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il-miele-che-scrive · 5 months

Note

Please have your asks open okay so hear me out

Charles Leclerc x Greek ! F1 driver ! Reader

You can choose the brand anything Ferrari because I want it to be like a little rivalry to lovers . Social media au or not . Reader being in f1 more time than Charles or Charles with rookie reader .

Thank you in advance

Hello!! I decided to go with rookie reader, hoping you'll like it❤️🙏

scuderiaferrari We are thrilled to announce a historic moment in Formula 1 as we welcome Y/n Y/l/n to our racing family! 🚀 Introducing Y/n Y/l/n, the first woman to compete in F1 since the iconic Lella Lombardi in 1976, and proudly representing Greece! 🇬🇷 Teaming up with our Charles Leclerc, Y/n brings a fresh wave of skill, determination and passion to the track. Together they'll conquer the 2024 season with the iconic Prancing Horse🐎

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yourusername I feel extremely honored to become a part of this family❤️

username1 Miss girl has no idea what she signed up for 💀 wishing her all the best tho

username2 A GIRL, GUYS WE FINALLY GOT A GIRL IN F1

username3 I have a bad feeling about this...

↳username1 wtf? care to explain?

username3 By the summer break she'll have hooked up with half the grid

username1 bye I'm not even participating in this conversation, misogynistic brain rot

carlossainz55 Goodluck @/yourusername 💪

↳yourusername Thank you Carlos 🙏

↳username4 Help why does his comment seem kinda salty

username2 wdym salty lol he literally wished her goodluck

username5 I get him tho, a girl stole his seat

username2 what "stealing" are you talking about? his contract expired, they didn't prolong it and went with some fresh blood that happened to be a woman, not to mention you have to be like the best of the best to get into F1, there was def no stealing done

charles_leclerc Exciting times ahead, let's see if you can keep up

↳yourusername Buckle up 🤠

↳username2 now THAT'S what I'd call a salty comment

username5 Charles forgot they're on the same team lol

achi_of_greece Hellenic Hurricane 🌪

↳yourusername I'll never escape from this nickname will I? 🫶

↳username1 NOT Y/N HAVING LITERAL ROYALTY UNDER A POST ABOUT HER

↳username3 Let's see if the hellenic hurricane can keep up with Lighting McQueen

username4 keep up? 🤡 miss girl will beat his ass up

username5 once again, i kindly remind, they are a TEAM!

lewishamilton History in the making

↳yourusername Omg sir Lewis Hamilton I'm gonna cry 🥹

username1 Y/n being a fangirl just like us

username4 she's so real for this frfr

oscarpiastri Finally🥴it was a bit lonely

↳yourusername Hi f2 bestie 🫶

logansargeant What about me

yourusername you know Oscar and I love you!!

f1 A historic day at the Imola Circuit as Y/n Y/l/n, the Hellenic Hurricane, wins the Emilia Romagna Grand Prix! Congratulations to Y/n and the entire Ferrari team for this outstanding performance.

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yourusername A dream come true honestly 😭🙏

↳carlossainz55 Great job👏

↳lewishamilton So proud

↳username4 Someone explain why the 7 (8)times WC and Charles' ex teammate are more supportive than Charles himself

username2 I think it might be an ego thing? He could be jealous? Personally I think it's Ferrari's fault, they kinda messed up the friendship between CL and CS too at the end

username5 yeah Y/n is definitely the 'favorite child' to Ferrari because she's new and they want to focus more on her or smth

maxverstappen1 Well deserved

↳yourusername THANK YOU MAX

↳username6 Why is Max here and Charles is not😭

username1 A GIRL. IN FERRARI. WINNING IN ITALY. I WASN'T READY FOR THIS

username2 The haters are pretty quiet rn

username4 No cuz I was gonna ask if she found a therapist yet... But she might not need it

username6 Excuse me it's been a few weeks and we get a Y/n win already?? I love it here

landonorris Max Verstappen is screaming crying throwing up

↳maxverstappen1 I'm literally not

landonorris You must admit it was refreshing not having to listen to the Dutch anthem again

oscarpiastri Best rookie fr

↳yourusername I learn from the best (even though you didn't have a win in your rookie year)

oscarpiastri Wdym i didn't, i won sprint in Qatar. Not to mention rookie of the year

yourusername Yeah yeah, stop flexing pookie

logansargeant Go bestie

↳yourusername Can't fvck with these hoes cuz they messy 💅

username7 live laugh love Y/n

username1 the Verstappen curse has ended🙏

↳username3 you know it's probs her first and last victory in F1 right?

username1 I just wonder why is Charles so quiet

charles_leclerc Congrats 👍

↳username7 not Charles commenting after people started to wonder why he didn't say anything 😭

↳yourusername How did you enjoy looking at the back of my car? Oh wait, you couldn't even see it from P8

username1 maybe it was better when Charles didn't comment 💀

username3 if that was how my teammate talks to me I'd be pissed too

username1 if this is angrily my name is Ayrton Senna

username2 pls if he was angry, it was only cuz he's in love with her but can't do anything about it

↳username3 he can, they're both single, if he wanted he would've, but he knows they have to keep it professional

username2 that's why I said he can't do anything, literally. i predict a relationship the moment one of them leaves ferrari (or f1 in general)

username4 dude is so in love it's embarrassing

username5 I just know he's thinking about unholy things

↳username7 angry sex lmao imagine

username6 oh to have someone who'll look at me the same way Charles looks at Y/n

username7 okay so my theory is they're attracted to each other okay? but neither of them can talk about emotions, but they tried to have a talk about it, which turned into an argument cuz both are short tempered pookies

↳username3 this is so delusional 🤡 why would they talk about it in that exact moment?

username7 let a girl fantasize

↳username5 quietly manifesting this to be true

↳username2 I'll never believe in true love if this doesn't turn out to be real

username8 No cuz hear me out guys. The LONGING gaze in the second picture? There is chemistry between them whether they admit it or not

↳username6 I totally see it, that is the stare of a man in love with the woman he's just argued with. Look at him. He doesn't look angry. He looks upset. Why? Because they had this argument and didn't make up. Now he's worried they'll get in the cars and something bad will happen either to him or Y/n and... You can imagine how the rest goes

username3 And i thought the previous person was delulu wtf

username9 I can die happily the day I see CharlesY/n happen

↳username7 be careful what you wish for, I feel like it can happen sooner than we'd expect

username10 I need to know HOW didn't Y/n fold after being looked at like this

username11 My friend went to Monaco for the GP and she has a paddock pass, she told me she overheard Y/n talk to some girl from her team that she liked Charles AND they even had "THE talk"™ (which could mean they did "IT"?), but Y/n can't imagine a relationship with him

↳username3 out of all the things that didn't happen, this didn't happen the most

↳username1 I can see that, they're very similar - competitive, short tempered - each of them is like a ticking bomb alone, so in a romantic relationship they would be truly a nuclear weapon (which doesn't mean I don't want it to happen)

yourusername A great day for some karting 🥴 summer break!

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username1 did I gaslight myself that hard or she's really in the number 16?

↳username5 nah, I see that too

↳username2 girlie giving us hints, is it soft launching yet?

username2 16 I'M SCREAMING

username4 enemies to lovers?

↳username3 when were they enemies?

username4 well they never seemed very fond of each other

username3 then just say rivals 💀

charles_leclerc You forgot to mention I won this time

↳yourusername first and last time you got a higher place than me

username4 I can see them having "the winner gets to be on top" kinda bets

↳landonorris 👀

username1 LANDO KNOWS SOMETHING

username11 i told yall, there's too much tension between Y/n and Charles to not be AT LEAST fuck buddies

oscarpiastri What's the longest you can go without being on track?

↳yourusername Mate as I'm writing this I'm waiting for a plane home, won't sit behind the wheel for like a week or more 😭

↳username2 Y/n is dedicated to her job

yourusername είσαι η αγάπη μου❤️🤍

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username1 the red and white hearts?? just saying but they're colors of the Monaco flag

↳username2 and the guy lowkey looks like Charles🤔

username3 looks like Charles? The best you can see is the back of his head

username2 and it looks exactly like Charles' 😌

francisca.cgomes Where credits for the last pic?

↳username4 KIKA WHAT ARE U DOING HERE

↳yourusername Pierre said not to tag either of you 😭 safety reasons or something 🙄

username4 AND PIERRE IS THERE?

username3 Okay, she's in a relationship, y'all can stop shipping Charles with her

↳username5 wdym 💀 this is literally Charles

username3 And y'all say that based on the back of his head, delusional

oscarpiastri @/landonorris and I want an invitation next time

↳yourusername Sorry pookie, it's not for kids

landonorris I'm not a kid

yourusername Then don't act like one

username5 lmao Ferrari had no idea they're getting a sassy queen

username6 Y/n is in love 🥹

↳username2 She's winning, she's in love, what else could a girl want?

username7 Not the soft launch as if we didn't know it's literally her teammate

username1 WHAT.

username2 I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOU.

username3 You know it's totally normal for friends to hang out? I'd take it as they finally made up

↳username2 UP OR OUT

↳username4 they totally look like just friends, sure😐

username5 IN HER HOMETOWN 😭 HE MET HER FAMILY

↳username7 I'm super curious how it went. "Mom, dad, this is Charles my teammate, I hate his guts. Oh, and we're also lovers"

username6 So where is the person who said they can die happily when CharlesY/n turns out to be real?

↳username2 dead probs lmao

username7 The power couple we needed 😭

username8 imagine their PR team lurking onto gossip pages seeing this

↳username1 I know FOR A FACT that the pr people do look at the gossip accounts

username9 Y'all remember how once someone said Y/n will hook up with half the grid? Staring with the teammate is easy, let's see who'll be next

↳username3 Yeah, I'm so surprised it didn't happen earlier

↳username2 stay mad lol Y/n is living her best life with the man she loves

username5 THIS and it doesn't matter that they met through being on the same team

username6 They knew each other before tho! Y/n used to be friends with Arthur, so she def met Charles in the past

username3 Oh so she tried to get with Arthur but because it didn't work out she went for Charles?

username6 That's literally not what I said. She was friends with Arthur. FRIENDS

username3 You know there's no such thing as friendship between a man and a woman?

username6 look at who is delulu now 🤡 I'm not having this conversation

charles_leclerc Partners on and off the track

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username1 Man literally said fuck a soft launch 😭

↳username2 as he should! we've been dying for them to announce it

yourusername Je t'aime 🩷

↳charles_leclerc Je t'aime avec tes défauts et tes qualités

yourusername EXCUSE ME

yourusername DO YOU THINK I CANT USE TRANSLATOR?

yourusername WHAT "DÉFAUTS" YOU MEAN? I HAVE NO DÉFAUTS

charles_leclerc That's adorable ❤️

pierregasly Remind me, who took the first photo? 🤔

↳yourusername Kika did 🫶 @/francisca.cgomes

francisca.cgomes First and foremost I am the biggest CharlesY/n fan

pierregasly But you took the pic with my phone, I am the author just as much 🙄

francisca.cgomes No❤️

landonorris OH

landonorris I thought you won't have the balls to hard launch

↳yourusername The balls are there indeed

yourusername And more

landonorris EWWWW TMI

yourusername 😐

landonorris exactly my face rn

oscarpiastri So that's why Lando and I weren't invited

↳yourusername It's a couples trip 🤷‍♀️ there wasn't space for the Aussie and his emotional support extrovert

oscarpiastri fuck Lando, what about the Aussie and his GIRLFRIEND?

oscarpiastri Because I do have a girlfriend, you know?

landonorris HEY that's mean

logansargeant I can't say I didn't see it coming

↳username1 We all did, Logan

↳yourusername You were literally the first person I told about my crush on Charles...

logansargeant But who said I believed it would work out?

oscarpiastri HE was the first to know?

yourusername And you were the first to know about the night Charles spent in my hotel room in Monaco

charles_leclerc You talk to them about these things, chérie?

yourusername Don't act like you didn't run to Lando to tell him all about it on the next day

username4 So the theories were real after all, the spicy night in Y/n's hotel room was the cause of their argument

↳username3 She didn't say that...

username4 But it's obvious. Look - the night happened, they felt weird about it and boom there goes the argument. It makes a lot of sense

username5 However it happened, I'm glad it happened

username6 What happens now? Are they even allowed to be a couple?

↳username7 wdym allowed lol it's better than if they were from different teams, they'd have to sign NDA or something

username6 Isn't the team worried they'll distract each other or something?

username7 At least they'll be traumatized together

scuderiaferrari 🇬🇷❤️🇲🇨

↳username6 The team is indeed not worried

yourusername The benefits of having birthday during the summer break

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username1 I love the Y/n and Charles/Kika and Pierre friend group

↳username2 they're everything I want fr

username4 okay but I NEED to know whose idea the cake was

↳username2 I would expect it from Logan and Oscar, honestly, but they weren't in Greece with them

↳yourusername ofc it was Kika's idea!!

francisca.cgomes and I'm proud of it

logansargeant It hurts to know you're making new friends 🙄

↳yourusername I figured I needed some girl friend after spending so much time with you and Oscar 🙄

logansargeant Do you even remember about us anymore?

oscarpiastri I bet 10 of your american dollars that she doesn't

yourusername how could I forget? You two still haunt me in my nightmares 🫶

username1 lmao Charles wakes up screaming box box and Y/n wakes up screaming what's a kilometer and shoe thongs 😭

yourusername that's an accurate description

charles_leclerc I swear I once heard you talk in your sleep something about running a mile in shoe thongs

yourusername And I don't even know how long a mile is, so you can only imagine how terrifying that was

lewishamilton Happy birthday to my favorite rookie

↳yourusername Every time you appear in my comment section I cry a little

lewishamilton The good tears I hope?

yourusername happiness tears of course😭

username5 Do y'all think Charles is jealous seeing his gf interact with THE Lewis Hamilton?

↳username2 No? Why? Lewis is Y/n's idol so obviously she's gonna fangirl a lil

username6 Y/n being a WAG and a driver at the same time, iconic

username7 My fav wag duo for real

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 smau #f1 social media au #Charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #Charles leclerc smau #Charles leclerc social media au

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bthump · 4 months

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hello! i hope im not bothering you with this ask or anything, but i really love your blog and the thoughts you write, so i wanted to ask if you any other titles you would reccomend that are similar to berserk (not necessarily in terms of setting, but mostly the Vibe) and deal with similar themes (i watched and read devilman!). i would accept anything tbh, be it a book or movie or a series. thanks in advance, hope you have a good week! :)

Thank you very much, and yeah I'd be happy to rec a few other things I like that have some similarities! Some of these similarities are pretty thin lol, but tbf Berserk is pretty unique, at least in terms of media I'm into, and I've seen some good homoerotic movies recently.

Anime/Manga:

Claymore is compared to Berserk fairly regularly, and it's not just for the big swords. There's no griffguts equivalent, but it's got medieval fantasy monster hunting vibes, similar themes wrt human nature (though more shounen, power of love-esque lol), great action scenes and cool monster designs, and a lot of great female characters with interesting relationships, which isn't similar to Berserk but it's a bonus by itself.

I've also seen Vinland Saga compared to Berserk, and again there's no griffguts equivalent, but there's a very Griffith-esque character who has an AU where Griffith became king the old fashioned way vibe, and a central theme is revenge.

An anon a while ago made the point to me that Light from Death Note is similar to Griffith in a few ways, such as wanting to create a kind of ideal world, and being very charismatic and having culty followers who view him as a god.

Books:

tbh I have a bad memory for books I've read, but here are a couple I read specifically because of Berserk similarities:

I read As Meat Loves Salt by Maria McCann because I was told it had griffguts vibes, and it did. Medieval lone wolf is recruited by idealistic blond mercenary who wants to create a utopia, falls in love with him, and gets fucked over. It's very dark, darker in some ways than Berserk, but it was a good read imo. More in depth post on it with warnings here.

Captive Prince by CS Pacat is known for the author having based one of the characters partially on Griffith, and you can tell lol. It's a fun read if you don't mind or are into the tropey sex slave setting, with an engaging gay romance that has surface similarities to griffguts, though the vibe of the relationship was fairly different to me. But like, the political scheming felt like a Golden Age AU to me. It's been a while since I've read it but for warnings there's rape, csa, incest, and sex slavery not portrayed positively but like, used as erotic scene setting if that's a dealbreaker.

TV Shows:

Hannibal! It's got intense homoeroticism, it's got betrayal, it's got an operatic level of intensity, it's fun to dissect analytically, violence revenge and trauma are significant themes, one character tries to escape his life ruining feelings for the other by killing him, and it's just a great time.

Yellowjackets also has strong themes of violence and how it's a temptation, and though I wouldn't compare any of the relationships to griffguts exactly, there's an intense tragic homoerotic friendship that haunts one of the characters decades later.

Xena has a campy overpowered anti hero dressed in black leather wrestling with their inner darkness and in love with a blonde, also a flirty exes kind of relationship with a god (though that's hetero lol). Not really similar tonally and no griffguts equivalent, but it's got some similar themes wrt violence, revenge, human connection saving your soul from darkness, etc, and it's a gr8, fun show.

Black Sails has a kind of love vs revenge thing going on, as well as an attempt to overturn the social order and create a utopian kingdom. In some ways it's similar in tone as well, often pretty dark and violent, but with some very funny moments, and set in a fictionalized historical setting. No griffguts equivalent, but all these shows are extremely gay.

Movies:

Ladyhawke gets a lot of comparisons to Berserk, and may have been one of Miura's inspirations since he cited Rutger Hauer movies. Starcrossed wolf and hawk themed lovers, medieval setting, significant eclipse, it's got the vibes.

Hellraiser is one of Miura's stated inspirations iirc, and I mean yeah lol. It's the godhand as sadomasochists. Idk that there's that much in common in terms of theme, but the aesthetic is there.

Yk what? The Lost Boys. Homoerotic, campy fun, brooding teen is recruited into a gang and has sexual tension with the leader... that should count.

Star Trek: The Motion Picture starts with Spock trying to purge all his emotions after we can only assume breaking up with Kirk, and failing, and it's a parallel to a godlike being learning to love.

Okay hear me out on this one... Sweet Smell of Success is like if there was no Guts and instead the homoeroticism was between Griffith and the King, and it was set in the New York world of 50s gossip columnists, and look, I recently watched and adored this movie and I want to rec it. And hey, it's about doing fucked up shit to feed your ambition and being pretty and charming while you do it.

The Favourite is about a servant seducing and manipulating her way to power in a royal court, kind of an f!Griffith AU without a Guts if you look at it a certain way. But also it's another movie I love and want to rec based on at least one similarity lol.

Uh, Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence is about a dude wanting to fuck a hot charismatic and guilt-ridden blond guy but being too repressed to go for it? Great movie in general. Also Midnight Cowboy is about trauma induced gay repression while we're at it.

And finally, Paul Verhoeven's sci fi trifecta of Robocop, Total Recall, and Starship Troopers have virtually nothing in common with Berserk in terms of theme, character, relationships, etc. But the tone feels exactly like the Black Swordsman arc to me lol, to the point where I've always said that the only live action Hollywood adaption of Berserk I'd accept is the one Verhoeven directed in the 90s in an alternate universe. Miura was directly inspired by one of his 80s movies that I've never seen, Flesh and Blood, and yeah, I feel like you can kind of feel the inspiration.

I have other rec lists, as well as things people have recced to me often on the basis of similarities to Berserk/griffguts that I haven't checked out yet, in this tag, so I'd highly recommend browsing through it for more media suggestions. And if anyone wants to jump in with more recs for things that remind you of Berserk in some way, please do!

#ask #b #anonymous #not berserk #theme: opinion #if you only watch one black and white movie in your life and you're a fan of fucked up homoeroticism sweet smell of success #is a winning choice

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runawaymun · 2 months

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Not-Yet-Written-Fics Game

Tagged by @camille-lachenille to talk about the various fics swimming around in my soup of a brain that I haven't gotten around to writing anything down about. Y'know, the ones that exist in vivid detail inside my head. So here's a rough list, and you guys can send me asks about them if you want <3

The Kidnap Fam Fic - the one where I finally write down the abduction of Elrond and Elros from Sirion, as I see it, and how 'Love grew' between E&E and M&M, re how Tolkien phrases it, with all the messiness and the fucked-upness and the complex trauma and, yeah, the love.

Celrond get-together enemies-to-lovers speedrun. -- NOT the Celrond arranged marriage AU, of which I have actually written about three chapters. This is, instead, how I see them in a more canon sense.

Rivendell's Tiny Tearaway - another adopted family fic (what's new) but this time it's about Elrond, Estel, and Gilraen.

The Magician's Nephew x LOTR crossover that would make Tolkien spin in his grave and CS Lewis cackle with delight.

Stranger Things x LOTR crossover (mostly centered around One/Vecna and Elrond).

MGME except it's my OC from my sci fi novel.

Celebrimbor Lives AU

Celrondir (Celrond x Lindir) origins fic

Partake Prequel

EDIT: Adding two more that I forgot about

10. The Elrond in Valinor fic + second flight of the Noldor 11. Another MGME but it's just my OCs from my historical fiction novel

Tagging: @lordgrimwing @jaz-the-bard @niennawept @glorf1ndel @raointean @thesummerestsolstice & anyone else who wants to play!

#not yet written fics game

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scary-grace · 7 months

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fic writer tag game

I got tagged by @mirkwood-hr-department for this game several days ago and at long last I have time to sit down and do it, so --

How many works do you have on Ao3?

Sixty as of Halloween night!

What's your total Ao3 word count?

1,958,061. And we're not even halfway through Kairos. Yikes.

What fandoms do you write for?

The Tolkienverse (namely the Hobbit) and My Hero Academia.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

i ain't changed, but i know i ain't the same -- bnha erasermic hanahaki fic

seeking a friend for the end of the world -- barduil zombie apocalypse au

Kairos -- barduil SLOW burn historical haunted house romance set in 1977

Show Me My Silver Lining -- bagginshield band AU (my first grown-up fanfiction)

more than words can wield the matter -- after the Elves return to their forest at the conclusion of the Battle of the Five Armies, a certain elf starts writing Bard some very questionable letters

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I usually don't respond to them in thread, but I thank everyone for them in the author's note of the next chapter, and I respond to specific questions there or on Tumblr!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Undoubtedly i'll follow you into the dark. For now.

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Show Me My Silver Lining. For now.

Do you get hate on fics?

I used to get it, back when I was writing on fanfic.net. I get the odd inexplicable comment these days, but so far I've been lucky on Ao3.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I write smut. I think. Mostly it's the nonexplicit variety, but I recently started using the three Cs when needed, so maybe it's explicit now?

Do you write crossovers?

I do not! The closest I've ever come to a crossover is naming all the non-canon background OCs in my BNHA fics after characters from a certain other manga. Nobody's guessed what it is yet.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No to that as well!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! My collaborators include incredible writers like @lonelyheartsmotel, @dogblessyoutascha, and @corndog-patrol!

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Barduil, no contest. The sheer number of words I've put into that pairing is unreal. The fact that I even have another ship is thanks to the sheer power of @corndog-patrol and e-girl!Mic.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I intend to finish them all, and am trying to finish at least two this week. But as for unpublished stuff, probably the barduil 'a quiet place' AU. I didn't make it too far, and I definitely lost motivation.

What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm pretty solid at writing plot. Nothing makes me happier than leaving foreshadowing lying around and seeing if readers catch it.

What are your writing weaknesses?

As evidenced by my Ao3 word count, I'm not very concise.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't think I've ever tried it. I usually indicate dialogue that's supposed to be in another language with italics.

First fandom you wrote for?

Marvel. On fanfic.net. Dark times.

Favorite fic you've written?

Mm, I think Kairos is still my crowning achievement. But I have to say that I'm really proud of Love Like Ghosts, the first fic I ever wrote entirely in the Notes app on my phone and the first fic where I avoided ever using the main character's name.

I'll go ahead and tag @dogblessyoutascha @phantombstone @sophsiaaa and @melkors-defense-attorney!

#barduil #clown hours

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thisonesatellite · 9 months

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@wistfulcynic tag-summons me and of course i answer. Not least because she has written some of my favorite stories of all time. 😘

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason. <3

OK -- rubs hands. Here we go.

First fic: The road, taken (OUAT /CS)

Look. i was never going to write. i was never even going to get an AO3 account. But then i did (honestly, i'm not even sure why i decided to apply), and then i had this random thought which would not leave, and after three days of constantly imagining Emma and Killian meeting in a bar fight, well--- i wrote it.

Mostly to get it out of my head.

This fic shows very clearly that i was not yet a writer, but i think it also shows the things i would eventually gravitate towards (plot and realistic dialogue underpinned with Feelings), as well as my absolute and unwavering commitment to HEAs, you feel me.

And four short years later here we are, with four fandoms and 37 fics. What have i done.

Last fic: despite all my rage (stucky)

My latest OTP Bucky/Steve hath taken me over and this fic is the perfect illustration of the dangers of telling anyone about anything at all, because i mentioned working on an MMA documentary to @angelicalslayer and she said, "ooooh, stucky cage fight fic!", and then THIS HAPPENED.

i am not sorry.

Only once: Actually, i have two fandoms i dipped into only once.

we build our lives out of chaos and hope (dramione) a sort of homecoming (Leverage)

The dramione fic is an EWE exploration of Draco's and Hermione's lives, both of which get stuck after the war ends and remain in limbo for a decade until they are thrown together by chance. After which they are forced to work out their issues and also face a new threat.

Dramione had the great misfortune that i slid into stucky immediately after i discovered it and got stuck there (hehe). i have been trying to claw my way back to dramione ever since -- i have a really epic fic idea already in mind which i would LOVE to write. Unfortunately i am horribly linear and cannot do more than one fic at a time, and people keep bullying me lovingly into stucky events, so i won't get around to it until next year. But i will write it. i loved writing chaos and hope.

The Leverage outing? i don't know what happened. Stress, too much work, real life drama, and stucky cage fight plot boas came together and needed an outlet, and suddenly i had a Leverage fic.

i am once again not sorry.

Fave fic in most works: we kill the flame (OUAT /CS)

CS is my most prolific OTP so far - although i no longer write it - and this fic i think was by far my best outing. i built an entire world for it, during which i realized i love world building even though it's a ridiculous amount of work that takes a ridiculous amount of time. And this particular sandbox i built is my best one.

Cyberpunk dystopia, plot, action, Feelings, more plot, more action, and then a HEA -- i put all my favorite things into this one, and even viewed from a distance of nearly three years, i still love it.

Fic i wish more people had read: Truth or Consequences, New Mexico (stucky)

i realize that Western AUs are not everyone's cup of tea, so i get why this one is bringing up the rear, it's just that i put so much work into the historical accuracy and transposing the canon into post-Civil War America that i kind of wish more people had given it a try. But i do get that this is a matter of taste.

i'm not angry or disappointed or anything, i loved writing it, and i worked with incredible people ( @angelicalslayer again, she is just that fabulous), as well as participated in my first bang ever, so it was totally worth it. Besides giving me a whole new appreciation for people who write historical fiction, bc omg the work.

Fic i agonized over the most: if you live by the word, you die by the pen (OUAT /CS)

The plot. OMFG the plot. The plot got so loose.

Look. i love wrangling my plot boas, OK? i complain about them a lot, because they always try to strangle me, but all in all i love it.

But. This fic. First of all, i tried a whole new style (noir -- basically stumbling around in the footsteps of Dashiell Hammett and James Ellroy) AND murder mystery AND magic AND linguistics AND battles AND upwards of eight main protagonists (how very LA Confidential of me) and anyway, i nearly didn't survive it.

The only reason i did survive is @wistfulcynic (because she always is) and she is also the only reason that the result is in any way worth reading (BECAUSE SHE ALWAYS IS). In this case she worked harder than ever, but also i tempted her with a linguistics component, because that is how you get the linguists to help you.

Fic that sprang fully formed: a handful of dust (stucky)

i had already left CS and found dramione and was nearly done with writing chaos and hope when i re-binged CATFA and CATWS for the n-th time and finally decided to check out the stucky ficdom. And promptly got sucked into the best vortex ever.

And then this fic just sprang up in my head. No warning. i looked up and there both bois were, looking at me in challenge, going, 'are you going to write us a different post-Potomac ending or what', and really--- what was i supposed to do but nod and write it?

So i did.

And i've been HEA-ing them ever since. (Usually after sending them through various types of AU hell, but as long as they end up happy together, who's counting?)

Fic i'm proud of: all

Look. i'll be honest. i'm proud of all of them, ngl. My writing is not as easily accessible as many others' -- both in style and in subject matter -- but i absolutely love the process of writing and i am proud of every fic i managed to finish and put out there.

Absolutely no pressure tags: @ohmightydevviepuu, @bittersweet-in-boston, @cable-knit-sweater, @mxaether, @greekgeek24 , @angelicalslayer 💖

#tag game #ask game #asked and answered #stucky fic #dramione fic #cs fic #thisonesatellite #satellite q

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childotkw · 2 years

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Hi! I was re-reading Divorce Au and Serpent in these still waters and I was wondering if you had any fem!harry rec? I've been looking for a fic that really similar to your SITSW and I can't find it its so frustrating! Anyway love your AU! (That CS snippet with Voldy grabby hands was everything!)

Hello! The last fem!Harry story I remember reading and really liking was The Historical Importance of Runic War Warding in the British Isles by samvelg.

It's not like SITSW unfortunately - no time travel in that one from what I recall - but it's got a massive amount of world building.

There was also Metamorphosis by pampelmusen. I read the first few chapters aaggeess ago. Harry's about fifteen when she trips back in time and she gets put at Wools' Orphanage, and Tom's his usual self but would we want him any other way? It was pretty good from what I remember.

#ellexa1622 #HP #harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #fem!harry

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sabraeal · 1 year

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I hope you will take this as a fun opportunity and not an annoyance but I was wondering if you had any book recs? I generally read fantasy and have been trying to break into Adult Lit over YA (while still liking YA and hoping to find adult novels with the same engaging settings and brisk pacing but with more advanced prose). Really liked Spinning Silver and Uprooted by Naomi Novik this year, and my favorites of your fics are Seven Suitors (obligatory), pacific rim au, and the snow queen one. I’ve never really read romance before but I’m willing to give it a try, especially if there’s other genre elements at play as well. Do you have any directions you could point me? I appreciate it!

Oh, I always love giving book recs, and thank you so much for giving me some preferences because it's so much easier to direct people when I know what they already like!

My current favorite YA author right now is Frances Hardinge, who writes truly magnificent prose and absolutely amazing worlds. If you like All That Remains, you will probably love the emotional devastation that is The Lie Tree, and a few of my other favorites are Gullstruck Island and Cuckoo Song. If you are a fan of Terry Pratchett, you also can't go wrong with her Fly By Night duology. Genevieve Valentine is another YA author I highly recommend; Mechanique is probably my favorite, but the Persona series is also top notch, and The Girls at the Kingfisher Club has a vibe that cannot be beat.

I haven't yet read Spinning Silver but Uprooted is also a fav of mine; I have a deep love of fairy tale retellings, or stories written to be like fairy tales. On that thread I definitely recommend the Winternight trilogy by Katherine Arden (I have a few quibbles with the story, but the writing is solid and the first book had me captivated for a good 3/4ths of it), The Orphan's Tales by Catherynne M Valente, plus A Curse Dark as Gold by Elizabeth C Bunce (her Thief Errant series also lives RENT FREE in my head at all times).

Seven Suitors was fleshed out with Regency mores in mind, inspired by by historical mystery novels I read in that time period, plus some fantasy with more rigid social structure. The Crown & Court duet by Sherwood Smith is something I would consider formative for my writing in that quarter. For something actually regency set, though definitely not the same genre, I would recommend the Sebastian St Cyr series by CS Harris, which are mysteries set in Georgian London, featuring a brooding hero who starts off with an equally brooding, star-crossed actress as a lover...only to have the rug pulled out beneath him by the daughter of his father's long-standing political rival.

My scifi chops are rather thin-- I love the genre but I find lots of the deeper cuts here get too info-dumpy for me on the hard science level-- but I can definitely recommend The Expanse series by James SA Corey (as well as pretty much anything Daniel Abraham writes in the fantasy genre)

As for All That Remains, there are several extremely painful fantasy series I could recommend, because I love having my heart torn out, stamped on, and then taped back in. Guy Gavriel Kay is a great writer for that-- I suggest starting at Lions of Al-Rassan and then working your way forward through that setting by publishing date. The aforementioned Daniel Abraham also is amazing at this; The Seasons Quartet is a decades-spanning series that will truly make your tear out your hair at the end of each book. NK Jemisin is also amazing, The Broken Earth trilogy is where I would start out for intense heart-stomping.

#asks #recs #YA is such a hard genre because so much of what is pushed is like...dystopian trilogies with love triangles #but there's SO MUCH MORE out there #you just hafta REALLY DIG #i tried very hard not to make this like. HERE ARE ALL MY FAVORITE BOOKS #but since you chose the three fics taht i feel like showcase a lot of the writing chops i've picked up from reading #it was HARD

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4getfulimaginator2022 · 2 years

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Saving Prince Killian by Commandante Theresa. CS AU (no magic) with Prince!Killian and Princess!Emma. When Princess Emma's romantic dream of marrying Prince Killian finally comes true, she discovers they are married in name only. He has fallen into a life of vice & debauchery, infatuated with his mistress, the infamous, manipulative courtesan Milah. Only True Love can save him from darkness & Milah's evil influence to become the noble Prince he was meant to be.

Comments: I literally sought this one out to re-read it just last week! It's like a historical romance - funny, smart and smoking hot. I 100% recommend it! So...I was rustling through my Amazon Drive uploads, since Amazon Drive is being retired at the end of 2022, and look what I found! I made a heap of CS fic banners back in the day, and I decided I'm going to do a series of fic recs and repost all these. Some of these lovely writers are still on Tumblr, while others never were. I'll tag everyone I can. Please reblog!!! Please share them. They are wonderful stories.

Banners are by @4getfulimaginator2022

#cs fic rec #cs ff #cs au #cs ff au #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #cs fic #cs fanart #captain swan #please reblog #my art #my fandom art

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snowbellewells · 8 months

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A Birthday Gift for the Amazing Krystal @kmomof4

Krystal @kmomof4 -- I tried and tried to come up with just the right sort of story to write for your birthday, or rec list to make of your works, or gift to send to you in the mail, but nothing seemed quite right. Then an idea finally struck me. I hope you will enjoy it, and that maybe it will feel like the gift keeps on giving as it unfolds: A Krystal's "Choose-Her-Own-Adventure" Story!!! (I don't know if you remember those books where you, the reader, got to choose the different turns it would take at various points in the story.) I'm hoping to gift you a story where you get to choose the pieces and parts you'd like, and I'll craft something that goes along with what you suggest.

So, to start us off message me, or send me an ask, or e-mail me (or whatever you would like :) and answer these questions to start with, and I'll do my best to get your adventure on its way....

Sorry it's so late in the day, but I hope it's been a wonderful birthday for you. You deserve all the celebration possible!!!

Questions to start under the cut:

Overall Type of Fic You Want: Canon Compliant/Missing Moment Canon Divergent Modern AU///Enchanted Forest AU Historical AU Movie/Show/Book AU Other (another type you would prefer)

Other Relationships to Include Besides CS: Captain Cobra Captain Charming daddy!Charming mama!Snow CaptainBook BrothersJones Other (your choice)

Side Characters to Work In: Will Tink Grumpy Elsa Ruby Jefferson Other (your choice(s)

Relationship Tropes to Use: Slow Burn - Mutual Pining Enemies to Lovers Soulmates Childhood Sweethearts Forbidden Love Princess/Pirate or Royal/Commoner Musician or Actor/Actress Other (up to you)

Plot Elements to Include: Bed Sharing (Only One Bed) Isolated or Trapped (huddling for warmth) Love Potion Truth Serum Pregnancy (accidental or planned - you choose) Natural Disaster (shipwreck/fire/flood/etc.) Other

#birthday fic idea #komof4 birthday gift #choose your own adventure fic #fandom shipmate birthday

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ohmightydevviepuu · 11 months

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the part of a swan / chapter seven

It should be clear that Emma did not, by any means, regret her ruination. She did not miss the person she had been before that night; the eager, naive girl, brought up always to behave a certain way, to speak softly, to do as she was bidden, to be what she was told.

Emma no longer believed in allowing people to tell her who she could be.

But Killian Jones is not concerned with who she was–he’s interested in who she is. And he might be the only one smart enough to uncover the truth.

Morning came, followed by the post.

It was Anton who brought it in and handed it to Lord Locksley, looming over her desk with something approximating worry. He glanced down and then quickly back at her: “It’s from Jones.”

It was a parcel, neatly wrapped and tied; Emma let her fingers play idly with the string as she took it, her eyes closed as she stroked down one loop of the bow and refused to consider that he might have tied it himself—and surely he had, to protect its contents if nothing else—or to let herself think of anything else he might be capable of with his clever hands and nimble fingers.

Magic. They had made magic in the darkness.

But she affected boredom as she took the parcel. “Thank you,” she said to Robin.

He only leaned closer. “Are you—quite well, Emma? You look rather peaked.”

Her head throbbed. Her eyes watered. Her mouth did not bear thinking of and all she wanted was something to wash away the dryness. “I’m fine,” she said.

“Are you drunk?” His worry did not lesson but it was joined by amusement in his voice.

“No.” Not anymore.

continue reading on AO3

for @snowbellewells and @kmomof4 and @spartanguard and @tiganasummertree and their amazing feedback. for @shireness-says and the legacy of the @cshistfic. @mariakov81 @lfh1226-linda @motherkatereloyshipper @julesep3026. for @wistfulcynic, @optomisticgirl, @svenjaliv, @thejollyroger-writer -- let's smash these writing goals !!

#cs fic #cshistfic #regency romance #period drama #historical au #historical romance

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iamstartraveller776 · 2 years

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HOHOHO! I can't wait to get to know you better! Okay, let's start with the basics here. Why Captain Swan? And what kind of fics do you like or better yet don't vibe with? I want to make sure you fully enjoy your gift. Do you like a light M or smutty delight? Any folks you do or don't want to see make an appearance? Talk soon! xoxo CS Santa

Hello! I'm so excited that you're doing this! Thank you!

Onward to your questions:

Why Captain Swan? Man, their chemistry was always off the charts right from the get-go! I shipped it right away in season 2. I am a sucker for broken people finding their happily-ever-afters, and CS totally embodies that. I love how they both opened up and changed for the better because of each other. (Also, they're so pretty!)

What kind of fics do I like or that I don't vibe with? I love AU's for these two. Non-magical/Modern AU's, Historical, Fairy Tale, Supernatural, etc. Any kind, really—except for High School AU's. College AU's, on the other hand, are okay! I don't care for canon or canon-divergent stories for this ship.

Even with AU's, however, I do prefer that Killian remains British or British-esque!

Tropes I like: Adversarial Beginnings, Rivals-to-Lovers, Friends-to-Lovers, Fake Dating, Arranged Marriage, Roommates, There-Was-Only-One-Bed, Hurt/Comfort, Mutually Pining Idiots

Tropes I don't vibe with (but totally respect others who enjoy them): Fluff Without Conflict (aka fluff that isn't earned), Pregnancy, Established Relationship, Second Chances (aka Exes reuniting), ABO, BDSM, Assault/Abuse, Underage

I enjoy most anything from light-hearted comedies with shenanigans to darker stories that leave you a bit unsettled.

I'm a lighter M kind of gal. The build-up is where it's really at for me when it comes to intimacy in fic! Go, Unresolved Sexual Tension!

Other Folks: I don't have anyone that I absolutely would love to have in the story or would rather not see. I dislike Neal, but he's important to Emma's history. I ship Outlaw Queen, but I don't need it in a CS story. I love Liam and prefer to ignore how OUAT did him dirty in season 5. I don't get Rumple/Belle, but they aren't a NOTP for me. I like CS stories with Henry, and I like CS stories without him. So, you pretty much have carte blanche here!

This sounds like a lot, but I promise I'm really not terribly picky! Thank you again!

#cs secret santa

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604-52-pl · 10 months

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Formative reminder

Formative #1 — Week 6 August 22nd 2023

Three Cs: The creative, the creation and the creative communities.

Visual research inventory — map or use other graphic systems to present your research findings into creative communities, connecting to you as a creative. These methods might include maps, documents, specimens, scrapbooking, forensic wall, montages, to reflect on your research to date.

You will present and discuss the works of a minimum of five specific examples of work and the creatives behind them that you are interested in knowing more about. the creative, the creation, and the creative communities, and visual components.

The creative: Who is doing the creative practice and underpinning research? Who am I as a designer? What are the influences on me as a designer and where do they come from? How can I unpack the personal design ideologies that cultural shifts, ethics, and responsibility that impact my decision-making? How might I expand my visual vocabulary by understanding the environmental, social, cultural, political contexts of my design influences? Where do I stand in relation to my practice and what do I value?

The creation: What is the nature of my Communication Design practice and research? How do my environmental, social, cultural, sub-cultural, political contexts and influences show up in my work? What key themes, ideas and conversations are speaking in or through my work? What specialist subject knowledge do I want my work to convey? Are there specific techniques and crafts I want to hone within my practice?

The creative communities: Who are the local and global creatives, designers, illustrators, photographers that you want to connect with? What are the influences on them and what engages you in their work? In what (if any) ways as they collaborative and engaging communities? What impacts, concepts, thematics, and organising principles are at play in the creative practice?

1 — CONTEXTUAL ENQUIRY — investigating Develops and articulates relevant links to contemporary / historical concepts and contexts. (i.e. culturally, socially, politically or ideologically). 2 — RESEARCH SKILLS — communicating Utilises appropriate tools and methods to advance and document research materials. 3 — CRITICAL ANALYSIS — reflecting Identifies, comprehends and produces appropriate research materials to inform and support inquiry 4 — SYNTHESIS — integrating Articulate and integrate research thinking, processes and findings, clearly and fluently to present ideas.

reflection: connection - why do you care about the designer

Designers reflection: Saul Bass, US designer - Inspired by his animation (opening sequences), and get me interested in moving image Chris Flack, NZ designer - One of his project is 5 land, using the it as a concept of the identity Daniel Ido, NZ illustrator - illustration is one of the subject that I want to getting better at and his work Creature Creature (Chanel Tang and Ambrose Rehorek), AU creatives - I was inspired by their way of working collaboratively to create a single piece of work. Dane Brennand, NZ 3D modeler - introduce me by work behind the scene and get me interest to the 3D modeling process Each designer are selected from the creative community that I am in or want to be in.

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spartanguard · 3 years

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It's Getting Hard to Be Someone

Summary: Killian Jones lost a lot in Viet Nam—his brother, his hand, his sobriety, and his sanity. He has little hope of reclaiming the last two, until a chance encounter with a little boy—and, more specifically, his fierce mother—at a war protest sets him on a new path.

A/N: It's finally here—my contribution to CS Historical Fics 2021 ( @cshistfic )! I'm definitely a history nerd, and I've always had the idea for a story involving jaded Vietnam vet Killian meets single mom Emma at a protest, and this event was the perfect opportunity to bring that to life. Thank you to the organizers of the event for putting this on! (And be sure to check out the other stories in it!) Warning: this story involves PTSD and alcoholism. But it does have a happy ending. (Title comes from "Strawberry Fields Forever" by The Beatles)

rated T | 11.1k words | AO3

It wasn’t the largest protest by any means—no march on Washington, no sit-in, nothing particularly uproarious—but it still wasn’t small; this was New York, after all. The dozens or so of dedicated young adults did take up a decent amount of their patch of grass in Central Park, holding signs and chanting slogans that all supported the statement carefully, though clearly hand-painted, on the banner behind them:

END THE WAR IN VIET NAM

They made enough noise to drown out the din of traffic from the city beyond the trees of the park, but were still situated in a well-enough traveled area to make a statement, even if half their audience was wide-eyed tourists and the other half was jaded Manhattanites.

Killian Jones, from the view of his park bench, was probably more aligned with the former group, though that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate their drive and optimism. He didn’t think it would work—that they really only had half an idea of what they were trying to achieve.

But maybe, if he hung around them enough, some of that hope would rub off on him. Because it had been a damn long time since he’d had any.

At least, it felt like that. In reality, it had hardly been a year since his discharge; three since he first deployed. But in those few years, he’d lived a lifetime.

He was of age with the protesters, more than likely, yet still felt like an old man shaking his head at the folly of youth. Those trust fund college kids would never know what it was like there, in the jungle—the thick air, the long marches, the bombs the bombs the bombs the b—

He shook his head; if he followed down that train of memory, it’d take ages to get out of it, and he was actually having a good day for a change. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t still be stopping at the bodega by the subway entrance to pay a visit with his friend Captain Morgan (or one of his other, cheaper brethren). But he didn’t need to head for the bottle...yet. Not until his one remaining hand started shaking, so he was alright thus far.

Commotion surrounding one of the park’s trash cans caught his eye; a group of young men were gathered around it, each one sticking the corner of a piece of paper into their lighters and laughing while the sheet went up in flames, letting the ashes fall into the bin below.

Killian couldn’t help but scoff. They could burn those draft cards all they wanted; if their number came up, Uncle Sam wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Perhaps the college kids were a bit smarter than him in that regard, though—he’d actually signed up for the military voluntarily, determined to follow his big brother Liam’s steps and make a name for themselves. Yet all it had wrought him was a lovely case of post-Vietnam syndrome, a medical discharge, and a spot on a waiting list for a prosthesis where his left hand used to be.

At least he’d made it out. Liam’s body never even got out of the jungle. (The official designation was “missing in action”, but—Killian saw what happened; felt the heat of the flames. He knew. And he relived it every night, waking up screaming and sweat-soaked in his secondhand sheets.)

Technically, he was being treated by the VA, and had check-ins and appointments every so often. Normally, he was seen in Brooklyn, where he lived, but there was a day several weeks ago when the phantom pains got too bad to bear and the overladen clinic had no openings, so he had to make the trek out to the Manhattan building. He was taking a walk through the park after, killing time before his train home, when he stumbled upon the small but dedicated rally.

And, for some inexplicable reason, he kept coming back. He was frankly out of fucks to give when it came to considering why. But it was a nice break from the monotony of liver abuse and spinning old 45s on repeat.

He never talked to anyone, though there were some fellow veterans visibly part of the proceedings. And no one tried to interact or get him to protest; his shaggy hair and leather jacket, hand and wrist shoved deep in the pockets, were either off-putting, or suggested he was like-minded enough to not need convincing of their cause.

It got him out of the house, exposed him to some fresh air, and was probably the only thing keeping him from a self-destructive downward spiral.

At least—until it was time to get on the train back to Brooklyn.

Then, he did stop in the convenience store for some bottom-shelf rum. He shuffled down the steps to the subway platform, trying to ignore the ever-present smell of urine and exhaust. Jumped on his train, flopped in a seat, and then uncapped the fifth. The sway of the train always reminded him of riding the Tube back in London, a lifetime ago as a small boy, before—everything.

Generally, he was able to remain mostly sober by the time the train pulled into the station nearest his apartment—at least, as sober as he ever was nowadays. But behind the locked door of the dingy flat he used to share with his long-gone family, the bottle was usually empty by the end of the night, and he was passed out on whatever flat surface he ended up on, the mattress or the floor.

And then he’d awake the next morning with a splitting headache and fading nightmares, waiting for something to push him in one direction or the other.

══════════════════════════════

As time went on, he found himself spending more and more time in the park. Not necessarily at the protest, but walking around, people watching. His caseworker, Robin, appreciated that he was getting fresh air, even if he was sipping from a flask the whole time. It was progress, of some sort.

That said—he still found himself among the dissenters whenever he was there, for at least a little while. He began to recognize some faces, though hadn’t yet worked up the desire (or courage) to try to talk to anyone. Similarly, most recognized that he was best left to his own devices, so while he might make eye contact and be on the receiving end of some half smiles, that was the extent of his human contact on the average day.

Until, one early spring afternoon, while sitting in what had become his usual bench on the outskirts of the demonstration, a small creature plowed into his knee—more specifically, a small child, he determined once he’d gotten over the jolt. (Something he was working on, but it was slow going when the slightest startle brought about a string of reactions more suited for war zones than city parks.)

When he finally looked down at the little lad, it was into a pair of large brown eyes and a wide grin, a set of chubby fingers gripping his knee while the other hand was proffering a slightly bent daisy.

“Fow-er!” the little boy yelled, shaking the stem toward him.

“For me?” Killian asked, his voice nearly cracking in surprise.

“Uh-huh!”

“Why, thank you sir,” he replied, and gently took the bloom from the boy. He tucked it in his breast pocket for safekeeping. “You’re quite the little gentleman, aren’t you?” he asked, smiling and ruffling the boy’s (clearly done-at-home) bowl cut.

(Though it wasn’t like his own shaggy locks weren’t a result of similar efforts—an old, dull pair of scissors and a lopsided, one-handed attempt at trimming his fringe; the rest could grow long so long as it was out of his eyes—or until he had enough foresight to head to a barber before a bodega.)

The boy giggled, but Killian took the opportunity to scan the crowd while he was still somewhat safe in his grip. Surely someone was keeping an eye on the lad, or at least concerned he’d wandered off? Granted, the streets of his neighborhood were full of unsupervised children not much older than this one, but—this was downtown; it was different.

“Lad, where’s your mum?” he asked, shifting his hand to the boy’s shoulder.

He looked over his shoulder and pointed to the crowd, but the next words that came out of his mouth were incomprehensible to Killian’s ears—someone named David? Maybe?

Thankfully, a frantic voice started shouting from the swath of people, and he could see the crowd parting to let someone through.

“Henry? Henry!”

“Mama!” the boy—Henry, apparently—shouted, but made no move to leave Killian.

“Henry! Oh my god,” the woman yelled, and quickly knelt in front of the tot and pulled him into her arms. “Do not scare me like that!”

Killian vaguely recognized the blonde woman, he thought, as being one of the people at the center of the protest. She was young, too, or at least seemed it; but he recognized some of the fatigue of a hard life that hung on her frame like it did his.

Regardless, this wasn’t the place for a kid. If he was right and she’d been around here before, then she knew what could happen at these events—when things got out of hand. And she was just bringing her child into the fray?

“You really need to keep a better eye on him, lass,” he said, fully aware of the edge creeping into his voice.

Her eyes jumped from her son to him in an instant; fierce green was staring at him from behind thick-rimmed glasses. “Excuse me?”

“All these people around, in the middle of the city—anything could have happened to him.”

“Well I was going to thank you for finding him, but not if it comes with a lecture. I’ve got him now. It’s fine.” She stood up and took Henry by the hand, using the other to brush some dirt off her bell-bottomed jeans.

“Look, you know how these events can get out of hand fast. It’s no place for a kid, let alone one who should be leashed.”

He regretted it just about as soon as he said it, especially when her eyebrows nearly jumped into her bangs. “If you have an issue with how I parent my son, you’re more than welcome to leave.”

“Fine. Just keep him safe.” And he got up and stormed away.

Looking back, he had no idea why he reacted the way he did. He didn’t have any particular affinity for children, though he didn’t dislike them. His own childhood was far from glamorous, but he didn’t have any bad memories of parental neglect—his father had left them, but his mum never did, not until she passed. He still wasn’t even sure if he was passionate about the cause.

But...when that little boy smiled at him so genuinely, without any pretense, knowing nothing about Killian, his terrifying past, or his sorry present, it triggered a feeling he hadn’t known since he returned stateside—possibly ever.

Someone simply wanted to share something with him and make him smile.

Despite his lingering anger at the encounter, that odd bit of hope carried him home; even the old woman at the bodega gave him a funny look as she gave him his change (and his rum).

The last thing he saw before he passed out that night, “Paint it Black” spinning in the background, was the slightly beat-up daisy, carefully placed in a glass of water on his coffee table. He fell asleep smiling.

══════════════════════════════

He tried to stay away from the park for a while after that, not wanting to invoke the fiery blonde’s ire; there were plenty of other parks around town—plenty of other people who hated the war. Robin had given him some information on some support groups he might benefit from, and he’d given the information a solid eye, but he wasn’t sure he was enough of a hippie for whatever kumbaya they offered. (Unless they were offering marijuana, too...but he didn’t think that was an appropriate question to ask his caseworker.)

So it was no surprise when he ended up on his usual park bench a week or so later. He wasn’t even thinking about it; he was coming out of a fog—either rum or morphine, he wasn’t sure, but his phantom pains had been hurting something awful that day and the VA was all too eager to dope him up and move him on. Before he knew it, he was floating up the steps of a subway station across from the park, and the varying particles of him didn’t settle back into a solid form until the recognizable sound of dissent reached his ears.

He blinked his eyes clear as the bleariness from the drugs wore off, though thankfully their effect on his left arm lingered. The park and his surroundings were their own kind of balm, too, though he didn’t dare to say anything so sappy as it being “good for his soul”.

He continued to come down as the world rotated around him; probably a good metaphor for his life. But he was dragged back into the goings-on when a familiar mop-top smacked into his legs again.

“Hi!” The little boy from last week screeched, a battered dandelion in his fist. “Fow-er?”

“Again?” Killian sighed, even if the gesture was just as heartwarming as it had been last time. “Where’s your mum this time?”

“For you!” was his only reply as he shoved the flower into Killian’s hand.

“You’re too kind, sir,” he replied, taking it, “but really—we need to find your mum.” Why was Henry here again? Not everyone here would react the same as he did to a small, unattended child running up to them; with as fearless as Henry seemed to be, it wasn’t hard to imagine the worst happening. (And that wasn’t just his intrusive thoughts talking.)

The boy began to babble again, so Killian gently gripped his arm and glanced around for his mother; at least he knew what she looked like this time.

His eyes scanned the crowd and he listened as well as he could, though he wasn’t at his sharpest. Finally, though, he found her, near the center stage as it were—really just some crates bolted together—talking to another passerby in earnest. He admired the devotion to the cause, but not when it came at the risk of her son’s safety.

“Henry, can I pick you up?” he asked the boy, though he realized as soon as he said it that the question was just as much for him.

Thankfully, Henry wasted no time in holding his arms up; Killian managed to scoop up the boy with just his right arm, but instinctively tried to stabilize him with the left—only to hit the blunted end of his wrist. He hissed in pain as stars filled his vision, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been—the morphine was still numbing the pain to some extent.

“You okay?” Henry asked, patting him on the shoulder.

“Aye,” he breathed, hoping if he said it, he’d will it. “Let’s go to your mum.”

She was still in her conversation as they approached, but as they got closer, he saw her eyes widen behind her glasses. She quickly excused herself and dashed over to intercept them.

“Henry! What have I told you?” she whisper-yelled as she pulled him into her arms. “You can’t go wandering off like that!”

“Perhaps you should stop putting him in harm’s way, then,” Killian bit out. “What other strange men has he ran up to while you weren’t looking?”

She glared at him. “Apparently, only one asshole. Maybe I should be asking you why you keep ending up with my son?”

“You can make me your villain if you want, but I’m not the one you should worry about. A protest is no place for a babe.”

“You think I’m just bringing him here for the hell of it? Teaching him while he’s young or something?”

“I don’t know; you tell me. Can’t you leave him with his father?”

“I can’t, actually, because his father is dead.”

Oh. Well that did complicate things.

His eyes darted to her left hand, only to see her ring finger was bare. He could only imagine the judgment she’d faced for that—and was starting to realize why she might have a good reason to bring her son to an anti-war rally.

And a long-lost sense of honor and duty drifted through the haze of his conscience, not to mention a hefty amount of guilt.

“Well, thanks,” she spat, clearly feeling anything but grateful, and turned her back to him to walk away.

“Wait,” he said, though not very forcefully. It was enough for her to pause and look over her shoulder at him. “I know you don’t know me, but, if you want—if you need—I can keep an eye on the lad, while you’re here.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she threw back, and continued away from him.

He swallowed as she left him in the proverbial dust, trying to figure out why her rejection of his offer felt like such a gut punch. He’d been far more disappointed in life and far more traumatized.

And, in reality, he probably shouldn’t have expected even a halfway decent parent to leave their child with a man who was noticeably high, whose hand was shaking with tremors indicating some other issues.

For a fleeting second there, though, he thought he could have some purpose, small as it was. And it was more crushing than he’d anticipated to be turned down.

He shuffled out of the park, following his usual routine in heading home. But when he got to the bodega, he noticed the dandelion in his reflection, tucked into his coat pocket again. He wasn’t even sure when that had happened. But the weed was just enough of a burst of hope that he needed to not give up so easily.

There was something drawing him to that little boy and his mum, and even if he was in sore need of some help himself, if he could assist them, maybe that would be enough to keep him going until he otherwise figured out his life.

══════════════════════════════

A few days later, when he was in as improved a place as he was bound to get, he showed up to the park like normal. He was fairly clear-headed this time, though had his flask nearby if he got too shaky (and took a sip or two as he climbed the steps from the subway platform).

He passed his bench and entered the loose crowd of people at the demonstration, searching for the spirited blonde and her tot. It didn’t take long; she was once again near the center, talking to one of the men he recognized as an organizer of the movement here. Her hand was holding Henry’s, but he was desperately trying to pull his mom in another direction—anywhere but there, it seemed.

She finally relented and turned her attention to the boy, but he quickly caught her eye. He supposed he wasn’t surprised that she scooped Henry into her arms and went on the defensive.

“The hell are you doing here?” Anger flashed in her green eyes, a sharp contrast to her red leather coat.

“It’s a public park,” he quipped back, his own defensive instincts coming to the forefront. But he took a breath and eased off. “I just wanted to reiterate my offer from the other day. If you need someone to watch the lad while you’re fighting the man, I’m more than willing to.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why should I trust you?”

That was a valid point. He hardly trusted himself; lord knew he’d be a terrible role model for any older a child. But— “Is anyone else offering?”

She pursed her lips at his equally true response. “Fair. But why are you? You don’t know me; I don’t know you. I don’t even know why you’re here or what your name is.”

“First Sergeant Killian Jones, United States Marine Corps.”

It was her turn for a wash of realization, apparently, and he didn’t miss the way her eyes gave him a quick once over, lingering on the empty left cuff of his jacket. “I see. They let you into the US military with that accent?”

He scratched nervously behind his ear. “Moved here when I was 13; as long as you have a green card, they don’t ask too many questions.”

“No, they don’t,” she concurred. “Are you sure, though? He can be a handful.”

“Good thing I still have one,” he replied with a self-deprecating grin.

The string of emotions that usually played across someone’s face at such a quip were always amusing to him, and hers were no exception, as she quickly moved through horror, apology, and finally settling on something akin to awkward amusement. “I didn’t mean—”

“No one does; it’s fine.”

The man she’d been talking to earlier shouted out, “Emma!” and beckoned her over.

“Oh, that’s me,” she said, and then turned to Henry. “I’m going to leave you with Sgt. Jones for a bit; is that alright?”

“Okay, Mama!” the little boy answered without complaint, then looked up at Killian. “No fow-er today.”

“Well, that’s alright,” he replied, holding his hand out as Emma—apparently—set him down; the boy didn’t hesitate to wrap his small fingers around Killian’s rough ones. “Perhaps we can find some nearby?”

“Thank you,” she effused again. “I’ll be right over here, in case he needs anything. And just—stay in sight?”

“Of course, Emma.” He liked the way her name felt on his lips. (He wasn’t sure what he thought of that notion, though, sudden as it were.)

She gave him a smile—a tight, small thing, but it seemed like it was rare enough she gave those to anyone other than her son that he ought to treasure it. And then she ran back to the curly-haired guy.

There was another bench nearby, this one with varying weeds sprouting about its base, which meant Henry was quite content to build a bouquet (and put another dandelion in Killian’s pocket). The boy babbled the whole time, and though Killian began to pick up on more words the more time he spent around him, a translator would have been helpful. But he seemed to be content as long as he had someone to talk to, and Killian’s intermittent nods, gasps, and “tell me more”s kept him engaged enough that he didn’t even attempt to wander off.

Eventually, though, the boy took a seat next to Killian, laid his head against his side, and promptly fell asleep. Killian almost couldn’t breathe—partly for fear of waking him, and partly out of shock. It was one thing to enjoy spending time in his company, and for Killian to keep a watchful eye; this was a whole other level of trust he hadn’t anticipated.

(And he had to will away the shaking in his hand, lest it disturb the boy’s slumber.)

Thankfully, Emma came back shortly, but even she was taken aback by the sight. “Wow; has he been out long?”

“Not very, no; I apologize if this means he’ll be a handful at bedtime.”

She waved it off. “He always is; this won’t change a thing.” She came over to pick him up, and the boy automatically nestled himself in her shoulder. “Look—I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you the last couple times you’ve been here; I—”

“Love, no,” he interrupted as he stood. “I made some rash assumptions and rude statements; it wasn’t my place.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t mine, either. But thank you. It was nice to be able to focus on things here and not constantly worry about him.”

“I can imagine,” he said. “Um, if you’d like, I could watch him again sometime.”

Her eyes grew wide, magnified by her glasses. “You’d really do that?”

He shrugged. “Someone has to fight the good fight. And I’ve done enough of that, but if this is some small way I can support the cause, then I’m glad to.” Frankly, he astonished even himself with that statement, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. He went on, though. “I can’t say I keep an exactly regular schedule, but whenever I’m here, I’d be glad to keep an eye on him.”

She smiled again, even bigger than the last one. “That would be amazing. I’m not here every day, either, but whenever we match up—absolutely. Thank you.”

The man she’d been working with earlier came up alongside her then. “You read to go, Emma?” But he was giving Killian an assessing stare.

“Oh—yeah. David, this is First Sergeant Jones,” she introduced, nodding at Killian. “And this is my brother, one of the directors here, David Nolan.”

There was a steeliness in David’s gaze that didn’t relax, even if the man’s posture did; it was a look Killian knew from his own experience (his own brother) of protective instincts. But he still offered a hand, which Killian took, and he shook it firmly. “Thanks for being here,” he said. “Any chance we could get you on stage?”

Emma threw a warning glare at her brother, but he didn’t fault the man for asking. “I’m not much for public speaking, I’m afraid,” he replied—though he feared more reliving those dark days in the jungle. He’d seen enough other vets recount their horrors on that stage, and they barely even scratched the surface; maybe someday, but not anytime soon.

“You’re fine,” she assured him. “David, go on; I’ll catch up.”

David’s eyes narrowed, but then he gave a nod and headed off.

“Ignore him; he’s overprotective but also always looking for a bigger impact to make here,” she said once he was out of earshot. “I get the impression it’s not something you like talking about.”

“Not particularly, no,” he agreed. “It’s...not something I’m much proud of, or much like reliving.” The screams in his nightmares weren’t just his or his brother’s—the things they’d been commanded to do—he squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of memories, but—

“Hey—you’re here; it’s okay,” Emma told him, but it was her hand squeezing his arm that pulled him out of the mental hole he’d started to go down. “Are you—are you getting any help?”

“Some,” he whispered, “at the VA. But...there’s a lot of us.”

“Yeah.” There was concern etched in her brows, but neither of them seemed to know what to do about it. “Well—take care of yourself, okay? Until I see you next?”

“I’ll do my best.” He knew that wasn’t much, but it was something.

“I’ll be seeing you, then,” she said, gave him another smile, and then made her leave.

He turned the opposite way and meandered through the park, giving himself a bit of time to clear his head from his almost-breakdown—and to take some stabilizing sips from his flask. They quelled the tremors in his hand, but not his shaken nerves. He hated how often that happened, but that was the first time it happened in company. At least Emma had been understanding.

What was even more, though, was that she hadn’t judged, and she hadn’t changed her mind about him. She might yet, but—she hadn’t told him not to come back, or that she didn’t want him around her son. That on its own was significant.

Maybe he wasn’t a completely lost cause, then. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t get lost in a bottle tonight, but in general—there was some hope.

══════════════════════════════

He showed up a few days later to a smiling Emma and excited Henry. And again the next day, and then a couple days after. As he’d said earlier, he wasn’t much for a schedule, save for his biweekly meetings with Robin (which he always followed with a trip to the park), and they weren’t there every time he was. She worked in a diner, apparently, and took classes at Bronx Community College a couple days a week. Her sister-in-law usually helped with watching Henry, but she was a teacher and had her own schedule, too, which was why Emma usually brought him to the park. “Figured the fresh air was good for him,” she explained; Killian had no counter to that, given that he always enjoyed the reprieve from his stuffy apartment.

He also learned she was only 20; not significantly less than his 23, though perhaps they were just both old souls. They hadn’t shared their respective traumas, but they didn’t really have to—it was pretty apparent they’d both lived through some shit, and they recognized that fact in each other.

It didn’t take long for them to strike up something of a friendship. He wasn’t sure if he could really be much of a good friend anymore, but he certainly tried, for her sake and Henry’s. The lad could warm even the hardest heart, and there were certainly days—after bad nights, usually—that Henry’s bright smile and chatter were just the balm he needed. And it seemed as though Emma liked having someone to talk to who she wasn’t related to or worked with.

He was a little surprised at how much he enjoyed their company. He’d gotten so used to being on his own in the last year, and some time before that, prior to his discharge, that he’d forgotten what having connection was like. No wonder Robin had been pushing him towards those support groups. He still wasn’t sure he was ready for something like that, but just—talking to someone, conversing with a voice that wasn’t his nor whoever was singing out of his record player, was refreshing.

He even began to understand more of Henry’s stories, and realized that most of them involved his family. He never asked, but given the lack of talk about his father, he had to assume the man had met a fate similar to far too many overseas, and long before Henry could form memories.

After a month or so of these sporadic shared afternoons—with Killian watching Henry until he fell asleep, and Emma joining him for a conversation of some length (David occasionally joining in and, if he wasn’t mistaken, warming up to Killian), she asked him to join them for dinner. “Just at the place I work,” she added. “We get a discount.”

How could he say no? (That, and he wasn’t sure when he’d last ate something that wasn’t a TV dinner—especially ironic since he didn’t own a working television; no amount of tin foil could get those antennae to get reception.)

That too became an intermittent tradition, and he gradually got to know Mary Margaret, David’s wife and said sister-in-law, as well as Granny, Emma’s surly (but caring) boss.

He still had bad days. He still got phantom pains. He still ended too many nights well into a fifth. But things were looking up.

══════════════════════════════

That said, Emma still managed to throw him for a loop. “Are you coming to the be-in on Sunday?” she asked one evening in late March.

He’d seen the flyers for it all over town, even in Brooklyn, calling for a mass gathering on Easter to not so much protest the war, but celebrate life itself (although it no doubt had something to do with the decision made by the city parks department to no longer allow mass demonstrations in the park, as well). “Do you need me to watch Henry then?” He thought it odd she’d try to bring him to something as large as that.

“No, of course not—he’s staying with Mary Margaret that night. I’m asking if you’ll be there with me.”

Oh. Well that was something else entirely. Or maybe it wasn’t and he was reading into things too much. Either way, it felt like a step up from their usual interactions, where Henry was nearly always a buffer, even when he was sleeping on his mum’s shoulder like he was now. (Not like they’d really be alone...there’d likely be thousands of people there.)

“I...guess I hadn’t gotten that far,” he answered. “Should I?”

“I’d like it,” she replied, somewhat shyly. “David will be there too, and even if it’s not technically a protest, I know he’ll be in business mode. But I think it’ll be nice to to just relax.”

And she wanted to do that...with him? He swallowed; he was taking too long to answer and definitely interpreting some other meaning in her asking. They were friends, that was all; and it’s not like he was really looking for anything more, nor was he ready for that.

(But—if he was—it would definitely be someone like Emma: fierce, sharp, determined, hardworking, beautiful...perhaps he had put more thought into this than he realized.)

“Then yeah, I’ll be there,” he finally said. “Do I need to bring anything, or wear anything, or…?”

“Just yourself,” she answered, but then tilted her head in thought. “And maybe some snacks.”

“I think I can manage that,” he said. “What time?”

“Whenever,” she said casually. “I think it starts early morning, but I probably won’t be there until around noon.”

That was sadly considered early for him, but he had an alarm clock somewhere—probably buried in a closet, but it was somewhere. “I’ll see you then, then.”

“See you,” she said, giving him a grin that never ceased to brighten his day.

They parted ways, and he promptly began to overthink his entire existence. What should he wear? Should he get a haircut? Trim his beard, short as it was? What kind of snacks did she like? What did the bodegas he frequented even have?

Bloody hell—it was still a few days away; he had time to figure this out. But, for the first time in a long while, he had something to look forward to—and he didn’t want to mess it up.

══════════════════════════════

On Sunday, just a bit after 1200 (there was a delay in the tunnel getting there), Killian arrived at the park with a paper bag in his left arm and taking a sip from his flask with the other. He’d cleaned up his beard and tried to do the same with his hair, and made sure he’d done his laundry so he had some clean clothes, though his straight-leg jeans were clearly out of style and his tshirt was a faded black (but at least it was soft). Still—he was ready.

Until he saw the mass of humanity across Sheep Meadow and suddenly felt very, very lost.

Thank God he heard his name being shouted; when he figured out where the voice was coming from, he saw Emma waving at him not far away, with David nearby.

“Good thing I saw you, huh?” she said as he got close.

“Aye; I don’t think I’d have ever located you,” he agreed, taking a seat on the blanket they had spread out.

“Nah, we’d have found you eventually; we always find each other,” David said, then nodded at the bag. “What’d’ya bring?”

“Uh, well, I wasn’t really sure,” he started, pulling out items. “But I grabbed some Bugles, some potato crisps, and some Pop-Tarts.”

“My favorite!” Emma yelled, grabbing the box of treats. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he replied, laughing; he’d never really been a fan but supposed someone might enjoy them—he just hadn’t realized how much. (The Bugles were his personal preference.)

They settled in and watched as more people arrived, spread out across the vast expanse of green. Lots of hippies—on lots of drugs—but people from all walks of life, of all ages and all races—even families in their Easter best—filled into the park, which was carefully being watched by police; he hoped their involvement wasn’t necessary, though there was something to be said for the fact they hadn’t kicked anyone out yet.

Truthfully, Killian had worried such a massive gathering might trigger some of his anxieties, but after a couple hours, he was still feeling calm. David had wandered off a bit ago to discuss some protest plans, leaving him and Emma alone and deep in conversation—about music, books, Henry, everything.

He did pull his flask back out after some time; she’d seen his tremors before, but if he could stave them off today, he’d prefer it. “What’s your poison?” she asked as he took a sip.

“Rum,” he replied, following the familiar burn down his throat, then offered her the flask. She gamely grabbed it and took her own long pull, though coughed a bit after she swallowed.

“Yeah, that’s rum alright. Guess I’m more of a whisky girl.”

“To each their own,” he shrugged as she passed it back. “Although I’m not sure I pegged you as the whiskey type, either.”

“No? What did you think?”

“Beer, maybe?”

She gagged. “No thanks; that’s what Neal liked, but I could never get a taste for it.”

“Neal?” he asked before he was even thinking—although as soon as he said it, he could make a guess.

“Henry’s dad,” she said simply. “Which...you’ve probably figured out how that ended.”

“To some extent, yeah.” A slightly awkward silence settled over them, despite the sounds of joy all around. “Do you...want to talk about it?” he finally offered.

She sighed. “Not a ton to tell. We went steady in high school; he was a couple years older than me. He got drafted nearly as soon as he graduated and didn’t have a way out of it, since his dad had cut him off as soon as he turned 18. So we got married real quick, he left, and then he didn’t come back.”

“Wait—you were married?” But, as was established, she wore no ring.

“Yeah; he didn’t want his dad to be next of kin in case anything happened. And I was young and in love, so I agreed.” She paused. “Looking back, I’m not sure it would have lasted, but at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. Especially when I found out I was pregnant a couple months later.”

“Bloody hell.”

She nodded. “I hate that Henry doesn’t know his dad, and so I mourn what could have been; hell, I don’t even know if he got the letter I sent letting him know. It wasn’t a whole lot later I had a couple of g-men at the door saying he was gone. But...is it bad that I don’t think I really miss him?”

“Not necessarily,” he replied, though it wasn’t a position he’d ever been in. “Raising his son is the best way you could honor him, as is promoting an end to the war. He’ll always be important to you, but you don’t have to structure your life around grieving him, not when you have other responsibilities—and when you’re so young.”

She scoffed a bit. “Yes, because you’re so old,” she teased.

“I certainly feel it sometimes,” he countered. “Feels like I’m going on 240 some days, rather than 24.”

“Then that makes me 237.”

“And you look fantastic for it.”

She giggled, but it didn’t last before she turned somber again. “You’ve lost someone too, haven’t you?”

“A few,” he said simply. “My parents are gone, same as yours.” She’d explained that one a while ago. “But yeah—my brother. We served in the same unit. I...he...he died. In my arms.”

“Oh, Killian. I’m so sorry.”

Her words sounded far away, though, as the image came back into his mind’s eye—the humid forest, the heat of the bombs, the smell (god, the smell)—

“Hey—I’m right here; we’re here,” she said, grabbing his arm again and pulling him out before he fell too far in. “Sorry; I shouldn’t have prodded.”

“No; it’s fine,” he assured her, though he took a pull from the flask he was still holding. “But perhaps I should take some of my own advice; I spend so much time trying to forget how he died that I can't remember how he lived.”

“What was he like?”

“A stubborn arse,” he joked.

“Oh, like David?”

“A bit.”

They shared stories of growing up—her in the Bronx, he in England and then Brooklyn—comparing and contrasting their youths and taking note of the many similarities between their older brothers; no wonder he and David were starting to get on well.

As the day wore on, she convinced him to try one of the strawberry-flavored Pop-Tarts and he had to admit—it was better than he remembered...but the Bugles were better.

David came back eventually, with some franks he’d acquired from a street vendor, and they watched as the sun began to set into the city’s skyline.

Despite the occasional outburst from the crowd, and their own emotional revelations, it had been a peaceful afternoon, thoroughly enjoyable, and more fun than he’d had...probably since before he enlisted.

At one point, Emma had left to track down some glasses of water; when she came back, she sat right next to him, leaning her shoulder into his, her red leather right against his black. It was a physical familiarity he’d never really known, high school girlfriends aside, but he didn’t dare voice how much he enjoyed it lest he risk breaking whatever happy spell had descended on them all. (If he was being rational, it was probably residual high from the many dope smokers around them, but that was also reason enough to throw logic out the window.)

But as evening darkness settled, everyone was jolted into awareness by bright lights suddenly being beamed into the crowd. Then the cops came over their bullhorns and speaker systems, ordering everyone to disperse. Confusion and chaos quickly broke out, but this was precisely why Mary Margaret had stayed home: in case they needed a bailout.

Quickly, they gathered their things and got up, although they soon lost David in the swarming crowd. Killian tried to call for him, but Emma said it was fine—she’d see him at home. “We just need to go,” she said, starting to sound panicked.

Well, he hadn’t reached the rank of sergeant for no reason. Without thinking, he grabbed her hand and looked for a path through the throng of people heading in every direction. “Hold on,” he commanded, and began to press through as fast as he could.

Their path was winding, and not the fastest way to get out of the park, but it worked, and they were eventually breathing—well, not fresh air, but that’s how they knew they were clear of any potential danger, standing under a streetlight on 5th Avenue.

“Thank you,” she sighed as they both caught their breath. “That was a bit more excitement than I thought we’d have.”

“Yeah,” he concurred; he hadn’t moved that briskly since...well, the jungle. “You think David got out alright?”

“He’s a big boy; he’ll be fine. And if not...we’ll get him.”

She was still holding his hand and leaned against the light pole, a happy smile taking over her face.

“That was fun,” she giggled.

“Aye,” he chuckled back, and stepped a bit closer to her, so they both stood in the circle of light from the lamp. “That...seems to happen a lot more lately.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The moment between them grew heavy in a way he wasn’t sure how to interpret. But he didn’t miss the way her eyes darted to his lips.

In another life—his coquettish school days, perhaps—he would have made some flirtatious quip and essentially dared her to kiss him.

But, as it turned out, he didn’t have to. “Can I kiss you?” she bluntly asked.

“Yes.”

She didn’t hesitate to grab the lapels of his jacket and haul him in, quickly finding his lips with hers. His hand and wrist settled on her waist, and he ignored the brief jolt of pain as he got lost in—her: the way she felt against him, the way her lips tasted (like Pop-Tarts), how the rest of the city seemed to disappear for a long moment.

Truly, nothing seemed to exist but them, until all too soon they were breaking apart for air. But even then, it was just him and her in the glow of the light. “That was…” he murmured, but his mind wasn’t clear enough to determine just what.

“Something I’ve been curious about for a while,” she finished, and he felt more than saw the smile on her lips.

“And?”

“Even better than I imagined.”

Now it was his turn to grin, and to find her lips again.

Their moment didn’t last much longer—it couldn’t, lest they both missed their trains home, but it was a sweet reprieve from the responsibilities (or lack thereof) they dealt with daily.

“Can I at least see you to your train?” he said softly as they got ready to depart.

She laughed again. “It’s the same station, silly.”

They kissed a few more times before hers arrived, and his was the next one out.

And if a goofy grin played at his lips the whole ride home…then good; let everyone see how happy he was, even if only for one night.

══════════════════════════════

Of course—it had been a while since he’d done...this—romance. His more gentlemanly instincts wanted him to call and make sure she’d gotten home okay, and then ask her out again on a proper date.

But that was kind of hard to do without a phone number, or even the right phone book—he could only seem to come up with one for Brooklyn (that was five years old at that).

So he swallowed his awkward pride, bought a bouquet at the bodega, and showed up to the park in their normal spot at their normal time a couple days later.

Emma was engaged in conversation when he got there, Henry tugging at her miniskirt, but when she saw him coming, her eyes lit up.

But before she could even approach, Henry screamed out “Kill’an!” and ran for his legs.

He knelt and gave the boy a hug; who knew that such tiny arms could give such a warming embrace?

And when Emma did come over, he shifted Henry into his left arm and stood to greet her, but before he could even present the flowers, she was pressing a kiss against his cheek. There was a slight nervousness in her features, too, but that honestly made him feel more at ease. They both had baggage—some more visible, some not—but they could navigate that together.

More than that, maybe this was something he could just...have. There hadn’t been a whole lot of that in his life—something he had any control over. Perhaps this could be that.

Nothing much changed, really—they still saw each other more than a few times a week; he still watched Henry, and they still went to Granny’s diner after. It was just—more: more closeness, more affection, more kisses. He was still working up the nerve (and cash) to take her out on a proper date, but she thankfully didn’t seem to mind that he hadn’t yet.

And at the next be-in a month later—this time an actual protest, with a subsequent march on the United Nations and even a speech from Dr. King—they walked hand-in-hand, shouting for peace.

His soul just might finally have found some.

══════════════════════════════

But nothing in his life was ever that easy, was it?

He was still on the waiting list for a prosthesis, continually moving down in priority as men came back from Viet Nam even more broken than he. Robin was apologetic, but he could see how harried the man was and wasn’t about to let his own somewhat short temper snap at the man.

It wasn’t like having that piece of equipment would miraculously make the phantom pains go away, anyway, but whatever he’d been doing while watching Henry lately was exacerbating them (not that he’d ever let the lad know that; Emma seemed to figure it out, though, by the way he’d wince and shake at the end of the day). So he was making somewhat more frequent trips for pain relief than he’d like to be making.

It all coalesced one day in May—the anniversary of Liam’s death, because of course it would all happen that day. He was already holed up in his apartment, well into his bottle, when an odd sound rattled in the street below. He went to the window to investigate, but before he could, it rang again—shots.

Instinctively, he hit the floor, jarring his wrist in the process and sending stars across his vision as he cried out in pain.

But when they cleared, he was back in the jungle—the thick green foliage all around, the smell of death hanging in the air, the bombs the bombs the bombs and—Liam—Liam was in his arms—but he was—he was—

He didn’t know how long he was stuck in the traumatic loop; not even the sirens down below pulled him out, nor his own retching. He wasn’t sure what did, really, until he heard the shrill ringing of his alarm clock. Somehow he got up and shut it off—it was only a few feet away on the coffee table—but that was usually his signal to pull his shit together and go watch Henry; he was in no shape to do that today. It didn’t help that he’d apparently left the record player on, spinning an endless loop of “Strawberry Fields Forever” that didn’t aid his addled mind at all.

But being in this ghost-filled apartment wouldn’t help, either. Maybe Emma would understand that he just needed to be there—away, out. Or maybe she’d finally realize she was so much better than his sorry arse and kick him to the curb like she should have done months ago.

He threw on his cleanest shirt and grabbed his nearly empty bottle and headed out. The train was packed, and slow, or at least it felt like it, so at least he didn’t mind when the world began to blur as he gripped the overhead bar and swayed with the car.

He nearly missed his stop but managed to stumble out before the doors closed, and nothing else quite registered until he was in the park, dropping his now-empty bottle in the nearest waste bin. He scrubbed a hand down his face and took a deep breath, trying to clear the fog from his mind. It didn’t work, but maybe he’d at least be able to hide it enough to keep anyone from worrying—or judging.

Henry didn’t mind, and came charging at him with his usual enthusiasm; never had a hug felt better. He didn’t trust himself to be steady enough to hold the growing boy, though, so he took his hand instead, and prayed Henry didn’t notice Killian’s world tilting off its access once he was upright again.

Emma, though—he should have known better than to try to hide it from her. “Killian, what’s wrong?” She was kneeling at his side sooner than he realized, hand cupping his face and worry furrowing her brow.

“Don’ worry about me,” he tried to reassure her. “Just...not a good day. I don’t...I probably won’t be much company today.”

He could almost see the steel set into her gaze and prepared himself for a verbal lashing. But instead, she picked up Henry and grabbed his hand, then pulled him away from the small but devoted crowd.

He lost track of where they were going but was aware of the fact that it was suddenly quieter, and she was pushing him down onto a bench. She was still standing in front of him, though. “Who’s your contact at the VA?” she asked, digging through her purse.

“Um, Robin,” he said, pulling the name from the haze of his mind. “Robin Locksley.”

She turned around—they were at a payphone, apparently—and went about calling. He tried to tell her not to bother, he’d be fine, but she just sent another glare his way and he shrunk back.

“You need help, Killian,” she said, almost angrily.

“The VA has enough on its plate.”

“Yeah, and you need more than them. Just—let me do this, okay?” She stepped closer and her hand brushed his cheek again, and he thought he might cry.

She turned her attention back to the phone, and other than Henry’s gentle pats on his shoulder, he began to lose awareness of whatever else was going on around him. Voices became muddled, and his vision clouded. He was vaguely aware of Emma moving him somewhere—his feet got the message his brain didn’t—and they might have been in a cab? At some point, his head wound up on her shoulder and he got lost in the clean scent of her hair.

But all too soon, it was stopping, and what followed was a blur of hospital rooms and doctors and the smell of antiseptic and trying desperately not to flash back to the field hospital in Da Nang (and failing, several times). There were brief moments of lucidity where he wasn’t reliving past traumas, but even those were so muddled he couldn’t tell dreams from reality.

(He thought he felt Emma’s lips on his forehead once, saw her bright green eyes behind those thick black frames in the midst of the jungle, but he wasn’t sure what to trust or believe any more.)

Until, suddenly, it was over. He blinked his eyes open to the sterile light of a hospital room; could just hear the sounds of life from the other side of the curtain that divided it. An IV was in his arm and he felt sore all over, but mentally, he was clear for the first time in months.

Which made it all the more apparent that he was alone. And that stung worse than the physical aftereffects of withdrawal he was likely dealing with.

What did he expect, though? He wasn’t naive enough to think he’d be able to hide his issues from her forever; she knew about them to some extent, anyways. She deserved so much more than a one-handed veteran with a drinking problem, though; he should just be grateful that he got to bask in her glow for a little while.

And he was good at brooding, so he let himself do that for a while. Eventually, the curtain began to shift; likely a nurse coming to check on him and hopefully telling him when he could leave.

But it was Emma.

“Oh, thank God, you’re awake!” she exclaimed as she rushed to the empty chair at his bedside. “How are you feeling?”

He blinked a bit. “You’re here?”

“Of course I’m here; why wouldn’t I be?” She seemed taken aback.

“Because I’m a bloody mess,” he barked out, half laughing, half astonished.

“And I’m not?” she countered.

“You’re not the one who spent...god, I don’t even know how long I’ve been here, detoxing or whatever they did to me because you don’t know how else to handle anything.”

“It’s only been a couple days,” she told him. “And I don’t think you can really say anyone who had a kid at 17 really has their life together. If I’m getting by, it’s only because I have a support system; and guess what—so do you now.”

He scoffed. “You don’t need to do this, love; you deserve someone much better in your life than me.”

“No, I don’t need to do this. But I want to.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “You didn’t need to look after Henry, but you wanted to. And don’t think this is just me returning the favor—you’re funny, you’re smart, you’re sweet, and you’ve got such a big heart, Killian—and it’s so easy to see the pain it carries. So don’t bother with what you think I deserve—you deserve better than what you’ve been dealing with; you deserve good things, and I plan on reminding you of that whenever you forget. Including right now, apparently.”

He blinked and swallowed—God, he could use some water—and let the weight of her statement wash over him. He wasn’t imagining this too, was he? “You’re not mad?” was all he could manage to say, though.

“I’m not—well, I am,” she admitted. “A bit at you, but mostly at—everything. And I wish I could have helped you sooner.”

He wanted to tell her he wasn’t worth it, to leave and forget about him, but he was too selfish. “Thank you,” he finally told her, though it didn’t seem like those two words were enough for all she’d done for him the last few months, even if she didn’t realize it. “For everything.”

“You can thank me by staying sober.” It was blunt, but he knew it needed to be said. He nodded.

She brushed the hair off his forehead and leaned forward to press a kiss against it (confirming that he hadn’t been dreaming it). “I have to go to work in a bit, but I’ll come by tomorrow, okay?”

“Sounds perfect, love.” He was in no position to complain.

“Get some rest. I’ll see you then.”

“I can’t wait,” he said, probably hyperbolically, but what else did he have to do?

She did give a grin at that, one he couldn’t help but return, and then slipped away.

A harried nurse eventually came and caught him up on what he’d missed in the last couple of days—a heavy detox cycle that he was still stabilizing from, and a hefty warning to not head down such a path again.

He’d do his damnedest—if not for himself and his liver, then for Emma and Henry.

The rest of the next day or so was spent in and out of sleep; he attempted to eat the meals they brought but his stomach was still uneasy (and not just because the food itself looked unappetizing, but that certainly didn’t help).

He was snoozing again early the next afternoon when a steady tapping noise woke him; it grew louder and his mind started assuming the worst, until a small voice yelled his name and burst through the curtain.

“Killian!”

“Henry!” He sat up to greet the lad as he climbed up on the bed and slammed his little body into him. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around the boy; there must be some magic in Henry’s hugs.

Emma came in behind him, followed by David and Mary Margaret. He felt suddenly self-conscious at having such an audience to his problems, but Emma gave him a reassuring smile, and he remembered what she said yesterday about having support. Regardless of what his pride or ego thought, he needed that—and he was glad they were the ones offering.

“How are you feeling today?” Emma asked him, brushing his hair out of his face; he didn’t know why such a small gesture meant so much to him, but he wouldn’t question it.

“Alright; still a little nauseous, and sore, but as best as can be expected.”

“Did you eat?”

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone asked him that—or cared. “Not much; couldn’t really stomach it.”

“We’ll have to get Granny to send some food over,” Mary Margaret commented. “Much better than hospital food. She sends her regards, by the way.”

“I…appreciate it,” he said, somewhat surprised, but at the same time—not really. Just not something he was accustomed to.

They politely chatted for a bit, until Henry proclaimed his need to use the restroom; Emma took him and Mary Margaret followed, leaving just him and David.

The man hadn’t said anything since they arrived, but he was getting the same vague sense of disapproval he’d gotten at their first meeting. But he did approach.

“Are you serious about staying sober?” he asked.

“Aye, I am.” He may have found these people in spite of his dependency issues, but he didn’t want to lose them over them.

“Good. You know,” he started, resting his hands on his hip-hugging jeans, “I’m not sure if Emma told you this, but…our dad fought alcohol addiction his whole life. And I know there’s a lot more to it here, but—he never beat it, and it killed him. I can’t…I can’t see that happen to someone I care about again.”

There was a quip on his tongue about David having affection more than tolerance for Killian, but now wasn’t the time. “I don’t intend to let you—any of you—down,” he assured him.

“I know some people that can help with that—some groups—if you’re open to that.”

Just a few months ago, Killian probably would have declined; but now— “I’d like that a lot; thank you.”

David smiled. “We’ll get that figured out, then; but first, you’ve gotta get out of here,” he said and clapped Killian on the shoulder. “Have they said how long?”

“Another couple days, it sounds like.”

“You’re coming home with us, you know,” Mary Margaret added as they returned to the room.

“Oh, no—I couldn’t impose—”

“It’s not imposing if it’s a command, is it?” she countered. Bloody hell, she was on par with some of his drill sergeants in terms of authority. Though he later realized that was to be expected with elementary teachers.

“Aye-aye, captain,” he agreed with a salute.

The conversation lasted a bit longer, until both he and Henry were sharing yawns and they took it as the cue to leave. He would have liked it if they could stay longer, but sleep was indeed calling.

The Nolans took Henry out, giving he and Emma a moment alone. “You really don’t have to take me in,” he told her. “I appreciate it more than I can say, but it’s not necessary; you don't need me hanging around—”

“Hush,” she cut him off. “I know we don't need to. But like I said—we want to. And I plan on keeping you around for a while, so I’d like to make sure you recover from this properly.”

That was the second time she’d made a comment regarding her long-term plans with him. As amazing as it sounded—it hurt. “Emma,” he protested. “Look at me. I can barely take care of myself; do you really see a future with someone like that? You deserve—”

“Oh, fuck off with this ‘deserve’ business, Killian! You. You are the one that I want. No one else. We’ve been taking care of each other since we met, and I’m quite content to do that for as long as either of us are able.” She sighed. “Look—I get being scared to start a new relationship; I have been ever since Neal died, so I understand if you need some time and space to get yourself sorted out. But I’m not going anywhere, and whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there.”

He blinked and let that settle in. He hadn’t even dared to dream she saw that kind of future—or any, really—with him; that it was even possible. But now that it was out in the open air— “I want that too, love. More than anything.”

“Good.” And she pressed forward and stole what little air was in his lungs with a searing kiss—at least, as much as it could be when one of them was laying on a thin hospital mattress in a creaky bed, but he managed to dig his fingers into her hair and hold her there for a few moments longer.

“Sleep,” she murmured, “and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“As you wish,” he said softly back.

══════════════════════════════

Two days later, he was discharged from the hospital, and Emma took him back to their townhouse in the Bronx.

Not even a week later, he attended his first AA meeting, with David as his sponsor.

And finally, a month after, he was able to get a prosthesis for his left side—a hook that he had to go through a few sessions of occupational therapy to learn how to use, but immediately made his life easier.

For as much as his life had felt aimless for the last year, it seemed to settle after his last breakdown. It was sad that that was what it took, but he knew it was more than that.

Meeting that little lad and his amazing mother one fateful day in the park—that was the difference. More specifically, having something to live for.

He still had days when his demons reared their heads; when the physical pain got too bad. But now—Emma was there to hold him through the ensuing tears, to massage his burning muscles. And Henry was there to put a smile back on his face.

It did take a few months for him to finally be able to take Emma out on a proper date. They went to a tiny place in Little Italy, where the food was divine and the company even better.

They went back there a year later, when he proposed.

And their wedding was a small affair, in a tiny corner of Central Park where it all began. (Henry picked the flowers Emma wore in her hair and in Killian’s boutonnière.)

The protests continued. Henry grew. Emma finished her associate’s degree, and Killian worked on one too.

He sold the flat in Brooklyn—even if it held fond memories from his childhood, it was haunted with too many bad ones. They used the money to get their own place in the Bronx, not far from the Nolans, where they later welcomed their daughter.

It was also where they watched the news (on a working television set) of the last troops leaving Viet Nam, a few long years later. Killian had been looking forward to that moment—to the day when no other man would be subjected to the horrors he and too many others had faced in that particular war.

To his surprise, though, he didn’t feel the weight lift off him like he expected. Better yet—that weight wasn’t even there.

He was thrilled, of course—it was long overdue. But where he’d expected some massive emotional release, he found only a normal amount of relief.

He’d moved on. What happened to him there impacted him greatly, but it no longer defined him.

He thought back to what had drawn him to the protests in the first place—that spirit of optimism and hope he had wished would rub off on him.

He hadn’t expected to find friends—or, better yet, family; he couldn’t even dream that, in the not-too-distant future, he’d be settled with an incredible wife and their beautiful children, building a more wonderful life than he thought he’d have.

And now…well, just look at his infant daughter’s name: Hope. He held her close to his chest as he and Emma continued to watch the news—and continued with the life they were creating together.

══════════════════════════════

thanks for reading! tagging some friends: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @killian-whump @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke

#cs ff #cshistfic #cs historical au #my ff

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searchingwardrobes · 3 years

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She Dreams in Color: 6/6

Here we are at the end of this fic, and it's a little bittersweet! I hope you all have enjoyed the journey. Much thanks to @shireness-says for organizing the @cshistfic event and to my beta @aerica13.

Summary: Emma’s life is drab and colorless, and not just because of the Dust Bowl that has stripped the land bare. Married to a man she does not love and never has, Emma lives for Tuesdays. That’s when the iceman brings cool relief from the unrelenting heat and fire to her unsatisfied longings. Perhaps they won’t go unsatisfied for long …

*Yes, this fic depicts infidelity. I am in no way making light of people who cheat on their spouses - it’s just a story, ya’ll.*

Rating: M

Length: 6 chapters, complete

Updated each Thursday

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thestateofardadreaming @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling

Chapter Six: It’s Four o’clock, It’s Got to Stop

The years rolled by, and Emma sometimes marveled at how normal life could seem even in the midst of a bizarre, often heartbreaking situation. Neal never commented on the fact that Henry was the spitting image of the iceman. Outwardly, they pretended that they were a normal, average American family.

In private, however, there was no true family. In some ways, Emma was relieved by this. Neal never attempted affection anymore and expected nothing from her sexually. When he wasn’t on the road, they had a nightly routine. He would thank her blandly for dinner, then inform her he was heading to the Rabbit Hole for drinks. Emma knew he would spend the night above the bar with Tamara. She was fairly certain Neal knew that she knew. Neither of them cared.

What broke Emma’s heart, however, was Henry. The man he called father barely tolerated him, and yet the little boy kept trying to earn his attention. As a toddler, he would try to climb onto Neal’s lap or shout “Looka me, Dada! Looka bwocks!” When Neal ignored him, his nose in the newspaper, or shushed him because he was listening to the radio, Henry would burst into tears, angrily destroy his block tower, and throw himself into Emma’s arms.

“Such a Mama’s boy,” Neal would mutter.

Now that he was four, Henry no longer burst into tears or knocked over blocks. Instead he would cry, “Look at me, Daddy, I can throw a baseball!” When Neal inevitably ignored him, Henry’s face would fall and he would quietly hide himself away until Emma found him. Watching it broke her heart.

Would Henry ever know that the man he called “daddy” wasn't his father at all? Would he ever know that the man who adored him, the man who let him “help” get the ice into the ice chest, the man who got down on the floor with him to play blocks, the man who taught him to throw that baseball, was actually his father?

Would she ever get to hear Henry call Killian daddy?

She knew the heartbreak was intense for Killian, too. He came by as often as he could, and when Neal was out of town, he stayed over. Their times of passion were still intense, but they were fewer and farther between because of Henry. Killian was there to see his son, too, and Emma wanted that for him.

Henry loved to go to “their tree” for picnics, and before long, the little boy was clambering up into its branches. The branches were green again, the grass lush and carpeted with wildflowers, and the tiny pond was full again after two years of heavy rain.

In this way, four years rolled by. Four years of both agony and ecstasy, and Emma wondered if she’d ever know the contentment that was supposed to settle in between.

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

Emma finished milking Pascale and stood to arch her back before taking the bucket inside. Buttercup hadn’t lasted through the worst of the dust storm years, but three years ago, Neal had enough money in the bank to purchase Pascale. He was a sweet cow, but as silly as it was, she missed scrawny old Buttercup.

Emma bypassed the large crates crowding the rest of the barn. She misjudged the distance around one of them and stubbed her toe. She swore, cursing the stupid things. She had no idea what was in them, but she wasn’t naive enough to believe they were innocuous. Neal’s job, which was connected in some way to his father, was to transport the crates to . . . well, somewhere. He told Emma nothing, and she didn’t ask. It was a shady business of some sort, of that she was certain, and she figured the less she knew, the better.

“Come on, Henry,” she called out towards the chicken coop.

Her son, his thick black hair already damp in the July humidity, came out of the coop with a basket full of brown eggs. She’d taught him how to collect them just a few weeks ago, and she had been surprised and proud at how gentle he was with the hens. When he drew near, she tousled his hair, then wrinkled her nose.

“How can you be sweaty so early in the day?”

“I dunno,” he told her with a shrug.

Emma wiped her own hand across her sweaty forehead. “I think it’s a day for a swim in our pond, what do you say?”

Henry’s eyes lit up. “Will Killian take us in his truck?”

“I’m sorry, kid, but he’s got tons of ice deliveries now that it’s so hot. We’ll have to walk.”

Henry pouted. “But it’s so far!”

She poked him with her toe. “It’s not that far. Besides, think how good that water will feel after our long walk.”

“Okay,” he told her.

“Let’s put all of this in the ice chest, and then we’ll get ready to go.”

Emma’s gaze scanned the farm as she took the back steps to the kitchen door. The soil was lush again, and could easily be plowed for crops. Emma longed for a horse so she could gallop across the prairie once again. Neal, however, had no interest in the farm. His father’s business was booming, he said. It had been enough of a challenge to get him to agree to the chickens and Pascale. Emma still had no automobile, either. Sometimes she wondered if Neal was purposefully keeping her trapped on the farm. If he knew about Killian’s visits or her outings with Anna and Elsa, he never let on.

After putting away the milk and eggs, she and Henry went upstairs. Emma helped Henry with his swimsuit first. It was a pair of navy blue briefs with a light blue tank which had a faux naval badge that said “Ahoy, Captain!” Then Emma got into her swimsuit: a red one piece that was solid colored on the bottom and checkered on the top. A strip of white fabric cut down the middle with a red anchor embroidered into it. They were both gifts from Killian, and Emma kept hers shoved into the back of her bottom dresser drawer. She didn’t bother hiding Henry’s. Neal never stepped foot in his room. Emma pulled aside the quilt to reveal the dresses hanging there. She remembered when she only had three threadbare garments hanging here. Now she had five dresses, one of them the red corset-waisted dress she had made before Henry was born. A part of her worried when Neal lavished her with money to go shopping. What exactly was this business of his father’s? She pushed the thought away and reached for her light, simple cream dress with the green flowers. She smiled as she remembered Killian saying that it brought out the color of her eyes.

She had just slipped it over her head when she heard a truck rumble up to the farm house. Despite her knowledge of Killian’s schedule, a thrill shot through her hoping it might be him. But when she glanced out the window, she saw Neal’s truck parking beside the house. Panic seized her as she raced to Henry’s room. Despite his protests, she buttoned up a cotton shirt over his bathing top and got him into a pair of breeches.

“You’re father’s home,” she explained hurriedly, “so don’t mention going swimming.”

She hated that she was teaching her son to lie, but he’d learned long ago that they didn’t mention “their tree” or the pond to Neal.

“Hey, Emma!” Neal shouted as he entered the house, his boots pounding loudly on the wood floors and the door slamming shut behind him. “Where are you?”

It was extremely odd for Neal to show up in the middle of the day. It was even more strange that he was asking for her. Emma headed down the stairs, Henry’s hand in hers.

“We’re right here.”

Neal barely glanced at Henry. “You look nice. Heading to town?”

Wow, he was in an extremely good mood. He hadn’t complimented her in five years.

Henry glanced up at her, his brow furrowed. Emma shrugged.

“Maybe. We were just thinking -”

“Well, forget whatever you were doing. I’ve got exciting news, Emma! I told you my dad’s business was booming, right?”

Emma nodded weakly, a foreboding creeping up her spine.

“He wants us in New York! Next week! We’re moving, doll, packing up this dusty farm and heading to NYC.”

He beamed, rocked on his heels, his hands shoved in his pockets. Just like that. No discussion, no consideration of her life, her feelings. A pronouncement: we’re moving. That was it. Never in her life had she hated Neal Gold as much as she did in that moment.

And that was saying something.

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

“Watch me, Mommy!”

Emma lifted her gaze to watch Henry as he moved from a lower branch to a higher branch on the tree by the pond. Emma cooled her feet by the pond’s edge.

“Great job, my brave boy!” she praised, and Henry grinned.

As soon as he broke her gaze to concentrate on the next branch, Emma’s thoughts spun right back to the same topic: New York, Neal, selling the farm. Neal was selling the farm. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Going to New York was out of the question. She wouldn’t take Killian’s son that far away from him. No way. Not going to happen.

So what was she supposed to do? Her thoughts circled right back around to the same conclusion: she had to tell Neal the truth. She had to leave him.

It wasn’t that she cared about Neal at all. It was fear. Fear of what he would do - of what his father would do. When Neal found out the truth of what he probably already suspected - that Henry was Killian Jones’ son and not his - Emma knew he would be livid. Not because he cared about Emma, but because his pride would be wounded. He would find a way to ruin Killian, of that she was certain.

She remembered all those years ago when her mother and father had finally made it back to Oklahoma to visit with her and baby Henry. They had also met Killian, albeit unintentionally. The minute her mother saw him, her gaze had bounced from him, to Emma, then back again, and then down to the baby in her arms. When Henry squealed and reached out for the iceman, of all people, to hold him, her mother had given her a loaded look which Emma had quickly avoided. Before her parents had boarded the train, her mother had pulled her aside.

“Emma, now that I’ve seen your marriage, part of me wants to drag you back with me to Canada.” She’d tilted her head and gazed at Emma knowingly, rubbing her daughter’s arms tenderly. “But you wouldn’t want to leave, would you? Not when that handsome iceman is here.”

Emma’s mouth gaped open and her cheeks had flamed red. She’d been absolutely speechless.

“After all, he’s the real father, isn’t he?”

Emma had hung her head in shame. Her mother had gently lifted her head with a white-gloved finger to her chin.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know how you found yourself in this mess, but one thing I do know. The truth will set you free.”

“Killian already knows, Mom,” she’d whispered.

“Does Neal?”

Her mother had arched a brow knowingly before kissing her cheek. Then she’d winked before boarding the train.

“And don’t worry. I won’t explain things to your father until we’re safely in Canada. I’d hate any harm to come to that nice iceman.”

Over the years, her parents had visited occasionally, though not often enough. Each time, they saw far more of Killian than they did of Neal. And while her father at first seemed to want to throttle the man who “got his baby girl into a pretty mess,” Killian eventually won him over. Yet every single visit, her mother would part from her the same way, whispering the same words into Emma’s ear.

“The truth will set you free.”

She’d ignored her mother’s advice all these years. After all, Neal knew, she was sure he did. If he was content to pretend, then why not just play along?

Emma’s swirling thoughts were interrupted by a loud crack and a terrifying scream. She saw Henry hit the ground beneath the tree with a thud that was much too loud. She raced to his side, her heart in her throat. She was relieved at first that he was moving and she saw no blood, but his cries of pain tore at her heart. When she touched his left arm, he screamed even louder.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” she murmured.

With shaking hands, Emma slipped her dress over her bathing suit, then slipped into her walking shoes. She picked Henry up in her arms like she used to when he was a baby. She tried to be gentle, but he cried out once again.

She murmured comforting words against his brow as she raced as fast as she could to the dirt road and began heading towards town. She tried not to think about how long a walk was ahead of her. She tried to be gentle, but every step she took jostled the boy in her arms, and his screams of pain caused frantic tears to track down her cheeks.

Two trucks rumbled up beside her, loaded down with produce to sell in town. Both were driven by farmers with their wives in the passenger seat. The ladies were obviously excited about their trip to town, judging by their nice dresses and hats. Emma vaguely recognized them from the few times she, Neal, and Henry attended the First Baptist Church.

“What’s wrong with your boy?” the first farmer called through the car window as he rolled to a stop.

“He fell from a tree,” Emma explained, a sob cutting off her words.

“Climb on in, sweetie,” the woman told her as she slid across the bench seat to make room. “Herb and I will take you to the doctor.”

Emma nodded frantically, then gingerly passed Henry to the woman. “Just one minute,” she told her, then brushed a kiss to Henry’s sweaty forehead.

Emma raced to the other truck and quickly explained the situation. “Could you go get his father for me?”

The man in the second truck nodded. “Neal Gold, right?”

“No,” Emma told him, “his real father. Killian Jones - the iceman.”

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

They’d given Henry something strong enough to dull the pain and knock him out. He slept almost peacefully, his arm in a white sling atop the stark white sheet. Killian sat on one side of him, Emma on the other. Killian ran his fingers through his son’s hair. Killian’s face was ashen. Hers was too, probably.

“Thank God it wasn’t worse,” Killian told her in a shaky voice.

Emma nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks once again as the scene replayed once again in her mind. “I should never have let him climb that tree. What kind of mother am I?”

Killian reached across the bed to take her hand. “Hey, you’re a bloody brilliant mother, Emma, fantastic. Boys climb trees, it’s just what they do, and you were right there.”

Emma nodded, squeezing his hand even tighter. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered.

“I’m glad you sent for me.”

“What the hell is he doing here?” a loud voice shouted from the doorway.

Emma’s head dropped, and she had to stifle a groan, but she wasn’t going to leap away from Killian like some shameful woman. After all, it wasn’t as if Neal didn’t spend every night with Tamara. The thing was, the entire town knew it. She heard the whispers everywhere she went. The whispers everyone assumed she couldn’t hear.

Emma gave Killian a look, and he gave her a brief nod. He had always let her take the lead, always believed she was capable. She never fully knew how special that was until now.

She rose and approached Neal, placing both palms on her husband’s chest as he tried to surge further into the room. He was going to pretend to be concerned for Henry now? The thought riled her even more.

“Let’s take this outside, Neal.”

“Hell no,” he protested, “we’ll have this out right here, in front of that wife-stealing bastard over there.”

Killian’s brows shot up, but he stayed right where he was, at Henry’s side.

“How did you even know we were here?”

“Whale called me, of course, like any doctor would!”

Emma bit back another groan. Whale, of course. He and Neal were drinking buddies, and Whale liked to sow his wild oats just as much as her ass of a husband did.

“Oh good, Neal, you’re here.”

Speak of the devil . . . Emma couldn’t suppress her eye roll. Victor Whale was the only doctor in town, unfortunately. He was so full of himself and so inappropriate with his female patients, Emma was relieved she had given birth at home.

“Dr. Whale, whatever news about Henry, you can just give it to me. Neal doesn't need to know.”

“What do you mean, I don’t need to know!”

“Well,” Emma said, taking a deep breath, “you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“What!” Neal screamed, his face turning red.

Out of the corner of Emma’s eyes, she saw Killian stand. “Yes,” she said calmly, “you’re going to New York, and Henry and I are staying here.”

Neal’s nostrils flared. “This has nothing to do with me or New York, does it?” He turned towards Killian with hatred in his eyes. “He’s the kid’s father, not me . . . isn't he?”

“Like you haven’t known that all these years.”

“You dirty little whore!” Neal screamed at her, then he slapped her in the face.

Emma was so taken by surprise that she stumbled. Killian was by her side immediately.

“Do something!” he shouted at Whale.

The doctor shrugged. “She’s his wife.”

Before Emma knew what was happening, Killian had felled Whale with a left hook to the jaw. He spun on Neal, but the other man grabbed Emma and used her as a shield. Emma couldn’t help but cry out as Neal’s fingers bit into her arms. In the background she vaguely heard nurses shouting for help.

“Take the little bitch,” Neal yelled, “she’s more trouble than she’s worth.”

Neal shoved Emma towards Killian, who caught her easily in his arms. Emma clung to him, trembling all over. Killian held her tightly, brushing kisses across her temple.

“Well, love,” he told her dryly, “it’s been quite an eventful day, hasn’t it?”

“You have no idea,” she mumbled into his shirt front. She grasped his suspenders in her fists. “You're stuck with me Jones.”

“Good. It’s about time.”

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

Henry bounced back surprisingly well after breaking his arm.

“Kids are resilient,” Whale had told them.

“So are doctors,” Killian had quipped back.

Emma had winced, but Victor Whale was apparently not without a sense of humor. Thank God. Thank God too that he’d shrugged off being punched as if it had happened at The Rabbit Hole and not the hospital. He hadn’t pressed charges, citing “extreme parental stress” when questioned by police.

Henry took the news of Neal’s departure for New York far harder than breaking his arm, unfortunately. Emma watched him now, sitting atop a crate amidst all the packed up belongings in their farmhouse. His head was hung dejectedly, his arm still in a sling. He held the baseball he had always begged Neal to toss to him. Anger welled up within Emma’s heart. So Neal had known all along Henry wasn’t his. So what? Would it have killed him to play catch one damn time?

Emma went to Henry and knelt down in front of him. She glanced over his shoulder at Killian and tilted her head for him to join them. She was tired of Killian staying in the shadows of her life. From now on, they would face things together.

Killian knelt in front of Henry too, but the boy still didn’t look up.

“I know you’re sad about Neal moving to New York,” Emma started hesitantly.

Henry looked up, his little brow furrowed. “You mean Daddy?”

Emma glanced at Killian, then bit her bottom lip nervously. “Um, Henry, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. The man you called Daddy? Well, he wasn’t actually your dad.”

Henry’s face looked even more confused. “He wasn’t?”

Emma shook her head. “No.” Then she waited, wanting that to sink in a bit before she got to the next part.

“Is that why he didn’t like me?”

Tears welled in Emma’s eyes. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry. I don’t know why anyone would treat you that way, no matter who they were. You’re the most wonderful little boy ever.”

“I don’t think so,” he muttered, and it broke Emma’s heart. “Where will we live now?”

Emma nodded at Killian, and he took over. He clasped Henry on the shoulder.

“I was hoping you would come live with me,” he said. “Me and Uncle Liam and Aunt Elsa and Aunt Anna.” Killian paused and chuckled. “And sometimes Uncle Kristoff.”

“When he’s not chopping ice?”

“Aye, when he’s not chopping ice.”

Killian gave Emma a nervous glance, and she shrugged. Neither were sure how to explain the next part. In the end, Henry broke the ice for them.

So to speak.

“So if my daddy wasn’t really my daddy, do I not have one at all?

“Actually, little man,” Killian began, then he paused, took a deep breath, then released it before finishing, “I’m your daddy.”

“You are?” Henry breathed in wonder, staring in awe at Killian.

“Yes,” Killian whispered.

There was a long, quiet moment in which neither adult knew what to say. Then Henry launched himself into Killian’s arms. Killian’s eyes widened for a moment in shock, then Emma saw him visibly melt. He wrapped his arms around his little boy the way he had longed to do for years, and told him in a choked voice how much he’d always loved him. Emma could scarcely see her two men embracing for all the tears streaming from her eyes.

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

Emma stood on the porch of her home; her loud, crowded, wacky home. Her huge family was sometimes nosy, often obnoxious and annoying, but always full of love.

She was never, ever lonely.

She watched Henry, now six, and his cousin Rolf take turns pushing each other on the swing that hung from a large oak in the front yard. The sun was setting behind the barn where they stored the ice. The iceman himself came up behind her, wrapping her up in his arms. Funny how a man who spent so much time around ice could be so warm. She leaned back into his embrace, and his hand came to rest on her swollen abdomen.

“Good evening, Mrs. Jones,” he said huskily into her ear.

“Good evening Mr. Jones,” she replied.

“What’s on your mind, my Swan?”

Emma smiled. Many things were on her mind: the fact that she had a gut feeling the child in her womb was a girl, the idea of naming her Hope and praying Killian liked the idea as much as she did, even the always nagging concern when Henry was playing around a tree. She didn’t tell her husband any of that, however. Instead, she settled on the most bright and glorious thought.

“I’m thinking of the moments between agony and ecstasy. The moments where contentment just settles into the cracks.”

“Hmm,” was all Killian said as he rested his chin on her shoulder, but within the sound was understanding.

“I never thought I would have those kinds of moments, and now I do. It just still surprises me sometimes.”

“Me too, love,” he told her.

She turned in his arms and they kissed as the sunset exploded into a dozen colors around them.

#cs hist fic #cshistfic #cs hist fic 2021 #cs ff #cs historical au #cs depression au #sexy iceman fic

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