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awkwardnessandbaseball · 6 years ago

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LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!!

It’s @csrolereversal AND @cshalloweek time!!! Roughly one BILLION thanks to @sherlockianwhovian for making sure my words make sense and, of course, @courtorderedcake for her lovely art that inspired this story. Without further ado, I present:

A Fan of Every Part of You

A Captain Swan Halloweek Story in three parts

AO3 if that’s your jam: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3

Killian Jones has a really loud, destructive upstairs neighbor, and he's about to lose his patience with them. But when he discovers that it's a beautiful witch with a soft spot for his dangerous familiar, Captain, that complicates things just a bit.

Chapter One:

*BANG*

Killian jumped in the air at the noise, dropping the jar of bearberry he’d been holding.

“Bloody hell. That was expensive,” Killian groaned, leaning down to clean up his mess. It was far from the first time he’d dropped an expensive ingredient for one of his potions, but until recently, it had at least been his own fault. Now, however, he had a new neighbor upstairs.

A very loud neighbor.

He’d never met them, of course, but it seemed like perhaps it was not one, but several hundred people up above his head.

Or perhaps several hundred elephants.

*BANG* *CRASH*

That’s it, Killian thought to himself, grabbing his broom.

*TAP TAP TAP*

He poked the handle of the broom against his ceiling at what he hoped was a loud enough volume that the mysterious, noise-making neighbor would hear it. He didn’t dare poke any harder for fear of breaking the old thing clean in half.

*BANG BANG BANG*

It was the unmistakable sound of a foot being stomped on the ground above his head, at the same rhythm at which he’d just poked the broom.

“Seriously? Is there a six-year-old living above me now?” Killian grumbled at what he thought was an appropriate level for his own living space.

“No, is there a jackass living below me now?” a muffled voice responded from above.

Ah, his new neighbor was a woman then. At least he knew something about her now, although that didn’t make him any less frustrated by her noise level or the fact that she could apparently hear him through the floor of her apartment.

“No, just someone who’s tired of dropping all of his expensive ingredients due to a bunch of surprising noises from above!” Killian yelled back.

“Then maybe you should be more careful!”

“Pot, meet kettle!”

There was silence then.

Followed by a lot of noise on the stairwell, and then a loud banging on Killian’s door.

He groaned.

“Come to show your face then, finally?” he asked as he swung the door open, holding it carefully so that his familiar, Captain, was just out of view. What he saw in front of him was… not what he expected. The woman standing in his doorway, who was so angry there were literal red waves of infuriated energy coming off of her, was beautiful.

Beautiful, and angry, and with a loud, vibrant energy that glowed around her much brighter than anyone he’d seen before.

Of course.

He held the door steady with his right hand, ignoring Captain’s low groan from the couch.

It wasn’t that Killian was ashamed of Captain. Not at all. Killian was quite proud of the large creature taking up residence on his couch. It was just that Captain was… misunderstood.

Growing up, as all of his friends had started showing off their familiars, Killian had been without one. He had waited, and waited, and waited. He wanted to know that companionship so badly. But it wasn’t until his older brother had died that Captain had appeared. Without Liam, Killian was forced to grow up very quickly, and so Captain had been borne of grief, sorrow, and loneliness.

The problem was that Captain wasn’t an ordinary familiar. Most witches had created birds or cats, or even a few dogs. There were a few others -- some large cats among his friends with tendencies toward dark magic.

But Killian’s own familiar was the only hybrid he’d ever seen. Captain was larger than a panther, though he had the look of one. He had a lion’s mane, which would have looked a bit out of place if not for his constant look of regality, and huge bat-like wings. He was quite intimidating to say the least.

At first, before Killian had realized just how out-of-place his familiar was, he’d ventured out as usual, walking down the street to the store at any time of day, Captain steady by his side.

But then the strange looks had begun, and the whispers. It took Killian a month to realize that people were, in fact, scared of him.

“It’s not your fault,” Ruby, the witch who ran the local herb store, told him. Ruby had been the only person to tell Killian to his face that his familiar was… not normal. She was also the only person whose energy didn’t immediately turn to a cold, ice blue whenever they saw Killian with his familiar by his side. “You said his name’s Captain?” Killian nodded. “Well, Captain looks pretty dangerous, you know? Which means… you could be dangerous. So… that’s why people are acting so strangely.”

Killian didn’t ask why she wasn’t afraid of him. The glint in her eye told him he probably didn’t want to know.

Ashamed of himself and whatever danger must lie in his soul, Killian had stopped venturing out during the day. Ruby stayed at work late whenever he needed supplies, and that arrangement had meant that no one new had seen Captain in about five years.

It also meant that Killian hadn’t really spoken to anyone besides Ruby and the grocery delivery boy in that long.

Until right now.

“Can you please stop banging on your ceiling when I’m trying to work?” the angry blonde woman nearly screamed in his face. “It’s very distracting, and I’m working with very sensitive spells.”

“Pardon, milady, but your raucous noises are causing me quite a bit of disturbance as well.” Killian gestured towards the mess of bearberry on the floor of his kitchen. “That was rather expensive, and I can’t get to the store for at least another six hours.”

He winced, realizing belatedly that he’d revealed too much. He was really terrible at the whole personal interaction thing.

Just a bit rusty, he thought to himself.

“Why not?” the woman asked, arching an eyebrow suspiciously.

“I… er… I can’t…” Killian stammered. Finally, after an embarrassing amount of ear scratching (his) and death stares (hers), he decided it might just be easier to show her than to continue this silent battle. “This is Captain,” he said, opening the door wider and revealing the oversized winged panther lying on top of his couch. “If you cross the threshold, I can’t promise he won’t do something stupid. He’s very protective.”

“He’s beautiful,” she said quietly, and the energy around her shifted from dark, angry red to a soft green. “I’m Emma,” she added as an afterthought, holding out her hand.

“Killian,” he said, shaking her hand once. “Killian Jones.”

“Well, Killian, I’m sorry I made you spill your… what exactly was that?”

“Bearberry,” he answered automatically. She looked genuinely apologetic, and Killian wasn’t sure what exactly changed her attitude, but he was certainly thankful for it.

“I’ll try to keep it down, or at least give you some warning.” She smiled softly at him.

“Er… thanks. Thank you,” he responded awkwardly. She nodded once and then turned towards the stairs to go back to her apartment.

An hour later, there was a soft knock at Killian’s door. He looked through the peephole, but no one was there. Cautiously, he opened the door just a tad, and there was a soft thud by his feet.

A bundle of bearberry had fallen over without the door to hold it up. There was a note, and Killian found himself smiling before he had even opened it.

Mr. Jones, I apologize again for making you spill your bearberry. This should be enough to get you through for a bit. I’ve also thrown in a small treat for Captain.

Enjoy,

E. Swan

********

The strange thing about quiet is that it makes you miss the noise. So when two days went by without a single crash, boom, or clunk from upstairs, Killian grew worried. It took him a third day to gather up the courage to knock on her door.

As soon as it opened, he heard a whole plethora of noises. Whirrs and clanks and, of course, crashes.

“Swan, what the hell?”

He wasn’t sure why it came out of his mouth. But when she’d signed the note “E. Swan” he’d pictured her and her beautiful face and well… okay, she wasn’t exactly graceful or swanlike but somehow, still, ‘Swan’ seemed to suit her.

She hesitated a moment, a blush creeping up her neck.

“I charmed the apartment. So you wouldn’t hear… all of this.” She grabbed a loose strand of hair and started twisting it in her hands. “I felt bad. About before.”

It really wasn’t a grand gesture. She had cast a fairly simple charm so that her neighbors wouldn’t be disturbed by all the noise constantly coming from her apartment. A miniscule part of Killian’s brain wondered why she hadn’t done that to begin with, but he ignored it in favor of the more prominent thought in his mind: she’d done this for him.

“You didn’t have to… that’s very kind.”

An awkward silence fell over them before Killian glanced behind her into her apartment. It was nearly identical to his in layout, but where he kept his living space organized and tidy, Emma lived in what looked to be the middle of a biohazard. There were potions and ingredients and empty jars on nearly every surface. A stack of boxes towered far too high for Killian’s comfort just beside the dining room table. And a strange metal contraption right in the middle of the kitchen seemed to be the source of all the noise, whirring away and shaking far more than it looked like it should be.

And there, on the couch, lay a giant white… creature.

He knew, of course, that this must be her familiar. What he couldn’t figure out was what exactly it was. It looked both furry and feathered, and as Killian stared at it, the white color he’d originally seen started morphing into spots. And then stripes. And then back to white.

“What the--”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I have to go now.”

And then the door was slammed in his face.

#csrolereversal #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs fanfic #caitlin writes

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artistic-writer · 6 years ago

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‘To Give One’s Trust’ by @lillpon is the wonderful fanfic to accompany my art for the @csrolereversal event!

Massive thank you to @darkcolinodonorgasm for organizing the event and for @lillpon for making words to go with thei fanart! We hope you all like it!

#fanart #csrolereversal #werewolf!killian

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piracytheorist · 6 years ago

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To Give One’s Trust (1/1)

Note: Written for @csrolereversal! I must admit that I'd nearly given up and dropped out of the event, but with the help and encouragement of @darkcolinodonorgasm and @artistic-writer, the latter of whom also provided the magnificent art above that inspired this story, I managed to set a smaller, but more attainable goal and finish just in time to participate!

Summary: Captain Hook has been a werewolf for centuries, in control of his wild state. When he gets kidnapped and experimented upon, his desperate actions to escape have dire consequences for him. When Emma Swan meets a feral werewolf on a night with a full moon, she can sense that there's something more to that creature. Perhaps, with the right amount of trust, she can help him help himself.

Warnings: Violence (yep, there's whump), blood, and near the end, a minor character death that’s a bit graphic.

Word count: ~6k AO3

In all his centuries and past torments, Captain Hook had never imagined he’d be brought to such a horrid state.

He’d known better, of course, than to make hopeful dreams for his future. He’d turned pirate because of his brother’s death; he’d surrounded his thoughts with a thirst for revenge because of Milah’s death; he had nothing more to live for...

Except, ever since that damned werewolf bit him, dying had stopped being an option.

And his current tormentors seemed to be aware of that. Actually, he wouldn’t call them tormentors, not exactly. Sure, they spared no sympathy for the pain they were causing him, no reaction to his screams, but overall they were only... testing. Potions, spells, curses, incantations, anything dark magic could conjure up.

They were of course aware of the fact that he couldn’t die and that his healing abilities worked ten times faster than of a normal human. So after they were done experimenting on him for the day, they’d leave him rest, curled up in a pool of his own blood, shivering, as he waited for his multiple wounds to heal. Then they’d come back the next day to continue their experiments.

He could swear that the worst was during the nights he turned. All of his senses were heightened then, as well as his healing, and the experiments got even worse - besides, they had to try the different application of some of them on a three-legged canine.

But that wasn’t the worst.

The worst was the Dark One watching.

He never laid a finger on him as his minions worked on the experiments he was ordering. He only watched, standing outside the cage Hook was kept in, sometimes even smiling at him. Sometimes he stayed after the other men had left, and watched him as Hook struggled to keep his sobs quiet, to not let the Dark One hear them.

Two months being experimented upon and most nights with Rumpelstiltskin watching he managed to keep quiet; that he considered a small victory.

He had made peace with his werewolf nature; thanks to meeting a werewolf pack during his first months of being one, he’d managed to learn to control himself, and for centuries, the night of full moon was just another night. Sometimes, seeing the moon grow larger could even bring him some excitement. The joy brought by running as a wolf could easily come close to the one of sailing in the open seas.

Now, that same sight only brought a reminder of a harsher, more painful night.

Some nights, when his body hurt too much for sleep to claim him, he’d look at the moon peeking outside the window and wonder how long he’d have to endure that.

It didn’t take much longer. Just one night before his third full moon there, Rumpelstiltskin got too close, and Hook was just too desperate. With surprising agility, considering his injuries, he plunged his hook into the Dark One’s arm... who was too keen on gloating about the pain he’d been ordering on him to notice Hook’s eyes dropping to the dagger on his belt.

It only took two swift moves to pull it out and bury it deep inside Rumpelstiltskin’s chest.

It was the moment Hook felt his mind stop working. He could watch. He watched Rumpelstiltskin fall on his side, dead. He watched a blast of magic leave him, destroying his cage and incapacitating - killing? - his tormentors before they had a chance to run. He watched the environment change around him as he moved - ran? - outside, to who knew where.

But he wasn’t seeing.

His senses were being assaulted by memories; all the deaths he’d witnessed, with the pain they were accompanied by, striking as if brand new; his torments, from as old as the ones in his childhood, to losing his hand, to the one he’d suffered just that day.

And the most intense of it all, hearing his name whispered around him.

Killian Jones. Killian Jones. Killian Jones.

It was daytime when he woke up. He was lying in the middle of a forest, with the bloodied rags he wore in the torture chamber, but all of his wounds healed up, way faster than even his werewolf healing offered.

He wanted to wonder how that could be, but he knew it would be simple denial now.

He was the Dark One. The cursed dagger was in his hand, Rumpelstiltskin’s crusted blood still on it, the name Killian Jones engraved on the blade.

He could already feel something pulsating under his skin. He could hear birds chirping a little too loud next to him, and he was overcome with an urge to kill them. He wanted... something. He wanted to burst out on someone, and the damn forest was too deserted.

The violent thoughts kept coming and coming, and had it been any other day, he’d have simply ignored them or drowned them in a flask of rum.

But that night there’d be a full moon. He’d turn by the first moonbeam, and if his thoughts were already surrounded with an urge of violence, how could he be sure they wouldn’t get even more intense after he turned? Everything was more intense in wolf form. Sight. Hearing. Taste. The taste of flesh.

First, the dagger. The safest place to hide it was his safe at the Jolly Roger, as the only way to open it was with his hook, and his hook always disappeared to... wherever, when he turned, so it would be safe until he turned back into a human.

He held the dagger tight, closed his eyes and thought of his cabin. When he opened them, he was there.

His cabin was as tidy as he could remember leaving it. He didn’t allow any emotions over the loyalty of his crew over the nearly three months he’d been missing; he had to be quick lest someone saw him.

After he secured the dagger, he spent all afternoon building a special cage to keep himself in. Hard, thick steel bars, heavy chains around his limbs and torso, enchanted to stay stuck on his skin and not break by brute force, completed by a blindfold as soon as the sun set.

He lay down, conjuring up thick vines to keep his body pinned to the ground, trying not to think just how easy it was to use magic, and focused on his breath.

I am the wolf.

I am in control.

I am...

Emma sighed as she conjured up a few more flames, stoking the campfire. She looked at it, trying to concentrate on the dancing colours to keep her mind off their plans for tomorrow. There was no use worrying over it now, she had already volunteered to help invade the Evil Queen’s castle to bring her down. She didn’t fear her; but she had no doubt she would have doubled her defences, maybe even hired more magicians to help her fight Emma and her parents’ army.

But again, all she should do now was try to relax as much as possible. She was already losing sleep with all that stress, and she needed to be strong tomorrow...

A pang of guilt rushed through her when she heard footsteps behind her. Damnit, now they’d start acting like she was a child, and why isn’t she asleep yet, and Emma, you need to rest, we need your magic...

Instead, she only heard an exaggerated gasp. “Shouldn’t you be asleep, young lady?”

Emma bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. She turned around, finally losing it at Elsa’s over-the-top dramatic face. But Elsa quickly dropped the mockery and sat down next to her.

“At least we can chat to pass the time,” Elsa said.

“Yeah.”

Elsa seemed to notice Emma’s nervousness. “Hey,” she said. “It’s gonna be alright. We’ll have the castle by this time tomorrow.”

“And I’ll take my rightful place as ‘Princess of Misthaven’.”

Elsa simply smiled softly at her, taking her hand in hers. “I’ll always be here, you know. If anything, I know what it feels like to not believing it when people keep telling you you have a place with them.”

Emma nodded, staying silent. The famous lost princess of Misthaven, separated from her parents as soon as she was born, only being found after more than two decades of not belonging anywhere... it’s not that her parents pressured her in anything. But she appreciated having someone to get what she was feeling. Her parents had spent all that time loving her, hoping to find her, while she had spent that time hating them, thinking they’d abandoned her. Such dark thoughts weren’t easy to let go of after so long of having been part of her.

“Thank you,” she said eventually, blinking away a tear.

“So,” Elsa said, “maybe we can lighten up? Play something, a word game or-”

Both their heads perked up towards the bushes at the sound of rustling twigs. They got up, preparing their magic, focusing on any other sound of their attacker. Before Emma could conjure up more flames to help them see better, they saw a dark figure lunge towards them. Emma shrieked, releasing a wave of force magic as Elsa raised a wall of ice in front of them. Through it, they saw the figure hit a tree behind it, then fall gracelessly on the ground. Emma finally conjured up those flames, immediately noticing the form struggling to get up.

“A wolf?” Elsa said.

“No. It’s something... more. I can feel it’s magical.” Emma walked towards it.

She spotted Elsa looking around at the sky. “It’s full moon. A werewolf?”

“No. I mean... yeah, probably, but... I feel something more.” When she was just a few feet away, the wolf jumped up, growling at her and preparing to attack.

Elsa conjured ice around his apparently three paws, keeping him in place. That only lasted a second though, as the wolf looked down at the ice and it immediately melted away.

“He can use magic?!”

Emma closed her eyes, focusing on the deeper magic inside of her as she extended her arms. The werewolf lunged again right then, but a magic sphere appeared around him, immobilizing him mid-air.

“I just need a few seconds,” Emma said. “Keep him frozen somehow so that I can create a magic cage around him.”

As Elsa struggled to keep him immobilized, continuously creating ice around him as he made it melt away, Emma concentrated on her magic again. Somehow, this wolf seemed to have quite powerful magic, and more magic than usual was needed to restrain him. Thick bars appeared around him, enclosing him in a cage wide enough for him to move and even stand when he’d turn back into a human, and Elsa let go.

Immediately, the wolf went for the bars, biting and swatting at them with his paws, but they wouldn’t give. He stepped back, curled inwards, then a blast of force magic left him and struck the bars, but again, nothing happened.

Emma and Elsa sighed, feeling a bit weary after the fight, and kept watching as the wolf, almost without rational thought, kept attacking the bars with force and magic no matter how fruitless his efforts were.

“Go and try to sleep,” Emma told Elsa, whose shoulders were noticeably slouched. “I’ll stay to make sure he doesn’t escape. Though I believe the cage will be strong to hold him overnight.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Emma just nodded. As Elsa walked away, back to her tent, Emma turned her attention back to the wolf. She stepped towards the cage, close enough to see him better, but far enough to make sure he couldn’t reach her.

A magical werewolf. Actually, an extra-magical werewolf, since such creatures were already considered to have magic in the first place. He growled at her when she got too close, actually backtracking in the cage.

Huh. Perhaps there was some sense left in him after all.

She could barely feel tired, even after having used all that magic. There was something about this wolf, and she just couldn’t stop imagining all the questions she’d ask him once he turned back into a human.

Technically, she could sleep. The cage proved to be strong enough, and she would need the rest, but she was simply too alert to relax now. She sat back on the log she was sitting on before, watching the poor wolf slam himself into the bars and exhausting himself with magic, again and again and again.

Until he nearly collapsed on the ground, trying to curl up into a ball... and weeping softly.

It was that, no doubt. He was crying, and Emma couldn’t help wondering if it was from exhaustion, pain after hitting the bars so many times... or pure despair.

She wrapped her arms around her torso and leaned forward, trying to will away her memories of feeling so desperate she cried.

She woke up with the first sunbeam. She jumped up, panicking momentarily until her bleary vision cleared and she saw the wolf still inside the cage. When the beams reached his cage, a thick black cloud surrounded him, and when it dissipated, a man was at its place.

Emma stepped closer, taking a good look at him. He didn’t appear to have a left hand; in its place was a metal hook, secured on a brace that was wrapped with leather loops around his left arm. He looked tired, and even in pain, if she judged by the crease between his eyebrows. And - holy crap - he was barefoot, dressed in filthy, torn, blood-stained rags. But he didn’t seem to have any wounds, from what she could see.

Suddenly, his eyes popped open and he gasped, scaring her enough to elicit a short yelp, which in turn seemed to scare him, as he scrambled to his knees and arms and tried to move backwards, again gasping when he hit the bars behind him.

“It’s alright,” Emma said. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Where am I?” the man said.

“Just a few miles off...” she almost said “the Evil Queen’s castle” but thought better of giving away their plan. It only then occurred to her that he could have been a spy. “... Misthaven,” she ended up saying. “What’s your name?”

The man looked around the cage, then his face turned sober, serious. “Why am I in a bloody cage?”

“For our protection. And most likely, yours too.”

She saw him swallow hard. “Did I hurt anyone? As a...” His voice trailed off.

“A wolf? Not as far as I know.”

He looked away, a discomfort settling in his features. He seemed to grow more uncomfortable the longer he looked at the cage bars around him.

“Let me out of here,” he said finally.

Emma straightened up, assuming an authoritative stance. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not until you answer some of my questions.”

“Are you bloody serious?”

“You were out of control of your werewolf state. You could have harmed my people, for all I know you hurt innocents who crossed your path last night!”

The man fixed her with a stare, then simply stood up, straightening his shoulders too. He raised his hand, conjured up a fireball in it, looked at it with what she could swear was disdain, then hurled it towards the bars.

Emma managed to not flinch. There was a part of her that was uncertain of the effectiveness of the cage now that he was human, but she managed to keep a straight face as the man looked at his hand in surprise.

“What?”

“Yeah. You were just a bit of a nuisance yesterday night. I had to make things a bit more difficult for you.”

Though he seemed to register the words, he conjured another fireball, hurling it towards the bars, then another, and another. He then simply walked to the bars and looked at her angrily. “Get on with your questions, then!”

“What’s your name?”

He seemed to think for a moment. “Captain Hook.”

“Hook?” She looked briefly at his namesake appendage, then back at him. “Were you really out of control last night?”

He seemed confused at that. “What do you mean?”

“One can never be too careful. How do I know you’re not just pretending you have no idea what happened last night?”

“How would you know if I lied?”

Emma smiled. “Try me.”

Hook just looked at her for a moment, before his angry face relaxed a little. He sighed, then said, “I was out of control. I suspected it would happen, so I tied myself with chains, but apparently it wasn’t enough.”

Truth.

“You were using magic, even as a wolf.”

His eyebrows raised at that. “What?”

“After I trapped you in the cage, you kept trying to force your way out of it with magic.”

He looked down at his arms. “This must be how I managed to escape last night.”

Emma opted not to tell him that restraining him had required more magic than she was used to using. “You probably needed someone else’s magic used against you to keep you down.”

He shivered at that, his shoulders slouching forward. “Are you done with your questions?”

“Well, obviously, I can’t let you go without knowing you won’t be a danger tonight as well.”

“So what now? You’ll keep me here all day? I suspect you have better things to waste your time on, lass.”

He looked at her with an almost exhausted expression. For some reason, the way he said and worded that cut deep in her.

“How did you get your magic? I might be able to at least use a spell that will contain it when you’re in wolf form.”

“You keep your bloody magic away from me.”

“Oh, is that so? Perhaps you would like to spend the day in the cage, after all.”

Hook sighed. “I was cursed with it. Both the lycanthropy and the magic. I was in perfect control of my wolf form, but I was... recently cursed with magic, and so it seems, I lost control of the wolf because of it.”

“How were you cursed?”

He didn’t respond for a while. He looked around the cage, biting his lip, clenching his hand into a fist, until he looked at her and said, “Perhaps I would enjoy that night in that cage.”

Emma felt a shiver down her spine. He seemed too reluctant to share the details of his magic, and that wasn’t a good sign. Especially since he seemed to prefer a whole day of imprisonment over sharing it.

“Well, that won’t do then. If you couldn’t control the wolf yesterday, who’s to say you’ll manage that next month? I may have to keep you locked up until you manage that.” She cocked her head. “Perhaps that’ll motivate you.”

He sighed and looked away. “This is bloody ridiculous.”

Before he could turn back towards her, Emma leaned in between the bars and grabbed his hand in hers. He gasped, turning towards her, but didn’t snatch his hand away.

Emma, however, couldn’t let go from the shock. “You’re the Dark One.” Her eyes darted to a tattoo on his arm, a heart with the name ‘Milah’ written on it. She looked up at him, feeling yet another shiver.

His face turned grim, and he finally snatched his hand away. “What of it?”

“What of it?! You killed Rumpelstiltskin? How... when?!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it does!” Without any assistance from Rumpelstiltskin, the Evil Queen had no hope against them.

She hadn’t realized she was slightly smiling until Hook said, “You seem quite amused at the news of his death.”

She straightened her face, and her stance as well. “Well... let’s say he wasn’t the best around.”

“That’s quite the understatement.”

“Is that why you killed him?”

“How did you know, anyway? That I am the Dark One?”

“I... well, I sensed it. I can’t really describe it.”

“Hm. Well, in any case, you’ve had your answer, one way or another. Can you let me go now?”

Emma crossed her arms, too uncertain of his intentions. Again, for all she knew, he was the Queen’s minion, sent to kill Rumpelstiltskin so she could assume control of him. “Who’s Milah?”

He swallowed hard, turning his arm so she couldn’t see the tattoo anymore. “Someone from long ago.”

She would never mistake that look on his face. The look of heartbreak, of unspeakable loss. “That’s why you killed him. Rumpelstiltskin.”

He stayed silent, only looked at her, then away again.

Emma looked back at her camp, seeing people having woken up, occasionally throwing glances at them. Elsa was awake too, probably having informed all of them of their current prisoner.

It was almost time.

“I’m still not convinced I should let you go.”

“Too busy planning the attack on the Evil Queen?”

Emma blinked. He simply shrugged at her response, pointing at his ear.

“Wolf hearing. It has bought me my freedom more than once before.”

“Well, for all we know, you could be a spy of hers.”

“I don’t even know the woman.”

Truth.

Damn it.

Wait, what? Why did him not being a spy make her mad?

“Maybe one of her guards hired you,” she tried.

He sighed, exasperation starting to show on his face. “I am not a spy.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the bars. “I am not working for anyone. I just want to find a way to get rid of this bloody curse on me.”

Emma just looked at him, at his blood-stained rags, then back again at his face, tired and barely hiding a desperate expression. He mustn’t have known that killing the Dark One would transfer his powers, and thus his curse, onto him.

She sighed, thinking he couldn’t be her responsibility now. She conjured up one of their anti-magic cuffs. “This will block your magic when you wear it. Put it on before sunset and make sure you’ve gotten yourself somewhere where you can’t hurt anyone when you turn.”

He took it, studying it curiously. “Everything I wear disappears when I turn. Won’t it bring the magic back when I turn?”

“Your stuff doesn’t just disappear. You kinda... you’re kinda still carrying them with you. It’ll be alright.”

“You trust me?” He looked up at her, and her stomach coiled at his face. He seemed surprised... but accepting of the sentiment. “I’m the Dark One.”

“Keeping you locked up won’t do any of us any good,” she said, taking a few steps back and raising her hands. “Maybe it can be a peace offering. If I trust you, you don’t cause us any trouble.” Before she had the time to change her mind, she willed the cage to disappear. She opened her eyes, and he was still there, looking at her, with a visibly more relaxed expression.

“I didn’t even get your name,” he said.

“Neither did I yours,” she said, smirking at him. “But I’m about to help claim our kingdom back, and you’re the Dark One. Something tells me our paths will cross again.”

He nodded. With a swift move of his hand, he was covered in dark red smoke.

She had expected him to teleport away, but instead, when the smoke cleared, he was still there, only he was now dressed in lustrous black leather, from the tip of his boots to the long coat over his shoulders.

If that wasn’t enough, he looked up at her and smirked. She felt her stomach twist as he walked past her and said, “Farewell, your Highness.”

She looked behind her as he walked away. Her magic told her it wasn’t a trick; he was actually leaving, to Gods knew where.

Well, she thought, sighing. Let’s hope I didn’t screw this one up.

It was a harder, longer, and more bloody fight that they’d expected. Somehow the Queen had managed to gather enough magic energy and armed forces to rival them in both accounts.

Before she knew it, Emma found herself on the ground, defenceless, held at swordpoint by the Evil Queen.

“This is the end for you, Princess,” she sneered. She drew her sword back, ready to strike, and Emma closed her eyes in defeat.

Her eyes snapped open as screams were heard from outside the vast throne room. The Queen turned her head just a fraction towards the door leading outside, but it was enough for Emma to reach forward and grasp the hilt of the blade the Queen held.

Screams could still be heard outside as the two women fought for the sword that would very likely end one of them tonight.

They both turned their heads at the door as it opened, looking startled as one of the Queen’s guards stumbled inside, covered in blood.

“Wolf... feral... attacked... has magic...” he managed to mutter before he collapsed.

They stayed frozen, looking at what was now probably the guard’s corpse when suddenly the Queen snatched the sword off from Emma’s grasp.

“Now,” she said, “Where were we?”

Before she could raise the sword again, they heard a deep, loud growl coming from the door.

A wolf walked in the throne room, stepping steadily towards them, its paws leaving bloody footprints on the floor that glimmered as the moonlight shone on them.

It was... it was he. Hook. Hadn’t he worn the cuff? Or had he... and it didn’t work after all, after his transformation?

“Hey,” Emma said before she could think twice on it. She turned to him, slowly taking a few steps towards him.

The wolf let a louder growl, baring his teeth.

“It’s me,” Emma said. “You remember me.” You have to.

The wolf stepped closer, with more tense steps.

“I know this isn’t you. I saw how shocked you were at knowing you’d lost control. You must have worn the cuff but I was mistaken. It doesn’t work, after all, when you turn.”

“What is this? You took talking to animals from your mother?” the Queen said.

Emma ignored her. “I was wrong. You trusted me, and it led to this. I should have helped you...” she found herself kneeling down, folding her hands on her lap. “I know what it’s like, to have magic you don’t want and can’t control. I know how it hurts. And I know I should have helped you, the way I wished someone would help me when I was having trouble with my magic.” She reached out with her hand, her palm upwards. “My name is Emma Swan. And I can help you now. You don’t have to keep facing that pain anymore.”

The wolf walked more slowly now, but still steadily, towards her.

“I know you’ve been in pain. I saw it on your face. And I can’t claim to be able to help with that, but... I know how that feels too. And I trust you. I know you can find yourself.”

The wolf reached closer, then stopped, still in a position ready to lunge. However, it only leaned his nose forward, sniffing at Emma’s hand.

Emma smiled, but then the wolf looked up and lunged.

She merely blinked in shock, feeling time freeze around her. She looked at her still outstretched hand, panic overcoming her that she was done, over with, killed.

But then she heard the Queen scream behind her. She turned, seeing the wolf pin her down, his teeth burrowing in her neck.

The Queen didn’t scream anymore.

The wolf let her go, looking down at her corpse, then turned his head towards Emma.

“She was going to kill me,” Emma whispered. “You saved me.”

The wolf hung his head, however. Emma immediately offered her hand again and he stared at it for a few good moments, before he walked back to her with tired, slow steps.

“I’m here,” Emma said.

The wolf smelled her hand again, then rubbed his snout against it.

“It’s alright.”

He let out a soft whimper, before he slumped on the floor, slowly resting his head on her lap.

Emma hesitated; he seemed to be back in control now, but she couldn’t be sure how much touch he’d be comfortable with at this point. Deciding it was worth a try, she lowered her hand, letting it rest on his head. He seemed to... sigh? So she started brushing her fingers through his fur, stroking back and forth in what she hoped was a relaxing manner.

He’d saved her. He had found his control back with her words, and took the action to save her life.

And now, he was trusting her.

She was yet to see, though, what damage he’d caused while out of control.

His skin felt as if it was burning.

It must have, for the room was full of fire, and he was trying to escape, slamming his body against the burning walls in a desperate effort to bring them down.

But every time he hit a wall, another shriek sounded. Men, fearing for their lives. Screaming as he buried his teeth in their skin or slashed it open with his claws.

But it hadn’t been them he’d been looking for. He, or whatever it had been that had led him there.

He knelt down, clutching his arms against his chest, whispering to himself the only thing that brought him comfort amidst the screams and fire.

Emma Swan. Emma Swan.

He opened his eyes.

He still felt exhausted, though he had slept, apparently.

On Emma Swan’s lap.

“Hook?” he heard.

He looked up, and there she was, looking at him with worry.

“Are you alright?”

He closed his eyes, then opened them and forced himself to pull away from her and sit up. They were still in that throne room, the bodies of the queen and the guard having been taken away.

“What’s the damage?” he said without looking at her.

“Smaller than I’d expected, to be honest. My people said you just ran by them, only attacking people who actually stood in your way. All of them were the Queen’s guards, and you didn’t kill any of them.”

“I bit and clawed at them.”

“They’ve had worse days.”

“There was a... a guard, and the queen...”

“The guard will make it. Will stand trial, of course, but he’ll be fine. As for the Queen... I can’t say I wasn’t about to do the same to her.”

He hung his head, covering his eyes with his hand. “I didn’t... I... wolves don’t just kill. We kill to... eat.” After a short pause to give her time to process that, he continued. “This time was different. All my instincts led me to tear her throat open.”

“You saved my life.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped up. He looked at her, his heart stopping at her soft smile. “It was a hard thing to do, yes, but if it weren’t for you, I would be dead, and our kingdom would be lost. And, Hook... you controlled yourself.”

He lowered his head again. “Killian,” he whispered.

“What?”

“My name, my real name, is Killian.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile widen. “Do you know what brought you here?”

He shook his head. “I blacked out from the moment I turned, next thing I remember was being here, you talking to me.” He swallowed hard. “You helped me.”

“You trusted me back.”

Aye, that he did. Both silent for a moment, he looked into her eyes, wondering how it all came together like this. She had helped him, offered a way to possibly control the wolf, and though that had failed... her trust had been enough. It felt enough.

“Why did you trust me in the first place?”

She licked her lips, making him shortly but intensely shift his focus on them, then said, “I know what it’s like, to feel out of control. I thought that... if I gave you what I wished I had been given, we could avoid difficult consequences, for you, for me, and possibly everyone.”

“I didn’t want to become the Dark One,” he confessed. “I still don’t... want this.”

She reached out, taking his hand in hers. His stomach clenched, and he nearly felt tears in his eyes.

“I don’t know a whole lot about the Dark One,” she said. “What little I do know I didn’t dare share or look into, out of fear that Rumpelstiltskin would find me and...”

He squeezed his hand around hers without thinking. “You think there’s a way to fix... this? Destroy the curse?”

“We can try. That darkness hasn’t done anyone any good.”

He thought of his dagger, carefully hidden in the safe. It was what gave him this curse, what could control him and his magic...

But he wasn’t ready to risk losing all control again. It would take a month before his next time to turn. “You think you could help me again? Next time I turn?”

She nodded. “I know we just met, and trusting each other sounds weird...”

It sounds right.

“But if you’re willing to stay and let me help, I think we can work together towards a cure. Or something.”

“What if it gets worse? What if I lose control and escape before you can stop me?”

She leaned forward. “I guess I’ll have to find you, then.”

Once again, they looked into each other, and Emma wasn’t pulling away. His eyes dropped to her lips again, this time slightly parted, and now leaning even closer...

“Emma! We’re going to need-”

They pulled away as if in shock, letting go of each other’s hand as a couple entered the room.

“Everything alright?” the man asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma said, standing up. “Uhm... Hook, these are my parents. I guess now it’s Queen Snow and King David.”

He didn’t feel like standing up yet, only acknowledging them with a nod. He’d still have some way to go before bowing down again.

David reached out with his hand. “Your arrival on the battle was quite the shock for everyone, but it ended up being to our benefit.”

Killian nearly scoffed. Guess that’s enough to make the nightmares worth it, he thought.

“And you saved my daughter’s life. For that, I’ll always be grateful.” He then knelt next to him, still offering his hand. “And at your service.”

Shocked at the apparent King’s humility and gratefulness, Killian found himself shaking hands with him.

“As soon as we fix the castle, you’re welcome to find yourself a room here,” the new Queen said. “We can work out the rest as we settle down here again.”

When they left, Killian finally stood up, looking at the cuff still on his wrist.

“You can take it off anytime, you know,” Emma said.

“They know I’m the wolf.”

“Well, they kinda came in seeing said wolf sleeping on my lap, then as soon as the sun rose, you turning into a human.”

“You didn’t tell them my real name.”

“Well, when they saw you turn back, they started asking questions, and that was the name I knew of you at the time. And now I guessed it’s up to you to share it with them.” She then leaned closer, whispering, “I didn’t tell them you’re the Dark One either.”

He looked at her in shock.

She merely shrugged. “I told you. I’m trusting you. It’s your choice to tell them, if you want them to know.”

Once again, he hung his head. “Thank you, Emma.”

“We’ll find a way. We can get rid of the darkness, then...”

He looked at her as she was apparently searching for words. He couldn’t blame her; a big part of him wanted to stay, already trusted her, but it was all too complicated...

He took a big breath, and as if waking up from a slumber, he assumed the bravado he’d worn so casually over time. He leaned forward, looking straight into her eyes, saying,

“Then, that’s where the fun begins.”

#Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #cs role reversal #csrolereversal #piracytheorist writes

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allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 · 5 years ago

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The Dark and Light Along the Sea

Hello, wow, I actually wrote something. This is a @csrolereversal fic with art provided by the lovely @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713.

So, uh, this fic goes some places. It’s got graphic depictions of violence, gratuitous goriness, death, destruction, body parts in places body parts shouldn’t be… It’s a Dark One Killian fic with Emma as… not quite the good little witch we’re used to her being. So if that’s not your jam, then go ahead and keep scrolling! Otherwise, please enjoy.

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Once upon a time, a little girl was stolen from a castle in the dead of night. She’d been born with magic, you see, and that magic was coveted by dark forces across the land. She knew she’d been stolen, because the woman she’d been forced to call Mother told her often while complaining about how much food she ate and the cost of clothing to keep her warm. Mother taught the little girl how to use her magic, though the kinds of spells she learned felt wrong – slimy under her skin and a cold draft down her back with each success.

Mother didn’t like hearing that it felt wrong. The more the little girl spoke about the wrong feeling, the more she was forced to train, drowning in the feeling of wrongness until one day, finally, she snapped.

Mother looked like a doll that had been thrown across the room, her limbs at odd angles, her head bent uncomfortably.

The little girl, not so little these days, left without looking back.

Keep reading

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic rec #cs role reversal #csrr #csrolereversal #cs angst #dark captain swan #dark cs #dark hook #initiala #kayla replies

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snowbellewells · 3 years ago

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Self-Promo Sunday: “The Case of the Heart in Armor”

Okay, so this week I am featuring a fic which some folks may have already discovered recently via the @CSFicReads Discord group (I was so honored they chose it as a selection!!) Still, with the encouragement that group’s feedback gave me, I thought perhaps I should post it again on Tumblr, as there are lots of new writers and readers in the CS/OuaT fandom who might not have been around when I posted it initially and might not be in the Discord group either. It’s one I’m particularly proud of, as I love the Victorian time period in which the fic is set, and I really made an effort to weave a mystery into the story’s threads. It was originally part of a fall fic and art event called @csrolereversal , and I am still incredibly grateful I got to be a part of that and be paired with @courtorderedcake whose artwork originally inspired the story. (Her artwork can be seen with each of my original Tumblr chapter posts or HERE)

**The other reason I wanted to feature this fic this week though is because @apiratewhopines created fic coverart for this story, and I was completely surprised and flattered (and don’t want to stop looking at it) so I thought it should be shared as well. <3

Summary: Killian “Holmes” Jones is rarely surprised or shocked anymore, but that all changes when he meets one very stubborn - and very beautiful - pickpocket, and trouble brews in the distance, hidden by the London fog…

Can also be found from the beginning on AO3 or here on Tumblr

Part One

Almost instantaneously, Killian “Holmes” Jones knew something had happened. There was very little that escaped his notice - ever - and the fact that someone had just nicked the gold pocketwatch he always wore was immediately evident, despite their having one of the lightest touches he had experienced in his time walking the seedier London streets. An expectant hush lingered in the air, as if his very surroundings waited to see how he would proceed, and if he could pinpoint just who had divested him of his valuable.

At first glance, the dingey, fog-shrouded and mostly deserted street looked the same as it ever did. There were distant sounds of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves clopping along the cobblestones a street over, the echo of vendors crying their wares, and the distant puff of trains pulling in and out of the station at Marylebone, but in the street where Jones stood, not far from his favored pub, where he was to meet Graham Watson and his older brother, once Liam had left his cushy government office for the night, to share some dinner, things were comparatively calm and still.

That was, until a flash of golden brightness caught his eye, winking from the drab surroundings of brown and grey. The flower cart girl just behind and to his left had not caught his attention when he passed, had not seemed of any particular interest. Even now that the arresting color of her blonde tresses were peeking out of the rather flat, bedraggled hat atop them, she seemed to be busy at her own work, not noticing him at all. And yet, there was something almost too casual about her stance - a marked avoidance of his gaze, as if she were carefully watching him without wishing to seem so. Perhaps some movement had tipped him off unconsciously, but whatever the reason, Killian sensed she was his culprit. Or, if not, she had at least seen something she would rather not share.

Striding purposefully toward her cart of flowers for sale, Killian’s mouth formed a stern line as he prepared to confront the slip of a woman for her thievery. She was still concertedly paying him no mind, though he was certain that she tracked his path warily from the corner of her sparkling jade eyes.

Opening her mouth, she called out the flowers she had on offer along with their prices, pointedly turning away as he came to stand before her. Her voice rang out across the cobblestones clearly, if somewhat tangled by the thick Cockney accent that lay heavy on her tongue. Even if he normally cringed at the harsh sounds of the street vendors and ruffians of the area, he found himself somewhat charmed by the unabashed and almost proud bit of rough he sensed in this one.

Reaching out, he snatched the handful of carnations from her grip, and turned abruptly as if to leave, knowing it would get a rise from the intriguing guttersnipe.

“Oi! Get yer bloomin’ ‘ands off me merchandise if ya don’ mean ta pay!” she cried, her temper riled like a hellcat on the turn of a dime, much as Jones had expected it would be.

Swinging back to face her, which brought them practically nose-to-nose , as she had begun to charge after him, Killian waggled his brows insolently, making the challenge plain, even before he spoke. “Perhaps I might return them… in exchange for my watch, eh Lass?”

Jerking backwards, the impudent young woman eyed him warily for a second as if trying to gauge the true meaning of his words, to discern if he were just fishing for information, or if he really knew what she had done, and then she narrowed her pretty eyes at him, slamming a wall down over the openness he had glimpsed for a moment, allowing him to see past the scruffy interior to something more vulnearable, something (if he were even a bit more gullible) which might have seemed sweet. “Lookit Mister, don’t think that fine hat and pipe and your sharp suit gives you leave to muck about with foolish accusations. I ain’t about ta take none o’ your guff, an’ I don’ ‘ave your filthy watch, so just move on along why don’cha?”

Whether she realized she was doing it or not, the blonde had stepped right back into his space, nearly as soon as she had pulled away. The ridiculous chit actually had the pluck to act like an offended innocent, when Killian became all the more certain with each passing second that she had his pilfered watch hidden on her person even as they spoke. Her pointer finger jabbed into his chest next to the top button of his waistcoat for emphasis, and she wasn’t backing down an inch. She had fire, he would give her that; he was almost as impressed as he had initially been irked.

However, now that his challenge had been taken up, Jones felt his competitive nature roar to life within, and he intended to prove her wrong, to show her just whom she had trifled with and that he was not her average fool. He leaned forward as well, his lips nearly brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured, “Perhaps you’d allow me to search you and verify your statement?” Allowing his eyes to rove down from her face slowly before trailing back up again, his tongue poking into the inside of his cheek suggesting the sort of shameless liberties he would never actually take with a lady, no matter what her situation or social status. He might play at a bit of dashing roguishness, but he still considered himself a man of honor at his core.

Those green eyes flashed the same sort of warning color the sky out over the Thames took on when a storm was rolling in and the wise knew to run for cover; the sickening chartreuse of a deep, bruised wound and every bit as risky to provoke or fail to heed. Snatching back the finger that had been pressed against his breastbone, his beguiling nemesis raised her hand, clearly intending to strike him for his cheek - which, admittedly, he quite probably deserved - if he had not caught her wrist in a firm grasp that stalled the motion.

“Easy now, Love,” he murmured, enjoying her gumption too much to leave well enough alone. “Let’s not have you doing something we’ll both regret.”

“I am NOT your love!” she spat back, wriggling in his hold and looking livid enough to claw his eyes out if he let her free to do so. “And if you don’t unhand me…” she hissed, the threat clear now, even as a glimmer of fear also surfaced beneath the fire in her gaze. Killian had no doubt that she would follow through on whatever threat she was about to make, but that flicker and the slight quaver it allowed him to hear in her sharp voice told him she also didn’t know what might happen to her in the meantime, before she could make good on her words. And that hint of trepidation, that she didn’t know his true intentions and felt in herself in danger, quickly doused the fire he’d felt rising in his blood and his own fun in their back and forth.

Quickly, he retreated a step and released her arm, though his boxing reflexes were at the ready, knowing he might well be ducking a slap or punch in the very next moment.

To Killian’s surprise, however, the infuriating lass pulled herself up to her full height, smoothed her rather bedraggled skirts, and eyed him disdainfully as was possible under the circumstances. “Right wise choice you made there,” she snarked, huffing her annoyance as if she hadn’t been the one to start the whole debacle by picking his pocket in the first place. The very real worry he had sensed in her only seconds ago had vanished as if it were never there. “You’d be sorry had I gotten me brother on the case. He’s Chief Inspector, and he don’ take kindly to blighters like you harassing me.”

“Wait a minute now,” Killian interrupted, holding up a hand as he considered her rant, for the first time in their entire interaction feeling a bit out of the loop. “You don’t mean Chief Inspector Nolan? Of Scotland Yard?”

“The very same,” she snapped, arms crossed in front of herself. “What of it?”

Killian’s mind - rarely ever puzzled or caught by surprise, and so all the more intrigued by the seeming anomaly before him - struggled to catch up with and match this saucy baggage before him with the straight-laced knight-in-armor type he sometimes counseled in particularly complex criminal investigations. Inspector David Nolan was as by-the-book, simple and solid as they came, not by any means dense, but certainly not possessed with as cracklingly sharp wit or tongue as the angry sprite squared off before him. The Inspector had also never mentioned any family whatsoever beyond his sweet, fresh-faced wife and newborn son, but then again, it wasn’t as if they were ‘mates’ either. Jones couldn’t exactly see himself kicking back for a pint of rum with the man, even if they did tolerate each other in the name of justice from time to time.

He was about to tell the feisty harridan before him that he didn’t bloody care who her brother was, he would be having his watch back, when she stunned him once more, her chin jutting up imperiously as she added, “What? Din’ think a street rat like me ‘ad friends in higher places, eh?”

“On the contrary, Love,” Killian countered, purposefully emphasizing the endearment he had simply used out of habit before but now meant to annoy her, as he tapped the brim of his hat in the semblance of a bow. “I think you must have some remarkable friends indeed, or someone would have taught you a lesson in manners by now.” Her mouth opened and closed, floundering for a sharp retort no doubt, but he wasn’t yet finished. “Like it or not, I know you have something of mine, and I will see it returned.”

Nearly growling in frustration, she whirled away from him, turning her back and quickly moving away with the rest of her wares.

Jones watched her go troubled, curious, and stirred all at once; a curious cocktail he hardly recognized it had been so long since last he felt it. Though he didn’t have time to stand there long before he hurried off to meet Graham and Liam, sure that he would now be the one late instead of his elder sibling.

He didn’t notice - yet one more uncharacteristic slip in his usual near-omniscient awareness - the strange rosy glow in the twilight darkness of the now deserted street where he and the flower cart thief had argued. From around the corner of a packed nearby alley, narrowed dark eyes had watched the entire encounter, tracking either Holmes or the girl with avaricious interest. The reddish light glowed brighter for an instant as the excitement of its possessor swelled, so bright that for a moment if anyone had still been present it could not have been missed. Then, the red beacon was shuttered, going out like an extinguished flame. Once more there was only a nondescript London street, and the unseen watcher off on their sinister mission, having seen what was needed, unbeknownst to those who were observed.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @courtorderedcake @apiratewhopines @let-it-raines @cosette141 @cocohook38 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @ilovemesomekillianjones @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @revanmeetra87 @teamhook @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @xsajx @deckerstarblanche @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul @thisonesatellite @shireness-says @drowned-dreamer @blowmiakisscolin @anmylica @kday426 @mie779 @wefoundloveunderthelight

#self promo sunday #csrolereversal #the case of the heart in armor #cs Victorian au #cs au mc

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wistfulcynic · 6 years ago

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Happy Halloween!

The second chapter of my @csrolereversal and @cshalloweek based on @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713’s stunning art, which STILL gives me a little thrill each time I watch it. I can only hope I’ve done it justice.

Summary: “…for we all have stripes, and we all have horns, we all have scales, tails, manes, claws and thorns

and here in the dark is where new worlds are born…”

It’s Halloween, when all the weird and wondrous beasts of the world creep out of the shadows and throw themselves one hell of a party. For Emma Swan and Killian Jones, witch and shapeshifter respectively, it’s a chance to kick back, get high, and watch the mayhem unfold…

Chapter One on AO3 and Tumblr

come sit at our feast - 2/2

Moonlight slanted through misty trees as they slipped through the back door of her house and into a forest imperceptible to human eyes. He shifted back to dog form and walked beside her, pressing himself firmly against her leg, his every sense alert. He disliked this forest—or rather what the forest contained—and all her mocking laughter and quoting of Terry Pratchett made no difference. Even scary things are scared of things.

The forest was dark despite the moonlight, despite the eerie glow of the mist itself, the twisty trees hung with moss and creeping vines and inhabited by other creeping things of a different nature. The mist grew denser and its glow began to pulse as they neared their destination: an ancient, gnarled oak tree with a knothole in its trunk that oozed with a sickly light.

She gestured with her hand and the knothole began to split, widening, brightening, slashing reality as it grew and grew, the ragged edges of their world curling back in outraged horror, recoiling from the impossible gash in the fabric of everything that was. Her other hand rested on his neck, fingers curling into his thick fur as they stepped through this crack in the worlds and into nowhere.

“Emma, Killian! How good of you to join us!” said a haughty voice.

The blinding brightness of the portal dimmed as it closed behind them. As their eyes adjusted to the lower light the shadowy figure belonging to the voice resolved into an elegant, black-clad woman with a menacing glint in her eye and a wide smile revealing the most even teeth Emma had ever seen, framed by two very, very sharp fangs.

“Regina.” Emma’s lip curled and Killian shifted, draping an arm around his wife’s shoulders, his face fixed in a sneer. “Why do the vampires always act like they’re in charge of these shindigs?”

Regina patted her cheek condescendingly. “When you’re nine hundred years old, you can play host,” she said. “Until then mind your place, witch.”

Emma hissed and Killian’s arm tightened around her shoulders, urging her away before she could start a fight with Regina. Again. “Now, love, remember last year,” he soothed. “You can’t keep hexing the vampires, it just annoys them. Let’s go talk to the were-creatures, instead, shall we? I see Robin over by the punch bowl and I’ve just recalled he owes me money.”

He steered Emma towards a long table formed of slender, twisted tree trunks and loaded with platters of meats and cheeses and loaves of bread, cakes and cookies and odd-looking fruits, bowls full of steaming hot liquids and ones whose vapours came from ice instead. It sat in the middle of a clearing in a forest exactly like the one they had just left, and also most decidedly unlike it. The angle of the sky was not quite right, nor the way the light fell, nor the mountains that rose above the treetops in one distance while the sound of waves pounding on a rocky shore came from another. Music flowed throughout, as though the air itself were singing, and creatures of all shapes and sizes—horned and furred and scaled, some with limbs and others with wings and still others with no body at all—mixed and mingled in time to its tune.

Next to the table stood the were-fox with his sharp ears and cunning eyes, chatting to a man whose beard and hair were formed of lush green leaves, framing a face that appeared hewn from the trunk of a tree. Each held a flagon of beer that, though they both were drinking deeply, was never less than full. Wherever the Green Man went, things were endlessly renewed… whether you wished them to be or not.

“Well met Robin, August, how are things?” asked Killian, taking two empty flagons from the table. As he handed one to Emma both began to fill with beer. Emma’s stopped just as the liquid reached the edge of the rim, but Killian’s surged up in a wave, overflowing onto his arm and down the front of his jeans.

“Oi!” he cried, setting the flagon down and shaking droplets of beer from his hand. “Watch what you’re doing, mate!”

August gave him a look that was strangely stony for a man with a wooden face. “Payback for last Halloween,” he said coolly. “You know what you did.”

Killian brushed futilely at his drenched jeans. “You’re a tree, mate. I’m a dog. Drink was taken. It was all but inevitable.”

“I’m not a tree,” snapped August, “and it better not happen again.”

“You’ve got leaves growing out of your head,” interjected Robin, who was watching the scene unfold with unbridled glee. “You’re made of wood. How exactly are you not a tree?”

“That’s precisely my point—”

“That’s a fundamental misunderstanding of—”

Emma rolled her eyes and waved her hand over Killian’s jeans to dry them, kissing his cheek as she did. He turned to her with a grin and a nod of understanding, then dove back into the argument.

She slipped away, disappearing into the throng before Robin’s band of merry were-creatures could catch sight of her and rope her into another drinking game that would end, as they inevitably did, with arrows lodged in places where no arrow should ever be. Will Scarlet was a menace with his bow and this lesson at least Emma had managed to learn from Halloween parties past.

She avoided the vampires though her fingers itched with hexing magic, and made her way towards a mournful ghost she could just see through the milling crowd, hovering atop a tree stump, pale and translucent in her white gown, with long hair loose and flowing down her shoulders to frame the oozing stab wound in her heart. Tears flowed gently and unheeded down her cheeks as she attempted to show her book of poetry to another white-clad brunette, this one with a pretty face and a sweet smile just beginning to strain at the edges. Emma stopped short as she spotted the danger, wondering if there was still time to intervene. If Belle didn’t shut up soon, Aurora was going to… oh no… no, it was too late. Aurora’s smile crumbled away, caving into her face as her mouth fell open in a cavernous O, stretching her countenance, lengthening it, her eyes sinking deep into her skull and gaping wide and black and empty.

Emma quickly performed a sound-dampening spell around her head, fixing it in place just as the bloodcurdling shriek began. Aurora’s wail rent the night and the eardrums as she rose into the air, white gown flapping madly as she swooped through the clearing. Creatures ducked and leapt to avoid her, food and drink flying every which way as they clapped their hands over their aching ears. To no avail. The cry pierced their skulls and echoed in their bones and for a single terrifying moment tempted them to madness.

And then, with a final wrenching howl that shook the treetops, Aurora whirled off into the darkness.

The silence that fell in her wake was hollow and tremulous. Slowly, cautiously, everyone began to rise and dust themselves off, blinking and shaking their heads to quell the ringing in their ears. The music flowed again, cautiously at first, and Emma tapped her temple to dissolve her spell.

“I suppose there’s no way her invitation could be lost in the mail next year.” drawled a familiar voice behind her.

“That would be unnecessarily cruel, don’t you think?” she replied, turning to address a tall, sharply dressed woman. “Aurora looks forward to these things more than anyone. I suppose banshees don’t get much company.”

The woman smirked and her hair writhed, hissing. “She’d want to try living in a cave. The sad fact is that none of us gets much company, darling. Except perhaps you. Tell me, how is that delectable husband of yours?”

“Still delectable.” Emma’s eyes sharpened as the woman’s lips curled in a predatory smile. “Still under my protection,” she added.

“Darling, you surely don’t think that I—”

“There’s almost nothing I’d put past you, Zelena. And I prefer when only one part of Killian is rock hard, thank you very much.”

“Oh?” Zelena’s eyebrow rose over the frame of her mirrored sunglasses. Her hair slithered up, beady eyes focused on Emma, forked tongues flicking. “And which part would that be?”

Emma laughed and shook her head. She never could manage to out-brazen Zelena.

Just then they heard the drumming sound of hoofbeats in the distance, dozens of them, advancing on the gathering but from which direction it was impossible to tell.

“Bloody hell,” snapped Zelena, spinning about and peering into the shadowy depths of the forest beyond, her hair thickening, lengthening, hissing furiously as beside her Emma began to glow with magic. “Must they do this every ye—” She was cut off as the horsemen burst through the trees, careening through the clearing at a full gallop, small men on huge black horses with hooves like knives, waving spears and swords and howling fit to raise the dead.

Which was exactly the point.

This time the creatures were more or less prepared, the Wild Hunt unlike the banshee being an expected if irritating yearly occurrence. With her senses heightened by the magic flowing through her Emma was aware of all the forces gathering: Elsa brandishing her ice-shard sword and Tink’s demented giggle as she pulled razor-sharp throwing daggers from the empty air; Killian shifting and falling back on his haunches, coiled to spring with teeth bared and hackles raised; Robin notching a vicious looking arrow in his bow, his were-creatures similarly armed and primed for battle at his flank.

Emma herself raised a shield of shimmering magic just in time to deflect the enormous pickaxe that came flying straight at her head.

“Damn it, Leroy!” she shouted, whipping away the shield so she could shoot a burst of light at the manically grinning dwarf. He dodged it easily and spun about to make a second pass at her, axe raised high, eyes wide and bloodshot red, full of furious insanity. She strengthened her shield just in time as Leroy swung his axe down, striking it with such a force that sparks of magic went flying, sizzling into the night. Emma thrust a burst of energy through the shield that knocked him back into his saddle, and before he could rear up for another swing an arrow struck him in the shoulder and he nearly dropped his axe.

“What the—” His eyes narrowed in fury. “You!”

“Don’t even think about it, dwarf,” sneered a petite brunette with hair tangled and wild about her shoulders and an arrow trained at Leroy’s head. She sat atop a centaur, Emma was amused to note, a gorgeous palomino with a flowing blonde tail and a much better haircut than when she’d seen him last. It seemed things were really progressing between Snow and David.

Leroy howled in frustration, waving his axe wildly between Emma and Snow. “One of these days, sister!” he shouted. “And you— other sister! One of these days I’m gonna catch you both off your guard!”

“ENOUGH.” Regina’s voice boomed through the clearing and everyone fell silent, all eyes trained on the haughty vampire. “You’ve had your fun, dwarves, but you know the party rules,” she snapped. “No battle steeds, and try to keep the murdering to a minimum. Now get those damned horses out of here.”

With a snarl and a flourish of his axe, Leroy spun his horse around. “I’ll be back, sisters!” he cried, and galloped off.

“Don’t forget the ale!” Snow called after him.

Emma released her magic and rolled the tension from her shoulders. The Wild Hunt was decidedly not her favourite Halloween tradition. But the dwarves insisted, and the special ale they brought when they joined the party properly did make up for a lot.

She turned to her friends with a wide grin and a somewhat successful attempt to imitate Killian’s eyebrow waggle. “Well well,” she said, “Horseback riding, eh?”

David flushed red as Snow slid from his back and gave his flank an energetic pat. “It’s not what it looks like,” he mumbled, but Snow returned Emma’s wicked grin.

“I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what it looks like,” she said. “And I’m here to tell you that everything you’ve heard about horses is true. Everything.”

“I’m not a horse,” David protested weakly.

“Key parts of you are,” smirked Snow.

“Ugh, guys, please, keep it in the barn,” Emma protested.

“That’s inappropriate, Emma,” said Snow primly, as though she hadn’t just been making some seriously bawdy innuendoes. “And a bit species-ist. I don’t make jokes about Killian and doghouses.”

“Well, you do—”

David cleared his throat. “Speaking of Killian—” He looked pleadingly at Emma.

“Over by the table with Robin and August, last I saw him.”

David scanned the clearing. “Ah, yeah, there they are. Um, ladies if you’ll excuse me.” He cantered away, clearly trying not to gallop.

“So,” said Emma. “Really?”

Snow shrugged. “Love is love. The heart wants what the heart wants, Emma.”

“And your heart wants a centaur?”

“Says the woman married to a dog!”

“He’s not a dog all the time.”

“He still licks your face.” Snow’s eyes glinted with an odd light. “And other parts of you I’ll bet.”

Indeed he did. Emma smiled as a particularly fond memory sprang to her mind. “Yeah, well I might not mind that.”

A wave of heat surged around them, accompanied by a whiff of arcane magic. The smile fell from Emma’s face, replaced with a suspicious frown. She glanced at her friend. Snow’s cheeks were bright pink and her eyes looked feverish.

“And I,” she crowed, “might not mind David’s hu—”

“Shhh!” Emma put a hand on Snow’s arm. The odd heat had begun to prickle under her skin and insistent, lascivious urges were rising up in her. Urges to tell Snow everything about her sex life, all the intimate details of the passion that burned so hot between her and Killian, all the ways they liked to tease and pleasure each other. Then to find Killian himself and do all his favourite things to him until he was desperate and begging for her. No matter if everyone was watching.

Especially if everyone’s watching.

Emma sighed. The woman was not subtle. “I know you’re there,” she said, not bothering to disguise her exasperation. “You can come out now.”

A shadow shifted at the edge of the clearing and a woman sauntered into view. Tall and slender and dressed in skintight black, with fishnet stockings and impossible heels, her long dark hair streaked with crimson. “Aww,” she pouted, lips full and glossy red. “Just as it was getting good!”

“Ruby! Are you kidding me? Did you…” Snow waved her hand. “Influence us?”

“Well, naturally.”

“I can’t believe you would do that!”

“It is literally the purpose of my existence, Snow.”

“But we’re your friends!”

“Which just makes me more curious about what you’re up to! If you would call once in a while—”

“I live in the damn mountains!”

Ruby’s reply was drowned out by the music as it began to swell, right on schedule. The Wild Hunt had ridden and all formalities had been observed. Now the party could really start.

The music rose up loud and heavy, thrumming through the trees and into the earth, shimmering in the air. It was a wild and haunting melody with a frantic beat that made feet itch to dance. It was ancient and primal and it called to Emma, as it did to all of them. To the essence of them.

The dwarves reappeared, on foot this time and rolling barrels of ale which they hoisted onto the table—now cleared of food—and tapped with great ceremony as a roar of approval rose from the crowd. Emma accepted a brimming flagon and a gruff nod from Leroy and drank deeply. Its rich, bitter tang coated her tongue and flowed through her, sank into her, until she could feel the pulse of blood through her veins and the moonlight on her skin.

Ruby pulled Emma and Snow into the centre of the clearing where a dance pit was already forming. The hot tingle in her belly told Emma that Ruby was exerting her sinful influence over them again but this time she didn’t care. She let the music pound through her, let it lighten her, fill her with a loose, wild joy. All the other nights of the year she had to hide what she was, and what Killian was. She had to practice her magic in secret and hex nosy townspeople like Jefferson who tried to threaten her, to blackmail her with exposure. But tonight… tonight she was free.

The dance pit pulsed and grooved and heaved with bodies as lights flickered into existence and began to strobe in the sky. Emma swung between Elsa and Anna as they twirled and dipped each other, and she shimmied in a dirty grind with Tink and the other dark fairies. She laughed as Aurora swooped down and coaxed Belle into a dance, the two of them waving their arms, white gowns flowing, and she laughed harder at Zelena and Regina, determinedly trying to one-up each other with their moves.

Killian watched her, entranced. He loved seeing her like this, his cautious and self-controlled witch just letting herself go, her hair flying in chaos around her head and her hips shaking. She was luminous, breathtaking, and he needed to touch her. He tried to take a step but found that his body moved forward while his feet did not and he went tumbling to the ground, landing hard on his shoulder with his face in a pile of crisp autumn leaves. He groaned, pushing himself up on his elbow and glaring at his feet.

His shoelaces were tied together.

“Smee!” he roared.

A little man appeared, his round face all gormless innocence, his red hat pulled low over his ears. “Sir?” he said, politely attentive.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?” Killian snarled.

“Nothing, sir,” said Smee. He pulled a pipe from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth, then offered Killian his hand. “Can I help you up?”

I wouldn’t hurt a fly, his expression said, but Killian knew better. From harsh experience. “You absolutely cannot,” he snapped. “And begone. Take your tricks elsewhere.”

Smee backed away from his vengeful glare, straight into a young woman with auburn hair and mournful eyes and water dripping from her every pore and orifice. She had a long, sharp spear in her hand and at her heels an empty man. Smee spun around and bowed to her, apologies tripping off his lips.

“Madam,” he said. “I beg your pardon. Do allow me to—”

“Don’t even think about it,” she replied, raising her spear menacingly. The man behind her stirred in a vaguely threatening way though his eyes remained blank and glassy.

Smee changed his trajectory a second time and headed for where August stood with David and two of the dwarves. Killian made no move to stop him. He untied his laces and retied them in the correct fashion, then accepted Ariel’s drenched hand to help him up.

“Not dancing?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “Not really feeling it.” She smiled her sad smile and Killian squeezed her hand. He said nothing, though. There wasn’t much you could say, really, to a woman who’d consumed her own true love’s soul.

“You should go dance with her,” said Ariel, nodding towards the dance pit, and Emma.

“Are you sure, lass? I can stay—”

“No. Thank you. It’s enough for me just to be here. Really, it is. And Eric likes it—” She broke off, glancing at the man. Killian carefully kept the pity from his face. “But please do come to visit me, the next time you’re wandering,” Ariel continued, with an attempt at her old brightness.

“I will.” He squeezed her hand again, then impulsively bent over it with a flourish and a gallant kiss. “Milady,” he said.

She smiled, as he’d hoped she would, and he turned away with a smile of his own, plunging into the dancing throng in search of his wife.

When he found her there was manic colour in her cheeks and her eyes were wide, the green a thin ring around the black pupils.

“Heeeyyy,” she said, pulling him close by his jacket collar and wrapping herself around him for a consuming kiss. She tasted of bitter dwarf ale and her own sweet essence, and something else he couldn’t identify. Something that made his tongue tingle and his head spin.

“What are you on?” he asked her breathlessly when the kiss ended.

“These.” She waved her hand and a pile of deep orange berries appeared on her palm. He frowned.

“What are they?”

“Rowan berries. I mean, sort of. But like, insanely strong ones.” She widened her eyes for emphasis then giggled, swaying on her feet. “Probably crossed with something else. Snow brought them from the mountains. I might use some in my winter tea. Here, try them.”

He took the berries from her hand and popped them in his mouth. They burst on his tongue with a bright, fresh flavour and the spinning sensation intensified. A tingling warmth spread across his skin and he could swear he felt Emma pressed against him with each individual cell of his body. He could taste the music. It was delicious.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“Right?” Emma pulled his mouth to hers again kissed him hard, her fingers tight in his hair. “Reminds me of that night we spent in Norway. Those draligonberries.”

“Aye.”

He curled his arm around her waist and his hand over her ass as they began to sway in time with the pounding rhythm, moving to the music that they heard with their eyes and tasted in their skin, grinding heedlessly, shamelessly against each other, genuinely not caring who might be watching them because they knew no one was.

How long they danced he had no idea, time held no real meaning here and what little attention he was able to focus was all on Emma. They danced and they kissed and they laughed, drifting gradually towards the edge of the clearing until they were tucked against a tree, his hands roaming under her skirt, her mouth on his neck. Through the fading haze left by the berries he could see the others still writhing in a dance that now more closely resembled an orgy: Ruby with her mouth on Elsa’s breast, Anna’s legs wrapped tight around Will, Tink drawing her ragged fingernails roughly down Little John’s neck, Regina with her fangs sunk deep into Robin’s. She sensed Killian’s eyes on her and looked up, her own eyes wild and blood dripping from her crimson lips. She smirked at him and ran her tongue along them.

Robin grabbed her hair and pulled her back down to him, holding her still as he dragged his nose across her cheek and licked the rest of his blood from her lips before kissing her, and Killian realised he’d seen enough.

“Emma. Look at me, love.”

“Hmmmm?” She blinked rapidly, trying to focus. “What is it?”

He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “Let’s go home.”

“Now? Why?”

“Fuck until sunrise, remember?”

“Mmm, goddess, yes, I want that,” she purred, twining her arms around his neck. “Want you.”

“And I you, but—” he broke off as she kissed him, rocking her hips against him until he could barely think. He pressed her hard against the tree and let himself get lost in her, let the berries still lingering on her tongue carry him away as they kissed, deep and wet and needy.

Fuck it, he thought, we’ll just fuck here. Everyone else is.

The sound of David’s hooves on the forest floor jolted him back to awareness of just where here actually was, and he pulled his mouth from Emma’s in time to see his friend galloping into the forest with Snow on his back.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. They needed to go home, to their own bed, and they needed to do it now before things got any further out of hand. “Emma, darling—” he began.

“Yeah.” Her eyes were sharper now, and she had also seen Snow and David. “Let’s go home.”

She waved her hand, slashing through reality once again and their portal opened. He shifted as they stepped through it, letting her lean against him, her fingers sunk deep into his fur as they walked home through the moonlit night. They slipped silently past the garden gate and through the door and up the stairs to their bedroom. Killian shifted again, half wishing he could shed his clothes as part of his transformation, but when he moved to unfasten his jeans Emma reached out and stilled his hand.

“Allow me,” she said softly, and removed both their clothes with a snap of her fingers. She smirked at him and he growled, grabbing her roughly around the waist and tumbling them both onto the bed.

“By the goddess how I love you, Emma Swan,” he breathed.

She cupped his face in her hands, tracing his cheekbone with her thumb. “I love you too. Happy Halloween, Killian.”

“Happy Halloween, my love.”

―

“A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest… because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her.”

― Terry Pratchett

―

a/n for anyone wondering what exactly the OUAT characters were meant to be (and MASSIVE thanks to @thisonesatellite for helping me figure that out): Regina- vampire Robin- were-fox Will- were-ferret Little John- were-bear Anna- dark elf Elsa- valkyrie Aurora- banshee August- Green Man Smee- Klabautermann Dwarves- Wild Hunt Tink- dark fairy Ariel- ondine Snow-oread David- centaur Belle- ghost Zelena- gorgon Ruby- personification of sin

#csrolereversal #cs halloweek #captain swan #cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #magic au #halloween #halloween party #monster mash #come to our feast #profdanglaisstuff #allons-y-to-hogwarts-713

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allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 · 5 years ago

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The Dark and Light Along the Sea

Here is my first of two art pieces for the Valentine’s Day 2020 event for @csrolereversal! It’s a twisted sort of Dark CS love, complete with real hearts instead of paper and candy ones.

The lovely @initiala wrote an amazing fic to accompany it. It’s a wonderfully twisted and new take on the Dark CS story, and her descriptions of magic are beautiful imo. I don’t want to give anything away, so here’s her description of the fic from her post:

Here it is on tumblr.

Go give her fic some love!

#captain swan #csrr #cs role reversal #csrolereversal #dark cs #dark captain swan #dark hook #cs aesthetics #aesthetics #cs angst #cs ff #cs fic rec #kayla's aesthetics #my aesthetics

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snowbellewells · 5 years ago

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@capnjay21 My goodness! I don’t know how time gets away from me so ridiculously! I am unforgivably late in getting to read the second chapter of this intensely incredible @csrolereversal fic, but man alive is it good! The way all of the characters have been haunted by what happened in the past - in one way or another - is genuinely affecting. I find myself trying to piece it all together as I read along, wanting to understand all the pieces of what happened. And my heart just goes out to them - particularly Killian.

But that ending that chapter ending! Whew! It was just chilling- sent shivers all up and down my spine. What has happened to her? And what does that mean for them now? Wow. 😲🤭😳

A House is Never Still 2/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: And here is chapter two! Again, I have to heap innumerable amounts of praise and gratitude on @hollyethecurious without whose AMAZING aesthetic I would not have even come up with the bones for this fic. You can check out her post of the art here! I’d also like to thank everybody who’s hopped on board so far, I’m so glad to have you! And finally, huge thanks to the @csrolereversal event chaps, I love all of you and your support. Happy @cshalloweek!

This chapter is a day early as unfortunately I won’t be able to post over the weekend as I’ve had some bad news in my family life, and muchos love to @carpedzem for being a true pal about that <3 as a result, the next chapter will be in two weeks, not one. I hope that’s okay!

And that’s enough of me rambling - enjoy!

Rating: T Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

AO3 | one

-/-

2 - whispering in distant chambers

October 14th – 5 Years Ago

What were you supposed to take with you for trips to creepy old houses in the middle of the woods?

Rather unceremoniously, Emma dumped her textbooks onto the end of her bed and grabbed a rucksack from the corner. Better to be prepared. Unfortunately, most of what she knew about preparing for these sorts of expeditions had been ripped entirely from cinema, and as such the first object she could bring to mind was rope. Immediately she dismissed the idea. What the hell would she actually need rope for? After a beat of hesitation, Emma opened her bottom drawer and rummaged around for what she had hidden inside – a small fishing knife, one she had lifted from an unsuspecting dockworker when she was thirteen, for the delighted danger of it, and the way it had made her younger self feel powerful. It had moved with her to the Nolan house, although she had stuffed it out of sight to avoid Ruth or David seeing it.

Still, she didn’t know what they could expect in the woods that day. She was desperate to be helpful, especially given the gentle way that Killian had asked him to accompany her, as doubtful as she was about the legitimacy of the trip.

Brooke House did not exist. That was well documented.

She had asked Archie about it once, when she could contain her curiosity no longer. Apparently when the Jones brothers had moved to Storybrooke, Killian eleven and Liam eighteen, the elder had supported them and joined the community as a promising labourer. He made his living as a home restorer, but quickly gained a reputation for his work completing odd carpentry jobs around town. And through it all, he had often discussed the work he was completing on a small house in the north woods. Brooke House, he had called it.

After he had died, the sheriff’s department had gone looking for the property Liam Jones had spent much of his time in for any clues as to why he might have wished to end his own life.

They hadn’t found a thing.

When word got out, the entire town had gone wild. Apparently the Storybrooke Mirror had sensationalised it, painted all the talk of Brooke House as the ramblings of a disturbed man, and all had wanted to take a crack at finding it – the phantom of the forest. Not least of all Killian. Killian, who had searched for that house a thousand times, desperate to believe it wasn’t so. Emma’s heart had broken when Archie had recounted the tale, and advised her gently to keep it to herself.

It hadn’t stopped her knocking on the door to his room at the group home; she had found him staring miserably at his unpacked suitcase, knees tucked up to his chest.

Another banner year, right?

What?

We’ve all got ghosts here.

“Emma?”

A gentle knock at her door revealed David hovering on the threshold. He was just beginning to come into his broad shoulders now, shirking the lanky boy she had known as just another classmate for so long.

“Hey. Do we have rope?”

“I thought you were studying.” David took one look at the rucksack she was holding, the boots she had pulled on with the laces still undone, and the torch she was stuffing into the pack. “When you’re obviously… going caving?”

Emma laughed, shaking her head. “Close. Killian and I are going hiking.”

That had seemed like a more reasonable explanation to her, but apparently David disagreed.

“Hiking? You?”

She rolled her eyes, but had to suppress a snort. “I think we should all go hiking more. The complete surprise we’re met with when any of us suggest we’re planning to is not flattering.”

“You know it says be wary of bears, not bear claws.”

Keep reading

#csrolereversal #cs au mc #cs halloweek fic #a house is never still #chapter two #cs fic rec

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awkwardnessandbaseball · 6 years ago

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Uhhh so this story got away from me and now has four parts, WHOOPS! Sorry not sorry!

It’s @csrolereversal AND @cshalloweek !! Roughly one BILLION thanks to @sherlockianwhovian for making sure my words make sense and, of course, @courtorderedcake for her lovely art that inspired this story. Without further ado, I present:

A Fan of Every Part of You

A Captain Swan Halloweek Story in three four parts

AO3 if that’s your jam: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4

Killian Jones has a really loud, destructive upstairs neighbor, and he’s about to lose his patience with them. But when he discovers that it’s a beautiful witch with a soft spot for his dangerous familiar, Captain, that complicates things just a bit.

Chapter Two:

It was eight days later -- not that Killian had been counting -- when he finally saw her again. He was coming back from his late-night trip to the store when he heard a familiar voice cursing out in the hall. He kept climbing past his own floor and found her with her head leaning against the closed door of her apartment. She glowed dark purple, frustration and defeat present in the waves around her.

“Swan?” he called softly, hoping not to startle her.

“Killian?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m fine,” she said, just a bit too quickly. She glanced past him at Captain, a softness taking over her features.

“Let me guess. You’re locked out?” He’d worn the same look before when Liam had accidentally locked the house up with magic before Killian had control over his.

“No!” Emma cried defensively. A pause, then, “yes.”

“How’d you do that?” Killian asked as he approached her. He laid his bags of supplies down by her door.

“I used a spell to make the door stay shut until morning.” Emma stopped, and Killian waited until she was ready to continue. She slid down the wall, landing on the floor with a soft thud. The next part came out in one breath. “I’ve been sleepwalking, or something. And causing… problems. So I figured I would just magic the door shut and make it unbreakable, you know? Eight hours, big whoop.” She looked at Killian, as though she weren’t sure what to expect from him.

“Sounds like a solid plan,” he said, nodding for her to continue before sliding down to sit next to her.

“Well then I realized I hadn’t checked the mail and I was expecting a delivery so I ran down and left the door open, but the wind blew it shut and Odette is on the other side.” Her voice lowered as she spoke, the end of her sentence barely a whisper.

Ah, Odette must have been the name of her familiar. The furry-feathered creature with the changing patterns.

Being away from her familiar, even for only a few hours, would be painful for Emma. It was no wonder she was so frustrated.

“You can come and wait it out in my apartment,” Killian offered, leaving out the fact that Emma entering the apartment would entail locking Captain in the bedroom to keep him away from her. “Odette would be able to hear you through the floor, as we learned.” He gently bumped her shoulder with his own, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. It seemed to work, as she chuckled and the purple around her softened to a shade closer to lavender.

“Yeah, but then I charmed the apartment.” She shrugged in defeat. “She won’t be able to hear me. Or vice versa.”

“Well, you may not be able to break the timed spell on your door, but surely you can undo the silencing charm, even from out here,” Killian offered, and Emma started to look a little hopeful.

“You think so?”

“Sure, Swan. I’ve yet to see you fail,” he said with a grin, standing and offering her his hand. She took it, and their joined hands glowed a soft pink. If Emma noticed, she didn’t let on.

“You’ve yet to see me do much of anything,” she scoffed, but with a small smile of her own.

“The point still stands,” he insisted.

With a deep breath, Emma held out her hands in front of her and closed her eyes in concentration. As she tried to break the charm from outside of her apartment, her energy shifted through the entire rainbow of colors, finally ending on a bright green when the whirrs and clanks from inside of her apartment began echoing around the hallway.

“I did it!” Her eyes were bright with excitement and she hugged Killian. He was surprised by the sudden show of affection, but reacted quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist with a laugh.

“Aye, you did!” He spun her around, delighted by her excitement, and belatedly realized that they were quite close to where Captain had sat himself on the top step. Emma’s foot brushed him mid-spin and Killian froze, carefully placing Emma on the ground before positioning himself between his familiar and his… neighbor? Friend?

Were they friends?

Now’s really not the time, he silently berated himself, waiting for Captain to attack. Familiars didn’t touch. Witches didn’t touch familiars. It was all very widely known, universally accepted. But Captain, particularly, would be angered by the accidental brush of foot to chest. Captain hadn’t really been around anyone but Killian, and occasionally Ruby, after all.

To her credit, Emma seemed to have figured out what happened, and was backing away slowly, inching towards her apartment door.

Captain sat, observing the two of them, before finally turning away and curling into himself to, apparently, have a nap.

“Is that… normal?” Emma whispered.

“Ah, no one’s ever touched him before. So… not sure,” Killian admitted. All he had to go on were stories passed down through generations, all with the same lesson: Never touch a familiar, especially one belonging to another witch. “He’s lashed out at the delivery boy before, when he stepped over the threshold into the apartment. Poor kid didn’t even come near him.” Killian could hear the wonder and confusion mingling in his voice.

“Huh,” Emma breathed.

Killian’s eyes flicked back and forth between his familiar and Emma, unsure what to do next.

“I guess… I mean, now that Odette can hear me… we could… go to your place, instead of bothering the neighbors any more than my DeLorean already is.” She gestured vaguely towards her door and the clanks and bangs coming from inside.

“DeLorean?” Killian raised an eyebrow.

She flushed bright red, energy a mix of blues and yellows, not quite meeting in order to become green.

“It’s complicated. For a complicated spell.” Her tone made it clear she didn’t wish to go into any further detail.

“Mm, I see.” Killian nodded, then grabbed his nearly-forgotten back of supplies and led the way to his apartment. “Perhaps sometimes you’ll tell me about it.”

“Perhaps.”

Once she’d accidentally touched his familiar and elicited no reaction, it was a bit easier for Killian to allow Emma into his apartment. Captain entered first, and watched as Emma took a step across the threshold. He made a noise low in his throat that Killian took to mean he was giving his approval.

At any rate, they all still had all of their limbs.

Well, all of the limbs they’d started the evening with. Killian’s left hand had been missing since birth, a fact he hid with a variety of magic. Ordinarily, he used a spell to avert gazes away from his missing hand, but he’d toyed around with other options, including false hands and even an array of weapons. It was how he passed the time.

Once she’d been allowed in, Killian was unsure of how to entertain Emma Swan for the evening. And then she yawned, and he realized how late it was: nearly midnight. No entertainment necessary.

“The bedroom’s just down the hall,” Killian said. “But I suppose you knew that already.”

“Oh, I couldn’t--”

“We’re not gonna argue about this, Swan,” Killian laughed, scratching the back of his ear. “Please let me be a gentleman.”

She nodded with a small smile before heading down the hall towards his room. He settled in on the couch, Captain glaring at him from the small recliner in the corner.

“I know it’s not the greatest arrangement, Captain, but she needed the help.”

Captain stared at him for another moment before letting out a resigned breath of air and closing his eyes. Killian followed suit and was soon asleep.

“I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!” A voice in the kitchen woke him up. “Oh, it’ll never be finished on time and I’m already late and it’s all a mess!”

*CRASH*

“Bloody hell,” Killian groaned, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. “Swan? What the devil are you doing?”

“I’m LATE!” she absolutely screeched from the kitchen, waking Captain this time.

I’ve been sleepwalking, or something… Emma’s words from earlier echoed in Killan’s mind.

Were you supposed to wake a sleepwalker? Killian could never remember. Perhaps he could calm her down without waking her.

“What are you late for, Emma?” he asked softly as he climbed off the couch and stepped towards the kitchen.

“I’m always late,” she whispered. “Never enough. It’s never enough!” Her eyes were unfocused, unseeing.

“Maybe I can help,” he kept his voice even. “If you just tell me what’s wrong--”

“There’s no time,” she replied. “The machine needs more time and there’s no time to give it. It’s not enough.” She tilted her head. “I’m not enough.”

“Of course you are, Swan.” The nickname caught her attention and she spun her whole body towards him, eyes still unfocused. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do, you’ll do it. And if you need it… if you’ll let me… I’ll help.” He’d moved closer as he spoke, finally grabbing her hand on the last word.

“Help?” She seemed to slowly come into herself, eyes directed at him finally. “Killian?”

“Good morning, sunshine,” he joked. “You were uh…”

“Shit. Was I sleepwalking?” She blushed, taking in her surroundings.

“Aye, it seems you were.” He still hadn’t let go of her hands. The same pink glow from earlier emitted from where their skin touched. “Are you… are you alright, Swan?”

She looked at him carefully.

“No, Killian. No, I’m not.”

#captain swan #csrolereversal #cshalloweek #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #caitlin writes

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