[16/ Got7 Quotes] “ There was an article about the Olympics and comments saying why I became an idol rather than a fencer that I shoud’ve became a fencer instead. GOT7 is family to me and I am really glad that I am part of it and I am really happy that all of you guys are here ” - Jackson [trans]


I was shocked when I realized that my phone *officially* has more photos of Sebastian on it than myself! 😂
I was tagged by the wonderfully beautiful @cumberbucky! (Btw, her birthday is tomorrow!! Spread the love!)
I tag @magic-and-timetravel @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli @capsbuchanan @pickledmoon @lovelylittleraindrop @lovelypond11 @sam-loves-party-hats @blazeshira @sm0llilbean @zeannastardust @secretly-a-faerie @too-many-fandoms-and-shitposting

the boy that stood by the sea, 2/3

Killian has been a part-time carer for Henry Cassidy for nearly five years now, over which time he has come to appreciate and value the balance it’s brought to his mostly tumultuous existence. But when Neal remarries and brings someone new into their lives, he finds his precarious peace about to be disturbed forever. All he knows is this - no matter what happens, somebody has to fight for Henry’s happiness.

(Which may well make Emma Swan the best damn thing that ever happens to them.)

Captain Cobra Swan. Loosely based on Henry James’ ‘What Maisie Knew’.

ao3 ||  part 1

A/N: this chapter is CS af. you have been warned. thank you so much to everyone who has liked/reblogged so far, you guys all help the words come faster <3 I’ve never done this before, but the lovely @the-reason-to-sail-home asked to be tagged when I updated, and I also tentatively tag @piratesails + @mossandmushroom because I think you may also want to know! if it’s annoying, holler at me; or alternatively if you would like to be tagged but aren’t, holler at me also. I hope you guys enjoy this one!
Rating: T
Warnings: minor character death and also a slight tw for.. certainly not abuse, but perhaps what some could delicately consider dubious treatment of a child. some parents don’t always get it right, even when they desperately want to.

now, owards! 

By the time Killian throws open the door to his apartment, his entire body is thrumming with fury.

“What sort of time do you call this?”

He feels a modicum of his ire drift away when he realises it’s not Neal standing on the other side, but Emma, looking suitably chastened as she stares up at him through her lashes. The curve of her mouth is turned downwards, a crease tugging her eyebrows together, but Killian refuses to let it affect him. He is pissed. And he has a damn good reason to be.

“I call it ten o’clock at night and three days late,” Emma says, wincing a little as she does.

“Good,” Killian hisses, “then at least we’re on the same bloody page.”

Neal was supposed to come pick up Henry three days ago. Instead, the pair of them had been met with a radio silence from Cassidy senior and Killian struggling to explain why they were unpacking Henry’s suitcase for the third night in a row, only to optimistically repack it together the next day. He had no idea what to tell Henry, who took it all in with cryptic looks at the door and a rigid focus on his play. Killian has no idea what he’s really been thinking.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” Emma keeps her voice low, although she is at something of a loss seeing as he makes no move to invite her inside, and folds her arms across her chest. She looks as contrite as he’s ever seen her. “It was a friend of mine and Neal’s, he had a bit of a crisis. Well, three crises I guess.”

Finally Killian relents, pushing the door open wider so Emma can step over the threshold.

His irritation hasn’t waned. “There is always a crisis with Neal,” he grouses. Always some excuse, always unavoidable circumstances that aren’t his fault. Half the time Killian wonders if he even realises how little he ever takes the blame for. “You know what would have been nice?” he continues in a clipped tone. “A phone call. Or a text message. Or an answer to any of the numerous phone calls or text messages I sent him.”

Emma leans forward to peer around Killian as if Henry might magically materialize. Instead she’s met with the dimmed corridor of his apartment, light from the kitchen casting long shadows through the doorway across the laminated floor.

“Can I take him now?”

Killian bristles, glancing over his shoulder at the door to Henry’s bedroom. “He caught the flu yesterday morning,” he informs her, keeping his voice scarcely above a murmur lest they accidentally wake the boy. “You’d be better off letting him sleep.”

Emma bites her lip. “He can sleep in my car.”

Killian shakes his head urgently. “Emma, he has a temperature of well over a hundred. What he needs right now is some undisturbed rest.”

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