#cssns 2K19

[darkcolinodonorgasm]

One Day (3/?)

Summary: By day, Emma is the beautiful swan gliding over the waters of Misthaven’s pond, but when night falls, the voice of the wolf the people living in the little town hear is Killian’s cry. The curse was meant to be forever, to keep them always together yet eternally apart. No force in Heaven would be able to break such spell, nor any force on Earth. Or so Emma and Killian thought.

A/N: BOOM BABY! I’m back! I love love loooooooooove how this chapter turned out! There are answers, more questions, flashbacks... a rollercoaster, basically. I love it so much! 

A huge, mega iper thank you to @profdanglaisstuff​ and @sherlockianwhovian​ : you two are the best ♥

Thank you to all the ladies in the @cssns​​ discord channel: you are all awesome and amazing and so supportive ♥

And now, buckle up and enjoy the ride hehe

(part 1) (part 2) (ao3)

Chapter 3

Mr. Gold stirred his tea, the milk swirling slowly as it created claw-like curls in the dark amber liquid, clearly unfazed by the boy looking at him from the other side of the tiny round table.

With controlled movements, Mr. Gold placed the teaspoon onto the saucer with a dull clatter. His well-manicured fingers curled around the handle, bringing the teacup to his thin lips. He sipped the tea, humming in delight.

If Henry was to find a flaw in the scene unfolding in front of him, would be the teacup itself: it was chipped.

Once said teacup was placed on the saucer once more, the man’s eyes bore into Henry’s. The boy felt his skin crawl.

«You need not be afraid, my boy. I can’t and won’t do anything to endanger you.» And yet, Henry still didn’t trust him. Mr. Gold smiled, nodding his head. «I see. Stubbornness, it runs deeply in both the Nolan and Jones clans. Which, in the situation we find ourselves now, is a good thing.»

Henry couldn’t help the surge of pride he felt in his heart.

Mr. Gold cocked his head to the side. «Tell me, boy: what do you know about your parents’ relationship with Regina?»

Henry scrunched up his nose. «There’s no such thing. My family kept its distance from Regina and that was it.» Henry Jones was a bright lad, he knew his family had a past with Regina, that much was clear, he’d been warned never to go near the woman for any reason. What had happened between her and his family, however, he did not know. There were things an eight-year-old shouldn’t know if he were to live his life as carefree as possible. Too bad that didn’t go as planned, did it?

Mr. Gold nodded his head. «Right you are. And I suppose you don’t happen to know why that is, am I wrong?»

Henry shook his head no.

«Then I guess it’s storytime.»

-/-

Storybrooke, eleven years ago

«I swear to God,» Emma growled low in her throat, «if she dares act all innocent over this, I’ll take Dad’s chainsaw and cut her fucking apple tree down.»

Warm hands settled on her shoulders, but she shrugged them off, too angry to get any comfort from her boyfriend’s touch. Besides, she was too occupied trying to get the rotten apple pulp out of her hair. The stuff stank, and she was on the point of throwing up already.

In the mirror she saw Killian purse his lips, eyes blazing with rage. It was one thing for Regina to verbally offend them, quite another to throw rotten apples at Emma. It’d been years, and yet the brunette had never stopped her bullying. In all honesty, neither of them knew why she was so obsessed with them; it was as if her mind had shut off and they’d become a red flag and she a bull.

Emma sighed. «Please tell me there’s a spell to get this all out, especially the smell.»

Knowing better than to joke, Killian waved his hand, red smoke enveloping Emma’s head for a moment before her signature golden curls fell neatly over her shoulders and the air was filled with the aromatic scent of oranges.

Emma inhaled deeply. «Much better,» she sighed, head tilting back to rest on Killian’s shoulder. He promptly dropped a kiss on her forehead, relishing in the soft sigh she made. «What are we gonna do with her? She won’t stop and nobody will ever step up. I’m so sick of enduring her bitchiness.»

Killian could relate.

Regina Mills was the epitome of spoiled brat. She lived in the fanciest house in Storybrooke, with the exception of the Apprentice’s, though no one actually lived there; her mother was the mayor and therefore whatever bad Regina did was mysteriously swept under the rug; of course, she had magic, and here was exactly where the problem lay. With her mother being a powerful witch herself, Regina was expected to have a great power. Truth was, she did not. Sure enough she was able to do tricks, but conjuring and more challenging spells, or even teleporting? The end result was always a surprise, and not always a good one.

On the other hand, Emma was powerful enough to cause a blackout of the whole town if she was upset over something at age eight. This was years ago, when there was little she could do to conceal her feelings, now she was better at controlling herself. Well, most of the time, if the flickering lights in the bathroom were any indication.

However, it didn’t stop Regina’s jealousy and bitterness from coming into play. As soon as she connected the blackouts with Emma, she tried to always push Emma, to make her look like the bad guy, turning her nasty feelings into a rabbit hole she didn’t want to crawl out of, falling deeper and deeper into the darkness.

Emma got used to it, had to, because the last thing she wanted was for her parents to be thrown out of town because she dared go against the mayor’s daughter.

Then Killian and his family arrived in Storybrooke, and things changed for the better. She wasn’t the only one to stick up for herself against Regina’s bullying, and Killian was way better at controlling his own magic, which helped when sometimes it all became too much and they needed an escape from reality. It also helped when Regina’s spells were predictable, which wasn’t as often as they wished, and therefore they were able to counter them.

One would think Regina would put it all behind her after so many years, but with nobody stopping her, her hunger for whatever power she could get her hands on grew, and so did Killian and Emma’s misery.

But two weeks ago, the two of them sitting on the floor of his bathroom and a stick sporting two pink lines in hand, things had changed.

If they weren’t able to protect themselves from Regina’s viciousness, how were they supposed to protect their child from it?

Emma sighed, dropping her head, hair falling like a curtain around her face.

Sensing her distress and needing to take it equally as a burden, Killian gathered the thick strands, pushing them over her shoulder. «One day, my love, we will find that happiness that two people always dream of. One day, we will get rid of Regina for good.» He buried his face in her neck, nuzzling the tender skin below her jaw. When he pressed a kiss there, he felt her pulse quicken. «Until then, we will ignore her and we'll raise our child as best as we can, teaching them to use their magic for good.»

Emma breathed in a shaky breath, her shoulder tense. «I'm scared.» Her voice sounded small as she spoke, inching slightly back to burrow her small frame into Killian's chest.

«I am, too,» the boy confessed, tightening his arms around her, just below her breasts.

She fell silent for a while, simply taking in their reflection. «Do you really think they'll have magic?»

A smile tipped the corners of his lips upwards, the movement branding her skin. «Call it a hunch.»

It was Emma's turn to smile fondly, one hand covering Killian's and the other threading through his wild locks. «One day,» she vowed, to herself, to him, to them, to their child.

A soft kiss against her neck. Killian's eyes met hers in the mirror.

«One day.»

-/-

The hot chocolate had gone stone cold in the mug, but he felt compelled to take a sip nonetheless, the rich taste bursting in his mouth.

No ten-year-old should've been enlightened about their parent's past that way, if at all. Alas, he'd wanted answers, and the truth about what his parents had to go through because of the woman who claimed to unconditionally love him was utterly disgusting. Henry Jones hated bullies, and Regina Mills won the title of worst bully ever.

"Life ruiner" is more appropriate, he thought, nodding slightly to himself.

Still, he didn't understand. «This curse isn't just the act of a bully, is it? There's too much thought behind this.»

The reptilian smile Mr. Gold gave him made Henry shiver. He tightened the grip around his mug, gritting his teeth slightly.

Gold nodded, taking another sip of his tea. «Regina's reason to hate your parents, Mrs. Jones, mainly, was fuelled by her own mother's desire for her to be perfect, powerful and beautiful, a perfect carbon copy of Cora.» A quirk of his thin lips. «You are very lucky not to have met her.»

A shiver ran down Henry's spine; if Regina was anything like her mother, he sure as hell was lucky. Two of them, ruling over Storybrooke? It probably would've felt like those nightmares in which you woke up and thought you were awake only to discover it was a new one and so on.

His brows pinched together. «But Regina wasn't, was she? She wasn't as powerful as my mom.»

«She was not, and she isn't still. There's a reason why Regina sent your parents away, a legend, so to speak, about this curse being breakable by a Savior. Now, this Savior is not anyone, it's the person wielding the purest, most powerful magic of all.»

Henry's eyes widened. «The product of True Love!»

Mr. Gold blinked in surprise, the only demonstration of shock he'd allowed himself. «Precisely.»

The young boy’s frown deepened. «Grandma Mary Margaret once said my parents are True Love as well. If that were true, what would that make me? Is that why I didn’t fall under the curse?»

«As interesting as your theory is, alas, that’s not the reason. Your parents decided to cast a spell to protect you when you were still an infant.» For the fraction of a moment, a small, sad smile tipped the corners of his lips upwards, only to disappear in a blink. «The knowledge was mine to give, but they cast the spell. In retrospect, their decision was the right one, for it might save us all.»

Henry listened, rapt, as the man very few seemed to trust spun the tale of his parents as if he was the weaver of their lives. But Henry knew Mr. Gold had never been one for favors, only offering deals in which he either had the upper hand or found a loophole.

«What did you ask them in return?»

Mr. Gold smiled again, slightly nodding his head as if assessing Henry’s intelligence. «I asked them for a favor.»

-/-

Storybrooke, three years ago

«You want me to find him?»

Clearly irritated, Mr. Gold gritted his teeth, bony fingers tightening around the handle of his cane. «Yes, Mrs. Jones. This is my price for helping you all these years ago with your boy.» The man knew better than to threaten the child, nor did he want to, especially as he was trying to demonstrate he could be a better man, worthy of love.

Emma’s eyes flashed at the mention of Henry, nails digging into her palms, her magic swirling inside her, ready to fight. After a deep breath, understanding the man - man, wizard, whatever Mr. Gold was up to these days - was no threat, the woman relaxed slightly in her chair.

She licked her lips, looking down at the photo on the table in front of her.

Baelfire Gold.

She’d never actually known him, not personally, only crossing his path from time to time but never engaging in a conversation that involved anything more than pleasantries.

Her husband was a better source of information about the man, but she would fill Killian in later. Killian didn’t trust the man much - rightly so - but Emma had never pried, all she knew was that, once upon a time, someone had warned him about Mr. Gold. Perhaps now was the time to have a talk with Killian about that.

«I suppose conventional and even more less conventional ways to locate him didn’t work.»

«You assume correctly, Mrs. Jones.»

She smiled coldly: Emma didn’t hate the surname she’d chosen, it was her name, but the way he pronounced it, made it sound like an insult. Alas, she couldn’t just punch the man in the face. «I doubt he’s kept his name.» Especially since it’s terribly uncommon and horrible. «His mother’s name was...»

«Milah Cassidy,» Mr. Gold said through gritted teeth, as if spitting poison instead of words. «She left many years ago, and was found dead at sea when Bae was just a lad.»

Emma nodded slowly, not entirely trusting him, but he wasn’t lying about his ex-wife being dead. «I’ll need to have a look through your son’s belongings, see if there’s something I can use to track him down.» At the look of indignation on the man’s face, she added: «Look, you came to me because you couldn’t find him, and the fact that he must’ve taken precautions so someone as powerful as you wouldn’t do exactly that means your son doesn’t want to be found. I won’t ask what you did, to him or in front of him or whatever happened between the two of you, that’s for you to work through. But I don’t know Baelfire, and only looking through what he left behind might give me a hint about where he went. I might be good at finding people, Mr. Gold, but I’m not a miracle worker.»

After a few, stunned moments, Mr. Gold nodded. «Of course, Mrs. Jones. My boy’s room has been left untouched since he departed. Feel free to come by and have a look. I hope you’ll be able to find what I failed to see all these years.»

And then, Mr. Gold left the police station, walking away from Emma like a broken man.

***

It was pizza night in the Jones household, and on pizza night, Killian cooked. Truth to be told, he cooked most of the time, not because Emma burned everything - she’d come a long way since high school - but because he loved it. He also did a lot of stress baking, which was heavenly for Emma’s tastebuds but sin for her hips - not that Killian would complain if she were to gain a few pounds. Though he found his wife beautiful, any change her body might undergo wouldn’t make his love for her disappear.

As per usual, the smell in the kitchen made Emma’s mouth water as soon as she walked in.

Killian was humming to one of those 80s songs he loved so much, though Emma had no doubt in mind that he’d heard her enter the house as he seemed to have a wolf’s hearing; that, and he was listening for any strange noise coming from the living room where Henry was curled on the couch, nose between the pages of the latest book he’d obsessed over and dressed in his favourite pyjamas, the Star Wars ones.

She made a beeline for her husband, sneaking her arms around his waist and inhaling his scent as well as the pizza’s. Good God, she was starving.

«Good evening to you too,» Killian joked, throwing her a glance from over his shoulder. «Have you had a nice day at work?»

Nestling her head between his shoulder blades, Emma grunted. «Interesting is a better adjective.» She chuckled, ducking her head under his arm and studying the pizza he was preparing, squinting at the toppings before stealing a slice of pepperoni dripping in tomato sauce. «I would’ve given anything to have you there today.»

Turning around in her arms, Killian quirked his eyebrow. «Really, now?»

Strong fingers encircled her wrist just as she moved to steal another slice. She pouted, but was rewarded with a kiss. Even though she’d been with him for almost a decade, Emma had never gotten used to Killian’s kisses, his mouth always making her knees go weak and numbing her mind.

«Mhm,» she hummed against his lips, tring to plug her brain in once more. «Really.» Killian stole another kiss before having mercy on her. «Gold came to visit.»

And with those words, the magical atmosphere shattered in a million little pieces.

Killian’s face darkened visibly, and the muscle in his jaw started pulsing. «He wanted to cash in his favour, didn’t he?»

Slowly, Emma nodded. «He wants me to find his son.»

Suddenly, Killian stiffened, causing Emma to worry. Only one other person could make Killian react that way, and they were most definitely not talking about her.

After a few moments of complete silence, his eyes trained on the wall that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house, approximately right where the couch was positioned in the living room, Killian finally spoke. «I don’t like this.»

«We knew he could ask for pretty much anything in return when we made the deal with him. This sounds… acceptable.» Even Emma knew there was more to Gold’s wish to reunite with his son than basic human feelings, the man never did anything if it didn’t benefit him. Yet, as ridiculous as it sounded, she could understand him. She, too, would do anything to find any member of her family if they went missing.

Instinctively, she tightened her hand around Killian’s. Sensing her distress, he brought their joined hands to his lips, kissing her every knuckle.

«It is, it’s just… bloody hell,» Killian cursed under his breath as his free hand made a mess of his hair, ruffling it and spreading a dusting of flour on the inky locks. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and gathering his thoughts. «Do you remember when I told you about my trip to Tintagel all those years ago?»

How could she forget? That story sounded even more crazy than the world they lived in. That he was- For fuck’s sake, she couldn’t even think about that. It was too ridiculous and… too freaking possible. Besides, there was proof enough of that reality far too close for her liking.

In response, she nodded, biting her lower lip.

«Well, aside from what that man told me, he also said I should be wary of the gold spinner, “for he’ll be your ultimate downfall”.» Killian gulped, his head bent in clear shame, shame of not telling Emma that particular detail sooner. «I’m sorry, Emma, I should’ve-»

She interrupted him with a kiss, her free arm hooking around his neck to bring him closer. Sure, he should’ve told her, but he’d not done that because he didn’t trust her, he’d stayed quiet about it because he didn’t want her to worry. Stupid, heroic, and just like the man she’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

Killian lost himself in the kiss, taking in her forgiveness and love, hoarding that strength she was giving him with her acceptance.

Muttered words broke the tense silence they’d fallen into. «That’s not all, right?»

He took a deep breath, gently resting his forehead against Emma’s before pulling away, and what Emma saw in Killian’s haunted blue eyes nearly broke her heart.

«He told me not to blame him.»

-/-

«Did Mom ever find your son?»

After a few moments of silence, which he spent slowly sipping his tea, Mr. Gold nodded. «Your mother is very determined, as is your entire family. A good characteristic in times like this.» He let out a long exhale. «To answer your question, lad, she did, but Regina cast her curse before I had the chance to even reach out to Bae.»

There was pain in his voice, a pain Henry could understand very well. No matter the reason, to be separated by your relatives hurt, and hurt deeply.

Yet, not even Mr. Gold’s feelings were enough to stop him to satisfy his curiosity, especially not when the man in front of him had all the answers.

«Why did Regina cast it in the first place? And how did she put her hands on it? If she’s not powerful enough to cast simple spells, she surely couldn’t create a curse on her own, could she?»

«Ah, you have your parents’ perspicacity,» the man said, smiling with his signature reptilian grin.

Under other circumstances, Henry would’ve probably run away as fast as he could. Right now, he needed to hear what Gold had to say. Besides, he believed the pawnshopper needed him as well.

Henry raised his chin, silently waiting for a reply. Though he was putting on a brave front, he still feared this meeting could lead nowhere.

Amused by the boy’s display, Gold tapped his forefinger against the chipped rim of the cup, assessing the young man in front of him, the perfect mix of his parents. As frustrating as it was, that was what a parent wanted for their child, to be the best part of them and their partner.

«Regina’s motive is simple to explain: she wanted revenge. Alas, she wouldn’t only target the person who was the sole reason for her pain.»

Henry sucked in a breath. «Her mother.»

«Cora,» Mr. Gold confirmed, his voice disdainful. He’d made the mistake of falling for that woman’s charms in more ways than one, and there wasn’t a day that passed in which he didn’t regret his choices. This, the boy with hazel eyes and cunning attitude sitting in front of him, could be the key to redeeming him and setting him free.

«What happened to her?» Henry asked cautiously, looking at the man from beneath his long, dark lashes, a gift from his father’s genes.

Mr. Gold’s smile had the same effect as a bucket of icy water thrown unexpectedly, chilling the blood in Henry’s veins.

«Regina killed her.»

-/-

Storybrooke, eight years ago

«Stop, stop, stop! Killian!»

Emma shrieked, holding her arms tighter around her husband’s waist, probably cutting out his air supply.

Serves him right.

Not listening to her, Killian kept going, using his magic to speed up the bike and laughing his heart out.

Deep inside, buried beneath the scare of going a bit too fast for her own liking and the desire to kill him, Emma’s heart melted.

She loved seeing her husband like that, happy and carefree - though she also loved seeing him with their son. That did things to her.

Today was no different, but now they were on a date, one that had been a long time coming, and she had every intention of enjoying herself, even if it meant letting Killian take her on a ride to a new spot he’d found in Storybrooke and he was now racing faster than a car through the trails at the edges of Storybrooke Heritage Park.

She was so going to kill him.

Knowing that Killian would never let anything happen to her, Emma tried to loosen up a bit, relaxing her shoulders and posture but not the grip around his torso.

Had she not been scared to death of slamming into a tree, she would’ve enjoyed the way the wind messed her hair up or even the not quite clear landscape around her, too blurry for her to truly recognize.

«Come on, love, isn’t it fun?»

In response, she pinched him on the side, making him squeal and jump on the bike, which swerved slightly before Killian regained control of it.

«Sometimes I hate you!» she yelled in his ear, purposely. A wince followed, and the speed slowed down to an acceptable one, Killian’s mind clearly not on the spell anymore.

He slowed down until they stopped moving altogether in the very middle of the forest, or so it seemed. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, and it was strangely quiet, clearly too far away to hear any kind of car.

Emma cocked an eyebrow, amused. «Did you bring me here to kill me and bury my body where no one can find it?»

Killian turned around with a mocking gasp, palm flat on his heaving chest, but it was his eyes, sparkling with mischief, that made Emma swoon.

Damn you, Jones, she mused, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his smiling lips.

Instinctively, Killian wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her closer. He loved making her smile, and even if he risked being yelled at, he would never stop trying to do exactly that.

Emma hummed into the kiss, fingernails scratching the stubble he’d started to sport about a year ago, when puberty was left behind and the man was born - or so she joked. Her husband was a fine man, and she was very excited to see how the years would treat him. If his brother was to be considered, she was in for a daily catfight or two in order to keep the women - and men - away from her Killian.

With a smile and one last peck on her lips, he pulled away. «We’re almost there.»

«There, where?»

Killian looked at her from over his shoulder. «You’ll see.»

Blowing her cheeks like a little girl, Emma even crossed her arms in front of her chest, clearly stating her disagreement. It wasn’t that she hated surprises, she just… didn’t like being kept in the dark.

Reaching out with one arm, Killian pinched her side, making her jump and squeal in surprise. «Aw, love, I know you’ll love it. Do you trust me?»

Emma huffed, pinching him in retaliation. «I don’t know why, but yes,» she grumbled, slowly dragging her hands around his torso, leaning forward to place her chin over his shoulder. «Lead the way, Captain.»

His chuckle filled her ears and heart; perhaps this outing hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all.

As peace fell upon her, Emma conceded to close her eyes and breathe what perfumes nature had to offer, along with Killian’s scent. All she wanted to do was spend a quiet day with him, nothing to worry about - even though they would always worry about their kid, even if he was in the safety of their family’s care - and nothing between them as well, namely clothes. She really hoped he’d lead her to a very much secluded corner, a barn away from the world or something like that. Her cheeks tinged a deep red at the memory of what had gone down in the last barn they’d visited.

She was completely lost to the world, so deep in her imagination that it took her a few moments to actually hear the screeching of the tires as the bike pulled to an abrupt stop.

Killian cursed under his breath, shoulders slumping in clear defeat. Someone else was already occupying what indeed was a barn, an old one made of stones with deep green ivy running up one of the sides up to the roof.

It would’ve been the perfect refuge from everyone’s prying eyes had it not been for the two horses browsing right in front of it. Someone else was here, and since nobody lived there, it only meant someone else had decided to spend the day as far away from Storybrooke as possible.

«I’m sorry, love, I-»

Emma cut Killian off by jumping off the bike, her ass slightly sore from the ride on the luggage rack, and held her finger up.

Like the dork he was, he mimed the movement of zipping his mouth and throwing away the key. She had to stifle a laugh at his antics.

Careful not to draw attention to herself - and trusting the horses not to alert whoever was inside since it was a thing and she might have read too many fantasy books - Emma made her way to one of the windows, crouching down windowsill-level. Killian followed her, his steps inexplicably lighter than hers, and squatted down.

The lace drapes granted them very little insight on what was happening inside the barn, but they could make out the furniture. The room they were looking at was a kitchen which opened onto another room, one they could just assume was some living room of sorts.

A movement inside caught their attention.

Emma squinted, inching closer until her nose brushed against the stony windowsill. Not wanting to use her magic in case whoever was inside could sense her, she simply relied on the contacts she was wearing.

Killian’s sharp intake of breath told her he was seeing exactly what she was, something Emma would’ve never have believed to be true unless she saw it with her own eyes.

And see it with her own two eyes she did.

An involuntary gasp left her lips as realization hit her, but it wasn’t her surprised noise that made the woman inside snap her head towards the window.

«Fucking birds,» Emma muttered, backing away from the barn so rapidly she fell on her ass, her hand falling right on one of the sharp edges of the rocks there, cutting into her palm with a blinding pain.

Vermilion smoke surrounded her and suddenly she found herself outside Granny’s diner, her eyes level with a chair. Strangely enough, given the sunny day, it was empty.

Lucky us, Emma thought, her mind still trying to process what she’d seen.

Warm hands helped her to get on her feet, brushing away some dust from her knees and the stinging pain on her palm was gone. When she looked up, she was met with Killian’s concerned eyes, even if even his gaze wasn’t quite focused on her.

«Did you see-»

«Was that-»

They spoke in unison, startling one another.

Killian licked his lips, sitting down on the closest chair and dragging Emma with him. She adjusted on his lap before talking again.

«I thought that she was in college somewhere fancy, Ivy League or stuff like that.» The kind of shit your mother pays for you to get admitted to, you know. It only took Emma a quick glance to communicate her thoughts to Killian, who instantly replied with a goofy, small grin.

Then he sighed, resting his chin on her shoulder. «I hoped she’d stay as far away as possible.»

Emma grunted her agreement, unable to let go of what she’d seen. Sure, she expected to see someone inside, a couple, of course, but seeing Regina all these years after graduation had brought back all the insults and bad things she said and did to them. One couldn’t just forget what their bully did to them, it was just not possible. And the whole “turning the other cheek” or forgiveness shit was just that: pure, awful shit.

Trying not to let the control on her magic slip away, Emma inhaled deeply, fingers digging into Killian’s shoulder; knowing that he was near was comforting enough that it calmed her magic instantly.

«Do you think she’s here to stay?»

Killian’s cautious words almost sent her into a state of panic, which he must’ve sensed because he tightened his arm around her waist.

«I hope not,» she bit out, curling her hands into tight fists. But Regina being back in Storybrooke didn’t just reopen barely healed scars, it brought in a new wave of fear. What if she’d had enough time to plan something evil to throw at them? What if she was back to wreak more havoc? What about Henry? Was he in danger, somehow?

And then, there was the other reason for their surprise, because never, not even in a thousand years, would they have thought they’d see Regina Mills with a man like Daniel Colter.

The guy wasn’t bad looking at all, and while he was slightly older, that wasn’t the reason why Emma and Killian wore disbelieving expressions on their faces. In Regina’s mind, a man like Daniel would’ve been considered less than scum and would’ve been treated as such, just like they had been.

«Poor Daniel,» Emma heard herself mutter before glancing down at Killian. «Do you think she’s playing with him?»

That could’ve been one reason. Regina on a quest to ruin someone else’s life once again? Nothing simpler.

Killian exhaled slowly. «She could be. Making him fall in love with her and then making him look like an idiot in front of the whole town?»

Emma nodded, biting her lip. «But he does know who she is and how she is.»

With Regina’s upbringing, as if she was some kind of royalty, she’d been taught to ride a horse and she’d won several competitions as well, and with Daniel working at the only stables in Storybrooke, she was very hard to miss. And if someone ever dared ignore her, she would make her presence known.

«There could always be the ridiculous possibility that time away from her mother might have softened her up.»

At that, Emma laughed.

That was ridiculous, and she didn’t even want to contemplate it because of how stupid it sounded.

Shaking her head, she let out a sigh, head falling on Killian’s shoulder. She was just so goddamn tired of Regina and her hold on them; all Emma wanted was to spend a nice day with Killian.

«You know what? Fuck Regina-»

«Thank you, but no thank you.»

«Idiot.»

«Ah, but I’m your idiot.»

Emma snorted. «Whatever. Listen to me: now, you’re going to search that mind of yours for a quiet place where we can spend the rest of this day and forget all about the girl who ruined high school for us. Daniel is an adult and vaccinated, he’ll be able to handle her. And if he can’t, if she ruins love for him, then we’ll lend a shoulder to lean on. But in no case, right now, will we interrupt whatever was going on in that barn or barge into their relationship. I don’t want a fucking target on my back. So yeah, fuck Regina, she has no power over us anymore.»

Killian was looking at her with utter wonder and love in his eyes. He was about to open his mouth to agree when the bell over the diner’s door dinged. They both looked up at the same time, freezing in their seat.

«Ah, Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones, good morning. Such a nice day, isn’t it?»

Cora Mills stepped down the few steps in her high heels, blood red lips pulled back in a courteous smile that only managed to send more chills down the young couple’s spines.

Killian recovered first, managing a charming smile. «It surely is, Mrs. Mills. A pity that we don't get much sun in Storybrooke this time of year.»

The woman’s eyes looked at the sky, nodding. «Very true, Mr. Jones. I suggest you make the most of it until it lasts.» Another look at them, another gentle smile. «Have a nice day.»

She didn’t even wait for their muttered farewells, walking away as if she’d never even stopped.

As if she wasn’t heading deep into the woods to kill someone.

-/-

«Mr. Colter was reported dead the same day.»

Henry’s jaw was hanging open in shock. It was very difficult to wrap his head around what Mr. Gold had told him.

He stayed silent for a few minutes, processing the information that had been dropped over him like a bag of bricks despite the man’s attempt to carefully uncover more truths. Henry really did appreciate the effort.

After a while, he lifted his head. «So Regina killed her own mother out of revenge. Why didn’t she stop, then? Why did she persecute my parents? They never told Cora anything!»

Mr. Gold’s sympathetic smile only served to infuriate him even more. «True, they never did, but you see, Regina’s reasoning has never mirrored reality. While yes, she’d been raised with strict rules, those rules didn’t apply to the mistakes she made whenever her mother wasn’t around to tell her so, giving her free rein. That freedom was what allowed her to be the bully she was to your parents and allowed her to blame whoever she picked as victim every time she did something wrong.»

«It was never her fault, and she was the innocent victim of the injustices of life.»

It was a pattern Henry knew from books and school, but one he had recognized earlier, when Mr. Gold was talking of his parents’ teenage years.

«As impulsive as she sounds, remember: Regina is anything but. If there’s one thing her mother ever taught her, was never to act out of any sentiment she might feel. I made the mistake of teaching Cora the same, and with her knowledge she raised a weapon. Her thirst for power was her demise.» Mr. Gold’s voice was emotionless as he spoke of Cora; there really had been no love lost between the two of them. «Regina inherited her mother’s sick pleasure in torturing people, one I can’t say I never took part in, but-»

«But since it’s now affecting you, you feel free to condemn it.»

For the first time during their tea party, Mr. Gold laughed, a full, belly laugh that startled Henry.

«Oh, you do have your mother’s bluntness, lad, but that spite I just heard in your voice, that’s your father’s.»

Henry tilted his head, squinting at the man. «My dad warned me to stay away, but there’s more to it, isn’t it? There is a reason why he despises you.»

Mr. Gold waved his hand, dismissing Henry’s accusation. «Your father has been wary of me since we first met, but that’s because prophecies just have to be delivered in such archaic ways...» He tutted, muttering something about clairvoyance Henry couldn’t quite catch before clearing his voice. «Whether he’d have hated me more or less than he did, he couldn’t have prevented all of this from happening.»

Under Henry’s curious and confused eyes, he stood, heavily leaning on his cane to walk the short distance to the library there. From one of the shelves, he pulled a leather bound tome he then placed on the round table.

Still standing, Mr. Gold opened it with a wave of his hand, the old pages turning so fast strands of Henry’s hair fluttered. When they stopped, it showed the faded drawing of a scroll written in an ancient language that resembled English but not quite.

«The Dark Curse,» Mr. Gold translated for him, «a curse brewed by the Black Fairy, also known as my mother.»

Henry gasped, looking up at him, but the man wasn’t looking at him and kept talking.

«More than a pawnshopper, I am a collector of magical artifacts, boy. Everything in this room and the other has magical properties, but this curse, this is the one I should’ve protected with my own life. Another mistake I made was underestimating Regina and her thirst for revenge and the lengths she would go to make your parents suffer.»

«She stole the curse from you?» Henry asked, brows knitted together. How could that have happened? If Regina wasn’t that powerful, and Mr. Gold clearly was, how had Regina managed to put her hands on the curse and even cast it? Had Mr. Gold intentionally left those questions unanswered so he could give him an answer now?

«I’d hoped nobody would find about the curse being in my possession, but Regina did her research, and not only did she find out about my peculiar lineage, she found a way to compromise with the Coven of the Eight, if you can call compromise killing off one of its members to become one.» Again, he waved his comment away, turning serious all of a sudden. His eyes locked with Henry’s, a warning in them. «Be wary of the Coven, young boy, they are not to be trifled with, their power is strong enough to break blood magic.»

Those words felt like a blow to his stomach. Blood magic was one of the most powerful magics of all, the kind that really was unbreakable… or not, apparently.

After letting his words seep in, Mr. Gold continued: «The Coven helped Regina cast the curse, and I’m sure you’ve recognized the consequences.»

Like the good scholar he was, Henry nodded. «Memory alteration, as well as time standing still, apparently. We can’t leave Storybrooke, and even if we tried… bad things would happen.»

«Part of that alteration is the total lack of magic. Whilst Regina and the Coven didn’t have the power to strip every magical being of their powers, they simply altered their memories so they wouldn’t remember they had them. Time standing still helps and stops Ms. Lucas from turning into a werewolf since there’s no full moon.»

Henry tilted his head, the thought hitting him suddenly. «Why do you remember everything?» He couldn’t possibly be working with - or worse, for - Regina, could he?

«Before you reach the wrong conclusions, I’ll reassure you: I am not conspiring with that witch any more than you are. However, while studying the curse, I ran into the legend of the Savior and, knowing I would never be the one to cast it, I found a loophole and wrote myself into the curse, thanks to Mother dearest’s blood coursing through my veins. When you pronounced your mother’s name earlier, you woke me up, so to speak.»

«My mom’s name was all it took?»

Mr. Gold chuckled softly. «One does not need the most intricate spell to succeed in a mission.» Bending his head over the book, the man tapped a bony finger above a line Henry couldn’t read. «You, lad, had impeccable timing. The Savior will arrive on her twenty-eighth birthday.»

Henry gasped. That means-

«Mom’s birthday is tomorrow!»

«That it is,» Mr. Gold confirmed, caution in his voice, «but there is another problem, I’m afraid.» With another wave of his hand, the pages started to turn again, brushing Henry’s nose.

Once the pages stilled once more, Henry was faced with intricate designs and perfectly detailed representations of a man and a woman and the cycle of the sun and the moon and… was that a hawk? And a wolf?

Before he could even think what to ask the man, Mr. Gold began to explain: «What you’re looking at is a transfiguration spell, one way more complicated than just turning yourself into a cat for a couple of hours. More than a spell, this is a curse. A bishop in Italy once cast it after making a deal with the devil, or so he thought. That was the dark wizard Zoso. Nasty man, nasty appearance as well. But, the actual end of this curse is separating two lovers.»

Henry’s eyes widened. Not only had Regina sent away his parents, but she’d cast this curse as well, meaning that-

«She turned them into hawks or wolves? Forever?»

«No, no, here,» Mr. Gold pointed to the sun. «By day, your mother takes the form of a hawk, and by night...»

«My dad turns into a wolf.»

A grim expression fell on the man’s face. «Poor dumb creatures, with no memory of the half-life of their human existence, never touching in the flesh. Only the anguish of a split second at sunrise and sunset when they can almost touch, but not.»

«Always together, eternally apart.»

«As long as the sun rises and sets, as long as there is day and night and for as long as they both shall live.»

Silence fell between them as Henry slowly took in everything Mr. Gold had told him.

It all was falling into place, every piece of the puzzle had found its spot, yet it didn’t fill Henry with glee, discovering what had happened in the past wouldn’t help break the curse on the town and the one on his parents.

He was the one who had to find a way; he only hoped he was strong enough to do so.

With his jaw set and determination in his eyes, Henry asked, «How do we break these curses?»

Hiding his pleased smile, Mr. Gold indicated the bottom of the page, where a paragraph had been added in fine handwriting, but the drawing there was clear enough.

«A night without a day and a day without a night.»

«An eclipse? It can’t be that simple.» Of course tinkering with a curse was simpler than breaking one. Henry almost rolled his eyes.

«In this case, it is not. Regina made sure the two requirements to break your parent’s curse could never be met. Even if out of the confines of Storybrooke there was an eclipse, the curse wouldn’t be broken because both your parents and Regina must be in the same room at the same time during a full eclipse. Regina took care of that by sending your parents away, but she also ensured that time would stand still, never allowing an eclipse to happen. As for the Dark Curse… that requires the most powerful magic of all.»

«True Love’s Kiss.»

«True Love’s Kiss,» Mr. Gold echoed with a nod. «As we know, your grandparents are True Love, but it is not their kiss that’s required. Your parents, on the other hand, have the power to stop the curse. Take them away and...»

«And the curse can never be broken.»

The book closed with a loud thud, putting an end to the magic lesson, but that couldn’t take away all the questions swirling in his mind.

But before he could even ask what they could do about it, what the plan was - because Henry was sure Mr. Gold had a plan - the man placed a hand on his shoulder in a strangely comforting way.

«It is time for you to head back to the house, lad. We’ll talk more tomorrow.»

A quick glance at the grandfather clock made Henry jump off the chair. He was late, and he had very little time to make up a believable excuse for Regina about his whereabouts.

He’d almost ducked beneath the curtain before he turned around to face Mr. Gold. «Tomorrow is-»

«Tomorrow.»

Henry couldn’t help the grin that bloomed on his face, just as he couldn’t stop his heart from beating faster in excitement as he ran towards his own prison.

But, for the first time in almost two years, he was excited about waking up to a brand new day.

-/-

There was darkness at the edge of the town, one that had nothing to do with the starless night: it was the town line itself, the invisible barrier that rose from it now wrapped in the clutches of the curse.

Emma was almost tempted to reach out a hand to touch the dark tendrils. A low growl was all she needed to step back.

«Yeah, yeah, let’s put this show on the road,» she muttered, narrowing her eyes at the huge wolf next to her.

She could see trepidation in his eyes, a feeling she shared. She needed to be careful, all she wanted to do was to find her son. God, how she missed him.

Killian’s wet nose rubbed against her fisted hand. He, too, only wanted to be reunited with Henry as soon as possible.

Engulfed in her husband’s black leather jacket, something she’d started to wear to feel him somehow closer, Emma took out the scroll Sarah - Ingrid - had given them. She’d offered to go with them to help, but they’d been adamant. It was their responsibility to break the curse and save their son.

«Here goes nothing,» she muttered, unravelling the scroll and taking a deep breath. The hand at her side fisted in Killian’s inky fur, and she felt peace envelop her.

Together, they stepped over the town line.

The only difference they could see were the stars adorning the sky, clearly an effect of the curse.

Looking down, Emma locked eyes with Killian, and smiled.

«Welcome home, my love. Now, let’s get our son back.»

[thejollyroger-writer]

What Happened in Berkshire {{2/3}}

OKAY, ALRIGHT, this is now a THREE-shot, because I don’t know how to write short stories, apparently. In this installation, we meet some more key characters, learn a bit about everyone, and have an excellent aesthetic that @captainsjedi somehow captured perfectly AGAIN in her incredible artwork. Once again, I want to sincerely thank @thisonesatellite for helping me get my thoughts in order and finding ideas inside my head that I didn’t know were there and @profdanglaisstuff for coming in clutch multiple times with historical curse words and Aussie slang. 

PART ONE: tumblr // AO3 ; PART TWO on AO3

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

The next morning, with Ruby and Mary Margaret on either side of Emma's duffel bag on the backseat of her newly-acquired worn-down yellow Bug, she drops them off at the airport, hugging each of her friends until the security guards head over to ask her to leave — and then she and Killian are on their own adventure. 

Emma follows the GPS towards the spot they decided the night before would be their starting point, a walking trail into the woods around the far edge of the town, whose relation to mountains and streams made Killian believe was part of his old map, and a good starting point for their journey. 

"So, let me get this straight, love," he says, his eyes still set on her phone in the holder connected to the dashboard. "On this little device, you can access any map with just the press of a button?" 

Emma smiles, looking towards him out of the corner of her eye. She found him the night before with the books from the library spread out on the table in front of him, but with his attention focused instead on the owner's manual for the fridge, which he found going through the drawers in the kitchen. It was then she was able to really look at the pile of books he got from the library: a collection of history textbooks, a few books on transportation, some on scientific advancement, and a large book titled "Medicine Since the Middle Ages." 

"It can do much more than that," she says, then pauses before shaking her head. "But I'm not sure that you're quite ready for that quite yet." 

When she glances at him again, she notices his eyes have gone wide. 

“Another day, Killian.” He nods, but does not stop staring at the screen as it changes, informing them they have reached the destination. “For now, it’s time to walk.” She puts the car in park, somewhat surprised how quickly they got to the end of the GPS’ directions. 

“Right.” 

He climbs out of the car as she does, holding his old map in his hand while Emma stares down at her own piece of parchment: the spell the witch gave Killian that turned him into a statue in the first place. 

It’s a foolproof plan, really: Killian with a four-hundred-year old map and Emma with a location spell for a woman that might not even be alive anymore. She’s almost afraid to look at the parchment after she casts the spell on it, but she does anyway — though that does not make her less surprised when it works, the parchment shimmering as it floats in front of them. 

Eyes wide with surprise, Killian tucks the map back in his satchel and turns to her. “Ready?” 

She nods, reaching out to take his hand before she overthinks exactly what that means. 

“Let’s go find a witch.” 

As the parchment begins to lead them into the woods, one of Emma’s hands wrapped around Killian’s as the other emits a warm magical glow, suspending the parchment before them, she realizes that she has never felt as confident with her magic as she seems to when she is near him — though she tries to avoid what that means about them, as well. 

For a few minutes, they stay as silent as the woods around them, Killian’s thumb moving in soft circles against the back of her hand, and he can swear that he can feel her magic moving through him. It is unlike any other feeling he has ever experienced, and only makes him more drawn to her, though he did not think it possible. 

And the connection brewing between them only makes him want to recall his tale to her even more. 

“I convinced Milah that coming with me was the only way to save her from the vile, cowardly man she had married,” he says, his voice soft, and he can feel the emotion that rises through her, the surprise and the confusion.

“Killian, you don’t have to,” she interjects, her words coming quickly, but he shakes his head.  

“I want to, though, love,” he says, squeezing her hand, “He was a monster, with a heart we all believed incapable of love. And it didn’t take much convincing, because she loved me just as much as I loved her, so we ran. Ran from him and all his terror. For a while, we were happy, far from his reach and able to live in harmony as we sailed the seas together. Time passed, more than a year, and I thought her husband had forgotten about us, until one day, he appeared on my ship, just like magic, and said he could not stand that she chose to stay with me over returning to him. Over the time Milah and I had spent happily aboard the Jolly Roger, he had convinced himself that I — because how could I be anything but a cruel, heartless pirate — had stolen her away; but I loved her with everything I had, and she loved me in return, and that was a fact he could not live with.”

He stops, Emma stopping right beside him, and takes a deep, shaky breath. It’s almost too much to handle, so much sadness and grief, and the feelings he has not been able to feel over the last four hundred years suddenly come flooding back to him. He tries his best to bite them down, and the tears that fill his eyes go no further. “Or, perhaps more fittingly,” he continues, trying to cover his grief with anger, “a fact that he could not have her live with, because he tore her heart from her chest so there was nothing I could do to save her and watched, laughing like a maniac, as she died in my arms.”

Emma says nothing, but she does not have to. Everything she could say, he can find in her eyes as she stares up at him, in the hum of her magic that he feels in his bones through their still-connected hands, in the tears that she does not manage to hold back as well as he does. But the sadness that fills her bright green eyes is almost too much for him to handle, and he turns his eyes back down to the forest floor, softly pulling them back on their way ahead. 

“He and I sparred on the deck for a while, and I was a much better swordsman than he ever could have been, but when he added his dark magic into the mix, he found his advantage and took the upper hand. He disarmed me, so I found a rigging hook on the deck and stabbed him in the chest with it before he chopped off my hand and they both fell to the deck, but he picked up my hand before he disappeared. When the ship’s doctor fixed up my arm, I asked that he build a brace that I could put the hook in, a constant reminder of everything he took from me when he killed Milah. 

“I sought vengeance against the man for a few years, longing to hurt him the way he hurt me, and I searched all of the known lands to try to find a way to defeat him. But I never found anything, until one day, one of the men who found a place on my ship told of a story he heard once, a story of a witch that knew how to defeat the darkness that took Milah from me, though I realized too late that it was a trick. He led me here, through this very forest, and to the witch, who gave me a potion and marked a spot on my map for me to find. I followed through with her instructions, drank the potion, and when I went to read the spell from the parchment, it turned out not to be a spell, but a curse. I didn’t realize until it was too late, and I was turned into a statue in mere moments.”

Even after he finishes the story, Emma remains silent. But he can still feel what she is feeling, the anguish and sadness that makes her heart pound. 

He wonders if she can feel his, too, if this connection between them goes in both directions. 

He definitely hopes it does. 

“Wait,” she says suddenly, stopping exactly where she is and pulling her hand away from his. He immediately misses the warmth of her hand in his, misses the connection it gave them, but she holds her hands up in front of them, a warm light radiating from them as she takes a cautious step forward with her eyes squeezed shut. He watches closely, unmoving, as she slowly opens her eyes, then sees them widen.

“What is it, love?” he asks, almost afraid to hear the answer, but then she reaches behind her to find his hand, pulling him the half-step forward to stand beside her — and he sees it, too: the thick layer of fog that has suddenly appeared around them, coming from nowhere. 

He turns around, trying to figure out exactly what they’ve gotten themselves into, only to find that the fog now extends as far as he can see in every direction. 

“Weird,” she says, breaking the thick silence that has settled between them with the fog. “That wasn’t there a moment ago.” 

But even in the fog, she can see the smile that lights up Killian’s face as they begin to take quick steps in the same direction they had been travelling. 

“We’re almost there.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Because this happened the last time I was here. And if a witch’s spells really do die with them, it must mean she is still alive.” 

She is about to comment her agreement, but the words get stuck in her throat after they take another step, the fog disappearing as quickly as it appeared, a chill running down her spine, and a small cottage appearing where there were only trees just moments before. It’s quaint, can’t have more than a few rooms, and has a billow of smoke coming from the chimney. 

Purple smoke.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes. “It — did it work? Is that it?” 

Killian’s eyes are wide in disbelief, but he still manages to nod his head. 

“That’s her.” 

“What should we do?” she whispers, terrified to move. She’s seen many things in her years, especially since she has become a magic-wielder, but some things in this world still manage to surprise her. 

And the fact that the locator spell worked on a four-hundred year old piece of parchment and led them to a cottage in the middle of the English woods is one of these surprises. 

So was bringing a statue to life by kissing it, but she’s at least starting to get used to having him around — not that she would admit it to anyone. 

Killian, however, does not seem as surprised by this turn of events, smirking at her even as he squeezes her hand. “Well, love, I suggest we knock, or is that no longer the custom in this world?” 

She knows that he is right, but that doesn’t keep her from rolling her eyes at his sarcasm. 

“Yes, okay, we knock,” she says, taking careful steps towards the cottage. If she weren’t so freaked out, she would be impressed by the small garden that they walk through, which seems to have fruits and vegetables on one side and herbs on the other; would think the stone and wood architecture is adorable. 

But, yeah, she’s freaked out instead. 

Killian knocks on the large wooden door with the curve of his hook, refusing to release his grip on her hand — the only sign that he is anywhere near as apprehensive as she is. It swings open almost immediately, and they both take a careful look around them before walking through it together, which Emma is almost thankful for. 

Almost, save the part of her that is still terrified of this whole adventure, scared to learn what it might mean about her. 

The room is about what she expected: open, with a wooden table and updated kitchen to her right, the walls going up to the angled ceiling everywhere except the loft. The interior is an odd mix of almost every style of decor, from rustic wooden bookshelves to a bright red retro refrigerator to a large wall-mounted television that takes up most of the wall it’s on. 

But the weirdest part is definitely what she finds in the center of the room: a woman that does not look much older than she does, in a beige pantsuit, her dark hair pulled into a high bun, standing over a smoking cauldron. 

Purple smoke. 

"Captain Jones," she says, not even bothering to look up from her cauldron. "I've been expecting you." 

Emma's eyes snap to Killian, who is staring at the witch in disbelief. "Beg your pardon?" 

This makes the woman turn her attention towards them, taking a long moment to very obviously look over the two of them from head to toe and back before turning back down to the cauldron. "I've been waiting for you to show up here. I could sense your curse had been broken, and I was wondering how long it would take you to decide to test your luck and see if I'm still here." 

"Well, it must be my lucky day then," he says, his voice just short of a growl, and Emma can see the muscles of his jaw ticking in anger as he stares at the witch. 

This finally gets her full attention, and she moves a few steps closer to them, leaving the cauldron behind, though Emma notices the spoon she was using continuing to stir, not slowing. "It really is your lucky day, Captain," she says, stopping a few feet from them. "I've been waiting for a very long time to help you." 

Her words seem to cause some of his anger to dissipate, the tension in the air lessening slightly. 

“Excuse me?" 

Her features soften, the hardness in her dark brown eyes almost disappearing. "I've regretted what I did to you for over three hundred years." 

Her words seem to catch Killian off guard — and Emma, too, though not nearly as much. 

"And you didn't do anything about it?" 

"There was nothing I could do," she answers quickly, wringing her hands in front of her. "Only your True Love could break the curse, that's how he made me write it, so even after I came to regret all of the things I did for that monster, all I could do was wait for your curse to be broken in order for me to help you." 

It's Emma's turn to speak up. "I'm afraid I'm going to need more of an explanation than that, and I'm sure Killian agrees." 

They both turn towards him, but he just nods. 

"Of course," she says, walking around them and into the kitchen. "Would you like some tea? It's a rather long story." 

Killian, of course, accepts her offer for tea, though Emma instead requests a glass of water. Once they're all settled around the small wooden table, the witch starts her story: 

"I was young and naive when I was a student of Rumpelstiltskin's —" 

"Wait, wait, I'm going to need to stop you right there, witch," Emma says, holding her hands up, and while the witch rolls her eyes, she lets Emma interrupt. “You can’t mean, like, Rumpelstiltskin Rumpelstiltskin, right? Spins straw into gold? Makes deals for people’s firstborns?” 

Both the witch and Killian nod. 

“That’s how I came to be a student of his in the first place, because of a deal he made with my mother.” 

“Because he saved her from an unhappy arranged marriage by turning straw into gold?” Emma asks, completely joking, but the witch’s face stays emotionless. 

“Yes.” 

Emma sets her head in her hands for a moment, and the other two do her the favor to staying silent as she tries to wrap her head around all she’s hearing. 

“Also, my name is Regina, not witch,” she says, obvious annoyance in her voice. 

“Sorry,” Emma mumbles. “I honestly hadn’t even thought about it, so I am — I really am sorry.” 

Regina just nods. 

In the silence around her, pieces start clicking into place, but they only seem to lead to more questions. “Okay, so, you were a student of… Rumpelstiltskin’s.” The words still feel weird on her tongue, even if Regina is claiming them to be the truth. She turns to Killian. “You said that Regina’s teacher was the man whose wife you stole—” 

“I didn’t steal anyone, love,” he argues, a bite to his voice that she hadn’t heard before that almost makes her cringe. “Milah chose to come with me.” 

Her eyes falling to the table, Emma nods, wishing she hadn’t just made that mistake. “Right, sorry.” 

Another terribly awkward beat passes. “But yes, you’re right,” he says finally, his voice much softer. “Milah was Rumple’s wife.” 

This is just as unbelievable as the existence of Rumplestiltskin in the first place, but she’s trying to keep an open mind. 

“Can I get back to my story now?” 

For a witch that’s waited four hundred years to help Killian, Regina sure is impatient. 

Emma nods. 

“Thank you,” she says in a huff. “As I was saying, when I was younger, I was young and stupid and wanted to do anything to prove to him that I was a worthy student, and at that time, it included cursing all those he asked me to. But I’ve — well, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I’ve realized since then that Rumple was simply using me as a means to an end, a pawn to accomplish what he would not be able to alone.” She pauses, takes a sip from her cup of tea, and then turns her attention towards Killian. “So, yes, Captain, if I could have broken your curse on my own, I would have, but since only your True Love could break the curse, I’ve just been waiting for you to find me so I can help acclimate in your new life here, if you’ll allow me that.” 

Killian leans back on his chair, stretching his arm out behind her shoulders, obviously contemplating everything Regina has told them. 

“What became of Rumpelstiltskin?” he asks after a moment. 

Regina’s posture straightens, her eyes widening for a moment before they turn down to the table. 

“He, uh,” she starts, then takes a deep breath and looks back up at Killian. “No one knows, honestly. He continued to wreak havoc around the area for a while with curses and deals and — you know, magic always comes with a price’ing everyone he comes in contact with, but then the stories… they just stopped. Some said he got involved in one of the wars, got killed in battle, traveled to a different realm and never returned, or made a deal with someone whose magic was stronger than his, darker than his. I tried my best to keep up with the stories, to keep tabs on where he was — if you’re interested, I still have the book I used to keep all my notes about it — but then the rumors stopped.”

“When?” 

“About a hundred years after you were cursed.” 

Killian softly hits his closed fist against the table a few times, his eyes squeezed shut. 

The room sits in silence, save the steady, unceasing thump thump thump of Killian’s fist. 

Until: “And no one has spoken of him for almost three hundred years?” Killian’s voice is soft, almost trembling, and Emma surprises herself by reaching out to rest her hand on Killian’s arm, ceasing his movements, but even as she trails her hand up his forearm to lace her fingers through his, his eyes remain on the table and hers remain on Regina. 

And then she feels what he feels, and it is almost too much: fear. Paralyzing, debilitating, bone-chilling fear that chills her much deeper than her bones, and she turns to see how it is written over his features.

It’s not. Of all the expressions that she has seen cross his face since he came to life, she’s pretty sure she has yet to see his face as emotionless, as stoic, as it is in this moment. This fear is unlike anything she has ever felt, and Killian doesn’t even look afraid.

She wishes she knew what she could do to help him, to calm him — and that scares her. 

They both seem to realize that Regina has not answered his question at the same time, and when they raise their eyes to her, she is watching Killian, brown eyes filled with uneasiness, as she worries the edge of her thumbnail between her teeth.

She practically feels the angry, worried grind of his jaw. The way his heart races, pounding in time with hers. 

“Regina?” she asks, knowing that, while Killian may look emotionless, he definitely does not feel the same. 

She shakes her head. “No. Nothing. No one has seen him, heard about him, or spoken of him for three hundred years. The name ‘Rumpelstiltskin’ is not one that people still discuss.” She gestures to Emma, though her eyes never leave Killian’s face. “Not beyond children’s stories, fairy tales.” 

Slowly, she feels him start to calm. There is still a nagging fear pushed behind everything else, a fear that perhaps this man could have managed the impossible and remained alive and well for three hundred years without anyone knowing about it, however unlikely it may be. 

“We would know,” she says finally, her voice much softer, soothing, even. It’s not something Emma thinks fits her demeanor that well, trying to soothe Killian, but it seems to do the trick, his pounding heart returning to a normal pace, until he releases her hand to wrap his around the almost-empty tea cup. 

Finally, Killian nods, content with all Regina has told him, and finishes his cup of tea. 

But Emma is not as content, and is perhaps more confused than she was when they got here, and she runs her finger along the rim of the almost-empty glass of water, needing something to focus on as she asks the question at the forefront of her mind. 

“So, uh… how do we undo all this?” 

Her question is only met with silence and incredulous stares. 

“Excuse me?” Regina scoffs, but it is Killian’s hurt “I beg your pardon?” that really gets to her. 

She cannot even respond. 

“You’ve already undone it,” Regina says, and Emma practically hears her roll her eyes, since she still cannot bring herself to move her eyes from the glass. “You broke the curse. You freed him. That’s the end of it.” 

The words Belle said the day before rattle around her head once more: “... he has nowhere, no one, no home. Nothing except us, the people that were there when the curse was broken.”  Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries to stop her mind from reeling around exactly what these words might mean.

She doesn’t want to think any more about what that means for their relationship, what it means for her. While she had to have known deep down it was never going to happen, a small piece of her clung to the hope that the witch was going to offer them an easy answer, another explanation for everything that has happened to them. Alas, all Regina has done is confirm what she’s still too afraid to admit to herself. 

She and Killian are True Loves. There’s really no denying it anymore, as much as that scares her. And she doesn’t know what to do about it. 

So she just stays silent. They do not spend much longer in Regina’s cottage, though Emma is a little amazed when Regina conjures a full set of paperwork for Killian from thin air: British passport, birth certificate, driver’s license, Naval papers, and who knows what else. Killian’s not entirely sure what all of them mean, but he takes the whole stack, plus a few stacks of money, and drops it all in his satchel nonetheless. 

“Thank you again,” he says, shaking her hand as they stand on the stoop outside the cabin. 

She smiles warmly at them, not quite fitting with the rest of the demeanor she’s shown them, but Emma appreciates it nonetheless. 

“Of course,” Regina says. “And really, if there is anything else I can do for you, don’t hesitate to reach out.” 

There is, of course, so much Emma wants to ask Regina. About practicing magic. About communities of witches. About all of these things that Ingrid barred her from, or perhaps simply did not know about herself. But the part of her that longs for these answers is drowned out by the realization that she has to get back to her life, back to some semblance of normalcy that she had before all this happened — before moving, before Neal’s heartache, before befriending and then bringing to life a damn statue with the bluest eyes and the brightest smile she has ever seen. 

For a moment, it helps still the pounding of her heart, knowing that there is someone who can help them — 

Until she realizes this means she now has to walk back through the woods with him. 

Drive him back into the city. 

She’s all he has in the world — the fact that scares her the most — and she now has a responsibility to help him live in a world vastly different than the one he last knew four hundred years before.

Most of their walk back through the woods is silent, Emma’s arms crossed over her chest. She has never felt more lost in her life, and she just packed up her life and moved to a different continent. She can’t have a True Love — there’s no such thing, of course. She still believes that one of these times, she’ll blink, open her eyes, and find that it’s all been a dream. 

She’s not entirely sure how much of it she wants to be a dream, where she wishes it would have started. 

Anything is better than this being her reality. 

“Why are you so desperate to get rid of me?” he asks finally, breaking the silence between them with an obvious anger in his voice, though she also senses a hint of sadness. 

Both of which she understands.

She can’t even bring herself to look at him. But she stops, her eyes squeezed shut and her head turned down to the forest floor. She doesn’t even know where to start. 

“Do you know that I was ready to marry him?” she says quickly, spilling the secret that she hadn’t told anyone. 

“What?” he asks, his eyes snapping to her. “Who?” 

“Neal. I decided that I was ready to commit to him, and then he breaks up with me not even three days later. And then it all comes unraveled — his cheating, his lying, everything. He tossed me aside, deciding that maybe I wasn’t actually good enough, trading me in for the next great thing. And it — Jesus, Killian, it broke me.” Finally, she looks up at him, still afraid of what she knows she’s going to find in those damned blue eyes of his: sincerity. She’s not ready for that. “That’s part of why I came over here in the first place, was to start over, closing my heart to the world so that no one can ever hurt me like that again. 

“And then I’m over here for a few weeks, still trying to… recover from everything that’s happened to me, and this whole thing between us comes up, and I — I’m just not ready for this. I can’t deal with this.” 

For a moment, he is silent; and then, he places his index finger under her chin and pulls her gaze back to his. “Emma,” he whispers. “You broke my curse, and that must have a meaning. But if it’s time you need, then time is what I will give you. I waited four hundred years for you to come into my life, my love. If I have to wait a bit longer for your heart to heal, then I will stand aside and let you heal.”

She's moved by his words and reaches out to rest her hand against his cheek, but before she can make contact, she realizes that the mere thought of wanting to do that scares her, and she backs away, wide-eyed, before taking off through the forest without another word. 

What the hell is she doing? What the hell is she thinking? 

But at the same time:

Why is she still questioning all of this? What more evidence does she need to prove that this is her reality now? 

Killian’s story? Check. 

Historical evidence, found at a research library? Check. 

The Captain’s Log from the ship, confirming Killian’s story? Check. 

The damn witch that cast his curse in the first place? Check. 

But somehow, she’s still trying to convince herself that it’s not real. 

That he, for some reason, isn’t real. Killian, who, through a thick layer of innuendos and leather, is soft and kind and funny; who seems to wholeheartedly believe that they really are True Love’s. And she… well, she doesn’t blame him. 

Even as she thinks it, she’s not sure what it means. 

Okay, that’s not true. She knows what it means: that she is coming to terms with… whatever is happening between them. But, at the same time, she knows that she’s fighting with it, as well. 

“Swan, wait up,” Killian calls from behind her, and for the briefest moment, she debates not waiting for him. But he did her the service of giving her some time alone with her thoughts, and for that she is thankful. 

So she stops. She doesn’t turn to see how far behind he is, though she can hear the crunching of the leaves beneath his boots. She doesn’t turn towards him when he reaches her side. She even pauses for a moment and lets him walk ahead before she follows. 

A part of her is afraid to walk beside him, worried that he will try and take her hand as he did on their first time through the forest — worried that he will rely on whatever weird-ass connection they have to figure out what is going through her head right now. 

Honestly, she wouldn’t blame him. She wouldn’t blame him, but she also doesn’t want that right now. 

Instead, she wants… 

Okay, she doesn’t know what she wants. 

That’s not exactly the truth, either. She wants normalcy, something from the past thirty years to remain as it always has. Everything has changed, everything at once, and she realizes as she watches him walk a few steps in front of her that perhaps that is what is keeping her from accepting what has become her new normal. She is no longer able to deny what is between them — she brought him back to life, broke his curse, her, not her magic. Somehow, she is his True Love. Really, she has no idea what that is supposed to mean, and it doesn’t allow her to take back any of the hurt and the anguish that she voiced to him earlier, but it’s a start. 

She still needs time to heal, time to find her way in this new lifestyle of hers. But she can do it with Killian beside her. They can find their way together. 

She picks up her pace for a moment, moving to walk beside him again. They can get through this, can figure out what the hell they’re supposed to be doing — together. 

  “Alright, so,” she says, turning down the music and breaking the silence for the first time since he caught up with her in the forest. “Since Ruby and Mary Margaret went back home, I was thinking you could just take the spare bedroom in my apartment where Ruby was staying—” 

“Swan, really, that’s not necessary.” 

She pulls her eyes off the road for a moment to glance at him. “Of course it’s necessary, Killian. What else are you going to do? I broke this damn curse, the least I can do now is give you a place to stay.” 

Mulling over her words, he remains silent in the seat next to her. He has never met a more frustrating woman than Emma Swan, he knows that for sure. A brilliant, beautiful, headstrong woman that broke a four-hundred-year old curse and still doesn’t believe that they are meant to be together. That they are True Loves. She still wants to get rid of him, to solve all of this by making everything go back to normal, while he falls deeper in love with her. 

Liam would have called him a right idiot for starting to fall for this woman so quickly, but he really can’t be blamed for it. He meant everything he said to her in the forest. Technically, looking back, he realizes that he has never said anything to her that he did not mean wholeheartedly, from I was hoping it would be you to when he told her that he will wait for her heart to heal. 

He knows all about that. 

The weirdest part of the last four hundred years wasn’t that he spent them as a statue, but that he spent them with a conscience, that he could watch over the people passing him and slowly take in the changes that took place right before his eyes. 

That he could think, even though he couldn't move. 

He spent four hundred years in his own head, and if there is one thing he knows about after going through that, it is the time required to heal. Half the time he spent as a statue was spent broken-hearted, thinking back on his time with Milah, on how much he loved her. 

In the moments he has spent watching Emma, he notices the same sad look in her eyes that he is sure he would have found in his own had they not been lifeless. Sadness, despair, and perhaps even a touch of regret. Regret for putting hope into something that should have been hopeless — a married woman, a cheating man — and having everything fall to pieces around you. 

But he has to break the silence between them, silence that may just shatter him if it continues to grow. 

“I think I should find myself a job,” he says, quieting the voices in his head by speaking what’s on his mind. 

“Killian, it’s a very different world now—”

“You don’t think I am aware of that?” he asks, a bite to his voice that he almost didn’t mean for there to be. “But I promise you, I will do anything to prove I’m not useless.” 

A beat passes between them, before she speaks softly. “I don’t think you’re useless.” 

It’s just about the nicest thing she has ever said to him, spoken barely loud enough to be heard over the engine, but it’s a start, aided by her soft fingers wrapping around his hand where it rests on his knee. 

He won’t rush her, will not do anything to try and get her to admit to anything she is not ready for, but this is a good start, especially after losing so much ground during their conversation with the witch. 

 ▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️ 

 The most distressing thing about sharing her apartment with seventeenth-century Killian Jones proves not to be his unfamiliarity of technology or his inability to fit in well in the modern day, which, though it seems to be getting better and better with each day, frustrates him to no end — no, instead, Emma finds most of her stress around her new roommate to be centered around just how immaculate he keeps everything. For the first time in her life, Emma finds every item within her apartment to suddenly have a "spot," somewhere deemed specifically for each thing to belong. Her bathroom is more organized than she ever felt it needed to be, from the medicine cabinet to the bottom of the vanity to the damn shower; her cups and mugs now have a specific order within the cabinet; even each of the remotes and magazines on the coffee table now have a designated placement. 

Everything is clean. Emma almost doesn't know how to function — but given that he is struggling so much with everything else related to his new twenty-first century life, Emma tries her best to straighten up her life, too, making sure that she is doing what she can. 

It's not the easiest task, of course, but she assumes that putting her shoes away after taking them off and doing the dishes instead of leaving them in the sink is much easier than waking up after 400 years. 

But as her schedule changes, begins taking up more of her time, Killian finds himself alone in the apartment more often. 

Which is how he finds Will's, the bar only two blocks from the apartment. 

He quickly becomes a regular, finding a barstool of his own in the darkened corner, a spot which allows him to watch over the crowd that fills the bar each evening. He minds his own business, sometimes even bringing a book down with him, but usually he passes the time on his smart phone, reading articles, books, as much information as he can get his hands on. 

He tries to mind his own business, at least — until one night, when it becomes impossible. 

“You’re making — a huge mistake, you know,” the man a few seats down from him slurs, slamming his fist down on the dark granite of the bar. 

He’s been watching the man all night, immediately off-put by his demeanor as soon as he showed up. By Killian’s count, he’s on his fifth beer, and has been slowly making his way closer to Belle, sitting a few seats down from him and waiting for Will to finish his duties. 

(Killian has very much enjoyed watching the dalliance that has been brewing between them, still relatively new since he just introduced them only a few weeks before.) 

“I can assure you that I’m not the one making a mistake here,” Belle says, almost huffed under her breath, and he’s fairly sure that she specifically said it so that only he and the man beside her can hear it. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he yells, whipping his head to face her, and even with all the space between them, Killian can see the drunken madness that fills his whole expression, from his dark brown eyes to the ticking of his stubble-covered jaw. 

“Take a hint, ya derro, and leave me alone.” Her voice is calm, almost too quiet, but she still seems to be holding her ground, so Killian just takes another sip from his glass of rum and remains quiet. 

But he stands up, his barstool sliding out from beneath him, and for a moment Killian can swear that he sees the flash of violence cross the man’s face, the look he has seen for too many times just before the start of a fight. Killian almost jumps to his feet, ready to defend his friend, but before he can, the flash is gone, his expression turned to the anger from moments before. “How dare you talk to me like that, you bitch!” 

Belle just scoffs, somehow not as angered by this whole situation as Killian is — or, if she is, she is much better at hiding it, not even turning to face him, her eyes set on the pint of beer in front of her. 

But when Killian watches him take a step in her direction, his hands squeezed into fists at his side, he can sit aside and watch no longer. 

Staying in his seat, he yells, “Oi, mate, I’d suggest leaving the lass alone if I were you.” Both sets of eyes whip towards him, Belle’s wide with surprise until they soften to an expression of gratitude. 

“This is none of your business, mate,” the man spits, taking two quick strides towards him, his back now to Belle. “So if I were you, I would suggest not eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.” 

“If you’re going to speak to her like that, I’m going to make it my business.” He still has not stood, but when the man takes another step in his direction, now within arm’s reach, he almost does. 

“Are you really going to stand up for her? To take her side in all this? All I wanted her to do is answer my fucking question, because I know that she knows where she is!” 

This statement catches Killian off-guard, his eyes flicking towards Belle, who is watching him, wide-eyed, and shaking her head. 

“That doesn’t give you the right to be a fustilarian.” 

The man’s eyes narrow, much of the anger on his face now replaced with confusion. “Excuse me?” 

Killian chuckles. “Your not knowing is half of the fun.” 

This doesn’t make him any less angry, though he turns his attention back to Belle to let some of it out. "Do you know this jackass? What's his deal?" 

At this, Belle smiles, and when she turns back to share a glance with Killian, he doesn't quite understand what it was supposed to mean until she speaks again: "I do, in fact, know this jackass. This is Killian, he's a colleague of mine. Killian, meet Neal Cassidy." 

He feels a few emotions rush through him simultaneously: surprise, anger, violent rage. Instead of acting on any of them, however, he reaches his hand out in an attempt for Neal to do the same, though his only response is to glare down at his outstretched hand, so Killian retracts the nicety. 

"A fustilarian and a bespawler." 

"Christ, Belle, you're friends with this bastard?" 

"Yeah, actually, I am, and he's a much better man than you will ever be." Pride surges through Killian — a good man is all he ever wanted to be, and if he were in a better scenario to thank Belle for her kind words, he would. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" 

He speaks up again: "It means you're a right wandought. How Emma ever loved you is a mystery to me." 

He doesn't realize quite what he's said — or, especially, what it reveals — until the expression on Neal's face changes to something much lighter than anger, and Belle whips around on her stool to stare at him, eyes wide with incredulity, since he has gone and done what she warned him not to before introducing them.  

"You — you know Emma?" Neal asks, all of his previous anger disappeared, replaced instead with something Killian can only describe as hope. 

He jumps to a quick decision: "Aye, that I do. And I also know that you are the last person on Earth that she wants to see, so there is no use further inquiring about her." 

At this, Neal is no longer hopeful — instead, his anger returns, his dark eyes narrowed at him, though they flash to Belle for a moment when she chuckles in agreement. 

"Do you think you know what's best for her?" he asks, his voice much louder than it really needs to be in the practically-empty bar. 

Every response that comes to Killian's head is about their relationship, about the fact that he is her True Love, that he perhaps has a sense of what is good for her because of their connection — but he has a feeling that Neal would take to that idea about as nicely as Emma did, so he does not respond. Belle, however, is quick to jump in, instead. 

"We know that it bloody well isn't you, that's for damn sure." 

This time when he narrows his eyes, it is in Belle's direction, though it only lasts a moment before his expression softens again, this time into one of sadness, as he changes his strategy so obviously that it almost pains Killian. 

"I just…" he starts, then lowers his eyes to the floor, running his fingers through his sandy hair as he lets out a long breath. "I need to apologize to her. For everything I've done to her, I was — fuck, I'm just an idiot, okay? I want her to know that I realized that, and that I still love her. I'm stupid not to, I've realized that, and I… I just need her to know that." 

Killian has no sympathy for the man, and he assumes the same is true for Belle, until he turns to gauge her reaction and see that she is nodding softly at him. "I'm still not going to tell you where she is, but I can — the least I can do is pass on the message." 

"Can you tell her that I want to talk to her? It would…" — he even has the nerve to smile — "It would mean a lot to me, Belle." 

Belle nods, a soft smile across her face to match Neal's. "Yeah, Neal, I'll do that." 

"Thank you," he replies, pulling money out of his wallet and setting it on the bar. "Thanks a lot." And then, he's gone. 

Killian is astounded, dumbfounded, beyond words, and just stares at Belle for a moment, agape. 

However, when she smiles, takes a small sip from the glass in front of her, and mumbles, "Get stuffed" just loud enough for Killian to hear, he feels a bit better. 

But has a plan nonetheless. 

 ▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️

 The nights Emma is the most grateful for her new roommate are nights like this one, where she comes home from her shift after dark, exhausted and starving, to find Killian in the kitchen, working on one of the many recipes he has discovered through extensive internet usage and watching Food Network. 

Today was one of the worst, the hospital busier than it should be for a November night, and she was stretched thin for the last ten of her twelve-hour shift. The bright smile that spreads across his face as he turns to greet her almost makes up for some of it. 

Maybe, like, six hours of it. So, not completely, but maybe a little more than half. 

Because, she's come to realize, she likes him. She likes living with him, likes spending time with him, likes having him there to greet her after a long day (and, yes, okay, she even likes how clean her apartment has been, likes the nights that they accidentally fall asleep on the couch together, likes how he always seems to have a small breakfast and a pot of coffee hot and ready for her when she wakes up, whether before dawn or in the middle of the day.) 

Part of her maybe even likes him, in the way the universe wants her to. He's caring, protective, and sweet, seems to actually care about her as a person — all of which are things Neal definitely wasn't. And, on top of all that, he understands her in ways other people don't — ways that she never expected another person to understand her. He can almost sense her moods, can tell when she needs to be left alone, when she needs a mug of hot chocolate, when she really just needs to eat. Every time she has gone to explain herself, to apologize — which she feels she's done more in the past month than before — Killian just smiles sweetly, usually setting his hand on hers or on her shoulder, and tells her it's unnecessary, that he somehow understands without her explanation. 

No matter how hard it is for her to admit it, their being True Loves would explain a lot of that. It would explain how he seems to know what she's going to say before she starts to say it, or how he's started to know things about her that she hasn't told him, about her childhood and her food preferences and her magic. 

She's assuming this is why Killian is not alone in the kitchen when she gets home, and why his guest is one of the last she would have expected, even if she has been thinking a lot about the last time they spoke. 

"Regina," she says, partially meaning it as a question. 

The woman just smiles, taking a sip from the wine glass sitting in front of her. "Hello, Emma. It's nice to see you again." 

Emma tries to return her smile, but she's fairly certain her face instead becomes something a lot more confused. "Yeah, uh, hi. Nice — nice to see you, too." 

Though it only lasts a moment, the silence that hangs between them is a heavy one. 

So Emma breaks it. "What, uh, are you doing here?" 

"Oh," she says, setting her wine glass down on the table. "I'm here to help you with your magic so you can hex away your ex-boyfriend." 

Emma truly has no response to this. She blinks. She blinks again. 

"In hindsight," Killian says finally, emerging from the kitchen with one of her kitchen towels slung over his shoulder, a look he absolutely stole from Queer Eye's Antoni. "I probably should have warned you about all of this." 

"Killian," Emma groans, dropping her backpack just inside the door, even though she knows Killian will either yell at her for it later, or just put it away himself. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asks, taking a seat next to Regina at the table, reaching across for what is left of the bottle of red wine. 

"I met Neal last night," Killian says, taking the seat on the opposite side of Regina. 

Again, Emma has no response to this. She think her mouth might actually be hanging open as she looks over at Killian. She takes a sip straight from the bottle of wine. 

"At the bar with Belle. He was looking for you, with some cockamamie story about how sorry he is and how he's realized his mistake. And I knew that you've been wondering about Regina's magic, so I took the liberty of reaching out to her for some assistance with Neal, so that you could be sure that he didn't become a problem." 

At first, the main thing she feels is anger — not only at Neal for coming all the way here, for chasing after her after everything he's done to her; but, for just a few moments, she's also mad at Killian for taking the liberty of reaching out to Regina, for not telling her about Neal. 

Until she realizes just how stupid it is to be mad at Killian. She has never met anyone like him, though she's not sure if it's because he's from four hundred years in the past and is just very old fashioned, or just because she's only ever known men to be assholes. Either way, in the weeks that have passed, since the night  she broke a curse and brought a statue back to life (both of which are still a little mind-boggling to her, if she's being honest with herself), she has learned that Killian is nothing if not caring, honest, and always looking out for her best interests. 

Because he's in love with her. She knows that, and every time she asks herself what's keeping her from reciprocating, she can't quite answer. 

So, as quickly as it rolled through her body, her anger towards Killian disappears, leaving behind only anger towards Neal — an emotion has been simmering just below the surface for the last few months (years). 

He must see all of this cross her face over just a few moments, because when she raises her eyes to meet his again, he is watching her intently, picking up every small change in her features. 

She tries her hardest to smile, to show some sort of gratitude for what he has done, but she's fairly sure she has not convinced him. She turns to Regina, who has one eyebrow raised at her, waiting for her response. 

"Okay," is all she says for a moment, the room remaining silent and still, so she takes another sip from the bottle of wine. “So, where do we start?” 

Regina’s face lights up, something Emma didn’t even think was possible, and she sets down her glass of wine before turning her hands palm-up in front of her. Without even so much as flinching, she summons a sphere of white light in her left hand, and a small flame in her right. “First, we have to gauge where your magic skills are already.” 

Emma gulps, suddenly realizing that learning more about her magic means practicing her magic — something she hasn’t done for almost ten years, since Ingrid warned her that just using it to practice would be dangerous enough. 

Yet another lie. 

“There’s no need to be nervous, love,” Killian says, his voice as gentle as the hand that he places on top of hers on the table. “I’m living proof that you can do amazing things with your magic.” 

She’s thankful for him, for his calm and his kindness, but she’s still not sure. “I wasn’t trying to use my magic when I broke your curse, Killian. I haven’t tried to use my magic for years, after being told it was something I should hide away from the world.”

“If this isn’t what you want to do, Emma—” Regina starts, but Emma holds her hand up between them. 

“No, no, this… This is what I want, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.” 

Regina nods, her lips pinched into a thin line, and she turns both of her palms against the table after the magic in them disappears. “Alright,” she says, and nods again. “I think what we need to start with is maybe a bit of a conversation instead of just jumping right into the magic.” 

Emma takes a deep breath, obvious in the rise and fall of her shoulders. “Where do you want to start? My twenty-first birthday, where I lit the candle on my cupcake with a small fire I summoned without even knowing I did it? The list of accidents from the apartments I lived in after college? Meeting Ingrid by accident at the library, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me?”

Regina sucks her breath in through her teeth, tapping the nails of her perfectly-manicured fingers against the table. 

Killian’s hand covering hers squeezes gently. 

“No,” Regina says, hitting her hand against the table. “I don’t want to know that. I don’t want to know any of that.” 

“Then what do you want?” She doesn’t mean to snap, but it’s already been a long-ass day, and it’s apparently not over yet. 

Regina blinks at her twice, her mouth slightly agape, as if taken aback by her tone. Which she doesn’t blame her for, because she’s a bit taken aback by her own tone. 

“What does it feel like?” Regina asks finally, her voice soft, though her eyes are still shooting daggers. 

Emma really doesn’t know how to respond, her breath taken from her lungs. This day has almost become too much. “What?” 

“When you use your magic, what does it feel like?” 

She squeezes her eyes shut, both hoping that she can conjure some memory that can answer Regina’s question, and that, once she opens them, Regina will be gone and this will all be a dream. She doesn’t manage the second, but she does manage the first. 

“It’s been — when l used it to find you in the woods, that was the first time in a while that I used it on purpose, but it’s always been… warm. Comforting, almost, like it was telling me that it would be okay.” Emma feels the warmth rush to her cheeks, hoping that what she is saying is the right answer — if there even is a right answer when it comes to all this — and the large smile that slowly grows across Regina’s face makes her feel a bit better. 

“That’s an excellent start, Emma,” Regina says, her voice warm to match her smile, and Emma begins to feel a bit better, the weight that has been on her shoulders since her twenty-first birthday begins to lighten. 

She can only stay awake enough to be helpful for another forty-five minutes, but in that time, she’s made some progress, both mentally and magically, and when she finally makes it to her bed, thankful that she doesn’t work until the next afternoon, she falls asleep with the growing warmth of her ever-present magic fighting to make itself known — and she does nothing to fight it.

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

[cssns]

CSSNS 2019 SIGN UPS ARTIST REDUX

Hello all, as we three mods have been working to finalize the pairings for the 2019 event, we have realized that we are in need of more artists to pair with authors. 

If you are a fandom artist, and would like to join the event, we are re-opening the registration form until 11:59 pm CST Saturday February 23rd, in the hopes of being able to finalize our pairings this weekend.

Spread the word everyone!!! We need artists!!

For those wishing to sign up for the CSSNS 2019 event, we have the signup form at the top of the page, or for those on mobile, you can sign up Here.

We hope that this year will be just as much (if not more) fun than last year, and we look forward to all of the amazing fics and art to come!!

[ao3feed-captainswan]

One Day

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2IoPe2q

by liliumweiss

By day, Emma is the beautiful swan gliding over the waters of Misthaven's pond, but when night falls, the voice of the wolf the people living in the little town hear is Killian's cry. The curse was meant to be forever, to keep them always together yet eternally apart. No force in Heaven would be able to break such spell, nor any force on Earth. Or so Emma and Killian thought.

Words: 8400, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time), Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Snow Queen | Ingrid | Sarah Fisher

Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Henry Mills, Henry Mills & Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Henry Mills & Emma Swan

Additional Tags: the modern ladyhawke au nobody asked for, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Modern Magic, CSSNS 2k19, CSSNS 2019, Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2IoPe2q

[darkcolinodonorgasm]

One Day (2/?)

Summary: By day, Emma is the beautiful swan gliding over the waters of Misthaven’s pond, but when night falls, the voice of the wolf the people living in the little town hear is Killian’s cry. The curse was meant to be forever, to keep them always together yet eternally apart. No force in Heaven would be able to break such spell, nor any force on Earth. Or so Emma and Killian thought.

A/N: HERE IT IS!! The second chapter of one of my @cssns fics! I’m so so happy of the response this fic had and very disappointed in y’all when you told me you have never seen Ladyhawke.

I need to give a huge, ginormous thank you to @profdanglaisstuff for being The Best Beta Ever™ because not only she corrects my grammar mistakes (and the lies I’ve been told about it), but she also stops me from going too far when it comes to angst. Because, uh, this chapter is full of angst, just so you know. Thank you so so much my Saviour ♥

Of course, another ginormous thank you goes to @sherlockianwhovian for the most wonderful piece of art for this fic. All the kitties snuggles tou you, my dear Leanne ♥

Last but not least, a bit of a warning: this story is very anti-Regina, and this chapter involves non-consensual touching in a non-sexual way but they could be upsetting - and there’s also a vague mention (thank Saira for that) of it in a sexual way (Graham is mentioned, that is).

And now, let’s continue our story :3

(part 1) (ao3) (ffnet)

Chapter 2

When his eyes opened and met the cream ceiling above his head, Henry sighed.

Day 722.

It'd almost been two years. Two years of pain, two years of lies, two years of pretending everything was fine and that he loved the person he despised the most.

At the age of ten, no kid should know what true hate was. Henry Jones was eight when he first felt it.

The first time he'd woken up in a room that wasn't his own, where he wasn't greeted by a bright yellow ceiling, Henry had panicked. It'd taken him a few minutes to calm down and recall what had happened.

While he knew about magic, what with him being surrounded by it and having powers himself, Henry had never seen a curse, not until Regina cast hers.

Nobody, save for the Mayor herself and one other person, knew what the curse would do the citizens of Storybrooke.

Even with the cloud of smoke enveloping him, Henry had still managed to see what happened to his parents, magically poofed somewhere by Regina’s magic, the unmistakable  shade of deep purple could only mean she was the one separating them. Only after a while, when he  discovered the consequences of Regina’s selfishness, Henry understood that his parents weren't in Storybrooke anymore.

He'll always be grateful that he didn't run downstairs yelling for his mother and father, otherwise… He didn't want to think about that, not when he sometimes felt as if he was forgetting. Oh, how he missed his mother, how she'd run her fingers through his hair and play silly games with him and how she would sneak a Pop-Tart to him when his father wasn't looking - as if he didn't know about their habit.

He missed the many nights when his father would be the one tucking him into bed and would then lie next to him to tell him a story. Henry loved his father's imagination, how he’d come up with a different, awesome story every night. He loved it - him - so much that he even started writing his own stories so they would have another thing in common. He missed the family trips on the boat, the barbecues at his grandpa’s, his uncle’s teasing ways to which they all would respond by teasing him about the lass he was clearly yearning for from afar. Henry missed his two grandmothers, too, both providing him with so many baked goods Henry thought he'd explode. Not that this stopped him from eating them all.

Closing his eyes once again, Henry relaxed into the bed, far from comfortable and definitely not ready to start another day of lies and heartbreak. Yet, as much as he hated being outside and facing the people he loved but who didn't remember him or their connection to him, Henry hated staying in that house even more.

He was about to drift off when the smell of apple pie reached him. He felt the need to retch.

In five minutes time tops, Regina would come bursting into his bedroom, not bothering to knock or wake him gently, all chirpy as if she was the wrong version of Snow White.

Henry still remembered how his mother would knock on his door a first time, calling for him, giving him five minutes to get out of the cocoon of blankets he'd buried himself beneath, and then proceed to come into his room, gently poking at him, tickling his feet or sides until he jumped out of the bed, squealing in delight and running downstairs where his father was making breakfast.

A lone tear slid down the side of his face; he rushed to dry it with the back of his hand.

Not wanting to see Regina more than he needed to, Henry got up, so not ready to face day 722 in that hell.

Downstairs, Regina waited for him with a smile plastered on her face, hair perfectly combed and a slice of apple pie next to a glass filled to the brim with apple juice. No more Pop-Tarts, no more pancakes, no more hot cocoa with cinnamon. Simply, no more happy moments at the breakfast table.

«Good morning, Henry,» Regina greeted him, dark red lips stretched in that sugary smile he hated.

«Good morning,» he gritted through his teeth, knowing she would scowl at him if he only grunted in response or ignored her completely. He'd learned that on day one.

He had learned so much on day one but, as much as he thought he would never feel worse in the beginning, day one hadn't been the worst day. There still were very bad days in which he just couldn't take it anymore, days in which he would go where his house, his home had once been, crying over everything that had been ripped away from him. Regina hadn't left him any sanctuary where he could seek refuge.

Like every morning, Regina would drink her coffee reading the newspaper her lackey Sidney Glass wrote for, blabbering gibberish about some stuff only to get his paycheck; he didn't even care about grammar most of the time. Before him, the editor in chief had been Isaac, not one of the best people out there, but at least he didn't make common grammar mistakes. Though very unusual for a newspaper, Isaac had created a section dedicated to stories, kids stories, a section Henry had started to contribute to, even, anonymously sharing his own stories, a modern twist on famous fairytales.

There was no writing after the curse, no freedom to do so; the only thing he had been allowed to keep, Henry had discovered on the fourth day, was his love for comics, but different ones, not the ones he loved to read. Writing, however, was out of the question, he feared Regina would find his notes and discover he'd been lying all along and that she would make him forget, for real this time.

Going to school was both a relief and a torture, since his teacher was his grandmother, and said grandmother didn't remember him at all.

She still dressed in pastel colors, flat shoes on her feet and her hair was still pitch black with just a few strands of silver adorning it like starlight.

As per usual, save for the days in which she had "early morning meetings", Regina escorted him to school. Henry knew who she would be meeting thinking she got away with it every single time. Although he didn’t know what exactly they did together, Henry was certain the man in question was coerced into it.

After all, Regina did have his heart. Poor Graham didn't deserve any of that. Nobody in Storybrooke deserved what had happened to them.

«Not even a kiss?»

Henry felt his own heart break even more.

One thing Regina was strict about was physical contact. It looked like she was trying to make up for missed years of no affection at all, constantly touching him or demanding a kiss. He didn't quite know whether she realized every kiss he planted on her cheek was full of hate and resentment or if she just was happy with herself because she finally had what Emma Nolan and Killian Jones had: their son's love. How could she understand why he acted a certain way, though, or realize every gesture was fake and held no love when she didn't even know what love was?

Not for the first time, as he turned to face her, Henry plastered a smile on his face, one he’d had to perfect in a very short time, unwilling to discover the consequences if Regina ever found out his memories were never gone.

More than once, Henry had wished he'd forgotten his life, more than once he'd wished not to remember anything. It was selfish, but his young heart could only bear so much.

Every touch, every kind word, albeit fake, seemed to him a betrayal, and every day the memory of his parents was fainter.

The intoxicating smell of apples invaded his nostrils as he pecked Regina's cheek, pulling away as swiftly as he could without arousing her suspicion.

No, Regina Mills couldn't tell the difference between what was real and what was fake. Probably it was because she was fake herself.

Although sad, Henry couldn't bring himself to have pity on her. For one, he wasn't his grandmother Mary Margaret, he could see the good in people, even bad ones, even in "villains", but this villain had taken it a step too far.

He waved his hand as he turned around, forcing himself to think more lovely thoughts, like the way his parents used to lift him in the air by holding his hands as they walked him to school, or how his mother would kiss his forehead and his father would ruffle his hair. Those were simple gestures of love, true love, which didn't need to be asked for or given as a bargaining chip for his affection.

One thing Regina couldn't change, however, was the way he would stay - or become once more - friends with the same kids, for they may have had their memories wiped away, but not their sensations about Henry.

It was some kind of tricky loophole, in a way: the people he shared his blood with and his friends didn't remember how it was before or that he was family, yet they seemed to just know. Henry just hoped he wasn't assuming things for the sake of his own feelings.

He fistbumped Nick, Ava and Grace in the garden. They were the only ones in all Storybrooke, aside from his parents and family, to know he was the boy behind the children’s stories signed with the moniker “The Author”. Regina hadn't left him even that. No, Regina had left him nothing of his life, taking everything from him so she would become his everything.

This was the very reason why Henry was glad his memories were still there, because, despite the pain, he was still himself.

Being Mary Margaret Nolan's student was strange. Rationally, Henry knew he would end up in her class, given how small Storybrooke was and its lack of teachers, but he'd always thought it would happen when she still remembered him.

Of course he knew his grandmother would stay professional, but it was also true that she cared for every child in her class, treating them with love and respect. Perhaps that was the reason why it hurt so much; Henry felt like he was as normal as everyone else to her eyes, and not at all like the grandson she’d knitted a baby blanket for or sneaked hot cocoa with cinnamon late at night knowing he would be on a sugar rush and not get to bed early.

Sitting through the lessons as she watched and talked to him as if he was a stranger at best had become less unbearable as time passed. Still, the pain never wavered, it was always there, keeping him company like a parasite.

Once upon a time, his routine had been either being walked home by his grandmother or picked up by either his parents or someone of the family. Amongst them all, aside from Emma and Killian, he had a particular preference for his uncle.

Liam Jones had always been a man of honour, deciding to put his magical abilities in service of the Navy.

For years, when Henry was still quite young, Liam was mostly shipped off somewhere in Europe, never seeing him as much as they both wanted. Only the last year before the curse Liam had communicated he'd decided to keep a more steady position on land after he'd been honourably discharged.

His uncle's new job consisted of ordering people around in Storybrooke, too - Killian's words, mind you - since he'd taken over the role of harbourmaster.

Much like almost everyone else, Liam had kept his job, but his life was still miserable. He didn't remember the little brother he'd helped his mother raise nor the sister-in-law he loved indeed like a little sister nor his nephew.

Now that nobody came to pick him up, Henry walked to Regina's house taking his time, not caring about the homework he had to do too much - he was a fast learner and quite smart for his age, but that wasn't it. Regina didn't care much about his homework either, she cared more about having him make her look like a good mother. She would never be, no matter how much she tried.

That walk towards what had become his prison was Henry's own way of seeing how his family was doing now that they were all strangers.

Ah, yes, the other effect of the curse: destroying the Jones trio wasn't enough; Regina had to crush the Nolans and the Joneses completely.

His paternal grandmother, Alice Jones, was still the owner of the nice bakery next to the Dark Star Pharmacy, but not only didn’t she remember Henry or Killian, she didn't remember her other son either.

Liam may have kept his position as harbormaster, but he thought of himself as an orphan, one who lost his mother very young and failed his little brother. In fact, as Henry had gathered once as he investigated everyone's cursed memories, his family had all been separated from one another. Mary Margaret didn't remember her Prince Charming at all, believing she had never experienced love at all; Liam believed he was a failure and one too many nights he found himself stumbling out the front door of The Rabbit Hole; Alice Jones thought her husband took her children away from her when they were little and mourned them still. And David Nolan, you ask? David Nolan lay in a hospital bed in a coma.

Henry didn't know the specifics, he had no memory of his grandpa being hurt and he didn't know why Regina would feel threatened by him enough to lock him up in a hospital. What was worse, given he had no ties to David in this life, Henry couldn't visit him at all.

The only reason he'd found out about his grandpa's condition was the school trip to the hospital Mary Margaret had organized around month three. Up until then, Henry had been unable to ask anyone about David Nolan as he’d had no real reason to. Oh, had he known who everyone believed David was, he probably would have, but how could Henry know his grandpa’s cursed persona was the Sheriff of Storybrooke, wounded while in service by someone who had never been found?

He'd known better than to ask Regina about the accident, one he was probably supposed to remember and, if he wasn't, she would just tell him it wasn't something to concern himself with.

His family was destroyed, and he had no idea how to break the curse. Whatever power he had, Henry couldn't summon it; Storybrooke was now just an ordinary little town. But though he couldn't feel his own magic, Henry could feel Regina's and his grandmother's and uncle's, along with everyone else's. No one used magic in Storybrooke anymore. No one but Regina.

That was why he couldn't risk revealing he remembered: Regina still had the power to wipe his memories away. If he lost them, there would be no hope left.

Just like all the magic had vanished, all the spellbooks had, too.

As he slowly walked past Granny's, Henry cast a sorrowful glance at the library, its clock broken and the hands hovering over the quadrant indicating it was still 8:15.

It had been 8:15 when Henry was born.

It had been 8:15 when the curse hit.

Whether it was a coincidence or not, Henry didn’t know. All he knew was that it only added to the pain he felt inside.

Not only did the clock remind him of the curse, the library itself was heartbreaking. All Henry wanted to do was go back in time, spend time with his parents as they taught him how to control his magic, how not to bring the characters whose stories he wrote to life. Fortunately for them all, Henry hadn’t been able to conjure more than a bluebird and not armies of ogres.

The library had always been a safe place, a sanctuary of sorts, whether it was to devour books after school or to study magic along with his parents.

Now, instead, it was void of all that once made it special, all the warmth and light within. Not even Belle, the librarian dear to his father was the same, more concerned about her looks and not as much about the books as she had once been.

With a long sigh, Henry kicked a tiny rock away from his path as he resumed walking. Just like every day, when he walked along Main Street, Henry felt his body get somehow heavier, unwilling to proceed farther.

Henry wouldn’t say he was lucky, merely that Regina’s control over him wasn’t as tight as she believed. Since she was under the illusion that he was her precious son, Regina never understood Henry knew everything about her schedule, which lies were written in her agenda so she could sneak off and see Graham whenever she claimed she had a business meeting. She didn't know how he'd studied her habits so he could stay as far away from her as possible.

Today was one of those days, and he could wander around Storybrooke or stay with his friends if he wanted to, or be completely alone with his thoughts, but he had to be back before seven. It wasn't freedom at all, but it was the only small liberty he'd known for the past 722 days.

Panic started to creep up on him, as fast as a car racing at high speed down a road.

Instinctively, Henry whipped his head around, aware of the sudden darkness approaching. There, sat in her shiny black car, was Regina, more focused on checking her lipstick than she was on driving.

For a moment, Henry stayed paralyzed on the sidewalk, breath itching in his throat and heart beating so furiously he seriously worried it would break his sternum.

There was nowhere to hide.

Henry had found himself needing to escape many a time, it was a constant thought in his mind, but the impossibility of going anywhere always stopped him this close to actually crossing the town line. He would have if he'd known which consequences he would face or if he were able to actually do that. In all honesty, Henry doubted it: no one had come to Storybrooke in nearly two years. Or left it.

Now, however, Henry found himself trapped, lost, about to lose the few hours of freedom he looked forward to every day.

He found himself backed up against a wall, and as his heart beat frantically in his throat, his eyes were drawn to the insignia above his head.

Mr. Gold. Pawnbroker and antiquities dealer.

If possible his heartbeat quickened.

Henry knew who Mr. Gold was, it was impossible not to when he owned half the town. But that wasn't all what Henry knew of him.

Robert Gold was - or had been - a very powerful and very old sorcerer, his power so dark many kept away from his path just to be sure they wouldn't be turned into toads or puppets. He dealt, as his insignia said, in antiquities, some magical and some not, offering mostly deals instead of asking for money directly.

Most of all, Henry knew Gold was the one who created the curse Regina cast.

For 722 days, the young lad had avoided the pawnshop like the plague, worried Gold would understand he still had his memories intact and wipe them away or worse, involve Regina.

Ironically enough, he was now Henry’s sole chance to temporarily escape the evil witch.

Without looking back, Henry sprinted to the door and wrenched it open, the bell above his head jingling so loudly he believed it would break and fall on the parquet at his feet. Not that he cared much about it, not when he could feel Regina’s magic closer and closer as she passed by the shop and continued on her way.

Though the trace of dark magic didn’t disappear, Henry could feel when hers did and he could finally consider himself safe.

With his still stiff back pressed against the door, he exhaled in relief, lungs burning as his breathing returned to normal.

Alas, he’d been so focused on his own sensations that he’d failed to notice the man behind the counter, a man who was staring at him with keen interest.

Henry gulped, his tongue suddenly thick and dry in his mouth.

«Good afternoon, lad,» the man, Gold, greeted him, resuming his work. He was carefully polishing a white teacup with bright blue hand-painted decorations, careful of its chipped rim.

«G-good afternoon, Mr. Gold,» Henry breathed, eyes wide as pain shot through his heart: only the Joneses had ever called him “lad”. Now, neither his uncle or grandmother addressed him that way.

Squaring his shoulders, Henry stepped away from the door, genuinely curious about which sorts of artifacts he would find in the glass display cases and cabinets. Was there an artifact to destroy all magic in the world? Selfishly, were that his only solution, Henry knew he would use it to bring his parents back to him, consequences be damned.

As he suspected, the pawnshop hosted so many interesting objects oozing magic off of them. It wasn’t just the peculiarity of some of them, but also the fact that many Henry knew belonged to his friends and family.

Sprawled over one of the cases as some kind of tablecloth was Ruby’s crimson cloak that served to keep her wolf under control when the full moon hung high in the sky; his uncle’s sextant was nestled in a cocoon of deep sea blue velvet; what looked like a blue magic wand was on display in a wooden case with engravings of words written only for fairies to read.

Everywhere he looked, Henry could see something belonging to people he’d known his entire life. Propped up against an old writing machine was the stuffed rabbit Grace’s father had stitched for her and Henry knew could come to life only per Grace’s wish.

What caught the boy’s attention, however, was the deep red leather jacket hanging in a dark corner of the shop.

Without caring for the man who was undoubtedly following his every movement, Henry strode towards where the jacket was, not feeling any kind of power or scent coming from it, but he had no doubt at all: that was his mother’s jacket.

He reached out with a trembling hand, feeling the buttery leather beneath his fingertips. His father and himself always joked about they had to clear out a good space in their wardrobe to fit all their leather jackets and how Emma owned lots of them in every shade of red rather than in other colours - Killian couldn’t quite be the one to talk given all his jackets were black.

A choked laugh escaped his lips at the memory.

«Interesting choice,» came Gold’s voice behind him, «I seem to always forget it’s there.»

Out of nowhere - no, out of the place he’d buried his feelings inside for the past two years, rage made Henry’s vision go red.

He had to talk himself out of screaming at Gold so he wouldn’t expose himself, but that didn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth.

«It belonged to my mo- to a woman named Emma.»

Oh, how painful it was to pronounce her name after all this time. Henry bit back sobs and tears as his shoulders started to tremble.

Behind him, a loud clattering sound filled the air.

«Emma?» Gold breathed, the strange tone in his voice helping Henry to break out of the pain threatening to drag him down like an iron ball. «What a lovely name.»

Hurriedly drying the tears streaking his cheeks, Henry took several deep breaths before turning around, suspiciously looking at the man, a frown on his young face.

Gold cast a quick glance at the pendulum clock. He hummed. «It’s still quite early,» he mused, limping then from behind the counter to where Henry stood next to a curtain he noticed just now, «Why don’t you join me for a cup of tea?»

The sly smile Gold sent Henry made the boy shiver, eyes wide as the older man brought up the hand that wasn’t holding his cane and pushed the curtain aside. He only took half a step towards the back of the shop, half his body and face covered by the fabric so to give him a more sinister appearance.

«Or perhaps you’d rather I prepared you a mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon, young Mister Jones?»

[darkcolinodonorgasm]

One Day (1/?)

Summary: By day, Emma is the beautiful swan gliding over the waters of Misthaven's pond, but when night falls, the voice of the wolf the people living in the little town hear is Killian's cry. The curse was meant to be forever, to keep them always together yet eternally apart. No force in Heaven would be able to break such spell, nor any force on Earth. Or so Emma and Killian thought.

A/N: hello hello hello!! Here it is, my first story for @cssns​ 2019! I’m so so so happy to finally share with you this fic! I’ve been in love with Ladyhawke since I was little and I don’t put watch the movie every time it’s on TV past me. I did it.

Anyway, you don’t need to have seen the movie - if you haven’t, though, do it!! - since all I took out of it is how the curse works. And some lines and scenes I couldn’t go without.

I can’t thank @profdanglaisstuff​ enough for her miraculous beta skills - this fic wouldn’t be as beautiful as it is without her help - and her suggestions, just like I can’t thank @sherlockianwhovian​ enough for the bloody brilliant, wonderful, amazing art she gifted me with for this fic! My eyes have permanently assumed a heart shape!

Many thanks to the mods of the event and the wonderful ladies in the discord chat: you are all amazing!

And now, on with the story! Hope you like it! :D

(and sorry for the awful summary, I tried my best xD)

(ao3) - (ffnet)

Sun filtered through the blinds, warming the bare skin of his back, muscles straining beneath the dermis, reminding him of the recent shift. He hated changing in his sleep, he hated it but also didn’t, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes away from Emma’s.

Nuzzling his face into the pillow, Killian turned on his side, a soft pearl white greeting him. She was asleep, as usual, her long slender neck resting on top of her body, her beak pressing into her feathers, much just like she used to do when they were still complete human beings, when she always sought his body warmth, her feet cold and her nose a piece of ice.

His mouth curled up in a smile as he sighed, the muscles in his back screaming as he stretched out his arm and gently caressed the soft feathers. Emma wiggled a bit under his warm touch. Although they spent half the day in animal form and were not able to talk to one another unless it was through recorded videos, they acted as if they were still human. Every time Killian would caress her bare back while she still was asleep, Emma would wiggle her body, not wanting to be disturbed in her sleep, especially when Killian woke up with the bloody sun.

The irony, Killian fumed, shaking his head and turning completely on his side. Almost two years had passed but he still missed her body pressed against his, soft freckled skin smelling like her vanilla bodywash, the one she secretly loved but always claimed she needed to change. She’d be saying that since she was sixteen.

Once upon a time, the morning he was blessed to wake up with her next to him, Killian would usually take in her sleeping form, the curly mass of blonde hair covering half her face, lifting with each breath she took, tickling her nose so she would scrunch it, frowning in her sleep because her own hair disturbed her. He would then push the golden strands away from her face, and Emma would just snuggle close, throwing her arm around his torso.

«Good morning, love,» he whispered, caressing her swan neck with his knuckles, his wedding ring glinting in the dim sunlight. Killian sighed. He missed when she would bat his hand away and he would catch it, intertwining their fingers and admiring the light catching on his mother’s ring, the one he’d used to propose.

Opting to let her sleep after the surely long night she’d had, Killian nuzzled her neck again before getting up and grabbing a clean pair of boxers. He was glad the only thing the curse didn’t take away from them were their wedding rings, as if they were part of them.

As per usual, every time he woke up, Killian would step in front of the tablet they’d set up to record video messages for one another. Sometimes there would be more videos recorded during the day – or night – if they felt nostalgic or wanted to tell the other something exciting or something new about their research.

Pressing the gallery app, he found only one video, recorded around five a.m., definitely at the police station. He remembered being there after his nightly run. He hoped he hadn’t hunted down one of Peter’s rabbits. The man would probably kill him, Killian wouldn’t put it past him.

Killian clicked onto the video without playing it, taking his time to admire how beautiful she was. He hated that he could only see her in photos or videos, never with his own two eyes. His eyebrows shot up as he watched her face, her curls tied in a messy ponytail and thick black-rimmed glasses that were slightly crooked on the bridge of her nose. Behind them, Emma’s eyes had dark circles around them, as she usually had every night when she worked both at the police station and on their project.

Unsurprisingly, she was wearing one of his sweatshirts. Much like him, Emma clung to anything that belonged to him he would leave around, whether it was clothes, a note, food the other made, little gifts. They still yearned for that part of humanity they couldn’t live, that normal part that had been ripped away from them and they were desperately trying to take back.

«Hey, babe,» Emma’s tired voice greeted him after he pressed play. He sighed, mirroring her smile; despite her tiredness, Emma still managed to give him the brightest smile she could. «It’s, ugh, it’s just about five, which you already know anyway because I’m one hundred percent sure you still look at which hour it’s been recorded so you can check how much sleep I actually get.» She sighed lovingly, biting her lower lip as she used to do when she was remembering something happy – or had a naughty thought. Even after all this time, he still vividly remembered how she would look up at him from under her eyelashes, green eyes glinting with mischief.

In the video, Emma brought her eyes back on the screen. «Anyway, nights here almost as boring as Storybrooke’s. Am I a bad person if I say I don’t miss Leroy? I probably am. I don’t care. Which makes me even worse. Oh well, I’d rather be dealing with Zelena’s calls all nig- No. No, wait, nopes. I take that back. Zelena’s calls are the worst. But you know that already. It’s her voice! I hate it, so high-pitched! And she complains about everything. How can she keep going on both day and night?» She shook her head, clearly tired of the young woman’s calls about flying monkeys. There were none, thankfully, both he and Emma had checked. Multiple times.

«So, while nothing happened at work, aside from Zelena calling. Once. Huge record. But. I’ve went through some old books I might have secretly taken from the library – thank god Belle’s not here, though I really miss her research abilities. I bet we would’ve already found a solution by now.»

Ah, Belle, the petite, witty librarian and one of Killian’s best friends despite their age difference. Which wasn’t much, but perhaps it was that what made their friendship so special: they were an unusual pair, had started off definitely with the wrong foot but had ultimately bonded. Killian missed Belle, as much as he missed everyone else. There were people, though, he missed more than any other inhabitant of Storybrooke.

«However, I’ve found this… thing. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but there seems to be a scroll, something called the Sorcerer’s scroll. The book I’ve found, a very, very strange one, you’ll see, says the scroll has a prophecy written on it. However, what I’ve found out is that it can locate the “hidden town”. Or something like that. You’re better at ancient Greek than me anyway, so unless they meant Atlantis or Olympus, whoever wrote this book meant Storybrooke. I hope. Or… any town surrounded by a magical barrier? Ugh, I don’t know, Killian.» Emma sighed, taking off her glasses only to run her hand over her face. She was tired, and not because of the late hour. «I just want to go home.»

It wasn’t unusual for either one of them to have a breakdown, especially in front of the tablet: although they couldn’t physically comfort each other, they still knew the other would understand. Both Killian and Emma had had enough of Misthaven. Yes, the people were lovely, there, they understood and accepted them, but there was a reason why they’d been cursed, a reason why they not only were searching for a cure but also for a way back to Storybrooke.

As if on cue, the tattoo on his chest itched, the lion wanting to roar to life, the constellation inside it burning as if it was composed by actual stars. He sighed, pressing his hand above his heart, the slightly raised skin there pulsating at his every beat.

In the video, Emma’s fingers were tracing the buttercup on her wrist. They’d had them done at the same time, with Emma barging into Mulan’s house at one a.m.; the Chinese tattoo artist welcoming her with a dao raised, its shiny point aiming at Emma’s throat. Emma paid double for the tiny tattoo.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t peaceful either. Outside, in the dark of the night, thunders roared like lions fighting for the land. Killian inhaled deeply, his subconscious making him feel the scent of wet wood and musk as if he was still in wolf form and his sense enhanced.

«Locator spells won’t work.»

Suddenly, Emma’s voice brought him back. He tilted his head, cataloguing the distress on her face.

«Of course they won’t,» she muttered to herself, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. «We need to find it, Killian. I just don’t know how. There’s this… prophecy, but it’s written in runic. If you weren’t such a Lord of the Rings nerd I would think it’s elvish.» Emma chuckled. The video didn’t make it justice, it wasn’t as warm as it was in real life, when her breath would tickle his skin or mingle with his own before one of them dove in for a kiss. «In fact, even though I’m not a language nerd like you are, I did make a thorough study of which kind of runes these are. Any guesses?»

Immediately, Killian stopped the video. Whenever they asked each other a non-rhetorical question, they would stop the video and would actively try to come up with an answer.

Now, although Killian was good at languages – more than Emma, honestly, but she was pretty good, too – he was a bit rusty when it came to runes. Liam had always been the better one at runic alphabets, something that had to do with his long trips to Norway. Or, rather, his girlfriend living there. Liam always denied he was with her, but the telltale signs of his embarrassment were always present.

Had phone calls still be a possibility, he would’ve called Liam already. Hell, they would’ve already broken the curse, probably. Instead, communications with Storybrooke had been abruptly cut off, every phone number nonexistent and, of course, mail didn’t get there. Nor emails, for all that mattered.

«Trick question, love,» he muttered, the beginning of a smirk showing up on his face as he shot a glance to her sleeping form, «it must be Elder Futhark, can’t be otherwise. Well, they could be Anglo-Saxon runes, if we followed the Arthurian legends and this so-called Sorcerer was Merlin. Can it be? Well, either or. The other ones are either a mixture or a descendant of Elder Futhark anyway.»

Killian sighed and his shoulders sagged. How he hoped he could tease her about runic alphabets and his knowledge of ancient languages, knowing fully well she loved that nerdy part of him.

Pressing the play button again, Killian was greeted with Emma’s laugh. «You didn’t even look it up, did you?» She shook her head. «Alright, alright, it’s Elder Futhark, of course. I’ll let you get the exact translation, I’m tired, going to drink lots of coffee and try to put some of the data in the system. Geez, this police station is even worse than Storybrooke’s.»

As if on cue, Emma brought a mug up in front of her which, of course, was Killian’s, the one with a pattern of ships, anchors, wheels, compasses and other nautical objects, one of the many she’d gifted him when she was going through her mug phase.

«I’ll leave the book in the living room when I come home. Oh, before I forget,» Emma added, pointing a finger at the monitor, a warning glance at him, burning him as if she was there in the flesh in front of him, «don’t you ever dare bring dead rabbits to the station again. It stinks, Killian. I know Fenrir wants me to give him belly rubs and scratch behind his ears, but we need to draw the line at dead things you want to eat.»

Killian’s ears were now on fire. Bloody hell, he thought, embarrassment flooding through him. As always, he wasn’t proud of what he did when in wolf form, mostly because he didn’t remember much of it. The wolf always took over, it always followed its instincts. Thankfully, for one reason or another, the wolf never attacked Emma. In fact, it protected her, somehow, as if it knew she was its mate. Killian was thankful for that, if he could even consider himself thankful for that bloody curse, but better to be grateful than live with the regret of having hurt the love of his life. Or worse.

Aside from it being bloody awful, it was also bittersweet: both wolves and swans mated for life. Regina hadn’t even left them that.

«Goodnight, my love,» Emma softly whispered to him, her eyes shining with love as she looked at the webcam. «One day,» she whispered at last, moments before stopping the video, the last frame showing her loving smile, one she would reserve to him and him alone.

Whenever she smiled like that, he would smile back at her, the skin around his eyes wrinkling, and he would then dip his head and kiss her. Killian just couldn’t resist her, he never could.

«One day,» he vowed with a sigh.

It had been their promise since it all began: one day, they would be human again. One day, they would get back to Storybrooke, back home. One day, they would be reunited with their family.

Thankfully, Robin had the morning shift at the station, leaving Killian time to study the inscription on the scroll.                                                                                                                                      

Pulling a fresh pair of sweatpants from the drawer, Killian put them on, walking towards the laptop he’d left on the coffee table. Slightly squinting at the monitor – he wouldn’t succumb to glasses, he would not – Killian pulled up a pdf file of scans he’d made of rune books.

Next to the laptop was the antique book Emma was talking about. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Killian might be a detective, but he also was a history nerd due to his mother’s interests and the fact that she’d raised him and Liam with stories of all the little details of Arthurian legends every night. Although it was the main reason, Killian loved history because he could learn the truths “normal” historians didn’t talk about, truths he could easily believe in, such as the existence of a wizard named Merlin and a Lady inhabiting a lake.

Thinking about his love for those legends automatically filled him with a sense of loss.

Since he was a young lad Killian had known what loss was. It didn’t matter that he still had his brother and mother, his father, the man he looked up to, left him. They’d not been separated by death, but by Brennan’s choice.

Killian’s reaction had not been a peaceful one, the blinding love he felt towards the man suddenly transforming into rage, snapping at the two remaining members of his family and whoever dared speak to him. Only the realization that he was hurting his mother had suddenly put a stop to his behaviour.

In order to make amends, in fact, Killian had started to show a genuine interest in what his mother loved, supporting her decision to write a novel – or twelve – and devouring all the information she discovered, coming to the point in which he would be the one to show her something new, an ancient manuscript or map Alice didn’t know existed.

Slowly, his mother’s sad expression once again became a proud one, and Killian soon forgot about his father’s abandonment.

Liam, on the other hand, continued keeping an eye on him. It wasn’t mistrust, not at all, he believed in his little – younger! – brother, but he couldn’t help being protective of Killian, watching him like a hawk and making sure he didn’t get into fights without knowing how to emerge the victor. Or at least how to not end up in the hospital.

With a sad and wistful smile, Killian took the tome, opening it to the page Emma had bookmarked. Elder Futhark wasn’t complicated, translating runes in modern English was more of a letter by letter translation instead of needing to search for the word’s specific meaning. However, since not every letter had a corresponding rune, people used to use a few runes in place of the missing letters. Or, as he could clearly see from the first line, they created new runes.

Killian’s brows knitted together, brushing his thumb over his lower lip, slightly pulling it down as he tried to recall what other manuscript presented made-up runes. There probably was no relation to the scroll anyway.

Another thing that didn’t sit right with him was the absence, in the tome, of the translation. Of course, the book was old enough to have been written when people could still easily read runes. But he wasn’t convinced.

Being the old-fashioned man Emma always fondly claimed he was, Killian took up his leather-bound notebook and a pen, carefully translating the runes.

Truth to be told, he didn’t even need to look up what each rune meant but, if Emma was right, he couldn’t allow himself to make a mistake. There was too much at stake, so much more than breaking their curse.

“I have travelled the world near and far, my search knows no bounds, my obsession will not leave me, my search will continue to the ends of the earth.”

If Killian had been confused before, now he was shocked. This didn’t look like a prophecy, but a journal of sorts instead.

Suddenly, fear gripped his heart, wrapping tightly around it like a serpent did its prey to keep it still while it fed.

“One thing I know for sure: the name of the Savior is Emma.”

One thing Killian Jones knew for sure, was that nothing was a coincidence. Nothing. Ever.

It hadn't been a coincidence that his mother had brought him and his brother to Storybrooke but, before that, it hadn't been a coincidence what happened on their last vacation in Cornwall.

Killian couldn't say he knew everything about magic, not when he had a brilliant best friend who was always three steps ahead with her knowledge despite not having an ounce of magic coursing through her veins, but what he knew was that Emma was no Savior. Well, not quite. From his part, she was, somehow, but it was mostly tied to what they went through in the past, not to some kind of prophecy.

He cast a glance at her sleeping form, a flash of how she would've looked in human form passing was fast as lightning in front of his eyes. Emma was a bed-hog, always claiming all the blankets for herself and yet managing to wrap her limbs around him like a bloody koala in order to steal his body heat.

His worry didn't fade, on the contrary, it increased. What did this scroll mean? Why Emma? What did she need to do? What other catastrophe would be placed on their path home?

“The Savior shall be my sister. The family must be complete.”

This had just become weirder. Not only that, the scroll didn't seem to allude to any form of magical barrier and how to cross them, nor to hidden towns in the Middle of Bloody Nothing, Maine

Not having the actual scroll in his hands, Killian couldn't place a locator spell on it to find its owner and get the answers he sought. He couldn't go door to door asking if anyone had ever seen the scroll either, assuming of course that said scroll was in Misthaven.

The little community, much like Storybrooke but completely different, too, had been very much welcoming, not glaring at them after hearing about their curse and acting quite nicely instead, offering them shelter when they needed it the most. Killian dreaded to think what living in a town where most people didn't believe magic existed would be like. They would've probably been forced to flee as soon as someone even got suspicious, hoping they would not be discovered. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, conjuring happy memories to wash away the horrifying images of his seaman laying on a lab table, scientists all around her or, worse, her small figure on the ground, blood painting her snowy feathers a deep blood red.

He wanted to retch.

Killian closed his eyes, breathing in deeply and focusing on his memories of Emma to quench his fear. She was still alive, there was no actual threat to her life unless they found a way back to Storybrooke. And even then, the monster that cursed them would soon take her last breath.

He was glad Sarah took them in, under her wing. How ironic: they'd been escaping from a mayor and got taken in by another.

Killian widened his eyes, a quiet gasp escaping his lips. What if… It was a long shot, and he might find himself back to square one, with nothing more than a bloody book in his hands, but his instinct was telling him he was on the right path.

After running away from Storybrooke - or rather, after they'd been forcefully teleported behind the town line - Emma and Killian had tried to cross the invisible barrier, but neither Emma's magic or Killian's newfound wolf strength could do anything against such a powerful curse.

They survived in the woods around Storybrooke for barely a month, Emma's transformation a horrible surprise when morning came. Whatever time they had they spent it trying to figure out a solution, a way to break the curse, all in vain.

They stopped living like that when Killian was almost killed by a hunter. They couldn't keep living like that, they deserved to live like human beings.

Hoping there'd be someone like them out there, they tried to follow magic, a bit tricky when you don't know what you're looking for, but they ultimately found a trace, a magic different from theirs.

Sarah Fisher had snow magic.

At first they were wary of her, as much as they wanted to trust someone who had magic, they’d ignored the danger Regina represented and they would not repeat that mistake again.

Sarah, however, was immediately friendly. Not knowing who they were, she couldn't have a plausible reason to hate them, but being cautious was essential, they couldn't risk being exposed or, worse, killed.

It was Emma who met her first, in the dead of the night, victim of her magic. Sarah, too, had been afraid, hence why she attacked Emma, sensing her light magic but also the curse.

After freeing her, Sarah asked what had happened to them. Although Killian wasn't exactly in control or the wolf, Fenrir - as Emma lovingly called his wolf, trying to make the best out of the situation - was still a part of him. Or, rather, he was Fenrir, but nothing like Ruby, he was not a werewolf, albeit sometimes even Ruby didn't have control on her wolf or didn't remember what happened during the night. What Killian remembered of his nights were fragments of distorted memories that almost seemed alien to his human mind, and, most of all, sensations.

Wanting, needing to know what he felt during his cursed nights, in the morning he would write everything down in his journal, a diary of sorts, much like a captain's log.

When Sarah showed up in the forest, Fenrir had been wary of her, the wolf’s hackles rising and a low, warning growl resonating form his throat.

The same night, however, although the wolf still kept his eyes on her, she showed she was  a good person. Emma's superpower - so-called, not her actual magic, of course - did go off on a few occasions, but never when Sarah spoke of Misthaven and how she wanted to help lost souls or, in their case, a lost family.

Misthaven became their temporary home, a little quaint town near Boston, one that, much like Storybrooke, was well hidden and isolated.

Not having any money to speak of - Killian contemplated the idea of producing a bag of money with a wave of his hand, only to be glared at and pecked  by Emma - Sarah gave them a house and a job as well.

It was surprising how little towns’ law enforcements always lacked deputies.[1] 

They became deputies, covering the roles they had in Storybrooke, under the guidance of Chief Bogo. It was almost like the old times, but ten times worse.

In Storybrooke, Emma and Killian used to work together, making one hell of a team. Not that the little town had this huge criminal activity, but when it came to actual, magical crisis, they could do anything together. Of course, they were never alone, they had a whole team, a family, who got their backs, but some victories they conquered together were the ones they savoured the most. And the most wonderful, amazing, satisfying victory of all was their little lion.

Killian’s heart ached at the thought, more than anything he wanted to get back to him. It’d been too long, two years too long.

Closing the laptop and doing something he never would do, he ripped out a page of the notebook, folding it. Rapidly, he changed into a pair of jeans and a shirt, foregoing the vest entirely, he didn’t have time to be fashionable, not when today he could find the answer he was seeking.

He needed to calm down, the last thing he needed was to fuck everything up because he was too impulsive. Quietly, so as not to wake Emma, he slipped into his boots, picking up the folded note and his leather jacket.

Before heading out of the door, Killian cast one last glance at Emma. Inside his chest, his heart swelled at the thought that, hopefully, soon he’d be able to see her again, to actually see her, He could talk to her, kiss her, map out her body once more, but even just being able to see the real her would be enough, videos and photos couldn’t compete against that feeling of loneliness and loss that wrapped around his insides like a snake.

A quick glance towards the open window next to the bed assured him Emma could easily come find him. It’d seem impossible, or utterly inimaginable for anyone without an ounce of magic or imagination, but both Killian and Emma, in either form they can take, whether animal or human, can always find one another.

In order to not stop their cursed counterparts from leaving the house, Emma enchanted a window with blood magic so only the two of them could go through it, adding a few more spells in order to not let the rain inside or the temperature to drop or rise according to the weather outside.

Misthaven’s layout was pretty much the same as Storybrooke’s, with little shops arranged on both sides of the town’s main street. There was even a diner, run by none other than the lovely Aunt Em. Granny would probably walk the whole way to Misthaven if she ever caught wind that Em’s grilled cheese was better than hers.

Unlike Storybrooke, however, Misthaven lacked a pawnbroker’s shop, a shop Killian could very well live without, just like he could easily live without its owner.

Anna, a bubbly redhead left in charge of the ice cream parlour Any Given Sundae after her aunt’s election, greeted him as she arranged the shop’s windows with decorations and chocolate sweets. He’d need to come back later, it’d been too long since he last gave Emma chocolates or managed to bake something for her. Besides, Anna’s chocolate, any kind she prepared, was simply divine.

It was perhaps his worst kept secret, but Killian had a sweet tooth, almost as sweet as Emma's, especially when it came to chocolate or his mother's marmalade. He chuckled at  the memory of how Emma, too, had been extremely fond of that orange marmalade, going almost mad with need but not wanting to ask Alice to make her some because she felt ashamed. Despite the decidedly happy outcome, that year had not been an easy one. Of course, Killian’s mother just knew, and had presented Emma with so many marmalade jars they still had one or two hidden in their house’s basement. But was it still their house? A horrible, nauseating sensation twisted his guts. Suddenly, whatever trace of hunger he’d had disappeared.

Clenching his jaw, Killian rapidly strode towards Sarah’s house, a nice little mansion not far from the center of Misthaven but pretty secluded anyways. He felt as if his heart had been stabbed a thousand times as he saw the resemblance to the blue Victorian house he called home.

Shaking his head to banish the unwelcome thought, Killian made his way towards the front door, which magically opened with a gust of cold breeze, chilling his skin and sending shivers down his spine, the hairs on his neck and arms rising.

Although that was a clear invitation, Killian, being the gentleman he always was, rapped his knuckles against the door, calling out for Sarah.

«In the kitchen, darling!»

He stepped inside, the door closing right behind him. He tried not to flinch: as much as he knew Sarah’s magic was good, that Sarah was good, Killian couldn’t help but remember who else used her magic for the littlest things. No, he wouldn’t and couldn’t compare the two: even with her secrets, Sarah was a good person.

«Killian! What a nice surprise!» Sarah told him, rinsing her hands and walking to him to wrap her arms around him. «How are you? How was your night?»

Killian returned the hug, her fresh scent of mint invading his nostrils along with a whiff of… was that curry? Throwing a quick glance at the table, Killian could see Sarah was making a new batch of ice cream. Or, well, trying to.

Bringing his attention back to the woman, Killian smiled fondly. «I’m good, as much as I could be after I inadvertently brought a dead rabbit to the station,» he admitted, his neck flushing red, up to the tips of his ears. Although he knew she wasn’t and couldn’t possibly be, Killian saw Sarah almost as a mother figure. It made him miss his mother even more.

Despite the pain, however, he was grateful she’d come into their lives, bringing them a spark of hope. And now, if his suspicion was correct, she would provide him with the means to get back home and break this curse once and for all.

Sarah laughed lightly, bringing her fingers to her lips to cover them like a lady would do. Killian always found that a remarkable trait of Sarah’s, it reminded him of Snow and how her manners were those of a princess.

«Emma must've not been too enthusiastic about it,» the woman replied, stepping back and moving to the table, fingers tracing the rim of a crystal cup to freeze the ice cream inside. Killian had never seen the process, but magic fascinated him, especially magic peculiar to certain people.

«Indeed she wasn’t,» he confirmed, watching as Sarah then proceeded to put the kettle on. Another thing they shared was their love for tea, albeit Killian had a more English taste while Sarah loved to try different flavours, much like she did with her ice cream.

Being used to her kitchen, Killian took two cups out of the cupboard and set them on the counter. «What about you? How was your day? Didn’t you have your weekly meeting with Zelena yesterday?»

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sarah shudder. Against his better judgement, Killian chuckled, earning an icy glare from the woman. «Don’t you dare laugh at me for my own disgraces, boy, Zelena’s obsession is a cross all of us must bear.»

Chastised, he nodded. «Aye, you’re right. I hate that Emma’s the one having to deal with her late night calls the most. It’s a wonder she’s not seriously snapped at Zelena already.» His Swan, always so fierce, but a tad short-tempered. In Storybrooke, after one too many nights in the cell, she’d yelled at Leroy that, if he wanted Astrid to date him, he should quit drinking and getting involved in bar fights. Suffice to say, Leroy visits to the station were more tied to a sense of gratefulness than to one beer too much in his system.

Killian doubted Zelena would actually listen to his wife, though, which would only fuel Emma's ire. She would probably cut off the electricity of Zelena's house and slash her tires. Once, twice, thrice, until she would just end up blasting the redhead with magic, ending her life on the spot. And to say, Emma had been able to keep herself from doing the same to Regina for years. Now, Killian regretted he'd talked her out of her very detailed plans to end the woman's life.

«If I wasn't the mayor, I would definitely approve of more drastic methods. Alas, I have to play nice. Believe me, I'd just love to freeze her just a tiny bit.» Sarah’s expression turned pensive. «Do you think hibernation could work? Could she tell the difference between hibernation and sleeping?»

The serious tone in which she spoke had Killian chuckling. «I don't think so. You could try.»

Sarah hummed, clearly considering the idea.

They worked in tandem and harmony, Killian taking over the tea preparation and Sarah arranging the table, any trace of her experiments disappearing and making way to toasted bread and a vast variety of jams and butter.

It wasn't unusual that they had breakfast together, or that she and Emma would sometimes dine at Sarah's place, with Killian either hunting outside or curled up at Emma's feet.

This, Sarah's friendship, the bond the three of them had created, was the main reason why Killian still refused to believe the woman had lied to them all this time.

Setting down the steamy teacups in front of them, Killian took place in what had become his chair. Perhaps Sarah never actually wanted to hurt them, but what he'd read wouldn't leave him alone, not until he had an answer.

Sarah looked at him from over the cup, ice blue eyes boring into his in search of an answer themselves «What's troubling you, Killian?»

For a moment, he felt like a ten-year-old, worrying about the world’s mysteries he couldn't find an answer to. It was then, when he was pouting and his gaze was lost, that his mother would brush strands of hair from his forehead in a soothing gesture and ask him what question he wanted her to answer.

«What do you know about the Sorcerer’s scroll?»

So much for having a way with words[2] [3] .

The teacup clinked against the table as it shattered, splashing scorching hot tea all over it and Sarah. A hiss filled the air, and he could see smoke rising from the woman's torso, right where the tea had seeped through the blouse and come in contact with her skin.

For a moment, Killian feared she would turn him into an ice statue, or freeze his heart.

Squaring his shoulders and clenching his jaw, he kept staring at her, holding her gaze. Worry clouded her eyes. Did she fear he'd hurt her? That he would expose her secret to everyone? What secret, though? Why was she so scared of him - or anyone else - knowing about the scroll?

At last, she spoke. «Unfortunately, too much and too little.»

Killian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He waved his hand, and a cloud of crimson smoke enveloped the teacup. When the cloud dissipated, the teacup was fixed, and full of tea once more. He didn't do anything for her clothes, there still were boundaries he didn't want to cross. «Tell me.»

After drying her blouse and jeans, Sarah took another sip of tea, pondering. «I shall start from the beginning, then.» Another pause, perhaps the hope that it was only a dream. «For one, my name is not Sarah. It's Ingrid. I'm… I'm the runaway princess of Arendelle. You probably haven't heard of it, though wouldn't be surprised if you had. Arendelle, much like Misthaven and Storybrooke, is a sanctuary for us magical beings.»

Killian tilted his head, wondering why all this secrecy. Her next words answered his unspoken question.

«I was barely eighteen when it happened. I was the only one with ice powers in my family, aside from my Grandmother. You see, only a member of the royal family with snow or ice powers can rule, mostly in fear of what non-magic rulers could do, even if their blood has magic. Mind you, it's mostly like Denmark or United Kingdom, nothing like a true monarchy, not anymore. As far as I know, my niece ascended to the throne after I left, otherwise, I'd be the one with a crown on my head. But I didn't leave because I didn't want the crown: I ran away because I killed my own sister.»

Silence fell between them, Killian staring at Sarah - no, Ingrid - in confusion. While her words couldn't be misunderstood, her expression of true regret told another story. As it usually happened, there was more to what people spoke aloud, hence why he always knew to search deeper. Emma had her superpower, but Killian had an acute perception, too. There was a reason why he was good at his job. Sometimes, Emma wondered if they should move to a slightly bigger city, so he could put his brilliant mind to good use.

Killian cleared his throat so low it sounded like a growl. «What happened to her?» He didn't accuse Sarah, he merely gave her a little push to give him her own version of the story, one he wouldn't consider an excuse because he knew how easily someone could lose control over their power.

Sarah’s face twisted into a pained expression as undoubtedly vivid memories filled her mind. «It was an accident,» she began, eyes fixated on the reflection she saw on the still surface of her tea. «I didn’t mean to kill her, I love my sisters, even if I had magic-» She cut herself off, her lower lip quivering. Killian had never seen her so… broken. He almost felt bad for bringing it up, for making her tell him the truth, but he needed to know so he could justify the affection he still felt for her.

A shiver ran down his spine. It was cold in the room, too cold for it to be natural. Clenching his fist, Killian felt the skin of his forefingers grow ice cold. His concern was broken by Sarah’s voice.

«I’m the oldest of the three. Well,» she snorts without a trace of amusement, «I was: now there’s only me. It doesn’t matter, they’re better off without me.»

«That can’t possibly be true.»

If Sarah was surprised by his words, Killian was baffled. Yet, he didn’t regret them: even if Sarah, Ingrid, whatever, was a killer, the regret in her eyes and her words, but mostly the way she’d always acted towards them and the feeling in his gut, told him she wasn’t a monster. For the two years he’d been in Misthaven, Killian had witnessed a kind person always trying to make people happy however she could, nothing like his own mayor, who instead preferred making people miserable at every opportunity.

The grateful, tearful smile Sarah gave him broke his heart. Drying her tears with a handkerchief, the woman regained composure. It wasn’t the first time she had looked like a true queen, no, the way she led the town should’ve been telling, but only now Killian understood why she did.

«There was a Duke, much, much older than my beloved Helga, who tirelessly courted her. She was… flattered, and while I was suspicious, who was I to stand between her and her happiness? Voicing my doubts would only push her away even further. One morning, the Duke approached me. He was - still is, I assume - one who spoke his mind, never fearing any form of backlash when stating the ruler of Arendelle should always be the firstborn, whether they had magic or not. In short, he planned to either marry me and make me his breeding mare until I conceived a child with magic and then kill me off so he could raise the baby the way he wanted, making himself  their reigning King. He told me so, saying Helga would meet the same fate if I didn’t follow his requests.»

Killian was disgusted. His mind traveled through his memory, the Duke’s modus operandi was similar to Regina’s in the beginning, when her mother still was alive and protected her even if she went as far as trying to kill somebody.

Placing a hand over her joined ones, Killian tried to instill some courage in her, making her realize she was not alone, that he believed her.

Her smile widened slightly before a grimace took its place. «I was so enraged I lost control over my powers, but not immediately, no, the last straw was Helga overhearing and discovering his plan. Weselton didn’t plan on that.» Sarah closed her eyes, her expression suddenly tired. «Everything happened so fast. Helga started to yell in her attempt to defend me instead of her own betrayed heart, while Weselton shouted what a monster I was.» She shuddered, possibly hearing the Duke’s words so clear in her mind, plaguing her. «I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t keep my magic at bay. At one point, I knew I couldn’t let him get away with it, that he needed to be punished.»

Unwrapping her hands from the teacup, Sarah raised them in front of her and staring at them as if she only wanted to cut them off. It hit Killian how much they were shaking.

Sarah clenched her fists and tightly closed her eyes. «I don’t know what I wanted to do, whether I wanted to freeze him like a statue or just hurt him, but a blast of magic left the palms of my hands. It never hit the target.» She started to sob, and Killian rushed to stand up, coming around the table to wrap his arms around Sarah’s shoulders, hugging her tightly. «I never imagined he would use Helga as a shield,» she cried, cold tears soaking Killian’s clothes, wetting the skin beneath. The cold sensation he felt was like being hit by ice needles.

After several minutes, when Sarah stopped crying and finally stopped trembling, Killian offered her his own handkerchief. He then sat cross-legged on the floor, a big, warm hand placed on her knee.

All Killian could do was try to comfort her as he assimilated all the information. There was very little to say: he couldn’t tell her he forgave her, because there was nothing to forgive, her reaction was understandable and he would’ve probably done the same; he couldn’t tell Sarah everything was fine because it wasn’t. Killian bowed his head, his thoughts threatening to give him a nasty headache.

His head shot up when cold fingers wrapped around his warm ones. He returned the smile Sarah was giving him.

Clearing her throat, Sarah took a shaky breath before continuing her story. «Gerda never understood what happened, she only saw me crying o-over Helga’s remains. What I didn’t know, was that Weselton was in possession of an urn, one he was about to use to imprison me when I poofed myself away. I never understood whether it was my choice or my magic’s.» She cracked a smile. «You know it happens, don’t you?»

Aye, he knew that very well. Too bad his magic hadn’t helped either him or Emma when the curse came. Biting his lip, not wanting to push but needing to know. «What happened after? Where did you go?»

«I emptied my bank account before they could block it, before they could stop or find me. Nana never tried to reach me, not even once. She died a few months after Helga’s death. But what I know about Arendelle and my family doesn’t matter, you want to know about the scroll.»

His lips parted. «Sarah, I-» he started, but she shook her head, the gentle smile he loved back on her face.

«No, no, Killian, I should’ve known, I should’ve figured it would help you.» She pulled the chair back, standing up and making him sign to follow her. Silently, Sarah led him to the living room, heading then towards the marble mantel above the fireplace. On it, right at the center, between various photos of some of the people in Misthaven Sarah called friends, along with one of the two of them and Emma, taken almost one year before at Christmas, was a jewelry box.

Killian had always been fascinated by it, especially because of its particular floral patterns, which were painted on the wood with a technique called rosemåling. Killian only knew that particular kind of decorative folk art because of Liam’s own jewelry box, one he’d teased his brother about, and one he knew came from Norway. It was quite the coincidence, especially when the flowers appeared to be the same ones.

It was Sarah’s next words that made his blood run cold. «After finding an isolated cottage in the UK, I a man came to find me. He never gave me a name: I only ever knew him as the Apprentice.»

That was not possible. It just wasn’t. Too many coincidences, and though Killian was not one to believe in them, suddenly he dreaded what kind of link there was between the man, Sarah and himself.

Before he could ask her more about the old man, she started to speak again. «He put me in front of a choice: a cuff which would block all my powers forever or a scroll that would lead me to someone he called the Savior, a woman - one I didn’t know had yet to be born - whose name was Emma. At first, the cuff was the most appealing solution, but the Apprentice talked me out of it without actually saying a word against the cuff itself. You know, strange old men and women always seem to have a way with words.» A chuckle left her mouth, but all Killian did was smile tightly. «I took the scroll, and I embarked for America. At first, I spent a few years in Boston but I needed to get a job and, as the Apprentice suggested, work on my magic. So I moved to New York, where another man, the Dragon, taught me how to control it better. When he decided I was finally ready, I followed the scroll. It doesn’t have a map on it, just-»

«Runes. Elder Futhark. Aye, I’ve already translated it.» The impressed look she gave him made Killian blush a little.

«Then you know how cryptic it is.» At his nod, Sarah opened the box, taking the scroll out. It was exactly like the drawing in the book, long, the parchment could still pass as new, and of course was tied with a thin red satin ribbon.

It was so tempting: it wouldn’t take any effort to just reach out his hand and take it, take it and fly, run to Emma, and then, finally, go back home, back to their family, back to his little lion. His heart started to beat wildly, even faster than after a ten mile run.

«I stumbled upon Misthaven by mistake. At the time, a woman named Sambala was the mayor, but she was getting too old and she was afraid for her town’s future. When she discovered I had snow magic, she took me under her wing, much like I did you and Emma. Her lessons, along with the ones I’d already taken in Arendelle, made me the perfect candidate for the mayor’s position. As you can see, I won.» She turned around, twirling the scroll between her fingers. «When I stumbled upon you and Emma was the first time I’d thought about the scroll in years, and unfortunately not for its properties, but for what’s written on it.»

Killian nodded along with her words. «You’d finally found the person who would become your sister, you found your Emma.» There wasn’t resentment in his words, but he couldn’t help but feeling a pang of sadness at the thought that their nightmare could’ve ended much sooner.

Sarah must’ve read his feelings - she knew him so well, perhaps too much, even - because she handed the scroll to him, an apologetic smile blooming on her face. «Had I remembered it helped me cross Misthaven’s barrier the first time, I would’ve given it to you the moment you finished telling me your story in the woods. Alas, its existence, much like the painful memories related to it, lay buried deep inside me, lingering but almost forgotten.»

With slightly trembling fingers, Killian reached out. The moment his fingertips brushed the old parchment, a surge of magic shot through him, wrapping around his own in what could be considered a greeting before retreating back into the scroll.

He wet his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. «Do you think...»

«Do I think it will let you go through Regina’s barrier? I believe so, yes. I have to believe it can, much like you and Emma do. Don’t lose hope, Killian.»

Speechless, Killian looked down at the scroll resting in the palm of his hand. No, Killian knew this was the answer. Hope or not, Killian and Emma Jones had finally found a way to go back to Storybrooke.

They would finally be able to break Regina’s curses - the one she’d cast on them and the one enveloping the town. They would finally be able to save their family: their parents, Killian’s brother and their friends.

But, more importantly, they would finally be able to get back to the person they loved the most in all the world. Now, securely clutched in Killian’s fingers, was the means to save him, to save his little lion.

To save Henry.

[darkcolinodonorgasm]

Hidden paths between the Moon and Sun (1/6)

A/N: and here it is!! My second fic for @cssns is finally here! I’ve always wanted to write a sequel to Until the stars are all alight - which I invite you to read to understand this fic - and now that the event is open to all the mythological stuff, I just had to write it.

I admit, I’ve debated for soooooo long about what it would be about, and my actual plan was for a one shot, but after a while, as I kept writing without an actual plot in mind, I just realized I could write something good, something a tad different from the origin story I already wrote, still sticking to mythology, but giving you readers lots of fluff to balance out the angst of my other CSSNS fic. You read it correctly, people, this is going to be aaaaaall fluff. And smut. Smuff. Hopefully good smuff.

I can’t thank @profdanglaisstuff enough for her wonderful, bloody brilliant beta skills and suggestions. I’d be lost without you, really. Thank you so much. 

Many many many thanks to the wonderful @sherlockianwhovian​ who’s my artist for this event and came up with this wonderful piece of art in so little time and probably during Post Con Depression. You rock, and the art is too amazing for words. Thank you very much.

Lastly, I want to give a shout out to all the people in the discord chat for their help and cheering.

Oh no, wait, last one to be thanked for his services is Tolkien, since I stole this title from him. Again.

Summary: the King of the Underworld has never taken a vacation before, not a proper one and not one that lasted more than a few months. Now that his firstborn is capable enough to take the throne ad interim, Killian can finally show his beloved Queen the world, giving her the honeymoon they never had the chance to have. But the King’s plan doesn’t stop quite there.

(ao3) - (ff.net)

There was something to be said about what people believed in and what they claimed happened as if they'd been there.

It was all a big, fat lie.

Sure, there were books, there were myths, there was art, which captured - or tried to - what had happened. No one could deny the sculptures were fabulous, that some myths were better than the truth and that some others were much worse instead. Namely, the one the Queen of the Underworld was sick of seeing as an abduction when it had been her own choice.

The King of the Underworld knew it wasn't true, but it didn't stop him from being angered by the very idea of hurting his beloved wife. It didn't help that it'd been Demeter spreading those lies, accusing him of sullying her precious daughter when the goddess of the  harvest and agriculture had been the one slowly killing her instead.

For too long, Killian had not understood what an important part he'd played in saving his wife from an eternity of suffering and seclusion, a life in which her light would've started to dim until it completely disappeared.

Looking over at her, now, with her long golden curls loose down her back as she lay on a chaise with her pyjamas on and bare feet wiggling in time to whatever music she was listening to, Killian couldn't help but smile.

It'd been so long since he last saw her like this, all the souls wandering the Underworld during this last century were restless and caused no little trouble. It was one of the worst consequences of war, when so many had unfinished business and had witnessed such atrocities they only desired to rest in peace.

Not having the influence on humans as they used to, the gods could do little to stop them. Surprisingly, even Ares himself had tried to put a stop to the bloodshed, in vain.

Now, after decades, Killian could finally say well-deserved rest awaited them.

Sitting on the marble floor next to the chaise, he raised his hand to trace Emma's hip bone, left uncovered as her pyjama tank top had ridden up her stomach and the flannel pants she was wearing had such a low waist…

A strangled growl escaped the back of his throat as Emma's slim fingers ran through his hair, grasping the silky strands and forcing him to tilt his head back.

«Don't.»

One of his eyebrows shot impossibly high. «Are you denying me, my Queen?» Oh, he was a downright bastard when he wanted to be, he acknowledged that as he twisted his head enough to trace the curve of her waist with the cold tip of his nose, warm breath ghosting over her skin and making gooseflesh rise.

«Y-yes,» Emma hissed, yanking the earphones away and tossing her phone on the other chaise nearby.

His serpent tongue darted out, tasting her unique, decadent flavour. He loved how, no matter how long she’d spent in the Underworld, his wife was still full of light and life like the first day he saw her.

No, no, she was more, she felt better than she had then, he could see and feel that. If possible, the darkness of what he was had helped her shine brighter. Perhaps that was the reason why they worked so well together, because they loved each other with such depth that even the myths were scared to tell the truth.

Daringly, he leaned forward, gently biting onto the soft skin there, gaining a shocked squeal. Killian grinned in triumph, triumph that was short lived when her nails dug into his scalp. She still was feisty as the first day he saw her, refusing to leave him no matter the consequences.

Emma moaned as he traced a faint stretch mark with his tongue, loving the proof that she'd borne two wonderful children even when she found it hideous. It was no wonder that  Emma came to hate her own body after the months spent with her mother.

Fortunately, that didn't happen frequently: whilst Snow was still relentless in professing her hatred towards him, Emma wasn't forced to leave home anymore. One could say Henry and Alice had made her go soft - because yes, despite having prayed they would never come to be, Snow had grown to love her grandchildren.

Honestly, Killian didn't care: as long as the three loves of his life were happy and safe, he could bear everything much like Atlas did the weight of the world.

Suddenly, he stood, earning a whine from Emma. «Apologies, my love, but we need to go, or we are going to find ourselves suddenly swamped in new souls.»

A frown clouded her face, making her put her earphones and phone aside. «Where exactly are we going?»

«We, beloved wife,» Killian replied with a boyish smile, circling her waist with his arm, smiling even wider when her lips ticked up, too, «are going on a vacation.»

Blinking in shock, the Queen tilted her head. «A vacation?» She placed her palm flat over Killian’s forehead. «Is it possible for the King of the Underworld to get ill? You do seem a bit more pale than usual.»

«Shush,» he huffed, gently grabbing her wrist and pressing his lips against every knuckle. «With all these wars, their victims, the wars the souls got into once they were here, we didn’t get much time to ourselves, not as much as I wanted. Besides, Henry has already ruled alone from time to time.»

The swell of pride Killian felt in his chest as the mention of his firstborn’s work as Prince of the Underworld. Both Henry and Alice took their work seriously, both content with their roles. Honestly, Killian believed his daughter took a great deal of pleasure in being the goddess of nightmares and madness. It suited her, to be fair, her soul was perfect for the role. Alice was perfect.

He could feel Emma tense in his arms. Of course, the idea of leaving her children alone was never one she wanted to take in consideration, not when she’d once been forced to leave the Underworld for six months of each year. Fortunately, after Emma told her she was with child the first time, Demeter had to leave her be - and undoubtedly Zeus spoke to Snow, the name she went by after she’d brought winter upon the world the one most of the divinities addressed her with. Zeus, or Jupiter, or David, as the Olympians knew him, knew how to deal with her since she still pined after him. Killian didn’t really want to think about that.

Deciding to focus on his wife instead, he pressed his lips against the crown of her head. «He’ll be perfectly fine, love,» he tried to reassure her, ringed fingers combing through her hair.

For a few moments, Emma stayed like that, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

«Do you think we can go to Venice?»

It was her voice, so small and tinged with embarrassment, that made him laugh out loud - and earn a slap on the arm. Her glare wasn’t helping either. Neither did her pout.

At last, he bent down to capture her lips with his. «We surely can, however I rather not repeat our last night there.»

Her fingers found their way into his mass of hair once again. «I agree, knocking a votive candle over and starting a fire is not what I call a good-»

«It was a good fuck,» he cut her off, relishing the way she stared at him in shock, mouth agape. It lasted so long he started to squirm, until another slap hit him. Killian broke into another laugh.

It took Killian peppering her cheeks and neck with kisses to have her smiling once again, giggling because his stubble was tickling her. Oh, how he loved that sound.

Only when he slipped his fingers beneath her top and started tickling her for real she started to squeal and plead for mercy. «Alright, alright, it was a good fuck, one of the best!» Emma conceded, tears running down her face. He kissed them away.

«It was only 1231, my love, I hope you your top chart of best fucks hasn’t stopped there,» Killian growled into her ear, the cold tips of his fingers grazing the underside of her breasts, along her ribs. Emma shivered in his arms.

One of her golden eyebrows arched, mirth shining in her eyes. «Mhm, wouldn’t you like to know?»

«Perhaps I would.» A growl followed, and he would’ve definitely postponed their departure had a knock not resounded in the room. His brain conjured every kind of punishment he could carry out on the unfortunate soul coming to stop him from seducing his wife.

«I hope you are decent and ready to go!»

A smile spread on Killian’s face the moment he realized it was Alice behind the closed door. Without waiting for an answer - and it was already impressive that she’d knocked in the first place - the blond goddess of ghosts waltzed into the room, crashing into her parents’ bodies.

Thick braids framed her face, reminding Killian of ancient times in which she was just a little girl and he braided her hair as he did her mother’s as the latter wove flower crowns for all of them.

Although glad those private moments weren’t common knowledge among mortals, he often wondered why myths kept picturing him as a villain, even after they stopped believing in his existence. Only in recent years, mostly younglings - teenagers, he heard his wife’s voice whisper inside his mind - had started seeing the myths for what they truly were: lies. It may not change them on paper, but Killian took quite the pleasure in seeing Demeter fume at the knowledge that mortals didn’t see him as a monster anymore.

«Papa,» Alice’s voice broke him out of his thoughts, «you have to hurry.»

Emma’s finger found its way between his ribs, making him wince. Ah, one of the best secrets in that family: they were all ticklish. «It’s not funny anymore when is someone else hurrying you up, is it?»

Cheeky wench, he thought, suddenly overcome by the need of sticking out his tongue. Alas, he knew Alice was right. They did have a plane to catch. Emma would hate him for that, for not opening a portal wherever he wanted to bring her, but it was all part of the plan: to be as human as possible during the longest honeymoon they ever had.

In fact, during the millennia they’d been together, King and Queen of the Underworld never left their home - together, that is - for more than a few days. The longest time they’d spent in the human world were a few months here and there during Italian Renaissance and the Victorian era, trusting their children to take on their world’s responsibilities on their own. Now the time had come for Killian to leave Henry in charge for however long he desired, knowing his father was only a phone call and a portal away in case he needed help.

«Patḗr,» Henry’s voice came from the corridor, soon followed by the young man himself. After millennia, his height now matched Killian’s. Zeus help him, but Killian missed how his children had been when they were little, young pests making Cerberus go crazy and their screams rivalling the harpies’, but small enough to scoop them in his arms and hold them to his chest, lulling them to sleep.

«If you tell me we have to hurry I’ll send you to bloody Tartarus,» Killian grumbled, ruffling his hair with a smile on his lips which didn’t match his tone.

Nevertheless, his son paled a bit at the mention of one of the worst places in the Underworld - although they’d renovated it quite a lot. Henry’s fear was rooted deep inside him, since he’d found himself lost in there for hours when he was barely a newborn - even if by human standards he was quite old instead. The imprisoned Titans there had scared him so much Henry had almost expressed the desire to spend time on Earth. Fortunately, both for the child and himself, Killian had managed to quench his fears.

Killian was a lucky god indeed: he’d been afraid Emma would hold their son’s terror against him, but she’d surprised him once again by trying to calm down Henry as well, not desiring to separate father and son - nor force Killian to live without them ever again.

Henry huffed. «Well, yes, that’s exactly the reason I came here. If you don’t go now, there’s no way in hell you’ll be able to catch that plane in time. You’re lucky they now do check-ins online.»

«A plane?»

Henry smiled innocently at his father.

Bowing his head, the King exhaled, exasperated. He wasn’t angry at Henry, perhaps a little disappointed that his wife now knew she had to take a plane - several throughout their honeymoon, to be honest. He just wanted to give her a semblance of humanity.

His desperation was short lived, as Emma pushed herself up on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear for only him to hear: «You’d better make sure we join the mile high club, then.»

Choking on his breath, Killian watched with wide eyes as she went to change, mouth hanging open. Even after all this time, his wife knew how to render him speechless. Oh, how he loved her.

«Papa,» Alice hissed to catch his attention, «don’t be so secretive, she’s already suspicious, don’t ruin everything.» Her expression softened after her scolding. «You’ve put so much effort into this plan, I don’t want you to have worked in vain.»

The myths would never dare tell mere mortals the King of the Underworld could cry.

Wrapping his arms around his daughter, Killian pulled her into his chest, breathing in that scent of oranges and ashes she always left behind, whether she manifested herself in physical form or in the essence of nightmares. It was a perfect combination of Earth and Underworld, much like Henry’s scent, cinnamon and incense, something he’d never thought would work but, just like him and Emma, it did.

«Don’t worry, Starfish, she can try and torture me all she wants, I won’t tell her a thing. This time.»

Whilst actual torture was off the table for obvious reasons, Emma had improved her sexual torture skills during the centuries, and more than once she’d bent Killian to her will when they were arguing. This time, however, Killian’s lips were sealed: there was too much at stake. Besides, he knew his wife was able to be patient if she so wanted; he only hoped this was the case now.

«Hopefully this will do, since my closet now stops at 90’s fashion.»

A grin stretched his lips before he even turned around, knowing which dress he’d left for her to put on, a deep red sundress and flats he knew would be comfortable for the journey. Once he’d reached her, he took her hands in his, kissing her knuckles. «You look ravishing, my love.»

Her cheeks tinted red like the sky at sunset. Sailor’s delight indeed, Killian mused, leaning forward to brush a kiss over her lips before gently dragging her out their apartments. Looking at his wife from over his shoulder, Killian saw her eyes sparkling in delight: she totally knew something was up, but she would wait, perhaps not patiently, but she would, just like Killian knew she would complain sometimes, but still respect his wishes. He couldn’t have found a better partner for eternity.

Once they reached the throne room, Henry and Alice trailing behind them with matching grins stretching their lips, Emma turned to throw her arms around them. Killian’s heart swelled in his chest at the sight.

Being the wonderful mother she was, especially after suffering so much before she finally got pregnant, Emma didn’t want her children to feel neglected only because she and their father were leaving. Alice rolled her eyes in true Emma fashion, which made the woman in question laugh tearfully.

After kissing her daughter several times and arranging her braids and strands of hair which had escaped Alice’s attention, the Queen of the Underworld moved her attention onto her son. Even if she was now much shorter than him Emma found no problem in lifting herself on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. «Be careful,» she whispered, knowing all too well the dangers the Underworld could hide in the form of innocent souls. One too many times they had to deal with people who, not knowing what their unfinished business was, spent too long in the Underworld, creating disturbances its King had been forced to put a stop to in the bloodiest way.

Wishful they’d been in hoping Henry wouldn’t have to do what Killian had, but they’d been relieved when their son hadn’t turned into the darkest version of himself. Killian suspected it was thanks to Emma’s light. Nay, he was sure of it. Emma would simply huff and roll her eyes at his silliness: no matter what he thought, Killian was light, too.

A low whine echoed in the room, or rather, three low whines. Behind Emma, in fact, now towered Cerberus, the ears on his three heads low in sadness. The Queen reached her hand out, and the head in the center nuzzled against her palm.

«Protect them,» she ordered, knowing it wasn’t necessary for the creature: mostly, it was for herself.

Licking her forearm at the same time, the three heads rubbed their dark muzzles against her body, enveloping her in their own kind of hug. Aye, the Queen of the Underworld was very much loved by everyone, particularly by its King.

Once Cerberus saw fit to release his mistress - after Emma gave each head a kiss - the goddess turned around, hugging tightly the blood of her blood once again.

Sneaking a hand out of the embrace, Emma grabbed the front of Killian’s shirt and pulled him into the family embrace.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel like leaving anymore. Sighing into Alice’s hair, he rubbed the back of Henry’s neck, eyes closed as he basked in that feeling of home, of wholeness he knew he wouldn’t be feeling until they were all reunited.

Alice’s pocket watch started to ring in the pocket of her coat, and she yelped. «You’re totally going to be late!» Reluctantly pulling away from them, she walked to the center of the room, the heels of her booties clicking on the dark marble.

As a goddess, and one born and raised in the Underworld no less, Alice, much like Henry and her father, was able to open portals. Emma could do that, too, but it’d come to her as a shock, since most of her powers had never been used until she broke free of her mother’s control.

Even though she knew they would have to take a plane, Emma arched her eyebrows at the sight of Athens airport.

Bowing, Killian reached his hand out for her to take. «My goddess.»

Emma sighed almost dreamily. «My King,» she replied, closing her fingers over his. Of course he would kiss her hand, it was probably the gesture she was most fond of. Tilting her head, she frowned. «No suitcases?»

The grin on Killian’s face widened impossibly. «Everything is just where it needs to be, my love.» He stepped closer, his chest brushing against hers, his lips capturing hers in a breathtaking kiss. «You are all I’ll ever need.»

A few steps from them, Alice sighed. Henry simply fought back the tears.

Hand in hand, the rulers waved to their children one last time before disappearing into the portal, ready for their next adventure together.

Once the portal was closed, Alice waltzed to her older brother to stand shoulder to shoulder next to him.

Henry grinned at her, and they fistbumped. «Operation Nekromanteion is a go.»

[darkcolinodonorgasm]

Until the stars are all alight - Part 2 Sneak Peek

I’ve finally started the follow up of my Hades and Persephone AU Until The Stars Are All Alight! It’s been planned for so long but never written before. Thanks to @cssns I finally have the opportunity to do so.

I cannot wait to continue this and get to the actual plot - ha! - but I can share with you how it begins, at least.

See ya back here in June, when it’ll drop - either at the beginning or at the end, I do not know ;)

(I really advise you to read the origin fic ;D)

There was something to be said about what people believed in and what they claimed happened as if they'd been there.

It was all a big, fat lie.

Sure, there were books, there were myths, there was art, which captured - or tried to - what had happened. No one could deny the sculptures were fabulous, that some myths were better than the truth and that some others were much worse instead. Namely, the one the Queen of the Underworld was sick of seeing as an abduction when it had been her own choice.

The King of the Underworld knew it wasn't true, but it didn't stop him from being angered by the very thought of hurting his beloved wife. It didn't help that it'd been Demeter the one to spread such lies, accusing him of sullying her precious daughter when Snow had been the one slowly killing her instead.

For long, Killian had never understood what important part he'd played in saving his wife from an eternity of suffering and secludedness, a life in which her light would've started to dim until it completely disappeared.

Looking over at her, now, with her long golden curls loose down her back as she lay on a chaise with her pyjamas on and naked feet wiggling to whatever music she was listening to, Killian couldn't help but smile.

[thejollyroger-writer]

The Afterlife Hotel

I was suddenly incredibly inspired the other day to work on my second story for this year's @cssns event, dropping July 31. It's obviously still a work in progress, but I feel pretty good about this part, and I'm so excited to share both of these stories that have taken up much more of my brain than they should be at this point!

Sixty years. Sixty years since her death. But it was dying that led her to find something really worth living for. And it was still just the "beginning."

Emma still remembers that first day, greeted by a smiling Mary Margaret Nolan. Smiling, as if there was something to be happy about. Emma knew that she had died, was very aware of it, given Neal left her to die a very slow and painful death — but the last thing she expected after the “bright white light” was the lobby of a hotel, especially one with a smiling brunette behind its counter.

“Hello!” Her voice was chipper, almost fake, but her smile most certainly was not. “Welcome to the Afterlife Hotel!”

“Really?” Emma remembers quipping immediately, not even trying to hide the look of disgust on her face. “You couldn’t even come up with a better name?”

But Mary Margaret was resilient, moving on without so much as acknowledging Emma’s comment, and when she asked Emma what she wanted to do — if she had any family she wanted to wait for, anywhere in particular she wanted to be — all Emma felt was empty. Sure, the emptiness tried to veil itself with snide remarks and humor, as it always had, but none of it got any further than her own mind.

“No.” Her voice was soft, choking back something she was too afraid to put into words. “No, I — I have no one.”

It was Mary Margaret’s job to lead her through the afterlife, to help her find where she will spend the rest of eternity. But, instead of a decision, Mary Margaret helped her find a “family” for the first time in her life (well, uh, death), people that actually cared for her. Mary Margaret and David Nolan, the first parental figures Emma has ever had, and all she had to do was die to find them.

[cssns]

ATTENTION ALL 2019 PARTICIPANTS

We have sent out all the emails with the pairings and drop dates. PLEASE look in your inboxes ASAP and make sure you see yours. We have also included a link to the Get To Know Me Interviews in the email as well.

First Wave Authors:

@darkcolinodonorgasm @donteattheappleshook @let-it-raines @shireness-says @thislassishooked @welllpthisishappening 

Second Wave Authors:

@artistic-writer @distant-rose @emeraldwitches @faerytold @gingerchangeling @jarienn972 @lizzyc807shipscaptainswan @searchingwardrobes @snidgetsafan @snowbellewells @spartanguard @thejollyroger-writer 

Third Wave Authors:

@branlovestowrite @courtorderedcake @doodlelolly0910 @hollyethecurious @idristardis @ilovemesomekillianjones @kymbersmith-90 @pirateherokillian @profdanglaisstuff @sherlockianwhovian @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @wyntereyez

Artists & Betas:

@allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @blackwidownat2814 @captainsjedi @clockadile @cocohook38 @djlbg @eastwesthomeisbest @huffleporg @initiala @lassluna @resident-of-storybrooke @tennant-the-tigger @ultraluckycatnd

Again, if you do not see the email, please reach out to the event page, or one of the mods. Thank you. 

Happy Creating Lovelies!!

[darkcolinodonorgasm]

Yeah, sooooo, I’m still working on chapter one because I know where to go but not how to get there so here is a liiiitle angsty but fluffy (?) snippet from one of the two @cssns, the modern Ladyhawke AU - or, well, Ladyswan, I guess.

“Nuzzling his face into the pillow, Killian turned on his side, a soft pearl white greeting him. She was asleep, as usual, her long slender neck resting on top of her body, her beak pressing into her feathers, much just like she used to do when they were still complete human beings, when she always sought his body warmth, her feet cold and her nose a piece of ice.

His mouth curled up in a smile as he sighed, the muscles in his back screaming as he stretched out his arm and gently caressed the soft feathers. Emma wiggled a bit under his warm touch. Although they spent half the day in animal form and were not able to talk to one another unless it was through recorded videos, they acted as if they were still human. Every time Killian would caress her bare back while she still was asleep, Emma would wiggle her body, not wanting to be disturbed in her sleep, especially when Killian used to wake up with the bloody sun.

The irony, Killian fumed, shaking his head and turning completely on his side. Almost two years had passed but he still missed her body pressed against his, soft freckled skin smelling like her vanilla bodywash, the one she secretly loved but always claimed she needed to change. She’d be saying that since she was sixteen.”

Soooooo, yep, here it is. And now I’ll go hiding trying to go on with the chapter and hopefully I won’t fall asleep on the keyboard =P

[ao3feed-captainswan]

A Drowning Soul Will Clutch at Any Straw

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2Fum9Ci

by shireness

Though this is far from Killian Jones' first encounter with a mermaid, he's never met any quite like this blonde siren. Together, can they break a cruel curse?

Words: 13397, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Emma Swan, Tinker Bell (Once Upon a Time)

Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Additional Tags: mermaid!Emma, CSSNS 2k19

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2Fum9Ci

[shireness-says]

Fine then let's try again: hand(s)

That one worked better!

Unnamed angel!Emma fic (CSSNS 2k19): A missing hand is, thankfully, not a hindrance to pursuing a law degree and legal career, even if it does make him somewhat of an oddity and attraction in social situations.

Love and HouseHunters (one of my sections): Killian had turned his attention back to the game, attempting to focus and understand what the bloody hell was happening, but before he knew it, the beer bottle in his hand was empty.

If I Could See Your Face Once More: He holds out his hand towards her, and even if she was trying to avoid him a moment ago, she takes it like their palms are connected by magnets.

Unnamed modern royalty fic: Graham is the one who hands Emma her backpack and tries to give her a pep talk about all the new friends she’s going to make.

Thanks for playing!

Put a word in my askbox, and I’ll tell you if it’s in one of my WIPs!

[cssns]

Today we have Hidden Paths Between the Moon and Sun by @darkcolinodonorgasm, the sequel to Until the Stars Are All Alight, linked above. Enjoy everyone!!! Make sure and give Sara and Leanne all the love!!!

Hidden paths between the Moon and Sun (1/6)

A/N: and here it is!! My second fic for @cssns is finally here! I’ve always wanted to write a sequel to Until the stars are all alight - which I invite you to read to understand this fic - and now that the event is open to all the mythological stuff, I just had to write it.

I admit, I’ve debated for soooooo long about what it would be about, and my actual plan was for a one shot, but after a while, as I kept writing without an actual plot in mind, I just realized I could write something good, something a tad different from the origin story I already wrote, still sticking to mythology, but giving you readers lots of fluff to balance out the angst of my other CSSNS fic. You read it correctly, people, this is going to be aaaaaall fluff. And smut. Smuff. Hopefully good smuff.

I can’t thank @profdanglaisstuff enough for her wonderful, bloody brilliant beta skills and suggestions. I’d be lost without you, really. Thank you so much. 

Many many many thanks to the wonderful @sherlockianwhovian​ who’s my artist for this event and came up with this wonderful piece of art in so little time and probably during Post Con Depression. You rock, and the art is too amazing for words. Thank you very much.

Lastly, I want to give a shout out to all the people in the discord chat for their help and cheering.

Oh no, wait, last one to be thanked for his services is Tolkien, since I stole this title from him. Again.

Summary: the King of the Underworld has never taken a vacation before, not a proper one and not one that lasted more than a few months. Now that his firstborn is capable enough to take the throne ad interim, Killian can finally show his beloved Queen the world, giving her the honeymoon they never had the chance to have. But the King’s plan doesn’t stop quite there.

(ao3) - (ff.net)

There was something to be said about what people believed in and what they claimed happened as if they’d been there.

It was all a big, fat lie.

Sure, there were books, there were myths, there was art, which captured - or tried to - what had happened. No one could deny the sculptures were fabulous, that some myths were better than the truth and that some others were much worse instead. Namely, the one the Queen of the Underworld was sick of seeing as an abduction when it had been her own choice.

The King of the Underworld knew it wasn’t true, but it didn’t stop him from being angered by the very idea of hurting his beloved wife. It didn’t help that it’d been Demeter spreading those lies, accusing him of sullying her precious daughter when the goddess of the  harvest and agriculture had been the one slowly killing her instead.

Keep reading

[jennjenn615]

Oh my heart is breaking for Henry!!!!! Ugh ugh ugh Regina just go away!!!! Come on Charming family do what you do best and find one another!!!!! Please!!!!

What an incredible story this is so far!!!!!!! I can’t wait for what’s going to happen next!!!! I am on the edge of my seat!!!!! Love it!!!!!

One Day (2/?)

Summary: By day, Emma is the beautiful swan gliding over the waters of Misthaven’s pond, but when night falls, the voice of the wolf the people living in the little town hear is Killian’s cry. The curse was meant to be forever, to keep them always together yet eternally apart. No force in Heaven would be able to break such spell, nor any force on Earth. Or so Emma and Killian thought.

A/N: HERE IT IS!! The second chapter of one of my @cssns fics! I’m so so happy of the response this fic had and very disappointed in y’all when you told me you have never seen Ladyhawke.

I need to give a huge, ginormous thank you to @profdanglaisstuff for being The Best Beta Ever™ because not only she corrects my grammar mistakes (and the lies I’ve been told about it), but she also stops me from going too far when it comes to angst. Because, uh, this chapter is full of angst, just so you know. Thank you so so much my Saviour ♥

Of course, another ginormous thank you goes to @sherlockianwhovian for the most wonderful piece of art for this fic. All the kitties snuggles tou you, my dear Leanne ♥

Last but not least, a bit of a warning: this story is very anti-Regina, and this chapter involves non-consensual touching in a non-sexual way but they could be upsetting - and there’s also a vague mention (thank Saira for that) of it in a sexual way (Graham is mentioned, that is).

And now, let’s continue our story :3

(part 1) (ao3) (ffnet)

Chapter 2

When his eyes opened and met the cream ceiling above his head, Henry sighed.

Day 722.

It’d almost been two years. Two years of pain, two years of lies, two years of pretending everything was fine and that he loved the person he despised the most.

At the age of ten, no kid should know what true hate was. Henry Jones was eight when he first felt it.

Keep reading

[cssns]

Today we have the next installment, that has now been increased to three, of What Happened in Berkshire by @thejollyroger-writer with art by @captainsjedi! Enjoy everyone and be sure to give them lots of love!!!

What Happened in Berkshire {{2/3}}

OKAY, ALRIGHT, this is now a THREE-shot, because I don’t know how to write short stories, apparently. In this installation, we meet some more key characters, learn a bit about everyone, and have an excellent aesthetic that @captainsjedi somehow captured perfectly AGAIN in her incredible artwork. Once again, I want to sincerely thank @thisonesatellite for helping me get my thoughts in order and finding ideas inside my head that I didn’t know were there and @profdanglaisstuff for coming in clutch multiple times with historical curse words and Aussie slang. 

PART ONE: tumblr // AO3 ; PART TWO on AO3

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

The next morning, with Ruby and Mary Margaret on either side of Emma’s duffel bag on the backseat of her newly-acquired worn-down yellow Bug, she drops them off at the airport, hugging each of her friends until the security guards head over to ask her to leave — and then she and Killian are on their own adventure. 

Emma follows the GPS towards the spot they decided the night before would be their starting point, a walking trail into the woods around the far edge of the town, whose relation to mountains and streams made Killian believe was part of his old map, and a good starting point for their journey. 

“So, let me get this straight, love,” he says, his eyes still set on her phone in the holder connected to the dashboard. “On this little device, you can access any map with just the press of a button?" 

Emma smiles, looking towards him out of the corner of her eye. She found him the night before with the books from the library spread out on the table in front of him, but with his attention focused instead on the owner’s manual for the fridge, which he found going through the drawers in the kitchen. It was then she was able to really look at the pile of books he got from the library: a collection of history textbooks, a few books on transportation, some on scientific advancement, and a large book titled "Medicine Since the Middle Ages." 

"It can do much more than that,” she says, then pauses before shaking her head. “But I’m not sure that you’re quite ready for that quite yet." 

When she glances at him again, she notices his eyes have gone wide. 

“Another day, Killian.” He nods, but does not stop staring at the screen as it changes, informing them they have reached the destination. “For now, it’s time to walk.” She puts the car in park, somewhat surprised how quickly they got to the end of the GPS’ directions. 

“Right.” 

Keep reading