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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 4 months

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Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x12 New York City Serenade

(gif by @pirateherokillian)

Summary: A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time. There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season. Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 938

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28)

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Killian tossed the bean into the churning sea and then jumped just as he saw the smoke of the newest curse billow toward him. He let out a long breath as the portal closed around him.

He’d made it.

Now came the real challenge. Before he’d left the band of heroes, Regina had told him she’d given Swan and Henry a life in New York City. Killian recalled the one and only time he’d been in this New York. It had been a land of noise, bustle and endless people. It was a strange land where he could walk among the citizens dressed as a pirate of old, and no one batted an eye. (Aside, of course, from that group of giggling women who had requested he take a selfie with them, whatever the blazes that was.)

How did one even begin to search for someone in this sprawling metropolis? Killian supposed he could always break into Baelfire’s apartment and use it as a home base of sorts while he waited if that proved necessary.

The portal deposited Killian upon a sidewalk and he fell to his knees with a wince. He got quickly back to his feet, looking around himself, pleased to see this particular sidewalk was largely deserted.

Killian glanced around to find that he’d landed in front of what may be a lodging house of some kind–an apartment building, he believed it was called in this land. It seemed to be outside of the heart of the city, the sidewalk lined by well manicured trees and shrubs.

Perhaps he’d been fortunate. Perhaps the portal had deposited him in front of Swan’s abode. He strode toward the gate before the building and pulled at the handle.

It appeared to be locked tight.

Killian peered down at the lock and frowned. It didn’t seem to require a key. All he could see was some manner of keypad. How was one to pick a lock such as this?

He was still trying to determine the answer to that when an elderly lady came to the gate and gave him a disapproving look.

“Just why are you loitering here, young man?” she asked, frowning up at him.

Killian bit his lip to keep from laughing at the “young man” comment. If only she knew his actual age! “I believe my girlfriend lives in this building, madam,” he said in his most charming tone, the one that got even Granny herself to blush. “Emma Swan? Can you help me get in?”

If anything, the woman’s frown deepened, and she folded her arms. “I’ve met Emma Swan’s boyfriend, and you are not him.”

Killian ignored the nasty, jealous feeling the statement evoked. It was vital he get to Emma as soon as possible and restore her memories. He hadn’t time to reflect on the current state of her love life and the emotions that dredged up within him.

“I think you must be mistaken,” he lied smoothly. “That relationship is at an end, and she’s with me now.”

She continued to watch him carefully for another moment, and then nodded, turning toward the keypad and unlocking the door. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to see the end of Walsh,” she said. “There was always something kind of….shifty…about him. I’m not sure that you’re any better, though. Don’t think I can’t see right through that charm you ooze.”

“You find me charming?” he asked, flirting shamelessly as he followed her into the building and then surreptitiously glanced at the buzzer board in the entryway to find the apartment number he was looking for. His grin widened as the elderly woman finally blushed.

“Don’t let it go to your head, young man,” she said, turning to open an apartment door on the ground floor.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Killian was still grinning from the encounter as he climbed the stairs until he’d reached Swan’s floor, but the grin was replaced by nerves when he reached her door. Was he ready for this? Was he ready to see her again and see the lack of recognition in her eyes?

Would his plan to bestow a True Love’s Kiss on her work to restore her memories? He knew she cared about him; he’d seen it in her eyes when they’d bid each other farewell at the town line. Was it enough to break a curse?

He took a deep breath and then stood taller, looking at the door determinedly. There was only one way to find out.

Taking one more fortifying breath, he raised his fist and knocked.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Five minutes later, Killian hobbled down the stairs and back out onto the sidewalk, his heart smarting as much as his nether regions at the failure of his first plan. Aye, it had been a long shot that his True Love’s Kiss would work. Perhaps her feelings were not as strong as he’d hoped they were. Still one hardly wished his kiss to his beloved to be followed by a swift knee to his groin.

For a moment, as he got his bearings and began making his way toward Baelfire’s abode, Killian allowed himself to feel the sting of rejection, but then he firmly put it aside.

So his first attempt had failed. He still had the potion. Aye, he had hoped to give it to the lad after his kiss had restored Swan’s memories, but he could adapt. It was time to rethink his approach and strategize.

Getting through Regina’s memory spell was going to be quite the challenge, but he loved a challenge, and he loved Emma.

She was worth fighting for.

NEXT CHAPTER-->

#season 3 rewatch drabbles #cs fanfiction #ouat fanfiction #my fanfiction #3x12 new york city serenade #killian jones

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miss-mollys-ballet-blog · 1 year

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Indiana Woodward and Aaron Sanz in Serenade.

#indiana woodward #serenade #aaron sanz #new york city ballet #prima ballerina #nycb gif #gif #my gif #ballet gif

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balanchine-ballet-master · 7 months

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Suzanne Farrell Teaching

Above: students at Florida State University rehearse Balanchine's Serenade, staged by Suzanne Farrell. Photo by Meagan Helman for the Florida State Univ. News

Suzanne Farrell is Krafft Professor of Dance at Florida State University in Tallahassee. She gave an interview to the FSU News that was published on November 16, 2023.

Legendary ballerina Suzanne Farrell reflects on career, 20 years as Krafft Professor at FSU

BY: ANNA PRENTISS, JAMIE RAGER, JASMINE HUR

Florida State University’s School of Dance Krafft Professor Suzanne Farrell, an internationally recognized New York City Ballet principal dancer, a 2005 Kennedy Center Honoree and the founder of Suzanne Farrell Ballet, has long been regarded as one of the most extraordinary and influential ballerinas of the late-20th century.

Farrell, who performed with the New York City Ballet for 28 years, is considered the last muse and protégé of choreographer George Balanchine, founder of the New York City Ballet.

This year, Farrell set an excerpt of “Divertimento No. 15,” a choreographic piece by Balanchine. This classical ballet was featured in the school’s annual “An Evening of Dance,” which highlighted a diverse lineup of seven live works restaged by retired and current faculty.

“One of my dreams as a dancer was to perform the choreography of George Balanchine,” said Associate Professor Ilana Goldman, who served as the rehearsal director for this work. “When I finally did, it felt sublime, as if I was the physical embodiment of the music. I am so thrilled that our students had the opportunity to not only perform Balanchine’s choreography but to have been coached by his muse, Suzanne Farrell — it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Farrell has been a member of the School of Dance faculty for more than 20 years and continues to work with and mentor students, hosting master classes and workshops at FSU each semester.

“The opportunity to work with a legendary performer like Suzanne Farrell is an amazing experience for our students,” said Anjali Austin, professor and chair of the School of Dance. “Her dedication to our program throughout the past 20 years has made an indelible mark on many.”

In an interview, Farrell re-lived her history with the New York City Ballet, working with Balanchine and how she came to Florida State University to teach.

“Initially, I was not going to teach at a college level,” Farrell said. “I had just been giving young dancer auditions in Miami but came to FSU on my sister’s request and met many nice dancers that made me rethink. It’s a beautiful atmosphere, and I love working here. I give everything when I teach.”

Even early in her career, Farrell thought teaching was not a path she intended to take.

“When I was a young dancer, I thought I had forever,” she said. “Mr. Balanchine once said, ‘One day, you will all teach.’ I thought to myself, ‘I’m not going to teach. All I want to do is dance.’”

That moment of retirement came sooner than Farrell thought, so she began staging and teaching Balanchine’s ballets around the world.

“In a nice way, it extended my dance life,” she said. “I’m not dancing, but I’m still doing what I love to do.”

Farrell noted that the transient nature of a dance career instills a sense of immediacy in a dancer.

“Dance is a young profession; we retire at a young age because the body has to stop,” she said. “Therefore, you have to positively profit from everything you do and every moment you do it. You can’t say, ‘I’ll do it tomorrow’ because before you know it, it’s time to retire.”

Farrell explained, “In ballet, we are our own technology. It’s not like sending someone a text and it’s done — it’s a constant evolution of getting the choreography to where it should be.”

“I like bringing my stories into my teaching because it’s not just the technological aspect, it’s also passing on stories from one person to the next,” she said.

Farrell learned to use visual aspects to provide dancers with a mental image when correcting inaccuracies.

“I’d say ‘move your arms like the leaves when the wind comes, the leaves turn over, they don’t resist.’ Moving with nature is what ballet is all about.”

When asked about the evolution of ballet since she first began her professional career, Farrell highlighted the inheritable legacy left by previous generations.

“We are the beneficiaries of every dancer that came before us. Nobody can do it by themselves,” Farrell said. “There are stories you inherit from someone who maybe danced it first or before you were alive. There’s so much legacy and it’s not just in the past. Just because someone isn’t alive anymore doesn’t mean they are not influential and inspiring in spirit.”

This academic year, the School of Dance is celebrating 90 years of dance, 60 years of dance degrees and 20 years of the Maggie Allesee Center for Choreography at FSU. Recently ranked as one of the top five dance programs in the nation by Backstage Magazine, the School of Dance is dedicated to providing the highest caliber of training to its students.

Suzanne Farrell and George Balanchine, 1963. Photo: Fred Fehl for the Associated Press via the NY Times

#Suzanne Farrell #Balanchine #Serenade #FSU #Florida State Univ.#New York City Ballet #NYCB

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miss-m-calling · 9 months

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Indiana Woodward and the New York City Ballet corps in George Balanchine's Serenade

Photo by Erin Baiano

#serenade #choreography #george balanchine #new york city ballet #indiana woodward

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thedepressedpelican · 12 hours

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Watch "New York City Serenade (Rome 7/11/13)" on TIDAL

Check out this video on TIDAL: "New York City Serenade (Rome 7/11/13)" by Bruce Springsteen https://tidal.com/video/23610753

https://tidal.com/video/23610753

#bruce springsteen #new york city serenade #rome #tidal #video

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princess-and-the-swan · 5 days

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MC Fic Rec: Unbreakable

By xHookedonKillianx | Rating: M

What if Hook was able to go with Emma and Henry when they left to escape Pan’s curse? With no memory of each other or Storybrooke, Emma and Killian meet in New York as complete strangers, both with broken pasts, and both with clean slates for their future. Complete.

Read it on AO3

#ouat #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #cs fic rec #modern au #captain swan fanfic #angst #neighbors au #rating: m #new york city serenade #friends to lovers

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yellowbugifs · 1 year

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emma swan in 3.12

#ouatedit #ouat #emma swan #emmaswanedit #henry mills #emma x henry #once upon a time #outfit #jennifer morrison #tw knife #new york city serenade #lizardthelizard #<333 #yes i know the outfits are not in line but the colours look prettier this way #i think so at least

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dinneratgrannys · 1 year

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ONCE UPON A TIME 3.12, New York City Serenade

#ouatedit #onceuponatimeedit #captainswanedit #once upon a time #ouat #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #s3 #3x12 new york city serenade #dynamic: captain swan #event: rewatch 22

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transmascfrankiero · 10 months

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today was a good day :) work flexed me off so i took a shower, braved the gamut of costco, got in n out, deep cleaned my car and reorganized my trunk, swept out my front stoop, did all of my laundry, got everything put away, and changed my sheets. i’m about to take another shower because i got mad grimy doing all that and then tomorrow i will do all my regular chores and maybe go grocery shopping if i have the energy lmao

#i also got a lovely video from my partner serenading me at the music festival he’s attending in new york :’)#he sent me a video of him crowdsurfing after lol

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raebrialc · 5 months

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A Syracuse Serenade: Harmony in the City

Story masterlist / A Syracuse Serenade Masterlist

A Syracuse Serenade - In a new town, a girl seeks refuge in her relationship with her boyfriend, the only source of familiarity. Yet, their connection is marred by toxicity. As she grapples with loneliness, her boyfriend's tendency to ignore her intensifies during conflicts, leaving her in emotional isolation. The story delves into her struggle to find solace, navigate toxic dynamics, and yearn for connection without revealing too much.

Chapter 2

That Thursday night merged seamlessly into the gentle embrace of Sunday morning. The air held a quiet stillness, the residue of a weekend that whispered promises of lazy afternoons and unhurried moments. As the city stirred from its slumber, Lucas and I found ourselves nestled on the porch swing, a familiar haven where time seemed to slow down, allowing us to savor the tranquility of the moment. The porch, adorned with the subtle glow of dawn, became our sanctuary. The swing swayed gently, a silent witness to the stories exchanged and the shared dreams that unfolded in the quiet spaces between sips of coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air, intertwining with the crisp morning breeze that carried the essence of a city waking up.

The city lights, now dimmed by the emerging daylight, twinkled in the distance as if reluctant to bid farewell to the nocturnal symphony. The occasional passing car added a gentle hum to the background melody, creating a soothing ambiance that invited introspection.

Lucas and I, wrapped in the warmth of shared blankets, cradled our coffee mugs as if they held the elixir of a thousand mornings. The ceramic vessels became conduits of warmth, grounding us in the ritual of companionship. With each sip, the world faded into the background, leaving only the quiet conversations that wove the tapestry of our connection. The silence between us spoke volumes, a language of understanding that transcended the need for constant words. The city unfolded before us, a canvas painted in the soft hues of dawn, as we contemplated the intricacies of our shared journey. The porch swing creaked in a rhythmic cadence, a lullaby that accompanied the soft murmur of the awakening city.

In those moments, time became a gentle stream, flowing at its own unhurried pace. The world beyond the porch swing seemed distant, and the city's heartbeat became a comforting echo in the background. Our fingers intertwined, and our gaze met, creating a bridge between the tangible present and the intangible future.

As we sat on that porch swing, suspended in the delicate dance of morning light, the coffee in our hands held the flavor of shared dreams and the promise of a day yet to unfold. The Sunday sun, now casting a warm glow on the streets below, seemed to join in our quiet celebration of the ordinary moments that held extraordinary significance. And so, in the heart of Syracuse, where city lights melted into the soft hues of dawn, Lucas and I continued our Sunday morning ritual. The porch swing, an anchor in the ebb and flow of life, cradled us in its embrace, a timeless witness to the beauty of love unfolding in the quiet spaces between sips of coffee.

I wanted to capture this scene, etch it into the canvas of memory with the permanence of a cherished novel. The gentle sway of the swing, the quiet hum of the waking city, and the warmth of Lucas's hand in mine—these were the details I yearned to revisit, to unravel like the pages of a favorite book. I wanted to savor this chapter of our story, to replay its delicate nuances like a well-loved record. The city lights, once the stars of the nocturnal symphony, now surrendered to the brilliance of day. Yet, in this quiet pause, I wished to hold onto the magic of dawn, where every sip of coffee echoed the rhythm of our hearts beating in harmony.

Later that day, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the porch. The air had grown cooler, and I sat alone with my thoughts. The porch swing, a silent witness to the inner turmoil, creaked beneath the burden of my indecision. The evening draped the porch in shadows, and I found solace in the quietude, the rhythmic creaks of the porch swing echoing the cadence of my contemplation. The sanctuary gifted by my grandfather held a sacred place in my heart. Its walls whispered stories.

The darker the day grew the further my mind drifted back to the moment I first met Lucas. It was a time when I still called Oklahoma home, and the prospect of meeting him in person propelled me on a nerve-wracking journey from the heartland to the bustling streets of New York. My trusty companion on this journey was my beloved 56' Mustang—a relic from a bygone era, yet it carried the weight of countless memories. The road stretched endlessly before me, and my Mustang, though old, was a testament to the enduring love I harbored for it. The anticipation of meeting Lucas in person transformed my stomach into a troupe of acrobats, somersaulting with nerves. My playlist, which I had imagined blasting through the speakers with me singing at the top of my lungs, remained eerily silent. Anxiety had replaced the joyous soundtrack of my imagined journey.

I had saved up for months for this travel of the heart, and in my mind, I had rehearsed the trip a thousand times. The reality, however, was different. The 29-hour, 36-minute, and 12-second drive was marked by a silence broken only by the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thud of my racing heart. I barely ate, my nerves overpowering any appetite. The road became both a physical and emotional stretch, a bridge between the known and the anticipated.

As I arrived at the hotel, exhaustion and excitement wrestled within me. I understood the importance of making a memorable first impression. I had envisioned myself blasting into the city with the vigor of a traveler ready to embrace adventure. Instead, I found myself fatigued, yearning for a good night's sleep to shake off the weariness that clung to my bones. In the quiet solitude of the hotel room, I underwent a transformation. I meticulously groomed myself, determined to present the most personable version of me that Lucas had ever seen. The mirror became my confidante, reflecting both the weariness of the journey and the eagerness that simmered beneath the surface. I had left Oklahoma as a girl, but here in New York, I was poised to embrace a new chapter and leave behind the remnants of my former self. Every trip to this bustling city felt like shedding a layer of my identity, only to reemerge as a woman ready to face the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead.

As I stood before the mirror, the city lights glittering beyond the window, I realized the symbolic significance of this metamorphosis. New York became my crucible of growth, and with each visit, I left a part of my girlhood behind. It was here that I embraced the woman I aspired to become—a resilient, adaptable individual navigating the complexities of life in the city that never sleeps.

The following day, as I finally stood before Lucas, the reality of our connection crystallized. The nervousness that had accompanied me on the road persisted, now interwoven with the thrill of meeting the person who had become a significant chapter in my life. The quirks and imperfections that defined our individuality unfolded in the shared moments that followed. The love story, which had its origins in the quiet corridors of the internet, found its footing in the vibrant streets of New York.

Exiting the hotel, my knees shook with anticipation. The agreement to meet at a local coffee shop hung in the air, guiding my steps. As I walked what felt like an eternity, I checked my phone, realizing it had only been 15 minutes. Gazing up, I spotted the coffee shop "R Cafe & Tea Boutique," its sign standing tall. Subconsciously straightening my back, I readied myself for this new journey.

Opening the door, the rich aroma of coffee enveloped me. Questions raced through my mind, "Do I order now, or do I wait?" Distractions filled my thoughts. Opting for a coffee, I sat down, the cup eyeing me, yet I couldn't bring myself to sip it. Ding! The bell on the door rang in my ears. Looking up, there he was—Lucas. His eyes met mine, his smile grew, and mine stayed the same. Doubts crept in, "What am I doing? God, you idiot, what are you doing?"

"Claire, hey!" Lucas greeted me casually, as if it were the most normal thing.

"H-Hey, Lucas," I managed to stammer. He looked at me, “Do I say something? What do I say?"

"It's finally good to meet you in person," Lucas slid into the chair across from me, his eyes studying my face as if trying to capture every detail. A mix of excitement and apprehension settled heavily on my shoulders.

"You look even more beautiful in person," he said, leaning in even more.

"Thanks, so do you. How has your day been?" I asked, laughing at what I had just said.

"Busy, as always. But meeting you is the highlight, no doubt," his charming grin enticing me to stay, to not get up and run all the way back home.

That day will forever be etched in my memory. After finishing our coffee, Lucas took me on a tour of New Rochelle, showing me the places he had frequented countless times. With each location, he shared stories—little snippets of his life that painted vivid pictures in my mind. One story, in particular, resonated deeply. He recounted a childhood escapade with his siblings at a quaint mom-and-pop shop. In a moment of youthful mischief, Lucas had committed a minor act of theft. When his mother discovered the transgression, she responded with a lesson in accountability. Lucas was made to walk all the way back to the shop, despite the biting New York winter, to apologize and return the stolen item.

As Lucas told me this, I could vividly imagine the scene. A younger version of him, innocent and adorable, caught in the act. The mental image was so clear that, at times, I found myself mentally shrinking to that small size. In those moments, I envisioned curling up inside Lucas, enveloped by his warmth and comfort, finding solace in the safety of his embrace.

Soon after that, and even now when sadness creeps in, I find solace in imagining myself in that comforting mental space. It's a place where I can mentally shrink to that smaller size, embracing the innocence and warmth of those shared memories with Lucas. In those moments of vulnerability, I picture myself curling up inside him, finding refuge in the sanctuary of his presence. It becomes a coping mechanism, a visualization that brings me a sense of peace and reassurance during challenging times. This imaginative retreat into the comfort of shared memories has become a powerful tool, a mental safe haven where I can momentarily escape the complexities of life and find solace in the simplicity of connection.

In the months that followed our initial meeting, Lucas and I found ourselves entangled in a delicate dance across the vibrant backdrop of New York. Our encounters became more frequent, each meeting etching new chapters into the unfolding story of our connection. The city, with its bustling rhythms and hidden corners, became a witness to the gradual blossoming of our relationship. We met at cozy cafes, hidden gems tucked away in the city's tangled streets, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the shared laughter that filled the air. Our conversations flowed effortlessly, weaving together the threads of our lives as we discovered the nuances that made us who we were. The initial hesitations and uncertainties began to dissolve, replaced by a growing comfort that invited vulnerability.

Exploring the city hand in hand, we ventured into museums, strolled through parks, and meandered along the Hudson River, where the city lights reflected in the gentle ripples of the water. Each shared experience became a brushstroke on the canvas of our shared journey, painting a portrait of connection that deepened with every passing day. As our lives intertwined, we discovered shared passions and interests that further solidified the foundation of our bond. From attending concerts in Central Park to trying eclectic cuisines in hidden neighborhoods, every moment felt like a shared adventure. The city, with its myriad possibilities, became the backdrop to our growing intimacy.

Our encounters transitioned from planned meetings to spontaneous moments, where a simple text could turn into an impromptu trip. The city, sprawling and ever-changing, became the witness to the evolution of our connection. Our conversations, once laced with the uncertainty of the unknown, transformed into a comforting cadence that resonated with shared dreams and whispered promises. In those stolen moments between busy schedules and bustling streets, our hearts found a sanctuary in each other. The city lights, once distant and untouchable, now mirrored the spark in our eyes as we delved deeper into the intricacies of love. The journey from mere acquaintances to inseparable companions unfolded seamlessly, as if the city itself conspired to weave our stories together.

We hid ourselves from everyone; the hotel rooms became a haven of normalcy for us. Keeping our relationship concealed was imperative. There was a certain thrill in the secrecy. He was mine, and I reveled in the exclusive possession of his name. Like a clandestine mantra, I kept his name hidden from the world, savoring it like a precious secret. In those stolen moments, I would scream his name, a whispered oath between us. I had solemnly sworn to keep our connection sacred, shielding it from prying eyes and unsolicited opinions. The thought of exposing our perfect sanctuary to the world sent shivers down my spine. People, like vultures, would want to pry into our cocoon, seeking every last detail to satiate their curiosity. I couldn't bear the idea of our intimate world being invaded, sucked dry by the outside world's relentless scrutiny. The fear of judgment and the potential unraveling of what we had built together kept me vigilant, guarding our secret with unwavering determination.

In our concealed realm, time seemed to stand still. The hotel rooms, once mere spaces of transient comfort, transformed into a backdrop for our shared experiences. Every stolen glance, every whispered word, and every shared smile were our exclusive currency. The outside world faded away when we were together, and our connection thrived in the cocoon of secrecy.

Yet, amidst the bliss of our private world, a lingering tension simmered beneath the surface. The weight of our hidden truth created a delicate balance, a constant dance between desire and discretion. It was a thrilling yet precarious journey, navigating the intricacies of a love kept in the shadows. As we clung to the clandestine beauty of our relationship, I couldn't help but wonder how long we could sustain this delicate equilibrium. The fear of exposure loomed, but for now, in those stolen moments within the confines of hotel rooms, we found solace in the intimacy we shared, shielded from the outside world by the protective cloak of our secret love.

The rides back to Oklahoma became increasingly somber as the miles stretched across the endless plains. What was once a familiar and comforting landscape now felt like a monotonous stretch of desolation, echoing the growing distance between the life I had known and the one I yearned for in New York. Each journey back felt like a reluctant retreat, leaving behind the vibrant rhythm of the city for the subdued echoes of the plains.

The idea of college in New York had always been a distant dream, a flicker of possibility that gained substance with every visit to the city. Lucas, with his presence and the shared dreams we nurtured, became the anchor that tethered my aspirations to the bustling streets of New York. The dream of attending college in the city, with its promise of vibrant social scenes and the intoxicating allure of the college experience, gained newfound significance.

Syracuse University emerged as the beacon of my aspirations, the gateway to the college life I had envisioned. The prospect of lively parties, navigating classes with the haze of weekend festivities, and the connection of shared adventures became the fabric of my dreams. The application process became a nerve-wracking journey, with Syracuse standing as both the culmination of my desires and the potential heartbreak of unfulfilled dreams.

The uncertainty of acceptance loomed over me like a shadow, casting doubt on the path that lay ahead. If Syracuse didn't open its doors to me, the question of what would come next hung in the air, a daunting enigma with no clear answers. The prospect of forging a new path, one without the backdrop of New York and the presence of Lucas, felt like a departure from the life I had come to envision.

As the college submissions were sent, I found myself grappling with the weight of anticipation. The dream of Syracuse held the promise of a future entwined with the city's energy, and the thought of it slipping away was a poignant fear that lingered in the background of my aspirations. The plains of Oklahoma, once a familiar expanse, now seemed to stretch infinitely, mirroring the uncertainty that loomed on the horizon.

Weeks passed in a blur of anticipation, and the day of reckoning finally arrived. I went about my routine of checking the mail, a mundane task that held the potential to shape the trajectory of my future. Bills, junk mail, a magazine subscription, and then, unexpectedly, a letter from Syracuse University. My heart raced as I sifted through the stack, the ordinary mix of daily correspondence suddenly disrupted by the promise of a life-altering message. I dropped the rest of the mail on the lawn, my hands trembling as I carefully tore open the envelope. The letter inside held the words that every aspiring student yearned to read: "You have been accepted to the University of Syracuse." The weight of those words settled over me, an affirmation that the course of my life was about to take a profound turn.

In the span of a month, I transformed from a resident of Oklahoma to a soon-to-be student in Syracuse. A house and a trust fund became my companions, offering a sense of freedom that both exhilarated and daunted me. With the summer ahead of me, I moved to Syracuse early, eager to acquaint myself with the city and perhaps forge connections before the academic whirlwind began.

However, the quest for friendship proved more challenging than I had anticipated. Despite joining every club and participating in countless events, the elusive sense of camaraderie remained out of reach. The city's vibrant pulse failed to synchronize with my desire for lasting connections, leaving me feeling adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces. Loneliness settled in, casting shadows over the sunny days of exploration. The city, while bustling with life, seemed to withhold the kindred spirits I sought. Amidst this isolation, there was one constant—Lucas. He became my anchor, a source of unwavering support in a landscape that felt alien and indifferent. As the summer unfolded, Lucas's presence became my solace, a reminder that even in the face of solitude, I wasn't entirely alone.

Authors Notes: HIIII!!! OMG I'm so excited and scared to share this story with you guys. I will be posting new chapters every Friday! (Hopefully). This story is my baby I would love your opinion and thoughts on my story and my writing, but please be nice about it. I promise that the next chapters will be longer!!!!!!!!! Also I want to thank my two friends for reading my story and boosting my ego!

While you are waiting for new chapters go check out @sammysbiggestwhore!!!!!!!

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 4 months

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Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x12 New York City Serenade (part 2)

Word Count: 831

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28)

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Note: You can thank (or blame) @kmomof4 for this one. She's the one who sent me the prompt!

Mary Margaret slowly swam up from the depths of sleep. It was when she opened her eyes that the alarm bells started going off in her mind.

She was in her bed in the loft. What was she doing here? How did she get here? The last thing she remembered was being at the town line, the curse about to hit them as Emma and Henry drove away.

And then she felt it, a very distinct sensation in her abdomen, almost like someone was rolling a ball inside of her.

Mary Margaret looked down and gasped. Where only moments ago her stomach had been flat, now it resembled a beach ball..

She felt it again, and remembered the feeling from about thirty years before. This is what it felt like to be pregnant, and not just pregnant, but just-about-to-give birth pregnant.

Her heart started racing. How could she be pregnant? How could she be this pregnant? This wasn’t possible! This wasn’t…oh gods, she’d had a drink with Emma just the other day, and she hadn’t had any prenatal vitamins or doctors visits. She didn’t have any baby things! How could you have a baby without preparing your house?!

This was a dream. This had to be a dream! She pinched herself. Hard. And then pinched herself again. Nothing happened.

Mary Margaret started hyperventilating. “David,” she said her voice little more than a croak. Beside her he mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

What had happened? Was this Pan’s curse? Oh gods, was Emma okay? Henry? Were they here?

The hyperventilating intensified. “David!” she said louder. He stirred but didn’t wake.

This couldn’t be happening! It couldn’t! She felt another kick, as though the little being inside of her begged to differ.

“Charming!” She shouted it this time, and he woke with a start, sitting up so fast, his head must have been swimming.

He looked around, uttering a soft curse in surprise. “What are we doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Mary Margaret said, hearing the absolute panic in her voice. “I don’t know. David, we don’t even have a crib!”

He turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowed, just now becoming aware of both her tone and the very strange thing she’d just said. Slowly his eyes drifted to her midsection and he cursed again. “Snow, you’re…”

“I know!” She said, “David, our family and now this and the town and the curse, and what’s going on? Oh gods, what’s happening?”

David shook his head as if to clear it, and then gripped her shoulders gently. “I don’t know, Mary Margaret, but you need to calm down. You need to breathe. This can’t be good for the–”

“How can I calm down?” Mary Margaret nearly shouted. “I don’t know what’s–”

Suddenly his lips were on hers, the rest of her words fading away as he kissed her hard and deep. Her mind suddenly went blank. When he kissed her like that, it always made everything fade away. There was nothing else but him and her and this feeling between them.

After a moment, he pulled back, hands still caressing her shoulders, as he looked into her eyes. “Better?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, thank you.” The panic had receded but the concern about their situation was still there at the forefront. “David, what’s going on here? Are we in another curse?”

He looked around their loft, seemingly listening for something–anything–that might give him some idea of what was going on. “I don’t know,” he said finally, “but we seem to be alone here. I think whatever this is, Emma and Henry managed to escape.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess.”

David slowly reached down, putting a hand on her distended belly. The baby within gave another kick, strong enough that David could feel it. He chuckled. “I think this little guy just gave me a high five.”

Snow smiled, putting her hand over David’s. She still had no idea what had happened or what they were facing, but the initial panic over, it started dawning on her. Her wish from Echo Caves was coming true. She and David were about to be parents again.

“Are you happy?” she asked.

His smile was brighter than she’d seen it in years. “Of course I’m happy. Snow, we get another chance. We get to be a family!”

“But what about Emma and Henry?”

“We’ll find them,” David said confidently. “We’ll defeat–whatever this latest crisis is and we’ll get our family back, and we will get our happily ever after. How could we fail when we’re together?”

Mary Margaret leaned in and kissed him softly, so thankful for this man, she couldn’t even find words. “David, there’s no one I’d rather have by my side for…whatever it is we’re facing. I love you.”

“Not nearly as much as I love you,” he replied.

She very seriously doubted that, but rather than argue, she simply leaned in for one more kiss.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#season 3 rewatch drabbles #ouat fanfiction #my fanfiction #3x12 new york city serenade #mary margaret blanchard #david nolan

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