, dropping her eyes back to the floor.

“Pardon? At whom?” He’d seen Emma yell at a fair number of people, himself chief among them, and didn’t recall her reacting in this way before.

“My parents,” she clarified, “I yelled at Snow White and Prince Charming of all people, and I know I hurt them...she was crying when I left the loft, but I was just...I was so angry with them that I couldn’t, I mean, I can’t be there right now.” She sniffed, and Killian saw her shoulders start to shake. He took a risk, trying his hand at comfort when he slipped an arm around her shoulders and to his surprise she willingly leaned into him. Silence fell between them. He knew there was far more to the story, but wanted to let her move at her own pace and tell it in her way rather than pry it out of her.

She wiped her eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” she started, “I don’t know what I was doing, I just had to get out and you were the only person I thought might answer the door this late.”

“Always available to help a lady in distress, Swan,” he tried a light jest and was rewarded with poke to his ribs. “Oww--just going to wake a man up and bruise him in his own room?” He pulled back to smile at her and she immediately scooted away, a blush blossoming on her cheeks. It was then he realized they’d never shared a touch that gentle and intimate. Yes, they had kissed-- and gods what a kiss it was --but moments before he’d been granted permission to hold her. It was just the two of them in the quiet hours of the night, and she had spent these vulnerable moments cradled against his bare chest. He cleared his throat and asked softly, “What was it that upset you so? Is there something I can do to help?”

She shook her head, tucking her legs under her as she chewed her bottom lip. With a huff, she continued. “They asked if I wanted to have family dinner, and that’s kind of...new, but I went with it. So Regina dropped Henry at the loft and I thought it was going to be--anyway, it wasn’t what I thought. Neal showed up ten minutes later.” She was picking at the quilt on the bed and wouldn’t meet Killian’s eyes, probably for the best given the sneer he couldn’t quite hide. “I didn’t want to make a scene in front of Henry, so I just went along with things at dinner. I figured I could deal with a couple of hours, plus the kid is a hell of a buffer and good at keeping everyone talking, but I know he didn’t show up the other day when you and Henry went sailing. I know when Henry talks Neal only half listens.” She paused for a long while, and Killian crossed the room, offering her the flask he pulled from the pocket of his greatcoat.

She took a swig and rolled her shoulders, visibly trying to relax before turning back to face him. After a soft word of thanks, she continued. “When Henry left, Neal stuck around. My parents offered him a nightcap and asked if he’d like to stay over .” It didn’t take the experience of Dr. Hopper to see she was disturbed by this. “And I lost it. I am so sick of their meddling, and their bizarrely perfect vision of him that I completely snapped. I spit out the whole story--”

Killian sat up straighter at this, aware she’d built up momentum and certain he was about to have another piece of the puzzle that was Emma Swan click into place.

“How he’d preyed on a goddamn homeless teenager, offering her shelter when he knew she didn’t have any of her own. How he knocked up a fucking seventeen year old and left her to rot in jail for his crimes, never bothering to admit his own guilt, never checking in to learn he’d fathered a child,” her tears flowed freely and her eyes blazed like emerald fire. “I told them the truth. That he was a predator, and I was too young and stupid to know better, and that I didn’t have the luxury of having anyone to warn me about people like him, of having anyone who cared enough to see the situation for what it was.”

Her breathing hitched and Killian instinctively reached for her, pulling her into a tight embrace and stroking her hair as she lost the final shreds of her composure. She sobbed against him and he murmured to her small comforts, that it would be all right and she didn’t have to be alone. After a while, her sobs diminished, lessening to sniffles and gasping breaths. He rubbed slow circles on her back and she finished her tale, tone empty and defeated, “I told them exactly what I finally realized: that I was abused by the man they keep inviting into our family, and that I cannot be in that place if they really think I’m supposed to patch things up with him and act like none of this happened, like it didn’t matter that he used me and threw me away.”

His heart broke for her, eyes stinging with unshed tears as he listened to the culmination of her loss and pain. “I don’t know how to face them again,” she mumbled against Killian’s chest, sagging against him in complete exhaustion. He assured her she needn’t think of that now, that what she needed was rest. And he offered to share the space with her. She nodded quietly, taking the offered shirt and pants and leaving to change in the adjoining bathroom.

Killian lay back, propped up on a pillow while his mind processed all she’d told him. He knew without a doubt her parents would mend this relationship, though it may well take time. He knew as well that whatever he’d promised Neal, that oath had been needless. In fact, the larger problem Killian now faced was how to make it through the next twenty-four hours without gutting Neal with his hook. The man had taken advantage of Emma, had framed her for his crime, and had abandoned her. It seemed Bae had become his father after all, and that did not bode well for him in Killian’s eyes.

His violent contemplations were interrupted by a bashful looking Emma, clad all in his own black attire and softly padding across the small room. “I’ll take the side by the door, Swan. Old habits, you know,” he nodded toward the cutlass by the bed and his hook which once again lay atop the nightstand. She smiled sheepishly as she slid under the covers next to him, offering a soft word of thanks and curling up with her back to him. He clicked off the light, desperately hoping she couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart as Killian tried like hell to fall back asleep.

Thanks for reading! Tagging the usual suspects: @kmomof4, @teamhook, @gingerpolyglot, @hollyethecurious, @caught-in-the-filter, @lonelyspectator12, @donteattheappleshook

[superlinguo]

Superlinguo linguistics books list - fiction and non-fiction

This post is a collection of all the reviews and write ups of linguistics fiction and non-fiction that has appeared on Superlinguo over the years. I’ll add to this post whenever I write a new review.

See also, the separate post of links to linguistics books for young people. 

Where available, I’ve added affiliate links to Bookshop.org and Amazon. Buying through these links provides financial support to Superlinguo.

Non-fiction

Because Internet, Gretchen McCulloch

I didn’t write a review of this because it’s weird to review a book where you pop up as a minor character in a chapter. I can promise the rest of the book is also excellent. Gretchen is one of the most compelling pop linguistics writers out there. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

Language Unlimited: The Science Behind Our Most Creative Power, David Adger

This example-rich ten chapter volume from David Adger focuses on the unique syntactic capacity of human languages. I wish there were more linguistics professors bringing their A-game to a larger audience like this. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

How We Talk, N.J. Enfield

If you did linguistics but never got to study Conversation Analysis, or you want a whistlestop tour of some of the most interesting work to come out of the field in the last couple of decades, this book is certainly worth a visit. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

Rooted, An Australian History of Bad Language, Amanda Laugesen

The history of swearing is a history of language and power and identity, a perfect way to unpack the myth of what it means to be Australian. (Booshop.org affiliate link)

Women Talk More than Men… and Other Myths about Language Explained, Abby Kaplan

Each chapter takes a ‘myth’ about language and deconstructs it, with careful and critical attention to research. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

The Art of Language Invention, David J. Peterson

This book is designed as an introduction to conlanging, but can just as easily be read as an introduction to linguistic analysis, or a refresher if you’re heading back to university and want to polish up on your linguistics vocab. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

Secret Language, Barry J. Blake

Blake does a good job of wending his way though an impressive array of topics, explaining things clearly and providing often entertaining examples, but never dwelling too long on any one topic. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

You Are What You Speak, Lane Green

Overall this book is a great read, suffused with both enthusiasm for the topic and a desire to not fudge things for the sake of a good anecdote. (Amazon affiliate link)

Bastard Tongues, Derek Bickerton

Bastard Tongues is part memoir, part linguistic adventure. Until as recently as the 1970s Creoles were dismissed as simple languages, arising from simple communicative needs. Bickerton very quickly shows that this is not the case. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

The Information, James Gleick

The first three chapters focus on language and literacy without a bit or a broadband to be seen. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

Netymology, Tom Chatfield

Netymology is a romp through the lexicon of the interwebs, with 100 short and snappy entries all focusing on one or two words, their meaning, etymology, origins and changing usage. (Amazon affiliate link)

A Christmas Cornucopia, Mark Forsyth

If yours is the kind of family that gets a kick out of sitting around guessing the punchlines to the jokes in Christmas crackers, then you’ll get a great deal of entertainment in your post lunch stupor reading and sharing informative gems from this volume. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

The Speculative Grammarian Essential Guide to Linguistics

SpecGram takes you a giant leap towards absurdity, often masked by seemly earnest academic rigour. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

Fiction

Some of this is fiction with clear linguistic themes, other times I’ve made a post about reading something like a linguist.

The Darkest Bloom (Shadowscent book 1), Crown of Smoke (Shadowscent book 2), P.M. Freestone

A Young Adult fantasy adventure, with a cracking pace and memorable characters. The book features the first few snippets of Aramteskan, a language I created to be unlike any existing human language, which places smell at the centre of people’s experience. Check out the Shadowscent hashtag on the blog for more news. (Book 1: Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link, Book 2: Amazon affiliate link)

Native Tongue, Suzette Haden Elgin

There are two separate plots that explore linguistic relativity, the first explores the consequences of humans learning languages of aliens with radically different perceptions of reality. The second, and really the core of the book, is the secret organisation of women who are creating their own language to escape the tyranny of the male dominated world. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

Babel-17, Samuel R. Delany

The pace is good, the universe isn’t too badly dated and even though there’s a neat ending with regards to some of the plot, there are enough unanswered questions for the reader to build their own conclusions. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

Embassy Town, China Miéville

Even if you’ve not studied language or linguistics Mieville guides you though the narrative turns with consummate skill that rarely feels too heavy handed. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

New Finnish Grammar, Diego Marani 

The tale itself is a compelling one, but for a word nerd it’s got another layer of intrigue as the Finnish language is a central focus of the story. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

Snow Crash, Neal Stephenson

Stephenson goes right to the heart of some of the biggest debates in linguistics in the 20th century, although Hiro doesn’t seem that convinced by Universalism. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

Cat’s Cradle, Kurt Vonnegut

Woven throughout the story are a small number of examples of this ‘dialect’, and while I tried very hard to behave and just enjoy reading the books, I couldn’t help but note them all down. (Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

Short Stories

Repairing the World, John Chu

In a reality that is constantly being invaded by portals to other worlds, linguists are called in to deal with whoever and whatever comes through from the other side.

Polyglossia, Tamara Vardomskaya

Although a work of fiction, it touches on many of the social tensions in the context of endangered languages and efforts to document and revive them.

The Story of Your Life, Ted Chiang

It’s one of the best fictional descriptions I’ve come across of the process to document and capture a language you don’t speak. (Short story collection: Bookshop.org affiliate link, Amazon affiliate link)

[aestheticaxolotl]

Lets Talk About Mimebomb

I used two images here because both are priceless and I didn’t know which I wanted to use more.  Let me start with Mimebomb, using the Carmen Sandiego Wiki to break them (mimebomb is non binary fight me) down as a whole, starting with appearance and personality (Excluding the comments around his action in the show, please bear with me once more as I do this).

Mime Bomb is a thin, red-haired young man (*Cough*) who looks like a stereotypical mime. He (*They*) wears a grey and black striped shirt, black beret, white gloves, black spandex and black shoes. His (*Their*) makeup consists of white face paint, black face paint around the eyes and on the brows, and a light red shade of lipstick. 

So I wanna talk about Mimebomb without their makeup first. We see that they are not meant to be an attractive character, and I appreciate that Carmen Sandiego created characters like that. But I digress, red headed males are stereotypically either super hot or super not. And they really tried to go with super not. But failed because I love them anyway and so does most of the fandom. Now, the mime get up is a very strange choice to me, seeing as people are more scared of clowns than global warming, and mimes are very similar to clown, but I don’t think it’s a fear tactic. But more of a ‘hey even Mimes can be cool yall’. 

For personality we do not have a lot to go on as some of the other but we still have SOMETHING, I was forced to reference the books for this so please, if you have no read “Clue by Clue”, check it out.

Mime Bomb has been described as quiet by El Topo and weird by Tigress. Mime Bomb is seen as an opportunist, immediately tattling to V.I.L.E Faculty when witnessing Carmen stowing away on the graduate mission during her holdover year, and secretly hiding a rare stamp in Detective Chase Devineaux's coat when he was on to him. In the Clue by Clue novel, Mime Bomb is said to be skilled in symbiology and cryptanalysis according to Professor Maelstrom. He is also prone to avoiding fights or physical contact when possible. When fighting Sheena in the Who in the World is Carmen Sandiego novel, she easily beats him while he is distracted. When offered a helping hand to his feet by Black Sheep, he declines with a shrug and silent nod. In Clue by Clue, when Le Chèvre and Tigress are fighting Carmen, he stands off in the sidelines and shadowboxes rather than assisting.

Now, let us begin on what I have brought to the table.

Mime Bomb is seen as an opportunist

I have to begin by defining the term ‘Opportunistic’ using the Webster's Dictionary, Opportunistic meaning “exploiting chances offered by immediate circumstances without reference to a general plan or moral principle”. And dumbing it down for myself “They take what is best for theirself rather than the people around them.” Right, so. Mimebomb being opportunistic is CANON and shown MANY times. I will draw your attention to every time Mimebomb has turned Carmen or who ever into the Faculty for not following the rules. I would have loved to stated that this is a ‘teacher pet’ thing but I was surprised when I realized it wasn’t. The Faculty really doesn’t like Mimebomb and are very sarcastic towards them, constantly underestimating them and using them as the butt of the joke! And yet we see them completing missions successfully and with finesse, other messing up the mission they set up so carefully and thoughtfully.

Mime Bomb is said to be skilled in symbology and cryptanalysis

Cryptanalysis is the art or process of deciphering coded messages without being told the key. While Symbology is  the study or use of symbols. This is very telling. Mimebomb studying codes and symbols can allude to selective mutism or even mutism. Personally, I prefer the former, Selective mutism is a childhood disorder in which a child does not speak in some social situations although he or she is able to talk normally at other times. And this can form in adults too. But the implications that they let if form how they preformed in school/college? Amazing, they made a choice and stuck to it for SUCH a LONG time. That commitment is amazing. This is also useful to more historical based mission or where it may lead into hieroglyph or other symbols. I’m willing to wager that these talents are why DOCTOR BELLUM brought Mimebomb on the hunt for an artifact. Because they would know some of the writing and symbols.

He is also prone to avoiding fights or physical contact when possible

Mimebomb being physically weak is not an accidental detail. Far from it! I think addressing that a male character who is more brains than brawn is a detail that needs to be pushed, and as off as Mimebomb is, they are the perfect example of this. They are not masculine and are easily taken down by Young Blacksheep, Chase, and other characters. Mind you it’s halariauous but PLEASE- You are KILLING their JOINTS. I have a feeling the avoiding physical contact is a very... Self protecting action that I feel would have to be more touched on in a headcanon post rather than an analysis post. The best I can come up with is the speculation that Mimebomb refuses to let people become close to them.

When offered a helping hand to his feet by Black Sheep, he declines with a shrug and silent nod

This, this the most telling thing EVER.  Mimebomb refuses a helping hand. They do not work well with others and when they are offered help, the refuse it. They have a self serving bias. A self-serving bias is any cognitive or perceptual process that is distorted by the need to maintain and enhance self-esteem, or the tendency to perceive oneself in an overly favorable manner. It is the belief that individuals tend to ascribe success to their own abilities and efforts, but ascribe failure to external factors. When individuals reject the validity of negative feedback, focus on their strengths and achievements but overlook their faults and failures, or take more credit for their group's work than they give to other members, they are protecting their ego from threat and injury. Mimebomb protects themself at all cost, and that makes me wonder, why? Because they know that they can’t accept others help or their comforts. And they are fine with it. They are okay with being alone.

he stands off in the sidelines and shadowboxes rather than assisting.

I feel like this was originally supposed to be a one off joke rather than an actual trait or habit. But... If you know me by now, I can twist this on it’s head so fast, it’s not even funny. But I can’t here, I can’t except maybe they do this to encourage others? I think when they do work in a team, they do try their best to support who they are working with unless its an annoying slime ball like Neal the Eel (Not hating on Slimebomb, I just noticed they work better as comical enemies rather than a relationship, and i love that)

Now, there was no abilities category in the wiki, and I found this interesting, so i drew from the Trivia section of the page and found out... A lot really, that is interesting. But only one of them made and impression on me and it’s the one I want to focus on for a paragraph or two.

Mime Bomb is actually classified by A.C.M.E. as insane; given he is locked up with Maelstrom in a loony bin. considering he NEVER speaks (by choice), makes sense.

I’m going to take a second to define the term “Insane” using “Wikipedia” rather than a dictionary. “ Insanity, madness, and craziness are terms that describe a spectrum of individual and group behaviors that are characterized by certain abnormal mental or behavioral patterns.” Hmm....What abnormal pattern are we looking at here. Selective Mutism. The mime outfit doesn’t help. I’ll make note that the official wiki says it’s choice that Mimebomb doesn’t speak, but doesn’t give us a reason why, speculation and theories are in store here and I will reference my V.I.L.E Operative headcanons.

In the end, Mimebomb was and still is one of my favorite characters in the whole freaking show. I enjoyed ever second of them on screen, every caper and ever wacky highjinx.  I’d watch the whole show again just to see them being the awesome character they are. As usual, requests are open and please! I love when requests come in! Stay tuned for the next one y’all!!