#i wrote more but the deadline... it approaches ominously

[fistsoflightning]

let it all be said

ffxivwrite2022 14: attrition n. the act of weakening or exhausting by constant attack or pressure.

thancred & zaya. 6.0 85-86 MSQ spoilers. 1582 wc.

Do you really love me?

It was something Zaya had asked him with a heavy tongue and far less coherency through the haze of their first levinstrike tincture, when Chessamile and Tehra’ir and Urianger hadn’t come to a consensus on how much aethersand was needed to restore the natural imbalance of Zaya’s aether and had overestimated in their calculations, and in the moment Thancred hadn’t known how to react before they’d passed out. When he’d asked them the next morning, baffled and a bit hurt, whatever they had seen in his expression had them panicking. A seed of doubt planted in their head by a nosy onlooker, they’d told him, apologetic. The regulars at the Seventh Heaven hadn’t made it any better when Zaya had made to return to the First with his belongings at his request, seemingly convinced that Thancred couldn’t have changed in the years since.

I don’t know how you couldn’t, they explained frantically, even though Thancred had done his best to assure them that no real harm had been done. If the way you hold me isn’t out of love, then I don’t know what way is, and then, more hesitant: I just thought you might have said so, by now.

Thancred had been too focused at the time on keeping Zaya from worrying themselves to tears over nothing to process that last statement, but it stuck with him like burnt caramel in his teeth. It didn’t seem to bother Zaya past being a fleeting, nasty whisper in their head ignited by everything else they’d told him about, but in exchange it became a voice in his own, ever louder in the dark.

Why haven’t you told them?

At first it was because it was too soon—even after years of looking and wanting and telling himself they are not someone you can have—and then it was out of fear that he would only sound like his old self, when he used words like love and beloved carelessly. Later, he decided to tell them when they returned to the Source, and then changed that resolution when he wasn’t ready to ‘when the world stopped needing to be saved every other week’.

That last one in particular had been a bad excuse, because now the Final Days that had wiped out the Ancients were terrorizing Thavnair, threatened to destroy their very star, and he still hadn’t said shite. 

Thancred rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms before he returned to wringing the excess water out of a pair of washcloths in the basin. Now was hardly the time for him to get stuck in his own head, lest he turn himself into a blasphemy over three words he kept himself from saying.

If not now, a quieter, more honest part of him said, no less scornful than the voice that accompanied him in his darkest hours, then when, you daft idiot? You know well enough that the world never stops long enough for the two of you.

It was a question that he had no good answer to, but he was saved from having to consider one by Zaya, knocking gently on the drawers of the vanity they were leaning on to call his attention; when Thancred looked up, he was momentarily charmed by the way they had pinned their bangs away from their face before he realized what Zaya wanted of him.

"My apologies," he said softly, making his way over before he held out one of the damp washcloths to them. "I fear I got lost in thought."

Zaya looked up at him curiously, but ultimately said nothing as they took their washcloth and turned around to clean their face. When their eyes caught his again in the reflection of the mirror, their resultant smile was brief and dim before they looked away, busying themselves with finding their facepaint in their pack.

Perhaps it was the early hour, or the burning sky hidden behind the curtains he’d drawn shut the night before, but Thancred had never seen Zaya’s nerves get the best of them, not like this. His eyes narrowed as they shifted their weight from one foot to the other and then back again, the same way they might have kept balanced in a fight.

"Feeling alright?" he asked. They stilled, eyes flicking back to his figure in the mirror, and then set down their usual assortment of cosmetics and brushes on the vanity.

“Fine,” Zaya answered hastily, signing the word into the mirror for him to see. It was, annoyingly, the answer Thancred was expecting—after all, what better way to spread despair than for the Warrior of Light, savior of worlds, to admit they were less than alright with the current apocalypse they had to fix—but then their hands twitched, halfway back to their pot of facepaint and their brush, and lifted again as Zaya moved to add, “nervous.”

Thancred kept quiet as he stepped out of the shadows and to Zaya’s back, slightly to their left so he could be seen in the mirror. “I’m here to lend an ear, should you have need of it.”

The scales on Zaya’s nose and brow warped as they scrunched their nose and reached up for their cracked horn, fingers looping in the tails of the silk ribbon still tied around it. “M’ horns ‘re fine,” they said, reflection frowning back at him in the mirror. Thancred laughed, reaching out to clasp their shoulder.

“Not quite what I was implying, bluebird,” he said, delighting briefly in Zaya’s flustered expression before he clarified, “Did you want to talk about whatever has you anxious?”

Zaya shook their head, though not in refusal. “Scared,” they admitted to his reflection, the gold specks in their irises flickering as the candlelight swayed back and forth. “Th’ land is on fire, and ‘m leaving.”

It was a fear Thancred understood well; he had never taken well to being redirected from the battle at hand, despite knowing full well his capabilities served better elsewhere. “Things do tend to worsen when we turn away,” he said, gently running his thumb along the line where the scales on Zaya’s arm met skin, “Though I suppose you have far less experience than I do in retreating to fight another battle.”

He watched the mirror even as Zaya’s head dipped down, their face invisible as the shadows overtook everything except the glow of their limbal rings. “Wanna stay.”

Thancred swallowed thickly, and felt as if the air around them both had changed through naught but Zaya’s honesty. His hand dropped from their shoulder so he could curl his arms around their sides, pulling them closer to his chest. “If you were not our best chance of reaching out to Elidibus, I would…” he said quietly, biting his lip before he could continue.

Strictly speaking, Elidibus seemed far more reasonable than his fellow Paragons. There was a fair chance he would speak truthfully on the subject of the Final Days to the other four Warriors, but they were too far beyond the point of no return to risk learning nothing, and Zaya had apparently established some manner of bond with the Ascian in the short moment before he was sealed in the Crystal Tower. Anagnorisis, Urianger had called it. Recognition.

If they hadn’t pointed the fact out themselves over their table at the Meyhane last night, Thancred might have fought to keep Zaya here, ashamed as he was to admit it—but it was at their suggestion that their paths were diverging.

Years ago, it had been him citing their duty as Scions to keep the distance between the two of them from growing closer. It would be unfair to ask differently of Zaya now, especially with so much more at stake than there was when it was just primals and tempering and Garlemald. Completely selfish.

But to hold his tongue was to keep running. All these years, he’d buried his true thoughts away out of fear that his words might sway someone he loved into doing the wrong thing, especially because his dearest friends and family were all in the same business of keeping the world from calamity—only for his lack of them to nearly convince his foster daughter to give up her life to make him happy. He’d failed to tell Louisoix and Minfilia how much he cared for them because he’d convinced himself it wasn’t the right time to pour his heart out.

When, if ever, was the right time, for people like them? Where did duty end and loving begin, if they were ever separate to begin with? How wrong could loving someone be, if all you had was stolen time between this terror and the next?

What broke him from his reverie was not some answer from on high to all his long-held questions, but a touch, and a voice he loved; Zaya’s head shifted beneath his to look at him in the mirror, one of their hands coming to rest on his above their sternum as they steadied their voice and asked, “You would what?”

Perhaps a better Scion would have said nothing, rather than let the most reckless Warrior of Light know there was a different path for them to take; Thancred, however, knew Zaya preferred the truth above all else, and so he let himself fall.

“I would have asked you to stay,” he said, and then, almost drowned out by the sound of his own heart racing: “I love you.”

[funigami-games]

What we got right and what not for our Visual Novel Game Jam: Build 0.5 build and progress report.

check out the full post and see all sprites here - https://funigami.itch.io/the-princes-heart/devlog/283383/what-we-got-right-and-what-not-for-our-visual-novel-game-jam-build-05-build-and-progress-report

The Prince’s Heart is practically our first “brainchild”. And although I hate the term “child” since video games aren't anyone's child, but nothing more than entertainment products, that's how we creators usually behave with them. Of course, our first complete video game as a team is Dragon Gazer, a small 1000-word visual novel game for the O2A2 jam, we consider The Prince’s Heart to be our first “actual” project since it’s complete in terms of narration, character design, and worldbuilding.

But, like most parents with their first newborn, we made some critical mistakes that we should have foreseen in terms of production and deadline, but well... we didn't, and that's a hard-earned lesson that we should keep in mind for our next projects.

What we got right and what not

We were lucky enough to have with us Jacob Wilson, the person responsible for the entire casting and scouting process. Every single voice-over in our game has been voice acted by aspiring and professional voice actors, and I really think that the result will be amazing. More about our cast can be found here.

A.C. Kass made the outline really quick and wrote the entire story on time, giving the rest of the team the much-needed time to do voice-overs, compositions, SFX, coding, and sprite design. In a couple of days, we had a 16,000-word script ready to be coded and implemented.

And that's where we failed to understand that the project would get out of hand, considering that it would be practically impossible for a single artist to have eight characters and eight backgrounds made in a relatively short amount of time, while at the same time we were completing our O2A2 jam project.

What we learned as a team, is that a project should be realistically and not wishfully approached when there's a deadline. We should have either scratched the O2A2 project or decrease the necessary amount of game assets for The Prince’s Heart, etc some of the lines could be unified with other characters to save us time.

The future of the project

Despite the ominous mood I might have prepared you for, the project is progressing fine. All primary characters are designed, but probably we’ll have to do an early release of the game with the majority of secondary characters in flats, along with will the backgrounds.

I really wanted for this project to have character animation (it would be really cool to have the characters breathe), but it's not realistically possible.

What do we have ready as of this moment?

As I said, all main characters (the protagonist and his two love interests) are fully rendered with a wide variety of poses and expressions. Here's a visual representation of what has been done in terms of characters so far.

Prince Edward (Fully Rendered Version)

David (Fully Rendered Version)

Michael (Fully Rendered Version)

Check the rest of our sprites here https://funigami.itch.io/the-princes-heart/devlog/283383/what-we-got-right-and-what-not-for-our-visual-novel-game-jam-build-05-build-and-progress-report

As for the backgrounds, we’re still a long way from finishing them. Recently, we had two artists joining us, but I don't think that the time will be enough to have all the backgrounds fully rendered by the deadline. All we've done so far are sketches.

In terms of compositions, our composer has practically made a single track for every scene. SFX is still in production state, and we’ll probably have them in the next few days.

The voice acting is nearly complete, and I'm really proud of our voice actors. I'm a firm believer that if you can’t have proper voice acting for your game, it's better not to have at all. All of the VAs have done an amazing job, and I think that you’ll like what we have.

The scripting is 100% completed and transitions around 90% complete. Although I implemented everything, I still find things here and there that need to be adjusted as I alpha test the game. If things go as scheduled, all the transitions will be complete in two days from now (by August 15th).

Last but not least, our GUI is halfway there and will probably be completed by August 20th.

In conclusion, some things worked, some didn't, but we learned a bunch of stuff as a team from this project. What matters is for you, the players, to enjoy our game once it releases. We are looking forward for your feedback, and we’re thankful for your support and love!

[wordsintimeandspace]

Better With You (1/6)

Due to a petty feud between their respective department heads, Crowley and Aziraphale have been hiding their friendship for months. When they’re suddenly stuck in lockdown amidst a pandemic, Crowley is not coping well. Thankfully, Aziraphale is there for him - but their changing relationship means that keeping secrets from their bosses only becomes more of a challenge.

Crowley/Aziraphale, rated M (for chapter 4). Read on tumblr or AO3.

Crowley stared down at the pen he was balancing between his fingers, and imaged all the countless ways he could use it to get Gabriel to shut up right this second. For once he was glad that Gabriel was usually too self-absorbed to pay any attention to a code monkey like him - he had no doubt that not even his sunglasses were hiding his murderous fantasies, if the concerned glances Aziraphale kept shooting at him every now and then were anything to go by.

“So,” Gabriel finally concluded, clasping his hands in front of his chest, “if you could get that feature done by Friday, that would be great. The client is waiting.”

His condescending smile made Crowley’s blood boil, and Beelzebub let out an angry buzzing beside him. For a second Crowley thought they would leap over the conference table to strangle Gabriel until the bloody smile was finally gone from his irritating face. Crowley would pay good money to see that, but instead Beelzebub just shot up from their chair and slammed their fists down on the table.

“Absolutely not,” Beelzebub snarled. “That’s impozzible. Do you have any idea how much work that is if you don’t consider it at the beginning of a project?!”

Gabriel let out a huff, but otherwise didn’t falter. “Come on,” he said casually, as if he wasn’t just confronted with the fury of one of the most feared people in their company. “The lot of you down there in engineering should be a bit more flexible.”

“And the lot of you in client relations should actually do your job,” Beelzebub hissed. “You discuss these parts with the client right at the beginning, not one week before the deadline.”

“Listen, the client is the highest power in this company, and if they want this feature, they’re going to get it.”

Beelzebub apparently didn’t have an answer to that, because the client was the highest power, as annoying as that was. But that didn’t mean they backed down from glaring at Gabriel, fury and disdain radiating off them in waves. The tension in the room made Crowley’s skin crawl. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, glancing from Gabriel to Beelzebub and back, until his gaze finally met Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale sat quietly beside Gabriel, nervously wringing his hands in front of his belly and looking downright miserable. Since both their bosses were still too busy glowering at each other, Crowley screwed up his face and rolled his eyes at him.

Aziraphale’s lips twitched as he tried to suppress a laugh. His eyes gleamed in a way that made Crowley’s heart skip a beat, but as soon as Aziraphale turned his attention back to the conversation the last bit of his smile was gone.

“Umm,” Aziraphale started hesitantly, wincing as both Gabriel and Beelzebub suddenly fixed their gaze on him. “We could ask the client for an extension of the deadline. I’m sure they will be understanding. They did apologize for making last minute requests after all.”

Gabriel’s face grew stern as he now glared at Aziraphale instead of Beelzebub, and Crowley quickly jumped into the discussion before he could open his mouth and all the despicable things that must be running through his head could tumble out.

“We could, ah, maybe reuse some code from the project last month,” he started, shooting a nervous glance at Beelzebub. “Shouldn’t be too complicated to adapt, yeah? Could be done in two weeks. Three, maybe.”

For a moment Crowley thought Beelzebub might rip his head off for accommodating Gabriel, who was most definitely the enemy in their opinion, along with all the others working in client relations. But then their face relaxed just the tiniest bit.

“Fine,” they hissed. “If you get us that extension.”

Gabriel didn’t look too happy, but then he nodded. “Fine. Aziraphale will take care of it.”

Beelzebub rushed out of the room as soon as they were done. Crowley hoped to get a minute with Aziraphale, but Gabriel barked at him to follow when he turned to leave, and all Crowley got was the apologetic look Aziraphale threw over his shoulder right before they vanished around the corner. Crowley let out a long sigh, picked up his pen and notebook and trotted back down to his office.

The engineering department was in the basement, a bit too dark even for Crowley’s sensitive eyes. It always felt a bit too damp, a bit too cold to be comfortable. Crowley passed the posters on the walls, both the ominous “don’t lick the walls” posters he was used to and the newer, slightly unsettling “wash your hands” ones, until he reached his office and slumped back into his chair. The hand hygiene posters with their red, bold letters had been up for a week now, ever since the whole virus situation was getting a bit more serious. It made Crowley nervous, although London seemed to be safe so far. He knew that he should probably check the news more often than he actually did, but he also didn’t feel like he had any mental energy to deal with that sort of the thing at the moment. Meetings with Beelzebub and Gabriel always left him drained.

But no matter how bad a meeting had been, there was always one single person in this blasted company who could make him feel better. It was just what he needed right now.

Crowley fished his phone out of his pockets and opened his contacts. Right at the top was the person he was looking for: Angel. A nickname he had proposed one evening after too much wine had made him bold for once. It still made Crowley’s stomach flutter every time he read it. And beside of that, it served its purpose: no one would know that Crowley was consorting with the enemy, if anyone in the office would ever catch a glimpse of his screen.

Crowley sent a text: ‘How about Vietnamese for lunch? My treat.’

The answer came just a minute later, but Crowley still jumped in his chair, his heart skipping a beat in anticipation.

‘Our usual place?’ Aziraphale wrote.

 ‘Sure. Wherever you want, angel.’

 ‘Temptation accomplished.’

Crowley, who usually tried very hard to keep his reputation as a sleek bastard among his colleagues, couldn’t help but smile.

~~~

The prospect of seeing Aziraphale was way too distracting for Crowley to get any real work done for the rest of the morning. It had been a while since they’d met properly. It had only been polite nods in the corridors or annoying small talk in the elevator in the last few days, apart from the blasted meeting with their insufferable supervisors. Usually they met once a week for lunch, but both of them had been busy recently, and Crowley rarely had time for more than a sandwich scarfed down in the break room.

Crowley let out a sigh of relief when it was finally lunchtime and hurried to grab his jacket to get out of the building. Their usual place was a tiny restaurant a few streets over, so hidden between the large chain restaurants that they didn’t have to worry about running into their bosses or colleagues in there. Crowley had passed it two times a day for months on his way to work, but he had never even noticed it until Aziraphale had suggested it as their secret lunch spot, gushing over the delectable pho.

Aziraphale was already there when he entered, occupying a small table in one corner that shielded them from the view of the few other patrons. He was focused on the menu, reading glasses perched on his nose, but immediately looked up as Crowley approached. His lips curled into a smile so bright that it made Crowley’s head swim. Looking at Aziraphale’s smile was like staring into the sun, sometimes, filling him with such a warmth that Crowley feared he would burn one day.

“There you are, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “I was afraid Beelzebub would have pulled you into yet another meeting.”

Crowley snorted, sprawling into the chair opposite from Aziraphale and blushing faintly as his eyes seemed to follow every movement of Crowley’s too long limbs. “No, thankfully not. I think they had enough after that spat with Gabriel to deal with any more idiots today, including me.”

“You’re hardly an idiot,” Aziraphale tutted.

Crowley let out a sigh, letting his head loll back. “I must be, working in that hellhole,” he muttered.

From behind the menu, Aziraphale gave him another disapproving look. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic?! When it’s Gabriel and Beelzebub who have declared themselves mortal enemies, even though they work for the same bloody company?”

“Well…” Aziraphale tilted his head, considering.

“Really, angel, how could I not be dramatic in response to that? This whole thing is ridiculous. We’re hiding that we’re going for lunch together, for Heaven’s sake!”

“You do have a point, my dear, but-”

“It’s not even against the company policies!” Crowley continued, too agitated to stop himself. “I mean, we’re friends, it’s not that we’re da-” Crowley managed to snap his mouth shut before any more words could tumble out.

Dating, that’s what he’d been about to say, but he couldn’t bring these words over his lips. It was a train of thought Crowley very much did not want to follow, because it only ended in the conclusion that he definitely did want to date Aziraphale. Wanted to hold his hand and wrap his arms around his middle and maybe kiss his pretty pink lips-

Aziraphale cleared his throat, pulling Crowley out of his thoughts before he could get to even more dangerous territories. A faint blush coloured Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Well,” he started, his voice a little wobbly. “I agree that it can be… inconvenient. But it’s probably better this way, for now. Can you imagine Gabriel’s mocking if he ever finds out?”

It stung a little, Aziraphale’s words. That meeting him was inconvenient. That being with Crowley was actually something worth mocking, and that Aziraphale cared enough about the wanker’s opinion to hide it. The hurt must have shown on his face, despite the glasses still obscuring his eyes, because Aziraphale’s face fell. He reached for Crowley’s hand on the table, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I didn’t mean it like that. And every bit of inconvenience is more than worth it, my dear, if I get to spend time with you,” Aziraphale reassured him with a such a soft smile that it made Crowley’s eyes sting.

“Thanks,” Crowley managed to croak out, distracted by the gentle brush of Aziraphale’s thumb on the back of his hand. They had never touched before, not properly, intentionally like this. Aziraphale’s skin was warm and soft against his own. The caress sent a shiver down his spine, right to his toes, and Crowley let out a shuddering breath. Christ, if he was already this affected by such a small touch, what a wreck must he be when Aziraphale got his hands on him properly?

Crowley shook his head, banishing the thought before it could get him into any more trouble. Suddenly too shaken to bear the gentle touch any longer, he snatched his hand away and grabbed the menu so quickly he nearly knocked over his glass of water.

“D’you already know what you want to eat?” he started babbling, eyes wandering over the menu without taking in any of the information. “The dumplings were good last time, yeah?”

He felt Aziraphale’s piercing gaze on him, and for a second Crowley thought he wouldn’t get away with the sudden change of topic. But then Aziraphale pulled his hand back, leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers on top of his belly.

“I was thinking more of the cao lau this time,” he hummed.

Crowley let out a breath. “Sounds good,” he croaked.

The conversation flowed easily, as it always did with Aziraphale, once they’d ordered their lunch and steered away from any dangerous topics. Crowley relaxed as the meal went on, his nerves soothed by Aziraphale’s quick wit and humour, all the things that had drawn him to the other man ever since they’d gotten to know each other properly. It had taken just another argument between Gabriel and Beelzebub for that, a petty fight that forced them both to work late one evening, scrambling to overhaul a project just days before the deadline. They had quickly realized that they got things done quicker if they worked together, and also discovered that they genuinely liked each other’s company.

Ever since there had been hushed conversations, secret lunches, and occasionally, when Crowley was very, very lucky, a few drinks after a long day at work in Aziraphale’s cosy living room, where Crowley would lounge on the couch and Aziraphale would sit in the armchair, both of them surrounded by too many books to count.

Crowley didn’t even remember when exactly he’d fallen in love with Aziraphale. Maybe he had been right from the beginning, and every word, every look from Aziraphale over the past few months had just pushed him one step closer to damnation. It didn’t help that sometimes, Aziraphale would look at him just so, or say things that would make hope bloom in Crowley’s chest, both sweet and suffocating.

“We could, ah… maybe go for dinner on Friday after work? How do you feel about sushi?” Aziraphale said at the end of their meal, just when he was about to leave - a few minutes before Crowley, of course, because surely Hell would freeze over if they walked into work together for once. “It’s going to be a busy week, and I suppose we could both use a little treat by then?”

Crowley stared at him for a long moment before his useless brain finally comprehended Aziraphale’s words. His stomach swooped, because while they were used to going for lunch during their breaks, dinner was new and brought so many new possibilities that it made Crowley’s head swim. “Sure. Sounds good, angel,” he finally managed to get out, and Aziraphale beamed at him like Crowley had hung the stars.

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale cood, patting Crowley’s hand one more time before he got up. “I’ll look forward to seeing you, my dear.”

~~~

As it turned out, they did not see each other on Friday. Crowley had finally managed to read the news that afternoon, scrolling through the headlines with growing anxiety, but he was an optimist at the core and still didn’t expect the turn of events crashing down on him in the following week. London wasn’t as safe as he thought, and neither was the rest of the world. On Wednesday, all restaurants closed for the foreseeable future, including Aziraphale’s favourite sushi bar. On Thursday, chaos and panic broke loose as a co-worker from another floor that Crowley barely knew tested positive and half the workforce was put into quarantine. On Friday, instead of meeting up with Aziraphale after work, Crowley was officially and indefinitely banished to working from home. He spent the day in his uncomfortable designer chair in his too dark living room, staring at the wall as he tried to wrap his head around the situation and wondered what he had done to deserve things going so very wrong just another time.

[fieryfairie]

Colors (A Jackbeom AU)

“Jack Jack, she said yes. I finally have her as my girlfriend.” Jackson Wang stared at the messages that his bestfriend JB sent him. He tried to process everything, but his mind still can’t catch with the news. Yes, Jackson did advise JB to tell Yeri how he felt. But, he did it as a joke. Now, Jackson must revise his plan that took him days to plan. How would he tell his bestfriend about how he felt especially now that a deadline has been set? The deadline is getting near. His leg started bouncing up and down. This has always been his mannerism when he is anxious. Being broken-hearted is the least of his concern. He needs to tell JB about everything bef— while he still can.

“Sweetie, are you okay? We need to go now so that we won’t be late for our appointment.” Mama Wang gently sat beside her sweet son. She brushed some hair away from eyes and his son rewarded her with a wide smile. “I’m alright, Mama! Let’s go.” They stood up together and went to the car where Papa Wang is waiting. “Hyung, meet me in our usual place. Be there by 5.” Jackson quickly hid his phone after sending the text to JB. He closed his eyes and decided to take a short nap to stop himself from thinking about everything. Besides, the piercing headache he has is definitely not helping.

------------

           Lim Jaebom frowned. This is the first time that he received a serious message from Jackson. Usually, the other boy’s message would be full of emojis. This is not the reaction that he expected to get after dropping the bomb to his favorite dongsaeng and bestfriend. “Maybe he just wants to congratulate me in person and catch up with what happened at summer camp.” He sighed. He remembered being in shock when Jackson told him that he will not be able to join the summer camp. He felt betrayed. They have been planning to go since they entered college. It was their promise. A promise that Jackson was not able to keep. JB lets out another sigh. He’s sure that Jackson has his reasons. “Hey babe, what’s with the long face? Did your boyfriend Jackson take the news badly?” Yeri laughed and sat next to her boyfriend. Jaebum continued pouting. He smirked and jokingly said, “He’s mad that someone else caught my eye”. JB leaned his head on Yeri’s shoulder. He held her hand and silently fiddled with the bracelet that he got her on their first day as a couple. He’s delighted to final date his long-time crush, but he seriously misses his best buddy. He thought that Jackson would get in touch with him while he is on summer camp. Wrong. The last message that he received from the guy was the day before the start of summer camp. The message was : “Have fun JB! Enjoy every moment for me. PS maybe it is time to confess haha”. Typical Jackson. However, JB can’t shake the ominous feeling that he got from the message.

           “Yeri” Jaebeom gripped his girlfriend’s hand. Yeri mumbled a silent yes. “I’ll be meeting Jackson later. For some reason, it feels like he needs to tell me something serious.” Yeri giggled. “Maybe he just misses his favorite hyung.” Jaebeom did not reply. He closed his eyes. His thoughts immediately went to Jackson.

           The two met when they got paired on a group project on their Song Writing class. JB was a bit overwhelmed by Jackson’s energy but they got a long fine. He admired Jackson’s perseverance. Not many people know that JB was able to find his song-writing muse through Jackson. “You can be whatever color you want to be, Hyung!” They were able to produce a song that JB can call his own. They got so closed to the point that they were able to share dreams and aspiration with each other. Jackson became a valuable existence to Jaebum. They promised that they would debut in one group. Both held on this promise strongly. This is the reason why Jackson not attending the summer camp came as a big surprise to Jaebum. They both are looking forward to attending the camp because some agency scouts would come and spot potential talents. The other lad has also been ignoring the older man’s messages. “I’ll get my answers later.” Jaebum tried to reassure himself. In the meantime, he would enjoy his girlfriend’s company first. He’ll interrogate Jackson later.

-------------------------

Now Playing: Let Me – Got7

           It’s a nice spring afternoon and the waves are lazily splashing on the sand. A young can be seen sitting on the sand by himself. It looks like a sad painting with gray clouds hovering over the setting sun.

Jackson has his eyes closed as he takes in the sound of the waves. “Are you sure you’re pushing through with the operation?” “We can not guarantee anything at this point.” Jackson tried to block his thoughts by increasing the volume of his phone. It’s too late now to go back on his decision. Besides, he is here to talk to his JB. How would his hyung react on all the things that he says to say, all the things that he must confess? The song changed to the one that the two of them wrote together. Jackson enjoyed the time that they had writing the song. He smiled at the memory of JB pouting because they had a writer’s block. This was also the time when Jackson started developing feelings for the older man. It started with a little crush. God knows he tried everything to erase his feelings for JB. He’s perfectly fine with the relationship that they have. He doesn’t want his selfishness to ruin their closeness.  He promised himself that he will keep his feelings a secret. He wants JB to continue smiling. Even if it is because of a different person. He would kill just so JB can keep his smile.

But everything has change. One cold February morning, his parents rushed him to the hospital after failing to wake him up after multiple attempts. The results showed the worst. He remembered waking up and seeing both his parents crying on the foot of his hospital bed. The feeling of pain and anguish surged in his whole being. “This cannot be happening!” Jackson thought to himself. He did not shed any tear. Crying would only further break his parents’ hearts. “I’ll get better, Mama. Trust Me!” Jackson comforted his mother. He did his best fake smile. “Don’t break down. Don’t let them see you crying. Be strong.” The poor boy kept on repeating this to himself.

Jackson broke out of his trance when he heard footsteps approaching. He turned around and saw Jaebeom waving goodbye at Yeri. His eyes met with Yeri’s. They exchanged a small smile before Jackson turned back to return his gaze on the sea. A few seconds later, he felt JB sitting next to him while wrapping his arms around the younger man’s shoulder. “So, ready to tell me everything?” Jackson froze. He let out a small sigh. He gathered up his courage and turned his head to look at his hyung.

This time, it was Jaebeom’s turn to freeze. Jackson looks different. The Jackson beside him lost weight and dark circles covered his eyes. His lips are pale, and his complexion looks sickly. His eyes. Especially his eyes. Jackson’s eyes lost the warmth and brightness that they used to have. The eyes that JB have grown to love because they can always see through him. One look at Jackson’s eyes and he can have the courage to pursue his own color. His eyes gave JB the assurance that atleast one person in the world knows the real him. He unconsciously caressed Jackson’s cheeks. “Jackson. Please tell me everything.” It sounded more as a sorrowful plea than a demand.

A thousand years started to play in Jackson’s song.

Heart beats fast. Colors and promises. How to be brave? How can I love when I’m afraid to fall? But watching you stand alone; all of my doubts suddenly goes away somehow. One step closer.

“Hyung” Jackson let out a bitter laugh. He once again looked straight at JB’s eyes. With lips trembling, he started to pour out his heart out. “I’m sorry if it’s a little too late to say this. I have loved you since we were paired in our Song Writing class. My admiration for you turned into something more intimate. Honestly, I tried everything to erase my feelings for you. I don’t want my petty feeling to destroy what we have. I know it is selfish, but I want to see you smiling all the time. Even if those smiles are not for me anymore. Even if I am no longer by your side.” Jackson stopped. He closed his eyes as he gathered his remaining courage to tell JB that he might be leaving. Permanently.  “I have cancer. My operation in two days cannot guarantee my survival.”

I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling don’t be afraid. I have loved you for a thousand years. I loved you for a thousand more.

The sea breeze blows colder. Jackson opened his eyes slowly, afraid to see the reaction on his hyung’s face. A small tear silently ran down Jaebum’s face. JB was not able to hold in his sadness. He’s in shock. The feeling of anguish and betrayal burst out of him. He doesn’t know how to react at all. How would a normal person respond to the love confession of his bestfriend and the fact that he might be die soon? Yes, he felt betrayed. How can Jackson hide this from him? Did he not trust JB? He would easily choose Jackson more than the summer camp. More than everything that happened in the summer camp. He would let it all go in exchange of being with Jackson when he needed JB the most. Jaebum’s body betrayed him. Tears continuously to flow down his face with his mouth agape. If he would have only known earlier…

Time stands still. Beauty in all he is. I will be brave. I will not let anything take away what standing in front of me. Every breathe, every hour has come to this. One step closer.

Jaebum pulled Jackson into a tight hug. “I don’t know the reason why you are just telling me all of these important things a bit too late.” He stammered. “I’m sorry hyung”, Jackson choked unable to stop himself from crying. He’s always vulnerable infront of Jaebum. “This time, please allow me to stay by your side. I’ll forgive you with this.” Jaebum broke the hug and cupped Jackson’s face with his hands. Jackson nodded continuously like a scolded puppy. “Promise me you’ll not leave me. After everything is over, I’ll give you a proper reply to your confession.” He helped Jackson stand up and tried to wipe the tears off the younger boy’s face. “Stop crying now, Jack Jack. Mama Wang might think that I made you cry.” JB teased. He grabbed Jackson’s shoulder so that they are walking side by side. After they had one last look at the beach where they usually hang out, they both headed to the Wang’s residence.

----------------

           After a week.

           A young man in a suit can be seen standing in the beach for God knows how long. He looks to be in deep thought as if remembering something or someone precious. He is holding a bouquet of white roses. He smiled when he heard someone approaching.

           “Im Jaebum!”

[katealexandra26]

A Matter of Choice (1/1)

Summary: Princess Emma is seeking answers. Captain Killian Jones is seeking revenge. Their paths converge in front of the Great Gate of Danann. Reluctantly, Emma chooses to place her trust in him and work together. But Killian seems to be stuck in the past and Emma is terrified of the future. Both must face the consequences of their choices and live with them for the rest of their lives. And for the Fae, that’s a very, very long time indeed. 

Rating: Explicit 

Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, potential dubious consent between a married couple, brief mentions of past abusive relationship, graphic violence, major character death, revenge, and murder

Word Count: 14,925

Also on: ao3 | ff.net

Author’s Note: Here is my contribution to the 2018 Captain Swan Little Bang. This is the single longest completed story that I’ve ever written and I am so happy it’s finally time to post this. 

So I decided to scrap my original idea 1 week before the final deadline and go with a different Fae story. I wrote over 15,000 words in 7 days (before it was trimmed down to the current version). I got to tell the story I wanted and still managed to include references to Star Wars, Game of Thrones, JM Barrie’s original Peter Pan play and a few others (if you find them, drop by my ask box to fangirl if you want). A HUGE thank you to @jarienn972, @cocohook38 and @forestiyari for dealing with my indecisiveness and last minute changes.

@jarienn972 : You helped me hone my writing to tell a better story and I appreciate your work more than words can express. Thank you for also being a friendly ear when I ran into roadblocks not just with writing but life and encouraging me to make the right decisions for my story.

@cocohook38 : Your work for my story is so incredible. I have never had someone do original artwork for a story of mine and it was humbling. Merci beaucoup, mon ami.

@forestiyari : Both you and @cocohook38 being in different time zones was hard to manage but you were so patient with me and stayed up well past a normal hour for your time zone, all to complete your lovely, ethereal cover art that I’ve attached to this post. Thank you so much for being so accommodating and working with me to find the right way to introduce my story. 

And finally to @ohmakemeahercules : Thank you for being my friend, cheerleader and back up beta reader through this whole process. I am truly glad we encouraged each other to do this project. Everyone else you MUST check out Kristen’s story here and my art for it here and here.

And without further ado…

Princess Emma of Misthaven was never permitted beyond the bounds of her parents’ kingdom; she had known this since she could remember. Her rational mind kept screaming at her that she shouldn’t have chosen tonight, All Hallow’s Eve, of all nights to test those bounds as an ominous feeling settled itself in the pit of her stomach. Emma shoved the thought down and argued that tonight was the perfect night as it was the full moon. Between the two converging events, Emma’s magic would be powerful enough for what she wished to accomplish.

The prospect of dangers she may very well encounter, especially from her step-grandmother, had been something she had considered, but she wouldn’t let fear rule her. Bravery wasn’t the problem. Despite not permitting her outside of their kingdom, there wasn’t much King David and Queen Snow forbade her as she had grown. She mastered the art of war with Sir Lancelot, learned from her Aunt Ruby how to track with all of her senses, and her parents’ Master of the Hunt, Sir Graham, taught her there was more to hunting than taking the life of her prey. Her curiosity was just too much to contain, but the day that her magic bloomed, she ran to her mother in alarm.

“Mother! Mother!” Emma shouted as she ran through the halls of the palace, ignoring the stares of the staff as she ran with unladylike haste.

“Slow down, Princess Emma! You don’t wish to fall and miss your birthday ball.” her tutor urged as she approached the library annex her teacher inhabited.

Emma slowed down and watched her teacher as he leaned against the door, pulling his long white beard between his thumb and forefinger as he so often did when Emma’s behavior was less regal than it ought to have been. Though the man’s wrinkled, time wizened faced held a degree of mirth and conspiracy as he observed her disheveled state, Emma smoothed her skirts back down and stood tall facing her elder.

“What has you in such a rush, my dear girl?” Magnus asked, ushering his pupil to his study.

“Master Magnus, I have discovered something puzzling” Emma answered. Her teacher stared at her, waiting for her to reveal the discovery that had sent her running through the castle.

Rather than explaining with words, Emma grabbed a candle holder from the long wooden table in the center of the workroom. She used her left hand to steady it on her right palm. Then her left hand fell away, leaving the candle holder perfectly centered. She studied the wick, focused on the task she wished to accomplish. She imagined a bright orange flame at the end of the candle. She closed her eyes and breathed out.

The gasp of her teacher informed her she must have met her goal. She opened her eyes to find that every candle in the workroom was alight. Emma smiled with pure glee and the candle holder in her palm began to float inches above it. Emma expected to see a similar reaction from her teacher, but rather than joy or even pride, Emma saw concern etched in every pore on his face.

His hand came up he waved gently, extinguishing the excess flames not lit prior to her entry into the room. Emma sighed, unsure of her tutor’s change in demeanor.

“You must be careful, my dear princess. Magic can be dangerous. It is said by some that all magic comes at a price but your magic is a gift of light, of love. However, you must learn control, because to lose control could be dangerous,” Magnus warned, eyes softening as Emma’s filled with tears.

“Why do I have such magic? I don’t want to be different, I didn’t ask for this,” Emma wailed, hugging around the old man’s waist. Her teacher was one of the kindest people she knew and Emma liked to think that he cared for her, not just as a master may for a pupil, but as a grandfather loved his grandchild.

Magnus knelt down in front of her, titling her chin up to meet his blue-grey eyes. “Do not fear. Mastery of magic is a skill that one can learn, just as you’ve learned to hunt, ride or shoot a bow. I can teach you, but the answers you seek should come from your lady mother. Dry your eyes, my child,” Magnus advised, conjuring a handkerchief, handing it to the young princess. “Now, let me take you to the Queen and see if she can provide the answers you seek.”

Emma smiled at the memory, wondering how her dear teacher would judge her current journey. After Emma had shared her discovery with her tutor all those years ago, he had led her to her mother’s study and her mother revealed that Emma was half-Fae, as Snow herself had been born in the land of the Fae and had been banished from that land by her horrid stepmother long ago. Snow herself rarely used her magic anymore, explaining to her daughter that the last notable time was the day she took David, then Prince of the Realm and heir of King George, as her husband. As they sealed the bonds of matrimony, Snow shared half of her heart with David, granting him her immortality. Snow explained that along with her magic, the moment Emma reached the age of twenty-five, she would cease to age, as Snow had once done.

At thirteen, the idea didn’t make much of an impact on how she lived her daily life or imagined her future, other than beginning a new course of instruction with Master Magnus. At eight days passed twenty-five, part of Emma was horrified at the thought that she would outlive most of the people she loved whom were not of her blood. It wasn’t even a choice she had. She would live forever and while she loved her parents and her younger brother Leo, it felt as though she had been robbed of something.

It was her intention to journey to her mother’s homeland and find answers about her immortality, perhaps even a way to end it if she so chose.  It wasn’t that she wished to, but Emma had come to feel over the last few years that perhaps the purpose of living was knowing someday it would end. Her mother had shared her immortality with her husband and Emma knew that it was perhaps possible for her to do the same if she fell in love with a mortal. Though given she was merely half-Fae, her mother had no definitive answer as to how the ritual bond might work with her.

Guilt plagued her for deceiving her parents, her brother, for not disclosing her plans to a single soul, but her mother couldn’t help her and Misthaven had no records of Fae. Master Magnus once jokingly whispered this was likely because the Fae guarded information, real information about themselves and would often cull the libraries of men to keep those secrets as such. As much as Master Magnus had been a wealth of knowledge about magic, he also couldn’t give her the answers she sought.

As Emma urged her black horse through the dark woods, she was afraid. Not of the forest. She knew every inch of this forest like she did the back of her own hand. No, Emma feared what she would find or worse, that her journey would all be for naught. The trees overhead were thickly bound together, almost curled in an arch over the Kingsroad so that the moonlight barely illuminated the part of the path she traveled.

The howling of wolves distracted her as she rode, likely her Aunt Ruby’s pack out for their monthly hunt, drawing her focus away from her path before she gave the animal its head. Ruby was born of a long line of werewolves but she was Snow’s closest and oldest friend, which was saying something when one considered that Snow herself was at least two hundred years old. The magic of Ruby’s gift, or curse as many others would call it, gave a similar extended life to werewolves, given they continued to embrace their inner wolves and shifted regularly. Emma could feel the magic in the air tighten around her as the wolves ran close to her position.

Emma used a mild spell to hide her scent from the pack so that the harsh wind whooshing eerily through the trees, and any creatures of the wood observing her racing her steed through the night could not carry trace of her back to any who may seek to find her. Her senses tingled once again as she drew her horse off a new and unfamiliar path, the magic growing stronger the closer she got to her destination. Emma reigned in her horse and dismounted with a grace that only years on the back of the majestic animal could teach.

Emma led the horse on foot towards the source of the magic, her body tensing as she heard voices near her.

“Down, Arion,” Emma whispered to her horse, watching as he knelt down on the ground and laid lower than the hedgerow in front of them.

Emma saw an ancient and gnarled tree in an opening of the forest, just beyond where she hid. There appeared to be a locked gate just to the left of the deformed tree. To most it would appear the gate led to nowhere in particular, just an overgrown garden of someone’s long abandoned home. Emma knew better than that. She trusted the gut instinct that led her here. The rusted metal gate was her passageway into the Fae realm.

The voices she heard minutes before suddenly had forms to go with them. A man in a long, black leather duster entered the clearing. Emma could not make out his face. His hair was short and blacker than the leather he wore. She could make out little else about him.

“Smee, where in the seven hells is that powder?” a smooth, lilting voice called out.

Emma observed as a short, fat man rushed from the other side of the clearing. He was red-faced and huffing as he stopped before the other man.

“Here, Captain, here it is,” the man, Smee, bowed, offering a small blue pouch to the Captain. He backed away, pulling a red cap from his head. Smee clutched the cap desperately, his hands wringing it nervously as he backed away from the Captain just a little further.

The Captain marched up to the rusted metal gate, purpose in each stride. Reaching the gate, he sprinkled the contents of the blue pouch onto the ground. He held up his hand towards the gate and began muttering something in a vaguely familiar language. It was Dark Elvish! It was a spell she had not heard before but she could hazard a guess as to its purpose, tonight of all nights. The Captain clearly had the same idea as she. After several minutes, he was no longer speaking, but Emma still felt the presence of magic. Only nothing happened and Emma wondered why. The spell should have worked, if the caster had a proper grasp on the magic being used.

Curses emanated from the man, some in languages Emma understood and others that were foreign to her ears.

“Gods damn that woman!” the Captain cursed, whipping around to face the hedgerow where Emma was concealed. At first Emma feared that the man meant her but she was confident she had not been discovered yet.

Emma took the opportunity with the man facing towards her to study his face. The Captain, as the other had called him, was one of the most handsome men Emma had ever laid eyes upon. The dark locks covering his head were barely swept back off his brow. Raven hair peppered with auburn made up the beard and mustache that covered the lower half of his face. He wore a blood red doublet, that showed off more of the sinful hair that covered the rest of him. Emma shook her head and looked back up towards his face. His hand came up to tuck some wayward hair behind his left ear.

Emma gasped as she saw what she had missed in her perusal. Her right hand flew to cover her mouth and her left ran gently over her own slightly pointed ears. This man was half-Fae. Of course he was! It explained why he was in the middle of nowhere trying to open a gate that only those of Fae or magical descent could open. Lost in thought, she failed to take note of four men behind her, two whom had already secured Arion. The other two grabbed her, hauling her up, unfazed by her kicking and screaming in effort to escape. Emma forced her panic away as her hands were bound and her magic wouldn’t respond to her call. The men dragged her into the clearing to face their Captain.

Emma swallowed hard, channelling every bit of royal training into this moment. She might be captive but she wouldn’t be for long and she needed to be prepared for that opportunity.

“Well, what do we have here?” the Captain grinned, closing the distance between them in two quick steps. Emma didn’t answer, merely watching as the man looked her over. She was wearing a sapphire blue tunic vest, soft cotton blouse, (one that showed more cleavage than her mother would approve of) dark blue breeches and knee high riding boots. Her black cape skimmed the ground and the hood no longer hid her blonde tresses from view.

“Where are my manners,” he smiled, executing a courtly bow. “Captain Killian Jones, at your service,” Captain Jones provided as he resumed his former position. “What is your name, love?”

Emma thought about lying but something in her told her this man would know a lie from the truth. “Emma,” she said simply, not lying but refusing to expound upon her answer.

“What are you doing in the middle of the woods on such a night, Emma?” Captain Jones demanded.

Emma didn’t know how to answer without lying because telling the truth would give this man a reason to hold her prisoner, perhaps even longer than he intended. One of the two men flanking her, shook her violently when she failed to reply. Her hair, which had been braided loosely with several strands carefully arranged over her ears to prevent anyone from noticing the slight difference between hers and a human’s, fell free of its bonds when the Captain’s minion shook her. Hair tumbled down, obscuring her field of vision and tickling her nose while she tried to shake her head so that her hair was no longer in her face.

A pair of rough hands parted her hair in front of her nose, fingertips skimming gently over her forehead and carefully tucked her hair behind her ears as he had done with his own not so long before. His right hand stopped as it passed over her left ear. His eyes found hers. Emma tried to suppress the shiver that tore through her, failing miserably as his hand caressed her left ear, his left hand repeating the process on her other ear, thumbs lingering on her earlobe. The gesture was a deeply intimate one, creating a feeling Emma had never experienced before. Her eyes locked on his cerulean blue ones, she could see a million thoughts flash through them before he settled on one. Triumph.

“Well, Emma, I think there is a lot more to your story than meets the eye,” Captain Jones purred, his face mere inches in front of her own. Emma still hadn’t broken eye contact.

Just then Arion neighed loudly and reared back from those that tried to hold him against his will and the Captain turned to see what was going on.

The men holding her hesitated and she felt whatever was blocking her magic fade. She pulled free and spun around, waving her hand at the minions holding her, sending them catapulting through the air. She didn’t watch to see where they fell.

“Arion!” she shouted, calling her horse to her. Arion was almost to her when Captain shouted several Elven words that brought the animal to a halt next to the vile man. Emma’s sword was still in its scabbard, tied to Arion’s saddle and she had been relieved of her dagger when captured.

“Fuck,” Emma cursed. She had no weapon to defend herself; if she aimed a magical attack at the Captain, she had no doubt he could easily counter it. Or worse, she or he could accidentally hurt her beloved Arion in their struggle. She was plotting various outcomes as his voice broke through her inner thoughts.

“Princess Emma, you want the answers you came for? I have a proposition for you,” Captain Jones offered, walking Arion towards her.

“How did you know that I was the princess?” Emma deflected.

“A number of small details that, when added up, gave a pretty clear picture of who you were.”

Emma glared at him and he seemed to understand what the look said. “Firstly, your name is Emma.” Emma scoffed at him but he continued. “Secondly, your ears are those of the half-Fae, courtesy of your mother,” he explained. “Thirdly, your horse, Arion? There are many tales of the beautiful Princess and her faithful steed Arion who are frequently seen together riding the length and breadth of these woods.”

Emma wanted to knock the smug, self-satisfied smirk off his handsome face. “What is it you are proposing?” Emma grimaced at the choice of word.

“Regina, the Queen who rules over much of the Realm of the Fae, has barred me passage back, spiteful bitch that she is. I believe she did the same to your mother, Snow White,” Captain Jones spat. “Anyway, to get in, I need someone who is not barred from opening the portal and accompanying me through. Once you’re done, on my honor as a gentleman, I vow to set you free to find whatever you came here to find.”

“Your word as a gentleman?” Emma huffed angrily. “I’m supposed to believe the man who held me against my will and somehow bound my magic? You must be insane!”

“I am always a gentleman, love. I apologize that my men were rough with you, that was not my intention when I advised them to capture you. And I resent being called insane!”

“What else should I call a man such as you?” Emma growled as he invaded her personal space once more.

He stuck his tongue out and ran it lavisciously over lips, a frustratingly arrogant and obscene gesture in Emma’s mind. “Oh, love, I can think of many things you can call me,” he drawled. “But perhaps not in the middle of an open field littered with so many of my unconscious crewmen.”

Emma gasped at the outright nerve of the man. Suggesting she let him take her to bed. Emma had never done such a thing. “If I should take a lover, it’d never be you,” Emma vowed.

“Never is an awfully long time, darling. So what do you say? Open this portal and we can be on our way. The sooner we leave, the sooner you’ll be rid of me,” he said before looking up. “This full moon won’t last forever and I would prefer not to have to do this all again in a month. I have revenge I’d like to seek.”

“You want me to let you through this portal to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world? What kind of woman do you take me for?” Emma asked.

“There is a warlock by the name of Rumpelstiltskin who sought sanctuary there and I intend to kill him for once and for all. Nothing and no one will stop me,” the man clarified, glaring at her harshly.

“Why do you hunt this man?” Emma asked, frustration seeping into her bones that she even had to ask the question.

“He is more monster than man. He took someone from me, someone I loved very much and I have hunted him for centuries. Now that I know how to kill an immortal creature, I will finally put an end to the Dark One!” Captain Jones vowed, looking her in the eyes. The determination Emma found in his blue eyes frightened her.

“As long as you promise not to harm anyone but the man you seek, I will aid you,” Emma promised, extending her hand to the man in front of her.

“Unless I am attacked first, I promise not to harm any innocent souls on our quest,” Captain Jones said, grasping her hand and shaking it once. Emma felt a warmth spreading through her gloved hand and traveling through her. A glance toward the Captain revealed him appraising her with curiosity in his own gaze.

“Enough of that, Captain Jones. Let’s open this portal and be on our way,” Emma grumbled, withdrawing her hand from his for fear it might burn if she didn’t retract it.

“Enough of ‘Captain Jones’. My name is Killian. If we’re going to be companions, you might as well use my name,” he smirked, eyebrow arching in challenge.

“I think not, Captain Jones. Now, let’s get to work. Send your men back to where they came from.” He waved his hand, unconscious men disappearing in a puff of red smoke, and then turned to her once more.

Emma retrieved the scroll she had packed into the saddle bag before she had left and removed her gloves, tucking them into the saddle bag. She had to feel in order to properly perform the spell to remove the enchantment long enough for them to pass through.

As she approached the gate, her right hand reached out to feel the barrier the portal had protecting it. Emma pushed back against the cold she found on the edge of the gate’s barrier, her steps bringing her closer to the gate. Emma rested her hand on it, ignoring the feeling that she should turn around and walk away, expecting there may be some sort of spell here designed to keep humans away. Emma eyes fell closed as she focused. She had spent twelve years honing her magic and she was more in touch with her Fae half at the moment. A rich, post-rain earthy smell with a faint hint of cinnamon reached her nostrils as her left hand rested on the rusted metal. It encouraged her as she dug into the power of the barrier.

Emma’s mouth opened, speaking the carefully constructed spell to open the gate.

“Stop!” she heard from somewhere behind her, but she couldn’t stop now. Her power was so alive, she could feel the magic of the barrier loosen. The power started to wrap itself around her. Emma encouraged it until she was struggling to take in a single breath of air. She tried to fight the feeling, tried to disentangle herself but it was too late.

Warm fingers trailed against her right hand and threaded themselves into hers. The smell of salt, sea and seaweed melded with the earthy smell from before, completely enveloping her as the constriction on her chest lessened and air flowed easily into her body. A thought reached her mind, Repeat after me. Emma focused on the words the voice fed to her, not saying them outloud but focusing her feelings on the meaning of the words, willing them to be reality.

A burst of wind washed over her as she felt the barrier break. The hand grasping hers didn’t let go when the way before them was free to be travelled. Emma turned to face the owner of the hand, Killian Jones. Logically, she knew it was him, but she was surprised he had saved her and was still in a state of shock from the way the portal had defended itself - nay, brutally attacked her for seeking entry.

“I am sor-,” Emma started before he cut her off. “No, don’t say it. It is I who should be sorry. I fear that my attempt to probe the gate previously, must have  triggered a curse built in for encountering my magic. It retaliated on the next attempt to open it.”

“I realized what was happening as you cast your attempt. I felt Rumplestiltskin’s magic all over it. He must have placed this here in case I sought entry. It must be why Regina, your grandmother, accepted him. We don’t have a pleasant history and she probably wanted me dead too,” Killian explained, a bit sheepishly, looking remorseful he was the reason she had almost died.

Emma almost missed that she began referring to the Captain by his first name in her head. After what she felt, his mind against hers during the spell, she simply didn’t want to bother with such formalities any further. It didn’t feel right.

Arion felt uneasy next to her, she turned, muttered softly to him. “It’s alright boy. There is nothing to fear. The danger is gone. You should be able to pass through the portal with me.”

Arion neighed nervously and shook his head, gaze turning towards the scoundrel with whom she had made a compact. Emma shook her head at Arion’s description of the man.

“I promise not to hurt your mistress, Arion. On my life, I promise to keep her safe.”

Emma had hoped he wouldn’t know the ancient Gaelic tongue that she had used with Arion since he was a colt. Given the brief mention of centuries chasing the same foe, Emma guessed he might even have been alive when the language was more commonly spoken. Emma tried to shake the unsettling feeling that arose at his promise. He was a stranger who’d held her briefly against her will and manipulated her into helping him. Why would he make such a promise?

“Shall we go?” Killian asked, having retrieved his own horse. Emma shook herself and swung into the saddle on Arion’s back.

The gate now opened with a gentle wave of her hand and they passed through into a forest that appeared the same as they had left behind except that magic pulsed through every tree, branch, leaf and root. The rusted gate slammed shut with a loud bang. An ominous feeling lingered in the back of her mind. Did she really have any idea what she was getting into? It was too late to turn back.

Killian watched the princess carefully as they trotted at a slow pace down the trail. Her power was unlike anything he had encountered in his nearly six hundred years. Guilt nagged at him that his reckless attempt to open the barrier had unleashed a counterspell meant to kill him. He had no idea what possessed him to grab her hand other than pure instinct. The instant he touched her hand, he felt her power, willfully ignoring the part of his mind that coveted that power for himself. He pushed away those thoughts, knowing if he was going to get into Danann he needed to focus towards helping the young princess break the counterspell since she had successfully broken the initial barrier.

It had been more than seventy years since he had been back to Danann. This was not the world he remembered. It was dark, no creatures or people visible as the road from the gate merged with the main road. Even at night, this place used to be more alive. A once busy thoroughfare was reduced to an overgrown dirt path. This had Rumplestiltskin’s dirty fingerprints all over it.

Anger flared deep within his soul, bound with satisfaction that the damnable warlock would soon meet his end. Killian didn’t even care that the cost may very well be his own life. Half life that it was since Milah had died. The day echoed in his mind as clear now as the day itself.

“Okay, lads. One night here in this port and we’ll be on our way with the morning high tide. Any man who misses the departure will no longer have pleasure of serving on this crew,” Killian sneered, looking around at the men on deck. “See the purser for your share of the haul.”

With that Killian departed and made his way down to his cabin. Milah was sitting at his desk, dark hair a mess around her face as she stared at the drawing in front of her, completely lost in her regret. Her face was covered in tears and she was only half dressed, wearing her leather pants, heeled boots and a white blouse. Her favorite corseted-vest lay discarded on the floor despite her knowing how much he valued clean and tidy living quarters.

Killian knelt on the floorboards next to his lover. He could see the gray which now peppered her raven locks as he pushed her hair out her face.

“I know he wouldn’t look this way, but it’s the only comfort I have. He’d be twenty now,” Milah sobbed, turning to Killian. He gathered her into his arms and coaxed her to let go of her pain.

About eight years after he and Milah had run away from the little port town at which they were now docked, they’d received word that Milah’s son, Baelfire had died.The circumstances were still a mystery even years later. The one detail they had discovered was that her husband, Rumpelstiltskin, had acquired some kind of magic and had been terrorizing the local villagers in sadistic revenge on them for having always called him a coward. Baelfire got caught in the crossfire of the conflict and had been found dead. Townsfolk whispered that it had been Rumplestiltskin himself that had accidentally dealt the death blow to his own son.

Milah’s grief had been untamed, much like the woman herself, and in the early days after he used magic to help heal her which led him to finally tell her of his own heritage. The lasting gift that his mother had given him. His mother, after giving birth to Killian, decided that she want to bind herself to his father, Brennan Jones. For a Fae, it was an enormous commitment to bind their heart to a mortal, to share eternity with them. Ailsa had been certain Brennan was worthy of this honor but to her horror, during the binding ceremony, Ailsa split her heart and Brennan proved untrue. Ailsa died before completing the ceremony.

Milah had wanted it of him then, wanted him to bind himself to her, and Killian had felt guilty that he could not do it. Milah, though she was his in his heart, had bound herself in marriage to Rumpelstiltskin and nothing but death could break that bond. Over time, Milah had accepted what they were able to share, his wife in all but name, and she eventually began to heal from the pain the death of her son had reaped from her heart.

It took years, but Killian had convinced her that since her husband had moved on from their former home, she could finally pay her respects to her son’s final resting place. When the day was upon them, Killian felt regret surge up, his magic screaming at him to weigh anchor and leave. Killian ignored the instinct.

“Milah, we have made port. Just get dressed and we will go seek what we came here for and then we can go to the tavern and get as drunk as you’d like. Can you do that, my love?” Killian asked, tender care for her emotional state at the forefront of his mind.

She compiled without the utterance of a single word. Killian hated seeing his fiery sea goddess so diminished and defeated by ghosts of the past. When they reached the quarterdeck, most of the men had received their pay and departed for the local taverns, brothels and gaming houses. Only the second mate, Smee (a half-Fae as well), their gunner Kincaid, and ship’s doctor, Whale, still sat on the deck and as consequence, no one was guarding the gangplank to the dock. A man, extravagantly dressed in a fine blue silk doublet and brown suede breeches, knee high stockings, paired with jewel-bedecked heeled shoes, now stood on the deck of his ship without invitation. Kincaid made a move to draw his sword and the stranger waved his hand and the blade flew to his outstretched fingers.

The gasp Milah let out and the shaking fear he felt radiating off of her told him immediately who this man was. This was her husband, Rumplestiltskin. The man whose abuse pushed her into Killian’s arms. He was older than Killian had imagined, with long gray hair that hung just above his shoulders and a bit of a bulging belly that showed he was well beyond his prime. Killian surged with anger at this man who had tormented Milah for many years. A woman who had the misfortune to have been sold by her noble father to a man who made his fortune selling weapons to people on both sides of a conflict. The man who had taken advantage of a young girl’s misplaced affection and asserted his martial rights even when she would have preferred anything other than her husband rutting harshly into her, without thought for her pleasure, until he was spent and she was pregnant.

Killian could feel the sparks of his anger translate into the sparking of his magic.

The other man looked directly at him in that moment. “Tsk, tsk, wouldn’t want to start something you can’t win, now would we, Captain?” Rumpelstiltskin cautioned, wagging his pointer finger reproachingly.

“Rumple, why are you here? I simply came to pay my respects to our son. Please just let me visit his grave and we’ll be on our way,” Milah begged, eyes red again from unshed tears.

“You were no mother to our boy when he lived, I’ll be damned if you get to pretend that you were mother to him after he is gone,” Rumple raged, face turning a pale, shimmering blue.

“I knew if I left, you’d wish good riddance upon me but if I dared to steal your heir, then you’d follow me to the ends of the Earth to get him back. No matter how awful you were to me, I knew you loved Bae,” Milah sobbed.

“YOU DO NOT GET TO SAY HIS NAME, YOU FILTHY WHORE!” Rumplestiltskin roared, appearing in front of her with inhuman speed. His hand was on her chest - nay! - within her chest and with a sharp tug, the monster pulled her heart, enchanted by the magic he had used to remove it from its home. Killian had only ever heard of this magic. He had never, despite the evils he had done in his lifetime, used magic against another in such a purely despicable way.

Killian’s hand flinched as he watched the other man squeeze Milah’s heart ever so slightly. Milah fell to her knees on the hard wooden deck, howling in pain.

“If you move, pirate, I’ll crush her heart,” the warlock threatened, squeezing again until Milah screamed louder and several tiny cracks appeared on the surface of her heart.

Killian paused, uncertain what to do. The man before him seemed to sense when he was using magic and there was no way in such close quarters that the man wouldn’t notice Killian unsheathing his sword. Killian reached out to his ship, his beloved Jewel of the Realm, once Liam’s ship and then Killian’s after his half-brother’s tragic death. The Jewel had always had a magical quality to her and had often responded to his magic calling for help. He cloaked his effort and slowly, one of the rigging lines crept towards Rumplestiltskin. Just as the line was about to ensnare him, the warlock turned and directed the rope around Killian so tightly he could barely breathe. Rumple ordered Milah to her feet and with no choice but to comply, she rose. The man dragged Killian through the air until he was just inches from Milah’s face.

“Now, pirate, I want you to look into the eyes of the person you love most in this world. Tell her how much she means to you,” his tormentor ordered. “Now!” he screeched when Killian didn’t comply immediately.

Milah spoke first. “Killian, I love you. Thank you for the adventure of my life. I will always be with you. Never forget me. I don’t regret loving you,” she lamented, pressing her lips to his for what she knew was their final kiss.

“I love you, Milah. I promise that no matter how long I live, I could never forget you,” he pledged, wishing he could run his hand along her cheek.

“Ah, how sweet. True love,” Rumple crooned. “But love never lasts,” he cackled, crushing her heart. Milah crumpled to the deck, light gone from her eyes.

In his glee, the monster let his spell slip and Killian broke free of his binds. Killian drew his sword and ran the monster through. Instead of dying, the monster laughed as Killian stumbled back. Rumpelstiltskin drew the sword from his torso and swung it around to chop off Killian’s hand. The sword sliced clean through but Killian picked up the severed hand, held it up to the bleeding stump at the end of his arm and reattached it with his magic. It still pulsed from the repair but his magic was working on the inside to knit sinew and bone back together.

“Not easy to kill, are you pirate? Well, neither am I,” Rumpelstiltskin laughed, dropping the bloodied sword to the deck.

“I will find a way to kill you, know matter how long it takes,” Killian swore, venom surfacing in his magic in ways he had never experienced.

“Good luck living long enough to try,” the monster hissed, disappearing in a cloud of smoke.

“Captain Jones?” a sweet voice jostled him out of the memories.

“Aye, lass?” he replied, uncertain how long he had been unfocused. Taking stock of their position on road, he had zoned out for a very long time - if the setting sun was any indication, he’d lost more than sixteen hours. He was grateful that even with his mind unfocused, he managed to keep them on the right path toward civilization. Killian turned to his companion to see she was slumped over slightly and looked like it was taking every ounce of her strength to keep her seat.

He really should have accounted for how much strength - magic - she had exhausted.

“There’s a tavern a short distance up the road,” Killian supplied. He grabbed her reins and drew her steed to his. Tying them around his wrist he turned to her. “Get some rest. Between, Arion and I, you shall arrive safely.”

She blinked at him suspiciously, clearing not trusting him as she adjusted herself so she sat ramrod straight in her saddle. She turned and nodded for him to lead the way. She was headstrong, this princess. She reminded him of Milah in many ways. But just like the differences of their hair color, he suspected the two women were as diverse as night and day.

Night was fully upon them before they reached the inn. He guided them to the stable and hopped to the ground. He gathered his things from his horse and turned to find the princess still sitting perfectly straight in her seat. He walked around to the side of her horse that wasn’t tied to his.

“Princess, you need to come down now. We’ve reached our destination,” he implored gently. She seemed to rouse herself from whatever trance she was in and tried to dismount. Unlike the grace she had shown earlier, she couldn’t seem to summon the will to come down.

Killian placed his hands on her waist and lifted her down. He suppressed a groan as she slid down along his body. The second he had her on the ground, he realized she had cast a spell to keep herself upright but now she was dead asleep. He was going to have to wake her because, unless the inn before them had changed hands, Tiana would not appreciate him hauling an unconscious woman inside and demanding a room. Killian deposited the sleeping princess on a bale of hay outside the stall, waiting for a moment as she slumped over against the wall. Certain that she wouldn’t fall and injure herself, Killian removed her saddle bag and placed it near her feet and brushed down both of the horses. He started with Emma’s Arion and then his own gray, Kelan.

“Where are we?” the princess asked groggily, scrubbing her hands over her face in an effort to wake herself.

“At an inn,” Killian replied, turning back to his task. He could feel her surprise.

“I’m surprised a man such as you would take the time do such a simple task,” Emma scoffed, rubbing Arion’s ears, conjuring an apple to her palm for her valiant steed. The horse snapped up the treat with enthusiasm.

“Don’t judge a man by appearances. You don’t know me, love,” Killian chided, turning to look her in the eyes.

“I’m not,” she said defensively. “I’m judging a man who had me held against my will, manipulated me and almost got me killed. But you did also make sure that I didn’t die back there, so for that, at least, I thank you,” Emma conceded.

“Well, perhaps there is more to me than meets the eyes,” Killian smirked, arching his eyebrows in challenge. The princess blushed and looked away and he had to wonder what exactly prompted that reaction. “Now let’s go see about a room for the night. I know the innkeeper,” Killian remarked, picking up their bags and letting her walk before him.

Just as before she reached to open the door, Killian rushed in front of her and halted her progress. “Before we enter, I just wanted to ask that you let me do the talking. And whatever you do, don’t stare,” he cautioned.

“At what?” she asked indignantly, as though a he should expect a princess would have better manners than to stare.

“Any of it,” Killian grimaced, just wondering what kind of creatures they were about to encounter, grabbing the latch and pulling it open.

The music inside the tavern was loudy and heady, there was a siren on stage. The taproom was dirty and dark, half dressed faires bustling from table to table keeping the alcohol flowing. This certainly wasn’t the place he remembered.

At the table closest the door sat two disgustingly ugly goblins, their greenish-black skin glimmering in the low candle light. Their companions were three bridge trolls, dressed in heavy firs with small bugs running across their coats every now and again. Killian took note of several dwarves, gremlins, a singular warlock and two male fairies with black-tipped ears, a sign they were dark magic practitioners.

The energy in the room was murky and ominous. A damp, dank, black magic signature pressed against Killian’s until he felt like gagging. Killian froze as he recognized whose magic this was.

“Killian Jones?” a tall, slender dark-skinned man inquired, slithering from the back room of the tavern to the bar. “As I live and breathe, I thought Regina banished you.”

“Ah, Shadowman, I thought you knew better than to underestimate me. Regina did exactly that. She failed miserably,” Killian laughed confidently.

“And who is this lovely young woman?” Shadowman cooed, dropping his elbow to the bartop and resting his chin on his palm. Killian watched the wizard assess the young princess with a disturbingly lustful glint in his yellow eyes.

“My wife, Emma,” Killian said, grabbing her hand and squeezing it hard. He could feel her anger radiating through her at his statement and his touch. He gave her a sharp look and she nodded. “We need a room for the night,” Killian said, extracting his hand from Emma’s to summon the needed coin to pay Shadowman. Killian had truly missed how much easier it was to call on his magic here in Danann.

“Just your luck, Jones. I have one left for the evening,” Shadowman said as a key appeared in a puff of green smoke and dropped into Killian’s palm. “Mrs. Jones,” Shadowman said, tipping his hat at her as they left the taproom.

They traipsed up the stairs and found the corresponding room for the key number. Killian let her enter ahead of him again and then followed. He dropped his bags and drew out his dagger, slicing a small cut on his wrist. He pressed his bloodied wrist to the door and sealed the room from any of the shady patrons occupying the taproom. Emma was leaning against the wall, whispering something he couldn’t hear. He felt her seal off the sounds of their room with a silencing spell. No sounds in or out. He was certain the only reason she was able to bind the room was because of the well of magic that this world held.

“Your wife? What in the hell were you thinking?” Emma demanded, shaking angrily.

“I was thinking that Shadowman would have harmed you if I hadn’t claimed you as mine. I was trying to protect you. If you think I’m the villain in this situation, just know that all the horrors I’ve visited on others are NOTHING compared to that man. That collector of souls! Even if I hated you, I would not let you fall into the hands of that man,” Killian huffed, ripping off his duster and throwing it in the opposite direction from her. Something to release the tension he felt.

“I am no man’s, least of all yours!”

“I’m well aware of that, Princess,” Killian sighed, watching the exhausted princess rail against him, despite knowing she just wanted to sleep. She faltered and he stepped to her side and helped her lay down on the bed.

“Just try to get some sleep,” Killian begged, removing her boots with a flick of his wrist. She was staring at him and he wondered how much longer before she reached for the dagger she had tucked into her bosom on the trek.

He chuckled, “I’m not sleeping here, the bed is yours. See,” Killian gestured to the pallet he conjured for himself. “No need to fear for your innocence.”

He laid down and let sleep claim him, thankful he could almost always count on his slumber to arrive on swift wings.

Emma awoke with a scream. She looked around the room for the cause of her fear but found nothing but a scantily clad pirate with towel wrapped low on his hips, apparently having just emerged from the bathtub behind a three-paneled screen with elaborate paintings on each pane. The dark chest hair she had seen before trialed down below the line of the towel. The sound of him clearing his throat caused her to abruptly turn away, she could feel the redness of embarrassment from her chest to cheeks.

“Like what you saw, Princess?” Killian chuckled.

Thoughts pooled in her mind and lower but she voiced none of them. “You shouldn’t call me that,” Emma settled on.

“Princess? I suppose not since I told a whole room full of people that you are my wife,” Killian reminded her.

“I am not,” she huffed again.

“Perhaps, I’ll call you Swan. Given how you kept your seat on your horse with your neck as elongated as possible and with more grace than most could in such a state of exhaustion. What do you think of that, wife?” he said, empathizing the last word just to heckle her.

“I like it I suppose, but I’m not your wife,” Emma chided.

“Very few people will believe that, given you’ve been holed up with me in this room for a week,” Killian said calmly, disappearing behind a screen once more to dress.

“A WEEK?!” her shrill cry surprising even her. How on Earth could a week have gone by?

As if understanding her confusion, he just laughed and she was not pleased. He appeared from the other side of the screen dressed in a white shirt that was open to the middle of his chest and his leather pants, boots still near his pallet on the floor.

“Time passes differently here. A week here is usually close to a day in the realm of your birth,” Killian explained, sitting down in a chair by the table in opposite corner from the bath. He pulled his boots on, watching her closely.

“What have you been doing for all this time? Why didn’t you leave?” Emma asked, unsure why this man did anything, let alone protect her.

“You should bathe and change. I’ve left fresh, hot bathwater and clean towels for you,” he nodded towards the screen, avoiding answering her questions.

Emma had no desire to be naked in a room with a man, let alone one she didn’t exactly trust but her muscles were sore and stiff from disuse. The toll the counterspell had taken on her body was greater than she had anticipated. She slipped behind the screen and disrobed, setting her dagger on the small table by the tub just in case. Instinctively, she knew if he had meant her harm, he could have done it whilst she slept. Instead, she had awoken still fully clothed, save her boots and wholy unmolested. Still, the dagger remained accessible as she prepared to cleanse herself.

A moan escaped her as she sank into the steaming water of the tub. She heard the Captain falter in his steps and the unmistakable sound of his groan just before she submerged her head under the water. Emma relaxed and tried to let her mind go blank. She had dreamt even though she couldn’t remember any of it. Strange thing for her because she always remembered her dreams. Sometimes her dreams were prophetic, though not in large, world changing ways. Her dreams often revealed fragments or details about a future event, most just a small but concrete sense of déjà vu.

Emma sat back up out of the water, frustrated she couldn’t let her mind clear. She tried again, letting go of everything until the only sound she could hear was her own rhythmic breathing. She let her mind drift back into the dream state.

Emma opened her eyes to find she was in the middle of a burned and desolate ruin, that of an unfamiliar castle. She turned to see if anyone was around but found no other souls. She walked through the rubble until she came to a wall that was still standing. In the center of that wall was a heavy oak door with no burn marks like the rest of the structure. Everything in her was telling her not to open the door, but she couldn’t listen to that voice just now.

The door handle jostled as she attempted to open the door and upon her second attempt, it gave way. The room she entered was undamaged like the door had been. There were walls lined with ancient looking tomes, a table of to her right stacked with potions and potion making supplies and in the very center of the room was a giant spinning wheel.

Emma stepped closer to it, curiosity unabated. On the floor below her feet she heard crunching sounds so she knelt down to inspect the source of the noise. ‘It looked like straw’ was the first thought that flashed through her mind. Her finger grasped the thin object and brought it in front of her eyes for closer inspection. It was gold. What a strange thing to find in the midst of her dream. Emma stood, thin gold piece still in hand and found herself face to face with a scaly monster with bright yellow eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for you a long time, Dearie,” the creature hissed, hand reaching out towards her throat.

Emma awoke in the tub, screaming once more. Shuffling on the other side of the screen and the clatter of something being dropped.

“Swan, are you ok?” Killian’s voice croaked from the edge of the screen. She could tell he was trying to be gentlemanly but his concern was unnerving. She wished he would leave.

She exited the tub and cloaked herself in the oversized towel, using another to dry her hair. “I am unharmed, stand down.”

He did as she asked and when she sensed he was away from the screen, she quickly dressed in a clean blouse she had packed, along with a dark blue vest that laced up the front for ease of wear. She donned a pair of soft, brown leather riding pants and pulled on her knee high boots. Clothing secure, she stepped out to face the Captain.

“What did you see?” he demanded, every inch the commanding man she had first seen.

“Nothing,” Emma lied.

“What did you see?” he repeated, blue eyes glaring at her, anger brimming at her dissemblance. “The spell I cast on this room when we entered should have blocked you from harm, but it didn’t,” Killian said, handing her the mirror from the table next to him.

Emma accepted the mirror and held it up. On either side of her neck were purple fingerprint bruises. She set the mirror on the table and slumped into the chair. That had never happened before. Her dreams had never left a physical mark before and it terrified her.

Killian sat across from her and was silent, awaiting her response. Emma sighed and relayed the dream to him. When she was finished, she looked over at him to find he looked pale and uncomfortable.

“You know the man with yellow eyes, don’t you?” Emma asked cautiously. “Yellow eyes are a mark of a warlock of non-magical heritage.”

“Yes, he’s the warlock - demon - I am hunting,” Killian said after several long moments. “Why he’d be after you, I have no idea.”

“Because of what you said in the taproom. When you claimed me as your wife, you marked me. Someone down there told him we were here. So now if he comes, he’ll come for both of us,” Emma predicted, confident in her statement because, strategically at least, it made sense. If she was really his wife, then she would be a weakness to be exploited. A means to get to the man who sat before her.

Emma wanted to be angry, part of her was irate, but she also recalled what Killian said about losing the one he loved to this monster. She couldn’t imagine how she could have recovered from such a thing had she been in his place. She might have even considered a path of revenge herself if this Rumpelstiltskin had done to her as he had done to Killian Jones. She pushed away the thought, cursing her sympathetic heart and her stupidity for getting mixed up with this man.

“All I wanted when I journeyed here was to find answers about my heritage. To learn where I came from and why my magic is different. My mother told me that when I was younger that upon my twenty-fifth birthday that I’d stop aging and I’d never grow older. Never die. I wanted to know, even if I never use it, how an immortal, such as I am, may seek to have finality,” Emma raged, not talking to him in particular but rather at the ether.

“If you help me rid the world of Rumpelstiltskin, I’ll accompany you to the library in your mother’s former home,” Killian promised.

“My mother’s former home is the current home of Regina, my step-grandmother who drove my mother out and banished her from this realm. I doubt she’ll just let us waltz in and use her library,” Emma scoffed.

“She’s in league with Rumpelstiltskin so I imagine we will have to face her as well,” Killian pointed out.

“So we’d be taking on the evil warlock who killed your love and the evil queen who tormented my mother and murdered my grandfather?” Emma asked, feeling the need to make sure they were on the same page as far as the level of insanity for this venture.

“That’s the sum of it, yeah,” Killian agreed, having the decency to look her in the eye as he confirmed her assessment.

“I suppose given that if I say no, I’d still be walking into a quarrel I never asked for, I don’t have much of a choice,” Emma conceded, ceasing her pacing and siting once more on the soft mattress of the bed.

“You’ll find, the older you get, that there is always a choice. Whether or not you like the choices, but there is always a choice involved,” he advised, tone sounding wistful and mournful at the same time.

Emma had to wonder how many lifetimes this man had lived. It was plain to see he had lost a lot in his life. Suffered immense pain but also experienced immense joy. Was that what awaited her? Eons of emotional ups and downs with no true destination. Fear crept into her skull and rooted itself firmly. Emma knew at some point she’d have to look the fear in the eye and give name to it, but today wouldn’t be that day.

“Do you have some kind of plan?” Emma asked after a lengthy pause, decision made.

Killian smirked, but then schooled his features. “I do have a plan and as much as I am confident in the spells we have placed upon these walls, I would prefer we depart from this place and gain some distance.”

“I understand. A strategy is worthless if your enemy knows what you intend,” Emma agreed.

They finished dressing and gathered their things in silence. Emma and Killian approached the door in unison. Emma lifted the silence spell from the room and Killian broke the blood magic seal on the room. Emma walked behind Killian as he seemed very familiar with the inn. As they entered the tap room, a brief silence descended upon the patrons before the chatter resumed. Emma could feel eyes lingering on her as weaved through the tables towards the door. Killian grabbed her hand and hurried her along.

“People are leering at me,” Emma whispered in his ear, her body pressed closer to his back than was appropriate.

“They are probably wondering how you are able to walk if I have spent the last week fucking you on every surface in our chamber,” was his gruff reply.

Emma made a noise of indignance at his coarse words, which he seemed to ignore. Emma coldly ignored the traitorous voice in her own head that was intrigued by the idea.

Once outside to the stables, they each quickly attended to their horse, preparing to ride away as quickly as possible. The sound of straw breaking behind them caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. Emma quietly drew her sword from its sheath, turning to bring her blade against her assailant. Steel clashed against steel as the goblin she had spied in the dark corner of the taproom days ago slashed at her without pause. Emma turned her head slightly to see Killian was occupied fighting two other goblins, their green skin cut in several places and a reddish-black substance - their blood she realized - oozing from their wounds.

Emma turned to her own opponent, testing his defences for a weakness. The goblin’s long, bony fingers of the hand not gripping his sword made an attempt to grab her hair and Emma dodged him. After a few moments, Emma realized the goblin was leaving his right side open every time he attacked. Emma fented and dodged his blade while driving hers into his side. The goblin’s eyes snapped to hers in surprise. Emma withdrew her sword and stared at his failing body, shaking.

Killian appeared in a rush behind her, hand on her back. “Time to go, Swan. Get on your horse,” he commanded. Emma stood there, hands still shaking, watching the goblin bleed out in front of her.

“EMMA!” he shouted, dismounting and at her side in seconds. He took notice of the corpse in front of them, understanding dawning on his features. “Emma, you had to. It was you or him and I’m rather glad it wasn’t you. We must go,” he urged, panic in his voice at the sounds of others preparing to arrive.

When she didn’t move, he physically grabbed her waist and flung her over his shoulder. He threw her into her saddle and vaulted into his own. Killian took off at a gallop and Emma was grateful Arion followed without her commanding him too. She had taken a life. The goblin had been an assassin or maybe just a thief but Emma grappled with her actions. Arion galloped at full speed just behind Killian’s gray, putting as much distance between them and the danger of the inn.

After nearly three hours of hard riding, Killian pulled up and guided them off the road to a stream, letting the horses drink freely and relax after the hard ride. He turned to Emma and without words, gathered her into his arms, as she crumpled against him. Emma sobbed and he simply held her as one would a crying child. Eventually Emma dried her eyes and reluctantly withdrew from his embrace.

“I feel a guilt I can’t shake. I know if I hadn’t chosen as I did that I’d be the dead body in that stable, but that doesn’t make it easier. Will it ever be easier?”

Emma could sense the empathy he felt for her situation. “I wish I could lie to you, but you’ll never forget your first,” he sighed, hand swiping his wind-blown hair out of his face. “For me, all my years as a pirate, I was a ruthless man at times. I’ve killed more than I can remember. Sometimes it haunts me, all this blood on my hands,” he held out his hands towards her. “I feel the shame of it at the worst times. I shove it away and move on. If I look back, I’m lost,” he confessed, sitting down on the sandy bank of the river.

Emma studied him for several minutes. This enigma in front of her, this man who had dealt more death in his life than Emma could even fathom, and yet he seemed to be weighed down and felt some measure of regret. If I look back, I’m lost, he said it like one might a prayer or mantra, something oft repeated to help him bury the regrets of the past.

Emma sat on the sand next to him. “So now what do we do?” she whispered, pulling her knees to her chest, resting her head on top of her arms, looking out at the horses they wandered up the grassy embankment.

Killian removed a dagger from his boot and held it out to her. It was an ordinary dagger, she looked at him puzzled. His hand passed over it as she held in both hands. It transformed in her hands to kris dagger made of the finest steel, inlaid with a black obsidian, a name inscribed along the length of the blade. She open her mouth to speak and Killian’s finger pressed to her lips, silencing her.

“Don’t say the name,” he warned, taking his finger from her lips. She nodded.

“This controls him. I’ve hunted it for a very long time,” Killian said.

“If it does as you say, why wouldn’t he carry it with him?” Emma wondered aloud. Emma had always been warned by her various teachers that if an enemy knew her weakness, she would be extremely vulnerable.

“He buried it at the foot of the monument he erected for his son,” he said calmly. Emma listened intently as he wove a story of love, tragedy and vengeance. Emma’s heart constricted watching Killian relive the worst of his memories.

“I’m sorry,” Emma apologized. She almost wished she hadn’t asked but to make sound choices going forward, she needed to be able to see the whole board.

“Thank you, but you have nothing to apologize for. Anyway, this blade was once part of a mystical blade, Excalibur, forged here in Danann by the great wizard Merlin. For the research I’ve done here in Danann and in the realm of men, the sword is rumored to be hidden in the town of Camelot.”

“Camelot doesn’t exist,” Emma insisted.

“It does. And it’s here in Danann. The birthplace of the first Dark One. We must retrieve the other half and use this,” he pulled a small box from his coat pocket, “to reforge the sword. Once the broken blade is renewed, one nick from it will cut all immortal ties.”

Emma absorbed the new part of the plan. “But you don’t just mean to nick this warlock with the renewed blade, do you?”

When he turned, Emma could see bloodlust and anger in his blue eyes, making him look a madman. “No. No, I do not. I intend to stab him through the heart. Or in the chest as it is unlikely the monster even has a heart.”

Emma said nothing about his plan. She hauled herself from the ground, brushing the sand and dirt from her breeches and mounted Arion. Killian shook off the demons on his mind and mounted up as well. “Lead the way,” she nodded.

Emma had a lot of time to think as they rode. After their short respite, they rode hard again, stopping only for the bare necessities of water, sustenance and to relieve themselves. Two days passed this way. In silence. Killian seemed determined to make sure the distance between the two of them was as great as the distance between their current location and Shadowman’s inn.

She simply had to take cues from his behavior to know what might be expected of her. Not that reading his body language was a problem for someone who had lived in a royal court her whole life, Emma wondered at the change. He had shown her glimpse that he wasn’t just a bloodthirsty pirate. Emma knew he wasn’t whenever he used his magic. If he had been the evil man he seemed to want her to believe, she would’ve sensed it in his magic.

He always seemed of two natures and Emma knew what it was like to feel like two parts of herself were at war with the other. Emma was human and Fae, but she didn’t exactly fit in either world. She knew very little about the realm of her mother’s origin and there was much Emma still had to learn about her own power she wouldn’t learn at home. And at home, she couldn’t truly fit in because she was different, not entirely human and it bred a distrust among some people. There was one person who could give her answers but he wasn’t taking.

After the third day of silence, Emma had had enough. In the middle of the path she pulled Arion to a stop and jumped down. Arion followed her after a brief flicker of his head towards Killian.

“I’ve had enough of the silence. It’s maddening,” Emma bellowed, crossing her arms over her chest. Killian looked taken aback, red creeping alone his neck to the tip of his ears. Whether in anger or desire, Emma had no clue.

“Swan, I-,” Emma cut him off with a harsh glance. “Don’t make excuses. We agreed to be allies in this assine quest. I even got answers that I’ve searched for for months all within days of meeting you, but I almost regret this trip now. I don’t know what you hope to accomplish, but walling yourself off isn’t going to make it easier for me to trust you when this plan inevitably goes to hell. So cease acting like a child!”

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I will do better.”

“Thank you. I have never in my life met another half-Fae. I was curious about your life, what you know about our kind. Maybe you can tell me as we journey towards Camelot?” Emma prompted.

“Seeing as it will take three weeks to reach Camelot and another three to reach your grandmother’s stronghold where the monster resides, I suppose that it not an unreasonable request,” Killian confirmed.

“You were going to be silent for six whole weeks?” Emma shrieked.

“It’s not the longest I’ve gone without talking to another soul. That number would be more like three and a half years,” Killian laughed at the horrified look Emma knew must be plastered on her face.

Killian seemed to be lighter once Emma snapped him out of his stupidity. During the day they would ride and share stories of their lives. At night they made camp, and he would tell her tales of the peoples of Danann, its history and its magic. Emma’s short years meant she listened to Killian’s life story more often than not. She had been right that he had lived many lifetimes. He was nearly three times her mother’s age. He didn’t hide any of the unpleasant parts of his past, often looking away when he told a tale that involved him as the villain. He would always follow such stories with self-deprecating humor and tales that had Emma roaring with laughter.

Emma had never laughed so much in her life as she did when they shared bits of their embarrassing moments. Sometimes she felt a wistful longing when they laughed together.

“I was so drunk, I stumbled on to my ship to the wheel where I lashed myself to it to keep me upright. Once I was finished I promptly passed out. When I awoke my helmsman, Anderson, was standing so close to me that I could feel his co- his um, presence against my arse. His hands spread on either side of my head to grasp the wheel. He made a suggestion in my ear and I was still too drunk not to take him up on it. He was very good with his hands,” Killian smirked, lost in the memory.

Emma looked away, half disgusted by the implication, yet still half aroused at thoughts of her own hands exploring the Captain’s body. Emma shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, sighing a little at the friction her movement brought. Killian’s head whipped around to look at her. He heard her. Emma burned crimson, a color she felt all the way to the tips of her own half pointed ears. He continued on with a different story, but Emma could feel his steely blue gaze fixed on her the rest of the day’s ride.

In the nearly four weeks she had known him, she knew her attraction to him was undeniable. His dark hair that he ran his fingers through so often it seemed like a tic. His blue eyes that seemed as changeable as the sapphire seas he loved and thick eyebrows that could convey an entire conversation separate from his words. He was a very well educated man who told her of his collection of books back on his ship. Killian was so smart and witty (and damn if he didn’t know it, the bastard), they could spar verbally for hours on end. He also challenged her to spar with him and more often than not ended up correcting her form or critiquing her technique. Emma tried not to let her irritation cloud her learning, Sir Lancelot’s and her Father’s lessons of ‘don’t lose focus’ and ‘remember not to let your emotions cloud your actions in warfare’ always in her mind. After their sparring, blood running high, Emma thought about grabbing him by his lapel and dragging his face to her lips. Which she didn’t do - wouldn’t do, but very much wanted to.

As the sun was getting low, he suggested they stop to camp for the night. They had been following the river for weeks and not once had Emma taken advantage of its cool waters.

“We should reach our destination tomorrow,” Killian said as he lit the fire and stored his flint. Emma was glad to find as much as he was versed in magic, he preferred to do simple tasks without it as often as possible.

“I’m going to go down to the river. I haven’t had a bath in weeks and there is only so much my magic can do for me before I need the actual thing,” she grimaced, referring to her magical hygiene routine. She turned her head over her shoulder and winked at him before she beat a hasty retreat.

Why had she done that? Emma focused on her destination and task at hand. Simply magicking the dirt away was effective but Emma loved the feel of the water and she just needed to do one thing she truly wanted to. It had nothing to do with the idea of a certain pirate gentleman who would be nearby with knowledge that she was naked in the river. Emma smirked as she shed her clothes and dove into the water.

Killian nodded soundlessly and stared at the hedgerow she had walked through long after she had disappeared. The bloody siren winked at him. For the love of the gods, she was trying to kill him. After he had seen her shifting and moaning in her saddle earlier in the day, he had been hard. He wanted to chase after her and run his fingers along her lithe form, to cup her cheek as he brushed his lips against her, to fuck her under the stars.

Killina groaned, his thoughts not helping his situation. Emma was a bright light in the darkness of his endless years. For the first time since Milah was alive, Killian felt some measure of happiness. He felt guilty at his feelings. He was never one to slowly slip into love. No, Killian Jones fell head first into it without thinking. Without realizing how lost he was until he was drowning.

Killian peeled off his duster and left it on the log beside the fire. He resolved himself and made his way to the shore. The moon was full again and he could see Emma was farther out in deeper waters. His clothes hit the sand in record time before he could think too much or talk himself out of it. When he reached the water’s edge, Emma turned to face the shore. Her eyes were wide as she took in his nakedness. She swam closer until he could see her emerald eyes, blown wide with shock and desire. He hadn’t been wrong then. She had meant for him to follow her. So he did.

When he reached her she was smiling as she tread water. He kept his distance still, wanting her to be sure. She closed the distance and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her pert breasts, floated buoyantly, her dusty pink areola brushing against his chest. She shivered at the contact. He ghosted his fingers along her jaw towards her forehead before tucking her wild, wet locks behind her ear.

“May I kiss you, Swan?” he asked, reverently pressing his thumb along the seam of her lips. Her mouth opened slightly and his thumb brushed against her tongue. He rubbed his thumb down her chin, tilting her open mouth to his.

His tongue tangled with hers as she pulled herself closer. He groaned into the kiss. Killian had never tasted anything sweeter, though the thought brought to mind something that might be just as sweet. Emma legs kept grazing over his cock and he could tell from the mischief twinkling in her look that it was not an accident.

“Let’s get out of this water,” Emma suggested, her voice hoarse. They swam the short distance quickly, he made it first so he could see her when she emerged. His eyes roamed over her, head to toe, pausing briefly at the thatch of darker curls covering her womanhood. Killian growled at the sight and picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her back to their fire.

Killian laid her down on his duster, relishing her naked form against the aged-leather. He kissed a trail from her lips to her breast, spending an age lavishing each nipple with attention before kissing the underside of each breast and continuing down in his exploration. Emma gasped when his hand pushed her thighs apart so he looked to her for her approval. A nod. Killian ran a finger though the slick residue and brought his finger to his lips. She was sweeter there. He lowered his tongue to her core, ignoring her yelp of surprise as it faded to soft mewls of pleasure.

He lapped at her teasingly, enjoying how her hips chased his mouth when the pressure lessened. He pressed a finger into her slowly opening her, waiting until she was relaxed and squirming before adding another and then another. Killian watched her chest heave as she struggled to breathe, fighting her body’s reaction.

“Let go, Emma,” Killian commanded as he fucked her harder on his fingers. Emma’s scream rang out through the deserted wood.

“Please, Killian, I want you,” Emma begged as he tried to disentangle himself.

“Are you sure?” He could walk away if she commanded him to, but he had never wanted anyone more in his life.

Emma guided him to lay down. She straddled him and positioned herself over his cock. She sank onto him in one swift motion and Killian couldn’t help the curses that left his lips. She stilled when they were fully joined.

“Are you alright?” He knew there was discomfort for a woman’s first time, which was hardly fair.

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Just feels strange,” Emma muttered, clearly overwhelmed by the sensations.

“You should move, love,” his hands settled on her hips and helped her move up and down on his length.

Soon his hands wandered her body, no longer needed to help her find her pace. She looked like a goddess above him, riding him under the moonlight. Her long blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders, covering her breasts until she pulled it behind her head. Emma’s movements were becoming more erratic so Killian leveraged his strength and flipped their positions. He slipped out of her before lining up and pushing in with a hard thrust. He wasn’t going to last much longer. Her hands were wrapped around her breasts as he bucked against her. His thumb trailed down her body and pressed on her clit as he increased his pace. Green eyes met blue and in that moment, he was certain they were a perfect reflection of the other. Her core tightened around him and she hollered his name. He pumped his hips twice more and followed her into blissful aftermath.

Killian woke a few hours later, Emma curled to his side, blankets covering their naked forms from the chill in the night air. He drifted back to sleep, mission forgotten in the arms of the woman he loved.

The next morning they roused themselves and broke camp as usual, but with a lot of pausing to kiss,  touch or hold each other. Arion and Kelan neighed loudly at them several times to hurry them on their way. It took only four hours to reach their destination, a large moss-covered boulder that sat before an ancient ruin, the castle of Arthurian legend. In the center of the stone, the hilt of a sword was visible. He and Emma shared a look of triumph as they trotted to a stop in the clearing. Once they were free of their mounts, they approached the stone.

There was a barely discernible inscription carved on the bottom of the stone: Whosoever wields this sword, be he worthy, shall possess power over life and death.

“Go ahead, love,” Killian encouraged, “Take the sword and we shall bind it together with the promethean flame.”

Wide-eyed, she shook her head. “Love, as much as I wish I could do this, I’m not worthy. But you, you are pure and wonderful. Do it,” Killian ordered.

Emma had to climb onto the stone until she stood next to the blade. Both hands grasped it and tugged  and it let loose without resistance, shocking Emma but apparently not Killian.

She clambered down and passed over the broken blade. Killian retrieved the little box from his pocket and set it on the ground. It was a white mass but there was no fire to it. Killian knew he would have to give something up for it to work. All magic had a price.

“For the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of the future,” Killian breathed to Emma, resting his forehead against hers.

He turned to find the flame was lit. He held the pieces over the flame and within seconds, they were joined. He stood and handed her Excalibur. “For you, my darling Princess.”

Emma accepted the blade in awe, promptly leaning it against the rock so she could embrace Killian. “I was worried when I found I would live forever, that time spanned empty before me. Eternity with you might not be so bad.” Killian laughed and kissed her. “Or growing old with you if we chose.”

“To die would be an awfully big adventure,” Killian laughed, stepping away from her.

“I couldn’t agree more,” the voice of his nemesis cried gleefully. Killian grunted as he felt something hit him in the stomach. He looked down to see Excalibur sticking out of his chest before he collapsed to his knees.

Emma watched in horror as the unattended sword flew through the air and impaled Killian. The monster with the yellow eyes stood before her along with a woman clothed in a black leather riding outfit. Emma realized the dark haired woman accompanying the monster was Regina.

“See Rumple, I told you they would do all the work if you let them live,” Regina cackled.

“Indeed, dearie. Per our deal the girl is yours to do with as you please and Excalibur is mine, once I pry it from the pirate’s corpse.” Rumple clapped his hands together and hopped jubilantly.

“I won’t let you have that sword without a fight!” Emma vowed, kneeling next to Killian.

“You have to take the sword, love,” Killian encouraged.

“If I do, then you’ll bleed out!”

“I’m going to die anyway, remember? The sword reforged cuts immortal ties.” His eyes pleaded her to take the sword and defend herself.

She stood back and as she pulled the blade from his gut, he let out a terrible scream. Regina came for her first, her own sword in hand.

“Magic is too good for you, half breed!” Regina charged her.

Emma found that the Queen’s skills with a blade left something to be desired, perhaps from an overreliance on magic. When Emma saw her opening, she struck hard and true, slashing across the Queen’s chest. The other woman fell to the ground, a look of complete shock on her face as she fell forward into a pool of her own blood.

Rumpelstiltskin looked a little impressed Emma had taken out his pawn. Emma stalked towards him sword in hand. He looked like he wanted to fight, changing in an instant to looking as though he wished to flee but he was immovable as the mountain. Emma glanced at the blade, the man’s name still emblazoned on the portion that made up the kris dagger. Emma realized she still had command of him as his name was bound to the sword she wielded.

“Whosoever wields this sword, be he worthy, shall possess power over life and death,” Emma muttered, scrutinizing the blade.

“Come here!” she ordered. The demon walked towards her grudgingly. When the scaly man was close enough, “Hold out your hand and do not move a muscle,” Emma ordered. A palm outstretched in front of her as the monster stood rigid per her order.

Emma drew the blade across the monster’s palm, ignoring his screams. Emma waved her hand and he was silenced by a gag, hands and feet bound. Emma felt relief for a brief moment until the triumph died with the realization Killian was dying. She turned on her heel and sprinted to Killian’s side, placing her hands over his wounds. She willed her magic to heal him to no avail.

“That will not work, child,” a familiar voice called out. Magnus, her once-teacher, knelt at her side. Emma thought he knew nothing of her mother’s people, of the Fae.

“There will be time for questions later,” he chided, sensing her train of thought as he had always done. “To save him, you must bind your heart to his.”

“No,” Killian begged weakly. “I won’t let you do that. If you’re wrong, old man, she’ll die and I’d rather die a thousands deaths than see her die before my eyes.”

“And I cannot imagine a thousand lifetimes without you. I promise, you will be alright,” Emma said, pressing a kiss to his pale lips. Turning to Magnus, “What must I do?”

“You must remove your heart which I will split. One half for you, the other for him. This is considered a sacred bond of marriage that nothing but death can break. Do you understand and choose to proceed?”

Emma bowed her head in agreement. Killian mumbled his assent quietly. Per Magnus’ instruction, Emma plunged her hand into her chest and with a sharp tug, pulled out a glowing red heart. She placed it in Magnus’ hand and when he rent it two, Emma let out a yelp but brushed aside Killian’s concerns. She knew that if she survived her heart being cleaved in two, there was nothing left to fear. Emma felt the moment Killian’s heart stopped beating as though she too had stopped breathing. She never dreamed he would die, succumbing to wounds Rumpelstiltskin inflicted. Sobbing, Emma healed the open wound on his abdomen, praying the ceremony would bring him back to her. She was confident today was not the end as Magnus had already begun the ceremonial blessings. If wrong, Emma knew with certainty she would find him in the life beyond.

“Two souls, one life. Two halves, one heart. From this day until your last day,” Magnus intoned, quickly shoving one half of the heart into each of their chests. After a tense, unending moment, Killian gasped for breath. He shot up, confused. touching his chest, then Emma’s face.

“Swan? How?” he asked, kissing her her fiercely before she could respond.

“I bound my heart to you, my beating heart has enough love, enough life, for both of us,” Emma cried, throwing her arms around him, burying her head in the crook of his neck, the passing of time unnoticed.

The sound of throat clearing had Emma whipping around to address her teacher. “Master Magnus, how did you know?”

“This was my home once, when Camelot was more than a ruin. Guarding the Grail was my duty, until duty led me to become the teacher to a wonderful young princess,” he smiled at fond memories.

“Isn’t the Grail a chalice?” Emma asked, confused.

“It was once, before my master forged it to a weapon to break immortal ties. Now it can be a chalice once again,” Magnus said, conjuring the promethean flame from the ground to his palm. He held the sword over the flame and it morphed into a chalice of silver, inlaid with the obsidian design like the blade.

Magnus offered her the chalice. “Killian was right when he told you there is always a choice.”

“If I- if we drink from this chalice then we’ll grow old and die?” Emma asked in awe.

Magnus nodded. “You’ve bound your hearts in love and in life. With this,” offering the chalice a second time, “in death and what lies beyond. For a mortal, it would grant life eternal if one was worthy.”

Magnus paused for a long moment before adding, “Though I think you may want to wait at least nine months before you decide.”

Killian looked back and forth from Magnus to Emma in shock and disbelief until understanding dawned and his hand rested gently on her stomach.

Emma looked at Killian, tears in her eyes as she smiled. She wasn’t afraid any longer. She knew what she wanted. Emma wasn’t certain about what tomorrow might hold. Rumplestiltskin once told Killian that love didn’t last, that true love wasn’t real, but she and Killian were living proof of how wrong he had been. She had shared her immortality with him and couldn’t regret that.

Perhaps at some point, maybe in fifty years, a hundred, or a thousand years, they may decide to drink from the chalice, breaking their immortal bonds to live a single mortal life and journey to whatever life awaited beyond this one. Perhaps not. Even in the end, it was all a matter of choice.  

Killian’s grin matched hers as he realized her choice.

“To die would be an awfully big adventure,” Killian said, echoing his earlier sentiment.

“No,” Emma protested, “To live will be an awfully big adventure.“

Fin

[judithcsmith]

So you’re telling me there’s a chance …

When Senators McCain, Collins, and Murkowski cast their fateful votes, pretty much everyone assumed that ACA repeal had reached its politically ignominious end. The klieg lights, cable TV, and the front page shifted to hurricanes Harvey and Irma. President Trump announced he would let DACA expire. Democratic leaders Chuck Schumer and Nancy Pelosi negotiated what appeared to be a tactically brilliant three-month extension of the debt ceiling. Senator Sanders released his single payer plan. The Senate HELP committee began the process of discussing a much less ambitious, bipartisan bill. The world kindof moved on.

Only a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand was still up there, called the Cassidy-Graham bill. At first, it seemed like a bit of a joke. Arcane Senate rules impose a final deadline of September 30 to pass an ACA repeal based on a simple Republican majority vote. For weeks, no one in Washington took Cassidy-Graham very seriously.

Until late last week.

By Thursday or Friday, liberal heavy-hitters were becoming a little concerned, then very concerned, then actually alarmed, as they saw Senator McCain and Republicans leaders warm up to this bill.

Red Alert#Trumpcare is back & Senate GOP has until Sept 30 to pass their bill. We need your voices more than ever!

— Chuck Schumer (@SenSchumer) September 15, 2017

Friend of HIO Charles Gaba, then Senator Schumer and others, issued “red alerts” that this thing might be real. Liberal activists were caught napping after the House’s initial failure to enact an ACA repeal bill. They are petrified of being caught napping once again. And with good reason.

RED ALERT: Dammit, GRAHAM-CASSIDY IS ON THE MOVE! https://t.co/2ikmu1KIkB

— ☪️ Charles Gaba ✡️ (@charles_gaba) September 15, 2017

Republicans must rustle up 50 Senate votes, obtain some sort of Congressional Budget Office score, and surmount other procedural obstacles within the before September 30. That would be hard, but Republicans might nonetheless pull this off.

Schumer and Pelosi’s deal suddenly didn’t seem so brilliant. It cleared a Senate calendar that would have otherwise been clogged by the debt ceiling and hurricane relief. Republicans freed more clock time by putting-off the required reauthorization of the Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP), set to expire September 30.

Most ominously, Senators Collins and Murkowski haven’t said anything about this bill. Healthcare activists are nervously remembering that these two Republican Senators are not liberal stalwarts. Given the right opportunities, each has some good reasons to change her mind.

This is in no way a moderate bill

If you don’t follow health care closely, you might be forgiven if you somehow assumed Cassidy-Graham is some more moderate compromise, designed to obtain broader support. Because it passes so many critical decisions down to the states and backloads its most significant provisions, it’s hard to precisely determine its true impact. Partly for this reason, the pending assessment by the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office might create better optics, too.

Senators Bill Cassidy and Lindsey Graham have often sounded moderate notes in the repeal-and-replace debate. Two months ago, Senator Cassidy wrote in the Washington Post: “Let a blue state do a blue thing and a red state such as mine take a different, conservative approach.” Senator Graham, for his part, harshly criticized the partisan process that produced the Senate’s failed repeal bill. A mild-mannered physician, Cassidy has spoken warmly of the “Jimmy Kimmel test” to evaluate any ACA repeal effort.

Despite all that, this is no moderate bill. Cassidy-Graham would also be enacted by precisely the partisan process Senator Graham had previously criticized.

Unveiling the bill, Graham commented: “If you want a single payer health care system, this is your worst nightmare.” If anything, he was unduly modest. Whether you believe in single-payer or not, his bill would be the biggest retrenchment of American health policy since the enactment of Medicare. (I happen to believe Republicans’ ACA repeal would hasten the arrival of single-payer by destroying plausible market-based alternatives. But that’s another story.)

Cassidy-Graham dropped the tax cuts for the affluent that proved so politically immolating to prior Republican repeal bills. The bill would still would convert the entire Medicaid program from its current state-federal partnership to a per-capita block-grant designed to encourage further cuts. It would, according to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, “destabilize the insurance marketplace” by cutting the Affordable Care Act’s subsidies for low-income people and eliminate the ACA’s individual mandate. It would also allow state waivers to permit insurers to charge higher premiums on the basis of preexisting conditions and other factors.

The stew is the same … and it’s toxic.

The indispensible Timothy Jost presents more nuts-and-bolts details here. Cassidy-Graham retains much of the junk DNA of previous repeal bills. It includes a one-year ban on federal funding for all Medicaid-covered services furnished by Planned Parenthood. (It’s possible that this provision is ornamental, placed into the bill to be dropped in return for Senator Collins’ vote. That doesn’t make Democrats feel any better.)

Other boring but important verbiage matters, too. For example, the bill would end federal funding of retroactive Medicaid eligibility. Since 1965, health care providers could treat car accident victims and others costly illnesses and injuries who were eligible but not enrolled in Medicaid when they required costly care. Cassidy-Graham would leave states on the hook for this.

As Sarah Kliff explains at Vox, and Jonathan Cohn explains at HuffPo, Cassidy-Graham would essentially replace the Affordable Care Act’s financing structure with open-ended block grants to states which could be used for high risk pools, measures to stabilize premiums, direct payments to medical providers, and more. It’s anybody’s guess how much of this money would actually help the poorest and sickest people who are now most reliant on ACA, and how much of this money would go to others or would simply be used to offset other spending that states would do anyway. Oh, and the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities estimates that the bill would cut federal healthcare programs by something like $400 billion over the next decade before deeper cuts kick in.

Like other ACA repeal bills, Cassidy-Graham is wildly unpopular in its specifics. By wide margins, the American public wants Republicans to work with Democrats on a bipartisan health care bill. Americans oppose cutting Medicaid, support universal coverage. Every patient advocacy group, healthcare, and provider group opposes Republican repeal efforts.

The real mystery behind Cassidy-Graham is why it is being proposed at all, and why it actually has a decent chance of passage. I think three reasons bear further attention.

A man in my position can’t afford to look ridiculous

The most basic reason is the easiest to overlook. Republicans control the Presidency and the Congress. Their failure to repeal President Obama’s hallmark policy is a massive humiliation. In different ways, this is a particular humiliation for President Trump, for House Speaker Paul Ryan, and for Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell. Particularly when Republicans are only one or two votes away, this provides massive motivation for another try.

American politics is so polarized that majority sentiment doesn’t particularly matter. Senators and Representatives know perfectly well that most Americans don’t want them to pass Cassidy-Graham or any other ACA repeal bill. For many politicians, though, that public sentiment is surprisingly irrelevant to their strategic calculations. Many congressional Republicans don’t need Democratic or independent voters to win reelection. As long as their base voters admire President Trump and are potentially drawn to conservative primary challengers, that’s what matters.

Cassidy-Graham exploits the personalized, undemocratic structure of the United States Senate. Republicans need 50 Senate votes to pass ACA repeal, with Vice President Pence available to break the tie. They have always had 47 or 48 of these votes available. The battle is over those final few.

Human relationships matter in this story. President Trump pushed hard for repeal. His and his allies’ efforts fell one vote short this summer, when their hopes came down to Senator John McCain. We’ll never know how much Senator McCain’s vote reflected his desire to honor Senate norms or his personal disdain for a President who weirdly disparaged McCain’s own Vietnam war heroism and weirdly profited from Russian interference in the 2016 election. Voting on this new bill, Senator McCain won’t be bailing out a President he despises. He would be supporting Lindsey Graham, one of his very closest friends and Senate colleagues.

Another factor matters, too. Republican governors – not least in Senator McCain’s own state of Arizona – had much to lose from the House and Senate repeal bills. Ohio’s John Kasich, Nevada’s Brian Sandoval, and other Republican governors played key public and private roles in turning back the repeal effort.

I’m glad governors matter to health policy. They actually have to run things. That often breeds responsibility, expertise, and accountability. Imagine a Medicare-for-All system with President Donald Trump and HHS Secretary Tom Price at the help. Liberals might ponder this thought as we consider states’ role in a single-payer healthcare plan.

The ’25-governor’ strategy

ACA also faces a baked-in problem, one that is as old as the U.S. Constitution and as unlikely to be altered. Wyoming (population 600,000), Vermont (624,000), Alaska (742,000), and North Dakota (758,000), and are entitled to the same two Senate votes as California (39 million), Texas (28 million), Florida (21 million), and New York (20 million). Generally speaking, small, predominantly white rural states are not bastions of support for universal coverage.*

Jacob Leibenluft and his Center on Budget colleagues ran these numbers, examining Cassidy-Graham’s impact on individual states in 2026. Overall spending on federal health programs would be roughly $80 billion below current baseline. Yet the impacts would be quite different across the country. California and New York, between them, would lose more than $46 billion. Red states that didn’t expand Medicaid would actually receive more money. And this understates things. The Center on Budget’s calculations do not include state-specific sweeteners one could easily provide Alaska and other small states, where moderate Senators such as Lisa Murkowski, hold this bill in the balance.

As one commentator put things, Cassidy and Graham can follow a “25-governor strategy.” If there is pork to throw around, they can buy off the smaller states, using funds extracted from the big, safely-blue states whose Senate votes are out of reach. Those punishing cuts to California and New York free billions of dollars in pork for every small-state Senate vote.

Former CMS administrator Andy Slavitt is perhaps the leading public defender of ACA. Responding to me over email, he doesn’t mince words:

You would have to be crazy not to worry about an effort to repeal the ACA, now backed by leadership. Remember, at least 45 Senators would vote for a piece of paper with the words “Repeal Obamacare” on it. The strategy to get the other 5 on board is to transfer money into their states to attract their Governor and Senator. Senators McCain, Capito, Gardner and Portman will be critical. As will Alexander and the success of his bipartisan effort. If that goes down, more momentum could swing towards Graham-Cassidy. It’s not time to watch from the sidelines if you feel you have a stake in the outcome.

Elections matter

ACA will never be fully safe until Democrats win back the Presidency, the Senate, or the House. Maybe that’s how it should be. Elections matter.

With 13 days to go, I’d say Cassidy-Graham faces an uphill battle. But as we know, American politics sometimes delivers unlikely outcomes. It’s foolish to take anything for granted.

* Washington, DC (population 681,000) is such a bastion. It enjoys zero Senate votes. The combination of partisan gerrymandering and Democratic urban bunching provides Republicans with an even bigger systematic advantage in the House of Representatives.

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