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spartanguard · 3 years ago

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most wanted (7/11) [CSSNS 2021]

Summary: Killian Jones has been tracking Emma Swan, notorious cat burglar, across the realm as she’s wanted for murder. The sooner he finds her, the faster he gets back to his daughter. But meeting an enchanting lass in a small village—along with Miss Swan’s feline familiar (perhaps too familiar)—definitely affects his plans; this case might not be as open-and-shut as he’d like.

A/N: Sorry to keep y'all waiting again—it's still been busy at work! BUT: this story is DONE! So the rest should go up in a timely manner. Thanks to the ladies in my Nano discord for all the support during April Camp that let me get this done! Eternal thanks to the best beta ever @optomisticgirl and to @cssns for putting on the event each year. And thank you for your patience, and I hope this chapter was worth the wait!

The sun's rays had hardly crested the horizon when he rose with them; no surprise that he didn’t sleep in when he wasn’t on Granny’s plush beds. His ward, however, was still fast asleep and snoring—rather adorably, if he had to admit.

He looked over at her; at some point, she’d curled up on her side, facing him, and her lips were slightly parted. If things had gone differently, he would have been sorely tempted to wake her with a kiss, angelic as she looked. Instead, he was just sore, knowing the potential treachery behind that innocent facade.

Despite the tenuous peace they’d arrived at last night, he was still guarded when it came to her. Specifically, when it came to protecting his heart. He’d been through too much to let it get damaged again; even if it was tougher than it used to be, that didn’t mean he wanted to put it through undue abuse.

And, no matter what she said, she was still wanted for murder. Even if she was innocent, she was still in the periphery of that tragic event, which wasn’t a good look. (And considering Graham had no next of kin, it was up to Killian to see his death avenged.)

As if she could sense she was being watched—actually, given her upbringing, she probably could—her eyes fluttered open and found his. “Morning,” she said sleepily. “Do you always watch the people you’ve arrested sleep?”

A flirtatious quip threatened to escape, but he bit it back. “No; I was just lamenting the lack of Granny’s breakfast.”

“Ugh, why’d you have to remind me?” she groaned. “I mean, I could give it a shot if I had anything to cook, but I’m pretty sure her grill was magic—or just incredibly well seasoned.”

“Either are likely, I suppose.”

As it was, they noshed on a couple more sandwiches before packing up camp and heading out for the day. Both were fairly silent for the first hour or so, simply enjoying the sound of Roger’s footsteps among the waking forest noises and crisp morning air. A polite amount of distance was still kept in the saddle but yesterday’s hostility was mostly gone. Still—he wasn’t going to let Emma fall against him any time soon, and she clearly wasn’t about to on her own volition, either.

It was Emma who finally broke the morning stillness.

“What you said about your brother—how much of that was true?” she asked, calling back to their conversation by the docks.

“Most of it,” he answered. He’d long since learned to minimize the fiction in his lies; perhaps something she needed to figure out. “Like I said, we were sold into servitude together; he was a few years older, so it was up to him to look out for me. The crew certainly wasn’t going to. And then once we got out, it was straight into the Navy. He climbed the ranks a bit faster than me, though; he was incredibly smart. The last vessel I served aboard, he was the captain; I was his first mate and lieutenant.”

“But I thought you were a Captain?” she said, confused. “Or was that inaccurate, too?” Her voice was gently laced with accusation.

“No, I technically was—just not for very long,” he explained. “Liam died on that last mission. Was killed, being a bloody arrogant fool. So I assumed the title for our return trip, and went AWOL as soon as I was done reporting to command.”

“And then came the downward spiral?”

“Aye.” At least she’d sensed the truth in that. “Though nothing much came of it.”

“Does it ever?” she huffed.

“You’ve led more of a lawless life than me; I think you’d be better to answer that one.”

It was perhaps a cruel jab, but not entirely untrue; and he wasn’t about to divulge his entire life story without hearing any of hers.

Of course, that’s when they began to near another town and actually came across some morning traffic—as much as three horses and a couple carriages could be considered traffic—and they settled back into silence until potentially overhearing ears were gone.

“I only stayed in Storybrooke for a few years,” Emma started, “until I was 14 or 15. As much as Granny thought she was getting me on the straight and narrow, I was really just...perfecting my art,” she explained.

“Getting better at pickpocketing?”

“Yeah, that. I always returned everything, though, at least until the last grab. That’s when I ran away again.”

“Why?”

She paused for a minute—long enough to make him wonder if he was the first to ask that. “Well, you’ve seen Storybrooke. Even if I wanted a home, a family, I didn’t want that. I saw girls not much older than me getting married and starting families and if that was all that lay ahead, it wasn’t for me. So I ran off before anyone could try to tie me down again.”

“Ruby’s not married yet,” he pointed out.

“Only because her first fiance died.” Ah; that was a good counterpoint. “But she and her girlfriend probably will soon.” Then she sighed. “And I’m probably going to miss it. Dammit.”

There wasn’t much he could say in response to that, but it didn’t matter anyway as they were entering the town. “Lean against me,” he murmured, against his better judgment.

“What?” she hissed, stiffening contrarily.

“If you lean against me, I can hide the shackles from view,” he explained. “Unless you’d like people staring at the prisoner.” Really, he just wanted to avoid drawing undue attention—a loving couple stood out far less than a criminal in custody and her captor. He’d have avoided the town altogether, but the only alternate route would have added a day’s travel.

She didn’t comply right away, but quickly settled against him when she noticed someone working outside the first home on the edge of town. Killian didn’t hesitate to settle his arms over hers, covering her wrists from view.

As expected, the homeowner hardly gave them a glance, nor did the rest of the town. They easily blended in with the thickening crowd as they approached the town center, and Killian had to admit that it was far too easy to play the doting lover; he had to restrain himself from pressing a kiss to her temple.

Bloody hell, why had he even suggested this? It felt far too natural to hold her tight in his arms. It was hardly acting. Sure, he could play it off as a decoy to prevent any other bounty hunter from catching onto their trail and trying to claim the prize for their own (it did happen, though Killian had never done so, nor fallen victim to such a scheme), but that was a half truth at best.

At least they weren’t stopping—but they were only halfway through town and he was already regretting his decision.

It was impossible to tell from his position what Emma thought, but she also seemed to be playing her role with ease.

He could only hope she didn’t feel the racing pace of his heart for the duration of their shared contact.

(It was also at this point that he noticed the lighter-colored hair at the roots of her part; it was odd that he only noticed it then, but he supposed he was so desperate for a distraction that he was picking up on minutiae. At least this made it obvious she was concealing her natural hair color—which gave him a weird sense of relief that she had indeed been lying about one thing.)

After an agonizing amount of time, they finally found themselves on the other side of the town. Emma sat up straighter, putting space between them, nearly as soon as the road began to narrow, but Killian still waited for the village to be farther behind them before stopping.

Lunch was a quiet affair. He knew that he was wrestling with his conflicting thoughts towards Emma; it wasn’t as easy to see what kind of warring thoughts were going through her mind, but the furrow of her brow as she worked on her ham sandwich made it obvious she was at odds with herself over something.

Of course, the only reason he noticed was because he kept stealing glances at her like some lovelorn school boy—and the awkward moment when he looked over to find her staring back didn’t help matters at all. (Or the fact that they could only move a few feet apart, but he wasn’t ready to undo the longer shackle yet.)

He busied himself with organizing his saddlebag as she finished her meal—it was already pristine, but it was a distraction—so he didn’t think much of it when she wiped the crumbs off on her skirt and turned to face him.

“When is your birthday?” she asked.

He looked at her incredulously. “What?”

“I’m trying to break the ice, considering the last couple hours have been painfully awkward. Should I have gone with something harder, like your favorite color?”

Well, that had her desired effect; he chuckled, though he wasn’t sure if admitting he’d recently grown partial to a particular shade of green would help anything. “Actually, that one would be easier, since I’m not exactly sure of my birth date.”

“You’re not? How?”

He shrugged and closed the bag. “We never really celebrated when I was young, and any birth certificate I may have had is long gone. Liam remembered that it was shortly after Yuletime and there was snow on the ground, so as far as keeping track of my age, I just mark it as the first of the year.”

“That...was not something I expected us to have in common.”

“I thought you said you had your birth certificate?”

“I do, but the date is only an estimate. A close one, but I have no idea if it’s correct or not.”

“Well, what does it say, then?”

“October 23.” Still a couple months away, but one she’d likely spend incarcerated.

“Happy early birthday, then,” he said, since he probably wouldn’t get another chance.

“Thanks,” she said simply, and then hopped back up on the saddle. He followed her and she continued, “So what is your favorite color?”

“Blue,” he not-quite-lied as he kicked Roger into motion. “Like the sea.”

She hummed in agreement. “Mine’s red, like the sunset, or the leaves in the autumn.”

“An excellent choice.”

They continued to make similar smalltalk for the duration of the afternoon. Nothing terribly personal, nor deep—other favorites, childhood memories—but were it not for the consistent press of cold steel against his wrist, it would have felt like two (somewhat more than) friends out for a ride. Though Killian knew better than to let down his guard like that, he also knew he had the upper hand, as it were.

If anything, it made the time pass quicker. There were no other cities on their path until they reached Longbourn, nor anything more populated than the occasional homestead or caravan. In other words—a horrifically boring ride, save for the sounds of birdsong and whatever sea shanties he normally sang to himself.

There wasn’t another enchanted campsite like they’d stayed at the night before, but he still knew of one well enough off the beaten path to avoid notice; he actually had to get down and guide Roger there on foot. They reached it just before sunset and went about getting settled for the night. Even though they were still awkwardly attached at the wrist, they seemed to be enough in sync now to work together through any awkwardness. (Emphasis on the latter when it came to relieving themselves.)

Though this spot didn’t have a protection charm, it was equipped with an enchanted ember that constantly burned, making it easy to build a fire. They warmed their sandwiches (noting that there were only enough left for breakfast) and settled casually on a fireside log to eat and continue chatting—and discerning truth from fiction in what they’d already discussed in the past. (Other than her name, just about everything had been accurate—but perhaps she was better about keeping things vague than he was.)

“I’m guessing a crocodile didn’t actually eat your hand, then,” she asked when she was done eating. “Although I suppose that’s not incredibly far outside the realm of possibility.”

He chuckled lightly. “No, it wasn’t; though the man did look an awful lot like one.”

“A man ate it?”

“No, no...actually, I don’t know what he did with it. But his sword was much sharper than his teeth.”

Emma winced. “Ouch.”

“Aye, it had quite the bite.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but laughed. “Yeah, you’re definitely a dad with jokes like that.”

He gave another terrible wink.

“Just what did you do to piss this guy off?” she continued casually.

“I took his wife,” he answered, just as nonchalantly.

She nearly choked on her last bite of sandwich. “You what?” she gasped.

“All the things you’ve stolen, yet you balk at that?” he teased.

He could see her start to protest, but rethink her argument before she spoke.

He forged on. “It wasn’t so much theft as...we simply fell in love. I was still reeling from the loss of my brother; she was stuck in a loveless marriage. We met in a pub and it blossomed from there.” He stared into the fire, remembering. “We found ourselves at our lowest points, and looking back, I don’t know that we entirely lifted each other up, but we definitely helped each other. Until her husband found out, of course.”

“He took your hand?” Emma was incredulous.

“And then some.” He swallowed. “He killed her.”

Emma’s breath hitched. “So she really did die,” she added quietly.

He couldn’t fault her for wondering—he had a handful of similar questions about their conversations from their time in Storybrooke. But that didn’t stop the stutter his heart gave at the memory. “Aye,” he eventually answered. “Slide my sleeve up,” he directed, offering his right wrist to indicate which one.

She did carefully, and he tried not to focus on the gentleness of her fingers as she revealed the tattoo on his forearm. A jagged-looking dagger struck through a heart, and ribbon over the top bore the name Milah.

He jumped when her finger began to trace it, but again, she was almost reverent in her caress and study of the image. Somehow for the first time, he noticed her own ink—a flower on the underside of her left wrist. He was about to ask about hers, but then she surprised him with her next question.

“Is that the Dark One’s dagger?”

“You know it?” Though the legend of the man who was once referred to as the Dark One was known around the realm, few knew many details about the infamous criminal—unless they had close calls with the demon and his weapon of choice, such as Killian had. (Several times.)

Emma nodded. “Neal...he’s his son.”

“Neal?” Oh no.

“My ex, I guess. The one who framed me.”

“Bloody hell.” Of all the similarities they’d thus discovered in their lives, this connection was not one he anticipated. “Milah was Neal’s mum.”

“Shit.”

A heavy silence descended on them for what felt like an interminable amount of time. If Killian’s emotions had been a tangle before then, they were truly a convoluted mess now. “What are the odds?” he finally commented, but his tone was humorless.

“Shit,” she cursed again, then stood and began to pace, unceremoniously taking his wrist with her. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” He jumped up to join her, but bit back the “love” that normally would have ended that sentence.

She turned to face him and looked up, horrorstruck. “He killed the wrong guy,” she whispered.

“Who...what?” he stammered.

“Neal. He thought he was going after the man who took his mom and ruined his family. But...it wasn’t him.” She buried her face in her hands and was visibly taking deep breaths.

This was too genuine a reaction for her to fake. He moved closer and began to rub a hand down her arm in what he hoped was a calming motion. But he was still slightly lost. “I need you to go back a bit; can you tell me what happened before that? Why were you with Neal and why did he go after Graham?”

She dropped her arms and huffed. “You want the long story or the short one?”

“I don’t have any other plans.”

“Okay, but you should probably sit back down; it might take a while.”

He obliged, and she returned to her seat next to him. And began her tale:

They’d met rather inauspiciously—she stole the wagon he was sleeping in…which he’d already stolen. But she fell hard and fast, and they began thieving and running across the kingdom, starting small but eventually getting more daring. They continued to gain notoriety and skill—“And, honestly, we kind of felt untouchable. No one could catch us.”

“Hard to catch them when you’re looking for a female instead of a feline.”

She laughed a bit and looked down at her shackled wrists, brushing her tattoo with her opposite thumb. “I actually had that skill before I met him. When Ruby first started her transformation, she got lonely; so we paid a visit to the witch in town and she did this,” she explained, nodding at the ink. “It’s what lets me transform.”

“That’s awfully clever,” he had to admit.

“Neal thought so, too. It definitely got us out of some close calls. And everything was going great, right up until the day he came home, shouting that he’d finally found him.”

Killian’s bounty hunter instincts wanted to ask just where “home” was, but he held them back. “Found who?”

“The pirate who stole his mother away,” she said wryly, glancing up through her lashes. Heat grew under Killian’s cheeks. “He’d rant about it occasionally—list all the things he’d do to the man who broke his family apart if he ever found him. I’d usually just nod and laugh until the day he claimed he’d found him. Then…gods, I was right to be scared.”

Killian had known Milah had a child when she ran away with him—the lad would have been in his early teens when she left, if that—and it pained her to leave him behind, but at the very least, she trusted her husband to raise him right. That was before the man had gotten involved in darker, less-savory pursuits; perhaps it was no surprise the boy had grown up on such a similarly less-than-ideal path, with half-truths told to him about his mother’s actual fate. Still—it was disheartening to learn his own actions had potentially put into play a subsequently damaging series of events that, in a way, led them here.

He couldn’t dwell on that now, though; there would be time enough for brooding later. “What did he do?”

Her eyes were glued to the ground as she explained. “He planned a sting, more or less; we were genuinely after some stuff—some jewels belonging to one of the rich townsfolk—but Neal wanted to do it clumsily, so the sheriff—the man he thought it was—would show up.”

Graham had been the sheriff in a village outside Longbourn for quite some time; he and Killian had worked together many a time, and he was in fact the one who connected him with Nemo (after yet another drunk and disorderly arrest), setting him on a path out of his own darkness. He was one of the best men Killian had known—dedicated to keeping his town safe and looking out for his loved ones.

Suffice to say, he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of learning the details of his friend’s death. But he knew he needed to.

“And it worked,” he added, knowingly.

“Yeah. Probably too well. Should have expected the sheriff wouldn’t take long to notice a break-in at the mayor’s house. And it’s not like we were subtle—we weren’t exactly quiet, and we lit just about every lantern we could find.” It was easy for Killian to see where this was going. “So he bursts in, sword aloft, and Neal didn’t waste any time leveling his pistol at him. I was too focused on clearing out the safe to really pay attention to what they were saying—until the gun went off.”

Killian’s breath hitched at that, making her look up at him and grab his hand.

“I swear, I didn’t know he was going to murder him,” she effused. “I knew Neal was angry; he blamed this guy for his mom leaving and his dad becoming…what he did; he was even upset that he arrested his dad. Gods—and he was so wrong,” she added, running a hand down her face in disbelief.

“Well—not entirely; Graham did help arrest the Dark One, too.” He chuckled sadly. “Probably why he got confused.”

“Oh, right,” she realized, glancing at his prosthesis; it was no secret that Captain Hook had led the charge in taking down the Dark One. “I know what we were doing wasn’t right, but what his dad did was worse—all those people he killed? He deserved to be captured. And that’s what gets me: we had promised we weren’t going to do anything that bad. Even if we were breaking the law, we weren’t really hurting anyone. And then Neal shot your friend—right in the chest. It wasn’t even in defense; the guy hadn’t moved. I stopped what I was doing and ran over to him, trying to staunch the bleeding, but there was nothing I could do.”

Her voice caught at the end of her statement, and he could see tears—genuine ones—brimming at her eyes. He found himself having to look away—though whether it was to conceal his own reaction to Graham’s demise, or his response to hers, he wasn’t sure. “And then?” he asked, then winced; his voice betrayed any emotion he was trying to hide.

She sighed. “Like I said, I couldn’t do anything to help. He went too fast. I yelled at Neal, asking why he did that—why he went that far. He tried to say I wouldn’t understand, since I never had parents; I told him that didn’t make it right and I wasn’t afraid to turn him in; there was no going back or escaping from that. Then he turned the gun on me, spewing all kinds of bile—how I was just a lost little orphan who’d never understand what family meant, how he knew he could take advantage of me because of it—how he never loved me.” She took a deep breath before finishing. “By then, the gun was practically in my face, so I transformed and made for the nearest window. He tried to shoot at me, but missed; it was enough to startle me, though, and I knocked an oil lamp into the window curtains. I got out quick and just ran, as fast and far as I could. And then I saw the wanted posters a few days later. I wasn’t all that shocked he tried to pin it on me, but you know what hurt worse?”

“What?”

“He couldn’t even get my eye color right,” she almost whispered. “At least it proved he hadn’t lied about never loving me; he hadn’t even taken the time to notice that. And it made it that much easier to just dye my hair and go on the lam. Which was going great, until you showed up.”

“My apologies,” he offered, only half meaning it.

“You’re just doing your job; I can’t fault you there,” she waved off. “And I certainly haven’t stayed on the right side of the law. I just didn’t do all of that.”

“No,” he replied. “I don’t think you did.”

“You believe me?” She seemed surprised.

He didn’t blame her; he was slightly surprised himself. But he told her as he began to fish around in his pockets, “Aye; I do. I’ve heard many, many sob stories over the years and heard many tall tales.” He found what he was looking for and pulled it out. “Yours was one of the few that were genuine.” Then he reached for her wrist and unlocked both sets of shackles.

Emma’s mouth hung open in shock, even as she flexed and rotated the likely stiffness from her wrists. “Really?”

“Yes; though I hope you don’t mind if I keep the other one there,” he confirmed, nodding at the magic-blocking cuff. “You are still technically in custody.”

“No, I get that,” she said, nodding. “I…wow. Thank you. Not many people believe me anymore.” He was about to comment on that fact when she went on. “I know, I know—hazard of my job. Both of ours, I guess. I just…I appreciate it.”

“Don’t make me regret this.” It was as much a warning as a confession.

“I won’t,” she promised. And he believed her.

Fatigue quickly got the best of them, so they turned in, calmly sharing the blanket this time though still back-to-back.

As he drifted off, his thoughts lingered on their conversation. Fate sure had a sense of humor, he decided, to intertwine their lives so much. He wasn’t exactly complaining, though.

But tonight’s revelations brought about another problem: if Emma was truly innocent of murder, how did they clear her name of that charge—and how long would it take him to track down the actual culprit?

(He chose to ignore the hopeless romantic side of him that was far too hopeful for a renewed chance at a happy ending for them.

He also consciously ignored the nagging voice in the back of his mind that still questioned her.)

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thanks for reading! tagging some (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @winterbythesea @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke @deckerstarblanche

#cs ff #cssns 2021 #cssns21 #wish kj ff #most wanted #my ff

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clockadile · 4 years ago

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#cssns #captain swan #cs fanart #ouat fanart #ouat art #cssns 2021 #selkies #mermaids #my comics #ouat comic

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eastwesthomeisbest · 4 years ago

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This Could Be Heaven or Hell...

I've been looking for an angel,

To come save me from this hell

To come save me from myself...

I've been looking for an angel,

To kill the aching in my heart

Don't leave me lost here in the dark...

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

Captain Swan Angel and Demon AU for @cssns

@kmomof4 @snowbellewells @lifeinahole27 @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @hollydaisy23 @alexa-fangirl-forever

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caught-in-the-filter · 4 years ago

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My Bad, Bad Devil, You Put the Angel in You

—an angel!Killian/demon!Emma AU PWP for CSSNS21

A/N: A huge shoutout and thank you to ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this for me, and to the mods of @cssns for giving us another year of this event!

Heads up that this has some sacrilegious uses of Biblical references, and I totally understand and respect if that's a big nope for anyone for any reason. Most of my life, it would've been a nope for me too. I mean no attack or mockery or other ill intent toward Christianity/religion or anyone who practices any form of it.

I grew up in church but I've been questioning a lot for a long time now, and this sort of became my own little personal rebellion. (I guess writing smut in general has been, but this one is on another level.) I kind of have a love/hate relationship with this fic; it was fun when I started it, but then I got frustrated and stuck, and now I'm not sure how I feel about it anymore. And maybe I'll regret it in the future if I ever see the light again or something, but for now, I've resigned to the fact that if I'm gonna go to hell (if I even believe there is one anymore), then I might as well have a little fun with it while I can.

So if this is your thing, I hope you enjoy. If not, dl,dr, and no hard feelings.

Also, I know the title is a little long, but I couldn't resist the Doctor Who reference.

Rated: E; Words: 2904; AO3

——

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Emma purred, closing the distance between herself and the angel standing before her. With a flick of her wrist, she cast him back against the window and commanded the curtains to cross in front of him, spinning him so that he faced the glass before wrapping themselves around his wings and arms to restrain him.

“A daughter of the damned, getting in over her head?” Killian quipped, testing the hold of the thick cloth keeping him in place without fighting it.

“Mmm,” Emma hummed. Taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t worn a shirt in favor of opening his wings, she reached around his waist and bent her arms upward so she could slowly rake her nails down his exposed chest. “You’re the one tied up, but I’m in over my head?” She twirled a few of his hairs around her finger and tugged, making him flinch.

“You make the mistake of thinking I’m not exactly where I want to be, love.” Killian glanced back at her with a devious smirk. “That is why you’re in over your head.”

“Oh, I know,” Emma smiled. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she lowered her hands and began to unlace his trousers. “I know you want to fall, don’t you?” She freed his hardening cock from its leather confines and slowly ran her hand back and forth along the length of him. “You want to rise and fall and lose yourself in the worst way.”

“With you?” Killian panted, already breathless under her sinfully skilled touch. “Hell yes.”

“Then you’re going to let them watch you fall from grace.” Emma gestured at the window in front of them, guiding Killian’s eyes to gaze out at the possibility of unwitting passersby spotting their activities, before taking him in hand once more. “You’re going to let them see you give all of yourself to a demon.” The guttural groan he made only spurred her on as she continued to pump him. “Unless you can’t handle it.”

Killian’s head fell back when Emma interrupted her stroking to grip his balls with a taunting squeeze, and he muttered under his breath, “God, forgive me,” as his eyes fluttered closed. Bucking his hips, he tried to coax her to go faster, “Yes, Emma, please yes,” but she smiled as she removed her hand and relished the whine that left his lips.

“An angel eager to sin.” She slipped her hands beneath the back of his trousers, kneading his ass for a moment before stripping off the leather, trailing kisses down his spine as she sank to the floor with the material. “Step.” With a tap to the backs of his knees, she removed the trousers completely and tossed them aside.

Emma ducked between Killian’s legs and twisted her body in one fluid motion so that she sat with her back to the window, greeted by his cock pointing right at her face.

“I want to taste you,” she said and lifted his cock so she could lick a slow stripe from base to head, swiping her tongue over the sensitive tip. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she cupped his ass and pulled him toward her as she took him into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat. The staccato sounds that left his lips convinced her to hold him there as long as she could, flexing her tongue along the length of him, until she had to lean back to take a breath.

“Delicious,” Emma sighed and took him in again, and again, this time guiding him back and forth, in and out, her tongue darting out to tease his balls with each plunge.

Killian panted her name amidst a slew of encouragements, lost in the way she licked and sucked and consumed him. Her grip on his ass tightened, and he bit back a moan when her finger made its way to the center and circled its find before dipping just barely inside.

“Ooh, sounds like you like that,” she parted from him long enough to tease, continuing her carefully intrigued prodding as she asked, “shall we sodomize an Angel of God?”

“It wouldn’t—” he gritted his teeth as she gave his cock a particularly strong suck, straining against the curtains holding him at her mercy, or lack thereof, “—wouldn’t be the first time, love.”

“Oh?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him, pausing for a moment before bringing him into her mouth once more, staring up into his eyes as he watched her intently.

“Aye. Though I much prefer to give than to receive.”

Of course you would, Emma thought, the pun of angelic nature not lost on her. She hummed her assent around him and sent a ripple of pleasure coursing through his body.

It was too much and not enough. As Emma relentlessly devoured him, Killian fought against the material holding him back. With one forceful downward motion, he tore the curtains in half and freed himself as he sought his glorious ascension.

His fingers laced into her hair, and for once, he allowed himself to take. His frantic thrusts were met with surprised and hungry moans, the vibrations of which sent him soaring over the edge.

“Ohh fuck. Fuck,” he cried as he spilled himself down her throat. He felt it when she swallowed as he held her still and his cock continued to pulse.

“Such a dirty mouth for such a pure being,” Emma remarked as she caught her breath when he at last let her go. She got to her feet and stood facing him, using her tongue to trace the lines of the cross tattoo on his chest as she rose, and she yelped when he pulled her flush against him, his arms tight around her.

“Oh, it can be much, much dirtier,” he growled, making her gasp as he gave a harsh tug to her hair and attacked the exposed skin of her neck with sloppy kisses and less than gentle nips and searing hot breath. She arched up into him, and it was his turn to pin her against the glass. His hand and hook frantically tore at her blouse while his mouth continued its expert assault as it made its way to hers and along her jaw until he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Would you like that, demon?” he asked, slipping his hand beneath her waistband and trailing his lips down to the swell of her breasts. “Would you like my mouth on you where you’re warm and wet and wanting for me? Teasing you as you’ve done me, making you long for my cock as much as I long for the feel of you around me?”

Emma suddenly couldn’t find the words, too caught up in the thrill of hearing him, an angel, her angel, talk like that. Hoping to get the point across, she threaded her fingers through the haphazard locks on his head and shoved him to his knees.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” he grinned, holding her gaze as he lifted her incredibly short skirt and ran his thumb along the already soaked strip of lace she considered panties before pulling it down to her knees.

Emma leaned forward to allow the remnants of her blouse to fall to the floor before reaching for the support of the window once more as he canted her hips toward himself with the curve of his hook pressed to the small of her back.

Killian’s wing curled forward to assist with holding up the material of her skirt, the feathers tickling the top of her thigh, so he could focus his efforts on her aching core. Too eager to taste her, he wasted no time, choosing instead to start right with his mouth at her clit. She jumped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure, and he steadied her with his hand splayed against her inner thigh, inching his fingers toward her center.

“How can you be from Hell when you taste so divine, Emma?” he praised. “I could spend eternity quenching my deepest thirst between your legs.”

“Then shut up and quench it,” Emma barked. She didn’t really mean it, not completely. She loved his silver tongue, especially when he used it to talk dirty, but right now she craved him putting it to a different use.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” As he gave one more suck on her clit, Killian plunged two fingers inside her, soon increasing it to three as he stretched her and coaxed out more of her arousal onto his expertly explorative tongue.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that,” Emma sighed, tugging his hair as she rode his tongue and fingers, relishing the warm vibrations his pained groans and hungry moans ghosted over her sensitive skin.

“Oh no, love,” Killian said without relenting, looking up at her as he continued working her between words. “Don’t blaspheme. I’m not Him. I worship at your altar, Emma, and there’s no better place to be on my knees.”

“I like your Word better, anyway.” Emma’s head tipped back as her hips began to buck, but her moment of near bliss quickly turned into one of frustration. “No,” she gasped, shocked and almost offended as he pulled away with a smirk and stood to his feet, leaving her clenching on nothing and far from sated. “Come on, Killian, please! I thought you were all about giving! And how is this worship?”

“I meant what I said, love. I adore you, I do. But I am an angel, after all.” Killian chuckled. “We tend to enjoy when someone is brought to the edge before they’re granted their salvation. I need you begging for it.”

“Fucking tease,” Emma huffed, turning away from him with her arms crossed in front of her.

“Mmm,” Killian mused, “perhaps you are ready to receive more.” He nudged her legs apart with his own, a soft blow with the side of his foot kicking one out to the side, and Emma scrambled to reach her arms out in front of her for balance, her hands slipping on the window as her legs spread. Snaking his arms around her, he set his chin on her shoulder as he held her in his embrace and mused, “What do you think, love? Shall we bare you to them as I take you and show them what they can’t have, or should we keep this sinful skirt on and show them how eager you are to be ravished by an angel?”

“On, off, I don’t care which you’re into, just fuck me!”

“A bit of both then.” Killian pressed the side of his hook to her stomach and pulled her to him, holding her so that her back pressed against his chest. Lifting the front of her skirt, he handed her the bottom hem. “Hold this up for me, love.”

With a smirk, she took it between her teeth, stretching the waistband higher and pulling the material taut between her breasts as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and winked at him.

“There’s a good girl.” He smiled and raised the bit between them with the tip of his hook, taking himself in hand. “You pretend you like to rebel, but you behave so well for me. Now, tell me what you want.”

“I said, I want you to fuck me,” Emma answered, slightly muffled by her skirt, frustratedly trying to swivel her hips in the hopes of getting him inside her.

He draped her skirt over his hand and wrapped his hooked arm around her once more to still her. Her annoyance encouraged him to tease her all the more, and he brushed the tip of his cock between her folds agonizingly slowly as he said, “I need you to be more specific, love. What do you want?”

“Fuck, Killian, I want your cock inside me.” Emma almost dropped her skirt when he filled her in one smooth slide, her jaw instinctively ready to fall open, but she caught herself and clenched it instead, biting down hard on the material with a groan at the sudden stretch.

“Very good.” The tip of his hook dimpled her flesh, dangerously close to piercing her, as he held her against himself and slammed into her from behind. His fingers laced themselves between hers and he caressed up the side of her body as he brought her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Emma raised her other hand in kind, and Killian moved his to her breast, kneading and squeezing it as he lost himself in the feel of her.

“Fuck, you feel fucking amazing around me, Emma. Not even heaven compares to the feel of you.” Killian licked a stripe along Emma’s collarbone and clamped his mouth over the spot, digging his teeth into her flesh. She moaned at the thought of the mark she’d wear tomorrow.

Bringing his arm back, Killian pressed it across Emma’s shoulder blades, pinning her chest to the glass in front of them with an arch in her back that jutted her ass out at him, and this time Emma did drop her skirt as her mouth opened on a loud moan at the forceful change of angles. Killian grunted and tucked his hook beneath the waistband, ripping it apart with the sharp tip and watching it fall as he pounded into her.

“I told you to hold that,” he growled against the shell of her ear. “Perhaps you are a naughty little minx after all.” Killian swatted Emma’s ass with an open palm before grabbing the reddening flesh and massaging it, in theory to soothe the sting but so roughly that she thought he might leave a bruise if he continued, one she’d be more than willing to bear as a reminder of their time for several days to come.

“Forgive me?” she teased in a mocking tone as she met his thrusts with each backward roll of her hips, almost inclined to make prayer hands at him if moving them wouldn’t risk her falling.

“Not exactly a sincere repentance, is it, love?” Killian struck her ass once more before grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging her head backward. “But it is rather tempting to grant you reprieve nonetheless.”

“Ah, so why don’t you give into that temptation, angel?” Emma gritted.

“Don’t try to persuade. Ask me for it.”

“Please, Killian, I’m so close.” Emma couldn’t take it anymore. “Make me come, angel. Please!” Emma sighed through a string of curses as Killian moved the curve of his hook to her clit, pressing the brace against her flesh just above it as he rubbed quick circles over the swollen nub.

“What say you, demon?” he asked, breathless himself as he brought them both to the brink. “Shall we chance our own breed of Nephilim?”

“Yes please,” she panted desperately. “I’ve already tasted you. I want to feel you. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“I’ll give you what you want, demon, but I want to hear you scream my name when I do, not God’s.” Killian’s mouth travelled from Emma’s neck to her shoulder and back as he pistoned his hips with abandon. His teeth scraped her flesh before he moaned against her cheek as he found his release, “Emma, fuck yes, Emma,” filling her with it and pushing it deeper as it dripped down the length of his cock.

With his brutal thrusts and relentless teasing, Emma granted his request soon after, crying out, “Killian!” at the top of her lungs as her knees buckled beneath her.

He practically lifted her off the ground when he caught her with his arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tightly as he drew every last drop of ecstasy from within her before he slipped from her core and spun her into a lightheaded kiss, caging her against the window with his arms once more.

“Well, that was fucking hot.” Emma smiled against his lips as she pulled one into her mouth to bite it playfully, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Who knew you had it in you, angel?” One hand anchored in his hair as the other clutched at his ass, and she pulled him closer to her so she could rut against his leg, letting their releases spill down her thigh onto his and making him groan.

“It was the other way around, love,” he joked with a certainly devilish smirk, “but I concur, it was fucking hot.” Tucking his arms beneath her legs, Killian hoisted Emma into them and carried her to the bed, tossing her not so gently onto the mattress.

Emma giggled as she taunted him with one curled finger, beckoning him to her as she spread her legs wide, an invitation he happily accepted as he knelt between them and crawled above her body with a guttural growl.

“You might just convince me of the divine benefits of your side,” Emma purred, running her hands down his sides to grip his waist, “but I think I need to witness a bit more firsthand to make sure I believe, if you’ve got another miracle in you.”

“Angels are eternal, darling,” he said. “I’ll never leave you if that’s what it takes to really fill you with the spirit.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

——

A/N: "Glorious ascension" to describe an orgasm? Yeah, I'm going to hell.

——

Tag list ❤️: @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @zaharadessert

#cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs smut #captain swan #angel!killian #demon!emma #cs ff #cssns 2021 #cs pwp #pwp #angel/demon AU #kayla writes #my writing

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deckerstarblanche · 4 years ago

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This is my entry for the CSSNS21 challenge!

It's a Modern College AU set in the omegaverse, and the gang attends Storybrooke University's Annual Beltane Festival, a springtime celebration of nature and fertility. Killian’s keeping a big secret, and it’s about to change Emma’s whole world… (warning: extra steamy)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32868550

I couldn't have done this without the help of two wonderful ladies: @spartanguard , for her beautiful artwork, and @kmomof4 for being the most generous 11th hour beta in the world! xoxo

#captain swan #cssns 2021 #cssns21 #cs au #csedit #ouat au #cs ff #omega verse #no werewolves #a/b/o fanfic

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veryverynotgoodwrites · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV), A Discovery of Witches (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Maleficent Characters: Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Emma Swan, Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Maleficent (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Knave of Hearts | Will Scarlet, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena, Pinocchio | August Booth, Liam Jones (Once Upon a Time), Arthur (Once Upon a Time), Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time), The Apprentice (Once Upon a Time), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Robin Hood (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Alice Jones | Tilly, Belle (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions Summary:

“Once the world was full of wonders, but it belongs to humans now. We creatures have all but disappeared. Daemons, vampires, and witches - all hiding in plain sight, ill at ease even with each other. But, as my father used to say, in every ending...there is a new beginning.”

A Captain Swan AU.

*I do not own any of these characters from OUAT, nor any part of A Discovery of Witches. Some dialogue and events are taken from both OUAT and ADOW to create this story, and are products of their original writers. This is just a fun CS au for your reading pleasure.

Hello everyone! Bet you thought I forgot all about this fic after all this time, huh? ;)

Well, never fear! I may not have a schedule, but I have a VISION, and it must be completed, no matter how long it takes! Anyone who has read Perilous Harbor since the beginning knows how long it sometimes takes me to update (@ that six month break I took after I moved to Europe lol), but I promise there's always one coming!

I spent two months dreading writing this chapter despite knowing it would be so much fun, but when I actually sat down and started, I had it finished within six hours. Lol.

Anywho! On to business! I had so much fun writing your first look at our vampire Killian! Truth be told, vampires really aren't my thing, but I love this story and I love who Killian is in this tale, and I think we will have so much fun with him! I also hope everyone will enjoy the three new characters introduced in this chapter!

I want to give a huge shoutout to @ultraluckycatnd for being my incredible beta and for being so understanding about my creative break since July! And to @mariakov81 for the absolutely incredible artwork she has created for this story! I'm so in awe of your talent and the fact that you're so patient with me and my erratic writing pattern. I'm so happy this event brought us together!

As always, a huge, huge, HUGE thank you to all of my friends over at the CSMM Discord. I love all of you, and you keep me going, whether that's by encouraging me, flailing with me, or giving me so much to read that I can't possibly ever catch up with my list.

I also want to thank the team at @cssns for setting me up with an absolute dream team, and I'm so happy I got to participate in this event <3

As a side note, this work is also now listed under the Captain Swan Netflix and Chill collection in addition to the CSSNS collection! You can click on both the links to these collections to find some incredible stories by some of my favorite people!

If you would like to be added to my tags list, please let me know!

@teamhook @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @ultraluckycatnd @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @xarandomdreamx @klynn-stormz @omninerdgirl @kmomof4

#blood and magic #blood & magic #cs au #captain swan #fic #alternate universe #au #adow au #a discovery of witches #killian jones #emma swan #other characters as well lol #veryverynotgoodwrites #cssns #cssns21 #cssns 2021 #captain swan supernatural summer #captain swan netflix and chill #csn&c

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mariakov81 · 4 years ago

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Once upon another time...

Killian, I have a feeling that something is wrong with this new book Henry brought for Hope....

Emma and Killian explore the new fairy tales from the Land of untold stories.

My entry for the @cssns. Thank you mods for organising this event and for the possibility to admire works of so many talented people!

❤️❤️❤️

#cssns 2021 #cssns21 #cssns #ouat fan art #my art #ouat fanart

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jrob64 · 8 months ago

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Here we go with the roundup for the 2020 CSSNS event! With so many great stories and artworks, there's bound to be something for everyone! In the past four years since this event, many stories have been updated and completed, so be sure to check them out.

This event has been blessed with talented writers and artists who deserve all the love you can send them!

The roundup for 2021 will post on Wednesday.

We’re here!!! *SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY* It’s time for the CSSNS20 Roundup!!!!

It has been quite a ride y’all…

I just want to take a moment here at the beginning of the post to thank everyone who has ever been a part of this event from 2018 to now. Y’all are the ones who made this event what it is and I cannot be more grateful to have had the privilege of manning the helm for the past three years. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!!! There’s been too many participants over the years to name everyone, but I have to give a shoutout to my personal support team and the mods from all three years. Each one of them has contributed in innumerable ways and this event never would have happened without each of them and their contribution. @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @katie-dub, @thisonesatellite and @profdanglaisstuff. Thank you so much ladies!!! I never could have done this without you all!!!

Now that the event is over, I want to let everyone know that I will be inviting other supernatural fic to the collection over on ao3. When I first started reading fan fiction, I stumbled across the Black Swan and Red Hooks Collection, a collection for smutty fics, that continues to grow today. I want to do the same thing with the Supernatural Summer Collection. As more supernatural fics are written, I will invite them to the collection.

We are now at the close, and it’s time to round up all the wonderful fics and art that we’ve been blessed with in this year’s event. At the end of the post, I’ll highlight all the fic from previous years that have also updated this summer. Active MC’s will continue updating until they are finished. And without further ado, HERE WE GOOOOOOO!!!!

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Keep reading

#cssns20 roundup #cssns #captain swan supernatural summer

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spartanguard · 3 years ago

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most wanted (9/11) [CSSNS 2021]

A/N: Well I had planned to get this up a week or so ago but *life*. Hopefully these last few chapters will go up a bit quicker! Thank you for sticking around! As always, thanks to the best beta ever @optomisticgirl and to @cssns for putting on the event each year, even if I am woefully late with this one.

As much as Killian had romanticized the mattresses at Granny’s, he was pleased to find his own was far more comfortable than he recalled (especially compared to his bedroll and the hard-packed dirt they’d camped on the previous nights).

He slept in a bit later than he normally would have, even though he went to bed roughly the same time he always did, shortly after he’d tucked Alice back in. Belle had retired nearly as soon as he’d rejoined them, most likely so she could have some more time to read on her own, but she’d given him an arched eyebrow as she headed to her room that he couldn’t quite interpret, though suggested she was leaving him alone with Emma intentionally.

There hadn’t been much for them to say, however, other than show her the way to the little-used spare bedroom and wish her a good night. He did apologize for the relatively spartan state of the room—it was truly just a bed and a nightstand, with threadbare curtains barely covering its windows, but Emma waved him off. “Compared to some places I’ve slept, this is luxury,” she assured him. “Probably the nicest I’ll have for a while.”

That was a sufficiently awkward enough note to end the conversation on. He could only hope sleep had found her as swiftly as it had him.

Now, though, as he lazed under the covers, glancing around the familiar trappings of his room and smelling the first whiff of sausage from where Belle was already working in the kitchen, he found that sleep had rested his body and brain, but not his conflicting thoughts and feelings.

But they only needed to lay low for a couple of days—just enough time to let Neal lose their trail and for them to come up with some semblance of a plan for exoneration. He could handle that.

He hoped.

And while he was sorely tempted to whittle down that time by hiding away in his room further, his stomach grumbled its own desires, so he slowly got up, dug some fresh clothes out of his musty wardrobe, quickly cleaned up at his well-loved wash stand, and headed out to the main room.

He was glad that Belle was the only one up—and that she already had a fresh mug of coffee waiting.

They shared quiet good mornings as he grabbed the cup, took a long pull from it, then went about setting the table per usual while exchanging simple pleasantries, like asking how he slept, and how she was liking the new book. Comfortable silence eventually settled on them as they continued their morning routine, but once he took a seat—while Belle was plating pancakes—she addressed him a bit more seriously.

“Killian…I know you know what you’re doing, and I trust your judgment, but…please be careful.”

“I always am,” he assured her. It had only taken one close call with a wanted pirate he was bringing in for him to exercise more caution while working, lest anything potentially take him away from Alice. (Though it wasn’t as obvious an injury as that to his left arm, the scar leftover from the bullet graze he took in that encounter carried almost as much weight.)

“You know what I mean,” she admonished, giving him a stern look. “I’m not talking physically; I’m talking emotionally.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she wouldn’t let him. “Don’t try to deny anything; I know you well, Killian Jones, and I read your letters.”

He’d long since learned when to argue with Belle and when it was a losing battle; the current discussion was the latter. Instead, he took another drag of his coffee to gird himself for whatever she was building to.

She busied herself at the stove for a bit, letting tension build in the quiet (though he could hear the creak of a bed frame somewhere in the house). But after she’d set the platters of food on the table, she put her hand over his brace—more specifically, over his blunted wrist. “We’ve both been there, Killian,” she cautioned, concern in her blue eyes. “I don’t want you—either of us—to get hurt again.”

“I know,” he sighed, reaching over to pat her hand where it rested on his arm. She’d always had an uncanny way of reading his worries better than he did. “I know.”

She gave him a sad half-smile and then a peck on the cheek—but then both jumped at the sound of the squeaky floorboard in the living room being stepped on.

“Oh—sorry,” Emma apologized, averting her eyes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nothing to interrupt,” Belle waved off and moved back toward the stove. “Coffee?”

“Please,” she practically moaned, drawing a chuckle from the others. Almost instinctively, Killian stood and pulled out a seat for her, which she accepted, albeit cautiously—as though she was afraid she might break something or commit a faux pas.

Until the mug was in front of her and she pounced on it, draining it in one gulp.

“Did you sleep alright, love?” he had to ask.

“Oh, best I’ve slept in a while,” she answered. “Almost too well. Is that mattress magic? Because I could very easily fall back into it right now.”

Belle laughed and refilled Emma’s mug. “No; it’s exceedingly normal. But probably better than sleeping in the woods.”

“By far.”

The three of them started in on breakfast—Alice wouldn’t be up for a bit—and made light conversation, but he could tell something was bothering Emma.

So could Belle. “It looks like a question is caught in your throat,” Belle said to her. “You can ask.”

(He wasn’t sure what it meant that, despite her reservations, Belle seemed just as comfortable around Emma as he was.)

Emma briefly worried her bottom lip while glancing between the two of them. “I didn’t mean to overhear, and if I’m prying, you don’t have to answer, but…what you were talking about when I came in. Where exactly is it you’ve been before?”

Killian looked over at Belle, who had also sought out his attention. Even though his own history had been nagging at him the past few days, he’d hesitated to share it with Emma, for what were hopefully obvious reasons. But Belle’s tale wasn’t his to share—even if, he now realized, they had discussed it in part. Still—it was a fairly loaded question and he’d need a boost of confidence from Belle to be willing to divulge it.

The far-too-casual shrug she gave was enough.

“I haven’t told you about Alice’s mother, have I?” he started, facing Emma again.

“No,” she confirmed. “But I got the impression she was out of the picture.”

“Aye, and with good reason.” Belle was already topping off his mug, knowing he’d need the extra fuel; he swallowed it down and began the story:

After Milah died, after he’d lost his hand, and early in his bounty hunting career, he was still an angry young man but no longer quite so rebellious. That said, he still enjoyed his fair share of vices—most notably, booze and women (and the combination thereof).

He was no stranger to dive bars as both a place for recreation and information, and found himself in one such locale on a quest for news of the Dark One—one of the most sadistic criminals the kingdom had yet known. He wasn’t just after riches; he was after power—of the magic variety. It wasn’t uncommon to find a wake of bodies with their hearts ripped from their chests in his trail as he sought the magical objects that would grant him what he sought.

One of those bodies was Milah’s, though that one was obviously a bit more personal.

When Killian’s less-than-legal pursuits of the demon proved fruitless, Nemo had offered him the chance to do it the right way—and he’d jumped on it. Granted, there were some bits of procedure and bureaucracy back then that he found pointless (and, if he was being honest, still did), but he was certainly making more progress than his previous attempts.

That night in particular had ended up being a bust; whatever tip Graham had passed along to him was a dead end, so he decided it best to salvage the evening any way he could. He started by ordering a bottle of cheap rum from the bartender and quickly downing a few shots, which apparently drew the attention of another patron.

Her name was Eloise, and though he couldn’t recall her opening line, he remembered being charmed by it—as well as her strawberry-blonde curls and the bit of wildness in her smile. They began to exchange words and shots, until they had a hearty buzz going on. He made up a story about still being a sailor; she told him she worked as a maid for a local aristocrat. In hindsight, he should have known she wasn’t being forthright when he wasn’t either, but he didn’t rightly care in the moment.

She invited him to her room above the bar. He accepted. And they spent one very pleasurable night together, before bidding an amicable adieu in the morning.

Though he wouldn’t have minded seeing her again, he wasn’t naive enough to expect he ever would—especially as the chase for the Dark One picked up. He’d honestly forgotten entirely about her as he worked towards, and eventually succeeded in, taking down the demon in the next few months.

It wasn’t until several months later, when he was tasked with bringing in a con artist named Eloise, that the memories of her and that night began to trickle in—but it was a fairly common name, and he had no reason to assume the two were the same. She hadn’t struck him as the type to prey on others under the guise of an expectant mother in need of help, only to rob them blind and disappear.

Not until he actually tracked down the mark to where she was operating, in a town not far from where they’d met, and the woman on the other side of the door at the address given to him by her latest victim proved to be none other than his past paramour.

They were both briefly stunned, but he recovered sooner than she did. “Well, hello again, love. Should I be flattered that you didn’t steal from me, too?” he asked as he quickly handcuffed her.

“It wasn’t me,” she protested, albeit weakly; even she knew the jig was up. “I’m just an innocent young mother—”

“Sure you are,” he sneered, glancing her up and down as he slipped the magic-blocking cuff on her wrist and took in the noticeable lack of belly; he had to assume it had been an illusion and he wasn’t about to let her use any power she might have to escape. “You’re not even actually pregnant.”

“Not anymore,” she scoffed.

“What?” That made him pause, but the subsequent wails of an infant from farther back in the room drew his attention.

“Yes, I really had a baby,” she continued, sounding more annoyed than happy over the event. “No thanks to you.”

“What?” he repeated, further in disbelief.

“She’s yours. Go on, look.”

A pit had formed in his stomach, and his instincts warned that she could be lying. Although—he thought back to the date of their tryst, and the math did add up.

Cautiously, he stepped toward the bassinet in the middle of the bare-bones room. The babe’s cries picked up in intensity, and he was overcome with the need to comfort her. But he remained wary.

However, he knew it was true the moment he stood over her. Her features were unmistakably similar to those of his mother, most notably the slightly pointed ears he had also inherited—a trademark passed down from their elfin ancestry several generations back.

“Can you take her?” Eloise asked. “Honestly, I was about ready to give her up.”

Fire quickly replaced shock. “And you weren’t going to tell me?” The idea of any child being abandoned like he was, let alone his own flesh and blood, was horrifying.

“How would I have?” she spat back.

She had a point; they’d only ever exchanged first names. But she couldn’t truly expect him to be thinking rationally at the moment, not with the weight of the information—and responsibility—she’d just dropped on him.

He swallowed, and then turned his attention back to the babe, and carefully picked her up, careful to keep the sharp end of his hook away from her. She quieted nearly as soon as he pulled her against his chest, and looked up at him with her big blue eyes—and that was that.

Thankfully, he’d been working the job with Graham, who soon arrived to see what was taking so long. Graham took over from there, after Eloise assured him that she wanted nothing to do with the child. “She’s all yours. Good luck—she’s a screamer.”

“And then I took her home, and, nine years later, here we are,” he concluded. “It’s not something I’m the most proud of, but I wouldn’t trade Alice for the world.”

“Wow,” Emma sighed, but the way she was staring at the table and seemed to be hunched in on herself told him she was feeling a bit of shame. He hadn’t told her the story to make her feel bad, though there were some obvious parallels in choice of careers. “What happened to Eloise?” she asked timidly.

“She went away for a while,” he answered simply. “Unfortunately, I heard that she passed a few years ago. Though, if I’m being honest, it was something of a relief—I didn’t have to worry about her changing her mind about Alice anymore.”

“It’s her loss,” Emma told him. “Alice is amazing, and you’ve done a wonderful job with her.”

“Thank you,” he replied, blushing per usual. “But Belle gets a lot of the credit, too. Although the look of shock on your face when I arrived home with her is still seared in my memory,” he chuckled, glancing over at Belle.

“How else was I supposed to react? You didn’t even send a letter to warn me!” she chided, but she was laughing, too. If they hadn't been able to find any humor in the things life had thrown at them, gods only knew how insane they’d be driven by now.

“I guess that partly answers how long you’ve been living together,” Emma continued. “You said you were siblings, or sort of?”

He and Belle exchanged another look that probably only served to confirm their type of relationship to Emma, even though it was a fair bit more complicated than that. “Well,” he started, but wasn’t sure how to continue without getting into Belle’s story, and he didn’t want to be the one to share it.

Thankfully, she took over. “Actually, that’s where my own tale comes in,” Belle started. “I’ve been with him since the take-down of the Dark One…because I was with the Dark One.”

“He had you captive?” Emma gasped.

“No, I was…I loved him.”

The fact that she used past tense didn’t escape Killian’s notice; it had taken Belle some time to come to terms with her feelings towards the man, even if she’d been glad their relationship was over and he’d been imprisoned.

Emma’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’re that Belle?”

Belle tilted her head in confusion. “Beg your pardon?”

Now Emma looked nervous—although Killian was quickly connecting the dots in his head. “I guess I forgot to mention last night that my ex was Neal—the Dark One’s son,” she explained.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Belle cursed. “So I was nearly your mother-in-law?”

“Apparently,” Emma replied, laughing slightly in disbelief. “It always bugged Neal that his dad was dating someone not a ton older than he was.”

“I can’t say I was unaware of the situation, but Neal came around so little, it wasn’t a significant concern on my end.” Belle sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry to hear his life went in that direction, though; I know he didn’t like the idea of following in his father’s footsteps, but it sounds like he didn’t stray as far from it as I might have thought.”

“He hates magic, but otherwise, he’s not afraid to go to any end to get what he wants.”

“That definitely sounds familiar,” Belle commiserated. “Well, I suppose that all was more of an answer than you expected to your initial question.”

“A bit,” she concurred, “but I guess I’m not all that shocked that the world is slightly smaller than I thought it was.” The warm look she gave Killian then suggested she didn't mind that fact.

It was strange for Killian to think that, in another life, they all might still have found their way to each other; it was an idea he was about to voice when Alice practically ran out of her room, shouting her good mornings to everyone.

As she usually did, Alice became the focus of everyone’s attention, and hers was unsurprisingly fixated on Emma, who thankfully had already had her meal or she wouldn’t have been able to eat between Alice’s endless questions.

But as the day wore on, his mind wandered back to his previous thought—had fate actually brought them all together? The overlaps in their lives were too numerous to be coincidental.

Or was he merely grasping at straws in an attempt to justify the feelings that wouldn’t budge? Because if there was one thing he realized while reflecting on his past liaisons—particularly with Eloise, and the memories of Milah that always came up when mentioning the Dark One—it was that, despite knowing he shouldn’t, he most certainly still had them for Emma as well, far deeper than he thought he did.

Belle had been correct in her warning; she usually was. But only he could mitigate the impending heartbreak.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Killian tried to keep his distance from Emma over the next couple of days, but the house was only so big, and there was still the matter of determining a plan before they headed for Longbourn that necessitated they spend time together.

To make matters worse—or better; he wasn’t sure—Emma seemed to fit into their little life all too well. She was patient with Alice; she got on well with Belle; and seemed comfortable exploring the woods nearby and lounging on the seashore the house overlooked. She insisted on helping with chores when Alice wasn’t dragging her away to show her something, even though he and Belle both assured her she was fine—but he knew it was old instincts (orphan instincts) trying to make sure she was useful so they’d keep her around, even if her stay had a definitive end date.

Those couple evenings were spent far too casually and comfortably in the great room, everyone chatting, reading, or just with Emma in her cat form curled up and purring in Alice’s lap. Ever inquisitive, that was one of the first questions Alice had begged of Emma after she interrupted their breakfast conversation. (Though they feigned disinterest, the other adults were curious about that, too.)

Emma had shown Alice her tattoo, explaining how it was imbued with transformation magic. “All I have to do is think about it, and then it just…happens.”

Alice traced it with her index finger. “Does it always hum like that?”

“Hum?” The question seemed to take Emma aback.

“Aye—you don’t feel it? It’s like—warm and vibrate-y.”

Emma looked over at Killian with a confused furrow in her brow, but Killian could only raise his and shrug in response. Considering he and Belle were only ever on the periphery of magic use, they had long since learned to roll with whatever Alice said about her own innate sense of it.

“Can you show me?” Alice continued, oblivious to the adults’ bewilderment.

“Of course,” Emma answered, sounding glad for the redirect. She shifted forms right on the chair, and then shifted back, all while Alice stared with stars in her eyes.

“Papa, can I get a tattoo like that?” she nearly begged.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, but had to tell her, “Maybe when you’re older.”

Alice briefly pouted, but then grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her away on a tour of the house and yard, and that had been roughly the situation for the duration of those couple days.

At night, after Alice was asleep, they discussed the best way to deal with Emma’s predicament and to hopefully deal with Neal at the same time. They’d come to something resembling a plan, and Killian had Belle send a letter to Nemo when she made a trip into the closest village the day before they set to depart—a moment he was both eager for and dreading.

Obviously, he hated to leave Alice again so soon, even if he’d only be gone a few days and not the almost interminable weeks he’d spent chasing Emma. But despite his best efforts, it was far too easy to fall into playing family with Emma there, and more than once, he had to catch himself—from admiring the way the sun hit her braided-back hair while she worked in the yard, hinting at its natural golden color; from grinning at the way she and Alice were giggling and holding hands upon returning from a hike; from realizing just how close their bodies—especially, her lips to his—were while hunched over a map of the kingdom. (She may also have jumped away upon noticing the last one, much to his simultaneous relief and dismay.)

(The number of times one of them caught the other’s eye while trying not to stare was countless.)

At least he had a bit of a respite during nightly story time with Alice, even if the book was intrinsically linked with Emma. Seeing it through Alice’s eyes gave it a different life, though, and he was enjoying picking up on details he had missed in his first furious read-through while also seeing Alice’s reactions. And gods, he prayed she never grew too big to share this tradition with him; even if she was well on her way to adolescence, having her tucked into his side as they read made it feel like she’d always be his little girl—and like he wasn’t missing out on watching her grow when his work took him away for far-too-long stretches of time.

(And he was actively avoiding thoughts of the bounty he’d likely collect when this adventure was all over, considering the cost it was going to come at.)

On that last night of their detour, he had kept reading until Alice was asleep—which didn’t take long, as she’d spent the better part of the afternoon running around in the ocean’s shallows with Emma. When he reached the end of that chapter, he made sure to put the bookmark at the end of the previous one so she wouldn’t miss anything when they picked it back up.

He set it on her bedside table and slowly stood from the mattress, being careful to not disturb Alice too much. She noticed, though, and was blearily blinking her eyes even before he’d pressed a kiss to her forehead and wished her a good sleep.

“Papa, I like Emma,” she muttered sleepily.

His heart skipped the same beat it’d been hopping over for the past few days. But he responded as casually as he could. “I’m glad to hear that, starfish.”

“Do you like her?” she asked innocently.

“Aye, I do. That’s why I’m helping her.”

“But do you like-like her? Like how Westley likes Buttercup?”

He sighed. It was far too late into the evening to even try to give that a proper answer. “I…I don’t know, love,” would have to suffice for now.

“Well, you should,” she told him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

He had to chuckle at her bluntness, even if the statement reminded him why he didn’t want Alice getting attached to Emma in the first place. Ah, well—he could deal with the fallout from that later, whatever it ended up being. “Good night, Alice,” he farewelled, tucked her in with a kiss, and turned down her lamp. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Papa,” she replied—at least, it sounded vaguely like that, as she was well on her way back to sleep.

Emma had already turned in when he went back out to the main room, and he probably should have, too, but Belle was staring into the fire with a pensive look on her face that usually meant she wanted to talk.

“Well,” he started as he eased down into his chair opposite her. “What lecture do you have for me now?”

She rolled her eyes at his bluntness, but then her expression turned soft. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he deflected, though it was more for his own benefit than to get her off his case.

“Killian David Jones,” she chided. “You know what I mean. You always do.”

“Isabelle Colette French,” he threw back, but didn’t have much more of a retort. “Aye, I’ll be fine…eventually,” he conceded. “I’ll have to be. Though I may brood for a bit.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.” She stood and stretched, yawning audibly, then rested her hand on his shoulder. “And it’s a bloody shame; I really like her. You’d be so good together.”

His jaw dropped in shock; that was quite the opposite of her position just the other morning. He looked up at her to see whether or not she was being serious, but she was already walking away to her room. She wasn’t one to tease in matters of the heart, though (well, other than mocking over the occasional pass made at him by the Widow Feinberg in the village, but the older woman did that to any man under the age of 40).

As good as the validation of his feelings felt, there wasn’t much to be done about it. He still had to get Emma to Longbourn—she was still a wanted criminal. He sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand down his face in something resembling exasperation, though more with the situation than anyone in particular.

He stared at the dying embers in the fire for another long moment, before deciding it best to head to bed himself; they were planning on setting off by midday, and there was still packing and other chores to be done before they could leave, so he’d need his rest tonight.

Of course, it wouldn’t come. Anxiety and anticipation for whatever was to come the next couple of days wouldn’t let him rest, along with the ongoing uncertainty towards how he should approach his feelings for Emma.

Should he just give in, and enjoy whatever they might have for this brief time? Or start pulling back and brace for the inevitable withdrawal? (He’d experienced that a couple times in this life, purging alcohol from his system, and it hadn’t been pleasant; while this might hurt less physically, the emotional toll would probably come close.)

He tried all the tricks he normally used when sleep evaded him—listing off constellations, making lists of what needed to be done, even simply counting his breaths—but any time he managed to drift off, it wasn’t for long; he was far too consumed by nervous energy.

Finally, some time near sunrise, he gave up altogether and threw the covers off in a fit of exasperation. He got up and grabbed his dressing robe, stepped into his slippers, then tiptoed outside as quietly as he could manage, lest he disturb his sleeping housemates.

He wandered out to the beach, hoping the gentle waves and rising sun would give him a chance to calm his erratic nerves, only to find he wasn’t the only one with that idea. Emma stood near the edge of the shore, arms wrapped around her as she stared out at the horizon. A slight breeze blew her skirt around her legs and her hair into her face, and she shivered; apparently, he was the more prepared of the two of them.

“You should be asleep,” he said softly as he wrapped his robe around her. “Or at least dressed more warmly.”

She had jumped when he spoke, evidently not hearing his approach, but relaxed when she saw it was him and didn’t hesitate to pull the robe tighter around her. “So should you. And I guess I forgot how cold it can get by the ocean; I don’t remember it being this chilly in Storybrooke.”

“We’re a bit farther north, and Storybrooke has some natural insulation from the wind with the way its harbor is shaped. Your skirt certainly doesn’t help,” he added lightly.

She had borrowed a dress from Belle to wear while her cream gown was being washed; it fit, but she had a good few inches on Belle and it left her lower legs uncovered. There wasn’t much light but by the way she was standing, he had to assume her skin was covered in gooseflesh. (His certainly was, but he was also more accustomed to the temperature. Still—he was grabbing a sweater when they went back inside.)

“I’ll survive,” she brushed off, but the way she seemed to nestle even further into the robe showed her appreciation. As did the genuine “thank you” that followed.

“I’d be a piss-poor host to drag you all this way and then let you die of a chill in what's supposed to be a haven. But you’re most welcome.”

They fell silent, watching the sky and sea as the waves lapping at the shore tried to drown out the unsaid words between them. The horizon was just beginning to lighten, slowly hiding the stars that hung low in the sky.

“So, why couldn’t you sleep?” Emma asked quietly, her eyes staying forward.

He hummed in thought—not because he didn’t know the reason, but because he wasn’t sure he wanted to confess how much of it was her. “Just…a little bit of everything,” he settled on, hoping that was equal parts vague and descriptive enough to define his mental state.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” she replied, sighing a bit. At least he wasn’t alone in that.

She seemed very intent on rolling a stone around under her boot, so he didn’t say anything to interrupt her, but he did notice that she seemed a bit restless. It wasn’t surprising, really, when he thought about it; not only was she on the cusp of going to prison, most likely, she also hadn’t taken a chance to really pause in the last couple months. He had chalked it up to life on the lam, but it was just as likely she enjoyed being constantly on the move. Before Alice, he’d much preferred constant motion, lest his ghosts catch up with him, and goodness knew Emma had a few of her own.

But…she was still here. So he had to ask, “Why haven’t you run away?”

She stiffened a bit at the question, but wasn’t outright offended—which told him he’d hit close to home. “I thought about it,” she said, sounding almost disappointed. “Even this morning, I debated just transforming and making a break for it. But I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” His voice was far more unsteady than he intended.

“It’s kind of like you said,” she shrugged, eyes still on the pebbled ground. “It’d be incredibly rude of me to take advantage of your kindness only to make my own escape, and probably end up getting you into trouble in the process. There’s been enough collateral damage around me lately; I couldn’t live with myself if I did that to you, too.”

The familiar stutter of his heart allowed the breath he was holding to escape. He hadn’t doubted that she cared for him, but hearing that was somewhat bittersweet: she cared enough about him to not hurt him, even though it was coming at the cost of her own freedom. And he didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I…I appreciate that, greatly,” he eventually told her. He also finally dared to look over at her, only to find her giving him a small, slightly sad smile that he both understood and returned.

Another shiver took over her then, so he stepped closer and wrapped his arm around her. Only then did he realize that he hadn’t put his brace on, but if she noticed his blunted left wrist resting on her shoulder, she didn’t acknowledge it; all she did was rest her head on his shoulder, bringing them ever closer.

They stayed like that until the sun fully rose, bathing everything in its orange light. It wasn’t hard to imagine starting the day like this more often than not, but such daydreams were moot at this point.

A shudder wracked his body; it was his turn to feel the effects of the cool temperatures, even if the sun was warm on his face. Emma only chuckled, though, and stepped back, but reached for his hand. “C’mon; let’s head back in. Do you have any cocoa?”

“Maybe?”

“I hope so. Let me make you some.”

Thankfully, they did, and she made it with care. He was mildly amused when she dug out some cinnamon from the pantry to put on hers, but when he tried it for himself, he immediately understood the appeal: sweet with just a hint of spice—much like the woman sitting across from him at the dining table. (Belle and Alice seemed to enjoy it, too, when they eventually rose.)

While he would have much preferred that morning be the first spent in a similar manner, if it had to be the last, he would take it.

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#cs ff #cssns 2021 #cssns21 #wish kj ff #most wanted #my ff

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

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I won't be able to post the final update of Ivory Runs Red today. My ten year old daughter had orthopedic surgery today:

The doctors were great, it went well, and she is recovering at home. However, I just can't manage anything else. I would tag everyone following the story, but I haven't slept the past two nights for worrying about this, so I'm just too tired. If @cssns can reblog this, however, I would appreciate it!

I'm also fielding dozens of texts and phone calls from friends and family, so if I don't respond to people on here, please know it isn't because I don't appreciate you. 💖💖💖

#personal #update #or lack thereof #ivory runs red #cssns #cssns 2021

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eastwesthomeisbest · 4 years ago

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Just gonna stand there and watch me burn...

That's alright, because I like the way it hurts...

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Captain Swan / Killian/Demon AU for @cssns

@kmomof4 @snowbellewells @lifeinahole27 @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @hollydaisy23 @alexa-fangirl-forever

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jarienn972 · 4 years ago

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La Sirena - Chapter Seven

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

After not getting much writing done over the hectic (and rather awkward this year) holidays, the muse finally returned long enough for me to finish this latest chapter of my @cssns story. (It also didn’t help that my old laptop finally gave out on me so I had a 2 week delay while waiting to get a new one and get all of my files transferred.) This chapter sets up the coming climax as there are only two more chapters planned and as you’ll see by the end of this chapter, it’s not going to be fair sailing for their blossoming relationship. We left off in chapter six with a stunned Killian learning more about Emma's past and the history surrounding the only known human who'd ever been deemed worthy to avoid the siren song. There's still a lot of uncertainty for this pair as confrontation with Regina looms - and things are going to get very stormy.

Thanks again to @kmomof4 for being an amazing beta and cheerleader and to @courtorderedcake for her stunning artwork!

Catch up from the beginning on AO3 or FF.net or here on Tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six

Pause to Reflect

How does one act upon learning that they might be descended from a deity? Certainly there was nothing about his life so far that would have suggested such a divine lineage could be possible. Liam had practically raised him after their mother's passing when Killian was barely walking. Their father had become an increasingly abusive drunkard, rarely gracing his sons with his presence or assistance. Shortly after Killian's 13th birthday, Liam departed home to begin his new life by enlisting in the Royal Navy. By this time, their father had remarried and his new family became more important than his eldest sons.

Left to fend for himself often, Killian couldn't wait until he could enlist as well - going so far as to lie about his age to join at the tender age of 16 instead of the legal 18. It had helped that his brother, then Lieutenant Liam Jones, was the rising star of His Majesty's Royal Navy. The younger Jones was welcomed with open arms and while life on board a Navy ship in the shadow of his esteemed sibling wasn't particularly easy, it was far preferable to life back home. Killian flourished in his new life at sea and began rising through the Royal Navy ranks himself, but had his success in the maritime realm been a small, random clue from the universe that he was a direct descendant of the god of the seas?

What pure, unadulterated rubbish, Killian thought as he absentmindedly raked his fingers through his dark hair. It couldn't even be remotely possible that he was related to a god.

But then how was any of this real?

Days ago, he'd set out to explore an uncharted, cursed island on His Majesty's orders only to end up being taken captive and losing too many of his men in the skirmish. The pirates who'd abducted him had then sailed away, making the fatal error of venturing into waters guarded by mythical sirens. They were sung to their demise, leaving their treasure-laden ship to run aground and sink into the depths - yet their prisoner survived.

Miraculously, Killian Jones was still here amongst the living. He'd survived the battle, survived captivity and survived the supposedly tantalizing call of the sirens only to find his life in jeopardy once again from those same vindictive sirens?

Bloody hell, Jones… What has your life become?

"...We may not have much time to prepare…," Emma's voice brought him back from his mental wanderings. "Killian? Are you even listening to me? This is quite serious…"

"I'm sorry, Love," he replied sheepishly as he scratched at the week's growth of ruddy, wiry whiskers along his jawline. "I guess I allowed my mind to drift off at the absurdity of all this nonsense. All that I have learned today hasn't exactly been the easiest pill to swallow, you know…?"

"What about this debacle do you need to swallow?" she questioned, not understanding his chosen euphemism.

"Saying that something is difficult to swallow means that it's just a smidge hard to believe. Oy, this has been quite the long week…" He cringed the very moment he uttered those words, chastising himself for using another expression she wasn't likely going to understand. "Nevermind…," he sighed. "Let's just focus on what we need to do at this moment."

"So then you admit that you were not listening?" she scolded him as she placed a woven reed basket filled with a variety of fruit onto the sandy ground by his feet while tossing a ripe fig towards him. Well, maybe she'd thrown it at him, he surmised as he caught the fig mere inches before it would have struck his still-healing forehead. He frowned his feigned displeasure but she ignored him, continuing her instruction. "I know Regina. We aren't going to have much preparation time and you will need your strength, so eat. I'll raise a protective spell around the cavern but it may be of little use against the full council - or against the powers of a god."

"I thought you didn't want to use your magic?" he queried, biting into the sweet fig as she'd ordered. Oh, what he wouldn't have given for a huge slab of savory, tender mutton right now…

"I have no choice. If I can provide you with even some brief protection, then I must. I brought this retribution upon myself the moment I rescued you…"

"Why did you?" he interrupted. "Why did you choose to rescue me? If you were aware of the huge risk you would be taking with that act, why didn't you let me drown?"

Her emerald green eyes cast solemnly downward as she stood in contemplative silence for a moment. "My instincts told me I should," she replied after a long pause. "You were injured and weak and my intuition insisted that I needed to save you. I do not regret my decision and perhaps this is why…" She lifted her gaze to meet his as an almost wistful smile stretched across her lips. "Perhaps you were meant to save me."

"Save you?" This time, he was the one who failed to grasp the intention of the statement, but his query would go unanswered as the cavern was plunged into ominous darkness. The midday sun that had mere seconds ago been reflecting off of the surface of the spring had, in an instant, been replaced by the blackness of midnight. "That can't be good…" Killian muttered as his hand instinctively inched toward the grip of his newly acquired cutlass.

Emma's expression hardened as she swallowed back the awful lump forming in her throat while spinning around to cast her eyes skyward at their narrow view of the heavens through the opening in the ancient lava tube ceiling.

"There is nothing good to come from these gathering clouds," Emma stated as she angrily set her jaw, a scowl now deeply carved where the gentle smile had previously graced her visage. "Stay here - and please, do not disobey my instruction this time. My protective spell will stall their actions but I do not know for how long. Allow me to try reasoning with them first?"

"And then what?" he wondered, tightening his fingers around the bronze cutlass, however useless it may be against a god.

"I wish I knew," she sighed as she unconsciously allowed her fingertips to brush across his forearm, a gesture that left his skin tingling and his heart aching as she sprinted away to confront the ghosts of her past.

***********

Emma couldn't remember ever seeing the waters of her typically serene bay so angry. She heard no birds singing from the swaying palms nor did she sense the presence of any of the local sea creatures. Her marine friends had wisely left the cove to escape the wrath of the gods, but Emma had no such choice. Shedding the linen tunic that would only weigh her down and entangle her fins, she darted to the end of the jetty and dove through the choppy waves. Her human legs morphed into her lithe, muscular tail the instant she submerged and with a powerful flick of her tailfin, she plunged into the depths in search of her sister.

Mocking chatter echoed through the seas and filled her ears but Emma chose to ignore it. Insufferable as she might be, Regina was really the least of her concerns if Triton became involved. She could only hope to plead her case to the council and perhaps they wouldn't be so quick to laugh once she proved Killian was a worthy human, deaf to the seducing siren call. They would have to show him mercy and perhaps then she could appeal to Poseidon's mercies as well to grant the wayward sailor a path home.

Sediment stirred from the ocean floor obscured her sight but she didn't need her vision to sense Regina and the council's presence. It surrounded her from all sides, a heavy weight trying to force her down because while she might still be physically one of their kind, Emma had long ago been ostracized. The oppressive atmosphere she felt here beneath the sea she'd long called home only served as confirmation that she was no longer regarded as an equal.

"Show yourself, sister!" Emma shouted, masking her fear with overt bravado. She'd be damned if she would bow to the council's pressure. "Let us settle this matter right here and now!"

The taunting words and laughter drew closer until Emma sensed the feather-light flick of something against her fin. A slithering tentacle skimmed and then encircled her forearm before Emma wriggled free and glared into Regina's grinning facade. She would have loved to have smacked her sister right out of the ocean with a whip of her tail, but Emma didn't dare waste the energy.

Regina, in her favored squid-like form, whirled around her estranged sibling a few times, creating a mini vortex around Emma's body before swirling to a halt roughly an arm's length in front of the beleaguered former siren. With her human arms, Regina daintily slicked back a few stray strands of ebony curls while adjusting her elaborate coral-studded headdress, gestures clearly intended to intimidate and remind Emma who was in charge here. Emma folded her arms across her breast in defiance, not about to be put off by Regina's posturing but still hoping she could conceal her growing anxiety in front of the council.

The remainder of the council began to appear from out of the blue depths, initially as shapeless blobs that she gradually began to recognize. The sirens took a diverse variety of marine forms, each choosing their preference based on individual strengths and morphing ability. There seemed to be a few new faces on the council, at least some she didn't remember after years of trying to put that chapter of her life behind her. The only thing Emma was certain of was that all seemed to be wrapped up in the same little bubble of disdain. Regina's influence may have been stronger than Emma anticipated.

"Erimetha…," Regina addressed her at last. "You have been accused by this council of sirens of violating our solemn code and aiding a human. Well, not just aiding - harboring. We believe you have allowed that same human to live with you. Did you suddenly feel the need for a pet after all of your years in banishment?" Her insult elicited a chorus of chuckles amongst the council members and while Emma's instinct would have been to snap at her snide remark, she bit her tongue and allowed it to slide - for now.

"As I have stated many times before, sister, I was never banished. You can believe that fallacy all you want, but I made the choice to leave entirely of my own volition," Emma stated.

"Semantics," Regina dismissed the argument with a shrug. "Doesn't change the severity of these violations that you stand accused of."

"I have committed no transgression," Emma insisted, "not that it matters to any of you! Every one of you blindly sings your song to entice those unsuspecting humans so you can appease the gods, but why? You're told that all humans are evil and unworthy to traverse our realm, but have you ever spoken to a human? Ever gotten to know one?"

"We were created merely to pass the gods' judgement upon those inferior beings." The statement came from a council member with flaming red hair who Emma recalled was named Zelena. She also recalled that Zelena was one of Regina's closest allies as the redhead continued speaking. "They all submit to our song and then drown themselves. If this act pleases the gods, who are we to disagree?"

"Even the great Poseidon himself said that those sailors who were deemed worthy would be allowed to pass through our realm unimpeded. Why would he make such a statement if he believed that no human would ever be worthy?" Emma countered, but her words were still falling on deaf ears.

"Please…," Regina chuffed. "No human has been determined to be worthy in nearly a millennium. All have surrendered themselves to our siren song and all have perished."

"Not all!" Emma snapped. "One survived your song. One was immune to your seduction. Perhaps the gods had already determined his worth?"

"So - you admit that you have been harboring a human here with you?" Regina demanded, eagerly waiting for Emma to incriminate herself as her tentacles coiled with anticipation.

"It is of no matter to you," Emma responded. "He still survived. I did not make him immune."

Regina stared back at Emma in disbelief of her sister's bluntness. "That's not possible. No human can be immune to our enticing call…"

"Killian never heard your song, nor mine," Emma blurted out, immediately regretting her utterance.

"Killian, is it?" Regina teased, a stomach churning smirk curling up the corners of her ruby red lips. "You gave your pet a name? Aww… how adorable… How about we go find out just how immune your pet really is?"

With a swish of her tentacles, Regina launched her body upward through the waves with Emma following close behind. They broke through and surfaced almost simultaneously but before Emma could speak, Regina let out a hearty cackle.

"A protection spell? Seriously, Emma, you really need to do better than that," Regina taunted, using Emma's preferred moniker as a derogatory slur. With the faintest wave of her perfectly manicured right hand, Regina's magic cancelled out Emma's protective barrier and a bewildered Killian Jones materialized upon the sandy shoreline in full view of the council. "So, this is your little pet human?" Regina regarded his bedraggled appearance from afar, noting his ill-fitting clothing, tousled hair and scraggly beard. "We're to believe that this pitiful looking thing is supposedly worthy of our realm?"

"Stop referring to him as a pet! He's an intelligent being, just as we are, and he has a name - Killian Jones!" Emma cried out in his defense, uncertain if he could hear their conversation from this distance.

"He's still an inferior creature," Regina scoffed. "Why would I ever believe that this - this scrawny human - could be immune to the call of the sirens?"

"Have the council sing. Sing yourself if you must," Emma offered. "You will all see that it will have no effect upon him. He does not hear the melody - not a single note!"

"Oh, I have plans to test your human," Regina sneered, her eyes narrowing and darkening malevolently. "Lord Triton!" she called out, much to Emma's horror. "Deliver me that kraken!"

#cssns #cssns 2020 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs au ff #siren emma #la sirena #things are about to escalate quickly #and I'm going to try hard to get this finished before signups for 2021 close!

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sotangledupinit · 3 years ago

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free fallin’

annnnd here’s my second fic for @cssns! it’s a rework of a fic i did for cs halloweek 2021 so i hope you like my changes and are ready for another multi-chapter fic! :D

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SUMMARY: On a dark and stormy Halloween night 27 years ago, five people stepped onto an elevator. They never stepped off. Now 28, Emma Swan and her son Henry work together to discover what caused her parents and the other inhabitants to suddenly disappear. //rewrite of previous work, expanded to a multi-chapter.

RATING: T for teen, though there’s some graphic descriptions of horror elements in the first chapter.

WORD COUNT: 7084 words

TAGS: Tower of Terror AU, Captain Swan, CSSNS 22

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hi! some of this may seem familiar to you if you read my original story for CS Halloweek 2021, but i've changed some things, added stuff, and reworked it better to be a multi-chapter fic. so yay! based on the theme park attraction Tower of Terror at Walt Disney World as well as the 1997 film starring Kirsten Dunst of the same name (and inspired by the same attraction).

***

“Are you absolutely certain you’re okay with this?” David asks one more time. He stands besides Mary Margaret, each of them slowly shrugging their coats on as their eyes stare at their daughter as if memorizing her every feature.

“Yes, we can always bring Emma with us so you can enjoy the party too!” Mary Margaret agrees, hands reaching out towards her baby girl.

Granny Lucas shakes her head, adjusting the baby on her hip. A single woman since her early twenties, Granny’s exteriors are rough and stern. She’s had to put up with more malarky than is right but it molded her to be fierce and stand her ground. Once she glares in their direction, David and Mary Margaret know they’ve lost their fight. “Absolutely not,” she says. “When was the last time the two of you had a date night? Emma’s just turned one – you two need some time alone. As a couple.”

David sighs, buttoning up his coat. “I have my pager on me. Beep me and I’ll call right away.” He takes Mary Margaret’s red scarf from their coat rack and wraps it around his wife’s neck.

“And I’ll have my cell phone in my purse. I also left the numbers for the hotel and the party on the refrigerator.” She rushes over to Granny and presses a featherlight kiss to her daughter’s forehead, smiling softly. “I love you, Emma.”

She feels David approach behind her and he places one hand on her back and the other cradle’s Emma’s head. “We really don’t mind bringing –”

“Go.” Granny’s exasperation pours through her voice. Her feet bring her to the front door of the apartment the couple lives in. Opening it brings in the chilly October air that hung in the hallway of the building. “I have Emma handled. I did raise three children and a granddaughter all by myself. Emma’s a breeze.” The couple looks at each other, still hesitant as they stand in their threshold. “Regina’s going to be mad if you’re late to her party.”

They kiss their daughter goodbye once more, giving themselves the extra second to cherish the moment, and then thank Granny before leaving.

Regina sighs as she stands at the reception desk of the lobby. The man behind the counter – Liam, his nametag says – is on the phone with the hotel’s house band. The one she booked months in advance for the Halloween party didn’t find it worth their effort to show up. Taking a sip of her champagne, her red lipstick leaves a mark on her glass and she figures she can get a refill once she gets back upstairs, barring no further problems.

Full moons brought out the crazies, and, she surmised, bad luck.

A light drizzle painted the street just beyond the hotel’s front doors, lights from the Hollywood Hills in the distance looking brighter.

When she became mayor of Storybrooke, it was a rundown ghost town just outside of Los Angeles. Half the shops on main street were closed down and the neighborhoods housed more foreclosures than people. She worked hard to make it the perfect picture of suburbia it is today, with a multitude of locally owned stores and restaurants, excellent schools, and safe, well-run neighborhoods.

Election year is next year and she’s already decided not to run. Nearly thirty years as mayor, yet nothing notable in her personal life.

Well, there always is Mary Margaret and her child. The thought makes her snort into her glass and she searches for a napkin to wipe her chin with. How sad is that thought?

Humidity warms the cool October night making the skin on her arms sticky. She pats at herself and waits for the phone call to end.

“Mayor Mills,” the accented man says. Liam’s dark curls are gelled to styled perfection and as cleanly done as his pressed uniform. She knows from her dealings with Brennan Jones – the years of board meetings and permit approvals and plans being run by her desk for the Hollywood Tower Hotel – that he’s grooming his eldest to take over. Brennan has never been the noblest man to sit with, always looking with one eye to seem sincere but glancing away with his other to check no one can see his crossed fingers behind his back. “The house band is already setting up in the Tip Top Club. If you have any other concerns, please let me know.”

He holds his hand out to shake but Regina turns away instead.

She leaves her empty glass at the counter and makes her way to the bathroom to freshen up. Hair tickles her cheeks and she can already tell the humidity is ruining her carefully crafted look. It’s going to be a dreadfully long night.

Liam waits until Mayor Mills exits the lobby before heading back to the staff lounge. He leaves the front desk in the trusted hands of his assistant manager Starkey and goes in search of peace and quiet for five minutes.

Things have been weird at the hotel since just before the party goers arrived. The storm outside is beginning to pick up and he groans as yet another hallway light flickers. The toilets in the upper floors began to flush by themselves and the card readers for the rooms on the front side of the building stopped working, all by six o’clock. Maintenance isn’t the issue, he reasons. He oversees the building’s maintenance and does what he can with what little leash his father gives him. Where all the issues came from is a mystery to him.

Something isn’t right, something… not natural.

His hand grips the knob of the staff lounge only to find it locked. Groaning, he knocks heavily on the door. “Killian!” he practically hollers. “I need you to open up!”

The dark wood door swings open and Killian stands in its threshold, shirt unbuttoned and tie hanging loose around his neck. It’s unfair that his little brother is a hair taller than him. He recalls when Killian used to ask him to reach up for something on the top shelf or looked to him for protection. For their father being around nearly their entire lives, his presence was consistently absent.

“The door wasn’t locked, brother,” Killian says. Liam ignores the lie on his brother’s lips as the younger Jones steps back to allow him in.

“There’s an issue with the band Mayor Mills hired. The house band is filling in but…”

Killian sighs as he realizes where Liam’s train of thought is going. “But Whale is nowhere to be seen and you need me to fill in?”

“You’re wonderful, little brother. Brilliant, truly.”

“Bloody hell, Liam. I’m 30 and I’m taller than you. I’m younger, but most definitely not little.”

“Now, now. Let’s not turn this into a measuring contest,” Liam chastises, though his amusement cracks his stern exterior. “I do appreciate you giving up your night off.”

“Well,” Killian says with a sigh, rebuttoning his shirt, fixing his tie, and heaving up his guitar case from the corner of the room. “Enjoy this while you can because soon I’ll be on the ocean where you can’t pester me to fill in. By the way, I expect overtime for tonight.”

“Regina!” Mary Margaret calls out. They’ve dropped their scarves and coats at the desk, David’s black suit looking straight out of a catalog and perfect for his Bruce Wayne outfit, her dark blue gown swirling around her ankles creating an elegant Snow White look. She prances over to her stepmother like a fairytale princess in the Disney cartoons and Regina only barely manages to hold in her disgust at the display.

“Well it’s about time you showed up,” she says to the couple. Her eyes dart to David and she teases, “Even your brother arrived on time. Clearly he’s the better twin.”

“You invited my brother?” David groans as they walk together to the elevator.

“You can thank your lovely wife,” Regina says. She rolls her eyes when she sees Liam and another hotel worker waiting at the elevators too.

Mary Margaret fidgets next to her husband, apologetic. Ask forgiveness instead of permission. Regina can’t say she disagrees with that line of thinking. “No one should be alone on a holiday. Especially family.”

“It’s Halloween,” Regina deadpans. The ding of the arriving elevator sounds, putting a stop to the conversation. Liam holds his employee back and lets them board first. The employee holds a large guitar case and, glancing at the eyeliner rimming his eyes and the rings on his fingers, she groans. He better not be part of the band.

“Really,” David whispers to his wife as he enters after Regina and Mary Margaret. “You invited James?!”

“He’s your family,” she hisses back, pasting a pleasant smile on her face as a way of greeting the employees. Moments before the elevator doors close, she spots James coming from the back of the lobby and heading towards the stairs, waving in his direction while David grunts. His brother merely smirks and raises his glass, the metal doors starting to slide close. It’s the most perfect look for anyone dressed as Two-Face.

It really is a toss-up, which brother grates on Regina’s nerves more. Only slightly less holier-than-thou than her stepdaughter, David has the whole shtick down. Animal rescue, helps old ladies cross the street, probably picks up garbage from the gutter.

Ugh, he’s so good it makes her sick.

His twin, on the other hand, couldn’t be more opposite. Poor Ruth Nolan would probably be run into an early grave if she was only raising James. The man is a hellion, is known for collecting paramours, and has an angry streak to make anyone flinch.

Despite her earlier jest, she’d prefer to deal with David any day of the week over his brother. James can take his smirk and glass of liquor and go to hell.

Regina only just barely held back a snarl, making sure it’s the last thing James sees before the doors finally slide shut.

“Mayor Mills,” Liam nods, pressing the button for the Tip Top Club. The elevator begins its ascent with a light jerk. He gives her a nervous glance she pointedly ignores. Clearly Brennan Jones put no investment into his hotel’s transportation if the elevators were still as slow and jerky as when the building originally opened, nearly 90 years before his purchase. “This is my younger brother, Killian. He’s incredibly talented and he’ll be the guitarist of our house band tonight.”

Lovely.

Soft sounds of the music playing from a boombox at the party waft through the elevator shaft as their car quickly approaches its final stop. It's some pop hit that she finds more horrible than Mary Margaret’s hope speeches before election night. Nothing like what her father played growing up in Puerto Rico before moving to Storybrooke.

She opens her mouth to question his decision in bringing aboard his brother, a downright unkempt scoundrel by the looks of it and in no form for the classy Halloween party she’s hosting, but right as the elevator is about to reach the Tip Top Club, their car jerks to a stop.

“What’s happening?” Mary Margaret asks. David rests a comforting hand on her back and Liam looks to his brother before turning to face the elevator panel next to the door.

Finger just inches away, a purple electric shock shoots out of the panel and gets Liam. Killian is quick to jerk him back and the second he does, the lights go out.

Darkness envelops them, their breaths caught in their throat as no one says a word. The emergency lights lining the ceiling are useless as they refuse to turn on. It’s only when there’s a flicker, just the smallest bit with a tint of purple to its glow, that the elevator lurches then drops into a free fall.

Screams erupt in the elevator car. Regina sees the couple next to her in each other’s arms and the brothers on the other side clinging to the rails of the car. Her stomach is in her throat and her hair rises as her body falls. The last thing she sees before their elevator crashes is a flash of purple light.

27 years later…

Emma stares at her son, her eyebrow raised and lips pressed into a thin line, waiting for his answer.

Henry only grins back at her, a small gap between his front teeth.

“Your teacher… who I grew up with… assigned you to write a story about the Hollywood Tower Hotel?”

He fidgets in his seat and her eyes narrow. In turn, he becomes stock still with his gaze wide-eyed. He even refuses to breathe. Got him.

“Okay, so Miss French didn’t actually assign me the Hollywood Tower Hotel. I chose it.”

Emma stares at him in disbelief. “…Why?”

Their history with the infamous hotel is well known around the Los Angeles area but most especially in Storybrooke, where nearly all of its inhabitants knew her parents. It’s part of why she ran away from her Uncle James when she was sixteen. And part of why she hesitated greatly when contemplating moving back almost a year ago.

Grandma Ruth had been too distraught by losing her son that she wasn’t fit to take in Emma when she was a baby. Despite Granny’s attempts to take care of her, she wasn’t blood so Uncle James took her in. Though, he was far from a parent. No rules, little guidance, and an absence of fatherly love meant Emma became self-sufficient before she was ten. It hurts now, to look at her son at the same age and know that she was practically living on her own. Uncle James was more a body that took up space in the living room and who signed school papers until she was able to forge his signature convincingly.

School was another thing entirely.

If there is one thing to be guaranteed, it was that when kids saw an easy target, they pounced, eliciting a thrill from goading their full childhoods and families over her head. She’d been called a freak and a loser but the taunts that hurt the most were the ones calling her unlovable and an orphan.

Those ones were true.

At first she tried to combat the bullies by telling her teachers. That gave the incidents more fanfare and opened her up to even more bullying outside school grounds. So in fourth grade, she taught herself how to throw a punch.

The only bullies who bothered her after that were the ones brave enough to say something to her face. Somehow, the whispers that started up behind her back afterwards hurt more.

“We had to pick a moment in history and create a story from it so why not one about our family?” He shrugs his shoulders, leaving Emma dumbfounded. She forgets her son hasn’t been affected the same way she has, that the fated night doesn’t haunt his every quiet moment like it does hers.

The happenings at the Hollywood Tower Hotel on Halloween night 27 years ago have become the stuff of legends. More than one amateur sleuth has traveled far to see the hotel up close and solve the mystery of how the two elevator shafts protruding from the front of the building suddenly disappeared that night, taking five people along with them.

Ghosts, curses, aliens – you name it, every few months someone shows up claiming to know the truth of what happened but none have been proven real. Moving out of Storybrooke didn’t allow her an escape from the shadow that encased her life. She’s been dodging requests from reporters to talk about the event for her entire life. They hunted her down in Storybrooke before she left, when she was still just a kid, and then followed her to Tallehasse and Phoenix and Boston and everywhere in between. Every once and a while, a brother of one of the occupants will pop up and ask for anyone who knows the truth to come forward with information, but it all leads to dead ends.

Honestly, the whole thing feels like an episode straight out of the Twilight Zone.

“Henry,” she begins, mind searching for the right words to say. “I don’t know if this is a good idea…”

Her son gets up from his chair and comes to stand beside hers, face set in determination. “Maybe we can solve this mystery together.”

Let it be known that Emma will do anything for her kid. Even if it means standing outside of the hotel her parents disappeared from so Henry can get a vibe of the place for his writing assignment.

“I know you and Grace have snuck out of her house and come here before,” she says as she leans against the cement fencing that lines the property. A wide wrought iron gate sits at the entrance, kept closed with a rusted chain and lock. The plants around the property are overgrown and she sees weeds popping out from cracks in the cement. She thinks the original owner died some years ago but can’t be certain. If it’s not news about her parents, she looks the other way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he evades. Standing on the tips of his toes, he tries to see beyond a particularly wild bush at the edge of the driveway just beyond the gate. His brow furrows when he doesn’t find what he expects.

A breeze blows through the trees and down the driveway, leaving Emma with a chill. Her son seems unaffected and a part of her wonders if it’s her mind getting to her.

People who have snuck onto the property or inspected it to solve the mystery swear the hotel is haunted. They share stories of unexplainable events taking place on the deserted property and supernatural occurrences, both of which make Emma snort. Things like ghosts and magic and vampires – ugh, that theory in particular, one where the inhabitants of the elevator became vampires and turned the hotel into their private bat cave, grinds her gears – are not real.

“Do you have everything you need?” she asks, shifting from foot to foot, eyes refusing to look at the hotel any longer.

Henry bites his lip as he looks up at her. “Can you tell me again what happened that night?”

She sighs. It’s not a story she likes repeating, especially since most of it is secondhand information. “Mayor Mills was throwing a Halloween Ball in the Tip Top Club. My parents, Mayor Mills, and two other people boarded an elevator to go to the club. There was a storm, the entire city lost electricity, and when the lights came back on a minute later, the elevator shafts disappeared, leaving no trace of anyone who was inside.”

“You know,” a young voice says behind her. She turns quickly, surprised to see a guy, not much older than 18, behind her with keys in his hands. He has sharp blue eyes and his brown hair is parted down the middle, the ends brushing his ears. A thin frame, his Hollywood Tower Hotel blazer hangs large on him. He gives her a nervous smile, “A lot of people claimed my papa cut corners getting the hotel fixed, that things weren’t working correctly and there were wiring issues. Which, I guess could be true, but that doesn’t explain the elevators disappearing and no debris.”

“You’re the owner’s son,” Emma guesses. She crosses her arms, eyeing him warily.

“I am.” He directs his attention to Henry who is watching the man in awe. “See the scorch marks on the outside of the building there?” His finger points to the front façade, burn marks in two identical vertical lines permanently staining the building. “That’s the only evidence left of that night.”

“Wow,” Henry says. Running back to the gate, his face pushes between the spaces and he fixes his gaze on the marks.

Emma eyes the newcomer, stepping into his eyeline so he can’t see her son. “Unless you’ve got an issue with us standing on the street, we’re good here. I don’t need you to put ideas in my kid’s head.”

The young man looks confused, mouth opening and closing as he tries to figure out what to say. “But you – you emailed me?”

Shaking her head, she immediately responds, “No I didn’t.”

Henry jumps away from the gate with a grin. He stands beside Emma and looks up at the man. “That’s because I did! Liam Jones, right? This is my mom. She’s Emma Nolan.”

Liam nods, his cheeks red, and says, “I actually go by LJ, not Liam.” Emma raises her eyebrow at this. He gestures to the building and shrugs, sighing, “I was born about seven years after that night, named after one of my brothers who disappeared then. But it’s weird, right? I kind of felt like my papa was trying to replace him with me.”

She swallows, nodding her head. “I’m sorry.”

LJ waves off her apologies and approaches the gate, flicking through the keys. “So you wanted a tour?”

“Yes!”

“No!”

Emma and Henry turn to face each other. She glares as much as she can at her son but he has his eyes wide, his hands clasped together, and – crap – he just stuck out the bottom lip.

The chains rattle as LJ removes them from the gate, Henry hot on his heels with every move.

“So you still own the hotel?” he asks him, pointing at the embroidered jacket he wears.

LJ nods. Creaking from lack of use, the gates open to the winding drive up the hill to the front doors of the Hollywood Tower Hotel. Sunlight beams through the breaks in the overgrowth and for a moment, Emma understands all the hype about the place in its heyday. There’s a peace that settles over her shoulders, like she’s in a long-lost private garden, and she takes a deep breath in.

Reality crashes down as LJ starts talking again, leading Henry up the drive with Emma following behind.

“Papa closed it for the investigation to see what happened to my brothers. It took years. Police investigated him and the property for faulty construction issues. Some people thought he demolished the two elevator shafts in order to expand, but there was no debris so that was ruled out. He was so broken up by everything – the disappearance, the investigation – that he vowed the hotel should not be opened again until the mystery of what happened that night is solved or my brothers are found.”

Emma trips on one particular crack in the driveway and the gravel breaks under her foot. “How can you afford to pay taxes and… maintenance?” A quick look around makes her wonder if any maintenance has actually been done, but the front of the hotel appears before her eyes and she gasps softly.

It’s one thing to see the glitz and the glam of a luxury hotel in photos but it’s another to see it in real life. A covered walkway with arches leads up to the front doors, mosaic tile covering the floors of the outside. The chairs on the patio on either side of the doors offer an unobstructed view of the Hollywood Hills with the Hollywood sign looking picturesque. She bets the backside of the hotel offers remarkable views of the Santa Monica Bay.

“Papa made a trust to pay for the upkeep. Plus I’m in school for mechanics and learning some building maintenance as I study. Things are a little dusty, but the lights still work. I can give you a tour,” LJ offers and Emma shakes her head.

“Oh no,” she starts. Her hands go out to grasp Henry by the shoulders before he can move inside and she shakes her head. “We are going to stay right out here.”

Henry eyes her suspiciously. “Why can’t we go in? Are you scared of ghosts?”

Emma represses the shudder that goes through her body at glancing up and seeing the empty lobby in front of her. The thought of being in the same place as her parents last were before they disappeared leaves an unsettling feeling in her stomach.

“I’m not scared,” she says to Henry. “Let’s just walk around the outside, okay? I bet there’s spiders in there.” She only feels a little bit bad when Henry shakes his whole body and sticks by her side, but sometimes she has to do what’s needed.

LJ leads them around the hotel, pointing out little details in the railings or on the tiles. She tunes most of it out, knowing her son is sucking it all up like the curious sponge he is. Instead, her breath is taken by the view of the water from the back porch, drawing her from the group.

The water glistens, far enough away that she can’t hear the waves but the sight still leaves her stunned.

“Awesome, isn’t it?” LJ says with a grin a few moments later. She nods, stepping closer to the railing and lets the sight roll over her shoulders in calming waves. What it must have been like, to be a guest here when everything was grand and to have this room from the hotel room. Incredible.

When she turns around though, LJ is just a few feet behind her but Henry is nowhere to be found.

“Henry?” she calls out. LJ follows suit, both of them looking for her son but he doesn’t appear at her voice. Her heart starts pounding and she wonders if the same thing that caused her parents to disappear so long ago just did the same to her son.

Curtains billowing in the wind catch her eye and Emma frantically makes her way over. The door to the hotel is slightly ajar, the cool breeze sweeping off the porch and into the back seating area leading to a number of hallways. She cautiously steps through, looking behind her to check with LJ, before fully entering.

Dust and cobwebs cover the furniture. Books are strewn on coffee tables, bags and suitcases are still piled on the luggage carts, and flowers long dead remain in the vases. “I thought you did routine maintenance?” she questions with a raised eyebrow, unamused.

LJ’s bashful look is accompanied by a scratch at his jawline. “It’s more wiring and keeping up with the electrical and pipes than cleaning…”

She hums, rolling her eyes and continues calling her son’s name. The front lobby is in much of the same state as the back and she looks for indents in the dust or a sign that something’s been moved. A glass on the reception desk glints from the sunlight beaming through the tall windows above the front doors and she can still make out the dark red lipstick staining the rim.

Glancing behind the check-in desk proves to be a waste with still no sign of Henry and her heart rate ticks up again. A chill is settling in her bones the longer she’s in the lobby and she studiously avoids the elevator shafts in the middle of the floor.

“Mom?” Henry calls out, voice scared and wobbly.

“Henry?!” Emma replies, pushing herself away from the counter and rushing around the corner. She hears music, like a boombox playing in another room, but when she runs through the tall white doors in the hall, she enters an empty ballroom and sees no boombox, no radio, not even a band. She calls her son’s name again but hears no response.

She feels the sensation of a breath along the back of her neck before she hears the voice in her ear.

“Welcome to the Hollywood Tower Hotel,” a deep voice says from behind her. Emma jumps in sudden fright and lets out a quick scream before her fight instincts kick in. In an instant, she reaches for one of the centerpieces on a nearby table, a heavy glass vase filled with flowers that have been long dead. She readies her arm as she turns around but there’s no one behind her when she looks. No door is swinging and no footsteps echo in the space.

The tension that coiled in her back keeps her body rimrod straight and straining. She eyes the empty ballroom and struggles to keep the quick succession of her breaths quiet. Though she desperately wants to call for her son, she worries any sudden noise could send danger in his direction. A chill runs down her arms to her fingertips and she tightens her grip on the vase.

A table cloth just a few paces over flutters in an imaginary wind and Emma feels the presence first. Pivoting, she immediately spots a handsome man standing in the middle of the ballroom, dressed in an impeccable bellhop’s uniform, the deep red complimenting his light skin and dark hair. He smirks at her, not afraid to show his enjoyment in the cat and mouse game he’s started, and he stands up straighter, arms behind his back.

She swallows hard at the image, a far cry from what the man – one of the Jones’ – looked like in photographs, vase still held high, as unease settles in her stomach. A wicked glint enters the man’s eye right as she opens her mouth to question him, but his words bet her to it.

“Checking in?” he asks, the devil on his lips and staining his words, smirk widening as he pulls a butcher’s knife dripping with blood from behind his back.

Holding back a scream, Emma tosses the vase with all her might.

Only for it to land right at his feet.

He clicks his tongue, chastising. “That hurts, love.”

The man, sin draped in red, starts a slow approach towards her and she immediately puts a table between them. Demands for Henry’s whereabouts rest on the tip of her tongue and she steels herself to face the man down when she hears her name echo from the hallway. The man’s brow furrows as his attention is momentarily taken by Henry’s yell and she uses it to her advantage.

With all her might, she pushes the table forward and straight towards the man. She doesn’t wait to see the impact, instead immediately turning on her heel and rushing out the white doors, leaving a cacophony of crashes in her wake.

Emma runs through the hallways, yelling out Henry’s name in quick intervals, her voice frantic and on the verge of becoming hoarse. He calls back to her, more frightened than she’s ever heard before, and she nearly barrels through the wall as she rushes into the kitchen.

“Henry!” she cries in relief, rushing over to hug him and falling to her knees in the process. He stands still in shock as she wraps her arms around him. Relief floods her system and she kisses his cheeks, murmuring how she’s happy she’s found him but that they have to leave. Except he doesn’t move. “Henry?” She pulls away from her embrace and examines his face, pale and sweaty. His breathing is as quick as hers and his eyes seem fixed on a point beyond her shoulder.

Standing up straight and turning to face whatever has her son in a trace, Emma immediately knows why.

Sunshine filters through two windows on the far wall of the kitchen as if putting a spotlight on the long stainless steel rolling table in the middle of the room. A lone figure lays on it, white sheet covering their body with one arm hanging loose. An uneaten apple rests precariously in the figure’s hand, blood dripping from the fruit onto the figure’s fingertips and down to a growing puddle on the floor.

“Let’s get out of here, kid.” Despite speaking in a whisper, it’s as if her words shatter the delicate calm over the room for not a moment passes before the figure sits up straight without effort. Emma and Henry scream in terror, jumping back but unable to tear their eyes from the sight before them despite her efforts to push her kid behind her.

Emma knows that figure.

Dressed in a dark gown with a matching black corset situated on top, the tall collar of the dress nearly reaches the figure’s ears. The vibrant red lipstick, their trademark, makes this figure – this Evil Queen – unmistakeable.

She’s studied the photos of the disappeared enough to recognize Regina Mills when she sees her, be it through photographs or in this… projection of sorts. The last photo of the former mayor of Storybrooke had been by Sydney Glass for the newspaper and it was taken right here, in the kitchens of the Hollywood Tower Hotel.

Emma knows the photo well. It was a posed shot, the mayor’s perfectly poised persona coming through in every shot as if being photographed by Vogue instead of the Storybrooke Mirror. The kitchen photo was of Regina leaning over an apple bite, a sampling on a fork hovering in the air on its way to her mouth. The piece in the newspaper was supposed to be about how Regina made her own desserts for the charity Halloween ball, her famous apple pie chief among them. The perfect kind of writeup for someone preparing to run again.

This Regina feels like a completely different person from the one she imagined through the photos. This one has a wicked grin and a narrowed gaze, portraying the perfect villain for a storybook tale.

Her voice runs like a smooth velvet down their spines as she inquires, “Won’t you stay for a bite?”

The wicked grin transforms into a sickly-sweet smile on her lips and Regina lifts her arm, long fingernails painted a shiny black adorning her blood-stained fingers and brings the dripping apple to her lips. She tilts her head at Emma and Henry who stare at her in shock and takes a large chunk out of it. In an instant, both Regina and the apple sizzle.

The apple rots before their eyes, turning as black as Regina’s nails, melting into her hand and sliding in large wet chucks to the floor. The former mayor is next, her skin drooping, cheek growing flaccid until it drops as low as her chin before falling to the metal table, revealing muscle and bone in its wake. Those too begin to droop and melt like the apple had, the sizzling noise growing louder as more of Regina disappears into a puddle.

Her smile, the sickly-sweet one that turns Emma’s stomach, remains on the mayor’s face despite their screams of terror and despite her body literally melting away before her.

Emma and Henry don’t stay long enough to watch the puddle that was Regina drip to the floor.

Her son’s tiny hand clasped in her own, Emma leads the two of them back to the lobby and the only exit she knows. Their lungs burn with fright and fatigue. They only come to a stop once they reach the lobby, their pants filling the silence as they take in the scene before them.

Leaning as far back in his chair as possible is LJ. Absolute terror colors his features and he shakes his head frantically as a womanly figure dances under an isolated cloud in what looks to be acid rain. The water’s green glow shines through the lobby and when she spins, a few raindrops leave her circle and land on the armrest of LJ’s chair, hissing as it burns through to the ground. He pulls his legs up to his chest to make himself as small as possible.

A second figure approaches LJ, a tall gentleman in a tailored suit and perfectly styled blonde hair. His attention is fixated on LJ and when he reaches a hand towards his own head, Emma turns Henry’s shoulders and presses his face against her stomach in anticipation of what’s to come. She’s glad she followed her gut as the moment Henry’s vision is no longer of the scene in front of her, the gentleman pulls his head from his shoulders dropping his hand to his side as the head in its grip continues talking some nonsense about enjoying their stay.

Emma merely gasps out a shuddered breath, feeling like she barely has any air in her lungs left so she can scream.

Oh no, she thinks, that’s my parents.

“A tad dramatic, isn’t it?” an accented voice drawls behind her. She cautiously turns her head in its direction as she holds Henry tighter in her arms. The man from the ballroom stands by the check-in desk looking bored and not as devious as he’d been a few minutes ago. “I prefer the subtle scare,” he continues, lifting his bloodied knife from beneath the desk. Her eyes widen as her breathing staggers again.

Even if she didn’t study their photos so much growing up, she’d know from the captivating blue eyes that this was LJ’s brother. Killian Jones.

There’s been plenty of information about most of the people in the elevator that night. Regina had been mayor for as long as anyone could remember, her parents were staples in the community for their jobs and their volunteer work, and Liam Jones was the eldest of Brennan Jones’ two sons, poised to take over the hotel once their father retired. He’d met with vendors and local residents to ensure smooth relationships, and he captained the many events the hotel entered. His younger brother Killian was a mystery though.

She had nothing to go off of when it came to him, making him the most terrifying of everything she’s seen tonight.

Liam Jones walks out from one of the employee back rooms decked out in his fully Hollywood Tower Hotel uniform and shakes his head at Killian. “Be honest with the lass, little brother. You’re just mad those two have finally upstaged you.”

The elder of the two plucks the knife from Killian’s lax grip and holds it up for inspection. Emma feels the moment Liam’s eyes peer at her just over the bloodied metal.

He points the knife at her. “This yours?”

Emma doesn’t know if he’s asking after the ownership of the knife or its blood but she’s had enough. Adrenaline is leaving her body at a fast pace and she will not allow her son to be trapped inside this god forsaken place.

It’s been years since she’s picked up Henry in her arms but she does so in an instant with a strength she didn’t know she possessed. His body is wrecked with tremors and he clutches tighty to her shirt, his legs wrapping around her waist without hesitation as he buries his face into her neck. She cradles him to her chest as she rushes back out to the patio, around the hotel, and to the driveway, only glancing back at LJ once to see him scrambling from his seat and rushing after them.

The Hollywood Tower Hotel glooms over them from the sidewalk like a proud enemy declaring victory. It makes her sick.

“What the hell was that?!” Emma yells the moment she regains enough breath to do so. Her side is in stitches and her fingers shake uncontrollably. She can’t help but bend at her waist as she takes in her son. Tears have stopped rolling down Henry’s cheeks, the drying tracks the only sign of his fear, and he stares up at the hotel in deep thought.

He’s going to need so much therapy after this.

“How could you let him go in there?!” she continues, glaring at LJ. He leans back against the cement fencing, sweaty and pale with wide eyes.

“I-I didn’t know it was haunted!”

“It’s your hotel! You do the maintenance!”

“Yeah, I can do it all from the outside!” LJ shrieks. “I’ve never been brave enough to go in before!”

The admittance sits on her chest like a heavy weight. All three of them entered the situation in the dark, no knowledge of what to expect. If Emma knew what horrors laid on the other side of the gate, she would have hauled Henry back to his room immediately.

For the rumors and paranormal investigators that followed her for her entire life, she guesses they weren’t wrong.

So maybe the Hollywood Tower Hotel is haunted. And not by any regular ghosts but by her parents and the others in the elevator.

“We have to go back in and help them!”

She looks away from LJ to stare at her son incredulously. “What are you talking about?!”

Henry seems to be taking things in stride as he presses his face through the gate again, eyes fixated on the hotel. “We have to help the ghosts.”

“I think they’re beyond wanting help, kid,” Emma says. She straightens up slowly and with a wince, the pull in her side from carrying Henry down the hilly drive becoming more prominent. “They literally just scared us out of the building. Or tried to kill us, take your pick.”

A frustrated sigh leaves his lips and Emma already feels her resolve waning. Ghosts are not real. This is not real. None of this can be happening. It all sounded so crazy.

She closes her eyes and pinches her arm long and hard, hoping that when she opens her eyes, she’ll wake in her bed. When she opens her eyes, she’s agitated to see herself still outside the hotel.

“Come on, you heard all the stories about Grandma and Grandpa!” Henry explains. “They wouldn’t act like that! Maybe something bad is keeping them there and they’re trying to stop anyone else from being stuck.”

LJ is still as white as, well, a ghost. He eyes the two of them wearily and shakes his head. “Be my guest,” he says, tossing his arm towards the hotel, “but I am not going back in there.”

“Henry,” Emma starts gently. “We don’t know them. Maybe they were like that and played cruel jokes on people when they were alive.” His lip wobbles at her words and she does her best to steel herself. She doesn’t think she can face her parents again either, not if they’re bitter ghosts who live to frighten the daylights out of anyone they see. “They scared us. I don’t want to help them.”

Henry shakes his head, turning away from Emma to gaze up at the building through the fencing. “Maybe they’re just scared too.”

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