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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 3 years ago

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Until the Stars Are All Alight--Epilogue

Hello, and welcome to my entry for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2019! This au combines two story ideas I’ve wanted to explore for a while. 1. What if CS existed in a Tolkien-esque, LOTR world? 2. What would have happened if it was Killian rather than Neal that Emma ran into when she was stealing the bug? Huge thank you to my beta, @blackwidownat2814, to @clockadile for the amazing story and chapter art, to @kmomof4 and @cssnsfor putting this event together, and to the ladies in the CSSNS chat who have helped me think through this story. If all goes well, I should be posting every Tuesday, and the story will have approximately 18 chapters plus the prologue and epilogue.

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Summary: CS Lord of the Rings au: When Emma Swan steals a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she has no idea it will lead her toward an adventure filled with danger and intrigue, sacrifice and a love stronger than anything she could imagine. Tasked with bringing the Savior home, the elf, Killian Jones of Misthaven travels to the Land Without Magic. Can he convince Emma to fulfill her destiny before the Dark One regains power and takes over all of the Enchanted Forest?

Rating: T

Word Count: 2094

Other Chapters: (prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (22)

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26@bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @a-rose-for-a-savior @in-spirational @gillie @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch @deathbycaptainswan @allyourdarlingswans @killiarious @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @cssns @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64

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Misthaven, one month later

It was a month ago today that Emma had defeated the darkness and sacrificed herself. One month since Killian had brought her back with True Love’s Kiss. It was funny how time worked. In some ways, it felt like it all happened just yesterday, but in others, it felt like they’d been living in the idyllic peace of Misthaven for all their lives.

It would be a massive understatement to say Misthaven was different from the life Emma used to know in the Land Without Magic–even she’d begun using the local terminology for her previous home–and yet Emma had never felt more at peace or more fulfilled than she did while she was here with her husband, her son, her family and her heritage.

That wasn’t to say it had been a month free of any pain or hardships. There was bound to be a great deal of trauma that needed to be worked through for all of them after everything they’d been through. There was an elf in Misthaven named Archie who fulfilled the role that in the Land Without Magic might have been called a shrink. Emma, Killian and Henry had all been to see him multiple times–sometimes alone, and sometimes together as a family.

After a few days of settling in and adjusting to their new life, Emma and Killian had discussed what they would do moving forward. Did they want to remain in Misthaven or return to the Land Without Magic? They settled on a combination of the two. They would like to make their primary residence in Misthaven but make the occasional trip back to their previous home.

Of course all of that was merely theoretical at this point. With Excalibur destroyed, there was no known way to travel between realms, although there had been rumors of a distant land where portal-opening magic beans were being grown and harvested, so it was possible one day realm travel would again be possible.

Emma thought about her old life. What would Cleo and their friends think? One day the entire Jones family had simply vanished from the face of the earth without a trace. Emma knew Cleo would have all her best private investigators looking into the disappearance, but of course she had no hope of discovering the truth.

Thinking back over her (admittedly few) unsolved cases, Emma wondered if it was possible something similar had happened. Was it possible the skips she found NO trace of had crossed realms and literally disappeared from the face of the earth?

Beside her, Killian stirred, and Emma smiled, loving the way he burrowed his nose into her neck and held her that little bit tighter early in the morning as he started to wake up.

“Morning already, Love?” he murmured sleepily.

“This place doesn’t exactly have a lot of clocks,” Emma answered, turning over to face him and give him a quick, smacking kiss, “but judging by how dark it still is outside, I’d say no.”

“Everything alright?” he asked with concern. “The little one isn’t giving you trouble is she?”

Emma smiled, stroking his beloved face. Emma had only begun to suspect she was pregnant again the day before yesterday. At this point, it was merely a suspicion, especially given the fact that there were no pregnancy tests in this land, but from the moment she’d told Killian, he’d been ecstatic, thoroughly convinced that not only was there another little Jones on the way, but that this time they’d be having a little daughter.

She hoped her suspicions were correct; she really did. Not just because of Killian’s excitement at the prospect of fatherhood for a second time, but because she realized she really and truly wanted this too. She hadn’t known how much until she’d missed her period and started to feel the typical nausea and fatigue of early pregnancy.

“She–or he–is fine,” Emma assured him. “And I’m fine too. I just…woke up.”

“Another nightmare?” he asked sympathetically.

“Yeah,” she admitted, resting her head on his chest. “Same one as always. I fail to stop the Dark One and he makes me watch him kill you and Henry before he kills me.”

“Want to talk about it?” Killian asked.

She shook her head. “It wasn’t real, and that dream no longer has any hold over me. No, after I was awake, I started thinking about all we have yet to do in the next day or two, and wondering how early my mom would be knocking on our door in the morning.”

As soon as the dust had settled from the dramatic events of last month, Snow had decided Emma and Killian needed a proper Misthaven wedding. She had, as she put it, missed out on nearly every milestone in her daughter’s life, and she would not miss out on this one–regardless of the fact that Emma and Killian were already married and any future ceremony would be more akin to a renewal of the vows.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Emma,” Snow had said, brushing off her objections. “The vows you and Killian took were til death do you part. Death parted you, so clearly you need to wed again.”

Emma doubted that was truly how it worked–although she would guess there was no legal or religious, or whatever, precedent for a wife who dies and then comes back from the dead–and she’d never been one for a big fuss, but her mother was so excited, and there was something so utterly heart-warming about having a family who cared so much, that she put up no more than a token protest to all her mother’s planning.

(Although Killian had very definitely put up a protest that one morning Snow had barged in, wedding planning binder in hand, just as they were about to engage in some activities they very definitely did not wish her mother to be present for. Luckily, Snow had taken the hint and very pointedly knocked before entering their chambers since that day.)

“I’d wager we still have a few hours, love,” Killian laughed, wiggling his eyebrows outrageously. “I can think of a few ways to get your mind completely off of both nightmares and wedding planning.”

Emma laughed at his antics, but quickly stopped when he surged forward and claimed her lips in a seering, passionate kiss. Her laughter turned to a moan of pure want as the banked fire between them flared to life again as it always did.

Their kisses turned longer, drugging them, making them feel a kind of ecstatic bliss that was always present when they were together as husband and wife. Killian reached for the hem of her nightdress, and then–

“Mom? Dad?” came the small, subdued voice from the doorway. “I had another bad dream.”

Killian groaned softly, as Emma smiled commiseratingly up at him before he returned to his side of the bed. Emma loved her son beyond anything else in this realm or any other, but his timing could certainly be better.

Killian sat up and beckoned Henry forward. The lad ran forward, scampering onto the bed, and burying himself in his father’s arms. Emma reached over and rubbed soothing circles over her son’s back.

“It was just a dream, kid,” she said genty. “Remember what Archie said. It’s over. The Dark One can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I know,” Henry said with a slightly wobbly voice. “But this time it wasn’t about me. I dreamed that after the bad man hurt you until you died, you didn’t come back. I dreamed I never got to see you again.”

Beside her, Emma saw Killian stiffen and take in a quick, deep breath before holding his son even closer.

“But she did return to us, Lad,” Killian said after a moment in a gentle voice. “We are all here, and we are all well, and there’s nothing left to fear.”

“Your father’s right,” Emma said. “I came back to you, and I always will. We’re a family, and that means we will always find each other.”

“Can…can I sleep with you guys?” Henry asked in a small voice.

“Of course you can,” Emma said, settling him in between her and Killian and stroking the hair off his forehead until his breathing evened into sleep.

“Do you think he’ll ever fully recover from all that happened, love?” Killian asked, settling in and wrapping his arm around his little family.

“Of course he will,” Emma reassured. “We all will.”

Killian yawned. “Perhaps we’d best get sleep while we can, Swan. As you said, your mother will be eager to get back to last minute wedding planning before we know it.”

About that, Emma knew her husband was 100% correct.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two Days later, Misthaven

Heart full to bursting, Killian dipped his bride, kissing her exuberantly to the cheers of their wedding attendees. Pulling back, he whispered “You did it, Swan. You got your happy ending.”

“That’s not what this is,” she said, tilting her head and smiling blissfully up at him. “It’s something else.”

“What then?” he asked, holding her, gazing besottedly into her eyes.

“A happy beginning,” she answered. “Tomorrow is uncertain; who knows what it will bring?”

“But one thing is for sure Love,” he said, swaying with her, his forehead pressed to hers.. “With you, I have everything. A happily ever after is the way these stories go.”

The rest of the forest clearing seemed to fade away for him. The queen would likely be displeased with them. She’d worked to script every moment of this wedding extravaganza, and by rights, he should be walking his bride back down the snow-bell strewn aisle. In this moment, though, nothing existed for him but this woman and the love he shared with her.

“Used to think that’s what I wanted, “ she replied, “but now I finally know. There’s no storm we can’t outrun.”

“We will always find the sun,” he agreed.

“Leave the past and all its scars.”

“A happy beginning now is ours.”

A throat cleared from somewhere in the congregation. If Killian didn’t miss his guess, that was the former Evil Queen’s way of (not so subtly) reminding them that there were, in fact, other people in the world.

Killian grinned, finally stepping back, offering Emma his arm, and escorting her down the aisle.

Killian knew that in all his days, he’d never forget the moment he got his first glimpse of his bride walking down the aisle on her father’s arm toward him. She was radiant, angelic in her long, white dress, with its long belled sleeves, her hair curled and falling down her back in a golden wave, a circlet of snowbells and greenery atop in lieu of a veil.

If it were possible to die of happiness, he knew he’d expire right on the spot.

“Mom looks pretty, doesn’t she?” Henry asked from beside him.

Killian smilled patting his son–and best man–on the back. “Absolutely gorgeous, my lad.”

Their ceremony had been short and simple, a concession Queen Snow had begrudgingly made given Emma’s unfamiliarity with the customs of Misthaven and her natural tendency to avoid pomp and circumstance. Within the span of a mere quarter of an hour, they’d renewed their vows and promised to love and honor each other through all eternity.

“You are happy, aren’t you, Killian?” Emma asked as they slowly made their way down the remainder of the aisle and headed toward the tent beyond where their wedding feast had been carefully laid out.

“Of course, Swan. Never more so.”

It was the truth; he was so happy here with her that he could scarcely contain it, but still there was a small pang deep in his heart.

He thought back to the other morning, when Henry had come to them after his nightmare. Yes, it was true, they’d defeated the Dark One, restored peace, and ushered in a new age of prosperity for their kingdom. There was little doubt they’d live many long, happy years together, surrounded by their children and grandchildren.

But in the end–whether it be five minutes from now or five decades from now–Swan would die; it was the fate of all mortals, and Killian would be left alone. Having already experienced her death once, he didn’t know how he would bear it again.

“Are you sure?” she asked, turning him toward her as they took their seat at the center of the head table. “You seem, I don’t know, almost sad.”

Killian shoved aside his musings. There would be plenty of time to mourn for her when their final separation happened. For now, for today, they were celebrating. He offered her a sincere smile, cupping her head and giving her a soft kiss (to the sound of a wolf whistle from Ruby, if he didn’t miss his guess). “I am quite certain, my love.”

What followed had been a joyful celebration of life, of victory and of love. The cook of Misthaven Castle had truly outdone himself, providing a repast of unparalleled grandeur, and then the dancing and revelry had begun.

As night fell, Johanna had ushered Henry to bed, and then the wedding attendees had begun dispersing little by little until finally only the king and queen and Emma and Killian themselves had remained.

Killian was on the point of suggesting–with an overabundance of innuendo and meaning–that it was high time he and Swan adjourned to the bridal chamber, when suddenly there was a bright flash of light. He got to his feet, reaching in vain for the sword he’d neglected to don with his wedding attire. If someone dared to mar their wedding, they’d live to regret it!

But when their eyes adjusted to the light, they found themselves facing not a foe, but–

“Merlin” Emma breathed, eyes gone wide. “How…how are you here?”

“Technically speaking, I am not,” Merlin said with his customary secretive smile. As though to demonstrate, he walked through a nearby tree. “I am more of what you might call a ghost.”

“So it seems,” King Charming said, “but why are you here? (Not that you’re unwelcome at our celebration.)”

Merlin smiled again, stepping toward Emma and Killian. “I have been authorized to present one last wedding gift to the happy couple.”

He raised his incorporeal hands and placed them on Emma’s head. Light poured from them, surrounding and enveloping her. For a moment she glowed brightly, and then the light faded away. Merlin stepped back, smiling.

“What was that?” Emma asked. “I feel…different, somehow, I don’t know, more than I was before.”

“And so you are,” Merlin said before turning toward Killian. “Lieutenant Killian Jones, Prince Consort of Misthaven, Zeus has heard your longings and has seen fit, given the invaluable service you and your wife have provided to all the realms, to offer you your heart’s desire. Emma has been restored to her Elven heritage. As her ancestors before her, she is now imbued with the gift of immortality. You both will, indeed, be together for all eternity.”

Killian felt the tears gather and spill over as he turned to Emma, seeing her love and incredible joy reflected back at him. Now, indeed, they both had achieved perfect happiness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

David sighed contentedly as his wife settled into his arms later that night in their bed. He was exhausted after the long day they’d had, but it was the happiest kind of exhaustion.

It had been a wonderful day.

“I think it all went well today, don’t you?” Snow asked sleepily as she softly stroked his chest.

He smiled, bending to place a quick kiss on the top of her head. “It went perfectly,” he agreed. “You really outdid yourself.”

“You don’t think it was too much, do you?” Snow asked, raising up on one elbow to look down at him with concern. “You don’t think I scared Emma off with all my fussing over her wedding?”

David chuckled, shaking his head. “Snow, if our daughter can face down the Dark One himself and even find the courage to die for her kingdom, I hardly think a little maternal fussing is going to scare her off.”

She gave him a look.

“No,” he said, pulling her head back to his chest. “I think Emma’s unused to mattering to anyone other than Killian and Henry, but I don’t think she was displeased with your wedding preparations. She seemed so exquisitely happy today.”

“Can you believe it?” Snow asked, the joy back in her voice. “Our daughter married to her true love and returned to her elven heritage all in one day! It’s like a dream come true. Do you remember the night she was born? Do you remember how heartbroken and hopeless we felt? I’ll always regret missing so much of Emma’s life, but now all is finally right. Now we have the rest of our lives together.”

David felt the tears spring to his eyes. It had been decades of strife, of pain, of forgetfulness. Decades where it felt like evil was too big and all-pervasive to overcome, but they had done it. They had fought for their happy ending, and they had won.

He looked up through the skylight in their bedroom to the clear, brilliant night sky up above. “Indeed,” David answered, yawning as the fatigue fully caught up to him. “At long last, the stars are all alight.”

The end The Happy Beginning!

Notes:

–Well, there you have it. After 3+ years, this epic tale is finally at an end! Thank you to all of you who have stuck with it throughout all the long pauses between chapters! Your support has helped me persevere through the times my muse abandoned me. I am absolutely terrible about responding to comments, but know that I have appreciated each and every one!

–I would like to give a big thank you, once again to my beta, @blackwidownat2814 and to my artist, @clockadile, for all their work and help on this project. Isn’t the wedding portrait @clockadile painted for Emma and Killian stunning?

–I don’t know what’s next for me in my fanfiction endeavors–other than the occasional update to fluffy Fridays, but I’ve got a few ideas floating around in my head, so stay tuned!

#cssns 2019 #captain swan supernatural summer #lotr/cs au #my fanfiction #until the stars are all alight

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spartanguard · 3 years ago

Photo

“What if next time you don’t make it back here in time?” He whispers back. And his eyes flash red.

Emma recoils. Killian holds on to her hand.

“I’m so sorry, love.” His voice is still a whisper. “They do that whenever I am afraid.”

break me, Chapter 3, by @thisonesatellite

#killianjonesedit #kjedit #kj manip #break me #thisonesatellite #i just cannot get that imagery out of my head #i love it so much #my manip #and yes i'm reading it again #cssns 2019

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ilovemesomekillianjones · 6 years ago

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The Soldier, the Witch, and the Dragon - A CSSNS 2019 One Shot

Summary: When soldier Killian Jones shows up on witch Emma Swan's doorstep, two worlds will collide. He will learn of worlds and wonders he never imagined possible and she will learn that true love might just be in the cards for her. Witches, Dragons, and Magic, Oh My! A CS one shot for the 2019 Captain Swan Supernatural Summer event.

A/N: Thank you to @spartanguard for masterfully crafting the banner above and this CS edit to accompany my story, it is magnificent. I love it Kaitlyn!!! @hollyethecurious - much appreciation for being the extra set of eyes to fine tune this tale. And finally, thank you @cssns for bringing together so many talented writers and artists to put together another phenomenal collection of supernatural content for all of us CS lovers.

ao3 ffnet Rated M 15K+

July, 1865

In spectacular fashion, as was customary for him, Killian Jones staggered up the two steps of the single dwelling nestled among the foliage of a supposedly haunted wood. Bloodied and bruised he slumped against the door frame, grunting as the raw nerves of his severed hand met with the rough wood. He brought his other hand to the door and rapped his knuckles against what he hoped to be the entryway to his last chance for salvation, before passing out. Spectacular fashion indeed.

Two days ago…

“Since you are representing yourself, Mr. Jones, you are charged with desertion, how do you plead?” the judge questioned.

“Not guilty,” Killian Jones stated definitively.

“You deserted during war time, is this not true?”

“Semantics.”

“Your honor he deserted the Confederacy in May of 1861,” the prosecuting lawyer argued.

“Your Honor, if I may?” Killian asked.

The judge nodded his head in Killian’s direction, allowing him his defense.

“I merely recognized I was fighting for the wrong side.” Killian smiled his most brilliant smile as if this one statement had won his case.

“Come again, son?”

“You’re required to be impartial, yes, Your Honor?”

The judge nodded curtly.

“I was involuntarily drafted into this war by the Confederacy. Being a former slave myself, sold into it by my father, I would never support such an agenda.” Years of practicing a cool and collected demeanor were working in Killian’s favor as he maintained the facade that hid his disgust for the Confederacy and all it stood for. “Therefore, I did not desert in time of war, I simply... switched sides,” he declared with a flourish of his hand.

“Then you are an enemy of the Confederacy,” the judge amended.

“I beg to differ,” Killian said cheekily, “how can I be an enemy of something that does not exist?”

A low buzz broke out across the courtroom as discourse ran rampant among the lot of Confederate diehards. Killian wondered if they even knew the war was over, and they’d lost.

“All good points you bring up, Mr. Jones. Unfortunately, I am not here for good points, I am here to uphold the law to the best of my ability. As such, I hereby by find you guilty of the charge of desertion during war time. In addition, I am adding and find you guilty of the crime of treason and as such, I sentence you to be hanged tomorrow at noon.”

Before Killian could react to what was happening he was roughly being hauled away by the bailiff and thrown into the shitty cell he’d been sitting in for the last three weeks. His jaw clenched as he lay on the ground where he’d been tossed.

One moment he’d been enjoying rum, riches, and wealth via his stellar poker playing skills and the next he’d been dragged from his bar of choice, carted hundreds of miles, and hauled into this cell. Where had he gone wrong? Perhaps he never should’ve left England with his father and brother, after his mother’s death. Then he never would have been sold into slavery, subsequently landing here in the south.

“On your feet, soldier,” the guard on duty barked.

“For what?” Killian spat.

“For your superior officer,” a familiar, grating voice said.

Killian’s eyes rolled so far back in his head he was sure they might get stuck there. There was nothing superior about this man, nothing. “Captain Cassidy, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just came to settle a debt, Jones.”

“Ah, I guess my trial was over before it started, makes sense now.”

“You killed my father, you traitorous son of a bitch.”

“He deserved it, Neal,” Killian gritted out, jumping to his feet to meet his former friend against the bars of the cell. “He killed women and children in the name of being victorious for a losing side.”

Neal shrugged his shoulders. “You should have left well enough alone instead of coming back.”

“I didn’t have a choice, it was me or him! I didn’t seek him out, we were engaged in combat.”

Neal reached through the bars and grabbed Killian by the shirt. “Semantics. Isn’t that what you always said? You say didn’t have a choice, I say murdered in cold blood.” He threw Killian back as he seethed the last words. “You’ll never see that noose tomorrow, but you’ll wish you were hanged by the time I’m done with you.”

乂❤乂❤乂

“Wake up! Come back to me.”

Killian smiled as the feminine voice washed over him, adding to the weightlessness he felt. It made all movement a little cumbersome, but he felt healthier than he had during the past month, and he was blessedly pain free for the moment. That is until a stinging slap collided with his cheek. His brow furrowed and a grimace replaced the easy smile that had graced his lips. He struggled to open his eyes to see just who was attached to the voice that currently worried over him.

“Don’t die,” the voice repeated, “it’s the only thing I can’t fix.”

A doctor! he thought as relief washed over him. But when he was finally able to command the muscles of his eyelids, he was greeted by an angel. She was dressed in all white and a halo of blonde tresses cascaded over her shoulders, which positively emitted a golden glow around her being. He thought to himself, if he was dead then there were two things he was grateful for. One, he’d made it into heaven and two, the angelic being before him.

“Hey beautiful,” he rasped out before attempting to throw her his most devilish smolder.

“Oh! Are you in pain?” she asked.

“Not at the moment, which is more than I can say for the last forty-eight hours. Why?”

“You just made a face, I thought maybe your wounds were causing you pain. It would be quite odd if you were experiencing any pain, though. So maybe that’s your normal face?”

So, not a devilish smolder that he’d made then. “If it’s devilishly handsome, it’s my normal face. If not, you are not getting the full effect.”

“Whatever you say,” she said noncommittally.

Do angels really roll their eyes and scoff? Killian wondered.

“You sure are arrogant for a man who passed out after being on the losing end of some sort of fight.”

It was Killian’s turn to scoff. “I do not lose.” He had passed out though, he thought as he reached up sheepishly to scratch behind his ear. “Bloody Hell!” he yelled as something pierced said spot.

“Careful,” the angel chastised as she pulled his arm away from his head. “That thing is a weapon now.”

Killian looked at his left hand, or what should be his left hand. “What the devil have you done to my hand?” Killian looked around in a panic as the events of the past several weeks came flooding back to him. “Where am I? Who are you? Who do you work for?” He was yelling as he realized he was in an unfamiliar room, laid up in a bed that wasn’t his.

“Hey! You showed up here without your hand!” she exclaimed, jumping up from the side of the bed. She backed away from him, anguish washing over her face. “I- I didn’t do anything but try to help you.” She shook her hands as if to cleanse the aura in the room.

Killian gasped as pain seared through him. His wrist burned as if it had been jammed into salt, and his arm felt as though it was going to explode. His throat was parched, and suddenly he was gasping for air. He curled in on himself trying to shut out the pain. “Please! Stop! Please, you’re hurting me.” He pleaded for the blond haired angel turned demon to stop whatever it was she was doing.

“I’m not doing anything to you! You… you distracted me!”

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he rasped.

Inhaling deeply, the woman sat back down next to him and brushed the hair from his forehead. Closing her eyes she shook her hands out once more before sitting in concentrated silence.

Killian’s whole body relaxed as a soothing ambiance floated through him, and after a few moments the pain began to recede. “Thank you, love.”

“I’m not your love,” she scolded, opening her eyes.

“Pity.”

“If you’re going to flirt so outlandishly shouldn’t I at least know your name?”

“Apologies, lass, Killian Jones at your service,” he greeted, extending his right, and now only hand. A smooth flow of positive energy flowed through him when she took his hand. “And you might be?”

“Emma Swan.”

“Lovely to meet you, Emma Swan. Are you my guardian angel? Did you draw me here, in my time of need with your powers of guardianship? Or did I just happen to stumble upon a random angel?”

Emma laughed out loud, an angelic sound if you asked Killian, which is what made her next words even more difficult to fathom.

“I’m no angel,” she chuckled. “But since you are obviously a believer in otherworldly beings, perhaps I can tell you what I am. And if I can’t trust you with my secret, I can always cast a memory spell on you.”

“A memory spell?” Killian enunciated as he tried to grasp the words.

“Just who are you, Swan?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I do believe I asked.”

“I’m a witch.”

It was Killian’s turn to laugh aloud. “There is no way you are a witch, darling-”

“Em-ma,” she corrected.

“Where is your broomstick and black pointy hat, Emma? And your laugh, that was most definitely not a cackle.”

“It is not a prerequisite of a witch to own a broomstick, or black pointy hat, Jones. Nor do we all own cats and have warts. Though I suppose if that’s your biggest concern with me being a witch, we’re in a pretty good place.”

“If you want to join me here on the bed, we could get to an even better place.” He ran his tongue along his lower lip before biting it and cocking an eyebrow at her.

“In your dreams,” she laughed.

“I do hope so.”

“I just told you I’m a witch, and your response is to flirt more?”

“Perhaps you’ve bewitched me with your beauty and grace?”

“Do you ever stop?” Emma asked as a lovely blush colored her cheeks.

“Do you want me to?” Killian asked softly. A crack of a smile curved Emma’s lips and he hoped she could feel his sincerity, he would stop if she asked him to. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt like he’d do anything she asked of him.

“Get some rest Jones, and when you wake we will eat and you can tell me what happened to you.”

Killian yawned heartily as a wave of exhaustion rolled over him. “But I don’t want to sleep.”

“But you need your rest,” Emma insisted.

“Do you have magic,” he asked as he became increasingly tired. The last thing Killian saw was Emma flicking her wrist as a dragon came to rest on her shoulders. A dragon? he thought, then he drifted out of consciousness and into dreamland.

乂❤乂❤乂

“I think we were meant for each other,” Emma whispered into his ear, causing a shiver to course through his body. His eyes were closed and his body was light, yet responsive to her every word and touch.

In his heart he knew she was right. He could feel the connection, mind, body, and soul. “I am yours, love.”

“And I am yours,” she promised as she pressed against his entire body.

Killian shivered again as she gently raked her fingers through his hair and fisted her other hand into the hair on his chest. Her lips hovered just above his as she told him she was going to kiss him now. He eagerly awaited the press of her soft lips as he attempted to wrap his arms around her. Damn, how he wished to hold her.

“Killian.”

What was she waiting for? Where was his kiss? Why couldn’t he reach out to embrace her?

“Killian?”

“What are you waiting for, Swan? It’s bad form to tell a man you’re going to kiss him and then tease him so.”

Her soft chuckle had him opening his eyes. “What’s so funny?” he asked playfully. As the room came into focus, she was no longer laying next to him, but standing at the small table by the kitchen. “And why aren’t you laying with me anymore?”

“I think someone was dreaming,” Emma whispered, giggling again.

“Bollocks,” Killian muttered as he dropped his head back down to the pillow. It had seemed so real, not just her physical presence, but the love. He’d felt her love.

“I’m not going to ask him that,” she scolded. “It’s none of our business what he dreams about!”

Killian tensed as he realized there was someone else in her home. Of course there was. Someone as beautiful and benevolent as this woman was sure to have a significant other.

Attempting to stand up, which was not nearly as fluid as his normal movement, he cleared his throat. He settled for sitting up in bed for the moment. “Apologies, it appears I have overstayed my welcome, I should be on my way.”

Emma cocked her head, looking at him with a perplexed expression. “You don’t have to go.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose on you and…” Killian looked around the room, searching for the person she’d been talking to. “Uh… wasn’t there someone else here just a moment ago?”

Emma blushed profusely as she looked toward the corner of the kitchen. “Not exactly someone.”

“Were you talking to yourself then?”

“No,” she answered indignantly. “I was talking to Henry.”

So there was a man in Emma’s life. “Ah, I see.” He really didn’t, since he couldn’t see this Henry fellow. “Best take my leave now. Any chance I can have my shirt back?” Looking around the small cabin, Killian spotted his boots by the front door.

“Sure,” she said quietly.

He watched as she slowly walked to the basin and picked up his shirt. Great, it was still dripping wet, at least all the blood stains were gone. That would make it a little easier to blend in when he moved on to the next town.

“We can’t force him to stay,” she hissed.

Killian quirked an eyebrow as he watched her argue with a spot on the wall.

When she turned her eyes back to him, he averted his, not wishing to embarrass her. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but something was definitely a little strange. Unable to look away any longer he chanced a glance back at her. She was still staring at him, almost longingly, he thought. He jumped when with a small flick of her hand the shirt was not only dry, but also back on his body. He was jarred back to right before he’d dozed off, he’d asked if she had magic. Unless he’d lost more than just his hand, oh yeah, that, he was pretty sure she did have magic.

“I made dinner if you want to eat before you go?”

Killian wondered why she sounded so defeated, seemed almost sad at the prospect of either dinner or him leaving. “I don’t wish to impose on you and Henry.”

“We don’t mind,” she rushed out.

“Okaaaay… and you’re sure Henry won’t mind?”

“Of course not,” she said excitedly. “Tell him, Henry.”

Killian’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he realized she must have an imaginary friend. Who was he to judge, though? It must get lonely in these woods where most wouldn’t dare venture. She must not know many others of her type. Killian was pulled from his musing when a bird suddenly swooped from above and circled his head. “What the devil? How did a bird get in here?” Waving his hand in the air, he attempted to shoo the bird away.

“That’s Henry,” Emma laughed.

“Henry’s a bird?” he asked.

“No,” Emma said, walking toward him. “Settle down, Henry.”

The little guy landed on Killian’s shoulder and he was overcome with a sense of being welcomed. “How did he do that?”

“Do what?” she asked.

“Invite me to dinner.”

“I invited you to dinner.”

“You told him to tell me it was okay, and now he is sitting on my shoulder and somehow he has communicated to me that it’s okay to stay for dinner. He let me know you both want me to stay for dinner. Does he have magic, like you?”

Emma’s eyes widened. “He did?”

Killian gave a small nod as she seemed to contemplate something.

“Well, since you didn’t balk when I told you I was a witch, I guess I can tell you about Henry.”

“You can tell me anything,” Killian said as he sat forward. He wanted to hear anything and everything Emma Swan wanted to tell him. That feeling of absolute love was back, and although he couldn’t fathom the idea of loving someone so soon after meeting them, he also couldn’t deny the feeling.

“Henry is what you might call a power animal or a spirit animal. He’s my power animal.”

“Power animal?” Killian repeated.

“Power animals are supernatural creatures that convey influence. They can also give a person the powerful traits and characteristics of the animal. They walk through life with certain people, teaching and guiding them, and sometimes protecting them.”

“Do I have a power animal?”

“Everyone has a power animal. They usually only reveal themselves when you need them. Or when…”

“When what?” Killian asked with rapt fascination.

“Dinner’s ready,” Emma said, changing the subject abruptly. “Oh, and Henry is not a bird. He’s a dragon.”

Killian tensed up as he slowly turned his head to try and see the small dragon sitting on his shoulder. He wasn’t so sure allowing a dragon to sit on one’s shoulder was a good idea. As soon as he thought the idea, Henry was communicating to him that he was perfectly safe.

“That is so weird,” Killian murmured.

I know, Henry seemed to say.

“You get used to it,” Emma said with the sweetest smile on her face. “Henry, can you help him over to the table?”

Without too much effort, Killian was up and moving toward the table. He couldn’t believe how… normal he felt. As if he hadn’t had the crap beaten out of him and his hand lopped off. Oh yeah, that. “So, what’s with the hook?” he asked as he sat down at the table to a hearty looking stew and bread.

“I uhh… I don’t know, I just thought it would be utilitarian.”

“A hook?”

Henry landed on Emma’s shoulder and chirped loudly at her. “It is not a lie,” she snapped back. Henry seemed to cock his head in disbelief, and Killian just chuckled at their interaction.

“Sure, you can use it to scratch, stab, eat-”

“Like a pirate?” he asked, just a little outraged at the barbarism she was implying he might employ.

She just laughed at his reaction before continuing, “It would also serve you well in the thick woods, and it’s easier to hold than a hand.” Emma reached across the table to grasp the hook as if trying to prove her statement.

Although it was an inanimate object, Killian could swear he felt that same unconditional love through her firm grasp. “I guess it has its perks,” he said, somewhat lovestruck.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments before Emma spoke again. “Can I ask you a question, Killian?”

“Anything.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

A blush crept up his cheeks as he contemplated his answer. He debated brushing it off, or making something up, but then Henry landed on his shoulder and he felt an esoteric need to tell her. “I dreamt we were in love, I don’t know how, I don’t know why, I just know we were truly in love... and you were going to kiss me.”

“Really?”

“Aye, love. I wouldn’t make that up. Sadly I was woken before the kiss.”

“What a shame,” Emma teased. “I’m sorry Henry and I woke you.”

“You could make it up to me, you know.”

“A healed arm, no pain, dinner, and a roof over your head not enough, Jones?”

Killian roared with laughter. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess I do sound like a greedy bastard.”

Emma stood up from the table and began to clear away the dishes. Killian grabbed his bowl and took it to the basin. “If you have magic, why do you continue mundane tasks like dishes?”

“I try not to use magic for every little thing. It helps me to pretend I’m normal.”

“Why would you want to be normal when you have super powers?”

“That’s a story for another time,” Emma murmured. She pointed to Henry, who was still propped on Killian’s shoulder. “And don’t you dare, mister, no compelling me to spill all my secrets.”

Killian gave Henry a conspiratorial look, maybe later, he tried to tell the mini dragon. Too say he was shocked was an understatement when Henry actually winked at him.

“And no ganging up on me!” Emma ordered.

“If Henry is your power animal, why can he communicate with me?” Killian asked.

Emma narrowed her eyes, giving Henry a dirty look. “Did you tell him to ask me that?”

Henry ruffled his wings as if offended by the accusation. “Why would he tell me to ask that?” Killian’s curiosity was definitely piqued now.

“Never you mind,” Emma said walking away from the basin. With small flicks of her wrist she lit several oil lamps and went to sit on the settee.

Henry urged Killian to join her, so he did. He wasn’t quite sure why Emma was clamming up when it came to elaborating about Henry and power animals, but he decided to leave it be. “May I ask why you live out here in these haunted woods?”

Emma snorted in a decisively unladylike manner as she repeated the word with disdain. “Haunted. They’re not haunted, I just don’t want anyone bothering me. So I may wreak a little havoc when people get too close.”

“Doesn’t it get lonely?”

“I’ve never really noticed. I have Henry and I can go to town when I wish.”

Killian looked around the small cabin, it was quite homey and comforting. He supposed that’s all some people required.

“How about you? Did you live alone before you found yourself at my doorstep?”

“I haven’t lived anywhere for a very long time.” A bit of melancholy worked its way into his voice as he answered truthfully. He looked back to Emma and the inquisitive expression she wore. “I suppose that answer was a bit cryptic, but just as you said earlier, that is a story for another time.”

Emma smiled graciously, letting Killian know she wouldn’t push.

Over the next several hours they chatted easily, including Killian telling her the story of how he’d come to lose his hand. Henry had long since taken up residence between her shoulder and hair and was quietly snoring. Killian only became slightly alarmed when Henry emitted several smoke filled exhales.

“Is he going to ignite?”

“No,” Emma giggled. “He is a fire breathing dragon, though, and sometimes when he dreams he gets a little heated.” She yawned, covering her mouth and apologizing. “It’s almost three in the morning!”

Not realizing how late it had gotten, Killian told her, “You take the bed. I’ll sleep here, on the sofa.”

“Absolutely not! You’re not healed yet.”

“I am mending just fine. Besides, a gentleman would never make a lady sleep anywhere else when a bed is available.”

Emma stood up and offered her hand to him. “Gentleman?” she laughed.

“I’m always a gentleman, Swan.”

“Come on, we can both fit.”

Killian shook his head, and slid his hand behind his back. “That’s not necessary.”

“What? Are you afraid you won’t be able to resist my feminine wiles?”

Something like that, Killian thought.

“Stop being a baby.” Before he could stop her, she grabbed his hook and dragged him to a standing position. She led him over to the bed and with a flick of her wrist he was wearing sleeping clothes he’d never seen before. “Now get in the bed, before Henry has to make you.”

Killian held up hand and hook in surrender before climbing into the comfortable bed. “What are you doing?” he gasped as he looked over to see her lifting her skirts.

“I’m changing into my nightie,” she replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Do you suppose for propriety’s sake, or at least my sanity, you might just poof yourself into some night clothes like you did me?”

“Poof?” Emma snickered.

“Yes, you know, magic them onto yourself.”

“You could just look away.”

He knew he could, he just didn’t want to make himself. Her creamy thighs were delectable, and it had been a score. Well, that was an overestimation, but it’d been a long while since he’d looked upon a gorgeous woman. He could feel himself stiffening and had to adjust himself in the thin pants he was wearing. Where was Henry to douse his damnable lust!

“Yes, I could,” he lamented, looking around the cabin, anywhere but in her direction. Still, knowing she was blissfully uncovered had him stirring further. He spotted Henry across the room, curled up on the settee, head under his wing and tail wrapped around himself protectively. Killian guessed he’d have to persuade himself to calm down.

“There, see. All done, and no worse for the wear,” she stated as she climbed into the bed next to him.

Killian’s tight pants begged to differ. Scrubbing a hand over his face he rolled over to face away from her. “Good night, Emma.”

“Good night, Killian.”

乂❤乂❤乂

“You are meant for each other,” the dragon stated matter-of-factly. “You’ve been destined to meet since the moment she was born. She was born many years before you, but was cursed by a jealous witch to walk the world alone..”

“How long ago?”

“Several lifetimes.”

“Why can you talk to me?”

“Because this is a dream.”

“Even when I’m not dreaming, we understand each other.”

Henry grinned at him knowingly. “That is because I am your power animal as well.”

“What? How can that be? How can two people share a power animal?”

“If those two people-

“Henry!”

Killian sat bolt upright in bed as reality came back in on the wings of a dragon who was chirping, angrily if Killian was not mistaken, at Emma.

“It’s my secret to tell!” She was dressed with a flick of her wrist, wearing another flowy white dress, and out the door before Killian could ask what happened.

Standing up to stretch, he was suddenly hit with a wave of pain. The same pain from the day before sliced through his wrist and forearm. Sweat broke out across his forehead and he struggled for air. Collapsing back on the bed black spots infiltrated his vision as he bordered the lines of consciousness. Henry was there on his chest momentarily, and Killian watched as the mini dragon closed his eyes. He was immediately flooded with a cooling sensation and the pain subsided quickly.

“Thank you, Henry.”

Once he’d caught his breath he asked the dragon where to find Emma. Henry let him know he would lead him there. Looking at the clock he couldn’t believe it was already past noon; they had been up late the night before, so he supposed oversleeping was excusable this once. Rummaging around the cupboards he grabbed a canteen, some biscuits, and fruit and put them into a basket from the counter. “Henry, where is my uniform?” he called out as he grabbed his boots.

Henry chirped to him from the bed. When Killian walked over he saw the dragon was sitting upon a fresh pair of pants and a pressed shirt. “Where did this come from?” He certainly did not wish to wear someone else’s clothes. If dragons could roll their eyes, Killian was certain Henry just had. “Well, how was I supposed to know you also have magic?”

“Yes, you’re right, you are a mystical, fire breathing creature, I guess it’s not too far of a stretch for you to have magic.” Killian chuckled as he remembered how odd it’d looked when Emma appeared to be talking to herself yesterday, and now here he was doing the same thing. “Wait! I dreamt you told me you are my power animal as well as Emma’s!” Killian exclaimed as his dream came back to him.

Killian was greeted with utter silence. “Oh, now you’re going to clam up, mate?”

Henry simply shrugged his wings. “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to find Emma and then you are going to make yourself scarce.”

Henry nodded.

Killian wasn’t sure how, but they had a story. He didn’t know what it was, but this woman he barely knew had captured his heart. A fierce determination coursed through his veins with each beat of his heart, and Killian intended to find out just how he fit into this tale. “Wait,” he looked to Henry, “are you making me feel this bravado?”

Henry shook his head adamantly. He also conveyed to Killian that he was done interfering and overstepping.

“You don’t like when Emma’s cross with you, do you pal?”

The dragon hung his head, Killian had hit the nail on the head. “Well never fear,” he said holding his hand- uh... hook up in the air, “Captain Killian Jones is here. I will fix this.”

“No! You may not call me Captain Hook.” He stared daggers at the dragon as the jibe came through. “Yes, it is fitting, I just don’t like it.”

“Okay, fine. It is rather lethal sounding,” Killian acquiesced as Henry continued to emote reasons why this name would be perfect. “But only you can call me that. Don’t go spreading the word.”

The two left the cabin in search of Emma. It wasn’t a far walk, she’d be near the water, Henry had assured him. And the little guy was right, the trees of the forest broke to a small bank along the shore of a glassy blue lake. Emma sat at the edge, her dress pulled up so she could dip her feet in the icy water as she leaned against a large fallen tree.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Killian spoke softly as he walked up behind her.

“Is the traitor with you?”

A smile broke across his face as he realized both he and Henry were being wrongfully accused of being traitors. He was sure Henry’s sentence would be much lighter, just a cold shoulder and grudge from this beautiful angel. He contemplated if it might be worse than a death sentence to have Emma Swan angry with you.

“He’s not-”

“Good.”

“You didn’t let me finish, love. He’s not a traitor.”

Emma whipped around where she sat and scrutinized Killian. “So you’re taking his side?”

Was he really being accused of being a traitor… again. Sitting down next to her, he offered her the basket. “There is no side to take, you two are a team.” An errant thought of wanting to be part of that team flitted through his mind and a small, shy smile graced his lips as he looked down at the ground.

“I think he wants to be on your team,” Emma huffed.

“Maybe he wants us to all be a team?” Killian couldn’t resist the perfect opportunity to speak those words aloud. He was floored as emotion after emotion crossed her face while she seemed to study him. He imagined she was gauging the legitimacy of his words. “I’m not sure how, but I know there is something between you and I, something real, and deep. And I want to figure it out with you, without the influence of Henry… because when I win your heart, Emma - and I will win it, it won’t be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.”

Before he could read her reaction, he was being pulled by the lapels of his magicked shirt and he was positive she was about to kiss him. Just before her lips could touch his, a loud chirping sounded within the small haven they’d created around themselves.

“Henry, we talked about this. No interfering, right?” Killian asked with a trace of irritation in his voice.

“Shhh! There’s someone here,” Emma hissed. “Henry, how far are they?”

Killian looked between the two of them, the panicked look on Emma’s face and the haphazard flapping of Henry’s wings, and he knew treachery was afoot. “Who is it,” he whispered.

Soldiers, Henry projected, two.

“Emma, you and Henry go back to the cabin. I have to take care of this, I won’t risk either of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not handling anything in your condition! If I leave, you’ll be writhing around on the ground like a snake in pain.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at him and Killian could tell the moment she lifted some of the effects of whatever dampening spell she was masking his pain with. “Fine, but stay hidden.” He watched as Emma and Henry shared a look and knew right away that his request was not going to be met.

“You keep him out of pain, and I will fight with him,” Emma said to Henry who gave a nod to confirm her idea of the plan. “Stay in the trees, I don’t want them to see you. And I’m sorry I got mad at you.” Henry flew over to Emma’s shoulder and nuzzled her cheek with his nose. “Yes, you did overstep. But I overreacted, too.”

Despite the danger lurking, Killian was inexplicably relieved that Emma and Henry had made up. As Henry took to the trees, Emma and Killian braced for the intruders.

“Killian Jones, war criminal and traitor, surrender yourself and no one gets hurt,” a man shouted from beyond their scope of sight.

“What do you want from him?” Emma shouted, grasping Killian’s hook.

“Going to let the little lady speak for you?”

“I’ll be speaking for myself,” Killian gritted out as Cassidy showed himself at the treeline.

“You’re a convicted traitor and deserter,” the other man added, “you’re to be hanged. I hereby place you under arrest. If you come willingly, no one will get hurt.”

“You’ve got the wrong man,” Emma argued. “Killian is a good man, he would never do those things.”

“He deserted the Confederacy in order to fight for the Union. If that’s not a traitor, I don’t know what is, little lady.”

“Stop calling me little lady,” Emma spat. “And if you’d told me he deserted the Confederacy the first time you spoke, I’d have applauded.”

“Oh, did he tell you his sob story of being a slave? Did he brainwash you into believing the North is superior?”

Emma glanced at Killian as if sizing up the affect Cassidy’s words were having on him. “He’s told me nothing. I just know which side I’d choose. Every once in a while, there is an underdog no one can root for.”

Killian wished he had the ability to communicate to Emma silently right now. She was unaware of how easily Neal could be rattled, and right now she was shaking the cage quite hard. “I’m not going with you, Neal. I’m not a criminal, all is fair in love and war.”

“Where’d you get that shit, all those fancy books you like to read?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Yes, I did.” Killian’s smug grin turned into a gulp as both men drew their rifles. Apparently he was also unaware of how easily Neal was rattled.

“Hands up, Jones. I’m taking you in. Shackle him, Felix,” Neal commanded the other man.

“I told you I’m not going with you,” Killian repeated. “You’ll have to shoot me, but let her go first.”

“No!” Emma shouted.

“No,” Neal answered, “I don’t think I will. I think I’ll take her as a prize.”

Neal set down his rifle, while signaling for Felix to keep his trained on Killian and Emma. He approached her with a sickening leer upon his face. “Yeah, I think I will take her right here. I’ll let you watch, Jones.”

“Over my dead body,” Killian spat as he moved to stand in front of Emma.

“That can be arranged,” Neal nodded at Felix, “shoot him.”

In the time it took Felix to cock his rifle, Emma shot her hand out toward Felix, and as he pulled the trigger a spark flared and it misfired, blasting hot gun powder into his face. Dropping the weapon, he shrieked in pain as he ran toward the water.

“What did you do to him?” Neal screamed as he charged toward Emma.

“It was a misfire,” Killian yelled pushing Neal back. “Not so tough without your gun, are you?” Killian taunted as Neal reached for his gun, obviously forgetting he’d left it back by Felix. “Let’s settle this like men. You and me, fisticuffs.”

“You want to lose your other hand?”

“In what world would you take my hand without weapons?”

“Who said no weapons?” Neal asked as he drew a boot knife and lunged toward Killian. Slashing out wildly, Neal connected with Killian’s face, slicing him. “You’ve got a fucking hook for a hand.”

Oh yeah, that. Killian jumped back as Neal made another pass with the knife. When Neal advanced again, Killian shot his left hand in front of him and deflected the blade, causing a clank of metal against metal to ring out.

The two grappled back and forth, punch for punch, knife and hook competing for the upper hand. Both men panted heavily as they fought on. Felix was still down at the lake dousing his eyes and face in the water, while Emma made sure he stayed put and kept an eye on Killian. She could, no doubt, end this thing with a flick of her magical wrist, but perhaps for Killian’s pride, she wasn’t interceding.

Blood dripped down Killian’s face where Neal had cut a gash across his right cheek, his left eye was swollen almost shut, and his ribs were burning. Neal had two swollen eyes, a puncture wound to his right forearm, and a sprained ankle from where he’d tripped over a log as Killian lunged at him.

“I don’t wish to kill you, Neal,” Killian appealed to Neal where he lay on the ground after tripping. He knelt above the man, fist still cocked and hook at his neck. “If you have another solution as to how you and your lackey can return home and I can stay here, tell me now.”

“You’ll have to kill me,” Neal growled. He grasped Killian’s forearm trying to push the hook away from his neck, but it was no use as Killian threw his weight into pinning the man down.

“There is another solution,” Emma spoke quietly from where she’d perched herself on the same fallen log which had foiled Neal.

“And what’s that, love?” Killian asked.

“I could make them forget.”

“Make them forget…”

“Anything. Everything.” She stood from the log and walked up to Killian’s side. “I could make them forget that they found you or I could make them forget that it is their mission to find you. I could make them forget who they are. It just depends on what level you want to take it to.”

“I knew she did something to Felix. Is she a witch?”

“Well, since it seems we will be erasing your memory soon enough, yes, she is a witch.”

Neal withdrew his hands from Killian’s forearm and formed a cross, apparently trying to ward her and her evil off.

Emma laughed loudly at his antics. “I’m not the devil, that cross won’t do you any good today.” With a flick of her wrist Neal and Felix were both shackled and sitting with their mouths gagged. “How about instead of erasing their memories completely, I give them false memories?”

“What do you have in mind, Swan?”

“For starters, they are going to remember that they found the remains of Killian Jones, that there was no prisoner to bring back to their commanding officer. They will feel that their mission is complete, and they’ll have no recollection of this place or me. Any ideas on where they found you?”

“Hmmm,” Killian thought as he wrapped an arm around Emma. “I think they discovered my remains way up North, they should have a grand time in these fine Confederate uniforms.”

Neal tried to yell through the gag, but only mumbled nonsense could be heard.

“That’s just mean, Killian Jones.”

“He tried to kill us,” Killian argued.

“True,” Emma agreed. “North it is. Heart of Boston? ”

Felix shook his head vigorously, “Uh-uh,” he pleaded through the gag.

“Now who’s being mean?”

“That is a little harsh,” she cackled. “Okay, I will put them on the outskirts of the North, where they might have a fighting chance,” she paused to look both men in the eyes, “if they get their shit together real quick.” She kissed Killian on the cheek quickly before telling him to back up.

Killian watched in awe, from a safe distance, as Emma rubbed her hands together and focused in on her craft. She glowed with magic and the wind swept up around them, she was positively mystical as her hair flew wildly. She was murmuring quietly, her eyes closed when suddenly a brightly colored vortex opened up in the middle of the ground.

Henry landed on Killian’s shoulder at that moment and sent calming vibes through him just as he started to experience small prickles of fear, not fear of Emma, but of the situation. As abruptly as the vortex had appeared, it swallowed Neal and Felix whole and disappeared. “Swan! You were bloody brilliant, amazing!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Emma crumpled to the ground in a limp heap. “Emma!” He ran to her side kneeling next to her and sweeping her into her arms. “Emma, come back to me.”

“I’m okay,” Emma whispered faintly.

Killian smiled as she regained consciousness, albeit a tenuous hold on it. “I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”

“Why would that upset me?”

“You passed out when I told you you’re brilliant. I wasn’t sure how you’d handle me saying we are brilliant together,” he teased.

She giggled, that shy tinkling giggle before once again losing consciousness.

He caressed her cheek with his good hand and felt the flush of her overheated skin. “Henry, what’s wrong with her, is she ill?”

Too much magic, Henry broadcast. She will be okay.

“How do you know?” Killian asked desperately. Killian listened as Henry transmitted that this had happened before, any time she used a significant amount of magic.

Gently lifting her, despite the injuries he’d sustained today as well as his previous ones, he carried her over to the lake’s edge, where she’d been sitting when he’d arrived. Sitting down, he leaned against the log and held her. He marveled at how well he felt, the magic used to keep him pain free must be very powerful. It damn sure beat morphine.

“Emma, wake up darling.” He dipped his hand in the chilly water and brushed it across her forehead.

“Hmmm,” she hummed. Stretching her body while still in his arms, Emma curled into his embrace.

Deciding it was probably best to rest he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Henry, keep watch?”

Aye aye, Captain Hook.

Killian cracked an eye open to look at Henry as he chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose it does have a ring to it.”

乂❤乂❤乂

The next time Killian opened his eyes, Emma was gone. He startled as he realized she wasn’t in his arms. A quick glance around showed she was in the lake. All that was visible was her water slicked hair and bare shoulders. “Isn’t that cold?”

Emma turned around to face him and he thanked the heavens that the most delectable parts of her body were fully submerged. “It’s wonderful once you get in.” She brought her hands up to her hair to ring it out and tie it in a knot. “Join me?”

Killian would’ve been certain his eyes had fallen out of his head except he could still see.

“Come on, you’re all bloody. Let’s get you cleaned up here instead of my basin.”

Still deep in thought over the repercussions of bathing nude with her, Killian stood up and took off his shirt. He proceeded to walk to the water but stopped when Emma asked what he was doing. “I thought you wanted me to join you.”

“I do,” she laughed, “but not with your pants on. You’ll be soaked for hours.”

Killian knew she could just dry them, but maybe that was selfish after all the energy she’d exerted today. He fumbled with the fastening of his trousers as he stalled, trying to think of anything to keep his ardor under control.

“Don’t be shy,” she teased, “I’ll turn around.”

The moment she’d turned, he expeditiously stripped down and barreled into the water. “It’s fucking f-f-freezing!” he stammered.

“Give it a minute, Jones. And you gotta get in deeper.”

Oh, how he wished to get in deeper. He internally rolled his eyes at his lewd mind. Walking in further, he noticed it did seem to warm up, in fact, the closer he got to Emma the more comfortable the water became. He dared not get too close, he was quite certain he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“Come here,” she said impatiently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Killian looked down at himself, he did have quite a bit of blood across his chest. He rubbed at the dried stains as he continued toward her. “Better?”

Emma pointed at her face and made a circular motion. “You’ve got a little something… well all over.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose he knocked the handsome out of me.” He’d forgotten about the pummeling he’d both given and taken earlier. Cupping water in his hand, he splashed it over his face and scrubbed.

“No one’s that powerful,” she whispered.

Killian jumped when he realized Emma was but a hair's breadth away from him. He’d felt her breath as she whispered those last words. When her hand brushed the hair away from his forehead and then cupped his cheek, he couldn’t help but lean into her palm.

As Emma wiped away the last traces of blood, Killian was lost to the depths of her bright green eyes. She didn’t look away as she worked, and he swore he could feel love simmering between them. He didn’t miss the way she glanced to his lips several times, or when her tongue lightly traced her own lower lip. That pressure deep down in his abdomen came to life, he wanted her, and not just in the carnal sense either, he wanted everything.

“You have me spellbound, Emma Swan.”

“Is that supposed to be a witch joke?”

“Not in the slightest. I am taken aback, smitten, a fan of every part of you.”

She smiled and a blush colored her pale cheeks as she looked up to him through long lashes. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“I’ve dreamt this!” Killian exclaimed. His exuberance caused Emma to startle. “Sorry, love, I mean, this was my dream yesterday. Exactly like this.” Just as in his dream, it almost seemed like she was warning him about the kiss, or preparing him for something. Only this time, hopefully he wouldn’t be rudely awoken before getting to taste her delectable lips.

“Whaaaaa-” Emma screamed as she jumped and then unceremoniously splashed down into the water.

Confused and just a bit alarmed, Killian dove down below the surface to see what was happening. Despite the beautiful blue of the laketop, it was quite murky below and he couldn’t see much. Breaking the surface once more, he was relieved to see Emma hightailing it to the shore. He watched as she emerged, water running in rivulets from her hair and glistening as it trailed down her back. Just as her pert backside broke the surface she snapped her fingers and was fully clothed.

Killian growled as he made his way to the bank. “What happened?”

Emma snapped her fingers once more and Killian was dressed too. “A fish happened,” she shuddered. “I don’t know about you, but a slimy fish swimming across my backside doesn’t work for me.”

Killian laughed, he had to agree with her there. At least it was nothing serious this time. “So why are you snapping your fingers now, instead of…” he mimicked her wrist flicking.

“I don’t know,” Emma said, “I really don’t need to do either. It is more a physical manifestation showing I am doing something magical. A courtesy, if you will.”

“So all you need to do is think it, and it will happen?”

“Prove it,” he challenged as Emma nodded nonchalantly. He should not have been surprised that challenging her skill would only end with him being naked. “Cute,” he grumbled, quickly covering himself with his hands.

“Yes, it is.”

Killian’s eyes bugged hilariously before narrowing to mere slits. “Is that supposed to be a size joke, because I assure you, there is no truth to your statement.”

“Prove it,” she snickered.

Just as Killian lifted his hands away to let her look her fill, he found himself clothed once more.

“Hey!” Emma whined. “You’re such a killjoy, Henry.”

Henry chirped and squawked as if to say he wanted no part of this whole situation.

“Henry, my boy! Good looking out.”

“What is this, a boys only club now?”

“Oh, not at all, Swan,” Killian consoled. “Come, sit, let’s eat. I brought some things this morning.”

Sitting down along the bank, Killian passed her the canteen and set out the fruit and biscuits. They talked at great length about nothing in particular. It was more relaxed than either could remember being, and once more Killian found himself marveling at the unique sense of belonging together.

“May I ask you something,” Killian asked.

“Sure.” He noticed her hesitation, as if she was weighing the pros and cons of letting him ask her a question.

“Where are you from, how did you and Henry find each other, and how did you come to be alone?”

A nervous sounding chuckle broke from between her lips. “That’s a lot.”

Killian scooted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her. “I guess that was more than just one thing, but I’d love to know more about your beginnings, Emma.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I want to know everything.”

“Let’s get home first,” she suggested. Something about the way she said home was so endearing to Killian, as if it was his home, too. He understood her desire to have familiarity amidst if she was going to tell him her life’s story.

After packing up the basket they started the trek to the cabin. Emma reached out and grabbed his hook as if it were the most natural action in the world. He was still in awe of how easily she accepted his missing appendage.

It was already late into the evening by the time they arrived. Cleaning up and changing into sleeping clothes once more, they laid down in the darkness.

Tonight though, Killian didn’t face away from her. They lay facing each other, heads on their pillows with just the glow of the moon lighting the room softly. He stayed quiet, knowing that Emma would start when she was ready.

“Do you want the long story or the short story?”

“I want the whole story,” Killian answered, running his hand through her hair. “I want to know everything about you, love.”

A small smile sat upon her lips as she began. “I was born in Massachusetts in 1688 and I’m from a place called the Enchanted Forest.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Killian interrupted.

“That’s because it isn’t part of this realm.”

Before he could interrupt her to find out what that meant, she placed a finger to his lips. He smiled against them and took the cue to shut up.

“When my mother was pregnant, a prophecy was told that I would become the most powerful witch of the realm. My mother’s stepmother was enraged, she’d been the ruler of the Enchanted Forest for centuries. She threatened my mother, telling her that she would kill her, my father, and me if she didn’t get rid of me.”

Killian’s heart clenched at the thought of a mother abandoning her child. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm, hoping to provide comfort.

“Of course she refused, and so my wicked step-grandmother ordered our deaths. My parents crossed over to this realm and fled to the town of Salem where they planned to live like commoners. Five years later we were living peacefully and safely, but…”

Killian pulled her closer when he sensed her distress.

“I couldn’t always control my magic. It was little things, but soon, none of the other kids wanted to be around me. They were afraid of me. My mother tried to work with me on how to control it, but I was so powerful even then, and she didn’t have the means to train me. After several of the other girls went too far in mocking me, by pretending to be possessed, they accused my mother and her best friend of being witches.” Tear tracks streamed down her nose and cheek as she remembered the anguish as strongly as if it were yesterday.

“The Salem Witch trials?” Killian asked in astonishment.

Emma nodded her head. “So many women, innocent women and a few men were wrongfully hung because of me. All because I really was afflicted. My parents had no choice but to return to the Enchanted Forest. They begged Regina, my step-grandmother for shelter. She refused, and this time she didn’t let us go. She crushed my father’s heart as a warning to my mother.”

“She killed your father?” Killian was outraged, he wanted to slay this beast who’d hurt Emma.

“No, there is a way to live without your heart in my world. If you are true love, you can share a heart. After Regina crushed his heart, my mother split her own heart in half. They live even now by sharing two halves of the same heart.

She ordered me banished, and cursed me to walk the earth alone. She also made it so my parents couldn’t leave the realm without losing all of their memories. The night before I was to be sent away, my mother pleaded to every deity to send my power animal to guide me safely back to this realm and watch over me.” She looked over to the settee and smiled fondly at Henry. “That’s how Henry and I met, we’ve been together ever since.”

Hearing his name, Henry sleepily stirred, and as though summoned, he flew over to the bed and nestled between them. Emma gently stroked a finger over his tiny head and he seemed to absolutely purr.

“Have you ever been back? To try and defeat this evil witch?”

“I can’t risk it. My parents share one heart now, if anything were to happen to one of them, they would both die.”

“But the prophecy said you would be the most powerful witch. That has to count for something.”

“The prophecy also said I’d meet my true love in the form of a…”

“Of a what?” Killian asked when she didn’t continue.

“The point is, the prophecy foretold many things and after almost three hundred years, not one of them have come true.”

“What else did the prophecy say?”

Emma pulled away from Killian’s embrace and he could detect a trace of discomfort. “What aren’t you telling me, Emma?”

Henry stirred again when he sensed the discourse. Looking to Emma, he tilted his head as if asking her a question.

“I’m not scared,” she told Henry. “But what if the prophecy was wrong?” she asked him as tears welled in her eyes. “No, no you won’t. I’ll tell him.”

Killian sat up in bed and leaned against his pillows and the wall. “You’ve nothing to fear, love. You can tell me anything. Can I tell you about my dream from this morning?” He held his arms out to her, wordlessly asking her to allow him to hold her.

Sitting up alongside Killian, Emma scooted closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. She nodded her head, “Tell me what you dreamed.”

“I was having a conversation with Henry. An actual conversation, he was speaking.”

Emma chuckled. “What did he sound like?”

“He had the voice of a spirited boy, and he had some pretty hopeful and positive things to tell me.”

“Like what?”

“He said some heavy things, love. Are you sure you’re ready to hear them?” He could feel the tense of her body. And he knew she knew what he was going to say, but still he waited for her answer.

“Mmhmm.”

“Henry told me we are meant for each other. He said we’ve been destined to meet since you were born. And he also says he is my power animal, too. I don’t know about you, but I believe him, I think he was communicating with me while I slept. And I think that’s why you were upset with him this morning.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

“You’re something of an open book, love.”

She looked up at him seemingly daring him to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue. “How can two people share a power animal, Emma?”

“Why don’t you ask Henry since he seems to have all the answers?”

“Because I want you to tell me.”

“The only way for two people to share the same power animal is if they are true love.” The words fell from her lips so softly that Killian almost didn’t believe his ears.

“True love,” he tried the words out. He’d surely felt a connection from the moment they’d met, and he didn’t consider it out of the realm of possibility that this woman could be his true love. “Do you believe it?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe, Killian. I want to be loved because someone loves me for who I am, exactly how I am, not because of some stupid prophecy.” She hopped up from the bed and paced the room.

Killian felt bereft as soon as she left his arms. He needed to lay it all on the line. He knew he wasn’t wrong, his heart wasn’t wrong. “What if I told you I’ve felt a connection to you since the moment I opened my eyes and you were there.”

“I’d tell you it’s because I’ve been casting a dampening spell for your pain.”

“Not this morning when you stormed out of the cabin, and not today at the lake when Cassidy showed up. Henry was keeping watch over me then. And the connection I feel to you wasn’t broken for a single second, in fact, it only strengthened in those moments.”

Jumping out of bed he walked over to her and placed hand and hook on her arms. “Tell me you feel it too, Emma?”

“Part of the prophecy said that my true love would seek me out and would come to me in the form of a man who wasn’t whole.”

Killian held up his hook, waving it in her face. How could the prophecy possible get more accurate, he wondered, but she continued on.

“I met a man some eighty or ninety years ago, he said he had no heart, he said he wasn’t a whole man. He swore an evil witch had stolen it. Graham was so gentle and sincere. I convinced myself that he was the man from the prophecy. Despite everything that happened, I still believe we shared some form of love. It just wasn’t true love.”

“What happened?”

“He was sent to kill me, by Regina. She held his heart hostage and even had some control over his actions. In the end she killed him when he didn’t fulfill her command to end my life. He died in my arms.”

“Emma, I’m so sorry.” How could she still be the beautiful soul she was after almost three hundred years of a lonely and loveless life? He understood now how she might doubt the prophecy after semantics played a part in her heart break. Still, he didn’t see the harm in trying, he was no hired gun, and he sure wasn’t missing his heart, unless you counted the fact that Emma owned it. “Why would you deny yourself the happiness I know we could share?”

“I’ve dreamed for centuries of blue eyes and a hook, that’s the real reason I chose to give you a hook. The real reason Henry called me a liar at dinner last night. What if I am projecting my hopes, what if we try and I’m wrong again?”

“I know what I feel, Emma. I know you’re it for me, prophecy or not. And if you’ll have me, I’m in this for the long haul.”

“Killian,” she whispered, “I… I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. From the moment I found you passed out on my front porch I have felt a connection to you that I’ve never felt with anyone. I can’t explain it, but I’m afraid to hope for it.”

“I knew you felt it, too,” he murmured as he wrapped his hooked arm around her waist and brought a hand to her heart.

“I do,” she admitted. “But sometimes when things are too good to be true, they aren’t true.”

“Emma, we feel the same connection, we share a power animal, I am literally missing a hand, making me technically not whole. How much closer could we be to the prophecy? What are you so afraid of?”

“The last part of the prophecy said if I find my true love, all evil would be vanquished from the Enchanted Forest.”

“Doesn’t that mean you could go home?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means.” Tears welled in her eyes once more.

“What’s wrong with that?” Killian had a sinking feeling in his stomach that perhaps he wouldn’t be able to go with her. He would never make her choose between himself and her parents, but still the thought of losing her rocked him and a sadness so great overwhelmed him that his own eyes filled with tears.

“No, it’s not that,” she told him. “You could come too.”

“Did I say that out loud?” Killian asked in confusion.

Killian’s eyes widened comically and Emma beamed at him as it dawned on both of them that they’d just communicated telepathically.

“Wait, if I could come too, what has you so down?”

“I am so afraid to hope, Killian. So afraid. What if we aren’t true love? That would mean I met a man I love, but evil won’t be conquered in my realm. I wouldn’t be able to go home. And even worse, what if one day my true love did arrive. What would we do then?”

“You love me?” he breathed.

Emma rolled her eyes, “Of course that’s all you picked up from that entire-”

“Aye, that is all I am hearing, because the rest is horseshit. I don’t know how we prove this true love thing, but I believe, Emma, I can feel it.” He picked her up and spun them around in a circle. “I love you, Emma Swan, with all my heart.”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” she murmured.

“Why do you keep telling me? Why don’t you just do-” His words were cut off as her supple lips collided into his, just as their two worlds had collided. A mix of soft and sweet with dangerous and arcane. Killian only took a second to catch up, opening his mouth to hers. His hand slid into her hair grasping gently at the base of her neck, and he relished the feel of her hands as one caressed his chest and the other played with his hair.

Suddenly the air around them stilled, and it wasn’t that he couldn’t breathe, but that he didn’t need breath. Time seemed to freeze. In his mind’s eye, a flash of every memory he’d ever had, some good, most bad, flooded him. In that moment, he knew that every atrocity that had befallen him, from his mother’s early demise, his father’s treacherous betrayal and abandonment, the years of slavery, the devastating loss of his brother’s life as they fought for the Confederacy, to the loss of his hand, had all happened for a reason. He’d been set on a path by destiny itself to meet this woman, his one true love.

As soon as the thought was born, time exploded back to life as a gust of wind and light burst forth from where their lips were joined. “What was that?” Killian asked as he tightened his grip on Emma.

“That’s true love,” she gasped. “Killian! That was true love’s kiss.” She assaulted him with kisses as she laughed and cried tears of joy.

He kissed her thoroughly before taking a moment to say, “I told you so.”

“Oh my gosh, you sound like Henry,” she laughed.

Killian laughed heartily before planting another kiss on his true love’s lips. “When do we leave?”

“You’ll come with us?”

“What kind of question is that? Obviously, I am going with you.”

“I just wasn’t sure if you had anything here in this realm to stay for.”

“I have you, Swan. Everyone else dear to me is deceased.”

“I know,” she whispered as she stroked his cheek. “I saw everything,” she confessed, “when we were kissing, I saw all your memories.”

He knew it wasn’t pity he saw in her eyes, but perhaps understanding, because when they’d kissed, her past, also filled with experiences no one should have to endure, had been revealed to him. “That was certainly easier than having to tell every sad detail of my past,” he joked. He knew that Emma recognized the deflection with humor charade, and he loved her a little bit more for letting him get away with it.

“You have me and Henry now. And once we get home, you’ll have more family than you’ll know what to do with.”

Killian smiled at the idea of family. He hadn’t had one of those in a very long time. Not as long as Emma, but he was a mere mortal, his lifetime wouldn’t last nearly as long as hers.

Yes it will, Henry pushed into Killian’s mind.

“How so?”

“Hmm?” Emma asked as she broke from the embrace and led Killian back into the bed.

“Sorry love, I was speaking to Henry.”

“Alright mister, I see we are going to have to set some rules eventually.” He watched her pick Henry up off the bed and place him on a pillow that seemed to be just for him, on a nearby table.

Henry huffed in annoyance before conveying his train of thought to her so she could continue the discussion with Killian.

Emma laid back down in bed next to Killian so they could face each other again as she began to explain what Henry was trying to communicate. “My mother was a bit of a rebel in her younger days, she liked to sneak into the mortal world to see how the other half lived. I think she just had a stronger need for adventure than most. My father is a mortal, just like you. She met him when they were both out wandering the woods bordering our Enchanted Forest. He says it was love at first sight. She says it was punch first, ask questions later. Anyhow, my point is, my father ages the same as my mother now. A witch’s mate, if they’re true love, will inherit the same life span.”

“So, I’m not going to age? I’m going to be this devilishly handsome for centuries?” Killian grinned salaciously and waggled his eyebrows, causing Emma to roll with laughter.

“You are so full of yourself.”

“I’ll have you know I prefer self confident. And I will still pale in comparison to your beauty,” he exalted.

“Are you trying to charm me?” Emma asked as she edged closer into Killian’s space.

“It depends, is it working?”

“Even though I know you do not need your ego stroked even a little bit,” Emma paused to lick her lips, “I find your self confidence very attractive.”

Killian inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself, for his mind was still stuck on the word stroke. He definitely had something she could stroke, and goddammit why was his mind going there right now. Here they were, in the midst of a life altering evening, and he was having obscene thoughts. “Then in that case, yes, I am definitely trying to charm you.”

“Good,” she whispered. “I think I want you just as much as you want me, and I have since you got here.”

He could feel her body heat radiating off her in waves, and good God was she trying to kill him? Yes, she may want him, but he was quite sure she didn’t want exactly what he wanted right at this moment. Clearing his throat gruffly and attempting to inconspicuously back his groin area away from hers, he asked again, “So when would you like to leave?”

Emma blinked several times, confusion evident on her face as she processed his change of direction. “Well that depends on a couple things. I can open a portal, which would be the quickest way, or we could travel by land or by sea. If we use a portal we can leave anytime. If we go by land or sea, we have to procure horses or passage on a ship. How quickly do you want to leave?”

“As soon as you want to, darling. You haven’t seen your parents in centuries, the sooner the better, right?”

“I want to leave tomorrow, and I want to open a portal but…”

“But what?” he asked. He could sense concern in her tone, perhaps she was nervous after her reaction to the last time she’d opened a portal. Or maybe she was nervous about bringing him home to her parents? “Are you scared?”

“Not scared, but there is one thing we would have to do first.”

“Your heart’s desire, that’s all I want.” Killian caressed her cheek in his palm and leaned in to seal his words with a kiss.

“You can’t travel through a portal in your condition. The minute I rescind the dampening spell, you will be in pain. We can wait for you to heal on your own, which could take weeks, or I can heal you.”

“That’s easy enough, heal me, and we shall depart at your whim.”

“Okay,” she answered, almost inaudibly.

Killian couldn’t figure out why she seemed so unsure. “What is it, Emma? Are you unsure of your ability to heal me? Because I have faith in you, I have yet to see you fail.”

Emma beamed under his praise. “No, it’s not that, it’s just, well, healing is an extremely… physical process.”

Even in the dim moonlight he could see a hint of blush upon the apple of her cheek. “Physical how, like painful?”

“Touch, I would heal you through touch. It won’t be too painful, but it might be more invasive than you want.”

“I assure you, be as invasive as you like, my body is at your disposal.” He really meant it too, even though he was also trying to make her more comfortable.

“Are you sure?” Emma asked, propping her head up on her hand. “Because a second ago I told you I want you and you completely changed the subject.”

It was Killian’s turn to blush as he chuckled lightly. “I needed a moment to settle my… well I was slightly overstimulated and I don’t wish to offend you.”

“Offend me? When a woman tells you she wants you, isn’t stimulation a good thing?”

“I didn’t realize you were talking in those certain terms, a mere misunderstanding, I promise.” He pulled her close, so close he rested his forehead to hers. “I want you in every way, Emma.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whispered before kissing her. Threading his hand into her hair he sought a deeper kiss, licking her lower lip and nibbling at it softly.

Her lips were pliant to his request as she opened to him and allowed his tongue to stroke hers. He felt lit up, invincible as their mouths moved together. Rolling her to her back, he slipped his hooked arm under her pillow so he wouldn’t hurt her, and placed his other hand upon her hip. Killian kissed down the column of her neck, pausing when she’d emit a particularly wanton moan, making sure to pay attention to her body’s communication.

“Wait,” she panted. Her hands, which were buried in his thick hair, pulled his head up so he could see her flushed face. “Let me heal you first. If I have to concentrate on keeping you pain free, I won’t be able to fully enjoy you.”

“We can’t have that, Swan.” He acquiesced to her lead as she pushed against him, urging him to roll onto his back.

With a flick of her wrist, his shirt was gone. He gave her a cocky grin and asked if it was altogether necessary to be shirtless, to which she rolled her eyes. He wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no, but it didn’t really matter either. “Focus on my touch,” she whispered.

When she straddled his stomach, Killian was almost positive it was not necessary, but he’d be a fool to question this woman’s reason for being astride him. Placing each of her hands to his temples, she rubbed delicately, and Killian couldn’t help but close his eyes. The feeling was absolutely serene, his mind felt clear, and the pressure behind his swollen eye dissipated. As her thumbs rolled over his cheeks, the sting of the gash on his right cheek dulled until it was no more.

“You have three broken ribs,” she stated, “and no matter how powerful my magic is, it’s going to hurt when I reset them.”

“That’s okay, I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” she said with a sweet smile. She leaned down to kiss him deeply, a little roughly even, and Killian had to wonder if this whole healing process wasn’t an aphrodisiac for her, it certainly had him worked up.

She slithered down his body, pausing when her core hovered above his fully hardened cock. Fuck, how he wished she would rub herself against him. “Emma,” he whined.

“Shhh, I’ve got you.” She fisted his hair in one hand and placed the other flat against his rib cage. When she set to work, he thought he might be split between heaven and hell. She placed her lips to his once more, then pulled at his hair and ground her hips tantalizingly against his while at the same moment she summoned the bones of his rib cage back together.

The whimper that left his mouth was a mixture between excessive titillation and sheer agony. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to come or cry, or both.

“That,” she said, with another yank of his hair, “was the art of distraction.”

His breathing was heavy as he struggled to gain some composure. A wicked grin cut his mouth as he realized Emma Swan was a bit of a minx, and she was definitely enjoying this healing process. “Come here,” he growled, pulling her down on top of him and kissing her breathless. “That was incredible.”

“I thought so,” she smirked with a buck of her hips. She sat up and grabbed his hook, “Last part.”

Killian gave a nod of his head.

“What would you like?” she asked, placing a kiss to the curve of the shiny metal.

Killian furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Uhhh, I’d like to be healed so I can make love to you.”

Emma giggled and blushed as she told him she wanted that too. “But what do you want for your… appendage? I can give you something that resembles a real hand, it wouldn’t be yours though, unless you happen to have it, or know where it is?”

Killian’s face soured at the thought of reattaching his rotting hand, wherever it may be. “That is quite macabre, and I don’t have it anyhow.”

“I could leave it severed, but healed?”

“Why can’t I have the hook?”

“You can,” she said excitedly. “I wasn’t sure if you would want it.”

“I’ve grown quite attached to it, actually. And Henry…” Speaking of Henry, Killian glanced around and realized the little hellion was nowhere to be seen. Considerate little guy, he thought. “Henry has given me a most colorful moniker to go with it.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow, as if unimpressed. “And what would that be?”

“Why, Captain Hook, of course.”

A loud laugh burst from Emma as she slapped his chest playfully “You boys are so funny.”

“I quite like the name, it’s ominous.”

“Oh yes, so ominous,” she teased. “Am I going to have to call you that in bed?”

“If the hook brings you any pleasure, you must!”

Emma covered her face with both hands and Killian knew then and there that she’d already considered the act. “You little coquette!” Killian sat up and leaned against the pillows with Emma still straddling his lap as he waited for her to regain her composure. She was absolutely adorable.

“Are you ready,” she asked, removing his hook. When he nodded, she took Killian’s forearm in her hands and smoothed her hands over the damaged flesh. Killian watched a golden glow radiate from her palms as she massaged from his elbow down to his wrist. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but it would be healthy.

She kissed the blunted end of his arm and cradled it to her cheek. “How does that feel?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

Killian’s eyes were a little misty at the tenderness she exuded. He rubbed his arm, squeezed up and down the healed area testing for any sign of distress. “Good as new,” he whispered hoarsely. He couldn’t help but pull her into a fierce hug. As they locked in an embrace, love and understanding flowed between them, and despite his missing hand, Killian couldn’t remember a time he’d felt more complete, and he could sense Emma was feeling the same thing.

She acted first as their combined emotions spilled over into need. Killian didn’t hesitate when her lips assaulted his, in fact he pounced back with as much fervor, sucking her tongue between his lips and massaging it with his own. Breaking the kiss, he rucked up her nightie and pulled it over her head, thankful that she’d let him do that the old fashioned way.

Passion filled Killian’s eyes as he looked his fill of Emma Swan. Her breasts were full and tightened at her rosy nipples. He was mesmerized as he scanned her lissome frame down to the apex of her thighs which cradled his still clothed cock. “So gorgeous,” he muttered. He ran a finger between her breasts and down her stomach to her belly button, she was so soft and warm. A shiver coursed through her and covered her skin as he continued to touch her, hand and blunted wrist familiarizing themselves with the feel of her body.

Leaning down, Killian wrapped his left arm around her and sucked a nipple into his mouth, working her gently before switching to the other one. He jumped when he felt her hand wrap around his shaft, he’d been so caught up in acquainting himself with her breasts he hadn’t even noticed she’d magically divested him of his pants. He looked up to see Emma greedily staring as she languidly stroked his cock.

“See something you like?”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, never looking away from her ministrations.

Killian ducked his head and surged to her mouth once more, kissing her passionately. He could feel her rubbing herself against his thighs as she continued to work him. Halting her movements, he slid his hand between her thighs and he could feel her heat before even touching her. When he slid his middle finger into her, she broke the kiss to cry out his name. It was the most glorious thing he’d ever heard.

Killian’s cock twitched in her still moving hand as his digit explored her soaking core. His mind raced as he imagined what she’d feel like once he was buried inside her. He added another finger and Emma threw her head back for just a moment before focusing back. He smirked as he realized she really did like what she saw, she liked to watch, her pupils dilated as she stared at his fingers pumping in and out of her. Picking up the pace, he marveled at the way she thrust down upon his fingers, taking what she wanted, and as her soft moans became more needy he grazed his thumb over her clit once.

“Yes,” she panted. “Do it again.”

Killian complied, making the same pass over and over. When she grabbed her breasts to tweak her nipples he almost spilled himself, his saving grace was that she’d had to release his cock to touch herself. It took her but several more pumps of his fingers before she was calling out his name like a praise. Her whole body tensed, and she squeezed his fingers so tightly his cock actually felt jealous.

Before she’d even come down, Emma got to her knees and pulled him in for a kiss. “If your fingers are that good, I can’t wait for the real thing,” she panted between still ragged breaths.

Killian groaned as she grabbed him once more, only this time she slid her coated folds up and down his shaft instead of her hand. It drove him mad as she whispered in his ear before sucking his lobe into her mouth. He quickly flipped them so that she was on her back, and he studied her face for any sign of hesitation. When all he saw was love and desire, he thrust into her in one fluid stroke.

He had no words, he couldn’t even emote how she felt around him because a choice enough description was beyond his scope of thought. He didn’t want it to end, and so he stayed buried, enjoying the pulsing of her post orgasmic walls. When she squeezed his butt and gave a small thrust of her hips, he knew she needed more. Propping himself up on his blunted arm, he looked down at her as he pulled out and then slowly filled her back up. The wet slide of heated flesh against his swollen cock was unimaginable, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. He wanted to see her face though, wanted to watch her pleasure while taking his.

Emma wrapped her legs around his back, and her hands around his neck, and he knew she wanted him close. Placing more of his weight on her, their slick bodies rubbed together as he thrust into her over and again. Killian placed his forehead to hers as he neared the edge, wanting to be connected. When her body tensed up once more, signaling her release, he let all finesse go and pumped into her erratically. As her walls began that pleasurable flutter and clamped around his cock he came harder and more blissfully than he’d thought possible.

Killian sighed out her name while holding her close. “That was…”

“I know,” she whispered.

And he knew she did, there were no words to convey, only feelings. Unconditional love, absolute trust, bliss to name a few. They luxuriated in the peaceful embrace that seemed to permeate the entire dwelling.

“Let me get a cloth to clean us,” Killian said; but before he could even move, Emma had them bathed and spooning under the covers.

“Sleep,” she murmured, “we will have a long day tomorrow.”

“Are you excited?”

“I’m so excited, Killian, and nervous,” she gushed. “I can’t wait to see my parents, my home. And I can’t wait for them to meet you.”

Killian’s heart squeezed a little when he picked up on the pride in her voice as she expressed her wish for her parents to meet him. “I cannot wait either, my love.” Tightening his arm around her waist, he pulled Emma closer into the cradle of his body, and wishes of good night, and I love yous passed silently between them as they drifted off to sleep.

乂❤乂❤乂

“Bugger off,” Killian grumbled, as an incessant knock pounded at the door. Whoever it was, was rather insistent, and it was grating on his last good nerve. He rolled over to see Emma still blissfully passed out. They had been up quite late indulging in more enjoyable activities than simply sleeping.

Answer it, Henry projected.

It’s still dark outside, mate.

Answer it! This time Henry added a persistent chirp.

Fine! Killian projected back as he stumbled out of bed and pulled his pajama pants back on. He ignored Henry’s warning to put on more clothes as he sleepily walked to the door.

“Bloody Hell, give it a rest,” he hollered as he reached the door and pulled it open. “What is so important that has you banging on my door before sunrise,” Killian asked crossly as he stared down the young couple.

“No!” the woman cried out.

Killian studied the short brunette as she clutched at a small crocheted blanket. She looked between him and the blonde man standing next to her.

“But…”

“Shhh,” the man murmured into her hair as he pulled her into his arms. “Sorry to have woken you,” he said to Killian.

Killian stood there watching the couple and his heart squeezed as he witnessed the anguish between them. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he wasn’t sure that was proper. “Have you traveled far? Would you like to come in and rest?”

“I used the locator spell, David. How could it be wrong?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. But we will find her.”

Dawning hit Killian the moment he heard the word spell. His heart soared a little as he realized Emma might get to see some of her family sooner than she’d even hoped.

“Killian, come back to bed,” Emma called to him, “and you better still be naked,” she added in a sultry tone. A blush broke out from his abdomen, where his pants were still hanging low, all the way up to his ears. Dammit, why hadn’t he listened to Henry when he’d told him to put on more clothes.

“Pardon me,” he grinned sheepishly, “just for a moment.”

The couple stared at him with puzzlement across their faces as he closed the door over.

“Emma!” he hissed as he double-timed it over to their bed. “Emma! Get up.”

“Why,” she whined. “Come back to bed.”

Killian jumped as she cupped his cock, doing her best to entice him back to the comfort of their bed. “Love,” he implored, “please get up, poof us dressed, and-”

“I’m sorry, but did you say, Emma?” the brunette called from the entryway.

Killian’s head whipped around to see that the couple was now standing right inside the doorway peering in their direction. He lightly smacked Emma’s hand away from his crotch before broadcasting as loudly as he could to her that they had company.

“Oh, shit,” Emma muttered as she pulled the blanket up to her neck. As Killian had requested a moment ago she poofed them dressed and then exited the bed. Who is it? she silently asked him.

Take a look for yourself, Swan. I think you may be able to tell me who it is.

Emma peered around his shoulder to take a better look. “Is this a dream?” she asked as her eyes welled up with tears.

“No, love,” he whispered with a smile.

“Mom? Dad?” Emma asked hesitantly.

“Emma!” the woman exclaimed. “It did work!”

Emma pulled Killian by his hook as she ran to her parent’s embrace. He watched as the three broke into tears, the woman talking a mile a minute and the man simply cradling Emma’s head to his shoulder.

“How did you find me? How did you even know to find me?”

“We felt it,” her mother said. “There was no doubt the moment you and your true love broke the curse. And once the curse was broken, we found you using this,” she held up the white crochet blanket, “and a simple locator spell.”

“What is that?” Emma asked, reaching out to touch the fabric.

“It was your baby blanket,” her father answered, reverently unveiling the part where her name was crocheted in a pretty purple yarn.

After introductions were made, the two couples sat down at the small dining table and Henry perched on Killian’s shoulder, offering a sense of unity, in light of Emma’s parents showing up.

Snow and David explained how Regina had been stripped of all her power and the Enchanted Forest had been immediately restored to its former glory. The people were rejoicing and had already reestablished Snow and David as their Queen and King. Their intent was to take back Castle Misthaven, and the only thing left was to bring back the long absent Princess of the Enchanted Forest.

Emma in turn told her parents how she and Killian had already planned to travel to the Enchanted Forest by portal. Within the hour everyone was ready to depart. Emma packed up the shockingly sparse amount of belongings she’d acquired over the centuries, where Killian had nothing but the clothes on his back, and his mother’s and brother’s rings.

Killian looked around and wondered how different his new home would be, would this new realm be earthly? Or would he be out of his element?

“You’ll be right at home,” Emma whispered, “and I’ll be right by your side.”

Killian leaned into her and placed a chaste kiss to her lips. I love you.

And I love you.

They both said a quiet goodbye to the cabin where their worlds had collided and their magical love had begun, before setting off to their happy new beginning.

#cssns 2019 #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs au #captain swan

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thejollyroger-writer · 6 years ago

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What Happened in Berkshire {{3/3}}

THIS IS IT, FOLKS. THIS IS REALLY THE END. (though, I mean, I could probably be talked into a Christmas-themed epilogue. We’ll see.) This story has come to mean so much to me -- yes, this weird little statue-come-to-life story inspired by a @write-it-motherfuckers prompt, perfect for this year’s @cssns, and helped to be shaped into the perfection it has become by the lovely, always wonderful @thisonesatellite: my love, my incredible friend, Destroyer of Self-Loathing. And, of course, to the perfect @captainsjedi, who has, once again, captured the aura of this fic with her perfect artwork, and who created the magnificent @csseptembersunshine, for which this chapter is part of.

This final installment is dedicated to every single one of you who have commented, messaged me, liked, reblogged, kudosed, sent good vibes, flailed, and read the first two-thirds of this story. I love you all.

Want to be part of that group? Need to catch up?

PART ONE: tumblr // AO3 ;

PART TWO: tumblr // AO3

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November turns to December, snow blanketing the ground. Emma and Killian fall deeper into a routine, depending on Emma’s schedule at the hospital and which days he goes to the bar before it opens. Even though he is up much later into the night, Killian somehow always gets up before her in the morning, making her breakfast with whatever he can find in the fridge. She imagines that his being up before the sun comes from his Navy days, no matter how long ago that was; and the fact that he only sleeps for a few hours each night has a connection to all the years he spent "asleep" as a statue, fear of missing anything further than the 400 years he watched pass before his unmoving eyes. While she is not the most expert cook, she tries her best to have something for lunch, unless she’s at the hospital. It really is just about the least she can do.

(When she is at the hospital, Killian brings her lunch more often, knowing that whatever she packs or could buy at the hospital is far less healthy than what he brings her. She refuses to admit just how much she appreciates it, and how much she enjoys seeing Killian in the middle of the day.)

Especially because she’s… well, she hasn’t quite “come to terms” with what they are, but she has gotten closer. True Love still seems like total bullshit, but the relationship that they’ve built since she “broke his curse” is far from bullshit, regardless of what brought them together in the first place. Because they’re friends, before anything else. They’re friends, and as much as Killian hopes that they can be more than that someday, he’s also been giving her more space than she expected, given just how much he believes in whatever they’re destined to be.

And she’s thankful for him. She’s thankful for his friendship, for his rather uncanny ability to know exactly what he can do to make her feel better, and for the absolute spotlessness that seems to follow him around like a lingering shadow. She wouldn’t have admitted before just how unorganized her entire life was — and perhaps even just how much stress may have been caused because of it.

But now it’s better. Now it’s all better.

Which is how they wind up here, with all the furniture moved to the edges of the living room and Emma and Regina sitting in the middle of the empty floor, Emma with her eyes squeezed shut and her hands held out in front of her, concentrating harder than she ever thought possible. Though she cannot see it, a warm orange glow surrounds her hands and her forearms, fading away after her elbows. Regina is both watching her intently and emitting her own hazy red glow from her hands, though she requires much less concentration to do so.

“Can you feel him? Have you found him?” she asks after a few moments, intently watching her face for any movement.

Even though her eyes are shut, Killian recognizes the look that passes over her face, even if he cannot see the widening of her eyes that almost always comes with it.

Surprise.

And when she nods, he notices from his seat on the other side of the room that Regina’s face twists into a similar expression.

“Yes?” she asks, still trying to take in every detail of Emma’s face, even as she nods. “You can feel him?”

Emma nods again, then slightly tilts her head to the side. “Yeah, I do, I — I can feel him. But he’s — shit, he’s close.”

“What does that mean?” Regina asks, but Killian is afraid that he knows the answer, assuming that the strong chill the he feels rolling down his spine is because she also feels one rolling down her own.

Their connection has grown stronger over the past few weeks, and he’s really hoping that it’s because she he started coming to terms with what has been brewing between them. He’s noticed her smiling at him more, choosing to spend more time with him, even coming to visit some nights at the bar after her shifts at the hospital, even staying later into the night after close while he helps clean up. Recently, he has found that he doesn’t always have to be touching her to feel what she is feeling, like right now. All he has to do now is concentrate, the same way she is currently concentrating on her magic. So, while she puts all of her energy into trying to find Neal, he is focusing on trying to figure out how she is feeling, what she is feeling. And this connection between them just proves to him (though he would never tell her) that their True Love is a big deal. He can’t quite explain just how he can tell that Neal is not just in England, but actually close by. So close by that he almost moves to say something, but before he can, the silence in the room is broken by a strong knock on the door, which causes both Emma and Regina to jump, Emma losing her concentration as they all turn their attention towards the apartment door.

After a few moments, there is another knock, this one a little louder, but still none of them move to get it.

But someone has to, so Killian leaves them where they are on the carpet and crosses over the apartment to open it. He is pleading with the universe, begging for his feeling to be incorrect, though when he opens the door, he’s never been more upset to be correct in his whole life.

“Uh, hi?” Neal says from the other side of the door, and even through the blood boiling within his body that begins to hum in his ears, it is not loud enough to drown out the holy shit that escapes Emma’s lips when she sees who is on the other side of the door.

It takes Neal a moment to recognize him since their altercation at the bar was almost a month ago, but Killian can tell the exact moment it happens because the expression written all over his face changes from confusion to rage, joined by an angry “You,” spat out through gritted teeth. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I live here,” he answers, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

Behind him, Emma’s eyes are still wide, her breath caught in her throat but her lungs weighing close to a million pounds.

Until she formulates a plan, pushing herself up off the floor and rushing to Killian’s side, just as Neal asks, “And what about Emma? I was told this was her apartment.”

“Yeah, she lives here, too, she’s my—”

Emma’s hand placed on his arm, gently pulling him back to let her stand beside him in the doorway, stops the roommate from falling from his lips.

“Hello, Neal,” she says, her voice completely lacking enthusiasm, which doesn’t surprise Killian; however, when she adds, “I heard you’ve met Killian, my boyfriend,” he finds himself much more surprised. Killian tries his hardest to stop the surprise from showing on his face, and when she slides her hand behind his back, curling her pointer finger through one of his belt loops, he slips his around her shoulders, trying his best to play along without giving anything away.

Yes, their connection has grown stronger over the past few weeks, but that doesn’t stop her from continuing to surprise him every once in a while.

Emma almost laughs at the way Neal’s jaw ticks with this new information.

“How can we help you, mate?” Killian asks, not hesitating before stepping into his new role, tightening his arm around her shoulder and realizing that he has started to play with the soft ends of her ponytail.

“Well, I was hoping to apologize for everything I’ve done, to tell her —” he realizes that he’s still talking to Killian, so he turns his attention instead to Emma. “To tell you that I was a complete and total idiot and that, if you would still have me, I still love you and want to be with you.” It takes everything in her not to roll her eyes, but she no longer tries to stop it when he adds, “But it seems you’ve packed up and moved on, so—”

Killian opens his mouth to speak, but Emma beats him to it: “I moved on? Neal, you moved on before we even broke up. You were cheating on me, so if you’re a little hurt about the fact that I’ve found someone that actually seems to care about me and makes me happy and who I’m already more in love with than I ever was with you, I’m definitely not sorry.”

She doesn’t realize exactly what she’s said until she feels Killian’s body tense up at it — but at the same time, she’s not sure why it surprises her as much as it does. It’s completely obvious, the fact that Neal’s feelings towards her can’t hold a candle to Killian’s, that Killian both cares about her and loves her far more than Neal ever did — and that she loves him back. Of course she loves him back. Sure, she wishes with everything in her that she discovered it another way, that she realized it at a moment when Neal wasn’t standing by their apartment door, but she can’t even deny it anymore.

She knows that she should turn to Killian, tell him somehow that she really meant it, wasn’t just saying things to make Neal go away, but she can’t bring herself to; so instead, she tightens her grip on his hip and thinks it — though she has no idea if it even works.

Neal, however, isn’t nearly as thrown off by this as both of them are; he just scoffs. “God, Ems, you don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

Here, quite a few things happen simultaneously. The most obvious of them is that Killian, filled with newfound rage towards the man in front of him, unwraps his arm from around Emma’s shoulder and takes a step towards him, pushing him to the other side of the threshold while he snarls “I think it’s time for you to leave, mate,” through gritted teeth.

He also reaches out to grab the collar of Neal’s shirt in his fist, but before he can make contact, the second thing happens: Emma, with her eyes squeezed shut once more, holds both of her palms up towards Neal, emitting a soft white glow from her hands, which sends him into the wall behind him, not quite far enough to knock him off his feet, but enough to catch him off guard. It only takes him a moment to regain himself, and when he does, he is even angrier — though when he moves to step back into the place Emma pushed him from, he finds he cannot, finds that he is unable to come any closer to the apartment.

Because of the third thing that happened, the protection spell that Regina cast over the threshold the moment Emma pushed him out of the way. Only Emma can hex him away completely, but Regina at least managed to make it so that he could not come any closer to the apartment, and will find himself unable to re-enter the building once he leaves.

“Leave.” It’s all Emma needs to say, and when she reaches down to wrap her hand around Killian’s this time, it has nothing to do with Neal.

For the longest beat, he doesn't move, his eyes narrowing towards her. She can see the tense of his jaw, the flaring of his nostrils when he breathes out, but he doesn't move to leave, not right away. And then, without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks back down the hallway. Once the elevator doors close behind him, Emma finally steps back into the apartment and closes the door behind them, eyes wide as they find Regina, still sitting exactly where she was on the floor of the apartment.

"Show me how you did that," she whispers, once again kneeling beside her on the floor.

Regina smiles and takes her hands. "Close your eyes."

She begins to focus on him again, easier to concentrate now that he has pissed her off more recently. She finds him almost immediately, barely out of the building.

"Have you found him again?"

She nods, trying her hardest to focus on him and not the loud, excited hum of her magic — and she definitely tries to ignore the fact that it only gets louder when Killian sits down beside her, his hand resting gently on her knee, outrightly ignoring Regina's order to stay across the room.

(Regina doesn't seem to care as much when she realizes it makes Emma's magic stronger, either.)

"Focus on him, on all the anger you have towards him, and draw a circle around yourself with that energy. Make it as big as you want, as big as you can, and once you have your circle, once you can feel your circle, release all that energy, and it will protect you."

Slowly, she sucks in a deep breath, and then does just that: releases her anger towards him out into the world, into the largest circle she can muster in her imaginary bird's-eye view of Berkshire, of England, of Europe, just as she also releases her breath.

She doesn't feel any different, she realizes, slowly opening her eyes. Both Regina and Killian are watching her intently, but she is not sure what to do, what to say. She feels exactly the same.

Okay, that's not exactly true. She can still feel the screaming surge of her magic running through her, more obvious in this moment than it has ever been. She feels like maybe she can do anything with it, a thought that still startles her a bit because of her unfamiliarity with it — but if she just did that, then maybe she really is capable of anything.

And then, just as the surging begins to slow, begins to quiet, she feels her energy fade away, suddenly both lightheaded and exhausted, and she is thankful for Killian sitting so closely beside her, since it allows her to lean into him instead of holding herself up.

“Am I supposed to feel this tired?” she asks, not even meaning to pair the question with the yawn that immediately follows it.

A soft smile passes over Regina’s face, but it doesn’t stay there long, gone even before she starts to push herself up off the floor. “Yes, that’s normal until you get used to using your magic on a regular basis, especially since you really exerted yourself today. But you should be proud of yourself and the progress you made today.”

Emma nods, not sure that she can find the strength to put what she is feeling into words, grateful for Killian as he thanks her for both of them before she leaves.

But when she leaves behind an unsettling silence in the apartment, half-formed thoughts that Emma’s mind is too tired to put in the right order, but things that she knows Killian needs to hear.

When she turns to him, he is already watching her, scanning her features for some sort of answer. “Killian,” she whispers, but it’s all she can say before he shakes his head at her, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair that has fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear before curling his arm around her back.

“I know you’ll say what you need to say when you’re ready. For now, we should get you to bed.”

“Thank you,” she manages as he pulls her up off the floor, tucking his arm around her waist so she can lean on him as he leads her into her bedroom, and she is asleep before he finishes pulling the blankets up to cover her. But even in her sleep, she feels the soft kiss he presses against her temple before he turns away, and it brings a soft smile to her face that doesn’t disappear until long after he shuts the door behind him.

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It takes Emma exactly twenty-four days to get her thoughts together. She almost breaks down before that, but every time she tries to put her words together, her fear comes creeping back, slithering between her bones until it is all she can feel.

True Love. Absolute bullshit. They have to be together — why? Because the universe decided, four hundred years ago, that she was going to be Killian Jones’ True Love. How does that even make sense? Did the universe know that she was going to exist? How? What if she had never been born? What if her life had gone differently — if her parents had wanted her, if Neal hadn’t been an absolute jackass, if she had fallen in love with someone else? Would he have remained a statue forever? Would he have had a different True Love, if Emma’s life hadn’t brought her to Berkshire? And even with everything that’s happened, what if one day he decides that what the universe wanted isn’t good enough for him — that she isn’t good enough for him?

She’s afraid. Terribly afraid that one day, Killian will no longer want to be with her, but thus far, it hasn’t been a fear that she has been able to voice.

But tonight — Christmas Eve, for Christ’s sake — the thought that hasn’t left her mind for two months now is proving to be the least of her worries. Because, as she looks at the clock over the stove for the millionth time since she got home an hour ago, she’s terrified for a whole different reason.

He’s supposed to be here. He told her the night before that the bar was closing at 2, and that he would be home around three.

But the clock now reads a quarter to six, and the only reason she hasn’t lost the (very few) contents of her stomach is because she’s taught herself to steady her breath and fight to keep it down since med school. Her heart pounds in her throat, her head, her stomach. Her calming breath is not just to stop her stomach from turning, but also in hopes of keeping her mind off the worst-case scenarios, because in her mind, he’s either dead or decided to leave and never come back.

There has to be some sort of psychoanalytic bullshit that explains that, something about her being abandoned as a child and always needing to keep herself protected from going through that kind of hurt again.

Mary Margaret would know. Her degree is in psychology. All Emma has ever done was write some sort of paper about the formation of the Ego, but Mary Margaret practically minored in Freud.

That’s beside the point, though. She’s just trying to keep her mind away from the picture of Killian dead in a gutter somewhere.

Because she’s in love with him. She wants to know that he’s safe, wants him to come… home.

Worrying her thumbnail against her front teeth, she thinks about that, thinks about home. When was the last time she had a real home? Because it certainly wasn’t during her childhood, any of the foster homes and foster families. And it wasn’t with Neal. Could it have even been in college, in the dorms and apartments she shared with Belle, Ruby and Mary Margaret? None of those places have ever felt like a home. But this? This feels like a home.

Killian feels like a home.

She is pulled out of her own mind by a key in the lock of the door, and it takes all she has to stay in her seat instead of running towards him, especially once he actually comes through the door. He’s absolutely drenched, head to toe, in what she assumes is a half-melted version of the slush that has been falling from the sky all day.

Absolutely drenched, but with a bouquet of roses clutched in his hand, smiling at her even as he shakes some of the slush out of his hair. She recognizes the silver cellophane wrapped around the bouquet as the personalized one from the stand she passes on her way home from the hospital, the one she told Killian a few weeks’ back always has the most beautiful looking flowers.

The one that’s out of his way home from work, but that she has never seen closed, even when she worked on Thanksgiving or was walking home after midnight.

“Hello, love,” he says, closing the door behind her. “Sorry I’m so late, Will wanted my help decorating the bar for Christmas for the party he’s holding tomorrow, I realized I should have texted you, but I forgot to charge my phone last night, and I—”

She holds up her hands, smiling warmly at him. “Killian, really, it’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to cause you any fear, I just—”

At this, she pushes herself off the chair and crosses the living room, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his shoulder, not even caring how wet his henley makes her cheek.

He’s home. He’s safe.

And — holy shit — she absolutely wants to kiss him. She wants to take the bouquet out of his hand so he can hold her and press her lips against his.

But for all of the epiphanies she’s had recently, all of the personal conclusions she has come to, this, for some reason, is the hardest to deal with. She feels the smile fade from her face, useless against the ever-growing dread weighing down her chest.

Two seconds. That's how long she can stand to look at him for, by her count — both of which he spends smiling sweetly down at her, probably thinking about how much he loves her — before it's all too much for her.

She takes one step back, and then another, softly mumbling, "I'm glad you're home safe," before turning away from him and walking into her bedroom without another word.

But that doesn't stop him from coming after her, knocking softly on her bedroom door after a few moments. "Emma, love, are you alright?"

She hates that. The term of endearment is enough, isn't it? But when he pairs of with her name, it makes the smallest shiver creep down her spine. Because he doesn't just do it when he wants something from her, or when he did something he regrets — like Neal. The only time Neal ever called her anything other than her name was when he did something wrong.

But Killian? Killian calls her 'love' on a regular basis. Okay, sure, he calls everyone love, it's just part of the way he talks. But for as long as she's known him (which really isn't that long, all things considered, but she still thinks she has a pretty good handle on the type of person he is), she is the only person that he has referred to with both their name and the endearment, and sometimes at the oddest times: trying to get her attention, looking for the remote, wondering what she wants for dinner.

When she's upset.

It never fails to bring a smile to her face, even now, as she stands on the other side of her bedroom door having a crisis.

Maybe she doesn’t hate it. Maybe she loves it. Maybe she loves him — and yet, every time she thinks about voicing her feelings, feelings that she knows he will reciprocate, that same fear comes creeping up her entire soul, the fear that one day, Killian will leave her just like everyone else has.

It’s not until he does it again — “Emma, love, please talk to me” — that she is pulled back to the reality of her situation, of Killian on the other side of the door, of the tears streaming down her cheeks without her permission.

She’s an idiot. A god damn fucking idiot. It’s Christmas Eve, for Christ’s sake, and she’s locked herself in her room.

This isn’t the first time. She remembers the first Christmas she “celebrated” with her first foster family that kept her for more than a few weeks, the Millers, which was possibly one of the worst times of her life. But she promised herself that night that she would never put as much faith in anyone as she did in the Millers. And that she would never get that upset over trivial things — because you can’t be let down if your expectations are already incredibly low.

She lived with that mindset for years. She even still sometimes reminded herself of it when she was with Neal — because when it came to low expectations, Neal was the lowest.

But Killian? Killian went beyond even the expectations she dreamed of having, and even through everything he has done to prove himself worthy of her trust, there was always that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that he would just be another person to let her down.

“Emma, I can tell you’re upset about something, and I may not be able to make you talk to me, but I can stay right here until you decide you’re ready.” She hears him move on the other side of the door: the shuffling of his feet against the carpet, the soft shushing of his shirt against the door as she assumes he slowly drops to the ground, and the dull thud of his head falling back against the surface behind him.

Not for the first time, she’s amazed by just incredible he is. How sweet he is. She doesn’t believe that anyone can be perfect, but he certainly has the fewest flaws of anyone she has ever met — and her best friend since high school is practically an angel walking on earth. Most of the flaws he does have come from being cursed and turned into a statue for four hundred years, though, so she can’t really be mad at him for them.

None of this helps the fact that she has no idea what to say to him.

So they sit in silence for a while, almost calmed by the presence of the other. For every good part of their relationship that she can think of, there is also a bone-chilling fear that comes to her mind right behind it, knocking her back and forth in her own mind until she is sure that she is falling to her death.

And then her phone rings, and it’s Mary Margaret.

“Fuck,” she whispers, and she can practically feel the way Killian’s whole body pricks up at the sound of her voice. She can’t not answer it — it is Christmas Eve, Mary Margaret’s favorite day of the year, plus she’s due at the beginning of February, so there is the slightest chance it’s not just her best friend calling to see how her holiday is going. “Hey, Margs,” she says, trying to put some semblance of happiness into her voice, though it all seems to have been drained out of her. She figures the least she can do is share the conversation with the man sitting on the other side of her door, so she puts it on speakerphone.

“Merry Christmas, Emma!” she yells, and Killian smiles. If anyone can help Emma through the crisis she is currently drowning in, it has to be Mary Margaret. “You’re off work, right? You said you should be home by 4 at the latest, and that was a few hours ago, right? You’re 5 hours ahead of us, and it’s 1 here, so you’re—”

Emma stops her before the time change math makes her head explode. “Yeah, you’re right, I’m home.”

“Okay, great! Great! So what are you doing for Christmas? Are you and Killian celebrating anywhere? I’m so glad you’re able to be home and not at the hospital tonight.” The rushed speed of her words isn’t completely abnormal, but there is something about it paired with the chipper tone in her voice that worries Emma.

“Yeah, it’s great, you know how much I love Christmas,” she says dryly, but before Mary Margaret can respond on the other end of the line, Emma changes the subject: “Is everything alright there, Margs? You seem a little more spastic than normal.”

She can hear the breath sucked in on the other end of the line. “No, no, I’m fine, it’s just—” she groans, a sound that makes Emma believe that it’s not all fine. “Just some Braxton-Hicks, you know? They’re just a little stronger than last time, and David suggested I do something to get my mind off of them while he gets ready to go to his mom’s tonight, so I — ugh, shoot — I called you a little earlier than I expected to just to see how things were going and if there was any new news that you wanted to divulge to your best friend.”

“Nothing that I haven’t told you already,” she says, trying to hold back the roll of her eyes. It doesn’t work very well. She’s going to leave it at that, but she has another idea, instead: she knows she’s talking to Mary Margaret, and that nothing she can say will be news to her oldest friend, and even though she might not be able to say everything she wants to Killian, she can say it to Mary Margaret. Killian listening to her through the door is just a bonus.

“So nothing new, then?”

Slowly, she breathes in through her nose and holds it for a few moments before releasing it. “Come on, you know how it is for me. I mean, I know how I feel, this whole True Love bullshit be damned, because there’s no way to deny the connection between us, but, like, it’s all almost a little too much. Everyone else in my life has decided that I’m not enough, that I’m not worth the effort of keeping around. You’re the exception, of course, but what if — I mean, I know that I want him to be an exception, but what if he’s not? What if we enter into this relationship and I think things are going really well until one day he decides that I’m not enough? That he doesn’t love me enough?”

On the other side of the door, Killian is fairly sure he feels his heart stop beating. Is that really what she thinks? After everything that he has done for her, is that really what she thinks he’s going to do? He knows it has practically nothing to do with him, that she’s been let down and hurt in the past, but he still doesn’t understand how she thinks he could do that.

But it’s not about him. It’s about her, about her fears and the hope that she will one day be able to overcome them.

He doesn’t see through the fact that she is saying all of this when she knows that he can hear her. She may not be saying this to his face, but it’s basically the next best thing.

“Have you tried telling him this? I know you think he’s going to hurt you, but what if he doesn’t?”

At this, Killian smiles, but he hears Emma’s head fall back against the door.

A few moments of silence pass between them all, and Mary Margaret is the one to break it. “It’s Christmas, Emma. Have a little faith. True Love is a big deal, nothing to shy away from.”

“I’d put more faith in Tinkerbell than I ever would in Christmas, you should know that.”

“Not every family is the Millers, and I can assure you that Killian is nothing like Neal. If you’re going to put your faith in anything, put your faith in him."

At this, Emma finally smiles. She feels much better, perhaps even enough to open the door to Killian and her relationship, both physically and literally.

Mary Margaret groans, the first one in a while, and she suddenly remembers the reason her friend called her in the first place. “How are you feeling, Margs?”

The laugh on the other end of the line is incredibly pained, but there is nothing she can do about it. “A little bit better, I guess.”

“Honey, are you almost ready?” she hears David call from another room.

“It’s time to go, Em. Think about what I said, alright? You deserve to be happy, and I think Killian wants to be the one to make you happy.”

Emma hears Killian let out a soft chuckle on the other side of the door, because they both know that she’s right.

“Merry Christmas,” Emma says, and when she releases her breath, she actually feels as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders.

“Merry Christmas. Talk to you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Bye.”

When she hangs up the phone, she is overwhelmed by the silence that surrounds her, picking out every little noise that the apartment makes: the creaking of the walls, the wind against the windows, every movement Killian makes against the door.

He’s still not sure what to say. If he should even say anything. Emma just revealed all of that, not quite to him, but she didn’t hide it from him, either.

When she does start speaking, her voice is so soft that he almost cannot hear it through the door, and it almost startles him, but definitely confuses him, because it seems to make no sense.

“When I was eight years old, I was adopted by Tim and Mary Miller, who had two biological children of their own, a three and a five year old. They adopted me in January, and another boy, a seven-year-old named Matthew, in April. Even before Matt joined us, they were the family that I stayed with the longest, for more than just a few weeks, and the year I spent with them was the longest I spent anywhere until I aged out of the system, the only family I celebrated a birthday with. I was really happy with them, even though they paid a lot more attention to their biological kids than they did to me and Matt.

“And as the oldest, I was expected not just to receive presents, but also to wrap the presents for the other three children. Every other Christmas I celebrated was at the group home, so I’d never really had a family, and I definitely never gotten more than the two or three presents that the group home could afford for each of us, but I had always heard stories of parents who spoil their children on Christmas. By the time I had spent a few months with the Millers, I thought that maybe I finally found a home, a family that loved me enough to buy me presents for Christmas.

“But when I snuck into the basement to start wrapping the presents without my other siblings knowing, I found two large boxes filled with presents for the two youngest — the biological children — and two presents each for me Matt. It took everything in me not to cry that night, and I distracted myself with wrapping, but the upset manifested itself on Christmas Eve, when other family members showed up with presents — for the two youngest children, but not for me and Matt. I spent the rest of the night in my room crying, and was back in the group home by New Year’s Eve.”

Somehow, he can tell that this is not the end of what she wants to say to him.

“I’d been hurt before, sent back to the group homes before, but for some reason, this hurt more than any of them. Getting sent back became something I got used to, but I think getting let down by the Millers hurt so much because I’d put my faith in them. So I told myself that I would never put that much faith in someone ever again, a promise that I kept until I found Neal, until I thought I found something different with him, and then — well, you saw where that got me.”

“Emma,” he starts, but she still cuts him off.

“Wait, please, I’m almost done.”

He snaps his mouth shut.

“I’m so afraid, Killian. I’m so afraid of so many things, but more than anything else, I’m afraid that someday, you’re going to wake up in the middle of the happy little life we can build together and realize that maybe you don’t love me as much as you thought you did, that maybe I’m no longer worth the effort you have to put into being with me, and you’ll just walk out the door, leave me behind for something better.”

She stops again, and he’s pretty sure that this is his chance to speak what he’s been wanting to for weeks — but at the same time, he doesn’t want to speak over her again. When she remains silent for a few more moments, he practically whispers, “Can I say something now?”

He can tell by the way she laughs that she is crying, but she’s done with what she was trying to say. “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

“I love you, Emma. Even if the universe didn’t bring us together as True Loves, I would love you. I knew that we were meant to be together from that very first breath I took, but I have spent every day since then learning about you, learning who you are, the type of person you are, and it’s only made me more sure that you are the only person I would ever be able to love as much as I love you. You’re the reason I’m here, and I owe everything to you, literally owe you my life. I can never feel the same way about another than I do about you.”

This time, when she feels the tears rolling down her cheek, they’re no longer because of the sadness that she has felt deep in her bones since that terrible Christmas. Instead, flowing through her, unhindered by fear or pain or dread, is hope.

Is love.

She stands up, much more awkwardly and making much more noise than she expected, and when she pulls open the door, Killian almost loses his balance from where he is still sitting when she pulls the door open. How didn’t he hear her get up?

“Sorry,” she mumbles, reaching down to help him back to his feet, but for as embarrassed as she feels, he just smiles at her.

“No worries, darling, I’m just glad you’ve come out from hiding.”

She has not let go of his hand, but has also not yet raised her eyes to meet his. She just bared her whole heart, her whole soul, to him, and she knows that as soon as she locks eyes with him, she is going to get lost in the vast oceans that she finds within them, and that he will continue to be the most understanding person she has ever met. She’s still not quite sure how to feel about that.

“Did you — did you mean all that?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer.

He lets go of her hand, and for the briefest moment, she expects him to take it all back, to admit that this whole thing was fake — to do just as everyone else has done, and she feels her heart begin to rise into her throat, the beginnings of her stomach turning.

But instead, she feels the soft touch of his index finger under her chin, gently pulling her head up and forcing her eyes to meet his.

Just as she expected, they have never been bluer, back to their regular brightness, and she feels herself beginning to get lost in them for just a moment until he speaks.

“Of course I meant it all, Emma. I love you, you have to know that’s true by now.”

She tries to nod, a slightly awkward movement with his finger still tucked under her chin, and she wipes the tears out of her eyes with the palms of her hands.

“I do. I — I’ve known for a while, and I just…” She pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth, worrying it for a moment. Killian’s eyes never leave her face. “It’s nothing now, and I’m sorry it took me so long to see that.”

He presses his lips against her forehead. He’s warm and soft and he loves her. “No apologies, love. I promised you that I would wait as long as I needed to for you to reciprocate how I knew I felt from the first moment I saw you, so I’m just happy that I don’t have to wait anymore.”

Emma surprises herself. She smiles. She sets her hand against his cheek, feeling the soft yet prickly stubble that he has started to leave there. And then she kisses him.

He seems just as surprised by it as she is, though at least one of them probably should have seen it coming. It’s soft, at first, as soft as his lips were against her forehead, until it quickly becomes more, weeks’ worth of passion and emotion no longer bottled up, but rising to the surface all at once. Lips, tongue, teeth, and hands all coming together as they learn the smallest details about the other.

It almost surprises her how much she enjoys kissing Killian Jones. Almost. But what does surprise her is how kissing him — that giving in to what the universe has built between them — makes her feel. And not in the way that her heart pounds in her chest, how his hand pressed against her cheek sends shockwaves against her skin. No, what gets her attention is the way her magic screams within her when his lips meet hers, the way she feels it not only in every inch of her body, but even beyond that, how she somehow feels it spread out from inside her and throughout the room.

Because she loves him. It may have taken her this long to realize it, but there’s no going back on it now, no way she would ever want to. Because, more than anything else, her magic reacts to him, to his hand in her hair and his arm wrapped around her waist and his tongue as it presses deeper into her mouth. She feels like she’s floating, lighter than she has ever been — and then he lifts her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and she really is floating.

Because she’s happy — they’re happy. Happy, together, and in love. And that’s all that matters.

▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️ ▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️ ▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️

TAGGING: @shireness-says @let-it-raines @kmomof4 @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @teamhook @profdanglaisstuff @gingerchangeling @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke@jonirobinson64 @nikkiemms @bmbbcs4evr @spartanguard @stahlop @jennjenn615 @xrandomdreamx @kday426 @courtorderedcake @kingofmyheart14 @aprilqueen84 @pirateherokillian @capswantrue @socmono @jonirobinson64 @facesiousbutton82 @captainkillianswanjones @ultimiflos @singersdd @therooksshiningknight @cocohook38 @youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat @hitting-her-stride @whatthehell102080 @scientificapricot @hookswan25 @galaxyzxstark @carpedzem

#my writing #wordsbymeganmichael #statue fic #what happened in berkshire #cssns #cssns 2019 #cs september sunshine #csseptembersunshine #writing this story has been an adventure #an incredible journey #if you will #but i've loved every minute of it

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searchingwardrobes · 6 years ago

Text

Until the Day Breaks and the Shadows Flee: 1/8

Here it is, my second contribution to the @cssns! I am really excited about this one because the story of Cupid and Psyche is my favorite myth, and I’ve been contemplating this fic since we first heard of the Underworld arc. Since CS spends all their time in the dark and in bed, this ended up being the steamiest story I’ve ever written. It’s not smut (that’s what my beta and I concluded, anyway), but it goes right up to the line. I must warn you, however, that you’ll have to endure a few chapters of slow burn first. I hope you all enjoy it!

A thousand thank yous to my beta @snowbellewells who is graciously still doing her thing even though she just had to go back to work at her teaching job because I last minute decided to make this an MC. And thanks also to @hollyethecurious for the gorgeous artwork that really sums up this story so well!

Summary: Every night, she traces the contours of his body as Killian whispers words of love against her skin. But can Princess Emma ever be fully happy with a husband who only comes to her in utter darkness? A Captain Swan AU of the Roman myth of Cupid and Psyche.

** I’m also curious if anyone knows where the fic and chapter titles come from. Drop me and ask if you have a guess!**

Rating: M for sexual situations

Words: about 3,000 in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging (let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list): @kday426 @jennjenn615 @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @kmomof4 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @shireness-says @wellhellotragic @distant-rose @mythologicalmango @optomisticgirl @xhookswenchx @branlovestowrite @ultraluckycatnd @vvbooklady1256 @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @whimsicallyenchantedrose @tiganasummertree @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @ohmakemeahercules @gingerchangeling @nikkiemms @revanmeetra87 @cocohook38

Chapter One: On the Rugged Mountain

The procession making its way down the streets of Misthaven was beautiful in a macabre sort of way. It was led by chanting priests in black hooded robes swinging orbs of burning incense. Behind them, Queen Snow and King David rode in an open carriage draped in black satin and drawn by a team of chestnut horses. They were both decked in mourning clothes of black, the queen’s face covered by a lace veil. Behind them was another carriage, this one drawn by two white horses. This one was closed, dark curtains pulled shut. Yet everyone knew who was inside, dressed in the wedding gown that should have been worn in celebration. The townspeople lowered their heads as it passed, some dabbing silently at their tears. Bringing up the rear of the procession were the ladies of the court, also dressed in garments of mourning. The only sounds apart from the clip-clop of the horses and the creaking of the carriage wheels came from them: deep wails of grief accompanied at times by the warbly singing of an old folk song about a maiden wed to death himself.

At the village gates, the priests and mourning maidens abandoned the procession, standing before a throng of villagers. The silence that had fallen amongst the people remained until the royal carriages crested a hill and were no longer in sight.

On these two carriages traveled, cloaked in silence. Even the king and queen were at a loss for words to comfort one another, and their daughter had requested to be left alone for the journey.

Finally, the carriages rumbled to a stop at the top of a misty hill. It was rumored to be filled with monsters and lesser gods and goddesses whose constant turmoil created the rumblings of thunder and flashes of lightning upon its peak.

King David helped his wife down from the carriage, then went to assist his daughter. Yet the door opened before he could lend his hand, and Emma alighted on her own, her face pale yet determined, her back straight.

“Emma,” her mother said, a sob rising in her throat, “you don’t have to do this.”

The princess’s stony expression softened slightly at her mother’s tears. “Yes, I do. What is my life compared to that of our entire kingdom?”

Snow let her tears go then, clasping her daughter in a desperate embrace. David enveloped both his girls, his hand coming up to cup the back of his daughter’s head. It seemed only yesterday he was rocking her to sleep after a midnight feeding. He kissed the top of her forehead before releasing her with a trembling smile, his eyes awash with tears.

Emma clasped the pure white fabric of her gown in both fists. “You know what the oracle said. You must leave me here alone.”

Snow practically collapsed in her husband’s arms as he led her away. Emma watched both royal carriages rumble back down the hill, her courage fleeing with them. Once they were out of sight completely, she fell in a heap upon the ground. She was surprised, however, when tears didn’t come. She supposed she’d had time to accept her fate.

The mist turned to a thick fog, and she wondered if she would die quickly before seeing the monster approach. She closed her eyes and awaited her “groom.” A virginal sacrifice to sate the hunger of a beast and save a kingdom. It was an old story, wasn’t it?

***************************************************

Emma had imagined many gruesome scenarios since she learned that she was destined to be the “bride” of a hideous creature. Yet in none of those tableaus had she imagined that she would get bored waiting for the damn thing to show up. Yet here she was, going out of her mind wondering how much time had passed. She curled up on the ground, using the long train of her dress as a makeshift pillow. She didn’t expect to sleep, but suddenly she was jolted awake by the hot sun on her face.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, amazed to see the green hill, dotted with the most beautiful roses she had ever seen, and the sky bright and blue above her. The fog was rolling away, revealing such amazing beauty as it went. Then the fog revealed something even more unbelievable, and Emma’s jaw dropped.

Right before her was a huge, glittering castle. It was of white stone, with angels on every buttress and turret instead of gargoyles. Every bit of filigree and trim around its windows and doors was done in gold. Emma scrambled to her feet, in complete awe. As if the castle itself knew she was awake, its gates swung open. Emma hesitated for a moment, part of her wondering if she were still sleeping, and another part worrying that it was a trick, but a tug in her core seemed to pull her towards the castle.

She went through the open gates, marveling further at the beauty that surrounded her. A path of white marble cut through a garden filled with flowers of every hue. They seemed more vibrant than any Emma had ever seen, and butterflies and hummingbirds flitted around them by the dozens.

Just like the gates, the doors of the castle swung open of their own accord. Emma made her way up steps also of pure white marble. The marble extended into the foyer of the castle, yet as the door gently closed behind her, the feeling enveloping her was one of warmth. Despite the cool stone beneath her feet, the wooden banister of the spiral staircase was a comforting mahogany, and the plush furnishings made her long to curl up and take a nap.

“Hello?” she called out tentatively.

In response, Emma heard giggling and childlike chatter.

“You were supposed to greet her at the door!”

“Well, you were supposed to be watching from the second floor balcony.”

“Hush, both of you, you’ll scare her!”

At first, Emma couldn’t figure out where the voices were coming from. Then she noticed glittering balls of colored light bouncing and floating all around her. If the accompanying voices hadn’t sounded so delightful, she might have been frightened.

The orbs began to grow and lengthen, and Emma could make out three distinct colors: green, purple, and red. Then she was able to see wings, then the tiny creatures attached to them.

“Fairies!” Emma exclaimed with a smile.

The orbs faded, and then three young women were delicately landing upon the marble floor in front of her. The first had blonde hair like Emma’s, pulled into a loose bun on the top of her head. Her dress looked as if it were made of green leaves.

“I’m Tinkerbell,” she said with a curtsy, “and I take care of the flowers in the garden and will also be your cook.”

The second fairy had long dark hair plaited in two braids, an olive colored complexion, and large brown eyes. Her dress was made of soft deerskin dyed with indigo and decorated with intricate beading.

“I’m Tiger Lily, and we all take care of the flowers, Tink.”

Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing at the dark haired fairy’s obvious irritation with the blonde.

The red-head giggled fondly at her fellow fairies, then addressed Emma. “I am Ariel, and I am to be your chambermaid.” Then she gasped and lowered into a deep curtsy. “I mean, your majesty.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open in surprise as the other two fairies curtsied as well. “I, I don’t understand -”

“We are here to wait upon you,” Tiger Lily explained, “at our master’s command.”

“Your . . . master?”

“Of course!” Tink exclaimed, clapping her hands merrily, “You are his bride, after all.”

Dread flooded through Emma’s veins. Being sacrificed to a monster was one thing, actually being married to one was quite another. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

“And . . . who is your master?”

Ariel giggled, and Emma was suddenly weary of the blonde and redhead’s exuberance. At least Tiger Lily seemed more sedate.

“We can’t tell you that!” Ariel exclaimed, as if it were a silly question.

Tiger Lily reached out and grasped Emma’s hands. “You are home now, m’lady, that is all you need know. All will be provided for you; anything and everything your heart desires.”

“But,” she bit upon her lower lip, “when will I meet my . . . husband?” She tried not to choke on the word.

For the first time, Tink looked solemn. “You won’t see him much, I’m afraid. He has many responsibilities. He is away from the castle now, and he gave no word of when he would be back.”

Emma frowned and pulled her hands out of Tiger Lily’s grip. “What kind of being is he? A cyclops? A chimera? What?”

All three fairies burst into giggles - apparently Tiger Lily could be silly too - and without answering, they transformed back into pixies. They dipped and swirled as they darted around Emma’s head in a most annoying fashion.

“Whatever you wish to eat will be served in the dining hall,” Tink’s voice called out.

Emma sighed as the fairies disappeared. She hugged her middle and did a cautious turn, taking in her ornate, exquisitely lovely surroundings. Well, she was hungry, and pork chops with gravy and roasted potatoes would really hit the spot . . .

Scarcely were the thoughts formed when she smelled something delicious down the hallway at the east end of the castle. She followed it, easily finding the dining hall, spread with a feast of all her favorite foods. She wondered for a moment if it could be poisoned, but her growling stomach won out in the end and she sat down to pile her plate high.

Even captive Princesses forced into marriages with beasts had to eat, after all.

************************************************************************

Ariel chattered excitedly as she showed Emma around her new chambers. They were gorgeous, Emma had to admit, with a large, ornate bed surrounded by exquisite tapestries. Emma longed to draw them around her and sink into the inviting bed piled high with soft pillows.

“Now this,” Ariel said, flitting across the room, “is the master’s favorite part.”

She flung open the French doors that lead out onto a spacious balcony, but Emma latched onto a single word. Her heart plummeted, and the last thing she cared about was a balcony with a view.

“The master’s? This . . . these are his chambers?”

Ariel turned to face her, head tilted innocently. “Of course. I mean . . . they are yours now, too. Yours and his. The . . . marital suite?”

The fairy was wringing her hands now, her face slightly pale. She turned to shut the French doors and pulled yet another tapestry across it. Avoiding Emma’s gaze, she went about the room lighting several candelabra. Then she opened the wardrobe, pulled out a long satin gown and laid it out on the bed.

“So the master will be sleeping here as well? That’s what you’re saying?” Emma demanded, stepping close to Ariel.

Her maid turned slowly to face her. “Yes. I mean, he is your husband after all.”

Emma clasped her hands together as they began to shake and took in a deep breath. She would not succumb to fear now, not when her kingdom was in danger. She released the air in her lungs and tried to force her pulse to slow.

“And when shall he return?”

Ariel shook her head, a look of apology upon her face. “I’m sorry, but one can never tell.” She bit her lip for a moment, then smiled encouragingly at Emma as she grasped her hands. “You have nothing to fear, Princess, I promise you.”

Easy for a fairy to say, Emma thought dryly. She wasn’t sharing a bed with . . . whatever the master was.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” Ariel asked.

“No. I just wish to be alone.”

As soon as Ariel’s footsteps faded out into the hallway, Emma sank onto the bed, finding it just as soft and inviting as she had imagined. She lay sideways, curled in on herself, eyeing the satin gown disdainfully. The cloth looked light as air and far more comfortable than the wedding gown she still wore, yet it had thin ribbons for straps and a plunging neckline, clearly a garment meant for seduction. She simply wouldn’t wear it.

Try as she might, however, she couldn’t get comfortable in her cumbersome gown. Frustrated, she leapt up and stomped over to the wardrobe. Inside, she found a collection of beautiful gowns, and in the back, a collection of nightgowns. She grumbled when she found that they were all in the same style, simply in different colors. Black, red, and pink didn’t seem any better than white, so she returned to the bed and began removing her dress. As she struggled with the corset, she wished she had asked Ariel for her help after all, but eventually she was slipping the simple satin garment over her head. It slid against her bare skin deliciously, and Emma sighed in contentment. She crossed over to the vanity and removed the crown of flowers pinned in her hair, running her fingers through her long locks.

A shiver ran down her spine as she crawled into the giant bed, pulling three of the four tapestries closed. On the open side, she kept the last candelabra burning, the encroaching darkness causing panic to crawl across her skin. She slipped beneath the covers, hoping against hope that the master wouldn’t be returning for their “wedding night.”

He didn’t even bother to see me in my wedding dress, Emma thought sarcastically to herself. She started to laugh bitterly, but then an image rose in her brain of being chased through the halls of the castle by a lust-enraged dragon or minotaur, and it turned into a hysterical half-sob.Then the blood froze in her veins at a creaking sound on the other side of the closed tapestries. Did someone just enter through the balcony doors?

The lights in the candelabra by her bed burned lower in an unnatural way, and Emma’s pulse quickened. She scrambled to the head of the bed, fisting the sheets and blankets at her chin. Was this when the monster would come? Had he been toying with her all this time?

A rush of air blew through the room, extinguishing all the light. The tapestries around the bed, which had seemed so luxurious when she first entered the chamber, now felt like heavy walls trapping her in. She held her breath, straining to hear, but it was useless against the pounding of her heart. She sensed his presence more than anything when he reached the bed, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Not that it made a difference in the pitch-black room.

“I won’t lay a hand on you.” His voice was deep, yet gentle.

Emma opened her eyes but still didn’t relax her posture. “I find that difficult to believe considering this,” she swallowed around the lump in her throat, “is our wedding night.”

She felt the bed dip and pulled her feet up hastily.

“Believe it or not, I speak the truth. You can trust me.”

Emma squinted in the darkness, trying to see his face.

“You won’t be able to see me,” he told her calmly.

“Then how can you expect me to trust you?” she shot back, unable to keep the frustration from her voice.

He surprised her by chuckling in a low, warm tone.

She licked her dry lips. “What kind of monster are you?”

“I’m not a monster,” he answered simply.

She eased forward hesitantly. “Then you’re human?”

“I . . . didn’t say that either.” She heard him pull in a deep breath. “Listen, all you need know is that you are safe and the plague that was ravishing your kingdom is over.”

Emma bit her lower lip. “But you expect something in return?”

“The only thing I ask is what you are willing to give.”

Emma fell back on her pillows in exasperation. “You speak in riddles just like the oracle!”

There was that chuckle again. “They do like to be mysterious, don’t they?”

Now that she was lounging upon her pillows, Emma released the sheets from her grip as well. “So what are we doing, exactly? You say you won’t touch me, so why are you here?”

“You are still my bride, that much is true, and like any groom, I wish to get to know you.”

“Most grooms do that before the wedding.”

He laughed again, and the sound was actually becoming relaxing. She wriggled down beneath the covers and attempted to stifle a yawn.

“You’ve had a long day,” he said gently. “How about tomorrow night you tell me a bit about yourself?”

Emma hesitated, her body tensing involuntarily. As if he could see her reaction, he hastily spoke again.

“Rest assured, I will not touch you without your consent. Ever.”

Emma swallowed, wanting to believe him, but unsure if she should. “Okay, I suppose tomorrow night we can talk. On one condition?”

He hesitated, and it sounded as if he were clearing his throat. “Within reason. That’s all I can promise you.”

“Tell me your name.”

She could literally hear his body sag in relief. And was it possible to hear someone smile?

“That is easy, love. Please call me Killian.”

“Killian,” she repeated, almost testing it on her tongue. “I like it.”

“I rather fancy it myself.” Yes, he was definitely smiling.

A pleasant breeze blew through the tapestries, and then the candles flickered back to life. Her new husband was gone.

#cs ff #cssns #cssns 2019 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs au #cupid and psyche au #myth #enchanted forest au #slow burn

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darkcolinodonorgasm · 6 years ago

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One Day (2/?)

Summary: By day, Emma is the beautiful swan gliding over the waters of Misthaven’s pond, but when night falls, the voice of the wolf the people living in the little town hear is Killian’s cry. The curse was meant to be forever, to keep them always together yet eternally apart. No force in Heaven would be able to break such spell, nor any force on Earth. Or so Emma and Killian thought.

A/N: HERE IT IS!! The second chapter of one of my @cssns fics! I’m so so happy of the response this fic had and very disappointed in y’all when you told me you have never seen Ladyhawke.

I need to give a huge, ginormous thank you to @profdanglaisstuff for being The Best Beta Ever™ because not only she corrects my grammar mistakes (and the lies I’ve been told about it), but she also stops me from going too far when it comes to angst. Because, uh, this chapter is full of angst, just so you know. Thank you so so much my Saviour ♥

Of course, another ginormous thank you goes to @sherlockianwhovian for the most wonderful piece of art for this fic. All the kitties snuggles tou you, my dear Leanne ♥

Last but not least, a bit of a warning: this story is very anti-Regina, and this chapter involves non-consensual touching in a non-sexual way but they could be upsetting - and there’s also a vague mention (thank Saira for that) of it in a sexual way (Graham is mentioned, that is).

And now, let’s continue our story :3

(part 1) (ao3) (ffnet)

Chapter 2

When his eyes opened and met the cream ceiling above his head, Henry sighed.

Day 722.

It'd almost been two years. Two years of pain, two years of lies, two years of pretending everything was fine and that he loved the person he despised the most.

At the age of ten, no kid should know what true hate was. Henry Jones was eight when he first felt it.

The first time he'd woken up in a room that wasn't his own, where he wasn't greeted by a bright yellow ceiling, Henry had panicked. It'd taken him a few minutes to calm down and recall what had happened.

While he knew about magic, what with him being surrounded by it and having powers himself, Henry had never seen a curse, not until Regina cast hers.

Nobody, save for the Mayor herself and one other person, knew what the curse would do the citizens of Storybrooke.

Even with the cloud of smoke enveloping him, Henry had still managed to see what happened to his parents, magically poofed somewhere by Regina’s magic, the unmistakable shade of deep purple could only mean she was the one separating them. Only after a while, when he discovered the consequences of Regina’s selfishness, Henry understood that his parents weren't in Storybrooke anymore.

He'll always be grateful that he didn't run downstairs yelling for his mother and father, otherwise… He didn't want to think about that, not when he sometimes felt as if he was forgetting. Oh, how he missed his mother, how she'd run her fingers through his hair and play silly games with him and how she would sneak a Pop-Tart to him when his father wasn't looking - as if he didn't know about their habit.

He missed the many nights when his father would be the one tucking him into bed and would then lie next to him to tell him a story. Henry loved his father's imagination, how he’d come up with a different, awesome story every night. He loved it - him - so much that he even started writing his own stories so they would have another thing in common. He missed the family trips on the boat, the barbecues at his grandpa’s, his uncle’s teasing ways to which they all would respond by teasing him about the lass he was clearly yearning for from afar. Henry missed his two grandmothers, too, both providing him with so many baked goods Henry thought he'd explode. Not that this stopped him from eating them all.

Closing his eyes once again, Henry relaxed into the bed, far from comfortable and definitely not ready to start another day of lies and heartbreak. Yet, as much as he hated being outside and facing the people he loved but who didn't remember him or their connection to him, Henry hated staying in that house even more.

He was about to drift off when the smell of apple pie reached him. He felt the need to retch.

In five minutes time tops, Regina would come bursting into his bedroom, not bothering to knock or wake him gently, all chirpy as if she was the wrong version of Snow White.

Henry still remembered how his mother would knock on his door a first time, calling for him, giving him five minutes to get out of the cocoon of blankets he'd buried himself beneath, and then proceed to come into his room, gently poking at him, tickling his feet or sides until he jumped out of the bed, squealing in delight and running downstairs where his father was making breakfast.

A lone tear slid down the side of his face; he rushed to dry it with the back of his hand.

Not wanting to see Regina more than he needed to, Henry got up, so not ready to face day 722 in that hell.

Downstairs, Regina waited for him with a smile plastered on her face, hair perfectly combed and a slice of apple pie next to a glass filled to the brim with apple juice. No more Pop-Tarts, no more pancakes, no more hot cocoa with cinnamon. Simply, no more happy moments at the breakfast table.

«Good morning, Henry,» Regina greeted him, dark red lips stretched in that sugary smile he hated.

«Good morning,» he gritted through his teeth, knowing she would scowl at him if he only grunted in response or ignored her completely. He'd learned that on day one.

He had learned so much on day one but, as much as he thought he would never feel worse in the beginning, day one hadn't been the worst day. There still were very bad days in which he just couldn't take it anymore, days in which he would go where his house, his home had once been, crying over everything that had been ripped away from him. Regina hadn't left him any sanctuary where he could seek refuge.

Like every morning, Regina would drink her coffee reading the newspaper her lackey Sidney Glass wrote for, blabbering gibberish about some stuff only to get his paycheck; he didn't even care about grammar most of the time. Before him, the editor in chief had been Isaac, not one of the best people out there, but at least he didn't make common grammar mistakes. Though very unusual for a newspaper, Isaac had created a section dedicated to stories, kids stories, a section Henry had started to contribute to, even, anonymously sharing his own stories, a modern twist on famous fairytales.

There was no writing after the curse, no freedom to do so; the only thing he had been allowed to keep, Henry had discovered on the fourth day, was his love for comics, but different ones, not the ones he loved to read. Writing, however, was out of the question, he feared Regina would find his notes and discover he'd been lying all along and that she would make him forget, for real this time.

Going to school was both a relief and a torture, since his teacher was his grandmother, and said grandmother didn't remember him at all.

She still dressed in pastel colors, flat shoes on her feet and her hair was still pitch black with just a few strands of silver adorning it like starlight.

As per usual, save for the days in which she had "early morning meetings", Regina escorted him to school. Henry knew who she would be meeting thinking she got away with it every single time. Although he didn’t know what exactly they did together, Henry was certain the man in question was coerced into it.

After all, Regina did have his heart. Poor Graham didn't deserve any of that. Nobody in Storybrooke deserved what had happened to them.

«Not even a kiss?»

Henry felt his own heart break even more.

One thing Regina was strict about was physical contact. It looked like she was trying to make up for missed years of no affection at all, constantly touching him or demanding a kiss. He didn't quite know whether she realized every kiss he planted on her cheek was full of hate and resentment or if she just was happy with herself because she finally had what Emma Nolan and Killian Jones had: their son's love. How could she understand why he acted a certain way, though, or realize every gesture was fake and held no love when she didn't even know what love was?

Not for the first time, as he turned to face her, Henry plastered a smile on his face, one he’d had to perfect in a very short time, unwilling to discover the consequences if Regina ever found out his memories were never gone.

More than once, Henry had wished he'd forgotten his life, more than once he'd wished not to remember anything. It was selfish, but his young heart could only bear so much.

Every touch, every kind word, albeit fake, seemed to him a betrayal, and every day the memory of his parents was fainter.

The intoxicating smell of apples invaded his nostrils as he pecked Regina's cheek, pulling away as swiftly as he could without arousing her suspicion.

No, Regina Mills couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what was fake. Probably it was because she was fake herself.

Although sad, Henry couldn't bring himself to have pity on her. For one, he wasn't his grandmother Mary Margaret, he could see the good in people, even bad ones, even in "villains", but this villain had taken it a step too far.

He waved his hand as he turned around, forcing himself to think more lovely thoughts, like the way his parents used to lift him in the air by holding his hands as they walked him to school, or how his mother would kiss his forehead and his father would ruffle his hair. Those were simple gestures of love, true love, which didn't need to be asked for or given as a bargaining chip for his affection.

One thing Regina couldn't change, however, was the way he would stay - or become once more - friends with the same kids, for they may have had their memories wiped away, but not their sensations about Henry.

It was some kind of tricky loophole, in a way: the people he shared his blood with and his friends didn't remember how it was before or that he was family, yet they seemed to just know. Henry just hoped he wasn't assuming things for the sake of his own feelings.

He fistbumped Nick, Ava and Grace in the garden. They were the only ones in all Storybrooke, aside from his parents and family, to know he was the boy behind the children’s stories signed with the moniker “The Author”. Regina hadn't left him even that. No, Regina had left him nothing of his life, taking everything from him so she would become his everything.

This was the very reason why Henry was glad his memories were still there, because, despite the pain, he was still himself.

Being Mary Margaret Nolan's student was strange. Rationally, Henry knew he would end up in her class, given how small Storybrooke was and its lack of teachers, but he'd always thought it would happen when she still remembered him.

Of course he knew his grandmother would stay professional, but it was also true that she cared for every child in her class, treating them with love and respect. Perhaps that was the reason why it hurt so much; Henry felt like he was as normal as everyone else to her eyes, and not at all like the grandson she’d knitted a baby blanket for or sneaked hot cocoa with cinnamon late at night knowing he would be on a sugar rush and not get to bed early.

Sitting through the lessons as she watched and talked to him as if he was a stranger at best had become less unbearable as time passed. Still, the pain never wavered, it was always there, keeping him company like a parasite.

Once upon a time, his routine had been either being walked home by his grandmother or picked up by either his parents or someone of the family. Amongst them all, aside from Emma and Killian, he had a particular preference for his uncle.

Liam Jones had always been a man of honour, deciding to put his magical abilities in service of the Navy.

For years, when Henry was still quite young, Liam was mostly shipped off somewhere in Europe, never seeing him as much as they both wanted. Only the last year before the curse Liam had communicated he'd decided to keep a more steady position on land after he'd been honourably discharged.

His uncle's new job consisted of ordering people around in Storybrooke, too - Killian's words, mind you - since he'd taken over the role of harbourmaster.

Much like almost everyone else, Liam had kept his job, but his life was still miserable. He didn't remember the little brother he'd helped his mother raise nor the sister-in-law he loved indeed like a little sister nor his nephew.

Now that nobody came to pick him up, Henry walked to Regina's house taking his time, not caring about the homework he had to do too much - he was a fast learner and quite smart for his age, but that wasn't it. Regina didn't care much about his homework either, she cared more about having him make her look like a good mother. She would never be, no matter how much she tried.

That walk towards what had become his prison was Henry's own way of seeing how his family was doing now that they were all strangers.

Ah, yes, the other effect of the curse: destroying the Jones trio wasn't enough; Regina had to crush the Nolans and the Joneses completely.

His paternal grandmother, Alice Jones, was still the owner of the nice bakery next to the Dark Star Pharmacy, but not only didn’t she remember Henry or Killian, she didn't remember her other son either.

Liam may have kept his position as harbormaster, but he thought of himself as an orphan, one who lost his mother very young and failed his little brother. In fact, as Henry had gathered once as he investigated everyone's cursed memories, his family had all been separated from one another. Mary Margaret didn't remember her Prince Charming at all, believing she had never experienced love at all; Liam believed he was a failure and one too many nights he found himself stumbling out the front door of The Rabbit Hole; Alice Jones thought her husband took her children away from her when they were little and mourned them still. And David Nolan, you ask? David Nolan lay in a hospital bed in a coma.

Henry didn't know the specifics, he had no memory of his grandpa being hurt and he didn't know why Regina would feel threatened by him enough to lock him up in a hospital. What was worse, given he had no ties to David in this life, Henry couldn't visit him at all.

The only reason he'd found out about his grandpa's condition was the school trip to the hospital Mary Margaret had organized around month three. Up until then, Henry had been unable to ask anyone about David Nolan as he’d had no real reason to. Oh, had he known who everyone believed David was, he probably would have, but how could Henry know his grandpa’s cursed persona was the Sheriff of Storybrooke, wounded while in service by someone who had never been found?

He'd known better than to ask Regina about the accident, one he was probably supposed to remember and, if he wasn't, she would just tell him it wasn't something to concern himself with.

His family was destroyed, and he had no idea how to break the curse. Whatever power he had, Henry couldn't summon it; Storybrooke was now just an ordinary little town. But though he couldn't feel his own magic, Henry could feel Regina's and his grandmother's and uncle's, along with everyone else's. No one used magic in Storybrooke anymore. No one but Regina.

That was why he couldn't risk revealing he remembered: Regina still had the power to wipe his memories away. If he lost them, there would be no hope left.

Just like all the magic had vanished, all the spellbooks had, too.

As he slowly walked past Granny's, Henry cast a sorrowful glance at the library, its clock broken and the hands hovering over the quadrant indicating it was still 8:15.

It had been 8:15 when Henry was born.

It had been 8:15 when the curse hit.

Whether it was a coincidence or not, Henry didn’t know. All he knew was that it only added to the pain he felt inside.

Not only did the clock remind him of the curse, the library itself was heartbreaking. All Henry wanted to do was go back in time, spend time with his parents as they taught him how to control his magic, how not to bring the characters whose stories he wrote to life. Fortunately for them all, Henry hadn’t been able to conjure more than a bluebird and not armies of ogres.

The library had always been a safe place, a sanctuary of sorts, whether it was to devour books after school or to study magic along with his parents.

Now, instead, it was void of all that once made it special, all the warmth and light within. Not even Belle, the librarian dear to his father was the same, more concerned about her looks and not as much about the books as she had once been.

With a long sigh, Henry kicked a tiny rock away from his path as he resumed walking. Just like every day, when he walked along Main Street, Henry felt his body get somehow heavier, unwilling to proceed farther.

Henry wouldn’t say he was lucky, merely that Regina’s control over him wasn’t as tight as she believed. Since she was under the illusion that he was her precious son, Regina never understood Henry knew everything about her schedule, which lies were written in her agenda so she could sneak off and see Graham whenever she claimed she had a business meeting. She didn't know how he'd studied her habits so he could stay as far away from her as possible.

Today was one of those days, and he could wander around Storybrooke or stay with his friends if he wanted to, or be completely alone with his thoughts, but he had to be back before seven. It wasn't freedom at all, but it was the only small liberty he'd known for the past 722 days.

Panic started to creep up on him, as fast as a car racing at high speed down a road.

Instinctively, Henry whipped his head around, aware of the sudden darkness approaching. There, sat in her shiny black car, was Regina, more focused on checking her lipstick than she was on driving.

For a moment, Henry stayed paralyzed on the sidewalk, breath itching in his throat and heart beating so furiously he seriously worried it would break his sternum.

There was nowhere to hide.

Henry had found himself needing to escape many a time, it was a constant thought in his mind, but the impossibility of going anywhere always stopped him this close to actually crossing the town line. He would have if he'd known which consequences he would face or if he were able to actually do that. In all honesty, Henry doubted it: no one had come to Storybrooke in nearly two years. Or left it.

Now, however, Henry found himself trapped, lost, about to lose the few hours of freedom he looked forward to every day.

He found himself backed up against a wall, and as his heart beat frantically in his throat, his eyes were drawn to the insignia above his head.

Mr. Gold. Pawnbroker and antiquities dealer.

If possible his heartbeat quickened.

Henry knew who Mr. Gold was, it was impossible not to when he owned half the town. But that wasn't all what Henry knew of him.

Robert Gold was - or had been - a very powerful and very old sorcerer, his power so dark many kept away from his path just to be sure they wouldn't be turned into toads or puppets. He dealt, as his insignia said, in antiquities, some magical and some not, offering mostly deals instead of asking for money directly.

Most of all, Henry knew Gold was the one who created the curse Regina cast.

For 722 days, the young lad had avoided the pawnshop like the plague, worried Gold would understand he still had his memories intact and wipe them away or worse, involve Regina.

Ironically enough, he was now Henry’s sole chance to temporarily escape the evil witch.

Without looking back, Henry sprinted to the door and wrenched it open, the bell above his head jingling so loudly he believed it would break and fall on the parquet at his feet. Not that he cared much about it, not when he could feel Regina’s magic closer and closer as she passed by the shop and continued on her way.

Though the trace of dark magic didn’t disappear, Henry could feel when hers did and he could finally consider himself safe.

With his still stiff back pressed against the door, he exhaled in relief, lungs burning as his breathing returned to normal.

Alas, he’d been so focused on his own sensations that he’d failed to notice the man behind the counter, a man who was staring at him with keen interest.

Henry gulped, his tongue suddenly thick and dry in his mouth.

«Good afternoon, lad,» the man, Gold, greeted him, resuming his work. He was carefully polishing a white teacup with bright blue hand-painted decorations, careful of its chipped rim.

«G-good afternoon, Mr. Gold,» Henry breathed, eyes wide as pain shot through his heart: only the Joneses had ever called him “lad”. Now, neither his uncle or grandmother addressed him that way.

Squaring his shoulders, Henry stepped away from the door, genuinely curious about which sorts of artifacts he would find in the glass display cases and cabinets. Was there an artifact to destroy all magic in the world? Selfishly, were that his only solution, Henry knew he would use it to bring his parents back to him, consequences be damned.

As he suspected, the pawnshop hosted so many interesting objects oozing magic off of them. It wasn’t just the peculiarity of some of them, but also the fact that many Henry knew belonged to his friends and family.

Sprawled over one of the cases as some kind of tablecloth was Ruby’s crimson cloak that served to keep her wolf under control when the full moon hung high in the sky; his uncle’s sextant was nestled in a cocoon of deep sea blue velvet; what looked like a blue magic wand was on display in a wooden case with engravings of words written only for fairies to read.

Everywhere he looked, Henry could see something belonging to people he’d known his entire life. Propped up against an old writing machine was the stuffed rabbit Grace’s father had stitched for her and Henry knew could come to life only per Grace’s wish.

What caught the boy’s attention, however, was the deep red leather jacket hanging in a dark corner of the shop.

Without caring for the man who was undoubtedly following his every movement, Henry strode towards where the jacket was, not feeling any kind of power or scent coming from it, but he had no doubt at all: that was his mother’s jacket.

He reached out with a trembling hand, feeling the buttery leather beneath his fingertips. His father and himself always joked about they had to clear out a good space in their wardrobe to fit all their leather jackets and how Emma owned lots of them in every shade of red rather than in other colours - Killian couldn’t quite be the one to talk given all his jackets were black.

A choked laugh escaped his lips at the memory.

«Interesting choice,» came Gold’s voice behind him, «I seem to always forget it’s there.»

Out of nowhere - no, out of the place he’d buried his feelings inside for the past two years, rage made Henry’s vision go red.

He had to talk himself out of screaming at Gold so he wouldn’t expose himself, but that didn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth.

«It belonged to my mo- to a woman named Emma.»

Oh, how painful it was to pronounce her name after all this time. Henry bit back sobs and tears as his shoulders started to tremble.

Behind him, a loud clattering sound filled the air.

«Emma?» Gold breathed, the strange tone in his voice helping Henry to break out of the pain threatening to drag him down like an iron ball. «What a lovely name.»

Hurriedly drying the tears streaking his cheeks, Henry took several deep breaths before turning around, suspiciously looking at the man, a frown on his young face.

Gold cast a quick glance at the pendulum clock. He hummed. «It’s still quite early,» he mused, limping then from behind the counter to where Henry stood next to a curtain he noticed just now, «Why don’t you join me for a cup of tea?»

The sly smile Gold sent Henry made the boy shiver, eyes wide as the older man brought up the hand that wasn’t holding his cane and pushed the curtain aside. He only took half a step towards the back of the shop, half his body and face covered by the fabric so to give him a more sinister appearance.

«Or perhaps you’d rather I prepared you a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon, young Mister Jones?»

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eastwesthomeisbest · 6 years ago

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Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

My artwork for "Roses (Tam lin) - a wonderful story written by @courtorderedcake

You can read it here: AO3

******************************************************

@cssns @kmomof4

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let-it-raines · 6 years ago

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“Nobody completes me but me,” Emma huffs, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. “I hate the idea of a soulmate, of having your perfect match. I’m not a freaking pair of socks.”

“Is that why you mismatch your socks? As some kind of form of rebellion.”

“Possibly.”

“That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s not the point! The point is that I hate this whole universal idea of only being complete with another person. I’m complete on my own. I’ve been through absolute hell in my life, and I still have an awesome job that I love, friends who I love even more, and things that I enjoy doing. I don’t need you to make my life complete.”

“It’s not...Swan,” he mumbles, running his hand through his hair and regulating his breathing. It’s the only way he can handle talking to her in person. He loves her voice, loves getting to have a conversation that’s not through text or letter, so it’s worth it even with the frustration. She’s worth it because he loves her. She doesn’t know that, but he does. “I don’t think I complete you. You’re perfectly complete on your own, and while, yeah, I do think a hell of a lot of people think that’s what this thing is, I don’t. Not anymore. Knowing you has taught me a hell of a lot, but mostly, I think knowing you has taught me that we can be fine on our own but that we complement each other. I don’t know about you, love, but my life is infinitely better with you in it.”

“Your sex drive, you mean?”

He’s not hurt by her deflection. He knows how Emma works.

(And it’s true, even if it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world.)

“No, my life. You’re the wittiest, most passionate person I know. And when you want to be, you’re also the most kind. Plus, you’re a badass and brave and there’s no one else who calls me out on my shit like you do, even if it’s through a text or a letter that takes three days to get to me despite us living fifteen minutes apart.”

“We wouldn’t have to write letters if we could actually talk to each other without issues...arising.”

In other words, here’s an actual sneak peek for my @cssns which was inspired by the little prompt game I did here. I haven’t finished writing it and probably need to get some more work done on it, but let’s just say it’s definitely going to include some humor. I don’t think I could write that prompt without it 💙

#cs ff #cs fic #cssns 2019

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snowbellewells · 9 months ago

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Self Promo Sunday: "A Story Told at Last"

This short three shot was my first offering for the second @cssns event in 2019. I had a really lovely time using a more grown up version of Henry out in the "real" world, as well as keeping Violet (who I always liked) in the picture. I got to use my love of literature a bit in this one, making it Henry's profession, and I took my first early stab at a ghost story element for the supernatural. I think the main thing to bear in mind is that, while Henry is our Henry in personality, he is not Emma's son. Emma and Killian exist in a whole other time - the one he is studying... ;)

If you missed this one originally, I hope you will enjoy this offering. And if you did read it before, I'd love to hear if you enjoy your revisit!

Thanks once again to @branlovestowrite who did the cover art at the time for the event - I still simply adore it!!!

{Also available on AO3, if that's your preference

I've put all 3 parts in this post for reader convenience}

Summary: Historical Literature Professor Henry Mills has the chance of a lifetime before him. He might finally uncover the truth of a folktale that has intrigued him for years. But, when the whole story comes to light, will he be able to accept the story that needs to be told?

~Prologue~

The young man moved quietly through dusky shadows in the long-abandoned building, brushing aside cobwebs with a grimace of distaste, his flashlight trained well in front of him, and walking with slow care, trying valiantly not to disturb anything more than necessary in his path. Henry Mills was still holding his breath more than a bit in awe that he had finally been allowed the permits and permissions, not to speak of the grant money which had brought him here and allowed him to focus solely on his research, and that he was standing within the deserted tower ruins of a long vanished kingdom’s outer borders. He had dreamed of seeing this structure’s remains since the legend had first crossed his desk, unfounded but also unforgettable until he explored it for himself. Drawing in another steadying breath and squaring his shoulders, Henry moved forward once again, anxious to see all that he could before he lost the last bit of evening sun.

He would be back tomorrow of course, with his team and full daylight, and all the equipment needed to properly identify, catalogue, and preserve anything of historical value or interest they might find. Still, he couldn’t resist the chance to get a first look at this place that had held his curiosity for so long, especially when he only had to share it with frogs, cicadas, and the droning gnats. Soon enough this site would be buzzing with other historians, researchers, and anyone else on the approved team, and Henry yearned for a moment on hallowed ground, beneath the crumbling walls and mouldering ceiling, in the dreamy half-dark when it could be his alone. He didn’t know what treasures they might find, or if they would unearth anything new at all, but the storyteller’s heart that beat beneath his grey henley and respectable historian’s facade couldn’t help sensing that the very walls around him were holding their breath as much as he was, anxiously awaiting the right explorer to at last reveal their secrets.

Regardless of the venture’s outcome, Henry still found it hard to believe he was in Italy; seeing the world, traveling on his own quest for knowledge and adventure, just as he had always known he was meant to do. He was still considered quite young for a history professor, and this would be the first field mission he had led. Granted, to most folks who weren’t history buffs or fans of Renaissance literature and its roots, the remains of the stone structure around him that they would catalogue and examine in the next week would not have been delighted enough to go without sleep just dreaming of the treasures and tales they might find, but Henry Mills had never been one to do as most others would.

The particular result he hoped to achieve was to find some sign or proof of the princess Emmaline, the protagonist of that tale which had sparked his interest nearly four years ago. History had at least partially buried her existence, or much knowledge of her beyond the ranks of myth and legend. But, if what Henry had learned was true, she had once been imprisoned by the same walls he was standing within. A younger sibling had ascended the throne in her place, and Emmaline had disappeared from all records of the kingdom which had eventually become extinct itself.

The story Henry had uncovered told of strange happenings beginning to occur around the beautiful golden daughter of King David and Queen Margaret of Misthavia once the young princess reached her sixteenth year. Injuries to those who might have slighted her, accidents and damages - coincidences all, but their frequency had reached the point that her involvement could no longer be hidden, and her people had begun to fear her. It seemed that Princess Emmaline had even been deemed a witch by some, and at last the king and queen had been forced to hide their daughter away for her own safety.

There had also been - at least as related in several varied sources - a handsome young lieutenant in the Misthavian royal navy who had long been in love with the hidden princess. This young sailor had vehemently protested the decision to lock Emmaline away, much less the eventual denial of her birthright. So the story had gone, this lieutenant had eventually left the king and queen’s service due to the rift, and as incongruous as it sounded, turned pirate in her honor, as he left with a ship to seek her in exile and rescue his love.

Still, by any account Henry had been able to locate, whatever had truly happened, if Princess Emmaline had existed at all, she had never taken the throne of her kingdom. The rather tiny Misthavia, along the Tyrrhenian Sea had been subsumed into the rest of the larger country and ceased to be a separate entity in the modern world. To his scholarly, and curious, mind however, what became of the lost princess, hidden in her tower, remained an irresistible mystery.

For the moment he was not willing to risk discovery and be banned from the site before his official work even began, so Henry did not linger. He closed his eyes, breathing in the somewhat musty air that somehow, to his mind, also brought hints of spring rain, apple blossoms, weathered wooden planks, leather and sea salt. Shaking his head at his own ridiculously detailed imagination - now bringing him scents even, as well as hoped for sights and stories - Henry turned to carefully make his way back out of the rocky rumble, avoiding an overturned settee frame with bits of ripped upholstery clinging to it and a few floorboards, whose soundness appeared debatable. Watching where he was placing his feet and the path back to the entrance in the beam of his flashlight, he failed to notice that materializing behind him, wispy white and hazy against the deepening gloom within the old walls, two shadows, almost corporeal but not quite, were silently watching him go…

~***~

~Part One~

By the time Henry had returned to the Universitá di Bologna housing,where he and his team of advanced grad students were staying for the duration of their research trip in Italy, he was more than a bit anxious to reach his temporary quarters and go back through the copious research notes he had taken and goals he’d laid out in preparation before finally standing within the crumbling skeleton of his historical site - what remained of the once-stunning tower. Having now glimpsed it with his own eyes in the still shadows and dying light of evening, Henry was almost breathless with excitement and the desire to compare what he had seen with the numerous possible finds he had deemed likely. Already, he was itching to return at dawn’s first light with his team and equipment.

The heavy feeling in the air of another presence - of not being alone in the ruins, though his logical mind knew he must have been - had been easily shaken off once he returned to the city from the more remote location. The sound and bustle of the modern world - phones, cars, the press of crowds - melted away the icy shiver that had traced down his spine and put it well out of his thoughts. For several minutes now (nearer to three hours in point of fact, though his mind, caught up in more interesting details, had lost all track of time) he had been leafing through his reference manuals, maps and notes, packed and then unpacked again meticulously upon arrival, when a soft rapping on his door roused him from the fevered state he’d slipped into.

Shaking his head, and hazily pulling himself back into the present time and place, Henry drew a steadying breath, reminding himself that he was a skilled and credentialed professor of historical literature, not the teenage fanboy he’d once been and currently felt like again; he should show a bit more composure to whomever waited to speak with him in the hall. Opening the door, however, his eyes widened momentarily, in spite of his recent resolve, to find his brightest and most accomplished research assistant facing him.

Violet Clemens had actually graduated from the university’s history program two years before, but knowing the particular interest she would have in this research opportunity, Henry had contacted the museum he knew she now worked with when there had been spots left to fill in their group. Violet, with her pale, dewy complexion and ebony hair shining as it rested on her shoulders, not to mention her effortlessly elegant and tasteful way of dressing and carrying herself in a sea of her contemporaries wearing shirts cut so low and pants and skirts so tight that they left little to the imagination, had always stood out and seemed a bit of an old soul out of her time. Despite her keen intellect and quick wit, Henry had always been glad her degree focus leaned more toward historical art and architecture rather than his historical literature. While her complimentary knowledge would serve well in this venture to supplement his own, he had at the time feared becoming completely charmed by her if he’d had her in class on a regular basis.

Trying to shake all those thoughts from his frazzled and rather unfocused mind, Henry gave her a curious but friendly smile before speaking. “Miss Clemens, what can I do for you this evening?”

Violet flushed prettily, her cheeks pinking as her gaze fell to her toes for a moment before glancing back up to meet his. “I’m sorry, Professor Mills. I know it’s late. I was just wondering...I mean…” she finally blurted the rest out in a rush “...you went out to see it already, didn’t you? What was it like?”

Henry truly couldn’t hold back his wide grin at her question. Another person who held the same enthusiasm for the princess and the ruin of her family’s legacy, was not someone he came across often, and a part of him basked in having someone to share the thrill with - someone who just might understand. “You’re not a student anymore,” he offered with a self-deprecating chuckle. “You don’t have to call me Professor. But, to answer your question, yes I’ve been out there and it was incredible. Even with the light failing, it took my breath away.”

Violet merely nodded, taking his words in with an awed smile on her lips. “Oh, I can’t wait to see it for myself,” she murmured. Then a twinkle of mischief flitted into her eyes as she added, “but if you no longer want me to call you Professor, then you’d better just call me Violet.”

“Deal,” Henry affirmed, reaching out a hand which she took to shake on their agreement. The moment their hands were clasped together, a tremor of awareness caught him off guard, running up his arm with a heat and intensity that surprised him. Though he’d heard of such reactions to another many times in the books he’d read and stories he loved, he had never experienced anything so arresting in real life.

“Well, then, Henry,” Violet added, taking her hand back, though he didn’t think he was imagining the sudden breathiness of her voice and the way she shook her head as if to refocus, causing her dark waves of hair to shimmer. “I guess I should leave you in peace for now. We want to get an early start tomorrow after all.”

“That we do,” Henry agreed, seeing her to the door and hoping he wasn’t smiling wide enough to make him look giddy. Once she was gone, he leaned back against the solid oak, shaking his head in disbelief. It would seem this adventure was going to bring about more than one incredible discovery.

~~~~~~~~~~~***~

The next morning dawned all too early for Henry’s taste; his alarm waking him from such a solid sleep that for a full minute he was too bleary to remember where he was at all. Between the jet lag and staying up another two hours pouring over notes and manuscripts to be certain he was prepared for their first day cataloguing finds onsite, he wasn’t sure he would even be able to pry his eyes open without coffee. It was almost funny to think back now on the days when he used to laugh at his mom and stepdad for their need to have a hot chocolate and black coffee respectively before they could face their days. He understood all too well as an adult.

Once he got himself moving, saw himself down to the continental breakfast provided on the first floor, and was waiting at the van to make sure all his assistants and fellow scholars were on time for the ride out, Henry did begin to feel more awake and alive. It wasn’t long before their small group had gathered, all had been accounted for, and they were loading onto the van. Rolling out of the city proper and into the Italian countryside, Henry began to lay out his game plan for the day, and the rest of his lethargy was swept back by excitement and purpose.

When they reached the ruins, gathered the tools, instructions, and research which would guide them, they all stood a bit awed, gazing up at the remnants of the tower walls before them, quite possibly full of clues to be discovered. His travel mug providing a further jolt of caffeine as he took a last sip, he then stepped forward to begin directing the tasks to various assistants. Those with him moved out with care through the ancient, crumbling bricks and mortar, leftovers from an exiled life, off in the directions he had indicated. Undeniably, her felt more than a bit of pride wash over him at the gravity and industry his little group displayed in tackling their assignments. The members of his team were clearly well-chosen.

He wasn’t, however, too selfless to have left one particular team member for last, to work with him one-on-one. Henry firmly fought down the urge to fidget with the hem of his shirt or stutter nervously as Violet edged closer to his side once they stood relatively alone. Her eyes were shining as they drank in the sight before her, more than a bit stunned and affected if her hushed voice was any way to judge. “It’s… splendid…” she nearly whispered, clearly struggling for the right words.

Henry nodded wordlessly, then turned to explain what he hoped to get her help with, just as Violet looked up to him and they bumped into each other awkwardly, both stumbling away a step and chuckling. His hand darted out to catch her elbow, not wanting to knock her to the ground, and Violet wavered closer at the touch unconsciously.

“Oh, Profess - Henry… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

He waved her off gently, “No apology needed. I bumped into you just as much… Vi...olet…” His tongue tangled on her given name as if he were still thirteen and worried about it squeaking. “I mean, there’s no harm done. As long as you’re alright?”

The young curator flushed prettily and nodded with her reassurance of “Absolutely, I’m fine. What did you intend for the two of us to work on?” She was clearly anxious to shed her embarrassment - and to explore this place they both had fallen in love with before even reaching, but for a moment Henry was stymied. He couldn’t speak or think, so struck was he by the intelligence and enthusiasm shining in her eyes and the classical beauty of her face. He wondered helplessly how visitors to her workplace could appreciate any of the art hanging on its walls with Violet standing before them.

Her light touch on his forearm finally brought him back to the moment as she asked again, “Henry? Was there someplace in particular you wanted to start?” Even as those curious words escaped her, Violet’s chocolate-y brown eyes widened noticeably, this time unmistakably also feeling the same jolt of electricity that ran along Henry’s skin where her fingers touched.

Valiantly seeking to ignore the attraction fighting for his attention, Henry redirected his focus to the curious detail he had noticed the evening before, leading his partner toward what still stood of the column that had once been part of the support to a vaulted ceiling. It seemed obvious to him, again if the details of the legend he had heard were true, that this tower had once been an incredibly lovely haven - even if to its inhabitant it had proved a gilded cage. Which was why an oddity in the surface had caught his attention upon first look. There appeared to be a spot where the join between the two sides of the arch didn’t match up - a strange and careless anomaly in a building that otherwise had the look of careful and exquisite design in the other parts that remained.

Pointing up to the spot he had seen, Henry directed Violet’s eyes to the same strange seam that he had noticed. Hearing Violet’s surprised little intake of breath and the way she immediately stepped forward, tracing careful fingers along the obvious malformation in curiosity, told Henry he had indeed been onto something. Soon Violet nodded to herself, drawing closer yet, both hands now up to help in her exploration, and seemingly forgetting Henry, the bustling site, and everyone else around in her rapt focus.

“Often times,” she murmured lowly without looking away from the movement of her fingers on the old stone, now gingerly but determinedly probing and prying, “in buildings of this age - especially ones which would have belonged to families of importance - an inconsistency like this might often indicate…” she paused for a moment, wedging her finger into the impossibly small opening she had managed to pry, the very tip of her tongue peeking from between her lips in concentration adorably (to Henry’s mind at least).

“Ah ha!” she exclaimed in a breath of triumph, the arch giving enough for what appeared a hidden panel to fall open and a still dully glistening bronze object to fall into her open palms. “As I was saying,” she continued proudly, “might indicate a hidden compartment for items of value.”

Beaming with excitement, Violet held her prize up for Henry’s inspection. In her hands lay an ornate, yet solidly constructed compass on a chain. The piece appeared to have some definite age on it, and yet its quality and beauty still shone through. It looked like an instrument which would have been used for ship navigation on sea voyages prior to the advent of modern navigational systems, and Henry’s thoughts could not keep from flying to the princess’ lieutenant of the stories and tales. Might this artifact serve as his first major proof of the legend that had captured his imagination?

His gaze lifted from the compass to meet Violet’s expectant one, ready to speak his hopes. But, even as he did so, the sound (or so he could only imagine) of a sword at someone’s hip as they moved and the creak of leather arrested Henry’s ear. He turned, startled, at such an incongruous noise for a research site, only to find that no one stood anywhere near he and Violet, as if the sound had come from nowhere beyond his own imagination.

Uncertain eyes flew to his companion, who looked back at him in concern, but Henry forced himself to swallow the strange impression he’d had, sure he would sound crazy if he brought up what he’d heard. Instead, they wrapped and catalogued their find properly for transport back with them, talking about what it could mean… and to whom they both had to wonder if it might once have belonged. Even in the elation of success and discovery, the feeling of lingering over his shoulder did not leave Henry easily, staying with him for the rest of the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~***~

That evening after dinner, once more in his quarters for the night, Henry’s thoughts were still on the compass as he plunged back into his accounts and stories, all the information on the Princess and her legend, and though he had mostly committed to memory all that was before him, he still pored over the details in hopes of a mention of the compass they had found in order to confirm his suspicions.

As the team leader, items discovered and picked for transport or further research had been logged and stored with him. And though Henry attempted to reason the need away, tried to convince himself that there were no details he had missed, nothing else to see, and that he needed to go to bed, to not spend another night with too little sleep, and instead be rested and well-prepared for the next day’s work, he was still impelled to stand and go over to take out the compass once more; the need would not be denied.

Once the instrument was cradled in his hands, the weight of it steadying to a surprising degree, Henry sunk down on the side of his bed, scrutinizing the relic with focused curiosity. What was he still missing? Several deep breaths, a few pounding heartbeats, went by as he pondered the instinct guiding him.

Then, with a disconcerting effect that shook him and sent a tremor down his spine, the air around him seemed to waver, undulating dizzily and clouding the borrowed room before his very eyes. Drawing in a shuddering breath, Henry blinked, in hopes of clearing his sight, only to find his perception unchanged as they opened again. The lightheadedness forced Henry to lie back on his pillow, a rather clouded grey beginning to close in on his awareness, vision tunneling to his fingers still clutching the compass tightly - until it was all he could see.

His eyes closed, as surely as if he had been suddenly put to sleep, and then he felt as though he were floating, moving through space even as he knew he was lying still. And then, though he couldn’t fathom how, he stood in the tower of his dreams - whole and shining new as it had not been for some hundreds of years - unseen and right next to a stunning, golden-haired woman who could only be Princess Emmaline…

“Killian, go! You must be away from here before they come with my evening meal,” her voice is quick and urgent as she tries to push him toward the window of her cell, through which he had climbed not even an hour before. “If they catch you, you’ll be arrested. You’re wanted for piracy.”

The dark haired young man, lean and strong, despite appearing more long haired and less neat than he had as a royal navy lieutenant stands firm, well-muscled enough from days spent steering a ship through wind and rain and all other obstacles besides, impossible for her to move unless he allows it. He has waited too long to see her again, and he is not anxious to relinquish the sight of her beautiful face now that it has been restored to him.

“Easy, lass, easy,” he soothes, looking for all the world as if soldiers and guards, arrest and punishment, holds little concern for him. In truth, he would face those and more as well for her sake, but he has also changed much in the months since his flight from royal service. He is a captain now, not the uncertain, eager-to-please junior officer he had been. Now he gives the orders, his crew (those loyal few who’d followed him into exile) follow his lead and go where he sees fit. “I’ve plenty of time yet… and...I wish to spend every second that I can with you.”

Only here, when addressing his true feelings for his princess, his first and only love, does he show a moment’s hesitance and a lingering sign of the shy young man he once was. Truthfully, he does not know whether or not there is a price on his head, or if he is being sought after diligently; Emmaline’s parents themselves did not agree with the steps taken to hide their daughter away. Whether they truly view him as a dangerous criminal to be apprehended, or more of a rebel with the freedom to act where they could not, Killian Jones is not sure. The King and Queen are constrained by duty to all of their people, where he is loyal first and foremost to his Princess above all others.

Unfortunately, their time is drawing to a close. He can hear the muffled tread of booted feet hurrying up the winding staircase, and knows that soon those who stand guard over Emmaline’s safety, but also make sure she remains in her prison, will reach her room. Much as he loathes leaving her behind again, he knows she is right. He dares not remain and have to fight people who are on the same side, compatriots in service of Misthavia, even if they interpret their orders much differently than he.

Turning to her once more, taking Emmaline’s hands in his, and gazing into her wide, green eyes and her tense face full of worry for him, Killian voices the question he has asked every time he steals back to her side in this long year past. “Come with me. You don’t have to stay locked away here. We could sail the world and be free.” It kills for her to be trapped and alone, paler with each visit he manages, dark purple bruises from sleepness beneath her eyes. Though he knows what her answer will be before he finishes speaking, Killian still has to ask.

His brave, bright angel shakes her head, yellow-gold hair flying around her like a halo, even as a slow tear makes its slow trek down her cheek. “You know I can’t, Killian. My place, my destiny, is here. Though my people fear me now, they need me… My parents need me… I can’t desert them.”

Much as he regrets it, Killian knows her honor will allow her no less. Sadly, he bows his head over their joined hands to kiss the back of hers, murmuring, “As you wish, my Love,” against her skin. Before he turns to climb into the window frame and grab the rope he had used to climb once more, he presss an object into her grasp - the compass he had received upon his naval promotion to lieutenant. “Hold onto this for me at least, aye? As promise of my return.”

His Emmaline nods tearfully, letting him go and stepping back, but pressing the compass to her breast. “You always return, Killian,” she replies. “I know that.”

His blue eyes brighten the smallest bit at her faith in him, allowing them both to hold onto hope. “And I always will,” he vows. Then he grasps the rope, swings from the window, and is gone.

~ Part Two ~

Henry came back to himself the next morning to the sound of anxious pounding on the door of his room. Sitting up slowly, blinking and struggling to regain his bearings, he began to hurry toward the sounds only when he also heard Violet’s worried voice through the wooden barrier, calling out with concern for him.

“Henry? Henry, are you in there?” Several more sharp raps against the hard surface followed, just before he could reach the doorknob in his befuddled state. “We got worried when you weren’t downstairs to meet the bus, Profess - “ Her words cut off abruptly as Henry finally managed to turn the knob and swing the door open to face her.

While he hadn’t really considered the rumpled mess of a picture he must present, the way Violet’s mouth fell open in surprise, and how her hand reached out as if to either feel his forehead or offer him support somehow before quickly pulling back, said quite a lot. Her prettily rosy cheeks paled as she stuttered anxiously, “H-Henry...are you alright?”

Feeling more than a bit awkward and embarrassed standing before her in the previous day’s clothing and obviously late for the group’s scheduled departure time, Henry shuffled from foot to foot before clearing his throat and attempting to smooth his sleep-disheveled hair back into lying calmly on his head. Violet, as was her way, looked impeccably neat and professional in sturdy khakis and a pale lavender sleeveless shirt that he knew must have a matching cardigan or jacket somewhere in her suitcase. She didn’t look judgemental in the least though, only concerned for him, despite his growing embarrassment.

“I’ll be fine, just a little off balance,” he offered uncertainly, already reaching behind him to begin shoving necessary items into the satchel he carried with him on their excursions. “Would you just, please, make my apologies to the others, and our driver? Ask them to give me five more minutes, and I’ll be right down.”

He was scrambling by then, to find his shoes, locate his keys, and get dressed almost all at once, so that he didn’t realize Violet had not left yet after agreeing to his request. She had instead taken a step forward into his room, one more question of if he was really alright on the tip of her tongue when he whipped off his old T-shirt, ready to pull on the clean one he’d found.

Her startled gasp arrested him in the midst of raising his arms to pull the new shirt over his head, turning wide-eyed to face her and already flushing red in his cheeks and well down his neck and chest. Slowly lowering his arms, and the material down to cover his bare torso as well, he couldn’t dismiss the hopeful idea that Violet seemed unable to stop staring at his chest, even once again clothed in one of his usual tops, and that she was swaying just the slightest bit toward him, as if drawn by a magnet.

The odd moment broke at last when Henry stepped forward, just as Violet did the same, and they nearly collided. Both jerked away again, Henry already apologizing and bringing a hand to his stinging chin, even as Violet rubbed her forehead where they had made sharp contact.

“It’s alright, Henry. Truly. It’s fine,” she assured softly, reaching out to clasp his wrist with gentle pressure and calm his rapid flow of words.

Her former professor’s deep brown eyes raised to search hers hopefully, clearly easing as she nodded in added confirmation. “Honestly,” she added with a small smile, patting his arm before releasing her hold. “I’m really just glad to see that you’re okay.”

Catching her hand before she could retract the soft, delicate fingers completely, he squeezed back with gentle gratitude. Shaking his head ruefully, Henry let out a low chuckle and confessed to her honestly. “Alright might be a bit of a stretch, really. In fact, you may think I’m downright insane when I tell you what’s happened, Vi. But, let me get ready before we make everyone else even later, and I’ll share on the way.”

She nodded, stepping back to go so he could change and be ready to leave for the site as soon as possible. Yet, before she slipped back out the door, with one last promise she added, “Whatever you say, Henry. But, just know this… whatever it is that’s going on...I doubt I’ll think you’re crazy. I believe in you.”

Henry’s breath stalled at her admission, and he turned toward her to thank her, to express a similar faith, but Violet had already fled the room. There was nothing else he could do but hurry to rejoin her; her words and his excitement at his vision too, driving him onward so as not to disappoint her galvanizing confidence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***~

By the time their bus had reached the crumbling remains of Emmaline’s tower once more, Henry had told Violet all he’d seen and heard in his vision. To his utter astonishment, though wide-eyed and stunned, she had taken every word as truth and believed him.

Once they were at the ruins, she still seemed a bit overcome - Henry couldn’t say that he blamed her, as he was more than a little disbelieving himself - but they piled out of the van as everyone else did, perhaps even more anxious to know what else they might learn or see after his midnight vision. Violet did, however, turn back to look at him once they were both on solid ground, a light touch to his upper arm to convey her concern as she whispered low enough that the others bustling around them couldn’t hear. “You’re sure, that you’re alright to be out here, aren’t you, Henry? I mean… you aren’t disoriented or lightheaded or anything like that?”

Even if he were, there was no way that Henry Mills was letting his last day in this scenic escape, this place of legend at which he had worked and scrimped and saved to arrive, be lost to a weird dream or a strange bout of vertigo, whatever it was that had come over him. He was careful of course not to seem impatient with Violet though; her care for him touched him greatly, warming and thrilling him inside much more than he would like to admit. Instead, he merely shook his head slightly, hoping to assuage her worries by appearing unfazed and moving forward with this last day’s exploration of their site. “Thanks, truly. I appreciate you checking,” he offered, “but I’m fine - no lingering side effects.”

As he spoke, they neared the last vestiges of the archway where they had discovered the compass the day before. Henry could tell that Violet ached to explore further, to make sure there was nothing else of note, to study the intricacies of design and execution that were more to her interests than his, but that she was equally reluctant to leave him after the strange stupor in which she had found him just a short time ago.

Good naturedly smirking at his own odd behavior, Henry urged her to see to what she wished. “Vi, really, go on and have another look. It’s not like this opportunity comes around every day. I promise, I’m not going to keel over.”

She shook her head at his lighthearted teasing, all ready with the stubborn reminder that he didn’t get the scare of wondering what had happened, worrying whether or not he was alright, but she bit her tongue in the end. Bickering wasn’t going to make him see his health as more important than their find, and it would probably only make him feel badly to know just how concerned she had been at the pale, unsteady sight he had presented when he first opened his door to her that morning. Plus, it would waste precious time, and so instead she moved off with a nod of begrudging consent and one more gentle press of his hand.

Henry, meanwhile, when he had made certain that Violet wasn’t holding back on his account, moved carefully toward the crumbling frame of the window in an outer wall still partially standing some feet away. It was slow going for the bits of stone and splintered, weathered furniture scattered in the way between, but he picked his way through the detritus without falling himself or destroying anything which might be of value. The niggling feeling that the window he stood before was the very one he had seen in his vision, the one from which the rogue lieutenant visiting his imprisoned lover swung to escape the princess’ guard, and he could hardly fight the need to touch it - see it - for himself, as if he could somehow derive the rest of the story, what had happened next, from the space he had seen in that reverie.

And though as much as he had promised his concerned protegé that all would be well, Henry still felt a bit off balance and unsettled, as if whatever presence or power in the air was still lingering from his encounter that morning. No sooner had he neared the wall, than he was reaching out to rest his hand on what would once have been the window sill, now loose and partially eroded by time.

Taking a moment to look more closely at the cracked stone and dusty grooves, Henry curled his fingers into a gap curiously, the piece of rock still in place shifting to the side and allowing his fingertips to slide deeper into the opening. For a moment, he felt nothing, just empty space and a disorienting sensation of brushing up against a wide open void, then his grasp caught against an edge of paper or leather, almost like the corner of a book. Straining to reach just a bit further, he managed to grasp the item and clutched tightly to draw it out.

Several more bits of debris and rubble fell away as Henry attempted to carefully extract his treasure. Once free of its hiding place, however, the mystery was revealed as indeed being some sort of leather bound journal or logbook. Brushing off the cover the best he could, despite the determined cling of years and years of cobwebs and mildew, Henry held his breath, hoping the pages wouldn’t crumble to dust, that they were still legible. It might contain the proof and the answers he had been seeking.

Ever so gingerly, Henry carefully opened the cover to find a flourishing if faded script scrawled across the opening page of the book in his hand. And even before he could locate the author’s purpose or name, he felt his surroundings begin to swirl and fade to grey once more, for the second time in one day, he was seeing the tower as it had been and the princess within it long ago…

“What have I done?!?” Emmaline’s tormented wail echoes in the thin air of the tower’s height, as her sword clatters to the floor from her suddenly nerveless fingers. The guard she felled is clearly not dead, as his chest rises and falls steadily even in unconsciousness. Still, though her father had trained her well in swordplay, until her technique and form was nearly as flawless as his own, she had never before actually struck someone with such determined intent. To stop them - and even end their life if necessary, rather than see her lover caught and killed.

Turning at that, her eyes still frantic at the blood that runs from the slice across his cheek beneath his eye, all too close to putting out the brilliant blue light forever. Her lip quivers, and Princess Emmaline struggles to bite back the ridiculous show of weakness and emotion, even while stumbling toward Killian at the same time.

He catches her in his arms, smoothing her wild hair back form her damp brow and whispering reassurances that she only did what she had to, that she isn’t cruel or evil, only a brave woman taking her stand in an impossible situation, and - if possible - he loves her even more, “bloody brilliant” she is in his adoring eyes.

However, the stolen moment is not meant to be theirs for long. Shouts from below remind them that the man they have felled to make their escape was not the only one, and unless they wish to be forced to do even more damage, they must go - immediately. Pausing a mere second longer, Emmaline snatches up a small brown book from a desk in the corner of the room. Pressing it to her mouth as if imprinting a kiss in its surface, she hurries to the window where her sailor stands waiting to spirit her away - from her family, her kingdom, her duty - but also to freedom and a life, something it has become clear she will never regain locked away in some gilded cage.

Working loose a part of the masonry, she slips her private diary into the aperture created, hoping against hope that it will be found. That her parents and her brother will be able to read it and know that she has discovered a way forward, even if it isn’t what they had always planned. She hopes she will see them again someday, but if not…

Looking up to meet her rogue lieutenant’s pained but knowing gaze, she is relieved to see she needs give no explanation. He understands, just as he always has.

Then, with a final backward glance around her prison, she is swinging over the side with him, his steady presence next to her helping as they begin their descent on sturdy ropes, toward the ground below where horses wait to take them to his ship in the harbor....

Henry jolts back into his own place and time more immediately with this second vision. Already anxious to read the book still clasped in his hands, his heart thrums with excitement in his chest at knowing just what it is he holds. He gulps in air like a fish floundering on the docks, but it doesn’t slow his haste or enthusiasm. This is it; the evidence he had always believed he would find. Princess Emmaline existed, she was real; her story had happened just as it had been said. And now, at last, he could show the rest of the world the truth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~***~

Six months later ~

Hand in hand, Henry Mills and Violet Clemens stand in the sacred space once more - the site that drew both of them halfway around the world, but also to each other. Since their research venture to the Misthavian ruins, there has been widespread recognition that the tiny kingdom did exist and that its lost princess had been a real, living being of flesh and blood. Though it was asking a bit much for the reigning historical and scientific community to believe that she had been locked away due to a fear of her magic, as detailed in her diary, it had become accepted knowledge that Princess Emmaline had been held in the windswept and isolated tower they had explored, she had been denied her birthright and crown, and had - much like her homeland - vanished almost completely from history… if not for the tokens Professor Henry Mills and his team had discovered.

They are now both published and much-lauded experts in their field; both already had been experts, it was just a matter of the rest of the world realizing it. More important than glory and fame though, to both Henry and Violet, was that now they could return to this place, so close to both their hearts, and perhaps offer closure to two souls who had been awaiting it much longer than either of them.

As the couple stood at the small display which had since been constructed at the scenic overlook near the ruins, there was an absolute sense of accomplishment. It was just a small podium with a guest book for tourists and visitors to sign and a protective case allowing the compass and diary to be returned where they belonged, but still available for the curious, the lost, and the lonely to see, to read, and to learn from the Princess’ story and take heart again. It was just how Henry had wanted it and had fought against various museums and universities to have it be displayed - as he could only hope the long ago royal would have approved.

Looking lovingly to the woman at his side, Henry smiled unabashedly as the sparkle of her engagement ring caught his eye and he simply brought their joined hands to his mouth to kiss the back of hers. He could still remember that first dim evening, when he had ventured within the tower’s remaining walls with cautious reverence. He had sensed that he was not alone, the presence that - while not threatening - had still sent a shiver skittering down his spine. Violet had long since talked with him of a similar awareness as they worked within the aged structure, and it was what brought them back now, to say one final farewell before embarking on a joined life together, to bid another lingering pair of lovers rest at long last - impossible as that quest might seem.

“Do you think we’ll know if they’re here?” Violet whispered to him, her eyes wide and half-hopeful, half-worried.

“I’m not sure what to expect,” he answered seriously. “It was just a feeling I couldn’t shake when we were here before. I don’t know whether to believe it will be more or less this time around.”

They waited, breath caught between nervously bitten lips in silence, before Henry stepped closer to the preserved ancient stone walls rising around them. “If you can hear me…” he started, tentative but determined, hopeful, and in a voice gaining strength as he continued with Violet’s reassurance at his back. “Princess? Lieutenant?...The world knows now, about Misthavia and about you. That you were real, that you existed, and about your love for each other. No one believes Killian stole you away against your will anymore. And though most people of the modern age don’t believe in magic, they know now that you were wrongfully imprisoned, your Highness. They understand that though Misthavia ceased to exist as a separate nation, you never had your chance to rule to try and save her. And…” Henry paused here, swallowing a lump that took him by surprise as it formed suddenly in his throat… “and, though we can’t for sure know what became of either of you, it is known that Lieutenant Jones saved you, Princess Emmaline. That you loved him and he loved you. And I’m going to choose to believe in a happy ending for you both… that you sailed until you found a place where you could be together, come what may.”

“I do too,” Violet echoed into their still surroundings, offering him a gently affectionate smile as she gazed up into his intense and open brown eyes - the moment stretching powerfully between the two of them, cementing their faith in each other and their bond, whether or not anyone else bore witness.

Then, surprisingly, Violet’s eyes widened as she looked off to Henry’s side. “They - they’re here…” she breathed, almost too stunned to speak at all in the quiet evening around them.

Peering in the same direction Violet was, awestruck, Henry was slowly able to discern two clouded white shapes in the murky grey dusk, becoming ever more solid and opaque as Henry and Violet stood watching. Though far from corporeal, they were two human forms, one slighter with almost an outline of a medieval, bell-sleeved dress and what appeared a flower crown upon its head; the other taller and wearing what seemed to be a sword at its side, with broader shoulders.

Though the apparitions seemed to turn toward Henry and Violet, as if offering their gratitude, they came no closer, and merely hovered in place as the two historians held their breath for fear the moment might vanish. Soon enough as it was, the two cloudy shapes, once princess and pirate sailor, appeared to bow in farewell, then move toward the overlook, as though seeing the bright horizon and the waves far below that they had been separated from for so long. Just before the modern couple’s eyes, their ghosts began to fade into nothingness, gradually losing consistency, as if finally slipping the tether that had held them to the ruin. Vindicated at last, and free to move beyond, they set sail for peaceful shores.

Tagging a few who might be interested: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @whimsicallyenchantedrose

@laschatzi @iamstartraveller776 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @anmylica

@stahlop @kday426 @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda

@belovedcreation @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @bdevereaux @shady-swan-jones

@goforlaunchcee @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @drowned-dreamer

@undercaffinatednightmare @myfearless-love @winterbaby89 @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan

#self promo sunday #cssns19 #ouat three shot ff #cs fic rerun #a story told at last #modern au of sorts #professor henry mills

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cssns · 6 years ago

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Event Roundup Time!!!!

I am SOOOOOOO sorry y’all!!! I completely forgot to do an event roundup!!! Please forgive me!!! Fanmail from @killianjones4ever82 brought it to my attention and I’m so glad she did! We had an incredible summer and we need to have a post that can be easily accessed with all the fabulous fics and gorgeous artwork that dropped for the event! So without further ado, here we go!!!!

Under the cut, because this is gonna be a LOOOOOOONG post!!!

Here is a link to the entire collection of fics on ao3.

@welllpthisishappening opened us up this year with her first fic for the event, All the Subliminal Things. Rated T with four chapters. COMPLETE. Artwork by @resident-of-storybrooke.

Emma Swan does not believe in soulmates.

Or so she says. Because if her soulmate did, actually, exist, he should have shown up by now. So, she must be a fluke, a broken cog in a system that really doesn't make much sense anyway. It is, she figures, why she agrees to meet David's friend before Regina and Robin's wedding. This guy doesn't believe in soulmates either.

She's intrigued.

Until she hears him talk. And everything flips after that.

At the end of June, Laura posted All Was Golden In the Sky. Rated M and we have five chapters left. Artwork by @resident-of-storybrooke, extra artwork by @distant-rose and @optomisticgirl can be found on Laura’s chapter blog posts.

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

@darkcolinodonorgasm posted One Day, a LadyHawke AU with artwork by @sherlockianwhovian. Rated T and we are two chapters in.

By day, Emma is the beautiful swan gliding over the waters of Misthaven's pond, but when night falls, the voice of the wolf the people living in the little town hear is Killian's cry. The curse was meant to be forever, to keep them always together yet eternally apart. No force in Heaven would be able to break such spell, nor any force on Earth. Or so Emma and Killian thought.

Towards the end of June Sara posted Hidden Paths Between the Moon and Sun, the sequel to her Hades and Persephone AU, Until the Stars Are All Alight. Artwork by @sherlockianwhovian. Rated M with one of six chapters so far.

The King of the Underworld has never taken a vacation before, not a proper one and not one that lasted more than a few months. Now that his firstborn is capable enough to take the throne ad interim, Killian can finally show his beloved Queen the world, giving her the honeymoon they never had the chance to have. But the King’s plan doesn’t stop quite there.

@allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 posted original art Killian Falls for Siren Emma

Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be

Who love a jolly sailor bold that ploughs the raging sea,

My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold, There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold.

and Paranormal Photographers/Reporters.

When you hear the knell of a requiem bell Weird glows gleam where spirits dwell Restless bones etherealize Rise as spooks of every size

@donteattheappleshook posted Just Human Vol2, the sequel to her submission last year, Just, Human. Artwork by 1 2 by @djlbg. Rated M with five chapters. COMPLETE.

A continuation of last years CSSNS story Just Human. Now that Killian is a ghost and Mary Margaret knows everything, what does life have in store for a group of supernatural misfits? With the threat of Gold gone, Emma learns that sometimes just being human is the most complicated challenge of all.

@thislassishooked posted Wake Me Up Inside. Rated M with three chapters so far. Artwork by @tennant-the-tigger.

Killian Jones has lived longer than any man has a right to live. Most would argue that what he was doing was not living, but merely existing. The day he lost the love of his life was the day he lost the will to live, but instead of ending his life he inadvertently became the strongest being on earth and unfortunately indestructible. His mortal enemy followed him into immortality and craves the power only Killian possesses. With his brother by his side and the help of a quirky, blonde hematologist, who makes him question whether he is ready for death after all, he will fight against evil, but more importantly, for the cure.

@let-it-raines posted Not Your (Soul)Mate. Rated M with sixteen chapters. COMPLETE. Artwork 1 2 3 4 5 6 by @captainsjedi.

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

@shireness-says posted A Drowning Soul Will Clutch at Any Straw. Rated T one shot. Artwork by @hollyethecurious.

Though this is far from Killian Jones' first encounter with a mermaid, he's never met any quite like this blonde siren. Together, can they break a cruel curse?

@snowbellewells posted her first fic for the event, Face to Face in the Broad Daylight, her sequel to last years Run to Me (In the Dead of Night) in early July. Rated T with five chapters so far. Artwork by @branlovestowrite.

Here we have a sequel to my werewolf, alternate season two and beyond fic from last year’s CSSNS. You probably want to read that story "Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)" first, or it might be a bit confusing in places. This second story in the same universe partially exists just because I wanted to revisit these couples and enjoy a bit more of their fluffy happily ever afters. However, we may also see them get into some new surprises and challenges, and of course we need to see if Rumplestiltskin is still under control or back to his usual scheming and plotting. I hope you will enjoy.

Marta also posted at the end of July A Story Told at Last. Rated T with three chapters. COMPLETE. Artwork by @branlovestowrite.

Historical Literature Professor Henry Mills has the chance of a lifetime before him. He might finally uncover the truth of a folktale that has intrigued him for years. But, when the whole story comes to light, will he be able to accept the story that needs to be told?

@thejollyroger-writer posted her first fic of three for the event, Love After Death: The Afterlife Hotel. Rated T one shot with artwork by @captainsjedi.

Emma Swan has spent sixty years in the afterlife believing she was never going to meet her real soulmate, after believing in the wrong name tattooed on her wrist. But when she keeps seeing the same new guest of the Afterlife Hotel around, might she be able to learn how to love again?

Megan’s second fic for the event was What Happened in Berkshire. Rated G with two of three chapters posted. Artwork by @captainsjedi.

When Emma’s boyfriend leaves her for the woman he’s been cheating with, she accepts an offer from her hospital to move to England. While she is out celebrating her thirtieth birthday with her friends before they head back to America, she drunkenly kisses the statue of Captain Hook in front of Eton College, and he comes to life. Together, he and Emma try to figure out what this curse means for them by searching for the witch that cursed him in the first place — are they really True Love, as he wants to believe they are, or did Emma’s magic go awry?

Megan’s third fic for the event was Falling Paws Over Heels. Rated T one shot. Artwork by @captainsjedi.

Captain Killian Jones -- the notorious Captain Hook -- has heard all kinds of stories during his travels around all of the realms. But the story that has always interested him the most is that of the enchanting sorceress of Storybrooke, a small town in the Enchanted Forest's Misthaven, the sorceress who takes men to her bed, but will only give her heart to the man who befriends her cat. Will Killian be the one who finally has what it takes?

@gingerchangeling posted Luck of the Irish. Rated M with one chapter of seven so far. Artwork by @resident-of-storybrooke.

Emma needs parent volunteer hours. So she offers to chaperon Henry's upcoming field trip to the museum. Its just a pack of prepubescent angst ridden children, an exhibit about dead people, and a rock used in blood sacrifices with a curse carved into it. What's the worst that could happen?

@jarienn972 posted A Simple Spell. Rated T with six chapters so far. Artwork by @cocohook38.

This story is my entry into the 2019 Captain Swan Supernatural Summer event and is my first venture into AU territory. Storybrooke remains our setting but I've switched up some of the characters and familial relations to better suit this tale of prodigal witch Emma who returns to her birthplace to learn lots of secrets about herself and cast a spell that could change everything.

@profdanglaisstuff posted The Very Witching Time. Rated M with six chapters. COMPLETE. Artwork by @gingerchangeling. Extra artwork by @mariakov81 can be found on Saira’s chapter posts on her blog.

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.

@searchingwardrobes gave us the first of two fics for the event, An Education in Southern Gothic. Rated T with two chapters. COMPLETE. Artwork by @hollyethecurious.

Fact: there’s a graveyard between the football field and the science building. Debatable: a ghost haunts the halls of Misthaven Hills High. Emma Swan is about to get an education. Killian Jones is about to get a whole lot more.

Melanie’s second fic was titled Until the Day Breaks and the Shadows Flee. Rated M with eight chapters. COMPLETE. Artwork by @hollyethecurious.

Every night, she traces the contours of his body as Killian whispers words of love against her skin. But can Princess Emma ever be fully happy with a husband who only comes to her in utter darkness? A Captain Swan AU of the Roman myth of Cupid and Psyche.

@spartanguard posted Sick of Love. Rated M with three chapters. COMPLETE. Artwork by @sherlockianwhovian.

If Emma’s not careful, she just might bump into her soulmate. Physically. And while she might like the idea of what comes with that—an almost psychic connection whenever they make skin contact—she’d rather not deal with the awful withdrawal sickness that can come when they inevitably leave her; she’s got a son, so she doesn’t have time for that. So she keeps herself covered and thinks she’ll be okay. Until she meets Killian, who does the same thing. Will their barriers protect them, or just hurt them more?

@snidgetsafan posted Whom the Gods Love Die Young. Rated G (for the moment) with one chapter so far. Artwork by @tennant-the-tigger.

The bride bit into the shiny red apple as everyone cheered around her, the wedding ceremony ending with this ritual gesture. The clapping and hurrahs soon turned to screams of horror as Snow dropped the apple, choking and clutching her throat as she fell in her groom’s arms, a last I love you leaving her lips before she died, David’s screams the loudest of all.

David and Emma travel to the Underworld to claim back Snow after her untimely death. In order to do so, they're going to have to face the dark and mysterious God of the Underworld and complete his challenges.

Seems simple enough until you add magic, divine quarrels, and the worst thing of all: feelings.

@eastwesthomeisbest posted original artwork, The Love of the Samodiva Pts1 and 2.

In Bulgarian folklore Samodiva is an ethereal female wood nymph. She is unearthly beautiful and eternally young. Her hair is blond and long, her waist is thin and petite, her eyes can bewitch and dazzle or even kill. Any man who lays eyes on her instantly falls in love. Samodivas’ attire consists of long white gowns and shirts and a rainbow-coloured or green belt. They have a white mantel, also called a shadow, in which their power lies. They like to ride deer, using twisted snakes for reins and often carry with them bows and arrows.

If a huntsman accidentally kills a samodiva’s deer, she will make him blind or give him a disease which will inevitably lead to his death.

The wood nymphs live in dark forests, in big old trees, caves or forgotten huts which are near water sources, wells or rivers.

Samodivas can be spotted from spring to autumn. In winter they live in the mythical village Zmeykovo, which is located at the edge of the world and is a home to many mythical creatures. When they are on earth they are active at night and disappear immediately when the sun comes out, because they fear it.

At twilight, the samodivas go to fresh water sources, strip naked, wash themselves and their clothes which they lay out to dry in the moonlight. They keep a watchful eye on their drying clothes, because if a man steals their mantle, where their power lies, they turn into normal women and have to obey the man. After washing themselves and their clothes, the samodivas gather around and start singing and dancing. It is known that the samodiva’s songs are the most beautiful and their dances are the most graceful. If a late traveller sees the samodivas’ dance, he is enticed to join them and dances with them from midnight to dawn. When the sun’s rays appear, the nymphs disappear in haste and leave the traveller to die from exhaustion. The samodivas love music and often kidnap shepherds, so that they can play kaval (shepherd’s pipe) for them while they dance.

Samodivas are not always harmful. Sometimes they appear like normal working women and help with the harvest. They would especially help women with children. If a man does something good for a samodiva, she becomes his patron or a sworn sister. Sometimes, a samodiva can fall in love with a human and bear him children, who grow up to be great heroes.

Samodivas are forest creatures and therefore knowledgeable about herbs and cures. However, they never share their secrets willingly. The only way to obtain their knowledge is to eavesdrop on one of their gatherings.

@courtorderedcake posted two fics for this years event. Hallow rated E with eight chapters so far with accompanying artwork 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11.

"The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent. Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King's will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time."

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Roses, rated E with two of four chapters so far. Artwork by @eastwesthomeisbest.

A CS retelling of Tam Lin, the classic fairytale. Liberties taken. Magic and Fae BS in play.

@pirateherokillian posted Wanderer Redeemed. Rated T with just the prologue so far. Artwork coming soon from @tennant-the-tigger.

Emma, Goddess of Hope and Happy endings, finds herself in need and her only real chance of ever getting what she desires comes in the form of Killian Jones, a shunned outcast of their kind. A Modern-Day Gods Captain Swan AU written for CSSNS.

@ilovemesomekillianjones posted The Soldier, the Witch, and the Dragon. Rated M one shot with artwork 1 2 by @spartanguard.

When soldier Killian Jones shows up on witch Emma Swan's doorstep, two worlds will collide. He will learn of worlds and wonders he never imagined possible and she will learn that true love might just be in the cards for her. Witches, Dragons and Magic, Oh My! A CS story for the 2019 Captain Swan Supernatural Summer event.

@whimsicallyenchantedrose posted Until the Stars Are All Alight. Rated T with two chapters of twenty so far. Artwork by @clockadile.

CS LOTR au: When Emma Swan steals a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she has no idea it will lead her toward an adventure filled with danger and intrigue, sacrifice and a love stronger than anything she could imagine. Tasked with bringing the Savior home, the elf, Killian Jones of Misthaven travels to the Land Without Magic. Can he convince Emma to fulfill her destiny before the Dark One regains power and takes over all of the Enchanted Forest?

And last but certainly not least, @teamhook posted Rionnag Dorcha Gorm (Dark Blue Star). Unrated with two chapters so far. Artwork by @hollyethecurious

It is said that evil is not born but made. This is how an act of kindness is twisted into a story about revenge. Emma and Killian are childhood friends until a tragedy separates them will another reunite them.

I’ve read all of these fics and they are all absolutely FANTASTIC!!! It’s been so much fun reading all these wonderful fics and staring at the gorgeous art that went with them!! Be sure to let them know how much you’re enjoying their hard work! The WIP’s will continue updating until they are finished and I will be back at the end of the month with everything that has updated in September! Until then folks!

#cssns #event roundup #cssns2019 #CSSNS 2019 #2019 #Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2019 #Captain Swan Supernatural Summer #2019 event #2019 roundup #2019 event roundup

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 3 years ago

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Until the Stars Are All Alight--Ch. 22: The Gray Havens

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rating: T

Word Count: 2094

Other Chapters: (prologue) (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (epilogue)

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Chapter 22 (The Gray Havens)

The Gray Havens

Emma woke slowly, and at first she was unaware of anything but the light. Bright, all-consuming light surrounded her, but it was more than that. It was like the light was within her as well, suffusing her, consuming her. It was the brightest light she had ever encountered, but it wasn’t at all strident or harsh.

It was peace and love, a love like nothing she’d ever experienced before, as though the light itself had been waiting for her and was overjoyed that she’d returned to it.

She was dead. That was her first realization. She must be dead. The last thing she remembered was the shooting pain she felt upon drawing the darkness into Excalibur, and then…and then nothing. Just the light.

She was no different than anyone else, she supposed. She’d always had a healthy fear of death and a dread of it, but now that it had happened, none of the fear or negative emotion remained. Death wasn’t a horror to be feared, it turned out. It was just a step into a new life, a life that somehow felt more real than physical life ever had.

Emma remembered being a child and for once living with a decent foster family. One lazy Sunday afternoon, she watched as the family cat stretched out in a patch of sunlight from the big picture window in the front of the house. He looked so content that she tried it as well. The light, the gentle heat were indescribably comfortable, and Emma fell asleep in that sunbeam, smile on her face.

This place felt like that sunny summer afternoon.

Gradually, the light around her began to soften further, and she could make out details of this new world around her. Big, marble Corinthian columns stood at attention along each side. Just beyond appeared to be some sort of park or garden. Emma wanted to explore, drawn to the beauty of nature that captivated her, but a sudden sound caught her attention.

In a far corner, darkened with shadow, lay a small, ugly, misshapen creature, hugging itself as it rocked and cried. The creature had been burned beyond any recognition, blisters oozing, everywhere she looked.

Emma felt pity for the creature, wanted to comfort him.

“Your compassion is admirable, Emma,” a voice said behind her, “but he is quite beyond help now.”

Turning, Emma found herself face to face, once again with Merlin.

“Who is he?” she asked, gesturing vaguely back to the creature.

“I think if you look within yourself you know.”

And she did. This creature sniveling and crying before her was the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin himself.

“He’s chosen this fate throughout his long life of evil,” Merlin continued, “and in the process he’s destroyed and disfigured his soul until it became what you see before you. Come, let’s move aside.”

Emma followed his direction gratefully, no longer wishing to dwell on the fate of one who had been bent on her destruction and that of the entire world.

“What is this place?” Emma asked, once they’d left the remains of the Dark One behind.

“What does it look like to you?” Merlin asked.

Emma looked around, noting the columns and the garden, and a vast, wide open sea beyond. “It looks like some sort of courtyard by the sea.”

He nodded. “And so it is, in a way. It is the antechamber to what lies ahead.”

Emma nodded. She didn’t understand what he meant, not really, but somehow it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered here but the peace and love surrounding her. She looked around once more, and then turned back to Merlin.

His smile was radiant. “You brave, brave, wonderful woman!” he praised, finally. “You’ve done it! You’ve defeated the Dark One and saved your family and your land. You are every bit the hero we’ve all been waiting for.”

Emma blushed at the praise. “I didn’t really do that much,” she demurred. “I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have done.”

“On the contrary,” Merlin said, smile still firmly in place. “Not one in a million would have chosen to act as you did. Not one in a million would have given up her happy, joyful life the way you did. Indeed, no greater love is there than this: to lay down one’s life for others.”

Somehow the love flared even brighter within her, as though the light itself were concurring with Merlin’s assessment of her.

“So what happens now?” Emma said after another moment.

“That, as it happens,” Merlin said, “is entirely up to you. You find yourself once more at a crossroad. If you wish, you can step forward into the garden. You can take your place among the blessed and enjoy your reward for all eternity.”

“Or?” Emma asked.

“Or you can go back,” Merlin said simply. “Back to your husband, to your son, to your family. You can help rebuild Misthaven. There is much work–much joy, but also much strife and difficulty–ahead of you if you choose this path, for that is the way of the world.”

“What will happen to Killian and Henry if I don’t return?” Emma asked carefully.

“They’ll mourn for a time, of course,” Merlin said, “but eventually, they’ll heal. In time, they’ll be okay, together weathering the storms life has in store for them whatever you decide.”

Emma had never known such feelings of conflict. One the one hand, she wanted, desperately wanted, to remain in this place of peace and tranquility, but on the other, there was Killian, Henry, that white picket fence life they’d talked about with the dog and the front porch swing, and maybe another child or two running around.

“And so, Emma, it is time for you to make your choice,” Merlin said. “Will you stay, or will you go back?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Misthaven

Killian steeled himself and then opened the chamber door. His knees nearly buckled, but with a concerted effort of the will, he straightened his spine and began walking toward the bed. He’d thought he was ready for this.

He wasn’t.

How could anyone be ready for the sight of his true love lying still, pale, and quite dead on her bed?

They’d returned to Misthaven an hour past, and the air of celebration and revelry they’d walked in upon had been as a slap in the face in the midst of his grief, so heavy, it felt like a physical thing clawing at his heart.

The mood had changed immediately, of course, as soon as it became apparent what victory had cost them.

In the hour since their return, the king and queen had aken to their chambers, overcome with their own grief. Johanna had taken Emma’s body to the houses of healing where it had been bathed and dressed in a lovely, pale blue gown, her hair curled and topped with a garland of flowers.

She’d lie in state, here within the houses of healing until the funeral was arranged and she could be interred with those of her relatives who’d fallen in battle.

While the healers had attended to their task, Killian had taken a moment to visit Liam. He clung to life tenaciously, although he looked like at any moment he could leave them too. The healers assured Killian that Liam was actually doing quite well, despite appearances. They believed, should things progress as they had been, he’d make a full recovery.

It was a small glimmer of hope and relief on an otherwise horrific day. Killian spent a quarter of an hour seated at his brother’s side, but it wasn’t long before he felt the aching, clawing need to be near Emma once again.

There was so much to be done, so much to arrange. He must make decisions about the funeral. He must settle her personal affairs.

But the task he dreaded most of all, the task that he wished with every fiber of his being he did not have to do was to tell Henry his mother was dead. How did one convey such a terrible thing to such a small lad?

Luckily, he had a bit of a reprieve with regard to that task. In an effort to distract both Henry and Roland while their parents were away on their dangerous task, a group of Misthaven knights had taken the boys to the woods to practice swordsmanship and archery with them. It would likely be nightfall before the group returned.

Until then, Killian would sit with Emma. She may have passed, but he couldn’t bear to leave her body alone; couldn’t bear to be parted from her. All too soon, she’d be buried and he’d never see her dear, beloved face again.

Killian nearly collapsed into the chair beside the deathbed, falling forward, taking her still, cold hand and dropping his head to the bed beside her. For a long moment he gave into his grief, allowing the tears to flow freely and the harsh, agonized cries to rip from him. There was no contest. This was the single worst day of his life, and he sincerely wondered if he would even survive it.

A large part of him hoped he wouldn’t.

“Swan,” he croaked when he raised his head once again, tears finally spent for the moment, “You did it, my love. You defeated the Dark One and our kingdom is safe and secure once more. I’m sure you’ve moved on now to the Gray Havens, and I should be glad for you, glad for your peace, your rest, your ultimate reward, but Emma–”

Here his voice broke, and it was another several moments before he could compose himself.

“Emma,” he began again, “I just miss you. This is wrong. This is all so bloody wrong, and I want to rage at the gods themselves for taking you from me.”

Killian sat on the edge of the bed, reaching down to brush her hair from her face, to cup her cheek. “But today is not a day for rage and giving into it would dishonor the sacrifice you made, and so all that remains is this. I love you Emma Swan-Jones. You have my entire heart and you always will. Goodbye my love.”

As the tears began to fall once more, Killian leaned down, letting his lips gently touch hers in a simple goodbye kiss.

It was as though an electric shock passed through him the moment their lips met, a shockwave that spread through him and then the entire room and beyond. The lips pressed to his suddenly became warm.

Killian sat up abruptly, his heart pounding.

He was greeted with the sight of her green eyes opening and her chest heaving as she gasped in a deep breath.

“Swan?” he breathed, afraid to believe, afraid to hope.

She sat up and then smiled, reaching up to cup his cheeks. “I’m back. Did ya miss me?”

Killian surged forward, crushing her to him, devouring her with his lips. When he pulled back he noted that they were both crying.

“How?” he said simply, so overcome, it was all he could manage.

“He gave me a choice,” Emma said, swiping at his tears with her thumbs and smiling gently at him. “Merlin said I could stay in the Gray Havens or I could come home to you.”

“And you chose me,” Killian said in wonder, his smile growing as the reality of what had just happened set in.

“Of course,” she said, leaning forward to pepper his face with kisses. “Killian, I’ll always choose you and Henry. I’ll always return to you.”

Killian kissed her again and then laid his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “And I to you, my love,” he vowed.

Their kisses were interrupted by Emma’s stomach growling loudly.

Killian laughed. “Hungry, are we Swan?”

“I mean, it’s been a big day,” she said with a grin. “Saving the world, visiting the afterlife. Bound to work up an appetite. I know it’s hard to come by around here, but what I wouldn’t give for a nice big grilled cheese about now.”

He laughed again, before giving her another kiss. “Your wish is my command,” he said, finally getting to his feet. “After the day you’ve had, I’ll get you the finest grilled cheese you’ve ever had, even if I have to go to Agrabah to find it.”

Notes:

–Two updates in one day?! You can blame (thank?) Krystal, @kmomof4 for that. She yelled at me after the last chapter until I agreed to post again tonight.

–And there you have it! A happy ending, just as I promised!

–All that’s left is a happy epilogue. With the Dark One defeated, and the heroes alive and back together, Snow decides she simply must throw a proper wedding for her daughter and son-in-law. In the course of the wedding festivities, Emma is given one last reward for her bravery and selflessness–and it’s a reward that takes away their one last barrier to happily ever after.

NEXT CHAPTER-->

#cssns 2019 #captain swan supernatural summer #lotr/cs au #my fanfiction #until the stars are all alight

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branlovestowrite · 6 years ago

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Art for A Story Told at Last

This banner is a piece I created for @snowbellewells and her latest @cssns work A Story Told at Last.

When she told me she was doing a ghost story, I knew immediately that I wanted to make a manip, rather than a pic set. I'm quite happy with the results! I hope it inspires you to check out her story and give Marta some love!

He closed his eyes, breathing in the somewhat musty air that somehow, to his mind, also brought hints of spring rain, apple blossoms, weathered wooden planks, leather and sea salt. Shaking his head at his own ridiculously detailed imagination - now bringing him scents even, as well as hoped for sights and stories - Henry turned to carefully make his way back out of the rocky rumble, avoiding an overturned settee frame with bits of ripped upholstery clinging to it and a few floorboards, whose soundness appeared debatable. Watching where he was placing his feet and the path back to the entrance in the beam of his flashlight, he failed to notice that materializing behind him, wispy white and hazy against the deepening gloom within the old walls, two shadows, almost corporeal but not quite, were silently watching him go…

#cssns 2019 #cs ff #cs fanart #cs fanfic fanart #branarts

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idristardis · 6 years ago

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CSSNS 2019 Snippet

I’m slowly making progress on my fic for the 2019 edition of the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer (CSSNS)...right now, it’s still That Untitled Supernatural Rom Com where Emma’s a low-key light witch and Killian’s at least half-elf and all sorts of accidental soul-bonding and magicky hijinks ensue...

...but right now, they won’t stop bantering and flirting...so here’s a bit of, uh...that.

Enjoy!!

Besides, it wasn’t as if she didn’t like Jones. They were friends of a sort, although there was an ongoing rivalry between their two businesses that had never fully died down, even now, two years after he and Tink had opened Jones & Green. Though, come to think of it, the two of them were far more susceptible to the tension that simmered away just below the surface of all their interactions - Ruby and Tink seemed to have made their peace with each other long ago.

(If Ruby kept telling her that this “business rivalry” was just unresolved sexual tension, that was her prerogative - just like it was Emma’s to flip her the bird when she did so).

But, you know, Emma was aware that there was something between her and Jones - even if she were loathe to admit that Ruby might have a point - that couldn’t be chalked up purely to friendship or being colleagues of a sort.

I mean, I have eyes, she thought. I can see how damn attractive he is - though his awareness of his own hotness is a bit annoying. She also admitted, begrudgingly, that his sense of humor wasn’t half bad, and the few times they’d had occasion to spend time together socially - their friend groups having a surprising amount of overlap - he’d proven himself to be a charming guy with just enough honor to be upstanding, but just enough of a mischievous streak to break the rules every now and again.

Normally, he’d be just the type Emma would seek out for a quick scratching of all the necessary itches, as it were. But rather than enticing her, being in the same profession and running in the same social circles had turned her off to the possibility of pursuing even a quick romp with him - let alone anything more long term. Not that a long term relationship was really something in Emma’s romantic vocabulary, at least not these days.

Or, it hadn’t been up until a few weeks ago.

And nothing about this current...situation...is going to change that.

(She worried that that was just the latest in the long string of lies she’d been telling herself. For the sake of her sanity, she hoped not).

#cssns #cssns 2019 #snippet #captain swan #my fic #cs ff #ouat #hope you all enjoy!!

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thejollyroger-writer · 6 years ago

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Love After Death: The Afterlife Hotel

a/n: it’s HEEEEEERE, my first piece for this year’s CSSNS! I’m so excited to share all three stories I have for you all this year -- it’s just the beginning! Extra special thanks to @captainsjedi for her lovely, perfect art that conveys a sense of spookiness that I didn’t even know I was going for, and to @let-it-raines @shireness-says and @kmomof4 for being my eternal cheerleaders -- plus all the ladies in the Discord chat! And, of course, @cssns

Tagging those who showed interest when I posted a snippet in March, or who asked me to -- thank you all for your readership! @winterbaby89 @teamhook @ultraluckycatnd @profdanglaisstuff @jwolf18791 @killianjones4ever82 @superadam54 @kingofmyheart14 @aprilqueen84 @capswantrue @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @gingerchangeling @welllpthisishappening

SUMMARY: Emma Swan has spent sixty years in the afterlife believing she was never going to meet her real soulmate, after believing in the wrong name tattooed on her wrist. But when she keeps seeing the same new blue-eyed guest of the Afterlife Hotel around, might she be able to learn how to love again?

Also on AO3!

--/--/--/--/--

Emma Swan stands at her desk, staring down at the calendar that she’s not sure why they even bother to have in the first place. Time is meaningless here. Sure, the "sun" rises and sets on opposite sides of the building on a 24 hour cycle, but time doesn't actually pass anymore.

Except… if there wasn’t a desk calendar, if she was only going by the date in the corner of her monitor screen (though also unnecessary), she probably never would have realized that it was once again the third day of July in the real world. She almost definitely would have allowed the day to pass by uneventfully, would have completely forgotten the same way she wishes she would have forgotten every other year.

Sixty years. It’s been sixty years to the day since the first time she entered this very hotel. No family, even when she was alive. Abandoned as a child, never finding a family of her own beyond the sole person she believed was her family, the one that she believed was her soulmate — but, in the end, he was her demise, the name she should have avoided instead of married.

She had a fifty-fifty chance, like everyone else in the world. It was a stupid concept, she always thought it was: her soulmate’s name on one wrist, and the name of her enemy, very likely the name of the person that would cause her death, on the other, just like everyone else in the world. But she learned the hard way that she made the wrong choice, and by putting her trust in the name on her right wrist and not her left, she suffered more than just heartbreak. By trusting Neal instead of running away the moment he introduced himself — perhaps even before that, now that she's had time to look back over the time they spent together — she was killed.

She remembers the moment her names appeared as if it wasn't almost seventy years before. That's the funny thing about being dead, she guesses (if there was anything funny about it) because the sixty years she's been dead have felt like nothing compared to the nine years between the time her names appeared on her twenty-first birthday and the moment Neal smiled above her as he slid his dagger into her heart. His handwriting on her right wrist, the curling letters of his signature, seemed much more attractive than the scribbles that she stopped trying to decipher before she turned 22. By then, she had already met Neal Cassidy, had already convinced herself that she loved him beyond the presence of his name on her wrist, and he had conned her into believing he loved her, too, up until that very last moment.

Sixty years. Sixty years since her death. But it was dying that led her to find something really worth living for, even if she never got the chance to meet her real soulmate. And it was still just the "beginning."

Emma still remembers that first day, greeted by a smiling Mary Margaret Nolan. Smiling, as if there was something to be happy about. Emma knew that she had died, was very aware of it, given Neal left her to die a very slow and painful death — but the last thing she expected after the “bright white light” was an elevator ride down to the lobby of a hotel, especially one with a smiling brunette behind its counter.

“Hello!” Her voice was chipper, almost fake, but her smile most certainly was not. “Welcome to the Afterlife Hotel!”

“Really?” Emma remembers quipping immediately, not even trying to hide the look of disgust on her face. She was already trying to do too many things to control what was showing on her face. “You couldn’t even come up with a better name?”

But Mary Margaret was resilient, moving on without so much as acknowledging Emma’s comment, and when she asked Emma what she wanted to do — if she had any family she wanted to wait for, anywhere in particular she wanted to be — all Emma felt was empty. Sure, the emptiness tried to veil itself with snide remarks and humor, as it always had, but none of it got any further than her own mind.

“No.” Her voice was soft. “No, I — I have no one.”

It was Mary Margaret’s job to lead her through the afterlife, to help her decide where she will spend the rest of eternity. But, instead of a decision, Mary Margaret helped her find a “family” for the first time in her life (well, uh, death), people that actually cared for her. Mary Margaret and David Nolan, the first parental figures Emma has ever had, and all she had to do was die to find them.

Thinking back on this memory, she smiles down at her desk, unconsciously drawing a light circle around the “3” with her pencil.

And that’s why she doesn’t immediately notice when the doors to the elevator right in front of her open, revealing perhaps the most awestruck man to have come through those doors that Emma had ever seen.

“Bloody hell!” he yells, literally falling out of the elevator and onto the floor, simultaneously pulling Emma back to reality.

Well, that’s certainly interesting, Emma thinks, her eyebrows flying quickly up her forehead as she watches him, dumbstruck, as he struggles to get up off the floor. In all the years she’s spent here, she’s only ever seen people walk through the elevator doors, usually slowly and questioning everything around them just as she did sixty years ago (to the day).

But she’s never seen anyone fall out of it. They’ve always been on their feet after the long, slow ride down, able to pull themselves together a bit until the doors finally open and they find themselves in the lobby.

“Pardon me, lass, where — what the hell happened to me?” His deeply-accented question pulls her out of her stupor, and she blinks a few times before completely returning to reality — and when she does, she almost finds herself in a daze again as she takes him in. He’s tall, muscular, but lean, his grey jeans tight against his legs and low on his hips with a plain white t-shirt under a black leather jacket, the v of the neck falling low enough to show what Emma assumes is just the beginning of a sea of black hair covering his chest, matching the shade that covers his head and the stubble on his cheeks.

“You’re—” she starts, but looking down at the desk, she remembers where she is, what her job is, and pulls her best customer service smile to her face. “Welcome to the Afterlife Hotel!” she says, her voice much cheerier than she intended it to be, though she blames it on the confusion quickly filling the air of the lobby.

Slowly, he takes a few steps towards her as he swivels his head from one side to the other, taking in the sights of the lobby around him: the grey stone floors, the deep red walls and high white ceilings, the crisp white and grey furniture and abstract paintings on the walls. Then he stops just a few steps away from the desk, and when he turns his eyes to her, the air in her lungs suddenly gets very heavy — because in them, she finds the brightest blue she has seen, definitely since the first time she walked across this same lobby, but she believes probably since the day she was born.

“Come again?” he asks, one dark eyebrow raised high on his broad forehead, almost lost under the strands of dark hair that fall close to his eyes.

“You’ve found yourself in the afterlife,” she replies, dialing down the chipperness of her voice, but not losing it entirely. “This is the Afterlife Hotel, for lost souls and those waiting for others to join them.”

“The Afterlife Hotel,” he repeats, the same skepticism in his voice that she remembers from her own that very first day, though she manages to keep the smile off her face that she feels trying to start. But when he adds, “You really couldn’t come up with a better name?”, she is useless against it anymore, and the smile comes paired with a small laugh.

“What’s so funny about that?” he asks, moving to fill the rest of the space between himself and the desk.

She begins to shake it off, ready to tell him that it was nothing, but something in his bright blue eyes makes her snap her mouth shut and reexamine this choice. She doesn’t realize that she has remained silent until his eyebrows slowly move up his forehead once more, wordlessly coaxing her to say anything.

So she does.

“It’s just… moments before you came through the elevator, I was thinking about the first day I ended up here, and I — when I heard the woman behind the counter tell me where I was, I asked her the very same thing.”

“Is that so?” he asks, the beginnings of a smile forming on his face, and it is, without a doubt, one of the most brilliant smiles she has ever seen, even half-formed. “So, what do I do here, love? Tell me more about this hotel of yours,” he says, the smile staying as he leans forward onto the counter, resting on his elbows. She realizes that one of his hands is a prosthetic, but a very technologically-advanced, real-looking one.

“Well,” she says, playing along and leaning towards him, as well — though she will absolutely refuse to admit how much she enjoys it. “This is the first stop of the afterlife. From here, you can choose to move on to the place of your choice, depending on what you believed during your life, you can wait here for your loved ones to arrive — of course, if you have loved ones waiting already, I can find them for you — or you can just… stay here.” When he says nothing, she feels the need to fill the silence that settles between them. “Do you…” she starts, but when his eyes flash up to meet hers, her breath gets caught in her throat for a moment and she needs to start over. “Is there anyone for you to wait for?” She doesn’t mean for it to, but her voice is barely a whisper, again thinking of her first day here and the fact that she had no one, either. Is that what she recognizes in this man’s eyes: loneliness? Sadness?

He shakes his head, failing to hide the way his thumb presses into his left wrist for a moment, and when his tongue flicks out of his mouth to wet his bottom lip, she finds herself oddly distracted by the movement, unable to tear her eyes away, especially when a shadow of a smile appears on those very same lips. “Afraid I only have one, and that asshole had the audacity to continue to live his life when I was taken prematurely.” Emma just nods, not entirely sure how to respond to that, though when he opens his mouth to speak again, all worries about that have faded away. “So, I can just… stay here, until my brother gets here?”

At this, Emma smiles, leaning against the counter once more. “Well, yeah. That’s the main purpose of this establishment, and if you give me your name, I can direct you to your room.”

“Of course, lass. Killian Jones, at your service,” he says, holding his hand out between them, but when she takes it, instead of shaking it, he lifts it to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the edge of her knuckles.

She stills for a moment when he releases her hand before turning her attention back towards the computer as she tries her hardest to not let her response to his actions show on her face. “Emma Swan,” she breathes, typing his name into the system. Looking away from him, she misses the way his eyes widen at her revelation, his eyes falling to his still-covered right wrist resting on the counter, though he pulls himself together quickly enough to wipe the look from his face before she turns back to him.

When she sees what the screen is telling her, she is useless against the smile that spreads across her face. “Well, Mr. Jones, room 715 has been all set up for you, and you can get there with the elevator behind the desk.”

He smiles at her and moves to leave, but before he does, his eyebrows knit together, and Emma can sense a question on the tip of his tongue.

“Can I ask you something, love?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Does every person that dies come through here? Because, forgive my bluntness, love, but isn’t that a hell of a lot of people?”

She smiles at this, too, remembering that it took her close to two months in this very hotel before she even thought of the same question. But here, this gorgeous, handsome man — Killian, she reminds herself, realizing that it somehow fits him perfectly, if names can do that to people — has thought if it within his first few minutes. “You’re right,” she says, directing her smile towards him. “If everyone came through here, that would be a hell of a lot of people. But we don’t get everyone. If people have a chosen afterlife, no one to wait for, or if the person they are waiting for has already moved to a specific afterlife, they don’t come through here. Here, we only get the lost souls.”

“Well, darling,” he says, his voice just above a whisper, leaning across the counter until she can feel his warm breath on her cheek. “I’m glad being a lost soul has led me to you.”

When he winks, by far the most straightforward flirting that Emma has ever experienced, she feels her breath leave her lungs, her heart beating heavily in her chest — and then it is gone, the man backed away from the counter, the sparkle that she noticed in his eye disappeared.

“I’ll be getting to my room, then,” he says, taking another step away from the desk. “I hope to see you around, Miss Swan.” He flashes her a momentary smile before passing the desk, and she ignores her desire to turn towards him as he walks away from her, even as the bell for the elevator dings on its arrival.

“I sure hope so,” she whispers finally, only allowing herself to turn in the direction he walked in when she hears the elevator doors closing.

--/--/--

She does see him around, somehow more than she sees all the other guests at the hotel. She sees him two more times that same day, both on her lunch break and when she eats dinner with the family she has found here. Of all the places available to eat, he chooses the same one as her, not just once, but twice in one day.

As she sits between Mary Margaret and Ruby at the table, trying not to stare across the room where he is sitting against the wall, a book perched on the table under his prosthetic hand which his other holds a mug, Emma tries to ignore the mathematical improbability of the two of them being in the same place twice in one day, in an area as large as not just the Hotel, but the whole area around it.

She tries to ignore it again the next day as he’s sitting in the corner of her regular coffee shop, sitting in the same position as the night before when she shows up to get her morning coffee.

And when he is sitting on a bench in the park when she chooses to go there instead of to lunch.

(And then that same night in her dreams, but that’s not something she wants to admit to anyone, even herself.)

Three nights later, sitting at their favorite bar, Emma can’t stop her eyes from wandering to where he is sitting in the corner, his attention still on the book sitting in front of him.

“Emma, come on,” Ruby says, nudging her shoulder with her own, and Emma turns her eyes back towards her friend. “What’s gotten into you? Every time I’ve seen you this week, you’ve been distracted.”

She just shrugs, taking a sip of her beer. What would she even tell Ruby? That ever since this man fell through the elevator doors, she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about him — not to mention the handful of times she has seen him since he showed up? That she has never felt as connected to anyone as she feels connected to this man, who she hasn’t even had the nerve to talk to since she first saw him? She stopped believing long ago that she would ever be able to find the same happiness that she thought she found during her life with Neal — but how would she ever admit to anyone, even her closest friend, that just being in the same room as him has been making her hopeful again?

This, of course, is when she realizes her eyes have turned towards him again, and when Ruby swivels her chair around completely to follow her gaze, the man in question raises his eyes from the book held in front of him and finds Emma’s embarrassed gaze, the corner of his lips turning up in a smile.

When Ruby turns back towards Emma, she is smiling, as well, though hers is much more malicious than Killian’s.

“Oh, he’s a hottie!” she says, perhaps a little too loudly, and it does nothing to help the blush that has already started rising up her cheeks. “Do you know who he is?”

Her eyes flit back towards the bar, her index finger slowly running around the rim of her glass. She knows she is useless against Ruby’s ability to find information, to pull her darkest secrets out with just a question and a flick of her eyebrow, so she does not even try to hide the answer to this one, though even this does not stop the sigh that escapes her lips.

“His name is Killian. He just — he just got here a few days ago.”

“Yeah, of course,” Ruby says, swiveling in her seat once more, not even trying to hide the obviousness of what she is doing. “I’ve seen him around a few times.”

“I’ve been…” she starts, then drops her eyes down to the bar, pursing her lips.

When she stays silent for a moment too long for Ruby’s liking, she begins to beat on Emma’s shoulder with her hand. “Come on, Emma, spill!”

“I’ve seen him far too much for it to be a coincidence,” she says finally, the words practically spilling from her lips, though when she does say it, it’s as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, from letting out what she has been keeping in for the past few days.

Ruby’s eyes go wide, a smile spreading across her face. “What do you think it means, Em?”

She leans closer to her friend, allowing her eyes to flit up to Killian for a moment, relieved to see that his attention is back on his book. “At first I thought he was following me,” she admits, releasing her glass to hold her head in her hands. “But then he started already being in places I spontaneously decided to go, and I knew — it definitely wasn’t that anymore.”

Ruby’s eyes are wide when Emma finally turns towards her. “So you just keep running into this incredibly beautiful man and doing nothing about it?”

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Christ, Emma, have you even tried talking to him?”

“Well, no, but — how — “ she sputters, and Ruby reaches between them to cover Emma’s hand with her own.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, smiling at her friend. “How long has it been since you flirted with a man?”

She presses her lips in a tight line as she tries not to think about the answer to this question. Sure, there have been a few flirtatious moments since she got to the Afterlife Hotel, but the last person she really flirted with was Neal, the man she fell in love with during her life — the man that killed her.

And what is even the point of flirting in the afterlife, when she’s already missed her chance to meet her soulmate?

In place of responding, she just shakes her head.

Ruby smiles, a soft, gentle thing, as Emma finishes her beer, Ruby flagging down the bartender for another. "I promise you, Em, it really isn't that difficult."

"No offense, Rubes, but that doesn't really make me feel any better, coming from you."

"I mean, I could always go over and flirt with him myself just to show you how it's done, if that would make you—"

Emma stops her before she can say anything else. "No, that's... that’s not necessary."

Ruby turns around once more, her eyes flitting to the handsome man in the corner. "Are you sure? Because it’s certainly a sacrifice I would be willing to make for my best friend."

"I'm definitely okay."

Ruby's shoulders visibly sag. "What a shame." When Emma has no response to this, Ruby turns back to her, taking a moment to look at her friend's face, though her attention is still on the man in the corner. A beat later, Ruby says, "You know what that means, though, right?"

When Emma finally pulls her eyes back to Ruby, the first thing she sees is the grin spreading across her face. "What?"

Ruby leans over and gently bumps her shoulder. "This means you need to go talk to him yourself."

Emma feels her cheeks redden upon understanding this. "You're sure there's no way for me to get out of this?" she asks, a shy smile forming on her face in hopes her best friend will let up.

"No chance. Either you go talk to that gorgeous specimen of a man, or I'll do it myself."

Emma takes a deep breath, then a quick gulp of her beer, before pushing herself off the stool and, beer in hand, walking across the room.

With his attention still between the covers of the book sitting in front of him on the table, he does not notice her moving towards him until she slides into the booth across from him, the cheap pleather groaning beneath her movement.

“Are you following me?” she asks, and for a moment he thinks she’s serious, until his eyes move from the pages in front of him to her smiling green eyes.

“If I remember correctly, love, I was already enjoying a nice quiet night in this pub with my rum and my book when you and your friend showed up here.”

“It’s not just here, though,” she says, not even meaning to lean towards him with her forearms on the table, but she doesn’t stop herself when she realizes this is what she does. “Have you noticed that?”

“Aye,” he says, the corner of his lips ticking up in a momentary smile. “I have noticed that you and I always seem to be in the same place at the same time.”

“And you haven’t even said anything,” she jokes, pressing her fingertips to her heart in mock indignation.

Here, he leans forward, as well, the tips of his fingers brushing against her knuckles. “Either have you,” he whispers, pausing for just a moment before he leans back against the booth behind him, which groans under the shifting weight. “What finally got you to build up the nerve?”

Emma tries her best to smile at him, but she feels the edges of her cheeks heat up as she realizes she is about to tell him the truth. “Well, my friend Ruby over there —” when she points, they both turn their attention towards her only to find that she is watching them intently from the bar. But, because she is never ashamed or embarrassed, she just smiles at them, waving her fingers in their direction as Emma continues. “—threatened to come over here and talk to you herself if I didn’t do it, and she… Well, she’s much more straightforward than I could ever be.”

“And what? You were afraid that I would be unable to combat her charms?”

“Ruby and I have been friends here for almost fifty years, and I have yet to see a man who is able to combat her charms.”

“Fifty years,” he says under his breath, then snaps his eyes up to meet hers as if he didn’t really mean to say it out loud. “Emma, if you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been down here?”

Pressing her lips together, she takes a quick sip of her beer, avoiding his eyes. “Sixty years, almost exactly,” she says softly, and she fears that he did not even hear her — until his hand covers hers on the table, a movement which causes her to raise her eyes to meet his gaze. “The day you came here was sixty years to the day,” she continues, her thumb moving gently over Killian’s hand as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

(Because, she refuses to admit, it just might be. Because, she refuses to admit, sitting here with him, the soft feel of his fingers against hers, feels like all the pieces of her world slowly moving into place — which has to be, of course, an exaggeration.)

“Sixty years is a long time.”

“See, that’s the funny thing,” she admits, trying to avoid the fact that she is about to discuss her life with a man she’s had exactly one conversation with before, a conversation that she had to have with him as part of her job. “Because I was alive on earth for half of that, and the time I spent here feels like moments compared to everything I went through when I was alive. At least here, I found myself a family, which is more than I could ever say for the time I spent there.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, though neither of them feel awkward through it. Instead, Emma feels comforted by the warmth of Killian’s skin against hers, by the soft smile that he sends in her direction the few times her eyes dare to meet his.

“Will you dance with me, Emma?” Killian asks after the moments tick into minutes. Everything in her screams to say no — to stay in her own little secluded corner instead of becoming the object of people’s attention. But still, through all the alarms blaring in her mind, none of that stops her from nodding her head to him, smiling softly as he leads them out of their booth and over to the dancefloor.

When he welcomes her into his arms, it’s almost as if the stress from her day — from the past sixty years’ worth of days — melts off of her. With the weight of his prosthetic on her back, his fingers curled gently around her own over his heart, she is able to focus on nothing but the warmth of his skin under her fingers — a feeling that she can swear is the single thing that was missing from her life.

Silence fills the space between them, Emma’s eyes somehow never leaving his even though she can swear that she’s never been more embarrassed in her life, but she can tell his face is full of questions. She has never been more sure in her life that she has wanted to kiss someone, and something in his eyes makes her believe the same is true for him.

She watches as his eyes flit down to her lips, as his tongue slowly moves along his bottom lip, but the moment he begins to lean further into her space, he stops himself and backs away instead.

“Tell me something about yourself, Swan.”

“You sure know how to change the mood,” she jokes with a smile, turning her gaze up to meet his, but when she sees the darkness that has overtaken his eyes, the deep shade of midnight blue they have become, she thinks she understands.

“Either we need to talk about something, or the occupants of this bar are going to get a show that they were not expecting when they showed up.” His words come out low, growled through clenched teeth as his hand on her back pulls her lips closer to his.

“I’m sure no one would complain about the show, nothing exciting happens around here, anyway.”

“The issue with that plan is that I was raised to be far too much of a gentleman to simply give in to desires such as these with a woman I am as interested in as you before properly courting you.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, the smirk still covering her face. “A gentleman, eh?”

“I can assure you, Swan,” he says with a smirk of his own, then leans forward so his lips are practically brushing the shell of her ear. “I am always a gentleman.” When he leans back, though, the smirk on his face has disappeared, as has the glint she swore she saw in his piercing blue eyes just moments before. “Now, tell me something about yourself that you would tell a man interested in courting you.”

“Can I ask you a question then?”

“Fact first, then you can ask whatever you want.”

“What if I want you to ask me a question instead of just spewing facts for you?”

“Is that your question?”

She hits him gently on the shoulder with the hand placed there. “Of course not.”

“If that’s the game you would like to play, then we can do it that way.”

“Ask away, then.”

“Where and when were you born?”

She feels her heart squeeze in her chest. It’s an innocent enough question, of course, and there is no way for him to know just how much it hurts her to think of that time. Of any time. “Some time around the end of October, 1929.” She swallows, taking a small breath. “And I don’t know exactly where or when I was born. I was raised in an orphanage in Boston, Massachusetts, dropped off just a few days old.”

She flicks her eyes up to his, which is a mistake, because she does not need her gaze to linger there long to notice the sadness that has flooded his eyes. “I’m sorry, that must have been terrible.”

The few times she has needed to speak of her childhood, she has shrugged it off, offered some sort of snarky comment about how it wasn’t great or could have been better, but when she goes to do the same to Killian, the words simply don’t come.

So she shrugs. A beat passes between them, and all she can do to fill the silence is ask her own question.

“What happened to your hand?”

He does not say anything at first, does not do anything — even his movements cease, stilling them for a few moments before he finally starts speaking.

“My brother and I were in the Navy. Or, well, I suppose he still is.” When she looks up at him, his eyes are set on the ceiling above them, his tongue quickly darting out of his mouth to wet his lips before he continues. “A few years ago, I was involved with an accident that happened on the base I was working on, when one of the engines malfunctioned. And, as an engineer, I was put in charge of the team that was to bring the ship to dock and fix the malfunction, but the issue wasn’t in the engine, but in one of the pieces that connect the engine to the propellers. But, as I was working with removing the propeller, the problem decided to not be a problem anymore, and the engine came back to life before I could remove my hand from where I was trying to fix it.”

He pauses, taking a deep, slow breath that he releases quickly before finally turning his gaze back to hers, though she has been watching his face the whole time. “Thankfully the Navy paid for all of it, for the replacement and the physical therapy and everything, so the technology of it is actually phenomenal, though that doesn’t make me miss the one I lost any less.”

“Of course,” she whispers, and the corner of his lips ticks up in the beginnings of a smile. A moment of silence passes between them before Emma decides to change the subject: “Your turn.”

With his dark eyebrows set low on his forehead, she can tell that he is working to think of another question. “What made you stay here for sixty years?”

“Fear,” she says quickly, then shakes her head. “At first. I never really had a family in Boston, never had anyone that would have been worth waiting for, but I was afraid of what I would find if I did decide to move on. And then Mary Margaret, the woman that was working at the desk when I got here, and her husband David, became my adopted parents, of sorts. The first family I ever had. And since I found them here, I realized that maybe this was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

This answer is much happier than the last, shown both by the smile that now covers Killian’s face, and the one she finds growing across her own.

“It might sound a little stupid, of course, but —”

“I don’t think it sounds stupid at all, Emma,” he says, his voice soft. “I think it makes perfect sense.”

There is something else there, something in his eyes that goes far beyond the words he just said, and though Emma sees it, recognizes it, she chooses to ignore it. They’re in no hurry, they have all the time in the world, she realizes, laughing as she asks him why he always brings a book with him, and the tips of his ears turn red with embarrassment when he tells her that he always wished he had more time to read, and when he got here and realized that time is all he has now, he knew that was going to be how he passed the hours. They pass a few more questions back and forth, sometimes letting minutes of silence pass between them before one of them takes their turn. Before too long, most of the bar has left them behind, and with a few stragglers spread across the long marble bar, they are some of the last patrons for the night.

“Can I ask you about him?” he asks finally, his voice soft, almost as if he was afraid to ruin the feel of the room around them. When she turns his attention up to him, hoping to search his face to make sure he is asking what she thinks he is, his eyes are turned down to the floor between them.

“He wasn’t…” she starts, laughing to herself for a moment before she continues. “There’s not much to say. He wasn’t who he said he was, and he wasn’t… he wasn’t the right one, alright?”

“You fell for the wrong one,” he says, and it’s not a question. When he finally raises his eyes to meet hers, she pushes down the idea that the blue of them is somehow filled with understanding.

“Yeah,” she breathes.

“Me too.”

She doesn’t expect it, was not going to ask about his soulmate, and she has no idea how to respond.

“She lied to me about so many things, didn’t tell me that she was already married, and then she — Christ, she… she shot me. She killed me. Everything went dark for just a second, and then I was — I was in the lobby here, with an absolutely perfect angel standing in front of me.”

“Oh, come on,” she jokes, hitting his shoulder lightly before leading her hand back to meet his. But instead of taking her hand again, he lets go of her to reach down and pull the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow.

All of the air in the room leaves, including what was in her lungs. It’s the last thing she expected to see, had never even heard of soulmates who met each other in the afterlife, something she had led herself to believe was impossible. But there, right before her, is all the evidence she needs to know that not all hope had been lost for her yet. Right there, tattooed on the wrist Killian still has, is her name, her “Swan.”

“How long have you known?” she asks, but because she still has not regained the ability to breathe, she finds herself reaching to splay her hands against his chest, stopping herself from collapsing. It’s been years since she last swam, but she vaguely remembers the feeling of drowning, of water filling up her mouth, her throat. If she’s remembering it correctly, that is exactly what she feels right now.

“I had an idea when you first introduced yourself to me, but when I kept seeing you around, I was really hoping that it would be you.” Everything drops out from around her. She's not drowning anymore. She's floating, only anchored to the ground by the warmth of his hard chest under her hands.

"Why haven't you said something? Why did you even allow me to go through this whole night just talking to you?"

He sighs, an embarrassed smile growing across his face. "I needed to know. I needed to be sure that you were interested in me beyond my name on your wrist, because that's how Mi — that was all she cared about." His words are careful, proof that he has been thinking about this, worrying about this — but it is the sincerity awash in his pale blue eyes that really gets to her. "I needed you to like me for me, needed you to like Killian Jones before you knew that maybe I was the one with your name on my wrist, the one who went through my entire life on Earth wondering who 'Swan' was, wondering when I would find her. The one I thought about when I realized what I had with Milah was fake."

"Killian," she breathes, not even meaning to sway closer into his space, but she does anyway — until she realizes something “That means…” she trails off, pulling the sleeve of her own sweater up to reveal the scribbles that she stopped really caring about when she was 22, that she wondered why the world was cruel enough to give her without ever giving her the chance to care about them, up until those very last minutes. “That means these scribbles are yours.”

“Aye,” he whispers, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers, his arms wrapping around her waist. “Those are, in fact, my scribbles,” he jokes, smiling at her.

And then the feel of his arms around her is nothing compared to the perfect feel of their lips meeting, to the comfort that she finds when he slides his tongue against hers.

Nothing compared to the warmth of his body against hers when the elevator finally deposits them outside their neighboring doors and he pulls her inside his and pushes her against the door, as he presses soft kisses along as much of her skin as he can reach, his lips following his hands as he starts to memorize every inch of her. Nothing compared to the way he worships her body and soul together the way that only a true soulmate can before she collapses beside him and curls up under the covers of his bed.

However, when she wakes beside him the next morning, and for every subsequent morning after that, his hand heavy on her hip and his breath hot on her back, she can swear that she has never felt more complete in her life — or her death — then she does here, spending the rest of eternity beside her soulmate.

#cssns #cssns 2019 #captain swan #cs fics #my writing #cs ff #the afterlife hotel #love after death #soulmates au #afterlife au

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