#Season 1 AU

[ladykailitha]

Season 1 AU. After the events at the Byers house, during that time when Nancy has broken up with him, Steve decides he's turned over a new leaf and so must everyone else. Nicole, Carol, Tommy H. He catches Tommy getting into a fight with one of Eddie's sheep and tells him to knock it off.

Eddie who was about to come in swinging is impressed. And maybe develops a little crush on new Steve.

Steve starts becoming a hard ass on and off the court, pushing his friends to be better people and in Tommy's case a better player. The coaches at first tell Steve to go easy on the team, but when they start seeing the results, they back off and let him at it.

He pushes Tommy to get counseling from Ms Kelly for his anger issues. And it works.

So Steve starts branching out and targeting other bullies and not just his friends.

He breaks up what he will later learn was a deal gone wrong between Eddie and a football player, causing Eddie to blurt "Marry me!"

Steve laughs and tells him to buy him dinner first.

Eddie is mortified. And all the Corroded Coffin boys make fun of him for it.

But Steve starts popping up wherever Eddie is and his poor little cynical heart can't handle it.

Steve is being nicer to people. Including a certain blonde trumpet player in Mrs Click's class. He tells her he has a problem remembering names, but asks her for help in the class (he lost his study buddy, Nancy and picks Robin.)

Now Steve can't be everywhere and so the bullies start being more slick about it. Taunts and sneers. Hip checks and "accidental" tripping.

But one of these bullies target Gareth, a freshman. One of the varsity basketball players, a senior.

So Steve challenges the guy to a game of one on one. If this dude loses, he'll give up his place as captain and make it Steve. If Steve loses, he'll give up basketball and his one man mission to stop the bullying.

Nancy who was in the hall at the time turns to one of her friends and asks her if that was as hot as she thought it was it. The other girl can only nod.

Everyone shows up to this game. And the bully is confident. There is no way that this scrawny little junior is going to best him.

Only for Steve to win.

Everyone is stunned.

Afterwards, Eddie asks if that date was still on the table. Steve laughs and says he'd been waiting all month for Eddie to ask.

Nancy who was one her way to ask Steve to take her back, is upset when she overhears this conversation. She lost her chance with Steve.

Which of course changes season 2 because now that King Steve is king for a different reason, Billy's antics get shut down fast. Not just by Steve, but Carol and Tommy, too.

The possibilities are juicy on how else it changes things.

*ETA: Story here.

[hippielittlemetalhead]

Okay but hear me out!

Punk King Steve 'The Hair' Harrington! He starts to go Punk even before season 1!

Just! Hear me out!?!

What about pre season 1 Steve goes on one last business trip with his parents to like New York or Boston or something cause he still had hope that maybe if he went with them after a victorious sophomore year making Varsity and actually having decent grades and a reputation at school built on charm and being a good little Harrington heir his parents would actually act like they care. What happens is he ends up being dragged along to and shown off at boring dinner parties but is otherwise left alone and unsupervised. He stumbles across a music store where he is obviously out of place but the music playing is loud and angry and matches the knot filling up his chest. So he spends most of the trip exploring the city with this group of people who recognize the anger in him and aren't the type to gatekeep cause what's more punk than finding your own path? Even if it's not the same as theirs he still deserves the space to find out.

And yeah he seems more the 'infiltrate and dismantle' type than the 'throw a flaming brick' type but the spirit is there.

So he learns to coiff his hair and make it big but not so much his mom would kill him. He learns to wear pants and style his shirts so they accentuate his form not make him look soft and respectable and to accessorize in small ways that are obvious to those who are observant enough to look and to those who know what to look for but still not be so showy his parents will get on him for anything. He gets a bunch of tapes and spends time making mixtapes of his favorites and buys a walkman so he can listen to his music without his parents hearing. He learns how to discreetly add a bit of blush and natural tinted mascara and tinted chapstick cause he learns he likes makeup but that sort of thing would cause problems in a place like Hawkins. He builds a greater tolerance with these people he's come to trust and learns you can actually enjoy getting drunk when it's just being stupid with some friends and not meant to make a statement. And before he has to go home he's gifted a bottle of sheer pink nail polish that makes his nails look healthy and taken care of and natural but he'll know and that's all that matters.

Steve goes back to Hawkins a little different, a little meaner, a little looser and more self-assured. Steve goes back to Hawkins and notices Nancy Wheeler. The perfect prissy princess with an edge that intrigued him even if he saw it by accident. And he spends the entire time he woos and subsequently dates her trying to bring that out, that bit of steel and fire that still really worked with her soft hyper femme aesthetic. And he falls head over heels for this girl who is soft but resilient and polite but opinionated and who obviously wants MORE and he wants to give it to her.

But then Will Byers goes missing, followed by Barb and Nancy is showing her steel but at the side of Jonathan Byers as his parents leave messages extending their trip and leaving forwarding numbers that he knows won't work when he really needs them. And he breaks the camera and that makes him feel like he's falling back into who he was before the music and the summer away from this small town. They fight in an alley after he says things he doesn't believe but knows would hurt because he couldn't get the clawing in his chest to just go away. And he takes the beating because he knows he was wrong and he remembers the scared looks people gave him that one time he got into a bar fight he doesn't actually remember but knows he won with a guy who wouldn't take a no from one of the girls in the group Steve was drinking with.

So he takes the beating and doesn't press charges and goes to apologize after dumping Tommy and Carol and comes face to face with something from his worst nightmares. He goes back after running away because he can't leave them there. He picks up a bat with nails run through it and lets loose the thing clawing in his chest. He keeps himself between the monster and the others and he keeps them safe. Will comes home. Barb doesn't.

He goes to Indianapolis for a new camera for Jonathan and comes back with more angry music. He keeps making trips and comes back with the sides of his hair shaved in not quite a Mohawk but close and a tattoo or two in places he can hide easily and a heavy leather jacket. The changes make the pacing thing in his chest quiet some and he wears a smile around Nancy and the Hollands and he walks tall through the hallways of Hawkins High his senior year.

Tommy Hagan tries to say he went bitch for Nancy Wheeler since he doesn't sleep around anymore or take his frustrations out on those weaker and less fortunate than him and he tries to say Steve is joining the freaks like Munson and his nerds but even they won't have him. Tommy Hagan and some others try to jump Steve in an empty hallway after school and before practice to "teach the dethroned King a lesson", because if Byers could leave him a bloody mess then he was never that tough. The others sport bruises and split lips and bruised egos. Tommy Hagan had a broken nose and bruised ribs and a look of fear when he's within 10 feet of his former best friend.

Steve Harrington has no throne and no court but he still undeniably wears the crown.

(part 2) (part3.1)

[sigritandtheelves]

All Along, Like Fire

Part 1

R | 1.8k words | MSR, AU

Summary: What if Mulder had been married to Diana Fowley when Scully joined the X-Files?

A/N: I know this story has been told before—I’ve read at least one version of it. But I wanted to tell it myself and the motivation aligned with the idea, so here we are. I plan on two more parts, I think, unless this gets out of hand. Be gentle, I’m very rusty.

—

1993

She really was looking forward to working with him. In that dank office overflowing with paper he had slides at the ready. He’d been waiting for her, rolled his sleeves like an arrogant schoolboy. He’d spent time thinking of a line to snare her or scare her.

In the glow of a projector bulb displaying the body of a dead Texan, she’d smiled at the challenge: hooked. And the crook of those lips revved his heart in return, in spite of himself, because he swore not to trust her. She was here to undo him, and he wouldn’t let that happen.

He wouldn’t.

And then, when she made herself vulnerable to him, against all his better judgment, he told her everything.

Like teenagers at a sleepover, in candlelight and to the sound of thunder, he spilled it all. He opened up his guts and poured them out in front of her.

The hook was in deep, but when he said the word wife, something in her wriggled like a worm.

She’d not known.

She felt different about coming into his room now, ashamed like she’d been in those moments just after her panic when she caught her breath and regained her composure and wrapped her robe around herself again. And the fact that this wife was FBI—had helped him find these very files, knew all of these deep secrets about him already—shook the still uncertain ground beneath her. The knowledge was like a splash of cold water, waking her up, reminding her: this was her job, only her job and not her whole life.

“She doesn’t work with you anymore?” Scully wondered if the Bureau had separated them because of the marriage.

Mulder swallowed and a look of discomfort crossed his face. “She transferred to an anti-terrorism unit about ten months ago. She spends a lot of time overseas.”

He told her no more, but the fact was that he hardly saw Diana these days. And he didn’t want that part of his life in the room with them now, not when they were onto something big. Not when a case hadn’t felt this right in years.

A phone call sent them off into the night again, and Scully tried to steel herself against what felt like a too-easy attachment to this boyish energy and earnest charm. Then cold rain in an Oregon cemetery brought a kind of euphoria that Dana Scully had never known. Her first case in the field and the excitement of unfolding a mystery—god, the elation of it—knocked her punchy, wired her like an electric fence. Was it like this for everyone? Was it always like this for him?

It wasn’t and it wasn’t. Mulder also tried to guard himself against this small, frizzy-haired creature who could belly-laugh beside an open grave, who wielded a scalpel like the sharp sword of justice. But if she wasn’t to be trusted, why did he want to tell her everything? Why did he feel the itch to call her just hours after they separated at the airport, to make sure she’d be in the office tomorrow morning so they could begin the hunt again?

They each tried to hold the other at arm’s length against the magnetic pull that yoked them ever closer. But in the end, that meant they were both still holding one another.

—

It was months before Scully met Diana Fowley. The tall brunette breezed into the X-Files office one day like she owned it, while Scully herself was barely comfortable perched at the spare work table.

“Where’s Fox?”

Scully’s mouth fell open for a moment before she could speak, and the other woman eyed her up and down conspicuously.

“He’s—he’s requisitioning a car.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Diana Fowley,” the woman said. “His wife.” She said this as if it should have been obvious, which maybe it should have been. Scully realized that there were no pictures of the woman anywhere in the office. Mulder rarely spoke of her.

“Oh.” There was an awkward pause before Scully stood up to shake the woman’s hand. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Dana Scully.”

Diana gave her a pained smile and a limp handshake. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Scully’s eyebrows went up at this. She crossed her arms, unsure what to say.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Scully looked at her watch. “I don’t know, he left about twenty minutes ago—“

And just then Mulder came through the door waving the approved rental form and holding a set of keys in his other hand. “Took me some wheedling, but I got the Taurus with the good air conditioning.”

He stopped short when he saw Diana.

“Hello, Fox.” Her smile was smooth like satin. Slippery.

She’d said almost nothing to him, but he looked chastened, arms flopping to his sides. “Diana,” he said like some wind had been knocked out of him. “You’re back.”

“Just this morning,” she said. “Can we talk for a minute?”

He nodded, and they stepped out into the hallway, closed the door behind them. Scully heard escalating voices, muffled through the closed door, but harried nonetheless. She concentrated on their paperwork and tried her best to withhold any judgment of Diana Fowley.

—

It was easy, at first, for Mulder to compartmentalize the passion he felt for his work, the strained affection he felt for Diana, and the simple pleasure of his growing friendship with Scully. Each had its place in his life and seemed not to rub too much against the others.

“I don’t think she likes me much,” Scully mused one day over a chicken Caesar. Her tone was casual, but it hung over a small stormcloud of anxiety.

“Who, Diana?” He was slurping a Cup-O-Noodles, unevenly heated in the basement microwave.

Scully gave him a look and turned back to her expense report.

Mulder cleared his throat. “She doesn’t know you,” he said, a half-truth to cover his own suspicion that Scully was right. Diana had made a few passing comments about his new partner, none of them pleasant.

Scully made a small sound in the back of her throat and left it at that.

Three days later they were isolated at the edge of the world, facing down death on the Icy Cape. They held loaded guns at each other, yet Mulder had never felt more fiercely protective of a partner. He was afraid for himself, but terrified for her. In the bald overhead light in a storeroom, he placed his warm palm over her neck and felt her shiver. She was small and fierce and painfully good.

He might die for her, he realized, and willingly. He wondered what that meant.

—

1994

The thing was, Diana was cagey about her work but eager to hear about his—if dismissive and cutting every time he mentioned Scully. She blew back into town a few times a month, fucked him so hard he thought his ears would bleed, and then stroked his back while he told her everything he’d been doing: every case, every lead.

“What about you?” he’d ask.

“Nothing exciting. Nothing I can talk about, really,” she’d say—or some equally vague non-answer.

“I miss you,” he’d tell her. “Can you stay longer?”

She’d give him a sad chuckle. “I wish I could. Only until Tuesday.” Or Sunday or Friday or whichever day gave them barely a few hours together.

“I love you,” she’d reassure.

“I love you, too,” he’d confirm.

Mulder held on to hope that this was just a phase, a rough patch.

Diana didn’t visit him in the hospital after he was shot. Instead Scully was there every day, hovering and checking his chart, asking him to lift the blanket so she could check the bandage and feeling his forehead, fingers lingering a bit too long. She carried his bags in the airport and drove him home to an empty apartment.

“Fox, I’m so sorry,” Diana said when she finally saw him again. He was hobbling on crutches and she held wine and his favorite takeout.

“It’s okay,” he said.

And it was, for a while—until everything came crashing down around them. Until they closed the X-Files and sent Scully away from him and he felt like he’d been ripped in half.

Late one night when Diana was home for once, he heard her on the phone: “He’s withdrawing. He’s losing interest.”

Mulder sat up in bed, rustling the covers more than he’d intended.

Diana’s voice fell. “Yes. … Yes. … I have to go,” and then the sound of the phone settled back in its cradle.

Who? he wanted to ask, but he was tired. So tired of everything. It wasn’t worth it to fight. He slept.

—

Mulder was off course and she was just so worried and she really truly never intended for this to happen. She would hate herself for it soon—already did, or would, if it didn’t feel so absolutely right.

His tongue was in her mouth and they were both wet from the hotel shower, the humidity, flying high on the thrill of escaping death again together. They’d made it all the way to Savannah in the rental she’d left in Miami before they pulled into a motel. One room was enough—with two beds, they thought they’d be fine.

They were, until she saw him dripping and alive, the light back in his eyes, and she’d reached to cup his stubbled jaw.

“You’re here,” she told him. “You’re back.”

“You brought me back,” he said, and then his lips fell to hers. She didn’t resist; the thought never crossed her mind.

Now he was hilt deep against her pelvis and her knees were in the air and even though she swore, swore, she’d never do this again, she wouldn’t let him stop because Jesus fuck it was so good, he was so good.

“Mulder, oh…” and then just whimpers because his lips were on her neck and one hand was palming her cheek like she was fragile porcelain.

“I’m sorry I ignored you. I’m sorry. You’re everything, Scully.”

She couldn’t think enough to make sense of what those words might mean, so she turned his head with her hands and kissed him again, kissed him quiet.

She knew she couldn’t have him, not really, but she followed him off the cliff anyway. She would save regret for Washington, where they’d both swear never again, no matter how good it had been.

—

Late at night in the apartment, and this time Mulder didn’t hear the hushed phone call—a tragic missed opportunity for the truth.

“He’ll never stop while he has her,” Diana whispered fiercely. A hot wave of jealousy lived beneath those words. “Take her out.”

And two weeks later, Scully was gone.

~ end part 1 ~

Read Part 2

[kitkatt0430]

With all this talk of being a Hartley person (^_^) I have had another fic idea for him.

Hartley's still with Team Flash in the pilot and he worked on the suit with Cisco and they bicker - mostly in a friendly way but there's an edge there sometimes - over things. The things play out mostly the same, but there's some foreshadowing that Hartley's keeping some secret of Harrison's and they're not as close as they used to be as a result. Harrison calls Hartley 'his guy' and Hartley brushes him off. Cisco jokes about Hartley avoiding Dr. Wells, but there's some truth to it. Caitlin observing that Hartley's still at STAR Labs for the same reason they all are - penitence.

Episode two has Hartley and Dr. Wells in an argument, but we only see the end of it when someone interrupts. It's not entirely clear yet what they're arguing about but it has to do with the accelerator. Nor is it the only fight they've had recently or during the episode itself. It's all leading up to...

Episode three introduces the pipeline prison and Hartley refuses to have anything to do with it. He points out that they don't have the facilities to house inmates humanely, that isolated cells like what's being proposed are legally a form of torture, and that kidnapping criminals doesn't make it suddenly okay to torture people. Cisco is visibly uneasy going along with things after Hartley storms off, but he lets Dr. Wells talk him around. Caitlin goes after Hartley but can't find him. When they imprison Nimbus in there at the end, Hartley tells Barry that he's glad Joe is okay and the Barry survived but what they've just done is as bad as the things Nimbus has done and he won't be party to it any longer. He foreshadows again knowing something about Harrison Wells and the accelerator, saying he didn't expect any better from him but the others? The episode ends with Hartley quitting and when he goes back home there's a flute on his coffee table atop blueprints for his gloves.

And then Hartley disappears for a few episodes. And then pops back up for Power Outage. He recognizes Ronnie while volunteering at Free Space at the start of the episode, but a transformer blows - loudly - and triggers awful tinnitus in Hartley's ears. He visits the doctor to check his hearing only to realize it's getting worse in that things are getting louder and louder. He calls Caitlin during a lull in the things with STAR Labs and tells her about Ronnie. She doesn't believe him. And then Hartley tells Caitlin that the accelerator was flawed. And Harrison Wells knew it and turned the accelerator on anyway. She doesn't say anything about this for the rest of the episode, but she keeps looking at Dr. Wells... strangely. And after snapping at him at one point she finds her fresh cup of hot coffee straight from the pot (poured on screen and shown steaming) has gone cold. Not frozen. Just... cold.

The episode ends with Farooq dying of his own revenge plot. And Hartley explicitly taking up the mantle as he promises himself that he's not going to let Harrison get away with it any longer.

Fast forward to where The Sound and The Fury/Crazy For You episodes sit. The plot with Shawna happens first this time. The flashbacks are to Hartley's relationship with Harrison - comparing it directly to Shawna and how Clay has been using her - as Hartley learned about the flaw and was manipulated to stay quiet about it. In the present day, Hartley goes to Iris West. The Flash blogger. Because he knows her and the news outlets aren't taking him seriously and he trusts her more anyway. He gives her everything he has on the accelerator and while he leaves out the Pipeline and the Flash's real identity, Hartley tells her the truth about pretty much everything else. This also has the karaoke, Linda, and Caitlin seeing Ronnie in the parking garage. The episode ends with Iris clicking post on her blog while Hartley, in the dead of night with his gloves on, faces STAR Labs.

The next episode opens with Hartley having broken into STAR Labs and released the metas. He's trashed the Pipeline such that it's unusable at present and Cisco says it might take a week - or more - to fix it. And then refuses to. He doesn't agree with Hartley setting Nimbus or Rainbow Raider free, but their Pipeline got Tony Woodward killed. And they had no business keeping Shawna in a lightless box. They have the ability to make actual jails hold metas and the CCPD's trust. Time to stop abusing that trust and update Iron Heights and the CCPD's holding cells. The team agrees. But then Caitlin shows them Iris' latest blog post. and that the CCPN is running with the story now too. Hartley told her the same thing. Did Dr. Wells knowingly set off the accelerator that killed Ronnie?

It's a Nimbus 2.0 episode, now though. While Team Flash is falling apart over the pipeline and its secrets, Nimbus knocks Hartley, Shawna, and Roy out. Not killing them but only out of deference to having rescued him. He wants to kill the Flash now. Joe would be a bonus, but the Flash? Nimbus wants revenge. He lures Barry out by going after Joe again - really playing things up, toying with Joe but not actually harming him - and when Barry shows up? Showdown time. Hartley shows up and uses his gloves to distract Nimbus but it's Caitlin who runs into the danger zone who saves the day - she was hoping Ronnie was following her again and would save Barry the way he did in the fight with the Reverse Flash. But instead she freezes Nimbus' gas cloud. Killing Nimbus. Shawna gets Hartley out of there before anyone can get shouty with him.

Hartley shows up again in All Stars Team Up. Cisco takes Ray to see Hartley about his physics problem. Ray picks up on how tense things are and Hartley awkwardly apologizes to Cisco for how they first met. Cisco's the smartest person Hartley knows, even if his dress sense is lacking, and if he needs Hartley for anything at all... all he has to do is ask. Cisco is a bit bewildered by the whole thing, but afterwards he makes Ray promise not to mention Hartley's help since he's still persona non-grata with the rest of the team over destroying the pipeline a few weeks ago.

Which means that in Rogue Air it's Hartley they go to for help. They don't have any metas incarcerated in the pipeline anymore, but Eobard has still set it to explode again if they don't stop it. Hartley, Cisco, and Ronnie are back in the pipeline - with flashbacks to previous times they worked on it together and their desperate attempt to prevent it from taking the city with it when it went wrong - working to shut it off. They succeed - barely - but we see a hint of a breach like fissure in the room below the pipeline before they do. The Pied Piper joins Firestorm and Arrow as Barry's back up during the big fight with Eobard.

In the final episode, Hartley has nothing to say to Eobard Thawne and advises Barry not to travel in time; he refuses to help build the time machine too as he refuses to dance to Eobard Thawne's tune anymore. Cisco and Caitlin ask him to be part of the team again at some point before it all goes to hell and he says he'll think about it.

Since the focus here is on Hartley, I don't really go into too much about the consequences of Caitlin getting her powers early here. But I do see them as her powers - not an alternate personality's. Developing slowly in counterpoint to Ronnie & Steins... for now. She seems stable enough for Season 1, but Season 2 would show that Caitlin - and her control of her powers - has not fared well in the wake of Ronnie's death. I don't see Caitlin going evil - but she definitely gets to be the antagonist of a plot at some point as her grief - and her powers - spiral out of control. Cisco stops her with the power of friendship and plenty of winter layering.

Season 2 would also have Hartley struggling with reintegrating with Team Flash, especially with Harry around. And finally out right saying that Hartley and Eobard (as Wells) had been romantically involved before Hartley discovered the flaw. But also the season opens with Barry trying to finally accept his mother's death and being hit by his father not feeling able to stay in Central City after finally being exonerated... while Hartley's parents have reached out to him in the wake of the singularity disaster and are trying to reconnect with him.

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken At All Chapter 15/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

CONTENT WARNING! This has the hunt which includes lost boys (kids) being killed and while it's brief, it's a dark scene. There's also some gore afterwards and violence (again against lost boys) referenced off-screen. If you're at all uncomfortable you can DM me and I can let you know which sections to avoid. I had a few people review it and tell me it's "dark but not too dark" but better safe than sorry. And hey, there’s also smut to make up for it. 

Thank you thank you thank you thank you always @the-darkdragonfly and @elizabeethan for your help with this feral fic 😘 and thank you @kmomof4 for being a fantastic beta for this chapter! 💕💕

*****

Part 15

She can still feel the burn of his kiss - her kiss - on her lips when the moon hangs high above the Jolly.  She’s been watching it, tracking its slow climb across the sky since she came out of the forest to find Will waiting on the shore - Wendy having taken the dinghy and leaving them stranded. Emma was almost relieved that she wasn’t there, that she didn’t have to explain why she was standing there alone, why Killian wasn’t with her. No matter how angry Wendy was at her Captain, she would have noticed. Will, on the other hand, was too fixated on the sea, on the ship rocking rhythmically against the waves to notice. But the way he watched it, as though it were miles away and not metres, betrayed what the longing in his eyes was really for. 

She’d suggested they swim, the ship not far and the water most likely clear of vindictive sirens. Mostly she’d just wanted to get that look off of his face, to stop feeling the guilt that accompanied it. They’re risking their lives for you, Swan, all of us are - for you and for your son. He didn’t put up an argument. Will only shrugged dismissively, looking back out to the ship and wading into the sea.

It’s been hours since then, hours of waiting and staring out at the dark water, searching for any movement in the dimly lit night. She can feel the cold breeze seeping through her thin shirt, chilling her skin and sending a tremor through her bones. But she can’t go below deck, can’t leave her spot by the railing. Not until she sees some sign, any sign that she didn’t just send him to his death to protect Henry. Henry, who's still out there, who’s waiting for her to come get him, who may already hear the Lost Boys’ cries. 

It’s late, the moon already growing dimmer against the lightening sky. Will had come up some time ago, only sparing her a passing look before finding a spot far enough away that they wouldn’t feel the need to speak. He’d gone straight below deck once they’d climbed out of the water, his small plea of ‘Wen, please’ carrying over to her in the silence. The nights are always so quiet here, the sea soundless against the ship, the wind not stirring in the trees. It’s wrong, and unnatural, this island not a place rooted in reality, the piercing wails of the children in the jungle starker against the silence, echoing over the sea. 

Emma casts a glance over at Will, leaning over the railing, looking out at the water rather than the beach, though she imagines he’s not really looking at anything at all, and wonders if he can hear them. He’s never said. Only that Wendy did. And now Killian is out there risking his life to make it up to her, to atone for the daughter he left behind by making sure she doesn’t lose the man who stayed by her side. Because of her. Because she begged Will to go, begged anyone to go and do what she couldn’t. 

Daylight begins its slow crawl over the night sky and still there’s no sign of Hook, no sign of Wendy since the forest. She doesn’t hear Will cross the deck until his arms fold over the railing beside hers, his shoulders tense as he leans heavily on them, his question leaving him in a heavy breath.

“He went, didn’t he?” 

Emma nods, fingers pressing into the soft wood beneath them. But he’s not looking at her so she lets out a small ‘yeah’ and watches his jaw clench, teeth pressed together as anger and relief war on his face. 

“Bastard.” 

“How far is the camp?” 

Will gives a small shrug. “It moves. But it can be found if you know what to look for.” When she doesn’t answer he finally turns his head, just a fraction and she feels his gaze from the corner of her eye as she goes back to watching the beach. “He’ll be back.” 

“How do you know?”

“The man’s bloody impossible to kill. Trust me,” he insists. “I’ve tried.” 

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” 

He sighs when she doesn’t answer. “Pan doesn’t want him dead. He never has. He enjoys torturing him too much.”

“What if he changes his mind?” Especially if he catches him trying to meddle in whatever plan he has for Henry. 

“He could,” Will acknowledges. “But he expects Hook to try and stop him. It’s all part of the game.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“Everything is a game to him. Sometimes… I used to wonder if he even knew what was real and what wasn’t. I didn’t. Not until…” The little girl he brought to Wendy. “He’s a child. Everything, this whole island, his hunts and his raids and his conquests, it’s all make believe, one big, never ending game.”  

Emma doesn't know which is scarier, the thought that Pan is a monster that murders and maims and torments without remorse, or that his acts of cruelty can be carried out without care, without any true understanding of consequence - for fun. How many times as a child did she play cops and robbers? How many times did she and the other children in homes sword fight with sticks and cardboard tubes, laughing while they ‘killed’ one another. Because it was all just make believe. 

Her thoughts are cut off by a slow roar of something in the trees, the dull, faraway sound carrying over the water. Will looks out at the sky, suddenly alert and she follows his gaze, the sun just breaking over the horizon. “It’s starting.” 

It’s shouting, she realizes, a low rumble of a battle cry making its way towards the beach. “The hunt?” 

“Aye.” The voice comes from behind them, Wendy having finally emerged from her cabin, staring out towards the shore. There’s a moment where she takes in Will standing beside her, frown pulling at her brow before relief softens it. But her gaze snaps back to the beach, eyes wide, brow marred again. “Where’s Killian?” The question is sharp, an order. But neither answer. She knows. Wendy rushes to the rail, looking frantically out over the water as though she could see him through the jungle. “Bastard.” 

It takes her a moment to school her features, to regain control of herself, hands still clenched into fists against the edge of the Jolly. But once she does, she slips back into the role of the fierce pirate captain Emma met that first night - the one that ended a deathmatch with a single word. “Ready the crew” she tells Will. “Be sure they’re prepared to take on the wounded. And no one,” she adds, tone commanding and almost frightening, “no one is to leave the ship. Is that understood?” The question is directed at her. 

“I-”

“If you go on that beach, you’re signing your death warrant. You’re to stay below deck,” she orders. “Understood?” 

“I’m not staying below deck if Henry comes out of that jungle,” Emma argues. 

“Killian is taking care of Henry. If Pan sees you you’ll be putting both of them at risk. You’ll stay below deck, Emma,” she repeats. “That’s an order.” 

“Let me help. I can -”

Before she can finish, she’s being lifted off her feet, a small nod from Wendy to Will, some unspoken command and suddenly she’s tossed over his shoulder and letting out a cry of protest as she’s carried below deck. 

“What the- Put me down!” she snaps, but Will and his stupid, freakish strength holds her steady, the arm across the back of her thighs vice-like. 

“I swear to god, you better not lick me again while you’re back there,” he warns. 

She gives a hard elbow to his ribs in retaliation, the small grunt he lets out immensely satisfying before she’s being dropped on her ass, the damp room one she doesn’t recognize, and a lock clicks into place. It takes her a second to register where she is. 

“You’re throwing me in the fucking brig?” she demands, fingers wrapping around the solid iron bars. “You can’t be serious.” 

“You're part of this crew. You don't follow orders, this is what happens,” Wendy tells her before heading back towards the deck. “You’ll be let out when it’s over.” 

“Maybe,” Will adds with a mirthful smirk that makes her wish he was close enough to hit again. But the door slams shut between them and she’s left alone with her outrage. 

The shouting is getting louder now, the sun climbing quickly - too quickly - into the sky. She can distinguish words now, cries of ‘get them’ breaking through the hollering and the cheering… and the screams. The first one she hears- sudden and sharp and cut off in an instant- sends her heart dropping into her stomach. She hardly has time to let the dread take over before another takes its place, this one worse, drawn out, fading into a whimper, small and heartbreaking and horrible. It’s followed by cries of victory. 

Reaching for the bars on the small window of her cell she hoists herself up onto the small bench, just able to look out if she holds her weight up, standing on barely touching tiptoes. She wishes she hadn’t. The beach is a bloodbath, bodies strewn out across the sand, dead, or soon to be. They’re too far for her to recognize any, but they’re all so small, narrow shoulders and lanky limbs. Any one of those bodies could be Henry. Every single one is a child. 

Emma nearly falls off the bench, barely managing to land on her feet as she doubles over, emptying her stomach on the floor of her cell. It doesn’t stop, the chaos on the beach echoing in the small room, screams, cheers of triumph, the slice of metal and the batter of arrows falling over one another until they all fade into the endless din of battle.

She can’t bring herself to look again, sitting with her back to the horror, hands over her ears as she tries to drown it all out, stuck and helpless to do anything about it. It’s not Henry. Henry’s not there. She needs to believe that Killian got to him in time, that he stopped him from being a part of it. Those aren’t his cries of pain she’s hearing. That’s not him celebrating. Henry’s not there. She repeats it, again and again, curled on the floor, trying to block out the horror. They were right. She wouldn't have been able to stay below deck- either above or below. She wouldn’t have been able to stay off the beach. 

It goes on for ages, growing in volume, the Lost Boys riled up more with every fallen victim. She could almost believe they were playing, were it not for the crying, the pleas for mercy. Then, almost as quickly as it started, the sounds begin to quiet. She hears a flurry of footsteps thundering onto the deck above her head, hears the muffled shout of Wendy ordering her crew to aid the survivors.

The mayhem on the beach finally settles, the slashing of swords and the cries dropping one by one until there’s silence. And then there are only hoots and hollers echoing across the shore - a celebration. Someone is congratulating them. She doesn’t have to guess who it is. She’ll recognize that twisted, childlike voice for the rest of her life. 

It’s over. It has to be. Please let it be over. There’s no more clash of swords, no more wails of pain and death and she can almost breathe again until she hears it. A single, sobbing whimper from the shore, a cry of “mama” that burrows itself deep, echoing through her. There’s another. And another. And it’s the worst sound she’s ever heard, worse than the Lost Boys at night - children crying for their mothers.

She’s on her feet before she can think, yanking at the goddamn padlock on her door, clawing at it and shouting with rage when it doesn’t give. She doesn’t have anything to pick it with - no tools, no pins, not even a goddamn pen to break apart. Fucking pirates knowing better than to leave anything within reach that could help her break out. 

She pulls the heavy leather boot from her foot, the heel solid and adorned with metal. It’s flimsy and awkward but it’s all she’s got and she reaches, arm scrapped raw by the stripped bars as she tries to get any force behind the blow. Reaching for the padlock, the angle awkward, and hitting it again and again, she curses when she hits it hard enough to knock the boot out of her hand, fingers aching where they still connect with the iron.

But she doesn’t stop, not so long as she can hear the kids crying from the shore. She may not be their mother but she’s a mother and she’s getting to that fucking beach. She yanks off her other boot, trying again, hanging on so tightly this time that her knuckles go white. Emma’s not sure how long she tries, how many times she brings the heel down on the lock, her skin damp with sweat, her shirt bloodied where the bars scratched her. 

“Come on you stupid son of a bitch.” She’s tired, her arm aching, fingers bruised, but there’s a fury in her, a rage that builds until it feels like it will burst out of her. And then it does. She smashes the lock again, a spark of light flashing when it makes contact, bright enough that she has to shut her eyes. But when she opens them, the lock is on the ground, broken in two.

The cell swings open easily as she runs for the deck, yanking the door of the brig open only to crash into a figure on the other side. Fingers and metal wrap around her arms as she tries to push past him, shouting obscenities and shoving at him. But he doesn’t move, his grip tightening until she hisses, flinching, skin scratched raw beneath his hand and he lets go. 

“Swan.” The name is what snaps her out of her panic. Her name. The one only he calls her - the one he promised not to let her forget. She looks up at him, finally realizing that it’s him, that he’s there and alive. The blue of his eyes, sad and anxious, shines even in the dim light of the room. “It’s over.” 

She hears it then, the absence. There’s no more noise, no more screaming, no crying, the awfulness faded to nothing, the only sound the creaking of footsteps above them and her own ragged breathing. Her hands slide over his chest, pulling back enough to look for any sign he’s been hurt, that he didn’t come back in one piece. She searches his face, remembering the way she’d first found him, battered and bleeding, but those wounds are long healed, no new ones in their place and she sighs gratefully. 

“Henry?”

“He’s fine. He wasn’t there. He’s safe.”

She nearly gives into the sobs that are trying to spill out of her, too full of anguish and fear and relief to keep them from overflowing. But her hands find the sides of his face, rising on her toes to capture his mouth with hers. She’s cried enough today - cried enough every day since she got to this stupid island, since she lost Henry to it. She doesn’t want to cry anymore. Her tears serve no purpose. They won’t keep Henry safe - but Killian did. Killian kept him safe. 

He lets her kiss him, lets her slide her fingers into his hair, lets her seek his tongue with her own and keep him there with a death grip on his collar. But when she presses herself closer to him, seeking more of his heat to warm her frozen skin, more of him to fill the ache growing inside of her, he pulls back. He watches her carefully, searching for something, maybe remnants of the wine or that the events of the last hour haven’t completely destroyed her. 

But Emma sees it then, the same exhaustion she feels darkening his eyes, pulling at the lines of his brow. The mask of resilience and unflinching coolness in the face of everything that’s been thrown at them slips, and he lets her see the suffering she knows is reflected back at him. She doesn’t know how long he’s been on the ship, how much of the massacre he had to watch before he came to find her - how many times he’s had to watch it before, just as powerless as she’d been to stop it.

She opens her mouth to say something, to ask him those very questions, but his lips crash down over hers before she can get the words out. The force of it sends her stumbling back and he follows, kiss hard and demanding, the door slamming as he kicks it shut behind him, and he leads them both across the room until her back collides with the bars of the cell, knocking the wind out of her. He swallows the sound she makes, tongue sliding over her lip in apology before pushing its way into her mouth to taste whatever he can reach, whatever he can take. 

He kisses her with the same desperation she feels - for all of this to be finished, for the horrible feeling and memory that’s sunk its teeth in to be drowned out. She understands. She doesn’t want to talk either. This day - the last hour alone - all she wants is to forget it. Just for a little while she wants to forget every wretched thing about Neverland and lose herself in the one person who’s helped her survive it.

Emma shoves at the lapels of his coat, pushing it over his shoulders and he lets it fall to the floor with a heavy sound. His lips find her neck as she reaches for his vest, fingers fumbling on the buttons when he works a mark into her collarbone and tugs her hair loose from its messy knot. Far more adept, even with only one hand, her borrowed vest is opened and tossed unceremoniously aside before she’s managed to undo all his fastenings, Killian pulling her shirt over her head almost frantically. 

She cries out when his mouth closes over her breast, hot and wet, tongue rolling over the hardened peak while his hand finds the other and he turns her into a panting, whimpering mess just like he’d promised to in the fae woods. When she hisses out a warning ‘Killian’, his lips start a path down the length of her stomach, dropping to his knees, shucking his vest and shirt. 

The look he tosses up at her, checking before his hook tugs at the laces of her stupid, inconvenient pants, sends heat burning in her stomach and wetness pooling between her thighs as he yanks the heavy fabric down her hips. Desperate, wrecked, the blue of his eyes nearly eclipsed by the black, heavy-lidded and full of shameless want and dirty promises.

“Fuck.” Her hands find purchase in his hair, stumbling back, hardly stepped out of the leather before his mouth is on her, hooking a leg over his shoulder and pressing her against the bars once more. The rough iron scrapes at the bare skin of her back, but she doesn’t care, not with the way he’s sucking at her clit, tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves and growling into her skin when she bucks into his mouth. 

He presses his brace across her hips, holding her still as he eats into her, fucking her with his tongue and nothing about today matters anymore. Nothing feels real apart from his mouth between her thighs, the scrape of his jaw rough against sensitive skin. She whines at the push of his fingers inside of her, pleasure tightening in her stomach, the anticipation building in every muscle, the promise of release and fucking ecstasy just out of reach. 

“Please.” The word escapes on a whimper, wanton and desperate, and then he’s moaning against her, teeth scraping sharply against her clit, making her cry out and her hands fist harshly in his hair when he pulls it into his mouth, fingers curling in time with the pulse of his tongue against her, his lips around her, and then she’s shattering. 

She barely manages to catch her cry of release between her teeth as her whole body shudders and it escapes as a muffled sob in the dark room. But Killian doesn’t relent, egged on by her coming apart on his tongue, working her frantically, drawing out the aftershocks until they start to build to a new height altogether. She’s about to fall again, so close to the edge, but she pushes at his shoulders.

“Wait.” He only resists for a second, eyes dark with hunger when he looks up at her, but it’s the small hint of desperation, the unbridled abandon emanating from him that makes her remember that he needs this just as much as she does. That he’s been through as much as she has. And it’s not the first time for him. She can’t imagine living through today again and again for centuries. It’s no wonder he found solace wherever he could and with whoever he could in this horrible place. She’s been living a nightmare for a week. He’s been living it for lifetimes. 

Emma joins him on her knees, not caring about the dirt and the damp as she pulls him to her, mouth finding his easily. The way their lips move against each other is familiar now, but no less heated as his arms come around her waist, pressing heated skin to heated skin, hand snaking up the length of her back to tangle in her hair, gathering it at the nape of her neck.

She explores the length of his arms with careful fingers, muscles hard under her hands from years at sea and endless fighting. She feels the rise and fall of scars across his skin before dragging her nails down his shoulders, leaving her own mark and feeling the bite of his teeth against her lip. Her fingers move to his chest, sliding through the coarse hair and finding the evidence of years spent in bloodshed. The gasp he lets out when she rakes them over the flat of his stomach to his hips is choked and she ducks her head, lips leaving his to trail the length of his jaw, tongue sliding over the spot below his ear he can’t seem to leave alone.

“Emma…” It’s a plea and a warning and a question all in one as she pulls at his laces. The feel of him straining hard and hot beneath her palm only urges her on as her mouth explores the taut line of his neck, leaving a mark on his collarbone to match the one he gave her. 

He hisses out a word that isn’t in English but she’s almost positive is a curse when she slides into his leathers, fingers wrapping around his cock and running her hand over the hard length in rough, purposeful strokes. She touches him the way he’d touched her, urgent and desperate and aware that they’re on stolen time, revelling in every sound and unconscious thrust of his hips she draws from him. 

His grip on her hair becomes vice-like, tugging her head back enough that he can taste her neck again, mouth and tongue sloppy between the small growls and sharp breaths he lets out hot against her skin. The drag of cool metal over her nipple makes her falter in her rhythm. He does it again, circling the hardened peak with the sharp tip of his hook and she releases him altogether, desire burning impatient as she pushes him back to sit on his discarded coat.

Killian takes hold of her hips as she climbs into his lap, settling a knee on either side of him before taking his cock in hand again and sinking down over the length of him. His muttered ‘bloody hell’ reverberates through her as he holds still, straining as he gives her a moment to adjust to the size of him, the burn and the fullness that turn to heat and want, and she needs more. 

When she rocks her hips over his, they both let out a groan at the drag of his cock- so fucking perfect inside of her. Emma braces her hands on his shoulders so she can move over him, desperate to find that toe-curling pleasure he gave her again. 

His fingers dig into the curve of her ass, rolling and guiding them into a rhythm, hips rising to meet her every time she takes him in again, refusing to be a passive participant as she rides him towards their release. His hook and mouth are everywhere, touching and tasting, finding the places that make her tremble, bearing down relentlessly when the curl of his tongue or the scrape of his hook causes her to cry out and soon she’s right on the edge again, lips pressed hard together against the moans of encouragement and of his name that want to fall from them.

His hand releases her, letting her keep their pace, change it how she wants, and his fingers trail over her hip, ghosting over the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh. His thumb slides between them, finding where they’re joined with practiced ease and circling with every roll of her hips until she can’t keep quiet anymore, hands gripping madly at his back, teeth biting into his shoulder as she tries to muffle her cries. 

He presses harder, circling faster, murmuring filth and praise into her ear and holy fuck she doesn’t think she’s ever been fucked so properly in her life - every inuendo and brazen conquest on the island entirely justified. There are no thoughts left apart from how badly she needs to come, all senses muted, drowned out by the overwhelming build, the delicious drive of his cock inside of her, thrusting harder, deeper.

His mouth nips at her ear, begging her to let him see her fall apart again, telling her how good she feels, how he wants to feel her shuddering around him, how he wants to come inside her. And then there’s nothing but ecstasy, nothing but fire and release as she comes apart at his hands. 

She’s still shaking when he rolls her onto her back, braced on his hooked arm as the other slides under her knee, spreads her wider for him, fucking into her wildly, harder, deeper, chasing his release as fervently as she had hers. The grind of his hips, the scratch of his chest hair against her breasts sets off another wave of lust in her, begins another rapid climb as he takes her, using her however he wants, building on the high of her orgasm before it’s faded and sending her over the edge again. 

The sound he lets out when he feels her coming once more, feels the dig of her nails in his back, is almost feral. Her name is a curse and a plea as he pounds into her until he goes rigid under her hands, pulling out and spilling himself hot on her stomach with a moan muffled against the crook of her neck. 

There’s nothing but the sound of their breaths, heavy in the stillness of the room, the chaos of the deck far away above them as they lay still tangled in one another for a moment, drawing out the feeling of relief as long as they can, hiding from reality for just a little longer. Here in the dark with the weight of his body still over hers and the gentle hum of her skin, the heaviness of her limbs, it’s easy to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It's too soon when she feels him shift, the press of his lips to the hollow of her throat before he lifts his head, reaching for something in one of the many pockets of his coat they’ve sprawled out on. How he knows where anything is in the (she suspects) dozens of secret compartments that may or may not be magically hidden is beyond her, but he pulls out a handkerchief - dark like everything else he wears, but fine like everything else as well. 

Tracing it gingerly over her stomach, he begins to clean the mess he made of her, erasing every trace of him from her skin. Emma takes it from him when he’s finished, sitting up to take care of the rest when she feels the brush of his fingers over her shoulder, tracing lines down her back with a furrowed brow and leaving goosebumps in his wake. 

“What?” she asks, voice raw and rough from exhaustion. 

His knuckles ghost feather-light along her back again, her skin burning slightly under his touch. “You’re hurt.” 

There’s a bit of guilt in his expression as she turns to try and look over her shoulder, to see what he sees, the marks probably left on her skin from the iron bars. “I’m fine,” Emma promises, but he’s tracing the cuts on her arm now, ones that are definitely not his doing. “Those are technically Will’s fault,” she tells him casually, still pissed at her friend for tossing her in here, and he raises a brow at her blasé shrug. “Just if you were looking for an excuse, is all. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to defend my honour or something.” 

The corner of his mouth ticks up in amusement. “I think you’re plenty capable of defending your own honour, love,” he tells her, brushing a stray lock of hair back over her shoulder. She watches him fight a smirk out of the corner of her eye. “There’s a bottle in my coat,” he says then. “If you don’t mind.” 

Emma looks down at the heavy leather she’s still sitting on, the Mary Poppins bag of coats, and raises a brow at him. “You’re kidding right?” 

Shaking his head with an exasperated sigh - the one she’s come to consider her own - he reaches over her, digging into one of the infinite pockets and she tries not to let him see the way her breath catches, heat burning low and slow everywhere he’s nearly touching her. 

She could lean forward, just a fraction, and press her lips to the spot behind his ear, see if he’d say her name again in that shaky, pleading way he had before. If she kissed him now would he press her into the floor again, drag his tongue over her skin and make her fall apart with mouth and hand and cock? Would he let her do the same to him, let her bring him over that edge with her mouth on him, while she rode him? 

Get a grip, she scolds herself when he finds what he’s looking for, pulling back to face her. She hopes he can’t read where her thoughts had strayed, can’t see the evidence she’s sure is written all over her, you literally just came three times. It’s just Neverland, just like it had been when she’d kissed him in his cabin and had been ready to let him fuck her on his desk where anyone could walk in (and had). It has to be - because if it’s not and it’s just him, then this could become a problem really quickly. 

If Killian does notice though, he doesn’t say anything and her own spiralling thoughts are halted when she sees the bottle in his hand, the water swirling of its own volition, a pattern that has no ties to the world around it. 

“Is that water from the spring?” she asks hesitantly as she watches him pour some onto another bit of cloth, one that looks like the same kind of bandage she’d made for him.

“Aye.”

“You’ve just been carrying that stuff around? Might have been helpful when you were stuck in that hospital bed.” 

Another exasperated look. “I filled a bottle when we arrived - It doesn’t work in your realm. Thought it might come in handy. And look, it has.” She has to fight a laugh at his snark; he’s been spending too much time with her. “Now are you going to let me help you?” he asks, what was obviously originally a kind gesture now spoken with a familiar sigh that makes her catch her amusement between her teeth even as she nods and turns her back to him.

“How did you find out about this stuff?” she asks when his hook brushes her hair out of the way over her shoulder - mostly to distract herself from the feel of the metal against the nape of her neck, remembering it other places. 

His tone is solemn when he answers though, cloth not touching her skin as he hesitates. “When I first came here… my brother was poisoned - dreamshade.” Brother? The water is cool against her back, his touch careful. “Pan showed me the spring.” 

“The water saved him?” 

The length of his pause makes her wish she hadn’t asked. “For a time.”

“He drank it.” It’s not a question and he doesn’t answer and her heart breaks for him. “And Pan let you leave.” How many people has he lost - how much pain has he suffered at the hands of the cruel people who took them from him? “Why did you come back?” 

“Because I was a fool, looking for revenge against the Crocodile. Sometimes I wonder if he knew - if he showed me the dreamshade because he knew I’d return for it one day. He has a way of seeing people, finding the parts they don’t want seen, and using them to get what he wants.” She wants to tell him that he’s wrong, that whoever he thinks Pan saw in him isn’t who he is. But she can’t find the words, all of them sounding like platitudes. He misunderstands her silence. “Henry’s far stronger than I was, love. He won’t give in so easily.”

Killian presses the cloth to her back again, meticulous in his task and she wraps her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest. “What did you say to him?” 

She can feel the tension radiating off of him, matching it immediately. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” 

“I couldn’t risk him seeing me and knowing you were here. For all he is, Henry’s still a child, and little boys can’t keep secrets.”

“So what did you do?” 

The way he clears his throat is almost indecipherable, his hand going over the same spot by her shoulder again and again, the scratch definitely gone by now. “Pan’s camp is always moving, but he also always sets it near a body of water, usually a stream.”

“Why?”

The cloth slides over her skin slowly, buying time, avoiding looking at her. “For the Lorelei.” 

Emma whirls on him. “What?”

“Calm down, love,” he says softly, trying to get her to turn back around. “The sirens are his messengers; they relay his desires and bring him news of any stirrings on the island.”

“Killian. Did you send fucking Ianeira to him?” The mermaid who’s apparently so fond of drowning and eating humans.

“No.” She breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s short lived. “...Ianeira has a daughter.”

“What?!” That’s not any better.

“Swan.” He gives up his task for a moment, finally looking at her. “Do you really believe I’d have sought their help if they posed any threat to Henry? The Lost Boys are off limits to the Lorelei, and they’re on our side, bound by a bargain you made.” Her shoulders relax a little, still not happy about it. “The girl is hardly older than Henry in appearance. I thought she would have a better chance at getting through to him. The Lorelei can be…”

“Fucking terrifying?”

“Aye,” he nods. “She drew him from the camp and passed on our warning - that he can’t trust Pan, no matter what he says, that the hunt tomorrow is real and Pan would try and make him hurt the other boys, that if he did… he would never be able to leave Neverland.” 

“Is that true?” Emma tries to keep the tremor out of her voice as she turns away, resting her chin on her knees. She doesn’t want to see his face when he answers. She'd rather be able to believe him if he lies. 

“I don’t know,” he admits, drawing the healing water over a mark by her spine. “But we won’t find out, aye?” 

She nods, halfheartedly. “And you’re sure he wasn’t there?”

“I watched the camp from the treeline all night and into the morning. Your boy resisted Pan’s manipulations. He’s stubborn, like his mother.” She shoots him a look over her shoulder, eyes narrowed and he smirks. “It’ll serve him well here. I kept watch until it would have been too late for him to join. I told you, love, he was far away from all of it.”

“But you weren’t.”

She feels his sigh hot against her skin. “I took a shortcut back to the ship. I couldn’t risk Pan wondering where I was when they reached the beach…”

Emma nods. “Today was -” She doesn’t have words for it.

“I know.” She feels the backs of his fingers ghost over the nape of her neck, brushing away hair that hasn’t fallen, thumb tracing along her nape. “I wish I could say it gets easier.”

She nods again - she wouldn’t believe him if he did - and tightens her arms around her knees, banishing the memories that try to creep in, wanting to stay here where they don’t exist for a little longer. 

“So Ianeira has a kid.” He doesn’t comment on her change of subject, only hums. “She doesn’t really seem the motherly type.” And then thought suddenly strikes her. “Is she…”

Killian laughs. “Mine?” It’s not that ridiculous. He might have accidentally boned all the mermaids in Neverland. He could have dozens of little merbabies swimming around. “No, Swan, sirens don’t reproduce. They’re born of chance and magic, and very rare.”

“What about all your ‘creative’ encounters?”

“Those are… recreational.” 

Emma rolls her eyes. “Of course they are.” She doesn’t have to see his smirk to know it’s there, hook looping around her arm, tugging it gently free from its death grip around her legs so he can tend to the skin she marked up in her attempt to escape. The water stings slightly, the cuts deeper there, the cloth no longer as cold. “I can’t believe she let you use her daughter,” she admits. “She was so protective of her sisters.”

Killian hums in agreement, “It took some convincing.” 

“Did it?” She doesn’t think she’s ever failed so spectacularly at sounding indifferent. 

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, lips pressing to the back of her shoulder before he rests his chin on it. “Jealous?”

Emma scoffs. “Yeah, right. You wish.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, her teasing not returned and he takes a slow breath in, lifting his head to look at her, the weight of his gaze enough that she twists to meet it. His exhale is warm against the curve of her neck, the sincerity in his eyes stripped bare, holding her captive with their intensity. “Perhaps I do.” 

She swallows, heart racing at his confession. Because that’s what it is, a confession of intentions, of feelings she’s not sure she can face - his or her own. He’s watching her, waiting, that openness, the little bit of hope she can see breaking through absolutely terrifying. It’s one thing to find comfort in each other after a tragedy. But this, what he’s so clearly asking, isn’t something she thinks she can give. 

Her tongue runs over her lips, mouth suddenly dry, the motion drawing his attention and breaking whatever that was that just passed between them. Her voice is tinged with gravel when she tells him, “I think you’ve got enough jealous creatures on this island for one man to handle.” 

Emma sees the barest hint of disappointment he lets slip and makes herself ignore it. “You make me sound like quite the scoundrel,” he smirks, reaching for his discarded shirt and draping it over her shoulders. “I assure you I can only devote myself to one woman at a time.”

She raises a brow at him, pulling the shirt closed around herself, feeling less vulnerable than she had a moment ago and she thinks maybe he’d known. “There were three fairies throwing themselves at you yesterday - four,” she corrects, having forgotten the handsome gold-hued man. She thinks she sees the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks beneath the cocky shrug. 

“That was Solstice. It doesn’t count.” 

Emma rolls her eyes, pointing out for the second time, “How convenient.”

A thud from upstairs draws her attention, followed by a shout of pain, and she hears Will cursing. Stay bloody still, damnit. When she looks over at Killian, he’s watching the ceiling too, whatever lightness he may have held onto for a moment now gone. 

“We should get up there,” she says, not looking forward to whatever devastation awaits them on deck. There’s no lesser horror. Either many survived and there’ll be dozens of wounded and traumatised children awaiting them, forced to join a life of being hunted by Pan forever, or there won’t be - and the beach will be littered with bodies. 

“Aye,” he agrees, standing and finding his pants, tugging the leather over his hips as she does the same. She’s lacing them up when she notices his attention. 

“What?”

“You’ve got my shirt.” She looks down at the soft black fabric he’d wrapped her in, then at the bloodied white shirt in his hand. “Not that you don’t look quite fetching in it, love, but unless you want Wendy and Scarlet to know -” 

Emma snatches her shirt from him, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “Turn around.” The look he gives her tells her what she already knows, that she’s being absolutely ridiculous, but he just gives her an amused little smirk before doing as she asked. It’s not that she thinks Will and Wendy don’t already know, or that she’s oblivious to the fact that he’s already seen everything, but preparing to walk into a tragedy after they’ve been hiding down here, selfishly pretending it wasn’t happening, sends guilt churning in her stomach. 

When she’s dressed, hat tugged low over her head to try and hide her face from the new boys, she lets him turn back around, tossing him his shirt and waiting until he pulls the heavy leather coat back over his shoulders. “Ready?”

No. She nods. 

The scene is worse than she imagined. She’d been prepared for the blood, for the pain and the chaos as the crew do their best to tend to whatever injuries they can. There’s buckets of bloodied spring water, discarded bandages stained red, former Lost Boys shouting and struggling against the holds the pirates have on them as they try and heal them. They’re still the enemy, she realizes. They may have just been nearly murdered by their comrades but until this morning, the Jolly was enemy territory, and now they’re being held captive. 

What she hadn’t been prepared for were the ones who weren’t injured, who weren’t fighting, the ones sitting along the side of the ship, knees curled tight to their chests and hands over their ears as they stare at nothing with eyes that aren’t seeing. 

Killian moves quickly, hurrying over to where Will is trying to hold down a boy who looks about twelve while Wendy attempts to reset his leg, broken with an arrow pierced through the bone. He takes the boy’s shoulder and arm so Will can do the same, both pressing down on his torso until he can’t move - Emma looks away but she hears the crunch of bone and the scream nonetheless. 

“Hand me some bandages.” It’s not until Wendy shouts her name that she realizes she’s talking to her, the boy still fighting, though he’s growing weaker now. She scrambles to grab some from one of the buckets, bringing them to her. The captain begins wrapping the injury with soaked bandages, the arrow that had pierced him used as a brace, and the kid’s eyes fade in and out of focus, finally shutting as he passes out. 

“A little help!” one of the pirates calls, struggling under the weight of a boy only a few years younger than himself. A stain of dark red blood is blooming on his stomach, soaking through his leather vest and Emma doesn’t freeze this time, running over and looping the kid’s other arm over her shoulders. They set him down against the mainsail, Emma watching as the pirate, barely more than a teenager, pulls open the boy’s shirt. 

“What happened?” 

“Looks like a rapier,” he answers, inspecting the gash, blood flowing freely from it. “Gimme a hand,” he tells her and grabs the kid’s shoulder so they can turn him over. “Dammit. It’s gone right through him.” Emma doesn’t know much about medicine but she does know that without treatment, a stomach wound is basically a death sentence. 

“Can you do anything?”

“Nothing good,” he sighs under his breath. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bottle like the one Killian carried and uncorking it. “Listen, mate, I can make this better okay?” The boy glares at him, face pale and clammy, distrusting. “If you drink this, you’ll live. If you don't, you're gonna die.” Emma’s thrown by his bluntness, by how calm he is despite being so young and she wonders how many hunts he’s already lived through. The boy continues to glare, looking away from him, rejecting the offer. “But if you do - hey,” he snaps, grabbing the kid’s chin and making him face him. “You’ll never get to leave, okay? You’ll be stuck here. Forever. And it fucking sucks here once you’re out. But you’ll be alive. And you’ll be one of us.” 

“Can’t you just give it to him?” Emma demands, a second away from snatching the bottle and forcing it down the dying teenager’s throat. 

The pirate shakes his head. “Captain’s rules.” She wonders which captain.

The boy still looks resistant, like he’d rather die than become a pirate than switch sides, regardless of what Pan’s just done to him. But then he starts to cough, a fit that takes over, the rough sound gurgling and wet as blood begins to drip from his lips and he turns panicked eyes on the pirate. The older boy nods, handing him the vial, but not letting go yet, waiting until the kid meets his gaze. “Never,” he reminds him. “You’ll never go home, okay?”

Emma watches him nod, bring the water to his bloodied mouth and drink, wincing and coughing as he tries to swallow, finally managing to get some down. They wait, a few long, drawn out moments, before the pirate looks at his wound again and Emma watches in amazement as it begins to close, blood flowing backwards along his torso in streams, pulled back into the tear in his skin. 

The older boy pats his shoulder. “Try and get some rest. That’ll still hurt like a bitch for a while.” And then he’s gone, moved on to the next injured Lost Boy, and the next. 

When everything is over, wounds bandaged, survivors counted, bodies laid carefully on the deck, a strange sort of silence settles over the ship. It’s not the silence of Neverland, that unending, eerie quiet, but the silence of dozens choosing not to speak, unable to speak in the wake of bloodshed. A crew member is cleaning the deck, the oldest here by far in his mid twenties, gaze somehow both unbothered and far away as he mops up the blood that ripples with the whim of the spring water spilled on the wood. Will is over by the side of the ship, talking to some of the boys who won’t speak, who don’t look at anything, voice falling low and gentle on deaf ears. 

Wendy and Killian are with the dead, placing coins over their eyes and wrapping their bodies in sails. She can count five, five who made it to safety only to die on the bow of the Jolly. Emma stares out at the beach. There are more than five out there. Almost a dozen Lost Boys left out under the hot sun. 

Sometime, this has been both the shortest and longest day of her life - the sun setting before it had managed to reach its highest point in the sky.

Killian had explained, as she’d helped to place a boy gently on a stretch of canvas and sew the fabric around him, that night always came quickly after a hunt. “There’s always a celebration for the victors.” Wendy had said the word with so much disgust it made Emma’s stomach turn. “They feast and fly and dance around the fire, bragging about their conquests.” 

“Did you ever-” she started, but stopped when the woman’s face darkened, regret and anger. “I’m sorry.” 

“They’re children,” is all Wendy gave in answer, casting a look towards Will, still trying to reach a boy, shaking and huddled by the helm. “So were we.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy, the sound of footsteps above her making her jerk awake - boys who’d refused to take a bunk below deck, still not willing to accept their new fate, their new role on this island. Voices set her heart racing, forgetting every time that the hunt is over. The crying tonight is louder than it’s been since she arrived, and the sounds of celebration carry over on the water.

She wants to go up there, wants to help them in a way she couldn’t this morning. But she saw the way they looked at her on deck, anger and hatred and fear. She’d be no comfort to them, not as a pirate. She could as herself, as a mother like ones they keep calling out for even now. Little boys can’t keep secrets. Emma’s shared her secret enough on this island. She can’t risk it without knowing they’re allies. 

Knowing that doesn’t make it any less horrible, doesn’t make the guilt any lighter or stop each wail from piercing through her chest. And it doesn’t bring sleep either. She hears the door to the room beside her open quietly and shut with a click, hears the muffled voices, one hissed anger and the other gentle compassion, back and forth until they both go silent, finding comfort amidst the chaos. 

It makes her want to cry, to let her own tears join those she only hears because she’s always been alone, because she’s always been abandoned - time and again. That may be the worse part, the small, selfish part of her that couldn’t help but understand their sorrow. She’s never lived through anything like they just have, but she knows that betrayal, the heartbreak of having trusted someone so completely, only to be cast aside. Alone again. Always alone. 

“Emma?” He’s not asleep when she sneaks into his cabin, pads across the small space to his bed. He’s half sat up, hand reaching instinctively for his sword at the first creak of the door opening, but his brace and hook are on the small table beside him, blunted arm and chest bare, sheets pooled in his lap. “What’s wrong?”

She tries to answer, all of her explanations feeling weak, and her words get caught on a shaky inhale. She doesn’t want to talk about it, so instead she closes the rest of the distance between them, climbing carefully into the bed beside him and sliding beneath the covers. He tenses for a moment when she curls herself against his side, head resting tentatively on his shoulder, but then he softens, letting out a breath and sinking back against the pillows. 

His arm hovers, hesitating before wrapping around her. She brings her own hand to his chest, focusing on the feel of the dark hair beneath her fingers rather than the way her hands still shake, listening to the rise and fall of his breaths rather than the sobs upstairs she can’t escape, and the steady beat of his heart as she tries to forget all the ones that won’t beat again. 

His lips press to her crown, not quite a kiss as he speaks against her hair. “Sleep, love. Neverland can’t find you here.”

******

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[swanqueenelmaxshadowhunters]

What do you think would have happened if Max was the one to find El in the woods in season 1?

(In an AU where she and her family moved to Hawkins earlier)

oh, that's something I would have loved to see!!

First: Max is super smart and having the childhood she has, she would be amazing in helping El to hide and she probably would have some hiding spot for when she wanted some time away from Billy and Neil so she would take El there

Second: she would find a way to bring decent food for El (I know Mike did his best so his family wouldn't notice a girl hiding in their basement but c'mon, Dustin and Lucas could have brought some food either)

Third: she and El would absolutely kick those guards assess lmao and she would even use her skate as a weapon.

Then, maybe, if she was friends with the party (although not very close) she would eventually tell them about El, but only because at some point El told her something about Will's disappearance.

And since Joyce was the first person she met in Hawkins (this is in Runaway Max) and she was super nice to Max, I think she would take El to the Byers sooner so El could help them find Will.

[angelswing236]

The final chapter of In You I Trust is up. Here's your snippet:

‘Don’t you want to put it on?’ Tom asked as they left the jeweller’s shop with Mary carrying a small, elegant bag containing a velvet box with her new engagement ring in it.

‘Yes, I do, but I need you to do something first,’ she said, slipping her arm through his and guiding him up High Petergate towards the west end of York Minster.

‘What do you need me to do?’

‘Well, I’ve been thinking, and when people ask me how you proposed to me, I can’t very well tell them I proposed to you and we were naked in bed at the time, can I?’

Tom grinned. ‘Oh, but it’s such a good story.’

‘But not for public consumption! I told Sybil the truth and she couldn’t stop laughing. I haven’t told anyone else, though. I can’t!’

‘So, you’re saying you want a different proposal story to tell people, then?’ he said, amused.

Taglist: @starryeyes2000

[resident-gay-bitch]

Steddie Masterlist

hi! welcome to my Steddie masterlist. here you can find all of my Eddie related works :)

(all of my wips are in green, and my smutty fics have an * beside them)

you can find my general masterlist here, and you can also find all of my fics and more on ao3 and wattpad :)

requests are closed at the moment :/

multichaps:

Baby Stardust singledad!steve x roomate!eddie christmas fic

Soccer Dads steve and eddie's daughters become best friends

Steddie Week 2023 submission :) following all the prompts for 7 days

one shots:

here is a link to my steddie ficlets list because I write so many

Sunflower Boy steve x eddie meet as kids, then again in s4

Smalltown Boy s1 au - inspired by bronski beats song smalltown boy

Communication Breakdown eddie doesn't know he's dating steve

Missin’ You Big Boy steve x eddie angst

Cant Keep A Secret rob & ed come out to eachother - steddie & ronance

Hellraiser steve x eddie accidental date trope

Skull Rock steve x eddie gay awakenings at its finest

Oblivious extraOblivious!steve x superPining!eddie

Valentines Sucks * eddie x steve hate valentines until they kiss

First Time * dom!top!virgin!eddie and steddie pre first time nerves

Sunshine Smile rockstar!eddie and steve find love again after separating

[asthrapolaris]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton & Penelope Featherington Characters: Colin Bridgerton, Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton, Portia Featherington, Archibald Featherington, Prudence Featherington, Marina Thompson, Violet Bridgerton Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Colin "My Wife" Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington-centric, Colin Bridgerton Loves Penelope Featherington, Penelope Featherington Loves Colin Bridgerton, Good Parent Portia Featherington, Jealous Colin Bridgerton, Protective Colin Bridgerton, Not Marina friendly Summary:

Colin didn't decide to call or not on miss Thompson when a conversation between Hyacinth and Benedict changes everything and open his eyes to his real feelings and to Penelope.

[jomiddlemarch]

Nina and Matthias , 10 please? :)

“Breathe again, for Saintsake, you great, stinking Fjerdan sonuva—” Nina muttered, working hard to bring her former captor back to life after he’d taken one too many swallow of the deep keeping her from drowning in her heavy woolen skirts, wrestling them both to the icy shingle and then promptly doing his best to die. She pressed her palm against his chest where she’d wrenched his shirt open but he didn’t stir, so she resorted to otkazat’sya tricks and smacked his cheek for all she was worth, which any Grisha would agree was a sizable sum in the Kerch exchequer.

“You hit me,” he said and then cough-vomited roughly twelve gallons of the True Sea but he managed to do it away from her, which she did appreciate.

“That was nothing, just a little slap,” she said, noting the color coming back into his cheeks and the unearthly blue of his eyes, handsome if you liked that kind of thing.

“Witch,” he said and she couldn’t tell if he meant it as a slur or oddly enough, rueful, thankful praise.

[milos-engineering-tactics]

SPN au where dean gets turned into a something and just vibes somewhere in acceptance and it’s John who goes to find Sam at school. Claiming dean was murdered and they are hunting the thing that killed him but really they are hunting dean.

PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME IF THIS EXISTS

[ladykailitha]

Sir Steve, Knight Protectorate Part 2

I am absolutely thrilled with how well the first chapter did. Thank you everyone for your support. If you requested to be on the tag list and aren't that means I ran out of room and so so sorry.

You can follow me or the tag #knight protectorate au, as that is the tag I will be using for the series I do with this verse. I hope that helps!

Here we get Steve to the rescue and Eddie instantly heart-eyes. Poor Jeff.

Part 1

~

Steve was getting more push back then he thought he would, but at the same time it was from the people he was expecting.

“Admit it,” Carol said, “you know I’m right. The only reason Tammy is involved in any thing music related is because Mummy Dearest is paying for it all. Her singing is horrible.”

Steve tried to hide his smile, but he really couldn’t.

“See?” she shrieked in glee. “I just don’t know why you won’t let me tell her. Someone needs to before she gets into her head she’s going to be famous or some shit.”

“Because it wouldn’t do anything but make her mad,” he reasoned. “Then she’d tell her mom, and her mom would tell your mom and your mom would ground your ass because they are in the same golfing club or some shit.”

Carol blinked at him for a moment or two and then shrugged. “Yeah, all right. You have a point. But I can still mock her behind her back, right?”

Steve threw back his head and laughed.

“Just keep it between us, yeah?”

She tilted her head to the side and then shrugged. “I guess I could do that.”

He heaved a sigh of relief and was just grateful for the smallest concession she was willing to make.

Everyone knew Carol was still saying shit, but at least she was only saying it to Steve.

“God, Abby,” Nicole whined, “where did you get that dress the trash bin behind Melvand’s?” She laughed as Abby tugged on her the hem of her denim dress. It was wrinkled in that way denim will some times get when it’s put into shapes it wasn’t meant for.

“Fuck off, Nicole,” Steve barked. “You have a dress just like it, it’s just Levi instead of some off brand.”

Nicole’s jaw dropped and whirled on Steve. “Is this the thanks I get for finding that little creep for you?”

Steve raised his eyebrow in disdain. “Helping a guy out doesn’t mean you get to shit on everyone else. She isn’t hurting you. She’s just walking in the hall. And for fuck’s sake, she’s a freshman. We’re all gross at that age. Give it up.”

Nicole’s jaw clicked shut and she turned on her heel, running away. The gathered crowd laughed at her retreating form.

“It’s not funny, assholes,” he huffed. “Laughing at Abby being bullied is the same as laughing at Nicole getting told off for it. It’s still rude.”

The hall went deathly quiet.

Tommy came bounding up to Steve and Carol. “Larry Wiggins just got laid out by Munson trying to hassle him out of some dope.”

Steve grimaced. “Everyone knows that Munson doesn’t sell anything hard on school property. He likes avoiding felony charges.”

Tommy grinned, bouncing on the pads of his toes. “That’s what makes it so hilarious. Munson doesn’t even deal on Tuesdays so he didn’t even have weed to offer him to back off.”

“So Larry takes a swing at Munson and gets flattened for it?” Steve guessed with a heavy sigh.

“Yup!”

Carol giggled as Steve sighed again.

“One of these days a football player is going to knock that guy’s pearly whites out,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oohhh...” Tommy said wincing, pulling his arms up to his chest. “That would be ug-lee!”

Steve hummed his agreement.

~

Look, despite what Eddie’s teachers thought, he wasn’t stupid. After the incident with Wiggins on the basketball team, he had refused to do deals alone.

But then meathead jocks barely used their brains to drool, like alone think.

Eddie was on his way to his picnic table where Doug had been waiting for him when this football player came out of literal nowhere to slam him against a tree.

Eddie’s head swam as he tried to squeeze away his sudden double vision. “What the fuck, man?”

When he could see the captain of the football team, Bobby Vincent, was grabbing him by the collar and shoving him up against the tree.

Bobby pulled out a nearly empty baggie of weed. “You shorted me, asshole. You call this a gram?”

“It was when I sold it to you,” Eddie insisted, hands coming up to grab Bobby’s hand at his throat. “I don’t short. It’s bad for business.” He certainly didn’t short people who throw him around like a rag doll for crying out loud. He didn’t have a death wish.

“You’re going to give me a replacement for free,” Bobby sneered, “aren’t you, pretty boy?”

Eddie tried to yank on the football player’s hand to get him to release him, but the white knuckle grip refused to budge. “I can’t give you shit, man. My supplier would kill me. I’ve got more to think about then just one customer.”

He could see the punch coming and knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. He closed his eyes against the pain he knew was coming.

But the pain never came. He peeked out of one eye and was shocked to see Steve Harrington holding meathead’s wrist. They were both stock still. Which Eddie couldn’t figure it out, he had to open his other eye to see the full tableau in front of him.

Steve had a grip on Bobby’s wrist, that was certainly true, but that wasn’t what had the football player by the short and curlies. Oh no. In Steve’s other hand was a small but very deadly pocket knife. A knife that was current pressed to the ribs on the side of the raised arm. Suddenly Eddie was feeling weak in the knees for a very different reason.

“Hey, Bobby,” Steve said cheerfully, “you weren’t going to hit someone because you’re too shit poor to buy your own weed, were you?”

Bobby looked down at the knife in Steve’s hands and then back up at his face. Bobby snarled and moved to wrench his hand out of Steve’s grasp, but the blade dug deeper. He stopped again and looked over at Eddie who was just as shocked he was at the whole thing.

Like where the fuck did Steve get that knife and why was he carrying it in the first place?

“You going to stick up for this trash, Harrington?” Bobby hissed. “Wheeler made you soft.”

Eddie and Steve both look down at the knife in Steve’s hand and then back up at the football player.

“Just because I’ve been putting my foot down more on the bullying lately,” Steve said, pressing the knife a little further causing Bobby to wince, “doesn’t mean that this is new. I’ve always called you assholes out on it, but now I’m doing something about it. So why don’t you run along and tell all your friends that the king has returned.”

Bobby’s eyes went wide and he nodded. Steve released the wrist first and then stepped back. He waved the knife, indicating Bobby should get a move on and he did. He ran like hell.

“Marry me!” Eddie squeaked as his knees buckled in relief.

Steve dropped the knife and surged forward to catch him before he hit the ground. Just then Jeff showed up and stared at them for a moment.

“Uhh...” he muttered. “Did I miss something?” His tongue worried one of the brackets on his braces as both Eddie and Steve turned to him.

Steve turned a bright shade of red when he realized how this might look to someone else. He helped Eddie get his feet under him and then took a step back. He ran his fingers through his hair and side-eyed Eddie.

“Maybe ask a guy on a date first, yeah?” he murmured before taking off, scooping up the knife up on his way out. Leaving behind two very confused metalheads in his wake.

Well, one confused metalhead and one confused and horny metalhead.

Jeff turned to Eddie. “You want to tell me what the fuck that was about?” He jutted his thumb at the space in the trees that Steve had vanished into.

So Eddie told him.

“And um... I didn’t get my ass beat so...our King is some flavor of queer?” He meant that as a statement, but it came out as more of a question, because holy fuck that was crazy to think about.

Jeff looked at him for a long moment. “I understand you are currently having a gay panic right now, but um...shouldn’t you be more concerned with the fact that he had that knife on him in the first place? Because seriously, does Steve Harrington seem the type to be carrying around any kind of weapon?”

Eddie blinked a couple of times before he turned to look down the path both jocks had taken with a tinge more fear then he had before.

“That is a fair question, Sir Jeffrey,” he agreed. “But as it has saved this lowly jester’s ass, let’s give our king a pass, shall we?”

Jeff licked his lips slowly and then nodded. Because whatever happened to Steve that frightened him enough to start carrying a knife to school with him, he would much rather not know.

~

News spread fast. Steve Harrington was not to be trifled with and if you were caught bullying, he would make it his problem.

The faculty noticed, because how could they not. When someone makes it their one man mission to make the school safe for everyone, it wasn’t hard to see the changes wrought.

Only soon it wasn’t just Steve. The group that had included Nicole, Tina, Carol, and Tommy H. who were once the worst of the worst would patrol the halls between classes.

Eddie and his band of Freaks and Nerds were more than a little shocked when they were included in the protection. Because let’s face it, even other marginalized groups tended to push him and his friends around.

Well they tried. A couple of well aimed punches and threats of not selling to them or their friends usually got them to back off. But this was real protection, not just a cat puffing up his fur to look bigger and meaner than he was.

Hawkins High had an honest to Satan knight protectorate. Fuck.

Eddie thought those were only existed in fantasy novels and D&D campaigns. And if there was a gang of knights errant in Eddie’s next campaign with the names, Thom, Stephan, Nicolette, Caroline, and Christina, that was between him and the members of the Hellfire Club and no one else.

He thought he was going to catch shit for that from his friends, but apparently Sir Steve had won over their hearts as well.

However it was only a matter of time before the bullies got creative. Because some people just like to torture they find inferior.

They would hip check their targets into the lockers, always with a “Whoops!” and a sneer. They would knock their shoulders into them with a “Watch it!” and a smirk. They would whack books and lunch trays out their hands with a “Sorry...” and a grin.

Steve’s merry band would always check on the victim, but they really couldn’t say shit, because it could have been an accident. Though really, they weren’t fooling anyone but the teachers.

Eddie could see it coming to a head sooner rather than later and god, he hoped he got to witness it first hand.

~

Part 3

Tag List: CLOSED

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2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @gringa-rae-jepsen @bluelightsinthevoid @mamafaithful @allmyworldsendwithtears @xxbottlecapx

10- @sadisticaltarts @yeahhhh-suga @ohimamarigold @imamixofeverthing @samsoble

[bard-llama]

WiP Wednesday: Toph in S1 AU

I literally just wanted to write Toph in season 1 of atla lol. So... here’s what I got so far.

Premise: They hit up Gaoling after Omashu and find the Earth Rumble and go looking for Toph. And they know they don't need an earthbending teacher just yet, but like, while they're here, they may as well, right. And then Toph ends up running away with them and is there from episode 6 (the one with Haru and the prison rig with the warden voiced by George Takei) on.

The earthbender that the Avatar had added to his group was incredibly irritating. Since she’d joined, Zuko had barely gotten close to capturing the Avatar at all – and now… now she mowed down pirates with ease and took out Zuko’s sailors with precision and finally, he and Uncle were left surrounded by the Avatar’s group.

This was far from ideal, but they hadn’t lost yet. Uncle was the Dragon of the West, and while Zuko wasn’t anything comparable, he could at least back his Uncle up.

“We surrender,” Uncle said serenely.

“What!?” Zuko shrieked. “We do not!”

Uncle’s elbow jabbed into his side. “We surrender,” he said again.

“Uncle–”

“Peace, Nephew,” Uncle said. “I trust the Avatar’s group shan’t be nearly so dishonorable as the last time we were surrounded.”

Zuko hissed out a breath that steamed.

“Of course we won’t be dishonorable!” the Water Tribe girl snapped. “You’re the dishonorable ones!”

Zuko’s next exhale carried a flame and he glared coldly at her.

The Avatar just looked curious. “What – what happened the last time you were surrounded?”

“None of your fucking business,” Zuko growled, but Uncle, of course, decided to do his own thing.

“Ah, it was a result of my foolishness,” Uncle said easily with half a laugh, as though admitting to being fallible wasn’t unheard of. “I ended up captured by a small Earth Army squad. When my nephew found me, they were about to crush my hands.”

“What?” the Avatar’s group all startled.

“It’s a common Earth Army practice against firebenders,” Zuko grit out. “Crushing the bones crushes the chi lines.”

There was horror on the faces of those surrounding them and Zuko didn’t really know how to feel about the fact that they didn’t know.

“Have you been living under a rock?” he demanded. “This isn’t new. The Earth Army’s playbook literally recommends always aiming to crush bones. It’s the most common cause of veteran discharges. Usually they aim for arms and legs, but some soldiers will go straight for the chest. Others like to aim for the skull. They–”

“Enough!” Uncle said firmly and Zuko blinked, realizing–

“I’m sorry, Uncle,” he said softly, shame-faced. He should’ve known better. Of course Uncle wouldn’t want to hear about how the Earth Army crushed Fire soldiers, not when–

The anniversary of Lu Ten’s death wasn’t that long ago.

Zuko swallowed hard and repeated his apology, feeling vaguely sick.

On the bright side, their attackers appeared wholly frozen, horrified and disgusted.

“No,” the Avatar said quietly, shaking his head, eyes wide. “No, it can’t be. They can’t – surely they can’t–”

“Ah,” Zuko suddenly realized the issue. “You think because they’re your allies, they must be good?” he snorted. “There is no honor in war. All parties excuse the inexcusable because it’s done to their enemies, who obviously deserve it.” His voice was scornful and Uncle looked at him in surprise, but this was something Zuko had figured out long ago.

Sometimes, he was glad for his banishment, as it meant he very explicitly was not part of the war.

He wondered, in his darkest moments, how Uncle and Lu Ten had felt commanding armies when war was so – so–

“There is no honor in war,” he repeated, not looking at anyone. There was no honor in the genocide of the Air Nomads or in the crushing of bones or in the prisons that cut benders off from their elements or in the labor camps that drove prisoners to their deaths or in the burning of crops and farms or–

“You’re,” the Water Tribe boy started, looking at him oddly. “Are you… against the war?”

Zuko’s eye widened. “I never said that!” he insisted, fear clawing up his throat. To say as much was to commit treason. He would never do that.

“But–” the boy’s face scrunched in confusion.

“Can we just – get back to fighting?” Zuko asked plaintively.

“We surrendered, Prince Zuko,” Uncle reminded him and he scowled.

“No,” he refused. “I surrendered once. Never again.”

Uncle inhaled sharply, but it was the earthbender who spoke.

“What does that mean?” she demanded.

“What do you care?” Zuko snapped.

She stared at him with sightless eyes, and it was really creepy, actually. “You’re Prince Zuko, right? I’ve heard of you.”

Zuko stiffened. He knew the story of his scar – well, a bastardized form of the story, anyway – had circulated through the Earth Kingdom, but would this unwashed brat really know it?

“Is it true,” she started and he was already cringing before she finished, “that you found that missing noblewoman in like a day after everyone else had been searching for weeks?”

Zuko blinked. “It was two days,” he corrected blankly. “You – how do you–?”

It had been early on in his banishment when they’d ended up having to go slightly inland to the Earth Kingdom city of Ni Mao to get supplies. They hadn’t advertised who they were, given that it was Earth Kingdom territory, but they hadn’t really hidden it either. Or at least, Zuko hadn’t.

So he’d been wearing his armor when he’d walked into the market, where dozens of people were gathered in front of a well-groomed man standing on a box. “A sackful of gold to any who can find my daughter,” the nobleman had declared and look, keeping his ship afloat was difficult with the budget that Father allowed them and a sackful of gold was a lot and really, how hard could it be to find someone?

So Zuko had listened intently as the nobleman explained what had happened. And then he’d started searching. Few people wanted to talk to him when he was so obviously Fire Nation, but he was good at eavesdropping and tracking and it hadn’t taken long at all to find the noblewoman, who had been ‘abducted’ by her lover (and gardener).

Honestly, Zuko had felt kind of bad bringing her back. He knew exactly how awful nobility could be. But she’d agreed to return to her family (apparently living with her lover hadn’t been all she’d hoped for), so Zuko had gotten the reward. And, weirdly enough, a letter of recommendation from the nobleman.

So the next time they were running low on funds, he perused the wanted notices posted and decided to give it a try.

Turned out, he was pretty good at finding people. And bounties paid well.

“I know her,” the earthbender shrugged, then held her head high and introduced, “I’m Toph Beifong. Nice to meet you.”

Zuko blinked. “You’re a noblewoman!?”

She grinned and it was not a friendly grin. It sent a shiver down his spine. “Yup.”

I have 0 idea as to where this is going. I just wanted s1!Zuko to have to deal with Toph. The others are just a bonus lol

[fan-girl400]

Here we are my friends, it’s the final chapter: a sweet little honeymoon epilogue.  Pink and I have loved writing this story and reading all your comments (which we are behind with responding to but we read them all and are working on responding to all we promise) 

Chapters: 10/10 Fandom: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton & Penelope Featherington Characters: Colin Bridgerton, Penelope Featherington, Daphne Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton Additional Tags: Kink Inc, Nick Bateman is a gentleman and a scholar, Do you love me now that I can dance?, sugar bomb, Fluff without Plot, when one has a horny thot they should declare it fervently assuredly loudly, Polin puppy love, this is a story about clowns, spicy honey, s1 au, What if Penelope was cared for and never needed to become Lady Whistledown?, Colin “Certainly not! I am a gentleman” Bridgerton, Not completely innocent but not completely smutty…, They’re naked but it’s a sweet kind of naked Summary:

Penelope never expected to spend her first season with the Bridgertons.

And Colin never expected that the young debutant would capture his heart, one dance at a time.

[dean-winchesters-adhd]

Just posted the last four chapters of my autistic!Dean fic, Celebration Day‼️Wrapped up at 37,300 words.

Also there's another story for this AU with Destiel and background Sabriel called The Watchers which I recently rewrote. Check it out!

[donteattheappleshook]

Not Broken At All Chapter 14/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Sorry for how long this chapter took - It was literally just writer’s block this time. Strap in friends we’re getting into the dark(er) parts of Neverland. 

Thank you thank you thank you thank you always @the-darkdragonfly and @elizabeethan for your help with this feral fic 😘

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Part 14

It’s silent as they make their way back through the jungle, none of them finding words to fill the quiet, not in the wake of devastation of the day’s events. She’d forgotten her son. Killian had forgotten… something. Something he’d never even know to miss now - because of her. He’d done it for her. And for Henry. 

Emma looks back at where he trails behind them, the flowing robes of the fairy court replaced with his usual leather, his hook silver once more, a faint glimmer in the darkness. He’s lost to his thoughts, not looking ahead as he follows the unmarked path back to the Jolly by memory. 

Hardly any light makes it through the canopy of trees, the darkness playing tricks on her mind, time losing meaning. How long had they been in the fairy court? How many hours - days even? With the way time works here, Emma thinks she might never truly know the answer.  

She watches as he casts a glance over his shoulder, staring at where they came from, the faint glow of the Solstice lights long faded now, then turns back, brow pinched tight in confusion, frustration tugging at his jaw - like he’s forgotten something, left something behind in that forest and aches to go back for it. Her eyes burn. Wendy sees it too, watching Killian with a sorrowful expression, grieving in his place - because he can’t and someone should mourn what he’s lost. 

Tinkerbell stumbles, sweat beading her brow, pale with exhaustion and Emma winces, nodding when Wendy insists they need to stop - just for a minute - she promises when the fairy tries to protest. But the sigh of relief she lets out when the young woman - now once again in her disguise of matted hair and shadowed features - helps lower her down into the grass and leaves. 

It takes Wendy a moment to coax Hook into sitting on a fallen log, flinching when she first touches a gentle hand to his arm, resisting a light tug as she guides him away from the path - still looking back. “It’s okay,” she promises. “I kept them safe for you- every single one.” 

He looks at her then and something passes between them, something private and intimate that Emma doesn’t think she’ll ever understand, born of centuries of friendship and trust. Wendy’s voice is low when it weaves through the grove to her ears, so soft she wouldn’t have heard it were it not for the deafening silence still wrapped around them.  

“They can’t be forgotten so long as someone remembers, right?”

“I don’t know which parts of her are missing,” he confesses. He sounds scared, like she’d been when she’d felt Henry fading away and she wants to help him, even if she doesn’t know how. But he has Wendy. It’s not Emma’s place to comfort him. 

“It was a year after you met her in the tavern - almost exactly.” Emma looks away, feeling she’s intruding, hovering awkwardly in the middle of the field.  “You promised yourself you wouldn’t ask her again, that you’d stop after the last time she said no - not when she’d be leaving Bae behind. You wanted to be selfless for her.”

She shouldn’t hear this, it’s not meant for her. But the words find their way to her regardless and she’s lost for a moment to the faint memory of a heart inked onto skin, a dagger run through it, a portrait of dark hair and laughing eyes. The name he’d given up in that cave. Milah.

Killian gives a single huff of self-deprecating laughter. “I suppose I failed.” 

She considers sitting with Tink, but the glare the fairy gives her when she takes a hesitant step towards her, makes her think better of it. 

“No. You were going to let her go and make the decision for her - like an idiot. You didn’t even go to the tavern.”

“But she did come. We had ten years, didn't we?” The fear creeps into his voice again.

She finds Will, sitting a few dozen feet away, watching the two of them, longing in every line of his face, and plops down beside him, wrapping her arms around her leather-clad knees, missing the flowy skirts more than she expected. 

“Oh yeah. She found you. Barged onto your ship and cussed you out for being a coward.” 

“That sounds about right.” The gentle grief and the longing in such a simple sentence aches deep in her heart. Whoever she was to him, he loved her completely. 

“You’re pining again,” Emma teases, trying to block out their voices.

His eyes are fixed on the captains whispering softly across from them, heads bent low and close, voices still finding them in the quiet. 

“You fought. Or at least she yelled at you until you finally told her why you didn’t come, why you were leaving. Then she yelled at you more.” Emma chances a glance at them, catches the small smile tugging at his mouth. 

She nudges Will’s shoulder with her own when he doesn’t answer.

“He abandoned her.” William’s hissed words catch her off guard, his eyes still glazed, but they’re clearer than they’d been in the Fae realm, and she thinks that maybe his high has taken a downward turn. “He just left her here. Alone.”

“... She asked you to take her with you.” 

Emma glances at Wendy and Killian again. She doesn’t think they can hear, or at least they aren’t listening, too wrapped up in their own conversation. “I know.”

“She hears the Lost Boys now.” 

“I know.” 

“...She asked me?”

“Do you remember why?” 

“No…”

“She hears them because of him. And still he gets to be… I’ve never abandoned her. I’ve been here. I’ve -” he doesn’t finish, but it’s not hard to guess. “She’s never let me in. I’ll never know her like he does. No matter how long I’m by her side, how many times I try to prove it to her…”

“... Because he’d never have let her go. But you would.”

“I’ll never be him.” He looks down at his hands, pulling apart a stray leaf with intense concentration. “So it’ll never be enough.” It takes her a moment to realize what exactly she’s seeing in his expression.

“If it made her happy, if it was what she wanted.”

“You’re jealous?”

“You’re not?” 

She’s about to argue - that it’s absolutely ridiculous that she could be jealous of Killian’s relationship with anyone. She’s only known him a matter of days, and he and Wendy’s relationship is completely platonic anyway. But Will knows that. It’s the depth of their relationship he longs for, the complete trust and openness they share. 

“You’d choose her. Even if it meant losing her.”

She’s never trusted someone so completely, never let someone know her so intimately. She nearly did, once. But Neal’s betrayal had only reminded her how dangerous trust could be, shown her how vulnerable being vulnerable could make her. 

“You loved her. More than he’d ever even tried to.” 

“I…” Emma doesn’t even know what she’s feeling.

Will freezes, alert for the first time since this morning. “Where’s Tink?” 

Emma turns to look at where the fairy had just been, the patch of grass empty, Wendy and Killian suddenly on their feet, hands at their swords, tension rolling through the jungle. A hand comes over her mouth, an arm wrapped around her waist as she’s dragged back into the trees, fighting only for a moment before she hears Will’s voice low in her ear. “Quiet.”

Kneeling in the dirt, he keeps his hold on her, doesn’t move his hand from her mouth, hiding them behind dense trees and tall grass, his body stiff against her back, his heart pounding so hard she can feel it. It’s not until she hears the rustle of leaves, of twigs snapping under footsteps that she realizes what’s made him so terrified. 

“Pan. To what do we owe the displeasure?”

Pan. She can’t fully see him - straining against Will’s death-grip to try to get a better view - but there’s a laugh, young and cruel, that floats through the darkness. 

“I heard you were back and I had to see it for myself.”

“Aye, well, now you have, so you can take your leave.” 

“Is that all the time you have for your old friend?” 

“We were never friends,” Killian reminds him grimly. 

Pan tuts, like they are old friends, like it’s an old, inside joke. “Captain Darling,” he greets Wendy. “Or is it lieutenant now? I must say I’m almost disappointed by your demotion. I’d grown quite fond of having you as an adversary.”

“That makes one of us.”

Another laugh. Emma twists against Will’s arm, tugging at the hand over her mouth, but he’s unyielding, and she glares into the darkness because she can’t glare at him, debating licking his palm like a five year old.

“What do you want, boy? I’m in no mood for games.” 

“So defensive. And after I helped you find your revenge you’d been after for so long.”

Killian scoffs, biting out his answer. “You didn’t do anything but send me to a swift death.”

“I sent you with everything you needed.”

“You lied.” 

Emma does lick Will’s hand this time. It only tightens against her. 

Pan sounds almost offended, but his amusement is thinly veiled. “I didn’t lie. I told you your villain was in a realm without magic and gave you the poison you wanted.” 

“He was supposed to be powerless.” 

“I never actually said he’d be powerless. You assumed he would be. And I take it you assumed wrong.”

 Killian doesn’t answer for a long moment.  “You cheated.” 

“You didn’t pay attention to the rules. I’d think you’d be better at making deals, what with all that time spent in the Fae lands.” 

“Have you just come to brag? Because I believe that could have waited until morning.” 

“I merely came to thank you for delivering the boy to me. You fulfilled your duty admirably - Though I’d have preferred not to wait a decade.” 

Henry. He has Henry. Emma squirms, trying to break free, to stand and demand Pan bring her to her son - or just wring his stupid, sadistic neck. She jabs an elbow into Will’s ribs and he lets out a shallow grunt before pulling her against him, squishing her arm between them. 

“The time passed was Neverland’s doing, not mine. Though I must say I’ve found it much changed. The jungle seems to have taken on a life of its own.” 

Shut up, Killian, she wants to warn him. But she can’t. She can barely even move. How the hell is Will this strong? He’s like a hundred pounds soaking wet. Is there some Neverland gym she isn’t aware of? She’d be impressed if she wasn’t so pissed off. Pan hears the mocking in Killian’s words too, his answer less friendly than before. 

“Things in Neverland don’t change - but the minds of grownups easily are. You must be misremembering after so much time away.” He’s lying. If they didn’t know it for certain before, they do now - he’s losing control. 

“Aye, that must be it.” There’s pause, the three of them staring each other down, Wendy’s hand still braced on the hilt of her sword. “Was there another reason for your visit? Or were you just here to corroborate my return and deliver your thanks?”

Pan lets out a tisk. “I came to let you know that you should expect some new additions to your crew soon.” She feels Will’s harsh breath against her ear, his hand slackening over her mouth and despite her earlier struggles, the absolute terror she can feel in the stillness of his body makes her keep her mouth shut, keeps her rooted to the spot. “There’ll be a hunt tomorrow. I trust you’ll make the necessary preparations to receive the survivors.” 

Killian doesn’t speak, and for a moment silence hangs between them. Emma doesn’t dare to even breathe. Wendy finally answers, the word heavy. “Aye.”

“Excellent,” Pan says, all that false friendliness back. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ve preparations to make myself with it being the new boy’s first hunt and all. Always so much more exciting to see how they do the first time, isn’t it?” Will’s hand is immediately firm on her mouth again. What hunt? What survivors? What the hell is he having Henry do tomorrow? 

“I wouldn't know,” Killian answers darkly. 

“Ah, but lieutenant Darling does - And so does young Scarlet,” he adds, casting a glance in their direction and Emma tenses, finally able to see him properly. 

He’s so much younger than she expected, small and thin with wide eyes and a tanned, rosy-cheeked face. He looks like a child, soft blonde curls falling over his eyes, just a little boy, not much older than Henry, incapable of the cruelty she’s been told about.  

“... Wherever he is,” Pan finishes with a wry, boyish smirk. “Not like him to miss a Solstice.” He turns back to Killian and Wendy. “Until tomorrow then,” he promises, before disappearing into the trees. 

No one moves for several minutes after he leaves, watching the forest and the sky, waiting. It’s not until Tink returns that Will lets out a breath, finally dropping his hand, looking at it and then her in disgust before wiping his palm over his shirt, muttering something about ‘disgusting’.

“What’s the hunt?” she asks him. “Will,” she presses when he doesn’t answer. “What was he talking about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says, standing and making his way over to the others. She follows - not letting him ignore her. 

“He mentioned Henry.”

“Are you alright?” Killian asks her, looking panicked and relieved at the same time. 

“No. What’s happening tomorrow?” she demands. “What’s it got to do with Henry?”

“Your boy’s not in danger, Swan,” he promises. “Pan won’t harm him.”

She knows he’s not lying. But he’s hiding something. “Killian…” He scratches his nails through the scruff at his jaw, avoiding her gaze. “What’s the hunt?”

Tinkerbell answers her at last, blunt and to the point as she’s come to expect. “Every few months, whenever some of the Lost Boys have gotten too old, or there are too many of them, Pan thins them out.”

“Thins them out?”

 “It’s vile and barbaric,” Killian hisses. 

“Tell me.”

“The older boys are forced to find their way from the camp to the beach while the younger ones try to prevent them from reaching it. Those that make it, become members of the crew, like the men you saw yesterday.”

“And the others…” 

“Are killed,” Tink says flatly. “It’s called a hunt for a reason.” 

She’s not sure she’s breathing - images of a cruel massacre painted as a game flashing in her mind, growing worse with every one. 

“Swan,” Killian tries carefully, standing and shortening the distance between them. “Henry is only ten - and Pan chose him for a reason. He won’t be hunted.” 

“No - but Pan said - he’ll want him to… he’ll be expected to hunt won’t he?” Panic sets in, unable to steady her shaking hands and racing heart, unable to fill her lungs, constricting in her chest. Pan’s going to make Henry hunt other children - he’s going to make him kill other children. She thinks of her son, so young and kind and happy, imagining all the ways Pan could twist that thirst for life and adventure into something dark and sinister. She turns towards the jungle. “We can’t let - we have to stop him - I -” 

Will grabs her again, stopping her from running she doesn’t even know where - wherever Pan’s camp is, if she could even find it. “Let me go,” she orders. But Will’s hold on her tightens. 

“I swear to god, if you lick me again…” 

“Let me go.” 

“You can’t go after him, Emma,” Wendy says, having the decency to make it sound like an apology. “Not yet. If you try to stop Pan now it’ll be the last thing you do - and everything we’ve done will be for nothing.” Wendy levels her with a look. “Henry needs you alive.” 

“I can’t just let him kill someone!” she shouts, refusing to accept his reasoning, fighting Will with everything she’s got, but he’s a goddamn marble statue, her nails digging into his arms not seeming to bother him at all. She can’t stop seeing it: Henry with a blade in his hand, blood - his or someone else's - staining his clothes, his skin, children being chased and cut down, her son being the one to do it. If Henry does this, if Pan makes him do this - even if he thinks it’s a game… it’ll destroy him. “I have to stop him,” she sobs. “I can’t let him -”

It’s only when Will finally lessens his hold enough to let her sink to her knees, her legs no longer able to support her, that she realizes she’s crying. She can’t stop, her emotions not her own anymore, body shaking and stomach burning. Killian kneels down with her in the grass and the mud and the dirt, arms coming around her, pulling her heaving and shaking against his chest. 

She pushes against him, words barely coherent. “Please. You said you would get him back.” His hold on her tightens, both a comfort and a restraint, holding her together as best as he can and she finds herself leaning into it even as she wants to run. Henry’s in danger. Henry needs her. And she’s helpless. “You said you’d protect him.”

“I am,” he says softly. “Henry has a good heart, love, and a strong will. He knows right from wrong.” 

She wishes she could believe them, knows that her son is a good kid, hopes that what they’re saying is true, that he won’t participate, that he’ll stay out of it. But Will hasn’t said a word, his silence unsettling as he stands stoically looking at the ground, jaw tensed and knuckles white against the handle of his cutlass. 

“Will?” she asks, pulling herself from Killian’s embrace, the cold on her skin matching that in her veins. 

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t answer. How long did he say he was on the ship? Seven years? Eight? And Pan had nearly killed him when he decided to leave. The hunt can’t even be a distant memory for him yet, and his refusal to comment makes her think it might trouble him even now. Wendy puts a hand on his arm, comforting and instinctual and he drags his gaze up to look at Emma properly. 

He sighs. “Pan won’t force him. He’s got this thing about free will - or the illusion of it.” She can tell this is the good before the bad and she braces herself, waiting. “He likes the boys to follow him because they want to. But he can be convincing. And Henry might not know what he’s doing until it’s too late. He might not know that it’s real.” 

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a game. Some of the boys don’t understand that their arrows are real, that their spears are sharp until they’ve killed one of the other kids. And even then…” He hesitates, a pained frown pulling at his brow and Emma reaches for something to hold on to, finding the brace of Killian’s hook that stays steadfast in her grip. “We didn’t know. Or maybe we did but we chose not to believe it, to believe that it was just a game, that they weren’t really hurt, that they weren’t really dead - that it was all pretend.” He winces and her heart breaks for the memories he must be reliving. “Neverland is a place of belief, and Pan can make someone believe nearly anything if they trust him enough.” 

He grows more loyal to the boy with each passing day. I fear soon he will give Pan what he wants if he is not stopped. Tiger Lily’s words echo in the silence as a fear she wasn’t prepared for creeps in. What if Henry becomes a Lost Boy not because he thinks she’s abandoned him, but because he chooses Pan? She looks at Wendy and at Will, both kind and brave like her son, both of whom had been under Pan’s spell at some point in their childhoods. 

“We have to stop it.” 

“We can’t,” Killian shakes his head hopelessly. “We’ve tried before and all he did was decide not to give any of them the chance to run for the ship.” 

“Then we have to stop Henry - make sure he doesn’t play this fucked up game.” 

“How?” Wendy asks, but it’s not really a question, she knows there isn’t an answer.

“I’m going out there. I’ll stop him myself.” 

“That’s suicide, Swan,” Killian tells her harshly. “If he saw you, if he found out what you are - who you are - he wouldn’t risk you coming between him and whatever he has planned for Henry.” 

“Well we have to do something!” she snaps. “If Henry does this then we’ll have lost him already.” 

“I’ll go.” 

The three of them turn, staring at Will in shock. 

“No you won’t,” Wendy argues. 

“Did you not hear the part about it being a suicide mission?” Killian snaps, annoyed.

“For her it is. I know the jungle. I lived there for decades. You forget I was Pan’s right hand for a long time before joining your crew,” he reminds Wendy. “I know how Pan thinks, how he plays his games.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Killian glares.

Will returns it. “Look, I’ve got the best chance out of all of us of getting to the camp. I can warn Henry not to listen to Pan, no matter what he tries to make him believe. I’ll make sure he doesn’t take part in the hunt tomorrow.” 

“You’re not going,” Wendy insists again. 

“Wen,” he starts, and Emma sees Killian notice the ease with which the nickname falls from his lips, the familiarity in it.

“It’s too dangerous. If there’s anyone on this island Pan wants dead, it’s you. The fact that you’ve survived this long -”

“Probably means he’s got a plan for the day I won’t. And this isn’t it." 

“You’re not doing it,” she snaps, the authority in her voice slipping. There’s fear in her eyes now, a desperation turning her order to a plea. “If he finds you - if he kills you I -”

“Wait until morning,” Killian says and Wendy turns to him, betrayal plain on her face. “He’ll be on his guard tonight, perhaps expecting a retaliation for his visit. Go tomorrow when they’ll be busy preparing for the hunt. He’ll be distracted.” 

Will gives a solemn nod tinged with surprise. “Aye.” 

Wendy’s eyes dart between the two of them - hurt, fear, anger - before she storms off, disappearing into the woods towards the shoreline. 

“Great job,” Tink sneers, glaring at Hook before following after her. “I’m going back to my treehouse. Send a message when it’s time.” Emma feels guilt twist her gut. It should be her. Henry’s her responsibility. But she knows Killian would never let her go. He’d probably lock her in the damn brig if she tried. And she doesn’t think she’d survive crossing the island on her own - no matter how much she insists she could. But it can’t be no one. Someone needs to warn Henry, to protect him. 

The two men stare off after Wendy, wearing matching expressions of shame and determination. Will, while still resolute, hangs his head before turning to head back to the beach, but Killian calls his name and he pauses, looking back at the captain. 

“Are you sure about this, Scarlet?”

Will glances at the path Wendy disappeared down before meeting Killian’s gaze. “I know what you think of me, Hook. And you’re right,” he tells him. Fifty years, wasn’t it, that they’d said he’d been with Pan? “I can’t change the past or what I did, but I can bloody well try stop it from repeating itself.” He looks at Emma then, a promise unspoken between them and she mouths a silent ‘thank you,’ a small, self-deprecating smile offered in return. 

“You’re right,” Killian tells him. “You do know what I think of you.” Emma’s about to turn on him, to tell him off, when he adds. “But the boy I knew wouldn’t have risked his life for anyone, let alone a stranger.”

The look that passes between them, the small nod exchanged before Will follows Wendy to the ship is almost one of understanding. She wouldn’t go so far as to suggest they like each other, but the animosity that they’d both stubbornly clung to until now gives a little, teeters carefully towards a begrudging respect. 

And then there’s only her and Killian left, the forest quiet once more.

“I need you to promise that you won’t try and find Henry on your own, that you’ll stay away from Pan’s camp.” Emma doesn’t have a chance to voice her protest before Killian continues. “They’re risking their lives for you, Swan, all of us are - for you and for your son. Don’t let it be for nothing by getting yourself killed and taking away their chance at restitution.” 

Her frustration at being told what to do leaves her in a breath, deciding not to argue with him. But she doesn’t promise anything - she can’t, no matter how much she might want to. Henry is a blind spot for her, she can’t always explain her actions or the decisions she makes when it comes to him, the instinct to keep him safe, to put him first and protect him at all costs overwhelming. 

Killian only nods at her silence, jaw tensing like he knows the lack of a ‘no’ is the best he’ll get from her, the most she can offer. “Alright,” he sighs, accepting, heavy. “The beach is about a half-mile that way,” he tells her, gesturing towards the direction the others disappeared into. “Don’t stray from east and you should reach the ship shortly. You can probably catch up to Will if you hurry.” 

“Where are you going?” Emma frowns, he’s barely let her out of his sight since they arrived. 

“To keep your boy from the hunt. I know where to find Pan’s camp.” 

“But, I thought Will -”

“Will is… noble, more noble than I thought. But he’s wrong to think Pan won’t kill him if he’s angry enough, regardless of his plans for him.” 

“What about you?” 

Killian gives a small, confident smirk, one that doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’ve had more practice evading death than young Scarlet.” Not quite a lie, but not the truth either. He sighs again, like he knows she sees through him. “Wendy cares for him. I won’t let her lose another person she loves - not if I can prevent it.” 

Emma doesn’t answer, a knot tightening in her throat, making it impossible. His display of devotion to the girl he took in when he didn’t have to, risking himself not to protect her, but to protect someone she couldn’t bear to lose - someone he doesn’t even like… Will’s jealousy rings even truer now that it had before. No one’s ever put her first. What must it be like to be loved by Killian Jones? She banishes the thought, Killian nodding at her once, smile weaker now, before turning back to the woods.

“Wait!” I can come with you. The words don’t make it out, stuck in her chest while he watches her in question, halfway between staying and going. She knows he won’t let her, that she’d just slow him down, put him in danger just by being there - someone who doesn’t know the jungle, someone he feels the need to protect. She can’t do that to him, not when he’s going out there for her, for Henry.

She crosses the space between them, the few steps he’d made towards the darker part of the island. Fingers sliding over his cheek, turning his face to hers before either of them can think too long about it, she presses her lips to his, catching the bottom one between her own, sighing softly when he returns her kiss. Mouth warm against hers, his tongue teases gently at the seam of her lips, but he doesn’t reach for her, doesn’t press himself against her like he had in that fairy glen - letting her set the pace. 

His eyes are still closed when she pulls back, fingers sliding to his neck, his breath warm on her cheek, “What was…”

“Just don’t die, okay?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth - a real one this time. “You don’t have to worry about me, Swan. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.” Emma rolls her eyes and his grin widens in amusement. He better be. 

******

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