#pirate killian

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “One Little Ray of Hope”

This week I’m re-running my @csss20 gift fic: “One Little Ray of Hope” (originally written for my giftee @let-it-raines) I was genuinely nervous writing this one because I adored Raines’ writing so much. But she was truly kind about sweet about having me as her Santa, and I thought this one would be fun to look back at this week...

There are two part to it. I’ve linked Part Two at the end of this first part, and the story can also be found on AO3 if that is your preference. Enjoy - and Merry Christmas Eve!

Summary: The Enchanted Forest under the Evil Queen's reign may be a dark and dangerous place, but at a lowly tavern one wintry night, a captain and a serving girl still keep a welcome spark alive.

“One Little Ray of Hope”

by: @snowbellewells

              Though the fire in the stone hearth was blazing merrily, the lights from their lamps battled the dark sky and frigid wind blasting flurries of snow outside their windows, and the jovial voices of many of their regulars mingled on the air to make things cozy inside the little inn and tavern, Emma Swan still shivered at the winter's chill. There, was some hint of frost that wouldn't go away, forming small icy crystals inside her chest - one particular voice that always stood out from the rest to her ears, was missing. She cursed herself for noticing, cursed him for being so unmistakable, and slammed an empty tankard onto her tray as she cleared the just-vacated table more violently than she had meant to.

              Naturally Ruby would be passing by just then, on her way to wait on some exuberant new arrivals, and she playfully arched one of her dark brows with a teasing smirk. "Looks like someone's a little frustrated this evening."

              From over her shoulder, where Emma hadn't even realized anyone was nearby, Tink tittered with a playful little giggle to Ruby, "Well, you know, we do seem to be short some of Emma's favorite guests this evening…" pirate was not her special anything. Honestly, she was just tired, overworked, overheated, and ready for some fresh air away from the evening crowd. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that Captain Killian Jones, with his unfairly blue eyes and his stomach-flipping accent wasn't here pestering her and getting in her way. What did she care if his farewell to her before he set sail nearly two months' back was that he would return in time for the Yuletide festivities? False hope and nonsense, all of it anyway…

              And yet… tomorrow was Christmas day, her traitorous mind whispered as she plunked her heavy tray of dishes on the counter where the Widow Lucas - the proprietor of their inn, and 'Granny' to all of them - was serving up orders and Ashley was doing dishes as fast as she could to serve warm bread and hearty stew on them once more. Again, her approach was none too gentle, as she huffed out a breath of air and pushed her hair from her face impatiently.

              "Careful there, my girl. Any dishes you break will be comin' from your pay," the widow threatened idly. Granny put on a tough front - one had to in a rough and tumble harbor town - and she meant business if she had to bring out her crossbow from where she kept it close to hand beneath the counter, but she was a soft heart beneath the necessary bluster and hard shell. She loved all "her girls" and most of her patrons dearly, wanting them to know they were welcome and cared for in her inn - and while many like she and her granddaughter had little in the way of blood-related family, she aimed to give them a feeling of home in her place.

              Emma smiled slightly, acknowledging Granny's words without comment, despite knowing the older woman would do no such thing. She unloaded the dirtied tankards and bowls more carefully into the soapy water for Ashley and forced herself to draw a couple of deep breaths as Granny loaded her up with the next order.

              Just as Emma moved to lift the tray and move off again, Granny placed her own hand over Emma's kindly, keeping her there until Emma met her eyes. "Don't let Ruby irk you. She means no harm," was the quietly offered advice, to which Emma nodded sagely, already knowing as much. It was only when Granny winked and added, "Of course, if you're awaiting some handsome sailor, I wager he'll be here soon," that Emma let out an exasperated huff and spun away to the sound of her boss and pseudo-grandmother's laughter at her back. Shaking her head, she seethed, 'Everyone thinks I'm waiting for Jones…. Well, I'm not!'

              The night went on without much further interruption; the snow fell in continued flakes, swirled and eddied by the window and pilling up on the windowsills. Inside their crowded tavern, however, the cozy warmth continued to rise right along with the songs and laughter of those gathered within. Soon Emma found her face flushed, cheeks pinked from the heat and close quarters. Even as the gathered crowd began to dwindle, slowly trickling out the door and homeward in twos and threes, as she, Ruby, Tink, and Ashley began to wipe down empty tables and see to storing up leftover food and seeing drinks stoppered and sealed for the night. Granny had gone upstairs nearly an hour before as the midnight hour had come and gone, claiming her old bones needed the rest, and Mulan, who did not appear the musical type, but who had once confessed when more than a bit tipsy on dwarf mead that her parents had seen that she was learn all sorts of marriageable skills in the hopes of seeing her matched with a smart, dashing husband before she had left home to make her own way - had switched from plunking out bawdy sea shanties and reels for the gathered revelers and lighting begun pecking out chords to a few softer and slower Yuletide carols as a background accompaniment to the cleaning and the quieter murmurs of those who still lingered in conversation over their last drinks.

              Not long after, Ruby silently slipped out the kitchen exit in back with the solemn huntsman who came every night to break bread and drink not at all, other than to drink in her presence and bask in her company, had stood and followed her like a silent shade as she beckoned from the doorway. Ashley had headed upstairs herself for some rest in her own apartments, as had Tink, saying the last town gazette's gossip section was calling her name. Mulan had paused at the door before heading to her own house a couple streets over, telling Emma she would make rounds of the block first, to see that all stragglers had gone home, and no trouble was lingering about them before she left.

              Emma thanked the beautiful warrior sincerely, knowing that it was no more or less than the other woman did every night, determined that these friends who took her and all others at face value, welcoming all lost and weary travelers without trying to change them were safe and secure. She would see no harm come to the Widow Lucas and her adopted "sisters" on her watch; Emma knew Mulan took that charge upon herself as a sworn duty. The rest of them would never have put such weight on her shoulders, but each one of them also slept easier knowing Mulan was nearby. The slim build, shining curtain of silky black hair and delicate features could have long ago earned Mulan the hand of any prince, pirate, or nobleman who laid eyes on her, but those physical attributes all deceptively hid her strength, speed, and core of deadly steel if anyone threatened harm to those she loved.

              "We'll be alright," Emma assured again, as Mulan bid her goodnight. "Everyone was in good spirits this evening. No fights, no trouble. Please rest easy once you get home. I can't imagine anything should happen until we see you again tomorrow."

              "As you say," the raven-haired woman replied simply, and with a slight dip of her head in a bow, she turned and slipped into the night with such soundless agility and grace that she seemed to melt into the darkness - unseen in mere seconds.

              Closing the door at last, Emma latched it securely, making certain the tavern and rooms above were locked properly for the night. She then began to move about the large, open main room, blowing out the candles still left aglow on scattered tabletops and snuffing out the wall sconces as well as she made a final pass around the main space. At last her final chores were complete, one last lit candle in her hand as she stood before the front window, looking down the moonlit street toward the docks for a moment longer. Captain Jones and his crew had yet to be seen in town, and while she could tell the others she didn't care - could even tell herself that in the light of day - here alone in the silent frosty night, Emma couldn't help wondering where he might be, and if he were well.

              "Jones, if you're out there," she murmured, hoping only the snow and ice and the Christmas star would hear her, "Take care or yourself… and be safe 'til we meet again."

              She had crossed the darkened room, placed her hand on the stair rail and was on the first step up to the second floor, when she heard the lightest rapping at the side door into the alley. Pausing there, Emma held her breath, listening uncertainly for the knock again, hardly daring to hope. She only had her candle in hand, the shadows long around her. Were Ruby and her huntsman still outside keeping each other warm despite the winter's chill? Could there be a prowler who had lain in wait until their self-appointed guardian had left for the night, or might it be the visitor she had been promised? The face she had looked for in anticipation every time the inn's door had opened to welcome a new patron that night? She would deny it to anyone, but those dark brows arched up into his windswept hair in challenge or jest, over eyes as blue as his beloved ocean, had been sorely missed; she had hoped to see him home again for Christmas more than she wanted to allow herself.

              She drew nearer to the side entrance, not wishing to give any her presence if the person on the other side bore ill intent, but straining to hear all the same; seeking some sign she was right and to confirm the feeling she had about who awaited on the other side. Gathering her courage, Emma reached for the fireplace poker beside the large stone hearth. Its embers were now dead for the night, but only a short while ago it had been blazing hotly, heating the entire space. She was not some frightened child at any rate; she'd hold her own against any intruder if the opened door led to a nasty surprise.

              Sure enough, the rapping came again, more firmly and with the added hushed entreaty, "Swan? Are you still about, Lass? Emma Swan! It's Captain Jones if you're still about and wish to see your sailor!"

              Her concerns brushed aside at the tones of that voice she could not mistake, Emma let the metal of her makeshift weapon clatter against the stone as it dropped from her fingers. With an exuberant little cry, she was at the door and lifting the latch in a second. The candle in her hand flickered and nearly went out with the stunned breath that left her upon glimpsing his handsome form once again after so long away.

              To his credit, Jones didn't tease; instead looking rather stunned himself as his gaze appeared busy drinking her in as well. Soon, he slipped inside out of the blustery chill and, seeing that her hand holding lighted taper was shaking considerably, he took it from her with care and reached to light the nearest sconce, casting their immediate surroundings with enough warm glow by which to see.

              Finally, she regained enough of her faculties to speak, and Emma stuttered, "It seemed you were not coming, Captain. Ruby mocked me all day for my foul temper and Tink joined in of course to say it was due to my missing and certain pirate and his crew. The busybodies!" she scoffed. But then she reached across the space between hem to catch his hand. "I did worry you might have been arrested, or hurt, or wrecked…or lost…any number of things. Or perhaps I gave you no clear assurance, and instead you had moved on, not to return."

              Killian shook his head just barely, looking troubled that she could even think he would abandon or fail her so easily. "Hardly Lass," he stated fervently, a sort of fiery glow in his eyes she had not seen before. I did say I would return by Yuletide, did I not? A pirate I might be, but I still have my honor.  It would take more than the increased vigilance of the Evil Queen and her forces to keep me away."

              Emma sucked in a worried breath at the cause of his delay. They all hoped to keep far under the notice of the usurper monarch - as cold and cruel as she was darkly attractive, she would end a life as easily as snapping her fingers, and at the slightest provocation, real or imagined. Life had been all the harder and more fraught with danger since Regina had wrested the crown from her kind and gentle stepdaughter Snow White, the rightful heir to the crown. If Killian were wanted by Queen Regina and had snuck back into her borders only to keep his promise, Emma could not bear to consider what would happen if he were discovered.

              Now was the moment of truth, before anymore needless time slipped past. It was time she told him what she had realized while no teasing friends or rowdy onlookers were listening in. "I missed you," she finally managed to croak out around the lump in her throat. "Thank you… Killian…for keeping your word."

              He dipped his head to look into her eyes where she had dropped her gaze to her feet. A strong, calloused hand, warm and gentle in its intent, tipped her chin back up to stare into his searching gaze. "Of course, Swan - Emma. All I could have wished for this holiday was…" he paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously and a hand coming up to worry the spot behind his ear - gesture she had long ago noticed signified nervousness. But he plunged on determinedly, "was to see you again, to see you and give you this."

              Pulling a small pouch from some inner pocket of his long leather jacket, he held it out to her with sparkling eyes, appearing almost boyish for a moment in his eagerness to see her open his gift, and whispering "Happy Christmas, Emma," as he placed it in her upturned palm.

              Emma's mouth formed a surprised "O", having not expected or hoped for anything more than his safe return. Opening the ties, she tilted the soft material until the item within spilled out in her hand. Holding up a long, golden chain with an exquisite stone of lovely pale green, near to jade in color, swinging from it, she was enchanted by the pendant he had brought her. "Oh, it's gorgeous," she breathed, rather stunned at how nice the piece of jewelry was.  She wore (or even owned, to be honest) little of such finery.

              "It's sea glass," Killian explained, taking the piece back in nimble fingers when she offered it, then turned, lifting her long hair so he could place the chain around her neck and fasten it for her. "Though sailors believe sea glass is good luck, that it keeps the wearer safe, and I would always wish you to be so, I knew it had to be yours because of the color. It reminded me vividly of your eyes…" Though the necklace was secured, his fingers still grazed featherlight along her skin, causing prickles of awareness to course throughout her body, and his own voice had turned decidedly husky.

              At last, Emma turned to face him once more, breaking the trance between them, but needing to thank him, and for him to see how touched she was by his gift, even if her voice was breathless and her words trembled with emotion. "I don't know what to say. You shouldn't have, but I adore it all the same. I'll treasure it, Killian. Truly." And without further hesitation or pausing to think and second guess, Emma threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly to her. "Thank you," she whispered against his chest, breathing in the salty, spicy essence of him and nuzzling against his chest. She realized with a force that almost knocked her off her feet that she never wanted to let go.

              She felt Killian Jones' fingers thread through her hair, stroking gently, reverently as they stood there wrapped up in each other, swaying slightly in the candle glow and the howl of the wind outside. Emma felt they might indeed stay that way forever, and that neither of them would mind at all, until more rapid knocking interrupted their silent moment. The door handle rattled urgently, and she heard a nervous voice she recognized as Killian's first mate's speaking in hurried words. "Cap'n, you told me to summon you when an hour had gone. I've already seen one patrol of black guard go by. If they notice the Jolly in the harbor…"

              "Aye, Smee," he gritted out, stopping the anxious flow of words. "Head back and make ready to sail. I'll follow in a moment."

              He sighed as he turned back to Emma, tracing his thumb over the apple of her cheek and pausing to caress the dimple in her chin as he cradled her face in his hand.

              "You have to go," she acknowledged reluctantly; hating it, but understanding and wanting to see him safe, just as he did her. Her words were wistful, wishing he could stay there with her - or that she could run away with him - but it was too much, too quickly, no matter how she dreaded being parted again so soon.

              "I must, for now," he affirmed, the regret lacing every syllable of his words. "But I hope that now you know I will return."

              She nodded mutely, her mind trying to memorize every detail of his face, his voice, his touch, until she could see him again. "And I will be here waiting for you," she promised with equal intent.

              Bending slightly, Killian brushed his lips against her cheek, his stubble tickling her skin and again making her shiver at the sensation. It was the lightest and most gallant of kisses, and yet it only served to make her burn for more - for him to take her in his arms, for those firm lips to kiss her everywhere, for him to take her to her own apartments, or back to his cabin. It would keep her burning for however long they might be kept apart.

              As he had to leave, heading out again into the dark night, Emma stood at the door watching until the very second his vanished from her sight, no longer able to deny how anxiously she would await his return.

On to Part Two...

Tagging a few who might enjoy.... @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @sotangledupinit @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @scientificapricot @tomeandflickcorner @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @resident-of-storybrooke @ineffablecolors @xsajx @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @hollyethecurious @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @kazoosandfannypacks @booksteaandtoomuchtv @bluewildcatfanatic​

[king-craftsman]

To Be Shipshape

The night was still young and in its youth came hope. For many, these hopes were for a good night, dinners, dates, excited outings and illicit dealings. For Dean Winchester, hope came as a new lead. As his Impala drifted into the nearby parking lot of the harbour, his tense jaw and tight grip refused to loosen. This could be the night, the night where his hopes were met too, the night where he found out what happened to the missing men of this country. It had been nearly two months now and eight disappearances, all men, all at night, all at seaside towns. 

Someone joked that maybe it was some siren song that drew these men to the ocean; to let their bodies soak in the sea and taste its salt before they disappeared into the depths. In Dean’s line of work, something like that wasn’t a joke, it was a possibility. The engine of the Impala died at once as Dean stared at his target, the old ship that may have been the witness to it all, or the cause. Some said they saw an odd looking ship around the harbour, usually sailing away to disappear into the mist of the sea. 

There was only one conclusion Dean could come to, ghost ship. The ship looked like it was out of time, a wooden behemoth that creaked as it slowly danced upon the waves. Its sails were rolled up, an anchor of a rusted chain planted into the ocean and ropes that tied the ship to the docks. It was ancient, it was imposing and as Dean stepped closer, getting the hint of sea salt and something else, warm and spicy, he had to admit, it was beautiful. 

He glanced around, only the tides and the creaks of the ship were his companions at the docks. He had everything he needed and years of dealing with the supernatural to help, so he didn’t understand why he was taking so long to walk up the wooden steps, to let them groan underfoot and for him to board the ship. But it did, he stood there just taking it in. He had seen so many odd things on his journey but this ship, this odd slice of time that had thrown itself into the present, was definitely up there. 

Dean ventured forward. He didn’t know if it was perhaps the night, the growing height or the Fates themselves, but the wind soon picked up. Suddenly, the howl of the winds and jangle of chain were newfound companions as Dean climbed up the steps and went aboard deck. To say it was like entering a new world was an understatement, this felt to be a new realm, with its own laws, the first of which came through its sway. Dean had been on ships before, hell unlike Sam he never used to even get sea sick. But he stumbled as he took the first step and realised just how much the ship was swaying. 

For a second it felt as if the world was warping, as if to turn upside down and let the seas fall nowhere. But then the next second the sway came in the other direction and Dean stumbled again, struggling for footing until he clenched onto the bannister of the ship. It took a moment for him to be able to stand and then, it felt as if he would fall any minute, before he heard a voice. 

“Ahoy mate. Can I help ya?” Dean wasn’t sure what surprised him most, the fact he heard a voice or the voice itself. It sounded sultry, deep, a strong accent that carried itself on the winds. Dean looked to see a man step out of the doorway that led below deck and couldn’t believe what he saw, for all intents and purposes, it was a pirate. He was a short lean man dressed to the nines in dark leather. A short head of hair swayed in the wind and the bearded man was rugged, an undershirt exposing a slither of a muscular chest and a pendant. Fingers were adorned in rings that glinted in moonlight. And as he stepped closer, there was a new smell, a different smell, that emanated from the man and almost caused Dean’s eyes to water. “Mate, are ya alright? Ya look like ya don’t even got yer sea legs.” 

It was hard at first for Dean to understand what he meant until he realised he was still holding onto the side of the ship. 

“Uh right uhh...Who are you?” What the hell are you was more like it. Was this some sort of renaissance fair thing? Why was Dean on a swaying ship talking to a pirate? 

The pirate himself chuckled as if he could hear Dean’s thoughts. 

“Captain Killian Jones,” Killian introduced as he gestured out to the ship. It creaked in response. “And this is me ship, now I’ll ask again, who are ya? And what are ya doin’ here?” Dean didn’t think he’d get caught this easily. When he saw nobody was around, he thought maybe this was some enchanted ghost ship, somehow taking people and he’d be in and out. But the Fates laughed through the whistle of the wind. Nothing was ever so simple. 

“Dean.” He didn’t offer his hand to shake but instead stood up straighter as he glanced around at the deck. It wasn’t as if anybody else was coming up. “So...Who are you? What is this? Are you like part of some...I don’t know, some show or something?” 

Killian chuckled. 

Dean furrowed his brows. 

“Show? Aye mate, the best show on earth,” started Killian with a cocky grin that showed off his pearly whites. “A show of the seven seas itself, pirates, treasure, gallivanting and shanties. It’s a sight to see mate.” He gave Dean a wink, causing him to be taken aback. “Why don’t I show ya?” Dean thought about it. Every sense in him told him to get off the ship, that he’d come back with Sam, Cas and figure this out. But he was sure this was the ship and the ship always got away. This was his chance. But he shook his head. It was too risky a chance.

“Thanks but I…” Dean started but his sentence died in a weakening drawl as Killian stepped forward and suddenly the scent was back, stronger than ever. Dean couldn’t quite place it, this foreign concoction that had him blink away watering eyes and stifle a cough with how strong it was. All he could get was a hint of leather and a taste of that same spicy scent that greeted him as he stepped closer to the ship. “I...Yeah sure, I have some questions.” Killian’s smile widened as his eyebrow raised in interest.

“Great mate, come with me! We’ll get this all sorted and get ya shipshape,” And the two of them were off. The winds whistled louder. The Fates laughed harder. All the while as Dean started his descent below deck, a gust of wind shut the door behind him.

As Dean Winchester delved into the depths of the ship, he felt himself being entombed by wood, shadow and those otherworldly scents. The different squeaks of the steps and the general feeling of descent told him that he was going down. 

But every other sense was wholly distracted. All he could see was darkness and all he could smell were those mingling scents that loomed closer with every step down. It wasn’t until Dean’s eyes adjusted that he could see a soft glow emanating from a doorway deeper inside. 

It danced and it was only a moment later Dean realised it appeared to be some sort of torchlight as he smelled the faint scent of flame. One last step and Dean found himself on the same footing as Killian and soon into the hallway of the ship where the air felt twice as heavy. It was almost like he had to push himself to move as Dean stifled a cough and waved his hand in front of his face.

Ugh that smell...Dean scrunched his nose as he tried to focus on breathing through his mouth, but that only made him cough more as he got smoke into his lungs. Killian chuckled as Dean coughed a couple more times.

“Ye aint used to the smell are ya? Don’t worry lad, you’ll get used to it,” commented Killian as he sauntered on forward. Dean could still barely see as he cleared his eyes but other people were down here too, all men and all dressed like pirates. He glanced over towards them, to see if any of them matched the missing people’s description, but it was hard to focus as the ship’s swaying felt far worse below deck. 

At any rate, Dean was far too shocked at how none of these guys seemed to break character. All of them greeted him with thick piratelike accents and lingo, as if they weren’t just playing pirates, as if they were pirates. 

“I don’t plan on staying long,” replied Dean as he narrowed his eyes towards Killian. He couldn’t see what the pirate’s reaction was, but he could somehow tell that the captain was still smiling. After the fifth or sixth pirate greeted him, Dean was thankful when he saw Killian open a door at the end of the hall.

“This is me quarters here,” Killian announced as he swung the door open and a blast of heat and scents jetted out the room. Dean didn’t get seasick, but this was all making him nauseous and he quickly stepped in and let himself fall back into a chair at the end of the desk, a hand kneading his temple as he tried to focus. “So mate...What can I do ya for?” 

The door was closed and suddenly Killian was sitting at the other end of a long desk, adorned with maps and parchment, a dagger in the wood and loose gold coins strewn around. The office itself was slightly cramped, a collection of knick knacks that formed an odd fusion of living and working space. On one side of the quarters was bedding, an end table, and the next was an office, for a meeting of the minds, bookcases, plans on parchment, the scent of gold that had been won and gold to be found. 

But that wasn’t the only scent that lingered in the quarters of Captain Killian Jones. It only took a few moments for Dean to feel sweat start to form on his brow. He pulled at his shirt and tried to hope that he could ignore the stifling heat. That he could handle, but what was more difficult was that smell, as persistent as a predator, it didn’t seem to worm its way towards Dean. He had been following it the entire time, as he looked towards Killian Jones, taking a deep sniff and realising that the smell was twice as intense in here, in the captain’s living quarters. He reminded himself to try and only breathe through his mouth. 

“Okay so uh...Killian is it?” Dean blinked. For a man who had met archangels, the name still sounded ridiculous. Killian cocked an eyebrow.

“It can be whatever you want it to be mate,” the captain winked. Dean blinked again. “But for now, how about we stick with Captain, or if ya must, Captain Jones, seven seas I’ll even let ya have Captain Killian.” Dean rolled his eyes. Seriously? At this point, if it was just a guy playing a pirate then it’d be ten times worse, the idea of someone staying in-character for so long. The smell reminded Dean that there was no way he’d be able to sit in here for too long. 

“Sure...Captain Killian,” said Dean, addressing the name with the same seriousness as a child’s nickname. “Didn’t mean to just wander onto your...ship.” The ship croaked in response. “But I need help with this...investigation I’m doing.” 

For the first time Killian’s cocky demeanour vanished. His smile fell and the focus of his eyes seemed to be more threatening than amusing. 

“An investigation, ya say? What kind of investigation lad?” He reached over for one of the coins on the table, starting to fiddle with it as his other hand drummed against the table. Killian took a cursory glance to the porthole where he saw nothing but the endless dark oceans of sky and sea. 

“Just about a...crime I guess, someone said they saw a ship like yours nearby,” Dean paused to take a breath. Even breathing here felt slower with all the heat and (he took another sniff and frowned), musk. He frowned in disgust. “I’m not a lad by the way.” Killian’s amusement threatened to return. 

“Aye? That so mate? Well ye see anyone who don’t even have their sea legs here is a lad, lad,” replied Killian. He began to spin the coin on the table and slamming it down after a few spins. Spin, slam, spin, slam, spin...and slam. Dean’s eyes were drawn to it in annoyance. “But mate I dunno if I can help ya, I’d have to see what night it was, who was the lookout-” Dean reached into his jacket and fished out a folded piece of paper. He threw it towards Killian’s side of the desk. The ship swayed again and Dean gripped his chair much to Killian’s amusement. He didn’t even try to hide his smirk as he took the paper. 

“That’s the night the...crimes took place,” explained Dean. His jaw tensed as he studied Killian, still playing with that coin (spin, slam, spin, slam…), still clearly not caring about what the ship did or didn’t see. Or rather, what the crew did or didn’t do. “The crimes…” Dean blinked as the ship swayed again, he still wasn’t used to it and it made it even harder to focus as his stomach churned. He felt like his head was churning along with it, his next words lost to nausea. 

“Crimes, crimes, ya keep goin’ on about crimes...Can I ask what exactly happened mate?” questioned Killian. “Help me…”  Spin… “Help you lad.” Still spinning... Dean was growing more and more frustrated with that coin. It was like the longer Killian played with it, the more his eyes wandered over, just to glare at it, just to have to blink every time- SLAM. That happened. Dean inhaled and almost instantly regretted it as he resisted the urge to cough from all the musk around. Even hints of the scent, the salt and leather of it all was too much for him. 

“Men-” started Dean. Spin… 

“I tend to bed em,” interrupted Killian. SLAM. “What about em?” Spin…

“A lot of them have gone missing,” exclaimed Dean. “I just thought you might-” SLAM. God he hated that sound. “Might know anything-” Killian shrugged.

“I might mate, but I doubt it,” replied Killian. “Besides…” Spin… “Why’d I know anything about that sort of thing?”

“You’d know because your ship was nearby and could you stop playing with that damn coin?!” Dean snapped. The heat was unbearable. The smell was worse. The coin was the last straw. Killian stared back at Dean. “Look, either you know something or you don’t, but you should quit wasting my time.” 

“Aye mate? Is something…” Spin… Killian smiled darkly. “Bothering ya?” SLAM. Dean just glared back.

“Yeah actually it is, can you just stop for a second and take this seriously?” said Dean. Spin...Dean swore to God that the coin was growing louder. It was going to drive him crazy.

“Tell me about em,” Killian purred. His voice had grown lower as he continued to play with the coin. He let it spin just a moment longer before- SLAM. It was Dean’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Killian chuckled lowly. “Tell me about ya complaints lad.” Spin… 

“What?” Dean wanted to ask more, namely what kind of joke was this? But he saw Killian’s expression darken and knew that in some odd way the pirate was being serious. “Fine, I’ll tell you. The smell, the musk, the chair is sticky, your coin is annoying and you-” SLAM…

“Are one of the hottest men you’ve seen,” interrupted Killian. “Is that right?” Dean scoffed. 

“Yeah, you wish,” said Dean. Killian smirked. Spin…

“Then why are you hard mate?” Dean looked down and suddenly gasped. His eyes widened as he suddenly felt a presence in his pants, a presence he should’ve felt before. His dick was hard! But not just hard, but almost throbbing, that was until… “Or should I say...Throbbing lad.” SLAM!

Dean’s cock bounced for attention, suddenly throbbing as he panted and looked down at his member. He had never gotten so horny in his life, so hard, so desperate as his cock almost felt like a whole new limb, so solid as it bounced in his jeans. Sooner or later, he was going to get so hard it was going to start a tent against the worn denim.

Spin…

“F-Fuck! What? N-No…” Dean panted as he swallowed, his throat having suddenly felt dry. “This can’t be happening! What are you doing?!”

SLAM!

Dean grunted as his cock hardened even more and started to tent in his jeans. “No! No...Stop it!” Killian chuckled as he...

Spin…

“Oh too late to stop it mate, too late to stop…” SLAM! Dean bit back a groan. “Anything. It just…” Spin… “Feels so good to be…” SLAM! Dean couldn’t stop groaning then. “Controlled.” Spin… “To be…” SLAM! Dean moaned. “Mine lad...Cause that’s what you are...As you start to…” Spin… “Leak out all your thoughts.” Dean’s eyes widened as he felt himself fall back into the chair the more he tried to get up.

“No please dooooh-” SLAM! His cock throbbed again and began to sputter pre-cum, as Dean looked down, half-lidded and flushed.

“You were saying mate?” Killian teased. Spin… “Or were you too busy…” SLAM! Dean groaned out loud. “Leaking out your will out ya cock…” Spin… “And getting to obey Killian...Hook...Ya captain...As you…” SLAM! Dean moaned again. “Leak out for Captain Killian…” Spin… 

“N-No-” Dean grabbed his cock hard with both hands, so hard he knew he wouldn’t even find it in himself to stroke. It wasn’t painful but he put enough pressure on his cock to squeeze out some more pre-cum and slow down any more from flowing. Uncomfortable enough that there was no way he could throb more.

“Oh, a fighter are ya? Well what if I…” SLAM! Dean grunted but kept his grip tighter. But he suddenly began to smell something as he heard leather shift and then plop. “Help with that…'' 

Killian suddenly put both his sweaty feet on the table, having taken his leather boots off behind the desk. 

The musk hit Dean like a heatwave and his eyes stung from the sweaty salty musk. 

But worst of all his grip loosened. 

“No I-” Spin… “I can’t-” SLAM! “Give in…” Spin… “Can’t…” 

“Resist?” Killian finished as Slam! The stain in Dean’s pants grew. His mind felt far away. All he could hear was Killian. “Can’t…” Spin… “Resist obeying ya captain?” SLAM! Dean groaned and to his shock it sounded like a groan of pleasure and approval. “Can’t resist…” Spin… “Staring at me feet?”

SLAM! Dean groaned and this time it was a groan of approval as his body instinctively humped the air and his half lidded eyes focused on Killian’s feet. Everything and anything from the sweaty soles to the musky scent to the wriggling toes, wriggling back...

SLAM! And forth…

Spin… Back…

SLAM! And forth…

Dean couldn’t even hear himself moan at this point because he just did it so easily, it was like breathing, he wouldn’t know until someone pointed it out. And Killian never pointed it out beyond a hand at his leather clad crotch and his signature smirk. 

“Please…” Dean let out a weak moan, a whimper that sounded of pleading rather than resistance. He could barely think, barely understand what was happening. But he was still as strong as ever, and he knew he had to resist. He had to. He wanted to. He didn’t want to. He...Spin...Fuck….Not again anything but...

SLAM!

“Oghhh god-” He moaned and realise now his breaths were becoming pants, taking in more and more musk. The toes were still wriggling, still captivating, still so hot. 

“Now mate…” Spin… “When my foot touches your face, you’re gonna just…” SLAM! Moan. “Sink! Understand mate?” Killian sat on his desk, the foot now beginning to raise and reach closer and closer as Dean moaned and whimpered and tried his bet to back away. But the seat didn’t budge and neither did he.

All he could do was crane his neck back as the foot got closer and closer.

“N-No...Stop…” The foot was half a foot away. “Please...Fuck…” Getting closer now, still wriggling, still spiralling. “Can’t…” The musky foot was inches now. “Can’t…” So close. “Can’t…” So big. “No…” So good. “I-”

The foot pressed against Dean’s face and with it he was under, sinking deeper and deeper in both his mind and the chair as he was forced to breathe in Killian’s musky foot. He even licked his lips, his tongue tasting some of the sole as Killian let the foot slowly descend down, toes brushing against his lips. It just went down and down and down like Dean’s mind, as the foot caressed his chest, his abs and then reached down until it rested right up against Dean’s denim clad throbbing cock. Dean whimpered and shifted slightly, grinding his cock against the sweaty foot as Killian just chuckled at him.

“Well mate, seems ya found me secret. But now it’s time to get ya...Shipshape,” Killian smiled down at Dean as he let his foot nudge gently against Dean’s member. “Everytime I click me fingers, you are going to slowly turn into more and more of a pirate lad.” 

Dean’s brows furrowed, some part within him still fighting, still resisting. 

“You are going to forget this whole thing happened and think we had a normal meeting in me office. But everytime I click me fingers, you are going to obey, going to become more and more of a pirate as part of me crew. You are going to forget your old life, ya old friends, that don’t matter now. What matters is ya crew and most importantly…” 

Killian let his foot play with the wet slick head of Dean’s cock through his jeans. 

“Ya captain.” Dean moaned lightly in agreement and let out a small nod. “Now how about I let ya…” He moved the foot up to Dean’s lips. “Have some fun…” He slipped the toes between Dean’s lips, smiling wider when Dean let out a muffled groan and took the toes in deeper. 

“Before long it’ll be time to…”

Wake. 

Dean shot up with a start, unfortunately taking long breaths as he tasted something salty on his tongue. He looked down at himself, seeing he was fine and then around at the room. The ship was still swaying and Captain Killian Jones was sat on the other end of his desk, feet up as he inspected one of his rings. He looked up, piercing blue eyes meeting Dean’s as he gave a weak smile.

“Good mornin’ mate,” Killian said jokingly as he saw Dean look around confused as the ship swayed again. 

“The hell? What happened?” questioned Dean as his eyes locked onto Killian. For some reason that sickening sensation, that churning of the stomach, seemed slightly duller now. Killian gave no answers, only a smirk. Dean broke his gaze with Killian as he looked around. 

Everything about this place seemed the same, the same disgusting odd scent, the same rickety aged interior, and the obnoxious charming captain at the helm of it all. Even behind a desk, it seemed as if he was in charge of the room, the conversation, perhaps even of Dean. From the way Killian Jones glanced at him, with a raised eyebrow and stupid stunning smile, Dean wagered the man knew it too.

“Nothin’ mate, we were just talking and you fell asleep is all, musta been real tired.” There was almost a mocking tone to Killian’s words, as his words wavered slightly like the surface of the sea. It was an odd way of talking, hell, the accent alone was an odd way of talking. But it did make Dean feel the need to listen. “So what were ya sayin’?” 

What was Dean saying? He sighed and sat up in his seat, hearing his back click as he stretched out. He glanced down to his notebook, looking over some usual notes and some he barely remembered making, before a last stroke of the pen that slips off the page. 

“Well mate?” 

“Yeah I’m getting there,” exclaimed Dean as he looked up annoyedly at Killian. It frustrated him more how all the man could do was smile and take glee at the situation, as if he was incapable of taking anything seriously. Anything that wasn’t playing pirate anyway.

“Alright, alright mate just chop chop,” Snap. Snap. Killian snapped his fingers twice and with each snap, the sound echoed in Dean’s mind and for a moment he looked through Killian. He blinked as he felt something shift in him too. His feet suddenly felt colder as the socks around them were gone. The arches clicked and the toes sprawled forward as Dean’s already sizable feet grew a size larger. His once roomy brown leather boots now suddenly felt tight and cramped on his feet, causing him to groan lightly in pain as he peered down at his feet. But that was something he’d come to soon regret, as he smelled something musky emanating from beneath him. He wasn’t sure if it was somehow his feet, but as they continued to fill the shoes, they began to feel warm and sweaty. “Something the matter, mate?” 

Dean looked back up.

“Uh no so uh…” He began to flick again through the notepad. “You’ve told me...Most everything but, like I was saying, has there been anything...Weird to you? Anything you’ve seen that’s just...Unnatural?” Dean narrows his eyes, watching Killian as they look away, seeming like they were suddenly deep in thought. There was nothing about this man that Dean could take seriously, the sooner he could get out of here, the better. 

“Hmm, well there was something lad,” spoke Killian as he turned to look back at Dean. “Something...Bloody hell, I can’t remember uh…” Dean leaned forward with anticipation. 

“What was it?” Dean questioned. “Look, anything, even the slightest thing can help.” Killian drummed his fingers on the desk, looking upward as he was trying to remember. 

“Seven seas mate, it was on the tip of me tongue, it was…” Snap. Snap. Killian clicked his fingers twice as he tried to remember. Dean shifted in the seat as he suddenly felt his feet become less cramped. The shoes themselves changed, the leather beginning to ride up his ankles as it darkened all over. The shoes themselves turning into dark tall leather boots that were more than sizable enough to contain Dean’s larger musky feet. But the boots themselves stunk of it, making the scent even worse. Dean was about to look down before- “Oh! I remember mate!” Dean quickly looked up at Killian.

“Yeah? What?” Dean quickly asked, almost forgetting about checking out what was going on with his footwear and his feet. He tried his best to ignore that pungent musk filling the air but it was starting to get too much and he could already start to feel slightly light headed. But only slightly, as if he was getting used to the scent. 

“One of me crewmates uh…” Snap. Dean grunted as his ass cheeks began to protrude. They grew rounder and softer, making him feel cushioned in the chair. He shifted in the seat, feeling like it had suddenly grown tighter on him as he swore he was an inch or two taller in the chair now. He glanced back to check why he felt so odd. “Derek I think it was, he saw something real strange mate and he...Mate? Hello?” Snap. Dean instantly looked back to Killian and let out a gasp as they felt their cock grow hard, suddenly throbbing as it made itself known as a bulge formed at Dean’s crotch. 

“Huh? Wha-” Dean bit back a groan, biting his lip as he glanced down concernedly at his cock. Why was he getting so hard now? What the hell was going on with him? He could feel sweat beginning to form at his brow and only realised now that he hadn’t even been taking notes since he started asking Killian questions again. “Sorry, what?” 

“You alright mate? You seem a little, I don’t know…” Snap. Dean gasped as his cock throbbed and he swore it seemed to grow an inch. At the very least this was the biggest boner he’d ever had. “Distracted mate.” 

“Yeah, yeah look I think I gotta go I really-” Dean said as he was about to stand up.

“Oh no stay mate,” Killian purred. Dean shook his head, still halfway in his seat.

“No, I’ve really-” Snap. “Oh!” Dean fell back in the seat, moaning as he looked down to see his cock throb again, only this time he could see that it was starting to leak. His navy blue jeans were beginning to appear stained only...Wait, that wasn’t pre-cum, or at least it wasn’t just pre-cum. 

It was something else, something darker...something shinier… 

“Wha...What...What the fuck?!” Dean glanced down in shock and horror as he went to tug at his jeans, but they wouldn’t budge. His belt was nowhere to be seen and the button had all but disappeared. Killian sat back and watched the show unfold as he saw Dean desperately try to wriggle his way out of the jeans. But they wouldn’t budge, mainly because they weren’t jeans anymore. They were quickly darkening into tight black shiny leather pants, matching his boots and growing tighter. “No, no what the fuck is this?! What’s happening?!” 

Dean’s breaths became pants, as his hand continued to try and pull at the tight leather, to drag it off of himself. But everything around him seemed so distracting. From the musk that permeated from his boots, to the ship that he swore swayed just when he almost got a good grip on the pants, to Captain Killian, sitting there and staring eagerly. But the worst came with his dick, his thick and sensitive length of arousal that he could feel was smeared by pre-cum that had no choice but to flow over and down his cock. 

His breaths became gasps that became pants that became light groans of arousal, much of them snuffed out by this constant resistance that tried to stop his voice. Dean managed to hook a finger into the pants when...Snap.

“What’s wrong mate?” Killian smirked as he saw Dean look up with a shock and then look down at his pants. As if his legs were made of jelly, he could see them wobbling slightly, and feel them grow warm with the heat of change as he started to feel them stretch.

“No, no, no! What the…” Dean gasped and then groaned as he felt the first changes, his thighs growing just slightly wider, causing the leather to groan as it stretched out. “What the bloody hell have you-” 

Dean covered his mouth, partly to stop the groaning but partly because...something sounded different. And he saw that Killian heard it too. The man raised an eyebrow and gave a smile that was of a welcome surprise before Dean moved his hand, trying to grab one of his legs, to see if his strong hands could stop the growth.

But his thighs widened with muscle, as if he was on his legs all day, every day. Dean knew his brother told him about the benefits of cardio, but he thought hunting was all the exercise he needed. Now his legs looked like he went running every other day. 

“What’s wrong mate?” Killian chuckled. “Go ahead lad, speak.”

Snap.

Dean groaned and writhed in his chair as he looked down to see his own leather jacket was now starting to disappear. He knew the only one with a leather long coat was Killian...Captain Killian.

No, fuck! Not a damn captain! Dean thought to himself as he looked down, more preoccupied with what was happening to his shirt. His own shirt began to transform into some thin undershirt of cheap fabric, slowly lightening to a pale, almost ivory colour. 

The sleeves grew slightly wider and were peppered with strings that crossed over. It looked to be one of those shirts some knight would wear on a medieval historical show. But a moment later Dean realised it was one of those undershirts from older times, only this one wasn’t a prop.

This one was real.

The neck hole was slightly larger and the opening of the shirt exposed some of his chest. Dean continued to grunt and groan, refusing to let these moans of pleasure escape easily. But most of all he didn’t dare speak, in fear he’d-

Snap. 

“I said speak!”

“Fuck, I don’t…” Dean grunted as his lips moved all on their own. He tried to urge his hand to cover his mouth but he suddenly didn’t want to disobey Captain Killian. He couldn’t. Snap. “Fuck please man don’t-” Snap “Fuck m-m- mate!” Dean gasped as he could feel more and more of his southern American accent was fading, as more and more of his clothes did. The pen in hand turned into a quill. The notepad became sheets of parchment that fell to the floor. Everything about and around Dean was changing, growing perfect to be on a ship like this, to be…

Oh god, not that, Dean thought.

“Sounding a bit...Different lad?” Snap.

Dean watched as his chest began to itch. He groaned out loud as his pecs grew even larger, becoming two sizable pouches of muscle that jiggled as he writhed and gyrated his hips in the chair. His own cock was practically leaking out a fountain of pre-cum, so much so that some arrived in spurts with each-

Snap. 

“F-Fuck mate, my- me voice...What the hell did you do to me...my fuckin’ voice!” Dean yelled as he looked down. He wanted to get up, but it was like his body was incapable, as if he was trapped in this very room, right where the captain was.

Fuck, he wish he could stop calling Captain Killian, captain.

But he couldn’t.

“Sounds like yer wantin’ to join our crew mate.” Snap. Killian chuckled darkly as he watched Dean struggle, looking down to see chest hair beginning to sprout out across his enlarged pecs. Dark blonde hairs that spread across his upper chest and down beneath his undershirt, tickling him as they grew and radiating more musk. “Come on mate…”

Snap.

“No please I’m not...Not some bloody- Oh fuck gotta...Gotta make this stop mate,” cried Dean as his arms began to balloon out with muscle. They widened, growing a couple inches thicker as all his tattoos along his chest disappeared, as if the chest hair itself rubbed it away. Dean could feel the changes racing up to his neck now, as his previously shaved jawline was beginning to grow hairy again. “I- I just fuckin’ shaved, ya can’t...Fuck me fuckin’ voice, please make it...Make it stop!” Dean’s voice wrestled between his grizzled deep southern voice and a more smooth and seductive British accent. 

Words and knowledge of piracy, life on the sea, the different parts of a ship slowly started to make themselves apparent. They first appeared in Dean’s dialect, and then like ink on parchment, sank further into the material, drying there and making its place more permanent in his mind. Soon, the word starboard wasn’t just something he kept thinking about in his mind, but it was something he knew the meaning of, something his voice itched to use.

“Oh come on lad, just give in…” said Killian.

Snap. 

“No please don’t fuckin’ do anythin’ you bloody-” Snap. Dean throbbed and writhed in the chair, cock throbbing as not much changed about his angelic face besides the beard that made him seem more grizzled. His body was done. It was his mind that was now the plaything.

“Just let go…” continued Killian. 

“I’m not lettin’ go of anything you fuckin’-” Snap. Dean moaned and fell back in the chair, he was losing the battle of resistance. His cock felt so good, everything felt so good.

“Join me crew…” purred Captain Killian.

“No stop before...Me voice, no me fuckin’ voice what the bleedin’ hell have ya-”  Snap. 

“Ohhhhhh-” Dean moaned.

“And obey ya Captain…” declared Captain Killian.

“No...Please...Fuck I ain’t a bloody pirate, you can’t-” Dean saw Killian raise his fingers slowly. “Fuck mate! No! Don’t do it! Don’t make me some fuckin’ pirate! No! Don’t-” Snap.

“Come for ya captain,” commanded Captain Killian. And how could Dean disobey? The last of his mind slipped off that cliff of resistance and basked in a freefall towards lust, debauchery, chaos, a crew, a Captain. 

His cock throbbed and then, the dam fell, with one last pump, he felt his cock shoot out jets of hot seed into his leather pants. He grabbed his cock, trying to stop it, but all it did was make it worse as he felt his leather clad member practically vibrate with how hard and fast it throbbed, almost fucking his hand as he came again, and again, and again. Dean’s eyes rolled into the back of his mind and fittingly saw nothing but darkness back there, as if he was staring directly at his brain to see it just cloaked by the shadows of musk and lust and obedience for Captain Killian. 

Dean Winchester was no longer the Kansas born supernatural hunter. He was now Deacon of Winchester, one of the most handsomest pirates of the seven seas, a traveller and like much of the other crew, occasional lover to the one and only Captain Killian Jones. 

After he came out of his senses, he came back to them as he woke up with a start in the captain’s quarters, his captain’s quarters. 

“Bloody hell mate, what happened?” Dean Winchester, or as he was now known, Deacon of Winchester looked around. Captain Killian just smiled down at him.

“Looks like ya hit yer head mate, ya feelin’ shipshape?” Killian looked down at him with a smile and a look of expectancy. Dean Deacon didn’t know what he was doing in the captain’s quarters but he just smirked towards the captain.

“Right as rain mate,” shot back Deacon much to Captain Killian’s satisfaction. 

“Well then, get back to it mate. That’s an order,” Captain Killian winked at Deacon, causing their smirk to widen. They stood up and gave a nod.

“As ya wish, Captain Killian,” replied Deacon and with that, he left the quarters feeling like a new man. He took in the deep scent of the sweat, musk and rum, the manly scent of a hardworking crew. All before he got back onto the deck of the ship, the sea around them and the salt in the air. Nothing felt better than being here, to be sailing on the open seas with his crew, his rum and his captain. It sure felt good to be a pirate. 

This story was originally posted on my Patreon, but I've decided to release it for FREE. Click here to check out more stories like this on my Patreon and feel free to message me if you want to find out more or if you just enjoyed this story!

[mccallhero]

favourite ouat scenes: 55/?

[a-happy-beginning]

I’m your mom. I’m never gonna be okay with being apart.

—Emma Swan to Henry Mills, Once Upon a Time, “A Pirate’s Life”

[dinneratgrannys]

ONCE UPON A TIME 7.02, A Pirate's Life

[ramblings-of-lola]

I love when authors/writers take characters that the audience hates and then we get their perspective or the other characters get to know them better and suddenly we love this character and pause and go "how did this happen?"

[thepirateandhisson]

i’m obsessed with the fact that henry & killian swordfight regularly on the jolly roger and that it brings killian so much joy that he’s grinning the whole time and he’s so proud when henry (almost) bests him like what an adorable father/son combo

[geekstuffkittykat]

Stumbling across one of the very first coloured pencil drawings I ever did made me realise I never painted him since (Almost 12 years ago).

Killian Jones AKA Captain Hook from the series Once upon a time. Played devilishly by Colin O'Donaghue. I have never been more attracted to evil turned hero. He was the first character to use the term 'Love' that sent me in a tizz. I Love how flirty and mischievous he is but also how heroic and kind he is. This painting is the textbook definition of "bedroom eyes"

[glittter-skeleton]

Hello OUAT fandom, I bring you Emma’s emotional cheating in s4

[snowbellewells]

Happy Birthday Krystal!!!: An EF AU Birthday Fic

This fic is a birthday gift for @kmomof4​ who deserves all the gifts and flails, love and hugs possible for this fandom to give!! I am so blessed to know her and be in the same fandom as she is. I hope she’ll enjoy this story (it grew from a drabble I wrote ages ago for a hiatus prompt, and if memory serves, Krystal wanted me to continue).  There will be one more part, soon I hope.

Enchanted Forest AU with Princess Emma and Pirate Killian (though not in quite the same way he became one in canon....)

***Also available on AO3 if you prefer***

“The Weight of the Crown (is a Feather on the Waves)”

by: @snowbellewells​ 

         “Emma! – That is, your Highness!  You cannot be serious!  The law clearly states…” but it is here that her disgruntled and rapidly nearing insubordinate advisor, Sir Sydney trails off at the cool, quelling look she cuts him with her sharp jade eyes.

         Her Royal Highness Emma Swan, her parents’ only heir and now Queen of Misthaven after their loss mere months ago, is tired of all these sycophants – people surrounding her who may have truly loved and respected her parents, but have none of that trust in her, and think that at barely eighteen she can be easily swayed to their way of seeing things. She has no use for their simpering, their seeming obeisance barely hiding their disapproval any time she takes a step beyond what they deem proper.  The intrigues of court and the careful diplomacy needed to navigate it had always made her uncomfortable.  Now, though, she has no choice; she must try to take the reins in her parents’ stead and do her best to live up to their legacy, like it or not. But she doesn’t trust the lot of them, any more than they trust her it seems. Especially not with this…

They had brought him before her hours ago now, shackled and tugged between two heavily breathing guards, attesting to just what a struggle he had given them in getting that far. A concerning trickle of blood had run from his hairline, showing they had been none too gentle in accosting him as it was. Still, he stood tall as he was pulled to a stop before her throne - a single one rather than the joined pair on the dais which had always beautifully represented her parents’ partnership in rule, and in all things. How she wished she had a partner to lean on now. When his dark hair was gripped roughly to jerk his head up to meet her gaze, those fathomless blue eyes had caught Emma’s, just as they always had, and she knew that even now he had lost none of the pride and honor he had always possessed. Though so much time had passed since she had seen that clear-eyed look every day and thought he might be that companion.

         Breaking unbidden into her thoughts, Lady Bleu, a former nun who came to their court from France after some intrigue which Emma had never been made privy to, speaks up next.  Once the governess who had ruled Emma’s nursery with an iron fist and shooed away the kinder maids like Ashley and Nova who would have played with her and been entertaining, affectionate friends, Bleu lays a cool hand on Emma’s wrist, where it sits tensely on the armrest of her throne, and it is all Emma can do not to shrug her off.  The woman had been a close confidante of her late mother’s, but Emma has never felt at ease with having the woman foisted on her from birth.  Even as a monarch in her own right, the sanctimonious matron is always at her elbow offering advice Emma does not want.  “All Sir Sydney means,” Lady Bleu offers in a tone intended to be soothing and placating, but which sets Emma’s teeth on edge and makes her skin crawl, “is that the law is adamant when it comes to piracy of any kind. I know that you suggest a fine and the stripping of both naval title and benefits in a spirit of mercy and remembrance of childhood friendship, nothing more, but leniency here could be read as fatal frailty, and in this time of upheaval, we cannot allow others to think us weak; it will lead to more unrest and worse crimes.”

         It is all Emma can do not to roll her eyes so far back in her head that the entire court can see her frustration.  Biting the inside of her cheek until she can taste blood, Emma forces herself not to respond until she can say something that is not a direct insult to her elders.  “Still, no one was harmed.  Nothing of any value was taken,” she reasons, trying to sound as if she is not half as emotionally invested as she is in truth, but merely attempting to be a fair and honorable judge.  “It would seem to me that a more thorough investigation – “

         “What does it matter if he did anything this time?” her “Uncle Grumpy”, another dear friend of her mother’s who had never quite warmed to Emma in the same way he had to the woman who had borne her, interjects.  “We have him in our grasp now.  He has certainly done enough in his previous raids to warrant the standard punishment.  The man is a brigand, a blackguard…and his death will mean one less pirate to worry about prowling our waters and attacking our shores.”

         Emma’s cheeks flush with the high emotion of distress which she must hide.  The mere thought of his booted feet dangling in air as the life leaves his body, his neck caught in the hangman’s noose – and at her behest – almost more than she can bear.  It is too much, too much to ask of her in royal obligation.  But she blinks the panic away, pulling the calm, regal mask she wears in public down over her face.  She must play this next part convincingly for him to have a chance at survival, and therefore for her own heart to keep beating unscathed.  A plan is hatching in her mind, but she gives no indication of her racing thoughts.  Lowering her eyes demurely, Emma feigns exhausted acquiescence and devotion to duty, nodding shortly as if she finally accepts their wise guidance.  They have been debating the matter since high noon when he was brought before her in chains, dragged down the aisle to her throne and forced to his knees at her feet by her personal guard – young men he had once played at sword fighting with long ago when they were all younger, they pages and he a stable boy. 

         “Very well,” she murmurs quietly but clearly, making sure that those assembled hear every word.   All depends on them believing in her resolve at this juncture; none can suspect what she truly intends.  “It will be as you say.  His sentence is to be carried out at dawn, according to the letter of our law.  Now, leave me.”  The last is utterly firmly, brooking no further discussion, and wisely none of those assembled dares speak to her again.

         Shaking their heads and murmuring to themselves about why there should have been any question, her various councilors and advisors file from the room, overall seeming pleased that their young regent has finally seen the sense in their words.  Emma is alone in the large throne room at last.  Turning her eyes heavenward, where she trusts her parents – more fit rulers than she had ever hoped to be – will understand.  “I am sorry,” she whispers brokenly before she steels her spine and determination overtakes over her form as she adds, “but please give me strength.”

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

          It is in the true dark watch of the night that Queen Emma, feeling very small and like the orphaned, often uncertain princess she truly is, slips undetected from her opulent bedchamber and through the castle she has lived in since birth, knowing exactly the path she must take to alert no one and remain unseen.  Winding her way swiftly and silently down staircases and through empty halls, she finally makes her way to the dungeons without anyone being the wiser.

         Quickly sending a burst of magic at the two guards posted in the entry of the dungeons, and another at the one who stands outside the condemned pirate’s cell, they never know what hit them and cannot tell anyone who questions them later.  Her parents had always fearfully cautioned her to keep her magic secret, and so the secret had died with them; the only other person who had ever known of that part of her is the man she is here to save. 

         A pale beam of moonlight slants through the high window into his cell, half-illuminating his ruggedly handsome face and making his blue eyes sparkle where he reclines on the rude cot in the corner.  At hearing her light, hurried footsteps, his head jerks up, and upon seeing her, he sucks in an audible gasp of breath.  “Swan!” he exclaims in a shocked whisper.  “You cannot be here, Lass!”

He is on his feet and standing at the front of his cell, mere inches from her now, where she has pulled to a sudden stop. It is closer than they have been in years - years that she had spent wondering where he was, if he was well, if he still lived and if he would ever return. His chest heaves with agitated breaths, and his right hand clutches the bars in a tight grip as he readies himself to argue with her further.

They have no time for that.

         “You idiot!” she hisses back at him, not bothering with trying to swipe the keys from the ring on the guard’s belt, but instead waving her hand impatiently at the lock on the cell door, allowing it to swing open and him to rush forward and sweep her into his arms.  “Where else would I be?” she finishes, her voice slightly muffled against his shoulder where he presses her close.

         “You’ve decreed my death on the morn for piracy, your Majesty,” he reminds her wryly, the gentle way he smooths his strong hand over her soft hair and down her back belying the somewhat accusatory words.  “Do you not think some might find you visiting me in the night and freeing me from my cell a bit scandalous?”

         “Enough!” she orders, a bit of her royal upbringing creeping back into her tone.  Her tone and bearing effectively cut him off, even as she clutches his hand in hers, gentling the harsh words with the action. She will drag him out after her if necessary, and they can argue about her recklessness and irresponsibility later… once he is safe.

         However, Killian Jones – her friend, the man who somewhere along the way she secretly began to love, the man who had proudly served in her father’s Navy with his older brother, who had only turned pirate to pursue the crooked commander who had ordered his brother’s death and had evaded her father’s detection – does not budge.  His hand pulls her back.  “What are you thinking, Swan?” he asks, once more using his childhood nickname for her.  “You cannot risk being implicated with me.  Your country needs you, and I…I will not see you punished alongside me for my crimes.”

“What crimes?” she whispers, her lips trembling with emotion, but her voice managing to remain steady as she takes in his dear, handsome face. There is a scar high on his cheek, long healed but which has never seen before. Tentatively, she reaches up to brush her fingers over it, as if to soothe a pain which had long since faded, and he closes his eyes to savor her touch. “We both know you are not the criminal they all claim. You have encountered more honor among your crew of so-called thieves and pirates than you did among your commanding officers or I have among my own inner circle. If only my parents had died before we could prove it…”

“While that may be the truth, Love,” a bit of the rogue most believed him to be showing in his words and a small, sad smile tugging at one corner of his full lips, “I do not think most will see it that way. If you were hurt or shamed because of loyalty to me, that would wound me more than any punishment they could mete out.”

She turns, allowing herself a moment of weakness to mourn all that could have been, all that she will miss before turning to face him with firm resolve.  “You should have thought about that before you returned.  I will not see you hanged come morning – not when I am able to stop it.”

         He swallows hard, some emotion Emma cannot quite fathom swimming in his deep blue gaze.  “I had to come, Lass.  You had just lost both your parents.  When I received word…”

         But Emma shakes her head, snapping back to the task at hand, knowing the time for them to work out everything else is when they are on his ship and safely away from here.  “Not now, Killian.  Trust me.  I know what I am doing, and I deem it worth the risk.  Just follow me.  That is an order…from your Queen.”

         A sardonic smile quirks one side of his mouth, but he does not argue with her again, nor hesitate any further, merely dips his head in a short nod and murmurs, “As you wish, Milady.” 

         Hand in hand they steal from her palace, leaving behind the birthright that she cannot stand to carry alone any longer, not if the price to keep it is the life of the only person who has ever truly known and understood her.  When the large bells clang their distress signal with the dawn, alerting the castle and the surrounding city of the escaped prisoner and missing queen, they are already far out to sea in his ship – beyond hearing, beyond capture.  

As the new day dawns sparkling on the ocean, Emma feels exhilarated by the rise and fall of each cresting wave. She is no longer Queen, but freer than she has ever been…and reunited with the man she loves.  She has given up her crown but preserved her soul.

          Tagging a few others who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @apiratewhopines @jrob64 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly​ @xsajx​ @anmylica​ @sotangledupinit​ @donteattheappleshook​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @spartanguard​ @therooksshiningknight​ @tiganasummertree​ @optomisticgirl​ @winterbaby89​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @cosette141​ 

[sav-the-bi-queen]

Best romantic scenes : Emma x Hook

[scleroticstatue]

You know that scene in Megamind where he's all "you don't have what it takes to be a supervillain because you lack presentation."

That's what a pirate is. They would spread rumors and lies about what they'd done so people would be so scared they wouldn't fight them. They'd paint canvas to look like a regular ship from a distance to hide their canons until they were too close to run. They'd play theater with this person being held captive or that person being the real captain so the crews would trust them and reveal their secret stashes. They were masters of branding and marketing.

And I think about pirate characters all the time in this context. What is their real story and what is just them playing "ooh, look at me, I'm a big bad pirate lord."

[mccallhero]

favourite ouat scenes: 24/?

[a-happy-beginning]

And a pirate’s what I need.

—Charming, Once Upon a Time, “Murder Most Foul”

[happy-emmdings]

some captain swan honeymoon concepts…

1) wearing cute outfits

2) smooth sailing 💕

3) checking on Storybrooke on facetime a.k.a. what it looks like when Emma is handling the phone versus when Killian tries

4) being cute and romantic

BONUS: doing each other’s make up for an evening out✨ 

They got there🥺

[stormymind14]

There not being enough (good) killian jones x reader fics, is going to be my 13th reason.