Jackson Heise: Create copies of people, animals and items from "photos" he takes. In living things it's easier to tell if it's fake.
Harrison Jones: Strong curse if you look into his eyes, can range from little bad things happening to almost life threatening things happening (but won't kill) if someone refuses to look in his eyes by the time his UM is "up" they'll have good things happen to them instead.
Irae Atencio: Spirit "illusions", can create fully functioning "people" that will go through who she uses it on while she makes a maze illusion filled with stretching rooms and doors to nowhere
Albert Watkins: Can "copy" information he knows and "paste" it directly into another person so they share his knowledge, can choose specific information. If he wants he can also put a "virus" in their head to make them forget things (can be reversed)
Guinevere Bradshaw: If she taps a person with her sword of light ( her "Excalibur" aka dorm staff) they'll be forced to spin/be hit with dizziness until she decides to stop it
Thomas Wolf: Invulnerability, cartoons can't die and if he uses his UM he can withstand almost anything. Basically gives him cartoon physics
Jesse Wister: Lightning whip/rope so someone is unable to leave. Does feel like electricity, can create more than one rope if necessary
Notes: Life has been hectic, I’ve been gone for awhile but goddamn people, I’m not dead. At least not yet. I owe @effulgentcolors a story and hopefully that will be up this week, but roughly two weeks ago @justanotherwannabeclassic and @shireness-says challenged me to a “babies with hats” fit battle and I couldn’t resist the call. This is two weeks late, but life is stressful so be kind to me. Anyway, I owe @shireness-says and @optomisticgirl my life for helping me find my muse and getting back. I really have missed the LP verse a lot. Here’s some baby!Harrison cuteness and some surprise Mama!Jones feels.
Summary: He’s known he was going to be a dad for roughly seven months, one week, five hours, twenty-one minutes and thirty-six seconds, but it’s one thing to know you’re having a child and another thing entirely for your child to be born.
Word Count: 2,400+
Rating: T
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Killian Jones is a mess.
His body is on the verge of collapse, and in any other situation, he would have gone home to his bed by now, but not today. Instead, he’s staying where he is and basking in the dawning of this very new, very real and very scary era.
Six hours, twenty minutes and twenty-seconds.
That’s how long it’s been, not that he’s counting or anything, but in six hours, twenty minutes and now twenty-eight seconds, Killian’s life has completely and irrevocably changed.
He’s a dad.
He’s known he was going to be a dad for roughly seven months, one week, five hours, twenty-one minutes and roughly thirty-six seconds, but it’s one thing to know you’re having a child and another thing entirely for your child to be born.
His son has been on this earth for six hours, twenty-one minutes and six seconds and Killian’s internal organs have been a complete mess ever since. His heart has become too big to be contained in his chest, slamming a resentful rhythm against his ribcage while his stomach twists itself in intricate knots over the fact he’s out getting coffee while Emma and their child are on an entirely different floor.
Killian Jones is an entire two floors and six rooms away from his family and he hates it.
He resents the fact he needs caffeine to stay awake and that he can’t just run on the overwhelming amount of emotion that his body seems to be vibrating with.
He’s overacting.
He knows this.
Knowing doesn’t stop the anxiousness that crawls underneath his skin and the impatient tap of his fingers against the metal counter as he waits for the barista to finish his order. The older woman behind the counter keeps giving him dirty looks, but Killian couldn’t manage to give a damn, even if he tried. Her terrible work ethic is keeping him from his kid.
He takes his coffee the second it touches the counter, muttering a half-hearted thanks under his breath as he starts a pace somewhere between a walk and run back to the en-suite upstairs. The coffee is absolute shit and tastes more like charcoal than something remotely palatable, but he can’t bring himself to complain.
Six minutes and thirty-four seconds.
That’s how it takes him to make it back to Emma’s hospital room. It’s a six minutes and thirty-four seconds too long.
The anxiousness in his body calms the moment he opens the door.
Emma is blessedly asleep, her hair splayed across her pillow like a golden halo. It’s almost shocking to see her laying on her back when he knows she prefers to be on her side, but considering the day’s events, he supposes exhaustion has outweighed her usual quest for comfort.
Without his conscious thought, his feet move towards the hospital and before he knows it, he’s standing above his slumbering wife. He bends down and gives her a brief kiss to her forehead. Her brow crinkles under the scratch of his whiskered chin and, for a moment, all the blood in his veins freezes at the fear of waking her but Emma merely mutters something in her sleep before turning on her side away from him.
He sighs in relief.
No one deserves sleep more than her right now. She spent more than twenty hours in a difficult labor and somehow managed to push a nearly five-kilogram child out of her body. She’s the Savior, but she was never more superhuman to him than she was giving birth to their son.
Where Emma doesn’t wake, the other occupant stirs; whimpering sounds from the other side of the room.
Harrison is awake.
He leaves his wife’s side to tend to his son.
His son.
Killian Jones has a son.
He can’t seem to get over that fact.
Harrison Liam Jones is six hours, twenty-nine minutes and fifty seconds old and he looks more like a little burrito than a baby, practically engulfed by the pastel duckling patterned blanket he’s wrapped him. When he was born, he was a screaming red creature covered in vernix and blood, paradoxically tiny and gigantic at the time. He’s still a little red, but now Killian can actually make out Emma’s nose on his son’s face and the beginnings of what looks a bit like David’s chin. The thought makes threatens to bring tears to his eyes.
He gently scoops his newborn son up into his arms in a move that he’s practiced more times than he could count with weighted pillows. Despite his constant training, his arms still tremble as he settles his son against his chest; afraid he’ll slip through his grasp and disappear.
The child lets out another round of whimpers that threaten to turn into full blown cries. Killian nearly panics at the noise, afraid that it will wake Emma. He rocks the boy gently, making low shushing sounds in hopes of placating him. His son seems appeased for the moment, drifting back to sleep and burrowing his face in his new blanket.
He cannot help but grin as Harrison settles. He’s six hours, thirty-two minutes and twenty-five seconds into his role as a father and he’s already managed to get his boy to stop crying. It’s very promising start to the most important job Killian has ever had.
He remembers quite vividly his wedding and how when he married his wife, he thought he couldn’t love anyone as much as he loved her. Now, he knows that it’s not entirely true. The love he feels for Emma is True with a capital T, but she’s not his only True Love anymore. She has to share that spot with someone new. This impossibly small creature has stolen his heart and he just might get sick from the amount of love he’s feeling at the moment.
He runs a finger down Harrison’s cheek, marveling at the softness of his skin. Baby skin is delicate, so unlike his own. His hands are rough, thick with callous and covered with scars while his son is untouched and smooth.
He doesn’t know how anything so pure could come from him.
“You wouldn’t know this, my boy, but your good ole father is more than three hundred years old,” he murmurs quietly, continuing to trace his son’s cheek. “And in three hundred years, I’ve done a lot of things, but nothing…nothing compares…you are the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Harrison doesn’t respond nor does Killian expect him to. His mere existence is enough to make his heart swell with more emotion.
“I know you can’t understand me yet…but you’re new and I’m going to tell you some things you ought to know…in case, you missed it…I’m your father…and that angel sleeping over there…that’s your mother…she’s pretty tired, you gave her a tough time, but we forgive you for it and we both love you very much and that’s never going to change…”
Harrison moved his arm as he shifts himself closer to Killian’s chest. He can’t tell if the boy is actually listening to him or he’s just shifting to sleep on his side; just like his mother. Either way, Killian continues on.
“And it’s not just us…you have a brother…his name is Henry and he’s been waiting a long time to meet you…he’s not here right now, but he will be soon and he’s going to teach you all sorts of things…just like my brother did…and you have grandparents too…you got David and Snow…they’re your mom’s parents…mine are gone…I think my mother would have loved you…”
It’s been a long time since Killian has thought about his mother and now that he is, he finds the memory is unfocused and fuzzy like an undeveloped photograph. He can’t remember her face, not entirely, but he remembers wild red curls, a soft smile and bits of a lullaby she used to sing to him before she got sick. He remembers seashells lining the windowsills and dozens of homespun yard balls that used to litter the floor around her bed.
His fingers brush against the blue hat resting on top of Harrison’s riot of hair. It looked so much like the hats his mother used to pull over his head during the wintertime, ensuring that they covered his ears before sending him to school. Even when she was sick, she make him bend over the bed so she could do it, despite the shakiness in her hands.
An unexpected bubble of emotion rises at the thought.
“She would have made you a bunch of hats…just like this one…” he chuckles wetly. The pain is sharp as he uses his thumb to tug knit down gently over his son’s ears. “Though, where did you get this? I don’t remember you getting anything like this. I’ve washed your clothes twice yesterday in preparation for your arrival and I don’t recall seeing it in the wash.”
“Don’t you know? Babies come with hats.”
Killian swears softly under his breath as he turns to see his wife awake. She’s pulled herself into a sitting position, her fingers playing with the knit of her hospital blankets as she looks at him with amused smile.
“Babies come with hats?” he repeats, though it comes out like a question.
“They do,” she tells him with laughing eyes. “It’s a kind of special magic they have.”
“You’re having me on.”
“I would never.”
“You would,” he says with a soft laugh. “You love teasing me.”
“Only because you make it so easy.”
“Well, now, I feel abused,” he pouts playfully. He’s exhausted but Zeus will strike him dead before he misses an opportunity to flirt with his wife.
Emma snorts in response. “Push a ten-pound human out of your body and then you can talk to me about abuse.”
“Can’t argue with you there.”
“Good,” she says. “Now bring me that ten-pound human and his magical hat over here. He’s gonna wanna eat soon.”
“As you wish.” He attempts to give her a wink as he crosses the room with their son in his arms. If he’s a little slower than he would normally be, well, he’s just being cautious. He has precious cargo after all.
“You think you’re being cute.”
“I prefer to think I’m dashing.”
He places Harrison in his wife’s arms, feeling slightly bereft at the loss of his weight. It’s only a brief moment, however. It’s replaced with an overwhelming feeling of love at the sight of his wife and his son together.
“He’s still asleep. How is he still asleep? Isn’t he supposed to be all weepy and crying and poopy?”
“He’s only six hours, thirty-seven minutes and…ten seconds old, Swan. Give him some time and he’ll be the crying weepy pooping mess you’re looking for.”
“Are you seriously counting the seconds he’s been alive?” she asks with a laugh, bracing Harrison against his chest so she can hit him lightly against the chest. “You’re a freak!”
“Give me a break, love, it’s been quite a momentous occasion.”
“I know,” she responds with a roll of her eyes. “I’m the one who pushed him out of my vagina.”
“So, you keep reminding me.”
“He’s huge, Killian. Look at him.”
“So you say…but he looks impossibly small…little…we made a little person, Emma.”
“I know.” Her smile is tired but blinding and she looks like the sun. “And he’s perfect.”
He leans forward and brushes his hand against the duck-print blanket where his son’s toes are bundled up. He just can’t stand the idea of not touching him anymore. Harrison’s leg shifts a bit under his touch and his heart skips a little.
“I heard you talking to him by the way…” she starts, trailing off as she gives him an uncertain look.
“Oh?”
“You were talking about your mom…”
“I was,” he responds lightly, trying not to tense up.
“You never talk about her…”
“It’s hard to talk about someone you barely remember…she died when I was young…”
“How old were you?”
“Roughly six-years old.”
“That is young…” Emma murmurs, shifting her hold on Harrison so her hand brushes against his. He can’t help but close his eyes at feel of her thumb brushing gently against her knuckles. “What exactly do you remember about her?”
“Not much.”
“Try,” she says softly, squeezing his hand. “Tell your son about his grandmother.”
“He’s six hours, forty-five minutes and nineteen seconds old, Swan. He’s not going to remember this.”
“It’s a little creepy that you keep counting like that, but just try.”
“I don’t know where to begin…”
“What was her name?”
“Alice…Her name was Alice.”
“Alice is a pretty name.”
“It is and she was a pretty woman…She…I don’t remember much but her smile…She had a nice smile and red hair…”
“Red hair…like your beard…”
“Not entirely, but yeah…she had red hair…she used to tie it back in a ribbon…she preferred the blue ones…the ones that match her eyes…”
“So she’s the one we have to thank for your baby blues, huh?”
“Yeah…She is…”
“I like her more already,” Emma smiled, looking down at their son. Harrison was starting to wake up, already rooting and whimpering. She shifts her scrub top in preparation of nursing him. “What else?”
“She…she liked to collect sea glass, shells and the like…she made a path once with beach pebbles and she loved the sea…she taught Liam how to swim…and I think she would have taught me too if she wasn’t so sick…”
“I’m sorry that you lost that.”
“It’s fine, it wasn’t her fault and it wasn’t like she wasn’t there…she found other ways to be with us…she used to make us things…hats, blankets, sweaters, pillows…she once made me a dog out of rags.”
“She sounds amazing…”
“She was amazing, and she would have loved him…and she would have made him a better hat. A green one to match his mother’s eyes.”
“Cute, but don’t tell Granny that. She makes them for the hospital.”
“Granny made his hat?”
“Yes, but not specifically for him. She makes them for the hospital so they can give them to all the newborns because babies come with hats.”
“Six hours, fifty-one minutes and twenty-one seconds old and he already has a hat.”
She laughs, leaning over to kiss his cheek before adding, “Like I said babies come with hats.”
Dense and wide leaves intercepted the scalding rays of the Uldum sun and sent a cascade of scattered shadows onto the golden sand and along the mossy walls of the Uldum temple. A dim figure stood, shaded, against the ancient architecture.
“I’m not too late, am I? I saw the note on the board in the middle of Stormwind, the docks were crammed full of people trying to get home for Winter’s Veil.” The man stepped forward, bringing himself into the light except for the half of his face which sat shaded by his brimmed hat. Scuff marks adorned his shirt, which presumably used to be white but now had an underlying hue of brown and beige. A thick, coiled rope wound itself around his wide shoulders and dropped down to his thick belt.
“Don't worry, you're just in time…”
“What exactly do you want help with?”
“A previously undiscovered temple… What's not to love? Tell me, do you always come to co-ordinates left by random people with no specific description of what it will entail?”
“Well, gold is low at the moment and everybody is leaving Stormwind anyway, so it isn't like pickpocketing is a…” You never did learn to keep your mouth shut, you waited for him to hogtie you up, or kill you on the spot for being a thief, and not even a good one.
“Don't look so scared, we're both thieves, I just go after treasures with a bit more… antiquity.”
“So what kind of help do you need?”
He scanned the outside of the temple walls. “Well, getting in shouldn't be too hard, neither should getting out. I have heard a few stories about the Tol’Vir being into the whole sacrifice thing. If they are, that's where you come in. If not, you've just earned yourself a pretty nice sack of gold.” With a ‘aha!’ He uncoiled the rope from his shoulder and swung it high up the walls, it must have caught onto something because after a quick tug of the rope he had started scaling the crumbling exterior.
“I'm not coming with you just to be sacrificed!” You shouted up to him.
“That's fine… You know how to speak Tol’Vir right?” He was most of the way up.
“No but I found my way here I'm sure I'll find my way back.” He clambered over the top and perched on the wall.
“I was thinking more about those really angry guys galloping towards you.” He pointed where a cloud of dust hurtled towards you, hiding a gang of furious Tol’Vir citizens.
“Sacrifice seems like the better choice to me? It might not even come to it!”
