#might still get it though (for the midas collection) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

straighttohellbuddy · 3 years

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midas {Ghostbur} // 3 // Finale

Summary: Your fear died with you, so where was it to go but the version of you that died with it? The story of Midas is a tragedy, and we all know where this is going, but the ghost version of you won't know until the story's over --

"What is a ghost? A tragedy condemned to repeat itself time and time again? An instance of pain, perhaps. Something dead which still seemed to be alive. An emotion suspended in time like a blurred photograph. Like an insect trapped in amber."

Need to Know: they/them. you might need to read the first two parts to get this. established ghost!reader/ghostbur. ANGSTY AS FUCK, SERIOUSLY VERY HEAVY. NOT A HAPPY ENDING.

A/N: 7182 words. im_sad.jpg i fucking love this tho, im so deeply proud of it. you're gonna suffer. summary quote from The Devil's Backbone (2001).

{ masterlist : 3 / 3 }

Warnings: VIOLENCE, ANGST. serious purgatory is very violent and i cannot stress enough that this is an unhappy ending. also there's lots of discussion and description of the reader having memory issues.

Purgatory is a blood bath, though nobody bleeds. It didn't stop you from trying. Gnashing teeth, through which you spit vicious insults, decades spent holding onto resentments and misguided desires until they festered and rotted you from the inside out.

In purgatory, you've learned to hate the things you loved, the ones you'd died for.

On the surface, there's something shamefully selfish curling in your chest at the talk of resurrection. You've never trusted your past self, too self aware by half, but the same cannot be said for Ghostbur. No-one loves the former President as much as you, the wedding ring made of sapphire that sat delicately on your left hand was proof enough of that, but you'd come to love and adore who he was now, rather than who you remember him to be. But you wouldn't begrudge his choice to be revived. So you keep your mouth shut, and hold his hand tight and hope he can't sense the fear crawling back into your heart.

But the scary thing is that the moment the fear eases, the moment you find yourself at ease, your forget that you were even afraid, you forget what had made you afraid.

Nights where you think you can feel your phantom heartbeat in your throat, trying not to look at ghost that shares your bed, the man you'd married, who's been painted gold by your touch. Neither of you really needs sleep the same way the living do, but habit is a hard thing to break. Breathing even and gentle, you know even now that he can't remember the pain he'd caused the others, but you can't forget. The fear holds you hostage in the moment, in the night, until you finally fall asleep; you awake without the memory of what had kept you up the night before.

He speaks of resurrection, and every time it's as if you're hearing it for the first time; neither of you seem to understand why, though admittedly, it's for different reasons.

It takes a while for anyone to really notice beyond just your forgetfulness; you were a tranquil ghost, at least compared to who you used to be. So you tell Ghostbur that you love who he is, who he's become, and he smiles so fondly you're almost positively he doesn't realise the truth of what you mean by that. You'll remember you told him you love him, but you won't remember why.

Ghostbur doesn't seem to know quiet how to feel, but he's not opposed, so you won't stop him, you won't voice the desires that feels so selfish. Fingers laced with his, you press your lips to the back of his hand as you listen to him discuss which items should be collected to revive him; when he looks to you, gaze soft and full of question, you tell him you love him.

As plans for attempts solidify themselves, the fear grows roots, has your heart in a chokehold. There's holes in your memory now, sometimes even days at a time; it's different than before, different than when you'd woken up as a ghost. The fear that had died with you was the fear of the people you loved being taken from you. This was a new fear, this was a fear you couldn't fight through, this was the fear of Ghostbur choosing to leave you; you wouldn't stop him if it's what he wanted, but you couldn't even stomach the thought.

I love you and I'm sorry, you want to tell him; he and Phil had been talking about the resurrection last night and you hadn't been able to get the thought of it out of your head since. Instead you gaze down at your joined hands, and the wedding rings you both wear. I'm scared the version of you that comes back won't love me the way you do now. You can't look him in the eyes.

"You alright, my love?" His voice, so warm and sweet and concerned, and the sight of his gentle smile when you look to his face is enough to have the fear in your chest dissipating.

"Of course; I'm with you," you tell him in earnest, giving him hand a squeeze; you can't even remember what why he may have been concerned about you in the first place.

----

"If you think they're gonna resurrect you before me you're dumber than I thought," in Purgatory, your voice is ice cold, sneer full of malice as your hands ball into fists by your side. You've lost count of the years that you've been trapped in this milquetoast rendition of a cafe, cars and quaint yellow taxis passing by while you can never leave. Wilbur had said he sees a train station. Schlatt told you to fuck off.

Now, Wilbur's holding you at arm's length, one hand on your collar as you're fighting to get to him, one of your hands fisted in the collar of his shirt, furiously trying to pull him closer -

"You helped build a nation because it was my idea!" This argument goes round in circles every day, every week, every year that you're here. Some days its gentler than others, but today is not one of those days.

"And I died for that nation because it's what I stupidly believed in, but at least I fucking believed in something," letting go of his collar, your hands begin to claw at his wrists; you can't even leave a scratch on him down here, but he still feels it. You both still feel every mark.

"You believed in me," he hissed, tone low and malevolent; his elbow finally bends but he's stepping up quick, practically nose to nose with you, glowering at you, "they all believed in me - don't you forget that!" He's holding you by the collar now, but you won't back down, you won't flinch -

"Then thank fuck I didn't live to see you destroy everything I died for because you couldn't handle someone else being in charge; for all I really hate it here, I'm glad I didn't have to go through you fucking dying rather than face the consequences of your childish, selfish bullshit," you spit, though you're tired of fighting, tired of brawling and hurting him as he hurts you, but there's nothing else to do, no other sensations beyond endless numbness. The pain is better than nothing; you hook a thumb into his eye, and finally he lets you go, stumbling back.

"I cannot believe you take fucking Jschlatt's word over mine about the presidency -" he's rubbing at his eye, grumbling, every word filled with disgust at the very idea.

"Last I checked, he wasn't the President whose stupid, ludicrous ideals cost me my fucking life -"

"He was a dictator and a tyrant -"

"I died defending your honour, Wilbur!" You hollered, traitorous tears pricking your eyes, even now, after decades, the same argument brings you to tears, "and I was alone for years- decades down here-" you reminded him, doubled over, overwhelmed with the anguish, voice catching in your throat, "and you didn't even try to revive me. You let me rot down here!" Every time he seems to forget, every few months or even years, you remind him, you force him to remember the truth of it all. Breath coming out in shaking pants, you stand, furious gaze swimming with tears, "you died because you were a selfish and weak leader in the end, and I died because I thought you were better than that. Don't you ever forget that."

The words hang in their air, breathing heavy, shaking from the exertion of it all. Nothing's real and everything hurts.

"You were obsessive," Wilbur slumps to the ground, his back against the wall, exhausted by this loop you were both stuck in, and though he sounds tired his words are sharp, "don't blame me when you were too stupid to speak any language other than violence -" and perhaps it's only proving his point, but still your sudden rage brings with it a second wind and you crash tackle him, clawing at his damn face, hoping this time there'd be something to show for your enraged effort. There never was.

An endless cycle, tearing each other apart in the only way that matters, with words, burning the same bridge between you that had been ash for decades by now. Whatever love you'd held for him was warped into malevolent hatred well before he'd arrived; you knew you would be unrecognisable to the person you were before you died. Whatever part of you might have cared was already dead. So you tear each other apart with words, blaming each other for anything and everything, often just to pass the time, until inevitably words weren't enough, and if you were capable of eviscerating each other in this strange, not-existence, you'd have done so ten times over. It would be a relief. But alas, the cycle starts over.

----

The night before the resurrection is rough; you can't sleep, can't even bring yourself to lay down. How is it that the first time you're even hearing about an attempted resurrection of Wilbur is the day before it happens? At least that's what you think, surprised as you'd been what feels like a hundred times before.

"I'm so scared," you admit in the safety of the dark.

"I loved you before," he reassures, "of everything I remember, I know I loved you." The way he holds your face, so tender and reassuring, it almost is enough to quell your nerves. Almost. His love won't be the same as your love; you don't know how you know, you just... do.

But you can't say that out loud, so you can't stay here tonight, not when you're all but crawling out of your translucent skin, half afraid of begging him to stay, even when he's agreed to go, to try. So you go back to L'manburg, back to the first place you'd truly called home, to the rubble that's now littered with the golden reminders of your post-mortem affection.

I was never fighting for the nation. I was fighting for it's soldiers.

Ghostbur could see these words. He loved you. He would have told you earlier if he'd known there was a plan to resurrect him, you're almost certain. Something isn't adding up, something isn't aligning. The sunrise brings no answers, but it does bring Eret, who seems surprised to see you.

"Y/N- are you okay?" Immediately they're kneeling down beside you; you hadn't even really registered that you'd been crying until they start to wipe the tear tracks from your cheeks. The moment they do, you grow painfully aware of the burning sensation that had been lingering in the back of your mind, that you'd somehow been tuning out. Something's wrong, more than the crying, more than the fear; you can't remember the last time you'd seen Eret, but for some reason it felt as though you'd seen them recently.

You tell them your fears. You don't know they've heard it all before; you are the something that doesn't add up in your mind, and everyone who knows about the resurrection has finally figured this out. They know you're afraid, even though you're trying to be strong and supportive, and they know you'll forget. Eret knows you'll forget.

They dry your eyes, hug you tight, tell you to go home, that everything will be alright. They're trying to make it painless for you, trying to do what they think is best, trying to help you forget. You don't think to ask why they're here; since rebuilding your friendship, you'd come to believe in Eret's inherent kind heart, and this time was no exception, so you leave.

But you can't go home; you need to take your mind off this whole ordeal. If it's what Ghostbur wants, you're going to have to learn to live with it, learn to be okay with it. So you walk to take your mind off of the resurrection; you walk until you forget why you're walking.

----

"Don't ever try and fuckin' get resurrected again," Schlatt was fuming as he rematerialized back in Purgatory with yourself and Wilbur. Pantless and levelling a glare a Wilbur, which is a sight neither of you had seen for years at this point, Schlatt pointed an accusatory finger at him, "your ghost ever drags me back onto that server when I'm tryna' jerk it, and doesn't even have the decency to give me my own fuckin' body, I'll kick your damn ass," and he's off and ranting now, more animated than you'd seen him in years, while you're about ready to snap and try and beat the smug look right off of Wilbur's face, at least until the tail end of Schlatt's rant catches your attention -

"I was there for what, all of two minutes? It was like you were a fuckin' kid who would rather absorb blue razzberry candy through his fuckin' hands than eat 'em; wash your hands, everything was turning blue when I touched it. I was sharin' your little idiot ghost brain for a moment there, even Y/N was blue; I fuckin' wish they were there to beat some sense into you, would'a felt fuckin' familiar for a moment there!"

But both you and Wilbur had seen the ghost of him in the brief moment he'd materialised during what must had been an early attempt; the look in his eyes had held only gentle fear. If there was a version of you that was even halfway as soft as the ghost of Wilbur had appeared in that moment, then you knew he hadn't turned you blue through violent touches.

And beside you, Wilbur had figured this out too. As if he couldn't get more smug. It takes months for him to stop fucking smiling, to stop fucking smiling at you. He tells you that you love him, deep down; it's not said with softness, it's said with vindication. It's smug, it's a way to stoke his ego; the ghost of you is blue.

"Part of you still loves me," he won't stop smiling even with your head in his lap, tired of fighting him for the moment. But then again he's smiling because you fought for him, you'd died for him, and despite everything, part of you still loved him... well, the ghost of him. But he doesn't seem to know the difference. You consider punching him in the mouth, but can't be bothered, instead, turning and sinking your teeth into his thigh, but it doesn't hurt him like it once did; his ego makes quite the shield, and nothing you say right now can begin to dent it.

----

When you get home, Ghostbur is there, but he seems different, seems exhausted in a way you've never seen him as a ghost. When you ask him how his day was, tone gentle but chipper, his expression turns confused.

"The resurrection didn't work," he says flatly, and drops his gaze to his hands.

"Resurrection?" You sit yourself in one of the dining chairs and scoot yourself closer to him. His expression is confused; he knows your forgetful about this, but hasn't seemed to figure out why. No-one's had the heart to tell him. But he's patient, he's got memory problems of his own after all, so he explains, and explains that something was missing, that they came back and got Friend, but something still wasn't right. Phil had insisted a Totem of Undying.

"I bet he would have come straight back if you'd been there with a sword," Ghostbur says, tone a little strange and unreadable; he can't look you in the eyes, "I feel like I've loved you forever," it sounds a little forlorn, but you don't quite understand. He knows holding a sword burns you now, and knows you would have done it for him if he'd asked, so he keeps quiet, both about that, and the fact that both Eret and Phil had told him that you couldn't be there. He knew well enough to read between the lines, to know that you'd end up trying to stop the resurrection. The selfish part in the back of his mind wished you had been there anyways, to declare that you wanted him and not Wilbur. Only Tommy had chosen him. Even Phil, the man, the father responsible for his currently-ghostly state, thought Wilbur would be best to return.

He asks you plainly if you'd prefer Wilbur come back; smile growing a little tight around the edges, you insist that you'll support him whatever happens. While your steadfast show of support is kind, he can read between the lines; when he hugs you, he breathes a sigh of relief.

"I don't want me to go either," he says with a soft, grateful laugh. Your grip on him tightens; it's answer enough.

----

"Big man's finally fallen," you sneer; freshly dead Tommy whips around, startled to find himself in this cafe you've come to loathe, or whatever version of Purgatory his mind has created for him, though you're not sure if he's more started at your voice or the coldness of it, "they'll get us all eventually, fuckin' hubris."

"Hubris?" Wilbur, with his head in your lap, frown up at you, "us I understand, but Tommy?"

"You may have been the spark, but he's been there since the beginning. It takes arrogance to get in on the ground floor of a nation in a land that's not your own."

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Tommy snaps, but you're still smirking down at Wilbur, fingers carding through his hair.

"He was fighting for me, don't blame him-"

"But I'm tired of blaming you, let me have my fun," you half pouted, though there was something dangerous about you, something cruel and menacing, the way your hand curled into a fist in his hair.

"He's a child-"

"I'm not going to attack him."

"Don't blame Tommy -"

"Finally growing a conscience? Could have used that a few years ago," you spat through suddenly gritted teeth; you're pulling at Wilbur's hair hard enough to hurt, and in a flurry of movement the two of you are at each other's throats, hissing and spitting and clawing and vicious- "you died first and yet you still feel more guilt about him than you do me?!"

Tommy escapes your wrath in Purgatory right up until he blurts out that he prefers you dead, in the middle of listening to you and Wilbur bicker over a card game. He'd meant to say that he preferred your ghost, but he's not sure if that's any better; the two of you get into a scrap, and you, who'd been without morals and far more vicious than he'd been for a far longer time, come out on top, nails digging into his shoulder, arm twisted behind his back as you held him to the ground and demanded to know what the fuck he meant by that. Of course he caves; the creature who wears your face and answers to your name can still speak with the sweet voice he remembers.

"We're married?" Your voice is quiet as you look to Wilbur; Tommy's still rubbing at his shoulder despite their being no markings from your attack, he still felt it all the same.

"I told you you loved me," Wilbur's equal parts strangely smug and strangely sweet, but something in your eyes turns cold as you look back to the blonde boy.

"Everything decent about me really did die," your lip curled derisively, "my ghost sounds fucking pathetic." Wilbur smacks you on the back of the head for that, so in response you blithely tell him you wished you could kill him; he grins as he agrees with the sentiment. Tommy averts his gaze, looking like he's about to be ill.

Tommy counts one month and eighteen days from the moment he arrives until the moment he leaves.

"Train 'll be pulling up soon," Wilbur's frowning down at his cards, Tommy having finally given in and joined you both for a game. Looking up sharply, you look to the window of the cafe. Outside, you see a yellow taxi idling by the curb; you think the driver is peering through the cafe window, but you can't quite see him. You think he's wearing a mask. Immediately you're on your feet, making your way to the door of the cafe, pulling it's handle with all your might. It doesn't budge; "it's not here for you." The smugness in his voice has you turning on him in an instant, cards scattered and forgotten as you bare down on him and Tommy scrambles back to avoid you sudden rage.

As you're snarling that you won't damn well let him leave before you, you hear the faint tinkle of the doorbell behind you; Tommy's leaving, and Wilbur still won't stop fucking smiling. It's like your frustration is the only thing that brings him joy anymore. He's the only thing holding you back as you turn on Tommy, edging towards the taxi, watching you warily -

"I know you tried to bring this bitch back! I know! Motherfucker gloated! I fucking fought and died for you," Wilbur needn't be holding you back; the door to the cafe wouldn't budge, but still he kept a solid grip on the back of the collar of your shirt, "if I could kill you myself I would! I would! Like I would kill him!" You wonder if he can hear you through the glass, if there's anything blocking the two of you in his version of Purgatory; you pull the cafe door, but it refuses to open for you as you watch the taxi drive away, "you'll see what it feels like to be fucking abandoned by the people you thought cared about you!"

----

"What's the blue and gold?" Tommy's been sitting in your kitchen staring at his reflection in the back of a spoon for almost ten minutes. He's been quiet for a very long time, long enough that it's out of character and starting to worry you. What he's chosen to say now that he has found his voice does little to dispel your worry.

"The what?"

He looks to you, away from his reflection. There's a Totem of Undying on the table in front of him, in the week that he's been home, you haven't seen him stray more than a foot from it. Looking to Tommy himself, you can see the streaks of blue and gold through his hair where you and Ghostbur have petted him, or run your fingers through it with fond affection.

"The blue and gold." And he sees it too.

"It's the stain from a ghost's touch," you tell him softly.

"I really shouldn't be able to see it, should I?" He gives a sad little smile; you move on instinct, wrapping him up in a hug. You don't quite know how or why he sees it, but you've got your suspicions, and none of them are good.

"I'm not letting anyone resurrect you," Tommy's voice is resolute, if muffled against your shoulder, refusing to let you go as he hugged you tightly, "trust me, you up here and them down there is the best situation for everyone," them down there, the you that's trapped in Purgatory. You hadn't considered the reality of your situation for a very long time, but suddenly you can't think about anything else. Your suspicions are confirmed; this boy has died and been revived.

"You're not leaving," he mumbles, quieter this time, sounding far more like his actual age than you'd heard in a long time, "sorry, I won't let you."

"I'm not going anywhere, bud," you assured, petting him gently on the back, but there was something dreadful and afraid forming in the pit of your stomach; what the hell had you become in Purgatory?

----

"You should have been nicer to Tommy."

"I should have done a lot of things differently," you scowl at the Jenga tower in front of you, analysing your choices.

"If there's a choice as to who gets revived -" Wilbur started, and you snorted a laugh.

"He'll choose Mexican Dream, fucking obviously," you roll your eyes. Before he can get a word in edgewise, you continue, "we're not choices, Wilbur, not when he's practically running to our ghosts with fucking adoption papers," looking up, you see Wilbur's nose wrinkle in displeasure at that thought, though you aren't wrong, "no-one's going to try and waste resources getting me back; they didn't before, and now that Tommy thinks I'm a monster, they sure as shit definitely aren't, and I don't know if you remember this, but you turned into a dictator and a terrorist who blew up his own land. They may have tried to revive you once, for some bullshit about needing a strong leader, but now Tommy knows what we've become. We're the hole where a choice should be, Wilbur, if either one of us is revived, it'll be by mistake." You punctuate the end of your rant by quickly and seamlessly pulling a block close to the bottom of the tower, carefully placing it on top. Looking up, you see his thoughtful expression as he considers your words. For a brief, glorious moment, you wonder if you've finally managed to humble him.

"It won't be a mistake they'll make twice," you tell him flatly, and he gives a slight smile.

"The first one to get out will be the only one, won't they?" You know the way he's smiling, the sharpness of it, the intrigue. Already you know what he's thinking; it'll be a waiting game, but it's a game nonetheless.

"There's no way I'm letting you come back if I'm out there," is confirmation enough.

He holds out his hand.

"Then let the best player win," he grins, and you shake his hand with another eye roll. After letting go, he leans in to look at the Jenga tower himself, before adding, "you really should have been nicer to Tommy."

----

You're caught by surprise when Tommy tells you that the version of you in Purgatory was made entirely of anger and fear, the parts of you he'd thought had died. Strange, he thinks, ironic. Quickly, he follows it up by clarifying that he likes you as a ghost much better, but your mind is reeling.

You can't remember the last time you'd felt afraid, but this doesn't make sense, Ghostbur had told you that you'd seemed it leading up to the resurrection. But you can't remember that either. You start to properly notice the holes in your memories.

Of course you remember that you had felt fear while alive, but looking back there was simply love beneath your nerves, enough to preserve the memories, but now? The ressurection?

The way your own mind has failed you is already making you nervous, making you terrified to lose focus; you may remember these thought, but you won't understand why you had been afraid of them.

You understand there is love beneath your fear of losing your husband, but there is no new existence to wake up to once he's gone. If he is revived, there will be nothing you can do to get him back; your body betrays you at the first sign of your violent intentions, and ghosts can't be killed. The fear of loss is overwhelming, and your fear died with you, so too will the memories go if given half a chance.

"Are you okay?" Tommy asks, looking over his shoulder at you where he's sitting in front of the fire. Wilbur is sleeping; he's been doing that a lot since they tried to revive him.

"I like me as a ghost too," is what you choose to say, "and Ghostbur too." And Tommy smiles at that.

"Yeah, I much prefer you guys, much nicer, you know?" He says fondly, looking back to the fire, "wouldn't change you for the world."

----

The version of Wilbur that shows up in the afterlife practically drips with gold, and you, fists still stinging from where you'd battered at the door that had been opened for Wilbur alone, and voice hoarse from the enraged screams you'd emitted, are curled in a shadowy corner, exhausted and drained.

The creature who wears your face, who answers to your name, isn't one he is able to recognise anymore.

"Who the fuck are you?" But they still have a whisper of your voice; Ghostbur starts crying, in Purgatory, you spit that he's pathetic.

It takes days, maybe weeks, maybe months, for him to look away from what you see as a window. He tells you it's a train time announcement board, he tells you it shows him when people are saying things about him. He tells you every day the ghost of you talk about him, and misses him.

"Why the fuck are you gold?" Every day the gold fades a little more, and every day he spends looking at his hands when he's not looking at the board; the gold was the brightest on his hands, but now it's almost faded, bright only in the lines of his palms. And his wedding band, which he never takes off, just keep spinning.

"Because I love you," he said faintly. He can't even hear the ghost of you in this version's voice anymore; you've never been this cold, this cruel.

"You loved the ghost of me, a shell of who I was," you rolled your eyes.

"I liked them better," it's barely more than a whisper that comes from him, still looking at his hands.

"You're a weak-ass version of Wilbur, of course you love the pathetic version of me," you sneered, "I fucking hate him, I'd kill him again myself if given a chance, but I still like him better than this version of you." Your time down here has turned you into a monster, has killed whatever kindness your initial fear had tried to hide. Down here you are all fear, all anger, the parts of you that had died to make you gentle as a ghost.

"You loved me -"

"I was obsessed with a version of you," you hear the echoes of Wilbur's insults in your words, repurposing them, turning them back of the ghost of him, "don't flatter yourself." You think the Wilbur you'd endured Purgatory with would be somewhat proud. You can't believe you might actually fucking miss him. Something cruel and vindictive twists your lips into a smile as you look over the forlorn ghost beside you.

"They can't be killed in any way that matters," you tell him with a quiet, poisonous tone, and his gaze snaps to you.

"What?"

"You little ghost-spouse; they can't be killed in any way that matters, any way that will bring them back here," you sneer, "and as I told the better version of you, reviving one of us isn't a mistake that'll be made twice."

Every version of him seems to get everything you want in one way or another, so you take your fun where you can. But the hurt in Ghostbur's eyes isn't fun to look at, he doesn't fight back, he doesn't have hope the way Wilbur did. You called him foolish at the time, but now, if you could eat, you supposed you'd be eating crow.

So you can't even bring yourself to fuck with Ghostbur much after that, you don't try to lash out at him to feel something. He was golden, but he's not worth your time, who you are here and now would never let him turn you blue.

----

Tommy's gaze is hollow as he leaves the prison, alone. The mounting sense of dread you'd been feeling since you'd woken up to Ghostbur's note on the table, and had decided to wait outside the prison for him with Ranboo and Tubbo, spiked considerably. You had awoken with a strange sense of apprehension, but calmed yourself with the understanding that Ghostbur and Tommy knew what they were doing.

But now, the kid can't look you in the eyes.

"Where's Ghostbur?" It's Ranboo who asks; Tommy's gaze flicks to you out of instinct, but the look in his eyes has you feeling ill. For a few moments, his mouth wordlessly opens and closes, struggling to find his voice.

"I think he's dead," Tommy's voice is rough, gaze trained on the ground.

"Well yeah, that's-" and while the truth of his words seems to go over Tubbo and Ranboo's heads, you remain completely silent.

"Tommy," the shake in your voice is the thing that finally has him looking up; there's tears in your eyes, and you know they'll burn you if they spill but you don't care, "where is my ghost?"

"I- I- I'm sorry-" he stutters out, instinctively stepping towards you as you begin to curl in on yourself, "Dream he- he-" he paused for a moment, hand out, hesitating, not sure if he's even allowed to pet your shoulder to try and offer some form of comfort, "I think he's brought Wilbur back."

You crumple, face in your hand, sobbing, while Ranboo demands to know what happened. Tommy is more than happy to fill him in, each word lacerating your shattered heart as he defends himself in anger, and explains about Dream and the Revive Book. Tubbo kneels beside you, gentle arm around your shoulders, watching the interaction forlornly.

Tommy and Tubbo make a beeline for the L'manburg's initial ground zero, where you'd been told they'd initially tried to revive Wilbur. On the revival attempts failure had kept the fear from your heart, and kept the knowledge in your mind. Already distraught, the others didn't want to see you in any more pain than you were already in, and so Ranboo accompanied you around the body of water the other two had quickly swam through.

"There's a good chance it didn't work, that Dream's book only had one revival in it and Ghostbur's just waiting for you at home," Ranboo tried to lift your spirits, and while you appreciate his efforts, Tommy and Tubbo have gone uncharacteristically quiet. That never meant good things. Not far behind them, you catch up only a few moments after they've busted through the rock wall by the resurrection site. They've been still as stone since you'd caught sight of them, and as soon as you've both rejoined them, you know why.

"Oh?"

Wilbur Soot. The man you'd killed for. The man you'd died for. Not the man you'd married.

As the others step forward, you take careful steps back, trying not to draw focus as you prop yourself up again the wall, hand pressed to your mouth to muffle your whimpering sobs. Ranboo's the only one who stays by you, subtly shielding you from Wilbur's view as best he can; as much as he doesn't know who you or Wilbur were before dying, he knew of both of you. If you, the person who married his ghost, was trying to not draw the attention of his revived counterpart, he'd respect that.

Wilbur sees the remnants of his legacy encased in glass, a wound in the world he'd helped create, but you can hear the way he's smiling. Destruction and pain be dammed, he's thrilled to be alive.

He asks about the writing on the walls, the golden declaration you'd left, sees the glints of gold in the rubble, and seems confused when Tubbo can't seem to see them; Tommy keeps his mouth shut.

"Do you wanna go? Do you want me to walk you home?" Ranboo, crouched beside you as best he can given his height, is ignoring the former President and Terrorist.

"I shouldn't have come here."

You can hear him asking Tubbo where his suit is, if he's still president, and you hear the hesitation in Tubbo's voice. You hear the shake in Tommy's voice as he echoes Wilbur's shouts of being alive once more. Wilbur marvels at the world loud enough that you barely register Ranboo telling you that you'd should go home.

"Am I the only one who came back?" Wilbur asks, and it's as though time freezes. Finally, you look up; the way he's smiling is unfamiliar, vindictive even, beautiful and terrible.

"You need to go," Tommy says firmly, "we don't want you here." But it's answer enough for Wilbur, who ignores him with barely concealed glee.

"I am, aren't I?" He laughs with a twisted kind of fondness, "oh they're going to kill me when they realise!" Its the realisation that he has to be talking about you, still trapped in Purgatory, that has your grief twisting, changing in its own way as Wilbur climbs the debris to bathe in the sunrise, the sunrise he stole and now claims as his own.

And then you hear it. The relief in his voice as he explains that he's been in Purgatory for thirteen years. He's yet to realise it's only been a few months up here. Your anguish is distorts almost violently, betrayal and rage clawing it's way into your chest; things begin to make a painful amount of sense. In this moment, you recall how tightly Tommy had hugged you, afraid to explain that you'd become a twisted, bitter monster in Purgatory; Wilbur had experienced thirteen years of it, and you'd been dead much longer than him.

You know you should leave, take Ranboo up on his offer to make sure you don't do anything stupid-

As you step out of the shadows, angrily drying your tears as Wilbur watches the sunrise you approach Tommy. Without a word, he offers Friend's leash; Wilbur hadn't even know who friend was. But you look at the sheep, and something eases in your chest, comforting and familiar, the briefest reprieve.

Have some blue, calm yourself.

But Tommy can't stop himself from apologising again quietly once you're by his side, and it's loud enough that you finally you draw Wilbur's attention.

"You." He doesn't even say your name; his voice is cold and strange and yes you'd once loved him, but you don't know him anymore. Lip trembling, you try to stand with conviction, to not flinch, to not back down. He looks you over with a strange sort of detachment, but you realise that he knows.

Even if he has your husbands memories, the ones you've stained gold, the ones you feel as though he's stolen, even though he hasn't yet had the time to process them, just looking at you he knows. Wilbur, alive and untouched by gold; he is so clearly not the man you married, but he can still see how you're all but drenched in blue.

In this moment, he remembers the pain of how you'd tried to tear him apart in purgatory, so there's something vindictive in knowing how gentle you'd been all the while here, unafraid. Behind you, there's the barest glimpse of the golden writing on the walls of the remains of the tunnel - I was always fighting for it's soldiers.

"You," gentle this time, victorious and adoring. You are not the person he knew in purgatory. "love, you're everywhere," he says, with a newfound admiration for the gold amid the rubble that he stands over, pristine.

The way your hands curl into fists, furious and betrayed by the man before you, the violent impulses you're suppressing have your very skin aching to the point of blisters. Your body betrays you; you can't hurt him the way you want to, you can't hurt him in any way that matters.

"You're not Ghostbur."

"You'll learn to live with that," his smile widens a touch though his gaze turns a little shallow at your fury. Tears pricked your gaze once more; you tell him to fuck off.

But you're still blue, and he has the memories to prove that you loved him. He's alive; he's won.

You know you should leave, but you can't bring yourself to move. Fear for the future and fury at this betrayal, you're rooted to the spot. You can't look away; he won't stop smiling at you.

The light of dawn paints him gold, while you're in his shadow, refusing to go near him.

---

It feels like it's been a year, perhaps a bit more, but finally Ghostbur tells you that the ghost version of you has a pattern. He doesn't understand it.

The words he reads on the sign above his train platform are the words the others still speak about him on the surface, and you talk about him more than anyone.

Of course I worry about you, my love.

It signals the start of a new cycle, and is always followed by you asking others where he is; time wears on and you seem to grow frantic, like you've forgotten the previous cycle. Either will someone will remind you of his counterpart's resurrection, or it seems the cycle starts anew. He reads the fear and anger and fear and anger and fear and desperation like it's a trainwreck; he's unable to look away. The board lights up with your grief on repeat, week after week after week, and everything always ends with fear. You are afraid to wake up alone, but you are never afraid when you wake up; it's a cruel and unusual punishment, both for you to live, and for him to bare witness to.

He understands now; your memory problems have gotten worse in his absence. Much worse.

---

You awaken late in the day that you believe is the one on which Tommy is going to the prison with Ghostbur to kill Dream once and for all. In the pit of your stomach, there's a strange sense of apprehension; you hate that your husband is bait, but the plan sounds as though it will be effective, so you feel as though it's wrong to raise objections, especially since Ghostbur himself has agreed to it. Tommy and Ghostbur knew what they're doing, you remind yourself, and it goes a ways to calming you.

But your bed is empty.

If you looked outside, you'd see snow settled white and pristine on the ground. Wasn't yesterday Autumn? At least, that's what you remember. But you don't look outside.

The note on the kitchen table in Ghostbur's messy handwriting is stained gold at the edges, like you've picked it up before and held it close. But you don't think too hard about it. You never do, at first. A strange sense of deja vu hits you as your read the note, but you ignore it.

Didn't want to wake and worry you. Be back soon.

With a gentle, endeared smile, you set the note back on the table.

"Of course I worry about you, my love."

And you already look forward to when he'll be coming home.

#ghostbur #ghostbur x reader #ghostbur imagine #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur imagine #wilbur soot imagine #c!wilbur soot #c!wilbur #dsmp imagine #dsmp x reader #shut ur pretty mouth #cyltlanp #Spotify

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

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Hi Steph!! I was wondering if you knew of any really long fics (like 25k or more) that are only one chapter, I travel a lot sometimes and some places don't really have good enough internet for multi chapter fics. So yeah, any really long one chapter fics about John and Sherlock would be appreciated. Thank you!

Hey Nonny!!

LOL OKAY FUNNY STORY. I almost replied to this with “oof I’ll have to read EVERYTHING so I’m sorry.... and then... I remembered.......

I put chapter counts on everything 🙃😐

I’m not the brightest crayon in the box. 🖍

Anyway, so yes, I can definitely rec you some fics! BUT I should also offer you two suggestions you can totally do to read ANY fic!

On Ao3, you can click on the “Entire Work” button to load ALL chapters of a fic (it’s the very first button along the top) and in turn you can then just read it all there!

And the very last button along the top, you can Download copies of the fic to your phone or computer with eBook file types (AZw3 for Kindle, ePub for iPhone’s Books app, and MOBI is for other mobile devices and e-readers), the HTML if you want to read it as-is in a web-browser, or the PDF format which is a universal file format that is supported by everything, even web browsers, so it’s a good one to download if you don’t know what format you need :) If you read on an eReader, though, I can’t recommend enough just downloading the format for your device. You get to keep a copy of the fic AND the eReader keeps it nicely formatted. It’s a BRILLIANT, BEAUTIFUL feature that Ao3 gave us, because I like downloading all my fics and read them later in iBooks. Once you start that, Nonny, you can’t do it any other way. AND at the VERY END of the fics, it links BACK to the original post so you can bookmark, kudos, and comment on it!! <3

So yeah, two options you can do to solve your poopy internet and still read long fics hee hee! <3

ANYWAY EXCUSE FOR A NEW LIST LOL.

ALSO, side note, check out @silentauroriamthereal; a large chunk of her fics are both long AND one chapter, so it’s a good place to go and she’s a brilliant author so I don’t think you’ll be disappointed! <3 Plus a lot of her fics are on this list, so I am sorry hahah.

AND I wanted to make the list a bit longer than I had, so I picked fics over 20K, if that’s alright :) As always, if you wrote a 20k+ single chapter fic, let us know!

SINGLE CHAPTER FICS OVER 20K WORDS

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

The White Lotuses by SilentAuror (E, 20,340 w., 1 Ch. || Slow Burn, Domestic, Romance) – One day John realises that he just isn't where he belongs, which is back at Baker Street with Sherlock. So he goes back and Sherlock, in his own way, courts him. Romance.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

whiskies neat by Ellipsical (E, 20,660 w., 15 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, POV Second Person Sherlock, Slow Burn, One Night Stand, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Anal, Soldier John, Crying, Emotional Lovemaking, Switchlock) – Home and hearth and whiskies neat, or, alternatively, Sherlock Holmes falls in love.

Achieving the Together-Coloured Instant by teahigh (E, 20,776 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel, PTSD, Codependency, Fluff & Angst, H/C, Smut, Demisexual Sherlock, Experiments) – John wonders if this is how it’s going to be: A life speaking in code, because they’re both too stupid to figure out how to say, “I love you.”

Winter's Delights by Kate_Lear (E, 21,173 w., 1 Ch. || Holmes Family, Christmas, Fake Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Bed Sharing, Domestics) – Sherlock takes John home for Christmas to meet the extended Holmes family. Part 1 of Winter's Delights

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson’s urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

echoes through time by chellefic (E, 21,619 w., 1 Ch. || First Time, Romance, ACD & BBC, Epistolary) – Mummy sends a trunk from the Holmes cottage in Sussex to 221B. Its contents alter the way John and Sherlock see themselves and one another.

Ghost Stories by SwissMiss (M, 22,256 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Holmes Family, Christmas, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, First Time) – Sherlock's parents think he and John are a couple. They might be onto something.

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

26 Pieces by Lanning (E, 28,236 w., 1 Ch. || H/C, Torture, First Time, Happy Ending, Schmoop, Past Abuse) – Mycroft gives Sherlock the apparently simple task of solving a puzzle box containing a stolen microchip. It isn't simple.

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

Shallow Grave by SilentAuror (E, 31,672 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, HLV Fix It, Infidelity, Pining Sherlock, First Person POV Sherlock) – Starts as Sherlock's plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he's being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Magical Realism || John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It's a lot less cracky than you're probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

The Whore of Babylon Was a Perfectly Nice Girl by out_there (E, 32,897 w., 1 Ch. || Past Drug Use, Blowjobs, Toplock, Mentions of Switching, Rough Sex, Background Cases, Sherlock’s Past, Sherlock’s Sexual History, Experienced Sherlock, Past One Night Stands, Fingering, Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Paris Holiday, Bed Sharing, Naked Lie-Ins, Bathing Together, Confessions, Worried Sherlock, Laying in Bed All Day, Meddling Mycroft, Naked Lazy Day) – Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John's head.

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff and Angst, H/C, Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mild Gore, Sherlock Whump) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness', and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts' now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

Bedtime Stories by Liketheriver (M, 34,388 w., 1 Ch. || Emotional H/C, Romance, Angst & Humour, Bed Sharing, John First Person, TRF, John Whump) – John's POV during Season 2 and beyond when Sherlock takes up semi-permanent residence in his bed. A collection of codas and missing scenes wrapped up into one long fic and topped with a bow that takes the story beyond Reichenbach and into happy territory once more. Part 1 of Bedtime Universe

The Yellow Poppies by SilentAuror (E, 34,952 w., 1 Ch. || H/C, Nightmares, HLV Fix-It, PTSD, Trauma, POV Sherlock, Doctor John) – Sherlock is threatened and assaulted in the hospital immediately after having been shot in the heart, first by Mary, then by Magnussen. As he recovers at Baker Street with John and plans the attack on Appledore with Mycroft, he fights to work through the trauma caused by these two visits. Set during His Last Vow.

The Unfinished Letters by SilentAuror (E, 37,391 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3 / S3 / HLV Fix it, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Infidelity, Depression, Case Fic, POV Third Person Sherlock, Love Confessions, Pining Sherlock, Letters) – A fire at Baker Street leads John to read something he was never intended to see: a notebook of half-written, unfinished letters Sherlock wrote during his time away...

Set in Stone by SilentAuror (E, 39,309 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Wedding, Therapy, Fluff and Angst) – Sherlock and John are back from Ravine Valley and planning their wedding. However, as they move past the trial of the human traffickers, Sherlock can't help but wonder if he's imagining that John is becoming a little distant. Surely he isn't getting cold feet about the wedding... Part 2 of The Ravine Valley series

Act IV by SilentAuror (E, 39,707 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV Sherlock, HLV Fix-It, Infidelity, Angst, Drama) – After Sherlock is shot, John moves back into Baker Street. They spend the autumn together as John tries to make sense of his life and make some important decisions about both Mary and Sherlock. Canon-compliant, excerpts from His Last Vow.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #long fics #single chapter fics #Anonymous

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

Text

Ducktales: New Gods On The Block! Review or THE INCREDIBLE STORKULES: COCKBLOCKER OUT OF MYTH!

We’re back, and i’m doing away with intros, for now, i’m trying to see if offering people a bit of the review makes them more receptive to reading it and now we’re nearing the end of this hellyear, and the trump presdency, i’m going into this one with a ton of energy, so let’s get quackin!

We open with the Scrooge and Kids on a quest to get a golden helmet he’s been after for years and has been one of his lifelong goals using a carefully crafted plan with all the kids skills needed. Okay i’ll admit that last part is unique to this show: given how interchangable the boys are outside of this continuity, I assume he’d just throw them at the monster like Pikmin as a distraction while Donald grabbed the helmet and just grow new ones in his vast venture bro style clone mine if they happen to die. Thankfully there’s no Child Death but there is Child Failure as the team comes back sad and defeated and doubting themselves.. Della having a confetti cannon ready to celebrate dosen’t help. Though it does bring me to the subject of Della being out of focus this season. It’s a mixed bag for me: On the one hand I do get it, as she was the main focus of last season, even more than Louie, and now we’ve gotten to know her, she can sit back and play more of a supporting role, especially since Donald , who himself was more of a supporting character the past two seasons, is now getting more screentime and Beakly’s getting fleshed out more. Their trying to balance a rather massive cast, so it’s natural the one whose already got a ton of focus at this point would take a back seat and all around the show’s done a far better job giving everyone screentime this season. Launchpad has been lacking of late but given a Darkwing Duck spinoff is probably in the cards, and he’s had tons of episodes at this point compared to Donald and Beakly, i’m understanding of it.

On the other.. there’s still a lot of stories to tell with her: We still haven’t had her deal with Scrooge basically erasing her for a decade at all nor Donald hiding her past from the kids.. he had reason and all, but he still made their mother a stranger to them. They had no stories, nothing to really go on for 10 years. That’s gotta have impacted both the kids and gotta hit della hard at some point that her father-uncle and brother both just kinda.. erased her to the kids. Plus we don’t know how she’s been adjusting to have a life OUTSIDE the kids especially since she’s been sitting out so many adventures, likely to let Scrooge have time with them and be a good daughter and mother and what not, but still there’s a LOT of ground to cover they simply haven’t yet. The Donald and Della plot we did get, while glorious, didn’t really add anything to either’s likely strained relationship and it’d be nice to give the two a subplot to work this out. Granted this might all be coming in the Castle McDuck Episode for all I know, but I can’t pin all my hopes and dreams on that one. And this all COULD’VE easily happened off screen.. but it’s something the audience really wants and needs. I’m not sure if we’re getting it and that worries me. But again theirs a large chunk of the season to answer this if this is the last one, and another season possible if it’s not, so i’m willing to wait for it. I’m just getting impatient is all.

That being said this episode makes up for the Della Deficet as she’s one of the main driving forces of this side of the episode. I’ll get into that more in a second but Della’s been on the rare misfire adventure and knows Scrooge’s stages of grief and that he’ll come out of it with a better plan. Unfortunately for the kids that plan dosen’t include them and Scrooge runs off to assemble a better team leaving the kids utterly devastated. One of the other main driving forces besides depressed children and the greek gods is scrooge being really bad with people, but i’ll get to that.

Point is the kids understandable emotional devastation and Della trying to mom for all of them at once because Launchpad had to get to his other job and is taking Beakly this weak to teach him and Drake how to raise a child, is interrupted by said Zeus ASSHAT RAPIST OUT OF MYTH! Along with Storkules COCKBLOCKER OUT OF MYTH and Selene, DELLA’S FIRST TIME WITH A WOMAN OUT OF MYTH! There here because Zeus has lost his powers, as the Gods all collectively decided he was a dick and voted him out of office.. er stripped him of his powers. Sorry an asshole, narcacistic, sociopathic racist getting removed from his position of power happening a few days after the election was called.. the timing just could not have been better. But yeah Zeus is out, roll credits. Join me after them and after the cut for the rest of the review.

So yeah the Gods are fed up with him, and Selene and Storkules are there to pick a worthy inheritor to his Laurel Wreath, his lighting bolts, and his collection of playboys he keeps alphabatized in his mancave.. also his mancave will also go to the winner. Storkules however, having a one track mind, notices Donald isn’t there and goes to find him. The kids are all eager to try but Selene is there for Della, which they all agree makes sense: I mean she has the disposition and sexual appitite of a green god but without all the rampant sex crimes and murder, and given most of them have clearly copped to the times except Zeus, that’s a plus. Plus she and Selene have already been together before so the fact they can smooch into infinity along with all the fun stuff is a nice bonus. It’s not like Storkules isn’t selecting his candiate soley with his 13 inch penis, so ther’es a precident. But Della, seeing the kids clearly need this more than she does, convinces her once and future girlfriend to let them try out. I really do wish we got more of the two this episode but what we get is great, and Selene reluctantly agrees after Della makes the valid point their STILL more mature than her dad. The fact Zeus punctuates this by getting into a “No you” contest with an 11-12 year old probably helped. As for where Donald is he’s preparing for a date with Daisy! Horay. I’ve been waiting for Daisy to come back since the last time she was here, and Donald has naturally been considerate: Setting up a bunch of hearts, flowers, some punch that is likely just box wine and sprite, he has a budget and throwing all his garbage in the pool with bricks because he’s still Donald. Romantic, a good dad.. but still a disaster of a person who dosen’t know quite how to live like an adult... which naturally I immensely relate to and hope i’m lucky enough one day to have a lady or fella to hide all my garbage from. I mean i’m probably dying alone, but that’s likely my old buddy crippling depression talking. Oh you old scamp.. please fuck off an die. But enough chilling looks into my psyche, point is Storkules barges in to ruin it, and eat his carefully made grilled cheese. As though Storkules may be incredible he’s also STORKULES, GOD OF NOT REALLY READING THE ROOM. Daisy comes in, and we find out it’s their second date.. and i’m assuming their first wasn’t that time they ended up in a direct to video sequel to Die Hard that’s still far better than Die Hard 5.. then again a colonoscopy is preferable to that movie so I Dunno. But she’s nice, friendly, if put off by the big sweaty man suddenly in their date. Storkules COCKBLOCKER OUT OF MYTH, does not help matters by, upon hearing that seeing how in love they are, and finding out it’s the second date assumes their getting married and hugs them in THE SWEATY ABS OF STORKULES. Do me next.

Back at the God Tests, god I love a job-ish thing that lets me say that, Louie is up first, and being Louie has thought up a plan that benifets him wether he wins or looses but one that has serious underlying issues he hasn’t thought of. Naturally it turns out to be a gold touch which, as with Midas, works out about as well as you’d expect.. with Dog Murder and mass murder to follow. Selene undoes it, So Louie gets nothing. And yeah this has been a major issue this season that while I talked about it back in “Let’s Get Dangerous” bares repeating: Louie feels like he learned NOTHING from the events of last season. He still likes, he still dosen’t think plans through, and he still cheats. In contrast Dewey DID grow from his season.. it’s subtle, he’s still the same loveable trainwreck and pre-teen Hank Venture he’s always been, but he no longer hides secrets or family stuff and is more of a team player. Still an egotsitical one, but it’s there. But Louie.. hasn’t changed at all. He’s still conviving, still thinks only in short term.. it’s only once or twice like with the Impossibin the events of last year really seem to have sunk in. It feels like the writer’s couldn’t figure out how to write a smarter Louie and just gave up. It’s really disheartning especially when most other character development, subtle and otherwise, sticks.

While Huey sweats over his turn and Della tries to encourage, we cut back to the date which is going okay, Daisy’s trying to roll with it but Storkules, TERRIBLE WINGMAN OUT OF MYTH really isn’t good at talking Donald up or letting them get to know one another. While things breifly get better when Daisy brings up her career and Donald talks it up like the loving soon to be boyfriend he is, Storkules FUCKUP OUT OF MYTH screws things up by saying, when she explains to him she hasn’t made any Toga’s because she works primarily in dresses that she can “work up to them eventually. “ As proof this is the best Daisy she dosen’t dump Donald immidetly despite none of this being his fault and him trying to explain he didn’t invite him, but instead just makes an angry, and understandably so , face and goes to powder her beak.. which is clearly code for “Scream Obscenities into Donald’s Mirror for the next ten minutes”. Which if it already wasn’t abundantly clear they were perfect for each other this would be the clincher. Donald wants Storkules to go and TRIES to tell him, but Storkules just assumes he wants him to make a big romantic gesture for them and goes to “let Cupid’s Arrow” strike her. Donald understandably wants conformation he doesn’t mean that literally. Spoiler alert: He does.

IT’s Huey’s turn next at playing god and he decides to be God of Intuition, gaining future sight so he can know everything and prevent tragedy. We instead get a damn funny scene where after adjusting to his powers he tries to prevent a breakup.. only to play both parts himself and cause it anyway. Just some great acting from Danny Pudi there. We get some more as Huey slowly melts down from the information, traumatizing a kid and nearly getting beat up with a guy who wants to “Beat up the freak for making everyone uncomfortable” which..

Yeah it’s not acceptable for what looks like a grown adult, or even a Teenager if that was an intent, to whale on a CHILD, let alone ANYONE for being “a Freak”. I mean yes Huey did screw up big, not mass murder bit but still.. but he’s still a fucking child. As someone who was prone to breakdowns at that age, and up to present day... I take this personally, especially since I see Huey as high functioning autsitic. So this hits home as i’ve had many people just tell me to get over it instead of trying to help. So yeah fuck this guy, take off that Gizmoduck shirt you do not deserve it. We fans do though, I hope that becomes real merch.

But yeah Huey failed and Zeus is gloating..mostly because in his already considerably warped brain, he thinks that if they all fail he dosen’t get it. Selene explains basic logic to him: If they fail to find a new god here, they’ll just keep looking. Zeus naturally has a tantrum as Scrooge enters, wondering why the kids care about god powers and Della, being a supportive mom, tries to get him to encourage them. He instead focuses on his team. Again, we’ll get to him trust me. Selene also calls her dad out on the fact he hasn’t done anything good since defeating the titans centuries ago. Naturally being THE GREATEST SHITHEAD IN ALL OF GREEK MYTHOLOGY Zeus takes the exact wrong lesson from this and calls his brother Hades to whip up a titan for him to fight because that was her point and not that your an irredemible dick tip who their desperate to replace and who was dethroned because no one liked you, not even your horrible presumibly now ex wife. I mean unlike DC Comics Zeus he’s not planning a cou but only because he has no powers. Hades however is well aware his brother has no powers, as the gods have been talking about it and laughing about it because Zeus sucks eggs. Also Hades has a great goth look and personality here as well as muscular arms to hold my bi ass at night. A-Plus character design. I may also have a thing for goths and emos I never realized I had. Just an observation.

Back at the boat Donald and Daisy are enjoying drinks, which again has to be wine.. I mean again box wine, Donald needs a lot of booze after a hard days nearly getting murdered and Costco has great deals on it, but still booze. They cuddle a bit and it’s fucking adorable.. and Storkules WHO JUST KIDDNAPED HIS COUSIN CUPID AND STOLE HIS SHIT naturally ruins this moment by first trying to fire one date rape arrow at them, then takes donald’s rampant headshaking no as a sign to fire all of the arrows... with Daisy ending up in the water and unsettling the garbage. Granted Donald COULD’VE prevented this by explaning things to her.. but i’m betting he didn’t simply because he’s.. tired of this shit. He’s tired of adventure, tired of it intruding on his life and just hoped Storkules was gone and out of sight and didn’t have a chance to prepare for that till it was too late. NOW Daisy storms off.. but unlike say Cabs Daisy, whose a living nightmare, or Comic Daisy, whose not a great person but has her moments depending on the comic, she has VALID REASON. Donald lied to her about garbage and dind’t just take it out like a normal Duck, and didn’t just outright yell at his friend to leave on their date, a friend who just attacked her and already insulted her. IT’s understandable, especailly given a line coming up she’d WANT to leave and leave Donald behind. Donald however is naturally miserable and it finally gets through Storkules thick skull he messed up and he runs off to cry while Donald miserably floats among the garbage and my heart both relates to that nad breaks seeing it. I mean .. Daisy meant a lot to him: After years of presumibly avoiding dating, or if he did not doing so for long, to focus on the boys, after a year of putting their needs ahead of his and living with his demanding uncle, of being dragged out of a normal if miserable life and into a less miersable but adventerous one he didn’t want, of being stranded in space and on an island wondering if his kids would be okay.. he finally not only has time for himself, and his sister back after years of thinking her dead and thus someone else to take care of the kids needs for a while without feeling any guilt over it or worrying about them, but found someone special. She’s talented, beautiful, charming, and understanding. And most importanlty she LISTENS to him and throughly likes Donald for who he is. And he looses that only PARTLY due to his won incomptence but mostly because someone he already barely allows in his life came in and ruined it. Once again the adventure and everything took something from him and while not nearly as big as loosing his sister, it still fucking hurts to once again have one small bit of something just for himself, one bit of normalcy, one person who loves him for who he is now through and through.. and it’s seemingly gone. It’s why I like this relationship even if this part panes me: Donald can FINALLY be happy... finally have someone who genuinely cares about him. This also boils down Storkules character and why I don’t ship the two of them: He’s a good god, he’s brave, compasionate, carring, and generally wants the best for donald and does genuinely love him.. but he also dosen’t care really what DONALD wants half the time. He’s the embodiment of Donald’s biggest gripe with his life: No one listens to or repsects him or what he wants. Storkules wants Donald the adventurer, Donald the brave, Donald the undaunted, DONALD THE IDEALIZED VERSION THAT ONLY EXISTS IN HIS HEAD. He dosen’t really get Donald isn’t the same person, and even that person wasn’t into him. Not because he’s a man, like his sister Donald could easily be bi or pan.. but because he’s just SO MUCH and Donald’s family is already SO MUCH.. and that was BEFORE the kids and the launchpad. Donald has made peace with adventuring but it’s still clearly not his faviorite thing while for Storkules adventure and experince is his life. Storkules needs someone like him and Donald needs someone down to earth, someone who can HANDLE the amount of chaos that follows him and the famly, but someone whose .. normal. And Daisy is that. If you ship then fine fine, but I just don’t because they just don’t go together and both deserve a partner they can truly be a partner with, not someone they clearly don’t understand or someone they DREAD visiting. They both deserve better than that.

Back on the god plot, it’s Webby’s turn as she becomes Goddess of Friendship. And helps the mood at the pier by spreading sunshine.. and then deals with the pier’s greatest menace and my honorary uncle, because he’s really not much worse than some of my actual uncles...

GLOMGOLD, SCOURGE OF CHILDREN’S KIDDIE RIDES. Because of course a seemingly regular habit for Glomgold is hogging a children’s ride he somehow fits into. Of course it is. It’s cheap and he’s not the best human being but I love him anyway. Webby heats it up to scare him then tries to get the kids to hug before having a breakdown at everyone not being happy. This does fit with her personality.. I didn’t think so at first but thinking back her first response in any friendship crisis is to panic and overreact. Her reaction to her best friend telling her she may have to stop sleeping over with her and her sister/webby’s giflriend because of magic danger is an implied death threat. She’s getting BETTER with people, but she still dosen’t have the life experince to fully deal with it and naturally upon seeing things get worse and worse goes on a lighting filled rampage Selene thankfully stops and likely undoes. Though Glomgold is likely on the moon now. He’ll be fine.

Dewey is last and auditions.. but forgets the god part and fails which fits him perfectly and is a great bit. The kids have all washed out and are depressed about it. While Della is hopeful when talking to Selene, Selene gently explains to her girlfriend she shares with a space alien that the kids just aren’t ready and that maybe the power of a god just isn’t the thing you give to a kid for a self esteem boost. Della MEANS well here, she just wants her kids, Webby very much included, to feel good and get their self esteem back after Scrooge swallowed it whole. But Selene is right that this is just too much power, and given it nearly drove Huey insane and nearly made Louie and Webby murderers, she has a point. It’s a good thought, but Selene needs an actual replacement for her dad. Sadly though this breaks the kids further after this and they slink off and Selene gets she messed up.. while she was right to reject them, she missed WHY Della was trying so hard. However credit where it’s do unlike her brother, while she dosen’t try to fix her issue, it’s likely out of emotional maturity: she knows just saying nice things to the kids wouldn’t help them or would wring hollow and their mom is better for that. IT’s things like this that are going to make her a good step mom.. yeah i’m shiping Della with both her girlfriends at once. Just because I gave up on her and Launchpad dosen’t mean poly’s off the table, and frankly selene is strong enough to win Penumbra’s favor and Penumbra has the kind of pepper and violence a greek goddess likes in her women. They’d be cute all together. I likes it.

Less cute is ZEUS, SCHEMING BOWL OF ELEPHANT PISS OUT OF MYTH!, who realizes his greatest gift isn’t his powers: I’ts manipulating his children.

And since he found a sad STORKULES POOR SAD BOY OUT OF MYTH. , and hears his issue, with Storkules hilarious sitting in his poppa’s lap, he spins it into getting what he wants: Saying since he and his wife, and Storkules mother in this version apparently I dunno, fell in love with battle, summoning Chronos will do just that for Donsy. Granted for most people your dad’s tale about how he met your step mom who tried killiing you a bunch and who he’s cheated on dozens of times would raise a red flag, but STORKULES IS THICK AS A BRICK.. in both senses of the word and calls forth Chronus.

Daisy meanwhile is driving her car away, but is battling with herself. On one hand she doesn’t want to play mother to a guy who can’t dispose his trash or his weird friends. On the other she admits she can really be herself around Donald. We then get the most telling line though.. “You do not need to fall for another man who needs saving!”

That.. is clearly setup for the future. It MIGHT be Gladstone but it could be anyone. Hell it could be someone entirely new. She also could have a kid like we’ve all wanted. We could get a canon version of Juinor.. not named Donald Juinor because 1) He’s not donald’s son and 2) that name’s been forever tainted and we all know which living bottle of axe body spray to blame. I.. genuinely can’t wait to find out who this is and I expect we will before the season’s up and i’ts nice to see Tress, like last time, get to dig into some emotional complexity with the character instead of just yelling at Donald or talking about bows and stuff. Here she grapples with herself as she does love Donald but the past has burnt her a lot. But as a wise pansexual once said “ But I think it's important for us to remember that sometimes, sometimes it does work out. And even though everything inside us is telling us to protect ourselves, when you've got it, don't let it go. And I am telling you, that you have got it, if you want it. “ Love is hard, love is messy, maybe that among many other things is why i’m alone. But it’s worth it when you take the time.. and upon seeing a giant monster heading for Donald’s house, Daisy realizes he is worth it.. or that frustrated with him right now or not she dosen’t want him to die. Either way she’s a coming and i’m gathering hornets in a box in ancipation of finding out who hurt her so I can mail them to him. I popped an H on there so I know it has hornets.

Back at the mansion the mood is bleak as heelllllllllll with Louie ordering pizza minus the toppings and Della’s attempt to give the kids hot choclate just getting an ow from Webby. It does make sense: Scrooge and adventuring are their lives.. if he dosen’t need them.. how would they ever do it themselves? Plus their 11 and 13 and at that age kids are very fragile so having their mentor and grandpa reject them like this really hurts, not helped by Scrooge proudly announcing his new team and trying to awkwardly bounce not getting this is his fault, though Della is staring at him with a look that just screams.

But before Della can stab her Dunkle, we cut to a depressed donald who switches from one natural state, Depression, to another, fearing for his life, as Chronus arrives and Huey rightly wonders how he’s here. The kids all defer to Scrooge while Della continues to just be the best. Seriously for the entire episode her only throught is her kids, and their emotional well being and had this crisis not popped up she probably would’ve stabbed scrooge then yelled him out for hurting her babies. She’s graduated from trying to be a mom but having issues with it due to mentally still being in her 20′s, to genuinely being GREAT at the job. Good on her. Daisy is naturally horrified to arrive to find Donald being eaten while Storkules is overjoyed. I WOULD say his stupidity’s overplayed this episode.. but he’s never displayed good judgement before why start now? It fits his character and his joy turns to distress when Chronus eats donald.. and has a cage in his tummy. with glass walls. I dunno, it’s a cool design. Daisy is understandably pissed and yells at it for eating her boyfriend, which gets an adorable oh boy oh boy from donald> Again love is rough, but one jackass screwing with you does not equate to every man or woman or person you date being a jackass. Daisy has realized this. Storkules is overjoyed, but soon finds himself and his sister fihgting Chronus and honestly both are damn impressive doing so. Seriously when the justice ducks form.. give htem a call. I mean She has moon beams and he’s a greek god.. plus Drake and Launchpad could use a third.. I mean he fits better there and Drake is already dating one manchild, and is one to a smaller extent, another won’t hurt. Just consider it shippers.. or foursies with Morgana because as this episode shows Storkules is bi as he is mighty. he’s Bighty. But the god squad fails, and gets eaten and Zeus’ time to shine predictably ends with an “I’ve failed immediately”, to no one’s suprise.

Scrooge starts working on a plan as he and Della, naturally scale the colossus. We then get the scene that’s been boiling all episode: When Scrooge wonders where the kids are, Della calls him out pointing out they’ve been plauged with doubts about him replacing them.. because he literally was replacing them, and when Scrooge is earnestly suprised by that Della points out the obvious: Their children, as I said their fragile and as Della puts it, Scrooge puts a LOT of pressure on them, something she likely knows from experince. And this is what i’ve been leading up to and putting a pin in all episode: Scrooge himself. It’s something I thought of days ago but this episode hammers in heavily: Scrooge really dosen’t have a ton of personal social skills. Sure he can work a board room pitch, lead a team of adventuerers, and run a vast empire while never forgetting the human element, for a lack of a better term, he’s not lacking in empathy or the ablility to talk to people, but when it comes to reading them it’s just surface level. He’s genuinely been show to struggle with empathy, with feeling someone elses emotions or realizing them till they’ve already been hurt. He spent a good ten years desperatley trying to bring Della back, avoding his pain and guilt instead of talking to Donald and making amends with him. His relationship with Goldie took decades to get anywhere healthy as he just put his walls up and assumed she’d never change when, as we’ve seen now, she always could she just needed a push. And when confronted by the kids he lashed out and then pushed them away instead of mending the wounds he created. Even on a much smaller level, when Lena and Violet ended up along next week he’s utterly lost when Adventure isn’t on the menu and only picks up from being baffled by two normal ish (One’s a parnaomal expert the other is the paranormal) joining him once it’s clear at least one of them fits right in with his intrests. He can deal with people on a problem by problem basis, but he’s just not good at dealing with their emotional needs or opening up. It’s why this works so well: his oblviousness fits. To him and the way his brain works, the crown is just a problem to solve and he just needs diffrent tools to fix it, not realizing replacing the kids for a mission would bother them or they’d ever think they were replaceable. Until now I hadn’t seen much similarity to Huey but both.. are just not great with PEOPLE. They put them in boxes, try to solve problems that way.. it’s just their specific issues that way are diffrent. Scrooge can anticapte the unknown and how people he’s fighting act.. but can’t anticipate personal hurt and pain well because he bottles all his up. When checking off a problem.. i’ts just something he dosen’t consider and thus his biggest blindspot, the thing he has to overcome time and time again: How his family feels and how he can deal with it. Here however he deals admirably.. now he KNOWS there’s a problem, and in a genuine show of character development over the past three seasons, he apologizes fully, saying their the best team he could ask for, better than zeus and don’t need his powers and they can get the helm together. Instead of putting up walls.. he’s letting his in and showing humility, which given Scrooge’s ego.. is a tall order. But for those kids, for his strength, it’s no small feet. Of course said speech gets Him and Della eaten, but the kids, now reinegized, ahve time to plan, with Daisy further stalling by roaring at Chronus to stop. Because she’s fucking awesome and Storkules finally gets that. The kids however take the leaves and breifly retake their powers, Dewey’s is for dance naturally, and use them together to take down Chronus, freeing everyone else, defeating the titan and throwing him back into the pits. Donald and Daisy reunite and get a RELLY sweet moment, blushing and looking lovingly at one another, getting lava on each other, before kissing. STORKULES, DOSEN’T GET THEY DON’T WANT A THIRD PARTNER OF MYTH, of course interrupts and hugs them hostage for the remaider of the episode. I’m assuming Beakly , when she got home, pried htem out and explained them not wanting a third int heir relationship to him, and it’s a weak end to the plot as Storkules learned nothing and one of the weaker parts of this episode. The rest is stronger as the kids and Scrooge plan to make another run at the helmet and Selene wonders off to “use your shower” and then order pizza.. so she basically just asked Della out. And has used her shower before.

I mean again, she can have two partners. This episode alone has earned that and they seem like they’d mesh. Penny would just have to learn some lessons about sharing and godly vagina’s is all. Nothing wrong with that. And what about Zeus.. no one asked but he gets his wreath back only to fall in the pit, with Hades naturally laughing his ass off.. and likely also taking Zeus’ laurel back. So Zeus is trapped in hell with a goth mocking him. HORAY! HAPPY END. Final Thoughts; This was a pretty good one. It does have it’s weak spots: Storkules learned nothing, the kids stories endings were easy to see coming and there wasn’t enough Dellene. But really despite that. .it’s still a solid episode mostly because it’s REALLY damn funny. The comedic timing is just pitch perfect and while like most of the plots I could see the rhythm of the donsy plot, the reasons for it were all funny and fresh and the scene with Daisy in her car was a nice bit of character building/clear setup for the future. And showing off Della’s own character developement and history with scrooge, the latter without ever having to mention it, really brought the episode up, as did the guest cast’s game voice acting and timing. This episode is far from perfect, but it’s still a fun episode that felt needed despite not being tied into the main plot: Bringing back some old friends, and having an intresting story to tell. Plus we got more Donsy so there’s that. Overall while not the BEST episode of the series, it was a funny, enjoyable half hour of television and sometimes, that’s enough. If you liked this review follow me or more, and if there’s an episode of Ducktales from seasons 1 or 2 you’d like me to cover, you can comission it for 5 bucks, 5 bucks an episode, 5 dollars off your order when you comission more than one, via my personal messages. You can also follow me on patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet if you want. NEXT WEEK: FLASHBACK EPISODE! BABY DONALD AND DELLA! BRADFORD ORIGIN STORY! POSSIBLE HORTENSE AFTER SO LONG! MY BODY IS READY!

#ducktales #donald duck #daisy duck #donsy #delumbra #delene #della duck #selene #storkules #scrooge mcduck #dewey duck #huey duck #louie duck #hades #chronus #chronos #new gods on the block!#new gods on the block #ducktales spoilers

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obeyme-kaidii · 4 years

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Lesson 35 Summary

MC and the brothers go on an adventure.

***SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT***

Beel has led everyone to the music room, where they find Lucifer’s record collections strewn all over the floor. Beel explains that he really liked that drink that Levi made, so he tried to make it himself by using earplugs. But when they fell out, he started to be influenced by the music and in the process of resisting, damaged the record collection.

Everyone then realizes that Beel never actually stopped the record, he just bumped it and knocked the needle off. While they are all talking, Satan hears the music resume, and soon everyone is under the effects of the music and making a mad dash to the bathroom to find water. (Why couldn’t they jump into the fountain on the patio outside the music room?)

Solomon stops by to bring some food he had made for everyone to share, and the brothers almost trample him in their haste to get to the bathroom. He quickly realizes what is going on and breaks the spell of the song.

After the curse is lifted, everyone heads to the dining room and explains what exactly happened to Solomon, who is very amused by the whole thing. Beel then smells Solomon’s food, and he explains that he prepared “Devildom style Oden” - a Japanese dish prepared with Devildom ingredients. The brothers start to argue amongst themselves who should try it first, when Lucifer suddenly enters the room.

He had gone back to check on his record collection, and noticed that one of his records was broken by Beel. This was a special record that once belonged to a Reaper, and had a curse placed on it. When the record broke, Beel was cursed - dramatically shortening his life.

Everyone gathers in the living room to discuss what can be done to help Beel. Satan explains to MC how reapers work - inside their cave they keep rows and rows of candles that represent the souls of people, angels, and demons. The candle burns, and once it gets low enough, the reaper goes to harvest the soul.

Belphie suggests that everyone goes to the Reaper’s cave to check on Beel’s candle. Solomon speaks up and informs the group that he actually knows where the Reaper’s cave is and can take them there.

Solomon leads everyone outside where he draws a magic circle for the spell he needs to teleport everyone there safely. Belphie is getting agitated and impatient, concerned for Beel’s life. Lucifer wants to know why everyone else is planning on going with them to the cave, and they explain that they are all worried about Beel too.

Solomon explains that the Reaper might actually accuse them of trespassing, shortly before casting his spell to take them to the cave. When everyone arrives, they aren’t prepared for it and end up falling all over each other. Solomon lands gracefully of course, and apologies for forgetting to mention that they need to be careful about their landing when teleporting.

Solomon then notices that the Reaper is not home in their cave at the moment. And Levi reads off a threatening message written on the wall of the cave in blood - warning Solomon against entering in their absence. Solomon seems to find it quite amusing, but everyone else is concerned.

Mammon speaks up, saying that the Reaper not being there should actually make things easier for them.

Solomon explains that the Reaper’s cave has a special rule on each level that must be followed or they could end up dead before they reach the candles.

Hearing how dangerous things are, Beel tries to get everyone else to go home. But they all refuse and insist on helping him. With everyone in agreement, reassuring Beel that MC is well protected with them all there, Solomon leads the way into the cave.

The first area they come to looks like a giant field, and the rule is “Don't look back.”

One by one, everyone hears the voice of someone or something important to them. (Beel & Belphie aren’t mentioned)

Lucifer - MC, though he only says it’s “someone next to me”

Mammon - MC, saying sweet things to him

Levi - Ruri-chan,

Satan - a kitten, lost and unable to find its mother

Asmo - his fans, asking him to look at them

Levi can’t resist, despite knowing that Ruri-chan isn’t even real, and turns around.

The group soon arrives in level 2, where the rule is “Do not touch.”

Levi, it turns out, has been transformed into a Little D of Envy. He insists he regrets nothing, but still has a little bit of a meltdown at the thought of being stuck like that for the rest of his life.

Beel notices a smudge on Mammon’s arm, and Mammon becomes convinced it’s the fabled “Midas’ Crest” - which would make anything he touches turn to gold. After getting a better look at it, everyone tries to convince Mammon that it’s just a random ink smudge, but he doesn’t listen. Beel reminds him that he’ll turn into a Little D if he touches anything, but he says he doesn’t care - he’s going to be rich!

Mammon of course gets transformed into a Little D of Greed and immediately regrets his choice, having returned to his senses. Satan and Solomon both notice that all of the books in the library are actually rather rare tomes. Solomon reminds Satan that he can’t touch anything. And Satan assures him it’s not an issue because he’s not an idiot “like a certain brother” of his.

Satan then hears a cat meow, and MC and his brothers try to distract him from it, but he’s not fooled.

Soon, Satan is also a Little D of Wrath. And he’s not ashamed of his decision to pick up the kitten either. Solomon points out that he’s surprised that all that has happened has been the brothers turning into Little Ds. He was expecting a much more serious punishment. He wonders if perhaps there is something protecting the brothers.

Favorite Scenes -

to be added later

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me spoilers #obey me lesson 35 #obey me lesson 35 spoilers #obey me lesson 35 summary #obey me lesson summary

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ohmightydevviepuu · 4 years

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writer’s month prompts

prompt twenty-eight: fantasy (let’s call it a brief coda to prompts eight and twenty-seven. a soulmate AU--of sorts. canon compliant for CS movie.)

full collection on AO3

It’s not that she hasn’t had this fantasy--okay, maybe not exactly this fantasy, there was definitely no time travel involved, she absolutely had not planned on needing for fight for her actual existence--but the fairytale fantasy. She’d been a kid once. She’d seen all of the movies. She’d fantasized about being a princess.

And now she was one--in a castle, on a quest in the actual real-life Enchanted Forest. She’s the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming and now she has the dress and everything.

The corset is digging into her waist, though.

“Just when I thought the clothes here couldn’t get any worse,” she mutters.

So, she can’t breathe. It’s fine. The dress is red and her boobs look great and she can actually walk in her shoes which is an upgrade from her usual datewear and her headband sparkles and then Hook looks at her and says, “You might not be able to move, Swan, but you cut quite the figure in that dress.”

Emma blushes, because there he is, looking every inch the prince he is pretending to be, looking at her and smiling like she is the answer to every fantasy he’s ever had, too. Her hand is wrapped around his arm and she can feel it, the inexplicable thing that is never not between them.

There’s music ahead as King Midas sends them forward, music that sounds almost familiar but still like nothing she’s ever heard before. She’s curious, of course she is.

“Mary Margaret and David are always going on about this ball, and that ball,” she says. “What’s the big deal about these things?”

And then--oh. Wow.

The hall is enormous. The music fills the space just enough to be present but there’s still an air of joviality, of conversation, all around her. The tapestries are bright, colorful--everything is lit by torches and candelabra, and every jewel on every person in the room glitters in the dimness.

Hook’s just looking at her, completely delighted, watching her take all of it in. She wants to say something, anything to take that smirk off of his face--his presence at these sorts of things probably always involves conspiracy to commit robbery, right?--but she can’t, because she’s too caught up watching the dancers.

His breath is warm and in her ear as he whispers, “You were saying?”

It’s easy--it’s too easy--to be here with him.

He’d followed her through a time portal. He’d come after her, and there’s no one else she’d rather be here with.

She does care.

When she says, “What am I supposed to do?” she’s not only talking about the ring, but there’s her hand in his as he pulls her into the dance.

His smirk and his eyebrow when he says, as if it should be obvious, “Blend in.”

She lets him lead her into the dance without even questioning it. She’s not really surprised so much as she needs to fall back on their usual pattern when she needles him. “Wait. Are you saying you know how to do whatever this is?”

Because of course he does. Of course. There’s his hand at the base of her spine and his prosthetic held up for her with no hint of self-consciousness, just his smile--his real smile and his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation--as he steps forward and they waltz.

And here’s the thing.

Here’s the thing.

She and Tinkerbell aren’t friends. It’s not like they had a lot of opportunities for bonding or whatever in their copious free time in between witch attacks. But Tink loves to chatter and tell stories and after the whole Robin-and-Regina thing happened Tink got caught up in a recitation of the different kinds of True Love she’d seen during her fairy days.

“Watch the mocking,” Emma says. If it’s a little breathless, she can blame it on the dress. “I’m actually getting the hang of this.”

He’s not mocking her, but his smile, it’s just--

“I’m just thinking about what you said in Storybrooke, about not being a princess,” he says.

Like the time she’d seen a couple who immediately and seamlessly knew all of the steps to a dance, pulling together and working through the steps as if they’d been doing it forever.

They just--started dancing. Together.

Like she and Hook are.

The way he’s smiling at her, it’s taking her breath away and she can’t, they can’t.

Her first dance at her first royal ball and the reality is somehow so much better than the fantasy.

“I believe what I’m trying to say, Your Highness--” and he bows, what even is her life? “--is that you appear to be a natural.”

Her father is there--the entire purpose of this ridiculous charade--but all Emma can do is stare at Hook. To look at him and really let herself see.

Let herself imagine, let herself believe.

Because the truth is, she doesn’t want to leave Storybrooke. She just doesn’t know how to let herself stay.

Emma watches him watch her and wonder if Hook’s ever heard any of Tink’s stories.

Wonders what he believes.

But then, the doors fling open, and--oh, shit.

Regina’s here.

Charming’s gone.

prompt list and master post

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @katie-dub @shireness-says @kmomof4 @carpedzem @lfh1226-linda @karl0ta @captain-emmajones @mariakov81 @spartanguard @optomisticgirl

#cs fic #writersmonth2020

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tiikeria · 4 years

Text

Patron of the Poor, Protector of Outcasts

Title: Patron of the Poor, Protector of Outcasts Ship(s): None Rating: T Warning(s): Language Words: 1,874 words Summary: “I am Midas, God of Gold. Patron of the Poor and Protector of Outcasts. Wherever poverty and the downtrodden go, I’m needed. And Los Santos was full of it.” Notes: Huh. Two fics in two weeks? Am I feeling okay? I also have a third planned, and my lovely co-creator Pchew has one going as well. We like this AU bit too much. Anyway, enjoy!

Gavin didn’t like showing off what he could do. The more you played close to yourself, the more people underestimated you. That’s how he got such a reputation as a bumbling idiot. No one suspected the dumb one to swindle you out of everything, now did they?

But something was endearing about the childlike wonder Michael and Jeremy watched him with when he used his powers. Even the smallest thing seemed to capture their attention. His fellow Lads were so curious about what he could do, and, honestly, it was refreshing. Normally people regarded the gold from his hands with distrust and fear.

“So, what can you make?” Jeremy asked one afternoon, a lazy Sunday playing games and just enjoying each other’s company, “I mean, with the gold. Like, can you shape it, or is it just a flood, like before?”

Michael snorted, putting down his controller, “Jeremy just wants to know if you can make him a golden Spyro.”

“I do not!”

Gavin laughed, but produced the aforementioned dragon in his palm, shining brilliantly in the afternoon sun, “Shame, that, because I happen to have one, yeah?”

Jeremy’s pure joy and awe almost made him blush, “Okay, I do really want a golden Spyro, holy shit that is so fucking cool.”

“You think everything Spyro is cool, though.”

“I’m a simple man,” Jeremy stated, still staring longingly at the golden figure in Gavin’s hand, “I see Spyro, I’m happy. Same thing with whiskey.”

Giggles erupt from Gavin’s lips as he tosses the dragon to Jeremy, “Sorry, I can’t make golden whiskey. That’ll have to do.”

Michael huffs as Jeremy cradles his new toy like a father cradles a newborn, “What about me? What do I get? How dare you gift this schmuck something before you gift your Boi something! Does Boiship mean nothing to you, anymore!?”

“Michael, no, Michael!” More laughter bubbled from Gavin’s chest, “You’re my Boi, Michael! Jeremy’s my Lil J, but you’re my Boi! I have something for you, yeah? How about this?”

Gavin makes a show of it since he had their undivided attention, and because he could without the worry of scaring them. With a flourish, he presents Michael with a small, blocky, golden sword. Michael pretends to not be impressed, but Gavin can see the awe and joy in Michael’s eyes.

“Gold swords are for chumps, Boi!”

Gavin pretends to be offended, all part of the games they all play with each other, “I don’t bloody shit diamonds, Michael! But if you get me some, I might be persuaded to give you an upgrade.”

“You can do that?!” Jeremy perks up from where he had been admiring his little Spyro, “You can make diamond swords?”

“Well,” Gavin hums, “I can make swords. I’m sure making one out of diamonds isn’t impossible, yeah? Just have to figure it out. We could make a day of it, lads! I could teach you how to be smithies, just like I used to in the 1800s!”

“I always forget how fucking old you are,” Michael shakes his head, “I mean, you talk about the 1800s like it was last fucking year.”

“I’m only 3000 years old or summat. That’s nothing compared to other Gods!”

“‘Only 3000,’” Michael mocked in a high, squeaky, British accent, ignoring Gavin’s whines to stop being a “smegpot.” Jeremy laughed in turn at Gavin’s pout, but not unkindly, “You old ass Greek fuck.”

“If you’re Greek,” Jeremy giggled, “Why the fuck are you British?”

“What? What do you mean, ‘why am I British?’”

Jeremy throws his hands up in the air, “You were born in Ancient Greece. You lived in Ancient Greece for a long fucking time. You’ve lived in the US for a few decades. So why the fuck did you decide to be British?”

“Because I lived in the British Isles for over a century, Jeremy! I came over with the Romans and never bloody well left! I’m probably more British than Greek anymore, yeah?”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“That’s not how you work,” Gavin grumbles petulantly, earning him a snort from the two other Lads.

“So you’re fake British. What the fuck made you come to Los Santos of all places? I mean, you went from European shithole to American super shithole.”

Gavin stretches out on the white sectional that took up most of the Fakes’ living room, sun streaming in the floor to ceiling windows making his skin look more golden than it really was. Jeremy and Michael settle down similarly, the quiet music from their abandoned game the only other sound in the room as Gavin collected his thoughts.

“Now that’s a question, innit?” He finally says, leveling them with a lopsided smile, “You know I’m God of Gold, yeah?”

“Of course,” Jeremy instantly answers, to which Gavin hums.

“That’s not all I’m God of. Most gods have other domains as well, like Artemis being Goddess of the Hunt, but also of Childbirth. Or Apollo being God of Medicine as well as Music and Prophesy. I also have other domains.

“Akakios contacted me a few decades ago, about 40 years, really, and said he found a city that needed me. He had been living in the States for quite a while at that point, from the Northeast to the South to the Midwest. Everywhere, yeah? But he had never said that about any of the cities he visited. So, I knew he had to be serious to even consider that a city needed my help.”

Both Michael and Jeremy watch Gavin closely as Gavin turns to look out over the city through the windows. Eventually, when Gavin didn’t start up again, Michael piped up, “So what else are you God of that made it so you could help Los Santos?”

Gavin smiled softly, “I am Midas, God of Gold. Patron of the Poor and Protector of Outcasts. Wherever poverty and the downtrodden go, I’m needed. And Los Santos was full of it. Corruption was even worse than it is now. At least 80% of the population was below the poverty level. Almost 30% were homeless. Kios saw these people and knew I could help them somehow. So, I boarded the next flight from London and got to work.”

“Jesus,” Jeremy breathed, “You fixed Los Santos?”

“I still am, yeah? Until these people no longer pray to me, I’m needed.”

The three were quiet for a moment, as Gavin watched the sun dip lower in the sky out the windows, buildings glinting in the late afternoon sun like steel and glass gemstones. He still had so much work to do to get Los Santos to where he’d be happy leaving it. So many were still born into poverty. Too many homeless and alone. He did what he could, but he was one God against a society that didn’t care.

Gavin started when Michael finally spoke, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument. Gavin knew that tone very well. Michael had made up his mind about something and wasn’t about to be swayed.

“So, what can we do to help clean up the shit?”

“I…what?”

“You heard me. How can the crew help? We have more money than sense anymore. And most of us grew up in lower-class dumps like Los Santos. Hell, Fiona was raised here. I’ve been on the streets, and it sucks major doo doo. So, how can we help you make this place a level above a turd?”

Gavin felt a swell of emotion for his Boi, that extended to Jeremy when he saw him nod in agreement. Both of them were watching him in rapt attention as if soldiers waiting on their orders. And Gavin…well, Gavin knew exactly what they could do. A grin curled on his lips as he pulled out his phone to call a crew meeting.

“Boys…I think we need a heist.”

A few weeks later, the news would tell a peculiar tale. Someone had broken into dozens of homes of wealthy Los Santos citizens, all in one night. Nothing was taken but the clothes in their closets, and the food in their cupboards.

Meanwhile, every legitimate shelter in Los Santos, homeless camps, and charities received an anonymous donation of clothes and food. The only note was emblazoned with a green duck and written in gold ink.

Enjoy your donations. Make sure they’re used. We’ll be watching over you.

Of course, this didn’t make the news. Stories of the lower class never did. But that was just fine for the culprits; they didn’t do it for the fame or the fortune. No, they did it for the people. The people of their city.

It took a while before the police caught on to what the crew was doing. Sure, they still hit banks, but the majority of the stolen notes would end up funding an after-school program for at-risk youth. Expensive items would go missing, only to end up at a charity auction for a women’s center. And those few good officers saw what the crew was trying to accomplish. For the first time, the Fakes had allies in the LSPD; not many, but it was a start.

And the crew themselves seemed to have a new spark. Excitement in the air when they all sat down to plan the next heist, with the next recipient of their Robin Hooding. Jack heisted for a Children’s Hospital and they ended up with a small green duck on the new mural for the playground at the hospital’s campus. Geoff bolstered local AA and addiction groups, giving them the resources they needed to reach more people. Jeremy and Michael worked together to create boxing and wrestling programs for low-income kids. Matt and Trevor created STEM programs. Fiona worked on LBGT programs. Lindsay was adamant about helping the animals of Los Santos.

They all had their niche. And, together, they did their best to make good in the city.

Gavin was overjoyed, to say the least. To see the people he cared about the most helping him make the city a better place was everything he had ever hoped for. He still got prayers daily, almost hourly, but they were coming less as people had more places to turn for help. Of course, he would always answer the call, if needed, but he could finally relax after 40 years of doing everything he could to raise the city from its rough beginnings.

And he started to see a shift in the people as well. They were helping each other, raising each other from where they had fallen. Injustice was being spoken out against. Marches were organized for victims of senseless violence. People were donating more of their time and money to helping those around them. Gang wars turned into alliances against corruption. Ballas and Vagos worked side-by-side on cleaning up the rec center that bordered their territories. The Families extended protection to those too weak to fight for themselves, with no payment needed. Even Madrazo’s Cartel could be seen handing out food and blankets to the homeless.

Something had changed. Something had shifted.

Maybe there was still hope for Los Santos after all.

#fake ah crew #my fic #fake ah jeremy #fake ah gavin #fake ah michael #midas gavin #fahc #ragehappy

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themuzzleofnemesis · 4 years

Text

2-Memory of the Forest; Scene 6

The Muzzle of Nemesis, pages 58-70

Mr. Ziz looked more comfortable in the open sea than the underground lake after all.

He was moving around in the water unusually actively. Dite had asked if he was going to run away, but I replied that I wasn’t worried about that.

The remaining members of our group waited for Narcissus and the others to return at Elphegort’s western coast. Once the small transport boat returned, we had to pack all of the gold inside it into our car. The car was also something we had been lent to us by Kandi, but Helio had taken a liking to it, and so quickly learned how to operate it.

Before long it was about time for the crew to be escaping from the S.S. Titanis. The transport vessel’s exterior was made up to look like it belonged to the World Police (--Or rather, it seemed like it actually was a real World Police transport vehicle, and Racle had been extremely interested in how Kandi had gotten his hands on it), so as long as they didn’t reveal their true identity and didn’t get spotted at the scene of the crime the approach and retreat should have been relatively simple.

“Oh—That’s it, isn’t it?” Nike pointed across the water.

I could see that there was indeed a large vessel moving towards port. That must have been the S.S. Titanis.

“We’d never be able to ride on such a gaudy ship even if it took us the rest of our lives,” Dite murmured seriously. “It’s real strange. It’s hard to find work for Elphe people like us in Aceid.”

What she spoke was an undeniable truth, and there was a reason for it.

About seventy percent of all the business conducted in Aceid was under the thumb of the foreign-made Freezis Conglomerate, and as they had a policy of prioritizing non-Elphes in their employment practices, this resulted in the reversed situation of native Elphe people being unable to get jobs in their own country.

The Yarera Zusco Conglomerate headed by an Elphe as its chairman was strengthening their authority when looking at the country of Elphegort as a whole, but their chief areas of business were mostly localized, and the capital city of Aceid was still the domain of the Freezises.

The town of Aceid, having been somewhat taken over by foreigners, had become difficult to live in for Elphe people. “Zeus” was a team comprised of Elphe children who had been forced into poverty.

Only, strictly speaking I wasn’t a pure-blooded Elphe. At the very least my mother’s hair color differed from mine, as it wasn’t the vivid green that Elphe people were known for. So perhaps my father had been an Elphe, and I inherited more from his side. I was grateful that my friends accepted me in spite of that.

--I could see a boat coming this way. Not the S.S. Titanis. It was much smaller…There was no doubt about it. That was the small transport vessel carrying the gold and Narcissus’ team.

“Yahoo!” Helio cheered.

They were a little later than expected, but the break-in crew had returned.

Everyone gathered around the ship as it arrived on the shore. We were a little worried as the door didn’t open right away, but it did eventually, and first to come out were Narcissus and Gai.

--In that moment, I had an ominous feeling. Maybe it was the same with everyone else.

Gai came out dragging his leg, leaning on Narcissus’ shoulder for support.

“What happened?” Dite ran up to Narcissus and the others. I and Nike followed behind.

I could see Pan, Racle, and Ilei on the other side of the door.

And gold, piled high.

Yet in spite of that all of their expressions were dark.

And—Remes was nowhere in sight.

“They killed Remes,” Narcissus murmured sourly.

“…Huh?” Dite was in shock, not seeming to grasp what he had just said.

“Midas’ bodyguards. They fired at us without hesitation…”

“That can’t be…” Dite covered her face with her hands, and began to sob.

“What…happened to Midas?” I asked; Narcissus shook his head regretfully.

“It all went wrong. He’s still alive, and worse, he saw our faces. We couldn’t collect Remes’ body either…It’s all over. Once the S.S. Titanis reaches land we’ll all either be handed over to the police or killed by Midas and his goons.”

“—Then let’s run away, right now!”

“Run? Where would we run to? Even if we leave Aceid they’re sure to follow us.”

“Then maybe we could ask Mr. Kandi for help…”

“We can’t. He’ll cut us loose, now that it’s turned out like this. He might even come after us to get rid of the evidence. …That might be the worst outcome for us right now.”

“Who is he? This Kandi.”

“…He’s a higher-up of the Freezis Conglomerate. More than that, I don’t know.”

“--!?”

“Whatever the case, it’s all over for us…for Zeus.”

Zeus, over—maybe this sounds foolish, but until yesterday I had never thought such a thing could happen.

Maybe we shouldn’t have been punching above our weight class. Despite how cocky we were with running the slums, we were just kids after all…Even so, we’d convinced ourselves there was nothing we couldn’t do.

--There was no use in regretting it now. I had to do something about this situation, and now.

If I didn’t, I would lose the sense of belonging I had only just managed to obtain.

I—didn’t want that.

Give it over

Give over everything to your feelings

…I felt as though I could hear a woman's voice.

"Did you say something?" I asked Nike, but she shook her head, puzzled.

Dite was still crying as she had been. It likely wasn’t her either.

So then who was it?

Give it over

Give over everything to your feelings

Again.

This time I could tell clearly that this voice was merely echoing inside my mind.

Give it over

Give over everything to your feelings

There was no mistaking it.

That was none other than my own voice.

And yet, it was somehow almost pleasant--

Give it over

Give over everything to your feelings

--That was exactly it.

There was no need to hesitate.

I…would do as I wanted to.

To save everyone.

To save myself.

I would remove anything that got in the way of that.

I—could do it.

Before I knew it, I was standing on a cliff near the shoreline.

Directly below me I could see the transport vessel and my friends.

And across the sea—from here I could clearly see the figure of the S.S. Titanis.

There wasn’t a lot of time left until it reached the port.

…Mr. Ziz.

I spoke to him where he was within the water with my mind.

Even without words, I could reach out to him.

--Obeying my orders, Mr. Ziz rapidly headed towards the S.S. Titanis.

All the while his body steadily grew bigger.

At a speed I had never seen before today.

The people onboard the S.S. Titanis were likely in a frenzy at seeing such a huge octopus drawing closer to them.

But that was temporary.

Midas and the other passengers onboard the ship would sink into the ocean.

When he had grown as big as he could, Mr. Ziz’ tentacle closed around the S.S. Titanis.

He began to shake the ship as though he were a child with a toy.

One by one his tentacles began to seize the ship—until at least it was completely covered by them.

--All in all, it took maybe several minutes to transpire.

When Mr. Ziz pulled his tentacles away and once more sank into the sea…

The S.S. Titanis was nowhere to be seen.

How many people were aboard that ship?

I didn't know, but it had to be a lot.

I had all too quickly stolen their lives.

I was aware that I had done something unthinkable.

Yet, for some reason it was extremely funny—

And before I knew it, I was smiling.

When I returned to the coast, my friends appeared to have noticed what happened with the Titanis.

They were aware that I could control Mr. Ziz.

Naturally, they knew who had sunk the ship.

“…”

No one said a word.

--I had done it on my own.

I hadn’t been wanting them to thank me.

…But you guys, at the very least.

Don’t look at me like that.

Like you’re gazing upon some frightening thing.

“…Let’s go.” The first to break the silence was Narcissus. “Get the gold bars into the car. Before someone comes.”

At those words, everyone moved into action at once.

We carried the gold from the boat and packed them into the automobile’s luggage compartment.

Midway through the work, Pan quietly whispered to me from nearby, “—Thank you.”

I stared at him, without meaning to.

“If you and Mr. Ziz hadn’t done that, we’d have been done for.”

“…”

“Everyone knows it. We were going to commit murder from the get-go. …It’s just that the number’s changed a bit.”

“I…guess.”

“And everyone aboard that ship was rich—the kind who would normally be sneering at poor people like us. You shouldn’t worry about a pack like that dying from getting caught up in this. …Oh, look.” Pan pointed to the sea. “Mr. Ziz is coming back. You should go get him.”

Following his advice, I walked away from the car and headed towards Mr. Ziz.

He looked extremely worn out when he popped up from the water. That was understandable.

“…You did well.”

I pulled him into my arms.

When I did, something fell down to the sand from between his tentacles.

“…?”

I scooped it up.

…It looked like a doll.

A small doll designed to look like an Elphe girl.

“What are you doing with this…?”

It was filthy, but I couldn’t find much damage on it considering it had been submerged in the water.

Maybe this had belonged to someone riding on the S.S. Titanis.

“…”

I didn’t mean for it to be any sort of atonement, but if this was a belonging of one of the deceased, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.

And…I had heard that some dolls could sell for extremely high prices.

I would take it home with me.

By the time the car laden with gold reached Aceid, the sun had already set.

From there the car raced towards our hideout.

I was in the luggage compartment with my other friends. It had a canopy over the top, so neither us nor the gold was visible from the outside.

The interior of this car that Kandi had lent us was extremely luxurious, and it had a radio installed in it.

Today’s news broadcast through the speaker.

“—At noon today the passenger ship S.S. Titanis sank in the Hark Sea as it was returning to port. The World Police are still investigating into the cause at present. The exact number of deaths among the passengers and crew is unknown, but it looks fairly hopeless from the current situation. …Just now we have received a list of the names of the passengers who met with this unfortunate accident. I will read them in order. –Midas Touch, Robert Thayne, Ellie Thayne, Wise Rogzé, Mira Marlon, Michelle Marlon—"

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treatian · 4 years

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Storybrooke, Maine

Chapter 4: Overwhelmed

With David gone, he was free to show weakness, to reach his hand out to one of the counters to help steady himself. His cane helped, but it suddenly wasn't enough. He was short of breath. He felt dizzy, like the room was spinning uncontrollably around him, morphing and changing before his eyes while it all stayed still and the same. He felt like he might be sick, but even as he stood there, huffing and puffing, staring down at the floor to try and get his bearings, he was aware that what he was feeling wasn't a physical sensation. It was a mental one. He was overwhelmed.

Over one hundred and fifty years he'd been working on that Curse…that was over one hundred and fifty years he'd been trying to find a way to the Land Without Magic to get his son back! And now, here they were. Here he was. He'd been here for years and yet this was the first opportunity for it to all hit him, the reality to truly sink in. He'd made it. Baelfire was here, in this world, somewhere! He had to find him. Now! But first…

He finally picked his head up and looked around the shop. His shop. What a strange and peculiar feeling. He knew who he was. He was Rumpelstiltskin, The Dark One, father of Baelfire. But now he was also Mr. Gold. No first name. He'd never thought that was strange before until now. Whenever he-Mr. Gold-had thought of himself he'd always thought of himself as Mr. Gold or Gold. It was his preference. He'd never considered that an oddity. It was the power of the Curse. He knew every answer to the state bar exam, knew how to stand in front of a judge, to litigate, he knew how to run a business, how to assess antiques, how to drive, he knew an infinite amount of facts and actions he hadn't known before-but he never thought twice about having no first name. Ironic, at home, he'd been a man who preferred to trade in names, and so the Curse had given him none. But it had upheld Regina's deal. The Curse had given him power. He had wealth and land, just as he'd wanted when he talked to that werewolf what seemed like eons ago! He owned Storybrooke, in addition to a home, a cabin, a fine car…and this shop.

This shop…

He felt as though he'd never seen it clearly before now, like all his life, in all his time here, he'd been living in a fog, and now the fog had cleared. He looked at the shop with new eyes, looked at all his treasures with fascination. For everything he knew about each one of them, there was now a new story.

Wands, Mr. Gold thought in his head. A collection of six, used in pagan worship during the seventeenth century to direct magic. Pawned by an elderly man, they'd become his when he defaulted on his loan.

But that was a lie, he now knew. He'd collected those wands himself. Gotten all but one of them from a dead gypsy. The other he'd gotten from personally destroying a Fairy. They were used to channel fairy magic.

Necklace, Mr. Gold thought the moment he spotted a damaged snowflake necklace hanging in a frame. Sold to him by a woman who was looking to pay for some books for school. It wasn't worth paying money for repairs, so he'd left it.

But that was Anna of Arendelle's necklace, the one he'd taken when he'd gone to take the Sorcerer's Hat from Ingrid and left with her niece in an urn instead. He didn't see the urn anywhere, and Mr. Gold knew that he didn't have it. There were a few things here that had been in that room, they would need to be protected, but the urn, which he hadn't thought to mark as he had so many other objects before him, was missing. Still, the wands, Anna's necklace, the globe he'd seen in his vision, Robin's bow, Geppetto's parents-or what was left of them, Snow White's boat…they were all here. Even…

He took his cane and hurried over to the hatbox that he'd once given Jefferson. He wanted to peer inside, but Gold knew it was empty even before he could open it. The hat was gone. Odd. He hadn't marked either the hat or the box, and yet one of them had made it back to him. Strange.

Cane in hand, he took one final look around and then let himself wander into the back room. Another strange sensation. He wanted to rummage, he wanted to root around his shop and locate every little thing, to identify where things were…but instead, he stayed perfectly still. He didn't have to "root around." He knew where everything was. The medallion, the one that would summon the wraith to him, was safely stored. In the safe were the adoption papers for Cinderella, called Ashley here, that would assure him a favor from Emma one day.

The Black Fairy's Wand, he knew without searching, was not in his possession. Another oddity. He had marked that wand, but he could also remember the Blue Fairy entering his property when he'd been imprisoned. If anyone was bound to take it and place a spell over it powerful enough to keep it from him in this Curse, it would be that bitch. He smirked. She wasn't a fairy here, just a human. Mother Superior, she ran the convent of nuns that he hated so. They were always late on their rent. Perhaps he could have some fun with that now that he was awake. Figured…she always played the role of Holier-Than-Thou back home, so it seemed in the Curse she did too.

Belle's chipped teacup…it was there, sitting in the back, set aside from the world because he'd been meaning to fix it despite never finding the chip that went to it. He felt a certain amount of thankfulness for that chip. If it wasn't there, he might have accidentally sold it by now. Or…

His eyes fell on the cupboard across the room. Inside was the saucer to the teacup, the one that he placed a spell on so that when the two were reunited, Pandora's Box might be revealed. He knew nothing of the box except…maybe he did. In front of that cupboard, he was aware of a hollow place under the floorboards. Gold never thought much of it but in front of the cupboard in his castle was where he'd hidden Pandora's Box. What was the chance it was there now? He didn't move to find out. He doubted it would work at the moment. He could feel magic in the air, but it was weak. Every last ounce of it in this world was being used to hold the Curse together. If he wanted to get Pandora's Box, he was going to need magic. And he needed the girl for that.

Emma.

Nearly everything he needed was here in his shop, even if Gold hadn't known it; a genie lamp, his old spinning wheel, David's sword, before he'd taken it, of course, invisible chalk for protection spells, his spell bag was most valuable at a time like this…but the egg he'd had David hide was missing. In the belly of a beast. The Library…

There had been stories for years that a dragon lived in the basement…local lore. Only right this moment, he had a feeling that it was a little more than local lore. Same for the well, the one in the middle of the woods was said to have the ability to return that which was lost. He smiled. Gold's history of this town was going to be quite helpful. He knew where the potion was, and he knew where the well was. All he needed now was the Savior, Emma, to get it for him. Where was she?

David was out looking for her at the moment. But he'd rather find her before David did. In fact…he should have…he recalled the vision he'd had in the Enchanted Forest, the one that had told him he needed Emma's name to become his trigger word. In that vision, when he woke up, he was at Granny's, in the little bed and breakfast. In that vision, the Savior stood before him. In that vision, David was nowhere to be seen. This scenario, clearly, hadn't been that scenario, but then…how was this possible? The Seer was wrong? But the Seer was never wrong? She might sometimes warn him when a vision was a possibility rather than absolute, but that vision was absolute. It shouldn't have happened this way. Why had it?

Something was wrong. If it wasn't the Seer, then something else wasn't right. But what?

The time!

He hobbled across the room to the place he kept his books. He had a theory, just one, but he needed dates to figure it out. His books were complete, they went back for decades, and naturally, it was all in his handwriting because the Curse was cleverly detailed but wading through the hazy memories Mr. Gold had, he noticed a problem. While Gold had memories of writing it all down, he couldn't find an actual memory of doing it before 1983. That meant everything before that was filled in by the Curse. They'd arrived in 1983. It was 1992. If they arrived in 1983, just after the Savior was born and sent here…the child's twenty-eighth birthday…

His head spun again, this time with disappointment and sorrow as his theory was confirmed. He felt…he felt like he had after he'd gotten back from Neverland without his father. He felt like his hopes were dashed. He'd been so excited, so ready to go and find Baelfire. But it wasn't going to be happening any time soon. Emma wasn't here. Not yet. At the moment, she couldn't have been more than...what…nine? Ten? He was still practically two decades away from getting back to his son.

But if Emma was still two decades away from arriving and breaking the Curse, why had David come in asking for her now, memories and all. And, for that matter, why had he never seen David before this moment in this town?! Was it his memory? Was he just too hazy to recall him? No. No, he was certain he'd never laid eyes on David before in this shop, but…

He had a memory, a memory that wasn't actually a memory, but rather something that had been implanted into Gold's mind. It was a memory of a windmill, one that was in his shop right now. It had been brought in by a woman who claimed it had come with a house she and her husband had just bought. Her husband, the woman claimed, couldn't stand it. The woman was familiar to him. It had been the former Princess Abigail, Midas' daughter, and David's former fiancé…in this world, she was called Kathryn, and she'd had a husband also named David, but he'd never met Kathryn's husband, he hadn't been with her on that day or ever again because…he'd left. The talk of the town…

He gripped his cane tight and focused on the floor, trying to sort through memories that weren't actually memories was giving him a headache. That could be the Curse. Many spells and curses that affected memory had a tendency to give the victim headaches when poked or prodded too much. If the Curse had been broken entirely, he might not have been feeling it, but since it wasn't broken, it was fighting back, trying to pull him under. He didn't have the magic to fix it, but Gold had Tylenol around to help. Of course, if the headache was brought on by magic, he doubted acetaminophen would help. Then again, neither was standing here gawking at words he'd never known before like Tylenol and acetaminophen. Focus. He had to focus and not grow so overwhelmed. The talk of the town, Kathryn, David…sort the memories…

The talk of the town was that David had gone away. They'd been married one day, and the next David had gone. The gossip was that after an argument, David had left Kathryn and hadn't been seen since. They'd all assumed he'd run away somewhere, but…that wasn't possible. The Curse would have made sure of it. He'd been here, all this time, but where?

Memories. So many false memories to work through, so much haze to gaze through. Where had David been?!

He knew where…the hospital. He had another memory, another cursed memory, something his mind was convinced he'd experienced, but he knew he hadn't.

Focus!

Sheriff Graham had brought a picture by once of a man who was in a coma, John Doe, they'd called him. The picture had been a polaroid taken hastily of a man in a hospital bed, wires and tubes sticking out of him so machines could monitor him. The sheriff, Regina's lover, the hunter from the Enchanted Forest who had rescued Snow and allowed Regina to take him in turn…

He breathed. He tightened his grip on his cane.

The hunter had brought the photo to him because he'd wanted to know if he recognized John Doe as a tenant. He was in a coma after being found suspiciously on the side of the road, and they had no clues as to who he might be. He hadn't either, not at the time, not in the memory. But now, he did.

The man had been David. David had been in a coma in the hospital all these years. So when David said the flower woke him up…did he mean it figuratively or literally? Or both. Regina would know. She was the maker of the Curse. She'd be awake just as he was and a few memories, real and true memories, that he possessed of their encounters together suggested that she was very aware of who she was and where she was from, but…he didn't want her to know he was awake, not until the time was right. And there was no way to have this conversation with her without revealing his own knowledge. This wasn't that time.

But right time or not, Snow and David had awakened early and were searching for their daughter; that was why her name was uttered ahead of schedule.

The pixie flower…the flower that awakened them; those flowers grew in the presence of great evil. He'd been in this town a decade already. He'd never seen the flower and knew there wasn't magic enough to grow them all in the Curse. The magic the Curse had was too busy sustaining itself. But maybe…Snow, Mary Margaret, had found the flower. She always was the target of Regina's rage. Maybe if the women had an encounter and the Evil Queen said something particularly cruel or wicked, perhaps it would allow one flower to grow. It was, as they said in this world, a fluke. Only he'd been awakened early as well. And Emma was ten, and if her parents left to find her as they seemed so determined to do…

He had to fix this.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Mr. Gold #David Nolan #Snowing #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

All Was Golden in the Sky (23/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—

Rating: Mature AN: Everyone is an exceptionally bad royal.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

Elsa calls a council.

It’s incredibly proper and entirely royal, a meeting of minds and titles and probably a few more adjectives that are less complimentary because, it seems, when those minds and titles get around a table in one of the rather large halls in the Arendelle castle, they are incapable of agreeing on much of anything.

David keeps mumbling diplomatic under his breath.

“Do you think it’s possible for Regina’s face to get stuck like that?” Emma mumbles, leaning to her right and Killian has to bite his lip. It’s distracting.

He glances at her, not much more than a passing look, but there’s amusement mixed in with the blue in his gaze and Emma lets her hand reach forward. Her fingers twist around the curve of his hook, cool metal that’s almost enough to center her because, really, this council has been nothing short of ridiculous.

She supposes that’s how politics works.

Even when they’re being diplomatic.

“No, I think she’s just got a few extra muscles there,” Killian says. He’s incredibly bad at whispering. And Regina is very good at glaring at them.

“If you two are quite done.” Emma scrunches her nose, a quick shake of her head. Regina rolls her eyes.

It’s the third day they’ve done this and a little more than a week since the Misthaven royal family appeared in a cloud of purple smoke in a different hall in a castle that is, seemingly, overflowing with a variety of large spaces.

There’d been questions – mostly about how Emma had managed to get that bird to agree to fly to Misthaven, but Mary Margaret had been impressed by the whole thing and claimed Evan was very enthusiastic about his mission and--"Now, here we are, ready and willing to save the kingdom.”

And that was that.

There were more birds sent out and missives, envoys in well-tailored uniforms sent on several different horses in a variety of directions, requesting the presence of every ruler of every kingdom. To save the kingdom.

And set some ground rules.

For the rest of everything.

Emma nearly falls over when she hears the chair on her other side squeak, Ruby’s soft grumble barely audible over whatever kind of reaction Regina is currently making. Maybe they should have discussed how to act while taking part in a royal council.

As it were, they’d spent most of the last week recounting adventures in seaside ports and Neverland, introducing Henry and trying to remember how, exactly, to move without tripping over the far-too-long hems of the dresses they were all wearing again.

That might have been Emma.

She really misses pants.

She’s going to wear pants to the next royal council. Just to see what it does to Regina's face. And Arthur. She still kind of hates King Arthur.

He’s most of the objections they’ve sustained in the last three days.

“What are we talking about?” Ruby hisses, elbowing Emma in the side roughly.

She groans, gritting her teeth and Regina has started to glare at the ceiling. “Why do you not know how to whisper?”

“I’m not really trying, if I’m being honest.” “That was rather obvious,” Killian mutters, and Emma is not surprised when Ruby sticks her tongue out at them.

They are a picture of royal perfection.

“I am bored,” Ruby whines, rolling her whole head with enough drama that Emma is sure they would be able to harness its power for good. “Arthur is suggesting that we need to redo the treaty again.”

Emma is going to sprain her jaw. She clenches it, tight enough to send a ripple of pain down either side of her neck and, possibly, up into her head, neurons firing in something resembling fury because he keeps doing this and she hadn’t really been paying attention.

Like, at all.

She’d been far too busy flirting. And trying to covertly look at Killian’s jacket. It’s new – everything they’re wearing is new, meetings with the official Arendelle seamstress, which, is, apparently a thing and Emma’s only a little annoyed that her meetings have led to a mostly all-white wardrobe, something about the savior and meaning, but it had made Killian’s eyes widen slightly that morning and she likes this jacket a lot.

Maybe the tension in her jaw is doing permanent damage to her psyche.

She’s fairly positive the vest he’s wearing is leather too.

It’s absurd.

“I can hear you, you know,” Arthur drawls, seated at the other end of the table. That’s probably not a sign. He’d picked that seat anyway.

And that’s probably because is he, at least a little, terrified of Emma. Or the sword strapped to Killian’s hip.

“Yeah, I don’t think she was all that worried about it, really,” David shrugs. He leans forward, an appraising look on his face, like he’s getting ready to challenge the king of Camelot to more than one duel.

Mary Margaret bites back a smile. “What is it this time, Your Majesty?”

“Oh shit, that was almost scathing,” Emma whispers. It’s not really a whisper. Regina looks like she’s about to slide out of her chair, directly onto the floor and blow a hole in the ceiling with a very large fireball.

Killian grins.

“His Majesty appears to be concerned about the decision to, simply, send Prince Hans back to the Southern Isles,” Ariel says, a forced calm in her voice when her fingers have started tapping an impatient rhythm on the table.

“We’ve discussed this,” Elsa sighs. “I’m not interested in doing anything else. Hans is nothing more than an upstart and a mistake. He saw an opportunity to seize control of something that wasn’t his--” “--Sound familiar, Arthur?” Killian cuts in. There is no calm in that question. It’s unspoken threat and narrowed eyes, but he leans back towards Emma like he can’t help himself and, eventually, she’s sure, she’ll be able to have a single, coherent thought about the state of his jackets.

Will snickers, feet propped up on the edge of the windowsill on the other side of the room with Henry and Belle a few feet away, books strewn around them, and he’s doing that chair-leaning thing again. “He does bring up a very interesting point, Your Majesty,” Will says. “And I do believe you’re harping. It’s inefficient.” David hums in agreement, Regina throwing her whole arm over her face because, for the third straight day, this has dissolved, rather quickly, into a rather large farce.

Merida – the heir to the throne in DunBroch, or so Regina explained when the redhead appeared at the Arendelle gate with a quiver strapped to her back and a questionably large horse – scoffs. “Who are you again?”

“Oh, that’s just rude,” Will grumbles. “We did introductions several days ago.”

“You’re not exactly a royal though, are you?” Princess Abigail, Midas’ daughter, asks archly. “I can’t understand why your opinion should...well, count.”

“Ah, so the rude thing, is just a sweeping pandemic now, huh?”

Mary Margaret tries to turn her laugh into a different noise, a spectacular fail that she does her best to wave off. “What?” she challenges. “That was actually funny.” “Oh, don’t tell him that,” Killian sighs. “We’ll never hear the end of it now.”

“Too late, Jones,” Will calls, slamming the feet of his chair back into the ground so he can pull out a deck of cards from his back pocket. Henry’s eyes practically light up.

“And he does bring up a good point,” Ella admits. She and Thomas had arrived almost as soon as they’d sent out the missives, quiet smiles and curt nods that Emma hopes is, actually, some kind of sign because they seem nice and they could use some nice at this point.

Will lets out a triumphant noise. “Thank you ma’am! That’s exactly what I was trying to do. Make a point. A good one, in fact.” “He can’t remember his point,” Killian mutters, barely loud enough for Emma to hear.

Abigail’s eyes narrow, lips curling into something that can only be a little aggressive and maybe Emma will slide out of her chair before Regina. That would be impressive.

“Alright, let’s get several things straight,” she bites out, frustration turning into anger and anger turning into words and her voice doesn’t shake.

Killian is still smiling.

“Hans is a non-factor,” Emma continues, “The only thing we need to be concerned with is getting him the hell out of Arendelle.” “Hear, hear,” Anna shouts, and Emma hadn’t seen her move away from the table, but she’s already got cards in her hand and a slightly disgruntled look on her face. “Wait, wait,” she adds, “what did you say was wild?” Henry groans. “Jokers, Ms. Joan. And what was the other one, Mr. Scarlet?”

There’s a collective laugh from the entire Misthaven contingent, lips tugged behind teeth and Killian’s whole body shakes while he does his best not to fall over. “Ok, don’t start,” Will warns. “At least the kid knows where to show some respect.” “And you still think you deserve that?” Arthur asks. The room goes incredibly quiet.

Except for David’s mumbled oh shit. It’s not exactly mumbled.

Regina pulls her arm away from her face slowly, sitting up straighter and turning so slowly Emma wonders if there’s actually magic involved. She can’t imagine having that kind of control over her limbs.

“Too many muscles,” Killian mutters, Emma letting out a huff of something that isn’t a laugh, but may just be generic exhaustion and there’s been no mention of boxes or dates and she’s going to make him get several versions of this vest.

“Thank you, Captain,” Regina says, eyebrows arching impossibly high. He salutes. And Regina keeps moving, twisting towards a wide-eyed and suddenly pale Arthur. “You have thoughts, Sir? Would you like to share them?” Arthur's eyes look like they’re trying to fly out of face. “Sir?” he echoes, voice managing to crack on each letter. “How dare--” “--No, no, no,” Regina interrupts, and she doesn’t actually stand up, but she somehow looks more intimidating this way. Her shoulders roll back, head tilted and a spark in her eyes that brokers no discussion. The flames crackling between her fingers help too. “You want our respect, Arthur? You get it when you deserve it.” “And you what? Assume that you can return here and take over again? Demand we all fall in line and fear you, the same way we did George?” “Oh my God,” David groans. “How many times do we have to go over this? George was an asshole. No one is trying to be him.” “The opposite, in fact,” Elsa adds, several nods from the Misthaven royal family.

Arthur still doesn’t look convinced. He’s standing, palms flat on the table and enough tension between his shoulders that it almost looks like he’s actually carved of wood. Maybe they could just turn him into wood.

Emma’s fairly certain she remembers a story like that from when she was a kid.

“You took your men out of Misthaven, Arthur,” Mary Margaret points out. “You’ve met with Emma and David and Killian more times than we can count. But you’ve still got that fear in your eyes--” “--I’m not afraid of anything,” he shouts, but having to use those words kind of defeats the purpose of them.

“We both know that’s not true, Sir.”

Anna laughs, the sound bouncing off walls and windows that are, mostly, clear of snow now, nothing more than a soft frost in the morning because it’s autumn and things are changing and shifting and Emma wants to stop thinking in metaphors.

“What is it you’re looking for, Arthur?” Elsa asks. “Emma told me. They’ve given you every inch you’ve asked for, aside from letting you run rampant through their kingdom.” “A kingdom they deserted,” he growls.

Killian runs his free hand over his face, fingers carding through his hair roughly. “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he sighs. “Answer the bloody question, Arthur. What do you want?” The doors at the far end of the hall swing open –– a man and a woman and Arthur gasps loudly enough that they’ve almost circled back around to comical. “What the--” Emma starts, but she nearly chokes on her own tongue when she notices the look on Mary Margaret’s face. “M’s...what’s going on?”

Mary Margaret shakes her head slowly, jumping out of her chair and sprinting forward, crashing into the man’s chest. He catches her, tight arms and words mumbled into her hair, and Emma doesn’t know where to look.

Her eyes flit towards David, surprise etched onto every inch of his face.

“So, uh,” Ruby says, “this is something, huh?” “I thought you were dead,” Mary Margaret exclaims, working back onto her feet so she can rap her knuckles on the man’s armor. He’s wearing armor. The woman next to him looks incredibly amused. “George, he said--once he knew I wasn’t the Savior--”

Her breath catches, tears obvious even from the other side of the hall and David is half sitting, half standing now, hand drifting towards his sword like he’s getting ready to defend Mary Margaret if needs be.

“It’s alright, Sparrow,” the man says, lips curling up into a smile when his thumbs brush away Mary Margaret’s tears. Emma isn’t sure how she moves, doesn’t remember deciding to shift her legs or unbend her knees, but she’s not sitting on her chair anymore, perched, instead, on Killian’s thigh with an arm tight around her waist.

“That doesn’t exactly look particularly royal, Jones,” Will calls. Killian flips him off.

“What are you doing here?” Mary Margaret asks. “How are you even here?” “And how did you get past the guards?” Elsa adds.

The woman laughs – soft and almost tinkling, eyes flitting towards Arthur. He’s getting paler by the second. “Oh, your guards are perfectly competent,” she promises. “But we heard that you were looking to have all the royals in the Enchanted Forest here and--” She shrugs. “It seemed rude to decline the invitation.”

“You are not the rulers of Camelot,” Arthur sneers, and, really, that’s the last thing Emma expects to hear. Like. At all.

He pounds his fists on the table, shaking the wood and leading to several swords drawn his direction. “I’d reconsider your next few movements,” David suggests, Kristoff half a step behind him with a look that makes it obvious he’s still not over being denied the chance to stab Hans.

“Can someone tell us who these people are?” Emma demands, waving a free hand towards the strangers. “And if we need to actually be braced for an attack.” The man chuckles. “No, no, Savior. Far from that. My name is Lancelot and--”

“--No, it’s not.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Are you kidding me?” Emma balks, drawing a quiet laugh out of Ruby and Killian’s head falls against her shoulder. He kisses her back. That’s not very royal either.

“I don’t believe so, no.”

“Ok, ok, I--well, ok. Mary Margaret, did you know Lancelot the whole time? Honestly?” Mary Margaret blushes slightly. “First of all, I was cursed. Second of all, do not ask me questions about Excalibur because, we all know, that’s a myth here and Ariel--” “--Those were good clues,” Ariel argues. “It’s not my fault Hook didn’t remember who he was, so he couldn’t appreciate them!”

“Thank you Fisk,” Killian mumbles, not lifting his head away from Emma. “Once again, you’re the biggest help in these conversations.” She makes a face oddly similar to the one Ruby pulled earlier, and it’s no wonder these other royals are convinced none of them are fit to rule anything.

“I’m not disputing any of this,” Mary Margaret says. “But, um--well, our stories, our lives, really, are a lot different than the fairy tales they told in the Land Without Magic. And Lancelot--” She nods back towards the man who is starting to look a little stunned and Emma didn’t realize he was holding the other woman’s hand. Her gasp of understanding is impossibly loud. “--He’s the one who brought me to George.”

David leaps out of his chair, fury practically flickering around him, and Killian has to tighten his arm around Emma’s waist to make sure she doesn’t join him. “No, no,” Mary Margaret continues, “it’s not like that. It’s...Lancelot and I grew up together. But I had magic and George was always good at finding magic, wasn’t he? And making sure people would bring it to him.” “What does that mean?” David hisses.

“My mother disappeared,” Lancelot answers. “Quickly. No trace. I’d never seen her use magic, but there were whispers--when I was young, that she had a connection to the power of the lake near our home and I--I knew what Mary Margaret could do. I thought...well, maybe if I gave George what he wanted, I could get what I wanted. I could get my mother back.” The silence echoes in the hall, most of the Misthaven contingent staring at him with open mouths and something almost resembling hatred.

“Damn,” Ruby curses eventually. “That’s awful.” Lancelot nods. “It was. Is. I regretted it as soon as I decided and then there was no word of my mother, even after. I--I’m sure George had her killed.”

“He told me he’d gotten rid of my friend,” Mary Margaret whispers, more tears and a quiver to her voice. “He was...he was disappointed that all I could do was talk to animals.” “That’s impressive enough,” David shouts, and Mary Margaret flashes him a watery smile over her shoulder.

“For you, maybe. Not for George. But I--I don’t understand. What happened to you, Lancelot? Are you part of Arthur’s court? I didn’t think there were actually any knights of the round table here. That’s just…” “...More legend,” Belle finishes. She’s holding cards as well.

“It could have been real,” Arthur mutters, and every head in the hall turns towards him. His tone has shifted, low and calculated, the kind of voice that invades a desperate kingdom looking to cement his own power and Emma is running out of air to properly gasp. “That part of it’s true,” she muses. “Isn’t it?” “I don’t know what you’re suggesting.” She hums, turning slightly and Killian’s fingers have started drawing absent-minded patterns on her stomach. “Are you Guinevere, then?” Emma asks, more than a few curses from previously cursed royals who believed a different legend and managed to defeat darkness that way.

The woman nods.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes. “Ok, ok, so, um, let me see if I can get this straight. So, everyone here knows George was a dick, right?” There’s a general murmur of agreement, although there are also a few stunned expressions and Killian mumbles colloquialisms into her shoulder blade. “He was, that’s not up for debate. So...as we’ve told you all several thousand times, George was working for the Dark One the whole time. The Dark One wanted, well--me, I guess.” Killian’s arm tightens, David standing up straighter and Mary Margaret’s tears are falling for a different reason now. Will puts his cards down.

Emma does her best to look consistently confident.

“We tried to fight that,” she continues, “realized what was going on and did our best, but, well, you can see how that ended up. Anyway. We were gone. There was still dark magic in this realm and Arthur saw it as an opportunity to add some real estate to his kingdom.”

“He’d been obsessed with the Dark One since we were children,” Guinevere says softly. “Wanted to understand how to control him, harness that power and--” “--Harness it?” “Oh, yes. Was equally fascinated and terrified by it. And when all that was left in this realm was that darkness, Arthur saw it as a chance to assert himself, seize control as it were.” “By burning Misthaven,” David fumes, another nod and soft sound of pity from Guinevere. “And he’s what? Never going to agree to anything now that we’re back?” “He’s angry at us,” Lancelot adds. “All of us.” “Because of the what?” Will asks. “If I ever I should leave you, shit?” Lancelot blinks.

“That reference went over everyone’s head, Scarlet,” Killian mutters, Will making a noise in the back of his throat. “You did take your men out of Misthaven though, Arthur. What is that? Conceding defeat?” “There is no defeat,” Arthur snaps. “Because we are not signing your treaty. Camelot is its own kingdom, functioning on--” “--Us now,” Guinevere smiles. It’s not exactly sweet. “That’s why we’re here, Arthur. Because the kingdom deserves a new chance, enough of the darkness and the desperation.” “Can someone explain what the hell any of you are talking about?” Ruby asks. “If this guy is the one who brought Mary Margaret to George, how’d he end up in Camelot?” “Guinevere just told you,” Lancelot says. “Arthur has been obsessed with the Dark One, his whole life. And when you lot were gone, that sentiment only grew. It’s one I shared for a time.” “Why?” “I regretted what I’d done to Mary Margaret. Knew I’d given her up to a man who--how did you word it, your highness?” Emma grins. “He was a giant and absolute dick.” “Yes, that, exactly. But once Misthaven was emptied, it was clear that darkness was still here. And stronger than ever. I thought I might be able to atone if I did my best to fight it. Only Arthur--he went too far. Started organizing the other kingdoms, even after the magic in this realm changed again. It never stopped. So, I--” “--Ran away,” Arthur screams, face going blotchy and Abigail makes another pointed noise at that. It’s not particularly royal.

Emma wonders if this is all a dream. That would almost make sense at this point.

“You didn’t stop, Arthur,” Guinevere says. “It was never enough. Another quest and another piece of research, all of it coming to nothing because the only one who could defeat the Darkness was her.”

She nods towards Emma, still sitting on top of Killian’s leg. She should stand up. She should say something, smile or give some kind of allusion that she’s got a handle on any facet of her life, but mostly she just wants to come up with a few rules for all of these kingdoms and make sure the people in her kingdom are happy.

Emma just wants to be happy. It doesn’t seem like that big of a request.

“And we did that,” Emma adds. “The Dark One is gone, Arthur. There’s no threat of that coming back. The only thing that is back, is us and we are--” “--Heroes,” Elsa says suddenly, sliding to the edge of her chair and she’s got a crown on. She’s been wearing it since that tomorrow she’d mentioned, a shimmer that is absolutely a byproduct of her own magic. “That’s it, isn’t it? It wasn’t perfect and it didn’t all go according to plan, but the prophecy is true now. The Swan and the Knight. Saving the future of magic and ensuring that we’re safe. We are safe now, Arthur.”

“Hear, hear,” Anna calls again, the card-playing, decidedly unroyal group around her throwing their hands up as well.

“We’ve told you several times now, Arthur, all we wanted was to come home,” David says. “To protect our home. That’s it.” He sheathes his sword, but there’s still a hint of challenge and Emma can see the magic hovering just over his right boot.

Mary Margaret reaches for his hand.

“I think everyone deserves that,” Merida mutters, a return to the conversation that’s equal parts surprising and helpful.

Another woman – dressed in head to toe armor with more than a few weapons buckled to her side and shiny, black hair that reflects the light in that hall – hums in what Emma hopes is, at least some, agreement. “The Dark One was a threat to all of us,” she says. “His defeat is something we should rejoice. Not a reason to question the royal family in Misthaven.”

“You weren’t so sure of that before,” Arthur says, accusation ringing in the statement. “Your king and queen were just as worried as I was. The same goes for your parents, Merida.”

“Oh, look, at that I was right,” Killian muses, hooking his chin over Emma’s shoulder. She leans back, not really trying to burrow further against his chest, but his arm does tighten and she has to rest her hand on his thigh to keep her balance.

Or so she’ll keep telling herself.

“I told you that,” Kristoff mumbles.

“Don’t take this victory from me.” “He’s showing off for the princess,” Ariel grins. She’s sitting on a windowsill again, cross legged with her elbows digging into her knees and, every now and then, she flashes a few fingers in Henry’s direction.

They’re cheating at cards.

It’s strangely comforting in the middle of a royal council that has dissolved into chaos.

“That is kind of true,” Killian admits, pressing the words into the skin behind Emma’s ear and she would probably be embarrassed by the whole thing if she weren’t also half certain Merida and Mulan are currently also making eyes at each other.

That’s also rather comforting.

“Huh, so that is happening, right?” Ruby asks, Killian’s cheek brushing over Emma’s hair when he nods. “Right, right, ok, I just wanted to make sure.” “Things have changed, Arthur,” Mulan continues. “The Dark One is destroyed. The Savior has won. Misthaven has a royal family again. A warrior of true honor would understand that. He would not continue only to serve his own self-interest.”

Both Anna and Will shout hear hear that time before Will grumbles are you cheating as soon as Henry puts his cards down.

“No, no,” Henry promises. “Not at all.”

Emma moves so quickly she nearly elbows Killian in both ribs with each of her arms. “Ah shit, sorry, sorry,” she babbles, but he just presses another kiss to her shoulder and it would be easier for his fingers to find skin if she weren’t wearing this dress.

Seriously, pants. Soon.

One of the witches from Oz –- Emma genuinely can’t remember her name, but she’d appeared in a bubble and that was a lot, honestly -- makes a noise of agreement. “There’s goodness here,” she announces, as if that doesn’t still manage to sound a little menacing. “A desire to help and they--” She waves her hand towards Emma and Killian. “Are at the very center of it.”

Arthur scoffs. “Them? Please. We know what he was. Even if it’s not true anymore, the pirate was half the reason Camelot had to defend itself!” “No, no, Arthur,” Lancelot objects. “That was only ever you. That’s why we’re here. The people have started to realize what you’ve done. A broken kingdom, sire. And it won’t be mended by you. Not now. Not after everything.”

“The Savior and her pirate have already done more for this realm than you could ever begin to dream,” Guinevere adds. “Look at this kingdom! Hans was--well, he was also a bit of a dick, wasn’t he?”

Mary Margaret’s hand flies to her mouth, still not able to keep her guffaw from flying out of her, and Emma’s eyes get so wide they actually start to water. Ruby’s head falls forward, landing with a thump on her forearms, while both David and Regina sport matching looks of surprise.

“Aye, exactly that, your highness,” Killian says, smile obvious in every syllable.

“I wasn’t sure if I was using it in the right context. It’s a very catchy saying, isn’t it?” “Something like that, absolutely.”

“Right, well, as you say. Hans did not belong on this throne. But you and the Sav--” She closes her mouth when she glances at Emma, gaze turning appraising and almost understanding, as if she realizes what that title weighs. “You and Emma,” Guinevere corrects. “Made sure that he couldn’t maintain it. You brought back Princess Anna, brought back Queen Elsa, even. At great personal expense.” “Something like that,” Killian repeats, Emma squeezing her hand lightly.

“A good warrior knows when to retreat, Arthur,” Mulan says lightly. “Phillip and Aurora agreed to your terms in a different world. Those terms don’t hold anymore.” “Almost like your reasoning for attacking us to begin with,” David mutters.

Arthur gapes at them, eyes darting from one royal to the next like one will, eventually, return to his side. None of them do. None of them say a single world, in fact, which doesn’t seem to bode very well for any of them, but then Regina coughs softly and her chair scrapes across the tile when she pushes back, enough royalty to ensure several treaties get signed in the next few seconds.

“Let’s make a few things clear, shall we, Arthur?” He doesn’t answer. Of course not. “You were obsessed and fascinated and terrified by the Darkness? So were we. We lived it, you coward. We were shaped by it, groomed for a battle that wasn’t ours until it was on our doorstep. We were bartered and captured, kidnapped by even those with the best intentions.” She glances over her shoulder at a repentant-looking Lancelot, a strange string of limbs with one hand still wrapped up in Guinevere’s and the other laced with Mary Margaret’s. Mary Margaret is also holding David’s hand.

“You made mistakes,” Regina continues, “we all did. We--Gods, that curse was a disaster, wasn’t it?” “It wasn’t the best,” Killian agrees, the feel of his upturned lips obvious on the side of Emma’s neck as soon as she leans further back. She’s started toying with the edge of his jacket.

“We’ve been over this, Arthur,” Emma adds. “Our magic isn’t something to be feared. It’s the deck we were dealt, that’s it.” Will groans. “If you keep making jokes, I’m not going to have a job, Em!” “You are not actually the court jester,” Ruby points out, but Henry is laughing loudly and Belle looks consistently charmed by this and maybe they can just be good royals by being themselves.

That’s a kind of a nice thought.

“I mean, we could probably do something about that if he’s really determined,” Regina muses. “Maybe after all of this though. Priorities.” “Regina, was that actually a joke?” Emma asks, both Ruby and Mary Margaret exclaiming in what may actually be delight.

The other royals look stunned.

So, maybe they’ll have to temper back some of their honest personalities.

“It happens,” Regina mutters, David already objecting and Killian mumbling what sounds like that’s never happened, ever under his breath. Regina blushes. This may actually be a dream. “Oh, whatever,” she grumbles. “The point I am trying to make and really--not just to Arthur, to all of you, is that we understand your anger. We’re still angry. At everything done to us and done because of us and by us and if we could change things, we would.”

She turns to Emma, the ends of her mouth tugging up. “But,” Regina says pointedly, “the past is something that is, unfortunately, set in stone. Not a sword in a stone, but--” “--See,” Ariel cries. “She would have understood my references.” “I was cursed, Fisk,” Killian hisses. She ignores him, far too busy trying to make the clubs symbol with her hands.

“We aren’t asking for anything from any of you,” Emma says, sitting up straighter. That only pulls her back closer to Killian’s chest though and it probably shouldn’t make her feel more confident, but that’s another deck she’s been dealt or however the metaphor about True Love should work. “Honestly. And we--well, prophecy lasts a lifetime, doesn’t it? We all have magic, we all have power and we’re not opposed to using either one of those things in the future. For good.”

There’s a murmur from the other Misthaven royals, encouraging smiles and even Elsa nods, promises on their lips that Emma fully expected them to make. It’s nice all the same.

“These kingdoms were allied before,” Emma continues, “but only because George was a threat. And the Dark One was looming. Those are gone. We’ve made sure of that.” “What are you asking us for, Emma?” Merida questions, and she can’t help the laugh that flies out of her.

Killian’s hand stills, understanding even in the lack of movement.

“Nothing,” Emma replies. “There’s no bartering here. No back and forth. No magic for magic. I--I’ve seen that already and I’ll be honest, I’m not all that interested.”

“And you’ve got the authority to do that?” Abigail counters. “If memory serves, even before you lot disappeared, after George had locked himself in his tower, you weren’t the acting monarch were you, Emma?” And, that time, the murmur that comes out of the Misthaven royals, and Elsa, is a little less understanding, an edge to the noise that’s reminiscent of defenses and a childhood spent protecting each other.

“Oh, you may want to try that again,” David suggests. “Killian, take a deep breath.” Emma doesn’t have to turn around to know how thin Killian’s eyes have gone narrow. She can feel his chest shift against her though, Abigail’s expression turning timid the longer no one else says anything. “Well,” she reasons. “It’s a fair question.” “Is it, though?” Ruby asks. “Honestly?”

“Are some of you worried that we’re actually...going to fight each other?” Mary Margaret whispers. “For the rule of Misthaven?” Arthur clicks his tongue. “It’s been known to happen before.” “Fucking hell, Arthur, shut up,” David roars. “Abigail, that is not something that’s going to happen. We’re--well, we’re a family. Our only interests are the ones that benefit the future of Misthaven and--” “--Emma has all of that power, though,” Abigail objects. “Even Glinda said it. The Swan and the Knight. We’ve all heard the prophecy. What’s to say we agree to your terms and she suddenly decides she wants a little more?” David exhales. That’s probably the best reaction. Until Killian reacts.

“She’s the bloody Savior,” he shouts, loud enough that Emma winces at the sound reverberating in her ear. “You think she’s suddenly going to turn into a power-hungry royal? No, no, we’ll leave that to the rest of you.”

Abigail seems very interested in her hands all of the sudden. “There has never been a kingdom with multiple rulers,” she mumbles. “It just--it simply isn’t done that way.” “Oh, that’s not entirely true,” Belle objects, Killian’s quiet laugh bordering close to pride as soon as she jumps up and leaves a small pile of cards in her wake. “It’s happened several times in history. A whole family and mutual interests being served, I mean...think about England.” “England,” Abigail repeats dubiously. “Which part of the Enchanted Forest is that in?”

“Is that honestly the real name of this place?” Will crows, nearly falling back in his chair again.

Emma sighs. She hopes they don’t have to actually use the guards to escort Arthur out of Arendelle. “That’s not the point,” Emma says. “The point is, and seriously, this is the last time we’re doing this, I am not looking to take over anything. I was supposed to defeat Darkness, I--”

She twists, not entirely comfortable, but absolutely necessary and Killian’s smile feels as if it slinks its way down her spine and settles her magic.

“We,” Emma amends, “did that. And so we’ve done enough. We’ve done Neverland and getting Hans out of Arendelle. We’ve comforted people whose entire homes were destroyed by Arthur. We understand what you went through and know some of that was our fault, but that’s different now. All we’re looking for is for you to trust us. No one is coming for your kingdoms. No one is looking for magic or the chance to intimidate anyone. All we’re looking for is exactly what David told you, to return home and start over. For the better, for all of us.”

No one says anything.

No one even moves.

And for a moment Emma doesn’t dare to breathe, eyes wide and lips parted slightly, but then she can feel the flutter of fingers tracing over the curve of her hip and her magic rises, a soft wave that’s a bit like the tide and a hint like the waltz she’s determined to get at some point and--

“Camelot pledges its loyalty to the royal family of Misthaven,” Guinevere says, nothing but confidence in her voice and Killian’s exhale makes Emma’s magic soar.

Arthur pales. “You can’t do that!” “Ok, but I--I just did, so…”

Guinevere shrugs, Lancelot chuckling lightly with a kiss pressed to the top of her head and Emma’s jaw drops even further. She glances a Ruby, an almost identical expression on her face. Mary Margaret’s got her hand over her mouth again.

“You’ve gone too far, Arthur,” Guinevere continues. “And you’ve known this was coming for ages. All of it, you--” “--I am the king of Camelot,” he shouts, stumbling back with hands that can’t seem to grasp his sword. “This is my decision and you’ve all agreed to stand with me and--” Arthur nearly trips over his own feet, a clack of metal from the chain mail under his shirt and the hilt of his sword slamming into his stomach when he manages to get it out of its scabbard.

“That was different,” Merida says evenly, but Emma can see her fingers fluttering at her side and maybe next time they hold a council they’ll make everyone forego their weapons.

“You’ll regret that!”

Merida hisses in a breath, standing up with an arrow pinched between her fingers. Mulan’s sword is half pulled out and even David’s trying to move Mary Margaret behind him.

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles, a soft laugh on her neck when Killian shifts her off his leg. He stands slowly, not trying to move her any further, and, eventually, she’ll think that may be her favorite part of the day, but then he pulls his sword out and tilts his head slightly, narrow eyes and a certain set of his mouth that’s nothing short of a threat.

He smiles.

And it’s not kind. It’s not Emma’s. It’s sinister, almost, a sneer and every single one of his teeth, the tip of his tongue swiping across his bottom lip.

“I’d put the sword down, Arthur,” Killian murmurs, a slight flinch when Emma’s magic sparks. The ball of light in her palm doesn’t touch her skin, but it’s bright enough to reflect of the metal of his sword and she needs to get him a new sword.

Maybe she’ll ask in Arendelle. They did such a good job with the jacket.

“Or what?” Arthur challenges. “You’ll kill me? That’s only proving my point. You do not belong here. None of you do, not anymore. This realm doesn’t need you! And we certainly don’t want you. Especially,” he adds, voice dropping with the weight of the next few words, “a villain and a pirate who destroyed everything he--” “--Enough,” Emma snaps. The light in her hand explodes, bathing the entire room in a near-blinding glow and she’s never moved that quickly. She nearly over-spins, the ends of her dress fluttering around her heels and she’s got to get used to heels again, but she’ll worry about that later. After her hand lands on Killian’s cheek, stubble on the inside of her palm and the feel of his jaw clenching against her skin.

“Shit,” Will muses, entirely un-royal and absolutely accurate. “You’re a total asshole, huh?” Guinevere still hasn’t moved, but her eyebrows shift slightly. As if she’s not surprised. At all. “You never understood, Arthur,” she mutters, “never. That there’s more to this. Being alive...being in love. Caring about anything except your own interests. Camelot will be better off without you. And this realm is better now that they have returned. All of them.”

“DunBroch agrees,” Merida says. She tosses the arrow on the table, a move Emma hopes is some type of respect. “We’ve already seen magic change with your return.” “As have we,” Mulan adds, and Glinda nods in agreement. Emma’s still really curious about the bubble thing. She’s fairly certain it personally offended Regina. “You have our loyalty as well.”

There’s a hum of agreement around the room, Arthur sputtering and stammering until David pulls his sword away from him, but Emma keeps her hand in the same spot, eyes tracing across Killian’s face, looking for something she hopes she doesn’t find.

“I’m fine, love,” he breathes, a quick kiss between her eyebrows.

“Arendelle as well,” Elsa says, and Killian’s arm wraps around Emma’s waist when she spins again. “Our full support and alliance and any other politically correct word or description you can come up with.”

“I could probably figure out a few,” Belle grins. “I defer to your expertise.” Emma’s smile feels impossibly large, a surge of hope and burst of magic directly underneath Killian’s hand, but then goddamn Glinda starts shaking her head slowly and she’s certain everything is going to go to complete and utter shit again.

Mary Margaret’s eyes widen. “What?” “I’m afraid Elsa won’t be able to agree,” Glinda explains, “without actually being crowned queen. Despite his departure from the kingdom, King Hans is still, technically, the ruler here.” “Departure,” Kristoff echoes and Belle mumbles politically correct under her breath. “So, what? You’re saying we have to have some kind of ceremony?” “A party,” Anna cries. She nearly knocks over the cards when she jumps up again, Will and Henry grumbling in displeasure. “Oh, stop, I was winning anyway.” Will huffs. “That is not how poker works at all.” “Poker, Scarlet?” Killian asks. “Honestly?” “Don’t go all royal on me, Jones. You’re just frustrated you didn’t get to play.” Killian doesn’t answer, Emma’s smile still there and turning a little teasing when she tries not to laugh too loudly. It’d be inappropriate in their current situation. David’s still trying to restrain Arthur. “Better at dice anyway,” Killian mumbles.

“And not quite a party,” Glinda corrects, Elsa’s face dropping with realization. “A coronation. You need to make this official, Your Majesty. After everything that’s happened, I think following protocol and tradition will serve us well.” “This is my kingdom, though,” Elsa argues. “I shouldn’t be crowned for show.” “I’m afraid the only way Oz will agree with this is if there is a coronation. You open the gates, allow the kingdom in, invite every land. Show that you are committed to running Arendelle, instead of running from it. Again.” Ruby lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s super harsh.”

“And true,” Elsa mumbles, glancing at Regina. “What do you think?” Regina makes a noise in the back of her throat – a little frustrated, a little accepting, entirely royal. Maybe that’s a step in the right direction. “It might be a good idea. Let your people know you’ve returned, have no intention of leaving again and make sure that the cut between Arendelle and Hans is severed completely.” “The past must be discarded,” Glinda continues, and Emma does her best to keep her face even at the absurdity of that particular sentence. She can feel Killian’s chest shift against her back. “A new era in this realm, with optimism and--”

“--So, it’s really a party, then?” Anna interrupts. “Because we should probably get some chocolate or something.” Glinda’s mouth parts with a soft pop, Elsa shaking her head slightly and Kristoff’s laugh may actually do permanent damage to the structural integrity of the hall. It’s loud and joyful and party might not be a bad word.

“Let’s cross that bridge in a little while,” Elsa says. “Maybe after we’ve all gotten something to eat first?”

It’s a dismissal without actually saying the words, the doors opening by guards who are very good at reading their soon-to-be official queen’s expressions, and the table clears out slowly. There are muttered acknowledgements, hopes for a treaty very soon and Mulan apologizes that Aurora and Phillip couldn’t be there.

Again.

She does it every time they disperse.

And then they’re gone. Arthur is escorted out by a different set of guards, Guinevere and Lancelot promising to take care of it, which is only a little menacing, but Emma’s gotten used to very menacing, so this is almost a victory.

David drops into the nearest chair, barely making it in the seat, legs splayed out in front of him. He lets his sword clatter to the ground. “Well,” he mumbles, head in his hands, “that went great, didn’t it?” “It definitely could have been worse,” Regina reasons.

“How? How is that possible?” “We got people to agree with us, David. Pledges of--oh, shit, fealty sound archaic doesn’t it?” “Something about tradition, probably,” Elsa grumbles. She’s moved away from the table, dropping back-to-back with Anna and there are half a dozen snowflakes fluttering between her fingers. “How long do coronations normally last?” Ruby’s lips twitch. “Long. There will probably be trumpets.” “Oh Gods.” “Can we focus on the positives, please?” Regina sighs. “A lot of good things happened and--” “--A lot of stupid things,” Emma cuts in.

Killian tugs her back with him when he sits down again, nipping at her shoulder blade. “It’s definitely Scarlet playing poker during a royal council.” “As has been pointed out several times, I am not royal,” Will argues. “And, I am doing the kid a service here.” He nods in Henry’s direction, curled against Belle’s side now with her fingers in his hair and his eyes obviously closed. “Real, useful life skills.” “You’re turning him into a degenerate.” “King Arthur of Camelot called you a pirate today. As an insult. Let’s keep degenerate where it belongs, huh?” Killian scoffs, chin bumping Emma’s back when he nods. “Plus,” Will adds, “if you and Emma are going to adopt this kid you just---found, then we’ve got to make sure he’s well-rounded.” “We’re not adopting him,” Emma objects, not sure why that’s suddenly so difficult to say. Her stomach lurches, though, a spike in her center that’s a little painful and very magical.

Will doesn’t look convinced. Mary Margaret looks offended. “Arthur won’t be a problem,” she promises. “Guinevere’s got just as much power in that kingdom as he does. So if she’s decided to align with us, then I think we’re ok?” “You think,” Ruby repeats dubiously. “Are we not going for sure?” “And we’re really going to trust the guy who turned you over to George?” Emma asks.

Mary Margaret clicks her teeth. “Ok, this is kind of mean,” she wavers, “but uh--” “--You kind of did,” David finishes. His head is hanging over the back of the chair now. “Technically, you know.” “Killian is not Liam,” Emma points out, and those words hurt too. Damn. She wants to go back to their rooms. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting to be thrown into the middle of some Camelot love triangle. The whole thing is getting very complicated.”

Will starts humming under his breath – lyrics to a song Emma is only vaguely familiar with, but Ariel looks overjoyed and--”I know that song,” she cries, more than a few exclamations of quiet thrown her way when Henry stirs. “And that whole thing is wrong. The legend in the Land Without Magic is far more dramatic. You know, Hook, maybe that’s it. Arthur’s just jealous of your very fancy sword.” “You’re the one who made it seem like Excalibur, Fisk.”

“Ah, I set that joke up for you so well and you just...left it there.”

He hums, a shift in his eyebrows Emma doesn’t have to see to be aware. “I’ve grown, you see. Matured, even.” “Gotten less...Dark One’y.” “Aye, that too.” “Still a pirate though.”

Killian doesn’t answer, but David’s head snaps up, eyes wide like he’s only just remembered something important. “Also, it hasn’t been said yet, but we’re all a little annoyed you didn’t invite us on your pirate adventure.”

“None of us were upset by that,” Regina promises.

“Mostly that you just didn’t tell us,” Ruby amends. “Tell us before you adopt the magic kid, ok?” “You’re being ridiculous,” Emma says.

“Am I, just?” “Do you want to plan a coronation or not?”

“No,” Elsa responds at the same time Anna shouts “yes” and they wake Henry up almost immediately.

They spend a few more hours in that hall – Elsa calling for food and an impossible amount of chocolate because, as Anna continuously points out, I was stuck in a cage, I’m going to eat my weight in chocolate and no one seems to able to argue with that. There are decisions made and more than a few debates, Belle combing through comically large tomes that burst with dust every time she flips a page, trying to find out how the last twenty Arendelle monarchs have been crowned and each discovery suggests more grandeur.

By the end of it all, Elsa is lying on the floor – in between Emma and Anna, more snowflakes falling in soft piles by their head – with Mary Margaret curled into a different chair and Ruby perched on the windowsill next to the one Ariel has claimed. Belle’s legs are draped over Will’s, a book still in her hand, while Killian tries to translate something that may be ancient runes and David paces a small circle into the floor.

“You’re going to ruin your boots,” Emma muses, and while he doesn’t break stride, his lips do twitch up, a quick flash of his eyes her direction.

“You’re not a cobbler.” “And you’re worrying. What about? Lancelot?” “No,” David says quickly. His pace picks up, and Killian makes a contrary noise on the other side of the hall. “Oh, shut up, Jones.” Killian salutes, Emma propping herself up on her elbows and trying to level David with her best accusatory stare. It just makes her head hurt. That may be all the chocolate she’s had.

“It’s going to be ok.” David stops pacing. “Is that positivity I hear?” “It is an attempt.” “It’s impressive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma groans. “Your compliments are really ringing true. I’m just--I don’t know, maybe Glinda was right. We’re always going to be everything we were. Magic and makeshift royal and out-of-place pop culture knowledge, but focusing on the past is only going to drag us down and then everything’s going to suck.”

David chuckles, a click of boots moving towards Emma that aren’t his. Emma takes Killian’s hand as soon as she sees his fingers. “Eloquent as always, love,” he says, pulling her up with ease. “C’mon, if I look at anymore of those symbols, I’m going to go cross-eyed.” “It’d be a look.” “Gods, do you two ever stop?” David whines.

Emma shakes her head. “I hope not.”

She doesn’t let go of his hand while they walk down the hall, torches lit with a slightly different glow than the one she’d caused that afternoon. He has to twist around her to open the door to their room, and there’d never really been any discussion of that, no questions about propriety or that pesky tradition that Arendelle seemed so fond of.

It just was.

With a bed Emma is considering stealing when they leave. “How difficult do you think it would be to commandeer a feather bed?” she asks, appreciating whatever her question does to every inch of Killian’s face.

He arches an eyebrow, eyes drifting up her body like he’s taking stock of each part and the twist of his lips is entirely unfair. There are a few pieces of hair stuck up in the back, and Emma knows he’d been running his fingers through it, trying to figure out what, exactly, Elsa has to hold in order to assume the throne, but the whole look makes him a little unruly and decidedly piratical and she yanks on the front of his jacket.

At first, it’s mostly just to get him closer, but then Emma can see the flash in his eyes and the want in his gaze and she tilts her head up and he bends his neck down, the curve of his hook digging into her back and making her arch further against him. He groans. She kisses him.

Hard.

Emma pulls in a breath, heartbeat turning staccato in her chest and she’s thankful for the heels now. It makes it easier to move her arm, a hand in his hair and the other flat against his chest, memorizing the beat of his pulse in a way that’s only kind of weird and possibly possessive.

“Gods, but you are distracting, you know that?” Killian mutters, and Emma must make a noise because she can hear something, a laughter that flutters out of her and bounces off the walls.

“Ok, but that’s not an answer to the bed question.” “I’m sure we could get a very similar bed at home, Swan.”

Her eyes close of their own accord as soon as she processes that word, one that never really had much meaning before and it’s still not enough. Not years and a field or the smell of salt in the air, stolen toffee and fingers dancing on her skin. It’s not leather or a glint of light bouncing off the edge of a sword.

It’s more. It’s bigger. And it’s...again. It’s soft and easy and it’s always been that.

From the very start.

“The one normal thing,” Emma whispers, repeating words from a life that feels like a dream now. Until. Until she lets her eyes flicker up to find Killian staring at her, wonder and love and--"You’re trying to figure out how to get this bed out of here, aren’t you?” “It was your idea!” “You’d probably have to use the window, right?” “Or magic.” “You want me to magic a feather bed? Where?” Killian shrugs, nudging her closer to the bed and Emma doesn’t try to temper her magic. “Be easier with a ship,” he mutters, an admission that might not be that, but her magic jumps anyway and she’s going to fix that too.

Save it, as it were.

Emma hums, flopping back on soft blankets and cloud-like pillows, half a plan and a smile that makes her cheeks ache, Killian catching her lips again as soon as he lets the jacket fall to the floor. And she’s not sure how long they spend in that bed, roaming hands and that goddamn tongue thing, but his breathing evens out eventually, her smile still there and the soft heat in the very center of her makes it feel as if her heart expands, warding off the chill in the air and the past that isn't quite as formidable anymore.

#cs ff #captain swan #all was golden in the sky #that stupid witch fic #personal space???#emma and killian have never heard of that

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