This is mostly a place for my fandom typa things.
Harry Potter fanfiction saved me when I was 15 and nothing has been the same ever since. Now I'm 27 and still more moved by fictional relationships between fictional people than this whole real life business. IRL I'm working on a PhD (in the infinitely exciting and shady world of philosophy of science) and occasionally making a fool of myself in front of a classroom (you know, long rants about LGBTQ rights and pointless Youtube videos).
My main fannish obsession these days is the beautiful relationship between Emma Swan and Regina Mills, also known as Swan Queen or "that thing that consumed your soul and left you breathless".
My fanfiction shall be here.
so, um, random question: has your SQ Teacher!AU been permanently shelved? no pressure or anything...i just kinda need to get on with my life. and i am excited for the big bang reveal, so there's that. ANYWAY have a great day! :)
Short answer: no. Longer answer: hell no – I wouldn’t do that to a story (esp. one that I’ve come to love dearly).
The truth is, some things happened earlier this year and I lost the joy of writing fanfic for a while. It's all good now, though. My sincerest apologies <3
So. This week was almost the death of me, but I did manage to do something I wasn't entirely sure I could accomplish everything considered:
I finished & submitted the first draft of my SQ Big Bang story :D :D :D :D :D
Thanks to all the anon cheerleaders who left nice messages. Your words and efforts were definitely appreciated! And a special thanks to that one person who threatened me with violence and kept me going. You know who you are :)
As for the story... Well, not sorry for what I did to Snow there. Just sayin'. Mwahahahaha.
For some reason I have been thinking about this book today. I read it at an age when I guess I wasn't very receptive to the idea of human/ape relationships as depicted, in great detail by the way, in this particular story. And it's not that I'm very much into that these days either, but I guess that happens. Sometimes people just fall in love with monkeys (sometimes without even realizing they have fallen in love with a monkey as suggested by the book) and sometimes the monkey happens to be a highly intelligent talking monkey who loves them back. Sexually. And it's all good because they are both consenting adult specimens of two subspecies found in the same taxonomic superfamily Hominidae.
Yay for Scandinavian literature.
Also, yes, I did watch last night's episode of OUaT. And while we can and definitely should condemn many, many things about the show, we really shouldn't get in the way of human/ape loving as long as the following conditions are met and can be applied to all parties involved:
a) they are capable of complex mental processes that allow for independent decision-making and communication in a mutually comprehensive manner and
b) no one is doing anything against their will
As simple as that. Also, the same goes for sexual relationships between humans and any anthropomorphized beings/werecreatures. It's always a zoosexual/zoophiliac (though I'm hesitant to use the latter word as it tends to be more value-laden) act, sure, as the term refers to any cross-species sexual activity, but it's not unequivocally morally abhorrent behavior as anyone who entertains any werewolf fantasies could tell you.
And that's all I'm ever going to write about this particular subject. Or this particular episode of OUaT.
Hi, I'm just stopping by to thank you for participating in the big bang. Judging by what I've read from you so far, you've got an amazing story lined up. Remember that even a few words today get you further along as a whole. Happy writing, your friendly cheerleader
...
Aww, thank you, friendly cheerleader!! <3
(Yeah, that pic of my dog is a pretty accurate representation of how I was feeling before I saw this message.)
Hey :) You've been gone for a while and I sorta miss you and your writing here. And how's part 3 of Teacher AU going?
Hey :)
Things at work have been insanely intense these past couple of weeks (and will be till Wednesday) so that's the main reason for my absence. I've been very, very tired and, as a result, this is pretty much the mental state of my fanfiction alter ego right now:
I don't know when I can promise an update but hopefully the wait won't be too long <3 Part 3 only needs the finishing touches anyway.
hello,i really like your fics,can you write one with non consent sex?
Thanks, but no.
Can’t & won’t. Things I will not write include (but are not necessarily limited to): rape, “dubious” consent (there’s no such thing in my world view), abusive relationships, incest & meaningless violence.
Things I will write about: love, respectful relationships with healthy boundaries, people being mutually passionate about each other.
Anything else would feel like a waste of my time and contribute to something (in fiction / in society / in the universe) I don’t want to contribute to.
ohthesefeelingz replied to your post “dude, your Teacher AU is stomping all over my braingrapes like an UST-filled little vintner! i think 'regina got emma brand new basketballs' in the shower; i muse about their tenuous intimacy throughout cora's powerpoint while driving; i wonder about what emma sketches during staff meetings as i do the dishes (regina's profile? weight benches?). WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME AND WHEN ARE YOU UPDATING/CONCLUDING THIS THING SO I MAY GET SOME PEACE?! Ahem. Great work! Thank you! Wonderful stuff :)”
I'm really curious to read the rest of that story too. :) There's something really special about Swan Queen in a world where the curse is not real. Tugs at my heartstrings.
Haha. Sometimes I approach writing by trying to think of ways of most effectively fucking up a storyline (and then I attempt to do the opposite of whatever that is) and with this particular story I thought pretty much the worst thing I could do would be if the final line was them somehow having a True Love's Kiss™ and Emma suddenly remembering that she hasn't actually raised her son and Regina suddenly realizing she's not a random former biker chick, she's a former evil queen and it turning out to be a really warped post-3x11 story.
But Cora's very much alive and I'm not a cruel person (not to mention all the glaring plot holes that would be there...) so no, that's not what I'm doing, but ANYWAY, yeah, I know what you mean about Swan Queen sans the curse. Most of the time my heart can't even handle the thought of them together.
dude, your Teacher AU is stomping all over my braingrapes like an UST-filled little vintner! i think 'regina got emma brand new basketballs' in the shower; i muse about their tenuous intimacy throughout cora's powerpoint while driving; i wonder about what emma sketches during staff meetings as i do the dishes (regina's profile? weight benches?). WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME AND WHEN ARE YOU UPDATING/CONCLUDING THIS THING SO I MAY GET SOME PEACE?! Ahem. Great work! Thank you! Wonderful stuff :)
AHAHAHA. Omg. Thank you so much for this message.
UST, you say? Well, Part 3 might most definitely have some (read: a lot) RST ;) Seriously. Well, what can you expect when it's a pretty physical story to begin with and it's summer and it's hot and the school building is pretty much empty...
It's just that apparently Part 3 also wants to be a gigantic monster compared to the other parts (currently at 5000+ words and nowhere near finished) so it might take a few more days.
(And why does "cora's powerpoint" sound so horribly, horribly wrong? What have I done?)
Seriously, though... Is it wrong to say I'm glad you are in so much agony? Yes? It's just wonderful to be reminded of the fact that people are actually affected by the words my silly, sleep-deprived brain comes up with :)
But yes, your suffering shall come to an end. Eventually.
-20°C & full moon. Perfect conditions for writing smut, am I right?
(I'm pretty sure this is how my ancestors survived in the cold. I've read the stuff they wrote and, let me tell you, that was some pret-ty dirty stuff.)
a/n: Teacher AU, continued. Still don't know what this is.
Right now I'm calling the first part Fall & winter while this one is Spring. But worry not, there will be a Summer, too, because otherwise this would be just incomplete, no?
Also, this might be slowly escalating towards a more mature rating. But we'll deal with that when the time comes, okay?
*
"Would you... Do you want to come over for a cup of tea tomorrow?"
Emma stares at Mary Margaret. She's not sure what to say. Yes, they talk over lunch on most days and have maybe kind of become friends, but this feels like a huge step, somehow.
Mixing work and private life is the exact kind of thing she's been trying to avoid.
It's the exact thing she should know to avoid.
But she doesn't exactly have many people in her life who are not eleven years old and Mary Margaret's voice trembles a little when she says, "It's just that ever since David..." and Emma doesn't want to be, like, the worst person basically ever which is how saying no would feel.
"Okay, sure."
"Great. I'll text you my address. Is seven-ish okay?"
"Seven's great."
Mary Margaret beams at Emma and Emma feels slightly guilty because she's more nervous than excited about this whole thing even though she can't help also being slightly curious.
But then there's that other thing. Not that other thing, but the other other thing. Emma keeps playing with the remains of her sandwich, can't quite decide whether it's easier to look or not look at Mary Margaret. "Mary Margaret?"
"Yes?"
She weighs the pros and cons. So maybe the whole school will know. But it's not like he's a dirty secret, right? In fact, he's the one thing she's actually proud of. "I have a son. He's eleven."
Mary Margaret looks surprised, but recovers fast. Her smile looks genuinely delighted. "Oh? That's... That's wonderful, Emma. He's invited, too, of course."
*
It's the first day when the weather feels somewhat warm again.
Kathryn's tone, however, carries no warmth at all when she says, "I don't think I can do this for much longer."
"Then don't," Regina says.
"I can't keep lying to David," Kathryn says.
"Then stop lying to David."
"It's not that simple," Kathryn says. She shakes her head slowly.
"Well, it never is."
"It used to be easier when I saw Jim at work every day, but now with his new job and everything... Things are different."
"How is that, by the way? The new job?"
A frown. "David was right. Jim is happier coaching than he ever was teaching. It's strange." They are in Regina's office, standing by the window, and Kathryn's eyes follow the person running towards the gym building with five minutes to spare before her first class. "Do you think she'll stay?"
It's not exactly a feeling of impending loss. No, it's the feeling of not having thought of some possible scenario and it suddenly seeming like something that might very well happen. "Where would she go?"
"I don't know. I just know her kind don't usually stick around for too long."
That's what Regina thought, too, but so far, Emma Swan has persevered.
But what if Emma Swan won't come back next semester? Like Gold said, it's not like the school attracts a lot of qualified applicants.
Hiring a new person would be an awful hassle.
*
There's a surprisingly hipsterish vibe to the way Mary Margaret's place is decorated, but Emma has also made a mental note of the cross hanging on one wall and wondered what it means.
Mary Margaret seemingly deliberates for a while, drums the fingers of one hand on her tea mug, glances at the boy flipping through a comic book in the living room before asking in a lowered voice, "So, his father. Is he... around?"
"Not really." But she doesn't want the admission to be like a neon sign flashing drama, so she adds, "We're still kinda friends, though, I guess." It's been a while, after all, since she last had the urge to strangle Neal for being a listless motherfucker. It's all fine and dandy as long as she doesn't think too much about the child support checks that never turned up during the first year – the year when she would have needed them the most.
"That's good. Maybe some day David and I will get there, too. It's just hard, you know? I see him every day and it's always as weird to see him get in the car with Kathryn and..." Mary Margaret shakes her head. "But enough about my drama. Tell me about yours. So no boyfriend?"
Internally, Emma's groaning, but the truth is the truth, right? "No boyfriend." Not since the one who was almost entirely a just making sure guys are not it kind of thing. Needless to say, no amount of guyliner could turn that particular experiment into anything but a wild success. Guys are definitely not it.
"Well, here's to not needing a man." Mary Margaret raises her mug.
Emma raises her own mug, clinks it against Mary Margaret's. To not needing a man indeed. It's just that damn damn damn, perceived heterosexuality established once again.
She knows that's how it has to be for now, but still. Damn.
*
Sunlight is creating shapes on the white A4 Regina has in front of her on the table. It's a list of bullet points, and they are not even halfway through them.
The staff meeting drones on and on with Gold talking about test scores and how the prom committee finally decided on a theme and how this year there is enormous pressure to make sure there will be absolutely no repetition of what happened last year with Felix and Wendy and Peter and that bottle of rum. Parents kept calling for weeks. This year no calls will come and is that clear, dearest colleagues?
Regina surveys the people sitting closest to her. Kathryn keeps staring straight ahead with eyes of steel and David looks like he's nodding off. Mary Margaret Blanchard is knitting a sock under the table and doing a horrible job of attempting to hide it.
And then there's Emma Swan, sitting with her back to the window and, against the sunlight, her hair is almost golden. She's doodling and she looks tired, dark circles under her eyes. Which is strange, considering her usually rather more frolicsome nature.
And that's when Regina's cell phone vibrates on the table and when she sees who's calling, her heart stops beating for a second or two. She can't help the way her hands start to shake.
She stares at the phone. It makes no sense that she'd call now.
It makes no sense and there's a horrible coldness somewhere in her chest.
The screen of the phone keeps flashing. Then it goes dark.
Why would she call now?
*
Damn kids. They get sick and then they stay up all night talking feverishly. Fortunately, Ruby was able to come to the rescue in the morning and stay with him (probably telling him all too gory stories about werewolves) so Emma didn't have to beg Gold for a day off.
Actually, she's not sure she would have had to beg, because Gold seems to like her. Which in itself makes her uncomfortable, because she's not sure it's actually her he likes but rather some abstract thing that she has become in his head.
It's like she's his very own fucking Personal Jesus or something.
The staff meeting is finally over and she realizes she doesn't remember much of anything Gold said. Something about a group of students and booze and an incident involving nudity.
Through her tired haze she does what she so instinctively does these days, she glances, and she notices that Regina is still sitting by the conference table, looking dazed and white-knuckled, almost as if she hasn't even realized that the meeting is over.
"You okay?" she asks before she realizes it might not be the wisest thing to do.
Regina doesn't say anything. She glares, but there's something empty about that glare. It's indifferent more than angry.
Right. They aren't exactly friends. You don't pry into your boss's private matters. You just don't. "I'm sorry," Emma says. "Just... See you around."
Regina's still not saying anything, she just gets up, gathers her things and strides towards her office without so much as a second look at Emma. And can she really be blamed? See you around? How stupid does that sound? They see each other, alright, they just apparently mostly choose to ignore each other.
That's how it is now and Emma is not sure if it's good or bad.
Maybe it's better than when Regina used to complain about everything all the time in the beginning. Maybe it isn't.
Sometimes when she's sitting in her moldy office and thinks she just heard the sound of heels approaching and then realizes she just imagined it (or maybe it was the mouse that apparently lives in the boys' locker room rattling the water pipes), she never quite knows if she's disappointed or relieved.
*
Regina is in her office when the phone goes off again, and she closes her eyes. No, she can't do this.
But she's never been able not to do this.
"Why are you calling me?" she says by way of greeting.
"Well, hello, dear. It's nice to hear your voice, too."
"Why are you calling?" she asks again, this time more angrily.
"I'm calling, because I would like to see you of course."
Yes. Obviously. After two years of radio silence. "Why?"
"Why, Regina? Are you really asking me why? Do I need a reason to see my daughter?"
"Yes, mother, you usually do."
"You never fail to demonize me, do you?"
Likewise, mother, likewise, she wants to say, but she never could. She never can. "I don't need to demonize you. You make a good job of that yourself."
"Harsh words, my dear, such harsh words. But, well, I'm coming to town whether or not you approve of that plan or not."
"What? You... You're coming here?"
"Yes. The always lovely Mr. Gold invited me."
"Whatever for?"
"Well, some of the school's former students have actually built themselves really rather formidable careers so I assume that's why he wanted me to speak to his current students about ambition. Apparently there's been a sore lack of that particular quality amongst them."
"Some of the school's former students?" she asks before she loses her nerve. It's the word ambition. It gets her every time. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Of course she knows what it means.
"Well, if you consider a career in secondary education a formidable career then by all means, dear, feel free to include yourself in that group of people."
"Well, mother, maybe some of us want other things in life."
"Oh yes, the possibility has crossed my mind. In fact, it's been on my mind ever since you decided to stay behind with your father. So tell me, dear, what exactly do you have to show for those other things? Has anything changed since we last talked? Anything at all?"
Regina hits End call before she has time to regret it. And in a few minutes when the urge to call back and apologize will come, she won't give in to it. She will not.
She attempts to focus on paperwork, makes a conscious effort of pointing out all of Gold's nonsensical sentence structures, and then another thought sneaks up on her.
Emma Swan was the only one who noticed.
Maybe Emma Swan was watching her as closely as she sometimes watches Emma Swan. She mostly watches her when she doesn't realize she's being watched. When she's painting lines on the once-again-green soccer field or hauling string bags full of brand new basketballs around the schoolyard.
Emma Swan. Emma. That's what she's been calling her in her head lately, ever since the thought of Emma perhaps leaving started to haunt her. (Professionally, she thinks, because she won't let Gold manipulate the process of hiring the next one.) She's never called her that to her face, though. Not since that one time.
It's better that way. Safer.
*
When Emma gets home, she collapses on the couch. "How is he?" she asks, her face buried in a pillow.
"He's doing alright. He finally fell asleep an hour ago, which is good, because I was running out of werewolf stories," Ruby says. "How was work?"
"I have no idea."
"That bad, huh? You had to develop short-term memory loss? I thought the worst part was over already."
"Yeah, well, try dealing with teenagers on two hours of sleep."
"Aww. You poor thing," Ruby purrs and lays a warm hand on Emma's back and gently kneads the sore muscles.
Emma has to put a lot of effort into not making any inappropriate noises because the touch feels so nice. But it's Ruby and not... someone else so she must be really touch-deprived, because while they have known each other for a long time, it's never been like that. She sighs into the pillow. "I'm also pretty sure my boss hates me."
"The hot one?"
"You keep saying that. Do you want her number or something? Because I can give you her number so you can get a taste of that temper as well."
"No, thank you. But only because you'd get jealous."
At that, Emma extracts her face from the pillow and glares. "Fuck you. And fuck Regina."
"You wish, right?" Ruby says, but when a pillow hits her, she laughs and asks, "Why would she hate you? Didn't she act all protective just a couple of months ago?"
"I don't think that was about me as much as it was about me not making her job any harder. She probably just doesn't want to deal with any messes."
"It sounds like you've spent a lot of time thinking about that."
"Nah." It's not like she sometimes stays up at night and wonders. She wonders why it is that sometimes, sometimes when Regina's been acting particularly cold towards her, she has the urge to throw a thousand fuck yous in her face while sometimes she just has the urge to... What? Fuck her?
Well, that would be just fucked up and she's tired, and that's probably the only reason she's even allowing herself to think these thoughts.
*
Maybe she should just ask.
She does, after all, usually favor a direct approach.
*
It happens very slowly yet surely, and by the time Emma realizes what it is, her head is very heavy and she's shivering.
When she almost literally runs into David in the hallway, he asks if she's feeling alright.
"Take a nap," Mary Margaret says at lunch. "I'm sure you'll feel better in no time."
Emma has a feeling Mary Margaret is being too optimistic, but she has a free period next so she proceeds to lie down on the ratty couch in her office. Because yeah, sure, a nap in a toxic environment will surely thwart any killer flu viruses.
Damn kids and their killer flu viruses. (Even though she has to admit seeing his grin this morning when he was gulping down pancakes after days of no appetite at all felt kinda perfect. It was the grin she wouldn't give up for the world.)
*
Emma is asleep on the couch. Finally she's still. It would be entirely possible to survey her now. Bring her into focus.
Except, no, that's not what she came here to do. Regina clears her throat once, twice, and finally Emma stirs, opens one sleepy eye. Her gaze is slightly unfocused. "What?" she murmurs, voice sleep-heavy.
"Our tax dollars hard at work, it seems," Regina says with a raised eyebrow.
Emma groans and sits up. The dark circles under her eyes are even more apparent now. "What do you want?" she asks. She's always asking that.
Regina wonders what would happen if she told the truth that seems so obvious in some of her weaker moments. Moments when she's on the brink of falling asleep and suddenly her head is filled with thoughts of skin and everything about her throbs painfully and when she comes with a gasp and a shudder a few moments later, she's not sure if she should feel ashamed so she chooses not to. It's human and she's been alone for a long time. "What are your plans for next year?" she asks.
"My what?"
"Next year. Are you going to be here?"
"I... Are you firing me?"
There seems to be something seriously wrong with Emma's brain today. "Where would you get that idea? No, I'm not firing you, I'm merely inquiring if you have any immediate plans of leaving town."
Emma blinks. "Oh. No. I mean, I guess not?"
"Good. Feel free to resume you napping."
Emma groans again and leans against the back of the couch. She looks pale.
So, on second thought, "Miss Swan?"
"What?"
"Go home. Get some rest."
*
On Emma's third day of shivering uncontrollably under a pile of blankets, her phone rings.
"Yeah?" she says.
"Miss Swan. How long are you going to be sick?"
Something deep in her stirs and she smiles. "Are you calling to check up on me?"
"You didn't answer my question."
Emma rolls her eyes. "Well, I don't know how long I'm gonna be sick. That's not exactly up to me."
"Drink some orange juice. Pop a few pills."
"O-kay?"
"Your substitute is a moron."
The line goes dead.
*
It's not that Regina misses her.
It's just that her substitute is a moron.
*
A little over two weeks after Emma's bout of killer flu, Mary Margaret sits down opposite her, cringes and looks embarrassed. She lowers her voice as she only sometimes does when she's delivering sensitive information. "I broke our no men pact."
"Oh," Emma says. "I wasn't aware that there was a pact, but go on."
"I had a one-night stand."
Emma almost chokes on her salad. "What?" She's not entirely sure if she even wants to know.
"It was this doctor and he was..." Mary Margaret makes a face. "Ugh. Do you think that's wrong?"
"One-night stands?" Oh, hell no. "Nothing wrong with that." Right. Tune down the enthusiasm a little, will you, Swan. No need to have Mary Margaret thinking all sorts of things about your private life. Because maybe the day will come when Mary Margaret will be able to connect all the dots. Maybe.
"It felt wrong."
"Well, you are a teacher and not a nun so it's not like you broke your vow of celibacy or anything. Maybe it was just the wrong person."
"Maybe. I mean, probably."
"Look around you. Plenty of other fish in the sea."
"Here? Yeah, not so much." And of course Emma didn't mean here, but sometimes Mary Margaret seems to deliberately misunderstand things. Mary Margaret looks contemplative. "I think Michael might be the only member of staff who's single." Then she looks directly at Emma. "But he'd be a better match for you, I think."
"Who the hell is Michael?" Emma asks.
"He runs the auto shop."
Right. Dark hair. Pretty eyes. And yet, "Not my type."
"He has kids."
Seriously? That's the vibe she's giving off? "Then definitely not my type."
"But you," Emma is almost grateful for the way Mary Margaret looks around and makes sure nobody hears before she says, "have a son. And you love him."
"That's different. He's mine so I'm allowed to tell him to shut up every now and then."
"Does he? Shut up?"
Emma sighs. "Not really."
"So what is your type?" Mary Margaret asks.
Yeah, wouldn't you want to know. "I don't think I have a type," she says.
She's starting to think it might not be a type. It might be a person. And it might be the one person who will never, ever look at her that way.
*
"Fine," Regina says. "Fine. You can stay here."
"Thank you, dear. I was afraid you'd leave your elderly mother out in the cold."
"It's seventy degrees outside." But she opens the door a little wider, allows her mother into her house.
Fine.
She will allow her mother to stay for two days. She will cook dinner and they will have a glass of wine and talk about her lack of ambition and her lack of a formidable career and her lack of a rich husband and she will not grit her teeth and she will not kill her mother.
*
Emma's running towards the auditorium and she's late and she's not quite sure as to why all of staff are required to attend this ridiculous thing as well.
Mr. Gold's explanation? A little ambition never hurt anyone.
There are only a few seats left and only one in the back row which tends to be her preferred location. And it's next to...
Ah, crap.
*
"Hey," Emma says when she slides onto the seat next to hers. "Did I miss anything?"
Regina glares at her because she chose the back corner for a reason. The reason being both her unwillingness to be here and her unwillingness to talk to any members of the staff about her mother.
Emma's eyes narrow when she finally takes a look at the name at the top of the Powerpoint slide. "Wait. Mills?"
She glares harder.
*
It's crap. Both the presentation and the fact that Regina is glaring at her.
Cora Mills. Some kind of a fancy cardiologist at a hospital she's never heard of, but the hospital is named after a person so she supposes it must be a famous one.
"Is that your... aunt? An older cousin? Your... mother?" she whispers and the way the glare intensifies even more tells her the answer.
It also tells her something else. Something she can sort of relate to.
"Well, this is crap," Emma says. "Hey, you wanna get out of here?"
And Regina is still glaring, but when Emma risks a glance a little later, she catches the fleeting upturn of red lips.
*
It is crap. And she's suddenly just a little appreciative of the fact that it's Emma who's sitting next to her.
Not even Kathryn would understand.
And Emma's arm that she's almost touching feels warm.
*
Afterwards, Mary Margaret is beaming as she tends to do when she's experienced something awe-inspiring. "Cora Mills is a wonderful woman, isn't she? She said some really poignant things."
"Hmm," is all Emma says.
Her eyes scan the crowd and find Regina's. She realizes Regina's looking right back, which... Can it mean Regina was staring at her first?
Regina's eyes are dark, but her expression is unreadable.
Emma's not sure what to do so she smiles tentatively.
Regina averts her eyes, focuses on Kathryn and David again, but a few seconds later she's looking at Emma again.
Her eyes are so very dark. Questioning. Almost alarmed.
*
Emma's eyes shine and, all of a sudden, it hurts how bright they shine.
It's the ache, the ache that's been there for a while now, but it's different now. It's warm and it's swelling, and it's...
Her mother is suddenly standing next to her and looking in the same direction as she is and asking, "Is that your newest plaything? When will you learn?"
And suddenly she remembers who she is and why, exactly, she's alone.
*
Emma is not sure what she did wrong.
First it was eyes meeting in a crowded room and never leaving each other – the stuff of every romantic movie ever.
And then nothing. Days and days of nothing.
She finally takes the hammer to the wall of her office. There's nothing inside that she can see, but at least now she can see inside the wall because there's a hole there.
Not that it helps.
*
On the day when her mother finally leaves, five days after she was supposed to leave, Regina is feeling like burning the world to the ground might be a good idea. Otherwise she's just going to drown.
The world must burn because her mind is full of toxic thoughts and she had gotten over so many of those already. Her mind is also full of different thoughts, impossible thoughts, because it can't be.
It can't be that Emma Swan could be someone who could understand.
These thoughts, these ice cold and red hot thoughts, bring back memories of the days when burning the world down was exactly what she did.
The bike is still there in her garage, next to her Mercedes. It's covered up and the only time it sees sunlight is when Michael picks it up for regular maintenance. Regina hasn't really even looked at it in a long time. Hasn't felt like doing so, not since the accident.
Her mother hated that bike almost as much as she hated 'that trailer trash specimen'. She warned her about both – about Daniel and about the bike. And not only is Regina feeling oddly unhinged because of her mother's visit but there's also been this strange, gnawing feeling lately, something restless and fluttering and dissatisfied, so she's thinking, why not.
Girls like Regina? They never rode horses. The girls who rode horses lived in the same part of town as she did, but they sneered at girls like Regina.
Girls like Regina rode the fastest bikes, the fastest cars, the fastest anything they got their hands on.
Daniel taught her how to rev a bike so that you feel it in your ribcage. He taught her where to discard the spray can after writing 'tramp' on the car of the privileged bitch of the week, and he taught her how to roll a joint. And he taught her how to kiss, and when he wanted more and she said no, he didn't try to go any further.
It's not just Daniel that she misses. It's also the wind in her face and what that represented. The black leather and being one with the road and becoming one with the darkness. Feeling the freest she's maybe ever felt.
So why not?
*
One more day of work. One more day of teenagers who can't focus because the fucking sun is shining, and Gold's memos, and Mary Margaret and David looking longingly at each other.
And nothing.
Emma's getting angrier and angrier with herself. When did it come to this? When did it come to crushing on your fucking boss so hard that the lack of eye contact feels like torture?
When exactly did that particular line start to blur?
"Is everything okay?" Mary Margaret asks.
"Yeah," she says. "I'm totally fine."
"Are you really? Because it seems to me like..."
"Like what?" she snaps. "Besides, are any of us really okay? You are still in love with your ex-husband and he's so painfully obviously still in love with you, and you just, you just..." She doesn't know how to finish the sentence.
"Emma? I don't think you're as fine as you say you are."
Yeah, well.
*
Another day of paperwork and trying not to look out of the window.
Another evening of driving too fast on meandering roads.
Another night of whiskey and no sleep and sadness.
*
The last straw is something very unexpected.
It's a trip to the grocery store with her son that's the last straw.
It's just that.
Well.
Emma has seen things in her life. And still, there are certain sights she's ready for and then there's Regina Mills in a black leather jacket and tight black pants, and suddenly Emma doesn't remember her PIN at the checkout.
"What's wrong?" her son asks.
She doesn't know what to say. It's not something you can explain to an eleven-year-old.
She just knows she either needs to fuck someone or she needs to run, run, run until she's too exhausted to care about anything but aching muscles.
It's as simple as that. There's got to be a way of getting over this.
I may have been writing something pretty intense yesterday/today. It was supposed to be just a rant, something relatively harmless about zombies, but then it became about killer humans and killer animals and The Lion King and Planet Earth. And just a little about punishing evil queens.
Just to give you some idea of what I mean by intense, well, this is the current title:
Why Bambi doesn't give a fuck that his mommy died: On anthropomorphizing zombies, the problem with imposing attributes such as good and evil on subjects with no moral code or free will, and how films like The Lion King and entertainment based on cuddly versions of supernatural beasts (looking at you Twilight and Teen Wolf) distort our understanding of the animal in animals and, consequently, dehumanize human nature.
So. Yeah. Did I ever tell you about how I'm overly ambitious sometimes? And why can't my PhD be on zombies?
Also, teacher!AU part 2 now has 1000 words. And some nudity. The only question, I suppose, is whether it's accidental or not ;)
It's been a wildly productive week/weekend in the House of Darkness, it seems.
deemnfic replied to your post “SQW2.0. Day 5. Evil!Emma. (Also, zombies.)”
didn't think it could get better than a preface to not judge zombies & then YOU RIPPED MY HEART OUT
I was actually battling the same 'how evil is too evil' thing you wrote about with evil!Emma and zombie!Emma seemed like the logical (obviously) solution because she's still sort of Emma but she's behaving in a way that's perceived as evil (due to our arrogance as a species) because we tend to demonize natural born killers such as zombies while at the same time sort of glamorizing supernatural or situational born killers such as glittery vampires and serial killers. (Both need to end.)
In fact, I may have spent most of today writing a rant on all the problems connected with the anthropomorphization of zombies. And animals. Also, why I hate Lion King.
See, I take zombies very seriously.
notatreblemaker replied to your post “SQW2.0. Day 5. Evil!Emma. (Also, zombies.)”
Oh, hell. I know you warned us, but this was sad, :/ (*whisper-screams* DANIEL ALL OVER AGAIN) But good, so I'll try to spread the joy, haha ;]
Haha, yeah, writing this involved a lot of evil laughter and headdesking. So thank you & I'm sorry! :) When I realized how this story was going to end there was definitely a moment of 'Oh no, I couldn't...'
iamparadoxalpoised replied to your post “SQW2.0. Day 5. Evil!Emma. (Also, zombies.)”
*runs away in the opposite direction* can't do zombies. I get NIGHTMARES. Too vivid imagination. Or Something. Also gross. No, no, no. Thanks for the mental imagery. *head desk*.
Running away from stuff that's nightmare-inducing is usually a good idea :)
The world as a whole is a pretty gross place, though. But maybe that's even more of a reason to avoid that sort of thing in fiction.
iamparadoxalpoised replied to your post “damelola replied to your post “SQW2.0. Day 4. Teacher(s).” HOW IS IT...”
Thank you for your gracious answer. It's exactly why I was asking and why I asked the way I did. (And you know it.) I always enjoy the way you love your job, how passionate you are about it. You found your calling and that's pretty cool.
And yet my true calling is to live under a rock and write angry essays on methodology... ;) I mean, yeah, sure, I might occasionally come out and give a lecture or two and travel to fancy conferences in various parts of the world but mostly I just want to write stuff. Science stuff under my real name and novels under some ridiculously fake-sounding pseudonym... Which is pretty much what I would be doing all the time if it was easier to get funding (other than travel grants) for the kind of research I'm doing.
Also, as a kind of a side benefit, I would like to casually revolutionize education because the national curriculum sucks and I care way too much about the stuff that teachers and students have to go through...
