#(if my dog lets me take a nap. please killian let me take a nap.)

[centuriesuntold]

( Most people only play one Doctor but you have all thirteen! The dialogue feels authentic in all of your threads and they're a pleasure to read. I know we haven't interacted all that often as of late but I'm always in awe of your portrayals and how well you balance the different personalities and moods of each Doctor. )

    anonymously (or not) tell me what you think of my character portrayal.

   ayyyyy!!! from actual-factual wade wilson himself!!! thanks friend. :D i appreciate it!!

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Waterfall Memories by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 8/9

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx

Chapters titles are based on the lyrics from “Stubborn Love” by The Lumineers

Chapter 8: Keep Your Head Up

Emma stared out the window of the truck, watching the cabin grow smaller and smaller in the mirror. Jolly sat solemnly between them, his head in her lap. Killian glanced at her anxiously and she smiled at him, reaching over, and taking his hand. She expected him to pull away but instead he simply let her hand fall into his, looking down at their hands before turning his attention back to the road.

She was nervous about the meeting with her family. She wasn’t sure what they would expect of her. Would she remember who she was when she saw their faces? Would she know this Walsh person?

When they pulled off the dirt road onto the paved one into town she felt her heart beating harder. The truck turned onto one of the main roads of a small town and pulled to a stop in front of a row of motel rooms. The door swung open, and a woman came running through the opening. She looked like the lady in the photo with her. Her mother. She had no recollection of her. The void in her brain remained.

She was joined by a man, standing behind her. Her father.

“Do you recognize them?” He asked her.

“No.” She replied softly.

He released her hand and turned off the truck, turning toward her. “It’s going to be ok, Swan. I promise.”

“Please don’t leave me alone with them.” She said with a strangled cry.

“Let’s just start with talking to them, alright?”

She nodded and he opened the door to the truck, nodding to the couple standing anxiously in front of their room. He walked around the truck, opening the door to help Emma down from the vehicle. “Ok, love. You ready?”

She laughed. “Not at all. But I don’t suppose you’re going to take me home anyway.” She teased, trying to ignore they way she used the word home when describing Killian’s cabin.

She walked toward her parents, watching as her mother shifted on her feet, looking up at her husband with tears in her eyes. As Emma approached she stepped forward. “Oh Emma, we thought we lost you.” Emma froze as the woman embraced her, pulling away and leaning into Killian with her back.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…���

“It’s ok, Killian told us you don’t remember anything.” Her father said solemnly, pulling his wife away from Emma. “Take your time, we want you to see your doctor, get checked out, but we want you to feel safe with us.”

She nodded, looking up at Killian who smiled genuinely at her. “See, nothing to worry about.” He whispered softly.

“There you are.” A voice from behind her came booming toward her, a pair of arms dragging her away from Killian and against his chest. “My darling Emma is home.” Emma pulled back, digging herself out of his embrace and retreating into Killian’s side. The man’s face scowled but then turned toward her parents. “I guess it will take time.” He shrugged. Turning back to face them he looked at Killian. “Thank you for returning my fiancé to me, we can take her from here.”

Killian paused. “Well, I want to ensure that she’s comfortable.”

“That won’t be necessary, she’s with her family now. Thank you for bringing her back where she belongs. I think you can go now.” He said with an air of petulance and arrogance.

“Well, I disagree.” Emma objected, staying rooted at Killian’s side.

Her father stepped forward. “Why don’t we get something to eat.” He turned toward Walsh, “Emma can bring Killian until she gets to know us.”

Jolly barked from his spot in the truck and Killian brushed a hand against his ear. “I uh, brought my dog.”

“I’m sure we can find somewhere that will let us bring a dog. After all you are a hero for finding our daughter.” Her mother beamed at Killian.

“Oh well, um, if Emma prefers.”

“I insist.” She said defiantly, staring at the man who she was supposed to marry.

“Then I guess we’re going to dinner.” He said with an air of annoyance.

Emma refused to ride with Walsh, climbing back into the truck despite her fiance’s protest.

“I don’t like him.” She said when Killian shut the driver’s side door. “He’s too stuffy. I wouldn’t date someone that….”

“Arrogant?” He said under his breath.

“Yes.” She nodded. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

He sighed. “Look, if you were going to be my wife, and some man brought you back to me after I thought you were dead, and you didn’t remember me, I might feel a bit angry too.” He smiled softly at her and she relaxed into her seat.

“I guess.”

“Just give them a chance. Your folks seem nice.”

“Yeah, they seemed happy to see me.”

“Aye, they did.”

~*~

They pulled up to a small diner, and Killian put Jolly on his lead, taking him to the tables sitting outside overlooking the forest below. Emma sat next to him, her leg seeking out his under the table.

“So, how did you find her?” Her mother asked.

“Well Ma’am…”

“Oh please, Marg is fine. Ma’am makes me feel like I’m 82.” She laughed.

He chuckled. “I was fishing before the big storm, making sure I had enough protein to get through the rains, and I found her upstream in the creek against some rocks. She was banged up pretty bad.”

“And yet you didn’t get help.” Walsh interjected.

“As I was saying, there was a storm coming. It rained for a week, nearly flooded my cabin. The roads get washed out this time of year. I returned as soon as I was able.” He looked nervously at Emma, knowing part of the tale was not entirely true. He could have returned sooner had he not behaved selfishly.

“So, you’ve just been holed up in your cabin this entire time?” Her father asked.

“Aye. Once the roads cleared, I came into town, saw the flyer and called you.”

“I’m just so happy she was alright, and that she had someone to take care of her.” Her mother smiled.

“Killian bandaged me up and fixed up my leg.” Emma said proudly and Killian nervously smiled.

“Your leg?”

“She’ll need to get checked out by a Doctor, obviously I’m not one, but she had a dislocation.”

“We’ll get her the best help money can buy; she’ll be good as new.” Walsh said smugly. Killian hated men like him. Men who thought they could throw money at anything. His Swan wouldn’t be impressed by money. Sadly, he realized that she wasn’t his Swan anymore, she was Emma Nolan, and he had no idea what Emma Nolan was impressed by. Obviously by the looks of this man, she liked something about him.

“We will make sure she gets checked out, Killian.” Her mother said softly, reaching over to touch his hand. “I really do appreciate everything you did to take care of our Emma. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t found her. If anything had happened to her.”

“Aye, she’s a special girl. I’m happy I was able to return her.” He said honestly.

“We’ll return home at once.” Walsh announced and Emma flinched beside him.

“What?”

“We need to get you home, have your head looked at, find out why you can’t remember things.”

“When are we leaving?”

“We can leave in the morning.” Her father stated loudly, looking over at Walsh to show that it wasn’t a question.

Killian nodded, turning toward Emma. “You’ll be back in your bed tomorrow.” He smiled and Emma looked at him sadly.

They road back to the motel in silence, Emma wiping tears from her eyes the closer they got. When they exited the vehicle, Walsh was waiting for her. “Can we speak privately.” He asked.

“Um…” She looked at Killian.

“Go, he’s your fiancé, Swan.”

Emma hesitated but walked with him toward his room, turning around to apprehensively glance in his direction before entering the room.

~*~

Emma entered the room and the moment the door shut he pulled her into his arms. “I want to help you remember me.” She jerked away from Walsh, curling into herself in the corner of the room.

“Stop it.” She yelled and the man stepped away from her.

“Emma, darling, I love you. I’m the man who is going to marry you. Remember when I flew us to France, just to propose to you?”

She shook her head, images floating around like a puzzle that didn’t fit. “I don’t know.”

“Remember the nights on the Riviera?”

“Stop tossing thoughts at me, I can’t remember.” She said angrily.

“I can help.” He pushed toward her, bruising her lips against hers and she froze in fear, bringing her knee up to connect with his groin. The man keeled over, grabbing his crotch. “Jesus, Emma.” He fell toward the bed and Emma held up her hands.

“I’m sorry. You scared me. You can’t do that to me, I almost beat that guy at the bar on 5th because he touched my ass.” Emma stopped and stared. Wait, what? “Ruby.” She whispered. Suddenly the images started to move in her head, pictures lining up to form scenes of her life she had forgotten. Ruby Lucas, the man at the bar with the greasy hair. She kicked him in the nuts and Ruby tossed her beer in his face.

Other things started to form, her parents taking her for ice cream, playing with her best friends at the beach, having dinner with Walsh in some foreign country, the view of the water from her apartment, packing to leave for a trip.

The waterfall…

“Ok, be sexy.”

“There you go, make him want it.”

She remembered. “Oh my God, I remember the waterfall.”

~*~

Killian paced in front of the truck, staring toward the room that Emma had gone to. Her parents had excused themselves to pack while he waited for Emma to reappear. Instead, the door opened, and Walsh exited the room alone. He stepped toward him. The man reached into his jacket with a smile.

“Good news, she remembered the accident and is slowly piecing together her life. It’s all a bit tiring and she said she wanted to take a nap.”

Killian peered over the man’s shoulder at the closed door. “Well, that’s good news.”

“It is. She wanted me to tell you how much she appreciated what you did for her, but she’s good with you leaving now.”

“Oh.” He said, trying not to sound so disappointed.

“I wanted to make sure you got what you came for.” He leaned over his truck, pen in hand.

“I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”

“The reward money of course. I’m sure a man like you thought he had won the lottery when you saw the dollar signs.”

“A man like me?”

“A convict.” He said with a menacing tone. “Ah yes, you see I looked you up when you called. I wouldn’t trust my future wife with just anyone, you know.”

Killian swallowed angrily. “Aye.”

“So, I figured you’d be happy to have your pay day.” He clicked his pen shut, slipping the check into his pocket. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to cash that and get back out of town. The Sheriff seemed eager for you not to spend too much time here. If you don’t want any trouble, you might want to take care of that quickly.” He patted his pocket where the check was burning a hole and turned to walk away. “Thanks again for bringing her home to me.” He winked and retreated into his room.

Killian climbed into his truck, slamming the door behind him. “Asshole.” Jolly jumped up and licked his face before whining at the empty side of the truck. “Yeah boy, she’s gone.”

He stared toward the motel, he supposed this was for the best. He could avoid any tearful goodbyes if he didn’t have to face her. Though it sounded like now that she remembered who she was, she didn’t need to say goodbye to him anyway. “Alright boy, let’s go home.” He said mournfully as he put the key in the ignition, backing up the truck to return home.

Villains don’t get a happy ending.

~*~

Emma sat on the bed staring at the wall as she tried to take in all the memories that were flooding her brain. She couldn’t keep up with all the feelings she was having. She was happy to remember her life, to fill in the pieces she couldn’t remember before. Yet, she felt like something else was missing, not fitting into the picture that was her life.

Killian.

The door opened and Walsh re-entered the room. She smiled at him, trying to find the feelings of love she should have after being reunited with him.

“Did you tell my parents?”

“Yes. They said to come over when you’ve rested.” He sat down on the bed next to her, “I was thinking, we should get married. Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to waste any more time. I thought you were dead and now here you are. It’s a miracle and I don’t want to wait.”

“Walsh, I’m still healing, I look terrible.”

“You’re beautiful, darling.” Emma frowned.

“I need to take care of some things first.” She stood up, pacing the room. “Maybe I should go say goodbye to Killian.”

“Oh, darling he left.” He said calmly. “Once he got the reward money, he seemed eager to get out of here.”

“Reward money?”

“Yes, a lot of it honestly. I spared nothing to get you back. I’m sure the money will keep him out of trouble for years to come.”

“He just left?”

“Why would he stay, Emma? He got what he wanted.” Her heart hurt, he just left her. Why wouldn’t he say goodbye? She stood up from the bed, wiping her face.

“I’m gonna go see my parents.” She replied, her voice wavering. He walked toward her, wrapping his arms around her.

“I’m going to make some calls, find out what we need to get married in the morning.” He kissed her forehead and Emma closed her eyes. Her heart hurt and she just needed space. Stepping out of his embrace, she pulled the door open and stepped into the breeze. Killian’s truck was gone. He really had left her. Like she meant nothing to him at all.

She wrapped her arms around herself, sucking in a deep breath and walking to the room next door and knocking on the door. Her mother swung the door open with a smile.

“Emma.”

Emma wrapped her arms around the woman, tears springing in her eyes. “Mom.” Her father was standing behind her and Emma reached out her arm, welcoming her father’s warm embrace as the three of them stood in the doorway.

“Are you alright?” Her father asked. “I’m sure this has been challenging to suddenly remember an entire lifetime.

Emma laughed through her tears. “It’s a bit much, honestly.” She stepped into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just an hour ago I had no idea what my first name was. I’d been living in a cabin in the middle of the forest with a dog and a man I had just met but who felt like the only person I knew my entire life.”

“Killian seemed like a nice man.”

Emma smiled happily. “He was very kind.”

“Ruby and Belle are going to be so relieved to see you. They’ve been feeling so guilty for weeks.”

“Well, it was my stupid clumsiness that caused this mess.” She laughed, rubbing her nose with her sleeve. “I should have known better than to wade out into that water.”

“Well, at least we have you back now.” Her father nodded.

“We just need to get you home; let you rest up and figure out what you want to do next with your life.”

“Walsh wants to get married in town tomorrow.” She announced with a sigh.

“What? Isn’t that pushing things a bit too fast. You still need to see a doctor, get checked out.” Her father was rambling as he started to head to the door, no doubt to have a word with her fiancé.

“Emma, what do you want?” Emma frowned.

“I don’t know. I mean…I should have been married already, it’s just…”

“You were already having second thoughts before…” Her mother said softly, and her father spun around to look at them both.

“You were having second thoughts?”

She leaned into her mother’s shoulder. “I think having the both of you as parent’s really ruins a woman’s expectation for a partner.” Her mother laughed. “You guys are so perfect for each other. I just…I want that for myself too.”

“And you don’t have that with Walsh?” Her father inquired.

“No, I mean…I don’t know.” She frowned. “Maybe I’m just confusing things because of the accident and everything that happened while I stopped being Emma Nolan.”

“What happened, baby?” Her mom moved her hair off of her forehead, cradling her into her side.

“I just, maybe I found this whole other person in there and I know she’s not real or she wasn’t real, or she wasn’t the person I’ve always been but I’m having a hard time just forgetting about the things she wanted.”

“Emma you were only gone for a month. Maybe you shouldn’t base your entire life’s decisions on something that happened to you for four weeks.” Her dad tried to counter.

“Four weeks felt like a whole new lifetime to me dad. I felt things that I’ve never felt before. Even now, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so free in my entire life than I did in that cabin.”

“Emma does this have anything to do with that man. Killian?” Her dad sat down next to her.

“No. Well I guess in some way, but not entirely.” She frowned. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Why do you say that sweetie?” Her dad ran his hand across her back and Emma melted into him the way she did when she was a child, curling into his lap and falling asleep while he read her a bedtime story.

“He left without saying goodbye.” Her parents looked at each other and her mother stood up and walked to the table, picking something up and walking over to her.

“Not entirely.” She said quietly, pushing the paper into her hand. “Maybe she wants a moment alone.” Her mother said to her father as they stood from the bed and left Emma staring down at the folded paper, recognizing the handwriting that was scrolled on it.

Her father kissed her forehead and left the room with her mom, shutting the door behind her.

Emma unfolded the paper, holding her breath as she read the note left for her.

Swan,

I intended to say goodbye, but I understand why you couldn’t. I want you to know that I will never forget you, these past few weeks have brought light back into my heart. There’s not a day will go by I won’t think about you. I will always find you in my dreams, my beautiful Swan.

Love,

Killian

Emma’s tears were flowing freely down her face as she clutched the paper in her hand. Turning it over, she saw Walsh’s handwriting on the check made out to Killian Jones in the amount of $500,000.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, Killian didn’t take the money.

The door opened and Emma looked up to see her father enter the room. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were… Emma? He stopped when he saw her face and pulled his daughter into his arms. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know what to do.” She cried leaning into his embrace.

“Do you love Walsh?” His lips grazed her forehead, pressing against her. It was a question she knew the answer to long before she left her apartment a month ago.

“No.”

“Are you sure you’re not just feeling that way because of the accident? Because you are confused?”

“I don’t think I ever truly loved him, daddy.” She sniffled.

“Then why on earth were you marrying him?” He chuckled.

“I don’t know, because he said all the right things, knew all the right people, and you and mom were so happy for me.”

“Emma…” He looked at her, his face soft yet full of worry, “The only reason we were happy for you is because we thought you loved him, that you wanted to be with him.”

“But you love Walsh.”

“The only reason I loved him is because my daughter wanted to marry him. To be honest, I always thought you could do better.”

She snorted, burying her face in the crook of her father’s neck. “I don’t want to marry him.”

“Then that’s settled.” He said with a shrug. “Will that make you stop crying?”

“No.” She cried.

“Is this about the man who found you? Killian Jones?”

“Oh daddy.” She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Emma, you only knew him for a month.”

“I know. I can’t explain it, I just…” She sighed. “I feel it. In my heart. Like if I walk away without talking to him that I’m always going to be chasing this nagging feeling that there’s something I’m missing. Some part of me that’s never going to be whole again.”

“You know, when your mother and I were dating, she left me.”

“What?” Emma sat up and stared at her father, wide eyed.

“I know, not a part of the story we share. But she did. For a week. She was upset with me because of an ex-girlfriend. She thought I still had feelings for the woman. So, she left.”

“Mom never mentioned that at all. So, did you? Have feelings for her?”

“No. I loved your mother, but at one time I was engaged to this other woman and I guess things just got confusing for a time.”

“So how did you find your way back to mom?”

“Something was missing, a piece of my heart never returned because she had it with her. I tried to give her space, but I couldn’t let it be, because without her I wasn’t myself. I could never be myself because a part of me will always be attached to her.”

“True love.” She said softly. “You and mom.”

“Your mom is my soulmate.”

She hugged her father, comforted by his arms. “He didn’t take the money.” She said softly.

He sighed. “Emma, Walsh told us he’s a convict.”

“I know. He told me everything. He didn’t hold back because he wanted to ensure that I returned to my life, because he believed that it was better than what he could offer me.”

“Maybe he has a point, what exactly can he offer you, Emma?”

“Happiness.” She smiled.

“Just…” He paused, running his fingers through her hair like he did when she was little. “Sleep on it, Emma. When you wake up, you’ll know what your heart wants. Never make important decisions without rest.”

Emma sighed. “I love you daddy.” She squeezed him tighter, pressing her cheek against his chest.

“I love you, my sweet girl.”

Emma took the second bed in her parents’ room, keeping her distance from Walsh. She needed to sleep, to let her mind rest. Her father was right, she couldn’t make important decisions without giving her heart a rest.

[wistfulcynic]

The Meet-Cute (2 of 2)

In which Ruby decides that what Emma’s love life needs is a good old-fashioned meet-cute, and sets about arranging one for her. Or two, or three, or six... whatever, she’ll set up however many it takes for her friend to meet The One. But it may turn out that Emma doesn’t need any help finding The One after all...

First part on Tumblr and AO3 

a/n: this chapter contains sweetness, quite a lot of silliness, and a big ol’ hot kiss. 

Thanks to @optomisticgirl for the idea and @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, and @katie-dub for support and general delightfulness. 

-

PART TWO:

The next day was Wednesday and Emma spent the morning on patrol, driving around Storybrooke and trying not to think about how far away Friday was. She was just about to take a break and go to Granny’s for some coffee when her phone rang. The name on the screen was just about the last one she would ever have expected, and she frowned hard at it for the space of a good four rings before answering. 

“Graham?” 

“Hey, Emma.” His voice was just as she remembered it, gruff and accented. And faintly apologetic, which was new. “Um. Long time.” 

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. How’s life in the woods?”

“Ah, yeah, it’s good. And, um, about that. It’s actually why I’m calling. Because I can’t come in to town, I mean.” 

“Well I didn’t think it was because you wanted to catch up on old times,” said Emma drily. “What’s the problem?” 

“It’s my truck.” Graham paused and the silence stretched. 

“Your truck?” Emma prompted, her patience wearing thin. She was not in the mood for Graham’s strong-and-silent schtick today.  

“My truck.” He sighed. “It—well, it seems to be out of gas.” 

Emma rubbed her temples. “And how is your lack of forward planning the responsibility of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department?” she asked, in a voice just shy of a snap. 

“Well that’s the thing, I did forward plan,” said Graham. “I had a full tank last night because I knew that today I needed to drive to Portland. There’s a forestry convention I’m going to—well, it’s not important, but I wanted to get an early start so I made sure everything was ready before I went to bed last night. Then this morning I wake up to find my tank empty and the spare can missing.”

A creeping suspicion was beginning to crawl up Emma’s spine. “So you think, what, someone stole your gas?” 

“I know it sounds crazy, but honestly I can’t come up with any other explanation.” 

“Graham, do you happen to know Ruby Lucas?” 

He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was confused. “Ah, the woman at the diner?” 

“That’s her.” 

“I chat with her whenever I go there, maybe once or twice a month. She seems nice. Why?” 

“No reason.” Emma glowered through her windshield at Granny’s sign as she drove past it. “Listen, I can bring you a can of gas but it’ll take me at least half an hour to get it and get out to you. Does that leave you enough time to get to Portland?” 

“Yeah, it should. I’ll have to change my plans a bit, but it’ll be okay. Only, Emma, what about the person who emptied my tank—” 

Emma set her jaw as she pulled into the gas station. “I’ll take care of it.” 

—

Thursday morning found her in Granny’s early, marching up to the counter with her fists planted on her hips. 

“I could arrest you, you know. I probably should.” 

“What?” Ruby blinked innocent eyes as she prepared Emma’s coffee, with plenty of milk and extra cinnamon and hazelnut syrups. “What did I do?” 

“Emptying a gas tank is stealing, Rubes. You’ve got to stop doing this stuff!” 

Ruby handed her the coffee, and a bag containing a fresh bear claw. Emma scowled at it as Ruby asked “Did it get you a date, at least?” 

“It did not. At least, not in this decade.” 

“Um.” Ruby frowned. “What?” 

“I already dated Graham.” Emma decided that while the bear claw was unmistakably a bribe she could always just eat the evidence, and took a big bite. 

“You did?” Ruby demanded. “When?” 

“I’m surprised you don’t remember,” muttered Emma around her mouthful of pastry and nuts. “It wasn’t long after I moved to Storybrooke. Just before he decided to ‘escape the cage of civilisation’ and moved out to the middle of nowhere.” 

“Wait, wait. It’s coming back to me now. Are you saying that Graham is Mountain Lodge Guy?” 

“Yep.” 

“Fuuuuck Ems, I’m sorry.” To her credit, Ruby did look genuinely apologetic. 

“Well you should be,” retorted Emma, hardening her heart. “And you should stop doing this, Ruby! It’s getting ridiculous. I mean, it was always ridiculous but now it’s branching into minor-felony-level ridiculous. Please, I am begging you, stop.” 

“Ah,” said Ruby, biting her lip. “Um, can I stop tomorrow?” 

Emma’ blood ran cold. “Why?”

“I—may have already put the next plan into motion.” 

“What? What plan?” Emma demanded, just as her phone started ringing. 

Ruby grimaced. “Let’s just say you’d probably better answer that.” 

—

Emma took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before knocking firmly on the door of a large, sprawling house on the edge of town. It swung open immediately to reveal a man wearing a frantic expression, his dark hair standing up on end. 

“Oh, thank God!” he cried, falling to his knees. “Thank God.” The dog at the end of the leash Emma had looped around her hand wriggled in delight as he licked the man’s face. The man hugged the dog tightly, laughing as his cheeks was thoroughly washed. “How’d you find him?” he asked. 

Emma watched the reunion with a reluctant smile. “I had a tip,” she replied wryly. “Someone spotted him in the street and managed to grab him. They let the sheriff’s department know, and we cross-checked his description with reports of missing dogs.” Or at least that’s what she would have done had the dog actually been missing, and not lured into the backseat of a car by Ruby armed with a juicy steak. The dog had spent the morning in the storage room of the diner, gnawing happily at the bone for an hour before taking a long nap on a cosy blanket. And now he was home again, unharmed and with a belly full of steak. All in all not a bad morning for him, Emma reflected, though she felt sorry for his owner. 

The owner who was now rising to his feet and eyeing Emma with the eye of a man who, reassured of his beloved pet’s safety, could turn his attention to other matters. 

“I’m August,” he said, offering his hand. “August Booth.” 

Emma knew this of course, because Ruby had told her, but she took his hand anyway. “Emma Swan.” 

“Emma,” August repeated. “I’ve seen you around, obviously, but—well it’s nice to finally meet you. Can I offer you a drink or anything?” 

She shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’m on duty and I really should get back to it.” 

“Of course.” He gave her a hopeful smile, as the dog bounced cheerfully at his side. “Another time, maybe?” 

“Ah, maybe.” Emma’s own smile was noncommittal. “Have a nice day.” 

“You too. Emma.” 

__

Emma got home that evening to find Henry with a huge grin on his face and an A on his solar system project. 

“Look, Mom!” he cried, waving the paper at her. “Mr Johnson said it was one of the best projects he’s ever seen!” 

“Wow, that’s great, Henry!” Emma took the paper and examined it with a beam of pride. “Well done!” 

“I can’t wait to tell Killian.’ Henry was bouncing on his heels. “Can we call him? Maybe he can come over again!” 

“Um, it’s a bit late to invite him over now,” Emma hedged. The truth was that she’d been looking for an excuse to text Killian since he’d left her place on Tuesday night, but was also not sure he’d want her bothering him. “But you can tell him tomorrow.” 

“Is he coming over tomorrow?” 

“Um, yeah. We’re going out.” 

“Out?” Henry’s eyes went wide. “Like on a date?” 

“Yeah. Is that okay?” 

“Mom, you don’t need to ask me if you want to date someone. It’s your life.” 

Emma shook her head, lips pressing together in a bittersweet smile. Sometimes her little baby boy seemed so grown up. It had been happening more and more often lately and though she loved to see it, it also gave her an aching twinge in her heart. 

“But you’re the most important thing in my life,” she said firmly, “and I’m not going to date someone you don’t like.” 

“Well, I like Killian. So as far as I’m concerned, date away.” 

She laughed, and pulled him into a hug. “So you can wait until tomorrow to tell him about your project?” 

Henry heaved a great sigh, though his eyes were laughing. “I suppose.” 

—

Henry may have been able to wait, but Emma found she couldn’t. Barely two hours later, after they’d eaten dinner and Henry had settled down to do his homework, Emma found her fingers typing out a text to Killian without her permission, and sending it before her brain had a chance to object. 

Emma: Henry got an A on his solar system project. 

She held her breath after she clicked send, nerves fluttering in her belly. But it was barely a minute before three dots appeared below her message and then Killian’s reply. 

Killian: That’s brilliant! Tell him I said well done. 

Emma heaved a breath and felt her lips curve in a silly grin. I think he’d rather tell you himself, she texted back. I was just too excited to wait. 

The reply came almost immediately. Your secret is safe with me, love, it said. I’ll pretend it’s the first I’m hearing of the news. 

The silly smile was still on Emma’s face as she tried to think of a way to extend the conversation. Before she could come up with anything the three dots appeared again followed shortly by a message. 

Killian: How was your day, Swan? Any exciting crime on the mean streets of Storybrooke?

Emma’s cheeks began to hurt as her grin widened further, and she settled in to regale Killian with the story of the dog, minus a few key details of course. When she finished he told her about a frustrating patron he’d had, who was looking for a very particular book but could not remember its title or author, or in fact any details about its plot or characters. All he could recall was that it had red on its cover. 

Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, did not much narrow things down, Killian remarked. 

The conversation drifted then onto other topics, flowing so easily that before Emma knew it they had been texting for three hours. When she finally got to bed that night—an hour later than usual—she drifted off with a smile still on her face, thinking of him and of their date the next day. 

—

Wear something warm, Killian had said, and so late on Friday afternoon Emma changed out of the thin blouse she’d worn all day and into a sweater. A new sweater, one she’d bought on an impromptu trip to the boutique that morning. It would be winter soon, she’d reasoned, and she could always use another warm layer. It was definitely not because the sweater was a pretty shade of rose pink that complimented her complexion and made her feel soft and feminine, or because its slim fit hugged her breasts in a very flattering way. 

Not at all. 

She finished the look with dark jeans and a brown leather jacket with a sheepskin trim and headed out into the living room, ten minutes early. 

Henry was watching TV but when she came into the room he looked up and his eyes widened. “You look awesome, Mom!” he said. 

“Thanks, kid.” Emma rubbed her damp palms on her jeans. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so nervous. “Are you sure you’re okay with staying here by yourself?” she asked Henry, who rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “I have your number and Killian’s number and the hospital’s number and Mary Margaret’s number. Mary Margaret is just upstairs if I need her and she’ll come in to check on me at bedtime and make sure I’m not throwing any wild parties.” He gave Emma a sardonic look and she couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Dinner’s in the fridge,” Henry continued, “I’m supposed to do my homework so it’s done for the weekend then I can play video games, and you’ll be home by midnight. Did I forget anything?” 

She put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him. “No, I think that covers it.” 

He got up from the couch and gave her a hug. “I’ll be okay, Mom,” he said reassuringly. “It’s just for a few hours.” 

Emma nodded, squeezing him tightly. “I know.” He was still her baby, though, and it was a mother’s prerogative to worry. 

Henry seemed to sense her mood because he gave her a cheeky grin. “Be sure you’re home on time, though, or else I might turn into a pumpkin,” he teased.  

She laughed. “I promise.” 

Just then the doorbell rang, sending Emma’s heartbeat into overdrive. She took a deep breath and then another as she smoothed her hair and adjusted her clothes. Henry smirked at her and went to open the door. “Hey, Killian!” he greeted. 

“Hello, Henry,” Killian replied, and God, Emma thought, his voice was even sexier than she remembered. “How are you?” 

“Good,” said Henry brightly. “I got an A on my solar system project!” 

“That’s brilliant, lad!” said Killian, catching Emma’s eye and giving her a wink. Probably the least stealthy wink she’d ever seen, more of a full-face twitch. 

Fortunately, Henry was too busy grinning with delight to notice. “Thanks for helping me,” he said.  

“It was my pleasure.” Killian smiled at Henry but his eyes kept flitting to where Emma was standing behind him, hands clasped and trying not to twist them nervously. “Swan,” he said, transferring his smile to her. “You look lovely.” 

“Thanks.” Emma flushed at the compliment and searched for the right words to return it. Killian was dressed in a sweater as well, a thick fisherman’s one in a deep blue shade that brought out his eyes. “You look...” Hot. Gorgeous. Highly fuckab—gah. No. She shook that thought from her head. “…um…” 

He shot her a small smirk, one that said he knew what she was thinking, even as his cheeks went pink. “I know,” he said.  

She rolled her eyes. Of course he did. 

They stood grinning foolishly at each other until Henry gave a loud cough. 

“Ah.” Killian scratched behind his ear, the flush in his cheeks deepening. “Are you ready then, love?” he asked. 

She nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Henry, are you—” 

“Mom.” Henry gave her a stern look. “I’m fine. Go.” 

“All right, all right,” she sighed. “I’m going.” 

She allowed Killian to guide her out the door and down the stairs with a hand hovering just over the small of her back. From another man such a gesture would have felt controlling but from him it just seemed sweet—old-fashioned, like the way he spoke and the general air of courteousness he carried.  

“Where are we going?” she asked, when they exited her building and turned down the sidewalk. 

He smiled, soft and a bit nervous. “You’ll see.” 

They chatted lightly as they walked, conversation made easier by all they had shared in the texting marathon of the previous evening, and when they arrived at the docks a good twenty minutes later Emma felt as though no time had passed at all. 

“What are we doing here?” she asked, looking around in confusion. 

“Come with me.” He held out his hand and she took it without hesitation. Briefly she wondered at how easily she trusted this man she hardly knew, she who almost never trusted anyone, and then he led her up a gangplank and onto a long wooden sailing boat and she forgot everything else in her astonishment. 

“This is yours?” she exclaimed.

“Aye,” said Killian with a small shrug. “You can take the lad off the sea but you can’t take the sea out of the lad. Or something.” 

Emma laughed. “You bought this after you left the navy?” 

“I did,” he replied. “Lived on board for a few months. I was going to stay on her while I was in Storybrooke but Belle said that was ridiculous when there was an empty apartment above the library, so…” 

“Yeah. And doesn’t it get cold at night? On the boat I mean.” 

“I have blankets. And rum.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed. “But yes, the apartment is much more congenial as a place to sleep, so I’m grateful for it.” 

On the boat’s deck a blanket was spread out, with a pile of cushions on one side and a small camp stove on the other. “I thought we could make grilled cheese,” Killian explained. “Henry, ah, told me it was your favourite. And everything tastes better under the stars.” 

Emma felt a lump rising in her throat. “There—there aren’t any stars,” she said. 

Killian smiled at her. “Not yet.” 

She made herself comfortable on the blanket while Killian produced a leather satchel, from which he removed plates and napkins, bread and butter, and a dizzying array of cheeses. 

Emma gaped as he lined them up in front of the stove. “I usually just use the kind that comes in pre-wrapped slices,” she said. 

“Aye, I have some of that.” he replied, holding up a small, square parcel. “Though I thought, maybe, if you were in the mood for it, that you, ah—might be up for trying something new?” 

His expression was so hopeful, so open, and she knew that he wasn’t just talking about the cheese. He meant the way she’d been living, closed-off and untrusting. Alone. He was asking her to let him in, and God, Emma thought, she wanted to. 

“I—yeah.” She swallowed hard, but the smile she gave him was genuine. “I’d like that. But, I’m gonna be honest here, I have no idea which one.” 

Killian laughed, a deep, rich sound that warmed her inside and out. “Try the gouda,” he advised. 

“I don’t even know what that is,” she said, laughing with him. 

The warm smile remained on his lips but there was something deeply solemn in his eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked. 

Emma swallowed again. “Yeah,” she replied, and it was true. She really did. 

Killian nodded. “Gouda,” he said firmly. 

She nodded back. “Okay.” 

—

The gouda turned out to be delicious, melting into the kind of stringy, gloopy mess that had Emma’s eyes rolling back in her head with delight. Its flavour was mild, almost nutty, and absolutely delicious—way better, she was sure, than the soft, smelly stuff Killian put on his bread. 

“This is amazing,” she said around a mouthful of melted cheese. “That, on the other hand…” 

He chuckled. “It’s an acquired taste.” 

“I’m sure. So... why exactly did you acquire it?” 

An odd look crossed Killian’s face. “Sometimes you eat what’s put in front of you, love, and learn to like it later,” he said, in a voice grim with not entirely pleasant memories. “I’ve been in places where to refuse the food would be a grave insult, and a grave insult could result in... well, let’s just call them unpleasant consequences.” 

“Wow.” 

He gave shrug and an offhand smile. “I mean, not to be dramatic or anything.” 

“Oh no, obviously not.” She munched her cheese, trying to think of a lighter topic. “So, um, what made you become a librarian? No offence but you don’t really seem the type.” 

“No, probably not.” His smile warmed and softened and Emma felt herself relax. “I wanted a quiet life after the navy and I’ve always loved books, so it seemed like a natural choice.” 

“Yeah, I guess I can see that.” 

“It’s been healing,” he said softly. “In more ways than one.” He was silent for a moment, then turned to her with a quirked eyebrow. “And what about you, Emma, what brought you into law enforcement?” he asked. 

“What don’t I seem like the type?” 

“On the contrary, it seems a perfect fit for you. I’d just—like to know you better.” 

Emma felt a flush rise in her cheeks as her heartbeat quickened. “I was in bail bonds before I came to Storybrooke, but there’s not much need for that here so I sort of fell into sheriffing,” she explained. “I didn’t even intend to move here, I was just passing through. But I had car trouble and got stuck for a while, then the job opened up and I just—stayed.” 

“It’s a good place to stay,” Killian remarked. 

“Yeah. Way better than where we were living in the city. Henry was really little when we moved and I’m glad he’s growing up in a place like this.” 

“Aye, it seems an ideal spot to raise a child.” 

There was a wistfulness in his voice that made her heart thump harder. “I just realised I never asked you where you live,” she said. 

“Ah.” He scratched behind his ear again. “That is a question. I’ve been in Boston for the past few years but I’m starting to think I need a change. One of the reasons I was glad for this break in Storybrooke.” 

Emma focused on keeping her breathing steady. “Where do you think you might go?” she asked. 

“I might”—he shot her a mildly wary glance—“stay here.” 

“Here? As in Storybrooke here?” 

“Aye. There’s a job opening up next year at the high school library that I’ve applied for.” 

“I—” She blinked in surprise. “Wow.” 

“I hope it doesn’t freak you out, love,” said Killian, stumbling over his words in his haste to speak them. “It wasn’t because of—well, it isn’t as though you aren’t a factor, but mostly I just—” 

“You could see a future here.” Emma nodded. “Hey, I get it. Same.” 

He visibly relaxed, expelling a long breath before continuing. “I actually put in the application before we met,” he explained. “About fifteen minutes before, in fact. But I’d be lying if I said the prospect of staying here didn’t grow considerably brighter when I realised there was a chance you could be part of that future.” His eyes widened when he realised what he’d said. “I mean, I—” 

“Yeah.” Emma reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know what you mean.” 

Dusk had fallen by that time, and the stars were beginning to appear in the sky. Killian quickly tidied up the plates and utensils and cheese, then produced from his seemingly bottomless satchel a thermos full of hot chocolate. 

“Mmmm,” said Emma, “that smells amazing. Though I usually have mine with some—”

“Cinnamon?” Killian grinned at her as he held up a small jar of the spice. “Aye.” 

“Henry told you,” guessed Emma. 

“That he did.” 

“When did you have time to mine my son for information about me?” she teased him. 

“We had some quite interesting conversation in between discussions of moons and planets,” he informed her. “It’s a truly wonderful boy you have, love.” 

“Yeah,” she agreed, accepting the steaming cup he offered her. “He really is.” 

Cradling their cups of chocolate, they relaxed back against the pillows and gazed up at the darkening sky. As the stars grew brighter Killian showed her some constellations, pointing to them with one hand while the other lay next to hers on the blanket, close enough that she could brush his little finger with her own. She slid her hand closer and let her fingers curl around his, and when he turned his hand to grip hers more firmly she relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder as they sipped their chocolate, looked up at the sky, and talked. They talked about everything, likes and dislikes, pastimes and pet hates. Their childhoods and their dreams for the future, their hopes and their fears. She told him, haltingly, about Neal, and he replied with the story of his affair with a married woman, which had led to him leaving the navy. For two such different people they had a surprising amount in common, she realised. Not so much in the specifics of their lives as in the way they looked at the world, and the experiences that had shaped them. Emma had never in her life felt so understood. 

All too soon her phone buzzed in her pocket, reminding her that it was almost midnight and she had promised Henry she’d be back before then. 

“I have to go,” she said apologetically. “Henry—” 

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll walk with you.” 

He kept her hand in his as they stood and headed back to her apartment, twining his fingers with hers and brushing his thumb feather-light across her knuckles, setting her heart racing in her chest. His hand was warm and rough and the gentle movements of his thumb sent sparks dancing up her arm and all across her skin. 

When they reached her door she turned with a smile, still holding tight to his fingers, loath to break the contact until she absolutely had to. 

“I had a wonderful time,” she said. “We should do this again.” 

His own smile lit his face, stealing her breath as it always did. “Any time, love,” he murmured. “Perhaps next time we can go for a sail.” 

“I’d love that.” 

His eyes were soft as they caressed her face and she found herself holding her breath as they swayed in each other’s orbit, easing closer and closer, and then closer still until she felt his fingertips brushing across her cheek, until he cradled her jaw in his palm and their lips met. 

The kiss began gently, tentatively—sweet brushes of lips and sighs of breaths that soon grew deeper, hotter, more insistent as the hands they still held gripped tighter, as his fingers left her cheek to tangle in her hair and hers fisted in his sweater to pull him closer. A deep groan rumbled in his chest and Emma felt herself pushed back against the door, his lips insistent now, his tongue hot in her mouth and his body firm against hers. She released his sweater to curl her arm around his neck and hold him tight, pressing herself as close as she could get, rolling her hips over the hardness she could feel low against her belly. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this way, if she ever had. Like she couldn’t get enough of him—his feel and smell and taste—like she wanted to tear off his clothes and have him right here, and damn the consequences. But also she felt safe, secure in the certainty that while he clearly wanted her just as much, once the kiss ended he would say goodnight and go, no pressure, no demands, no resentment. She was certain of this because she trusted him, and the inherent decency she’d sensed in him from the beginning.  That kind of trust was freeing, she realised in a bright and stunning flash of understanding. Wonderfully freeing, to let down her defences and put herself into the hands of another person, knowing he wouldn’t take advantage or use that trust to hurt her. Her heart soared as she hugged Killian tighter and kissed him with everything she had, and when the kiss finally ended and he rested his forehead against hers, all she felt was happiness and the stirrings, deep in her heart, of a far stronger emotion. 

“That was—” he gasped, blinking dazed eyes and clearly struggling for words. 

“Amazing?” she supplied. “Incredible? Hot as fuck?”

He gave a breathless chuckle. “One hell of a goodnight kiss. Plus yeah, all those other things.” 

He pressed another kiss on her lips, brief and chaste and gentle, then released her and stepped back. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. 

Emma tried not to feel bereft at the loss of his warmth and closeness. “Maybe you could come over for dinner,” she said. “I mean, if you’re not busy. It’s just Henry would love to see you, and—” 

“I’d love that,” he said, gently interrupting her before her stream of words could get out of control. “Let me know what I can bring. Not brownies this time.” 

His eyes twinkled with amusement and she gave a slight wince. “Was it that obvious?” 

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, Emma, but you’re a bit of an open book,” he replied. “One I’d very much like to read more of.” 

“I—I’d like that too,” she said softly. “And my favourite dessert is lemon bars.” 

“Lemon bars I can manage.” He smiled, a bit wistfully but with a new light in his eyes that made her feel like she could fly. “Goodnight, Emma,” he murmured. 

“Night, Killian.” 

She watched him until he disappeared around the bend in the stairs then slipped into her apartment, shutting the door silently behind her and leaning against for a moment. She closed her eyes and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, then gave herself a little shake and took off her jacket and shoes before padding silently into Henry’s room. He was fast asleep, with the blankets kicked off and bunched around his waist. She pulled them down and tucked them in around him. 

“Mom?” he muttered. 

“Yeah, kid. I’m home,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.” 

Henry blinked heavy eyelids. “Did you have a good time?” 

“I did. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Go back to sleep.” 

“K,” he replied, and in his next breath she could tell he was asleep again. 

—

The next morning Emma dropped Henry off at a friend’s house and went to Granny’s for some coffee. Ruby greeted her with a scowl. 

“You here alone?” she demanded.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “I am.” 

“August another no-go, then?” 

“I have to admit, he was closer than the others,” Emma conceded. “Probably your best attempt yet.” 

“But not good enough?” 

“Nope. Not good enough.” Perhaps once there may have been a time when someone like August would have caught Emma’s eye. Before Neal. Even, possibly, before she’d met Killian. But now...

Ruby planted a fist on her hip and shook her finger at Emma’s nose. “I’ll get you, Emma Swan,” she declared. “Sooner or later, come hell or high water, I will find the man for you. I swear it.” 

“Ruby—” 

“Nope.” The shaking finger became a palm in Emma’s face, which she irritatedly pushed aside. “I know you don’t approve of my tactics,” Ruby continued, “but the gauntlet’s been thrown down. My honour is at stake.” 

“Your honour? Seriously?” 

“Yes, seriously! I’m going to find you a guy or die trying, and that’s just how things are. Now, here’s your coffee.” She thrust a takeaway cup into Emma’s hand and Emma sighed heavily, watching Ruby through narrowed eyes as she handed another cup to another customer, before finally taking a long sip. 

It was a minute before her brain registered the taste of what was in her mouth and then she spit the coffee out with a choking gasp. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

“Coffee,” said Ruby, who was standing ready with a pile of paper napkins. She fluttered her lashes innocently. “Why, is there something wrong with it?”

Just then Emma heard the sound of vigorous coughing and a very familiar voice spoke up from behind her. 

“Excuse me, lass, but I think you may have given me the wrong drink,” it said.

“Oh did I?” cried Ruby. “I am so sorry! What seems to be the problem with it?” 

“Well, it’s, er, very sweet.” 

Emma sighed and turned around to face Killian. His face brightened in surprise and pleasure but she spoke before he could greet her. “I think you must have mine,” she said. “You take it black?” 

“Aye.” 

“Here.” She held out the cup she was holding. “This one’s yours.” 

“Ah. And I suppose that makes this yours.” 

They exchanged cups and smiles, Killian’s bright but confused and Emma’s resigned, especially when their fingers brushed and her heart began to race. 

“Wow,” said Ruby loudly, “what a funny mix-up. You two should definitely get each other’s names, in case it happens again.” 

Killian opened his mouth to reply but Emma gave a tiny shake of her head and he closed it again, his forehead wrinkling with a baffled frown. Emma turned to Ruby. 

“All right,” she hissed. “You win. 

“I—what?” 

“I like this one. I’ll take him. Congratulations, you did it.” 

Ruby looked genuinely nonplussed. “Are you serious?” 

“Yep.” 

“What’s the catch?” 

“No catch.” 

“Well I am a bit of a catch,” piped up Killian, who was watching the exchange with amusement and dawning understanding.

Ruby’s eyes flitted between them, narrowed in suspicion. “Emma Swan,” she growled, “if you’re fucking with me…” 

“I’m not! Honestly. Here, look, I’ll prove it.” 

She set her cup down on the counter and turned back to Killian, watching his eyes go wide and the smirk fall from his face as she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss. Dimly she heard the sound of Ruby’s gasp and of Killian’s coffee cup hitting the floor, but then his arms were around her and he was sighing against her lips and all Emma could think was that what she’d told Ruby just now was true. She did like this one, and she damned well would take him. For the first time in far too long Emma truly and honestly envisioned what her life could be with a man in it, a partner to share it with, and found that the prospect didn’t scare her. She was excited for it. She wanted it. She wanted Killian. 

For all its heat and passion he kiss ended softly, and she smiled up at Killian, still clinging to his jacket, pressing her forehead to his. He grinned back, delighted if slightly dazed. “That was rather forward of you, lass, considering we only just met,” he said, deadpan. “But I can’t say as I object.” 

“Mmmm,” she hummed. “What do you say we take our coffee somewhere quiet and get to know each other a bit better?” 

“I’d say that’s an excellent plan. But as to the coffee, well—” He indicated the steaming puddle at their feet.

“Here you go,” said Ruby, and they both turned to see her holding out a fresh cup. “On the house.” 

Killian shook his head. “Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Look, anyone who gets a kiss like that off Emma is going to need it,” said Ruby firmly. She raised an eyebrow at each of them in turn. “There’s something going on here that I don’t know about, and rest assured I will find out what it is,” she informed them. “But for now take your coffee and go. You two are distractingly hot together and I have other customers.” 

“Well if you’re—” 

“I said go!” Ruby glared until Killian took the cup from her. “Enjoy. Oh, and Emma—” 

“Yeah?” 

“Call me later.” Ruby tapped a sharp-looking fingernail meaningfully on the countertop. “Or else.” 

—

@kmomof4, @stahlop, @spartanguard​, @mariakov81, @teamhook 

[thisonesatellite]

...between a rock and a bark place

SUMMARY:  A dog enters Emma's life and afterwards it gets a lot better.

Because this dog is brilliant.

And has opinions about Emma and Killian and life and love - and is not ashamed to work a little canine magic to bring those two idiots together. 

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AO3

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A/N:   My entry for @cspupstravaganza​

Whose discord discussions have been the highlight of my day many, many days in a row.  

THANK YOU ALL -- YOU ROCK!!!

(Also, apparently i have struck a fluff vein.  i have no idea how this happened.  i am not a fluffy person.  In other news, denial is not a river in Egypt.)

.

@profdanglaisstuff - Thank you for organizing this event (and being the mad beta ninja you are)!

If you’d like on or off the tag list, please let me know!

@stahlop @mariakov81 @facesiousbutton82 @snowbellewells@captainsjedi @thejollyroger-writer @xarandomdreamx@toomanyfandomstochoosefrom @tiganasummertree@ohmightydevviepuu @jennjenn615 @superchocovian @mayquita@sals86 @karenfrommisthaven @kday426 @spartanguard @katie-dub

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.

  I chose her.  I’d like to be very clear on that.

  Yes, technically she rescued me from the side of the road.  My previous people and I had a slight misunderstanding.  I wanted to be free to be a dog, and they wanted to not pay for food or invest time in letting me run around.  Also, there was an issue of size. In that I accidentally grew too big. I don’t know how that’s possible, I grew up and then I stopped.  But apparently they had not anticipated this. Which is how I came to be somewhat tied up by the side of Route 412.

  By the time she found me, I will admit that I was both parched and starving and not in the greatest of moods.  I may have snapped at her once, at first, in warning. Just to make sure she was not going to worsen the situation.  

  But I wasn’t going to bite her.

I liked her from the start.

  She came up to me and gave me water from a coffee travel mug and spoke softly and her voice was kind.  I admit that I wasn’t paying attention to what exactly she was saying, especially not after she gave me a ham sandwich.  I do remember that she apologized for not having any dog food with her.

Which was ridiculous.

Why would she?  She didn’t have a dog.

But what I do remember is her voice when I was done eating and drinking.  She sat down next to me and looked at me and then she asked me if I wanted to come with her.

She asked me.

That’s when I chose her.

  Her name is Emma.

And apparently my new name is Ginger.  It seems my reddish blonde fur was somewhat responsible for this moniker.  All I know is that it’s a big step up from That Goddamn Dog, which is what my last people called me.

She took me to something called a vet that first day, which was quite the experience.  I’m OK with never going again. I don’t like to be poked and prodded that much.  The vet said I was almost two years old (I already knew that, thank you), and part Labrador, part Golden Retriever, and a few indeterminate others.  Which means nothing to me. I mean - I’m me, right?

That’s it.

(She also said I should probably get fixed.  Which is ridiculous, because I’m not broken.)

.

Apart from taking me to the vet, I absolutely adore Emma.  She is wonderful.

She feeds me breakfast every day, and she takes me with her on her morning run, and then she lets me tag along to her work.  She works in something called a Police Station , and at first she was nervous to bring me.  I could sense it coming off of her in waves. I was on my best behavior that day, let me tell you.  She asked me to lie under her desk, and I did .  I was a study in lying perfectly still.  I wanted her to be happy with me, and also, it let me catch up on my napping.

I am a very good napper.

  Turns out there are quite a few people who work there, and eventually I got to meet all of them.  Emma should not have been anxious at all. They’re all lovely. And all of them are incredible ear scratchers and belly rubbers.  Especially the blond guy - David. He’s good .

  Anyway, after work she takes me down to the beach and just lets me run free, and then she feeds me again .  It’s incredible.  Food twice a day, and free running, and ear scratches?  I had no idea life could be this awesome. And at night she wraps herself around me.

I like being her pillow.

She doesn’t think I’m too big.

.

So anyway.  I love Emma.  I hope I have made that perfectly clear.  I really, really do. But she’s an idiot .

Seriously.  

So, so, so stupid .

  She goes and gets coffee every morning on her way to work.  There’s a cute little café down the street from the station.  And the owner? Oh my god, the owner.

His name is Killian, and he is incredible.

First of all, he’s the end-all-be-all of ear scratchers.  The first time he rubbed my head he got to places I didn’t know I had.  I nearly melted into a puddle on the floor of his establishment.

I mean, really .

The way that man pets me should be illegal.  Except not, because it redefines the meaning of my life.

  Then there’s his accent.  The way he says my name. The way he says her name.

Which brings me to my point.

She’s an idiot.

He likes her.  And I mean, a lot .  The way he looks at her -- like hunger and thirst and yearning.  I may or may not have had that exact same look when I watched my previous people drive away without me.

  How does she not see it? How on earth does she get her coffee every damn day and not notice?

I can already tell that he’s a good guy.  You can tell everything about a person by the way they pet you.  EVERYTHING.

  On her days off, when she actually sits down to drink her coffee there, his face just lights up, and he brings her muffins for free.  Muffins which are not in his display case. Muffins he bakes for her .

How can she be this blind?  I can see it, for Anubis’ sake, and I’m a canine .  (And now I’m taking the name of dog deities in vain.  That’s how frustrated I am!)

So anyway, it got to the point where I had to do something.  You get it, right? It was an emergency situation.

Code red.

Remember that when I tell you what I did, because, well, otherwise you might think I was being stupid.  Which I was NOT. It was code red.

.

There is this bush that grows from one of the pretty front yards we pass every day on our way into town.  It has very lovely berries on it. They’re very ripe now, and half the branches hang down over the sidewalk.

Emma does not want me to try them.  Not even sniff them. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and besides, how bad could they possibly be?  I figured I would snag a mouthful, and then we would go and have coffee, and maybe I would sneeze a little, or sleep a little, and that would force her to hang out a little longer, and also to maybe bond with Killian over my sneezing.  Or my sleeping. Or whatever.

Well.

There’s a saying humans use about best laid plans.  I forgot how it goes. Maybe I shouldn’t have.

But those berries?  They were a little more potent than I anticipated.  A little more poisonous than expected.

I kind of threw up under her café table.  Several times. It was a mess .  I felt really bad about that.  But by then I felt so bad in general that it was hard to tell what exactly I was feeling bad about in particular.

Yes, I know.

It was my own damn fault.

I know .

  But Killian was amazing.  He calmed Emma down, and rubbed her arm, and then he closed the café, and  carried me -- carried me! As if I weighed nothing! -- to his car. By that time Emma was getting really scared (I felt bad about that, too), but he was just so in control of the whole situation.  He ushered Emma into the passenger seat and then he put me in her lap (that’s really my favorite place to be, even when I feel lousy, and even though I’m technically too big for it), and handed her some towels (when did he pick up towels?) in case I had to throw up again.

And then he drove us to the vet.

Ugh.

I did NOT think this through.  Dammit.

  So, yeah.  I got poked and prodded again.  A lot more than the previous time.  And then the vet put a tube into my mouth and forced me to drink something absolutely disgusting and I very nearly snapped at her.  I am sorry for that, but I was not being my congenial best.

Because it felt like my stomach was never going to fall back in line.

  But then two things happened:  Whatever that disgusting stuff was, it made my stomach feel better.  Much better.

And then I looked up. And there were Emma and Killian, at the end of the exam table, standing as close as humanly possible.  She was almost buried in his chest, and he had his arms wrapped tightly around her, and he kept murmuring soft words into her ear and kissing the top of her head.

  And I did that.

I DID THAT.

  So, all in all, it was a total and complete success, and I don’t want to hear a word about how stupid I may or may not have been.

  Because he lives with us now, and scratches my ears on a regular basis, and when they curl up on the couch there is always room for me.  Plus phenomenal belly-rubs. Seriously.

Phenomenal .

  The only thing I no longer get to do is sleep in Emma’s bed.

But that’s OK.  You should see how happy they make each other.

It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

As long as he never stops petting me.

  .

[luobingmeis]

TELL ME ABOUT CAREY AND KILLIAN'S KIDS

OH HELL YEAH!!!

johann fangbattle (i hc that killian takes carey's name purely bc i cannot think of a last name for killian)

named after johann, obvi

killian and carey when magnus names his dog johann: *kill bill sirens*

he's a dragonborn!!!

also ik shit abt dragonborn anatomy but im assuming dragonborns are hatched? bc reptiles? anyways he's essentially adopted bc they got his... egg from a... hatchery? okay please just play with me in this space

and, while waiting for egg to hatch, carey goes into Full Mother Mode. like, obvi killian is, too, but carey doesnt let this egg leave her sight and she's incredibly protective

kinda like how brock was with togepi's egg in pokemon asksjdjshdhd

as a baby/toddler/kid, johann is super shy!! he's very clingy to carey and killian and also very Small and Timid

(and then when he's a teenager/adult he's over six feet tall and a snarky yet loveable little shit so, like, plot twist)

when he was a baby/toddler, he actually got very attached to davenport!! he thought davenport's illusion magic was super fun to watch and he would just be mesmerized watch dav shoot sparks off

besides carey and killian, davenport was actually the first person johann willingly went to

magnus, as his godfather, was lowkey offended but tried not to let it show

after that, johann warmed up to everyone Very Quickly

lucretia (his godmother) would read him (and his younger sister but im not there yet) books all the time!!!! he would also sometimes just. grab one of his books, walk over to lucretia, hand it to her, and then sit in her lap and lucretia would always be like "alright guess it's story time"

he's very protective of his younger sister but he also knows that she could kick his ass but they really are best friends

(listen im an only child but id be lying if i said i didnt sometimes wish i had siblings so i try to capture sibling dynamics the best i can)

as he gets older, he starts learning magic (from angus, honorary cool older cousin) and he specializes in illusion magic!!

johann: uncle davenport! i specialized into illusion magic, just like you!

davenport, trying not to cry: that's nice

also: gay

he grows up to be pretty snarky and sarcastic (which taako thinks is hysterical) but, at his core? such a softie and a sweetheart

i definitely have a lot more but im 1) tired and 2) rattling this all off the top of my head

noelle fangbattle

named after noelle!!

she's an orc!!! and also two years younger than johann

also okay this is mostly a lot of self projection onto killian but, like, this is a magical fantasy world, so i kinda assume that they have their own type of in vitro fertilization/other similar processes and like. yeah to cut to the chase bc idk how chill you/others are to talking abt pregnancy, but yeah that

(tbh id be lying if i said i didnt have more hcs abt that but, again, see "idk how comfortable everyone is with talking abt pregnancy" point asksjdhhs)

noelle, like johann, is super clingy but she's also a charmer so she's obsessed with everyone

she's that type of baby that never let's anyone put her down so everyone becomes really good at doing things while holding a baby on their hip

most of the time, killian or carey have her in one of those baby chest carriers (johann they held a lot more w/ their arms bc he was a smaller baby so it was easier) and she just chills tf out

the others tho? they get some nice arm workouts

noelle gets very attached to barry very fast bc he's comfy to nap on

lup: *short circuits*

unlike johann, who was absolutely terrified of kravitz when he first saw his reaper form at the tender age of 5 (it was an accident and kravitz felt terrible), noelle, age 3, fucking loves it

as she gets older, she continues the competent line of competent women!!! (but johann is also competent bc it runs in the family)

tbh idk what i want to do for her class yet? im thinking of her being a fighter, after magnus, and wielding a fucking ginormous two handed axe

she's a sweetheart and also incredibly bold and not afraid to push back against people trying to bullshit her

she's just as protective of johann as he is of her

but also almost threw him into another plane of existence when he illusioned an open door and she ended up running face first into a closed one

johann: noelle come get y'all juice!!

she's bi!!!

also once again i def have more but 1) still tired and 2) still rambling off the top of my head

general notes:

they are a big happy family!!!

"it takes a village to raise a child" aka the seven birds +co are all incredibly invested in the well-being of the team sweet flips kiddos

everyone gets really good at dual wielding kids

johann and noelle really like learning abt their namesakes

if anyone ever has any questions,,,,,, i have put so much thought into domestic sweet flips

[kmomof4]

Ch8 Time and Again

All right y'all! We made it! It is smut time!! After the first POV change though. Hope you enjoy the new chapter!!

Ao3 link

All the love and hugs and flails to the best beta in the world @hollyethecurious and the bomb when it comes to encouragement and getting me out of my own head @winterbaby89!!! This fic wouldn’t be what it is or even here in the first place without you ladies!!! Thank you both so much!! Love y'all!!!

Also a big shout out and internet hug to the CSSNS ladies for all their advice and encouragement along the way! Thank you all so much!

And to all of you who are reading, I cannot thank you enough!! Words truly can’t express what all your flails, comments, reblogs, and kudos mean to me! We are nearing the end of this journey and I hope you like what I have in store!

Tagging my peeps: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

A/N: This chapter is about 90% smut. It begins at the first POV change. Feel free to skip if it’s not your thing.

“We’re home, love,” Killian murmured in Emma’s ear.

He watched as she blinked her eyes open, looked around, and saw that they were pulling up to the dock behind the house. Sitting up from his chest, she stretched.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked with a smirk on his face and eyebrow raised.

“Mmmmmm,” she hummed, her arms raised up above her head before she turned to him and caught his smile. “Yes, I did. I had a very plush, fuzzy pillow to sleep on.” She sent a matching smirk his way and looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes. “It’d be good to sleep on tonight, too,” she whispered huskily, placing her hands on his chest and leaning in. He couldn’t help the way his cock stirred to life with her warm breath tickling the shell of his ear.

“Minx,” he replied, pulling her back into his chest so that he could claim her lips. It was brief, a chaste kiss that did little to cool the ardor in his blood. Releasing her, he smirked as she looked rather discombobulated, whether from just waking up from a two hour nap or his kiss, or a combination of both, he couldn’t tell. But it did give him a sense of male pride that his kiss may be responsible for it.

He got up and approached Nemo, hand outstretched towards the captain. “Thank you, my friend. I think it’s safe to say,” Killian glanced bashfully at Emma after Nemo shook his hand, “that we had a wonderful day today.”

“I’m so glad you did,” Nemo replied. “And milady,” he remarked, turning to Emma and taking her hand, “I hope to see you on the Jolly Roger again soon.” He bowed low and placed a kiss to her knuckles as he bid them farewell.

Killian, with the cooler on his arm, disembarked to the dock and held his hand out to Emma. Once she joined him, he held out his elbow for her to take as he escorted her through the greenery that surrounded the pool. The sun was already well behind the screen surrounding them, so as they stepped into the pool area, it was already a cool, shaded oasis away from the blazing South Texas sun.

They continued into the house where Killian unpacked the cooler and Emma looked up recipes for how to cook her prize. Finding an easy baked fish recipe, Emma handed Killian her phone while she got to work preparing sides and opening the wine.

Settling down to their meal, Killian smirked at her. “My turn to ask a question,” he cajoled. “First though, since I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, my favorite book is probably Lord of the Rings.”

“Lord of the Rings,” she asked, delighted, “I love it too! But I would have thought Peter Pan was your favorite, with the Jolly, I mean.” Her eyes twinkled merrily.

“Oh, well, I have fond memories of my mom reading it to us before she died.” He shrugged and scratched behind his ear. “So, that’s where the name came from. Captain Hook was my favorite character. But as far as my favorite book that I’ve ever read, it’d have to be Lord of the Rings. The world building and the history, languages, everything, just fascinate me. Now, tell me about one of your best memories growing up.”

Emma sat back and took a sip of her wine. She appeared to be lost in thought for a moment before she came back to herself. “How I found out that Ingrid was going to adopt me.” She nodded decisively. “That is without any doubt my best memory. It was my 15th birthday. I’d been with Ingrid for two months by that time. She took me, just me, to the carnival that was in town. We played carnival games, rode the rides, about made ourselves sick with cotton candy and funnel cakes. I laughed more that day than I ever had in my life.” She smiled softly, remembering.

“As the day was coming to an end, we stopped and got a hot dog from one of the vendors. When we sat down to eat, Ingrid pulled out a large catalog envelope from her bag and sat it in front of me. I knew that those kinds of envelopes contained new assignments for us foster kids. I remember my vision blurring as I realized that she was sending me away, and she must have decided to try and make me feel better by taking me to the carnival.”

Tears filled her eyes at the memory and Killian took her hand in his. “Ingrid was watching me closely to gauge my reaction and it didn’t take her long to realize that I had the wrong idea. She grabbed my hand, just like you did,” she said, nodding to their joined hands on the table, “and all but cried with me as she tried to convince me that she wanted to adopt me, not get rid of me.”

A smile broke out then as a tear escaped its confines and tracked down her cheek. Killian reached over and caught it on the pad of his thumb. She wiped the rest of her tears away with the back of her other hand. “So yeah,” she repeated, looking down, “that’s my favorite memory. The rest of the kids in the house were reassigned by the new year and the adoption was final on February 7. We still celebrate it,” she whispered.

“As well you should,” he agreed softly, willing her to look up at him. When she did, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

She looked away, blushing. “Well, you did ask,” she murmured.

She unclasped their hands and dug into her meal. The conversation never flagged or veered into uncomfortable territory for the rest of the evening. The flirting, banter, and innuendo flowed as freely as the wine as they enjoyed the baked mackerel with new potatoes and asparagus.

When they finally finished their meal and cleaned up the kitchen, Emma turned to him with eyes wide with nervousness and hope. “Do you want to try this again?”

“Do you?” he asked. “I’m so sorry for last night, Swan,” he murmured, coming over to her and drawing her into his arms. “I mean,” he tried to explain, “I can’t say I’m truly sorry for stopping last night, for the reasons I gave you. But I certainly didn’t intend to hurt you. Or to make you think that you were anything less than completely desirable. But I also think that after the day we’ve spent together, there’s a better and stronger connection between us. And that will only make things better. Don’t you think?” he asked, the tips of his ears burning and all the hope he felt shining in his eyes.

“Yes, I do,” she agreed. She placed a finger on his lips when he opened his mouth to say more. “Shhhh,” she quieted him, “It’s not time for talking now. Let’s forget about last night and move forward.”

He nodded, drawing her finger into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the tip. His midnight blue eyes, holding all his love and desire, held hers as she drew in a sharp breath.

~*~*~

Staring into his eyes, she came to a realization. She was done. Done fighting. Done fighting against what he was asking for. Done fighting against what she wanted. She was his and he was hers. At least, she hoped he was. She rose up on her toes and drew his mouth to her own. She could still taste the Chardonnay on his lips as he traced the seam of hers with his tongue. She moaned as she granted him entrance and tangled her hands in his hair as he maneuvered her head just right to deepen the kiss. She lost all sense of space or time as he leisurely explored the recesses of her mouth and received her own in kind.

She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips as he lifted her from her feet. His hands held on to her ass as he walked them to the master suite, continuing to plunder the depths of her mouth. Their lips finally separated as he deposited her on the bed. She looked up and caught her breath at the desire that blazed in his eyes. Desire for her. She pushed herself up towards the pillows as he climbed up and hovered over her.

“I have dreamt of this so many times over the years, Swan,” he admitted, lowering himself on top of her, peppering light and teasing kisses to her jaw and neck. “Please tell me this is real, Emma. Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he murmured into her skin.

“You’re not dreaming,” she gasped, as his lips closed on her pulse point and gave a hard suck. The pleasure shot straight to her core and she could already feel the tightening coil as she writhed beneath him.

He released her with a smirk as he looked down to admire his handiwork. Soothing the area with his tongue, Emma thought she would die from his attentions before he even got her clothes off. Backing away from the edge he had already brought her to, she pulled his lips back to hers again. She felt like she could kiss him forever. The dreams didn’t hold a candle to the real thing, she thought as their tongues danced and desire flooded her.

Her hands explored his clothed chest until they worked their way under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his abdomen and pecs. She could feel Killian begin his own explorations as he slowly caressed her through her shift. She pulled his shirt over his head, whimpering when they had to break the kiss to do so. His lips crashed back to hers as his hands started working on the tie of her coverup. He rose above her as he drew the sides away from her scantily clad form. His eyes darkened even further as they roved from her face to her breasts to her center and down her long legs.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was keeping my mind out of the gutter today when you were sunning yourself on the Jolly? All that bare skin on display, kissed by the sun,” he murmured, lowering himself to her again and kissing down her neck, collar, and sternum until he reached the bottom of the bikini top where he plunged his tongue into the gap between her breasts and the flimsy pieces of fabric that kept them from his sight. Her skin was on fire as he reached behind her, untied, and removed the offensive material. “So beautiful, so perfect,” he crooned, soaking her in, “mine,” he finished, his voice nearly a growl as his tongue flicked out and swirled around the sensitive bud.

“Yes, yours,” she keened, arching into him, “all yours.”

He drew her aching nipple into the warm cavern of his mouth and she thought she might explode from the pleasure that he sent zinging through her body. His hand sought out the neglected breast as his mouth continued its sensual assault on its twin. Weighing it in his hand, his fingers circled and plucked until her nipple was a sharp peak. She could feel herself approaching the edge again as he continued his erotic ministrations. He released her breast with a pop and sent her a smouldering smirk before he pushed and held her breasts together and flicked each nipple back and forth with his tongue. The action sent her to even greater heights before he released her and continued kissing a trail down past her navel until he reached the even flimsier excuse for a cover over her most intimate place. He nosed at her covered center, inhaling deeply.

“Killian,” she moaned, “Killian, please,” she begged.

“As you wish, darling,” he whispered into her overheated skin.

He pulled the bikini bottoms down her long legs and tossed it over his shoulder as he kissed his way back up her limbs. She shivered in ecstasy as he got closer and closer to where she was wet and aching for him. He nosed at her curls and drew a finger through her soaked folds.

“All this, for me?” he asked, flicking his tongue out to taste her essence that coated his finger. He drew it fully into his mouth and shut his eyes as he moaned in appreciation. “You taste divine, Emma,” he groaned, releasing his finger with a pop. “I can’t wait to taste you properly.” He settled himself between her legs and looking up at her through his lashes, his eyes held hers. “May I?” he implored her.

Emma thought that she would explode if he didn’t put his mouth on her soon. She nodded, wordlessly before her arms gave out and she landed flat on the bed just as she felt Killian’s tongue draw a long swipe through her drenched core. She keened as she felt him plunge two fingers into her dripping center all while drawing her clit between his lips and sucking for all he was worth. She detonated with a scream of his name as her thighs clenched on either side of his head holding him to her. He brought her down slowly as she mumbled incoherently into the pillow she rested on. When she came back to herself, Killian sat on his haunches in between her legs with his cock on glorious display to her appreciative gaze. He must have removed his trunks at some point during all that.

Beckoning him forward with a sultry gaze on his splendid cock, she whispered, “My turn.”

She raised herself from where she lay on the bed and pushed against him until he was flat on his back with his head toward the foot of the king sized bed. She straddled him and ground down on his impressive length, watching as his eyes rolled in the back of his head with a long moan working its way out of his throat. He grabbed her hips and held her there as he thrust his hips into hers, creating delicious friction, but not giving them both the contact they craved.

She backed away from him until his red and weeping cock was squarely in her sights. She flicked her tongue out and caught the bead of precum that had gathered at his slit. “Mmmmm,” she hummed, “delicious.”

She looked up at him through her eyelashes and beheld her man thoroughly wrecked. His pupils were blown until only the thinnest rims of midnight blue remained, and his hair was sticking up in every direction from where she’d been grasping it.

Emma leaned forward and took him into the moist heat of her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down his length, every other beat swirling her tongue around the sensitive head. She could feel herself getting wetter as she listened to his moans and pleas. She hollowed out her cheeks and gave him a good suck before releasing him with a pop. She shot him a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile before she crawled back up and claimed his mouth with her own.

She could still taste herself on his tongue as they battled for dominance. He wound his fingers in her hair as he crushed her body to his. Releasing her lips suddenly, he flipped them toward the head of the bed. She was on her back with her legs spread for him as if they had done this dance a thousand times before. Killian stared into her eyes as he settled himself in the cradle of her thighs, his cock hitting her just right. He ground his hips into hers, coating his length in the evidence of her desire. Demanding lips met hers in a passionate kiss of possession as he lined himself up at her entrance.

Wrenching her lips away from his, she peppered his scruff and neck with teasing, biting kisses as she waited for him to fill her. “Please, Killian,” she begged, “Take me now.”

“As you wish,” he choked out as he buried himself in her depths. She screamed as another blinding orgasm crashed over her. Her walls rippled along his shaft as he held himself still waiting for her to drift back to earth and join him in their mutual desire. When she opened her eyes, he began to move, holding her spellbound. She couldn’t look away from the passionate desire that burned in their cerulean depths. Her eyes fell shut after a few thrusts, relishing the feeling of him along her walls. The pleasure was too much, the tension coiled too tightly. He lifted her leg and rested it over his hip, changing the angle enough that she trembled on the edge yet again. Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he reached between them and found her swollen nub.

“Come for me one more time, Emma,” he beseeched her.

She did as he bid with a silent scream and blinding white behind her eyelids. One, two, three more pumps of his hips and he joined her with a stuttering groan of her name. He pressed tender kisses into her shoulder and neck, before he claimed her lips with his own. Their heart rates started to even out as his tongue gently caressed hers. She whimpered as he rolled off of her before drawing her back into his arms.

“Sleep now, love,” he whispered in her ear, “We have all the time in the world.” He kissed her temple as she succumbed to dreams.

~*~*~

Killian woke sometime later with his arms wrapped around the woman he loved as her back was nestled against his front. He realized that, though there was nothing better than waking this way, his backside was cold. They had fallen asleep on top of the comforter, and after the sweat from their earlier exersions had evaporated, the running AC had cooled him enough now that he was wanting something between his naked skin and the air. He reached behind himself and tried to pull the comforter down enough that he could wiggle them both underneath it without waking his love. Unfortunately, even with his long arms, he wasn’t even close to the top of the comforter.

He rolled away from her and tried again, reaching for the top of the bed. Emma whimpered in her sleep and tried to snuggle back into him, reaching behind her to grab his arm and draw it over her body. She sighed contentedly when he rolled back to her, pulling the comforter down over them.

“What time is it,” she mumbled, still mostly asleep.

“I can’t tell,” he murmured into the skin behind her ear, placing a gentle kiss there. “My watch is on the nightstand and our phones are still in the kitchen.”

“Mmmmm,” she hummed, wiggling back into his arms.

She turned her head as he raised up to capture her lips with his own. He nibbled on her full lower lip before seeking entrance. She turned completely in his arms and tangled her fingers in his hair as she opened her mouth to his pillaging and plundering as if there was no tomorrow. He rolled her onto her back as his mouth commanded hers and his hands mapped the curves of her form. The low moan from the back of her throat told him that his efforts were appreciated, and with a growl of possession, his hands finally found the object of his desire where she was wet in her want of him. Her hips jerked as he sank two fingers into her welcoming heat and started the slow pumping that would bring her to ecstasy.

“There’s my Swan,” he praised, as she began riding his fingers. He watched as her face scrunched up in pleasure as she chased her release. “You are so beautiful when you come, Emma. I could watch you for hours.”

Emma tried to pull him back down to her, but he was having none of it. “Killian, please,” she moaned, her head thrashing back and forth, “I need…”

“I know what you need, darling,” he crooned, as he curled his fingers inside her just right and pressed his thumb into her swollen nub. “Come for me now, Emma,” he cajoled.

Her walls fluttered and clamped down on his digits like a vice. She let out an ecstatic moan that matched his own in length and volume before he crashed his lips into hers, prolonging her pleasure. He brought her down gently before lining himself up and sheathing himself in her scorching hot depths. They both let out a sigh of relief at being joined again so intimately before he slowly rocked into her, simply content to be one with her for a moment before his own need compelled him to move. Her own hips raised to meet him as he slowly pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back home again. Twin groans sounded the depths of their desire as they began to move together in a dance as old as time. Again and again his hips met hers as with each pass, he ground down on her clit, determined to bring her to climax with him inside her. He captured her lips with a desperate kiss when he felt her walls begin to flutter along his length. She kissed him back with an intensity that he could feel in his soul, as her arms tightened even more around him. She stiffened and moaned into his mouth as her orgasm crashed over her. The pulsing of her walls dragged him over into euphoria right along with her.

Killian continued to pump slowly into her as he felt himself start to soften. Holding her closely he buried his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. Placing a gentle kiss on her pulse point where he had left his mark earlier, he chuckled to himself.

“What,” his lover asked, somewhat dazedly.

He raised his head to look at her. “You smell like the ocean and sunshine,” he waxed poetically. She snorted and tried to push him away.

“Ocean and fish maybe,” she grumbled. “We never showered or anything after getting home.”

He couldn’t help the surge of happiness that rose within him at her use of the word ‘home.’ She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “I seem to remember something about a whirlpool tub. A tub that fits two?” she asked coquettishly.

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Indeed you did, Swan.” He pressed a brief kiss into her neck, eliciting a soft moan, before untangling himself from her and rising from the bed. “I’ll go run us a hot bath.” He sauntered away from her, knowing that she was staring at his bare ass, and unable to wipe off his grin at that knowledge.

“Make sure it’s very hot,” she yelled after him. “I want my skin pink when we get out.”

“As you wish,” he bellowed over the running water. Watching the water fill the tub as he stood over it, he felt svelte and toned arms wind their way around his middle.

Emma lay her head between his shoulder blades and placed a kiss there. “How much longer,” she whined.

He smiled and turned around in her arms, circling his own behind her back. Smiling down at her, he placed a peck of a kiss on the tip of her nose. “It’ll take several more minutes to fill a tub this size. But that doesn’t mean we can’t go ahead and get in.” He released her and crossed over to the vanity in between the double sinks. Opening the drawer there, he found what he was looking for. He turned back to find Emma just stepping down into the filling tub.

“Oooooooo,” she moaned as she stepped into the hot water. She settled herself down and turned her questioning gaze upon him. “What’s that?”

“This is the remote for the jets,” he said holding up the first object in his hand. “And this,” he clicked the lighter on and reached across the tub to the candles situated in the corner, “will light the candles for us.”

After lighting them, he straightened and placed the lighter back in the drawer before dimming the lights. Returning to the tub, he placed the remote on the side, and urged Emma to sit forward so he could take his place behind her. He wedged himself between her and the back of the tub and spread his legs so that she could come back and lay on him as she had that afternoon on the Jolly. She smirked at him as he situated himself before drawing her back to rest against his chest.

“Mmmmmm,” she hummed, “I got my furry pillow back,” she teased, snuggling down into him.

He could feel his cock begin to twitch as she wiggled her hips getting herself comfortable. His arms snaked around her and his fingers began their task of memorizing all the secret places on her body that made her shiver. He lay his head back against the edge of the tub and closed his eyes as he leisurely explored all that she had to offer him.

“I guess we should turn the water off now, huh?” she asked.

“Mmmmm,” he agreed, realizing that the water came up to her chest. He heard the water cut off as his hands cupped both of her breasts, testing their weight. “You have such beautiful breasts, Swan,” he praised. “I could sit here and simply touch you all night long and never get tired of gazing at your beauty.”

He thrust his hips against her backside as she tilted hers back to meet him with a broken sigh. He continued the kneading of her soft curves, rolling and pinching her nipples until they were hard points. She whimpered when his hands left their appointed tasks. One to pull her hair away from her neck and shoulder, so that his lips and tongue could join the sensual assault, the other traveling down to the molten center of her desire. When he flicked her clit, Emma slid down lower, spreading her legs further by draping them over his. Her hips rocked into his touch as a breathy moan left her lips.

“Leave your legs where they are darling, and come back up here to me,” he whispered in her ear. Keeping her legs spread, he lifted her hips and drew her back toward him before lowering her down on his rigid member.

“Oh, God,” she breathed. He lowered his head to rest on her shoulder as he basked in the glory of being inside her again. She reached up and behind his head, tangling her fingers in his hair. He pressed light and teasing kisses to her shoulder and neck as he slowly thrust into her willing heat. “Right there, Killian,” she moaned. He thrust again, feeling her shiver in his arms.

He relished making love to Emma in this way. Every inch of his skin was covered by her. Holding her to him, buried inside her, he felt whole in a way that he never had before. He knew there was no way he would ever be able to let her go. He would go to the end of the world for her. Or time.

The tension that was slowly building between them suddenly compelled him to brand her as his, from the inside out. He couldn’t lose her. His mouth clamped down on the other side of her neck from where he had already left his mark. He sucked heat to the surface of her skin as he tightened his arms around her and thrust into her like a man possessed. Her moans of rapture and the sloshing of the water barely reached his ears.

“Emma, Emma, Emma,” he chanted with every thrust. He could feel her walls poised on the edge of orgasm, so he reached back down and flicked her swollen nub. Her walls gripped him and they fell into the abyss together.

~*~*~

As she came back to herself, she felt Killian press tender, light kisses to the area that she knew he had left a bruise. “I’m sorry, Swan,” he murmured into her skin. “I think I got a little carried away.”

She smiled a sated, easy smile, and leaned back into his chest, turning her head until she could capture his lips.“Don’t worry about it,” she admonished, sending him a smirk full of mischief. “I think I rather like being marked by you. And I’ve got a matching set,” she said, running her fingers down both sides of her neck where he had left a sizable hickey.

“Minx,” he growled playfully, turning her around and pulling her even closer to him so he could take her lips again. After a few minutes of sweet kisses and gentle touches, simply intended to enjoy the other and not arouse, she pulled away and rested her forehead against his.

“You know, baths are not that great for getting clean,” she informed him, mirth dancing in her eyes. “And there is a rather large shower over there.”

“You’re right Swan, there is,” he agreed. “Shall we adjourn to it and actually get clean?” He waggled his eyebrows at her again with a smirk on his lips.

“I think that might be a good idea,” she admitted, standing up and letting the water droplets run down her body. The look in his eyes as he stared at her gave her a feeling of power and confidence like she had never felt before. He looked at her as if there was no one in the world as beautiful and desirable as she was and it melted her heart.

Breaking his gaze, she got out of the tub and walked down the steps to the shower in the corner. She turned it on as she heard him step out of the tub behind her. Stepping in, she saw body wash, shampoo and conditioner on the built in shelves. Killian joined her and pushed her under the spray.

He filled his hand with the shampoo and gently worked the vanilla scented substance through every strand on her head. She had never felt so cared for in her life. His gentle touches as he continued his ministrations, first washing and conditioning her hair and then her skin, brought her a peace and contentment that she thought she’d never have. This man, beyond any doubt, was her soulmate.

She smiled ruefully as Killian finished rinsing the body wash from her skin. She had shared the deepest secrets of her heart with him. His acceptance and understanding without pity, was somewhat unexpected, and deepened her love for him even more. And she knew he loved her. Even if he hadn’t said the words. It was evident in every look, every touch, every kiss. She felt whole with him. He completed her. Just like M’s said.

Turning to him, she raised up on her toes and kissed him with all the love in her heart. When they broke apart, several minutes later, they were both panting heavily. Without words, she filled her hand with the shampoo and massaged it through his raven locks. She washed his hair as his lips nibbled everywhere he could reach. “How am I supposed to wash your hair when you are doing that?” she asked.

“Not my problem, Swan,” he murmured into her skin. “How am I supposed to control myself when you’re standing there all naked and wet and tantalizing? Hmmmm?” He continued to kiss and nose along her jawline until she pushed him under the spray to rinse his hair and body and sank to her knees in front of him. He had denied her request to ravish him while he was attending to her, but now that she had her turn ministering to him, she could do exactly what she wanted to.

She wasted no time diving right in, swallowing him down until he hit the back of her throat. Looking up at him through her lashes, she saw his head thrown back against the tiles, the chords on his neck standing out as she bobbed up and down. His fingers tangled themselves in her hair as she continued her efforts. She gripped his base with one hand while the other fondled his balls. The unintelligible litany that poured from him made her smile around him as she felt his balls tighten under her assault. He tried to pull her off him as his member started to throb in her mouth.

“Emma, Emma, I’m gonna…” He exploded into her mouth with a long groan. She swallowed every drop and then licked his slit to make sure she didn’t miss anything. Leaving a parting kiss to his tip, she rose to her feet. Reaching behind him she turned off the shower while he recovered.

She let out a squeal when he unexpectedly pulled her into his arms and planted a firm kiss to her swollen lips. “You are a wonder, Swan,” he breathed. “And now, I think it’s time that we make use of that bed. For sleeping,” he asserted, with a finger to her lips as she sent him a saucy look.

After toweling off, they blew out the candles, turned out the lights, and crawled back into the bed. As she drifted off to sleep with the arms of the man she loved around her, she knew that she could never let him go. Her heart was in this for the long haul. She determined that she was going to take this week and think about what came next when they returned to Dallas.

[flslp87]

A Family Addition for Captain Swan - Cravings 

Having a baby can bring every emotion from exhilaration to terror.  Come along on the journey with Emma and Killian as they experience all the emotions that creating a new life can elicit.  Chapter 1- Pregnant -Emma’s POV - here, Chapter 2 - Pregnant - Killian’s POV - here, Chapter 3 - First Doctor’s Visit - Emma’s POV - here, Chapter 4 -First Doctor’s Visit- Killian’s POV - here, Chapter 5 -Heartbeat - Emma’s POV - here, Chapter 6 - Heartbeat - Killian’s POV - here ; Chapter 7 - First Movement - here; Chapter 8 - Ultrasound - here;   Chapter 9 - Cravings - here; Chapter 10 - Delivery - here.

It can also be found on FF as well as on AO3.

Special thanks to @duathadun for the lovely aesthetic and to @hellomommanerd for beta skills.   

Dedicated to my friend @kmomof4 for allowing me to use her craving for Pink Lemonade while pregnant to have some Captain Charming fun. 

Cravings

As soon as they found out the news Emma was carrying twins, Killian had added What to Expect When Expecting Twins to their weekly reading.  The time had been one of discovery about the challenges women face carrying twins as well as the challenges they will face once they are born.  He and Swan had a big task ahead of them but nothing they couldn't handle, together.  

He had to admit that the thought that he, a 300-year-pirate, had given his wife two babies at once had caused him to walk a little taller.  However, when he discovered that his seed had nothing to do with the fact that there were two, he had been a bit disconcerted. He had rather enjoyed the possibility that the most wondrous of miracles had been because of him, but alas it was not to be.  All the credit for that feat belonged to his lovely wife. 

He was, however, pleased that it was his seed that was responsible for the gender of their babies.  He hoped each little lass had his Swan's blonde hair and green eyes and loved their papa as much as he already loved them.  He didn't care that they kept him and Emma awake making their presence known with their little kicks.  Nor did he care that they preferred Henry's music to his sea shanties.  What he did care about was that in less than two months’ time, he would be able to hold them in his arms. 

Healthwise, Emma had blossomed, as had their babies, but diet wise, he found that half the time what his wife claimed Twin A craved made him cringe, most especially when she combined it with what Twin B craved.  The memory of the search for the sponge cakes Twin B wanted and then, having to go right back out because Twin A needed a type of pickle they didn't have in their kitchen, caused him to shake his head.  Who knew there were so many types of pickles?

He was on his way home from checking on the Jolly when his phone vibrated and something told him Emma was craving some new food.  Taking a deep breath, he checked the text,

E: Twin A really wants corn dogs.  

"Corn dogs?" The name left him perplexed. "What's a bloody corn dog?"

He wasn't quite sure where one might begin to look for a corn dog, nor was he sure what one would look like.  Was it a dog made out of corn, were they two separate things?  Should he start at the market? Should he ask at the animal shelter?  Unsure how to proceed, he did what any sane man would do.  He called his father-in-law.

"Hello," David answered the phone.

After making small talk, Killian got right to the point, "Where would one go to procure something called corn dogs?"

"Emma has you on food errands again, I see."

"Aye, and if I don't bring her corn dogs, she might make me sleep on the sofa."

David groused but told him where to buy corn dogs and as soon as they hung up, he stopped by the market and picked up their last box of corn dogs.  "A sausage covered by a thick layer of cornmeal batter on a stick," he read off the box and shuddered.  Who would even consider putting one's sausage on a stick, anyway?

Arriving home with the sausages, Emma's smile made the trip worthwhile and he watched her quickly consume several of them.  Twin A, he learned preferred a yellow concoction slathered on it, while Twin B, liked that red paste Henry liked on his fries.  What's next, he wondered?  After tidying the kitchen, they made their way up to bed.

~~~~~~

A few days later, he knocked on the door of the farmhouse.  David opened it and glanced around as if looking for someone else, "Killian, com.." But then he must have gotten a good look at his face because he changed thoughts, "Ah oh, what happened?"

Walking into the farmhouse, Killian found himself stepping over baby paraphernalia and realized soon this would be his house.  Clearing a chair of several stuffed animals, two toy trucks and an assortment of farm animals, he flopped down onto a chair.  "I've lived for 300 years and have learned to repair sails, replace rigging and waterproof my ship, yet I failed in constructing my children's cradles." His disgust and frustration at himself was evident in not only his body posture but also the clipped pronunciation of his words.

Laughing, David handed him a glass of rum which he downed in one drink, "I fail to see anything humorous about my predicament. But thanks," he held up the empty glass."

David sat down next to him, "I'm laughing because the same thing happened to me."

Killian had been studying the ground around him, but the remark brought his head up, "It did?"

"Oh, yes." He smiled at the memory, "Emma and I were trying to put together Neal's crib and made a total mess of it."

"And what happened?" Killian was actually pleased to be privy to the information as it made him feel as if wasn't a total imbecile.

"Snow called Marco." He somberly replied.  "Same happen to you?"

"Aye," Killian lamented, still frustrated but not nearly as much as he had been when he arrived.  

When his phone rang, he pulled it from his pocket, "Hello, love."

"Killian," Emma's voice came across the line sounding quite frantic. "I ran out of pink lemonade.  Can you bring me some, please?"

For the life of him, he couldn't fathom how she could run out of that pink concoction that she carried around with her all the time, but it seemed he was wrong.  "I will bring you some lemonade, Swan."

"Pink lemonade," she reiterated the color once again, "don't forget."

"Aye, love.  Pink lemonade." Killian told her, his voice meant to be soothing.

"You know what it looks like, right Killian?" 

"Aye love. You've been drinking it for a while now." He was starting to feel a bit impatient with all the questions. 

"And what it tastes like?" she asked, her voice starting to rise with impatience.

"Aye, love.  I will get you some pink lemonade.  Why don't you take a nap until I get home?"

"I think I will.  Hurry."

They said their goodbyes and he hung up the phone, giving his father-in-law a disgruntled look.

David smirked, "You have no idea what pink lemonade is, do you?"

Shaking his head back and forth, Killian put his hands on his hips, "No bloody idea.  Now what?"

David mimicked the stance and looked around his kitchen, "We're two reasonably intelligent men.  Surely we can figure out how to make this pink lemonade for your wife."

The men busied themselves in the kitchen and David finally located several packages of powdered lemonade.  The picture on the front showed a pitcher with the sour drink but it was yellow.  "Let's try this.  Maybe you mix this into the yellow lemonade and then you use something special that turns it pink."

Killian took the package and read the back of it to see if anything sounded familiar, "Nothing on here about making it pink.  Perhaps we should mix several, just in case. 

They got to work locating several of Snow's pitchers and mixed three containers of lemonade.  Once the crystals had dissolved they were slightly disheartened when they didn't magically come out pink but persevered in their work. 

Killian studied the containers on the counter, "Now, I assume we should add something that will turn them pink." He looked over at Dave, "Have anything that will change the color?"

David looked around the kitchen until suddenly he snapped his fingers and his eyes lit up with an idea, "Neal likes that fruit punch drink that always turns his mouth red.  I bet that works." He searched the cabinets until he found the boxes of fruit drink and they squeezed one box into one pitcher of lemonade.  

The color of the lemonade changed, but more red than the pink of Emma's drink.  Killian pulled out his flask and upended some of the contents into a clean glass.  David looked at the flask, then at the glass, "Why is your flask, that held rum for 200 years all of a sudden holding pink lemonade?"

Killian felt the heat climb up his neck, but with nothing to say except for the truth answered, "Well, there were a few times when we were not home and Emma ran out, and it wasn't pretty," he shuddered, "and this kept her from being upset and earned me some favors." He smirked at the Prince.

"Watch it, Pirate.  Well, go ahead," he motioned for Killian to taste the concoction. 

Picking up the glass with the real stuff, he took a drink.  Then he compared it to the glass they had mixed.  

"Well, did we succeed?" He was asked impatiently?"

Shaking his head, Killian set the glass down.  "No, any more brilliant ideas?

"You sound like you're worried about something, Hook.  You're not scared of your wife, are you?" 

Killian side eyed David, "Were you scared of your wife when she was pregnant?"

A pained expression flitted across David's face before he gave Killian a sympathetic smile, "Point.  Now what?"

They spent the next few minutes working on ways to try to get the other two pitchers of lemonade to turn pink without changing the taste.  David found some old strawberry lollipops of Neal's and let them dissolve in one pitcher and Killian mashed up strawberries and tossed them in another.  While both changed the appearance of the liquid, neither gave them the taste.  

Leaning back against the cabinet, Killian thought about what he'd seen Emma do with her drink.  "Perhaps we should have used pink lemons."

David rolled his eyes, "Lemons are yellow."

"I know that," Killian gave him an annoyed look, "but what if she uses magic to turn them pink?"

"You're not thinking straight," David chided him, "she wouldn't have asked you to bring home pink lemonade if she could magic it."

Sighing, Killian picked up a lemon and tossed it in the air, "Washing it with something red, like often happens with laundry?" He posed to the prince never once assuming he would be taken seriously.

David looked toward the laundry room with a contemplative look on his face, "Maybe," he said slowly as he picked up a lemon and left the room.  

Killian followed him into the laundry room and watching as he tossed a lemon and a red cloth into the machine and turned it on.  While it was going through the cycle, they cleaned up their mess in the kitchen and waited for the wash to power down.  As soon as it stopped, they ran to see if their lemon was pink.  Flipping up the lid, David reached in pulling out a rather, soggy looking----yellow lemon.

"Bloody Hell," Killian exclaimed!  "It didn't work."

"No, it didn't," David sighed.  "But the washer smells nice.  Think Snow will notice?"

"Think Snow will notice what," the woman herself came in the back door carrying Neal and all of his baby stuff.  

Deciding that David didn't have the answers he was searching for this time, Killian turned to his mother-in-law, "Emma wishes to have more pink lemonade and we were trying to make her some." He gave her a sheepish smile hoping she would take pity on him.

Snow didn't say anything but went to a cabinet, reaching behind some cans and pulled out a container.  Opening it she showed them the pink powder inside.  "Minute Maid, pink lemonade.  One scoop and water and voila, pink lemonade."

~~~~~

Killian walked into a quiet house and after leaving the prized lemonade in the kitchen went in search of his wife.  He found her sitting in the rocking chair in the room she was turning into the nursery.  He watched her as she slowly moved back and forth, her hands rubbing circles on her distended belly staring at the evidence of Marco's hard work. 

The brand-new cradles lined one wall and even he had to admit they looked well put together.  "They look nice."  He noticed it came out with a hint of admiration, causing him to rethink his frustration from earlier in the day.  

Emma looked up at him with a beautiful smile on her face, "They do, don't they?"  

Killian grinned as she tried to push herself up from the rocking chair but with the way the seat was tilted back and her huge stomach, she couldn't quite get the leverage she needed.  "Do you need some help, love?" He asked holding out his hands for her to take.

She rolled her eyes at him as he pulled her up, "Thanks.  Did you --"

"---get your pink lemonade?  Aye."  He kissed her quickly and nuzzled her nose, "Let's get you to bed and I'll bring a glass to you."

Taking his hand, she let him lead her to their room, "Before you get me a glass, can you help me with my boots?"

"The lasses in the way?"  She nodded her head and sat down for his help.  His Swan was always so independent that he had rather enjoyed being able to pamper her.  He knew it wouldn't last for his little lasses would be here in about two months and their lives would never be the same.  He couldn't wait for that day to hold them in his arms.  

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.  Stay tuned for Delivery.

[lilaswaterfalls]

By the Sea, From the Stars Ch. 1

Summary: 

Moving to Puerto Rico was supposed to be an adventure for Emma Swan, an escape from her life in New York. But when she realizes that this missing person's case hits too close to home, she realizes that her perfect escape wasn't so perfect after all. On top of it all, there is this handsome marine biologist that won't get out of her head.

ff.net

"Ladies and Gentleman, we welcome you to San Juan, Puerto Rico. The current temperature is 82 degrees Fahrenheit and the skies are sunny. We hope you had a good flight with us and hope you get to your destination safely. On behalf of our crew, we thank you for your journey."

As the flight attendant announced the landing, Emma was jolted awake by the scattered applauses she heard. She wondered why people were applauding at something as simple as landing as she began to gather her bearings. She opened the window next to her and a ray of bright sunlight shot through. As her eyes adjusted, she saw bright green trees and asphalt, in the distance she could see the glimmering azure of the ocean. This was exactly what she thought she needed.

As the plane taxied into the airport, she checked her phone and noticed several messages from Tink and Elsa, her old friends in New York and one from her new boss.

10:05 AM Regina –  I hope your flight landed well Miss Swan. A driver will pick you up and take you to your apartment. Your detective partner will be stopping by your apartment to give you a briefing. We have a lot to do tomorrow. Rest up. –R. Mills Parrilla

She replied a brisk thank you to her new boss and went into the group chat between Tink, Elsa, and her that had about 20 unread messages.

9:00 AM Tink – Wait, so I have to find out you’re leaving the country via a FACEBOOK POST. Emma wtf?

9:01 Elsa – WHAT?  Emma. Where are you going?

9:03 Tink – Puerto Rico. Emma, you didn’t even have the decency to let us know? What is going on?

9:05 Elsa – Does this have anything to do with Walsh? He’s been calling me nonstop this morning.

9:08 Tink – What happened with Walsh, I thought she already broke up with him? EMS??

9:12 Elsa – Like she did, but now Walsh wants to win her back or something idk, either way, he’s being annoying and I am seriously about to go ice queen on him.

9:15 Tink – I won’t judge you sister. I mean, with everything that’s happened he still thinks you’ll fall back into his arms Ems?

9:16 Tink – Seriously Emma.

9:16 Tink – Why did you leave?

9:17 Tink – Where are you?

9:17 Tink – ALSO WHY ARE YOU NOT ANSWERING?

9:18 Elsa – She’s probably flying Tink.

9:20 Tink – Right. Okay. Emma, answer this AS SOON AS YOU LAND. Elsa, kick his ass for me please.

9:30 Elsa – With pleasure, I did so with that brute, Hans, last time, I think I can handle a furniture salesman…

She laughed at that last message. It's not that she had forgotten to say goodbye via text the morning of her flight...it's just that she never found the right time to say anything. With their three hectic careers and lives, she barely got to see them, let alone tell them huge news that she conveniently never told them about until she had to leave.

In all honesty, though, she kind of needed to get away. Life in New York was fine, but…she was missing…something. That’s why when her boss suggested a case in Puerto Rico, she jumped on it. That same day she broke her engagement and proceeded to rent an apartment on the tiny island. It was January a.k.a one of the worst months to be in New York. Contrastingly, San Juan was warm all year long and if the case was as serious as she thought it was, she’d be there for at least four months.

That would be enough time.

She’d make peace with everything, think about why she was in this funk, and she’d come back to the big city replenished with a new vision. Simple and easy. Besides, it couldn’t hurt that she’d be five minutes from the beach in her apartment. Of course, her knowledge regarding Spanish was that of an eighth grader’s but she knew the closest basics, and she was a quick learner.

All she needed to do now was get to her apartment and throw herself into work and nothing more.

... 

“So…you moved out of the country just for a job?” Tink asked her as she unpacked her clothes. After she had arrived to her San Juan apartment, she proceeded to take a nap. The five-hour plane ride had not helped her back and the night before had not been a restful one.

As soon as she woke up, she proceeded to call Tink and get her explanation out with hopes of sounding more eloquent than she did in her mind.

“Well, technically Puerto Rico is part of the country.” She responded feigning nonchalance.

“Stop deflecting. Why did you just up and decide to move?”

“I don’t know. I mean—ok, I do know, but, ok…so you know how sometimes you realize that you’re not going to be happy if you keep going down the path you’re on so you decide you need to make a change, albeit a temporary one, so you can reassess everything that’s shitty with your life and figure out how to make it better?”

“Mmm…so you moved because you’re going through your quarter-life crisis.”

Emma snorted at that. “Nope. No. It’s not a crisis per se, it’s just, an adventure.”

Silence.

She continued. “Tink, I mean, it’s been good these past years, when I met you and Elsa, and even Walsh, stuff was finally falling into place. But now? I don’t know. I was just walking down by fifth ave. the other day and I saw this old couple walking their dogs. They weren’t Upper East Siders, hell, they didn’t even look like Upper West Siders, but they just looked happy. You know? And granted, it’s not that I need a man to define my happiness, because truly I don’t, but that couple was speaking a different language and I wondered what adventures they had when they were young. What places did they go to? Who did they meet? I realized that I had seen almost all of the East Coast, but nothing else. Tink—”

“It’s okay Ems, I get it. I just wish you would’ve told me a little sooner.”

“Well I didn’t have a lot of time. I mean, it was like magic. The couple, my breakdown, and the next day I was offered this case.”

“What exactly are you going to be doing down there?”

“I can’t exactly reveal all of the details, but it’s a missing person’s case.”

“And why did they contact you then?”

“Um…maybe because I’m good at my job?”

“No, I mean, I know, but why would they contact someone all the way in New York. I’m pretty sure Puerto Rico has good detectives.”

“Well, I think it may be the family. The victims lived in New York a few years back and worked closely with our office here.”

“Still seems strange, don’t you think?”

At that moment, Emma heard a knock on her door. “Hold on Tink, I’ve got a visitor.”

Emma rushed to the door and looked through the peephole. A woman with long brown hair was right outside. She opened the door and said, “Can I help you?”

“Emma Swan?”

“Yep.” The woman smiled and held out her hand.

“I’m Ruby Sánchez, I’ll be your partner detective person person.”

“Oh, hi Ruby, it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry, I thought you might have been coming later.” She said returning the hand shake. And opening her door wider, “would you like to come in?”

“Thanks.” She said as she stepped in.

“Give me a quick sec.” She returned to Tink, “Hey, Tink, I have to go, but we’ll talk later okay?”

“Sure—OH wait!” Tink said.

“What?”

“I actually think I may know someone who went to college who’s in PR now.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, his name is Killian Jones.”

“No. Tink. I already hear the gears churning in your head.”

“I haven’t said anything.” That girl sure knew how to feign innocence. “Just…I know it can be hard to make friends. I’ll reach out to him. Okay, bye.”

“No. Tink!” The line went dead and she was stuck knowing that her blonde friend still managed to meddle even when Emma was thousands of miles away. She sighed and turned to Ruby, who had taken a seat on her couch. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem, was that someone from New York?”

“Yeah, my closest friend said she knew someone who lived in Puerto Rico.”

“Really? Who?”

“Um, Killian Jones.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Do you know him?”

“Uh…yeah…but we can talk about him later. Let’s get you briefed.”

As Ruby went on to explain the case of Mary Margaret and her missing husband, David Nolan, Emma couldn’t help but look out at the PR skyline. The buildings weren’t as tall as the ones in New York, and she now knew that PR was much smaller than she thought it was.

What had she gotten herself into?

A/N: So this is my first published fanfic. Hope you enjoy it. I have a lot more planned for this story and have outlined the next few chapters. Reviews always welcome! 

Sneak Peak: As she closed her eyes to darkness and the silence of the ocean, she felt a pair of strong arms around her pull upwards.

[wistfulcynic]

Self-Promo Sunday: The Very Witching Time

Tomorrow I’ll be posting The Sleep of the Sun, my contribution for @cspupstravaganza​ and a continuation of The Very Witching Time, which I wrote for the Supernatural Summer this year. It isn’t necessary to read TVWT to read the TSotS, but just in case, here it is! 

Though it starts in summer the main action takes place in October, and there’s an eerie, witchy vibe throughout. It’s a modern setting, because I love witch!Emma as a modern woman who wears jeans and watches Netflix and uses her magic to keep her drinks hot and make her pancakes perfectly circular. But of course when she’s threatened by ancient evil she can use her magic for far more than that. Or when she meets an injured dog in the forest and needs it to heal him. 

I love this verse so much, and these versions of Emma and Killian, AND the next chapter of their lives, beyond The Sleep of the Sun, which I hope will appear next year for the Supernatural Summer! I just can’t let it go. 

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a hereditary witch, last in a long line of wise women who for centuries have guarded the coast of Maine and the small village of Storybrooke with their homemade cures and their ancient magic. She holds the delicate balance between magic and mundane, but now that balance is threatened by a new foe, one capable of bringing an end to everything Emma is and everything she loves. To defeat it she will need all her power, help from her friends and neighbours, and the loyalty of a very unusual dog who answers to the name of Killian. 

Words: 35k Rating: M (for violence and mild sexy times)  Tags: modern AU, magical AU, witchcraft AU, witch!Emma, cursed!Killian, witches, witchcraft, witch lore 

On Tumblr: One | Two | Three | Four  | Five | Six

On AO3

CHAPTER ONE:

Emma Swan lived atop a jagged cliff in a house that seemed an extension of it, rising up from the wind-hewn face into pointed towers that stood stark against the sky. The house was of the same stone as the cliff itself, great slabs of it, slabs too large to be used for construction, slabs that, observing them, one felt could have been formed only by the hand of nature and never that of man. It was a part of the landscape, that house, as old as the earth and only slightly younger than the sky, perched at the edge of those perilous cliffs in a way that made it impossible to imagine them without it.

The back of the house, or rather the front, as that was where the door was set, however, presented an altogether different aspect; one of a delightful cottage of typical grey Maine clapboard, squat and cheerful with a steeply sloping roof trimmed in white and a low stone wall surrounding a tumbledown greenhouse and a garden where bushes, trees, and flowers jumbled together and neither rhyme nor reason appeared to play any role. On the casual observer the effect was charming in an artless way, yet a keener eye would note method behind the garden’s seeming madness, an ancient wisdom in the randomness of the tumbling riots of colour that shifted and transmuted with the seasons. Where in spring it boasted bright red poppies and purple larkspur, delicate white anemones and pink blossoms on the apple trees twisting around each corner of the wall, summer brought fragrant freesia and heather for the bees, its warm breezes rustling through the tall irises and lilies. Autumn ushered in the muted oranges and yellows of chrysanthemums and the fluffy white of Queen Anne’s Lace, salvia and yarrow and berries from the rowan tree. Even in winter the garden provided: the glossy green leaves and red berries of the holly bushes brightened the snowy vista as pansies and orchids flourished in the greenhouse.

Beyond the garden wall a forest sprawled, dark and wild and perilous, from the very edge of the cliff where trees clung by their gnarled roots to the borders of the village where it dwindled into fenced yards and tidy houses. Here your casual observer would feel a shivering prickle on the back of his neck, that uncomfortable sensation of being watched by things not quite of this world that is more commonly reserved for graveyards at dusk and abandoned Victorian houses. He would move quickly through the dense woodland —yet not so quickly that he appeared to be hurrying— and upon emerging he would feel the sunshine as a balm on skin grown far colder than he’d realised.

The keen observer would, of course, not go into the forest at all.

Emma was as keen an observer as anyone could be but the forest, for all its determined menace, posed no threat to her. She relied on it, in fact, for ingredients she could not or did not wish to cultivate in her garden or greenhouse, just as it relied on her to keep a rein on its magic. Emma and the forest had an understanding.

That understanding failed to extend to the village which separated the forest from the lush farmlands which this stretch of Maine coastline boasted; the richest soil in New England it was said, guarded closely by the residents of Storybrooke who despite their distrust of it were prepared to put up with creepy forest at their backs in exchange for prosperity at their fronts. And though they rarely ventured into the woods themselves they were broad minded and mercenary enough to appreciate the labours of those who did, of Emma and the generations of witches who had come before her; wise women who kept the forest in check and the villagers placated with potions and tinctures, candles to encourage love or drive away evil spirits and balms to soothe every ailment from a bumped head to a broken heart.

And so, just as witches had done in Storybrooke from the time of the earliest settlement of her ancestors in this land, Emma kept an apothecary shop in the village, stocked with the wares she blended and brewed herself, travelling to and from it each day along the very same forest path that had been daily trodden by so many powerful women over the course of the centuries.  

The path was so familiar to her she could follow it in her sleep, which she almost did on the August afternoon when our tale begins, lulled by the muggy weight of the late summer air. The sunlight that shone so brightly on the village barely penetrated here; just a few slender shafts of it reached the forest floor, encouraging the growth of the rare plants on which Emma’s livelihood relied but doing little to alleviate the atmosphere made dense by damp heat and malign magic. Emma was blinking heavy eyelids, her mind on the cushioned bench in her garden that was so well suited to afternoon naps when the sound of an animal in distress wove its way into her drowsy consciousness.

It sounded like a dog, which caught her attention. Wilder, less domesticated creatures like cats and witches may feel comfortable enough with the forest’s demeanour to venture within, but dogs, being the keenest observers of all, tended to avoid it with the same diligence and for the same reasons as their humans did.

The noise came again, one that hovered somewhere between a whine and a growl, pained and frustrated. It tugged at Emma’s mind, clearing away her sleepy haze as from the corner of her eye she caught a quivering in the leaves of a hawthorn bush that twisted up from the undergrowth to the left of the path and the flash of a black tail just beyond it.

Without hesitating Emma plunged into the bracken, drawing on her own magic and that of the hawthorn as she went, wrapping threads of both around the bush’s thorny branches and pulling them aside to reveal a large black dog crouched at an awkward angle behind it. The dog looked up and when it saw her it stilled for a moment, staring at her with blue eyes that were almost shocking in its black face, a deep, clear blue she’d never seen on a dog before, bright and intelligent. It blinked and shook its head then looked at her again this time with a plea in those remarkable eyes, giving three quick, deep barks.

{Please help me.}

An affinity with animals was one of Emma’s gifts, and she was not surprised to hear the dog’s voice in her head. She smiled reassuringly and offered her hand.

“Hey, puppy,” she said in a low, soothing voice. “What’s the matter?”

The dog sniffed her hand then gave it a lick, its tail wagging furiously. She petted its head and scratched its ears as she slowly inched closer. It seemed remarkably calm given the circumstances but Emma had seen enough injured animals to be wary, knowing how abruptly their pain and fear could overcome them. She knelt on the ground next to it, murmuring gentle words and stroking its back, and took stock of the situation.

The dog’s front right leg was deep in what was likely a gopher hole, buried up to the middle of its shin, and though the sounds she’d heard and the state of the ground around the hole bore witness to the dog’s attempts to free itself, it was clear to Emma as indeed it would be even to the casual observer that the dog was thoroughly stuck and also that the leg was broken.

“Oh, poor baby,” she murmured. “That must hurt. I can help, if you’ll let me. Will you trust me?”

The dog looked right at her and she could see her answer in its extraordinary eyes, filled with pain but also hope and what she would swear was comprehension. It whined and gave her chin a single, gentle lick, then nodded its head.

“Well, that’s clearly a yes,” said Emma. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.” She hunched closer and examined the dog’s leg, well and truly wedged into the gopher hole, and winced. “I’m really sorry pup but this is going to hurt,” she said, looking up to catch the dog’s gaze again, marvelling at how calm it was despite its distress. She grasped its leg as gently as she could below the break and gathered her magic. “Ready? One… two…”

On three she pulled the leg from the hole, using her magic to ease its way. The dog whimpered at the pain but did not bark or growl and when its leg was free it licked her chin again.

“Okay, that’s step one,” said Emma. “Now let’s see how bad this is.” She probed the leg as delicately as she could with her fingertips, feeling the fractured bone beneath the fortunately unbroken skin. The break felt clean, with no jagged edges. “It’s not as bad as it could have been, I should be able to heal it,” she said, wondering briefly why she was explaining herself to a dog, though the animal in question was watching her intently with those intelligent eyes looking for all the world as though it knew exactly what she was saying. “I’m gonna have to set the break so there’ll be pain again and then I’ll heal it right after. Okay?”

The dog gave a short bark followed by another nod.

{Ready.}

“Okay, then,” said Emma. She gathered her magic, pulling it from the forest flowers and the leaves of the trees for backup, then as quickly as she could she snapped the broken bone back into place and wove her magic into it, knitting it together and soothing the pain in the damaged tissues.

When she finished she sat back on her heels with a sigh and closed her eyes. That was more magic than she’d used in some time and she felt a bit woozy. When she opened them again they fell immediately on the dog, who was staring at its leg in wonder.

Could dogs stare in wonder? She frowned, realising she didn’t actually know very much about the canine species. As a witch she’d always considered herself more of a cat person.  

“Give it a try,” she told the dog. “It’s all better now.”

The dog stood up and began to walk, tentatively at first and then with greater confidence. After a few loping steps it spun around and barked excitedly before trotting back to her with a delighted expression, tongue lolling from the corner of its mouth.

Emma, however, was still frowning. Despite the dog’s obvious pleasure its gait had a distinct limp and when it moved quickly it used only three legs, forgoing the left one entirely.

Its left leg… when she had healed the right.

“Hey,” she said. “Come here. Let me see that other leg.”

It limped closer and placed its left leg in her lap, a leg which she was now able to observe did not end in a paw.

“Oh, no!” she cried, bending to get a closer look at what was evidently an old injury and a badly healed one, with rough scar tissue and signs of wear where the dog had walked on it. “Oh poor you. This isn’t the first time you’ve been hurt, is it? How do you walk?”

The dog tilted its head in what was plainly a shrug.

“I guess you manage the best you can, huh? Well, I can’t give you your paw back but if you come home with me I should be able to fix you up with something to protect the end of your leg and help you walk a bit better. How does that sound?”

The dog licked her face enthusiastically and barked, and now that the press of emergency had passed she noticed the peculiar cadence of its cry.

“Aye!” barked the dog.  

Emma blinked. She may not be the world’s foremost authority on dogs, but even she knew that they were supposed to say things like “woof” or “arf.” She’d never heard of a dog saying “aye” before.

“Aye?” she repeated with a laugh. “Well, I guess that’s pretty obviously agreement.” She stood and brushed the dirt and twigs from her legs as the dog stood patiently in its slightly off-kilter way. “What should I call you?” she asked it. “I don’t suppose you have a name.”

Killian.

The name sprang into her mind, though the dog hadn’t barked. “Killian?” she repeated, startled.

“Aye!” barked the dog.

“Really?”  

“Aye!”  

“You sure? It’s not Spot or Buster or Joe or something?”

The dog looked affronted, and she laughed again. “All right, Killian it is then. I guess that means you’re a boy.”

“Aye!”

“Well okay, Killian, let’s go. We can have some dinner and then I’ll see what I can do about that paw.”

Killian bounded in an excited circle around her, his tail a blur. He moved remarkably well, considering, she thought, even as she laughed at his antics, and soon he’d settled into a limping trot alongside her as she headed home.

When they reached her garden gate she opened it and went straight in but Killian halted with a short bark of distress. She turned in surprise at the sound to see him pacing to and fro in front of the gate, whining softly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him.

He whined louder and gave two short barks.

{Not welcome.}

“But why wouldn’t you be—” Emma frowned. The wards around her garden were designed to keep humans away, permitting none to enter without permission. But they shouldn’t have any effect on a dog.

Should they?

She really needed to learn more about dogs, she thought with mild irritation. This was clearly a gaping hole in her education.

In the meantime she called to the magic in the ancient warding spells, and spoke the age-old words to quieten them. “I see thee, Killian, and I name thee friend,” she said, in a voice that echoed through the open air. “Be welcome in this place.”

The magic of her garden surged and she held out her arms as it rippled and danced around her, ruffling her hair and gilding her skin with tiny sparks of light. Killian stared at her with wonder in his eyes again, and when the sparks faded away and she lowered her arms he cautiously stepped through the gate. The moment he crossed its threshold the garden’s magic… sighed, a soft exhale that sang of enduring hopes fulfilled at too long last, and curled itself around him, ruffling his fur as it had her hair.

Now it was Emma’s turn to stare. Her magic had never done that before. She gaped as Killian seemed to smirk —could dogs smirk?— at the unseen attention he was getting before rolling onto his back and letting the garden’s magic rub his tummy.

“Seriously?” cried Emma. “That’s enough of that, from both of you, Killian, come inside.”

She marched over to the cottage door and pulled it open. Killian leapt to his feet and ran after her, pausing just at the doorstep to wink at the garden before trotting into her kitchen.

Could dogs wink?

Emma made a mental note to dig up a book on canine behaviours later that night. There must be one in her library. Somewhere.

“I don’t have much that’s suitable for dogs,” she warned him as she opened the icebox. “But I think I’ve got some hamburgers in here if that’s okay—”

“Aye! Aye!”

“Okay, let me just heat them up.”

She defrosted the hamburgers with some gentle warming magic and put them on a plate for him. The minute she set it on the floor he dove in, gobbling up the meat with enthusiasm bordering on frenzy.

“Wow, you were hungry! How long has it been since you ate?”

He looked up at her and licked his chops, tail wagging vigorously, and barked twice before digging in again.

{Long time.}

“Well, don’t eat too fast, it’ll make you sick.”

Emma made herself a sandwich and munched it as she watched him diligently try to eat more slowly. When the last morsel was gone he lapped the plate clean then came over to her and licked her hand in thanks, wagging his tail as she scritched his ears before relaxing back onto his haunches and giving her the opportunity to observe him.

He was, as she had noticed in the woods, a large dog, though not a bulky one, with long slender legs and lean muscles. Standing, his head reached her waist with his shoulders around the middle of her thigh. His fur was thick and shaggy and a deep, light-absorbing black, though a v-shaped tuft right in the centre of his chest was bright white and fluffy and so soft-looking that her fingers itched to pet it.

He watched her examine him with a twinkle in his blue eyes that she was certain couldn’t be normal for a dog, as though he knew what she was thinking. She popped the last bite of sandwich into her mouth and when he pouted —did dogs pout?— she gave him a small smirk. “You had your dinner,” she said firmly. “You can’t have mine too. Now what do you say we go and see what can be done about that paw.”

She stood and left the kitchen, Killian at her heels, and headed past the living room and the closed library door, through a dark and narrow passageway towards the rear of the house. As she approached, the solid-seeming wall at the end of the corridor began to shimmer with the same sparking light that had surrounded her in the garden and a doorway appeared, wrought from the same stone as the slabs of the house itself, curving elegantly to form a pointed Gothic arch and frame a door of solid wood, thick and heavy and older than anything that surrounded it.

The door swung open as Emma drew near and she breezed through it without a thought. Killian, sensing the darker energy emanating from the other side, hesitated as he had at the garden gate. Emma turned, her smile understanding.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “It’s not dangerous, just old. Old things are sometimes… indifferent to younger ones. But it won’t hurt you. Nothing will hurt you here.”

Hesitantly he came through the doorway, moving slowly to allow the magic there to get a sense of him. It was less welcoming than the garden had been, but not hostile. As Emma said, it was simply indifferent. This magic had seen too many mortal creatures come and go in its time to care overly much about yet another one.

Emma led him into a large stone room with no windows, the tall, thick candles lining the walls its only source of light. These she set burning with a wave of her hand and the illumination they produced flooded the room with a golden glow despite their modest number. Stone stairs curved up the walls on either side of the room, leading to the towers that flanked the house, their twin helixes twisting up and disappearing into a darkness too dense even for the candles to penetrate. A heavy and cluttered wooden table spanned the length of the far wall, and this Emma approached, producing a thick, soft blanket of deep midnight blue scattered with stars from a woven wicker basket beneath it.

She spread the blanket carefully over the centre of the otherwise bare stone floor, placing at each of its corners a small silver bowl filled with sea salt and thyme and a few dried violet leaves, murmuring a short incantation over them as she did. “Sit here,” she instructed Killian, indicating the centre of the blanket. “I’ll need a few minutes to get my things together.”

Obediently, he sat and watched her in fascination as she rifled through the jumbled collection of bottles, jars, and bags on the table, frowning and muttering to herself as she did.

“…comfrey and rosemary and a bit of peppermint, sage to infuse and to burn…” she intoned as she gathered the named ingredients together. When all were assembled she snapped her fingers to light a fire beneath her copper kettle, then carefully weighed out the herbs on her silver scales while the water inside it came to a boil. She blended the herbs in a large mortar, crushing and grinding them with the pestle to blend them well and draw out their essence before tipping them carefully into a painted ceramic pot and pouring the boiling water over them. Stirring them gently with her magic, with her fingertips she traced arcane symbols through the steam as it rose from the pot into the cool, still air.

When she judged the herbs sufficiently infused she strained their liquid through a clean cheesecloth into a wide copper bowl. As it cooled to a comfortable temperature, she removed a lump of pure silver from a leather bag, holding it up to observe its gleam in the candlelight. The lump was large but to complete the healing properly would require all of it, and it was also precious. Glancing behind her she saw Killian sitting patiently, watching her, his eyes wide and curious but not afraid. Trusting.

He was worth it. She felt sure of that, and though she had no idea why she did not vacillate. Emma had long since learned to trust her instincts.  

She took a bundle of dried sage and held it up to a candle flame until it caught —some fires needed to be started in the mundane way— then blew the flame out with a quick puff of breath and waved the smouldering herbs around the blanket and over the copper bowl before dropping them into the potion. Carefully she lifted the bowl and carried it to the blanket, kneeling down upon it and placing the bowl in front of Killian. Closing her eyes she muttered a brief incantation before taking his damaged leg and bathing it in the warm liquid, her fingers gentle but thorough, making sure to clean away all the dirt and debris from the gnarled scar tissue. He growled softly, deep in his throat, and she shot him a smile, knowing it was a growl of pleasure.

“Feels good, huh?” she said. “Soothing.”

“Aye.” His bark was as low as his growl.

{Good.}

When his leg was clean she dried it with a linen cloth and set it in her lap, then took out the lump of silver, placing it at the end of his leg and cupping both loosely in the palms of her hands. Closing her eyes once more she focused her powers and drew forth the metal’s own magic, its primal properties of health and healing, her hands beginning to spark and glow with light as she kneaded the silver, stretching and weaving it back into itself, moulding the lump into the shape of a dog’s paw and then knitting it into the damaged flesh of the leg. Killian watched with wide eyes, whimpering slightly as the metal sank into his skin and fused to his bones. The light from Emma’s hands burst into a sudden blinding brightness, flickered out, and the silver paw was part of him.

Emma slumped back on her heels, exhausted. “Whew,” she said. “Done.” She patted the metal paw. “Give it a try.”

Killian sniffed the paw, licked at the seam where it joined his leg, then tentatively placed it on the floor and leaned his weight on it. He took a few careful steps followed by bolder ones, then turned to Emma with an incredulous expression. She laughed, happy he was happy. “Go on, stretch yourself,” she encouraged.

“Aye!” he barked, frolicking joyfully around the room, spinning in circles and leaping through the air. He ran to Emma and jumped on her, putting his paws on her shoulders and licking her face until she pushed him away, grinning through a jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m glad you like it,” she told him as she rose unsteadily from the floor. “I gotta get to bed. Um…” she swayed on her feet and Killian was there immediately at her side, pressing firmly against her leg and letting her brace herself with her hand on his neck as she stumbled from the stone room and out the doorway.

It disappeared behind her, the magic within whispering far more warmly than before, no longer so indifferent to Killian as it had been.

Emma sank her fingers into his thick fur, clinging to him as she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. Her head felt heavy and woozy, her fingers and toes numb. Moving clumsily she kicked off her shorts and unhooked her bra, pulling it from beneath her tank top with jerky movements and dropping it to the floor before collapsing into bed, sinking deep into the pillows. Dimly she was aware of Killian moving around the room, his fur soft against her skin as he pulled the blankets up over her, the warm weight of him curling up at her back, his chin resting on her hip. With the last of her energy she reached up to stroke his head then fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

                                                    ~~🌺~~

Some hours later Killian was awoken from his doze when the magic from Emma’s garden called to him. He lifted his head from where it still lay on her hip and gave a low growl, staring through the bedroom window into the pitch blackness of the night.

Something was out beyond the garden wall, moving around its perimeter, methodically testing the magical boundary in search of weaknesses. Killian could sense it there, could feel its cold determination and intent even without the garden’s warning.

Threat, whispered the garden magic in his mind. Danger. Stay with her.

Killian flexed his new silver paw, feeling the power that still thrummed within it, feeling the absence of pain in his left limb for the first time in many a year. He looked at the golden haired woman still sound asleep, drained to exhaustion by the act of healing him, of selflessly giving him this invaluable gift. He recalled her warm green eyes and kind smile, the strength and gentleness in her touch.

He lay back down, pressing tighter against her, curling his neck around her hip and placing his silver paw gently over her waist. He closed his eyes again and answered the garden’s plea.

{Always.}

Tis now the very witching time of night,

When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out

Contagion to this world.

                                   —Hamlet, Act III Scene 2

Continue to Chapter 2 

[wistfulcynic]

The Very Witching Time (2 / 4)

Wednesday is witch day! 

HUGE THANK YOU to all of you for the enthusiastic response to this story! I’m so happy you liked dog!Killian, he is dear to my heart and will be epic in later chapters.

Not this one, here he’s just adorable. But later. 

Of course thanks also go to @cssns and to @gingerchangeling for the brilliant art. 

And to @thisonesatellite because we all need someone we can discuss entrails with. 

In this chapter we see Emma’s shop, a slice of Storybrooke life, some bonding moments and a hint of the danger to come. 

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a hereditary witch, last in a long line of wise women who for centuries have guarded the coast of Maine and the small village of Storybrooke with their homemade cures and their ancient magic. She holds the delicate balance between magic and mundane, but now that balance is threatened by a new foe, one capable of bringing an end to everything Emma is and everything she loves. To defeat it she will need all her power, help from her friends and neighbours, and the loyalty of a very unusual dog who answers to the name of Killian.  

RATING: M, mostly for future violence

AO3 | Tumblr

TAGGING: @thisonesatellite, @stahlop, @mariakov81, @kmomof4, @snowbellewells, @jennjenn615, @resident-of-storybrooke, @teamhook, @thejollyroger-writer, @winterbaby89, @darkcolinodonorgasm, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd @shireness-says @scientificapricot @tiganasummertree

(if you’d like a tag, please let me know!)

CHAPTER 2:

Emma awoke to the bright summer sun shining through her bedroom window and to warmth that did not come from it; to the comforting heat of a body pressed against her and snoring gently at her back, the softness of silky fur between her fingers. 

Typical, she thought. The first time in a decade I don’t wake up alone and the man in my bed is a dog. 

She yawned and stretched, vaguely surprised at how thoroughly rested she felt, and without the hangover she often had after using so much magic all at once. Killian leapt to his feet the moment she began to stir and licked her chin, tail wagging eagerly. 

“Good morning,” she said. “How’s your paw?” 

He barked and held it up for her to see.

{Good.} 

“It looks good,” she agreed, examining it closely. “The silver’s woven with the flesh better than I expected, you might actually have some movement in it.” 

“Aye!” he barked, flexing the paw to show her. 

She smiled in pure delight. “That’s great! It won’t be quite the same as a real paw, but you’ll be able to walk a lot better. Oh, I’m so pleased for you.” She rubbed his head enthusiastically and scratched behind his ears, laughing as his back leg began to thump against the mattress. “Just don’t get it stuck in any more gopher holes, okay?”

“Aye!” 

“Good.” She gave his ears a final scratch then surprised herself by dropping a light kiss on his head. He looked at her, blue eyes wide in awe, and she actually blushed. “You want some breakfast?” she asked him, to cover her confusion.

“Aye! Aye!” 

“Well you ate all my hamburgers, but I might be prepared to share some pancakes with you if you promise to be a good boy.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her. 

Can dogs raise eyebr— you know what, no, she thought. She wasn’t going to keep asking that question. This dog raised eyebrows and winked and pouted, and probably all manner of other things, and she was just going to roll with it. There were greater mysteries even in the mundane realm than one slightly odd dog. 

She smirked in response. “So what do you say? Pancakes?”

“Aye! Aye! Aye!” He spun in a circle as he barked, making the bed shake and Emma laugh. 

“Okay, that’s definitely a yes. Come on, then.” 

He leapt off the bed and trotted to the door, smooth and steady on his new paw, waiting until she’d pulled on a short bathrobe before bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen. The room was bright and cheerful in the morning light, the sunshine that streamed through the wide windows matching the pale yellow of the walls and brightening the blue-grey of the kitchen cabinets and the worn flagstone floor. Emma opened one of these cabinets and withdrew a large cast iron griddle, placing it on the gas hob and lightning the flame beneath it with a spark of her magic. 

Her magic felt particularly sparky this morning, she thought, and stronger than it ever had.

“You know, I feel really refreshed,” she remarked, taking the pancake mix from the cupboard and measuring it into a large glass bowl with a handle and spout, putting in more than twice the amount of mix she would normally use for herself. She hoped it would be enough, the box was nearly empty. “I slept amazingly well. I guess maybe it’s because I used so much magic, but normally after a spell like that I nap for a couple of hours, not sleep through the whole night.” 

Killian moved to a spot beneath the kitchen table and sat, tail wagging and blue eyes attentive. She smiled at him. “That’s probably also why I’m awake so early. I’m that guy who hits ‘snooze’ three times then has to run to work, usually. Good thing I’m self-employed.” 

“Aye!” She looked down to see him smirking at her. Yes damn it, smirking. This dog could smirk. 

“Okay, smartass,” she chuckled, stirring the batter. “It’s a really gorgeous morning, too, I’m glad I’m awake for it. It’ll probably be hot as fuck later but right now the temperature’s perfect. And not too humid. I hate humid, it makes my fingers swell.”

She tested the heat of the griddle then poured the batter onto it, into perfect circles identical in size, because messy pancakes were something that happened to non-witches. 

“Days like this, I kinda hate having to stay indoors,” she continued as she took up her metal spatula, tapping it against her cheek as she watched the pancakes cook. “That’s the drawback to being self-employed, because I could close the shop if I wanted, there’s no one to stop me. It’s tempting sometimes. But then I remember how I need to do things like eat and pay for Netflix and that keeps me motivated. And also, I guess, myself,” she said after a short pause, flipping the pancakes with a deft precision born of practice and magic. “I keep me motivated, I mean. I like keeping my shop. I like helping people, using my power and my heritage for something useful and good.” She gave a small, embarrassed laugh and shrugged a single shoulder. “It feels good to be needed.”  

Now Emma, in common with many independent-minded people who live alone, had long since learned to be comfortable in her own company. She could, and often did, go hours or even days without talking. Silence did not trouble her; in fact it often calmed her when she found the endless chatter and noise of the modern world a bit too trying. She was a woman who made friends cautiously, revealed herself only slowly, only when she could be sure the recipient of her confidences was one she could trust. 

She also deeply disliked having anyone in her house. 

So when you observe her behaviour with this peculiar blue-eyed dog, how she welcomes him into her home and feeds him, speaks openly about her deepest thoughts and feelings as though she has known him for years and not less than a day, you must understand fully what that means. 

Healing magic forms a bond. But this is something more. 

Of course even the most closed off of women could easily find herself beguiled by the sweet attention of a handsome dog, and many did. The explanation could be as simple as that. 

It absolutely could be.

But although Emma remained oblivious of any peculiarity in her demeanour with Killian, when she set a plate stacked high with pancakes on the floor in front of him and he licked her hand and grinned at her, the expression in those bright blue eyes left no doubt in any part of her mind that she could trust him with far more than a few secrets. 

He began to eat and she shook her head with a small laugh then sat down at the table to join him. They ate in companionable silence, and Emma reflected absently that it was nice to have someone to talk to and all the nicer to have someone to be silent with. She’d not had either in her life for some time. 

Emma swiped the dregs of syrup on her plate with her last bite of her pancakes just as Killian licked up the final few crumbs of his, and once she had cleared away both plates he ran to the door and gave her a Look. 

“I got you,” she chuckled, opening it for him. “You go take care of business, I’m gonna shower and get ready for work.” 

“Aye!” he barked, and raced into the garden. 

When she came back downstairs forty-five minutes later, washed and dressed and ready for the day, she looked out the window to see him frolicking through her flowers as the garden’s magic tossed green acorns through the air for him to chase. Emma pursed her lips and with a wave of her hand summoned all the books with any information on dogs and magic that she could find from her library. 

She was perfectly prepared to accept a dog who smirked at her and clearly understood her words —she was a witch, after all, and had seen stranger things— but a dog whom her garden magic greeted like a long-lost friend and indulged with an almost girlish affection, that was a dog who warranted a bit of investigation. 

She chose the two books that seemed the least arcane and slipped them into her bag before heading outside into sunshine already grown uncomfortably intense. 

“Killian, I’m off to work—” she began and immediately he ran to the gate, looking at her expectantly, tail quivering. He barked twice. 

{Come with.} 

“Really?” 

“Aye!”

“I mean, okay, but it’s not very interesting. I sit in a shop all day and wait for people to come in and complain about things. You sure you wouldn’t rather stay here?” 

It did not occur to her that he might have other options beyond staying in her house and coming to her shop. 

He barked again. 

{Come with!} 

“Well, all right, if you insist. We’d better get going now though, or we’ll be late.” 

She opened the gate and headed into the forest, missing the brief whisper of the garden’s magic as it rustled through Killian’s fur. 

Keep her safe. 

Killian nodded and raced through the gate. It swung shut behind him with a decisive click and he settled into a steady trot at Emma’s side as she made her way into the lowering gloom of the forest. 

~~🌺~~

Emma’s shop occupied the broad and bustling corner of downtown Storybrooke where Main Street intersected with Hornbeam, but announced its presence and purpose with little more than cheerful window displays and a small sign that swung from an ornate wrought-iron mounting on creaky hinges. Its external appearance had remained remarkably unchanged across the centuries, with wide windows of gently rippling glass framed in weathered wood on both sides of the corner, one for each of the streets, flooding the space within in natural light at all hours of the day. Inside, the shop was divided into two sections. On the left, from the perspective of an entering customer, was the apothecary: a heavy wooden cabinet roughly three feet tall and six wide with dozens of drawers of various sizes, hewn from the core of an oak by Emma’s five-times great grandfather when the shop first opened. Behind this behemoth rows of hand-carved shelves lined the wall from floor to ceiling, laden with tall jars containing powders and potions, balms and tinctures, which Emma would carefully measure into glass bottles stoppered with corks that her customers were expected to return or reuse. The Swan apothecary had been green since the seventeenth century. 

The right-hand side of the shop featured what she called the grocery, a scattering of ornately carved tables of varying heights and widths backed by another wall of shelves, all displaying Emma’s non-medicinal wares: becharmed and decorated candles, floral soaps and bath salts, specially blended teas and local honey, even spice and herb blends for cooking. These her customers could collect in wicker baskets provided for the purpose and carry away, should they neglect to bring their own bags, wrapped in brown paper and tied with jute string. 

In a town only lightly touched by the passage of time, one that even in the thick of the 21st century maintained an air both ancient and arcane, the small shop bore witness to the enduring power of true magic. Dedicated in 1663, it had stood as a pebble against the flood of the earliest witch hunts that flowed from Puritan England into the New World and swept away none but innocents. Storybrooke’s escape from that madness and from the frenzy that gripped Salem some three decades later owed entirely to it being the one town in New England to boast an actual witch, and to residents who had known even then how fortunate they were for it. 

The witchfinders had never even heard of the place. No allegations for them to investigate were ever made. And thus Storybrooke had sat precariously at the spot where the veil between realms was thinnest, guarding the witches that guarded the town, for well over three centuries.

~~🌺~~

That bright and blazing August morning passed through the little shop in much the manner Emma had predicted. She made Killian comfortable in a corner on an improvised bed made of hessian bags and with a bowl of water in easy reach, then settled down behind the apothecary counter to read up on magical dogs. Time ticked peacefully away, the quiet of the little shop broken only by the sound of pages turning and soft canine snores, and interrupted by customers only three times. 

First to arrive was Granny, looking to restock her headache cure and unburden herself of some opinions. 

“Leroy and Doc got into a shouting match at the diner this morning,” she grumbled as Emma weighed out the chalky white powder on her brass scales and tipped it into Granny’s clean glass jar. “Something about the way Doc parks the Miata. You should’ve heard the ruckus. I swear, that pair of idiots and their brothers would drive a weaker woman to drink.”

“Mmmm,” said Emma.

Not half an hour later the shop door was flung open to admit Leroy, scowling and fuming and seeking a curse to put on his brother’s car. 

“Leroy, how many times do I have to tell you I don’t sell curses, or hexes or jinxes or evil eyes,” huffed Emma in exasperation.

“Maybe not for people, sister, but this is for a car!” 

“Oh, right, well that makes all the difference, just let me get my huge stash of car curses—” 

“Really?”

“No, obviously not really! For Pete’s sake, just tell Doc to park the Miata someplace else!” 

  Leroy stomped away and was succeeded mere moments later by Doc himself, glancing anxiously and frequently out the window at his pristinely kept red car, asking about a protection spell. 

“I can’t give you a protection spell for your car,” said Emma, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Because it’s a car. Why don’t you just park it somewhere safe?”

“Nowhere is safe from Leroy!” 

“I’m sorry, Doc, but that is really not my problem.”

Killian observed these exchanges with evident amusement, wagged his tail when Granny bent down to scratch his ears, and barked loudly when Leroy stalked past the Main Street window carrying a baseball bat. 

{Watch out! Watch out!} 

Emma knew Doc couldn’t hear Killian’s voice the way she could but he understood the bark all the same, racing from the shop with a shout of terror as Emma and Killian shared an eye roll. 

All this left ample time for Emma’s research, and she was frustrated to discover that her books had very little useful information to impart on the subject of dogs and magic. There was a fair amount about dogs and luck, and how on some occasions they could be portents or omens, and of course many stories about their loyalty and devotion to their humans. Then there were the dogs or dog-adjacent creatures of various underworlds —Anubis, for one, and Cerberus— and there was the Grim, described as a large black dog with eyes like hot coals. 

Emma glanced at Killian, lounging like a Roman emperor on his makeshift bed. He was a big black dog but his eyes were the furthest imaginable thing from hot coals, and she doubted very much that he was a portent of death. No dog whose tongue lolled from the corner of his mouth when he got excited was going to be bearing any souls off to the netherworld. 

He felt her eyes on him and looked up inquisitively. 

“Let’s get some lunch,” she said, and he jumped up eagerly. “I usually just get a sandwich from Granny’s, and I realise now, after I fed you pancakes, that I have no idea what dogs should and shouldn’t eat. I mean, can you have a sandwich?”

“Aye!” 

“You’d say that no matter what I offered, wouldn’t you?”

“Aye!” 

“Maybe Granny will know,” said Emma, closing the shop door behind them and locking it with a flick of her wrist. 

~~🌺~~

“I reckon a sandwich wouldn’t hurt him, though he really should have meat,” said Granny in response to her inquiry. “Got some nice roast beef in the back if you think he’d like it—” 

“Aye!”

Granny’s eyebrows rose in an expression of surprise so out of character that Emma’s own rose in response. “Never heard a bark like that before. Where’d you say he came from?”

“I didn’t,” replied Emma, feeling a tingle in her magic that suggested perhaps the tale of her and Killian’s meeting wasn’t one that should become common knowledge just yet. “So you think I should get him some meat?” 

“You could just get a few cans of dog food…” began Granny, trailing off when Killian gave a growl that could only be described as menacing. “Or not.” She frowned at Killian, who wagged his tail, though a warning remained in his eyes. “Hmmm. I’ll just go get that roast beef now.” 

Killian gave her a sharp look and three barks to match it.  

{You do that.} 

“Remember how you promised to be a good boy if I gave you pancakes?” hissed Emma under her breath as Granny disappeared into the kitchen. 

He licked her hand and his tail wagged faster.

“Oh, and I suppose you think you’re always a good boy,” she said, rubbing behind his ear. 

“Aye!” His tongue lolled and he was her sweet puppy again. 

Your ‘sweet puppy??’ You are losing your mind, woman. 

Maybe she was a dog person after all, Emma reflected, as Killian’s back paw began to thump rhythmically on the floor in response to the ear scritches. 

Granny returned with Emma’s grilled cheese and a plate piled high with roast beef. She set it down in front of Killian somewhat warily, but he gave her the happy-big-blue-eyes and a brief lick of gratitude, and wagged his tail so enthusiastically that the old woman softened and gave his head a pat before going back behind the counter. Emma watched the exchange with mild exasperation. 

“You think you’re awfully charming, don’t you?” she asked him, as soon as Granny was out of earshot. He paused in his eating to grin at her, a cheeky, teasing grin that plainly said of course he thought he was charming, and she’d seen the evidence of it herself. 

Emma rolled her eyes, but a gentle warmth settled into her chest and refused to be budged even by her most stalwart cynicism. 

~~🌺~~

That afternoon there were thankfully no further disturbances. Doc’s Miata disappeared from the street but the absence of any irate dwarves bursting into her shop and demanding vengeance potions reassured Emma that he had simply moved it and not found it smashed to bits with a baseball bat or driven off a cliff or something. 

Around half past three she went into the small office and kitchen area at the back of the shop to make a cup of tea and refresh the water in Killian’s bowl. The tea she selected was a blend she’d devised herself: silver needle white tea leaves blended with peppermint to sharpen the mind and chamomile to soothe the nerves, hyssop for the gut and a touch of lavender for the blood. The resulting brew was fragrant and comforting, and Emma, who did not have the gift of sight but rather the much more practical ability to recognise patterns in the universe, made a large pot of it and took out two cups. 

When she returned to the shop she found Killian on his back, writhing in bliss as a petite woman with a dark pixie cut rubbed his belly. 

“Who’s a good doggy,” she cooed, running her fingers through his fur. “Oh you are! Yes you are!” 

Killian stretched his legs clear to the toes, arching his back as she rubbed her hands over his entire midsection. 

“Oh, you’re so handsome, aren’t you,” gushed the woman. “Just the handsomest doggy.” 

Emma laid the tea tray on the counter with a clattering bang. “Don’t encourage him,” she said a bit crossly. “He’s got a healthy enough ego as it is.” 

The woman looked up. “Where’d he come from?” she asked. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a dog person.” 

“Me neither,” said Emma, pouring the tea. “I sort of found him.” 

“Sort of?” The woman gave Killian a final pat and he rolled back upright, tongue lolling and blue eyes bright. 

“It’s a long story, Mary Margaret. For another time.” Emma handed her friend a cup and the women sipped their tea in unison. 

“Oh, this one’s perfect,” sighed Mary Margaret, closing her eyes and taking a deeper sip. “You always manage to choose the tea I need most. I’ve had a bitch of a day.” 

“I thought school didn’t start until next week?” 

“It doesn’t. I’m all set up and ready to go when it does and was actually feeling really positive about the new year. And then last night my stepsister showed up.” 

“Stepsister?”

“Yeah. Regina. You remember, Cora’s daughter from her first marriage.” 

Killian’s ears perked up and his eyes narrowed. 

“Oh that’s right,” said Emma, recalling Mary Margaret’s wedding. “The evil stepsister.” 

“The one who put gum in my hair and pulled the heads off my dolls when we were kids and then tried to seduce my fiancé the night before our wedding? Yep, that’s her.” 

“So what’s she doing here?”

“I don’t know,” said Mary Margaret, rubbing her temples. “She showed up just before midnight with leaves in her hair and wouldn’t tell me where they came from or why she was there or anything. She just demanded to use the guest room, went upstairs, and slammed the door. Then this morning she commandeered my laptop and she’s been on it all day. I wish I knew what was going on. David’s about ready to kick her out.” 

“Why doesn’t he?”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.” Mary Margaret muttered into her teacup. 

“I won’t.” 

Mary Margaret shot her a skeptical look over the cup’s rim.

“Okay,” conceded Emma, “Maybe I will but you should tell me anyway.” 

Mary Margaret sighed. “It’s just— as awful as Regina was to me growing up I’ve always had the sense that deep down inside she might be okay. Like she could actually be a good person if Cora would just leave her alone. I mean, anyone would be nasty with that witch for a mother.” 

“Hey!”

Mary Margaret’s eyes went wide as she remembered whom she was speaking to. “Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean— you know what I meant.” 

Emma was frowning. “Is Cora a practitioner?”

“Um,” Mary Margaret frowned as well. “I don’t think so, why?”

“It’s just you don’t normally use the word ‘witch’ in a derogatory way, at least not when I’m around.” 

“I said sorry.” 

“I know, but I was just wondering if maybe there was something subconscious that made you say it.” 

Mary Margaret thought hard for a minute. “Well I can’t say for sure. I never noticed her doing any of the witch stuff you do, but then I stayed out of her way as much as possible. She always terrified me, and I never could understand why my dad— I mean, she was just so awful.” 

Killian gave a small growl that sounded like agreement and Emma pointed her frown in his direction. He wagged his tail, doing his best to look innocent, but she could see worry behind his eyes. And fear. 

“Killian, are you—” she began, breaking off abruptly as the shop door opened and she turned to see who was there.

Two women stood in the doorway, both immaculately dressed even on this sweltering day and wearing matching haughty looks. One, the younger of the two, with thick dark hair framing her face and wine-red lipstick Emma couldn’t help but envy, she recognised as Mary Margaret’s stepsister Regina. 

She turned to look at the older woman, whose lighter brown hair was twisted into an elegant updo and whose mouth was twisted to match it. 

Cora, I presume, thought Emma. Her magic was tingling almost painfully. This woman was definitely a practitioner, and an accomplished one. 

The four women stood staring at each other, and none of them noticed Killian slink silently out of sight behind the apothecary counter. 

The charged silence had dragged out long past the point of discomfort by the time Regina spoke. “I just came to say thank you,” she said stiffly, addressing Mary Margaret. “For putting me up last night.” 

Had she declared her intention of dancing naked down Main Street singing The Star Spangled Banner, Mary Margaret could not have been more astonished. 

“Uh… you’re welcome?” she said. 

“Good.” Regina nodded, then looked at the older woman. “Shall we go, Mother?”

“One moment.” Cora’s voice was as haughty as her face, so cold that its chill cut through the muggy heat of the day and travelled on icy feet up Emma’s spine. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Mary Margaret?”

Mary Margaret’s face contorted as she tried to process what was happening. “This is… Emma,” she said slowly. “She owns the shop.” 

“A witch, then,” purred Cora. 

“The witch, in this town anyway,” replied Emma, keeping her cool despite her unease and the frantic thrum of her magic. She had no intention of showing weakness, not when Cora was clearly there to get the measure of her. 

But why? What’s she after? 

“I see.” Cora stared at her for a long moment then gave a small nod, turned on her heel, and stalked from the shop without another word. 

Regina looked at Emma and Mary Margaret with an expression that on a different face might have been apologetic. She made an awkward gesture with her hand, somewhere between a wave and a shrug. “Goodbye,” she said, then hurried after her mother. 

Mary Margaret and Emma exchanged glances. 

“That was weird, right?” said Mary Margaret. “I’m not just imagining that that was weird?”

“No it was definitely weird,” Emma confirmed. Weird and ominous. She flexed her fingers, still tingling from the anxiety in her magic, and looked around for Killian.

He poked his head around the side of the counter then slowly emerged from behind it, trotting over to Emma and pressing himself firmly against her. He looked up at her with wide, concerned eyes and gave a small whimper.

{Dangerous.}

“Yeah.” She stroked his ears in a way she hoped was reassuring, though the truth was his solid strength and soft fur against her leg was reassuring her.  

“Yeah what?” asked Mary Margaret. Emma shook herself and attempted a smile. “Nothing, just thinking out loud,” she replied. “Do you want another cup of tea?”

~~🌺~~

Mary Margaret didn’t stay long after she finished her tea, giving Killian a generous ear scratch as she left and promising to keep Emma updated on any further contact she might have with Regina or Cora. 

“I mean, it’s probably nothing,” she said with a shrug. “A weird nothing, sure, but still nothing.” 

Emma was far less certain, but she didn’t want to burden Mary Margaret with her suspicions or the knowledge that her stepmother was an actual as well as a metaphorical witch. “Yeah, probably,” she agreed. “But I’ve got a tickle in my magic and I’d prefer to be careful.” 

“Okay. I’ll let you know.” Mary Margaret hugged her goodbye and left. 

After she had gone several more people stopped by on their way home from work to pick up various teas and balms and candles, but by six o’clock the streets were mostly silent and so she closed up the shop and headed home, stopping briefly at the market to get Killian some food. 

“No dog food,” she assured him as she emerged from the building to find him waiting patiently and with a slight air of suspicion. “Some ground beef and some chicken and some more pancake mix. Since you liked the pancakes so much.” 

“Aye!” His tongue lolled and his eyes brightened with excitement, all traces of his earlier fear swept away. 

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, don’t get used to it, most mornings I don’t feel like cooking.” 

“Aye!”  

“Just so we’re on the same page. C’mon, let’s go home.” 

She moved to sling the cotton bag she used to haul her groceries over her shoulder, but Killian caught a corner of it gently in his teeth. 

“Whoa, at least wait until we get home!” teased Emma.

He gave her a wounded look and barked twice. 

{I’ll help.}

“You want to carry the bag?” she asked dubiously. 

“Aye!” 

“Are you sure?”

“Aye!” 

“Well, okay.” She held out the bag and he bent his head so she could loop the long handles around his neck, ensuring that they weren’t too tight against his throat and resting the bag on his shoulder so it wouldn’t impede his legs. He let her fuss until she was satisfied then licked her hand, tail wagging energetically. She chuckled. “Well aren’t you the gentleman?”

He raised an eyebrow again —seriously, how did he do that— and gave three quick barks. 

{Always a gentleman.} 

“You know, I believe you are,” said Emma. 

They walked side-by-side through the forest with Emma’s hand resting on Killian’s neck, her fingers gently sifting through his fur. Humidity hung heavily in the air; even with the cooler temperatures within the forest’s shade moisture clung to them, beading in Killian’s fur and trickling down Emma’s back and leaving both with the impression that they might as well be swimming home. 

“This weather is so gross,” said Emma, fanning her shirt in an attempt to dry her skin. “I can’t wait for fall.”

“Aye!” 

“It’s always been my favourite season,” she continued, smiling at the thought of cooler weather, and at the rapt attention she sensed from the dog at her side. “I love when the air gets crisp and the leaves change, and I can start wearing sweaters. October’s the best month, and not just because it’s my birthday. It’s the month when the world is at its most magical, just earthly magic at first with the fiery colours in the leaves and the slant of the sunlight, and the equinox, but then on the 31st is Samhain, when the veil between magical and mundane is so thin you can almost reach through it. Magic just comes alive on Samhain and it’s the most incredible rush.” 

She looked down at him and he grinned at her, his eyes bright with interest. She smiled, fingers tightening on his fur. “We’ll have a bonfire in the garden on Samhain night, and then at midnight the covenant with the forest is renewed.” Lost in her thoughts, she missed Killian’s sudden frown. “Honestly, it’s the absolute best time of the year.”

“Aye!” he agreed, though something about the covenant with the forest troubled him. 

As they drew closer to Emma’s house Killian felt his hackles rise. He sniffed the air, his sensitive nose picking up a multitude of scents that his brain was able to distinguish but not put a name to. Brown earthy scents and fresh green ones, soft flowers and gamy animals, all held captive and intensified in the damp stasis of the air. And pervading all of this, surrounding it and sustaining it and within it, he could smell magic. Emma’s own magic, of course, and that belonging to the forest plants and creatures, but also the dark magic of the forest itself and of the malefice beyond. Beyond that barrier Emma had spoken of lay immense power; power that, should she choose to tap and harness it, could conquer the world. 

But it wasn’t the scent of magic that raised Killian’s hackles or the seething menace of the forest, it was one faint and solitary scent that threaded through all the others, one that he could easily identify. One he’d caught that very afternoon in Emma’s shop, sending him flashing back to the week before, to the shadowy cabin where his life had changed forever. One he’d smelled for the first time on the worst day of that life. 

It was the scent of perfume. 

He forced himself to keep trotting at a steady pace and not tug Emma along ever faster until they reached the safety of her garden. Nothing, not the forest or the barrier or even what lay beyond it terrified Killian as much as that perfume. 

What was she doing here? Could she get in the house? 

The moment they stepped through the garden gate he shrugged off Emma’s shopping bag and raced around, barking. Emma laughed, thinking he was happy to be home, but the garden magic sensed his fear. 

She’s safe, it whispered to him. Safe with you. 

{For now.} 

Until Samhain. Prepare. 

“Killian,” called Emma from the kitchen door. “You hungry?”

Go, whispered the garden magic. 

Killian ran inside barking eagerly, spinning in circles to make her laugh. Already he lived for that laugh. The door swung closed behind them with a soft click and the smell of the perfume was gone. 

[wistfulcynic]

CSSNS Sneak Peek: The Very Witching Time

My CSSNS drops TOMORROW!! 

I’m very excited for a number of reasons. 

FIRST because this is such a fun event and I love reading the brilliant and creative stories everyone comes up with and how you all inspire me to be creative myself and to take risks. 

SECOND I am excited because the main risk I’ve taken with this fic is writing a version of Killian who is cursed as a dog. I know Killian-as-animal is not everyone’s cup of tea, but I hope you’ll give this one a chance. He’s a dog but also still very much himself, and @thisonesatellite has already threatened to fight me for him. 

She’d lose. 

Anyway, I love dog!Killian and I love witch!Emma and I love the story of this fic and the atmosphere that’s grown around it. It’s spooky and creepy and full of witchcraft and lore, but also warm and funny with plenty of Storybrooke characters making an appearance.

The THIRD reason I am excited is because @gingerchangeling has produced some absolutely STUNNING art for it. She has really captured the atmosphere of the setting and I think the relationship between Emma and Killian. 

BEHOLD: 

I mean. It’s gorgeous. I am blown away and can’t thank her enough. 

The FINAL reason I am excited is because for the first time ever I have a fic mostly all written before I start posting. This means that I can have an actual posting schedule like a proper adult. Chapter One drops tomorrow and the rest will come every Wednesday until they’re gone. Four in all is the plan. 

THANK YOU to @cssns for this event and to Krystal for inviting me to join it. It’s been a blast! 

SNEAK PEEK: 

Emma Swan lived atop a jagged cliff in a house that seemed an extension of it, rising up from the wind-hewn face into pointed towers that stood stark against the sky. The house was of the same stone as the cliff itself, great slabs of it, slabs too large to be used for construction, slabs that, observing them, one felt could have been formed only by the hand of nature and never that of man. It was a part of the landscape, that house, as old as the earth and only slightly younger than the sky, perched at the edge of those perilous cliffs in a way that made it impossible to imagine them without it. 

The back of the house, or rather the front, as that was where the door was set, however, presented an altogether different aspect; one of a delightful cottage of typical grey Maine clapboard, squat and cheerful with a steeply sloping roof trimmed in white and a low stone wall surrounding a tumbledown greenhouse and a garden where bushes, trees, and flowers jumbled together and neither rhyme nor reason appeared to play any role. On the casual observer the effect was charming in an artless way, yet a keener eye would note method behind the garden’s seeming madness, an ancient wisdom in the randomness of the tumbling riots of colour that shifted and transmuted with the seasons. Where in spring it boasted bright red poppies and purple larkspur, delicate white anemones and pink blossoms on the apple trees twisting around each corner of the wall, summer brought fragrant freesia and heather for the bees, its warm breezes rustling through the tall irises and lilies. Autumn ushered in the muted oranges and yellows of chrysanthemums and the fluffy white of Queen Anne’s Lace, salvia and yarrow and berries from the rowan tree. Even in winter the garden provided: the glossy green leaves and red berries of the holly bushes brightened the snowy vista as pansies and orchids flourished in the greenhouse. 

Beyond the garden wall a forest sprawled, dark and wild and perilous, from the very edge of the cliff where trees clung by their gnarled roots to the borders of the village where it dwindled into fenced yards and tidy houses. Here your casual observer would feel a shivering prickle on the back of his neck, that uncomfortable sensation of being watched by things not quite of this world that is more commonly reserved for graveyards at dusk and abandoned Victorian houses. He would move quickly through the dense woodland —yet not so quickly that he appeared to be hurrying— and upon emerging he would feel the sunshine as a balm on skin grown far colder than he’d realised. 

The keen observer would, of course, not go into the forest at all. 

Emma was as keen an observer as anyone could be but the forest, for all its determined menace, posed no threat to her. She relied on it, in fact, for ingredients she could not or did not wish to cultivate in her garden or greenhouse, just as it relied on her to keep a rein on its magic. Emma and the forest had an understanding. 

That understanding failed to extend to the village which separated the forest from the lush farmlands which this stretch of Maine coastline boasted; the richest soil in New England it was said, guarded closely by the residents of Storybrooke who despite their distrust of it were prepared to put up with creepy forest at their backs in exchange for prosperity at their fronts. And though they rarely ventured into the woods themselves they were broad minded and mercenary enough to appreciate the labours of those who did, of Emma and the generations of witches who had come before her; wise women who kept the forest in check and the villagers placated with potions and tinctures, candles to encourage love or drive away evil spirits and balms to soothe every ailment from a bumped head to a broken heart. 

And so, just as witches had done in Storybrooke from the time of the earliest settlement of her ancestors in this land, Emma kept an apothecary shop in the village, stocked with the wares she blended and brewed herself, travelling to and from it each day along the very same forest path that had been daily trodden by so many powerful women over the course of the centuries.  

The path was so familiar to her she could follow it in her sleep, which she almost did on the August afternoon when our tale begins, lulled by the muggy weight of the late summer air. The sunlight that shone so brightly on the village barely penetrated here; just a few slender shafts of it reached the forest floor, encouraging the growth of the rare plants on which Emma’s livelihood relied but doing little to alleviate the atmosphere made dense by damp heat and malign magic. Emma was blinking heavy eyelids, her mind on the cushioned bench in her garden that was so well suited to afternoon naps when the sound of an animal in distress wove its way into her drowsy consciousness. 

It sounded like a dog, which caught her attention. Wilder, less domesticated creatures like cats and witches may feel comfortable enough with the forest’s demeanour to venture within, but dogs, being the keenest observers of all, tended to avoid it with the same diligence and for the same reasons as their humans did. 

The noise came again, one that hovered somewhere between a whine and a growl, pained and frustrated. It tugged at Emma’s mind, clearing away her sleepy haze as from the corner of her eye she caught a quivering in the leaves of a hawthorn bush that twisted up from the undergrowth to the left of the path and the flash of a black tail just beyond it. 

Without hesitating Emma plunged into the bracken, drawing on her own magic and that of the hawthorn as she went, wrapping threads of both around the bush’s thorny branches and pulling them aside to reveal a large black dog crouched at an awkward angle behind it. The dog looked up and when it saw her it stilled for a moment, staring at her with blue eyes that were almost shocking in its black face, a deep, clear blue she’d never seen on a dog before, bright and intelligent. It blinked and shook its head then looked at her again this time with a plea in those remarkable eyes, giving three quick, deep barks. 

{Please help me.}

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