As the World Falls Down: Reprised

A/N: For everyone who wanted this fic from Killian’s POV Xx

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Emma’s POV || FFN || AO3

————

There’s such a fooled heart

Beating so fast

In search of new dreams

A love that will last

.

.

She haunts him — not that she hasn’t always since that adventure up the beanstalk with her hesitant eyes and wary trust and I can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you — but it’s different now. 

Now he knows Emma Swan, knows every fear and doubt and hope and dream, knows every smile and look that’s ever crossed her face, knows the touch of her hand and the softness of her skin and the press of her lips against his. He knows how she feels in his arms, how she fits perfectly in his embrace, knows how to coax those charming little dimples in her cheeks into existence. He knows what it means to have her trust, her honesty, and more recently, her affections.

(He thinks of the awe on her face when she’d finally let her walls down and allowed him into her heart the first time they’d kissed outside of Granny’s, of the soft brush of her mouth on his as she’d asked him to be patient, of the way she’d cradled his head to reassure him (them) that she was okay after almost freezing to death — his heart still aches over that. 

He remembers how she’d boldly asked him for a date and how she’d kept lacing their fingers together that night, the way she’d invited him in for coffee before accepting his offer for a second date with the sweetest of kisses, the way she’d stayed close with her forehead pressed to his even after they’d broken apart for air, and how she’d sighed happily before bidding him goodnight.)

And she haunts him.

Or rather, the thought of existing in a world without that, without her and her light — that haunts him.

It sits in the pit of his stomach, this fear that he will destroy what is so beautiful and new and fragile between them. It festers and threatens to rise up and choke him, break him until he’s nothing but a shell of a man. It plagues his thoughts — every waking moment and dark, bottomless dream deep into the nights. He broods and worries, feels utterly lost like he’s drowning in a sea of fear and anxiety, waiting, just waiting to lose everything.

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Based off of this post. 

"Killian. Hey. Your kid is crying again," Emma mumbles, her eyes still shut as she kicks Killian’s calves repeatedly. 

"Why is she my child only when she’s crying?" he mutters in response, his words muffled by the pillow that he is laying face down on. 

"Just go so I can get back to sleep."

Killian heaves a sigh, but he can’t deny Emma anything, especially since he knows she has been staying up at night to sit with their two month old daughter. She thinks he doesn’t notice when she gets up in the middle of the night, but as soon as she leaves the bed, he wakes up, and can’t fall back asleep until she returns. So Killian rolls out of their bed in their apartment for their perfect family and he can’t even be mad because Emma has given him the world.

Emma tries to let sleep take her once more, but she’s been sleeping next to Killian so often now that she misses his warmth next to her every time he leaves, if only for a minute. She rolls onto his side and hugs his pillow to her chest, the smell of him almost enough to lull her back to sleep.

It gets harder to stay awake and she starts drifting off, but then the mattress dips with Killian’s weight and she automatically shifts closer to him. 

"Is the little demon asleep?" Emma asks, yawning as Killian wraps an arm around her waist and presses a light kiss to her shoulder.

"I’ll thank you not to call my daughter a demon,” he replies, attempting to sound indignant and failing because it’s 2 a.m. and all he wants to do is cuddle Emma and stay wrapped in their warm cocoon of blankets, but he knows Lily will start crying again around 4 a.m., because she’s a baby and that’s what babies do.

"Crocodile?" Emma offers instead. 

He chuckles and nuzzles into her neck. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” 

Emma hums happily and within minutes she is fast asleep, a soft snore escaping from her parted lips. Killian follows soon after, his breathing slowing to match hers. His leg is nestled between hers and their hands are linked, their beautiful little girl asleep in the next room over. She is such a wonderful mix of her parents, with her father’s dark as night hair and her mother’s dimples and eyes. She is a second chance for Emma and an incredible blessing for Killian, and they are so grateful for her.

Baby Lily does her parents a favor and sleeps through the rest of the night, and when Emma wakes up around 8 to Killian kissing her temple, cheek, jaw, she knows she has found her Tallahassee at last. 

The first time you hold his hand, you’re seven years old.

“Golly, Buck, lookit that!” he says, pointing at the lions in their cage at the Bronx Zoo. Most people smile at the two of you as they pass by, but you see some folks shake their heads and say you’re too old for that. You think that’s just baloney. Why can’t a fella hold his best friend’s hand if he wants? When the lion roars and he grasps your hand a little tighter, you promise him that you’re “not gonna let ‘em hurt you, Stevie.” When he grins up at you, baring the gap in his front teeth he hides from everyone else, you decide you’re gonna keep that promise for the rest of your life.

The second time you hold his hand, you’re nine years old.

However hard you try, there are some things you just can’t protect him from. He’s shivering from the biting Brooklyn winter, his tiny body racking with coughs. You haven’t left his side since you heard the news, about nuh-mo-na or something. The doctor tells his mother he might not make it much longer. You choke back a sob and close his hand in both of yours, whispering “You gotta be better, Stevie. For me.” When his mother and the doctor find him in your arms, asleep and tucked against your chest, you hear him say that you may have been just what he needed. You never want to let go of him again.

The third time you hold his hand, you’re fifteen years old.

You’ve told him a thousand times not to get in fights with kids bigger than him, which practically means everyone. But as always, he doesn’t listen. This time you find him lying bruised and bloody behind the school, mumbling “You should’ve seen the other guy, Buck” and “He was bothering Dottie, come on, I had to.” You shake your head and help him up, muttering a soft “Punk.” He smiles. “Jerk.” It isn’t until you’ve gotten to the street that you remember to let go of him. The world isn’t as kind as you thought it was as a child.

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What was moving was that in many ways, the tender moments between Snow and David mirrored the brief moments between Emma and Killian that bookended the episode. The show opened with Killian offering Emma help before he took Henry sailing and giving her a small and sweet kiss on the cheek, another first for the couple. But the last scene of the episode, though more serious, was indeed heartwarming. After a long and draining evening, Emma pulls out a box of childhood mementos. Killian can immediately see that something is weighing on her mind and kindly asks if he can see some of these significant items. You can see the trepidation in her eyes, but Emma acquiesces because she is learning to open up. Revealing this part of her past is painful and new and the fact that she feels safe enough to do so with him is touching. He looks at each item with quiet smiles and wonderment and when he sees a picture of her and Neal, you can see both the uncertainty and ache in their eyes. They both cared for him and still feel his loss. Emma then discovers something she had not seen in years: the recording she made with Lily. Killian asks to see the tape and the look on his face as he sees his love young and innocent was nothing short of extraordinary. But he also shows Emma much-needed comfort as he holds her hand and puts his arm around her as she gently rests her head on his shoulder. Emma has felt alone her entire life, but now she has as shoulder to cry on, a man who will show her support and love when she needs it. Importantly, he gives this affection to her naturally and instinctually. He senses she needed comfort and she accepts it. This brief moment of solace beautifully showcases how much these two have grown to care and rely on each other. And the fact that Emma is beginning to experience what her parents find in each other is an exquisite realization for this once lonely, lost girl.
— 

Read more at The Nerd Machine (x)

part one | part two | part three

"Hi." Dean smiled nervously at the woman behind the counter. She stared back at him, her voice a mask of annoyance. "Um, I’m looking for cat collars?" 

"Aisle six," she replied in a monotone voice. 

"Thanks!" Giving her another smile, Dean walked briskly down to aisle six and took a sharp right, his eyes scanning over the collars. Cas had demanded he have a collar by Halloween, and since today was October 30th, he only had one more day to complete the task. 

There were too many options. They were also ridiculously priced. Dean shook his head, ready to just snatch one off the wall and buy it just so he could leave the pet store, but if he didn’t put any thought into it, Cas would know. He was creepily in tune with Dean’s feelings and thoughts. It had to be a Familiar and witch thing. 

"Not that one." 

Dean almost jumped out of his skin, wheeling around to face Cas. “Were you following me?!” 

"Yes." 

"Cas-." 

"I don’t trust your taste in style," came the flat reply. "Your clothing choices, while sometimes sexy and manly, are also dull and monotone. I am not plain nor am I monotone. I want something to match my style." He picked up a bright pink one almost immediately. "Like this." 

"No Familiar of mine is going to get a pink collar, no way." 

"But I like this one,” Castiel whined. 

"What about this one?" Dean reached forward and picked up a black one with skulls printed on it; Halloween special. 

"No." 

"Why?"

"Because I don’t want that one. I want this one." 

He groaned. Cas was more stubborn than him and he was pretty damn stubborn. “You’re impossible,” he hissed angrily. 

"I like this one, Dean." Castiel held onto it, not even allowing Dean to pry it away form him. 

"You’re not getting that one and since I’m buying, I get to choose," he snapped back, finally snatching it out of Cas’ hands. "Jesus." 

Castiel glowered at him and not just any glower; the real glower only cats could deliver. He could feel the anger radiating down his spine and into his bladder. “You’re a jerk.” 

"Whatever, Cas." Dean ran his eyes along all of the colors and then he glanced over at Cas who was now pouting and angrily staring at the display like it had personally offended him. "Are you going to pout over whichever one I buy you if you don’t get that pink one?" 

"Yes." 

"Will you wear any of the other ones I buy you if I don’t get you the other one?” 

"No." 

He groaned out loud. “You are the most annoying person in the entire world!” 

Castiel glared at him, looking seriously offended now. There was an older woman staring at him and Dean realized in alarm that he and Cas probably looked like the gayest couple in the entire world, fighting over a fucking cat collar. He almost told her to mind her own business but he held his tongue, instead snatching up the stupid pink collar. Castiel gasped in excitement and was quick to follow him over to the counter. 

"We need a little charmy thing too," Cas told him as the annoyed woman rang up his purchase. "With my name on it." 

Dean smiled nervously at the woman as she gave him a raised eyebrow as he handed over his credit card. He wanted to turn to Cas and tell him to shut up but Cas never shut up. He was such a talker. “I know, Cas.” 

"Okay. Just don’t forget. Oh! There’s a machine!" Immediately, Castiel skipped over to it and began the process of making a name tag. 

Dean took the bag and shuffled over. “Just get a plain one, and put your name on it, and that’s it.” 

"I know,” Castiel replied. He selected the silver circle, eagerly putting C A S into the machine. “Oh cursive.” 

"Fine, cursive." 

That made Cas happy and they waited patiently for the damn thing to spit out the tag after Dean had paid for it. Once it in Cas’ hand, he took the bag with the collar and walked out to Dean’s Impala. Dean sighed, following more slowly, wanting this nightmare to fucking end already. 

"It’s not going to fit you, you know," Dean pointed out after they were sitting in the car, with Cas putting the collar together. "You’re too big." 

"Oh, it’ll fit," he replied. 

Dean rolled his eyes and began to back out. When he looked over at Cas again he slammed on the breaks in the middle of the parking lot. “I’ll be fucking damned,” he whispered. 

The pink collar was wrapped around Cas’ neck perfectly, the dangly charm with his name on it glinting proudly in the sunlight. Cas smiled. “See?” 

He shook his head and continued to drive. “Someone wake me up when this dream is over.” 

"It’s not a-." 

"I know, Cas. I know." 

“I can’t take it any more” Laura said, suddenly breaking the silence in the room.

Carmilla put down her book and raised an eyebrow.

“Take what? Is this about the bathroom again because I-“

“No” Laura interrupted, pushing her computer chair back so she was facing her roommate.

“Then what is it? What’s gotten you so riled up?”

You Laura wanted to say, though the word just wouldn’t form on her tongue.

“..This” She told her, gesturing with her hands.

Carmilla chuckled lightly as she tucked her legs beneath her, the sight of the girl’s frustration proving rather amusing and as per, cute.

“You’re gonna have to use your words, cutie. I have no idea what you’re talking about”

“I- I just- and you – constant interruptions – your wardrobe choices – GAH”

The vampire was finding it hard not to grin at the outburst and Laura had her eyes screwed up, her fists balled in frustration.

“Laura” Carmilla told her gently, “it’s okay, calm down”

“But it’s not okay, I’m so confused” Laura was now on her feet. “You were flirting with me but I didn’t know you were genuinely flirting with me and I captured you and starved you. Then there was you biting me and saving me more than once, even with all the Danny drama you were STILL on my mind. I notice you flirt with me now and I feel your eyes on me sometimes but I don’t know what any of this means because you never make a move and any time I think we’re getting close to one of us starting something LaF and Perry end up in here and-“

“Take a breath, creampuff”

Laura took a breath and apparently in that moment had decided enough was enough. She wasted no time in leaning down, resting a hand on Carmilla’s dark locks and pressing her lips fervently to hers. Hands reached out and pulled her in so they were chest to chest, Laura smiled and deepened the kiss; wanting – no – needing more. Carmilla’s tongue dipped eagerly into her mouth, she groaned and felt no embarrassment at the way her hips urged forward.

“You don’t know how I’ve wanted this” Carmilla whispered as the need for air finally hit the human in the embrace, Laura pulled back and her eyes gradually reopened.

“Oh I think I do” Laura laughed lightly, her eyes glancing downwards briefly.

“Care to tell me more about that?” Carmilla drawled with a smirk, trailing a finger down the girl’s arm leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Laura bit her lip before her mouth turned into a smirk too.

“I think I’d rather just show you…”

wisteria

i.
i sleep under the wisteria trees
by the glassy garden   

a wind chime, a green bird  
black bark softens 
under clumps of violet pearls.  


ii.
you remember me as in the photographs-
mint-cloth dress, copper hair
a death glazed each eye

now a vessel of water
milk and petals in the loam.


iii.
twilight is a basin of lilac-glass
thickening in silence

palms filling with clear blood
as you eat the sap of loss.

-steffi l.

love stories N16 (inspired by medicine)

He was my medicine. 

In the cold winter nights when I wanted nothing more than to wither away, he held me close and pressed his nose into my hair at the back of my neck, calming me down with the rise of his chest. He’d kiss me remind me of all of everything I love in life. 

He’d take me out into the street at two in the morning in the pitch black and we’d slow dance in the middle of the road because no one drove down our street at that time of night. He’d press me into his body and I’d rest my head on his shoulder and he would hum a tune under his breath for us to dance to. When the weather turned cold we’d go scarf shopping and I always picked the fluffiest scarves for him, which he happily wore. We’d go grocery shopping together, picking up the most random items off the shelves. He’d drag me to his band rehearsals where I’d sit in the corner with my book and chew on my fingernail as they practiced. Afterwards, we’d go have Chinese food and wine, and if we were feeling particularly extravagant, a movie. 

But most of the time, we’d spend the nights walking the streets of London or curled up at home in bed. He loved to hear me read aloud books, so most of the time I got roped into that. He’d hand me a book and I’d read and read and read until his eyes were shut and his breathing even, and then I’d peel off his sock and his pants and I’d pull the covers up over us and sleep and sleep and sleep.

I met him on the tube early in the morning on a Tuesday. 

I’d been out all night and looked like shit, nursing a cup of coffee and a freshly broken heart. He sat down across from me with the morning paper in his hands, and I could tell he wasn’t reading a word. I could tell because I wasn’t looking down at my coffee anymore. I was looking at him. Our eyes locked and we stared at each other for the duration of the subway ride. We passed stops and neither of us got off. We rode the train for what felt like hours. People got on and off, but we, we stayed. 

When the sun had risen above the city I decided I needed to sleep, and so did he. Because when I got up, so did he. He followed me up the stairs of tube station and to the coffee shop below my apartment four blocks from the station. 

“What do you want?” I asked him, turning around.

He smiled. “To kiss you,” he said.

“Then do it already,” I said.

He stepped forward, closing the gap between us, and cradled my chin in his gloved hand. Our lips met and I could feel the wind blowing around us but nothing else registered because my entire mind, body, and soul was consumed with this kiss. His right hand wound around my waist and pulled me into him and I laced my fingers behind his neck. I lost myself in his touch, the way his lips felt on mine like fall leaves and spring sunshine and cold biting wind and summer nights all mixed into one. 

My entire life I dreamed of falling in love the way I fell in love with him. All at once. My thoughts were consumed by him, my dreams filled with his face, his touch, his words, his kisses. When I was with him I was on Cloud Nine, my mind separate from my body. But at the same time, he grounded me. He taught me to slow my breathing, to count when it felt like everything was crashing down around me, that people loved me and I wasn’t alone, that the world was beautiful even though it slaps you around every once and a while. He showed me the light in the darkness I had created for myself. 

I twine my fingers in his and he looks over at me with a smile. I fell in love with that smile the second I saw it - dimples and a twinkle in his tired eyes. 

I fell in love with the little things he did. The way he called his little brother every Sunday night at nine PM, no matter where we were, he’d call. How he’d only buy specific brands of wine. How he wore only black and white. How he loved to walk in silence, just me and him. He loved breakfast, especially when he got to make it in a pair of low-rise jeans with me perched on the counter sipping coffee. I fell for the way he strummed his guitar every night before bed, random notes and snippets of lyrics as I brushed my teeth and washed my face, waiting for me to join him. 

I fell in love with the way he touched me. Tenderly. As if I would crack beneath his calloused fingertips, but I never did. I fell in love with the way he swooped me into his arms after a night or two away and he recounted every detail of his day when he got home. How he asked about my day and listened attentively, staring in to my eyes just as he did on the tube all those mornings ago. I loved how he looked at the world too. As if it were his own personal playground and he was going to visit every corner of it and meet every person and experience everything he possibly could. 

Sometimes, I was awe struck by him. By his mind. His thoughts. His words. His tenderness. His laughter. His kisses. Sometimes I’d lay awake when he was gone and recreate his body next to mine, centimeter by centimeter. I’d remember how his hands felt when they held me while he slept. How he kissed my eyelids when he thought I was asleep. The secrets he whispered in the early morning. The few times he said he wanted to marry me. 

He was my medicine. I was his. We healed each other, piece by piece. Heart by heart. He cured my doubt, I showed him hope. We fit together like puzzle pieces when we walked, and our laughter mixed in the wind to create one sole note that sung through the trees. 

That’s why leaving him was the hardest. Because I felt like half of a whole that only he completed. It was the hardest thing I had to do, and it broke me every single time.

Loving him made up for it though. The smiles, the kisses in middle of the road, curling into his side on our bed. Laughter and our own personal array of jokes. Loving him made up for all of the hard parts, because it was my favorite thing to do. 

You ended it twenty six months into our relationship, twenty six days after I told you I loved you. It took twenty six seconds for you to stop staring at me and go pack your things. Twenty six minutes later, I was still sitting there numb. It took me twenty six days to leave the house again and when I did, I bumped into you and her twenty six minutes later. I met him twenty six days later. It took him twenty six weeks to make me feel whole again, and it’s been twenty six months since then and I still don’t know how to love.
—  I don’t know how I feel about the number twenty six

Hi All,

In comments sections and asks lots of people who have read my Olicity fanfic have asked if I have any aspirations to be a published novellist.

And the truth of it is, I do. And I’ve written the book already.

I shopped it around and got some great feedback but no one wanted to take a punt on publishing it. So I’m going to go the self-publishing route, as really, I just want people to read my work. That’s why I write.

But, like so many people, I can’t quite scrape together the cash to pay for a professionally designed cover for my first proper non-fanfic novel.

And so, fellow Oliciters, while I hate to ask, as I know none of us are particularly well off, would any of you have a few quid going spare to support my Kickstarter?

It may not have Oliver, or Felicity or Vegas shenanigans or cupcake recipes, but it is my writing, and I think it’s not half bad.

So what do you say? Fancy helping a fanfic writer try and make it in the big bad nonfanfic writing world?

Sweet nothings spoken softly
fall like roses at your feet,
smelling of promises and potpourri
Yet they wither so quickly,
the scent sickeningly saccharine



And you are starving,
wasting away from unfulfilled needs
until nothing but skin and brittle bones remain,
surrounded by those rotting petals
Will no one feed your soul with substance,
will no one sustain you?

But you are sought out —
you were meant to be found
And so he does just that;
his eyes widening at this fragile body dying
in a nest of long dead flowers,
like a bird with shattered wings

“You are beautiful even when broken,” he whispers,
“Your eyes are full of stars even as you starve.”
His words are like freshly baked bread,
they quiet your hunger pains
they satisfy your soul,
they taste of home.

And he simply carries you away
from that would-be grave,
leaving the dried decaying remnants
of meaningless words
to be scattered by the wind —
As if they had never been uttered at all.
—  Me, Sweet Nothings