#captain Henry’s pirate store

[jokeringcutio]

Halloween Prompt Fills MASTERLIST 2023 [ Reader Inserts ]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

AN: Follow me for more Reader-Inserts.

Non-Explicit Tales:

Reader accidentally enters Neverland and meets Hook Fandom: Hook / Peter Pan Pairing: Reader x Captain James Hook Rating: Teen Warnings: Halloween Party, Pirates, Kiss.

Reader is an Au Pair trick and treating at the Grabber's door Fandom: The Black Phone 2022 Pairing: Albert Shaw (The Grabber) x Reader (Au Pair from abroad) Rating: Teen Warnings: Au Pair Reader is from Abroad, Mention of Age Gap, Dark Undertones. Overall quite sweet.

Summary: You are an Au Pair stopping at the Grabber’s House. Romantic (with perhaps the tiniest hint of darkness underneath).

Reader meets Thomas Sharpe at the Halloween BallFandom: Crimson Peak Pairing: Sir Thomas Sharpe x Reader Rating: Teen Warnings: None Really. Romance. Talk about marriage and kids. Drama. Tiny bit of Angst? Sorry it was written in a rush. Possible Cameo for Albert Shaw. Summary:  AU in which Sir Thomas Sharpe never had his sister corrupt him and meets Reader at a Halloween masquerade.

Explicit Tales below:

(Don't read if you're under 18)

Reader in Hogwarts outfit visits Snape during Halloween Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Professor Snape x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: A grown-up dressed as a Hogwarts student on Halloween… Snape has his own thoughts about it.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual content, spanking, blowjob.

Reader Mistakes Arthur Fleck (as Carnival) for a friend Fandom: Joker 2019 Pairing: Arthur Fleck (as Carnival) x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: You mistake him for somebody else, but that might be the best thing that happened to the both of you, for you end up losing your virginity to each other.

Warnings: Sexual content, Virginity/First time.

Reader ends up being bred by Otis in a Halloween Ritual Please read ALL warnings. Fandom: House of a 1000 corpses, devil's rejects, 3 from hell. Pairing: Otis B. Driftwood x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: When you and your friends ask for help, you end up as part of a horrific ritual. Warnings: Killer Family, murder, death of a friend, Sexual content, Non-con, Breeding.

Reader Bumps into a Clown at Halloween who comes to visit her house Please read ALL warnings. Fandom: Terrifier (2), All Hallows Eve (2) Pairing: Art the Clown x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: It is Halloween when you bump into a clown and, embarrassed, apologize. Later that evening, your roommate Meri seems to have invited that very same clown into your house for a bit of fun. But that fun turns quickly into a nightmare. Warnings: Mention of Murder, Cannibalism, death of a friend, Sexual content, dub-con. Reader is scared of clowns. Implied Virginity/First Time. Mention of Blood. Coulrophobia.

Reader (witch!) ties Ernst to his chair and has her way with him Fandom: First Reformed Pairing: Ernst Toller x (Witch!) Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: Ernst is home alone at Halloween when a Witch comes at his door. Warnings: Mention of inner conflict, Pastor x Witch, Explicit Sexual Content, Slight Bondage: Ernst is tied down, Reader on top.

Reader is putting on decorations with coworker Albert Shaw Fandom: The Black Phone 2022 Pairing: Albert Shaw (The Grabber) x Reader (coworker) Rating: Explicit Summary: You’re putting the decorations up in the hardware store where you work, when your coworker lingers behind to help you.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual content, Reader wearing a skirt, Fingering.

Reader finds a handsome wounded stranger at her door Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Henry Creel (001) x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: It’s Halloween when a young, wounded man appears at your door. How can you refuse him.. anything?

Warnings: Explicit Sexual content, mention of blood, orderly Henry Creel.

Reader dresses up as a Vampire after catching Arthur as Dracula Fandom: Joker (2019) Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: Arthur thinks dressing up as Dracula will help him seduce his neighbor: you.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual content, smoking (Arthur), laughing during sex.

If you like my work you can: [ Show support and buy me a ko-fi) ] [ Follow my Tumblr for more updates and new fics ] I take requests ♡

[ltwilliammowett]

Pirate Ships

The specially built pirate ship did not exist, the pirates took what they could get, making sure that the vessel they chose was a suitable one. Most of the time they started with very small vessels like a Piragua, a small single-masted vessel with which they could quickly attack smaller places or even small merchant vessels. From there, most of them worked their way up until they had a vessel that was fast, easy and quick to careen for. In the late 17th - early 18th century, these were mostly sloops, brigantines or schooners but also sometimes a frigate, fluyt or pinas, which were also good in shallower waters, so that the pirates could reach the coasts more quickly and escape the larger and heavier warships. If a large ship was captured, it was often used as a booty store, plundered and then resold. Their vessels were well-equipped, with reduced superstructures on deck and usually overloaded with weapons, and the crew numbers were very high, as they were needed for boarding. In terms of armament, most ships had 4-pdr. guns and ten or twelve of them might be mounted on the deck. As well as a high number of swivel guns.

Many of the better-known pirates even maintained small fleets with which they hunted successfully. But here's a list of ships and their pirate captains - many of the pirates listed here I haven't looked at yet, but they're coming along bit by bit.

Edward Teach (Blackbeard) - Adventure, Queen Anne's Revenge (Pinas) William Kidd - Adventure Galley (Frigate), Adventure Prize (unknown) William Dampier - Bachelor's Delight (Frigate ?) Benito Soto - Black Joke (Brig) Henry Every - Fancy (Frigate) Black Bart Roberts - Fortune (Sloop), Royal Fortune (Frigate), Loyal Fortune (unknown) Good Fortune (Frigate), Great Ranger (unknown), Little Ranger (unknown), Rover (unknown), Sea King (Sloop)   Bartholomew Sharp - Most Holy Trinity (unknown) Henry Morgan - Oxford (fith rate -man o' war) Black Sam Bellamy - Mary Anne (Galley), Whydah (Galley) Edward Low - Fortune (Sloop) Stede Bonnet - Revenge (Sloop) Charles Vane - Revenge (Sloop) Edward England- Royal James (unknown)

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns 2023 Day 18: Under the Mistletoe

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t!  One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia.  A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns.  So here you go!  Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

 Rating: G

Word Count: 2140

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Notes:  This story was written for my “Christmas with Captain Swan” collection in 2020.

2x4 Canon divergence

Emma looked around her, feeling her frustration rise.  This room was massive, and it was filled floor to ceiling with junk.  Finding one lousy compass was going to take forever.

She didn’t have forever; she needed to get back to Henry.  Now.

She turned to ask Hook where he thought they should start their search, only to find him fingering a gold coin, bringing it to his nose and then turning it over and over in his hand.

“They hoarded all of their greatest stolen treasures in here.  Piles of jewels and every room filled with coins,” he said.

She rolled her eyes.  Great.  She should have known bringing a freaking pirate on a treasure hunt would be a mistake.  It would be like bringing a kid to a candy store and then telling him to focus.

“Let’s get to it, the compass,” she said brusquely.

He shot her a rakish grin, and totally against her will, her stomach swooped.  Bad enough she was stuck on this adventure with a pirate.  Why’d her body have to betray her too?  Of course the real Captain Hook was hot as hell, because of course he was.  That’s just the way her luck ran. 

“What’s your rush?” he asked languidly, continuing to eye the treasure around him.

That snapped her out of whatever hormonal response she was having to him.  She was so not in the mood for his nonsense.

“How long do you think magic knockout powder lasts?”

“I’ve no clue.”

“That’s my rush.”

He smiled at her again, this one looking less flirtatious and more genuine.  Setting the gold piece back on the pile, he strode forward with purpose.  “Too right, lass.  Come; everything we need is right in front of us.”

They hadn’t been searching for ten minutes before Emma’s frustration bubbled up again.  Not only was this stupid giant’s treasure room filled to capacity, it was also a total wreck.  This search was going to last forever.

“They kill all the giant housekeepers too?” she asked. “Where we gonna find a compass in all this mess?”

He winked at her, and her traitor of a  stomach swooped again.

“By looking.  Start searching.” 

For an hour they searched in silence, and Emma had to give it to Hook.  He really was a help in this endeavor.  He was systematic in his search, picking a pile of junk, looking through each item, and then stacking it neatly before moving on to his next pile.

His presence was unsettling, though.  It was…too much.  He made her feel things, and not just the typical “wow, this guy is hot and I’m not gonna lie; I want to do something about it” feelings.  Those she could handle.  What she couldn’t handle was this totally illogical feeling that they understood each other, that in some weird way they were the same.

She’d been burned before when she succumbed to feelings.  She wasn’t doing it again.  Once burned twice shy and all that.

Emma groaned softly under her breath.  She wasn’t doing this–not the feelings, not the thinking, not even the never-to-be-resolved sexual tension.  She was up here for one reason and one reason only: to find the damn compass and get back to her kid.

Probably best if she put some distance between her and Hook.  Moving to the other side of the room, Emma, began sifting through a dusty pile of what appeared to be decorations–candles, brightly colored bows, streamers, and in the back–was that a Christmas tree?

“You guys have Christmas here in the Enchanted Forest?” Emma called over to Hook.

He stopped what he was doing and ambled over in her direction.  “Of course we have Christmas, Swan.” She could hear the smile in his voice. It made him seem younger somehow, more innocent. “Some of my best memories as a lad involve Christmas morning.”

“Yeah well our giant seemed to go all out for it,” Emma said. “Take a look at that tree!  I didn’t even know they grew them that tall.”

He looked in the direction she was pointing, and then his expression changed to one of concern.  “Swan be careful!  Look out for–”

He reached her side, and she suddenly heard a sound like the tinkling of bells.  A fine mist of dust smelling faintly of evergreen settled over both of them.

“–mistletoe,” he finished dryly.

Emma looked up to see that, of course, there was a healthy sprig of the stupid weed directly above her and Hook.  She rolled her eyes, moving to brush past him.

“Well, shall we get this over with then?” he asked. 

She scoffed.  “Good try Hook, but I didn’t come up here to make out with a hot pirate.”

His grin turned wicked.  “A hot pirate, am I?”

She felt her face flame in spite of herself.  What was it about this man that made her feel like a teenager with a crush?

“You know what you look like,” she said, giving him a wide berth and moving on to the next pile. “I’m not stroking your ego…or any other part of you.”

She expected another round of innuendo, but instead, he stepped in front of her, stopping her searching with a hand to her arm and a concerned look on his face.  “You can’t seriously be thinking of ignoring what just happened.  You know full well that mistletoe can’t be ignored.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, hands going to her hips.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have mistletoe in the Land Without Magic!”

She growled.  “Yeah, obviously we do.  Stupid weed and even stupider tradition.”

“It’s far more than a tradition in this land, Swan,” he said.  “It’s a deadly poison.  The couple who is caught below it’s tendrils is cursed, the only antidote being a kiss.”

“Seriously?” she asked, feeling her ire growing.  They had a job to do and all he wanted to do was hit on her.  It was getting old.  Really, really old.

“No one born and bred in the Enchanted Forest would joke about mistletoe,” he insisted.  She had to give it to him; she couldn’t detect a single lie in what he was saying.  He really believed this crap.

“Okay, fine, I’ll bite,” she said, “what exactly happens to a couple if they refuse to kiss?”

“They slowly go completely mad,” he said simply.  “Most infirmaries in this land have an entire ward dedicated to mistletoe poisoning.”

Now that he mentioned it….she did have this strange urge to kiss him.  What would it be like?  Would he be a good kisser?  He looked like he’d be a good kisser.  For a moment Emma was tempted to give in, to find out the answer to those questions for herself.

But then reality reasserted itself.  She’d only given them ten hours before Mulan would cut down the beanstalk and strand them up here forever.  Turning away, she began searching again.

“Look, I don’t know if that mistletoe poison story works on other women,” Emma said, “but I’m not falling for it, and I’m not wasting anymore of our time on this stupid conversation.  And if you even think about trying to steal a kiss–”

He stepped in front of her, looking absolutely sincere.  “Swan, I’ve never once forced my attentions upon a woman, and I don’t intend to start now.  I simply warn you that the longer we delay the inevitable, the more uncomfortable we’ll both become.”

“Yeah, well I’ll take my chances.”

Within a quarter of an hour, Emma was starting to rethink her stance.  His story about mistletoe poison was ridiculous, of course it was, but she had to admit–whether it was due to the power of suggestion or something else–her urge to kiss him hadn’t gone away.  

If anything it had grown.

Her heart began pounding, her palms becoming sweaty, her breathing fast and shallow.  More than once she considered just doing it, just getting it out of her system once and for all, but something stopped her.

She knew, could feel it deep within her soul that a kiss with Hook would be no simple matter.  She’d kissed–and done far more with–several hot guys in her life, and it had never been more than a quick scratch of an itch, but she was drawn to Hook, almost as though he were a black hole and she was approaching the event horizon.  A kiss would change everything, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to come back from it.

Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  She would not lose control; she would not give in. Best she focus all her energy on the search.

Of course that would have been a lot easier if Hook wasn’t searching right beside her.

“Did you know that there is one more tradition regarding mistletoe?” Hook asked, his voice tight as though he were gritting his teeth.

“Yeah?  What’s that?” she asked in spite of herself.

“Oftentimes couples seek it out in order to determine if they are soulmates,” he continued.

“Soulmates?  Really?”

“Aye,” he nodded before turning back to his pile of junk. “It’s said that if two people are soulmates, when they kiss under the influence of mistletoe poison they get a glimpse of their future and then promptly forget it–any of it–ever happened.”

“Convenient,” she deadpanned.

He looked as though he wanted to say more but resolutely shut his mouth, and the two of them returned to the task at hand.

After half an hour, the desire to kiss him had gone from uncomfortable to almost painful.  After an hour it was close to unbearable.  After Emma caught herself standing stalk still and imagining a full on makeout session with Hook, she finally gave up. 

She was wasting precious time that they didn’t have.  Maybe he was right after all.  Maybe they needed to just get this stupid kiss out of the way so they could get on with their search.  Hardly believing what she was about to do, she walked purposely toward Hook and tapped him on the shoulder.

When he turned toward her, she stood on tiptoe and kissed the living hell out of him.  It was obvious she’d shocked him by the way he stiffened as her lips made contact.

But he recovered quickly, and soon he was kissing her back just as fervently as she was kissing him.

She’d meant it to be a quick peck, just a way to disperse the “poison”, but once she started kissing him, she couldn’t stop, tugging on his collar, running a hand through his hair, turning her head to deepen the kiss.  When the kiss started to slow, to turn into something soft and gentle and thorough, rather than quick and hot, Emma finally forced herself to pull away.

She looked into his thoroughly gobsmacked eyes, and suddenly her vision blurred.  In her mind’s eye she saw herself.  She was wearing a white dress, her hair in soft waves around her shoulders.  She was in some sort of castle’s great room or something.

It looked like Mary Margaret was about to put a crown on Regina’s head.

What the hell?

Emma looked more closely at the scene, and her heart began to pound.  She wasn’t alone.  She held a baby in her arms and beside her stood Hook.  He had his arm around her, and he peered down at the baby with such love it brought tears to her eyes.

Emma gasped, coming out of the trance or whatever that was to find herself once more looking at Hook in the giant’s treasure room.  Suddenly there was a burst of light, like some sort of rainbow tinted shockwave, and she shook her head as the memories quickly fled.

She shook her head, looking around them.  Had something just happened?

Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath, realizing the almost unbearable urge to kiss Hook had finally gone away.

She scoffed.  Mistletoe poison her ass.  She should have known Hook was just trying to get into her pants.

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

Killian watched as Emma went back to searching with renewed vigor, but for a long moment he found himself rooted to the spot.  The fact that he and Emma had been caught under the mistletoe was indisputable and yet his desire to kiss her was no greater than the normal pull of a hot-blooded man to a beautiful woman.

It could mean only one thing.

They’d succumbed to the mistletoe and been proven soulmates.

“Hook get your ass in gear!” she growled at him. “This stupid room isn’t going to search itself!”

Killian shook his head and went back to the task at hand.  This was quite the development.  Maybe–maybe after his revenge was accomplished, there was hope for a life after all.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[martianbugsbunny]

OUAT Thoughts Pt.34--Episodes 4-5

I have watched through S4E5; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for anyone further behind than I am.

—How can anybody keep a straight face about that funky lil hat? If Rumple ever actually wears it I will no longer be able to take him seriously.

—The Sorcerer’s Apprentice got turned into a mouse I CANT EVEN

—Are we never actually going to see the Sorcerer? If he could create a hat this powerful, he must be something else.

—I love that Rumple enchanted a broom to do the thing! Sorcerer’s Apprentice is hands-down one of my favorite Disney cartoons, so any reference to its iconic bits delight me.

—How can nobody see the Snow Queen’s castle? It’s an ice palace! IN THE MIDDLE OF A FOREST! And a thing like that has got to generate some kind of supercool temperatures around it, so it should be pretty obvious when anybody gets close to it.

—The Snow Queen’s weird obsession with mirrors is an interesting nod back to the original Snow Queen story. Which, in itself, has some pretty solid themes.

—That backstory stuff with Emma and her buddy Lilith is fruity as heck.

—So the Snow Queen was Emma’s foster mom? Oh, the intrigue! The question still remains: did she know who Emma was at the time? It seems almost impossible for it to be that big of a coincidence.

—I enjoy a bit of leg as much as the next person, but Elsa needs some new clothes. Her dress simply isn’t practical in Storybrooke. But she could keep the sparkly purple cape, I wouldn’t mind.

—On the other hand, it kinda makes me sad that Hook is out of his pirate clothes. Those are mostly practical, and they’re quite dashing.

—I can’t believe Will Scarlett is actually of some narrative significance. I’ve watched the Disney Robin Hood where they’re all animals, and I’m not sure he was even in that one; I’ve also watched Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, in which he happens to be one of the main draws for me. His part in the story seems to be largely variable. The Wonderland stuff has some potential; the drawing he tore out of the book was, I think, of the Red Queen? Which might have cool implications if he’s actually from Wonderland, given his last name.

—If Hook ever risks his relationship with Emma to take Rumple down, I’m gonna mad. Mostly because I am now ride-or-die for CaptainSwan, but also because if Rumple’s marriage falls apart I will cry.

—Emma’s date-night dress was gorgeous. I love Elsa being confused about how little of it there was, compared to Arendellian fashion—but then again, has she looked in a mirror lately?

—Snow and Charming mother-henning about Emma’s date with Hook was adorable. I love when the Charmings get to have normal domestic moments like that.

—We’ve seen how much Hook cares for Emma—he traded the Jolly Roger to help her, for Pete’s sake! (Which is peak romance if you happen to be dating a pirate captain.) Having Emma show him some of her childhood keepsakes was a good way to balance out their relationship and show that she trusts him and cares for him too.

—It’s not such a big deal that Will escaped and got pardoned, considering he was in jail for a pretty minor offense and was apparently being kept there for longer than he should have been.

—I kinda wish the other Snow Queen had a hair color other than blonde. It’s a classic, but it might’ve been more interesting to give her dark or ginger hair. Heck, maybe even just straight white would’ve been cool. Or pale blue. Or light purple. Her dress is pretty, though.

—Regina and Emma being grudging frenemies is amusing. I love how salty they are around each other.

—I’m not sure how I feel about the turn Henry’s taken. Snooping around Rumple’s store is one thing; using the ‘connection to Baelfire’ card to manipulate his way into a job there is another. He’s definitely Regina’s kid.

—Elsa’s story kills me, especially in Frozen 2 (I cry at Show Yourself every frickin time) but this version hits a bit harder. Her parents actively searched for something to change her so she would be “normal.” It’s kinda the next logical step for them, seeing as they were pretty crappy parents in Frozen to begin with, but it’s so much worse. Good golly.

[nauticadreams]

LitRPG meets pirate adventure! The Caribbean is a virtual world based on the Golden Age of piracy. The ring of steel, peal of cannons, clinking of coins and creaking of masts… Here players can build colonies, explore tropical islands or take to the high seas in pursuit of foes. Others, though, opt for pirate factions, stealing everything they can get their hands on. But now, all clans are building up forces in anticipation of a major tournament called "Henry Morgan's Fort."

That very reason is what leads a pirate clan to recruit Vadim through an old acquaintance. In the game, he chooses the name Rudra, and his future clanmates help him grind, level up and even become captain of a brig. He is then tasked with training a crew worthy of official membership in the strongest buccaneer clan to sail the Caribbean Sea.

But Rudra's headstrong temperament and an unusual quest cause a change of plans.

Rudra will follow in the footsteps of such renowned pirates as l'Olonnais and Henry Morgan. His adventures get him into all kinds of scrapes, introducing him to a daring pirate woman named Anneli, and putting him at odds with a mighty Spanish clan also searching for l'Olonnais' treasure.

Before long, events take him to the island of Saona, where the most powerful pirate and Spanish clans come together for an epic maritime battle…!

[thepercy6andtheradicalsabbatical]

Appendix

Top 10 Museums

Louvre

Vatican Museum

Harry Potter Studio tour

London/Malmo Transport Museum

Prado

Academia

Lego House

Uffizi Gallery

Picasso museum

Glasgow Science Museum 

Top castles/Palaces

Percy Castle in Alnwick (obviously)

El Alhambra

Madrid Palace

Alcazarin Seville

Neuschwanstein Castle

Roman Forum/Colosseum

Old Town Dubrovnic

Mont St. Michel

Buckingham Palace

Edinburgh Castle

Top 10 tourist errors

Not knowing we needed our passports to use our credit card in Swedish grocery stores (Matt and Becca)

Failing to reserve all our slots for venetian mask making (Becca)

Not realizing the hotel rooms in cadiz were 3 people max so getting a talking to and an upcharge from the front desk lady when trying to add nali man to the room (Matt)

Not knowing how to exit turnstiles in the London Underground (Becca)

Not keeping hands inside the vaporetto (children), not watching children to ensure their hands were kept inside (Becca only per vaporetto helmsman) 

Walking in bike lanes everywhere (all)

Panicking and rushing on the train going on the train headed the wrong direction, and thus missing focaccia (Matt and Becca)

Not knowing how to cross streets everywhere (all)

Oli on shoulders in the Louvre (matt)

Getting on bus in split , trying to pay, getting told by bus driver it was the wrong bust, then getting off without paying and seeing it driving away with the rest of the family still on it (Matt)

Top Ten AirBnB/Hostels

Split, Croatia- Butt pool

Billund, Denmark – trampoline + Lego House

Huisnes-sur-mer, France

Plitvice Lakes, Croatia

Wilderswill (near Interlaken), Switzerland

Dubrovnik, Croatia

Rome

Naples (Airbnb much more so than the city)

London

Madrid

Top 10 Gummy Candies 

Sour Rings

Fizzy Straws

Percy Pigs

Percy piglets (yes it’s different)

Coke Bottles

Sour Gummy glow worms (particularly the ones labelled in German)

Sour Gummy bears

Vegan Dinosaurs

Giant sour rainbow candy with nougat filling

Virtually anything else from Captain Candy

Top 10 Playgrounds

Gulliver’s Park, Valencia, Spain

Neighborhood playground with slide built into a hill, Wilderswill

Playground in Madrid near Marco’s restaurant (I think maybe it was in the Plaza de Espana 

Theater themed playground, Malmo, Sweden

Dragon Playground near St. Beatus caves, Interlaken, Switzerland

Dragon-slide Playground, Paris

Buoy playground, Olso

Neighborhood pirate ship playground, London

Princess Diana memorial playground (peter pan), London

Dubrovnic basketball/soccer court

Honorable mention for anywhere henry played soccer, especially munich beer garden, elephant themed playground while waiting for bus in Lindau

Top 10 religious places 

Sagrada Familia

St. peter’s basilica

Alhambra/Alcazar

Roman Synagogue 

Sistine chapel

Pantheon

Cathedral of Seville

Cathedral of toledo (interchangeable)

Duomo

St. Marks, venice

Places we want to come back and visit

Ischia

Slovenia (lake bled)

Ronda + Seville, Spain

Northern Italian lakes/dolomites (including a longer return to Stresa Italy)

Grenoble France

French countryside (houseboat on canals?)

Ireland

Wales

Lofoten Island Norway

San Remo, Italy

More of Germany in general

Austria

Best Part/Favorite food England

Becca- Tower of London, Harry Potter Studio tour, Hamilton/Crumpets, Indian food, chips

Emily- Tower of London, Harry Potter Studios, Globe Theater/ Mango Boba

Buggy- Harry Potter Studio/fish and chips

Matt- Harry Potter Studio/sticky toffee pudding

Henry- Tottenham Hot spur Game/fish and chips

Oli-  Our Airbnb and harry potter studio/Pizza

British Slang index

Right then = allright

Cheers = thanks/gretting

Buggy= baby stroller

Crisps= Chips

Chips = froes

Very nice = really good

Cherio, pip = “how you doing?”

Digestive = another type of cookie (dunk in tea)

Bin = trash can

Loo = bathroom

Football/footie= soccer

Fly tipping = unauthorized trash dumping/littering 

Hiya = hi

Champion = sweet/great

Nappies = diapers

Fizzy candy = sour candy

No bother = no worries

Best Parts of France

Henry – PSG/Croissant

Emily- Dragon Slide/Croissant

Oli- the PSG game/chocolat croissant

Becca- Mt St Michel/croque Mossier

Buggy- climbing the Eiffel tower/ Baguete

Matt- Huisnes sur mer/train station croque mossieur 

Best Parts of Spain

Becca- Seville, Valencia, the churches. Food: tapas

Oli- Gibraltar Monkeys/Paella Noodles

Henry Las Ramblas, Valencia/ Patatas Bravas

Emily- Gaudi + Bike riding in Valencia/ no favorite foods

Buggy- illegible (she interprets it as seeing the Flamenco Dancers)

Matt- Seville, Valencia, Sagrada Familia /Paella, Patatas Bravas, Horchata with fartones

Best Parts of Italy

Italian words- Ciao, uscita (exit), prego (you’re welcome)

Becca- Florence, Cinque Terre, Rome (loved David, St. Peter’s, hiking, Rafaels fresco in Vatican museum, Pieta. Food: Mozzarella, focaccia in Cinque Terre

Emily- Cinque Terre, Florence, Rome – Food: Foccacia, Pizza, Pasta

Oli- Pizza

Matt- cinque terre, Florence, Vatican museum, venice canals, Amalfi bus ride adventures. Food: mozzarella, pizza, focaccia in cinque terre

Buggy- cinque terre

Henry – Florence, cinque terre + Pizza

Best parts of Croatia

Emily- Pula, Plitvice Lakes, Boat

Henry- Pula, Butt Pool in Split, inflatable water park (pula)

Matt- renting boat in Dubrovnik, Slunj

Buggy- Slunj, bouncy house pula

Becca- Dubrovnik, Plitvice lakes

Oli- water bouncy house, pula

*Food* didn’t really experience much typical food but Matt + Henry say Burek, Emily/Buggy?matt also became Olive Oil snobs after learning to taste it in Pula

Best Parts of Switzerland

Becca- All of it! All the hiking

Buggy- the hut trip (+ice palace)

Emily- All of it

Henry- the huts

Matt- Ice Palace, huts, mountain view trail hikes

Best Parts of Germany

Henry - Going to the beer garden

Becca- Park in Munich, Fussen

Buggy- The night train

Emily- hot springs, castle, munich

Matt- Fussen, English Gardens Munich, Lindau hot springs

Best Parts of Denmark

Becca- Bilund!

Emily- Billund!, Copenhagen, Skiing, Tivoli, the lego home

Matt- Skiing on Copenhill + the Lego House

Oli- Tivoli + Lego House

Henry- The Lego House

Buggy- the Lego house and Tivoli

Best Parts of Sweden

Becca- hanging out with the Gordons

Emily- Malmo

Matt- 9 PM dip in the Baltic in Malmo

Oli- Playing with Henry Gordon’s cars

Henry- Malmo

Buggy- My new friend Isabela 

Favorite Places overall

Edinburgh

Valencia 

Sevilla

Huisnes-sur-mer

Madrid

Barcelona

Florence

Cinque Terre

Rome 

Dubrovnik

Stressa, Italy

Billund, Denmark

Fussen, Germany

Munich

Becca’s book list

The dictionary of lost words

Choosing to Run

I’m Glad my Mom Died

The Great Believers

Solito

Romantic Comedy

All my rage

Hello, Beautiful

We Should Not be Friends

If I Never Met You

Page Boy

What Looks Like Bravery

Breath From Salt

Birnam wood

The True Love Experiment

[notcaptainjack]

“Pirate store?” You ask. No, you didn’t.

It was a small store in Portland, Oregon, that was pirate themed. We sold pirate stuff and got to dress up like pirates. We also specialized in pirate events, and had a small Pirate Bayou rental area, where we hosted pirate themed parties.

[lordbucketofthecaribbean]

FINALLY DONE

[littlefreya]

Hi! I'm obsessed with you blog 'the fee' might be my fave fic ever! Do you have any more noncon fics? Or any that you would recommend, all the love xx

Hey love, thank you so much for reading :) I do have several other dark stories (Non Con/Dub Con) and I will happily recommend you stories written by others!

Dark Fanfiction Rec List

Warning: This list contains non-con material. If you are not into this kind of stories please keep scrolling. You are responsible to your own content consumption. If you have questions to why people write NC/DC stories or read them you are very welcome to read the following article written by a professional therapist about recovering from PTSD. 

My Stories 💩

° Night Drive - Dark!Henry x OFC (Non-Con + Breeding) A midnight drive turns into an absolute nightmare once Henry decides to take what he always craved for.

° Destroyer of Angels - August x OFC (Non-Con + Forced Marriage + Breeding) The cruel Duke August Walker takes what he wants and what he desires above all is a young maiden

° Injustice - Dark!Clark Kent x OFC (Non-Con + Breeding) Twilight has fallen over the reign of man. Now was time for the new god to rise and he wasn’t all-merciful.

° Autumn Blood - August x OFC (Non-Con + Kidnapping) The rumours warn to stir far from the cottage down the clearing… who knows who hides within these pitted walls…

° Prince of Darkness - Devil!August Walker x OFC (Non-Con + Breeding) August Walker is the devil, and tonight is ascends back to earth in search of his bride to fulfill a prophecy.

° Easy Prey - August x Reader (Non-Con + Gunplay) Ring or not, August promised himself that he will make you his, in whatever mean possible and he kept that promise.

° Hunger - Henry Cavill x Reader (dub-con.) Henry surprises you in the middle of the night, in more than one way. 

° The Big Bad Wolf - August x OFC (Dub-Con) If there is anything August enjoys it’s breaking those who resist him. Now trapped in his little cage, the little bird has no where to fly to

° The Fee - Geralt x OFC (Dub-Con) A mistake on the way home forced her to cross path with a hideous monster. Fortunately she was rescued by two witchers, but now there was debt to be paid and she couldn’t afford the payment.

° His Dominion - Sherlock x Reader (Consensual but implied Stockholm Syndrome) You would think a gentleman like Sherlock is a tender lover, but the brilliant detective is merely a wolf in a sheep’s clothing, and you happen to his favourite meal.  

° The Burnt Rose - Sherlock x Reader (Dub-Con, Breeding) You think Sherlock is an elegant gentleman but in your wedding night he proves to be nothing more than a beast.

° Neptune's Snare - Pirate!August (kidnapping) She came looking for revenge and got more than she was looking for

° It’s On - Henry x OFC (Implied Dub-Con) Henry gets revenge for being locked in the basement.  

° It’s On Part Two - Henry x OFC (Dub-Con, Anal) Henry gets his revenge.

° Honeymoon - August (dub-con) August always gets what he wants

Stories by Other Authors 🖤

 @sapphirescrolls

° Savior Masterlist - Dark!Clark Kent x Reader (Non-Con) Superman saved your life, but the life you have regained is now his to decide what to do with...

° The Walk - Dark!Clark Kent x Reader (Non-Con) That shortcut was definitely a mistake, who knows what awaits you in the dark.

° Claimed - dark!AlphaSuperman x Reader (Non-Con) In this ABO story, Clark encounters you during an interview and realise what he was missing his entire life

° The Patron - Dark!Captain Syverson x Reader (Non-Con) You work at a library and meet a seemingly friendly patron.

° Mesquite Grove - Werewolf!Syverson x Reader (ABO, Non-Con)  You live in a small town and work at one of two stores there. One day you meet a guy who will change your life forever.

° Nettles - Dark!Sherlock Holmes x Reader (Non-Con) Sherlock promised he will never come back, yet here he is...

° Hallows’ Eve - Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Clark Kent x Reader (yes all three) (Non-Con) On the night of Halloween you are meant to feel safe with three of these saviours... or are you? :O

° Celestials - Walter Marshall x Reader (Dub-Con) In his dying time, Walter makes a pact, giving his body to a divine spirit, though his intentions are not as good as they may seem..

° Catfish  - August Walker x Reader (Non-Con) Who would have thunk that one act of kindness will have such horrible consequences... 

° Holiday Interlude 2 Clark Kent x Reader (Grey Area) Just an innocent hook up at a bar...

° Intended - dark!Charles Brandon x Reader (Non-Con) Charles Brandon has just met his new ward.

° Tag-Along - Clark Kent x Reader (Grey Area, Sex pollen) You join Clark on a story he is working when you two inhale a sex pollen :O

° Disclosed - dark!Captain Britain x Reader (Non-Con) You’ve been on the avengers radar for a while and now that he found you there is no escape.

Drabbles:

August Walker: Headcanon

Walter Marshall Ask - dark!Walter Marshall

@crimsonrae

° Fallen Goddess - Viking!Henry Cavill x OFC (Non-Con) The little bird has crossed path with a viking and he is hungry for more than just the kill...

@sillyrabbit81​ ​ ° The Instructor  August Walker x Reader (Dub-con, BDSM) Agent August Walker is your instructor at CIA training and one evening he decides to follow you home...

@angrythingstarlight

° A Proper Thank You - Dark!Clark x Reader (Non-Con) Superman saved you, now you belong to Clark.

° His Gift - Dark!Clark x Reader (Non-Con) You are his gift from the world, whether you like it or not. 

@singeramg

° Crescent-Shaped Mark - Dark!Clark x Reader (Non-Con) Clark has developed a taste for your liking and he would never relent...

@geraltsbottomsbottom

° Warlord - Warlord!August Walker Au x OFC (Non-Con) In the midst of the night, the warlord comes to claim what’s his...

@killjoy-assbutt-1112 

° The Animal - Geralt x Reader (Darkish) Geralt of Rivia punish-fucks you for following him on a job when he had told you to stay behind. That’s it, that’s the plot.

@oh-for-fic-sake

° Safe And Sound? More Like Safe And Bred - Dark Clark x Reader (Non-Con) Clark has been driven wild by an omega’s scent.

° Trophy - Mafia!Henry Cavill x reader (Non-Con, Series) You get kidnapped by the new kingpin in town

@fanficsrusz​

° POWER - Henry Cavill x Reader (Dub-Con) Your plan to seduce Henry backfires but in a wondrous way.

° Rogue - Policeman!Henry x Reader (Non-Con) After causing trouble at her local bar, y/n gets a police escort home that turns into something she does not expect would happen in her wildest dreams.

@mdemontespan1667​

° His Wicked Ways - AU!Geralt x Reader  (Non-Con) a Medieval AU series set during the Norman invasion of England. 

@thelastsock​ 

° Between the Pines - Henry x Reader (CNC) A peaceful night by the campfire ends up being the last thing on your minds.

@gotnofucks

° What’s Your Escape - dark!Sherlock Holmes x reader  (Non-Con) Sherlock could never resist a mystery, especially not one as deliciously wrapped as you ()

° Death by Pleasure -  Dark!Sherlock Holmes x Reader (Non-Con) Death by Pleasure isn’t a thing. Is it? 

° Compromise - dark!August Walker x Reader (Non-Con) Your surrender to him would ensure the safety of the world 

@foodieforthoughts

° Wreck me - August x Reader (CNC) August never disappoints

@the-soulofdevil

° Mistake? - Dark Clark! x Reader Clark wants revenge but it might be that he made a grievous mistake...

@navybrat817

° Injustice: A Gift to the God - Dark Clark x Reader (Series) You sided with the Insurgency, but the Man of Steel won’t stop until you’re by his side.

° Devil’s Bargain - August Walker x Reader (Dub/Non-Con) You give one night to August to keep Ethan safe, but he’s determined to have more.

Enjoy!

Credit: Divider by @firefly-graphics

[steps-to-parnassus]

dead men tell no tales reimagined as horror-action

thinking again about how dead men tell no tales had so much wasted potential to be a fantastic horror-action film. instead of focusing on j*hnny d*pp and his stale, washed-out-drunk “comedy” or trying to shoehorn in yet another love story to replace will and elizabeth, the writers/producers/directors should have taken a look at the absolutely phenomenal make-up, costuming, digital effects, and actors’ performances that they had on their hands for the crew of the Silent Mary, and at how the original script written by Ted and Terry heavily played up the horror element.

a horror-focused film would have been a breath of fresh air for the series and could have even made several other elements of the film (lieutenant scarfield, shansa, etc) work better. it would have made the idea of a “final adventure” ring much more true, and most of all, it would have harkened back to the horror elements prevalent in curse of the black pearl and ESPECIALLY dead man’s chest, which worked very strongly in those films’ favour.

just think about the possibilities (quite long, so i’ll put it under a cut):

ghostly hands coming out of the walls of the Monarch like in the trailer, but the viewer never sees what happens next. all we get are flashes of the massacre and Henry’s perspective, trapped in the brig with no light as he struggles to see and hears screams of terror and demonic shrieks of glee.

we don’t see the ghosts coming into the brig due to the darkness; all we see are golden pinpricks in the dark, noises of shuffling and agonized breaths and the sense that something is terribly wrong. they only appear to the audience as one of them brings a torch down into the brig for Henry’s benefit, and suddenly the Mary’s crew is revealed in all their terrifying glory to both Henry and us.

they stare and leer at him, and crewmembers in the background have red blood around their mouths. the audience gets the sense that they very much don’t want to let Henry go.

when we next see Henry in Saint Martin, he’s raving. he still meets Carina, still speaks with her, still agrees to help her, but he is terrified by what he has seen. he tells her about the corpses and the pools of blood he had to walk through to get to the Monarch’s longboat. he tells her how the demons watched him go with hungry eyes. he tells her that he can still hear the screams.

Scarfield does not seek to kill Henry just because he is a traitor - Scarfield sees him with Carina, whom he lusts after. Henry might help her off the island, might protect her. Scarfield wants him out of the way so that he might possess. he has heard plenty of the ghostly crew and cares not that they are attacking british ships - every officer not himself that dies is a greater chance Scarfield will be promoted in the seniority-obsessed ranking system.

Jack is doing well when we first see him, the cunning fast-talker we’ve always known him to be. it is only after the rumours of a ghostly crew with a captain calling himself Salazar spread like wildfire around Saint Martin that he starts trying to drown himself in liquor to assuage the bone-deep terror. 

when Salazar and his crew are freed, they don’t have a mild little cheer. no, they tear their hair and howl like madmen. they have been storing all their pain and hate against pirates and empires for decades - they are going to bathe the oceans in blood.

when we first see Shansa, she is hooded and cloaked, somehow able to track the movements of the dead. she takes her robe off and we see why: she is covered in scars from blades and fingernails and teeth, wounds left her when she was the “one man left alive” from a voyage into the Triangle many years ago, back when the Mary’s crew could not control their bloodlust as well as they can now. and that is terrifying to us - what they did on the Monarch was their version of being restrained.

we see the news of the dead crew spreading as they attack pirates and british ships alike. churches are overflowing with terrified citizens; people bar their doors and hold fast their rosaries and guns at night.

Jack’s crew were loyal to him up until they heard of the dead - now they must be paid off by Henry to rescue Jack, because every pirate in the Caribbean knows who Salazar is; and now that he is the undead, they daren’t let him find them. the rumours are coming back from men left alive that the crew of the Mary sing and laugh as they butcher without remorse, that the evil curse they lay under forces them to feast on human flesh just to keep going, just to feel anything. Jack’s crew do not mutiny later because he suggests it - they mutiny out of sheer terror.

the scene with Salazar and Barbossa’s first encounter is one of the few in the film where the horror element is quite prominent (the other being Salazar’s intro, and it isn’t a coincidence that these are two of the film’s strongest and most compelling scenes). very little about this would need to be changed to work, save for one thing: Salazar does not tap his sword five times at the end. instead he simply says, “you can take what’s left of them,” and nods to his lieutenant and his men, who all begin to smile as they turn to the crew. when we see them next, Barbossa’s crew are down to less than half. we never find out what happens to them.

when Salazar tells his story and we see the past, we are stunned. here is the crew of the Mary, working together, smiling, laughing at their victory. we see and hear them talking about how finally civilians will be safe; about how they can retire, go back to their wives and children and parents and siblings. we see them as normal men with a noble goal. 

we see them awake and scream in pain and terror, and it is on their agonized screaming at the start of their decades-long imprisonment that we cut back to the present. now we can understand, at least a little, how once-good men became monsters.

Carina, Henry, and Jack would have far more dramatic reactions to the Mary’s crew on the beach. for Henry, these are the demons that slaughtered an entire crew as he sat in the brig, trapped and helpless and terrified that his horrific end was imminent. for Jack, these are men whom he’s seen before as humans, and whose hatred and bloodlust is directed at him. for Carina, who has never seen ghosts before, she is struck dumb. these men have horrific injuries, and they are looking at her with detached curiosity and bloodlust that seems a thousand times more horrifying than the looks Scarfield gave her. she can almost see what they would have done to her had they caught her.

there is no ridiculous wedding scene on at hangman’s bay. instead, the locals saw the giant ghost ship sailing into their waters. they know who it is the demons want, but are not aware that the Mary’s crew cannot set foot on land. they intend to give Jack up to the ghosts in exchange for their own lives.

Salazar still executes Barbossa’s men in the name of the king. he is completely mad, but some part of him still thinks himself a righteous naval officer.

Scarfield wants the trident, but more than that, he wants to use it and Shansa’s knowledge to control these dead men. he remembers the reign of terror Beckett wrought with the Dutchman. he would see it repeated for his own personal gain.

in the ship-to-ship battle, Henry initially tries to defend Carina until he realizes that the ghosts aren’t attacking her. they want her to lead them to the trident so that they can seize it for themselves. our heroes do not yet know that they want to end their curse. in fact, the crew of the Mary don’t really know that themselves - they’d much rather have the pirates surrounding them dead to rights, and then free themselves.

every time one of the Mary’s crew is dissipated due to contact with land, the others react. they scream and howl and gnash their teeth and their eyes flare gold. the viewer can feel how much they would like to crush the heroes’ bones into pulp.

when Henry is captured, the officers of the Mary cannot take their eyes off of him. he is terrified for his life, shaking the whole time. when Lesaro mentions that they have tried possession before, the other officers mourn their comrades who became trapped in human bodies and slowly died of thirst, still unable to leave the Triangle, all because they wanted to see the sun again. the viewer is conflicted - are we supposed to pity these monsters? there are flashes beneath the madness that suggests that deep down, they just want to be human again.

when the crew’s curse is broken, we see more of it. we see limbs regrow, bodies knit together again. we see the bloodthirsty monsters we have come to fear laughing and weeping with joy, embracing each other. we hear their terrified screams for help as Salazar finally demonstrates that his own bloodlust was decidedly not the byproduct of a curse as was the case for his crew and pursues Jack.

Barbossa climbs down the chain to kill Salazar, but the former spanish officer deals a mortal blow. just as he is about to kill Barbossa, Jack himself decides to muster up his courage and sacrifice to save those dear to him, which throughout the films, he has always done. he falls from the anchor, and together with his rival-turned-best-friend, he plummets to his death with one last jaunty sweep of his tricorne hat.

there are many dead from the battle. Barbossa’s pirate empire is in ruins, and british power in the caribbean has taken a massive hit. people everywhere are terrified. Henry, however, finds that his terror has stopped and resolves to be a braver man after witnessing what Barbossa and Jack have done. Carina pledges to honour her father and never again to disbelieve in ghost stories. she decides to become a pirate.

in this bittersweet ending, a glimmer of hope: the Dutchman surfaces, with two new crewmembers. Will hangs up his hat to Jack, with Barbossa as his first mate, and Jack is finally reunited with Bill, who has made amends with Barbossa. the old captain-versus-captain dynamic is back - and destined to play out forever. with uncharacteristic solemnity, Jack vows to ferry Salazar’s crew to the other side so that they can finally rest.

Will climbs aboard the Black Pearl, where the crew has elected Carina Barbossa captain. he asks if she might sail him to Singapore - his wife is the pirate king and lord of the south china sea, and that is where she holds court. Henry and Carina, true pirates, share a kiss as the sun rises and our heroes head off to find new adventure. the nightmare is finally over.

[crimsonrae]

Drowned Desires

Summary: Pirates plunder wasn’t always jewels and gold. Sometimes their bounty was flesh. Captain Cavill had found his treasure in the shape of a feral woman.

Pirate!HenryxOFC

Warning: Kidnapping, coercion, trapped, spanking, ultimatums, dry humping, masturbation. Dark Themes below. read at your own risk.

A/N: I have written and rewritten sections of this several times, but it took nearly deleting it all by accident to get me to post. I hope you all enjoyed. 

Drowned Desires

Wooden planks whined and groaned as waves licked and lapped at the ship's underbelly. It was a familiar tune, as much as the heavy thumps of feet upon the deck, the clash of swords, and the cries of men – so familiar that the Captain heard none of it as he perused the papers and trinkets hidden away in the desk of his now fallen counterpart.  

His men never understood his predilection for ship diaries and official correspondence, not when there were shinier prizes at hand. Yet, he understood what they did not...information would always fetch a far higher price than any piece of jewelry – not that he didn’t take his share of that too.    

A faint smirk spread lazily across his lips as he drew his finger across beautifully inked letters that denoted the mark of nobility. His mind already hungered for the letter's contents – for what could nobility want in the Caribbean wild?  

“Captain!” Sapphire-iced eyes flicked to the cabin door with disinterest before returning to his venture, “Captain!”  

With a roaring slam, the door flew open to reveal his first mate, but he was not alone. A wild maelstrom of silk impressively blocked the large man from view as guttural grunts and screams filled the cabin.  

Henry raised an innocuous brow as he watched the virulent struggle, silently amused by the brief glimpses of frustration on Brooks’s face as he maintained his hold on what Henry could only assume was a feral girl.  

“Be quiet!” Brooks barked, finally having enough as he shoved the girl to the ground. His bulky frame took up the entirety of the cabin’s exit as he glared almost mutinously at his captain.  

Henry licked his lip and smirked before peering curiously over the edge of the wide desk to the sprawled form below. A mass of hair flipped back to reveal a startlingly beautiful and mature face. Unbidden, lust stirred within his veins.  

Not a girl, then. A woman.  

A very angry woman, Henry mused as he sat back and stared at his first mate, “Is there a reason why she’s not locked in the stores with the others?”  

“She ripped Thatcher’s ear clear off, Captain. He’s demanding recompense.” Brooks intoned wearily as he kept a watchful eye on the now oddly quiet woman.

Henry’s brow arched higher, if possible, as again he leaned over the desk to take in the fallen woman. She was paying him no mind, having come to her knees. Her eyes shifted about the room as if looking for an exit or a weapon. It was then that Henry was able to note the faint glimpse of red staining her skin – not on her hands, but her neck and mouth. It wasn’t hard to deduce what Thatcher had attempted that had cost him his ear.  

“I take it young Mr. Thatcher, is currently being attended to which is why he’s not here to plead his case.” Henry murmured, as he took in the long line of her throat and the gentle swells that teased the hem of her bodice. Blood had stained her flesh here too, but he found his cock twitching despite her dishevelment. He could see why Thatcher had chosen her.  

“Aye, Captain.”  

“And what say you, woman?” Henry queried lightly, smirking as her gaze finally alighted on him. Wariness, fury, and a touch of fear – but not as much as he expected, “Should I let Thatcher have his pound of flesh?”  

She said nothing, her fine eyes narrowing into a fierce glare. It made him want to grin. How had Thatcher missed the fire she emanated? But then, the deckhand was not the brightest of his crew.  

Henry tilted his head, “Oh, don’t play mute now. Not after the ruckus of your entry.”  

He barely had the words out when something wet hit his cheek. If it were possible the entire cabin stilled, even the creaking of the ship had quieted. The captain’s amusement with the situation had disappeared as he stoically wiped the spittle from his person.  

“I suppose I should be grateful to still have my ear.” He muttered with deceptive gentleness as he leveled a cold stare onto the woman. She stiffened in preparation of an attack, but none came as his attention turned back to his first mate, “Leave us.”  

There was a moment of hesitation before the cabin door swung shut with as decorous a roar as it had been opened. To the woman still kneeled on the floor, it was almost like hearing a nail pounded into her coffin. There was little point in trying to leave. She would merely end up on the deck with the savage crew that had taken the ship hostage. If she were lucky then she might make it to the water, but that was only a slower death.  

“What’s your name?” His words were measured and deliberate, “And do not spit at me again lest you wish to feel the back of my hand.”  

“...Mary.” She muttered after a moment.  

Henry snorted, her pause had given her away, “Too pious a name for you. Try again.”  

She huffed indignantly, but acquiesced, “Elowyn. Elowyn O’Dara.”

There was a faint lilt to her voice that agreed with her name, though even this moniker seemed too tame for her spirit, “Ms. O’Dara, why aren’t you locked in the stores with the other passengers?”  

If eyes were daggers, he’d be dead as her glare became pointed, “Your man already told you.”  

“Surely, you don’t simply have a predilection for tearing off ears – or shall I say a taste.” He prodded, wanting his suspicions confirmed, “What exactly provoked you?”  

“He looked at me funny.” Elowyn hissed bitingly.  

Henry pursed his lips, a reproach on the tip of his tongue when better sense prevailed him. Despite the grand silks she wore, her gown was ill-fitted. The sleeve came within a breath of falling off her shoulder and her speech while refined was far blunter than any gentlewoman. He had a new suspicion about his little spitfire.  

“Is that all it takes?” Henry taunted as he towered over her. Well aware that her dangerous mouth was aligned to an appendage far more valuable than an ear. In fact, it was the image of her mouth and that appendage which enticed him to draw closer still, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze and avoid undue embarrassment. He swore that he could feel her breath even through the thick leather of his trousers.  

Elowyn growled, though the flush of her cheeks belied any indifference, “Why should it take more?”  

“I think it would take more.” He stated quietly. His finger curled under her chin and urged her to stand. He wanted the full measure of her. Not the defiant victim she had curled herself into.  

The fabric of her gown swished and whispered as it draped around her body like a protective cloak. Her eyes sparkled wildly at him, warily – like twin pillar flames of a candelabra. He had no doubt that she would attack him as fervently as she had his man if he were to push his luck. He was tempted to try anyway...but a greater desire lurked in his heart.  

She would bend to him first.  

He let his finger trail down the line of her throat as he kept his gaze locked with hers, taking in every twitch and tremble that she tried so valiantly to hide. His touch smoothed across her shoulder, warm and chafing against her delicate flesh until, at last, he reached that clinging hem.  

Almost thoughtfully, he traced that strained neckline, “Tell me, did your mistress press you into her dress to hide, or have you been trying to pass yourself off as a gentle lady for your voyage? Graces and airs do open many doors.”  

Elowyn stilled as his words took home, “I’ve no idea of what you speak.”  

“I’m sure you don’t.” Henry hummed knowingly, “A good liar you are not, Ms. O’Dara. Which makes me inclined to think you were pressed into this gown. However, like recognizes like and I think I’ve merely unsettled you.”  

“The devil would be unsettled by you.” She murmured; heat resonated through her bosom as his fingers hovered over her swells, but he didn’t touch... just teased.  

He grinned roguishly, amused by her scorn, “Either way... it does beg the question, how are you going to keep yourself from ruin? Even if you leave my presence – and that of my crew’s untouched – you’re still caught in something of a predicament, lass.”  

Confusion furrowed her brow at his words and only deepened as he stepped away from her to lean against the ornate desk behind him. Smug and insufferable it galled her to ask after his meaning, “The only predicament I’ll have is giving the navy a name for the swine that dared board this ship.”  

Henry barked a sharp laugh before giving a mocking bow, “Why Captain Henry Cavill at your service, milady? But do you honestly think that if I were to return you to the stores below that assumptions wouldn’t be made?”  

Elowyn’s lips pursed, a silent refusal to entertain his inquiry. It only delighted him.

“You’ve been gone too long, lass. They know why Ole Thatch took you. Probably already assume that you’re dead. And let’s say you were pressed into this gown by your mistress... Loyal though you were, what use does she have for a spoiled maid? Best to send you on your way. And if you are a gentlewoman, word of your ruin will reach all and sundry before the ship is even done being berthed. No hoity-toity wealthy gentleman will look at you twice. All your prospects gone.”

Her cheeks were scarlet with humiliation, and she gritted her teeth as she scolded him, “Does this please you? These cruel games? I demand to be taken back to the stores.”  

His eyes twinkled mirthfully, “Oh that’s it, Luv. Not bad for a gentlewoman, but you should tremble a little more to sell it.”

She barely bit back a snarl, even as her body moved without permission. To the surprise of both Henry and Elowyn, her slim hand snatched the pistol tucked into his belt and had it pressed under his chin before either could blink.  

“Get. Off. This. Ship.” She sniped, hand minutely trembling as she stared straight into his now unimpressed eyes.  

Outside the sounds of battle and the thumping of steps had dwindled to a steady few. His crew had overwhelmed the other and were taking what ever they could find back to the Kalliope. His time aboard was limited anyway... but still, it wouldn’t do to have this slip of a girl think she gained the upper hand. No longer was he willing to see her submit, but he would see her pride broken.  

It was time he acted like a pirate.  

“I intend to.” He murmured.  

It wasn’t what she had expected him to say, and her moment of bafflement worked to his advantage as he ducked down and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed in much the same way she had in entering the room.  

He heard the soft click of his gun and grinned when she comprehended that there was no bullet to be shot. He had used his powder on boarding, his pistol now a pretty decoration for his ruthless image. Her screams became even more enraged.  

He chuckled and ignored her pounding fists to his back as he stepped out to the deck, “Brooks!”  

His steadfast first mate appeared with nary a word and a raised brow. Yet, Henry knew he wouldn’t ask the question dancing on his tongue, “Ms. O’Dara will be joining us. See to it that the rudder of this ship is disengaged and gather the men back aboard Kal. I want to be sailing with the wind within the hour.”  

“Aye, Captain.”  

No further words were spoken nor needed between the two though that hardly stopped the squalling of the harridan thrashing his back. Grunting in frustration, he crossed the boarding ramp in two steps as his palm placed a resound slap onto Elowyn’s wriggling rump. A silent warning to be still which she did not heed.

“Put me down!”  

It must have been the hundredth time she had shrieked this, but as Henry crossed the threshold of his cabin he decided to finally obey, “Very well.”  

Grim amusement touched his lips as he tossed her onto his bed, her skirts flew wild, and he caught a tempting glimpse of the thin cotton of her bloomers. Those would not last long, like the whores of Nassau she would learn to stay bare beneath those skirts.  

Ever defiant, Elowyn flew up from her supine position and slid from the bed before he could blink. Her speed was impressive, but she was not fast enough to beat the closing of the door as the lock clicked into place. Smirking, Henry seized the bottle of whiskey from the corner of his desk as he fell languidly into his chair to watch the despairing storm that descended upon his captive.  

Elowyn yanked heartily on the handle, a torrent of panic and anger spurning her heart. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she was furious to find a sob pulling at her throat as the sands counting down her freedom quickly dwindled. She could not be trapped here. It simply was not to be born.  

All the while, Elowyn could feel his gaze burn into her back. Not for the first time her stomach clenched under the weight of his attention. She detested the stirrings of lust his visage had enticed; his quiet perusal of her body had done much to set a simmering awareness along her skin that could only be calmed by the touch of another.  

She slammed her palm against the hardwood of the door as her head became bowed with defeat.  

“I am no one’s whore.” Her voice hoarse from her screams broke the expectant silence.  

For a moment, the captain wondered if she could read minds. However, the longer he was in her presence the more he thought she was an innocent maid... if only her protest had not been so despondent. Tired. Bitter. As if this was a situation not uncommon.

“Aren’t you?” The words were spoken with seemingly little thought as Henry took a light swig from his bottle. A pleasantly harsh warmth burned over his tongue and down his throat as the dark liquid sought out his blood.  

A low snarl emanated from her, and Henry watched curiously as she whirled to face him. His breath was stolen by the fury in her watery gaze. Her lips had curled back into a sneer, and she stood defiant. Wrathful, proud, and stunning. She was Circe reborn.  

The entertained glint that shined in the face of her rage, merely cemented her ire as she strode across the room with the full command of a Goddess. She let the dress fall from her shoulders to twist and drown around her torso before falling lost to the floor. She trod on it and over it with little care.  

Henry devoured the view of her corset and bloomers. Her curves were more pronounced with the clinging material of her undergarments and yet not enough. He’d rather see her bare.  

Elowyn pointedly ignored the hunger of his countenance and snatched the whiskey from his hand. Her throat bobbed deliciously as she downed one mouthful and then two before throwing the bottle at the very door she longed to escape through.  

A sharp thunk and the glittering clatter of shattered glass echoed through the cabin. Henry arched a brow in mild disappointment, “That was a very expensive bottle.”  

“That I’m sure you stole.” Elowyn countered as she moved to straddle his lap. Her gaze was taunting as her fingers laced into the collar of his shirt, “Is this what you wanted, Captain?  

He hummed, amused by her show of bravado, and respected her attempt at taking control, but he could see the quivering girl just below the surface. He delved his hands beneath the hem of her corset, gliding calloused fingers around the satin flesh of her waist. Goosebumps raised like waves in a storm at his touch.  

A sharp gasp left Elowyn’s throat as one hand slid down beneath her bloomers to grasp the firm muscle of her bottom and squeeze. It was like lightning had been released across her hide. Visceral mordant liquid pooled in her loins, and she tried not to squirm. She didn’t want him to see how affected she truly was, even as evidence blossomed across the flimsy material guarding her.  

Yet, as she held his dark stare, she swore that the staccato beating of her heart had given her away. A cool thrill shivered across her skin, only to be chased by a flaming warmth that she could not control. Beneath the rough cotton of her corset, her nipples puckered and pebbled, and she felt a shameful heat spread over her breasts to her collar and up her neck.  

He hadn’t even kissed her.  

He leant forward, teasingly drawing his lips along the shell of her ear. Henry grinned at the small shivering whimper that spilled from her lips at such an act. He had to wonder if she was worried that he would do to her what she had done to Thatch. Tauntingly, his tongue shot out and suckled her delicate lobe into his mouth as her knuckles whitened to match his collar.  

She mewled prettily and arched into his hold, unable to voice the word stop. He wouldn’t have, even if she begged.  

He lathed attention to her sensitive appendage for another few seconds before gently nipping the tender flesh, “I think this what you wanted, lass.”  

She swallowed tightly and tried to bring forth the dispassionate woman that had brought her to his lap, “No.”  

“No?” Henry almost sang, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. He nuzzled the plush swell of her cheek, breathing a kiss to the corner of her mouth as his fingers made quick work of the laces of her corset. A faint copper taste dazzled his tongue – had she enjoyed the taste of Thatcher’s blood?  

Her breath hitched as she felt the boned fabric slide from her bosom. It took every ounce of strength not to fold her arms in and hide. She had tried to out bluff the monster but had goaded him into action instead. Brute violence would not remove her from this situation. She knew this instinctively, and as his bristled cheek chafed against the silk of her neck and chest, Elowyn became uncertain if she wanted to be removed.  

Gossamer licks of pleasure pulsated from his rough skimming, and his hot breath ignited a current of desire that made her stomach clench with need. She felt suddenly empty and as his supple lips latched onto her pointed teet, she keened. Unthinkingly, she rocked into his pelvis in a feeble attempt to fill the throbbing void between her legs. Her cunt dripped and twitched needily as he suckled.  

Elowyn sputtered and gasped at his forceful pulls, pressing down harder into his lap and ultimately onto his erection. She wasn’t sure when, but her fingers had delved around the bandanna holding back his wild mane as she tried not to fall into his ardent mouth, but she was helpless against his assault. He would devour her.  

“Please.” She breathed.  

Henry smiled and lightly bit down on her tortured tit, admiring the dark hue her sensitive flesh had garnered from his attentions, before moving his attention to her other breast, “Please, what?”  

She arched as he began his attack anew. Her hips coming alive as she undulated frenetically against him. A pressure had started to build, a delicious force stood just out of reach and she just... just needed.  

Henry’s strong hands dug into her hips stilling her movements. He knew that she was on the cusp of climax. He could smell the heady scent of her arousal, but such satisfaction would not be had until she took his cock.  

Elowyn wailed in frustration, “Please!!”  

“Please, what?” He iterated again. His fingers latched onto the seam of her bloomers. One fierce tug would be all he needed to tear her undergarment in two.  

Her pride screamed at her to remain silent, but the wanton in her demanded she cave. Elowyn bit her lip as she tried to stave off another plea. Instead, she sought out the lace of his breeches and swiftly freed him of his leather confines.

Henry allowed her this and watched with a jovial grimace as she took in his hidden pistol. Her eyes widen at his size, her thighs clenching over his at the thought of taking him. He would not fit, but he would certainly fill her. She dragged a curious nail over his weeping head, jolting as his manhood twitched and bobbed under her innocent exploration.  

He hissed, “Either suck me off, lass, or finish your request. If I must choose what comes next, you will find little pleasure in my actions.”  

Her gaze flew up to his, noting the seriousness she found staring back at her. She swallowed tightly, “T-take me.”  

A cruel grin twitched at his lips, “Take you where?”  

She bristled at his mocking, “Copulate with me, like the pig you are.”  

SMACK!  

She gasped at the pain that flared through her hind-side and barely refrained from moaning as the reverberation echoed with her desire.  

Henry tutted, “Name-calling when you’re begging? Not very gracious. Especially as you were the one to come to me, Luv.”  

“Bastard!” She spat and choked on another moan as he assaulted her rear once more.  

He grinned, “Enjoy that do you?”  

She cursed him again and he laughed, “Should I take the cat and nine tails to you? What a saucy minx you’re turning out to be.”  

“I loathe you.” Elowyn murmured through gritted teeth, “What do you want from me?”  

He smiled bitingly at her, “Ask nicely and remember my title.”  

She growled and tore from his hold as her pride won out for the moment. He watched her with the gaze of a predator as she discarded the last of her garments. She flung herself onto his bed and splayed her legs wide. She would not capitulate to him.  

At least not verbally.    

Henry’s mouth watered greedily as her nimble little fingers delved and played with her soaked mound. She was playing a very dangerous game. She stroked her sweet little nub with feverish intensity, allowing her moans to fill the cabin like a sonorous symphony. She put on a lovely lurid show and he couldn’t pull his gaze away as she ran a finger along the edge of her cunt, teasing him with a view of her seeping hole. It took little time for her to find that pleasure peak again and even less for him to lose his patience.

In less than three steps he was between her legs, knocking her hands away from her lush garden.  

In two breaths, he was poised at her entrance.  

In one kiss, he speared her with the intensity of a hunter claiming his prey.  

He swallowed her raucous cry and reveled in the silent tear the swam down her cheek as he brutal entrance. Unbridled heat scored up his manhood as her wet cavern suckled him reluctantly to her womb. He had warned her what would happen if he were to choose.  

Groaning, he could not still for long and raised his knee for leverage as he began a brutal pace toward release. Despite his harsh embrace, it was not long before her hips met his, seeking salvation from his unrelenting torrent.  

Her muscles strained from being split, but the sharp ache was diminished by the relief of being so completely stuffed. Her pride wailed in horror at being proven the whore, but Elowyn cared little. Pleasure scalded and overwhelmed her like a bubbling hot spring. 

Henry was everywhere.  

Grasping, biting, prodding, and shoving. 

He pulled sounds from her throat she had never heard before... but she was no better. Willing, she spread her thighs wider for him, welcoming his passionate tempest as he soundly cast her to the waves of ecstasy.  

She cried out fervently as she drowned, and her body clung to him as if it were a buoy. Her walls became a vice, now trapping him to her as she fell victim to her carnal desires, “Captain!”  

Henry watched her erupt through half-hooded eyes, captivated by the euphoria that descended upon her. He groaned as her walls clenched even tighter around him, demanding his seed.  

He thrust once.  

Twice.  

Thrice more before he gave in to her delicious demand and came with a roar, filling her to brim as he enjoyed the way his cock spasmed in time with her tremors. Lazily, he pressed a kiss to her temple as she quivered against him.  

Elowyn peered up at him with wide eyes, shame seeping into her mien as the weight of her actions crashed down onto her. She tried to cover herself, but Henry refused to let her move. He trapped her wrists above her head as he trapped her stare with his, “You have a choice now, lass. Be a good girl and warm this bed or walk out of this cabin and warm my crew’s. Either way, you’ll be a whore, but whose... well that remains up to you.”  

Tears welled as he pulled out of her with a wet plop. Only then could she see the image she painted. Ruined and laid bare before the man who had stolen her as he fixed his trousers and shirt. She hated how little she had resisted him, how much she still wanted him. She had no recourse. He had extracted his pound of flesh as she drowned in her desires. 

She would be his whore.  

It was then she knew that Captain Henry Cavill wasn’t merely a pirate, he was the devil too.

[ltwilliammowett]

Dead cats don’t meow

This saying is attributed to Don Pedro Gilbert (1800-1835), who was former privateer in the service of the Colombian government. In early 1832, Gilbert began to raid American merchant ships off the east coast of Florida with his schooner, the Panda, since privateering was not paying him anything and he was now trying to do it illegally.

On 21 September 1832, off the coast of what is now Stuart, Florida, Gilbert chased then boarded the Mexican, an American brig bound from Salem to Rio de Janeiro carrying $20,000 in silver. Following the crew's surrender, a crew member asked Gilbert what was to be done with their captives, to which the pirate captain reportedly remarked, "Dead cats don't mew. You know what to do."

(x)

Locking the crew inside the forecastle, Gilbert's crew ransacked the ship, looting the Mexican's stores. Slashing the rigging and sails, the pirates filled the ship's galley with combustibles and set the ship afire with the crew trapped inside. However, the crew managed to break out after an hour and eventually doused the fire, although they continued to let enough smoke billow until the pirates were out of sight. After six weeks at sea, the crew finally made it back to Salem, where they were able to report the incident.

Gilbert was eventually captured in West Africa two years later when his ship was sunk in a naval engagement with the British brig sloop HMS Curlew, commanded by Henry Dundas Trotter. Extradited to the United States, he was tried with three of his crew members in Boston, Massachusetts and executed on 11 June 1835.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns: Day 22—Under the Mistletoe

 Rating: G

Word Count: 2140

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

Notes:  This story was written for my “Christmas with Captain Swan” collection in 2020.

2x4 Canon divergence

Emma looked around her, feeling her frustration rise.  This room was massive, and it was filled floor to ceiling with junk.  Finding one lousy compass was going to take forever.

She didn’t have forever; she needed to get back to Henry.  Now.

She turned to ask Hook where he thought they should start their search, only to find him fingering a gold coin, bringing it to his nose and then turning it over and over in his hand.

“They hoarded all of their greatest stolen treasures in here.  Piles of jewels and every room filled with coins,” he said.

She rolled her eyes.  Great.  She should have known bringing a freaking pirate on a treasure hunt would be a mistake.  It would be like bringing a kid to a candy store and then telling him to focus.

“Let’s get to it, the compass,” she said brusquely.

He shot her a rakish grin, and totally against her will, her stomach swooped.  Bad enough she was stuck on this adventure with a pirate.  Why’d her body have to betray her too?  Of course the real Captain Hook was hot as hell, because of course he was.  That’s just the way her luck ran. 

“What’s your rush?” he asked languidly, continuing to eye the treasure around him.

That snapped her out of whatever hormonal response she was having to him.  She was so not in the mood for his nonsense.

“How long do you think magic knockout powder lasts?”

“I’ve no clue.”

“That’s my rush.”

He smiled at her again, this one looking less flirtatious and more genuine.  Setting the gold piece back on the pile, he strode forward with purpose.  “Too right, lass.  Come; everything we need is right in front of us.”

They hadn’t been searching for ten minutes before Emma’s frustration bubbled up again.  Not only was this stupid giant’s treasure room filled to capacity, it was also a total wreck.  This search was going to last forever.

“They kill all the giant housekeepers too?” she asked. “Where we gonna find a compass in all this mess?”

He winked at her, and her traitor of a  stomach swooped again.

“By looking.  Start searching.” 

For an hour they searched in silence, and Emma had to give it to Hook.  He really was a help in this endeavor.  He was systematic in his search, picking a pile of junk, looking through each item, and then stacking it neatly before moving on to his next pile.

His presence was unsettling, though.  It was…too much.  He made her feel things, and not just the typical “wow, this guy is hot and I’m not gonna lie; I want to do something about it” feelings.  Those she could handle.  What she couldn’t handle was this totally illogical feeling that they understood each other, that in some weird way they were the same.

She’d been burned before when she succumbed to feelings.  She wasn’t doing it again.  Once burned twice shy and all that.

Emma groaned softly under her breath.  She wasn’t doing this–not the feelings, not the thinking, not even the never-to-be-resolved sexual tension.  She was up here for one reason and one reason only: to find the damn compass and get back to her kid.

Probably best if she put some distance between her and Hook.  Moving to the other side of the room, Emma, began sifting through a dusty pile of what appeared to be decorations–candles, brightly colored bows, streamers, and in the back–was that a Christmas tree?

“You guys have Christmas here in the Enchanted Forest?” Emma called over to Hook.

He stopped what he was doing and ambled over in her direction.  “Of course we have Christmas, Swan.” She could hear the smile in his voice. It made him seem younger somehow, more innocent. “Some of my best memories as a lad involve Christmas morning.”

“Yeah well our giant seemed to go all out for it,” Emma said. “Take a look at that tree!  I didn’t even know they grew them that tall.”

He looked in the direction she was pointing, and then his expression changed to one of concern.  “Swan be careful!  Look out for–”

He reached her side, and she suddenly heard a sound like the tinkling of bells.  A fine mist of dust smelling faintly of evergreen settled over both of them.

“–mistletoe,” he finished dryly.

Emma looked up to see that, of course, there was a healthy sprig of the stupid weed directly above her and Hook.  She rolled her eyes, moving to brush past him.

“Well, shall we get this over with then?” he asked. 

She scoffed.  “Good try Hook, but I didn’t come up here to make out with a hot pirate.”

His grin turned wicked.  “A hot pirate, am I?”

She felt her face flame in spite of herself.  What was it about this man that made her feel like a teenager with a crush?

“You know what you look like,” she said, giving him a wide berth and moving on to the next pile. “I’m not stroking your ego…or any other part of you.”

She expected another round of innuendo, but instead, he stepped in front of her, stopping her searching with a hand to her arm and a concerned look on his face.  “You can’t seriously be thinking of ignoring what just happened.  You know full well that mistletoe can’t be ignored.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, hands going to her hips.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have mistletoe in the Land Without Magic!”

She growled.  “Yeah, obviously we do.  Stupid weed and even stupider tradition.”

“It’s far more than a tradition in this land, Swan,” he said.  “It’s a deadly poison.  The couple who is caught below it’s tendrils is cursed, the only antidote being a kiss.”

“Seriously?” she asked, feeling her ire growing.  They had a job to do and all he wanted to do was hit on her.  It was getting old.  Really, really old.

“No one born and bred in the Enchanted Forest would joke about mistletoe,” he insisted.  She had to give it to him; she couldn’t detect a single lie in what he was saying.  He really believed this crap.

“Okay, fine, I’ll bite,” she said, “what exactly happens to a couple if they refuse to kiss?”

“They slowly go completely mad,” he said simply.  “Most infirmaries in this land have an entire ward dedicated to mistletoe poisoning.”

Now that he mentioned it….she did have this strange urge to kiss him.  What would it be like?  Would he be a good kisser?  He looked like he’d be a good kisser.  For a moment Emma was tempted to give in, to find out the answer to those questions for herself.

But then reality reasserted itself.  She’d only given them ten hours before Mulan would cut down the beanstalk and strand them up here forever.  Turning away, she began searching again.

“Look, I don’t know if that mistletoe poison story works on other women,” Emma said, “but I’m not falling for it, and I’m not wasting anymore of our time on this stupid conversation.  And if you even think about trying to steal a kiss–”

He stepped in front of her, looking absolutely sincere.  “Swan, I’ve never once forced my attentions upon a woman, and I don’t intend to start now.  I simply warn you that the longer we delay the inevitable, the more uncomfortable we’ll both become.”

“Yeah, well I’ll take my chances.”

Within a quarter of an hour, Emma was starting to rethink her stance.  His story about mistletoe poison was ridiculous, of course it was, but she had to admit–whether it was due to the power of suggestion or something else–her urge to kiss him hadn’t gone away.  

If anything it had grown.

Her heart began pounding, her palms becoming sweaty, her breathing fast and shallow.  More than once she considered just doing it, just getting it out of her system once and for all, but something stopped her.

She knew, could feel it deep within her soul that a kiss with Hook would be no simple matter.  She’d kissed–and done far more with–several hot guys in her life, and it had never been more than a quick scratch of an itch, but she was drawn to Hook, almost as though he were a black hole and she was approaching the event horizon.  A kiss would change everything, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to come back from it.

Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  She would not lose control; she would not give in. Best she focus all her energy on the search.

Of course that would have been a lot easier if Hook wasn’t searching right beside her.

“Did you know that there is one more tradition regarding mistletoe?” Hook asked, his voice tight as though he were gritting his teeth.

“Yeah?  What’s that?” she asked in spite of herself.

“Oftentimes couples seek it out in order to determine if they are soulmates,” he continued.

“Soulmates?  Really?”

“Aye,” he nodded before turning back to his pile of junk. “It’s said that if two people are soulmates, when they kiss under the influence of mistletoe poison they get a glimpse of their future and then promptly forget it–any of it–ever happened.”

“Convenient,” she deadpanned.

He looked as though he wanted to say more but resolutely shut his mouth, and the two of them returned to the task at hand.

After half an hour, the desire to kiss him had gone from uncomfortable to almost painful.  After an hour it was close to unbearable.  After Emma caught herself standing stalk still and imagining a full on makeout session with Hook, she finally gave up. 

She was wasting precious time that they didn’t have.  Maybe he was right after all.  Maybe they needed to just get this stupid kiss out of the way so they could get on with their search.  Hardly believing what she was about to do, she walked purposely toward Hook and tapped him on the shoulder.

When he turned toward her, she stood on tiptoe and kissed the living hell out of him.  It was obvious she’d shocked him by the way he stiffened as her lips made contact.

But he recovered quickly, and soon he was kissing her back just as fervently as she was kissing him.

She’d meant it to be a quick peck, just a way to disperse the “poison”, but once she started kissing him, she couldn’t stop, tugging on his collar, running a hand through his hair, turning her head to deepen the kiss.  When the kiss started to slow, to turn into something soft and gentle and thorough, rather than quick and hot, Emma finally forced herself to pull away.

She looked into his thoroughly gobsmacked eyes, and suddenly her vision blurred.  In her mind’s eye she saw herself.  She was wearing a white dress, her hair in soft waves around her shoulders.  She was in some sort of castle’s great room or something.

It looked like Mary Margaret was about to put a crown on Regina’s head.

What the hell?

Emma looked more closely at the scene, and her heart began to pound.  She wasn’t alone.  She held a baby in her arms and beside her stood Hook.  He had his arm around her, and he peered down at the baby with such love it brought tears to her eyes.

Emma gasped, coming out of the trance or whatever that was to find herself once more looking at Hook in the giant’s treasure room.  Suddenly there was a burst of light, like some sort of rainbow tinted shockwave, and she shook her head as the memories quickly fled.

She shook her head, looking around them.  Had something just happened?

Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath, realizing the almost unbearable urge to kiss Hook had finally gone away.

She scoffed.  Mistletoe poison her ass.  She should have known Hook was just trying to get into her pants.

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

Killian watched as Emma went back to searching with renewed vigor, but for a long moment he found himself rooted to the spot.  The fact that he and Emma had been caught under the mistletoe was indisputable and yet his desire to kiss her was no greater than the normal pull of a hot-blooded man to a beautiful woman.

It could mean only one thing.

They’d succumbed to the mistletoe and been proven soulmates.

“Hook get your ass in gear!” she growled at him. “This stupid room isn’t going to search itself!”

Killian shook his head and went back to the task at hand.  This was quite the development.  Maybe–maybe after his revenge was accomplished, there was hope for a life after all.

                                                                                NEXT CHAPTER-->

[jlsadphoenix]

a map and a shovel (to my achilles’ heel)

The evolution of Emma and Killian’s thoughts for each other, told through the early events of their lives together. | 2/2 | AO3

KILLIAN

EMMA

because how the hell had this man managed to see right past her walls in the few hours he spent in her company, when people who’ve known her months, years, had trouble doing the same?

for as long as she’s known him, even with his flowery language and pirate regalia and cluelessness to modern conveniences, he’s always felt the realest person around

Tagging: @teamhook @lillpon @ownedbycaptainswan @inwordsthatnobodyknows1121

1.

“Hey,” Emma starts, noticing a hand reaching out from a pile of bodies. “Hey, there’s someone under there!”

The man they pull out is thanking them, but there are alarms going off in her head. Something’s wrong, this doesn’t make sense. Their eyes meet, his eyes are fearful, yes, grateful as well, but just a bit calculating, too, and her instincts say there’s something more to him.

He sits at the table looking exhausted as Emma asks Mulan (shit, how was this her life, fucking Mulan) more. The story Mulan tells her about the man seems perfectly plausible, but, “Why would Cora leave a survivor?” It’s too messy for someone like Cora. So she offers him some water.

He starts to explain how he hid under the bodies to survive, but there’s something wrong. He’s — not lying, not completely, but Emma’d be damned if he’s telling the full truth. So she leans her elbows down on the table, bringing her head level to his, I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me, she keeps her voice even, calm, face sympathetic, until —

“I’m telling you the truth,”

Her lie detector goes off.

Got you.

He’s good, she has to admit as she plasters on a sympathetic smile for him, but not good enough. I can guide you —

Ha, not a chance.

So Emma grabs him by the hair, pulls out her knife, and puts it to his throat.

“You’re not gonna guide us anywhere until you tell us who you really are,” she really can’t help the bit of pride that swells up at the flash of surprise in the man’s eyes.

2.

Just looking up at the beanstalk seems daunting. They had to climb that thing?

Whatever story you think you know, my dear, is most certainly wrong, has her scrounging her memory for what she remembered of Jack and the Beanstalk. Something with a cow, she remembered, and — was it a goose or a harp? Ah, she’s getting distracted, and Hook’s amused look and drawling voice really isn’t helping. Very bad form, he finishes his story.

“The treasure remains, and amongst it is the compass,” he says, focusing on her again, and really, why is he always speaking like she’s the only one in this group? “Once we get it, steal the ashes from her, then we’re on our way,” he finishes jovially.

“How do we know you’re not just using us to get the compass for Cora?” Mulan asks suspiciously, and really, Emma could become good friends with her, the way they easily agree.

Hook answers seriously, ‘cause you four are far safer company, clear of any deception. Good enough for now, she supposes, and suggests they start climbing. They’re wasting time sharing stories here.

Then Hook laughs a bit, says only he and one other can climb, and he is seriously getting on her last nerve, don’t be afraid to, y’know, really get into it, he grins, bouncing on his feet, looking completely delighted by this, and why did Captain Hook have to be gorgeous and not all perms and wax mustaches?

They move away from Hook, and she tilts her head back to peer up the beanstalk as the others argue. Damn, she can’t even see the top. How long would that take to climb? She absently hears them arguing over wars or something or another, and out of corner of her eye, she can see Hook trying to hide his impatience despite his earlier words.

The fact that she can relate to that irritation has her interrupting the others, because HenryHenryHenry; who cares about number of wars or who has more to lose when Henry is waiting for her? But she can’t trust Hook either, so she tells Mulan to cut the beanstalk down in ten hours if she’s not back down, makes her promise to bring Mary Margaret home.

Hook smiles cheekily at her, I was hoping it would be you, and she rolls her eyes as he puts the cuff around her wrist.

“I can’t climb one-handed, can I?” He protests, and begrudgingly, she gives him the hook, but, “Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second,” she warns.

He simply smiles, I would despair if you did, and up they climb.

3.

He’s talking.

She’ll ignore him, she will ignore him, she will ignore him, she will — “I’m concentrating,” Emma finally snaps.

“No, you’re afraid,” he says, and what? The hell does she have to be afraid about? “Afraid to talk, to reveal yourself,” he slows his climb to let her catch up to his side. “To trust me.”

Trust? Really? From him, of all people? “You should be used to people not trusting you,”

Hook only rolls his eyes, ah, the pirate thing, as if it was just some afterthought. You’re something of an open book, he tells her then, and Emma can’t help but pause, can’t help the faint amusement and curiosity, because she’s been called many things in life, but open book was definitely not one of them.

“Let’s see,” he starts, voice deceptively mild, “you volunteered to come up here because you were the most motivated, you need to get back to a child,” and Emma nearly scoffs, because he’s an eavesdropper, big surprise.

“Ah, but you don’t want to abandon him the way you were abandoned,” and still, his voice is casual, as though they were just talking about the weather, but Emma stills, because how could he know —

He looks away from her briefly as he explains something about Neverland, and Lost Boys, but she’s still scrambling to cover up whatever hell hole in her walls he managed to see past. The look you get when you’ve been left alone, but she didn’t come from Neverland, she’s not from some fairytale world despite what Henry says, she was just —

“But an orphan’s an orphan,” he continues. There’s something in his voice, but she won’t focus on it before this gets into more dangerous territory, but he doesn’t seem to notice, pushing on, love has been all too rare in your life, hasn’t it, and, have you ever even been in love, and no —

— nope no no no, absolutely not, she will not go there, will not think of her stolen bug, of stolen convenience store food, of a stolen keychain, of stolen moments in stolen motel rooms, of stolen watches, of a stolen future in a cold, empty jail cell with a positive pregnancy test, of two stolen years in —

No, she answers him, because how the hell had this man managed to see right past her walls in the few hours he spent in her company, when people who’ve known her months, years, had trouble doing the same? So she pushes ahead of the climb, resolutely ignoring his too perceptive gaze burning into her, focusing on the climb to run away from the memories that were threatening to resurface.

4.

She starts to turn away from the giant, to head back to the beanstalk, compass in hand, but then, try something new, darling, is ringing in her ears, and she hesitates, glancing back at the pile of rocks Hook is trapped under.

She can’t trust him, she can’t, she tries to convince herself as she asks the giant to keep Hook trapped but unharmed for ten hours. Every instinct she has tells her that he can be trusted, that he hasn’t once lied to her. Every instinct says that she can take a chance on him, that they could be allies, friends, maybe —

No.

No, no, he’ll turn on her the first chance he gets, she tries to think rationally. But he’s grinning at her, pure exhilaration on his face, and he calls her brilliant and amazing, without any lie or underlying motive, and he stares down at the compass in awe, and she can’t help but think of how human he looks when he’s like this, so far removed from any fairytale or cocky pirate captain persona or the man who would go to any lengths for his lost love.

Hook reaches for the compass and doesn’t even look all that bothered when she pulls away, simply smiling and offering up his hand, eyes bright, face open, and come, let’s go, and she takes his hand but she can’t.

If she’s wrong about him, she could lose Henry, could lose her way to Storybrooke, he could leave her cold and empty and lost in some dead realm, reminiscent of a cold and empty jail cell, lost for two years in Tallahassee.

She stares back at his bright and open face, watches as he gives her a tiny, encouraging nod.

She has no reason to be wrong about him.

She closes the shackles around his wrist.

His face goes slack with the shock, and it has her up and scrambling back out of his reach.

What are you doing, the way his voice trembles in his attempt to stay calm only serves to make her feel worse, eyes falling away from him. Her voice fails her as she tries to explain, explain that — that he — that she can’t—

“Emma, look at me,” he pleads, “have I told you a lie?”

He hasn’t. Not since she called him out on the blacksmith act, since she put a knife to his throat, since she tied him to a tree, and left him to ogres until she heard him call out to her, good for you, irritated and a little sulky and just a bit of grudging respect.

He didn’t lie when he smiled down at her, I was hoping it would be you, didn’t lie when he called her an open book, when he bandaged her hand with his scarf with a no, it’s not, or when she pressed him about the name on his wrist, despite the way he had shut down fast, faster than anything else she had seen from him yet.

His voice is still calm as he tries to reason with her, why do this to me now, gaze steady, as though it can still be easily brushed aside if she just lets him go, but —

“I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you,” because despite what her instincts say, she refuses to take that step (refuses to try something new), and “I’m sorry,” because she is. But he turned so quick on Cora, he could do just the same to them, turn back to Cora with the compass, and —

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?” Hook pulls against the chain as he tries to move closer, voice furious. She’s shutting down, and fast. She can’t let him change her mind, she can’t take that chance, the chance she’s wrong, the chance of him betraying her, the chance of losing her way to Henry, the chance on him.

“And you’re not gonna die,” she refutes him, “I just need a head start, that’s all.”

And she’s turning away from him, walking back to the beanstalk, and he’s calling out to her, furious and desperate (betrayed, abandoned) but she won’t, she can’t look back, because —

She shuts her eyes against his shouts.

She leaves him behind.

(Because, despite her rationalizing, the more her instincts say he can be trusted, the more she wants to take that chance, to listen to her gut, to — to —

The more it terrified her. The more she needs to distance herself. What better way than to leave him in chains in some cold, empty room with a giant?)

5.

The compass disappears from her hand, and appears in Cora’s as she stares gleefully at it.

No.

No, what — ?

Emma pushes uselessly at the cell gates as Cora thanks Aurora for her help.

Thanks Auro—?

What?

She turns on her, furious, how would you do this, but she registers belatedly that Aurora looks as bewildered as them, and Cora’s crooning voice only confirms this as she pulls out a red, pulsing, beating heart. “You took her heart?” She stares, horrified. This — this is what it means when Regina — when Graham — when —

“Actually, I did,” Hook corrected her, voice low. Emma turns to him then, having tried and failed to ignore him leaning casually against the wall, staring fixatedly down at his hook, “it was a gift.” He finally turns to face them. He doesn’t say anything more, face completely closed off in a way she hasn’t seen on him aside from when she had asked about Milah, doesn’t flinch as Cora clenches her fist, Aurora crumpling in pain, doesn’t move until Cora passes him, pushing off the wall to follow.

“Hook,” she tried, desperate. She can’t lose the compass, lose Henry. “Wait,”

He pauses.

She breathed shakily, a desperate, irrational swell of hope as he turns to face her. “Please don’t do this, my son is in Storybrooke, he needs me.”

He moved towards her then, slow, measured steps, and just from the look on his face she knows she fucked up. “Perhaps you should have considered that before you abandoned me on that beanstalk,” his tone low and dangerous.

She shakes her head because that — it’s not — because — you would’ve done the same, and she keeps her grip against the bars, keeps her voice cool and knowing.

“Actually no.”

It’s said flatly, just plain fact.

That — that can’t be right.

She left him behind before he could do it to her, before he could do what he’s doing now, except—

He’s pulling out a bean on some sort of necklace, and she reaches desperately for it, unsuccessful, and this is a symbol, dangling the bean just in front of her, “something that was once magical, and full of hope, possibility... Now look at it,” once again his voice is deceptive, mild and unassuming, and she follows his gaze. “Dried up, dead. Useless. Much like you,”

He’s walking away, Emma realizes with increasing panic. Is this how he felt?

Just as I’m done with you, is this revenge for the way she left him chained up on the beanstalk, helpless but to watch her retreating back? Fitting, she thinks dimly to herself, watching him walk away.

He did betray her, just as she thought (because she did it first), and she thinks of her way back to Henry, fading with each step Hook takes away from them, thinks dimly of trying to call out to him (just as he did to her), thinks dimly of what could’ve happened if she had trusted him, trusted herself, would she still have wound up here, thinks dimly of how flat Hook’s words were to her, how closed off, a complete turn from the start of their climb up the beanstalk, thinks I did this, I did that to him, I got us caught in this trap —

She thinks maybe she should have trusted him, but now she won’t get a chance to right that wrong, doesn’t even know if she would want to if she got the chance.

6.

How could you not? You don’t believe in your parents. Or in magic. Or even yourself.

Goddamn Rumplestiltskin — Gold — whatever his name was now.

When have you ever taken a real leap of faith?

Because what they needed right now — when Henry was missing — was to separate.

You’re still just that bail-bonds person.

What the hell did he know, Emma thought bitterly, the burn in her muscles not doing anything to clear her mind. She paused a moment to catch her breath, pushing back the swell of frustration, the burning in her throat. Henry is missing. That’s the fact of the matter. This is no time to doubt herself, to —

“Aw, don’t stop on my account.”

Hook.

Of course. Because she needed more things on her mind, needed more questions she couldn’t find the answer to. “What are you doing?”

Getting ready for a fight, she manages to ground out, ignoring Hook’s quip, because like hell she would tell him that she was doing her own equivalent of a pep talk, of going through mindless, repetitive motions to try to clear her mind of Gold’s words, or tell him that she was starting to believe them, not because Gold had said it flat to her face, but because it was all already in her head.

And in what is starting to become a frustrating pattern, she doesn’t need to tell him anyway.

“Don’t let Rumplestiltskin get you down, love,” is said gently, free of any judgement, and dammit, how does he see through her so easily (open book), he had done it on the beanstalk, done it in Granny’s with a simple why are you really doing this, and the more time she spends in his presence, the more she understood the weight of her own words when Emma had told him you and I, we understand each other — God, was that just a couple hours ago?

“What do you want?” Because there was no chance she was going to go further with this. He pulls out a key as he starts to talk about Neal.

Yes, because an even better topic conversation with the man who can read her like no one else was her recently killed ex who she still has a shit ton of mixed and complicated feelings for.

Hook offers her a sword, then, a quiet this was his, has her looking up and taking a look at his face.

Emma might have a harder time understanding his particular motives right now, but she is not the only open book on this ship, she thinks, noting the way his eyes don’t meet hers, the way his head sways, the edge to his I’m not when she accuses him of being sentimental. What a terrible liar, she muses, trying to ignore the warm feeling starting to replacing the cold dread that Gold’s words had left.

“I just thought you could use it where we’re going, you know,” he hands her a shot glass, and Hook may be a terrible liar, but he’s certainly good at deflecting, she thinks, as he drawls out, “to fight.”

He pours her some rum, and somehow, the moment the glass was filled, she realizes that this was exactly what she needed. Not some pull ups to get ready for a fight, not to talk about her feelings with her parents, not pointless reassurances or empty promises and words. Just a moment to take a breath and process, free of outside influence. Thanks.

“To Neal,” Hook offers simply, and they toast and they drink and they sit in silence, and it is ridiculous how easy it is to be in his presence.

He comes with no expectations of who she should be, no underlying disappointment throughout every interaction when she is nothing expected, no pressure to be a lost daughter, or a mother who lost ten years with her son, or Neal’s ex, or some savior responsible for everyone’s happiness, or princess, or even a bail-bonds person.

With him, she simply is.

So she asks about Neal, because she can’t imagine him young and a teenager, playing pirate with Hook, because no matter how much he had broken her heart, how much just his name reminds her of the cold metal of a cuff around her ankle as she gave birth, or the cold metal of the watch on her wrist that night, being in Neal’s presence made her feel sixteen and recklessly in love again, and seeing him die made her wish for better closure, and being in Hook’s presence was easy and calming, and he was the only other person she knows who she could talk to about Neal.

(who she feels she could someday tell the whole story of her and Neal, without judgement or expectation or suggestions to forgive and forget)

Naturally, Hook sees right through her question, and true to form, as she is starting to learn, answers plainly and free of judgement or amusement or those stupid sympathetic looks that make her want to hit something. “Long enough to know I miss him, too.”

Their eyes meet. No more words are said, and it is quiet. The room is heavy. And it is easy.

7.

“Hook,” David says as soon as he separates from Mary Margaret. “He saved my life.”

Emma’s heart skips a few beats, focusing sharply on David, trying to find any injuries.

“Are you sure you wanna tell them that, mate?” Hook asks him cautiously, but Emma is far too worried about the idea that those two were in any situation at all that called for someone’s life being saved. Are they alright, what happened?

“On our trek,” David starts, “we were ambushed by Lost Boys. Pinned down, outnumbered, but Hook — he risked his life to stop me from getting hit by a poisoned arrow.”

He what? Now she turns to look at Hook, but he shifts uncomfortably, looking away from them all, forcing up a short smile as David approaches. “If it wasn’t for Hook, I wouldn’t be alive. Your flask, please,” Hook seems to be able to meet only David’s eyes as he hands him the flask. I thought he deserved a little credit.

Only now does Emma’s heart slow down a bit, because just how close had she come to losing her friend — her father? Thank you, Hook manages, but still looks supremely uncertain and uncomfortable, even with the gratefulness softening it just a bit. They pass the rum about, but Emma can’t help but stare.

Once again he surprises her, and once again, she sees that honorable gentleman peeking out from underneath that cocky pirate captain persona. She saw it when he took her hand, insisting on bandaging it, when he had smiled at her, so bright and open, her heart had skipped a beat, saw it when he had put himself to pains to reach for Aurora’s heart, when he had so blatantly thrown their fight at Lake Nostos (No way did she beat a pirate in a sword fight when she had only held a sword for a week), saw it when he turned his ship around, gave her the bean with a simple, maybe I just needed reminding that I could, saw it below the decks of his ship when he offered her Neal’s sword and they drank a toast to his memory.

To Hook, she murmurs, taking a swig of the rum, before turning back to him as the others return back to their camp.

He is turned away from her completely, staring fixatedly on a tree, and the words come out before she can stop herself, “D’you really save his life?”

“Does that surprise you?” he asks, and he barely glances at her before turning back to the tree. She gives back the rum.

“Well, you and David aren’t exactly... how do you say it? Mates,” she mimics his accent, expecting a smirk or a small laugh.

Instead, he finally turns to face her, serious and honest, “Doesn’t mean I’d leave your father to perish on this island.”

Thank you, is all she can say to the sincerity in his eyes and voice.

A slow, teasing grin spreads across his face, and she knows he’s putting up an act, directing their conversation to something much lighter, but regardless, Emma feels the mood lighten almost immediately, feels herself start to feel just a bit giddy, giddy from speaking to Henry, from David and Hook making it back safe, despite the sextant, from the rum, from this man standing across her, who constantly keeps her and her expectations on its toes, who she’s felt connected to since they climbed the damn beanstalk and he revealed just a bit of himself when he tied that damn scarf with his damn mouth, and turned his ship around and offered his assistance in helping Henry when there was nothing in it for him.

Perhaps gratitude is in order now, he muses, tapping his lips with his finger, and she can’t help but return his teasing smile, because “Yeah, that’s what the thank you was for,” but he just makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat as he takes just another step forward.

“Is that all your father’s life is worth to you?” Hook asks, and that giddiness seems to swell just a bit more, because, he saved David’s life. He turned his ship around, gave her Neal’s sword, gives advice freely, directed them to Tinkerbell, showed them what plants are safe to eat and which to avoid, even with all the doubts the others throw his way, and all the while, he simply turns to her, smiles, calls her excellent, backs all her ideas, and never once does he seem to doubt her.

“Please, you couldn’t handle it,”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,”

He pops the t, the corner of his lips tugging up, and he stares at her with bright, open blue eyes, so so reminiscent of the look he had given her when she pulled him out of the rubble, calling her brilliant and amazing, and asking to see the compass, and offering his hand up to her.

She should leave.

She should walk away now, head back to David and Mary Margaret and Regina.

Oh, fuck it.

Her hands close around the collar of his coat, dragging him in for a kiss even before she could finish the thought. She keeps a death grip on his collar as the other winds up in his ridiculously soft hair, and his lips taste of rum and Neverland fruits, and he doesn’t move for a moment, far too surprised, before his hand comes up her own hair and he breathes in harshly through his nose and he responds, and oh.

Hook kisses the same way he does just about anything else; with everything he has. It has her burning, because he kisses like he’s challenging her, kisses like a drowning man taking a breath for the first time, kisses like she’s the sun and he hasn’t seen daylight in years, kisses like he’ll never kiss anyone again.

They separate, but their foreheads are pressed together, and she still has a death grip on his coat, and they are breathing harshly, and all she can think is, oh.

That was —

“That was...” and he sounds wrecked, stunned, as if he hasn’t just given her the best kiss of her life, and oh, oh, oh, oh no, but even with the growing panic, she feels good, and he feels good, and they feel good together, and —

A one-time thing, she forces herself to step away, to turn and head back into camp, and she makes the mistake of looking at his face, as stunned and wrecked as he sounds, brow furrowing at her words, and the words taste a bit wrong in her mouth, tastes like a lie, but it can’t be a lie, because there’s no chance she’s letting herself —

“Don’t follow me,” she instructs him, not letting herself look at him again, “Wait five minutes, go get some firewood or something.”

“As you wish,” he calls at her back, and the smile that spreads on her face is completely involuntary.

Her heart is still pounding, lips still burning, and she still feels so so good, for the first time since Henry was taken, she was in some semblance of a good mood, and he was the one to put it there, with his stupid easy faith, stupid smiles and compliments and suggestions, urging her to find a way to speak to Henry, and saving David’s life, and the stupid way he doesn’t even expect anything back, not even acknowledgement, and the stupid, goddamn way he kisses like his life depends on it, why the hell does he kiss like that.

What the hell made her think kissing him would be a good idea? She can panic about this later.

(She can still taste the rum and fruits.)

(She thinks maybe she really couldn’t handle it.)

8.

The whole Neal thing isn’t enough to distract from the burn on her lips, the memory of those bright, open blue eyes, or the teasing voice, or that damn kiss, like Hook was breathing air for the first time.

“I kissed him,” Emma blurts out the moment she and Mary Margaret are out of earshot from David and Hook.

“What?” she asks, “Who?” As if there’s an abundance of options she has of people to kiss.

“Hook, I kissed Hook,” and the memory of his lips on hers are still so fresh, the taste of rum and fruits, that bright, giddy feeling he had managed to bring out of her still echoing in her chest, even as the thought of finding Neal makes her heart ache.

“Oh,” says Mary Margaret, voice high, with surprise or suspended judgement or maybe both, maybe neither, Emma doesn’t know, “Wh-why?”

Because he sees her and has no expectations for her, because he doesn’t lie to her, because of the way he had smiled at her, the teasing lilt to his voice, the easy faith he puts on her, because he came back and offered to help save Henry, saved David, and because they shared a drink, shared moments on the ship, on the beanstalk, in this damn island, because try as he might, he just can’t hide that gentleman underneath the selfish pirate persona.

I don’t know, she says instead, “I-I was — it’s been a while, I was feeling good —“

“Did it mean anything?”

Yes, she thinks instinctively, except she doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t even know why she brought it up, because it was a one-time thing, and, it was just a kiss, because it should have just been a kiss, but her voice is starting to pitch defensively, completely involuntary, and she can still feel the pull of his lips on hers, the taste of fruit and rum, and the way he had kissed like —

“I’m sure Neal will understand,” completely falters her thoughts, because the hell does Neal have anything to do wi—

Oh, right, they’re on their way now to rescue her apparently not-so-dead-ex, the father of her son, who she said I love you to right before he fell into the portal, and she had just told her mother she kissed another man. It must seem like Emma was worried about what Neal might think, which — No. “If he’s still alive,”

“Emma, I get what you’re doing, you know,” says Mary Margaret carefully, “you don’t wanna open yourself up the the hope that he’s alive, but you should,” completely stops her in her tracks.

Why, She stares at Mary Margaret, heart sinking.

She had wanted some closure from Neal, yes, she deserved that closure after all that he’s done to her, the memory of that damn alleyway, cuffs closing around her wrists, and months in a cell with nothing but a keychain, car keys, and a positive pregnancy test, the way she couldn’t even bear to look at her son after she gave birth because then she’d never be able to let him go, to give him a life he deserves, the two years in Tallahassee waiting, just waiting, had her building up her walls higher and thicker than when she had left the system.

But with Neal gone, Emma had thought she could finally let it go, move past that part of her life, could live without the constant worry she had lived with for years that she would see him again someday, except she did, in possibly the worst way, slamming into him in some New York alleyway, with him getting mad at her for bringing Gold to him, scoffing and dismissing her like she was still sixteen and he hadn’t set her up to take the fall fo his crime. No, then he followed he back to Storybrooke with a fiancée who wound up kidnapping Henry for Peter Pan, even as he and her parents had dismissed all her suspicions as some petty jealousy.

No, she wanted to get closure and move on. She wasn’t sixteen and in love with the cool, older guy who had understood her anymore. She didn't want to feel sixteen anymore. She wanted to feel at ease, like she feels around Henry and his endless faith and belief in everything, around Mary Margaret before things became so much more complicated, around Hook, of all people, when he offers her a drink, when compliments and praise slip freely from his lips but seems to expects nothing in return, when he is always so open and easy to read when they are alone, when he reads her unnervingly well, not needing her to speak her doubts before he replaces it with that easy faith and a small smile.

“Because you deserve a happy ending, Emma,” Mary Margaret turns to face her, earnest, “and happy endings always start with hope,”

But what did it mean if the only hope she feels regarding Neal is the dark, grim hope that this was just a trick?

9.

“I thought Emma would wish to have something to remember you by,” Hook’s voice is terse.

“Oh, thanks, but she’s got me now,” and what? The hell is this about?

She holds out an arm to stop Hook from following Neal, woah, what was that about, but Hook is standoffish, can’t meet her eyes right, and dammit, he’s been having difficulty doing that since the Echo Caves. His words are halting, tense and just a bit uncomfortable, “I assumed he heard my secret, I also assumed you told him of our shared moment,”

“Why would you assume that,” she asks sharply. This time, he has no trouble holding her gaze, because I was hoping it meant something, but that is not the point, that is not what meant something, because it occurs to her that the only time Pan could’ve told him about Neal was immediately after their kiss, and still — “What meant something was that you told us Neal was still alive. Thank you,” she seems to be saying that to him a lot, and each time, she means it more and more. “Otherwise you could’ve kept Pan’s information to yourself.”

“Why would I have done that?” he asks genuinely, as though it never once occurred to him, as though he didn’t have everything to gain and nothing to lose if he kept the information to himself.

“Maybe Pan offered you a deal, why else would he tell you?”

“It was a test,” he says simply, unbothered, “he wanted to see if I’d leave an old friend to die, even if that old friend happens to be vying for the same woman I am,”

She stares, and thinks of how refreshing it is to speak with him, the way he doesn’t beat around the bush, the way he states his intentions plainly, never bothering with a lie, thinks of that gentleman he mentioned once, so long ago, shining through again, always there, underlying most of his actions, “And you chose your friend,” she doesn’t mean to sound so surprised.

He only shrugs, “Does that surprise you?”

She thinks she’s more surprised by how unsurprised she is.

Emma has learned so much more about Hook in their short time together, thinks of how easy it always is to be with him, to speak with him, to understand him, because he never says the words, but she knows the reason she is an open book to him is the same reason he is an open book to her.

You are a pirate, she says instead, smiling at him, wanting him to smile back, to laugh, but when he does, it is tinged with an uncharacteristic self-deprecation, yeah, that I am, and he looks down, looks away from her, and Emma thinks he shouldn’t sound like that (thinks she doesn’t want him to sound like that).

He takes a step closer, and somehow, she doesn’t feel even slightly uncomfortable by his closeness, by his openness, his sincerity, “But I also believe in good form. So when I win your heart, Emma — and I will win it. It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.”

She’s already known this, deep down. He never mentioned saving David voluntarily, even cautioned against David’s acknowledgement, he decided to be the first to speak his secret, to bear his heart to save Neal, never once bringing it up as a point of praise, and he’s so so honest, expecting nothing in return, simply happy to lay his heart down in her hands. She has to turn this conversation away from the direction it’s going, she has no time to examine her own feelings and desires, not while Henry is still in danger, she isn’t nearly as brave enough to examine herself, too scared to find out what that answer may be, where it may lead her to, and she’s nowhere near as brave as Hook to simply put herself out there like he is. “This is not a contest, Hook,”

“Isn’t it?” he questions mildly, “You’re gonna have to choose, Emma. You realize that, don’t you? Because neither one of us is gonna give up,” he gestures towards Neal’s general direction, but —

“The only thing I have to choose is the best way to get my son back,” she corrects him, because Henry will always be her priority, now, on Neverland when he’s in constant danger, back in Storybrooke where he is happy and surrounded by family, even regardless of whatever danger Storybrooke winds up in, and even when there’s no danger to be had.

“And you will,” says Hook simply, as though there isn’t even a single shred of doubt in his mind, and once again, Emma is struck by his simple faith. The answer is plain on his face, in his voice, in the silence of her lie detector, but somehow, the quiet doubt constantly on the back of her mind is calling out to her, and she can’t help but ask, can’t help the creeping vulnerability, you think so, because she has the feeling he wouldn’t laugh, wouldn’t brush it away, or mock or whatever else.

I’ve yet to see you fail, and there’s a shadow of a smile on his face as he stares back at her, but Emma knows it’s not a smile of mocking, “and when you do succeed,” he continues, uses when because in his mind, her victory is already guaranteed, no matter if they have no concrete plan to get to Henry, to defeat Pan, to leave Neverland, “well, that’s when the fun begins,” and he’s smiling properly now.

“Guys!” Neal calls out then, and Hook’s eyes dart to somewhere behind her, his face smooths out into his usual vaguely disinterested expression, hiding away the heart he so easily opens when they’re alone, but Emma is slow to tear her eyes away from him, because she still shaken, moved by his confidence and belief in her, the same that she’s only ever seen on Henry, with his unfaltering faith in the goodness of people, even ones he’s called evil, with his but I believe in you, before he collapsed and leaving her in panic and believing in magic, for him.

(She thinks she could be in serious trouble with this man.)

(She thinks she might already be in serious trouble with this man.)

10.

Emma doesn’t want to leave. Not when she had finally found her parents, found her son, found a place she could belong (a place she could call home). She’s barely holding back her tears, can see Henry doing the same, and they’re at the town line, her Bug already at the edge, but she doesn’t want to go.

Hook approaches her as soon as she moves away from the crowd, and she starts to feel even worse.

She doesn’t know what to say to him, what she wants him to know, and judging by his uncertain expression, he feels the same.

“That’s quite the vessel you captain there, Swan,” he attempts lightly, and it brings out a smile from her, however shaky, because he always seems to be able to do that to her.

She doesn’t know what she wants to say to him, but she knows she could very possibly regret not saying anything at all more than anything else.

If she has to leave, if she can never see him again, Emma knows she has to say goodbye, knows she owes it to him, owes it to herself, owes it to them.

But the smile fades from his face, and he looks about the same as she feels, and “There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you,” and she knows he is not lying, does not need to use her superpower with him because he wears his damn heart on his sleeve when it comes to her, because if there’s one thing she can count on, it’s Captain Hook — Killian Jones’ honor and dedication and honesty, knows that when he makes a promise, he keeps it, and she doesn’t even have to look much further than how they met, him dedicating himself to centuries avenging an old love.

There was something building between them, she knows. It’s why she ran from him in the first place so long ago on the beanstalk. She doesn’t need his open honesty about his feelings, doesn’t need the Echo Caves to know. She was in trouble with him from the start, since he read her like an open book, and she ran from it, and she knew the moment she kissed him that whatever it was, it wasn’t something she could keep running from forever.

Until now.

(Until she felt that she might not really want to run anymore.)

But even now, when they’ll never see each other again, when there’s no consequence to keeping his heart hidden from her, he tells her the truth, tells her he won’t stop thinking of her, and she thinks, for once, he deserves some honesty in return, because she may not know what she feels for him, may not return whatever it is he feels for her, but dammit she cares about him, and she’s going to miss him. So she says good, because that’s all she can manage to say, but he still manages to understand her meaning, and he smiles, and steps back.

(She thinks her heart might just break a bit more.)

They may never know what it was that was building, but she has never met another person she could understand so well, who could understand her so well, who she feels she could someday let her walls down for, who she felt truly connected with.

She never knew what kindred spirits meant until she met him.

But then Regina says she and Henry will lose their memories, lose the years they spent in Storybrooke, lose the knowledge that she had found her family, the knowledge that she was wanted, and that Henry has more family than he could possibly know to do with, but could still easily love enough to fill his big heart, and her own heart breaks, breaks for her son, for herself, for her parents and Regina, who can’t even have the comfort that they would be thinking about them, and for Hook, who had promised her everyday but she can’t even return the favor for one more day.

(somehow, she knows, even without her memories, she would have regretted not saying goodby to Hook.)

But they are out of time, and she and Henry get into the Bug, and she starts driving.

She can feel her parents gaze, can feel Hook’s eyes, can feel her memories fading, being replaced, but she holds on as long as she can, until there’s nothing left to hold on to.

(She wonders, later, at the incredible sense of loss she feels, wonders at her acquired taste for rum, wonders at the melancholy she feels when she stares out at the ocean, or when she watches Disney movies with Henry, wonders why everything just feels wrong, feels like there’s something missing.)

11.

Emma had started to wonder who was more insane; the madman dressed head-to-toe in leather rambling about curses and family — or her for thinking, for feeling, that some part of what he’s saying actually made sense.

The moment he had turned up, nothing felt right anymore (nothing had felt right all year), felt strangely like she had known the man who showed up at her door, felt very much insane for actually leaning into the kiss for a split second, felt like she wanted to trust him, felt so much like she was missing something, something so, so, important.

Except nothing the man had said made any sort of logical sense, and she can’t get him out of her thoughts, her head, and Walsh’s proposal wasn’t helping her keep her head straight, and even when she’s throwing him in jail, she can’t help but seek him out again. But she needs answers, and he’s just pleading with her to take a baseless leap of faith, to trust him, trust herself, and he hasn’t lied once to her, no matter how insane the words spilling from his lips are.

(Everything in her is telling her to do it, to try something new.)

“As much as you deny it, deep down, you know something’s wrong, deep down, you know I’m right,” he insists, but it’s not possible, and how could she forget all of this?

He pulls out that tiny blue vial again, offers it out to her again, and again, Emma is struck by the strange familiarity of the action struck by the feeling that she knows what it feels for him to offer a drink, (for her to take it). “If you drink this it will,” he says quietly, and it’s all insane, he is insane, and she must be insane for wanting to take it, because —

“If — if what you’re saying is true... I’d have to give up my life here,”

“It’s all based on lies,” he insists.

“It’s real,” she protests, “and it’s pretty good! I have Henry, a job — a guy I love!”

His face falls, and he looks down at the grown as though he can’t meet her eyes, as though it will give him something to say, give him courage, and “Perhaps there’s a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost,” and Emma —

Stares. He’s talking about himself, she realizes. Knows it in herself, knows it like she knows anything else, although, perhaps that’s the wrong analogy now that he’s turned her life upside down in the span of a day.

“Regardless,” he plows on, as though he hadn’t really meant to reveal so much, like he’s trying to cover up his vulnerabilities, cover up the heart he hadn’t meant to open up to her, “if you wanna find the truth, drink up. Do you really want to live a life of lies? You know this isn’t right, trust your gut, Swan, it will tell you what to do,”

“Henry always says that,” she says quietly, staring at him, and he stares back, open, honest, earnest, and she thinks that maybe her resolve has crumbled.

“Then if you won’t listen to me, listen to your boy,”

Emma has no reasons left, not when he clearly means well, not when all her instincts are saying he can be trusted, that she can take a leap of faith with him, not when he’s looking at her like that, not when both he and Henry trust her to trust herself, when he had — intentionally or not — revealed himself to her with a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost.

So she takes the vial and drinks and —

She remembers, remembers lighting a candle on a cupcake, remembers Henry smiling at her on her doorstep, remembers Storybrooke, the clocktower moving, the dragon she fought when she finally believed, remembers Henry, cold and pale and lifeless until he woke with a kiss, remembers her parents, Neal, shot, falling through the portal, remembers Hook, the way he had looked at her at Echo Caves, remembers saying goodbye, remembers leaving —

She hadn’t even realized she had closed her eyes until she opens them, sees Hook watching her, anxious, worried, and oh, “Hook,” she breathes out, and he lights up at her, smiles like everything is okay, alright.

“Did you miss me?” he grins, and Emma wonders if it’s possible to have missed something she never even knew she had lost, but she remembers now, remembers the drinks they shared, the moments they had alone, the words and promises given, remembers the times she had wondered why she suddenly had a taste for rum, had a strange sense of melancholy whenever she took Henry to the seaside, knows now that yes some part of her had missed him even when she didn’t know she had lost h—

(He is not hers to lose, she reminds herself.)

(But she also remembers ‘until I met you’, remembers ‘when I win your heart’, remembers ‘not a day will go by’, and she simply knows, knows from the way he looks at her now that he had kept that promise, and she thinks, somewhere deep, deep down, that he just might disagree with that.

She wonders at how she is more scared at the fact she isn’t as scared at that as she should be.)

Later they are sat at her apartment, and she sets down two glasses and a bottle of rum as he recounts what happened after their return to the Enchanted Forest, recounts his return to piracy, and “Glad to see you haven’t changed,” she quips, because her mind is still reeling, the sudden simplicity and comfort of her life the past year twisted upside down, the sinking feeling that her memories of holding Henry as a baby, of changing her mind, of taking care of him and raising him are just stories, and nothing feels real anymore, nothing feels right, and if just one thing, just one person could still be the same, that would be very much appreciated.

But Hook only picks up his glass, “There wasn’t anything for me in the Enchanted Forest,” he says simply, “Why would I stay?”

And Emma has nothing she can think of saying, but she wants to say something, because again, he’s talking about her, knows he is, even if he never says the words, thinks (hopes) he hadn’t just disappeared off all on his own, thinks maybe he doesn’t do all that well on his own, thinks of the centuries he had spent on revenge for his first love, thinks of the promise he had made her in Neverland and at the town line, and thinks just maybe —

She opens her mouth, but before she can scrounge up something to say, he tilts his glass for a toast, and she falters, tapping her own glass to his. “And all was well,” he continues, leaning back in his seat, “until I got a message, a message saying there was a new curse, and everyone had been returned to Storybrooke, the message told me that the only hope — was you,”

“You came all the way back here to save my family?” she doesn’t mean for it to sound so doubting, but once again, there was absolutely nothing in it for him, he clearly hadn’t even been caught up in the curse, hadn’t even been with any of them for a year, yet he had gone to pains to track her down in New York, gone to pains to keep trying to convince her to trust him, no matter how long it had taken, how many times she called him crazy, or had slammed the door in his face, or left him to prison.

I came back to save you, is said plainly, so matter of factly that it nearly sounded flat, and Emma doesn’t know what to say to that, because again, he isn’t expecting praise or gratitude, isn’t saying it for anything other than to keep honest with her, because he had again, come back for her, because even back in Neverland he never kept his feelings a secret from her and she can’t even bring herself to return the favor, because he isn’t even expecting her to return the favor, and just how had he managed to find her, get to her?

So instead, she asks him who could’ve done this, but he knows just about as much as she does, alas, you’re the Savior, not me, and he downs the rest of his rum, but Emma can’t help but laugh, because, “You know what I was yesterday? A mother. Until you showed up and started poking holes into everything I thought was real. Drinking that potion was like waking up from a dream — a really good dream,”

She wonders at how easy it is to confide this to him.

“Well you have what matters most — your son,”

“Now I have to figure out how to explain this to him,”

Hook looks apologetic, “Alas, I could only scavenge together enough for one dose of memory potion,”

“I’d better start figuring out what I’m gonna tell him,” she replied quietly, and dammit how the hell had her life just gotten so much harder, so much more complicated in a single day? She has no idea what to even say to Henry, how to make this not sound absolutely insane, and —

The door buzzes, and Hook asks who it is, but oh shit how had she forgotten about Walsh? Henry invited him, she explains, and Hook turns, offers to get rid of him, but her life may not have been real, her memories all jumbled up and twisted and messy right now, but whatever lives she and Henry had made this past year was real, the eight months she spent with Walsh was real, and I owe him an explanation, even if she doesn’t know what that explanation is, or even where to begin.

“What are you going to say to him?” Hook asks, and Emma just feels very tired, just wants to take a damn moment to process everything, take a moment without having to figure out how to explain this insanity to Walsh or Henry, but Hook has been honest to her, and the least she can do is return that honesty.

“I don’t know. But I care about him too much to drag him into all this. Wait here,” she requests.

But turns out she hadn’t needed to think of something to say to Walsh, because Walsh is a fucking flying monkey and Walsh had just tried to kill her, because of course. Why had she even thought that having some semblance of a normal life would be possible for her?

Hook comes bursting through the door to the rooftop, calling out to her in worry, because of course he did, what the blazes was that, but Emma just feels the betrayal, the grief, rage, bitterness swelling up, and maybe the stress of the whole day is getting to her, because again, she just answers him honestly, “A reminder. That I was never safe, that what I wanted — what I thought I could have was not in the cards for the Savior,”

The way he looks at her just makes her feel a bit worse, like he knows exactly what she’s referring to, like he wants to disagree but wouldn’t know if he would be overstepping, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what, but she’s exhausted, drained from the day, from finding out her life is a lie, from Walsh, so she pushes past him, “We leave in the morning.”

(The next morning Hook pounds on the door, she lets him saunter in and he greets her with a wide grin, looks amused at Henry asking if he skipped bail, looks offended at the slight against his clothes, and she calls him Killian for the first time, it’s strange how right it feels to use his name, no matter how wrong it feels lying to Henry, and she reaches for her red leather jacket, reaches for her armor, because she needs it after Walsh, after how her life turned out to be wrong, after how easy it was to confide in Hook.)

(Somehow, she feels that not even her armor can help her much when it comes to Hook.)

12.

“You’ll look for any excuse to use that thing, won’t you?” Emma doesn’t bother hiding her amusement as Hook shakes at the berries with his — well, hook.

“At least we know we’re in the right place, what now?”

“Now we start searching.”

“You know something, Swan,” he starts lightly, “whenever you’re around, I inevitably find myself trekking through some manner of woods or forest courting danger,” he drawls.

“And here I thought you weren’t afraid of anything, always looking for the next adventure,”

“Oh, is that what this is?” he questions her.

“Isn’t it? The hell were you doing for the last year alone on that ship? I’m guessing it was one swashbuckling tale after another. Until you decided to come back and save me,”

She isn’t being fair to him, she knows. But something happened to him in the past year, something has that melancholy constantly in his eyes shining even stronger, something he’s hiding from her, and Walsh is still fresh in her mind, just one more person she had opened her heart to, only to have been hiding something, only to have been lying, just one more person she hadn’t expected the worst from, only to turn around and betray her, and the bitterness at the memory is just rising, frustration from everything going on building, and she still doesn’t know why he came for her.

She isn’t being fair to him, Emma smiles bitterly, because Hook may not be lying, but he’s certainly hiding something from her, and she’s incredibly tired of people not being who they say they are, and fuck she’s stressed and frustrated, frustrated from Walsh, from the lack of answers, from the new curse, her false memories, lying to Henry, and Killian is right there.

“Exactly,” he answers her shortly, and Emma thinks this is the first time he’s really lied to her since they met, and her frustration grows. She isn’t being fair to him but she’s too frustrated to care right now, you’re lying, she turns, confronts him, and Hook’s eyes go flat. “Excuse me?”

“What happened back there, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” he says cooly, “It’s my tale and I’m sticking to it,” but I still don’t believe you, and she’s only half aware of why she’s still pushing it, still desperately wants answers, wants to know what was so bad that he’s lying to her, wants to know what he’s been doing, how far he had to go to find her, why he went through all that trouble to return her memories, return her to Storybrooke, why he came for her at all, because as much as she wants to trust him, as much as she already trusts him, experience has taught her there has to be more.

But he’s not budging, he’s standing tense, he sounds frustrated as well, “Let’s just leave it at that and you can just say thank you,”

“For my memories? I already did,” and then he mentions Walsh, calls it a would-be loveless marriage, and that — that wasn’t — is that — “Is that what you think you’re doing?” because as good at Hook is at making her feel good, feel at ease, he’s equally good at pushing, getting her on the defensive (just as she knows she is equally good at doing the same to him).

“He was a flying monkey,”

“I didn’t know that,”

“Were you considering it? His proposal?” he asks quietly, and why is he — does it matter, because she really doesn’t want to get into this with anyone, with him, “Humor me,” and Emma kind of wants to laugh at the situation, two people who can read each other ridiculously well, keeping their secrets close to their chest, pushing for answers, but neither willing to budge. But as frustratingly as ever, as much as she wants to shove him away, wants to keep her own feelings, own thoughts in check, he is frustratingly good at pushing her, pushing her buttons, frustratingly easy to speak to.

“Yes, okay,” she snaps, “I was in love, so of course I was considering it. But as usual, he wasn’t who he said he was, and I got my heart broken, that enough humor for you?”

Because the lies, the betrayal is still raw, because she had lived a damn good life in New York, with her son and a guy she had loved, because Hook had shown up on her doorstep and woke her up from that life, because now, once again, she’s been burned by love, betrayed by someone she trusted, because Hook is frustratingly good at bringing out all sorts of feelings she’d much rather keep locked away, because she had started pushing him for answers and in the end, she was the one spilling her secrets, and now she’s even more upset and frustrated than when they had started speaking.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad to hear that,” he says instead, and what? Is there any right way to take that? But because it’s Killian, she knows he means what he says, and she has already let him see past her walls, showed him a piece of her heart, so she gives him the benefit of the doubt, you’re glad to hear I had my heart broken, because she wants to know —

And he’s taking a step closer to her, “If it can be broken,” and her sharp intake of breath was completely involuntary, because he’s so close, he hasn’t been this close since their kiss, and the way he looks at her — “It means it still works,”

She had wanted answers from him, but he’s answering the wrong questions. She doesn’t need her superpower to tell he’s sincere, not with the way he’s looking at her, like he’s speaking from experience, like it’s a lesson he had recently learned (like it’s a lesson she had been the one to teach him), but she has nothing she can say, nothing she wants to say, not when he’s still hiding something, not with Walsh still fresh in her memory, in her heart, not with this damn new curse, and goddamn everything, not now.

Not when, as much as she trusts him already, trusts him to have her back, to be around Henry, she can’t trust him with her heart.

So she does what she does best and runs. (She can hear it takes him several moments to follow, wonders what he was thinking, wonders why she cares about what he thinks.)

13.

Her magic swells, and she can feel the hot cocoa in front of her disappear, shift, reappear over to the booth Killian sits in, on top of the book he’s reading, and the success has her slamming her hand down the counter in delight, “Boom! Granny’s to-go. I should open a franchise,” she sings out, because she feels great, and it’s always so easy to be with Hook, and even just thinking about him makes her think of what he did for her, for Henry, for Ariel, and she feels good, dammit.

“It’s impressive,” he offers, and what, that’s it? She settles into her seat across from him, and she wants him to look impressed, sound more impressed, but he’s been looking drawn and exhausted since he helped Ariel, and she wants him to smile at her, laugh with her, tease her, wants him lighten up, to open up about whatever is bothering him.

“Wanna see something really impressive?” she asks him, pleased smile spreading as she looks at him, and he only sighs, looking back, and nope, that isn’t lightening up, so she waves her hand, feels the surge of magic, and hears the clink of his hook falling onto the coat rack. The continued success has her giggling (god, giggling, what the hell does being in his presence do to her?).

She wants him to laugh, to smile, to make some snarky comment or casual praise, or tease her, wants to help remove whatever cloud has been settling on his shoulders, whatever it was that had him distant, closed off.

Instead, he scowls, getting up to retrieve his hook, that’s bad form, Swan, tampering with a man’s hook, and if she hadn’t already been worried for him before, she certainly would be now. “Okay, seriously, what is up with you?” she keeps her tone light, because maybe she’s reading too much into it, but she’s still curious, worried for him.

“I apologize for my rudeness,” he sighs, getting back to his seat, “It’s a long story, too long for now,” and he takes a swig from his flask, and clearly she wasn’t reading too much into it, but now she is properly worried for her best friend.

Oh god.

Emma had to stop and take a moment as it occurred to her. Because somehow, somewhere along the way, between Neverland and New York and the Wicked Witch of the West, Killian Jones, Captain Hook, had become her best friend — her confidant.

Because in this completely fucked up town filled with fairy tales, where her parents are Snow White and Prince Charming, and she’s after the Wicked Witch with her friends Belle, and the Evil Queen, and — yes, Captain Hook — for as long as she’s known him, even with his flowery language and pirate regalia and cluelessness to modern conveniences, he’s always felt the realest person around, both of them equally cynical and sarcastic, both burned by the world, both had to learn to fend for themselves early on.

How was this her life.

But regardless, something serious is bothering him, and she has confided in him many times before, back in Neverland, in New York, about Neal, about Walsh, about her doubts, her frustrations, and for once she wants to be able to return the favor, “Okay,” she starts slowly, “obviously, something’s —“

But then Belle slams the door to the Diner open, stumbling in with a great, old, massive book, calling out to her and dropping the book on the table hastily. “Zelena’s plan,” and she must’ve been running to them because she’s still panting, “I figured out what she’s doing,” and suddenly Emma has more to worry about than how Killian had managed to secure his spot as her best friend, has to take a rain check on figuring out what was wrong with him, has to push her worries aside for now.

(They may not be in the forefront of her mind, but it certainly resurfaces every time her eyes fall on him, sees the shadows in his eyes, sees the way he looks like he’s holding the weight of the world on his shoulders, sees the way he has no patience for just about anything, the way his quips are born more often from frustration than attempts at humor, and the way she doesn’t know how to help.)

14.

“I never should have brought Henry back to Storybrooke,” Emma tells Hook, because no matter how pissed of she is with him at the moment, he’s still the easiest person to talk to.

“You did what you felt was right,”

“I did what you manipulated me into,” and yeah, she isn’t being all that fair to him, knows she’s not being rational, knows it was very much her own choice, but she’s still so angry, still lashing out at him, because he lied to her, put Henry in danger, and she cursed me, and had broken her trust, and he’s talking about her parents and the town needing her, but “Henry, also needed me. We were happy in New York, and when I’m done melting this witch, I’d like us to be happy again.”

“You know, as content as you were in that city, it wasn’t real,”

“It was real for me,” she denies, “For him, everything that happened, happened,” but, as always, Hook isn’t afraid to keep pushing her, even when she’s already furious with him, when he knows she’s angry, and like it or not, a big part of you and Henry belongs in this town, but Henry had nearly died today, Neal had died in her arms, Zelena’s after her unborn sibling, Killian himself had been cursed, been turned into a weapon against her, turned into an attempt at taking her magic.

“What does the boy think?”

“He’s a kid! He wants chocolate milk in his cereal, I’m his mother, I know what’s best for him.”

“What’s best for him?” he asks, slowing his walk to face her properly, to urge her to a stop as well, and he looks rather unimpressed by any of her arguments, “or for you?”

“Excuse me?” she scoffs, pushing past him.

“You’ve taken care of the boy quite well here,” he points out, catching up to her “you talk about danger all you like, but it isn’t that. So tell me, what is it? Why are you so scared of staying? I think it’s because you can see a future here — a happy one,”

She does not want to get into this with him, doesn’t want to consider just how right he might be, doesn’t want to look any deeper for why she wants to run back to New York, so she reaches for the nearest thing she can to push him away, “Let me guess — with you?”

It hits the mark, and before Emma can even start to feel guilty at the look on his face, the look she put there, Zelena interrupts, drawling sarcastically, and Emma has no patience for her, the weeks of frustration that had been building in her, the fear for Henry, for her parents, for her sibling, the anger for Neal and Hook —

“Next time you try taking my power, why don’t yo try enchanting the lips of someone I’ll actually kiss,” she snaps at her.

“See, Emma, you’ve got a decision to make,” and Emma’s just getting more annoyed by the tone of her voice, “You can keep your magic, which makes you oh-so-sad, or you can save the man that you can’t wait to run away from,”

She barely even has time to register Zelena’s words, to question her, before Gold sends Hook flying and into a water-filled well, holding him in place, and —

Her heart leaps into her throat, any anger she had been holding on for him rapidly fading in the face of him being in danger, and she’s running for him, grasping at his shoulders, pulling and pulling, but he doesn’t budge, he’s trapped and drowning and he’s struggling, struggling, and Killian is the one drowning but Emma can’t breathe, because his fight is fading, he’s falling limp and —

“Try all you like,” Zelena calls out to her, and Emma snaps out of it, turning to her, “you can’t free him,” and Emma thinks the coldness of her voice might just be worse than the mocking, because she’s staring down at them impassively, only the faintest smirk on her face, but Killian is still underwater, and she disappears in a cloud of green, and only then does she finally, finally, pull him free.

The relief is short-lived.

She’s calling out his name, but he’s just lying there, and he’s not responding, not breathing, she’s calling his name but he still won’t wake up and he can’t die, she couldn’t handle it, Hook, wake up, she thinks of Graham, thinks of Neal, and she couldn’t bear to lose one more person she cares for, and Killian, come back to me, she doesn’t even care if she’s begging, because he’s too still, he shouldn’t be this still —

Not this man who’s always so animated, who speaks thousands of words with just a look, who wears his heart on his sleeve, who feels and shows his emotions with all his whole being, who’s constantly emphasizing his words with hand gestures or his stupidly animated eyebrows, or his deep blue eyes, who’s smile and humor always manages to brighten her own mood, who had come back for her, who keeps coming back for her.

She can’t lose him.

She has nothing to help him with, but he’s still lying in front of her, Hook, she tries again, but there’s nothing around, and she’s out of options, but they still need her magic to stop Zelena, but Killian is dying, and she thinks the last time she felt this all-consuming fear was when Henry had been cold and limp and breathless, under the sleeping curse, and when he had given his heart to Pan.

She can’t lose him.

But without her magic, they’ll be out of options, out of weapons.

See, Emma, you’ve got a decision to make.

She can’t lose him, magic be damned.

Son of a bitch, she mutters, before pinching Killian’s nose shut to give him CPR.

(As if there’s any decision to be made.)

She feels her magic drain, feels the wrongness of it, but Emma pulls back, and he’s still not breathing, and she’s starting to get desperate and she’s cradling his face, and, Hook, come back to me, she whispers, she pleads —

And then he’s twisting, coughing out water, and Emma thinks maybe she could cry from the relief, she certainly feels herself slump over a bit, and her hand comes up to cradle the back of his head just before it slams back on the ground, and he’s saying her name, and it’s shaky, it’s weak, still just a bit waterlogged, but Emma can’t remember the last time she felt so relieved, so happy to hear someone just say her name, but Hook’s hand comes up to his lips and —

“What did you do?” he asks roughly, “What did you do?” because of course he cares more about her magic than his own life, because he’s so ridiculously selfless despite what he pretends, because she had been furious at him just minutes before, had told him she couldn’t trust him anymore, didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt, because she keeps pushing him away, keeps running from him even when he’s the easiest person to talk to, confide in — maybe because he’s the easiest person to talk to.

But she won’t take this from him, not now, not when she had nearly lost him, not when she can’t bear to lose anyone else she cares for, not when all she could think of when he lay limp and lifeless was how much he means to her, his smiles and jokes and sarcasm and cynicism and even his damn broodiness, how much she couldn’t stomach the idea of losing him, losing what he is to her, even if she doesn’t know what that is yet.

Right now, right this moment, all that matters to her is that Killian is still alive, that Killian is breathing, and she’ll bask in this for now.

15.

David’s calling her.

She should answer, but she can’t think of anything to say to him, doesn’t particularly want to talk to him about this, doesn’t want to try to get him to understand. You’re making a mistake, Hook calls out, because of course he’d be the one to come after her, to follow her, and if she didn’t to speak to David about this, she definitely doesn’t want to speak to Hook, who’s far too good at knowing how to push her.

“Don’t listen to me, listen to your son,” he says, undeterred, slowing only once he’s reached her, “he thought this,” and he pulls out the stupid, goddamn storybook out of his satchel, holding it out to her, “might remind you of what you’re leaving behind — your family.”

“Henry is my family, and I am taking him where he is safe.”

“No, Swan, safety first nonsense is just that. You defeated the bloody Wicked Witch, you defeated Pan, you broke the curse — but you keep running. What are you looking for?”

Because he always seems to know that there’s more, always manages to read her fears, and really, there isn’t much point in lying to him, either, so she answers quietly, home, hopes he’ll leave it at that. Except he never does. “And that’s in New York?” he questions doubtfully. “That wasn’t real,”

Except the last year, the last year when she had some semblance of a normal life, with her son and a job (a guy she loves), and yeah, they were fake memories, but she and Henry can go back and make new memories, make it real, make it feel like home, but Hook shakes his head, “Why can’t you do that here, with your entire family?”

And her eyes fall to the storybook he’s still holding out to her, and she’s reminded, again, of the story her parents were telling her new brother, some ridiculous first meeting with a robbery, and ogres, and knights, of magic and True Love, and Emma?

Emma is no fairytale story, no outlandish adventures, no balls and gowns and crowns and ruling kingdoms — just foster home after foster home, either unwanted by the family or she herself making the decision to leave, to run. She was just a bailbonds person with a criminal record and a son from a teenage pregnancy, and she may have magic, may be from True Love, or whatever else fairytale story she hears, but that’s all they are — stories — and she snatches the book from his hands impulsively, “Because of this! I don’t see my family here, I see... fairytales, I see stories of princes and princesses and — that’s not me. I was never a part of any of this,”

Because Emma feels that if anyone can understand her, it is Hook. “Then what are you a part of, Swan?” he asks gently, because her instincts about him are rarely wrong, and she realizes, suddenly just how swapped their positions are now from the year before, when she told him he could become a part of something rather than going off and being alone.

He had done it, had helped them rescue Henry from Neverland, had found her and returned her memories, brought her to her parents, stood and helped and fought at her side, and is now — one of the heroes. And now he sits with her, asks if she is a part of something, if she would rather try and be a part of something or go off and do what she does best. “Besides being with Henry, I don’t think I’ve ever been a part of anything,” she answers him honestly.

“But you could be,” Killian finally moves to sit beside her.

Emma sighs, shutting the book, turning to face him properly. “Look, when I was a kid, I ran away, it’s just what I did,” she would get no judgement from him, she knows this, “The first time I did it, I had the same exact thought. I wondered, what if I’m making a mistake, what if I miss this place?”

“And did you?”

“Not the first time. Not any time.”

“So you just keep running,” and Emma can’t quite figure out what’s in his voice, but she has never found a home, never found a place she missed when leaving, and home is the place, when you leave, you just miss it, and she couldn’t miss what she never even remembered she had, couldn’t miss her parents or Storybrooke or Hook, not the past year, couldn’t remember if she ever, truly regretted running from some place, something, someone, and really, she doesn’t even miss New York, only the vague idea of a normal life, and until she feels that? She’ll just keep moving, keep running, keep her walls high up, keep doing what she does best, keeps being alone.

“So you’re just going to leave your parents then? Don’t you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?”

He’s not talking about the town. Emma knows this as well as she knows he had been talking about himself in New York, perhaps there’s a man that you love, but does he really not know? She still remembers him cold and lifeless, not waking up no matter how hard she shakes him, how loud she calls his name, still remembers the cold terror that she might lose him, remembers all the drinks they shared, the times he was her first thought when looking for someone to take care of Henry, remembers him sitting across from her in an empty diner, the weight of his curse leaving him distant, snappish, and all she had wanted was to hear him tease her again.

She thinks sometimes he is the only one she wants to talk to, thinks he might be the only one she feels comfortable telling all of this to, thinks she’s —

She’s leaving, but she doesn’t want him to doubt, “Of course I care. I just have to do what’s right for me, and Henry, and —”

There’s a great, glowing beacon reaching up to the sky, and she’s up and heading towards it before she even registers getting up from the bench, and, again, Hook is up and calling after her, chasing her.

16.

“You might not be able to move, Swan,” Hook starts, sounding mildly amused, “but you cut quite the figure in that dress.”

Emma can’t stop the pleased grin spreading on her face. You’re not so bad yourself, pirate, she thinks delightedly, but before she can speak, Midas approaches and greets them, who do I have the honor to welcome into my home, and oh shit, they hadn’t discussed aliases, and Hook is being absolutely no help, “Charles, Prince Charles,” she interrupts his stammering, “And I am Princess... Leia.”

Henry would be so proud, she thinks as she curtsies. They move in, and she’s been told so many stories, but now she’s living it, thinks of all the time Mary Margaret and David mention this or that ball and, “What’s the big deal about these things?” she asks Killian, but he doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to, after all, and Emma stares at the people mulling about in lavish clothes and sharing food and socializing, and stares at the center of it all, where people have paired up, dancing smoothly to the music, and it really is as fairytale as it sounded.

“You were saying?” he whispers teasingly, and only then does Emma realize she’s gaping, and all these princes and princesses, dancing with one another in unfamiliar movements — what am I supposed to do?

But Hook is taking her hand gently, slowly tugging her into the crowd, and he’s got a look on his face that Emma doesn’t want to name, smiling at her delightedly, blend in, and for a pirate, he doesn’t look remotely out of place, looks completely at ease with the situation, and hang on, wait, so many things could go wrong, she doesn’t know how to dance, and, “Wait, are you saying you know how to do — whatever this is?”

“It’s called a waltz,” he says cooly, settling one of her hands on her shoulder, moving the other to his false hand, and “There’s only one rule,” he continued, gently resting his hand on her waist, and he’s so close to her, their eyes meet, and and he’s completely open to her, another one of those moments when he’s completely dropping his pirate persona, the flirtatious bravado, letting her see that gentleman beneath, and he’s staring at her like he’s —

“Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing,” he grins and starts to move, and it isn’t difficult at all to follow his lead, because they make a great team, they always have, and that partnership had always carried over, whether it was knocking out giants, or getting around Neverland, or fighting Zelena, or even in quieter moments, when they are alone, when they have a conversation with a single look, or their easy banter, or, apparently — dancing the waltz.

He’s grinning at her like he just can’t help himself, and she’s smiling back because she just can’t help herself, and with Hook it’s so easy, and once again, she is so unspeakably glad that he is here with her, that she wasn’t alone falling through the portal, that he is the one who somehow managed to be by her side through this. She still doesn’t know if he had fallen in like she had, or if had simply followed her, because he always follows her, and she can’t think of anyone else she’d rather have by her side right now.

(she thinks she’s falling in —)

“Watch the mocking, I’m actually getting the hang of this,” she whispers to him, because there can’t be any other reason for why he’s looking at her like she’s the greatest thing he has ever seen.

“I’m not mocking you, Swan, I was just thinking about what you said in Storybrooke, about not being a princess,”

“Really,” she nearly laughs, “You get my first dance at my first royal ball, and all you can say is ‘I told you so?’”

“I believe what I’m trying to say, your Highness,” he corrects her, “is that you appear to be a natural,” she spies her father across the room before she can respond, and they quickly look away before anyone can notice them staring, and it isn’t all that hard to pretend to focus on Killian’s face, because she doesn’t have to pretend at all.

They dance, and Emma is helpless to grin back when Killian is looking at her like that, and Emma thinks the feeling of his hand on her waist feels right, and he feels good standing this close, and they are good together, they always have been, and Emma thinks that right this moment, the world consists only of the two of them, because she thinks she’s already halfway in —

17.

“But you can,” Killian insist, “All he said we need is magic, you’re the Savior, Swan, you can do it,”

“Not anymore, I lost it,” she reminds him, because she still can’t really feel it, can’t reach her magic, no matter how much she tries.

“When Zelena dies, all of her spells were undone, your powers should’ve been restored,”

“Believe me,” she snaps, “If I could make it work, I would, you think I’m faking it?”

And clearly he isn’t interested in holding back his opinions much longer, “I think not having magic makes it a hell of a lot easier for you to run back to New York and pretend to be somebody else,” and Emma thinks this is the first time he really gave her his own opinions on her leaving, gave her his true thoughts, told flatly and matter of factly, rather than just a vague disapproval and gentle persuasions to change her mind.

“But listen to me, Swan. You’re not. It’s time to stop running.”

Except Emma already knows this, has finally accepted it after one to many blank expressions, her parents looking at her, but not seeing her, of Ruby giving nothing more than polite conversations, of Blue’s knowing looks, and even the way Killian’s past self had looked right through her, missing all of their shared moments and connection, just another warm body to take to bed for the night.

“Yes, I run away, that’s how I’ve always survived, but believe me, I want this to work, I wanna go back. I wanna stop running.”

Almost immediately, Killian softens, “What’s changed your mind?”

And she remembers the way they were all helpless to watch her mom get executed, the way she had panicked, so scared of losing another loved one, remembers the way Killian had pulled her into him, remembers the way all she could do after was replay that single moment over and over until Killian mentioned his brother, until they realized Snow was still alive. She thought of the way she leapt forward to hug her mother but she had simply smiled politely before moving on, thinks of how her father had helped with her escape from Regina’s dungeon but barely gave her more than a curious look, remembers the way Killian had wiped her tears, the way she had watched her father fall in love with her mother, thought of what Mary Margaret had said to her so long ago, back when she had just been her roommate, thought about how she had been so busy trying to keep out pain with her walls, she hadn’t been able to let love through, either.

Not her parents’ love for her, not her own love for them, for her new baby brother, had constantly kept Killian at a distance because of how he made her feel, regardless of how little reason she has to not trust him, regardless of how much she feels she could someday return his feelings (especially because she feels she’s already on her way to returning them).

“I had saved and lost her, too. And that’s what I’ve been doing to her since I met her. It’s gotta stop,” Killian is only watching her patiently, encouragingly, and it just makes the words tumble out of her mouth, “When Henry brought me to Storybrooke, he told me I was the Savior. I didn’t see what he was really doing. He was not bringing me back to break a curse, he was bringing me home.”

And she misses it. Misses the loft, misses the diner, the clocktower and library, misses the docks and the forests, and her parents and her brother, and Henry, misses the grilled cheese and onion rings, misses the cocoa with cinnamon, the coffee at the sheriff’s station, misses the feel of magic and Leroy’s screaming about danger, misses it all, and Neal was right, because she feels at home in Storybrooke, at home with Henry and her parents and her brother and she wants to go home, because “Being with my parents these last few days but not really being with them — I’ve never missed them more.”

She’s ready to accept it now. “Storybrooke — it’s my home,”

But Killian is smiling down at her, knowing and proud, and she doesn't know why he’s smiling, but it’s Killian and she can’t help but return his smile. “What?”

“Look down,” is all he says, still looking entirely to proud and pleased and smug, and the wand is working, and she’s just staring, looking back at him to see if it really is, if she really does — “I’d say you’ve got your magic back,” he says simply. “Now, shall we go?”

18.

Emma’s home. Emma’s home, and she’s called her parents mom and dad and Henry is delighted by the fact that they're staying now, and she is too, except —

Except something isn’t right, something is missing, someone is missing, and she has told the story of her fairytale adventure, has shared her success to he mom and her dad and Henry, and even her baby brother but —

But Killian, who had been by her side throughout it all, who was the only piece of home she had left as they were trapped in the past, Killian who had taken her to Rumplestiltskin, helped plan Snow stealing the ring, who had taken her hand and led her to the dance floor, who had opened himself to her as they danced her first dance at her first royal ball — Killian who had pulled her close when she thought her mother was about to die, who comforted her and wiped her tears, who she is halfway —

He is not at her side now. She misses him.

He isn’t even in the diner. She finds him alone outside, and her heart aches at the lonely picture he paints, playing with his flask.

She does not want him to be alone.

“So,” she starts lightly, taking the seat closest to him, “do you think Rumplestiltskin is right? I’m in the Book now. He said everything besides our little adventure would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?” She does not even know why she’s asking this, just knows she doesn't want him to sit alone.

“He’s right,” he says, “Otherwise I’d remember that damn bar wench I kissed.” he eyes her slightly, and Emma has to laugh, how would that prove anything, because Hook had looked right through her as well, does not look at her like Killian does, like he’s in —

But Killian just smirks at her, looking unfairly attractive as he reminds her, “I know how you kiss. I’d have gone after her. But I didn’t, my life went on exactly the same as before.”

“Must’ve been the rum,” she murmurs, because he isn’t lying.

“Everything’s back to normal. You’re a bloody hero, Swan,”

“So are you,” she reminds him, because sometimes it seems he needs the reminding, and he only chuckles, only looks away, but Emma won’t let him dismiss it that easy, not when he has done so much for her and for her family, not when he had brought her back from New York, “I wanted to thank you, Killian.”

He looks up, meets her eyes, and he looks so confused, as if she has no reason to thank him, and it just makes her want to push this further, regardless of the more dangerous territories the conversation might head towards. “For going back for me in the first place in New York. If you hadn’t —“

“It was the right thing to do,” is all he says, and Emma — Emma has wondered, for so long how, how he found her, how he tracked her down, for he crossed realms to find her, to save her, to bring her home. She’s been dancing around the question for so long. “How did you do it? How did you get to me?”

(Emma doesn't even know if she’s talking about New York or her heart.)

“Well, the curse was coming. I ditched my crew and took the Jolly Roger as fast and as far as I possibly could to outrun it.” he says it like it’s nothing, you outran a curse, but she should really stop being so surprised by him, “I’m a hell of a captain,” he laughs, and continues, “And once I was outside the curse’s purview, I knew that the walls were down, transport between worlds was possible again... all I needed was a magic bean,”

“Those are not easy to come by,” he shifts, then, looks away from her, looks uncertain and melancholic and suddenly, Emma feels that she is missing something major, and Killian looks like he doesn’t want her to press anymore, but —

“They are if you’ve got something of... value to trade.”

“And what was that?” she asks lightly. How many doubloons or jewels or gold and treasure —

“Why the Jolly Roger, of course.” he says as if it’s obvious, as if it’s something anyone would do, as if it was just another object, another piece of jewelry, like it wasn’t possibly one of the biggest sacrifices he could make, and Emma —

Stares.

Stunned.

Because he’s plastered on a forced smile, kept his tone light, because he’s trying to shrug it off like it’s nothing, trying to keep his bravado up, as if it’s —

Maybe she heard wrong, you traded your ship for me, but he only drops the act, and he’s staring at her, honest, “Aye.” and she knows, knows what this means to him, to her, knows he’s giving her his heart to keep or break, knows he likely wouldn’t care either way, because he came back for her, took her to Neverland, helped save her father’s life, helped save Henry’s life, and he bore his heart to her for the first time on the beanstalk, and again under the decks of his ship, in Neverland, at the town line, in New York, in the forests of Storybrooke, in the past, knows she has had his heart for so long now, and she knows he wouldn’t break her heart because he is who he says he is.

Because he’s saying it not to gain favor but simply because she had asked and he didn't want to lie. Because she thinks she might already be halfway in love with Killian Jones. Because she’s tired of denying that she couldn't bear to lose him in her life.

So she kisses him, and he doesn’t even move until her lips are pressed to his, letting her take the lead and they are kissing for the first real time, because Neverland was passion and attraction and heat of the moment, but now, now doesn't kiss him for his ship, or as thanks or for some diversion tactic, she kisses him because she can’t bear not to, because as much as she had buried away her weaknesses, as much as she put up mile high walls around her heart, he sees right through them, and waits patiently for the ones he can’t get past, and she wants to let him in.

They stop for a breath and she smiles at him, because it’s perfect, and he smiles in return, and this time he is the one leaning in, and Emma’s letting down her walls to love her family, to love her home, to someday, maybe, love Killian, and she’s letting down her walls to be loved in return, and she has never felt more safe, has never felt more at peace.

She thinks she’s finally ready to take that chance and let him in.

[csjanuaryjoy]

CSJJ: Week Three Roundup!

Another week, another deluge of awesome stories to while away some time with.  We’re in the home stretch and very excited to see what else our writers have in store for us!!  🎉

January 16: Kittens for Quarantine by @delightfully-difficult-pirate Modern AU.  During a storm, a stray cat runs into Emma’s home. Killian, Storybrooke’s new shelter manager, comes to help her out.

January 17:  a new land of untold stories in artwork by @mariakov81​ Just imagine: Henry brings a new book written in Cyrillic, the book opens itself, and Emma and Killian are trapped in a completely different world. 

January 19:  Sowing Seeds of Trust by @jrob64 Modern AU.  Emma Swan is a young woman without a family, friends, a home, and now a boyfriend after he tries to pin his crime on her.

January 20:  if you carry the torch (i’ll follow the light) by @beyourlifeline Modern Riverdale-inspired AU.  Killian was her first real best friend, close practically since the day he and his brother moved in next door to her, traveling across the ocean from England to Maine to live with their father after their mother passed away.

January 21:  Puzzle Pieces picsets by @resident-of-storybrooke​ Modern AU.  During Christmas, Killian and Emma both find their home and put those missing puzzle pieces together. 

January 23:  love languages by @captain-emmajones​ During the six weeks of peace, Emma and Killian have an important conversation.

January 24:  A New Game Plan by @onthecyberseas​ Sports AU.  Ten years after the events of Not In The Game Plan, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers reunite to celebrate the anniversary of the Super Bowl victory.

January 24:  home by @thisonesatellite​ 3B Divergence.  Emma stops running because she finally knows what she wants.  Now all she has to do is talk to Neal and Henry.

Week One | Week Two | Week Three

[fazscare87]

Fazbear World- Captain Foxy the pirate fox (1983)

This is "Captain" Foxy the pirate Fox, this is what he looked like at the very first Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, not the FNAF 2 location, but a different location entirely. So you’re seeing how Foxy looked before he, along with the rest of the Freddy Fazbear gang were replaced and used for parts. As you can see, Foxy looks different from how he used too, that's because this one is based off how he looked in the (in universe/AU) books and tvshow. Foxy was fitted with a blue pirate's coat, a hat, which Henry made at home with the help of his wife, and a hook guard (Not sure what they're called). All and all, He played his Purple accordion (Which I neglected to draw). When Foxy was being used for parts, his hat, baldric, and coat were stored away too, they’d try to reuse these again at the last Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza (Fnaf 1), but then they took it away when they were shut down. Foxy was everyone’s favorite animatronic/character, even adults seemed to like him. He was a big hit with kids, mainly due to the fact that he’s a pirate. He had his own area, “Captain Foxy’s pirate cove”. Though this area was a little bit different from both pizzerias. Think of it as a little pirate-themed play area, Foxy’s stage was shaped like a pirate ship, which you could go up on, it even had seats for his shows. His shows would mainly consist of him telling stories and singing songs about his pirate life and adventures. Foxy's personality is that of a stereotypical pirate, often using pirate slang, all with a pirate accent/ Foxy was arrogant and somewhat narcissistic who saw himself as superior to everyone else. He just LOVED the attention from people, he just couldn’t get enough of it when he was performing, Though he wasn’t near as narcissistic as Roxanne Wolf. Though there was one little change to Foxy’s personality, just a little corporate meddling if you will. That change was to have Foxy be, somewhat, obsessed with getting a slice of that “Cheesy, hot and delicious Freddy Fazbear’s pizza!”, because he’d grown tired of eatin’ Crackers, salted meat, sea biscuits, and especially fish and chips! Now all Foxy wanted was some Pizza from Freddy Fazbear’s pizza, and was willing to steal it any way he could. As only shown in commercials and at the Pizzeria/his shows from time to time. The idea behind this is that it would hopefully bring more attention to the Pizzeria, give Foxy a gimmick in the commercials, and something to make the kids watching the commercials entertained. Needless to say, it worked