#cssns19

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: @cssns19 MC "Face to Face in the Broad Daylight"

(This week in reruns celebrating previous @cssns works, we have a sequel to my werewolf, alternate season two and beyond fic from 2018’s @cssns offering. This one partially exists just because I wanted to revisit these couples and enjoy a bit more of their fluffy happily ever afters. However, they also get into some new surprises and challenges, and: is Rumplestiltskin still under control, or is he back to his usual scheming and plotting? If you weren't around back then, I hope you will give this a try and enjoy.  If you read it back then and choose to revisit it, I hope you'll enjoy the walk down memory lane!! Either way, I'd love to hear what you think!

Complete in 9 Parts

(Thanks once again to @branlovestowrite for the stunningly lovely cover art she did for this story as well. I still absolutely love it!!)

Also available on AO3 if that's your preference...

Summary: After finding one another and triumphing against the machinations of the Evil Queen and the Queen of Hearts, Killian and Emma, and their friends and family are ready to enjoy the happiness they've earned. However, a new threat is about to rise that may put those happy beginnings in grave jeopardy.

by: @snowbellewells

~~ prologue: altogether in one place

As a cooling breeze blew in off the water of the harbor to combat the bright heat of an early May afternoon, Killian Jones smiled easily, enjoying the trace of air over his neck and ruffling his dark hair as he headed back up the street from the docks toward the center of town. It was a perfect day for the celebration he was on his way to attend, planning to meet Emma and Henry at the pretty little two bedroom cottage not far from the harbor that they moved into some weeks past, before the three of them walked the rest of the way to Granny’s together. The rest of their family and several friends were doubtless already gathering at the diner’s outdoor tables for the planned picnic. It was Mother’s Day, and the first which Emma would be able to spend with her mother, and with her boy as well. Killian smiled fondly at the tentative joy mixed with nervous anticipation on his love’s face as they’d spoken of it laying side-by-side that very morning. His heart had warmed right along with dawn’s first rays peeking through the curtains, glad that Emma could have her loved ones surrounding her, as she always should have. Though his own mother had been gone so long that he only retained the barest memories of a gentle voice singing to him and the twinkle in kind, loving eyes, he still felt not a fiber of his being to be jealous or begrudging of the wealth of love and belonging his lady had found. Emma deserved it all, and more besides.

It helped, he admitted to himself as he neared the front walk, their yard surrounded by white picket fence that he could now see Emma leaning on casually with Henry at her side, that he too had been welcomed into the fold gladly. With the wolf born inside him, his horribly checkered and painful history, and how long he had wandered alone in the world, Killian could never have imagined being accepted as a part of something so good, nor feeling that he mattered to others again. Despite his stunned disbelief, however, he could only continue to be grateful.

As he drew nearer, Henry caught sight of him and waved enthusiastically, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Hey, Killian!” the youth called out. “Are you ready for this?”

“Aye, lad, of course,” he answered with a chuckle, smiling to Emma as well, his heart swelling still further at the blush which rose on her cheeks as he waggled his eyebrows playfully. He turned his attention back to Henry quickly, not wanting the young man to feel dismissed, but instead leaning forward to whisper secretively to Henry, “We wouldn’t want to miss your grandma’s famed cherry chess pie, now would we?”

Henry agreed emphatically with Killian’s winking query, then scampered on ahead of them as Killian pulled Emma into a quick embrace while she stretched up to press a chaste kiss to his lips before they joined hands and followed her son the rest of the way to Granny’s before they were late.

Not many minutes later they were turning into the front seating area of the diner, entering under the arch and being greeted from all sides by family and friends. Ruby bounded over to gleefully wrap Emma in an exuberant hug, whispering in his love’s ear that she wanted to hear what they’d been up to at the new house in a blatant enough way to have the blond blushing once again. Killian followed Henry’s urging over to his grandparents’ table, shaking David’s hand and easing into conversation with Emma’s father thankfully.

He liked the people gathered around him very much, but so often in the past he had kept to the shadows, on the outskirts of society, either due to prejudice and ostracism or his own attempts to insure others’ safety from the beast within him. Having at last found his home in Storybrooke, and also a peace within himself that he had rarely known, Killian felt as stable as he had ever been in both parts of himself. His wolf had room and freedom to run, even a pack of sorts with Ruby and Graham nearby, and he rarely feared the howling need to break free he had sought to hide or contain in his youth and throughout his years of bitter, aimless wandering.  All that being true, he still sometimes preferred to ease into larger groups one person at a time. Once Emma’s slightly overprotective and traditional father had gotten to know him, Killian found the man quite easy to talk to and good company, so he naturally went to speak with him first.

Their friendship hadn’t taken long to develop once things had settled down around the holidays, some six months ago, after Regina, Cora, and Rumplestiltskin’s defeat. Both David and Killian served as reinforcements to the sheriff’s department when needed (though in sleepy, calm Storybrooke they rarely were) and so had spent many long afternoons when there were no calls sharing long chats, wadded up paper ball free throw contests in the desk trash cans, endless one-upping games of darts, and - if they grew truly desperate - filing of the somehow never ending stacks of paperwork. Their little town had been free of most trouble beyond cats in trees and neighboring fairy tale characters’ squabbles since Thanksgiving. None of them had forgotten that Gold was still simmering impotently in his shop (surely wanting revenge, but hands tied by the fact that his dagger forbade it, thanks to Emma’s brilliance).  In fact, the citizens were enjoying an everyday normality most of them had never been able to experience before - in either this realm or the Enchanted Forest.

So, though there was often hardly enough work to keep one person busy, Graham had remained Sheriff, and kept Emma on as his deputy. Killian’s eyes found his sandy-haired fellow wolf amidst the happy crowd of partygoers, attentively leaning to whisper something in Belle’s ear where she sat talking to Granny Lucas herself, along with Nova, Leroy, Bashful, and Doc. The Sheriff was clearly happy to watch over his girlfriend, glad just to see her in high spirits, having brought her a drink and standing behind her chair to listen and look on. Graham had always been a good and competent lawman, but now that he was completely free to act of his own will and as he saw fit, it became even more clear just how kind, compassionate, and worthy a man he was. He no longer had to glance over his shoulder at each turn, fearing retribution for his choices. The townspeople liked and trusted him even more than they had before, seeing how dedicated he was to their causes and thorough in handling problems immediately and lawfully for the good of all to the best of his ability.

Watching just a moment longer, Killian saw Belle pause in her conversation, looking up over her shoulder at Graham with an adoring expression in her eyes, resting her hand over his where he had placed it on her shoulder. Something passed between them wordlessly, so slight that it went unnoticed by most around them, but to Kilian’s honed and heightened senses, it sent almost a frisson of intense feeling all the way across the space to where he stood. He didn’t know what it meant, but he found himself more than a little curious, and happy for his friends whatever the cause of their joy.

His attention was drawn back to his own immediate circle when David threw his head back in a booming burst of laughter as Henry finished relating how Killian had recently taken he, his mom, and his friends Grace, Nicholas and Ava out fishing and swimming on the Jolly. It wasn’t the first time Killian had dropped anchor in the harbor where the preteens could dive off the bow and bob in the waves to cool off while he and Emma sat in the sun watching over them and talking, but what had gotten such a reaction from his grandpa was the mental image of Ava’s disastrous practice at casting and somehow catching her hook in Grace’s hair. The ensuing noisy melee had caused quite a commotion until they’d gotten Grace free from the painful tangle, reassured Ava that they all knew it was an accident and gotten back to catching fish rather than each other.

As the afternoon wore on, Killian relaxed into the atmosphere of easy camaraderie around him, graciously complimenting his hostess on the lightness of her dinner rolls and the fine quality of her rum - to which he earned a sniff of begrudging thanks but also a sidelong smile. He exchanged a few words with Belle on the last book she had recommended to him and what he thought of it so far, and though she carried an obvious glow of satisfaction and practically radiated good humor, he was no closer to the reason that it seemed so especially prominent today, even after conversing with her. He exchanged pleasantries with Graham, and let Henry drag him into a ridiculous game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey that Snow had organized to hilarious results with the assorted dwarves’ poor aim and inebriated states by that hour of the waning day.

Despite what else he was doing however, his eyes were continually drawn back to Emma wherever she was. There was the simple fact that he couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty, for one thing. Her golden hair stood out like a beacon in any gathering, this one no exception, and the very sight of those flowing waves cascading down her back against the red leather of her favorite jacket made his hand itch to brush through its silky softness.  Her long, lean form, her throaty chuckle, and the sparkle in her jade green eyes all made hunger rise in him that had him aching to pull her out of the party and into the first empty room he could find. A long life of practice made him able to rein in his desires, but it certainly didn’t slake them in the least.

He remembered too that it was nearing the full moon, which made all his more canine traits closer to the surface. As intensely protective as he would have been anyway, because he loved her, the animal instinct within demanded he be aware of his mate and her safety at all times. Especially when they were out in the open and not alone, whether or not those with them were friends and the gathering innocent. There was possessiveness as well that he could contain, but not vanquish completely. Between those two impulses warring inside his average human faćade, Killian was rather proud of himself for managing to eventually retreat to a corner table with his drink, lean back in a chair and observe the goings on around him with at least the air of calm.

Still, needless to say, he was relieved when the festivities did begin to break up an hour or so later. Many called out a friendly goodbye to him, and he waved back jovially to them.  Some, like David, came over to say ‘good night’ and make plans for when they’d get together next. When Emma finally came up to him with an easy smile and an outstretched hand, asking him if he was ready to head home for the night with a teasing tilt of her head and playful “Captain?” he was on his feet in a moment. With Henry in tow, they headed back toward their house on the shore as the stars came out above.

A deep sense of satisfaction warmed Killian once again at the very idea that this could be his life, while Emma leaned into his side as they walked and Henry pointed out the various constellations that he had learned to recognize through Killian’s tutelage. It was more happiness than he once could have imagined having in his life on a regular basis. In a few days he would need to prepare for shifting about three nights in a row, as was his monthly due, but for tonight, he could sense it was still safely far enough off to take his time seeing the two most important people in his life home safely and enjoy that they saw him as one of their own.

Once they reached the front gate, Henry hurried on up the walk and into the house with a “See you tomorrow!” for his mom’s boyfriend. Alone at long last, Emma turned to him, her face tilted up to his with a devious glimmer in her expression. Only moments ago, he wouldn’t have imagined things could get much better, but when she ran her hands up his torso to rest on his chest and whispered invitingly, “Wanna come in for a nightcap, Sailor?” she blew his mind all over again. 

A couple of drinks, an entire bowl of popcorn and a movie later, they were cuddled together on the couch in Emma’s living room, making out like two teenagers.  Killian didn’t leave his love’s arms again until the next day dawned. Slipping out to his boat before Henry could walk up and begin scavenging through the cupboards for his breakfast cereal, Killian stooped to place a kiss on Emma’s groggy forehead as she mumbled a sleepy farewell. No one else in the house was stirring as the former pirate headed away down the walk, and he was too cheerful and relaxed to be on his guard, so the eyes watching his every move from the shadows as he moved toward the docks, went unnoticed…

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

Far removed from the cheerfulness and revelry of the rest of the town and their holiday celebrations, Mr. Gold was holed up in the dim, shrouded back room of his shop, scowling silently at a clouded orb with its contents swirling inside. He hadn’t bothered to unlock or open his shop doors today, not wanting to see the idiotic smiles of the townsfolk, nor to waste effort pasting on a smile and haggling to make sales that mattered little to him, all things considered. No, all that mattered now was possessing the one item which could free him of the Savior’s binding order stoppering his Dark One powers to set things right. He would be loosed of her interfering magical hold; it was merely a matter of tracing the artifact to its hiding place and summoning an accomplice he knew was powerful enough to aid him in the ritual needed to slip the noose of his Dagger’s control, and therefore Miss Swan’s meddling command.

All the pieces were in place; once the crystal showed him where his former compatriot could be found, he would set the ball rolling.  He would make Belle see sense, return her to her place by his side, where she clearly belonged. That Sheriff who had dared to try taking his place in Belle’s affections would rue ever having his heart put back in his chest. And that wretched cur ...that wolf he had nearly finished off before - and the woman who had prevented it, who had the audacity to tangle with him and think she could defeat the Dark One - both of them would pay, once and for all.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @xarandomdreamx

@motherkatereloyshipper @booksteaandtoomuchtv @anmylica @stahlop @myfearless-love

@teamhook @revanmeetra87 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx

@undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @drowned-dreamer @jonesfandomfanatic @kday426

@lfh1226-linda @linda8084 @resident-of-storybrooke @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree

@belovedcreation @eddisfargo @zaharadessert @laianely @goforlaunchcee

[kmomof4]

Ohhhh man!!! What FANTASTIC FICS and ART we got in ‘19!!!! There are a few on this list that are absolute FAVORITES of mine from the particular authors!!! Enjoy and be sure to give all the authors and artists lots of love!!!!

Event Roundup Time!!!!

I am SOOOOOOO sorry y’all!!! I completely forgot to do an event roundup!!! Please forgive me!!! Fanmail from @killianjones4ever82 brought it to my attention and I’m so glad she did! We had an incredible summer and we need to have a post that can be easily accessed with all the fabulous fics and gorgeous artwork that dropped for the event! So without further ado, here we go!!!!

Under the cut, because this is gonna be a LOOOOOOONG post!!!

Keep reading

[kmomof4]

12 (Actually 13) Days of Captain Swan Fic Recs !!!

And we are back with Day 5 of my 12 (Actually 13) Days of CS Fic Recs with another writer that I found in my very early days of fan fiction reading, @whimsicallyenchantedrose!! Jen is the absolute QUEEN of fluff and her fics are my go to when I need my spirits lifted.

She is also the final co-writer of our Girls Vacay Fics, so once again, those fics are at the top of my list of favorites of her fics!! And included in that series, is the fic she wrote last year for her travel companions bdays - mine, @jrob64, and @snowbellewells, then ending with her bday last April - The Girls' Trip Fairy Tale Ending - Rated T - Four fandom friends are nearing the end of their annual girls’ trip when they’re suddenly visited by Isaac, the author before Henry. He gives them an each a gift--an opportunity to jump into any scene in the storybook they want and fix it.

And boy did we ever fix those scenes!!! A&E REALLY should have hired us as writers for the show...

But now to the rest of Jen's fics that I've read multiple times over the years.

A Pirate's Christmas Carol - Rated G - CS Christmas Future Fic. With only a month to go before the birth of his and Emma Swan’s first baby, Killian begins to fear he doesn’t have what it takes to be a good father. Three ghosts—from Killian’s past, present and future help him see that he is ready for the adventure that is fatherhood.

The Girl That I Adore - Rated T - Emma wakes from a nightmare one night and finds her husband, Killian Jones, missing from their bed. Emma has a pretty good idea where to find him. Another beautiful blonde has captured his heart-and Emma couldn't be happier.

Until the Stars Are All Alight - Rated T - Written for CSSNS19. CS LOTR au: When Emma Swan steals a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, she has no idea it will lead her toward an adventure filled with danger and intrigue, sacrifice and a love stronger than anything she could imagine. Tasked with bringing the Savior home, the elf, Killian Jones of Misthaven travels to the Land Without Magic. Can he convince Emma to fulfill her destiny before the Dark One regains power and takes over all of the Enchanted Forest?

Under the Apple Tree - Rated T - An Outlaw Queen fic, Jen wrote this one during the summer between s6&7. This fic gave me my OQ happy ending, so it had to be included in the list.

After being hit by the Olympian Crystal, Robin is transported to Seattle, unable to return to any magical realm. When it becomes clear he has no way to return to his family, Robin finally decides to bury his broken heart in work–founding a landscaping business, Sherwood Forestry. Fifteen years later, Robin receives an order from the last person he ever thought he’d see again.

Taking Back Neverland - Rated T - Originally written as a part of Jen's Fluffy Fridays Collection, this fic takes the Neverland arc from the show and puts a FABULOUS twist on it!!

After actress Emma Swan's lead role in a popular TV show is at an end, she is offered the leading role in the Regina Mills film, Taking Back Neverland, a fresh retelling of the Peter Pan story. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity. Only problem? She'll be starring opposite Killian Jones, who she positively can't stand.

By Land or Sea Series - Rated T - A canon divergent series after 3x11.

A new villain has invaded the Enchanted Forest-the wicked witch of the west, but she is nothing but the lackey of a far greater evil. When Captain Hook hears of an ancient prophecy that details the defeat of the new villain, he knows the prophecy refers to him and Emma. Can he find Emma? Can he restore her memories and make her fall in love with him before it's too late?

And finally, as an Honorable Mention, I can't call Jen the Queen of Fluff and not mention her Fluffy Friday collection. Started as a way to combat the angst left by the s4 finale, the collection now stands at 176 chapters of the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff. I hope you enjoy all these! See you tomorrow for Day 6!!!

[searchingwardrobes]

CS Fic Rec Monday

One of my favorite writers in the fandom is @welllpthisishappening​ , and while I can confidently rec all of her fics, today I am highlighting this one that was her entry in the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer event last year. This unique story gives an alternate version of the Enchanted Forest, the curse, and Dark Hook. It is really difficult to put this story into words, it is so good! As I was making a picset for this, I realized just how much she packed into this story. She features almost every character we know and love from Once, not just the ones I chose here. And like always, she writes the most beautiful found family in this story. Enjoy!

Author: @welllpthisishappening​

Summary: Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

Rated: M

Length: 27 chapters (complete)

Read on Ao3

[teamhook]

My Fate is Darkness:: CSSNS19

Hello! Did you miss me? Probably not but I’m still here bringing you an update. Sorry for the delay.

Beta’ed by @hookedonapirate​ and @ultraluckycatnd​ both lovely ladies. Once my anxiety hits, my patience flees. To calm my nerves, I had a second pair of eyes look the chapter over.

Thank you, @kmomof4​ and the @cssns​

Chapter 9:

The road so far...

The Savior is born. Hidden talents emerge and the start of a friendship.

Emma had been visiting the Stranger since she was a young girl. His fingers would twitch and the candles would shine brighter. The visits hadn't gone unnoticed, though. For years she was observed as she visited the man. Finally, on one of her visits, she was confronted by Merlin. She thought he was going to lecture her like the fairies had when they caught her.

He simply smiled at her as he looked around the room. "Young one, why do you visit him?" he asked as he nodded in the direction of the bed.

Emma bit her bottom lip, contemplating her answer. No one had asked her that question, she was only told not to do it. The fairies had simply ushered her out of the room and told her parents. Her answer was simply, "he is my friend."

Merlin kept a small smile on his face. "Do you think he is a bad person?"

She studied the slumbering man. "No. No, he is not. I just know. I feel it here," she said, pointing to her heart. "No, he is not a bad man," she stated firmly.

"I agree, I don't feel any darkness in him. What do you do when you visit him? I ask because I know you have a reputation for not staying still. Visiting him seems like a very boring activity for you," Merlin said.

Emma rolled her eyes. "I tell him about my day and I read to him too. Mostly archive stuff."

"About past hunters?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah. I read to him about my grandparents and my favorite hunter, Alice Burkhart."

"Why do you like Alice so much?" Merlin asked, curious about her answer.

"She was amazing and because she didn't want to be told what to do."

"Rules can be a good thing, young one."

Emma looked over to the bed. "Is he in pain?"

"Why do you ask?"

Emma sighed. "He is still sleeping because of rules. To me, that makes rules not such a great thing. He sometimes feels agitated."

"And you can feel his agitation?"

"Yes," she responded as if it were perfectly normal. "I can feel it; he feels really warm as if he is burning."

"To answer your question, no, young one. He is not in pain." Or so we thought, he thinks. "Do you want him to wake up?"

"Yeah, that would be nice." Emma smiled and nodded.

Merlin replied, "Well, wake him up, you can do it."

Emma's mouth opened and closed. "I don't have magic, I'm not magical." Her eyes returned to the bed.

"Young one, can I tell you a secret? This would have to stay between you and I. No one can know; the others are not ready."

Emma quickly nodded. She was always being treated like a little kid. Soon she will be out hunting and it irked her. She loved the idea of knowing something the others wouldn't know.

"Young one." Merlin smiled and approached her.

"You can call me Emma."

"As you wish. Emma, come with me." They moved closer to the bed.

"Magic is about emotion. You want to help your friend, correct?"

"Yes, I do," Emma replied honestly.

"Hold your hands above him like this." He held his hands above the body and they glowed a little. "Now, let your emotions awaken your power. All you have to do is look inward."

Emma mirrored his actions, scrunching her face in concentration. "That's all?" she asked before gasping as she noticed her hands glowing.

"Think of how much you care for him and your parents. Feel the love flow through you. Now send it to him."

She felt warmth in her fingertips and then a hoarse voice filled her ears. "Water, please."

Her eyes went wide. She looked down at her friend and his eyes met hers. He was awake.

Merlin smiled. "The secret is you have magic, very powerful white magic."

Emma still cannot believe her eyes. Her friend was awake, and she was the reason for that.

The raw power of Emma's magic was felt throughout the Isle. Blue instantly felt drawn to the source. She arrived at the open door of the stranger's room. She had to bite her tongue as she walked inside the room.

Blue was greeted with the Stranger sitting on the bed with eyes wide open. Merlin was standing next to Emma. "Merlin, what's the meaning of this? We had an agreement!" As she finally noticed Emma, she cried "What is she doing here?"

Emma squirmed under the glare of Blue. The girl wasn't a fan of the fairy; she was always so bossy.

The Stranger stared at the loud woman. He turned to look at the girl and smiled. The man the woman was yelling at seemed calm considering he was getting an earful. He was so confused; where the hell was he? Okay, it was obvious he was in an infirmary, but nothing else made sense. "Excuse me." He cleared his throat. "Where am I?"

Blue glared at him. "Excuse us a second." She grabbed Merlin and pulled him outside the room.

Emma's eyes followed Blue and Merlin. Once they were outside, she turned to the man. "Hello, I'm Emma. What's your name?"

The stranger looked at her and smiled. Her voice sounded so familiar. "Hello, lass. My name is Liam Jones. Can you tell me where I am?"

Emma smiled. "Sure, you're at Haven Isles."

"Haven Isles? What kingdom is this?" Liam needed to get his bearings so he could figure out how to get back to his little brother.

Emma raised a brow. "No kingdom here. This is a special Island."

"Lass, I need to get back to my brother and in order to know how I go about doing that, I need to know where I am. You say there's no kingdom?" Liam sighed.

"Mr. Jones, I'm sure they will explain everything to you," Emma assured him. "You're safe."

Outside the closed room, Merlin was still getting an earful. "How dare you wake him up! We had an agreement!" Blue crossed her arms.

"We did," Merlin smiled. "I didn't do anything."

"You expect me to believe he just woke up?"

"All I said was I didn't wake him up."

"Merlin, I felt magic. Very powerful magic."

"Blue, let me ask you, was I the only one in the room?"

Blue shook her head. "No, Emma was in there, but she doesn't have magic. Humans don't have magic, much less magic as powerful as what I felt."

"Are you sure?"

"What are you saying? You expect me to believe a human girl has magic?"

"Not only does she have magic, but she has the most powerful magic. She was born of True Love. I know you felt it. The raw power that girl has is immeasurable."

"But she never displayed any signs."

"It was dormant, Blue."

"And you knew all along, didn't you?"

"I did, from before the moment that girl took her first breath."

"Why didn't you tell me? Us? Do her parents know?"

"No one knew, just my Apprentice. Blue, you were not ready, I don't think you're ready now. That girl is going to save us all."

"I highly doubt that," Blue muttered.

"Blue," he scolded, "she is special."

"Merlin, she is reckless and-" she sighed.

He interrupted her. "Our salvation."

"You sound like Tinkerbelle and Tiger Lily. Humans will not save us, much less themselves." Sometimes she felt guilty for the way she treated them, but they were too trusting.

"Blue, I know you wish you could exile me as you did with them but you don't have the power to do so," Merlin reminded her.

Oh, she definitely would love to exile him or turn him into a tree at the very least. "So Emma woke him up, we should tell her parents. We need to discuss this new development."

After a brief discussion with Snow and David about Emma's newfound magic, they decided to finally find out how the stranger got on the Isle.

The group arrived in the room as the man was trying to get out of bed. He grumbled about having to get to his brother.

Blue was the first to enter the room, clearing her throat. "Excuse me." She arched a brow. He stilled and turned to face her.

"I have to get out here, my brother is out there alone and I'm stuck here!" he screamed.

Merlin was the one who tried to calm the situation. Blue glared at the man. "Please stay calm, young man. We will sort this out."

Snow and David kept their eyes on their daughter. How was it possible that she had magic? They would need to find out why.

Emma was fidgeting under her parents' gaze. She felt them looking at her, not with the normal adoration, but with wariness.

The man sat still as he prepared to listen to what they had to say.

"Alright, Mr…" Blue nodded, urging him to respond.

He cleared his throat. "My name is Captain Liam Jones. I was on a mission for my King. My ship was destroyed and I appear to be the only survivor. Now, can you tell me how to get away from here? I have to get back to my brother."

"What kind of mission?" Merlin asked.

Liam's eyes met his.

"For crying out loud, we can make you tell us the truth and you wouldn't be able to stop us," Blue added, annoyed.

Liam's hands curled into fists. "Ask your questions then."

Emma finally met her parents' gaze. She was waiting for them to tell her to leave, that she was too young. She wasn't a kid anymore. She would be hunting soon and her parents refused to see that.

"Mr. Jones, what kind of mission? And what does it have to do with Haven Isles?"

Liam looked at his hands. "King Fergus sent us - me - to retrieve healing waters from an Island. We didn't have an exact location, but it was rumored to be within White Waters Triangle. My crew perished, and I have no idea how I got here. Or where I am."

Blue and Merlin shared a look.

Blue nodded. "Well, you have reached your destination but the thing that still makes no sense is how you reached us. Haven Isles are protected. You shouldn't be here."

Liam contemplated the words. He should be dead alongside his crew. Why was he still here? He looked at Blue. "Then why am I?"

Blue walked toward him and leaned in closely as if she were inspecting him. "That's something I would love to know. You shouldn't be here." She turned away and paced back and forth.

Merlin leaned on the wall while Snow and David sat in chairs just glancing between Emma and Blue.

"How did you get past the blood barrier?" she muttered, sighing and turning to look at him. She pulled a pin from her hair and pricked him.

Liam winced.

Emma, Snow, and David looked horrified.

Emma glared at Blue. "Why did you do that?"

Blue turned to her and sweetly smiled. "Young girl, I'm going to give you a quick lesson. Seamen," she paused, "they are not to be trusted. This way, I know the truth. Magic doesn't lie. You will learn that soon enough." With that, she turned away to inspect the pin in the light.

Emma's eyes darkened a shade for a brief second. Sometimes she felt spurts of uncontrolled anger that frightened her. Yet other times they helped her train. Currently, she tried to calm her anger toward the fairy.

Blue was completely unaware of the turmoil in Emma. She was focused solely on the pin. The blood had a light glow, it was faint but she could see it. She said an incantation and the glow got brighter. "Impossible," she muttered. She turned to Liam who was just sitting, staring at the fairy. "Your parents' names, what are they?" she demanded.

Liam confusedly answered, "My mother was Alice, and my father was Brennan Jones."

"Alice." Blue closed the distance between them. "Her last name, what was it?"

Emma's anger had dissolved. She was intrigued by the turn of events.

"Her last name was Burkhart. She died when I was young. My brother was a baby."

Blue gasped and turned to Merlin. "How is it possible her blood is still connected to the Isles?"

Merlin only shrugged.

Blue glared at him. "Then what good are you? You're supposed to have all this knowledge and yet share none of it with us." She turned to Liam. "It appears you are alive because of your mother. She was one of us. A long time ago. She abandoned us."

Liam faintly remembered the weapons his father had found that had once belonged to his mother. He had sold them to get money and never really questioned why she had them. There was no history of his mother's family. "What do you mean my mother was one of you?"

Emma answered with a smile. "Your mother was one of the best hunters. She was friends with my grandmother and after her last hunt years ago, she never came back, so it was assumed she was killed. During your sleep, I would read to you about her."

Liam nodded slowly. "How long was I asleep?"

Blue answered, "Long enough for the people you love to be gone. Time here moves differently. You see, the day Emma was born was the day you arrived."

Liam turned to Emma. "How old are you?"

Emma smiled. "I'm seventeen."

"Seventeen years, but I don't understand. My brother was younger, he could be alive. He probably thinks I'm dead."

"Yes, seventeen years here. In your world, it has been decades. Sadly, you cannot leave the Isles. Only Hunters leave, and although your mother was one, you are not."

"I was a naval captain, I had training."

"I'm sure you had some training, but the training is different here. You have to master swords, bow, hand to hand combat, and anything that will lead to your victory over monsters, witches, all sorts of creatures. We are not fighting mere mortals. You wouldn't survive out there." She laughed. "You will stay here."

"You're telling me you would rather send young girls out there to die, then let me go and help fight. If what you say is true, my brother is dead and I have nothing left. This was my mother's home once. I would like to help."

Merlin smiled. "Blue, he has a point. He should have a choice."

"Merlin, who knows what kind of man Alice mated with to spawn him. The Island makes the pairs so that we can have the best protectors possible."

Liam glared at the woman. "My parents loved each other. Perhaps we weren't spawned because of magic, but I'm an honorable man who would do anything to protect the ones I care for."

"So tell me, great protector, why wasn't your brother with you? This brother you care for so much. Why did you leave him behind?" Blue mocked as she walked away from the bed.

Liam stood up and wobbled toward the fairy. "That wasn't by choice. I would never leave Killian behind."

Emma and Merlin help steady him.

Snow and David notice Emma's protective stance for the man. "Emma, sweetheart, maybe you should go to your room."

Emma turned to her mother. "No, I'm not a little kid. I will be hunting soon and I want Liam to be my partner. He is Alice's son. He isn't just some outsider."

"Emma, Duckling, you heard Blue. He has no training. He can get you killed."

Emma crossed her arms. "He can train with me. I'm sure he will be a natural just like his mom was." She smiled at Liam.

Liam smiled back at the young girl.

Blue turned to Merlin, who only shrugged. "He can train."

Blue was incensed. "We'll see how he does, but for now he has to stay put."

Emma glared at the fairy. "You had him sleeping for years! You didn't care if he suffered or not. Fine, he will train, and as soon as he is ready, he will be my partner. I'm not going to go on my first hunt until my birthday." Emma turned to Liam. "You have a few months to train."

David and Snow turned to Emma. "Sweetheart, maybe we should leave your friend to be checked to make sure he is alright. You can come back later."

Merlin, Blue, and Liam stayed in the room while the others took their leave.

Liam sat on the bed. "I don't understand how a young girl like that can go hunting, but you don't think I'm capable."

Blue scoffed. "Emma has been training for years. Yes, she is reckless but she is a natural. She excels in all of her training. Merlin, you will need to train her in magic. I just don't have the patience for her stubbornness."

Liam and Merlin both snickered.

"Blue, I will do that. Now perhaps, Mr. Jones would like to rest a bit."

Liam yawned. "Thank you. This has been a lot to take in."

Meanwhile, in the Enchanted Forest, Killian was tracking a monster who was terrorizing a small village. The irony wasn't lost to him. There was a monster out there who wasn't him. He was faster than other trackers out there in the forest.

He had been in the small village with Whale and had overheard a rally to go hunting a monster said to be terrorizing the neighboring village.

Killian, no Hook. He had stopped being Killian years ago. He was Hook, the monster. He picked up the trail fast. It was of a large animal. He didn't see the problem. Whale said the beast was only attacking farm life. Animals, cows, goats, and maybe some deer. It wasn't hurting humans, but that could change if it ran out of things to eat.

In the middle of the forest, he found a big wolf hunting a deer. Killian paused as he looked on. The scene in front of him was that of nature in its simplicity. Predator and prey in the oldest dance of time. Except this animal wasn't just a beast. He had gotten better with his magic after all the years since he was first cursed. He didn't like using it but in this case, he might need it.

The wolf had caught wind of his scent because it turned to face him with a growl.

Killian slowly took a step toward the beast which snarled at his advance.

Killian hissed and his fangs emerged. "Lass, I'm not here for a fight." He raised his hands in surrender.

The wolf took a step back.

"Lass, I'm here to help you," he soothed. "Your Granny sent me."

The wolf's black soulless eyes turned golden as they focused on him with recognition for a second. He was fast so she missed him. Killian's own eyes turned icy blue as he held his stance, a small syringe held between his fingers as he twirled it.

"I'm sorry, love," he said as he released the syringe in the wolf's direction while his magic controlled the trajectory of it. He ensured the impact wasn't felt until the liquid danced with the animal's blood.

With his concentration on the task, Killian called out for his friend. "Whale, you can come out now and bring the cart. I know I'm strong, but it's a long way back to the horses." He made sure the wolf was slumbering. He had heard a faint heartbeat just before he had injected the wolf with the tranquilizer.

Silence. No witty reply. Killian looked around. "Whale?" He wasn't about to go looking for him. It was just too quiet but he knew he had heard a heartbeat. He knew he didn't imagine that. Unless the good doctor was unable to misdirect all the hunters looking for the wolf.

His attention turned to the wolf. He had promised Granny he would find and return her. The old lady was trusting him with the safety of her grand-daughter, Ruby. Killian agreed to help because he had smelled dark magic. They both knew the girl wasn't acting like herself. Granny had also noticed the cloak she had was missing. It had been given to their family by a powerful witch generations ago. It was enchanted.

"Step away from the wolf," said a voice that came from the trees.

"Sorry, mate. This is my bounty. I captured it," Killian replied. He was genuinely curious about the owner of the voice. He had managed to sneak up on him. No one had done that since he became what he was.

The broken branches and dried up leaves rustled as the man stepped out of the darkened thicket. A man with rugged features stood tall with a determined gaze as he looked on to the sleeping wolf. "You need to step away from the wolf," he said.

Killian's gaze turned to the wolf as he answered, "Mate, this is not your fight."

The man slowly pulled out his knife. "I won't let you hurt the wolf."

Killian couldn't stop the eye roll. "Look, mate, I'm not going to hurt it. I'm taking her home."

The man pounced, and Killian moved effortlessly. The man was getting frustrated and his movements became frantic.

Killian growled, "I don't want to hurt you." He hissed as the knife nicked him and as a reflex, he backhanded the man, who flew back because of the force and bounced off a thick tree trunk. The man stumbled trying to get up. Killian sauntered to him and knelt next to the man. He grabbed him by the neck and squeezed enough for the man to gasp for air. His eyes turned icy blue, his voice becoming a silky whisper. "You will forget what happened here," he smiled. "You were tracking a wolf but lost the trail." The man simply nodded. "Sleep." The man's eyes rolled back and his body relaxed.

Killian got up and walked back to the wolf. Where the bloody hell was Whale?

[wistfulcynic]

The Very Witching Time (6 / 6)

And here it is, the sixth chapter of my four part story, the absolute and final last one. THE LAST, DAMMIT. This has been the most challenging story I've written and I hope you’ve enjoyed it.

Thank you all for reading!

For @thisonesatellite​ WHO KNOWS WHAT SHE DID ❤️❤️❤️❤️ 

and for @mariakov81 for reasons that will be VERY EVIDENT at the end of the chapter. 

In this chapter Cora gets what’s coming to her and there is an epilogue so fluffy you’ll need to see your dentist after reading. 

Thanks as always to @cssns for the brilliant event and @gingerchangeling for the gorgeous art.

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

RATING: M

AO3 | Tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5

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

Chapter 6: 

The fireplace in Emma’s living room was vastly too big for it, the raw grey slab of the stone mantel much too heavy and the carved pilasters beneath far too slender for their task. The hearth was too deep and too wide and protruded into the room much farther than it should, and the firebox put Killian in mind of the gates of Hell itself. 

Yet the firelight emanating from this behemoth was playful, dancing a merry path about the room and gilding everything within in a flickering golden glow. Its delicate radiance illuminated the overstuffed sofa where David and Mary Margaret sat with their hands clasped and looks of solemn concentration on their faces, skittered off the un-curtained window behind them and away from the darkness of the night beyond, valiantly attempted to soften the strain in Regina’s expression and posture as she sat stiffly in the corner armchair, speaking only when spoken to. 

It positively caressed Emma’s face, thought Killian, tracing the contours of her round cheeks and determined jaw, of that dimple in her chin he never passed up the opportunity to kiss. It shone through her hair as she paced along the hearth, brightening the loose waves that tumbled down her back with such a glow he fancied she was part of the flames. 

Firelight made him whimsical, he reflected. 

“So does everyone understand?” Emma was saying as Killian forced his wandering mind to focus. 

“Not entirely,” said David. “But I think I know what you want us to do.” 

“We know our part,” agreed Mary Margaret. 

“All right then.” Emma clapped her hands together. “I think we’re ready. Regina, Killian? Ready?” 

“Aye, love.” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Let’s get started.” 

She took a deep breath and reached for Killian’s hand. He clasped hers firmly, reassuringly. 

“All right, love?” he asked, keeping his voice low for her ears alone.

“Yeah,” she murmured back. “I’ve just never had anyone in the old part of my house before. Not on purpose anyway.” She squeezed his hand. “It feels weird, is all.” 

Hand in hand with Killian, Emma led the small group along the dark corridor to the back of her house, smirking when Mary Margaret and David gaped openly as the stone doorway appeared in the wall and swung wide at her silent bidding, but smiling in understanding when Regina gaped openly at the workroom with its long table strewn with the ingredients and equipment for her spells. Hastily Emma gathered together several small glass bottles and linen bags, plus four engraved silver bowls and the star-strewn blanket Killian recognised from the night she’d given him his silver paw, tumbling them all into a wicker basket with a long, looping handle. Clasping the basket tightly she indicated for them to follow her and headed with a determined stride up the stone stairs that led to one of her towers. Not the library tower. The other one. 

The stairs wound up and up and up, curving through a blinding darkness that had the four of them stumbling and holding on to each other for safety, following Emma’s sure steps by sound alone. Higher and higher still the staircase spun, far higher than the one leading to the library, spiralling ever upwards until they were dizzy, until they had lost all sense of time or space, until what could have been hours or minutes or inches or miles later they stumbled, breathless and disoriented, into a chamber.  

It was a circular chamber, vast and echoing in a way that was surely impossible for any place atop such a tall tower to be, formed of seamless stone walls lined with unlit torches and illuminated by a faint, bluish glow from an unseen source. Emma set her basket on the floor and withdrew some long-handled matches from one of the linen bags. “We need to light the torches,” she said. “Normally I’d do it with magic, but I’d like to hold on to what little I’ve got.” 

Mary Margaret’s face creased in a worried frown. “Sweetie, are you sure we have to do this tonight? Can’t it wait until you’ve got more of your magic back?”

“Mary Margaret you remember what she said, the low magic is part of the plan,” David reminded her. 

“I know, but…” 

“It’ll be fine Mary Margaret,” Emma assured her. “If everything goes well—” 

“If,” muttered Regina.

“—then I’ll only need a bit of my own,” continued Emma, ignoring her. “I just don’t want to waste any resources. Just in case.” 

“Well, if you’re sure,” said Mary Margaret, and took the long, slow-burning match Emma handed her, striking it against the wall and gasping at the bright glare of its flame. 

As Mary Margaret and David lit the torches Emma and Regina spread the starry blanket over the centre of the floor, placing the silver bowls at each of its corners and filling each with sea salt and thyme and three dried nettle leaves. 

“Are you sure you don’t want any mugwort?” Regina frowned at the contents of the bowls. “Or at least a bit of cinnamon bark?”

“Nope,” said Emma brightly, though Killian could feel her tension. “Simple is better, I think.” She handed Regina a bottle of sea salt then closed her eyes and breathed deeply, centring herself as the other woman sprinkled the salt in a circle around the blanket. 

When the torches were lit and the circle prepared, Emma, Regina, Mary Margaret, and David joined hands and stepped as one over the salt circle and onto the blanket. The instant they did, the salt began to glow and energy sparked between their hands. 

“Don’t let go!” said Emma sharply as Mary Margaret flinched in surprise. “Whatever happens you have to hold the circle!” 

Emma bent her head and began to murmur in a language Killian had read but never heard, using the energy of the circle to boost her small store of magic. Soon smoke began to rise from the centre of the blanket, thickening and taking on the purplish-blue hue that still had the power to make his blood run cold, before dissipating to reveal a surprised and extremely displeased Cora. 

“What is this?” she snapped, scowling at the faces surrounding her, her gaze flitting scornfully over Emma’s and Mary Margaret’s before landing on her daughter. “Regina?” she frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Stopping you, Mother,” said Regina. “As I should have done long ago.” 

“Pah,” spat Cora. “You can’t stop me.” 

“I couldn’t,” Regina conceded. “I have help now.” 

“Help? From the forest witch and her household spells? From Leopold’s doormat of a daughter and her very upright husband? That’s your help?”

“Not all of it,” said a deep voice that Killian barely recognised as his own. 

Shadows shifted between the torches on the wall as he stepped forward from his hiding place among them, and when the torchlight made him fully visible Cora’s face for the first time showed genuine fear. 

“You!” she gasped. “You’re— but— how?”

“You might well ask that,” said Killian coolly. “Though you needn’t look far for the answer. You did this.” 

“I— what?”

Killian smiled, a sharp, vicious smile, remembering Cora’s arrogance and her presumption, and the cold deliberation with which she had ripped his life to shreds. Part of him, the dark part deep inside, was going to bloody enjoy this.

“All these years you’ve been obsessed with that prophecy,” he said advancing on the circle as near as he dared, “You spent your life trying to interpret it and to find a way to thwart it, but my dear Cora what you have always failed to understand is that everything you’ve done, from the moment you found the first scrap of parchment, has only aided that prophecy in coming true.”

“Impossible.” Cora managed a sneer, but it was a feeble thing. “You know nothing of prophecies, or magic.”

“Oh, on the contrary darling, I know quite a bit about both. Prophesied events may come to pass or they may not,” he glanced at Emma, who gave him a small smile. “But whatever they do they don’t do it in a vacuum. People are inevitably involved and where there are people there is always a choice. You for example chose to involve me in all of this—” 

“I didn’t choose you, I was Shown.” 

“Perhaps, but it was your choice to destroy my life in an attempt to get me under your control. Had you left me alone I would have lived out my life in the navy, never even believing in magic. I would certainly never have met and fallen in love with a witch.”

Cora shook her head, denying his words, though he could see they had shaken her. “No. No, you’re wrong, I had to stop you, you were destined to meet her—” 

“I met her because you brought me to her forest and turned me into a dog,” retorted Killian. “You thought you were getting rid of me but it was only as a dog that I was in a position to stay close to her and protect her, and it was only as a dog that I could have defeated your wolves.” 

Realisation was breaking across Cora’s face, chased by horror. “You were as good as dead,” she whispered. “There’s no way you could have survived…” 

“Left to my own devices I surely wouldn’t have. But there was this connection I’d forged with a witch, you see, which allowed her to heal me. All of me.” He held up his left hand, whole and pulsing with a faint glow of magic. Cora took a stumbling step back, her fear palpable as she pressed against the barrier of the magic circle that held her. 

“That’s not possible—” 

“No indeed, I think we can all agree that it is quite impossible. And yet, here we have it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, love, why exactly did you take my hand in the first place?”

“I had a vision,” choked Cora, too deep in shock to attempt a lie. “I saw— I saw that she would need it. Your hand, your help. I saw—” she broke off on a strangled gasp, eyes darting all around, taking in the circle on the floor, the faces surrounding her, Killian and his glowing hand. The fear in her eyes turned to panic. “I saw this.” 

“And what precisely is this?”

“My end.” Her terrified gaze met Killian’s calm one. “Are you— going to kill me?”

Killian paused before replying, keeping his eyes fixed on Cora, allowing the silence to stretch out until she began to writhe. “I am not,” he said at last. “But make no mistake, this is your end.” 

“Cora Mills!” Emma’s voice resonated though the chamber. “Your actions have been seen, and now I offer you a choice.”

Cora jumped and spun around to face Emma. “A choice?”

“There is always a choice.” Emma's eyes met Killian’s, and he nodded. “You have shown you cannot be trusted to wield the High Magic. Your choice is to voluntarily relinquish it and work only the household spells, or to be cut off from all magic forever.” 

Cora’s eyebrows snapped together as the hot flash of her anger burnt away her fear. “You can’t cut me off from my power!” she snarled.

“Oh yeah?” retorted Emma. “Try me.” 

Cora sputtered indignantly. “With what magic?” she sneered. “You used all yours on Samhain, and my pathetic daughter’s isn’t nearly enough.”   

“That’s true,” agreed Emma. “I’ve got no magic left.”

“Then how do you possibly presume to—

“I don’t have magic,” Emma interrupted. “But he does.” 

Killian could sense the magic sleeping deep within the stones of the chamber, the same stones, the same magic, that had answered Emma’s desperate call mere days before, the magic that had healed his broken body and returned his stolen hand. He called to it now, and though he had no idea how he was doing so he pulled the magic into his hand and sent it on along the connection he shared with Emma, letting his magic flow into her as she had done for him. 

Cora couldn’t see the source of his power —its nature was too foreign to her— but she could sense magic flowing into Emma, could see her channel it, weave it, and everyone could see when that magic flared into a blaze of light that Emma deftly moulded into a fearsome blade, long and lightly curved, and sharper than any steel. 

She grasped this blade and held it before her as Cora herself began to glow, the energy of her own magic becoming visible as wisps of purple light that curled in gentle waves around her, linking her to the source of her own power. As Cora watched in growing horror these wisps wound around each other, twisting and knotting together to form a single rope roughly the thickness of Killian’s wrist. The rope drew taut beneath Emma’s blade, quivering in anticipation of her strike. 

“What is your choice?” Emma asked. “Will you promise to relinquish the High Magic?”

Hatred flashed in Cora’s eyes. “Never—” she hissed, grasping the purple rope and whipping it away, but Emma brought the blade down faster than the human eye could see and sliced the rope clean through, severing Cora’s connection to her power forever. 

Cora gasped then cried out in pain, staring at the fading rope with eyes dulled by uncomprehending horror. “No,” she moaned. “No you didn’t, you can’t! You can’t do this to me!” Collapsing into a heap on the floor, she clutched at the purple rope, fisting her hands into the starry blanket and pounding them against the floor as it faded away into nothing. 

Emma heaved a deep breath and let go both of Killian’s magic and the hands she held, breaking the circle. The glow in the salt winked out and David and Mary Margaret fell into each other’s arms, clinging tightly and whispering as they attempted to process all they had seen. Regina knelt beside her keening mother and cautiously embraced her. 

“Come, Mother,” she said gently. “I’ll take you home.” She stood and pulled Cora to her feet, raising her hand to poof them away but before she could Emma stepped forward.

“Wait,” she said, searching for the right words to express her feelings. It was— not precisely sympathy she felt; Cora more than deserved this punishment and the world needed protection from her, but Emma knew how devastating losing magic must be to a witch and her kind heart wished to help. She laid a hand on Cora’s arm. 

“You’re welcome in my shop any time,” she said. “You may not have power anymore but there is magic everywhere, and I have things that can help you connect with it, help you find your way again. Both of you,” she added, looking at Regina.

“Never,” snapped Cora, yanking her arm away, but Regina nodded. 

“Thank you,” she said. “In time, I think we might take you up on that.” 

“Take all the time you need.” 

Understanding flashed between her and Regina, then red smoke swirled and both Mills women were gone. 

Emma stared at the spot they had vacated, feeling relief and sadness and a mess of other things she didn’t have the energy to sort through. She heard Killian come up behind her, felt his arms wrap around her. His presence was so soothing, she thought with a sigh, turning in his embrace and snuggling against him, pressing her nose into his neck. 

“Well done, my love,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “How do you feel?”

“Gah, I don’t know,” she laughed. “Don’t ask me that just yet. Let’s just— is it weird that all I really want is a cup of tea?” 

“Not in the least,” said Killian solemnly. “Tea cures all ills. Come, darling, I’ll put the kettle on.”

💐💐 💐💐💐

Seven years later.

The 31st of October was a cool and misty day that year, with pearly grey skies and the scents of wood smoke and frost clinging in the chill dampness of the air. By its afternoon much of the mist had burned away, save for a stray wisp or two weaving out from the forest and down Hornbeam Street to curl around the windows of the apothecary shop where Emma hummed to herself as she arranged the Samhain candles on their elegantly carved shelf. She paused neither in her arranging nor her tune, not even turning around when she sensed what Killian would call “a disturbance in the Force” in the vicinity of the table behind her, laden with caramel apples for the trick-or-treaters. She did, however, smile at the sharp hiss that resulted from someone attempting to touch those very apples and encountering a protection spell instead. 

“Ow!” cried a small, indignant voice. “Mom! That hurt!” 

“Stop trying to snitch apples and it won’t hurt,” said Emma reasonably. She didn’t need to look to sense her daughter’s pout. “You can have one in an hour when everyone comes for tea.” 

“But I’ll want soul cakes then!” 

“So have soul cakes.” 

“But then I can’t have a caramel apple!” 

Emma finally turned around, biting the inside of her cheek to hide her smile at the mutinous expression on the small face, so like Killian’s and framed by his dark hair, brightened in their child by glints of red, but with Emma’s own green eyes. Eyes that were at present narrowed in frustration. 

“Life is full of tough choices, kid,” said Emma. “If the worst you ever face is caramel apple or soul cake, you can count yourself lucky.” 

“That doesn’t help,” grumbled the small girl. “Grownups never say anything helpful.” 

Rowenna Jones was many things: five years old (five and a half, she would insist), an apprentice witch, a gifted storyteller, the fastest runner in her kindergarten class, and the sworn enemy of her cousin Leo. What she most definitely was not, was anyone’s fool. 

Emma laughed. “That’s very true. You still can’t have an apple now.” 

“Hmmph,” said Rowenna, and stomped back to the corner —the same corner where her father had once spent his days curled up on his dog bed— and sat down at the child sized table and chairs that now occupied it. “I guess I’ll just colour then,” she said with the dramatic huff familiar to all long-suffering children. 

“You could help me arrange the candles,” suggested Emma. 

“No, they look good like that,” said Rowenna, after an appraising glance at the shelf. “Can I do some magic?”

“What magic do you want to do?”

Rowenna raised an eyebrow and the corners of her mouth quirked in an unconscious imitation of her father’s wicked smirk. “Can I hex Leo?”

“Definitely not,” said Emma. Nice bargaining technique, kid, she thought but did not say.  

“Welllll, can I practice lighting candles, then?”

“That you can do.” 

Emma took the practice candle from behind the apothecary counter and put it down on Rowenna’s table. “Remember to feel your magic first,” she instructed her daughter. “Reach out and touch it, make sure it’s welcoming to you, then pull it up through yourself and focus on sparking the flame.” 

The child’s small forehead creased in concentration and Emma watched carefully as she gathered the threads of her magic and focused them on the candle wick. After a moment the wick flared into bright flame and both Emma and Rowenna clapped. 

“Well done, sweetie,” said Emma, extinguishing the flame with her own magic and giving her daughter a one-armed hug. “Keep practicing. Try to do it without thinking so hard, remember that magic is as much feeling as thought. 

Determination settled on the child’s brow, yet another thing she’d inherited from Killian. “I’m gonna do it so fast, Dad and Liam won’t believe their eyes,” she declared. 

“There’s a goal,” said Emma. “You do that.” 

~~💐~~

Half an hour later Rowenna’s candle-lighting speed had improved noticeably and Emma had rearranged her shelves six times as customers flooded in to buy her wares. She was sold out of bread and cider and had given most of the caramel apples to trick or treaters. Even Alexandra came in for one, though she was now twelve and that morning had rejected the pink princess dress her mother tried to give her, informing Ashley that trick or treating was “for kids” and everyone cool was going to Gideon Gold’s Halloween party instead. 

“Well, I guess you’re not cool, then,” Ashley had retorted. “Try again next year.” 

So Alexandra bought her own Halloween costume with her babysitting money and went to the shop for a caramel apple and a chat with Emma. Who did a sharp double take at the sight of her.   

“Are you kidding me with that hat?” Emma demanded. 

“No,” grumbled Alexandra, hunching her shoulders under Emma’s disapproving stare. “It was the only witch costume the store had.” 

“You couldn’t have chosen a different costume?” 

“All they’ve got are princess dresses and like, sexy nurses which my mom would actually kill me if I wore.” She shrugged. “I’ve been a princess every year, I wanted something different.” 

Rowenna bit her lip as she watched this exchange, torn between her admiration for the older girl she idolised and indignation on behalf of witch-kind. “I like the dress,” she ventured. “It looks like what we wear for Samhain only black.” Her face brightened as she had an idea. “OH! Maybe you could make a leaf crown instead of a hat? Mom says some witches wear leaf crowns.” She looked imploringly at her mother. 

“They do,” confirmed Emma. “I could probably conjure one, if you like.” 

Not even Alexandra’s newfound adolescent sullenness could mask her excitement at that prospect. “Okay,” she agreed. 

“One condition,” said Emma. “You have to let me burn the abomination on your head.” 

Alexandra removed the pointed black hat she wore and handed it to Emma, who took it gingerly between thumb and forefinger. “I’ll be right back,” she said. 

“Look what I can do, Lex!” cried Rowenna, waving Alexandra over to her table. “I can do it really fast now.” 

Quick as the flash of the flame itself she lit the candle with her magic. Alexandra’s eyebrows rose despite herself. “That is pretty cool,” she conceded, and Rowenna glowed brighter than her candle. 

Emma returned a few minutes later carrying a delicate tiara woven of slender willow branches interlaced with hawthorn and red maple leaves, whose dark auburn shades suited Alexandra’s colouring beautifully. 

Alexandra’s mouth dropped open and then she squealed, completely forgetting that enthusiasm was for babies. “Wow!” she cried. “That’s so amazing! Oh, thank you!” Emma helped her adjust it to the perfect angle on her head and let the girl admire herself in the glass of the display window as she grabbed her besom broom to greet a new flock of trick or treaters. 

“Are you ever going to fly on that thing?” asked Alexandra, once the children had gone. “You’ve been saying you do for years, but I’ve never seen you.” 

This time Rowenna couldn’t stifle her scoff, not even to keep Alexandra’s favour. “No one actually flies on broomsticks,” she huffed. 

“Wha— really?” Alexandra gaped at Emma, who shrugged. “I actually believed you, you know!”  

“Sorry?” said Emma.

“You should be,” said Alexandra. 

~~💐~~

Soon Alexandra left to show off her crown to her friends and Rowenna returned to practicing with her candle. Emma watched with a soft smile as magic flowed through her daughter, smooth and steady and controlled with an instinctive skill that made Emma swell with pride.

Rowenna lit and extinguished the candle faster and faster until it was blinking like a strobe light. She giggled at the effect and the thrill of her magic, and Emma was just about to step in before she got too carried away, when Rowenna’s face brightened with an eager expression. She extinguished the candle and turned towards the door. “They’re coming!” she called. “Mommy, they’re almost here!” 

Less than a minute later the door opened and Killian strolled in, a small puppy with floppy ears and pale gold fur dancing energetically at his heels. Yipping excitedly, the puppy ran to Emma and bounced around her knees in a brief hello before bounding over to Rowenna and jumping in her lap to attack her face with enthusiastic, sloppy kisses. She giggled and pushed him away. “Stop it, Liam! Get down!” 

Emma put her hands on her hips and glared at her husband. “Did you let him walk the whole way?” 

“He wanted to!” protested Killian, slipping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. “You know he loves to explore the forest. And it’s easier than carrying him.” 

“Hmmph,” huffed Emma, sounding exactly like her daughter, though she softened into his embrace and curled her own arm around his waist in return. “Is he hungry?”

“I expect so.” Killian nuzzled her ear. “He’s a ravenous beast puppy, as you know.” 

 Emma sighed as he tickled the sensitive spot on her neck then turned in his arms and kissed him hard. “Can you watch the shop for a minute while I go feed him?” she asked against his lips.

“Of course, love,” he murmured, brushing her nose with his as they exchanged sappy grins. 

“Daddy, you can watch me light the candle! I can do it sooo fast!” called Rowenna, sensing that her parents were nearly done with the mushy stuff. There was no talking to them until they’d kissed at least three times, this she knew from lifelong experience.

“Well, that you must show me.” Killian planted a final quick kiss on his wife before turning his attention to his daughter, exclaiming in admiration as she lit the candle for him and giving her a proud hug.  

Emma scooped up the still-bouncing puppy and cradled him in the crook of her arm, scratching his tummy gently with her fingertips. “Time to change now, kid, if you want some food,” she said. Liam licked her chin then closed his eyes, shimmered gently with a soft golden light, and Emma was holding a plump blond baby boy with eyes the same grey as the clouds outside. Cuddling him close she kissed his cheeks with silly smacking noises and he gurgled happily, patting her face with his tiny hands and making her heart clench with love and a trace of awe. Even after six months she still marvelled at him, at the ease of his transformation and the pure instinct of his magic. Her family’s witch magic manifesting in her daughter was something Emma had expected, something she knew how to deal with, but a shapeshifting son whose eyes were always the colour of the sky had taken her rather by surprise. 

She blamed Killian. Who was more than happy to accept full responsibility. Who was, in fact, thrilled to have a son who preferred to be a dog. 

“After all, love, it’s far more fun to be a six month old puppy than a six month old baby,” he’d pointed out just the day before. “Considerably greater mobility, and that’s just for a start. Perhaps he’ll choose to be human more often when he’s a bit older.” 

Liam’s cheerful babble interrupted her musings. “Well, I hope you’ll have a nice long nap after your dad wore you out letting you walk all the way here,” she remarked as she carried him to the small room at the back of the shop. There she fed him and burped him, rubbed his back and hummed a lullaby until he fell into a doze, then laid him down gently in the crib she’d tucked into the quietest corner of the room and tiptoed away to begin the preparations for tea, hoping he’d stay asleep. 

The scrabbling sound of puppy claws on hardwood and Rowenna’s shrieks of laughter informed her that that hope was a futile one. Emma sighed and decided to let Killian deal with it. 

When she came back into the shop with her tea tray piled high with Samhain treats David and Mary Margaret were there, she seated on the floor cooing over a delighted Liam and he attempting to police the children’s table where Leo was already squabbling with Rowenna over her crayons. Emma surreptitiously removed the practice candle from within her daughter’s range of magic while Killian poured tea for everyone, heavily diluting it with warm apple cider for the children. 

“So how was your day?” Emma inquired of the room at large, once everyone had been served. 

“Ugh,” groaned David. “Don’t ask.” 

“Why, mate, what happened?”

“I wish I knew. It seems like Leroy managed to obtain Doc’s Miata—

“—According to Granny he won it in some sort of bet,” Mary Margaret chimed in.

“—and he’s been driving it around like a maniac all day,” David concluded. 

“Ah,” said Emma, deadpan. “So that’s what that red blur was.” 

David shook his head. “I know you’re kidding, but also you’re not kidding. He was pulled over for speeding six times, twice in fifteen minutes by the same officer. I finally had to put him in a holding cell to get him off the damn roads.” 

“Yip! Yip! Yip!” barked Liam in his tiny puppy voice, leaping out of Mary Margaret’s lap and jumping excitedly at the Main Street window. “Yip! Yip!” They all looked out the window to see Doc walking past, carrying a baseball bat and the air of one seeking bloody retribution. 

“Goddamn it,” growled David as he charged out the door. 

~~💐~~

David didn’t return. He sent Mary Margaret a terse text saying he’d see her at home that night, so after she finished her tea Mary Margaret collected Leo, wished everyone a happy Samhain, and took her leave.

Liam was sound asleep on Rowenna’s lap, draped across her legs in that boneless puppy way, but when Emma picked him up he yawned and shimmered back into a baby, snuggling against his mother and blowing bubbles of drool on her chest. 

“I’m gonna go put him down in the crib and hope he naps until closing,” whispered Emma. “Do you mind taking Wren back home with you?”

“What do you say, lass, shall we get the food ready for the bonfire?” asked Killian. 

“Yeah!” Rowenna jumped up from her chair. 

“Put your crayons away first,” Killian instructed, catching her shoulder before she could run out the door, “And don’t forget your jacket.” 

As Rowenna collected her crayons under Killian’s watchful eye, Emma slipped away with Liam, indulging herself in a brief cuddle before laying him in the crib, stroking his hair —the same colour and softness as his fur— until she heard Killian and Rowenna leave the shop. 

 She tidied up the tea things and took them into the back, and when she returned to the shop Regina was waiting. 

Emma gave her a hug, which she returned warmly. Regina had warmed considerably in the past seven years, finally out from under her mother’s controlling thumb and now four years into a relationship with one of Killian’s old university colleagues, a widower with a young son who, Regina had once confessed to Emma, had brought out a maternal side in her she’d never known she had. 

“How’s everything?” asked Emma. How’s Cora, she meant. 

Regina understood. “We’re doing a bonfire tonight,” she replied. “Mother lit the candles this morning.” 

“That’s fantastic!” 

“It really is.” Regina shook her head as a smile teased the corners of her mouth. “I honestly never thought I’d see the day.” 

“So do you think she’s really reconciled to everything?” 

“She still hates you,” said Regina bluntly. “And Killian even more. And I suspect she still tries to summon magic sometimes.” 

“Well, no one changes overnight.” 

“No. And she is getting better.” 

“That’s something, anyway.” 

“That’s something,” Regina agreed. 

“And… you’re happy, right?” asked Emma cautiously. Regina could still be prickly about her personal life.

But Regina smiled, wide and soft and genuine. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m happy.”

“Well, that’s what matters.” 

“I suppose it is.” Regina allowed herself a brief squeeze of Emma’s hand. “Well, you’ve got things to do and I should be going. I’ll see you again at the equinox?”

“See you then. Blessed Samhain, Regina.” 

“Blessed Samhain.” 

~~💐~~

That evening Rowenna, dressed in a miniature version of her mother’s ceremonial gown and with green eyes huge at the momentous responsibility of the task, carried the oak log to the smouldering pile of wood in the fire circle and carefully placed it on the top. It burst instantly into flame and she started backwards in awe and alarm, reaching for Emma’s hand. Emma took it, partly to reassure her daughter and partly to complete the ritual, speaking the ancient words slowly so Rowenna could follow along, her small voice quavering slightly but never faltering. 

Killian sat on the porch steps watching them, Liam gurgling happily in his arms and  his chest tight with pride and love and other emotions he couldn’t assign a name. Happiness was certainly one, he thought, and wonder.  

Emma and Rowenna finished their obeisance and Rowenna with a whoop of joy ran inside to get the food to roast in the fire. She returned less than a minute later balancing a tray of corn and squash precariously as she bounced down the stairs, and Liam began to squirm with intent.

“I suppose you want to go play,” said Killian. 

“Gurgle,” Liam replied.

“All right go on.”

His son’s body shimmered and glowed, and Killian’s arms were full of wiggling puppy. Liam covered his father’s face in wet kisses then leapt from his lap and raced out into the garden.  

“Be careful!” called Killian. 

“Yip!” barked Liam. 

Killian leaned back against the railing of the porch with a pensive sigh. The garden magic rose and swirled around him, ruffling his hair and tickling the sensitive spot just behind his ear. He laughed. 

“Hello,” he said. 

You’re thinking hard.

“Just reflecting on the vagaries of fate,” said Killian with a wry grin. “Wondering…”

Speak your mind, Killian Jones.

Killian chuckled. The garden magic had always understood him. 

“All this,” he said, gesturing to the fire, the feast, his family. “Sometimes I wonder what I’ve done to deserve it, that’s all.” 

You earned it for yourself, the magic whispered. You protected her. You loved her. You were prepared to die for her. You made this happen.

“Did you know?” he asked it. “Did you always know who I was… to her?” 

Yes. Who you could be to her. But the future is never certain. There is always a choice. 

“A choice,” echoed Killian, watching his wife and daughter tuck vegetables around the fire to roast and their son yip in delight as he chased the embers floating through the air. “I like that. It’s how it should be.” 

This GORGEOUS, STUNNING drawing of Rowenna and Liam is, of course, the work of the utterly brilliant @mariakov81 who somehow read my mind and drew them exactly as they should be. Please tag her in reblogs to give her the appreciation she deserves ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[eastwesthomeisbest]

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

My artwork for "Roses (Tam lin) - a wonderful story written by @courtorderedcake

You can read it here: AO3

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

@cssns @kmomof4

[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.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "A Story Told at Last"

This short three shot was my first offering for the second @cssns event in 2019. I had a really lovely time using a more grown up version of Henry out in the "real" world, as well as keeping Violet (who I always liked) in the picture. I got to use my love of literature a bit in this one, making it Henry's profession, and I took my first early stab at a ghost story element for the supernatural. I think the main thing to bear in mind is that, while Henry is our Henry in personality, he is not Emma's son. Emma and Killian exist in a whole other time - the one he is studying... ;)

If you missed this one originally, I hope you will enjoy this offering. And if you did read it before, I'd love to hear if you enjoy your revisit!

Thanks once again to @branlovestowrite who did the cover art at the time for the event - I still simply adore it!!!

{Also available on AO3, if that's your preference

I've put all 3 parts in this post for reader convenience}

Summary: Historical Literature Professor Henry Mills has the chance of a lifetime before him. He might finally uncover the truth of a folktale that has intrigued him for years. But, when the whole story comes to light, will he be able to accept the story that needs to be told?

~Prologue~

The young man moved quietly through dusky shadows in the long-abandoned building, brushing aside cobwebs with a grimace of distaste, his flashlight trained well in front of him, and walking with slow care, trying valiantly not to disturb anything more than necessary in his path. Henry Mills was still holding his breath more than a bit in awe that he had finally been allowed the permits and permissions, not to speak of the grant money which had brought him here and allowed him to focus solely on his research, and that he was standing within the deserted tower ruins of a long vanished kingdom’s outer borders. He had dreamed of seeing this structure’s remains since the legend had first crossed his desk, unfounded but also unforgettable until he explored it for himself. Drawing in another steadying breath and squaring his shoulders, Henry moved forward once again, anxious to see all that he could before he lost the last bit of evening sun.

He would be back tomorrow of course, with his team and full daylight, and all the equipment needed to properly identify, catalogue, and preserve anything of historical value or interest they might find. Still, he couldn’t resist the chance to get a first look at this place that had held his curiosity for so long, especially when he only had to share it with frogs, cicadas, and the droning gnats. Soon enough this site would be buzzing with other historians, researchers, and anyone else on the approved team, and Henry yearned for a moment on hallowed ground, beneath the crumbling walls and mouldering ceiling, in the dreamy half-dark when it could be his alone. He didn’t know what treasures they might find, or if they would unearth anything new at all, but the storyteller’s heart that beat beneath his grey henley and respectable historian’s facade couldn’t help sensing that the very walls around him were holding their breath as much as he was, anxiously awaiting the right explorer to at last reveal their secrets.

Regardless of the venture’s outcome, Henry still found it hard to believe he was in Italy; seeing the world, traveling on his own quest for knowledge and adventure, just as he had always known he was meant to do. He was still considered quite young for a history professor, and this would be the first field mission he had led. Granted, to most folks who weren’t history buffs or fans of Renaissance literature and its roots, the remains of the stone structure around him that they would catalogue and examine in the next week would not have been delighted enough to go without sleep just dreaming of the treasures and tales they might find, but Henry Mills had never been one to do as most others would.

The particular result he hoped to achieve was to find some sign or proof of the princess Emmaline, the protagonist of that tale which had sparked his interest nearly four years ago. History had at least partially buried her existence, or much knowledge of her beyond the ranks of myth and legend. But, if what Henry had learned was true, she had once been imprisoned by the same walls he was standing within. A younger sibling had ascended the throne in her place, and Emmaline had disappeared from all records of the kingdom which had eventually become extinct itself.

The story Henry had uncovered told of strange happenings beginning to occur around the beautiful golden daughter of King David and Queen Margaret of Misthavia once the young princess reached her sixteenth year. Injuries to those who might have slighted her, accidents and damages - coincidences all, but their frequency had reached the point that her involvement could no longer be hidden, and her people had begun to fear her. It seemed that Princess Emmaline had even been deemed a witch by some, and at last the king and queen had been forced to hide their daughter away for her own safety.

There had also been - at least as related in several varied sources - a handsome young lieutenant in the Misthavian royal navy who had long been in love with the hidden princess. This young sailor had vehemently protested the decision to lock Emmaline away, much less the eventual denial of her birthright. So the story had gone, this lieutenant had eventually left the king and queen’s service due to the rift, and as incongruous as it sounded, turned pirate in her honor, as he left with a ship to seek her in exile and rescue his love.

Still, by any account Henry had been able to locate, whatever had truly happened, if Princess Emmaline had existed at all, she had never taken the throne of her kingdom. The rather tiny Misthavia, along the Tyrrhenian Sea had been subsumed into the rest of the larger country and ceased to be a separate entity in the modern world. To his scholarly, and curious, mind however, what became of the lost princess, hidden in her tower, remained an irresistible mystery.

For the moment he was not willing to risk discovery and be banned from the site before his official work even began, so Henry did not linger. He closed his eyes, breathing in the somewhat musty air that somehow, to his mind, also brought hints of spring rain, apple blossoms, weathered wooden planks, leather and sea salt. Shaking his head at his own ridiculously detailed imagination - now bringing him scents even, as well as hoped for sights and stories - Henry turned to carefully make his way back out of the rocky rumble, avoiding an overturned settee frame with bits of ripped upholstery clinging to it and a few floorboards, whose soundness appeared debatable. Watching where he was placing his feet and the path back to the entrance in the beam of his flashlight, he failed to notice that materializing behind him, wispy white and hazy against the deepening gloom within the old walls, two shadows, almost corporeal but not quite, were silently watching him go…

~***~

~Part One~

By the time Henry had returned to the Universitá di Bologna housing,where he and his team of advanced grad students were staying for the duration of their research trip in Italy, he was more than a bit anxious to reach his temporary quarters and go back through the copious research notes he had taken and goals he’d laid out in preparation before finally standing within the crumbling skeleton of his historical site - what remained of the once-stunning tower. Having now glimpsed it with his own eyes in the still shadows and dying light of evening, Henry was almost breathless with excitement and the desire to compare what he had seen with the numerous possible finds he had deemed likely. Already, he was itching to return at dawn’s first light with his team and equipment.

The heavy feeling in the air of another presence - of not being alone in the ruins, though his logical mind knew he must have been - had been easily shaken off once he returned to the city from the more remote location. The sound and bustle of the modern world - phones, cars, the press of crowds - melted away the icy shiver that had traced down his spine and put it well out of his thoughts. For several minutes now (nearer to three hours in point of fact, though his mind, caught up in more interesting details, had lost all track of time) he had been leafing through his reference manuals, maps and notes, packed and then unpacked again meticulously upon arrival, when a soft rapping on his door roused him from the fevered state he’d slipped into.

Shaking his head, and hazily pulling himself back into the present time and place, Henry drew a steadying breath, reminding himself that he was a skilled and credentialed professor of historical literature, not the teenage fanboy he’d once been and currently felt like again; he should show a bit more composure to whomever waited to speak with him in the hall. Opening the door, however, his eyes widened momentarily, in spite of his recent resolve, to find his brightest and most accomplished research assistant facing him.

Violet Clemens had actually graduated from the university’s history program two years before, but knowing the particular interest she would have in this research opportunity, Henry had contacted the museum he knew she now worked with when there had been spots left to fill in their group. Violet, with her pale, dewy complexion and ebony hair shining as it rested on her shoulders, not to mention her effortlessly elegant and tasteful way of dressing and carrying herself in a sea of her contemporaries wearing shirts cut so low and pants and skirts so tight that they left little to the imagination, had always stood out and seemed a bit of an old soul out of her time. Despite her keen intellect and quick wit, Henry had always been glad her degree focus leaned more toward historical art and architecture rather than his historical literature. While her complimentary knowledge would serve well in this venture to supplement his own, he had at the time feared becoming completely charmed by her if he’d had her in class on a regular basis.

Trying to shake all those thoughts from his frazzled and rather unfocused mind, Henry gave her a curious but friendly smile before speaking. “Miss Clemens, what can I do for you this evening?”

Violet flushed prettily, her cheeks pinking as her gaze fell to her toes for a moment before glancing back up to meet his. “I’m sorry, Professor Mills. I know it’s late. I was just wondering...I mean…” she finally blurted the rest out in a rush “...you went out to see it already, didn’t you? What was it like?”

Henry truly couldn’t hold back his wide grin at her question. Another person who held the same enthusiasm for the princess and the ruin of her family’s legacy, was not someone he came across often, and a part of him basked in having someone to share the thrill with - someone who just might understand. “You’re not a student anymore,” he offered with a self-deprecating chuckle. “You don’t have to call me Professor. But, to answer your question, yes I’ve been out there and it was incredible. Even with the light failing, it took my breath away.”

Violet merely nodded, taking his words in with an awed smile on her lips. “Oh, I can’t wait to see it for myself,” she murmured. Then a twinkle of mischief flitted into her eyes as she added, “but if you no longer want me to call you Professor, then you’d better just call me Violet.”

“Deal,” Henry affirmed, reaching out a hand which she took to shake on their agreement. The moment their hands were clasped together, a tremor of awareness caught him off guard, running up his arm with a heat and intensity that surprised him. Though he’d heard of such reactions to another many times in the books he’d read and stories he loved, he had never experienced anything so arresting in real life.

“Well, then, Henry,” Violet added, taking her hand back, though he didn’t think he was imagining the sudden breathiness of her voice and the way she shook her head as if to refocus, causing her dark waves of hair to shimmer. “I guess I should leave you in peace for now. We want to get an early start tomorrow after all.”

“That we do,” Henry agreed, seeing her to the door and hoping he wasn’t smiling wide enough to make him look giddy. Once she was gone, he leaned back against the solid oak, shaking his head in disbelief.  It would seem this adventure was going to bring about more than one incredible discovery.

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

The next morning dawned all too early for Henry’s taste; his alarm waking him from such a solid sleep that for a full minute he was too bleary to remember where he was at all. Between the jet lag and staying up another two hours pouring over notes and manuscripts to be certain he was prepared for their first day cataloguing finds onsite, he wasn’t sure he would even be able to pry his eyes open without coffee. It was almost funny to think back now on the days when he used to laugh at his mom and stepdad for their need to have a hot chocolate and black coffee respectively before they could face their days. He understood all too well as an adult.

Once he got himself moving, saw himself down to the continental breakfast provided on the first floor, and was waiting at the van to make sure all his assistants and fellow scholars were on time for the ride out, Henry did begin to feel more awake and alive. It wasn’t long before their small group had gathered, all had been accounted for, and they were loading onto the van. Rolling out of the city proper and into the Italian countryside, Henry began to lay out his game plan for the day, and the rest of his lethargy was swept back by excitement and purpose. 

When they reached the ruins, gathered the tools, instructions, and research which would guide them, they all stood a bit awed, gazing up at the remnants of the tower walls before them, quite possibly full of clues to be discovered. His travel mug providing a further jolt of caffeine as he took a last sip, he then stepped forward to begin directing the tasks to various assistants.  Those with him moved out with care through the ancient, crumbling bricks and mortar, leftovers from an exiled life, off in the directions he had indicated. Undeniably, her felt more than a bit of pride wash over him at the gravity and industry his little group displayed in tackling their assignments. The members of his team were clearly well-chosen.

He wasn’t, however, too selfless to have left one particular team member for last, to work with him one-on-one. Henry firmly fought down the urge to fidget with the hem of his shirt or stutter nervously as Violet edged closer to his side once they stood relatively alone. Her eyes were shining as they drank in the sight before her, more than a bit stunned and affected if her hushed voice was any way to judge. “It’s… splendid…” she nearly whispered, clearly struggling for the right words.

Henry nodded wordlessly, then turned to explain what he hoped to get her help with, just as Violet looked up to him and they bumped into each other awkwardly, both stumbling away a step and chuckling. His hand darted out to catch her elbow, not wanting to knock her to the ground, and Violet wavered closer at the touch unconsciously.

“Oh, Profess - Henry… I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…”

He waved her off gently, “No apology needed. I bumped into you just as much… Vi...olet…” His tongue tangled on her given name as if he were still thirteen and worried about it squeaking. “I mean, there’s no harm done. As long as you’re alright?”

The young curator flushed prettily and nodded with her reassurance of “Absolutely, I’m fine. What did you intend for the two of us to work on?” She was clearly anxious to shed her embarrassment - and to explore this place they both had fallen in love with before even reaching, but for a moment Henry was stymied. He couldn’t speak or think, so struck was he by the intelligence and enthusiasm shining in her eyes and the classical beauty of her face. He wondered helplessly how visitors to her workplace could appreciate any of the art hanging on its walls with Violet standing before them.

Her light touch on his forearm finally brought him back to the moment as she asked again, “Henry? Was there someplace in particular you wanted to start?” Even as those curious words escaped her, Violet’s chocolate-y brown eyes widened noticeably, this time unmistakably also feeling the same jolt of electricity that ran along Henry’s skin where her fingers touched.

Valiantly seeking to ignore the attraction fighting for his attention, Henry redirected his focus to the curious detail he had noticed the evening before, leading his partner toward what still stood of the column that had once been part of the support to a vaulted ceiling. It seemed obvious to him, again if the details of the legend he had heard were true, that this tower had once been an incredibly lovely haven - even if to its inhabitant it had proved a gilded cage. Which was why an oddity in the surface had caught his attention upon first look. There appeared to be a spot where the join between the two sides of the arch didn’t match up - a strange and careless anomaly in a building that otherwise had the look of careful and exquisite design in the other parts that remained.

Pointing up to the spot he had seen, Henry directed Violet’s eyes to the same strange seam that he had noticed. Hearing Violet’s surprised little intake of breath and the way she immediately stepped forward, tracing careful fingers along the obvious malformation in curiosity, told Henry he had indeed been onto something. Soon Violet nodded to herself, drawing closer yet, both hands now up to help in her exploration, and seemingly forgetting Henry, the bustling site, and everyone else around in her rapt focus. 

“Often times,” she murmured lowly without looking away from the movement of her fingers on the old stone, now gingerly but determinedly probing and prying, “in buildings of this age - especially ones which would have belonged to families of importance - an inconsistency like this might often indicate…” she paused for a moment, wedging her finger into the impossibly small opening she had managed to pry, the very tip of her tongue peeking from between her lips in concentration adorably (to Henry’s mind at least).

“Ah ha!” she exclaimed in a breath of triumph, the arch giving enough for what appeared a hidden panel to fall open and a still dully glistening bronze object to fall into her open palms. “As I was saying,” she continued proudly, “might indicate a hidden compartment for items of value.”

Beaming with excitement, Violet held her prize up for Henry’s inspection. In her hands lay an ornate, yet solidly constructed compass on a chain. The piece appeared to have some definite age on it, and yet its quality and beauty still shone through. It looked like an instrument which would have been used for ship navigation on sea voyages prior to the advent of modern navigational systems, and Henry’s thoughts could not keep from flying to the princess’ lieutenant of the stories and tales. Might this artifact serve as his first major proof of the legend that had captured his imagination?

His gaze lifted from the compass to meet Violet’s expectant one, ready to speak his hopes. But, even as he did so, the sound (or so he could only imagine) of a sword at someone’s hip as they moved and the creak of leather arrested Henry’s ear. He turned, startled, at such an incongruous noise for a research site, only to find that no one stood anywhere near he and Violet, as if the sound had come from nowhere beyond his own imagination.

Uncertain eyes flew to his companion, who looked back at him in concern, but Henry forced himself to swallow the strange impression he’d had, sure he would sound crazy if he brought up what he’d heard. Instead, they wrapped and catalogued their find properly for transport back with them, talking about what it could mean… and to whom they both had to wonder if it might once have belonged.  Even in the elation of success and discovery, the feeling of lingering over his shoulder did not leave Henry easily, staying with him for the rest of the morning.

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

That evening after dinner, once more in his quarters for the night, Henry’s thoughts were still on the compass as he plunged back into his accounts and stories, all the information on the Princess and her legend, and though he had mostly committed to memory all that was before him, he still pored over the details in hopes of a mention of the compass they had found in order to confirm his suspicions.

As the team leader, items discovered and picked for transport or further research had been logged and stored with him. And though Henry attempted to reason the need away, tried to convince himself that there were no details he had missed, nothing else to see, and that he needed to go to bed, to not spend another night with too little sleep, and instead be rested and well-prepared for the next day’s work, he was still impelled to stand and go over to take out the compass once more; the need would not be denied.

Once the instrument was cradled in his hands, the weight of it steadying to a surprising degree, Henry sunk down on the side of his bed, scrutinizing the relic with focused curiosity. What was he still missing?  Several deep breaths, a few pounding heartbeats, went by as he pondered the instinct guiding him.

Then, with a disconcerting effect that shook him and sent a tremor down his spine, the air around him seemed to waver, undulating dizzily and clouding the borrowed room before his very eyes. Drawing in a shuddering breath, Henry blinked, in hopes of clearing his sight, only to find his perception unchanged as they opened again. The lightheadedness forced Henry to lie back on his pillow, a rather clouded grey beginning to close in on his awareness, vision tunneling to his fingers still clutching the compass tightly - until it was all he could see.

His eyes closed, as surely as if he had been suddenly put to sleep, and then he felt as though he were floating, moving through space even as he knew he was lying still. And then, though he couldn’t fathom how, he stood in the tower of his dreams - whole and shining new as it had not been for some hundreds of years - unseen and right next to a stunning, golden-haired woman who could only be Princess Emmaline…

“Killian, go! You must be away from here before they come with my evening meal,” her voice is quick and urgent as she tries to push him toward the window of her cell, through which he had climbed not even an hour before. “If they catch you, you’ll be arrested. You’re wanted for piracy.”

The dark haired young man, lean and strong, despite appearing more long haired and less neat than he had as a royal navy lieutenant stands firm, well-muscled enough from days spent steering a ship through wind and rain and all other obstacles besides, impossible for her to move unless he allows it. He has waited too long to see her again, and he is not anxious to relinquish the sight of her beautiful face now that it has been restored to him.

“Easy, lass, easy,” he soothes, looking for all the world as if soldiers and guards, arrest and punishment, holds little concern for him.  In truth, he would face those and more as well for her sake, but he has also changed much in the months since his flight from royal service. He is a captain now, not the uncertain, eager-to-please junior officer he had been. Now he gives the orders, his crew (those loyal few who’d followed him into exile) follow his lead and go where he sees fit. “I’ve plenty of time yet… and...I wish to spend every second that I can with you.”

Only here, when addressing his true feelings for his princess, his first and only love, does he show a moment’s hesitance and a lingering sign of the shy young man he once was. Truthfully, he does not know whether or not there is a price on his head, or if he is being sought after diligently; Emmaline’s parents themselves did not agree with the steps taken to hide their daughter away. Whether they truly view him as a dangerous criminal to be apprehended, or more of a rebel with the freedom to act where they could not, Killian Jones is not sure. The King and Queen are constrained by duty to all of their people, where he is loyal first and foremost to his Princess above all others.

Unfortunately, their time is drawing to a close. He can hear the muffled tread of booted feet hurrying up the winding staircase, and knows that soon those who stand guard over Emmaline’s safety, but also make sure she remains in her prison, will reach her room. Much as he loathes leaving her behind again, he knows she is right. He dares not remain and have to fight people who are on the same side, compatriots in service of Misthavia, even if they interpret their orders much differently than he.

Turning to her once more, taking Emmaline’s hands in his, and gazing into her wide, green eyes and her tense face full of worry for him, Killian voices the question he has asked every time he steals back to her side in this long year past. “Come with me. You don’t have to stay locked away here. We could sail the world and be free.” It kills for her to be trapped and alone, paler with each visit he manages, dark purple bruises from sleepness beneath her eyes. Though he knows what her answer will be before he finishes speaking, Killian still has to ask.

His brave, bright angel shakes her head, yellow-gold hair flying around her like a halo, even as a slow tear makes its slow trek down her cheek. “You know I can’t, Killian. My place, my destiny, is here. Though my people fear me now, they need me… My parents need me… I can’t desert them.”

Much as he regrets it, Killian knows her honor will allow her no less. Sadly, he bows his head over their joined hands to kiss the back of hers, murmuring, “As you wish, my Love,” against her skin. Before he turns to climb into the window frame and grab the rope he had used to climb once more, he presss an object into her grasp - the compass he had received upon his naval promotion to lieutenant. “Hold onto this for me at least, aye?  As promise of my return.”

His Emmaline nods tearfully, letting him go and stepping back, but pressing the compass to her breast. “You always return, Killian,” she replies. “I know that.” 

His blue eyes brighten the smallest bit at her faith in him, allowing them both to hold onto hope. “And I always will,” he vows. Then he grasps the rope, swings from the window, and is gone.

~ Part Two ~

Henry came back to himself the next morning to the sound of anxious pounding on the door of his room. Sitting up slowly, blinking and struggling to regain his bearings, he began to hurry toward the sounds only when he also heard Violet’s worried voice through the wooden barrier, calling out with concern for him.

“Henry? Henry, are you in there?” Several more sharp raps against the hard surface followed, just before he could reach the doorknob in his befuddled state. “We got worried when you weren’t downstairs to meet the bus, Profess - “ Her words cut off abruptly as Henry finally managed to turn the knob and swing the door open to face her.

While he hadn’t really considered the rumpled mess of a picture he must present, the way Violet’s mouth fell open in surprise, and how her hand reached out as if to either feel his forehead or offer him support somehow before quickly pulling back, said quite a lot. Her prettily rosy cheeks paled as she stuttered anxiously, “H-Henry...are you alright?”

Feeling more than a bit awkward and embarrassed standing before her in the previous day’s clothing and obviously late for the group’s scheduled departure time, Henry shuffled from foot to foot before clearing his throat and attempting to smooth his sleep-disheveled hair back into lying calmly on his head. Violet, as was her way, looked impeccably neat and professional in sturdy khakis and a pale lavender sleeveless shirt that he knew must have a matching cardigan or jacket somewhere in her suitcase. She didn’t look judgemental in the least though, only concerned for him, despite his growing embarrassment. 

“I’ll be fine, just a little off balance,” he offered uncertainly, already reaching behind him to begin shoving necessary items into the satchel he carried with him on their excursions. “Would you just, please, make my apologies to the others, and our driver? Ask them to give me five more minutes, and I’ll be right down.”

He was scrambling by then, to find his shoes, locate his keys, and get dressed almost all at once, so that he didn’t realize Violet had not left yet after agreeing to his request. She had instead taken a step forward into his room, one more question of if he was really alright on the tip of her tongue when he whipped off his old T-shirt, ready to pull on the clean one he’d found.

Her startled gasp arrested him in the midst of raising his arms to pull the new shirt over his head, turning wide-eyed to face her and already flushing red in his cheeks and well down his neck and chest. Slowly lowering his arms, and the material down to cover his bare torso as well, he couldn’t dismiss the hopeful idea that Violet seemed unable to stop staring at his chest, even once again clothed in one of his usual tops, and that she was swaying just the slightest bit toward him, as if drawn by a magnet.

The odd moment broke at last when Henry stepped forward, just as Violet did the same, and they nearly collided. Both jerked away again, Henry already apologizing and bringing a hand to his stinging chin, even as Violet rubbed her forehead where they had made sharp contact.

“It’s alright, Henry. Truly. It’s fine,” she assured softly, reaching out to clasp his wrist with gentle pressure and calm his rapid flow of words.

Her former professor’s deep brown eyes raised to search hers hopefully, clearly easing as she nodded in added confirmation. “Honestly,” she added with a small smile, patting his arm before releasing her hold. “I’m really just glad to see that you’re okay.”

Catching her hand before she could retract the soft, delicate fingers completely, he squeezed back with gentle gratitude. Shaking his head ruefully, Henry let out a low chuckle and confessed to her honestly. “Alright might be a bit of a stretch, really. In fact, you may think I’m downright insane when I tell you what’s happened, Vi. But, let me get ready before we make everyone else even later, and I’ll share on the way.”

She nodded, stepping back to go so he could change and be ready to leave for the site as soon as possible. Yet, before she slipped back out the door, with one last promise she added, “Whatever you say, Henry. But, just know this… whatever it is that’s going on...I doubt I’ll think you’re crazy. I believe in you.”

Henry’s breath stalled at her admission, and he turned toward her to thank her, to express a similar faith, but Violet had already fled the room. There was nothing else he could do but hurry to rejoin her; her words and his excitement at his vision too, driving him onward so as not to disappoint her galvanizing confidence.

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

By the time their bus had reached the crumbling remains of Emmaline’s tower once more, Henry had told Violet all he’d seen and heard in his vision. To his utter astonishment, though wide-eyed and stunned, she had taken every word as truth and believed him. 

Once they were at the ruins, she still seemed a bit overcome - Henry couldn’t say that he blamed her, as he was more than a little disbelieving himself - but they piled out of the van as everyone else did, perhaps even more anxious to know what else they might learn or see after his midnight vision. Violet did, however, turn back to look at him once they were both on solid ground, a light touch to his upper arm to convey her concern as she whispered low enough that the others bustling around them couldn’t hear. “You’re sure, that you’re alright to be out here, aren’t you, Henry? I mean… you aren’t disoriented or lightheaded or anything like that?”

Even if he were, there was no way that Henry Mills was letting his last day in this scenic escape, this place of legend at which he had worked and scrimped and saved to arrive, be lost to a weird dream or a strange bout of vertigo, whatever it was that had come over him. He was careful of course not to seem impatient with Violet though; her care for him touched him greatly, warming and thrilling him inside much more than he would like to admit. Instead, he merely shook his head slightly, hoping to assuage her worries by appearing unfazed and moving forward with this last day’s exploration of their site. “Thanks, truly. I appreciate you checking,” he offered, “but I’m fine - no lingering side effects.”

As he spoke, they neared the last vestiges of the archway where they had discovered the compass the day before. Henry could tell that Violet ached to explore further, to make sure there was nothing else of note, to study the intricacies of design and execution that were more to her interests than his, but that she was equally reluctant to leave him after the strange stupor in which she had found him just a short time ago.

Good naturedly smirking at his own odd behavior, Henry urged her to see to what she wished. “Vi, really, go on and have another look. It’s not like this opportunity comes around every day. I promise, I’m not going to keel over.”

She shook her head at his lighthearted teasing, all ready with the stubborn reminder that he didn’t get the scare of wondering what had happened, worrying whether or not he was alright, but she bit her tongue in the end. Bickering wasn’t going to make him see his health as more important than their find, and it would probably only make him feel badly to know just how concerned she had been at the pale, unsteady sight he had presented when he first opened his door to her that morning. Plus, it would waste precious time, and so instead she moved off with a nod of begrudging consent and one more gentle press of his hand.

Henry, meanwhile, when he had made certain that Violet wasn’t holding back on his account, moved carefully toward the crumbling frame of the window in an outer wall still partially standing some feet away. It was slow going for the bits of stone and splintered, weathered furniture scattered in the way between, but he picked his way through the detritus without falling himself or destroying anything which might be of value. The niggling feeling that the window he stood before was the very one he had seen in his vision, the one from which the rogue lieutenant visiting his imprisoned lover swung to escape the princess’ guard, and he could hardly fight the need to touch it - see it - for himself, as if he could somehow derive the rest of the story, what had happened next, from the space he had seen in that reverie.

And though as much as he had promised his concerned protegé that all would be well, Henry still felt a bit off balance and unsettled, as if whatever presence or power in the air was still lingering from his encounter that morning. No sooner had he neared the wall, than he was reaching out to rest his hand on what would once have been the window sill, now loose and partially eroded by time.

Taking a moment to look more closely at the cracked stone and dusty grooves, Henry curled his fingers into a gap curiously, the piece of rock still in place shifting to the side and allowing his fingertips to slide deeper into the opening. For a moment, he felt nothing, just empty space and a disorienting sensation of brushing up against a wide open void, then his grasp caught against an edge of paper or leather, almost like the corner of a book. Straining to reach just a bit further, he managed to grasp the item and clutched tightly to draw it out.

Several more bits of debris and rubble fell away as Henry attempted to carefully extract his treasure. Once free of its hiding place, however, the mystery was revealed as indeed being some sort of leather bound journal or logbook. Brushing off the cover the best he could, despite the determined cling of years and years of cobwebs and mildew, Henry held his breath, hoping the pages wouldn’t crumble to dust, that they were still legible. It might contain the proof and the answers he had been seeking.

Ever so gingerly, Henry carefully opened the cover to find a flourishing if faded script scrawled across the opening page of the book in his hand. And even before he could locate the author’s purpose or name, he felt his surroundings begin to swirl and fade to grey once more, for the second time in one day, he was seeing the tower as it had been and the princess within it long ago…

“What have I done?!?” Emmaline’s tormented wail echoes in the thin air of the tower’s height, as her sword clatters to the floor from her suddenly nerveless fingers. The guard she felled is clearly not dead, as his chest rises and falls steadily even in unconsciousness. Still, though her father had trained her well in swordplay, until her technique and form was nearly as flawless as his own, she had never before actually struck someone with such determined intent. To stop them - and even end their life if necessary, rather than see her lover caught and killed.

Turning at that, her eyes still frantic at the blood that runs from the slice across his cheek beneath his eye, all too close to putting out the brilliant blue light forever. Her lip quivers, and Princess Emmaline struggles to bite back the ridiculous show of weakness and emotion, even while stumbling toward Killian at the same time.

He catches her in his arms, smoothing her wild hair back form her damp brow and whispering reassurances that she only did what she had to, that she isn’t cruel or evil, only a brave woman taking her stand in an impossible situation, and - if possible - he loves her even more, “bloody brilliant” she is in his adoring eyes.

However, the stolen moment is not meant to be theirs for long. Shouts from below remind them that the man they have felled to make their escape was not the only one, and unless they wish to be forced to do even more damage, they must go - immediately. Pausing a mere second longer, Emmaline snatches up a small brown book from a desk in the corner of the room. Pressing it to her mouth as if imprinting a kiss in its surface, she hurries to the window where her sailor stands waiting to spirit her away - from her family, her kingdom, her duty - but also to freedom and a life, something it has become clear she will never regain locked away in some gilded cage.

Working loose a part of the masonry, she slips her private diary into the aperture created, hoping against hope that it will be found. That her parents and her brother will be able to read it and know that she has discovered a way forward, even if it isn’t what they had always planned. She hopes she will see them again someday, but if not…

Looking up to meet her rogue lieutenant’s pained but knowing gaze, she is relieved to see she needs give no explanation. He understands, just as he always has. 

Then, with a final backward glance around her prison, she is swinging over the side with him, his steady presence next to her helping as they begin their descent on sturdy ropes, toward the ground below where horses wait to take them to his ship in the harbor....

Henry jolts back into his own place and time more immediately with this second vision. Already anxious to read the book still clasped in his hands, his heart thrums with excitement in his chest at knowing just what it is he holds. He gulps in air like a fish floundering on the docks, but it doesn’t slow his haste or enthusiasm. This is it; the evidence he had always believed he would find. Princess Emmaline existed, she was real; her story had happened just as it had been said. And now, at last, he could show the rest of the world the truth.

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

Six months later ~

Hand in hand, Henry Mills and Violet Clemens stand in the sacred space once more - the site that drew both of them halfway around the world, but also to each other. Since their research venture to the Misthavian ruins, there has been widespread recognition that the tiny kingdom did exist and that its lost princess had been a real, living being of flesh and blood. Though it was asking a bit much for the reigning historical and scientific community to believe that she had been locked away due to a fear of her magic, as detailed in her diary, it had become accepted knowledge that Princess Emmaline had been held in the windswept and isolated tower they had explored, she had been denied her birthright and crown, and had - much like her homeland - vanished almost completely from history… if not for the tokens Professor Henry Mills and his team had discovered.

They are now both published and much-lauded experts in their field; both already had been experts, it was just a matter of the rest of the world realizing it. More important than glory and fame though, to both Henry and Violet, was that now they could return to this place, so close to both their hearts, and perhaps offer closure to two souls who had been awaiting it much longer than either of them.

As the couple stood at the small display which had since been constructed at the scenic overlook near the ruins, there was an absolute sense of accomplishment. It was just a small podium with a guest book for tourists and visitors to sign and a protective case allowing the compass and diary to be returned where they belonged, but still available for the curious, the lost, and the lonely to see, to read, and to learn from the Princess’ story and take heart again. It was just how Henry had wanted it and had fought against various museums and universities to have it be displayed - as he could only hope the long ago royal would have approved.

Looking lovingly to the woman at his side, Henry smiled unabashedly as the sparkle of her engagement ring caught his eye and he simply brought their joined hands to his mouth to kiss the back of hers. He could still remember that first dim evening, when he had ventured within the tower’s remaining walls with cautious reverence. He had sensed that he was not alone, the presence that - while not threatening - had still sent a shiver skittering down his spine. Violet had long since talked with him of a similar awareness as they worked within the aged structure, and it was what brought them back now, to say one final farewell before embarking on a joined life together, to bid another lingering pair of lovers rest at long last - impossible as that quest might seem.

“Do you think we’ll know if they’re here?” Violet whispered to him, her eyes wide and half-hopeful, half-worried.

“I’m not sure what to expect,” he answered seriously. “It was just a feeling I couldn’t shake when we were here before. I don’t know whether to believe it will be more or less this time around.”

They waited, breath caught between nervously bitten lips in silence, before Henry stepped closer to the preserved ancient stone walls rising around them. “If you can hear me…” he started, tentative but determined, hopeful, and in a voice gaining strength as he continued with Violet’s reassurance at his back. “Princess? Lieutenant?...The world knows now, about Misthavia and about you.  That you were real, that you existed, and about your love for each other. No one believes Killian stole you away against your will anymore. And though most people of the modern age don’t believe in magic, they know now that you were wrongfully imprisoned, your Highness. They understand that though Misthavia ceased to exist as a separate nation, you never had your chance to rule to try and save her. And…” Henry paused here, swallowing a lump that took him by surprise as it formed suddenly in his throat… “and, though we can’t for sure know what became of either of you, it is known that Lieutenant Jones saved you, Princess Emmaline. That you loved him and he loved you. And I’m going to choose to believe in a happy ending for you both… that you sailed until you found a place where you could be together, come what may.”

“I do too,” Violet echoed into their still surroundings, offering him a gently affectionate smile as she gazed up into his intense and open brown eyes - the moment stretching powerfully between the two of them, cementing their faith in each other and their bond, whether or not anyone else bore witness.

Then, surprisingly, Violet’s eyes widened as she looked off to Henry’s side. “They - they’re here…” she breathed, almost too stunned to speak at all in the quiet evening around them.

Peering in the same direction Violet was, awestruck, Henry was slowly able to discern two clouded white shapes in the murky grey dusk, becoming ever more solid and opaque as Henry and Violet stood watching. Though far from corporeal, they were two human forms, one slighter with almost an outline of a medieval, bell-sleeved dress and what appeared a flower crown upon its head; the other taller and wearing what seemed to be a sword at its side, with broader shoulders.

Though the apparitions seemed to turn toward Henry and Violet, as if offering their gratitude, they came no closer, and merely hovered in place as the two historians held their breath for fear the moment might vanish. Soon enough as it was, the two cloudy shapes, once princess and pirate sailor, appeared to bow in farewell, then move toward the overlook, as though seeing the bright horizon and the waves far below that they had been separated from for so long. Just before the modern couple’s eyes, their ghosts began to fade into nothingness, gradually losing consistency, as if finally slipping the tether that had held them to the ruin. Vindicated at last, and free to move beyond, they set sail for peaceful shores. 

Tagging a few who might be interested: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @whimsicallyenchantedrose

@laschatzi @iamstartraveller776 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @anmylica

@stahlop @kday426 @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda

@belovedcreation @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @bdevereaux @shady-swan-jones

@goforlaunchcee @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @drowned-dreamer

@undercaffinatednightmare @myfearless-love @winterbaby89 @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan

[cssns]

The FINAL YEAR of the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer is behind us, so it's time for the CSSNS24 Event Roundup!!!

Does anyone else need a min? I know I do...

Before we get to the roundup itself, I have to give the LOUDEST OF SHOUT OUTS and GROUP HUG to the team of mods - @winterbaby89 @jrob64 @stahlop and @ultraluckycatnd - who helped me EVERY STEP OF THE WAY!!! This event absolutely wouldn't have happened without them and I'm sooooo grateful that they stepped up to the plate to make this final event a success!!! Thank you all soooo much, ladies!!!!

Also as part of this final roundup, I want to share all the links to all the other event roundups that have been reblogged the last few weeks. This has been an PHENOMENAL ride over all these years and I'm so grateful for all the love and support y'all have given it!! And now, all of the fics and art from all of the years will be in one place!!

CSSNS18

CSSNS19

CSSNS20

CSSNS21

CSSNS22

CSSNS23

Thank you all again for EVERYTHING all these years!!! Its been an honor and privilege to man the helm for most of these years, but it certainly wouldn't have lasted as long as it has without the contributions of all the participants and the enthusiasm of the audience!!!! So thank you all from the bottom of my heart!!!

And now, on to the roundup!!!! Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

I opened us up this year on July 2 with the first of two contributions I prepared for this final event. The Arena was a short and - kinda, maybe, not so much overall, but def by the end - sweet werewolf oneshot with breathtaking artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper !!!

On Tumblr

On ao3

On July 5, @exhaustedpirate posted a not-so-short and extra sexy werewolf fic, In Your Moonlit Eyes, with wonderful artwork by @thejollyroger-writer.

On Tumblr

On ao3

On July 7, @whatevenisthisbloganymore posted the first chapter of a fae fic, Where Idle Feet Wander. Princess Emma of the EF finds herself in the Fae lands and needs help to return home. The first ch was fantastic and I can't wait to see where the journey takes us!

On ao3

On July 9, @jrob64 posted the first chapter of her ghost hunter Killian fic, Ghosted, with artwork provided by yours truly, manips of Neal and Liam courtesy of @motherkatereloyshipper! Now complete with five chapters, Joni took us on QUITE a spooky ride!! Don't read before going to bed at night!!!

Ch1 on Tumblr

On ao3

On July 13, @grimmswan updated both of her fics from last year, Dracula in Storybrooke and Love Bites (But So Do I). Both of these fics are SO MUCH FUN and we are getting very close to their conclusions!!

Dracula in Storybrooke on Tumblr on ao3

Love Bites on Tumblr on ao3

On July 14 @anmylica posted an update to last years fic, Fly With the Black Swan, her alternate telling of the Dark Swan arc. Now three chs in, this is an absolutely beautiful tale so far and I can't wait for more of it!!! Artwork by @zaharadessert

On ao3

On July 15, @theartofdreaming1 posted original artwork for the event featuring mermaid Emma!!! Absolutely beautiful work brought me to tears!!

On July 17, @mie779 posted an alternative take on episode 3x17 The Jolly Roger featuring merman Killian!! Don't Kiss and Tail, a fantastic and utterly delightful what if fic!!! Lovely banner by @iamstartraveller776.

On Tumblr

On ao3

On July 17, @goforlaunchcee updated last year's fic, Smoke and Mirrors, with absolutely perfect artwork by @piinfeathers!! A ghost/witch story, it's an absolute HOOT and I'm always so happy when she updates!! Now up to ch7.

On Tumblr

On ao3

On July 19, @snowbellewells posted the first of her two offerings for this year's event, On Wings of Storm, with magnificent artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper !!! A beautiful one shot that left me in tears of joy!!

On Tumblr

On ao3

On July 25, @laianely posted the first chapter of her crime mystery No Rest for the Immortals with artwork by @captainswan-kellie (x) and herself (x). A murder mystery featuring vampire Killian, I am BESIDE myself every time she updates. Now on ch7.

On Tumblr

On ao3

On July 27, @xarandomdreamx posted the first chapter of her fic, The Kiss of Life with beautiful artwork provided by @motherkatereloyshipper!! Ohhh, she killed me sharing snippets on discord and the whole chapter did not disappoint!!!! Cannot wait for more of this!!!

On Tumblr

On ao3

On Aug 4, I posted my second fic for the event, Return to Me, again with stunning artwork by @motherkatereloyshipper !! Since the whole purpose of this event was to bump up the number of werewolf and vampire CS fics, and I'd already posted a werewolf fic this year, I came up with a fic that I thought the original Dracula was kinda about. Turns out that I was very wrong. But anyway, it was a lot of fun to write.

On Tumblr

On ao3

On Aug 6, @belovedcreation posted the first chapter of an epic werewolf fic, Can I Be Your Werewolf? featuring lovely artwork from @mie779!! 33 chapters that she just finished posting TODAY, it was an awesome ride from start to finish!!!

On Tumblr

On ao3

On Aug 8, @everything-person shared with us a smorgasbord of ideas that she came up with, but real life intervened and she wasn't able to write full fics for them. HOWEVER, she did make art for them all and shared a snippet of where she wanted to go with each one. Each one was absolutely fantastic and I hope there will come a day when she is able to write the fics and share them with us!!

On Tumblr

On Aug 10, @jonesfandomfanatic posted the first two chs of her fic, Into the Parallel. Now on ch6 of 7, this is an incredible time travel/realm jumper fic that I am absolutely in love with!!!

On Tumblr

On ao3

On Aug 16, @exhaustedpirate posted her second fic of the event, Haunted By the Ghost of You, again with beautiful artwork by @thejollyroger-writer. The first chapter was lovely and heartbreaking in equal measure and I cannot wait to see the happy ending she has promised me will happen. Someday...

On Tumblr

On ao3

On Aug 21, @snowbellewells submitted her second fic of the event, For All Life and For All Time, this fic actually inspired by Dracula. The first of three chs is currently up and I cannot wait to see more of it!!!

On Tumblr

On ao3

On Aug 22, @hollyethecurious posted the first chapter of Once Upon a Grimm, her incredible fic using the lore and some storylines of the TV series Grimm featuring Once characters. @eastwesthomeisbest provided the gorgeous artwork!! We are now two chs in and I can already tell, we are in for a really fun ride!!!

On Tumblr

On ao3

On Aug 24, @wyntereyez posted a second fic to her series Bats In the Belfry. This year's fic, Wool of Bat and Tongue of Dog is a MC and a fantastic follow-up to A Little Batty from last year!!! Artwork by @jrob64 .

On Tumblr

On ao3

On Aug 25, @cocohook38 posted her artwork for last years fic by @iamstartraveller776 To Cleave Destiny. We only have the first ch of the fic posted, but it's amazing already and Jules artwork just gives me chills!!!

Artwork post on Tumblr

Fic on ao3

On Aug 26, @eastwesthomeisbest posted a series of manips of Emma Dressed in Blood. Literally took my breath away!!! Gorgeously creepy!!!

On Tumblr

On Aug 29, @zaharadessert posted the Prologue of her fic, Forget Me Not, with a lovely moodboard made by @exhaustedpirate . This first chapter sets up quite a mystery and I can't wait to see where she goes with this!!!

On Tumblr

On ao3

On Aug 30, @deckerstarblanche posted the final chapter of last year's fic, An Offer She Can't Refuse, with artwork by @undercaffinatednightmare. A super sexy Omegaverse fic, I was soooo thrilled she came back to give CS the happy ending they deserve!!!

On Tumblr

On ao3

Our last fic of the event, Scattered Earth (Mortua Terra), posted just yesterday. Real life intruded and kept @dykelilypage from finishing her fic until last week, but I told her that if she could get it in before I posted the roundup, I'd still include it, and boy did she deliver!!! The fic was absolutely incredible!!! Supernatural investigative reporters Emma Swan and Killian Jones team up to solve a mystery. Utterly perfect artwork done by @eastwesthomeisbest

On Tumblr

On ao3

Well, that's it, y'all!! Our FINAL CSSNS has come to an end!!

Everyone take a moment, take a deep breath, and join me in expressing your appreciation to all the participants this year and over the last six for giving us such PHENOMENAL, INCREDIBLE, FANTASTIC supernatural stories!!! There are still many fics from past years that the authors are still active in fandom and plan on continuing whenever they get a chance. And to that end, this blog is not going anywhere. Whenever an update to a fic posts, I'll be right here to read, flail, and reblog.

Until then, y'all!!!

[teamhook]

My Fate is Darkness :: sneak peek

Meanwhile in the Enchanted Forest, Killlian was tracking a monster that was terrorizing a small village. The irony isn't lost to him. There was a monster out there that wasn't him. He is faster than other trackers out there in the forest. 

He had been in the small village with Whale had overheard a rally to go hunting a monster that was said to be terrorizing the neighboring village.

Killian, no Hook. He had stopped being Killian years ago. He was Hook the monster. He picked up the trail fast. It was of a large animal. He didn’t see the problem. Whale said the beast was only attacking farm life. Animals, cows, goats and maybe some deer. It wasn’t hurting humans but it could change if it ran out of things to eat. 

In the middle of the forest he found a big wolf hunting a deer. Killian pauses as he looks on. The scene in front of him was that of nature in its simplicity. Predator and prey in the oldest dance of time. Except this animal wasn’t just a beast. He had gotten better with his magic after all the years since he was first cursed. He didn’t like using it but in this case he might need it.

The wolf caught wind of his scent because it turned to face him with a growl. 

Killian slowly took a step towards the beast which snarled at his advance. 

Killian hissed and his fangs emerged. “Lass, I’m not here for a fight.” He raised his hands in surrender. 

The wolf took a step back. 

“Lass, I’m here to help you.” He soothed. “Your Granny sent me.”

The wolf's black soulless eyes turned golden as they focused on him with recognition for a second. He was fast so she missed him. Killian's own eyes turned icy blue as he held his stance, a small syringe held between his fingers as he twirled it.

[cssns]

Today we have a new chapter of Until the Stars Are All Alight from cssns19 by @whimsicallyenchantedrose with art by @clockadile! Enjoy everyone and be sure to give them lots of love!!!!

Until the Stars Are All Alight--Chapter 20: The Pyre of Rumplestiltskin

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

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

Rating:  T

Word Count: 2094

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

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

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Chapter 20: The Pyre of Rumplestiltskin

A/N: I’m sorry in advance.  It was necessary

The Underworld

The Underworld.  They’d made it.  Emma sprinted the last few steps into the cave, and then came to a stop, looking around and trying to catch her breath.  Everything about this place was hard and sharp and hot.  The stone floor of the huge cavern came to a promontory over what appeared to be a river of hot, red, molten lava.  All around them was the smell of sulfur and brimstone.

This place really was hell.

With every fiber in her body, Emma wanted to turn around and leave this terrible place, but she knew she couldn’t.  Her whole life had been leading up to this moment, and she wasn’t going to fold when things got difficult.

“Well?” Regina said from behind her, “what are you waiting for?  Destroy the damn thing!”

Emma rolled her eyes.  “Not helping, Regina.”

Didn’t the former wannabe queen think Emma would be doing just that if she had even the slightest clue how?

Keep reading

[wistfulcynic]

The Very Witching Time (3 /4)

Witching Wednesday is here and I am SO EXCITED to share this chapter!!

But first, THANK YOU to everyone reading and especially those of you who’ve shared stories of your dogs and how dog!Killian reminds you of them. I’m beyond thrilled to hear that! Please give me ALL THE DOG STORIES. 

In this chapter we have Samhain traditions and Emma and Killian’s bond, Cora’s plan coming to fruition, a WITCH FIGHT, some pretty epic magic, and Killian being a very good dog indeed. 

(there is also some graphic-ish violence, so be prepared...)

The brilliant art is by @gingerchangeling and the wonderful event is managed by @cssns. And I am kept sane by @thisonesatellite who is the best ever and SHE KNOWS WHY 💕💕💕

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

RATING: M, mostly for future violence

AO3 | Tumblr

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

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

CHAPTER 3: 

Those sweltering days that in the midst of summer seem endless eventually drifted, as they always do, into autumn, shortening and cooling to a delicious crispness until Emma with a happy sigh unpacked her sweaters from their cedar chest and aired them in the garden. As the weeks tipped into months she and Killian fell into a comfortable routine of days spent in the shop and evenings in the garden or before the wide stone fireplace in the living room, curled up on the sofa with his head in her lap as she read a book or watched a movie, absently stroking his silky ears. He slept beside her each night, his head resting on her hip and his paw draped over her waist, a pose that she found oddly protective, but though she rolled her eyes and told him she was perfectly safe in her own bedroom even if he slept at the foot of the bed, she secretly loved the warmth of him and his soft breathing at her back and the gentle way he licked her chin to wake her up whenever she was tempted to oversleep. 

“All right, all right, I’m awake,” she groused one late October morning, wiping her chin and pushing Killian away. He sat back on his haunches and watched her with a bright, expectant smile. 

“Is this because I promised you pancakes today?”

“Aye!” 

“Crazy dog,” she said fondly, scratching his ears and dropping a kiss on the impossibly soft spot on his forehead just between his eyes. “All right, let’s go.” 

“Aye!” he barked, leaping off the bed and racing down the stairs as she grabbed a cardigan to throw over her flannel pajama pants and tank top, shivering in delight at the chill in the morning air. She loved October. 

Already Emma’s witchy-senses, as she called them, had sharpened in anticipation of Samhain and the Hunter’s Moon, set to coincide that year for the first time in more than three centuries. Magic shimmered in the air, carried on the brisk autumn breezes and rustling through the leaves that blazed brightly in shades of gold and burgundy, umber and terracotta, and a yellow like distilled sunshine. The sky that morning was blindingly blue, reminding Emma of Killian’s eyes, with soft wisps of white cloud and a vee of Canada geese soaring south on the crisp winds. Emma opened her door and breathed deeply, inhaling the air and the magic, until Killian’s whimpers grew too impatient to ignore. She turned to look at him, sitting under the table with an expression between a scowl and a pout. 

A scout. A powl?

Autumn made her whimsical, Emma reflected. 

That morning she had several loads of new merchandise for the shop: engraved Samhain candles and turnips carved with impish faces, magically preserved —Emma would have no truck with Halloween pumpkins— alongside dense loaves of dark-grain bread made from a recipe passed along the generations of her family, and jugs of apple cider to wash it down. After breakfast she loaded Killian with as many bags as he could carry (What am I, a pack mule? his wounded expression said) saying a quick spell to lighten the weight of them before hoisting at least as many of her own. 

She smirked at him and he shrugged.

{Sure you can manage all of that, love?} he barked. 

Whether it was that they had simply grown more attuned to each other or perhaps something deeper Emma wasn’t sure; she knew only that she heard Killian’s voice regularly now, speaking to her in clear, deep tones and full sentences. He had a British accent, she was amused to note, and an affinity for endearments. 

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own bags,” she retorted. 

{Indeed. But it’s a long walk.} 

A long walk through a forest ready burst at the seams with magic, he didn’t say, but she knew that was what he meant. Emma couldn’t recall a time when she had seen the forest magic so potent. The very air crackled with arcane energy, energy that could sharpen even our ordinary observer’s senses and attune them to the smallest shiver and twitch of motion through the trees. Energy that could, and did, awaken normally dormant creatures and pull them forth from their sanctuaries to be caught in the corner of that observer’s eye, or to slink along behind him with creeping footsteps only to vanish the moment he turned, leaving no trace behind save a whisper through the dry leaves and a lingering suggestion of menace. 

The effects of this heightened energy did not confine themselves to the forest. In Emma’s garden the apple trees yielded triple their normal amount of fruit and her chrysanthemums bloomed wider than her hand. She herself was buzzing and restless, full of an odd, untethered anticipation, an expectation of something she couldn’t put a name to even when in exasperation she resorted to the scrying mirror and tarot cards she normally scorned as parlour tricks. For the past few nights she had struggled to sleep, tossing and turning for hours in her bed before giving up and spending the time in her workshop instead, magic almost igniting in the air as she blended and brewed and murmured incantations over bubbling cauldrons and Killian lay curled in a corner, watching her with amusement tinged with concern. 

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him, despite her own lingering unease. “It’s just how magic is this time of year. Granted this is stronger than normal but it’ll calm down soon. In December I practically hibernate.”

{Just don’t overdo it, love. You still need to sleep sometimes.} 

And Emma did sleep, eventually, once the importunate energy had been channeled and the dawn was breaking over the cliff edge, she would lean against Killian as he guided her up the stairs to fall into exhausted slumber and awaken mere hours later when his gentle licks reminded her that it was time to start another day.  

Never once did it occur to her examine the intimacy of her relationship with this dog, or to find anything peculiar in the fact that she often forgot he was one. To her he was simply Killian, her trusted companion, and she could no longer conceive of her life without him. 

She smiled at him now, as laden with their magically lightened bags they headed into the forest, side by side on the winding path in what had become their customary manner: Killian trotting slightly ahead and Emma a step behind, her hand resting on his neck, deep in his thick fur. The fur beneath her fingers stood up higher than usual, the muscles beneath it tense and vibrating when he growled deep in his throat at anything that troubled his canine senses. 

That morning, those things were many. 

“Hey,” said Emma soothingly, stroking her fingers down his neck. “It’s okay. I know it’s creepy but the covenant is still in place until Samhain, and there’s no reason it won’t be renewed. There’s nothing for us to fear in this forest.” 

Her voice was calm and certain but Killian could smell the perfume again, faint but unmistakable, and dread settled heavily in his chest. Whatever demons may lie on the other side of the forest barrier, he thought, they couldn’t be worse than the one already loose on this side. As Samhain approached he found himself staying closer to Emma’s side as they walked through the forest, curling tighter around her as they slept, his senses ever alert for any threat to her. 

Protect her, the garden magic whispered each time they left the safety of its walls, and each time he gave the same response. 

{Always.}

There was nothing Killian wanted more, nothing he was more devoted to than Emma’s safety. In these past weeks with her he had come to understand his role in the events that would soon play out, had come to see how everything he had done in his life, every decision he had made and every path he had chosen had led him here, to this woman and this moment and this task. He knew what he would have to do and though it terrified him he faced it unflinchingly. Only Emma mattered, and he did not intend to fail her as he had failed already at far too many things, for far too many people.

And so he preceded her through the forest and he snarled at any danger. For the present it was all he could do. 

When they arrived at the shop Killian stood patiently as Emma unloaded the bags he carried then went to curl up in his bed, now an actual dog bed she had magicked for him out of the old hessian bags and some woollen packing material. Emma freshened his water and rubbed his ears and he snuggled down thinking wryly that this was really everything a dog could hope for in life. Resting his chin on his paws he watched Emma as she busied herself with setting up the Samhain wares, arranging them on the shelves and tables and humming brightly.

The shop was busy as it had been all month; October was always its busiest time even without the forest’s energy, which managed to seep into even the stoic New England souls that inhabited Storybrooke. Their eyes were brighter, their conversations snappier, and they found themselves stopping in to buy warded candles and tumbling stones to place in their windows without conscious thought. 

By the early afternoon Emma had sold all her bread and cider and most of her candles, and was absorbed in arranging the remaining turnips artfully alongside some bags of smoky quartz tumbling stones when the doors opened and Regina walked in. 

Emma’s eyes widened. “Um, hi,” she said. “Mary Margaret’s not here.” 

“I’m not here to see Mary Margaret.” 

“Oh.” Emma stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and waited for Regina to say why she was there. When the other woman remained silent, she tried again. “Well… can I help you find something?”

Regina looked around the shop and an odd expression softened the harsh cast of her face. “You’re preparing for Samhain,” she said, and the wistful note in her voice struck a chord in Emma even as it failed to surprise her. She remembered the power she’d sensed when Regina had been here before, with her mother. At the time she’d attributed it all to Cora but now she realised Regina had some too. Not as much, but a significant amount. 

“Do you practice?” she asked. 

Regina nodded, reaching out a tentative finger to trace the carved face of one of the turnips. “All the women in my family do. But my mother— well, she doesn’t hold much with the household rituals. Calls it ‘kitchen magic.’”

“Well, it is!” exclaimed Emma, a bit affronted. 

Regina’s lip twitched. “She said it was beneath us and only allowed me to study the High Magic, but my grandmother made sure I knew Samhain traditions.” She picked up a candle and inhaled its scent. “I like them,” she declared, her tone defiant. “They’re… well, they’re—” 

“Soothing,” supplied Emma with a smile, filing away that bit of information about Cora and the High Magic. The tingle in her own magic felt it was significant.  

“Yes.” Regina smiled back, a faint, anodyne thing but still a smile. “They make me feel connected.” 

“Connection is important,” said Emma, surprised by the strength of the one she felt to this cold, haughty woman. As Mary Margaret had, she sensed something in Regina that had been suppressed all her life but was still fighting to get out. “That candle,” she nodded to the one Regina still held in her hand, “is a good one for reinforcing it. Put it in your window with just a simple incantation, and it’ll call the ancestors home.” 

Regina’s wistful smile twisted into a wry smirk. “I’m not sure my ancestors are ones you’d want to call,” she murmured.

“Not even your grandmother?”

Pain flashed across Regina’s features and for the briefest moment she looked lost. She opened her mouth to reply when the door opened again to admit Mary Margaret and David. 

Regina instantly stiffened, all trace of softness draining from her face and posture. 

“Oh!” said Mary Margaret. “Regina! I, uh, didn’t know you were in town.” 

“Just passing through,” said Regina. “I’ll… I’ll be going now.” She set the candle awkwardly on the nearest surface and turned to leave.  

“Wait,” called Emma, picking it up again along with a bag of the smoky quartz and and offering both to Regina. “On the house.”

The other woman flushed and pushed them away. “Oh, I couldn’t—” 

“I insist. To get you back in touch with the old rituals.” Emma held them up again and this time Regina took them. Gratitude flashed in her eyes, gone in an instant but no less significant for being brief. 

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, and left.  

“What was that about?” asked Mary Margaret when the door had closed behind her stepsister. 

“Call it Samhain cheer,” said Emma, turning to grin at her friends. “Did you bring the log?” 

“It’s in the truck,” said David. “Are you sure we can’t—” 

“Yes, I’m sure you can’t carry it for me,” interrupted Emma with a roll of her eyes. “You ask that every year and every year I remind you that I have ways of making things easier to carry. And anyway, this year Killian’s going to carry it.” 

“Killian?” David regarded the dog with his habitual distrustful expression.

The dog in question looked up at the sound of his name and wagged his tail, letting his tongue loll from his mouth and giving David a look of pure innocence. David scowled and Killian wagged harder. He could tell the man sensed there was something unusual about him but couldn’t quite put his finger on what, and Killian took perverse enjoyment from being as dog-like as possible in David’s presence. 

“Yep, he insisted,” said Emma cheerfully. David’s scowl deepened. 

“How did he insist?”

“He just did. It’s a witch thing.” Emma patted David’s arm reassuringly. “He lets me know when he wants to help.” She exchanged a grin with Mary Margaret, who knew far more about Killian’s communicative abilities than her husband did. 

“Huh.” David looked unconvinced, but Emma just smiled. 

“The log?” she prompted gently. 

“Yeah, I’ll go get it. Where do you want it to go?” 

“Just in the storeroom is fine. Thanks, David!” 

David headed out to the truck, muttering under his breath as he went, and Emma and Mary Margaret exchanged another amused look. 

“You want some tea?” asked Emma. “I’ve made a special Samhain blend, apple and hazelnut.” 

“Ooh, that sounds good. Yes, please,” said Mary Margaret. 

Emma went to brew the tea and Mary Margaret crouched down next to Killian, rubbing his ears just the way she knew he liked. “Sorry about David,” she said. “He’s very protective of Emma. They’re distant cousins and they grew up together, and he’s suspicious of any man who gets too close to her.” 

Killian raised an eyebrow, but Mary Margaret didn’t seem to notice she’d said anything odd. Her concern warmed Killian, and eased the knot in his chest. He licked her hand to tell her he understood about needing to protect Emma, and didn’t blame David for acting on the same impulse that had been driving him for months now. 

Mary Margaret smiled. 

Emma appeared with the tea and a platter of the crumbly spice cookies layered with jam that she called soul cakes, just as David returned with a large log slung over his shoulder. He headed for the back room while Emma put a plate of soul cakes down in front of Killian and Mary Margaret poured three cups of tea. Moments later David returned and the four of them settled down to their afternoon refreshment, sipping and munching in companionable silence. 

“So you’ve been really busy,” remarked Mary Margaret after they’d all sated the worst of their hunger and thirst. “I mean, you always are this time of year, but this year seems… more.” 

“I think it’s the conjunction with the Hunter’s Moon,” said Emma. “And you know it’s three hundred and fifty years since the first covenant, and landmark anniversaries always excite the magic. I’m just really energised.”

“Well don’t overdo it,” frowned David and Emma rolled her eyes. 

“You sound just like Killian,” she retorted. David choked on his tea. 

“I sound like your dog?” he sputtered.  

“Oh,” said Emma a bit sheepishly. “Um, yeah. Witch thing, remember?”

Killian barked. Emma flushed. David scowled. “What did he say?”

“Um, you don’t want to know.” 

Killian wagged his tail, tongue lolling. “No you’re right,” agreed David. “I don’t want to know.” 

 ~~🍂 ~~

On the thirty-first of October Emma woke well before sunrise and dressed in a long, flowing gown of unbleached linen. Her bare feet were all but silent on the wooden floors as she slipped downstairs to the kitchen to brew a pot of her apple and hazelnut tea. Sipping on a steaming cup of it, she walked through the house lighting the inscribed candles that stood in every window with a smouldering birch twig —some fires had to be started in the mundane way— and speaking a short incantation over each. 

When the first rays of sunshine began to break over the tall stone towers of the house Emma went into her garden, still barefoot, with the birch twig still smouldering. Her long gown trailed through the morning dew as she approached the stone fire circle at the garden’s northeast corner, where branches of apple wood and ash, hazel and hornbeam and cedar were stacked high in readiness. Emma knelt, and touched the birch twig to the tip of an apple branch. It caught instantly, its flame flaring high for a brief moment before settling into a slow burn that would ignite every piece of wood in the circle, bit by bit, until sunset when she would add the oak log David had given her and awaken a flame that would burn bright and steady throughout the Samhain night. 

Rising to her feet Emma tugged on the drawstring around the neck of her gown, loosening it and allowing the garment to fall from her body, leaving her naked in the golden dawn light. She raised her arms to the sky and closed her eyes, leaning her head back as the light bathed her pale skin and hair, imbuing her with a gentle glow that pulsed with magic. 

Killian watched her, fascinated, knowing he probably shouldn’t see her like this but unable to look away. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, mesmerising in the power that radiated from her slender form.  

When the sun crested the towers and hung full in the sky, Emma lowered her arms with a happy sigh, pulled her gown back on and returned to the house. “Breakfast, Killian?” she asked cheerfully, oblivious to his awe. “I’m in the mood for some apple cinnamon muffins.”

 ~~🍂 ~~

The shop was absolutely heaving that day, perhaps not wholly surprising for an establishment run by a witch, on Halloween. Though Emma vehemently rejected Halloween as a watering-down and commodifying of her cultural heritage, she did consent to give goodies to trick-or-treaters —caramel apples she’d made herself— and to greet them at the door of her shop holding a besom broom. 

“Do you fly on that, Miss Emma?” asked a small girl with blonde ringlets dressed in a pale blue princess gown. 

“Only on Samhain, Alexandra,” Emma replied, handing the girl a caramel apple that was just the right size for her tiny fist. “And for the Hunter’s Moon, which is also tonight.” 

“What’s a hunty moon?” Alexandra’s eyes were wide as she licked the caramel. 

“It means the moon will be extra big and low in the sky and it will glow orange,” said Emma, widening her own eyes. “And if you look very carefully you’ll be able to see me flying past it on my broomstick.” 

“Wow! Mommy did you hear that?” 

“I did, sweetie,” said a woman with the same platinum curls as her daughter. She gave Emma a slightly dirty look. “I hope you’ll be able to sleep after hearing a story like that.” 

“I always sleep on Sawn night cuz I know Miss Emma is protecting us,” declared Alexandra, and Emma grinned. 

“Don’t be like that, Ashley,” she muttered. “You know kids love my witch stories.” 

“And just what am I supposed to tell her when she watches the moon all night and doesn’t see you?” huffed Ashley. 

“Who says she won’t?” asked Emma sweetly. “Oh, look, Sean’s waving for you. Come back soon! Happy Samhain, Alexandra!” 

Alexandra waved her sticky apple as she and her mother left the shop, leaving it empty and blessedly quiet. Emma turned away from the door with a relieved sigh. She’d been run off her feet all day but now finally perhaps she could take a moment for a cup of tea— 

The shop door opened and she suppressed a different sort of sigh, turning to greet her customer. 

It was Regina, looking haughty as ever but with a hint of something harried and almost frantic behind her eye that caught Emma’s attention.

“Are you all right?” she asked. 

“I’m fine. I— I—” she grimaced and shook her head, then took a deep breath and tried again. “I just wanted to remind you of what I told you last week. About my mother. About how— how she only practices the High Magic. She likes the power of it. She—” Regina choked and doubled over, one hand flying to her throat, the other held out defensively when Emma moved forward to help. “Stay back!” she cried. “I’m fine.”

“But—” 

“I said I’m fine!”

Emma held up her own hands and took a step back. “All right,” she said soothingly. 

Regina straightened, swallowed gingerly, and glared at Emma. “Just remember that my mother likes power.” Her eyes beseeched Emma to understand. “She will do anything for power.”

“I— see,” said Emma, not really seeing at all.  

“I only hope you do,” muttered Regina. “I have to get going before she realises—” she broke off as her gaze fell on Killian, sitting up in his bed in the corner and watching her with wary eyes. 

“Where did you get that dog?” Regina asked sharply. 

“I found him in the forest.” The tingle in Emma’s magic prompted her to tell the truth. “In August. He was hurt and I healed him, and he’s been with me ever since.” 

“Hurt how?”

“He had a broken leg. And— a missing paw.” 

“A missing paw,” whispered Regina. 

“Aye!” Killian stood and padded to Emma’s side. He held up his silver paw, flexing it for Regina to see. 

“She gave you a silver paw.”

“Aye!” 

Regina stared at Killian for a long moment, then she smiled. A real smile this time, wide and delighted and revealing just a few too many teeth. 

“Good,” she said, then looked hard at Emma. “Remember what I told you, Miss Swan. And look after your dog.” With a final satisfied glance at Killian she was gone. 

“What the hell was that about?” exclaimed Emma, looking down at Killian. 

He wished he could tell her, but his tongue was as tied as Regina’s. 

Instead he shrugged and grinned at her, wagging his tail eagerly. {Look after your dog. That’s good advice.} 

Her frown dissolved into fond laughter. “I suppose you want a snack,” she said. 

“Aye!” 

“Well you’re in luck because so do I. Let’s take advantage of this quiet moment before more trick-or-treaters show up.” 

She went to make tea and when they finished their snack break more customers arrived, keeping Emma busy until closing time. But though they had no time to mention the matter again, neither she nor Killian forgot the odd incident, or Regina’s warning.

 ~~🍂 ~~

As the sun sank below the treetops on the night of Samhain, Emma, again dressed in her linen gown and bare feet, carried the seasoned oak log David had given her out to the fire circle and the faintly glowing pile of wood within it. Holding the log balanced on her open palms she spoke an incantation, one Killian recognised as an obeisance to Cerridwen, goddess of wisdom, transformation, and rebirth. As her words faded into the darkening night, she knelt and placed the log atop the pile where it caught instantly and burst into bright orange flame. Emma bowed her head in a silent moment of reflection and thanks to the goddess, then she looked up and grinned at Killian. 

“Let’s eat.” 

The bonfire burned high in the corner of the garden, flames leaping and dancing in the night, rising up to lose themselves in the matching orange glow of the Hunter’s Moon just visible above the forest treetops. Sparks swirled and wove through the air on waves of heat, landing but never catching on any of the plants and flowers left dry and vulnerable by the waning season. The garden magic protected them, and Emma’s magic controlled the fire. 

Emma brought out plates piled high with cobs of corn and assorted small squashes, which she roasted in the fire and seasoned with butter and rosemary salt. Dessert was hazelnuts roasted in her autumn flower honey, accompanied by toasted soda bread and apple cider. 

Killian sat contentedly in front of the fire, nibbling on corn and squash and listening to Emma reminisce about the Samhains of her childhood when her mother and grandmother were still alive, the ceremonies they had held together and how she had learned her craft from them. The wistfulness in her voice when she spoke of them, of her wish to pass their teachings on to her own daughter and her growing worry that this was a joy she would never know, squeezed his heart with a yearning ache. Resting his chin on her knee he looked up at her with adoring eyes, wishing with everything in him that he had more to offer her than canine devotion. 

She stroked his head. “I’m so glad you’re here, Killian,” she said softly. “It’s nice not to be alone.” 

He snuggled against her side and licked her chin, whining softly. 

{I would never choose to leave you.} 

It was as much as he was able to give. 

As the moon rose and the bonfire waned, the forest beyond the garden wall began to stir. Whispers in languages too old for this world rustled though the leaves as curling tendrils of shadow wove out of the trees to the garden gate, pressing insistently against the wards. 

The garden magic ruffled Killian’s fur and scratched his ears affectionately. 

It is time. Protect her. 

The voice was gentle, and so, so sad. 

It knew. 

{I will,} Killian whispered back, {I vow it.} 

And when the witching hour struck and Emma rose from the ground he was at her side, pressing close to her as they walked together through the gate and into the forest. Emma’s fingers sifted through his fur, more for him than for herself he realised, reassuring him that she knew what she was doing. 

He was certain she did. But she did not know what was coming. 

Halfway along the forest path Emma turned, heading away from the familiar trail and into the deepest part of the wood. Scrub and bracken on the forest floor parted as she moved through it, her long gown trailing behind her and Killian trotting steadily at her side. Soon they arrived in a small clearing, a perfect circle of soft grass about twenty feet around, bordered by a ring of slender birches and with a squat, gnarled oak at its very centre, its twisted branches rising up and spreading out over the whole of the clearing and its trunk split nearly in two by an immense and horrifying knothole, jagged and gaping like a fresh wound. 

The knothole pulsed with a dark glow, clear and visible despite the way it absorbed the light around it, rather like what Killian had always envisioned black holes to be. The shadow tendrils slithered out of it, winding around Emma and Killian and securing them in a grip that was deceptively soft. Killian growled, low and deep in the back of his throat, and Emma’s fingers stroked him soothingly. 

She spoke, her voice clear and sure, ringing through the clearing and echoing into the unseen spaces of two realms. “I come at the turning of the year,” she said. “In accordance with the ancient covenant. As the world dies and is renewed so we renew the peace between us. We preserve the balance of the worlds and defend each side from ingress of the other. This is my will as it was the will of my ancestors. As it is yours.” 

The shimmering glow of her magic enveloped her, sending dancing golden sparks across her skin as he had seen it do in her garden on the day they met. Her light absorbed the tendrils of darkness that bound them and they began to retreat back through the knothole as Emma’s eyes closed and her lips moved in silent invocation. 

So bright was Emma’s light that Killian nearly failed to notice the five pairs of glowing sparks that did not come from her. They came instead from the forest, dark red and malevolent, appearing from nowhere at the edge of the clearing and surrounding it as the still of the night was rent with deep, vicious snarls and a howl that froze Killian’s blood. 

She was here. 

 ~~🍂 ~~

Deep in her spell, Emma was conscious of little but the power coursing through her —her own power, seasoned with a hint of the darkness from the other side, dangerous and intoxicating. With the ancient words nearly spoken she grasped the edges of the open barrier and prepared to close it when she was startled by a sudden sharp pull on the darkness, a call to it from another witch, yanking the retreating tendrils of shadow forcefully back through the barrier and tearing it wide. 

Gasping, she opened her eyes as awareness of her surroundings crashed into her, of the snarling and howling from outside the clearing and of Killian, hackles raised, circling her like he was trying to guard every side of her at once. 

She blinked to clear the fog of magic from her mind and recover some composure, and when she looked again five wolves had appeared in the clearing, huge and heavy with fur as black as the night they came from, jaws slavering, eyes glowing red. They encircled her, advancing with bloodcurdling intent and Cora at their heels. 

Of course, thought Emma, as the pieces fell into place in her mind. That’s what Regina was trying to tell me. 

Cora scorned the household rituals that lay at the heart of white witchcraft. But the High Magic that she preferred required power, and in this world power was not unlimited. To obtain more of it, Regina had said, Cora would do anything. 

Anything. Even tear asunder an ancient barrier and drag horror such as she could not possibly comprehend into a place that had no hope of containing it. A place where it could flow unhindered and raze everything in its path. A place where it would never be controlled.

And Cora believed she could control it, and turn it to her will.  

The woman’s hubris and dangerous ignorance were almost comical in their magnitude, but Emma was not laughing. The fabric of the worlds had never been so thin, the convergence of Samhain and the Hunter’s Moon had left it threadbare and terrifyingly delicate. It could be torn by a breath, and Emma felt certain that was what Cora was counting on.  

 “Miss Swan,” said Cora, her icy tones carrying unnaturally across the clearing and above the snarls of wolves and dog. “I am afraid I must inform you that there will be no renewal of your covenant tonight. Or ever again.” She flung out her arms in vicious triumph and the dark tendrils wrapped around her, not binding her as they had Emma and Killian, but caressing her, recognising one of their own. 

“What are you doing?” asked Emma, stalling for time as she grasped desperately at the edges of the barrier with her magic, trying to force it closed before Cora had a chance to complete her plan. 

“Why my dear,” said Cora, with a smile that held no hint of humour, “I would have thought that was obvious. I am opening this world to the power beyond and I am going to take control of it.” 

 Cora pulled again with her magic and the unresisting darkness came gushing forth, ripping the knothole in the ancient oak and opening it wide, wider than the breadth of the trunk. Wider than it could possibly be. The slender tendrils broadened into waves, twining and coiling up the branches of the oak and towards the sky, reaching out to the forest beyond the clearing, calling to it in voices sibilant with seductive menace.

 Emma gripped the edges of the barrier and held on with all her strength, trying desperately to stop the ripping and knit the fabric back together, but it is far easier to destroy a thing than to repair it and no sooner had she closed one breach than five more appeared in its place, the knothole gaping ever wider. 

Cora cackled in triumph as darkness caressed and strengthened her, then the wolves began to advance on Emma again, their bared teeth razor-sharp and glistening in the orange moonlight, and in her terror she lost her grip on the barrier entirely. 

She couldn’t fight five wolves and Cora’s magic. Not alone. 

Her magic surged and she could feel it stretching, reaching out, seeking… and when it found what it sought she gasped and pressed the heel of her hand to her chest, stunned and reeling from the near sexual sensation of magical transference, of her own power flowing freely into another being across a connection that did not need to be forged— because it already existed, and always had. Always, since the dawn of the world.

“Killian,” she whispered, and he stepped forward, radiant in the darkness as her magic crackled through his fur and set his eyes aglow, like sapphires in a flame. His growl was as none she’d ever heard from him before, sinister and chillingly resonant, and his voice rang strong and confident in her head. 

{I’ll handle the wolves, love. You take care of the witch, and see your covenant completed.} 

She saw him leap, snarling, at the nearest wolf, and then she closed her eyes and focused, pushing away her fears for Killian’s safety and of the consequences should Cora’s plan succeed. She pushed it all away and focused only on the magic. 

Cora was strong and the darkness embraced her, sensing at long last its chance to consume this world as it had done so many others. The twisting waves of it now filled the clearing and beyond, wrapping around the trees and swallowing up the forest creatures, gleefully snacking on their life force and preparing for a feast. But the darkness in its hubris had forgotten that the covenant did not just protect this world from it, but it from the protectors of this world. Powerful as it was, it could not stand against three and a half centuries of clever witches who had each spent her life preparing for just such a moment as this. 

Emma reached deep into herself and called to her ancestors across another connection, one she had nurtured all her life with the household rituals her enemy disdained. She called to their knowledge and their wisdom and their power, drawing it out through the thin Samhain night. Light burst from deep within her, flowing forth in bright waves that enveloped the dark ones and burned them away, choked them in a merciless grip until they retreated back through the knothole to the safety of their realm, hissing in fear and fury and releasing Cora as they went. She stumbled in surprise and nearly fell, then spun around to gape at Emma. 

“What?” she hissed. “How?!”

“You are playing with forces you don’t understand, Cora Mills,” Emma replied, in a voice not entirely her own. “Cease now, and abandon these foolish plans.” 

“Never!” snarled Cora. “I know what I’m doing!”   

“You really don’t.” Emma sighed, sounding more like herself. “Remember I gave you a choice.” 

She flung out her hand and a burst of light enveloped Cora, sending her flying backwards into a tree and immobilising her. She howled in fury but Emma ignored her and turned her attention to the barrier, seeking out each and every tear in the fabric of the world and closing them for good and all. 

 ~~🍂 ~~

Magic flowed over Killian, flowed through him, through fur and skin and muscle to the very marrow of his bones. He took no time to wonder how it could be that he was sharing Emma’s magic. They had already shared so much between them that it felt natural. Inevitable. He surrendered to it and let it strengthen him, let it coil into every fibre of his flesh and bone and then he struck. 

With a mighty leap he attacked, descending on the nearest wolf and sinking his teeth deep into it, ripping its throat from its body. The second wolf was upon him in an instant, tearing him with its own teeth, but Killian threw it off and batted it away with a swipe of his paw, leaving deep gouges in its face that gushed red. Snarling, he leapt on the wounded wolf, snapping its neck with a perfectly placed bite and then pain ripped through him as the other three wolves attacked him in unison. In a blur of fur and motion he could hardly see much less combat, they rent and tore at him, their teeth and claws sharp and their jaws powerful, lacerating his flesh and cracking his bones. They were stronger than he, even reinforced as he was by magic, and he knew, as he had always known, that he wasn’t getting out of this fight alive. 

But he didn’t need to. All he needed was to protect Emma long enough for her to finish her spell. Just protect Emma. 

Protect her.

Magic and adrenaline dulled his pain and the thought of Emma drove him on, powered his own claws and his teeth as he sank them into his enemies, slashing everything he could reach. Blood was pouring into his eyes but he had no need to see. His canine instincts took over and he surrendered to them, let them guide him until the final wolf had fallen lifeless to the ground and he shook the blood from his vision in time to watch Emma shoot a jet of pure white light at Cora, sending the older woman flying backwards into a tree just to his left and then Killian could see, could actually see the flow of the magic as Emma pulled the ragged edges of the barrier together, closing it and weaving the fabric of the worlds tightly shut. 

Killian turned to face Cora and snarled with every ounce of the hatred he felt for her. 

Her eyes widened when she saw him, with shock and a fear that filled him with dark pleasure. “You!” she gasped. 

{Aye,} he replied, knowing she could hear him. {Me. You’ve lost, witch. Your plans are dust. She’s sealed the barrier and it will never open for you again.} 

“We’ll see about that,” Cora hissed, and as Killian watched she pulled up the last of her dark magic and disappeared in a swirl of smoke. 

Killian closed his eyes on a sigh of relief then turned back towards Emma, faltering as the magic began to drain from him and he felt how badly injured he was. His front right leg hung useless, ripped from its socket, and his back left leg was broken. Blood drenched his fur, flowing freely from wounds on every part of his body and deep gash across his belly cleft him nearly in two. 

That, Killian knew, was that the one that would kill him.

He staggered across the clearing on two legs, dripping blood and dragging entrails as he went, to where Emma sat crumpled in exhaustion on the forest floor. Whimpering softly, he licked her chin —one final kiss to say farewell— and she opened her eyes. 

“Killian! You— oh, goddess, what did they do to you?” 

He wanted to tell her that it was worth it, that she was everything good in his world and he would die for her a hundred times, but shadows were blurring the edges of his vision and he had no strength for speech. His legs gave out beneath him and he fell gracelessly to the ground, Emma’s cry of distress the last thing he heard before everything went black. 

 ~~🍂 ~~

Emma threw herself across Killian’s body, groping with the dregs of her magic to sense his life force. It was waning quickly, far too quickly; his injuries were too severe and she had no power left to heal him. 

“No,” she whispered, clutching at him, sinking her fingers into thick fur made sticky with blood. “No, no, no…” 

Desperately, she cried out for magic, for any magic she could find, calling to the forest around her, the trees and the flowers and the earth itself, begging them to help her save him. She reached as far as she could stretch, into the very rocks of her house and the ancient magic that dwelt within, imploring it: Don’t let him die. 

And the rocks, who for eons had jealously guarded their energies, hoarding them dispassionately as generations lived and died within their sight, answered her call. Magic such as she had never known surged through her, almost overwhelmed her, and with the last of her strength she channeled it into Killian’s limp form, healing his wounds, repairing his battered body and sealing his life inside it. She could feel the moment he was whole again, and she sighed in relief and in profound gratitude, letting go of the magic and allowing the peace of unconsciousness to sweep over her. 

The last thing she felt was Killian stirring beneath her hands, his warm tongue licking her chin, his fur soft again against her skin as he curled himself protectively around her, the strong, steady beat of his heart. 

(and now we see how perfect @mariakov81‘s beautiful drawing is!!)

[snowbellewells]

Face to Face in the Broad Daylight ~ the end

Here it is at long last -- the conclusion to my @cssns​19 werewolf saga! Never would I have thought it would take me so long to complete, but after two years of work and two complete MCs in this world, I honestly think I was having a hard time saying goodbye to these versions of all of them. (Particularly this Graham and this Belle, who I honestly didn’t expect to steal so much of my affection.) Still, I'm sorry those who have been following this had to wait so long! Thanks you so much for reading and for sticking with me on this venture. Enjoy the happy ending (beginning)! :)

Plus, kudos and thanks once more to @branlovestowrite​ for this gorgeous fic cover, that I STILL can’t stop staring at!!! <3

This full story from the beginning can be found here or on AO3.  As can its predecessor “Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)” from @cssns​18 - here and on AO3 or ff.net.

Summary: A werewolf au and alternate season two and beyond fic from the @cssns​ event.  Should probably read the first story in the series, "Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)", or it might be a bit confusing in places. This second story in the same universe partially exists just because I wanted to revisit these couples and enjoy a bit more of their fluffy happily ever afters. However, we may also see them get into some new surprises and challenges, and of course we need to see if Rumplestiltskin is still under control or back to his usual scheming and plotting....

~ epilogue: two very happy beginnings

After all the trouble and fear which had preceded their birth, and the risk their mother had endured to deliver them, there was nothimg but bliss surrounding Belle and Graham’s newborns once they arrived. Both were peaceful and content babies, seeming fit and healthy and perfectly adorable in every way - no furry toes, lupine ears, or anything else which one might have wondered about with such unusual origins and accelerated gestation. All of their organs and extremities were fully formed and working well; an immense relief to their mother and father, who were already desperately enamored of them, and the friends and makeshift family who had gathered around them in support.

In fact, the only real hint at their supernatural heritage was that both already had adorable ringlets of a deep russet brown, much the same color as Belle’s, though the curls were all Graham at his most disheveled, when fingers had been carded through it repeatedly. Both had the most adorable, cherubic chubby-cheeked faces that anyone who looked on them would agree they had ever seen, and they had charmed nearly every nurse in the ward where Belle had been moved for observation during her recovery, with barely more than a blink, a gurgle, or the single wave of a pudgey little hand. It seemed - much to the dismay of their numerous new admirers - that Belle would almost certainly be cleared to leave soon, as she seemed to be mending remarkably well.

In the meantime, however, Graham had taken a full paternity leave from the station in order to fuss over her protectively to his own satisfaction, promoting Emma to acting sheriff for the time being, and her dad and her wolf man both as deputies. Belle had tried to reason that it wasn’t necessary, that she was in good hands, and that she already felt much better, but he was having none of it; intent on being right by her side and at her beck and call with an almost desperate physical need. He come so close to losing her - her and the two precious pups he already loved more than life. He could not fathom how he would have survived if Belle had not. Even for someone who had spent much of his life in a solitary, isolated existence, loneliness still threatened to choke and suffocate him at the thought of losing her; the one person who had ever eased his burden and truly felt his pain - because, in many ways, it had been her own as well. The very idea of her presence fading from the world was overwhelming.

On rounding the corner into the hallway for his love’s room, he could hear raised voices and raucous laughter. Brow furrowing immediately, and hand rather damagingly tightening its clutch on the bag of chocolate croissants and takeaway cup of hot tea Belle had wheedled him into fetching for her, Graham’s hackles rose unbidden as he doubled his pace.  Granted, the uproar sounded pleasant enough, but it wasn’t what he had expected to encounter upon his return, and Belle needed her rest, not well-meaning visitors overexciting her and wearing her out. Though he knew he was being ridiculous and bordering on driving Belle crazy with his caution and concern for her health, he couldn’t do much to stop the unbidden reactions that kept rising within him either. 

Wheeling into the room, ready to show her visitors out, Graham stopped short at the collection of people crowded into the small space, and Belle in the center of it all, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and the happiest smile as she looked up to greet him.

“You’re back,” she crooned warmly, holding out her delicate hand for him to take, as well as to pull him closer. “Look! Can you believe this? Everyone wanted to see the twins and bring them gifts.”

Mary Margaret, at the foot of Belle’s bed, beamed at him and then Belle once more in turn. “Well, that is the best part of knowing someone with a little one,” she chipped in mischievously, “getting to spoil them with all the cutest toys and clothes.” 

Her husband beside her chuckled, his hand shaking with his mirth even as he pulled her into his side to affectionately press his lips to the top of her head. “Only you, Sweetheart,” he teased.

Henry practically bounced on the balls of his feets between his grandparents and his mom and Killian, clutching a gift bag he clearly hadn’t yet been able to give to Belle.

Ducking his head, Graham flushed at the thought that he had been about to banish them all from the room. One look at their faces showed they meant nothing but to help them both celebrate the joyous arrivals and Belle’s recovery; not to mention that one needed only to glance at the new mother for a second to see the good their visit had done.

Glancing sheepishly at his former liege, Graham nodded respectfully to Mary Margaret. “Thank you, truly, your Majesties, but… you didn’t have to do this… I mean, my Queen… Um, er, Snow?” Though both she and Charming had repeatedly let him know that bowing and formality were unnecessary, it was an adaptation the former Huntsman was still making, with varied amounts of success.

Snow reached out to press his upper arm with her hand, assuring him that the pleasure had been theirs, which he was grateful for - even as Emma and Killian on one side of the bed, and Ruby and Granny on the other, were set to laughing once more at his expense. Her husband smiled at her genuinely; that wide, magnanimous smile which let a person know that he was understood, that all was well, that he was seen and cared for by those called to rule and wear the crown of royalty - even if, in this world, that mark of leadership took the form of a deputy’s badge rather than a throne and lavish finery.

Taking pity on his awkward tendency in larger groups, Belle beckoned her love closer still, a gentle and knowing smile on her lips. “Maybe you’d like to help me make our announcement, since everyone seems to be here anyway,” she suggested, gazing up at Graham in sweet affection despite the heated blush that stole across his neck and the tips of his ears, though his stubble hid the pink of his cheeks.

Her sheriff nodded eagerly, knowing that their gathered group of friends and loved ones would be excited to hear the news, and he hoped, touched as well by the small gesture of thanks he and Belle were offering in return for their kindness and loyalty. To his mind, it could never come close to being enough, but it was something. Clasping Belle’s hand in his as he reached her side, Graham brought it up to his mouth, laying soft, chaste kisses to her knuckles one by one as they were intertwined by his own.

Looking back up into the faces of the fiercely protective tribe gathered round them, the man who had once faced the world completely alone found it particularly fitting that the twins were in the arms of Ruby and Emma. Since the little declaration they were about to make would touched those two fierce women most, it seemed almost kismet that those two would already be holding the little boy and girl. 

“As Belle already mentioned,” Graham began, a grin making its way across his face in spite of his dislike for the center of attention. This joyous moment was different, and he found himself almost beaming as those gathered before him looked up curiously at his words. “We have a couple of things we’d like to tell you. Seeing that we might not have reached this point so happily without all of you, it seemed only right that you be the first ones to know. These two cuties you’re all busy cuddling and spoiling within an inch of their lives…” At that, he gestured to the two happily gurgling littles ones, and his audience chuckled, knowing he had them with the spoiling. “These two new arrivals have names at last. Belle and I would very much like you to officially meet Rose Red and Hunter Henry.”

Oohs and ahhs over the perfection and adorability of their choices broke out all around, though no one’s enthusiasm was felt more than Henry’s. At hearing that the little boy cradled in his mom’s arms was sharing his first name for a middle one, Henry’s eyes bugged wide in sparkling excitement. Thrilled and bouncing even more than he had been previously, the young prince looked to Belle sweetly, thrilled beyond all reasoning. “You - you named him for me?” he repeated in awe.

Belle nodded, the smile she offered her young friend both kind and affectionately indulgent. Her eyes were more than a bit wide and glazed with a sheen of unshed tears as she wrapped him up in the hug he offered. “Of course we did!” she whispered in his ear emphatically. “You brought all of us back to our real selves with your belief. Who wouldn’t want their little ones to have a heart like yours?”

Graham leaned over to envelop them both in a fierce hug too before Henry and Belle could separate. His own voice was husky and rasped with stark emotion, but he spoke over the lump of feeling to second Belle’s response. “You were a light when so many of us had little else in this place - not even our true selves. You should know what a hero you are by now.”

Henry shook his head in disbelief, having a hard time swallowing such praise, even as it sent a wide, crooked smile across his face and pride stir within him. Yet, as he glanced around at everyone else in the room, they were nodding and affirming their agreement - from Ruby beaming at him widely, to his grandma’s teary joy, to his mom and Killian standing together, with his mom mouthing ‘He’s right, you are’ to him with a look of such parental approval and love that Henry hardly knew how to handle it.

Chuckling good naturedly, Ruby reached out to ruffle his hair, something he had begun to protest his mom doing (he wasn’t a little kid anymore!) but which didn’t seem to bother him when the pretty brunette werewolf did it. Her teasing and bright, toothy smile made the usual gripe die on his tongue and a flush creep up his neck instead. “Well, I’m not sure I’m even half so deserving as Henry,” Ruby jested, “but I’m still touched you’d put ‘Red’ in there for a middle name too.”

“Well…” Graham paused, drawing out his next words dramatically as he flicked yet another look over at Belle who nodded eagerly, biting back a giggle at the glint of mischief in his eye and at how happily surprised they were about to make her vivacious new friend. “It seemed only fair she carry a nod to one of her two godmothers in her name. That is… if you and Emma agree to take on that role.”

Ruby squealed with barely contained glee, stopping herself just in time from jumping up and down in her excitment and jostling the little girl dozing in her arms. “Are you serious?” she asked, dark eyes wide in awe and genuine surprise. “Me?... Truly?!?”

Belle clutched her hand, reaching out with kind approbation. “Truly and absolutely… we’d be honored.”

After a moment weighted with feeling and acceptance, all three turned their faces to Emma, who was blinking rapidly as she glanced up from Hunter’s cherubic countenance to return their gaze, and nodded wordlessly, offering a tremulous smile to her friends before finally managing to croak out, “Me too… absolutely.”

That afternoon took on a golden-tinged glow for all of them in reminiscence. Looking back on it at any time afterwards, that moment just after the twins’ birth was one of those scarce ones that only come along ever so rarely, where everything seems right as it should. A moment meant to be frozen and kept sacred in the mind’s eye, one to treasure.

Even after life began to shift back to normal, they were forever altered - and despite the difficulty and danger they’d weathered - for the better. After recuperating (much longer than she had wished, at Graham’s and her other friends’ insistence) Belle returned to her beloved library, helping anyone who stepped into her sanctuary find the story they sought. Graham eventually stemmed the flow of stifling overprotectiveness and desire to watch over his love at every moment, and returned to his post and duties as sheriff, taking care of the town that had become his home - the people in it more family than he had even been gifted by birth.

And though it might have been a reluctant parting at first, both of them rested in the assurance that either godmother they left their children with had successfully fought both villains and monsters, and would do so again for their young. If Emma had the day off from the station, she often took the twins out on the waves with Killian in his ship, their childish giggles and squeals showing signs of them coming to love the wind and waves almost as much as the trees and shadowed clearings of the forest. If Emma was working, Ruby or Granny were more than happy to entertain and look after Rose and Hunter. Ruby had been known to set them both on the diner counter in their car seats when she was hostess, making faces at them in play and allowing pretty much everyone in the town who entered Granny’s to fall in love with them. Or sometimes Granny would rock them gently, one in each arm, in an old rocker situated in the corner of her upstairs office. Though she had mostly recovered from Morgana’s attack, her older joints didn’t have the healing powers they had once possessed, and she simply couldn’t stay on her feet in the kitchens all day as she once had. She was more than pacified in her occasional relegation to the quiet room to keep the books and check tourists into the inn by the presence of the two little ones where she could have them all to her self and tell them old stories, just as she had once done for Ruby and Graham years ago.

And Emma… well, she and Killian understood quite well what would bring both their sheriff and librarian back to the service of their strange little fairy tale town in whatever way they felt called. The sense of belonging to and affection for a place both of them had once considered themselves “only passing through” or arrived in by mistake was uncannily right, all the way down to their sinew and bones. When Emma’s deputy shifts ended in the afternoon or early evening, she found herself with a wealth of options - more people to see and things to do than she would have ever imagined for herself. On days when she was finished by three, she sometimes strolled over to the school to meet Henry and her mother and walk to her parents’ loft with them for an afternoon snack - or if it was raining, she might pick them up in the Bug. Occasionally, she drove over to the animal shelter where her father was now office manager and spent time with her dad - the novelty of that, which she had wished for so often in her growing up years, never seemed to wear thin. Moreover as well as growing closer and closer to her dad, she was growing more and more tempted with each visit to adopt the large, saucy tomcat that always greeted her with his vocal purring as she arrived and reached her hand into his enclosure to stroke his sleek, beautifully striped fur and scratch behind his ears.

“Who’s a good boy?” she found herself crooning more often than not, to her dad’s chuckling over her shoulder.

“Oh, he is - and he knows it!” Prince Charming offered. “He’s been here nearly six months now. His owner trained him well - loved him and spoiled him rotten truthfully - but she passed away... Antonio, I believe she called him.”

Emma snorted, “Must have been a Shrek fan,” she mumbled under her breath, now offering him gentle scritches under his chin.

“What’s that?” her dad asked, a puzzled tilt to his head.

“Oh, never mind,” Emma waved her hand. “Just another movie woven into this place with a tie to fairy tales, but I doubt you’ve seen it. The Puss in Boots character in it is voiced by an actor named Antonio.”

Her father chuckled, shaking his head at his own oblivious ignorance, long used to such occurences happening by that point. “Gotcha. Well, regardless, he definitely likes you, and he’d be good company. Plus, a good mouser on a pirate ship…?”

Emma cut her eyes to her father with a wry smile, both knowing what he was hinting at, and that he was digging for more info. “Subtle, Dad… real subtle.”

Yet it didn’t stop her from carrying said ‘mouser’ in her arms when she headed out that night as her dad locked up. The adoption paperwork was folded and stuffed into her back pocket, and she knew Killian would be equally as charmed by the handsome feline as she had been. Even as she and her father parted ways and she set off on her path to the docks, shaking her head at her own softheartedness, she knew that her wolf man would welcome her pet with open arms. He had even more of a weakness for lonely creatures in need of a home than she did.

The moonlight glittered off the dark waters of Storybrooke harbor, where the Jolly Roger was now permanently berthed. Pausing on the wooden planks of the dock, Emma gazed up at the ship, seeing her sailor standing on board, bathed in the ethereal glow and staring up at the stars overhead. His magnificent old ship had come to seem like her home too; she practically lived there with him for all intents and purposes. 

Something warm swelled within her chest as Killian turned at the sound of her approach and smiled down at her in welcome. “I’ve brought you a new recruit,” she offered playfully, stepping up to the gangplank where he could see the animal nestled happily in her arms.

“Well now, Lass,” Killian murmured, a pleased smile teasing at his firm, supple mouth as he took in the purring tabby. “It’s been some years since we’ve had a good mouser aboard the Jolly. He’s an admirable find for certain.” His wink along with the words made her blush, even with such a light and playful conversation.

Holding out his hand to help her aboard, Emma thrilled at the gentle pressure of her pirate’s fingers wrapped around her smaller ones. As she reached his side on deck, she leaned into Killian’s sturdy frame while his arms encircled her and his spicy scent enveloped her senses, the rightness of the moment and them together and their place in their world - home at long last - could not be any clearer. Their port was set, wherever they might sail.

Tagging: @cssns​ @kmomof4​ @jennjenn615​ @spartanguard​ @laschatzi​ @therooksshiningknight​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @gingerchangeling​ @winterbaby89​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @hollyethecurious​ @artistic-writer​ @lfh1226-linda​ @searchingwardrobes​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @thisonesatellite​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @thislassishooked​

[cssns]

And signups are now closed

Thank you everyone who signed up and signal boosted! It’s gonna be another fantastic summer!!! A welcome post featuring all our participants will be up before the end of the month and get to know me interviews will start posting in March. So keep an eye out and be sure to follow and enable notifications so you won’t miss anything!

[kmomof4]

TOTAL SWOON!!!!!

SO GORGEOUS!!!!

My final piece for @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ ‘s fic  Until the Stars Are All Alight. (tumblr link). From @cssns The epilogue is out now! Go enjoy their happily ever after!