#expecting a secret

[sancocnutclub]

It's called "Thank you for the roller-coaster, here's yours! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! :D"

present for @walviemort as a thx back for your wonderful bday gift ♥

[walviemort]

Expecting a Secret [2/3]

Summary: After the events of 3x19, Killian is at his lowest after being rejected by Emma. When Snow’s labor turns out to be a false alarm, Zelena offers Killian a deal: she’ll leave the Charmings alone…if he gives her the baby she needs for her spell instead. There’s just one hitch: he has to keep it a secret. At least it will only take 10 days, right? a/n: Here's the second part of my bday fic for @sancocnutclub !!! This is the full fic from the manip I posted last week. Last chapter should go up on Friday! rated T | AO3 | 3.8k | part 1 |

Based on what Killian was feeling and seeing, the next morning found him roughly at the 23-week mark (as expected, he’d spent most of the night studying his borrowed book—and was feeling thoroughly overwhelmed). His stomach looked yet larger, but his vest still had plenty of room, even if the laces on the side were let out a bit more.

He also found himself resting his hand on his belt to further hide the increasingly obvious curve of his midsection (at least, it appeared so to him, given all the decades that his form had remained unchanged). It seemed to work, thankfully, but he also made an effort to not be too social; he took lunch with Emma and Henry, at their request, but had to pass on their invite to dine at the loft that night. He cited his desire to avoid the extra burden on Snow—who it was implied could go into labor at any moment, though he had (good) reason to believe they had a bit more time, assuming Zelena’s implication that she had control over Snow’s pregnancy was true—but in reality, he knew his ravenous appetite would be nigh impossible to hide in such close quarters. (Granny was far less discerning, especially with with her approving comments about “putting some meat on his bones.”)

“We’ll miss you,” Henry told him as he and Emma left the diner that afternoon; Killian wasn’t sure if what he felt at that was his heart skipping a beat, or yet another kick from the little one, which were happening with increasing frequency and strength. 

He tried his damnedest to swallow his emotions and looked up at Emma, who was giving him a similar gentle look. “I, uh, I’ll miss you too—lad,” he added quickly. “Until next time.”

He was glad he’d left things vague when he yet again felt immediate relief at unclasping his vest once back in his room. The odds of it fitting even later that day were slim to none, which would no doubt draw Emma’s attention. No, he’d do best to avoid her the next several days, until this whole thing was done. 

That was something else he’d noticed—his conscious effort to put distance between him and this child, even if it obviously was more emotional than physical. His paternal side would find it far too easy to start considering names for the wee one, to caress his growing stomach and maybe even serenade the baby, to start preparing for the future. He wasn’t even sure the babe was his—but that had never stopped him before.

Until he knew how to keep them safe from Zelena’s clutches, though, he didn’t dare; that might only lead to heartbreak, and he’d known enough of that for a few lifetimes. 

He did ask Emma, during a moment when Henry stepped away to the restroom, if any progress had been made regarding the witch problem, given that his attempt at research was fruitless. 

“Nothing yet,” she sighed. “Unless we can somehow steal the items back before my mom goes into labor, our only hope is my magic.” Her eyes briefly darted to his lips; he leaned away from her. 

“I’d say both are good plans,” he assured her. “Especially the second one.”

She rolled her eyes, but blushed. “I think you’re the only person confident in that.”

“Well, take some of mine, then. Remember: I have yet to see you fail,” he reminded her, and placed his hand over hers on the diner table. 

The look she gave him was heavy; she still wasn’t used to people having that kind of faith in her, he knew. But if this was his only way of thwarting the witch—of keeping two infants safe—he’d give her as much support as he could.

The moment was simultaneously interrupted by Henry’s return, and a strong kick from his passenger—as if to remind him that at some point here (sooner than he’d care to admit), he’d have to go into hiding. He’d have to figure out a way to offer his support from afar. 

But until there was a definite plan, he was going to keep things as impersonal as possible, merely trying to make sure he complied with Zelena’s rules and did whatever he needed to remain something resembling comfortable. The babe seemed to be growing just fine; his stomach was maybe a touch smaller than average, but that could be attributed to him also being taller than the typical expectant parent, as well as a life at sea demanding denser core muscles. 

Hopefully, that remained the trend; he’d read the section about what happened after birth in more detail and…it wasn’t pretty. And he was still a rather vain man, with a woman to woo, if she’d still have him. 

(He hadn’t given much thought as to how he might explain this to Emma after the fact, if at all; he hoped the simple fact that Zelena was no longer going after the Charmings would be enough that they wouldn’t even need to have the conversation. However, he wasn’t naive enough to count on it.)

—----------------------------------------------

When he woke the next morning, his hand was instinctively resting atop the bare curve of his belly. (That didn’t bode well for his plans of detachment.)

He also found it difficult to sit up in his normal manner; after much rolling around and repositioning, he finally managed to get upright—only to see that his stomach had popped out a fair bit overnight. It most definitely resembled a bump now; after using the lavatory, he traced the curve of it in the mirror, equal parts astounded and horrified. He was also surprised at how firm it was—it wasn’t just softness; there was definitely something there. (Something that was repeatedly kicking at his liver, it felt like.)

His tunic was plenty roomy, but the vest would no longer clasp over his gravid form, no matter how much he let out the laces. He huffed as he cast it aside; he knew it was inevitable, but it was depressing all the same. At least his pants still fit, but barely—and likely not for much longer.  

If no one looked closely, and he didn’t tuck in his shirt, it wasn’t all that noticeable. But there would be no hiding it from those even reasonably close to him. Now he understood why the upper-class women referred to this time as “confinement”—because in order to keep this hidden, he’d have to stay in his room.

Not for the first time, he wished he had his ship; it would have been far easier to hide out there, away from prying eyes. Or if only there were another inn in town, but it would likely draw more attention if he were to relocate.

While he still had a semblance of normalcy to his appearance, he decided he should seek out provisions to get him through the next several days. By his math, he’d only just crossed the halfway mark in the time frame Zelena gave him, but was more than halfway through the pregnancy—so it was likely slowing down in speed, meaning he’d be spending the bulk of it during the most uncomfortable parts. Not only would he need food, he’d need other supplies as well. 

He’d jotted down a list and slipped it into the pocket of his greatcoat, next to the fair amount of gold he’d stashed before leaving the Jolly Roger. His jacket hung loose enough that it hid his belly, but only just.

Cautiously, he poked his head out in the hall before heading out; even if he was reasonably covered up, the more inconspicuous he could be, the better. The coast was clear, so he slipped out and locked up—but then he heard a similar sound from behind him.

“Oh, hey—I was just about to come over,” Emma said from across the way. “I’ve got a magic lesson this afternoon, but do you want to get lunch before it?”

He was still facing the door. Given the state of things, Emma was the last person he’d wanted to run into. Traitorously, the baby chose then to give him a sharp thump in the stomach, as if telling him to get a move on.

So he did his best to suck in a breath—to minimize his bump’s profile—before turning around. He plastered on his best flirtatious look and avoided the urge to place his hand on his belt. “Is that your way of asking me out on a date?” he teased, hoping the obvious come-on would prevent her from suspecting anything was awry.

As predicted, she rolled her eyes. “If I was asking you on a date, it wouldn’t be to Granny’s,” she countered.

“Duly noted,” he quipped back (and saved for future reference). “But unfortunately, I have to decline the invitation; I’m afraid I have some errands to run that I’ve been putting off too long.”

“Oh.” Her face fell, and he tried to make sure his heart didn’t follow it. “Well, I could go with you, if you wanted.”

He did—so much. But then how would he explain the copious amounts of food he was about to buy? “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know how long it will take—and I know that Her Majesty can’t be kept waiting.”

Emma huffed, but he saw acceptance across her face. “Yeah, you’re right. But I’m absolutely not seeing her on an empty stomach.”

“Nor should you,” he agreed, smiling—though hopefully it didn’t look too pained, because his attempts at holding in his belly were beginning to strain. As such, he started to turn away to leave, but she wasn’t done.

“Hey, where’s your vest? Is that one of your errands?”

Dammit; should have known she’d notice. But her gaze seemed to be focused on his chest and not any lower; normally, he’d comment on her leering but he was just relieved. “Aye; damaged it with my hook last night, and the laces need repair.” (That part was true—some of them had gotten a bit stretched.)

“Darn; I thought maybe you were actually going to join the modern world and get some new clothes,” she teased.

“Not yet,” he countered, but it wasn’t a bad idea—not a total wardrobe change, but perhaps something a bit…roomier, or more forgiving. “I should get to it, though.”

Emma blinked and looked back up at him, having seemingly been lost in a daydream. (Perhaps buying modern clothes did need to be added to his docket at some point; just not today.) “Yeah, and I need to get moving. Have fun.”

“Thanks, and good luck,” he farewelled; Emma headed the opposite way down the hall with a casual wave.

He waited until she was out of sight and then relaxed with a sigh; he could feel his belly press against the laces of his trousers as soon as he did, and indulged in a brief massage of his lower abdominal muscles. At least the ruse had worked—but he was definitely seeking out pants with an elastic waist.

The supermarket was aptly named; it was indeed massive and overwhelming. But it had everything—fresh vegetables and meat, bulk rations, even perishables and fresh-baked goods. It was astounding. He was easily able to gather enough provisions (healthy ones at that) for the next several days. He also grabbed some items at random that simply sounded appealing—mostly sweets, but he’d learned that cravings were a customary part of the process and this little one certainly had a sweet tooth.

(Thankfully, he also found the section with flexible clothing with ease. He purchased a couple pairs of what were labeled “sweatpants” and a few long-sleeved tops in varying sizes and colors; he just hoped he’d selected ones big enough.)

Odds were he overpaid for the lot of goods, given that the lad working the checkout didn’t know the gold conversion rate offhand, but he didn’t rightly care if it also bought the boy’s discretion. Thankfully, he also had his enchanted tote bag with him—the one with the hidden expansion charm he’d picked up…gods, he couldn’t even remember where anymore, it’d been so long—so he wasn’t spotted carrying half a dozen overladen sacks into Granny’s.

He spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking his newfound treasures, grateful to finally have a use for the seemingly magical ice box in his room. He stashed the nonperishables on his small table, and his new clothing in a dresser drawer. 

One last thing remained, and admittedly, he hadn’t paid for it: a tiny outfit intended for a baby, covered with illustrations of sailboats. He’d slipped it into a pocket before paying for everything else, not wanting to draw the raised eyebrows such a purchase would attract, even if he could have passed it off as being for the Charming’s infant. 

He held it up with just his thumb and forefinger; the label on it suggested it was sized for a newborn, but it still seemed impossibly small. At least, until he laid it atop the steadily increasing curve of his belly; then he wondered if it would even be large enough (though the books told him the babe was only yet the size of an aubergine, which he had stared at in the produce section for an extended period of time).

Bloody hell, what was he doing? He couldn’t get attached; if he failed to help Emma and the others defeat Zelena, it would spell doom for this child. And given that he was increasingly running out of ideas, it seemed imminent. He’d already suffered two terrible heartbreaks in his life; he wasn’t sure he could survive another (which would undoubtedly be harsher).

He yanked open an empty drawer and threw the onesie inside, then shoved it shut. Best not to continue that train of thought; only if they actually managed to defeat the witch.

Sighing, he plopped down in the dining chair and tore (literally) into a package of something called Oreos. They were delicious, but did nothing to assuage his fears or guilt. For the umpteenth time, his hand instinctively drifted to his stomach, as if his touch alone could protect the babe.

Hopefully that, and his trust in the heroes, would be enough.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

Killian awoke the next day to something touching him. In his sleep-addled mind, he lashed out towards whatever it was, fully intending to let it (or them) get acquainted with the sharp end of his hook.

However, he’d taken his prosthesis off last night, lest he do anything to injure his ever-expanding midsection, so all he did was hit it away with his brace. An annoyed yelp followed his impact. 

“Bloody hell, I was just checking on the baby,” Zelena scolded. He blinked a few times, urging the sleep away from his eyes, to see the witch standing over him, scowling. 

“What the hell do you want?” he demanded as he tried (and failed) to sit up, eventually settling for propping himself on his elbows.

“I’m simply making sure that my investment is paying off. I’ve kept up my part of the deal—those sickly-sweet Charmings are just fine. But I’ve got to make sure everything is going well here, too; pregnancy is tricky business, you know.” She turned her gaze to his exposed belly; despite the shirt he’d worn to bed, it had ridden up overnight. “Oh, is that a stretch mark I see?” she declared, leaning back towards him.

He yanked the hem of his shirt down, both to cut off her view and at the wound to his vanity.

“You’re no fun,” she pouted. “I thought most expectant parents were basking in the glow of creating life, or whatever?”

“When it’s something they’ve wanted, aye; not when it’s been forced on them,” he spat. He hadn’t truly understood the concept of glowing until his time spent with Snow lately; however, he felt more washed out than anything incandescent.

But speaking of glowing—as she stood upright and folded her arms, light from the window glinted off the jewel at her neck. He remembered what the Charmings had been told about it being the source of her power, and without any further thought (moving faster than he thought he could), he lunged for the pendant, hoping that it might be just that simple to defeat her.

No sooner had his fingers brushed the surface of the gem than he was thrown back forcefully against the headboard; he groaned in pain. Bollocks.

“Ah-ah-ah,” she chastised. “Did you really think it’d be that easy? Especially when you’ve been touched not once, but twice by my own magic?”

“Had to try,” he panted out as he tried to catch his breath. His hand flew to his stomach as its inhabitant also protested the blow.

“You really ought to be more careful; a fall like that isn’t good for the little one,” she warned.

“Why do I give a shit what happens to your demon offspring?” he countered.

She scoffed. “Oh, it’s not mine. The spell would never work with my own blood. But,” she started, coming closer and leaning over him again. “It is yours.”

“What?” he gasped. He’d certainly wondered, but hadn’t expected that it was actually his child. How could she expect him to hand over his own flesh and blood? What he did to Bae all those years ago still haunted him; this would be even worse.

“Indeed. All the more reason for you to be careful, hm?” The way she caressed his bump again felt more like a threat than any sort of endearment. “If this child doesn’t survive, our deal is off. And maybe you should read the part of that book over there on just what that will do to you.”

(He swallowed, because he already had, of course; he couldn’t imagine anything more traumatic than carrying a child that didn’t survive—especially now knowing this one was truly his.)

“Then who’s the mum?” he asked, trying to distract himself. He needed to know that, too, especially if it wasn’t Zelena. “Is there one?” (Biologically, he knew there should be…but, biologically, she would be the one with child.)

“There is. Magic can’t circumvent that,” she confirmed as she set herself to rights. “But as for who…I’ll tell you when it’s all said and done.”

“You’re a bastard,” he growled.

“Something me and that baby will have in common,” she laughed.

She abruptly moved away and turned around, so he closed his eyes and took another deep breath to recover, at least physically, while she was distracted. He hadn’t realized how much the babe was pressing on his lungs until now.

“Oh, isn’t this sweet?” Zelena cooed. He opened his eyes to see her holding up the onesie. “Not my color scheme, but it certainly suits your aesthetic. Too bad they won’t get to wear it.”

Angrily, he stood from his bed to rush at her—he didn’t know why, exactly, just that he was suddenly filled with rage—but it was for nought, as she merely threw the garment at him before disappearing in her signature green smoke.

He caught it against his chest and sighed. He’d failed, hadn’t he? There was no way he could do anything to keep this child from Zelena’s clutches now, unless Emma managed to defeat her in the next few days. He sniffled, suddenly overcome by emotion—because wasn’t this so typical for him? To lose the things he loved?

(Because, much as he had tried not to, he did love the babe—even before he knew it was his; that was just his nature. But as with all things he loved, it was going to be taken from him—and their mum likely had no clue. Shit.)

His gaze was still on the outfit, vision blurring with tears, when a knock rapped at his door. He froze, hoping whoever it was would go away, but it sounded again. “Hook? Are you there?”

Of course it was Emma. Despite everything, he couldn’t say no to her. “Coming,” he called out, and quickly tossed the onesie aside, wiped his eyes, and strode to the door.

But then he glanced down; there was no hiding his belly, especially while wearing just the shirt and sweatpants he’d changed into (which, while exceedingly comfortable, did nothing to disguise the curve of his waistline). So he awkwardly angled himself, and opened the door just enough to peek his upper body around.

“Morning, Swan,” he greeted, though it was nowhere near as smooth as he usually was. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her brow furrowed as she looked him over, then tried to look past him into his room. “I thought I heard something weird; is everything okay?”

“Right as rain,” he lied. “I did have a run-in with my bed frame, though,” he said, hoping she would believe him if he at least partially told the truth.

“What, stub your toe?” she teased.

“Aye, something like that,” he agreed.

She briefly narrowed her gaze, but seemed to accept his answer. “Well, do you want to get breakfast? Henry was asking if you wanted to spar again, too; I think he’s gunning to be your first mate.”

He had to smile at that, but it didn’t hold. “Ah, I’m dealing with a fair bit of fatigue at the moment; can I take a rain bill?”

Emma tilted her head. “You mean a rain check?”

“That, yes.”

“I suppose, but that’s only going to mean he’ll want more later.”

“I endeavor to make it up to him in full.”

She grinned, but hers too didn’t last. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he told her—which was true, given that the babe was treating his internal organs as playthings.

“Alright, well, rest up; you’ve been missed around here.” There was a steadiness in her gaze that suggested she was speaking personally rather than generally.

“I’ll try,” he said, though his voice was almost a whisper.

“See you,” she farewelled; he repeated it and shut the door, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

The next few days were going to be interminable, weren’t they?

The lone blessing was that Belle had lent him a few books from the library, so he had the means of entertainment, and obviously had bought more than enough food. (Those Pop-Tart pastries that Emma seemed to favor were indeed delicious.)

He felt like an arse when he had to feign sleep during Emma’s next attempt to drag him from his room, around dinner time. The woman was bloody stubborn. But, as he was being reminded by the insistent little foot digging into his ribs, there was truly nothing to be done until they were out. He’d extend his apologies then—once they’d defeated the witch.

-----------------------------------

thanks for reading! tagging a few: @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @mathiaskejseren @88infinity88

[mumblesplash]

in honor of last season’s poem being called “”end poem”” (all quotes mandatory) this season i made one out of pieces of the actual end poem

[xmaruu11]

love island i guess

[forkdragon]

MY DAD MADE ME A THINKER CLOCK FOR CHRISTMAS AAAAAAAAA

[betryl]

Today I discovered that a couple of TSH characters were based on actual people Donna Tartt knew at Bennington College- amongst them were students Todd O'Neal and Matt Jacobsen, who were the inspiration for Henry and Bunny respectively.

AND JUST—

There's even their own comments about it and it's so funny wait:

Here's the source

[lyraofthestarsss]

YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO THE GOOD TIMES

[morunderscore]

slight secret life spoilers?

live reaction to no lore lmao

[fakier]

various doodles

[wisefoxluminary]

Holy shit!!!

Ant-Man what are you doing here?

[astal-art]

House md funny show ahah (guy who has become genuinely attached to the silly doctors and will cry and throw up when bad things inevitably happen)

[walviemort]

Expecting a Secret [1/3]

Summary: After the events of 3x19, Killian is at his lowest after being rejected by Emma. When Snow's labor turns out to be a false alarm, Zelena offers Killian a deal: she'll leave the Charmings alone…if he gives her the baby she needs for her spell instead. There's just one hitch: he has to keep it a secret. At least it will only take 10 days, right? a/n: (slightly belated) HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET FRIEND @sancocnutclub !!! This is the full fic from the manip I posted last week. I meant to get this done in time for you bday, but it kind of ran away from me…and ended up being a three-parter instead of the one-shot I thought it would be! Hope you (and everyone else) likes it! I just really liked the idea of him trying to keep a whole entire pregnancy hidden. rated T | AO3 | 3.1k

Killian left the hospital feeling—-well, the worst he had in a long while. Perhaps he’d been rash in trying to get Henry out of town without his mother’s permission, but it was the only way he could think of to get around Zelena’s curse on his lips. 

Worse, though, was the fact that he’d lost the trust of not just Emma, but her family. It wasn’t entirely his fault—but some of it was.

It’d been clear he wasn’t needed or wanted at the hospital after it appeared Snow was going into labor, but it ended up being a false alarm; thank goodness, as they were far from prepared to protect the babe from the witch.

After a rather long moment of self-flagellation—in the form of watching the family take a well-deserved breath together in Snow’s hospital room, something he’d never be part of now—he shuffled off without goodbye, into the night.

His feet found him instinctively wandering toward the docks—further reminder of his shame, but he wanted to wallow in it tonight, punish himself further; it was what he deserved.

The vacant berth that had once held his ship was a fairly accurate metaphor for how he felt: empty, adrift, far from port, with only the churning sea to match his jumbled emotional state. He took a swig of rum, but the familiar burn did nothing for him.

“I warned you.”

He didn’t even flinch when he heard Zelena’s voice behind him; honestly, he expected it.

“It was pure luck they all showed up when they did. Otherwise, you’d have some more blood on your hands,” she went on, heeled footsteps sounding as she approached his side.

“The bloody hell do you want?” He was annoyed, but his reply had none of its usual bite.

“I want what I came here for. But now that you’ve told all the Charmings what my intention for you was, and now that they have their memories back, that’s all been dashed. Highly doubt the Savior is letting you get anywhere near her now.”

His heart somehow fell further, and it had already been near his feet. “No, I don’t imagine she will,” he concurred; were he and Emma’s situations reversed, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same.

“That said, I still need your help to continue my plans.”

“Like hell,” he spat, then began to walk away—but she was suddenly in his path.

“Let me put it this way, Captain—you have two choices,” Zelena told him. “Either you can help me, and I leave Emma’s family alone,” she started, holding up one hand, “or I continue to go after all of them, no holds barred,” she finished, holding up the other. “It’s entirely your choice.”

Neither option was ideal. Knowing that Zelena basically wanted to wipe out the existence of Regina and Snow (and, consequently, Emma and Henry), he was loath to aid her in any way, shape, or form—especially considering she had no leverage anymore. 

But perhaps, if he did take her offer, he’d be able to find a way to subvert it—and redeem himself in their eyes.

“Fine,” he replied, albeit reluctantly. “I’ll help. Do whatever you need with me. But you must leave Snow, Emma, and their family alone.”

The wicked grin that took over her face should have been his warning. “Then we have a deal, contingent on one thing: you’re to actually keep it a secret this time.”

“Done.” It’s not like they’d listen to him, anyway.

She offered her hand to him to shake on it; he moved closer and took it. “It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you, Captain,” she said slyly.

He tried to let go of her hand, but she held tight. And her other hand began to glow that awful garish green, now held outstretched in front of her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, suddenly worried.

“What we just agreed on,” she answered, her eyes wide and seeming slightly unhinged. “Using you to get what I need.”

Then she swiftly stepped forward and shoved the ball of magic into his stomach. He hunched over for a moment, a slight cramping taking over, but then it dissipated, merely leaving him slightly sore. “What did you do?” he demanded, slightly out of breath.

“I still need a baby,” she said matter-of-factly. “So now you’re going to provide it.”

He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “That’s impossible,” he breathed, though his hand immediately flew to his stomach once she let go. “I’m—I’m a man.”

“Anything’s possible with magic,” she sing-songed.

His insides certainly felt different; that could be anything, though. “But won’t that take a while?” he asked, trying to call her bluff. “You’ve always struck me as the impatient type.”

“I am. Which is why this is going to go just a bit faster than usual. You only have to keep that under wraps for about 10 days.”

Shit—he’d already forgotten about that part, he’d been so distracted by the absolute insanity of what she’d apparently done. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to keep something like that hidden?” His mind immediately went to Snow and the very obvious protrusion of her stomach.

“You’re resourceful; you’ll figure it out.”

“Where did it even come from?” he nearly shouted, incredulous.

“The same place they all do,” she shrugged, but there was a glint of something else in her eye. “See you soon!” she farewelled, then disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, leaving him alone to figure out just what he’d gotten himself into—and what to do next.

——————————-

Part of Killian was convinced Zelena had been lying, playing some kind of cruel trick on him. Magic aside, it just didn’t seem possible. He fell into a deep slumber that night in his rented room, and the following morning, just chalked it up to an incredibly vivid dream, or perhaps the result of too much rum.

But at some point that day, he noticed a bit of nausea settle over him. He wanted to attribute it to something slightly off in Granny’s seafood special, especially when he found himself making a mad dash for the toilet around midday (making sure to take his meals at off times—hours he knew he wouldn’t see Emma there, mainly to avoid both her ire and his shame). But he’d been through his fair share of food poisoning—and this wasn’t it.

For starters, food poisoning usually ended. This, however, kept going. All that night and into the next morning. He left his room long enough to try to get something simple from Granny’s—just some bread or oatmeal—but even that wouldn’t stay down. Oddly, the only thing that sounded even vaguely palatable was sardines, of all things; he thought longingly back to the store of them on the Jolly Roger, but they were obviously inaccessible at the moment.

(He did manage to keep his stomach calm enough to run out to the convenience store and purchase some, as well as some ginger tea—and took a long, hard look at the devices that apparently verified pregnancy. However, he moved on from them; time would surely tell.)

The nausea continued to follow him through the afternoon, but the ginger tea helped a bit. Still, though, he was surprised by the urgent knock at his door that evening—the end of the second day of the 10 that Zelena had foretold—as he flushed the latest bit of bile down the toilet.

“Hook? What’s wrong?”

He blinked and stared at the door before he answered; it was Emma—and she sounded concerned. That was a far cry from their last interaction.

Slowly, he opened the door; she looked like she’d been about to knock again, and indeed, there was a worried furrow to her brow. “‘M fine, love,” he told her, though his voice tiredly betrayed him.

“Please; I’ve heard you puking all day. These walls are thin. What’s up?”

“Just drank a bit too much,” he lied, staring at the floor. (Even the thought of rum made his stomach churn.)

“You know I know that’s not true.” He had no counter to that. “Well, whatever you have going on, just—take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do,” he threw back.

“I know.” It looked like there were a multitude of things on the tip of her tongue, but she hesitated too long to say them. “Get some rest, okay? Have a good night.”

“You too, Swan.”

She headed back into her room across the hall, but he closed his door before she went away. He didn’t know how to interpret her care versus her statements to the contrary the other day.

Besides, his stomach turned again, so he had to make another mad dash off. 

Not much later, another knock came to his door; Ruby had brought him some soup. “Heard you might need it,” she said; he had to wonder whether that was her own preternaturally strong hearing or some other voice whispering in her ear, but he was just grateful for the gesture.

Amazingly, it finally stayed down, and though the nausea lingered, he at least didn’t find himself losing anything else in the toilet. 

His sleep that night was the deepest it had been since he had arrived back in Storybrooke.

————————————-

He felt surprisingly well rested the next morning—almost normal, though there seemed to be a weight that had settled in his stomach deep within, not unlike the guilty feeling he was used to carrying around for all these centuries. Perhaps the previous days had merely been an anomaly? A stomach illness?

David stopped by during the morning and invited him out on some rounds. He had no reason to refuse, regardless of whatever Zelena may or may not have done to him, so he joined in—especially because he could see it for the olive branch it was, even if it was never specifically stated as one. 

David did seem a bit lighter than he had in days past; he said Snow and the baby were still doing well, and the fact that no one had seen the witch had them somewhat worried, but also finally felt like they could breathe for a bit.

If that was the case, then Killian had few regrets in his deal with the witch—though he hadn’t yet figured out a way to thwart her plans, especially without seeking help.

If he still needed to, at least. He wasn’t wholly convinced that she’d actually done anything to him. The only real difference he noticed in anything that day was the return of his appetite, in dramatic fashion; he was never one for gluttony, and propriety (as well as manners lessons back in the naval academy) demanded he never overindulge and eat politely, but he devoured his breakfast and lunch in record time. He was getting over a stomach bug, though—right?

Were it not for that, and the persistent dense feeling in his gut, he’d still think Zelena was messing with his head. A man giving birth? Preposterous.

However, after bathing that night, he caught something in his reflection that likely confirmed he was with child: it wasn’t significantly noticeable, but when viewed in profile, there was a curve to his belly that hadn’t been there earlier, just behind his navel. And while he could partly attribute it to the copious french fries with his dinner, the very tiny wiggles he felt inside were definitely not from digestion.

“Fuck,” he cursed. He gently traced it, knowing that this was only the beginning of what was to come. But—it would still be worth it if it meant Emma’s family was left alone.

———————————

The next morning, after another rather large breakfast, he headed to the library; Belle was still doing research on ways to thwart Zelena’s plans, so he decided to offer his aid. They’d come to a tenuous peace in the time since Neal had passed away—and, really, it was his only plan so far towards defeating the witch without revealing the reason for her sudden pause in assault.

(He may have had to loosen the laces of his vest a bit in order to avoid revealing it in other ways; his stomach was somewhat larger in the morning, but one would still have to look very closely to notice the difference.)

Belle did seem a bit surprised at his offer of help when he arrived—she said she assumed he’d be out doing reconnaissance with the Charmings—but seemed glad to have another set of eyes on the ancient tomes she’d been poring through.

After a couple hours of fruitless searching—having no particular theory on how to stop the spell, they were casting a wider net when it came to neutralizing magic—he got up to stretch his legs (and ease the bit of ache that had settled in his hips). He wandered the stacks a bit, the naval officer in him still in awe of all the knowledge they held. Perhaps someday, he’d have the time to more thoroughly peruse their contents, but he did have a somewhat ulterior motive for heading to the library today.

“The pregnancy books?” He jumped when Belle found him skimming a volume entitled What to Expect When You’re Expecting; shit.

“I’ve been…curious, is all,” he replied, quickly and bashfully. “We never had this kind of information in our realm, and with Snow…”

“I get it,” Belle replied, thankfully. “It’s overwhelming how much more they know here, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he sighed, glad she believed his quick cover.

She just smiled when he brought it back to the table. He didn’t read it too in-depth—gods only knew he was about to devour it later, probably far too late into the night—but he did skim it and—oh no.

It just got worse and worse. He finally got to the chapter on labor, and all it entailed; all he could say was “bloody hell.” Oh, he was in for it.

Belle was reshelving books and glanced over his shoulder—and laughed. “Yeah, that was my reaction the first time I looked through it,” she told him. “What? I was curious too,” she added when he raised an eyebrow at her in question. “Good thing you won’t ever be pregnant, eh?”

He swallowed, and paused for probably too long a moment before muttering out a “Yeah, thank goodness.” Then quickly reached for another magic book and shoved the medical manual aside.

(He didn’t see Belle’s furrowed brow at the delay in his answer—or the sidelong glances at how quickly he ate his lunch.)

Sometime that afternoon, Henry popped in, inviting him to join in a sparring session with him and David out behind Granny’s. Again, he was touched, and hoped the lad didn’t notice the sudden wetness of his eyes. Were it not for that book, he’d wonder where that had come from, but apparently heightened emotions were a thing he had to look forward to.

It felt nice to get a workout, and the verbal battle between him and David as they taught Henry differing styles of fighting was just as entertaining. They were sharing a laugh when they were suddenly asked, “What’s so funny?”

He stiffened and turned, to see Emma standing off to the side, smiling at them—though it didn’t fully reach her eyes. 

“David’s idea of properly blocking a parry,” he replied. “It works fine if you’re fighting someone who plays by the rules.”

“Which I’m guessing you don’t?”

“What fun is that?” he flirted back.

Her subsequent smile (and blush) was genuine. The sudden southward rush of his blood, though, was caused by something far different—and he just hoped no one noticed it.

They put away the practice weapons and headed into the diner, but Emma grabbed his arm and held him back. “Hey, I just wanted to say—I’m sorry for what I said the other day.”

He tilted his head, confused. “Beg your pardon?”

“About not trusting you,” she clarified. “I was upset at what had just happened. You haven’t really given us any reason to doubt you; I was just jarred by everything that had happened with the witch there, and you were an easy target. But you didn’t deserve that.”

“I…” he started, but found himself speechless—and attempting to hold back tears once more. “Thank you, love,” he finally said, sounding a bit more emotional than he’d like. “I’m…I’m glad to hear that, and I hope you never have reason to doubt my intentions again.”

“I know I won’t,” she said confidently, and there was a confidence to that statement that had him in awe. 

Which made it all the worse that he was holding in—quite literally—an actual, fairly large secret. 

(Well, only about the size of a grapefruit yet, according to the book, but—semantics.)

They invited him to dine with him—not taking his weak excuse at being tired—and conversation over their meal seemed to focus on future plans, even though Snow’s imminent birth still loomed. The oddest part, though, was they seemed to automatically include him in these plans. Gods above, he appreciated it, but hopefully they wouldn’t think it too odd when he had to inevitably bow out in a couple days, if not sooner. 

He decided to get some practice in that by making an early exit from dinner. “You okay?” Emma asked, seemingly worried. 

“What, is that tap Henry gave you on the shoulder acting up?” David joked. 

“Indeed,” he played along, rubbing his left bicep in feigned emphasis. “Best rest it up.” (In truth, he was sore, but not there—more around his midsection—and he needed to get back to the book to find out why).

“See you tomorrow,” Emma said with a soft smile; he could only nod back. 

Guilt was yet again plaguing him when he returned to his room. That didn’t stop his sigh of relief, though, when he undid his vest; he felt around his stomach, and it was definitely bigger than it was this morning, though still fairly small (and therefore easy to hide).

Perhaps he had indeed been too rash when he made this deal with Zelena. As much as Emma and her family had written him off in the moment, he too had underestimated their capacity for forgiveness. But no—anything that kept them out of danger was worth it, even if he still wasn’t wholly confident in what lay ahead of him, or how to ensure the witch didn’t succeed.

As if sensing his worries, the small life within gave a strong kick, one he could almost feel from the outside. It was a solid reminder that there was no going back on this.

He just hoped he could get through it with little issue.

—————————————————–

thank you so much for reading! tagging a few: @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @mathiaskejseren @88infinity88

[spinjitzuladykaia]

Zane,the only AI who can be trusted to draw

[not-kayvalencourt]

Life series but it's just a dnd campaign

"Okay, so the strider is trapped now, right? I wanna get off."

"Roll dexterity."

[Dice rolling sounds]

"Nat 1."

"You trip, falling into the lava and taking..." [several dice roll] "...102 fire damage."

"Oh dear. That's - I'm dead. I don't think I can survive that."

"Rip Mumbo, he'll make an even worse red life."

"Hey!"

Food for thought :3

[teddy-bear-d]

Gem and the Scotts, Scotts and the Gem

[phantom-0-writer]

prompt 01: gotham academy's mentorship program

“Mr. Wayne, thank you so much for finding the time to meet with me.” Principal Carson, someone Bruce, became more and more familiar with as the years passed, welcomed him into his office. 

“I hope my children aren’t causing you too much trouble, Mr. Carson.” Bruce chuckled lightly, sitting in the guest seat. 

“After your generous donations to the school, I would find that difficult to believe.” Mr. Carson laughed conversationally, before getting right to business. “Actually, the reason I wanted to meet with you in person rather than over the phone despite, I’m sure, your busy schedule was to discuss Damian.” 

Damian had come to the Manor about a year and a half ago, and had been attending Gotham Academy for almost 9 months. Bruce had hoped that going to school with other kids his age would help Damian become more sociable and learn about larger society outside of the Bat, Birds, and League, but that was proving to be difficult considering the almost regular calls Alfred received from the school about Damian’s behavior or actions. 

Bruce couldn’t help the weary sigh that escaped him, “I assure you Principal Carson, we-” 

“I think you're misunderstanding, Mr. Wayne. Damian is not in any kind of trouble.” Mr. Carson reassured, “Well, for now that is.” He chuckled dryly. 

“Ah.” Bruce nodded, letting his airhead persona take the lead, while still showing that he was paying careful attention. 

“In the last few years, Gotham Academy started a mentorship program, where the younger kids usually between the grades of 5-8 can get mentored by their seniors. Damian is a brilliant child, concerningly so I believe. His peers often can’t keep up with him in terms of academics, but he lags far behind them in social skills. I think Damian would benefit from the mentorship program, where he can have someone who can truly keep up with him intellectually as well as guide him socially.” Mr. Carson explained. 

Bruce considered this, letting the idea turn over in his mind. Perhaps this is what Damian would need. “You sound like you have someone in mind.” 

“I believe the best candidate for the job would be Daniel Fenton.” Mr. Carson handed him the student profile. “He’s here on a Wayne Scholarship, which he’s held for the past year. Mr. Fenton is currently in the 11th grade, his chosen career path is astrophysics, which he plans to pursue into college. His grades are outstanding despite his difficult classes, and his professors all share the same sentiment that Mr. Fenton holds one of the greatest minds in the Academy. He shares many of the same classes with Tim as well. He has a friendly personality and gets along well with most people, pretty athletically inclined as well. All around Mr. Fenton is what Gotham Academy hopes our student to be.” 

Bruce looked over the profile in his hand. Daniel James Fenton seemed like an outstanding student. Perhaps it was time to put him to the test with Damian Wayne. 

---

When Danny had been called to the office, because apparently they had assigned him a mentee, he had been expecting the worst. All the scholarship students had to sign up for the mentorship program to be on standby if a mentee ever applied. All the other scholarship kids had said it was just a formality and that none of them ever got called for it. But classic Fenton Luck. 

When Danny walked into Principal Carson’s office he was prepared to be faces with some snot-nosed brat who wouldn’t know how to take no for an answer and didn’t care about classes because they would just inherit their parents big shot company was what he was expecting. 

So imagine his surprise when he walks into a room to a liminal kid, probably around 12, who looks like he wants to be there as much as Danny does. Danny takes one look at the kid who’s trying to project himself as angry and menacing, but Danny could easily read the kid's true emotions of nervous-scared-anxious thanks to their shared less-alive-than-one-would-expect status. 

“Daniel, welcome. This is Damian Wayne. He’ll be your new mentee from now on.” Mr. Carson smiled kindly, gesturing for Danny to sit down. The liminal kid - Damian - scowled at him, projecting irritation. But all Danny could feel off of him was nervousness.

Danny was screwed, wasn’t he?

--------

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