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alexandralyman · 5 years ago

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Bite Me

Halloween may be over now, but if you’re still in the mood for a bit of darkness then I’ve got this not so little CS vampire AU you might be interested in.

Once upon a time Emma Swan was a princess. But that was before she died and was reborn as a vampire, forever thirsting for human blood. Now she works nights as a bounty hunter, chasing down bail jumpers with her enhanced senses and she's out on the hunt after a mysterious dark-haired man whose blood calls to her like none before. Can she resist taking a bite?

Now a few little notes about this, it has an open ending but I’m considering it a complete one shot, I just needed to get the creative process flowing again and this was the idea that came to me. I’m using “Rogers” as Killian’s alias, which I know is touchy for people who didn’t like S7, this is still a Captain Swan story though and no S7 characters appear. It’s a vampire AU, so there’s biting and blood drinking but I don’t think it’s super graphic or heavy on the gore factor.

Words: 8300, Rating: M AO3 Link FF. net Link

bite me

Once upon a time, Emma Swan was a princess.

Not one that was famous, or noteworthy, or of any great importance. Her royal house had been a minor one and was long forgotten, from when what was now Germany had been ruled by a collection of provincial dynasties and grand duchies, but she'd been born a real, actual princess, in a castle nestled deep in a forest of ancient myths and folklore that warned pretty young maidens not to wander alone in the woods after dark.

She'd died as a princess too, in the arms of the man who'd hid his sharp teeth behind a lazy smile and lured her away from the safety of the tall stone walls to take both her virginity and something far more precious from her on one moonless night, centuries ago.

Her life was supposed to have been a fairy tale, of balls and banquets and happily ever after with a handsome prince.

Now if was a horror story, of blood and death and a thirst that could never truly be quenched.

Emma Swan was a vampire, and she was on the hunt.

For a bail jumper, not for blood (although she'd take a little of that too, a girl had to eat, after all) just another scumbag who hadn't shown up for court and disappeared into the night. Bounty hunting was the perfect job for a vampire, she was a predator at heart, and she could set her own hours and work exclusively after sunset without raising any suspicion. And if a skip was a little paler once she'd brought them in and collected her reward? Well, no one ever noticed the tiny little bite marks on their necks.

She hadn't drunk for days, too preoccupied with her latest case to hunt for mere food. Not that it was ever that hard to find sustenance, Emma wasn't a princess anymore but she'd been bestowed many other titles by men over the years, a doll, a looker, a fox, a babe. It wasn't difficult to entice one into the woods, or an alley, or back to her apartment for "coffee,", letting them think they had been the one to seduce her and then turning the tables on them once they were alone and there was no one to hear them scream when the sexy, flirty blonde turned into a stone-cold bloodsucker. Sometimes she just drank, piercing a vein with teeth that went pointed and sharp as fangs at the scent of the blood moving just beneath the surface of the skin, rich, red elixir that was thick on her tongue and gave eternal life to the dead and damned. They stopped screaming then, Emma could make it feel good, so good that they surrendered willingly into her embrace and would let her drain them completely dry if she wanted to, although she hadn't done that in years. Too messy, to have to find a way to dispose of the body afterwards, and too complicated these days to have meals suddenly go "missing."

If she wanted to play with her food then she'd take them to bed first, on the nights when the need between her legs equalled her hunger and it was even more satisfying to fuck and feast, sometimes doing both at the same time.

That's what *he* had done, coaxing her thighs open with his pretty lies and false promises on that night so long ago, stealing her innocence before sliding his fangs into her slender neck, only he hadn't stopped when her heart did.

Either way, Emma made sure they forgot exactly what had been done to them and they woke up in the morning with nothing more than a headache from the blood loss and what they thought was a dream of a beautiful woman with lips stained crimson and skin as pale as moonlight.

She didn't dream, not since her last one turned into a nightmare from which she'd never woken up.

The bar where they were supposed to meet sounded like a dive (The Dark Hollow? Seriously, what kind of name was that?) but it was surprisingly upscale, sleek and modern, the kind of place where all the liquor was top shelf and the staff could double as models. Still, Emma turned her share of heads when she walked in and she could hear heartbeats around the room speed up as the men (and a few of the women) took her in. Tight dress, towering heels, tousled curls, she was dressed to kill and more than capable of actually doing it. The urge never fully went away, but tonight she'd have to settle for the satisfaction of only capturing her prey instead. She quickly scanned the dim interior and zeroed in on a man sitting smack dab in the middle of the room, seated alone at a table for two. As if he sensed her arrival he looked up from his phone, meeting her gaze and giving a smile that was the most dangerous thing in the room after her.

John Rogers. It was almost certainly an alias, probably a bit of identity theft on top of the charges of stealing from his employer, Gold Enterprises. He had dark hair, just the right amount of stubble on a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes as blue as the midday sky.

Not that Emma had actually seen the midday sky in person since the day she'd died, a perfect, clear day where the sun was warm and the gentlest of breezes had stirred her long skirts about her ankles as she walked into the forest without knowing that she'd just lost blue sky forever under the thick canopy of the trees and the shadow that lurked on the path ahead.

The memory made her falter for a moment before she pushed it away and strode right up to his table, putting a swing in her hips that made his heartbeat stutter and skip a beat. Emma was a vampire, but she was still a woman and it was gratifying to have such an effect on him, even though she was only here for the bounty and the unofficial bonus that had been offered by the owner of Gold Enterprises to bring him in and face justice.

"Anna?" he asked, getting to his feet at her approach. Emma smiled and nodded, she'd used an alias as well on the hookup app where she'd finally found a profile picture that matched his mug shot. His smile grew even wider. "I'm John. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

He had an accent, something that hadn't been listed in the police report and the sound of it sent a tingle right down her spine. One of his hands was unnaturally stiff, covered by a black glove that matched his black jeans and black vest. The missing hand had been in the report, with a notation that he wore a prosthetic but there'd been no info about how he'd lost the limb and no one at Gold Enterprises knew the story either. He pulled her chair back and waited until she was settled before sitting back down in his own seat, he might be a thief, but he clearly had some manners. There was a glass in front of him already, half-filled with a dark amber liquor that carried the rich aromas of burnt sugar and heavy spice.

Rum.

Emma ordered wine, she could eat and drink like an ordinary human, but her body took no nourishment from food and nothing could truly slake her thirst except human blood. Everyone tasted slightly different, some people were sweeter, like smooth chocolate or ripe berries, and some were more savoury, like a sharp cheddar or perfectly rare steak.

John Rogers looked like he'd taste like the rum, sweet and spicy at the same time.

And damn, if she didn't want a drink of him.

"More wine?" John asked, after she'd finished her second glass and they'd shared a plate of artful little hor d'oeuvres that did nothing except whet her appetite for something else instead.

"No, I'm good," Emma replied, pushing the empty glass away and eyeing the vein that ran along the inside of his wrist when he reached for the last canape.

"What's the matter love, a bit worried you'll find me too irresistible after another libation?"

From another man it would have come across as smarmy, but somehow he pulled it off. She ran a foot teasingly up his calf under the table, watching his throat bob with a heavy swallow. The honey trap was the easiest way to corral a skip, since Emma found most men couldn't resist a pretty face and the thought of getting lucky even when they should be lying low. John Rogers might be more attractive and have a larger vocabulary than the average deadbeat, but he wasn't any different than the rest of them and when she leaned forward and rested a hand high on his thigh she could hear his blood pumping even faster through his enticing veins, pooling a few inches away from her pointed nails.

"Who says I want to resist you?" she murmured in his ear. The muscle under her hand twitched and he quickly tossed back the last of his rum.

"Well then, I suppose I just have one more question. Your place or mine?"

Normally she'd invite whoever she was tracking back to her place and then take them to the nearest precinct instead, minus a pint or two of their blood. The Rogers case was different though, since whatever it was he'd stolen from Gold Enterprises (the police report was strangely vague and just called it "something of value") hadn't been found after the initial arrest and stringing him along for a little while longer might be the only chance to recover it. There was just one hurdle, a not insignificant one, to her plans.

But the reward would be worth it in the end.

She slid her hand the tiniest bit higher. "Why don't you show me yours?"

There was a flush on his whiskered cheeks as more blood rose to the surface and if Emma still had a pulse, it would be racing with anticipation.

"If the lady insists," he said, voice a low rasp that curled enticingly between her legs while he pulled out his wallet and carelessly tossed a few bills on the table without even looking. They rose in unison, ignoring the knowing looks from the neighbouring table and making their way to the door with his hand settling on the small of her back to guide her. Outside the night air was cool, the sky a deep indigo and plush as velvet while the pavement was slick and the sidewalks damp. It must have rained while they were flirting over overpriced drinks and puff pastry, Emma should have heard it with her vampiric senses but she'd been too focused on John Rogers and the ancient dance of predator and prey. He clearly thought he was the hunter, seducing her into going home with him with his dark good looks and silver tongue, getting what he wanted and then swiping onto the next girl on the app without a second thought. His hand moved, brushing her hip and she tensed, wondering if he was going to cop a feel and grope her ass right outside the bar. Or try to, anyway, since she could break all his fingers before he could blink. But then it was pulled away as he went to shrug off his jacket, draping the soft leather over her shoulders instead.

"While I must say that you cut quite the figure in that dress, it's a bit of a walk to my flat and there's no Swyft drivers around right now."

She realized with a jolt that he'd given her his jacket because it was cold. Emma was dead, she didn't get cold, or hot, not anymore, and she wasn't used to anyone being concerned if she did. She'd been cold when she died, wracked with chills as her life slowly dripped into her murderer's mouth and he hadn't bothered to cover her, dress still hiked to her waist and pale legs splayed open as he drank at his leisure. The twin scars that were left on her neck were a reminder, to never trust anyone again.

John didn't care, not really. He just wanted to get laid.

That's what made her cold, not the nip in the air, cold and hard under her crimson dress and fuck-me heels even as she gave a kittenish smile and thanked him with a delicate hand brushing his chest. She was the real hunter tonight, for his bounty *and* his blood, and she was going to get both.

They walked together like lovers without a care in the world and eyes only for each other, each carrying their own secrets behind the flirty looks and sly innuendo. Emma could see perfectly for blocks and scent everything in the air, the exhaust from cars that had driven by hours earlier, the smell of chicken noodle soup being heated up in one of the apartments above them, every note in the perfume a hooker on the corner was wearing (lilacs, white tea and middlemist flowers) as well as other, more hidden odors, like the drugs in the hooker's blood from when she'd shot up not too long ago, the refuse running through the sewers deep underneath the asphalt and that there was something dead in a nearby dumpster. Too large to be a rat or a raccoon, it was rotting away unseen underneath old coffee grounds and moldy bread.

Most of all she smelled her prey, the metal of his jewelry, rings on his fingers and a necklace just visible at the open collar of his shirt, the fainter scent of whatever shampoo he used still clinging to his dark hair, and the more recent smell of the food they'd just eaten at the bar mixed with rum on his breath.

And his blood.

Always the blood.

He smelled good enough to eat.

John's flat was a small apartment in an older, nondescript building not far from the harbour. He put his key in the lock and opened the door with an offhand, "Come on in," that solved a major problem for Emma. Thanks to his careless invite she was able to cross the invisible barrier and step over the threshold, her stiletto heels making no noise on the floor. Inside it was shadowed and dim, but she could see everything perfectly and took a quick glance around. Couch, coffee table, TV, nothing out of the ordinary but there was also nothing personal about any of it. There was no mail left sitting out, no photos on display, no knicknacks or any kind of hint about the life of the man who lived here and while his scent was present, it was shallow and recent and hadn't had time to fully permeate the space. The apartment was probably a temporary residence, a safe house where he could hide from both the cops and Gold Enterprise's extensive private security, hopefully with whatever he'd stolen from them.

A lamp switched on with a faint click and bathed the room in a soft yellow glow. "You know, I was just about to delete that app when your message popped up."

"Were you?" Emma asked, turning to face him and taking a step back as she did, deeper into the apartment and encouraging him to follow. And follow he did, reaching to pluck the jacket from her shoulders and dropping it over the arm of the couch. His voice was pitched low, intimate, still thinking that he had the upper hand.

"Aye. Never quite found what I was looking for on it, until I met you."

Emma would have said it was just another line, a bit of flattery to help get her out of her dress and into his bed, if it wasn't for her extra little superpower. Vampires had more than just a thirst for blood and eternal youth, they also had special gifts that had given rise to the host of legends and superstitions about the children of the night. Some could jump so high and for so long that it looked like they were flying clear across the sky, some could control and command animals, like a female vampire Emma had met once in the 1920s who kept a pack of spotted dogs to do her bidding, and Emma herself had discovered not long after being turned that she could tell when humans were lying.

John Rogers was being sincere.

Maybe that was why she gave into the impulse, not to bite him, but to kiss him, closing the brief gap between their bodies to press her lips to his. He reacted instantly, mouth opening to match the movement of hers, hand pulling her to him so that they were pressed together from shoulder to knee and a deep groan rumbled in his broad chest at the contact that she felt echo through her right down to her toes. Their noses bumped and their tongues met, she sucked a little too hard on his bottom lip but the rock of his hips to press the hard outline of his erection to her stomach when she did it again told her that he liked it a little rough.

"Fuck," he gasped when they broke apart, pupils dialated with lust and cheeks flushed nearly scarlet under his stubble.

"I think that was implied," Emma laughed. She never slept with skips, but there were hours left before dawn and her thirst was quickly being matched by the growing ache between her legs, one almost as insistent as the urge to feed.

"A gentleman never presumes such a thing," John said with a wink and a grin, another line

that should sound cheesy as all hell and Emma had heard a lot of cheesy pickup lines over the centuries, but somehow he was just enough of a charming bastard to make it work. She almost didn't want to turn him to the cops in at the end of the night.

Almost.

By the time they stumbled into the bedroom Emma still had her heels on but her dress was on the floor somewhere out in the hall, left in a tangled pile with his discarded vest and belt. His shirt was barely clinging to his shoulders, open down the front to reveal a muscular chest covered with a thick dusting of hair that ran down his stomach and disappeared into his boxer briefs. The jeans were undone too, she'd been a bit careless with her strength and hoped he didn't notice that she'd accidentally twisted the button right off before tugging down the zipper. Since his eyes had rolled back in his head and he'd let out a strangled gasp of pleasure when she slid her palm over the bulge of his erection and gave it a good squeeze, she was pretty sure he hadn't seen the little bit of metal rolling across the floor and disappearing under the bed.

She gave another squeeze, just to be sure, and certainly not to hear that delicious noise bubble out of his throat again.

The room itself was like the rest of the apartment, as impersonal as a hotel. Bed, check. Emma could smell that the sheets were fresh and clean, which was a point in his favour. Bedside table with a lamp on top, check. Generic Ikea dresser, check.

A ship in a bottle.

Her eyes narrowed over John's shoulder. It was sitting on the dresser next to some loose change, an actual ship in a bottle. The ship itself was finely detailed, the hull painted with yellow and blue stripes in perfect lines, miniature sails raised on tiny rigging that must have taken hours to set into place. It almost looked real.

For a moment she wondered if that's what he'd stolen from Gold Enterprises, but she dismissed the thought just as quickly. A major corporation wouldn't go to such lengths to recover a kitschy bit of bric-a-brac, it had to be something like a confidential client list or important files. She turned her attention back to the man in front of her, still far too dressed for her liking. Emma went to finish peeling the shirt off his shoulders, only to be stymied when it wouldn't slip off one wrist.

Right, or left, in this case, his missing left hand.

"Ah," he said, when he saw her looking down at the gloved prosthetic. "Long story, which I'd rather not get into now, but if it's a dealbreaker for you, I understand."

He said it easily enough but he was tense, she could see it in the ripple under his skin as muscles tightened and cords flexed while he braced himself for her answer and she wondered if that had happened before, women walking away after discovering he was different.

As someone who was also different, albeit in a way that wasn't so readily apparent on first glance as a missing limb, Emma felt a pang of sympathy for him. She knew was it was like to lose a part of yourself and never get it back.

"It's not," she assured him, reaching out and grasping the prosthetic as gently as she could. They stayed like that, his chest rising and falling for a few quiet breaths and his long lashes resting against his cheeks until he opened his eyes and instead of a cocky smirk or another come-on, he gave her an unguarded, boyish smile that reminded her of the suitors who used to come pay court to her in her father's castle, when her life was still full of laughter and light.

"Just who are you, Anna?" he whispered, and if her heart wasn't silent and still it would lurch at both the longing in his voice and the sharp reminder that she wasn't that starry-eyed princess anymore who nothing of the evils that could lurk behind a man's pretty words. Who was she? She was death incarnate, the wolf in sheep's clothing with blood on her lips.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she countered, flip and flirty, knowing that he didn't, not really. Not if he knew.

"Perhaps I would."

The sentiment was nice, but Emma wasn't the sentimental type so she simply reached behind her back and flicked open her bra, letting the cobwebby lace fall to the floor before thumbing her underwear down her hips and sitting on the edge of the bed to slide the silky bit of nothing off one leg and then the other. The lack of a hand didn't slow him down one whit, he had his shirt completely off and his pants down with speed and dexterity that was impressive even to a vampire. He'd invited her in but she was the one beckoning to him now, sliding back on the duvet and crooking a finger with her tongue just poking from between her teeth. He crawled forward after her on his knees, dark hair falling over his forehead in a careless sweep as his head dipped down and hot breath touched her cool skin.

Lips closed over her nipple, already hard and pebbled with anticipation. She felt it tighten even more when he swirled his tongue around it and flicked the tip before sucking hard. He did the same to her other breast, callused fingers tracing delicate patterns on the inside of her hip and she widened her legs, expecting him to settle between them and get on with it like most men did after a bit of foreplay. But he clearly had something else in mind first, moving lower and lower down her body until that warm breath was hovering right over where she ached the most. The blue eyes looked up, reminding Emma of the sky she never saw anymore and had almost forgotten as he waited for her to give him a sign of assent.

A hand on the back of his head was enough and she quickly found herself clutching a fistful of inky hair as his mouth descended and he began to feast. Damn, Emma thought to herself, he was good at this, really fucking good, circling with his tongue and increasing the pressure on each pass until she was a writhing mess, hips rocking against his face and desperate for more. Just as she was about to fall over the edge he backed off, using only the softest of licks and the faintest of flicks and if he didn't finish the job then she literally was going to kill him.

"Patience," he whispered at her needy whine, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. "We've all night, love."

All night, but nothing more. That was all she could ever have now with a man.

His beard scraped against the delicate skin, a shocking contrast to the gentleness of his mouth as he went back to his task, working her up again with lips and tongue and fingers. Pleasure sparked along every nerve, building to the peak at a torturous pace until finally, finally, he sucked hard on her clit and shoved two fingers deep inside her at the same time. Emma's back arched and her jaw dropped from a silent scream, it looked like agony but it was pure ecstasy, her thighs flexing and tightening around his head until the climax finally faded and she went limp against the mattress, boneless and spent. John went up on his knees, looming above her and she didn't even care about how smug the bastard looked, he'd more than earned it. His lone hand wrapped around his erection and he gave it a few slow pumps, raising an eyebrow and asking another question without words.

Emma answered by letting a bit of her vampire strength loose again, flipping him onto his back and pining his wrists to the bed while she swung her leg over him and straddled his lean hips. He blinked up at her in surprise, face still deliciously damp, his pulse fluttering against her thumbs as rapid as a hummingbird's wings. The hard ridge of his erection was now trapped between them, twitching hot against her stomach while she leaned down and let her breasts brush his chest, scraping her teeth on his neck and making the skin redden before tasting herself when she pressed her lips hungrily to his. The urge to taste him was almost overwhelming as her fingers tightened on his wrists, holding him down, her teeth begged to sharpen behind her kiss, but as he said, they had all night. Or almost, since she couldn't linger too long in his bed and risk the sunrise.

There was also the not so insignificant matter of dropping her alias and turning him over to police custody to deal with, but she'd worry about that later.

Emma was more interested now in the way his stomach muscles clenched when she shifted her hips, the drag of his lips between his teeth and the sharp inhale when she almost, but not quite, took him inside. It was her turn to smirk, teasing and torturing him until she was sure he was about to beg for relief.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Anna?"

She faltered, caught off guard by the unexpected question. "What?"

"Your Happy Ending. The app?" he clarified at her confused look.

Right, the dating app. It had launched with this whole cheesy fairytale theme and commercials about meeting your charming prince and living happily ever after and all that bullshit, but it had quickly morphed into just another hookup app instead, where people got off and got out.

A happy ending.

Life (and death) has taught her that there was no such thing.

"I found you," she said. It was supposed to be flip and flirty, but for some reason it came out far too serious for a one night stand who was looking up at her like she was everything he ever wanted.

The air in the room thickened with tension that only increased as she sank down on him, slowly, inch by inch. Her hands spread flat on his chest to brace herself and she relished the stretch and burn until he was finally buried to the hilt. Emma was dead, had been for centuries, but she felt alive again with a living pulse throbbing inside of her, a heartbeat thudding against her palm and the spreading warmth from the friction as she started to ride him. His knees bent behind her, large feet planting on the bed and finding the leverage to start meeting her moments with his own upward thrusts while she threw her head back and closed her eyes. Their tempo increased of its own volition, a heavy and hot slide of rigid flesh against yielding softness that hovered deliciously on the knife's edge between pleasure and pain. Emma could hear his blood pounding through his veins and the call to her most primal need was almost too much. She fell forward, latching onto his neck with enough force to leave a bruise and only just managing to stop herself from breaking the skin to get to what lay underneath.

"Do it!"

His voice was thick as honey and dripped with promise while his arm wrapped around her back and he turned his head to the side, baring even more of his long throat.

"Bite me!"

It was an invitation Emma couldn't resist and her fangs came out, piercing straight into the plump vein throbbing against her lips. An obscene moan spilled out from above her while her mouth flooded with his blood, warm and rich, like cocoa made fresh on the stove. It was full of life and went straight to her head like alcohol used to but better than any drink or drug could possibly be. And not only did it taste amazing, it briefly tethered them together even more than where they were joined so intimately, letting her feel everything he was currently feeling.

Lust.

Longing.

The sensation was overwhelming, he was still inside her, still rocking up with heavy thrusts even as she took deep pulls from his neck that had to be draining his strength. It would be easy, so easy, to take a little too much, drink a little too long...and then there was a surge that was almost her undoing as he came undone, the blood flowing even harder as he came and the echo of it triggered her own climax, both of them trembling with his body still locked in hers and his vein still open in her mouth until his loud gasp for air and his sluggish heartbeat broke through the haze of blood and sex like a dash of icy water. Emma forced herself to let go, sealing the wound on his neck before it could scar or before she could give in to the worst of her urges whispering seductively in her ear, the dark desire to turn him into something no one should ever have to become.

To make him like her.

"You knew I was a vampire."

It came out harsh and biting, an accusation, not a question. Once the post-coital and post-feeding bliss had faded and she'd realized what had just happened, Emma had stood up and silently gotten dressed before turning to face John Rogers again, still lounging in the rumpled bed with an amused look as if he didn't have a care in the world and wasn't missing a few pints of his blood.

"I had my suspicions, aye. Confirmed once I saw in person that you don't breathe anywhere near as often as you should and you have no heartbeat or pulse."

She folded her arms across her chest, somehow feeling completely exposed even though he was the one who was still naked, arm propped behind his head and sheet draped low across his hips.

"Most people don't notice that. And even if they did, they don't know vampires are actually real."

A dark brow lifted and he gave her an arch look. "When you lived as long as I have, you learn a thing or two."

Emma snorted at that. Lived as long as he had? "John Rogers" was definitely a false identity, but whoever he really was, he didn't look older than thirty-five. Her skepticism only seemed to amuse him further and he gestured showily along himself, the sheet dipping down even lower with the movement. Fresh with his blood she flushed and looked away, which was stupid considering they'd literally just had sex, but she needed to distance herself from that so she could do what had to be done.

His voice lost that honeyed mirth and went more serious and flat. "Don't let the youthful countenance fool you, darling, like you I am far older than I appear. A few centuries older, in fact."

"How?" she spit out. "You're not-"

"-A vampire like you?" he finished. "No, I'm not. In fact, I'm the opposite. I've been magically cursed with eternal life."

That was not what she was expecting, not that Emma even knew what the hell she thought he was going to say, and she stared blankly at him for a few seconds.

"Magically cursed," she repeated at last. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Says the undead vampire who just drank a considerable portion of my blood," he pointed out, and she flushed again with said blood.

"Fine," she said, conceding the point. "You were magically cursed. How?"

His smile curled into something different and for a moment Emma thought she heard the crash of waves upon a shore, the scent of salt in the air and the kiss of the wind on her skin.

"Now that is a rather long and unhappy tale, but let's just say that I once took something of considerable value from a man I considered too cowardly to fight back, and he was, then. Only people sometimes change, don't they, and not always for the better. He came back years later and he was no longer the snivelling coward I'd humiliated in my own arrogance, he was something different, something no longer fully…human. He took this-" John held up his stump of a wrist, "-as punishment, and cursed me with eternal life so that I would always have to live with what I'd done. I can't die, and believe me, love, I've tried."

That got Emma's back up at once, a familiar feeling settling between suddenly tense shoulders. "So is that what the whole 'bite me" thing was about? You've got a death wish and you thought a vampire was your answer?

She was moving before he could say anything, tossing clothes onto the bed in a blur and avoiding his piercing blue gaze. "Get dressed. You skipped out on your bail and there's a warrant for your arrest. I'm taking you in."

"Anna-" he tried to protest.

"Emma," she corrected. It would be on the paperwork down at the station, he was going to find out anyway. "Emma Swan, bailbondsperson. You've got five minutes."

She stormed out of his bedroom and shut the door behind her, needing to put some space between them. Not that it helped much, he might be out of sight but his blood was racing through her veins and she could still feel the echo of his body inside hers. This was why she didn't get too close to skips, they all had some ridiculous sob story and claimed someone else screwed them over.

Her fingers crept up to the scar on her neck and groped blindly for the small patch of maimed skin. Don't trust anyone.

Emma shut out everything else except that. The long years of practice made it quick, if not easy.

She hated that it wasn't easy.

It was both too quiet and too noisy in the small apartment. She could hear the hum from the refrigerator, the rumble of pipes in the walls, the footfalls from someone walking around above and the whistle of a breeze coming through an open window in the...

"Shit!"

Emma wrenched the door right off the hinges when she flung it open and rushed back into the bedroom, hearing everything except his heartbeat. Sure enough, a window stood open and the gauzy curtain was fluttering like a sail. She leaned over the sill and saw an iron fire escape attached to the side of the building that led down to the street, when a pair of headlights suddenly sprung to life from a parked car that fishtailed as it pulled away from the curb and took off in a squeal of rubber that made her wince. As keen as her eyesight was, the angle was all wrong for her to catch the license plate and all she got was a glimpse of the driver, clearly him, looking up at the window with an expression that wasn't angry at her deception, wasn't smug at having tricked her, it was just resigned.

And then he was gone.

She spent the next few days cursing herself for her own carelessness in letting him slip away every time she woke when the sun set, she should have kept her guard up and stayed while he got dressed, or at least left the door open, she was a vampire, for fuck's sake, not the naive princess who had died all those years ago. She could handle being in the same room with a naked man for five minutes.

His profile was still up on Happy Ending but the picture had been changed from the mirror selfie he'd used before to one of a swan, something Emma knew had to be a deliberate jab that she'd definitely felt when she first saw it. Her stakeouts at his apartment had been fruitless and his scent was quickly fading, it was clear he wasn't coming back. Not that there was much to come back to, she'd searched the place thoroughly and there was only a few clothes, some barely touched toiletries that were so new the Target receipt was still crumpled up in the trash, and the ship in the bottle.

The ship was now sitting on her coffee table, since it was the only thing that seemed like it might have some sentimental value to whoever John Rogers really was. Or maybe Emma was just kidding herself and he was nothing more than a thief and a liar.

Gold Enterprises had doubled the reward for his capture and every bounty hunter in three states was now out looking for him. It was only a matter of time before someone tracked him down, and while Emma had a lot of advantages over her human competition, she had one big disadvantage in that she couldn't go outside in the daylight. All of her speed and strength were completely useless from dawn until dusk and it grated at her, always a reminder that she was different from everyone else.

She was currently cooped up alone in her own apartment, waiting for the sun to finish dipping below the horizon before she ventured out in search of new leads. She'd woken up a bit early from the deathlike sleep that was her own eternal curse, which happened from time to time. It was because of the dream she'd been having, of a woman she didn't recognize, dark haired, beautiful, dressed in the clothing of another time and holding a large knife with a jagged blade in one hand and a bright red object in the other.

"Take me away," the woman whispered. "Forever."

When she lifted the knife and pierced it straight through the red thing Emma realized it was a human heart, blood flowing between the woman's fingers and the scent of it hit Emma even in the dream, making her fangs sharpen and jolting her awake.

She was musing on it when her phone buzzed, lighting up with a notification and she snatched it off the table in a blur with sudden wild hope flaring where her heart didn't beat that maybe it was him, messaging her through the chat function on Happy Ending. It quickly turned into a frown of disappointment when she saw it was actually just an email, framed against a photo of the castle where she'd grown up that she'd found online a set as her wallpaper. She thumbed the email open, the frown freezing on her face when she saw what it was.

"Gotcha!" she said out loud to the empty room, shooting the ship in a bottle a triumphant look before jumping to her feet and going straight to her laptop. When she'd first taken on the Rogers case she'd entered his mug shot into a facial recognition program that would auto search the Internet for potential matches. On TV or in a movie it would have spit out a near instant result, but real life didn't work that way and it had been running quietly in the background ever since, going down rabbit hole after rabbit hole of umpteen social media pages, news archives and alumni pages looking for a match. It was a heck of a lot more expensive than a simple Google image search, but the bounty would more than cover the cost and once Rogers had snuck out on her, Emma had to admit that it was personal now, so she'd paid extra for the highest level of data.

And it had returned not one, but *two* potential hits. Emma clicked the first link and watched eagerly as the page loaded, scrolling down until she reached the picture.

And stopped dead. Literally.

It wasn't actually a picture, it was a drawing. Of a man who looked exactly like John Rogers, sketched out in what was probably charcoal on a yellowed piece of paper. They had the same dark hair, the same sharp jaw, same smile that promised danger and excitement both in one fell swoop. But the resemblance wasn't the reason why Emma could feel his blood rushing hot in her ears, it was the other sketch displayed next to his, of a woman with a shawl draped loosely around her shoulders and a large pendant around her neck, staring wistfully out at the viewer from the page.

It was the woman from Emma's dream.

"Milah."

The name fell unbidden from her lips as she quickly scanned the site the images were posted on. It was for an antique and consignment shop in Bermuda, and the pair of drawings were up for sale either individually or as a set. The listing stated that they were believed to have been done by the same artist, and were approximately three centuries old.

"Don't let the youthful countenance fool you, darling, like you I am far older than I appear. A few centuries older, in fact."

His voice whispered in her ear while she clicked on the other link with a numb finger, not sure what to expect. It opened in a separate tab as a wall of mostly text and the picture itself was little more than a thumbnail. Emma enlarged it to get a better look, even though her vampire sight was more than enough to confirm that it was a perfect match.

This one was a photo, and like the one she'd fed into the program it was another mugshot. She wasn't really surprised that he'd been arrested before, what was surprising was that it was clearly much older than the crisp, digital image that had been taken of John Rogers after he'd been hauled out of Gold Enterprises's downtown headquarters. It was in black and white, faded with age and a corner had been torn away. But it was still him, although he was clean shaven and his hair was cut much shorter, in almost a military look. The placard he was holding read:

STORYBROOKE SHERIFF'S DEPT 52-07-20 B&E, VANDAL, THEFT JONES, KILLIAN

Jones, Killian.

Rogers, John.

Quickly, Emma clicked back on the charcoal sketch. Sure enough, there, just where the drawing ended at the man's waist, smudgy and indistinct, were the remains of a name. The "K" was still legible, as were the "a" and the"n."

Killian Jones.

Pieces were rapidly clicking into place as more of the puzzle started to come together. It hadn't been Emma's dream at all, it was his, a memory carried in the blood and passed along when she'd drunk from him for so long and so deep, a memory of a dark haired woman named Milah. The knife and the heart didn't make much sense, but dreams were funny that way. John, no, Killian, had said he was cursed with eternal life, and the sketch and the old mug shot certainly seemed to confirm that he actually was telling the truth about that.

Emma went back to the mug shot. B&E, that was shorthand for breaking and entering, vandal, probably a charge of vandalism, and theft. The 52-07-20 took her a moment longer, until she realized it was the date. He'd been arrested on July 20th...1952. In some place called Storybrooke, wherever that was.

Maine. After a few more clicks she learned that a grad student named Henry Mills was doing an in-depth research project on the history of a small fishing village named Storybrooke, in Maine, and posting parts of it on his blog as he went. The entry with the mugshot had gone up the day before, explaining why the facial recognition program had only just found it. In July 1952 there had been a break in at a local pawn shop that was the talk of the town, if this Henry Mills was to be believed, where windows had been smashed and "an object of value had been stolen," to quote the pawn shop's owner.

His blood was still warm in her veins, but it suddenly ran cold as Emma read the name of the pawn shop where the theft had taken place.

Gold & Son Pawnbrokers

Gold Enterprises.

That couldn't possibly be a coincidence.

An object of value had been stolen.

Killian had told her that he'd taken something of considerable value from a man who'd later taken his hand and cursed him with eternal life. He'd been arrested four months ago for stealing something of value from Gold Enterprises, and apparently had also stolen something of value almost seventy years ago from Gold & Son Pawnbrokers. It had to be connected, but why, and to what end?

The Rogers case had started out as just another skip, but now it was a mystery that had gotten under Emma's skin as an itch that had to be scratched. Or maybe it was because Killian Jones's blood had turned out to be as potent as a drug and she was desperate for another taste of it, of him, and while she wasn't a princess anymore and hadn't been since the night she'd followed Baelfire into the woods and never went home again, she felt more alive than she had in years as she packed a bag and prepared to set off.

She locked up her apartment and headed down to her old yellow Bug, already anticipating salt air and sea breezes at her destination, it would be a welcome relief to her vampire sense of smell from the city stench. Her tight, honeytrap dresses were left behind in favour of more practical jeans and boots, and she'd also changed her profile photo on Happy Ending to send a pointed message back to the man whose taste still filled her throat and made her mouth water.

Crimson text on a black background.

I don't bite...unless you ask me nicely.

A red leather jacket the same shade as fresh blood was slipped over her shoulders and she tossed her bag into the backseat of her car before typing in an address into the Google Maps app and checking the estimated time of arrival. It would be a long drive, but since she didn't need to stop for food or bathroom breaks, just for gas, Emma would reach the little town of Storybrooke Maine just before the sun rose over the ocean.

Her prey had slipped from her grasp once, but the hunt was far from over.

It was just beginning.

#cs fic #cs ff #my fic #captain swan #bite me

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arianakristine · 5 years ago

Note

because i'd always like to think charming would get along great with graham and think he's the right man for this daughter; letter E!

Send me character(s) and a letter and I’ll write you a minific!

E- Sharing a drink.

Half the battle of this fic was choosing which verse to place it in. RH? Nah, we already had a drink-sharing scene (with Killian) and Graham’s not currently drinking, anyway. BSAS? Too complicated, there, and David-Graham have this weird I-don’t-know-if-I-actually-trust-you vibe. Wilding? Considered, but hmm, maybe not.

So … here’s a teeny tag to this old fic here.

“Need adrink?”

Graham lookedup, still feeling a little disoriented. His head throbbed dully, but he managedto give a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Davidnodded and handed him a bottle, clinking the bottom in a half-cheers with hisown before joining him on the stoop. “It’s definitely been a day,” he said. Hepulled a hand across his face and looked up at the moon wearily.

Graham tookthe offered bottle opener and the cap slipped off with a hiss. He frowned as hewatched the bubbles flit to the surface. “Being that I started this day in acoma, I’d have to agree.”

“SomethingI can commiserate with,” David said wryly. He chuckled a little, morbid humoras he swallowed back a bit of his beer. “Although I have another 28 years onyour experience.”

“And asword wound to accompany it,” Graham agreed and took a sip. His chest burnedslightly in memory of his own injury, but there were no scars there to prove it.He swallowed thickly to fight the rising bile with the alcohol instead, andthen jerked his head towards the door leading to the stairwell. “Everyone elseasleep?”

“As closeas they can be.” He leaned back, looking weary. “Snow’s out. She was toooverwhelmed to do anything but. When I checked upstairs, though … I thinkEmma’s just wrapped herself around Henry while he sleeps, to be honest. I don’tthink she’ll take her eyes off him for a while.”

Henodded and grimaced. “It’ll be hard for him,” he said softly. The horror on theboy’s face spoke to that much. “As good as this all is, I know he wasn’t readyto see her gone.”

Davidpaused. “I’m kind of surprised at how ready Iwas to see her gone,” he admitted before pulling from the bottle, shameflushing his cheeks a bit.

Grahamhuffed a humorless laugh. “Well, can’t say I was sad to see it.”

Hecan’t quite put together all the emotions seeing her blank, lifeless gazebrought, but shame was never one of them. The wraith had come and gone soviolently but so swiftly, and it was taking a lot longer to process thedestruction it wrought. The town was quiet, but he half-expected the steadystillness wouldn’t last. For now, he supposed there was too much: people werefinding friends and family lost to them in the curse, remembering all theirlives. The fallout would take some time.

Eventually,though, he anticipated some celebration at the news of the Evil Queen beingdead and gone.

“I don’tblame you there,” David said and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t think Icould even begin to understand what she’d taken from everyone. And not justthrough the curse. I think everyone will have a story on that.”

Grahamswallowed and stretched his elbows on his knees as he contemplated it. Hetightened his grip on the neck of the bottle, remembering flashes of his timeunder her thumb and the people that suffered under her. He wasn’t sure he wasquite ready to talk about it all with the man who was technically his king andwas also the man who fathered the woman he was in love with, but answeredanyway. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”He gulped back another swallow, faintly wishing the drink was stronger.

Davidwas staring at him from the corner of his eye when he dropped the bottle backdown. “Do you … is everything back for you?” he asked hesitantly.

Grahamrubbed the space over his heart and looked up at the loft apartment. He weighedit a moment, how he felt. His gaze dropped and he factored in the relief whenthey’d found the prison cell. “I think so,” he said slowly. “But it’s been solong … I’m not sure.”

Davidseemed to consider this a long beat, then took a long swig of his drink. “Iwish we could have succeeded in this sooner. Before losing a whole 28 years.”

Hewaved off the attempt at apology. “I think Gold must have had his reasons toonly be rid of her now,” he answered. Though it wasn’t like the man had comeout and said it, everyone knew who was responsible for bringing the wraith.

“Hmm,”David hummed, and rocked the bottle back and forth in his hands. “He always hassome sort of reason. Plenty has happened between the curse being cast, so whocan really know?”

Grahamlooked back up towards the window. Hours ago, Henry’s arms had clung tightaround him and there had been relief in his voice. Every hushed conversationwhispered to him on his hospital bed was fresh in his mind, and Henry wasdelighted to know that he heard every bit. The news of Regina … well, that camelater. The boy had been dry eyed, but white with shock. He wished he could haveinsulated him from that, kept the pain away. It was like some sort of cognitivedissonance in him, the liberation of her death and the pity of it.

“Totake her away now seems abrupt, I’ll give,” David finished, brow furrowing.

Grahamclosed his eyes and nodded once.

Emmawasn’t exactly ready for all it meant, he knew, but she was trying all thesame. She had crawled into the bed and wrapped herself around her son,comforting him through touch in a startlingly familiar way. He pictured now theway she’d gripped his own hand once Henry’s tears finally started to fall insilent streams. Too much to process: he supposed that accounted for them aswell. He kept her grip a long moment, wanting to do all he could to make thiseasier on her.

After awhile, he told her that he’d just be right outside, just to give them some time.As much as he was willing and wanted to help, he knew she needed time to findher footing as a mother. “I’m glad something good came out of it, though.”

Davidgave a stiff smile and leaned back against the porch railing. His eyes wereserious as they met his, and Graham’s brow furrowed as he waited for his Kingto collect his thoughts. “How’d you manage out of that coma, Graham?”

Heclosed his eyes, and blew out a low breath. He took another sip and placed thebottle gently on the step below him. How could he explain something like thatto him? “How did you?” he finally countered.

David’sface transformed, soft awe touching over his features. “Snow. I heard hervoice, and finally when we touched … I didn’t even realize until later. It washer. She managed to pull me out of the dark, just because there was still thatpart of her that loved me. Beneath the curse, beneath the forgetting … Reginacouldn’t kill that,” he said fondly.

Grahamfelt his stomach clench, and he remembered the feel of Emma’s fingertips acrosshis own, the way the small touch grew and how he finally felt control again as her hand cupped hischeek and her broken voice pleaded with him (you can come back). “I … I don’t know,” he mumbledawkwardly, and rubbed the back of his neck.

Davidwas studying him still, and barely shook his head. “Yes, you do,” he saidsimply. He pulled a thinner bottle out of his pocket, and slid the cheap scotchacross the cement steps in offer.

Grahamlooked at it a moment before picking it up. He screwed open the top and staredout into the dark street for an extended beat, trying to push back the nervoustension of talking about this with Emma’s father, of all people. “Yeah, I do.”He took a long pull from the bottle and then left it between them.

Davidnodded, as if pleased to have guessed correctly. “Yes, at least some good cameout of it.”

Grahamlooked up, surprised. He swallowed, and his eyes flashed up. “Henry, I meant.”

“Ofcourse. He’s a great kid.” A smirk crossed David’s face and he shook his head.“But that’s not all of it.”

Grahamswallowed thickly and said nothing.

Davidwas quiet a moment, face stretched toward the light of the moon and thoughtful.“Emma … I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know enough about her. I wish Icould say differently, but the most contact I’ve had so far is through secrets andhalf-truths. But I know enough to understand that she is a tough shell tocrack. She doesn’t let anyone in easy, including me and even including Snow.”

Grahamlooked up at him, head cocked to the side as he tried to ascertain his meaning.

Davidswallowed back a quick pull of the flask and nodded once. “I trust anyone thatshe lets past.”

Grahamlet out a shaky breath. He didn’t exactly need his acceptance; Emma was her ownwoman, after all, and would like bristle at the idea. But … but it was nice tohave someone trust him. “You sure of that?”

Davidsmiled and bobbed his head. “I trust that instinct in her. She gets it from me.”

He felthis face flush and cleared his throat. His heart tugged, and he realized just howdesperately he wanted to fit into this strange, war-torn family. “I hope tokeep it.”

He tookin a breath and released it slowly. “Strangely, there wouldn’t be an Emma or aHenry without you, you know. It’s not just because of her that I trust you.”

He didn’tknow what to say to that. He certainly didn’t think of that before, and it feltalien to consider it now. Awkwardly, he raised his drink. “To no more comasthis year?” he ventured.

Davidlaughed heartily and clinked their bottles again before taking a sip. “Soundslike a good one.”

The acceptanceof it all, unofficial and yet somehow still strangely pleasing, let him relax.With all that needed rebuilding, it was nice to forge something new with it.

Itwould be good to have a friend.

#ouat #graham humbert #david nolan #gremma #gremma ff #my fic #theresoneicouldcallking #kristy answers stuff

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killian-whump · 5 years ago

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Theres something to actors being, unfortunately, linked to the shitty behavior of a vocal minority or fans. I've said for a while that the noxious vitriol and malicious schemes towards cast, crew, media reps, and other fans that a chunk of SQ (who primarily id as Lana stans) spewed for YEARS while often citing Lana as a supporter, was going to come back to bite not THEM, but her, in the ass. And I'm not sure I was wrong. So stans of anyone should think about that before they do this crazy shit.

Yeah. I agree. I wasn’t around for a lot of the worst SQ/CS fighting, but from what I’ve heard... there was bad shit on both sides of that divide.

And fans should absolutely consider how their behavior may reflect on the person they’re a fan of. It’s a known fact that whenever Colin appears in something, no matter what it is, who’s doing it, who he’s working with... there’s a literal pile-up of supportive posts from people with Colin/Killian names and icons, all in there wishing the creators well, his co-stars well, taking part in promotions and contests, doing their best to make everybody involved feel good about what they’re doing. Honestly, if someone’s working with Colin... his fandom embraces them wholeheartedly and immediately, and it’s lovely.

I remember when the official Carrie Pilby account was doing “Ask the Cast” posts on Twitter. Colin’s got a ton of questions, all kinds of attention... and some of the other stars’, for whatever reason, weren’t getting questions. But then... they were. Scores of them. Mostly from people with Colin-centric icons and names, yes, but ALL of his co-stars got questions. Anyone who didn’t get questions from their own fans... got them from US. And very few of them were “What was it like working with Colin?” too. Most of the questions were, “What was your favorite scene to perform?” and questions about their characters and their acting methods.

I have never been more proud to be someone’s fan in my life.

It’s not like a few of us got together and spearheaded a movement or something. AFAIK, it was just Colin’s fans noticing some co-stars weren’t getting as much attention as others were... and each of us voluntarily taking a moment to give them some attention and appreciation.

And ever since then, I’ve noticed Colin’s fans doing this regularly. We cheer on his projects, the people behind those projects, the people who work with him on those projects... just everybody, really. We joke that Colin’s like the Welcome Wagon wherever he works, making people feel comfortable and making friends wherever he goes... and his fandom have sort of unofficially become the equivalent of that on social media, showing up en masse with fruit baskets and home baked strudels, handing out hugs and good wishes.

I hope, whenever Colin thinks about his fandom, that that’s how he sees us. I hope his co-stars tell him how nice and welcoming his fans are. I hope he’s proud of the money we raise for good causes in his name and the support and love we give to everyone involved in his work. And I hope, when the bad apples inevitably rear their ugly heads, he knows they don’t speak for his fandom as a whole.

I honestly cannot understand the motives behind those who mistreat others, famous or otherwise, in the name of their favorite celebrity. I assume it comes from a misguided notion that said fave would admire their “outspokenness” or their “badassery” - but that’s seldom the case, I would think. At any rate, I’d MUCH rather have a celebrity come up to Colin and say, “Hey, my notifications on Twitter are suddenly full of people using your face as an icon and wishing me good luck on... everything I do, and someone literally baked me a cake” than have them say, “Hey, I worked with you a couple years ago, and your fans are still ripping me a new one for everything I say or do.”

I mean, we can’t really police a fandom, and they ALL have bad apples in them. But we CAN, each and every one of us, make up our minds not to BE those bad apples, and to be the kind of fans our fave would (hopefully) be proud to have.

#fandom #fandom drama #anonymous #kw ask box

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the-everlasting-dream · 5 years ago

Text

Walk of Shame - Drake x MC, The Perfect Cliché

A/N: So I’ve been playing around with the idea of Drake and Liz would have met if the whole TRR book never existed and I thought it would be fun to shove the into as many cliche situations as possible. Given my terrible track record of keeping up with series, this is gonna be an unofficial one. Stand alone fics that make up The Perfect Cliche.

Cliche count:

New neighbours

Mutual pining - or the beginnings of it

Awkward interaction

Walk of shame

Word Count: 2540+

Warnings: None

Drake rolled his eyes at the large moving truck situated in front of his apartment building destined to make him late for work that day. Tanner is going to have my guts.

He shrugged on his jacket and dashed out the door, slamming it shut behind him. The lift wasn’t working — of course it wasn’t working — so he wrenched the door to the stairs open, glad he only lived on the fourth floor. Close to the bottom, he was in such a rush he barely registered a stack of boxes on legs headed towards him until the last second when he twisted his body, clipping the new tenant as he shoved past.

‘Hey —‘

‘Sorry!’ He called over his shoulder, barely glancing back to glance at them before rushing off.

- Elizabeth huffed setting the last of her boxes down onto the floor of her new apartment, arm still sore where that asshole on the staircase had clipped her while bulldozing through. She looked around. This was her new apartment. That sure felt weird to say. Back home the prospect of going it alone and making it big in the big city was a lot more romantic than the sad little space before that cost more than it was worth. But going back wasn’t an option, she told herself, picturing her fathers furious face when she stalked out of his house for the last time. Shaking her head, she reached for the box of cleaning supplies, determined not to fail like he taunted her she would.

The day passed quickly and by the time the sun was setting, she’d accumulated a huge garbage bag of dust, bug carcasses and other unmentionables she’d found in the apartment. Now where was the bin?

She paused realising the superintendent hadn’t showed her where to dispose of her rubbish and there was no way she was leaving the bag in her apartment for another second. Hefting it, she opened the door to find it.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth realised that she was completely lost, and by some miracle had ended up at her own door. She was just about to give up when the sound of a door clicking caught her attention and she watched a tall broad shouldered man step out, carrying a garbage bag of his own. Perfect.

She wanted to leap after him but cautioned herself. Jesus Elizabeth let’s try not to creep out the new neighbours just yet?

He had headphones on so he wouldn’t have hear her approach but she followed behind him at a safe distance just to be safe. He lead her unaware the the fifth floor where the disposal awaited and she paused letting him throw away his bag first before stepping up for hers. As her neighbour turned, Elizabeth saw the tired lines on his unexpectedly handsome face. Noticing her staring, the stranger gave her a grim half smile before stepping aside to let her throw her giant bag away.

- As soon as Drake got back into his apartment, his phone vibrated with a text.

Kiara: Dinner on Friday?

Sounds good.

He clicked his phone off and sighed.

Kiara was... high maintenance to say the least. She was beautiful and smart and way out of his league and sometimes he wondered what he was doing with a girl like her. Their physical attraction was undeniable but in all other aspects, he felt severely lacking. He’d never pictured himself dating a high class New York socialite like her.

In his mind, he’d always pictured himself with a down to earth, jeans and t shirt kinda girl who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty for fear of ruining her manicure. Kinda like that girl he’d run into in the hallway. The new tenant he guessed, just finished cleaning judging by the giant garbage bag, messy hair and streak of dust on her cheek. His lips twisted up a little at the memory.

Yeah someone more like her.

‘So how are you liking New York?’

Elizabeth took a sip of her latte as her best friend sat expectantly on the other side of the lunch table. ‘It’s... certainly an experience.’

‘Welcome to the real world baby girl. It sucks. You’re gonna love it.’ Her best friend Athena Park replied mischieviously, earning an eyeroll in response. ‘Have you gone out since you got here?’

Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I’ve spent most of the week cleaning and unpacking and prepping for the interview today.’

‘How’d it go?’

‘Good I think? The guy wasn’t too sure but the lady liked me. They said they’d get back to me at the end of the week.’

‘Yes!’ Athena crowed loudly, other patrons of the restaurant cringing at her. ‘That’s a perfect reason to celebrate. You free tomorrow night? Doesn’t matter. You’re free tomorrow night. We’re going out!’

‘Thanks!’

Elizabeth tipped the delivery boy in exchange for one supreme pizza that was definitely not recommended for just one person. After the interview today she was hoping for a nice quiet night in to relax. She shut the door waiting for a few moments for the delivery boy to leave before sticking her head out in hope of catching sight of that handsome stranger. She’d caught herself in the act of looking out for him in the hallway each time, hoping for a glimpse of her mysterious stranger, who despite his attractive looks, seemed to be permanently grumpy.

Elizabeth had no idea what she was trying to achieve by this. It’s not like she was interested interested. After her recent break up with Robbie, she definitely was okay with being single for a very very long time. Still a little bit of eye candy wouldn’t hurt. Seeing nothing, she shut the door and settled in for a long night with Emma Swan, Regina Mills and Killian Jones, main characters of her favourite TV show.

‘C’mon babe you know I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t personal.’

‘Felt pretty damn personal to me Drake. Kiara snapped back, tossing her perfectly flat ironed hair as she glared at herself in her compact in the dim light of the cab. 'He’s my cousin.'

'He’s a pretentious prick.'

‘Drake!' She snapped her compact shut and fixed him with a furious look.

‘Sorry,' he mumbled half heartedly, not meaning the single word because anyone that complained that his exotic caviar had been served two degrees warmer than it should have been, deserved prick status in his mind. Still he felt guilty for making Kiara upset after she had worked so hard to maintain a good relationship with her cousin and he had probably ruined it.

'Babe I’m sorry.' He leaned over kissing her cheek, nuzzling her neck.

‘Mmhmm.' She hummed in annoyance, arms folded across her chest as she stared out the window.

Drake wasn’t giving up yet. Sliding close, he brushed her hair away from her neck, stubble grazing the exposed skin, a hand finding her thigh. 'Let me make it up to you.'

Kiara scoffed but he could tell her resolve was wavering. He began tracing little circles on her thigh, as he pressed his lips to her neck, searching for her sweet spot.

‘Please.' He murmured, finding it and she let out a moan. ‘I’ll do anything you want me to.’

‘You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute. Kiara muttered before slamming her lips onto his.

Elizabeth was completely enraptured by the final episode of season three of Once Upon A Time, pizza dangling between her mouth and hand. When the big reveal happened—

Shit! Both her hands clamped over her mouth, eyes bugged open as she sat in horror for a few moments after the end credits ended. It took a stick wet sensation on her stomach to pull her out of her stupor and she looked down to see the piece of pizza that she had slathered in child sauce lying face down on her shirt. Groaning out loud she glanced at the time and the big basket of dirty laundry that she had been putting off for the last three hours that she’d spent on the couch.

Surely no one would be doing laundry at 1:30am right?

Hefting it on her hip, she tugged the door open, shoving her foot between the crack distracted as she leaned over to grab her keys from the glass bowl when a strange sound reached her ears.

Is that moaning?

Poking her head out the door, her eyebrows shot towards her hairline.

Oh... he has a girlfriend. Of course he has a girlfriend.

Her very mysterious, very attractive neighbour currently had his tongue down a girl’s throat as he pinned her to his front door right in full view of anyone walking by. Pressed so tightly together, Elizabeth had no idea where he ended and she began, she forced herself to shut the door, opting not to be the creepy neighbour with a voyeurism kink. She would just wait until they were gone and escape down to the communal laundry room. Her neighbour and his girl didn’t seem to be stopping any time soon, she observed after a good five minutes had passed.

Their moans grew louder and louder until —

'Get a bloody room will ya? Some of us are tryna to fuckin sleep!'

Thank you cranky Australian dude from 145.

With armed with her phone, earbuds and throwback playlist on, Elizabeth hoisted the basket on her hip, ready to take the monster that was her laundry basket.

Drake sighed to himself again, the argument still replaying in his mind.

'You don’t even try.'

'All I’m doing is trying!'

'Well maybe you need to try harder!’

‘I don’t know what the fuck you expect from me!’

‘Clearly too much!’

Still shirtless, he ran a hand over his face wondering how they could go from making out to a yelling match in mere seconds. Too riled up to stay in this room as the scent of Kiara's Black Opium cologne still remained, he grabbed his phone and stalked out the door, remembering he had a pile of laundry to pick up from the laundry room downstairs.

A movement at the corner of his eyes, he realised he wasn’t alone. Glancing behind the second row of washing machines, his eyebrows shot towards his hairline.

His new neighbour, the girl who had followed him to the bin the other night, the one that he couldn’t help sneak looks at locked in her own little world, completely unaware of his presence. Earphones on, dancing like no one was watching because as far as she knew no one was. Interestingly enough she was also shirtless, save for a pair of pyjama shorts and a sports bra. As she attempted and failed to do what he guessed was meant to be a Spice Girls dance move.

The sight brought a smile to his face despite his earlier fight with Kiara. Not wanting to embarrass his new neighbour, he crept away, resolving to introduce himself properly sometime.

'What?’ Elizabeth yelled over the loud music of the club, having clearly drunk more than she should have.

Athena repeated herself, trying to be heard over the pounding bass beat with even less success than the first two times she’d tried.

‘What?’

Her best friend rolled her eyes, making a circle with one hand and stabbing her pointer finger through it repeatedly, needing no further clarification.

Elizabeth turned to the blonde guy whom she was currently dancing with knowing at once that a similar though was on his mind. She sized him up, weighing the pros and the cons of this while Athena was already heading off with another girl. Her partner raised an eyebrow at her playfully and Elizabeth felt a grin begin to grow.

Why the hell not?

Now that he thought over it, Drake truly felt like an asshole for the night before. Kiara wasn’t wrong, he hadn’t been trying his hardest at all. He’d know what life he’d been in for when he started dating her, the demands and requirements of her socialite status and he’d promised her he was worth it.

He liked to think of himself as a trustworthy guy and in the interest of not throwing a two year relationship out the window, he grabbed his jacket, phone and keys before he could talk himself out of it.

Adjusting the large hastily purchased sunglasses on her face, Elizabeth glanced around self-consciously as she made her way across the street to her apartment building, hoping no one would see her messy hair and hastily donned nightclub dress and put two and two together. Waiting for the elevator induced a spiral of anxiety as she prayed that none of the building’s fellow residents would show up. Glancing behind her, she caught the eye of the rotund building’s superintendent, regarding her with a thoroughly unimpressed gaze. When the doors finally dinged open, she rushed inside, hastily jabbing the close button. Adequately satisfied that no one had seen her do the most embarrassing walk of shame ever, Elizabeth slumped against the side, so ready for a hot shower and a six hour nap.

'Hold it!' A hand slipped past the closing doors, preventing them from closing.

She could barely stop herself from gasping as her grumpy-but-attactive-and-also-kinda-mysterious neighbour joined her in the small space, looking just as dishevelled as she was.

They stood there in silence, both not wanting to state the obvious cheesy elevator music trickled through the crackling speakers as Elizabeth struggled to think of something to say.

‘Rough night?'

The guy picked up his dark head, giving her a half hearted nod. 'Yeah you could say that. You?'

'You have no idea,’ she sighed, wracking her brains for something to say. 'I’ve seen you around sometimes. Your girlfriend is really pretty.’

Elizabeth’s eyes widened as her neighbour’s narrowed in confusion.

'I just mean.. uh... I’m not stalking you or anything uh.. I’ve seen you together.'

'Uhh thanks... I think?’ He ran a hand through his ruffled brown hair. 'Would probably mean more if she was still my girlfriend.'

Guilt immediately bloomed in her. Good one Richmond. 'Oh. I didn't mean to...I’m sorry to hear that.'

'Don’t be.’ He shrugged it off. 'It was bound to happen sooner or later. But hey at least the sex was good right?’

‘Yeah,’ she answered weakly. ‘It was… it was good.’

Mercifully the elevator dinged, getting to their floor and to her dismay, they were headed the same way, forced to walk together.

‘You’re not from around here are you?’

‘Was it that obvious?’ Elizabeth replied, surprised that he interested in making conversation after not one but two verbal blunders from her.

He shrugged again, making her clock that as one of his trademark gestures. 'You liking it here?’

‘Its definitely taking some getting used to but its not too bad.’

‘Huh, yeah. There’s no place like it.’ His tone was strange but she couldn’t decipher what he could mean by it as they were already at her door.

‘Well this is me.’

‘So it seems,’ he replied, already turning to go.

‘I’m Elizabeth.’ He paused, regarding her for a moment, lips twisting into a half smile.

'Drake.’

‘See you around I guess.’

‘Yeah, you too.’

Tags: @chantelle-x0x , @choicessa, @drakewalkerwhipped , @thewolvesss , @mfackenthal , @srawesleyghuewrites , @topsyturvy-dream , @enmchoices , @gardeningourmet @debramcg1106 , @alesana45 , @meladoridarcy, @blackcatkita , @tmarie82 , @annekebbphotography , @lizk77 , @jayjay879 , @tornbetween2loves , @akrenich , @theroyalweisme , @likethetailofacomet , @sleepwalkingelite , @ooo-barff-ooo , @drakewalker04 , @mkatschoicesblog , @speedyoperarascalparty , @carabeth , @fairydustandsarcasm , @drakewalkerisreal @mrsnazariowritesagain

#tbh idk what im trying to achieve here #can i even write fic anymore #half my permatags dont read lmao #but if y'all want i'll write more #inspo and time are hard to come by these days ugh #drake x mc #drake walker #trr drake #drake x elizabeth #elizabeth richmond #TRR AU #The Royal Romance #playchoices #choices #choices fandom #choices fanfiction

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tomeandflickcorner · 6 years ago

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Milah and Belle French- Polar Opposites or Equals?

At first glance, it might seem like these two women were as different as night and day. But were they really?

Under the cut due to length.

Let’s start off by talking about Milah. This is a character that some people liked while others seem to despise. From what I’ve gathered, one of the main reasons for the dislike directed at this female character is due in part to how she handled things in regards to her son, Baelfire, and how she walked out without so much as a word to him, and I don’t fault people who are unable to forgive her for that. It was indeed a bad decision. Even Milah herself acknowledged that and expressed remorse for her actions. She was so remorseful for her actions, that it became her deepest desire to apologize to her son and hopefully earn his forgiveness. Tragically, she never got the chance, as her ex-husband denied her the opportunity. Not once, but twice. First by killing her in cold blood and then by condemning her soul in the Underworld.

The whole Baelfire controversy aside, let’s look at what made Milah tick. When we first met her, she was the wife of Rumpelstiltskin. While it may not have been made clear right away, it was slowly revealed to us that Milah was severely unhappy with her life. Because of her husband’s actions during the Ogre Wars, in which he intentionally crippled himself to avoid being made to fight alongside the other men, Milah was forced to live as a social pariah in their village, with the other villagers most likely punishing her for Rumpelstiltskin's cowardliness. To make it worse, if what we saw in 5x14 was any indication, Milah also was stuck doing all the household chores while Rumpelstiltskin constantly neglected to uphold his promises to help out, choosing to instead focus on going off to play with their son. It’s no small wonder that Milah would soon grow resentful in regards to her life and feel trapped in a loveless marriage. Especially when her husband displayed a blatant disregard for her feelings when he wouldn’t even consider giving their family a fresh start in another village, so they’d be free from the social stigma that was hanging over their heads on account of his actions at the war front. Not to mention, as also shown in 5x14, had no respect for her own autonomy as he virtually signed away her reproductive rights without her knowledge or consent. It’s no small wonder that Milah eventually had enough and willingly chose to run away with Killian Jones, a man who not only showed her respect from the instant they met, but also offered to show her the world. Because that’s what Milah desperately wanted at that point in her life- to be free from her metaphorical cage and to be able to spread her wings while exploring new lands and horizons.

Interestingly enough, this is something that also seemed to be true of Belle. This was a woman who we were continually told also wanted to travel and see the world. A woman who wanted ‘adventure in the great wide somewhere.’ The show never directly addressed it, but it seems as if maybe Milah and Belle weren’t that different at all. And perhaps the only two characters on the show who had actually known Milah (and I don’t count Neal/Baelfire, since he seemed to be quite young when she left and probably didn’t remember her that well) noticed that as well. I’m sure we all remember that Rumpelstiltskin forced Belle to become his maid when they first met. Which doesn’t seem too unlike how he once had Milah do all the household chores during his pre-Dark One days. It wouldn’t surprise me if he noticed Belle had a spark that was similar to one that had existed in Milah and, still bitter that Milah had rejected him in favor of Killian, subconsciously sought to punish her for that.

And chances are, Killian got to recognize the similarities between Belle and Milah as well when he took the chance to really get to know her during the 6 week time jump between 4A and 4B. And throughout 6A as well, when he willingly offered Belle a safe harbor aboard the Jolly Roger, during the time when Belle had an unofficial restraining order on Rumpelstiltskin because she’d had enough with his behavior and constantly choosing power over her. Like he did centuries ago, Killian found himself harboring and protecting Rumpelstiltskin's estranged wife from the man himself. And, just maybe, he saw the chance to make up for his failure to protect Milah in the past by protecting Belle in the present. I wonder if that revelation that Belle wasn’t that different from Milah played a part in Killian’s apology to Belle for the way he treated her in the past, both in pre-curse Enchanted Forest and during S2.

Of course, a discussion of Milah and Belle probably won’t be complete without addressing an unfortunate question. Were these two women fridged? For those of you who don’t know, the term ‘fridged’ refers to a common plot device, particularly in comic books, in which a female character is killed off simply to further a male’s character story arc. Obviously, this is exactly what happened with Belle in S7, with her character being killed off simply to kick-start Rumpelstiltskin's story arc throughout the season. But when it comes to Milah, it’s not as clear. I guess the best answer is that Milah was partially fridged, but not completely. For starters, when Milah’s death was shown in the show, we knew next to nothing about her. At that point, she wasn’t much of a character to begin with. Whenever we did learn more about her, it was information that was gathered after the fact. And while her death was what motivated Killian to become Captain Hook, Killian’s overall motivations and character arcs actually went back even further. In a lot of ways, Milah was basically a female version of Liam, the beloved older brother that Killian was forced to lose years prior, which was what motivated him to turn to a life of piracy. So, for Milah, her death wasn’t so much as being done to further Killian’s story line, but to help set the groundwork for who Killain was- a man who was heavily motivated by love. In a lot of ways, saying Milah was fridged is almost the same as saying Martha Wayne was fridged.

#milah #belle french #slightly anti rumbelle #anti rumpelstiltskin #millian #captain book #captain beauty brotp #tagged anti to be safe #ouat character study

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csjolly · 6 years ago

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Hello! For your prompts I’m a real sucker for CS adopting a child. :)

ok I know this is pretty out there and LOOSELY follows the prompt so please forgive me! I’ve been wanting to write this for ages. Hope you enjoy :)

“Bite your tongue, pet. I’m walking you home, whether you like it or not.” Emma huffed at Killian’s stubborn tone, rolling her eyes as he shouldered his leather bag and extended his arm. A chill ruffled her hair, the cold October weather finally getting to her.“Fine,” She eventually conceded, without batting an eye at his possessive endearment, “I’m not some damsel in distress, though.”

The top of his ears turned red as he blushed, glancing briefly at his crooked arm, which he had offered to avoid her tripping on the iced-over stairs.

“I don’t need help down the stairs, Jones, no matter how high we are up Fall’s ass.” She continued, pushing past his hand and stepping down to the sidewalk that wrapped around the campus library where she worked.Killian scratched behind his ear and grinned obnoxiously. He shook his head, chiding her playfully, “Oi! That’s professor Jones to you.”

Emma held back a smile of her own, batting at his shoulder as he descended to her level. “I’m not your student. I’m not even a student,” She reminded him.

He shrugged. “As long as we work for the same university, I think you’ll find my title stays.” “And what if I want to call you by your first name, instead?” She turned to him coyly, finding his hand and intertwining their fingers. In response, he craned his neck down to pull her into a languid kiss, his wrist pressed against the small of her back. He gently gripped the fabric of her red leather jacket, his right arm finding the curve of her jaw and pressing her closer.

The red-brown scruff of his cheek brushed against her fingers and she hummed into his mouth. That got him to pull back reluctantly, tapping her on the nose.

“You’ll have to ask nicely, I suppose.” He murmured against her, and Emma laughed, pushing off of him.

“Yeah, yeah, Casanova.” She giggled, shaking her head as he trailed behind her.

The two walked in a comfortable silence down the empty streets, only pausing once to tie Emma’s shoe (“Honestly, Swan, why do you bother with those boots? I’d much prefer you in heels”/“You couldn’t handle me in heels, Jones”). The darkened road to Emma’s place ran beneath the metro underpass, a heavy stone bridge that towered over the slums of Boston. Her house was a block or so past it, a tiny little bungalow hidden by big metal fencing and walls of foliage. Emma was an expert in budgeting, not having a degree to back her up for a higher-paying job, and not having the money to go back to school to get one. The discount fencing was to keep out the drunks that stumbled through the back alley that her garage laid along, and the foliage had been a nice touch of her own. She had always wanted to live somewhere green, with flowers and bright colors, and she had been piecing her way towards that year by year with each potted plant she added to her yard serving as a souvenir.

Beyond her cool and guarded demeanor, she was a soft and gentle person, emotional in nature and kind in heart. The dismal mentality she grew up with was slowly tumbling away, whether it was at her own hand, or at the hand of a scruffy and rugged brit who smelled of coffee and vanilla, grumbling about the way she drove and embracing her tightly and protectively, as though each touch was his last.

The little homestead with chipped blue paint lacquered over dulled wooden paneling and a dirt stained porch was all she could really hope for. It was dusty and odd, but it was unique and so very alive. She could feel the calm energy that buzzed through the windowsills and chilled the dew droplets on the grass each morning. Emma knew the warmth and love that she had put into the property, and the same affection it gave back.

Her financial situation was one she had always struggled with. Her affinity for books and charismatic personality had earned her a spot at Boston University’s library, which was certainly a blessing, but didn’t quite make for a luxurious status. She certainly had been offered help from her friends. There was always the librarian who picked up Emma’s shifts on her off days, Belle French. She had her friend Mary Margaret, an English Professor whose husband David worked as a deputy for the Boston Police Department. Even her best friend and boss, Regina Mills, had offered to lend Emma money. She refused, though, each time. She didn’t want pity cash, and she didn’t want patronizing looks. She wanted the be recognized as someone who could take care of herself. Killian had always respected that, offering to cover dinner and give her rides to the store but graciously nodding when she refused.

The one thing he was a stickler for was walking her home. She didn’t live far from the University, only a few blocks- but he never failed to accompany her after her shifts, muttering something about ‘good form’ (“So you’ve decided to be a gentleman today?” / “I’m always a gentleman, love”). She had to admit, despite her perfected ability to hold her own in a fight, his protectiveness was endearing. Each time he put his arm around her shoulder under the bitterness of the night and the fluorescent street lamps, she felt a sense of safety and contentment that she hadn’t known in years.

That’s not to say she didn’t manage on her own, though- upholding her dignity atop muscled shoulders and and maintaining her quality of life on a head of blonde hair. In fact, her stitched-together abode even served as refuge to some of the scrap-starved kids that frequented the underpasses and tunnels near the train station.

Growing up in foster care, Emma knew the loneliness and fear that went along with the life. As unofficial as it was, she had managed to supply a home to some of the runaways around the Boston area, providing what food and shelter she could give, as well as all the love her heart might hold.

She and Killian had been together for nearly 10 months, and he had well managed to gain her trust enough to let him around some of the kids in her charge. Most of the teenagers drifted in an out of the area, stopping by for days at a time every few months. The youngest of the bunch, though, a 13 year old named Henry, came by Emma’s the most.

His last set of foster parents had been a nasty two- a neglectful and cruel couple who hadn’t even seemed to notice that Henry had run away. The boy himself had spent the last few weeks on Emma’s couch, but eventually decided to return to the home to make sure the other kids were okay. She’d given him his own key for his 13th birthday, and he’d been using it ever since (leaving notes of thanks on the fridge or leaving his comic books strewn across the living room floor). Over the months she’d known him, she’d even managed to teach him some manners, and he’d taken it upon himself to take out the trash and wash the dishes whenever he could. Every once in a while, he’d bring some younger kids from his foster home back for dinner, raiding Emma’s fridge and showing them all the old Disney movies Emma had packed under the coffee table.

Since Killian had started coming over, though, they’d found their interests in listening to tales of his travels (being an ex-navy man turned history professor, he had his fair share). Emma might have particularly enjoyed brushing the black strands of hair out of his face as he recounted his adventures, pressing a light kiss to his temple and fetching blankets for the kids huddled on the worn-down couch. She’d usually indulge them in steaming mugs of hot chocolate (with cinnamon on top, Henry insisted), and when she had saved up enough for the given month, they’d pile into Killian’s car on voyages to the aquarium or the marina. The older ones, who were more concerned about necessities like caps and gloves for the harsh winter, particularly enjoyed when she’d take them to the store and let them pick out a few things each.

Killian had grown attached to an older boy who shared his brother’s name. Liam was 17 and as nomadic as they came, only stopping by a few times a year or when he was in the area. He had fallen into a bad crowd, and despite Emma’s urgings to get himself straightened out, Liam had been impossible to get through to. That was, until he’d met Killian. The two had similar backgrounds- lost their mothers at a young age, deadbeat fathers- and were immediately inseparable. Killian had even managed to convince Liam to stay with him for a a while. After about three months of living with Killian, he had worked up enough to combine with all his savings to get himself his own place. The last that Emma and Killian heard from him, Liam had enrolled in the police academy in New York and was attempting to right some of his past wrongs.

And that was simply Killian’s character: headstrong, determined, nurturing, wise- everything Emma had wanted to model for the kids. Having her boyfriend around had certainly made her job a lot easier. Henry, though- he had always been more in tune with Emma, despite Killian’s unfaltering adoration.

Emma unlocked the gate and turned around to Killian. His dark hair was disheveled from a wind and his cheeks were rosy and pink. He smiled brightly, and kissed her on the cheek.“Have a good night, love.” He told her softly, but she grabbed his arm before he could turn to leave. “Why don’t you stay tonight?” She suggested through a yawn, tugging on the lapels of his heavy coat. He chuckled, and slid his arms around her waist. “You seem a little too tired for that, Swan.” He drawled mischievously lifting an eyebrow.

“You got that right, pal,” she snorted, “But I don’t want you to take the metro home this late. I’d feel a lot better if you’d stay over. Neither of us have work tomorrow anyway, so we can sleep in late.”

He nodded, bumping his nose against hers.“I’d love nothing more.”

The two stumbled through the enclosed front yard, tripping over pots of plants and little garden-gnomes. “Bugger me,” Killian swore as he caught his foot on the jagged porch step. Emma laughed at him, and helped him stable himself. “I swear, Emma, you have to allow me to install garden lights as soon as tomorrow’s sun renders this death-trap of a lawn visible. You simply must.”

She just rolled her eyes at his whining, and fumbled with her keys to unlock the door. “You could just move in,” She suggested, “Then you’d have full authority over what do do about our death trap lawn.”

It wasn’t as though they hadn��t talked about it before, they knew they were a permanent thing and both wanted to take the step. The only issue was the location. Emma didn’t care if the house was falling apart. She’d make whatever repairs were necessary; it was her home. Killian, on the other hand, wanted to give her the absolute best that he could, and worried that the house was in a dangerous neighborhood for their potential kids to live. Emma argued that kids already did live with her, and she didn’t want to leave the only home she’d known.

“I think I could live with that.” He told her, and she looked back to him questioningly. “Really? But I thought-” He shook his head.“Emma, you know that I love you. I’d live with you in a bloody rubbish bin if you wanted to.” He stepped forwards, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. A grin broke out onto his face, “Besides, David says you’re the best I can do.”

Emma laughed and smacked him on the chest. “Hey!” She defended, and he smiled broadly back. “I’m only joking, Swan.” He hummed, leaning down to kiss her. Before he could though, a loud thud sounded from inside the house.

Emma startled and quickly unlocked the door, rushing inside as soon as she could. She wasn’t quite sure what she expected, but a tumbling Henry collapsing under the open living room window was certainly not it.

Killian was at his side in an instant, pulling him to his feet and brushing him off.“Are you alright, lad?” He inspected Henry for any injuries, finding only a blotchy purple bruise forming on his cheek.

Emma cupped the boy’s chin and tilted his head to get a better look. “Who did this to you?” She demanded as Killian closed the open window.

Henry averted his eyes and shook his head free. “Sorry for coming through the window. Didn’t wanna risk tripping on all the crap in the yard.” He mumbled, and Killian would have sent Emma a pointed look about porch lights if the boy didn’t look so sad.

“It’s okay, kid,” She told him, pulling him towards the couch, “Sit down, I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

Henry nodded, pushing a mess of tangled brown hair out of his eyes. “Due for a shave, aren’t you?” Killian asked as he took a seat next to the boy, hoping to lighten the mood. Henry’s mouth nearly twitched into a smile, but it was gone in an instant. Killian sighed lowly, helping Henry shrug off his jacket. The boy’s shoes were drenched in mud and dirt, soaked through to the socks.

Henry hissed as he took them off, tossing them onto the mat in the corner of the room that Emma always insisted he wiped his feet on. “Bloody hell, lad, how many puddles did you jump into?” Killian asked Henry as he wrapped the nearest blanket around his shivering form. Henry shrugged, teeth chattering. “I dunno. I was running too fast to keep track.” Killian nodded solemnly and put his arm around Henry, pulling the boy into a hug. Henry leaned immediately into the embrace, burying his head into Killian’s shoulder and clinging tightly to the blanket. Emma met Killian’s worried glance over Henry’s head as she set down a mug of hot chocolate in front of him.

She rubbed the boys shoulder as he sat up, quickly wrapping his fingers around the drink and gulping down as much as he could. “Henry, slow down, you’ll choke.” She softly reminded him, and he set the mug back down on the table.

“Can we watch a movie? Pirates of the Caribbean, maybe?” He asked, his eyes pleading with her. Emma nodded and combed his hair with her fingers. Before her resolve crumbled, she reminded him, “You know the rules, though. You have to tell me what happened, first.”

Emma had a few of these, set just to make sure everyone was safe. The kids had to tell her their real name (no aliases allowed), explain where they got any bumps and bruises, and promise not to steal anything. Emma’s intuitive lie detector (a nifty skill she picked up that the kids had affectionately deemed her ‘superpower’) prevented anyone from escaping the rules, and made for a safe and open house.

That didn’t mean the kids always liked it, though. Henry huffed and turned his gaze to the floor. “I went back to check on the others,” He began, and Killian’s arm tightened comfortingly around his shoulder. “Everyone was okay, but…” He choked up a little bit, trying to hold back tears. “Violet got transferred to another house.” Emma patted his hand sympathetically, knowing how upset he must be. Violet was his best friend at the house, and had been his main reason for returning. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” He sobbed out, finally letting his tears fall.

Killian let go so Emma could hug Henry tightly as he shook, murmuring words of comfort as she patted his back. The boy unwrapped his arms from around her and sniffled, finding his voice again. “She forgot her necklace- the one her dad gave her. I was trying to get it for her, so if I saw her again I could give it back.” He shook his head angrily and bunched the blanket up in his fists. “Then that dickhead Peter took it from me.” He spat, and Killian grimaced.

Normally, he’d scold Henry for his language, but this was a special exception. Peter was a bit of a bully at the home, and Killian had encouraged Henry to stand up to him. That had earned Henry a punch to the ribs, and Killian had felt so guilty about it that he bought the boy three different kinds of ice cream. Henry had laughed it off and accepted the ice cream, but still tiptoed around Peter like a scared deer.

“He flushed it.” Henry eventually choked, glaring daggers at the hot chocolate. “And landed a solid punch,” He finished, motioning to his cheek. Emma examined it briefly and hummed. “Want me to kick his ass for you?” She joked, and Henry broke his sadness to giggle a little through tears. He sniffed again and nodded, picking his mug back up and drinking the rest of the hot chocolate in one big swallow. “I don’t want to go back there. Ever. The stupid parents didn’t even notice I was gone.” He bit out.

Killian cleared his throat, standing to fish the Pirates of the Caribbean DVD out from under the table. Emma turned to the young boy, nearly taken aback by how much of herself she saw in him.

“So don’t.” She told him unwaveringly, and Killian froze. Henry tilted his head in confusion, and blinked his tear-blurred eyes.

“What do you mean?” He asked her, and though the system had beaten down much of the hope he should have had, Emma was proud to admit that she could see a flicker dancing around in his stare.

Killian looked to Emma for confirmation before finishing her thought. “I believe the lass is asking you to stay here, my boy,” Henry whipped his head to look at him with wide eyes as Killian clarified, “Permanently.”

Emma saw the slight tremor in Henry’s hands and grabbed them firmly. “I know it’s a big jump, and you’ve only really known us for a year or so,” She quickly told him, “But I love you, kid, and I want to take care of you. For real.”

Henry slowly leaned back, wary and a little nervous.“But what happens when social services finds out? They’ll make me go back.” He trembled, and she shook her head.“Not if I’m your legal guardian.” At his awed expression, she forged on, “I mean it, Henry. If you’ll let me, I’ll get the papers, do this all the right way.”

He nodded enthusiastically, flinging his arms around her neck. Henry was getting tall already, nearly 5′7, but he was tiny enough that Emma could still use her weight and leverage to drag him up into a standing hug.

When Henry pulled back, he glanced curiously between Emma and Killian. “Will you two… I mean…” He started, not quite knowing what to ask.

Killian grinned broadly, looking proudly at Emma. “I’ll be here, too.”

“Actually,” She cleared her throat, making her decision, “None of us will be here. I think it’s time we go somewhere new.” She sent Killian a shy look, and whispered conspiratorially to Henry, “What do you think about a little house by the marina?”

Pirates of the Caribbean ended up discarded on the coffee table, and the mug ended up unwashed. After all, Henry was much too busy to do the dishes, bouncing around the house excitedly with an icepack pressed against his cheek. Killian couldn’t do them, either, for he was on a very important phone call with his landlord about when the lease would be up, and if he knew how easy it was to obtain a marriage license. Emma was busiest of all, certainly, comparing her savings account to a sweet little cottage by the marina, painted in blue with lawn lights.

#mine #asks #ahhh this was so fun

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onceuponaprincessworld · 7 years ago

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CaptainSwan One-Shots Recs p.11

Hello there! This is a new list of some astounding new and old One shots. There are all worth a read and a re-read. Hope you enjoy!

If you are intrested you can find my other lists here.

No More Running, @ilovemesomekillianjones

What happens when Emma doesn't seize her opportunity to tell Killian exactly how she feels about him? Based on the prompt, “you’re in the hospital for the holidays so i came in while you were sleeping to decorate your room i love you merry christmas” - from this post: http://nadiahilker.tumblr.com/post/133627477715/im-always-a-slut-for-a-christmas-au-i-know-we

anonymous swan, @swanandapirate

A Google Docs AU where Emma and Killian both get asked to beta-read something of David’s and start anonymously bickering about every conceivable grammatical and lexical and any other feature of the English language in the Google Docs Comment section but what happens after David decides to intervene?

Love Is A Ghost You Can't Control, @xemmaloveskillianx

We slept together once and I ran because I was scared you didn’t feel the same way I did. Now I’m the Maid of Honor at my brother’s wedding and you’re the Best Man and I can’t stop thinking about what happened between us.

The One With the Blackout, @imhookedonaswan

What can happen when two strangers are stuck in an ATM vestibule together during a black out?

For Practical Purposes Only, @tnlph

Emma convinces (it didn't take much) Killian to marry her so that she can adopt Henry. This is a fuller version of a short one shot that is probably buried somewhere in the "TNLPH Drabbles" story. People asked for a longer version. So... a year later... hope you enjoy reading a little more of the story.

Shelter from the Storm, @initiala

“Emma.” Mary Margaret’s got her ‘teacher voice’ on, which is really intimidating to the ten-year old living in Emma’s brain most days. “When did we forget to pay the gas bill?”

Luckily, while Mary Margaret goes to stay with David, Killian is more than happy to offer Emma shelter three days before Christmas.

Keep On Fallin', @resident-of-storybrooke

Emma Swan may be a successful bail bondsperson, but when it comes to her love life not so much. After several failed blind dates Emma is ready to give up, but Mary Margaret convinces her to give it one more shot. Is Mr. One Shot going to be the one? Or is she willing to risk taking a chance with her blue eyed gorgeous neighbor?

The Bookshop Around the Corner, @polarbearmorgan

For the past five months, Emma Swan has been talking to RollyJoger online, little does she know, he's actually the man that just might run her small bookshop out of business.

Prompt, @nowforruin

My favorite trope! ‘Enemies’ who secretly love each other forced to come to terms with their feelings. Smooching fluff ensues. Bonus if their friends had a bet on when they’d finally get together.

Scar of the Heart, @curiousthingdarkness

Emma Swan hunts alone. Except on nights when Killian Jones, fellow demon hunter and pain in her ass, insists on joining her. When dealing with a particularly troublesome beast, they discover that perhaps there is more to each other than meets the eye. Captain Swan soulmate/demon hunter AU, one shot.

A Cat By Any Other Name, @msgenevieve447

It's midnight on her first night in her new place and there's a cat in her kitchen. Which would be fine, but she doesn't actually own a cat, especially one that looks like it's planning the best way to get rid of her body without getting caught. (warning - there are shameless allusions to a certain sci-fi show in this fic)

fish out of water, @captainswanouat

Killian Jones truly just wanted to live a normal life. Go to class, come home, finish his education, and hide the fact that he is, in fact, a merman. He was into his final year of school and so far, nobody had caught on to his charade; but all good things must come to an end sometime and truly, it was his own fault it happened.

Based on the prompt: “I know it's late and I don't know you but I hear you can talk to fish and I'm worried my goldfish is depressed”

Half the world away, @ladyciaramiggles

Emma and Killian's friendship has grown from work colleagues to best friends and as Christmas approaches they intend to keep each other company, there's just a small matter of an ocean between them.

The Holiday Season(s), @once-uponacaptain

Emma Swan is not fond of holidays. But maybe a routine encounter with a local bartender could change that.

Untitled,@emmasinthebooknow

Captain Swan modern celebrity!AU: Emma is a famous actress, Killian is the (not famous) guy she just started dating. Because of Emma’s fame, the press is making things difficult, but Killian finds an unexpected way of reassuring Emma that he isn’t going anywhere.

Prompt, @awkwardnessandbaseball

Secret prince/princess.

Another Cliched Mountain Lodge Romance Novel, @spartanguard

Emma Swan, avid reader of romance novels, appreciates them for their vapid characters and incredibly unrealistic settings. She never imagined that she'd ever stumble into one—or that the man she'd find living alone in a mountain lodge would be the male lead in her own story. (Or how quickly it would escalate—and how okay with that she was.)

What a Year (for a New Year), @high-seas-swan

Killian Jones, Boston Bruins right winger, needs a break from the questions and concerns over his career-threatening injury. He thought Storybrooke would be the perfect place to escape to. What he didn't expect was Emma Swan, her kid and a holiday season he never knew he needed.

And I Don't Want To Go Home Right Now, @hollyethecurious

CS Hiatus Challenge Prompt - 'Iris' by the Goo Goo Dolls: Modern AU; Killian Jones had not left his apartment in two years, four months, and thirteen days. Not since he'd finally decided to shut himself away from the whole blasted world after a freak accident had left him without his hand, and for all practical purposes, his heart.

The Bench, @startswithhope

So, I’ve never attempted an AU before, so be gentle. I wanted to write a NYE fic and this is where my muse led me.

Prompt, @captainswanatk

city man/woman returns home to small town after being away.

Plan B, @lassluna

It’s New Years Eve and Emma has plans. It’s a good plan, she’s going to bring her boyfriend to a New Years Eve party where her brother won’t be able to kill him.

Except now Emma is inconveniently boyfriend-less, and all her friends are expecting him.

Emma Swan needs a new plan.

kiss me (on this cold december night), @jennifer-morrison

Maybe asking your best friend to pretend to be your boyfriend as you make a trip back home isn’t the smartest idea Emma’s had in a while. then again, how smart is Killian for actually saying yes?

The Unofficially Official Most Handsome Man in Storybrooke, @blowmiakisscolin

So, the prompt for this fic came about during a conversation with my dear friend Kristin last night. We were talking football, specifically about how the commentators of the 49ers-Texans game were very openly swooning over the hotness of our new quarterback for the 49ers (former NE Patriot Jimmy Garoppolo). They repeatedly brought it up throughout the game, even going so far as to do a “Handsome-Off” between him and Tom Brady. E-Network-style comparison clips of them running out of their respective tunnels and dreamy-soft-lit-close-ups of their faces included. It was borderline ridiculous and I loved it. K and I were highly amused by the swooning NFL commentators verbally drooling over Jimmy G. And then she had to go and plant the seed of:

“Yo, why did I just picture Leroy and the dwarves staging a Handsome-Off for David and Killian?”

Amas Veritas, emmaofmisthaven

“What’s your price?”

He opens his mouth, but no word come so he closes it. He tries a second time, “I don’t know. Isn’t the first born a thing or…?”

Emma makes a face. “No, gross. Something else.” She pouts, then she adds. “How about your happiest day? Does it seem like a fair trade to you?”

#cs ff #cs ff rec #cs fic rec #cs rec fic #CS fanfics #cs rec ff #cs fic #cs rec ff #cs rec list #my rec list #cs fanfiction #cs rec #captain swan fic rec

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sprnklersplashes · 7 years ago

Note

Hullo, saw your views on Rose, and I do agree a lot. I was wondering what you thought of the other companions, like Martha, Donna, the Ponds, River, etc?

I am glad you liked my thoughts. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, but this ask prompted, wait for it, 2.5 thousand words on my love and appreciation for each of these darlings, because I do love them all.

Under the cut we go!!!!

Martha- Martha Jones walked away from all of time and spacebecause she wouldn’t do it with someone who did not respect her (no offense to10 but she deserved better than you) and that ladies and gentlemen is thedefinition of a strong female character. Even from her first episode I lovedMartha balancing doctor training with her incredibly dysfunctional family andinstead of taking a moment to break down and scream (which is what many of uswould do) she just gets on with it, a little sarcasm and eye rolling sure but she doesn’t let it put her down and doesn’t get bogged down in her stressful life. There’s also how she is a badass withoutneeding to be physically violent or use weapons. In fact I don’t remember a lotof scenes where she does use weapons (thought it’s been a while). She walksacross the Earth using nothing but her bravery and wits, she finishedShakespeare’s spell to the witches on the spot even when the Doctor couldn’t doit (also, Expelliamus, you babe, Martha), ended Joan Redfern with her knowledgeof the bones of the hand (which is some pretty complex information she whippedout off the top of her pretty little head), and talked down to the Daleks(which yes used a weapon but it was a weapon given to her). Whether she wasbluffing or not in that instance, that took some serious guts and homegirl didnot break a sweat while doing it. A small but beautiful moment for her is inher first episode where she says “How many people want to go to the moon? Andhere we are!”. She knows how scary the whole thing is but at the same time shesees the absolute beauty and knows how unique an opportunity it is, and that’sa beautiful thing for her.

Donna- Oh Donna Donna Donna. If there was ever a characterwho was more fitting of the ‘deserved better’ label, it’s her! I don’t think itis physically possible for someone to dislike Donna. Let’s get the obviouspoint out of the way first; best lines ever. I mean between “oi watch itspaceman” and “don’t get clever in Latin” she had some of the funniest lines onthis show. Now that that is out of the way, can we appreciate the hope she has?She sticks out with the belief she will see the Doctor again after the Runaway Bride, and I feel likeher changing her mind humanised her a lot. She said she didn’t want to butthen, things changed, because people change. I liked her taking matters intoher own hands re: Adipose and investigating thinking she could run into theDoctor there. Even from there, she is on equal footing with him. Now we move onto her compassion which is so lovely, especially towards other women, like MissEvangelista (and I love their relationship because I feel like Donna was comingfrom a place of understanding with her, knowing how it feels to beunderestimated, and making sure she thanked her and noticed her even if no oneelse did), Evelina, Jenny whom she immediately bonds with even when 10 isprickly towards her. She just wants to make friends with all the people shemeets and I think that’s an amazing character trait. Not to mention how she demands to be treated as an equal, no matter if it’s a UNIT soldier (”I’ll have a salute”) or an alien ( “Every bit as important as Time Lord, thank you very much”). Her growth was amazing.She didn’t acquire a lot of new skills, just the confidence to utilise the onesshe had! I am still so bitter and upset about her ending because she did notdeserve to have all her amazing adventures and development that came with thatstripped away from her.

Amy- Amy is “my first bb girl” in that s6 of Doctor Who wasthe first one I watched, and the first fandom I was in and Amy was my firstfavourite female character, so I am very protective of her. When we first meether adult self, Amy is desperate to shed the “Amelia” part of her, kick out thechildhood dreams, but even in season 5 we still see a sort of childlikeexcitement because she has not suppressed her inner child and that isbeautiful. She also has a lot of insecurities in her arc, shown in herrelationship with Rory-not in a “I worry that he’s too good for me” way but ina “I don’t know if I am ready for this level of commitment” way-which 1. imomade for a very relateable character and 2. Gave way for a whole level ofcharacter development, because by around the end of series 5/start of series 6she was wholly comfortable in that relationship. But even then she can’t sitstill as it were, she says to the Doctor that she can’t keep a job and, while Ido acknowledge is in part to the fact she is waiting for him to come back, sheis also finding herself, which right now, I relate to massively as a youngwoman. She doesn’t keep a job because she doesn’t know what she wants. Shemodels, she writes, she makes perfumes, she can’t sit still. Amy’s story islargely about growing up and learning to stand on her own two feet, and that iswhy it culminates in her choosing to go back in time with Rory. Now this is abit of my own personal thinking here, but to me Rory represents “normality”, anadventure free, dull life while the Doctor represented everything else. Thiswas her growing up and saying she was choosing normality, her “not a littlegirl anymore” moment. She doesn’t outgrow her flaws, she’s still very impulsivein season 7 but she learns to deal with them maturely. I imagine a lot of hertroubles come from the neglect she endured as a child and I curse Moffat fornot allowing her to deal with her trauma in a healthier way. But anyways, Ithought her growing into her own and maturing was lovely to watch.

River Song- Ah River, or as I like to call her “who my 13-year-oldself aspired to be”. She’s just, so beautifully complex. I think what I lovemost about her is she lives her life on her own terms. She takes a lot of risksbut she…. well I wouldn’t say doesn’t care but she certainly seems to thinkthey’re worth it. And she lived her life totally on her terms, even when shewas in jail! She just casually breaks out and in as she pleases, just waltzingaround like a babe! She also has so much confidence it’s inspiring. She’sclever and she knows it. She has most people wrapped around her finger, evenfrom her first expedition in the library we can see she is the (unofficial)leader. I don’t know if I would call her fearless, but she rarely showed fear.Vashta Nerada? Weeping Angels? She has got this. Plus, homegirl graffitied theoldest cliff face in universe like can you get any more iconic? She is alsogorgeous and she knows it. She has a great body and flaunts it because it makesher feel good and that’s a good lesson we ca all take away from her. I thinkthere is also a hugely tragic side to River. Every character on this show hadfamily issues; Rose lost her dad, Martha’s parents split, Amy was neglectedetc. and then there is River, who was kidnapped, tortured and brainwashed. Andyet she kept on fighting and as a child managed to fight her way out of anastronaut suit and braved the streets of 1960s New York as a child. And that’sjust the tip of it. I saw a post once that in the s6 premiere, when she isalone talking to Rory, in that moment, she isn’t just someone talking to a guyshe just met, she is a little girl running to her daddy and telling her she’s scaredand wants her parents, and it hurts god damn it, it hurts. Underneath thebravado, the flirting, the teasing, she’s scared. I am not amazed that she cameout of it a good person, I am amazed she came out of it sane. But she is such agood person. She managed to overcome her brainwashing and kill the person sheloves most, and then sacrifices herself in the library. One of my favouriteRiver moments is her moment with Donna when Donna asks “How come I’m not in thefuture” and River’s face (huge props to Alex here) just falls so much and thereis so much empathy in that scene. I also think her determination to rebuild herrelationship with her parents is so beautifully inspiring and we were cheatedout of scenes. I also think her past adds to her relationship with the Doctorsince he was likely the only person outside of her parents to care for herwhich is why she latched on to him (not saying that avoiding killing him was atall right, it was definitely wrong sorry bby girl, but it is kind ofunderstandable).

Clara- Oh Clara my Clara. If you couldn’t tell by my bio, Iam a massive Clara Oswald fan, and she is currently in a three way tie forFavourite Fictional Character Out Of Anything Ever (tied with Emma Swan andKillian Jones from Once Upon A Time). Where do I even start with her? Even fromher first episodes, confidence oozes out of her every pore and it is earned.From Oswin (who I fell in love with in 2 seconds flat) and her “total screaminggenius” to modern day Clara and “Clara Oswald for the win” she just knows howamazing she is and I totally love it. It’s not conceited arrogance, not “I ambetter than you” but “I am awesome and I know I am”. Now let’s move on to asimilar topic, baby girl is very smart as heck, even without the computerknowledge uploaded into her via Great Intelligence. She noticed the littledetails “a chimney that doesn’t blow smoke”, she thought on her feet “I’m theDoctor”/ “Your daughter, Skaldak”, she keeps pushing Bonnie and manages to stayequal with her by using her wits (sidenote, can we give all the awards to Jennain that episode because good lord), her whole time in Flatline (which isprobably my favourite Clara episode ever), with the clockwork robots she keptthem talking, risking her own life in the process because she knew how to.Also, right from the word go she is making it clear with the Doctor that she ishis equal and that she is the one in charge here, right from “come backtomorrow” and “see you next Wednesday”. This continues later in her arc “you’reone of my hobbies”. One of my favourite lines of hers is “I’m not a bargainbased stand in for someone else, I’m not going to compete with a ghost” and itjust sticks with me because she is there asserting her authority on the TARDIS,prepared to walk away right now if he does not respect her for who she is, andit is marvellous to watch. And then this comes back in 12’s run where she goesoff on him for abandoning her and I feel like he needed her to ground him andmake him more human. She is not afraid to call the Doctor out on his shit,whether it’s something big like in Kill The Moon or something relating to herdirectly, “speak for me again and I’ll detatch something from you”. Now let’smove onto another, beautiful topic, Clara and kids! We see this in the Bells ofSaint John how she gave up her plans to travel to look after Angie and Artieand then again in the next episode she comforts and all but adopts Merry Gallel,and her with young!Doctor, soothing his fears. It’s a little topic but it’s sobeautiful. She is also, for a lack of a better word, beautifully badass! Shehas stared down Cybermen, Daleks, Missy, all the Doctor’s greatest enemies, andnot blinked. That is how badass she is. She is also incredibly brave, rightfrom the start she volunteers to go into the Ice Warrior, she jumps into theDoctor’s timestream, she sacrifices herself for Rigsy. She’s a beautiful exampleof how bravery and fearlessness are not the same thing. Her dying words are “letme be brave”, which is a beautiful moment for her. There is also something somagical about her, so fairytale, the excited traveller. Her first request is tosee “something awesome”. She doesn’t care, she just wants to be impressed. She practicallydances when she arrives somewhere new. Underneath her no-nonsense “bossy controlfreak” exterior, there’s an excited young woman getting to travel. She ishugely flawed but she is aware of it, which I find amazing. She says in HellBent “I’d say I’m sorry but I’d do it again”. She is reckless and a littleselfish, and she knows it. Ultimately, it is what kills her, but it still makesfor a wholly unique and beautiful character.

Bill Potts- Ah my precious Bill. I think the quote either Moffator Pearl gave “she’s got her feet on the ground and her heart in the stars” (orsomething) is so perfectly her. She is just so open and in my opinion, we needcharacters like that, who smile through rainstorms. I mean, she wanted to go tothe future because she wanted to see if it was happy, which is kind of tragicbut also pretty beautiful when you think about it. I think the fact that sheshowed up at lectures even though she wasn’t a student was so great. All shehad was a love of learning even if she wouldn’t do anything with it, and yes, anatural curiosity about the Doctor himself. The Doctor says that when she doesn’tknow something, she smiles, which is another lovely detail on her character andagain shows her curiosity and just how much of a sunshine she is. There’s nofrustration in not knowing, it’s a new chance for her to learn. Her reactionsto everything around her are so amazingly realistic, calling the Victorianorphans “cute as”. I think her question to the Doctor in her first episode, “Doyou know any sci-fi?”, shows a lot about how she is the dreamer, the one whothinks up impossible scenarios and answers, she dares to think outside the box.Bill has such a strong mind that even being a cyberman could not stop her fromcaring and fighting back. Her teasing the Doctor is absolutely adorable and isreally her way of establishing her own authority on the TARDIS, unlike Claraand Martha, she doesn’t do anything where she demands his respect, she gentlyeases it out of him with her quirky teasing (“Time Lord, sounds posh”), notsaying one way is better than the other, just that it’s a cute and unique wayof her building an equal relationship with him. I think Bill is definitely oneof those characters we so desperately need more of in TV, little rays ofsunshine who want to make everyone else’s days brighter, who want to pushforward and achieve and try because why not, even if it won’t lead them anywhere,who wants to see if the world will still be a happier place tomorrow. And Ilove her for it.

#bill potts #clara oswald #river song #amy pond #donna noble #martha jones #doctor who #moffat for ts #dw meta #can u believe I wrote 2.5k on DW and cant write 1000 for an academic paper?#lolz

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mendokayalways · 7 years ago

Text

OUAT 7x18: ‘The Guardian’ Review...spoilers, duh

What an episode fellow Oncers. Truly, this season is rapidly becoming one of my favorites. Let’s get into it, shall we?

Pros

First of all, Adult Henry needs a little more solid proof than a story book to start believing BUT HE STILL BELIEVES. BLESS HIS TRUEST BELIEVER HEART. *goes away to cry for like an hour because of all the believer feels*

In true Emma Swan fashion, Henry brushed off all the serial killer trauma to get to the center of the mystery and get his proof. Like mother, like son.

We finally know the whole story behind why Alice, Robin, and Rumple are so close and this Rumple redemption arc is so wonderful I had to pause the TV to like not get overwhelmed by all the feels.

Also, now we know why the curse partnered Hook and Rumple as colleagues and as cops too. They’re the two people who care about Alice the most and would protect her with everything they have, well besides Robin.

Naveen is finally being useful. AYY!

TILLY AND MARGOT DATE, TILLY AND MARGOT DATE, TILLY AND MARGOT DATE. *inhuman screeching*

Tilly talking about the good days and the not-good days hit me so hard. I am just so attached to Tilly in so many ways and just...wow.

Regina not taking any of Rumple’s or Facilier’s shit is my JAM. I love that even without her magic, Regina is just as intimidating.

Rogers calling Henry his ‘unofficial deputy’ when we know Emma’s deputy back home is Killian. This episode was just an avalanche of feels.

Rogers vaulting over that railing to cut Naveen off. Hot damn.

About the promo: I see that Henry and Jacinda are about to slip into the Mulder-Scully trope. You know like the Believer-Skeptic trope. I mean, they had that vibe in the enchanted forest too but now, its about to get real.

Cons

Rumple taking the one bit of magic Regina has to save his own hide gave me terrible flashbacks to all the half-promises Rumple made to Belle before Season 6B. He was genuinely remorseful but UGH.

Rumple referring to Regina’s desperation to save Henry as “your pathetic little family reunion”. Um, Henry is your grandson you asshole.

About the promo: I SWEAR IF GOTHEL HURTS ROGERS OR TILLY I WILL SCREAM. ALSO, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? SHE’S PLAYING THE “I’M YOUR MOTHER” CARD????

Speculations

After this episode, I am 10000% sure that our Guardian is going to end up being Lucy. She has a pure heart, she’s someone who is desperate for an adventure and to be a hero like her parents and grandparents and great-grandparents. She has magic in her veins what with Henry being the truest believer, her parents having true love, her grandmother being the Savior, her step-grandmother being the (formerly) Evil Queen, her great-grandfather being the Dark One. She is definitely going to be the Guardian. If I’m wrong about that, I’m honestly going to be so disappointed but it’s too late in the season to introduce new characters, there’s no better candidate what with Alice being with Robin and Anastasia with Ivy, so I’m going to stand by it.

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swanslieutenant · 7 years ago

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If the Stars Align - Chapter V

Summary: The Musketeers AU. Danger lurks around every corner in the French court and as a Musketeer in service of the royal family, Killian’s duty is to protect them from any and all threats. As his relationship with Queen Emma develops into something more than just friendship, threats against the queen escalate and put everything they hold dear into jeopardy.

Rating: M

Content warning for the story: violence, mature themes, minor character death.

Art by @hook-and-star-ink , @acaptainswaneternity and @seastarved. Follow this to check all the pieces currently published and give them some love!

Catch Up on tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4

AO3: ch5

It had taken several hours to get the situation at the Bastille under control. After making sure Emma was safe at the Louvre, escorted by palace guards to the court physician to check for any injuries even against her protests that she was fine, Killian and David returned to help out the others. City guards were there too by the time they had arrived, aiding the Bastille guards and the Musketeers, but it had still taken a long time for the situation to settle. Somehow, some of the prisoners had been let out of their cells too, and it took a long time to round them all back up, with some still on the loose and nowhere to be found. All the deserting guards (those still alive, at least) were arrested for treason, housed in the very prison cells they had once guarded.

By the time everything was said and done, it was late in the day and all the Musketeers were exhausted. Captain Humbert had visited the Louvre to update the king on what had happened, but the next day, all of the Musketeers were summoned for a meeting.

Captain Humbert leads them to the palace, and worried rumours and whispered theories trail their steps all the way to the palace, the news of the attack having circulated around Paris overnight.

“I heard the Queen was the one to shoot the ringleader!”

“Those guards deserve to hang alongside the other murderers in that place!”

“If even the Bastille guards aren’t happy with the monarchy ...”

Killian barely focuses on the hum around him. He was exhausted from the harrowing day, and his sleep last night was anything but peaceful. His dreams were wild, twisted reinterpretations of the day, mostly centered around scenarios where he hadn’t been quick enough to get Emma out of the line of fire. In that particular nightmare, her pretty lilac dress had been stained with crimson blood instead of dust, her beautiful face slack and unmoving, her body growing cold as he shook her over and over again, calling out her name.

After waking up in a cold sweat, her name still on his lips, Killian had abandoned any notion of getting more sleep. He’d retreated out into the cool night air, leaning out on the railing of the barracks and staring up at the bright, starry sky.

Killian was a child afraid of the dark, and when there were no lanterns or candles to light, he’d retreat to the deck of the ship where the stars sprinkled overhead. He’d kept up the habit in his days in the Navy when sleep evaded him, and though moving to land has many differences than life at sea, one thing has remained constant – the stars and their constellations.

Last night, tormented by his nightmare, his eyes had sought out one constellation in particular. Cygnus, the elegant swan, in the eastern sky, was taking flight amongst the sea of stars. He’d learned the constellations as a child, knew them all as well as the back of his hand, and somehow, watching the swan fly through the sky had calmed him enough so that when he had returned to the bunk, he managed to get a few hours of peaceful, dreamless sleep.

But now, walking through the whispery streets of Paris, Emma’s name following him to the Louvre like a whisper on the wind, just thinking about his dreams brings back the images again. He’s thankful they’re going to the palace, if only for a chance to glimpse Emma and reassure his restless mind she is fine.

Behind him, Captain Humbert and the others are in deep discussion about what they’re going to tell the king in their briefing. Captain Humbert told them that last night he was furious, ready to send all the Bastille guards to the noose even if they had been loyal, he felt so betrayed by the actions of a few. Captain Humbert managed to calm him down enough so that option was off the table, but Killian wonders what developments there will be today.

When they arrive at the Louvre, a page ushers the Musketeers quickly into one of the throne rooms in the west wing. It’s still early in the morning, the pale sunlight lighting the room in a subdued, quiet glow, but the room is full of people already.

The queen’s ladies-in-waiting are clustered around her throne and blocking Killian’s view, but they part as the Musketeers file in. The king’s throne is empty, and as the ladies move out of the way, Killian sees Emma seated in hers. Except for a small scrape on her left cheek and a scratch on her arm, Emma is unscathed from yesterday, and a swell of relief rushes over Killian.

Just dreams after all.

The Musketeers bow as they stop in front of the thrones. Emma rises to her feet, gesturing them all back to standing. Her face is grim, an edge of barely concealed anger to it, but her smile to them is warm and genuine.

“I wanted to thank you all before the king arrives. Your bravery and loyalty in the face of such danger at the Bastille yesterday is truly without equal. I would not be here without all of you.”

They murmur that they were simply doing their duty, but her sincere acknowledgement touches Killian. It is a rare thing to hear praise from the king and while Killian doesn’t do his duty for a simple word of thanks, it is still a reward to hear it from the queen’s lips.

Across the hall, the wide doors swing open, and the king and his retinue stride into the room. They all bow again, and the king drops into his throne without a word of greeting, waving them all back to standing. The cardinal, who slips in quietly a step behind the king, pauses behind the king’s throne, depositing a cold glare at the Musketeers as he does.

For some reason, Killian’s hackles rise at the expression on the man’s face. He knows the cardinal’s dislike of the Musketeers as well as anyone, but this ... this coldness looks a lot more like hatred.

“Any news on the traitors?” the king demands, and Killian looks away from Gold. “Their names? The motives?”

Captain Humbert steps forward. “The leader was named Antoine Berger, a young man from Chartres who’d been in Paris for a few years and a guard at the Bastille for the past year. He had a few other collaborators, but they were all killed during the fight. The ones we arrested weren’t party to the planning, and they stated that it was all Berger and his followers’ idea.”

“And what was this idea? Why did he do this, the very day the queen was there?”

“They said he believed they were not receiving fair treatment from Captain Edmond, and the perfect opportunity to bring attention to this issue was when Her Majesty was present, as it would force his hand. But they said the plan was never to hurt anyone, that they just wanted to talk.”

“Well, that’s clearly a lie,” the king snarls. “They killed their captain and the bailiff in cold blood, and then tried to murder the queen!” He takes a hard breath, his words echoing in the large hall around them, and shakes his head in disgust. “Where are they now?”

“They are still at the Bastille. Awaiting trial.”

The king looks over to Gold then, the two of them exchanging a dark look, and goosebumps rise on Killian’s neck as Cardinal Gold nods encouragingly.

The king’s eyes are hard and cold as he looks back to Captain Humbert. “No trials. Hang them tomorrow at dawn. Publicly. Let the rest of France know what happens when you dare betray me.”

As his harsh words settle around them, Killian gapes back at the king, the room falling into a stunned silence.

No trials?

Even amongst the worst of the merchant ships he’d served on, there’d been a semblance of fair trials for men accused of stealing or attempting mutiny or any other crimes. Killian himself, the lowly orphaned cabin boy, had a right to have a say in his own defence when the time arose.

To have no trial at all ...

He glances away from the king, trying to keep his face composed, and looks to Emma seated in her throne. She is gripping the arms of the chair tightly, her expression angry but not surprised. Her ladies behind her are exchanging dark looks, and Killian gets the distinct impression there had been an argument about this before the Musketeers arrived.

“Your Majesty,” Captain Humbert says after a moment, looking taken aback. “It is every man’s right –”

The king interrupts him with a wave of his hand, and snaps, “This is not open for debate. I’ll expect you to see to the executions personally, Captain. Is that understood?”

With the look on Captain Humbert’s face, Killian almost expects him to refuse, but with the king’s pointed stare and the cardinal’s expectant eyes, he finally nods, his jaw tight.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Wonderful,” the king says, and he gets to his feet. “Now Cardinal, about that report –”

“Wait,” Emma says loudly, rising from her throne. Neal turns back, startled that she interrupted him, but after a tense moment of the two of them staring at each other, he gestures for her to continue.

“I know you did not mean to overlook the good work the Musketeers did yesterday, but I believe this most recent show of bravery deserves more than just verbal praise.”

She steps down from her throne, and comes to a stop directly in front of David, who straightens and inclines his head to her.

Emma smiles warmly, and continues, “David Nolan was a remarkable hero yesterday. Without his courage and commitment to duty, the outcome would have been very different. It is my understanding that he has been serving as an unofficial Musketeer for several months now. I believe it’s time we made it official.”

She glances back to the king, raising a pointed eyebrow. He stares at her for a moment, but then smiles, all traces of his earlier coldness gone with a warm crinkle around his eyes.

“You are completely correct, my dear. Loyalty to the crown is the most important virtue of a Musketeer and Nolan has proved himself as a noble soldier and honourable protector of France.”

He gestures David forward, and he does so, looking unsure and bewildered. Behind the queen, Mary Margaret Whale is beaming, a wide smile lighting up her entire face, and the king pulls out a decorative sword from his hip.

“Kneel.”

David obeys, bowing his head as the king faces him.

“I hereby formally commission you,” he says, dropping the sword onto David’s left shoulder and raising it over his head onto other shoulder, “into my regiment of Musketeers.”

David breaks into a smile, and the king smiles back. He turns away, already calling out for Gold again, and the other Musketeers crowd around David immediately, slapping him on the back and offering words of congratulations.

“You deserve it, mate.”

“I think you’ve beaten a record for quickest promotion!”

“He still has to muck the stables, right?”

They all laugh at Will, who look genuinely concerned. The others keep congratulating David, and Killian glances over his shoulder and catches Emma’s eye. She is smiling, genuinely and brightly, and Killian feels a rush of affection flood through him. She didn’t have to do that for David. He could have languished as an unofficial Musketeer for years, as many others do, but to be promoted, to be given the title of Musketeer and entrusted the loyalty and honour that comes with it, he knows how much that means to David.

“Sir Nolan,” the king calls out then, and all the Musketeers snap to attention, their conversation halted. David steps forward, bowing slightly, and the king gestures him forward. “The Cardinal is creating a formal report about what happened at the Bastille and you can help him by giving your account. Follow me. Captain Humbert, you as well.”

David, nearly glowing with pride, follows the king and the cardinal out of the hall, accompanied by Captain Humbert. Killian remains with Will, Robin, and Lancelot in the hall as the queen returns to her throne. He wishes he could pull her aside, to thank her for what she did for David, but there’s no way, not with the way her ladies are now crowding around her.

“Well, I better go get Nolan a pauldron,” Lancelot says, sighing and sending Will a pointed look. “Last Musketeer whined about not having his the moment that sword left his shoulder.”

“Oi,” Will protests. “It’s our symbol, mate. You aren’t a real Musketeer without it. Plus,” he adds, with a wink and a nudge to Killian’s ribs, “you get way more free drinks with it on than without it.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking at all with it on,” Lancelot reprimands coolly, crossing his arms.

Will suddenly looks very interested in the bust of a former First Minister across the hall, and Killian and Robin exchange an amused glance as Lancelot just sighs again.

“Sir Jones, Sir Scarlet,” Emma calls out, and the Musketeers turn to look. All of her ladies are gone, save Mary Margaret. “Will you accompany me back to my quarters?”

Will steps forward immediately, clearly pleased to have an excuse not to leave with Lancelot, and Killian follows him. Mary Margaret steps ahead with Will, asking him all about what David’s new duties will be, and Killian drops into step beside Emma.

Her steps are slower today than usual, and as Mary Margaret and Will disappear around the corner ahead, Killian wonders if she’s being deliberately leisurely to give them some privacy. As soon as the thought hits him, he gets a better look at her; there are dark circles under her eyes, her skin is paler than it was yesterday, and he wonders if perhaps her slow stride has more to do with exhaustion than anything else.

“Are you feeling alright, Your Majesty?”

“I’m tired,” Emma replies honestly. “The king and I argued about the soldiers late into the night.”

Killian stiffens, the reminder of the harsh punishment the king ordered slamming into his mind, washing away all happy thoughts of David’s new position.

No trials.

“It’s the cardinal’s idea,” Emma continues sourly. “Neal was just going to jail them at first. But once Gold suggested it, there was no convincing him otherwise. I tried to beg him to show mercy, but his mind was made up.” She sighs, and rubs at her eyes, the next words spilling out of her as if she can’t stop. “And then afterwards, I had terrible dreams and hardly slept. The last time ... the last time something like the Bastille attack happened, I was still in Denmark. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to think about those times, and now I can’t stop thinking about it, even when I sleep.”

With his own night full of nightmares, Killian feels a rush of companionship with Emma.

“I did too,” he admits. “Have terrible dreams, I mean.”

“You did?” Emma tilts her head curiously at him. “About the Bastille?”

He nods, and before he can stop himself, he reaches out and brushes the skin below the scrape on Emma’s cheek, her skin cool and smooth under his thumb. “That things had ended differently.”

He quickly withdraws his hand, feeling foolish and forward. He isn’t sure what came over him, where the mad urge to touch her, to reassure himself that she is truly safe, came from, but it isn’t appropriate, not when he’s a soldier and she’s the queen. He’s thankful no one else is around, if only so he doesn’t end up losing his hand as a result of touching her.

But Emma doesn’t seem to mind, and she reaches up to touch his own cheek, to the still fresh wound near his left ear.

“I dreamt of that too.”

She pulls her hand away, and they walk in silence for a few moments. Though he feels like a fool for daring to touch her, to letting his emotions and desires get the best of him, her admission that she dreamt of the Bastille too takes him aback. He’s so enraptured in his thoughts that when Emma speaks again, he completely misses the content of her sentence.

“Pardon me?”

Her lips twist into a smirk, as if she can read his thoughts. “I asked what you do when you have nightmares.”

“Oh.” He pauses, considering. “I usually look out at the stars. It’s what I did when I was younger.” He pauses again, unsure to share or not that last night he sought comfort with the swan constellation, but decides that if he’s going to think himself a fool for the rest of the day, he might as well go all out. “Last night, I was looking out at Cygnus.”

She glances to him sharply, her expression suddenly unreadable. “Cygnus? The swan?”

He nods, watching carefully for her reaction. She’s just watching him with guarded eyes, and it’s almost like he can see the thoughts in her head churning, trying to decipher him and what he means by saying that. He wonders if he’s somehow upset her, and he quickly tries to backpedal.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he starts, but Emma shakes her head.

“No, you didn’t. I was just thinking ...” She pauses again, chewing on her bottom lip. She seems at war with herself, until she straightens her back, her expression shifting, and she takes a step closer to him. “You have Cygnus to look for when you’re worried about me but I don’t have anything to look for when I worry about you.”

For a moment, his mind runs blank and Killian wonders if he’s misheard her. Her – worried about him?

But she’s watching him expectantly, an almost shy, vulnerability in her eyes now, and whatever worries he had about upsetting her fly out of his head.

“You don’t have to worry about me, love. I’m a survivor.”

She smiles, and though this is starting to seem like dangerous territory, rough seas that he knows he’ll do nothing but drown in, Killian wouldn’t stop it for a moment.

“But, if you ever do worry, you can look for Polaris, the Northern Star. Sailors use it for navigation and as a marker of true north. All you have to do is trace the edges of Ursa Major and you’ll find it, the brightest star in the sky.”

Emma smiles again, that warm smile that he received that first day at the hunt. “The brightest star? How fitting.”

He rather thinks that it would fit her better then, the brightest star of them all, but he just smiles. She’ll be the swan, and he’ll be the sailor’s navigator.

They walk in silence for a few moments, both lost in their thoughts in the meaning of their last words, before Killian speaks again.

“I wanted to thank you. For what you did for David. I know how much that means to him.”

“It was the least I could do. With all those who will die tomorrow, I had to make sure there was some good that comes from such tragedy. To make David’s bravery and courage count for something.”

She reaches into the folds of her dress, and withdraws a small bundle of purple velvet. “That reminds me. I have something for you. I wasn’t sure if I should ...” She trails off, frowning, and looking at war with herself again, but then she shakes her head and holds the bag out to him. “David got his reward, but you deserve one too.”

“Oh,” Killian says, staring at the bag as reality slams back into him. “I don’t need anything. I was just doing my duty.”

“Well,” she replies, with a coy smile. “Think of it as a mark of my affection then, or something you can look at when the stars are absent.”

She presses the package into Killian’s palm, stepping away before he can refuse it or say thank you. He’s a step behind her, having been stunned for a moment, and ahead, Will and Mary Margaret are stopped outside the doors to Emma’s private quarters, talking about (of all things) what the meals are like at the barracks. They stop when Emma and Killian join them, Will looking only too relieved to step away.

They say goodbye to each other, and Will returns to Killian’s side, muttering under his breath, “That Madame Whale sure knows how to talk. Come on, let’s go help Lancelot with David’s pauldron before Lancelot decides he can have mine instead.”

Will takes off down the corridor, but Killian pauses before following him, the small package like a burning flame in his hand, his attention unable to move away from it. He undoes the drawstrings on the pouch, and a heavy silver chain necklace with a sword charm slides out into his palm as he turns it over.

The sword charm glitters when it catches the sunlight coming in from the window, the sword jewelled along the hilt with diamonds, the pommel encrusted with small rubies. He turns it over, and his heart nearly drops out of his chest – engraved on the back of the tiny pommel is a swan.

Since her ascension to the throne, Emma has engraved only her most treasured items with her personal emblem of the swan in flight. The coronation crown, the state ring she wears both as her wedding ring and a constant sign of her title, and a couple other important pieces of the crown jewelry she’s refashioned since becoming queen hold the symbol. Killian knows she’s given it out on pieces to her close friends before, and to receive a present from her with the swan engraved is a high honour, one everyone in court dreams of.

Forget the diamonds, forget the rubies – the real treasure is the swan.

He presses his fingers against the indentation, and glances back to Emma’s doors. She’s watching him from the doorway over Mary Margaret’s shoulder, and he raises the charm to his lips, the metal cool, and he can feel the indents of the swan crest against his mouth, and Emma smiles.

A week after the attack at the Bastille, Paris has returned to its lull of normal life, though a lingering anger simmers in the air. The execution of the Bastille guards had caused a stir earlier on in the week, the public learning that they were all killed with no trials inciting rage and fury that spilled out onto the streets. But the king’s guards had cracked down hard on any protests, hard enough to let the public know what fate awaited them too if they disagreed too loudly, and slowly the fuss faded into the background, becoming just another angry whisper against the monarchy.

Now it’s May Day, the first day of real spring, and while the courtiers up at the Louvre exchange sprigs of lily-of-the-valley and the young singles of the court attend the bals de muguet, the common people are enjoying a night out too, taking advantage of the holiday to let the stress and anger of the last week drain away.

It’s nearing midnight already, but deep in the twists of the Parisian streets, in a cozy tavern with litres of flowing alcohol, the evening is just getting started. The whole pub is lively, even the owner of the bar, a matronly woman lovingly nicknamed Granny who is notoriously grumpy most of the time, seems to be enjoying herself. She even acquiesces to her granddaughter’s pleas to let her shirk her duties and have a round with some of the attendees of the pub.

But amidst all the fun, there is notably a lone, silent patron seated at one of the back tables. Her hood has remained up since her arrival, hiding her face, and she’s ordered only a glass of hot apple cider that she hasn’t touched. Her fingers are tapping rhythmically on the wooden table with a touch of annoyance, and if one could get a glimpse of her face, they’d see her attention is focused solely on a rowdy table near the front door.

The table is full of laughing men, playing dice and having drinks and eating cassoulet and nibbling on cheeses. They’re a normal bunch, working-class men with some sporting dusty aprons and others with sawdust on their pants even at this time of day. The group should be of no interest to the woman in wait, but she keeps watch over them with narrowed, focused eyes.

After a while of laughter and jokes, with the woman still tapping her fingers, one of the men from the table hauls himself to his feet and salutes his fellows.

“Early start for me tomorrow, mates,” he says over the chorus of disapproving grumbles. “Have another drink for me, eh?”

He pauses to pull on a tweed jacket before exiting the bar, and the woman gets a better glimpse of his outfit as he angles towards her. He’s a worker at the Louvre, marked by the embroidered crest on his white shirt she can even see from a distance, but it is what’s beside that that interests her. A small pin next to the crest catches the light, the shape of the swan with its ducked head and long, curved neck gleaming in the candlelight as he finishes pulling on the jacket.

The woman’s fingers still.

As the man slips out the door, she gets to her feet, tucking her hood tighter around her face. She drops a few coins onto the table to cover her untouched drink and follows the man into the street.

He’s not gotten too far, strolling up the cobblestones, whistling to himself, and it takes the woman a few steps to catch up to him. She’s twisted his arm behind his back, shoving him up against a nearby alley wall before he can realize what is going on.

“Hey – what the hell!”

“Be quiet,” she snaps, withdrawing the dagger at her hip in a fluid, lethal motion. The man, spluttering, catches sight of the gleaming knife and his face pales.

“Hey, hey – whoa! What are you doing?”

“Sending a message,” she replies, with a sickly-sweet smile that makes the man turn even whiter.

“What? A message? You’ve got the wrong man, lady! Please, I’ll give you anything! I have money, I can give it to you –”

The woman snorts, and presses the tip of the dagger into the man’s neck, drawing a speckle of blood that makes him whimper.

“As if money is what I want.”

“Please.” The man’s voice is quivering, silent tears running down his face. “I’m nobody, please don’t do this –”

“Nobody?” the woman purrs in response, and she chuckles. With her free hand, she runs her fingers down his chest, coming to a rest over the fleur-de-lis sigil over his left breast and to fiddle with the small swan pin next to it. “This pin here says otherwise.”

“This – the pin? that – it’s nothing!” The man’s nearly sobbing now, and he sniffles, “I’m just a palace worker, ma’am, please, please –”

The woman huffs and rolls her eyes at the pleas, wondering why they all do this ridiculous begging routine. It has never swayed her before, and she’s not about to grow a conscience now. The pointless pleas just serve to irritate her, to make her more determined to complete her mission than before.

And complete her mission she does.

The man slumps against the wall when she’s done, his body sagging with death, and she pulls her dagger free from his stomach. He collapses onto the street, falling on his front in the dirty road. She nudges his body onto its back with her foot, wrinkling her nose in distaste, and bends to wipe the dagger clean on his crisp uniform, making sure to drag it purposefully across the pin on his shirt, and slips the dagger into a sheath at her hip.

An idea takes over her and she pauses. She’s sent her benefactor’s message, but there’s no reason she can’t send her own message too. Let those damn Musketeers know what they’re dealing with.

Especially one in particular.

She saw him briefly a few weeks ago, during the royals’ coronation celebration. It was her first day in Paris, having been summoned from her last jaunt in England just days before. Watching the coronation parade was a chance to get a look at the royals and, as it turned out, one of their Musketeers.

She’s kept tabs on him through the years, knew he was a Musketeer, but seeing him had been a shock to her system. It had been ten years since she last saw him, walking away from her through jail bars, and then suddenly, there he was.

She’d been so surprised by the emotions that had overtaken her, she had to turn away, darting through the crowd as the royal carriage passed without her getting a good look inside.

But now ... now she wants to send a message, to let him know that she’s here. It’s been very difficult being in the same city as him, him none the wiser that that she survived his very best attempts to see her dead. That she’s still out here, fighting for a place in society, for a home, fighting for all the things he took away from her.

She withdraws a gleaming crimson apple from deep within her cloak, taking a slow deliberate bite, causing the juices to run down her chin as she considers the body in front of her.

Apples are her favourite, and he knows it.

She tosses the apple, with the single bite taken out of it, onto the ground near the dead man. It rolls in the street and by the time it’s stopped moving, coming to rest by the man’s leg in the growing pool of blood, the woman is already gone, having disappeared into the night as if she was nothing more than a ghost.

#cs ff #csbb #captain swan #captain swan big bang #cs mc ff #fic: if the stars align

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years ago

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I just wanted to let you know that I am really enjoying A Once and Future Thing and that while I love the Little Pirates, your version of Jim Hawkins is without my favorite character and I ship him with Beth so hard despite the fact I'm still sad about Will. I feel like Jim and Beth (they need a name like Hawkjones or Treasure Ship) are like a reverse CS because Jim totally reminds me of how unimpressed Emma was with Killian at first and you've established how similar Beth and Killian are.

I’m so glad you’re enjoying A Once and Future Thing, I’m honestly enjoying writing it, mainly because the amount of banter in it is my personal cup of tea. Anytime I have the older Joneses, there is automatically sass and banter, which I really enjoy scripting out.

I’m really glad you’re enjoying my version of Jim Hawkins. He’s my favorite and I will admit that he’s like a mash up of Billy Bones and John Silver from Black Sails, Aragorn from LOTR with the Jim Hawkins from Treasure Planet. He’s sly and sassy but he’s got a good heart and his own code, which he refuses to bend. Obviously, most versions of Jim are teenagers, but Jim in the series is 30-32ish and a former navy man. He’s just constantly exasperated with the ongoings that happen around him and his unofficial catchphrase is “Goddamn it Elizabeth.” She really pushes his buttons and he doesn’t let her get away with anything.

As for Jimbeth and Willbeth ongoings, I wouldn’t consider one versus the other. There isn’t any real competition between Jim and Will, and deliberately so because Jim refuses to compete. Jim constantly thinks of Beth as a kid instead of an adult because of the age gap between, there’s roughly 8-9 years difference, which is significant when you think about it. She’s just leaving her teenaged years behind while he’s approaching his thirties. So, he doesn’t think he’s a proper match for her, and won’t for a few more years. Does he have romantic feelings towards Beth in A Future and Once Thing? I think it’s quite obvious that he does, but he thinks it’s wrong and won’t act on it for a good while. So, he’s not really competition for Will when he’s alive. So, it’s prefectly okay I guess to be a Jimbeth and a Willbeth fan is what I’m saying.

I kinda laughing because I see your point on them being a bit of a reverse Captain Swan, but that wasn’t intentional. I was wanted a ridiculous slow burn ship that would drive people crazy. Though, I would say that Jim is more open than Emma is. His issues in regards to Beth aren’t because he’s been emotionally hurt and doesn’t let anyone in (like Emma), his issues with her is that he refuses for the longest time to see her as an adult. Beth….yeah, she’s very much her father’s daughter - flirty, hot tempered and overly confident at times. She’s got some Emma in her too though - she’s got a bit of her bite and tendency to reference popular culture and drive Jim insane.

However, there are fundamental differences between the two ships, mainly with Captain Swan has a policy of being very forgiving of each other, while Jim and Beth tend to hold each other accountable for things and not forget things so easily. This hasn’t happened yet, but Jim and Beth have big fall out. I mean, there’s a period which happens after this story where they don’t talk for almost a year because Beth is obsessed with killing Circe and is making very questionable decisions and Jim is kinda like “I’m out, I know I can’t stop you from making this mistake but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and watch you destroy yourself.” I mean they eventually reconcile, but still Jim did leave Beth for awhile. He walked away because it was too painful for him to be around her, which is something that doesn’t happen with CS.

#asks #anon #answered #rose speaks #a once and future thing #jimbeth #jim hawkins #beth jones #little pirates #little pirates meta

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seriouslyhooked · 8 years ago

Text

Just a Taste (A CS AU) Part 1/10

AU where Emma and Killian are contestants on the Great American Baking Show and all twelve contestants hail from Storybrooke Maine. In this AU Emma is a book editor by day, while Killian is an architect who just moved to town a few months prior. Expect baked goods, flirtatious interactions, a little drama and a whole lot of fluff with a guaranteed HEA for Captain Swan. Rated M.

A/N: After some careful consideration I decided to make ‘Just a Taste’ my next story to republish. My main reason for this is that I need another baking fic in my life right now. So whether this is your first time reading, or you’re a long time fan of CS fluff meeting the ‘Great British Baking Show’ I hope you enjoy and thanks so much for reading!

If you had told Emma Swan a month ago, that her favorite TV show arguably ever was going to make an American version, that might not have surprised her. The Great British Baking Show was a hit, both back across the pond and now in America. What did surprise her was that the American version was making a twist, and that twist was to only use competitors from one hometown each season. The first season was to take place in Storybrooke, Maine, the small hamlet where Emma lived, and that… well that was crazy.

Up to this point, nothing of note had ever happened in Storybrooke, and local news never got more exciting than a passing family of moose, or the addition of a new baby to the town’s ranks. Easily the most exciting thing that had happened in the years Emma had lived here was when the factory that made hot cocoa mix a town over had a spill and all of Storybrooke smelled of chocolate for two whole weeks. No one had been hurt, the damage was minimal, and yet it was all anyone could speak of for months.

Yet no longer could anyone claim that nothing ever happened here, because over the past few weeks, Storybrooke had become consumed with the rabid buzzing of TV crews and potential competition. The rules were clear, one had to live in Storybrooke Maine for at least six months prior to the shows taping. Other than that, anyone over the age of eighteen could compete for the title of… best baker in town? In retrospect, the title seemed kind of pointless, but Emma knew that people were taking this seriously. With twelve bakers in the race, the town was divided between who would win, and who deserved the crown, or in this case the dish. As one of those finalists, Emma was already feeling the pressure, and she’d only just set foot in the big white tent where she’d be baking.

“I really hope this doesn’t ruin the franchise for me,” she said out loud, not realizing that anyone was around until a deep, accented voice responded.

“My thoughts exactly, love.”

Emma turned to find Killian Jones, Storybrooke’s newest resident, who she’d only really seen in passing standing behind her. Despite barely knowing her new neighbor, her heart skipped a beat when her green eyes locked with his blue ones, and she wondered how someone could have this magnetic pull over her. Maybe it was the dark hair that she wanted to run her fingers through, or the way that his smile seemed to tick up to one side. Perhaps it was the accent, or the thoughtful sort of look he had any time they crossed paths. Emma watched as he extended his hand in greeting, and she met it gladly.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Killian Jones, at your service.”

“Emma Swan,” She replied and he grinned at that.

“I know.”

Emma raised a brow and couldn’t help but smile, but just as she was about to ask him what he meant with his flirtatious tone, the ten others who were competing came barreling into the room, led by one of the shows production assistants.

“Were we not supposed to be here yet?” Emma whispered and Killian shook his head.

“Apparently not.”

As the others filed in, Emma saw two of her best friends, Mary Margaret Blanchard and Belle French who had also made it to the final twelve people. While both women looked inclined to come near her, the PA’s wrangled them to their designated stations and then addressed the group. Filming would be commencing shortly, and the first step was introduction to the judges.

“Prepare yourself for a big difference between camera and off-camera personas. We ask that you respect the personal space of our panel, and our hosts.”

The small woman named Tink who spoke pushed the glasses she wore farther up her face as she carefully selected her words. She was the picture of efficiency, and Emma had seen her running around handling chaos at every turn in the auditions and now. It was very impressive, but Emma didn’t envy her. Tink had so much energy, that when she moved about, it was like watching a hummingbird fly, fascinating, but seemingly crazed with how much effort was required.

“So they’re bloody horrible, then?” Killian asked aloud and Emma bit her lip to keep from smiling outright. That was clearly what the young blonde PA was grappling with. Tink looked flustered and blushed as a tall man stepped into the room with his hands across his chest smirking at Killian. He dwarfed Tink in size, appearing well over six feet next to her modest frame.

“Enough of that, Killian. But as a matter of fact, some of them are. Heed Tink’s warning and save yourself the unpleasantness. Now –“

“And you would be?” Catherine Parker asked flirtatiously. Emma made eye contact with Mary Margaret across the room and mimicked a gagging motion that had her pixie-haired friend giggling and Catherine glaring at her, but Emma didn’t care. The woman was vile, and yet somehow was dating one of the town’s nicest men, David Nolan.

“Liam Jones, EP.”

This was surprising indeed, yet when Emma considered, she could see the similarities between Killian and this man calling the shots. Aside from the accents, both men were good looking, with dark hair and nice eyes. Though in all truth, Emma had to admit she liked Killian more. Just thinking as such had her tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She felt like a girl again, all nervous and crushing on some guy she barely knew.

“You’re related to the Brit? How is that fair?!” This came from Leroy, the unofficial town crier and world’s most dedicated gossip. He loved to play the victim, build up the drama, and then cower and run in the face of actual confrontation. Emma thought it highly possible that he had been selected for the show based on those tendencies, because his trial bakes seemed questionable at best and grotesque at worst.

“Seeing as I have no control over the judge’s decisions, it’s completely fair, Leroy. Now, there isn’t a minute to waste. The sun in high enough and the set team has prepped, so let’s get going.” With that, Liam was off, with Tink just behind him and Emma looked over to Killian and smirked.

“So you’re the reason they chose us for this.”

Emma watched as a cute little blush spread across his cheeks, and it made no dent in how handsome he was. She allowed herself another moment to admire him, trying to convince herself that she could look now and steel herself against him once the cameras were there. His dark hair had gotten longer since he’d first moved to town, and now a lock of it had fallen to his forehead. Emma wanted to push it back into place, and ended up balling her hands into little fists to keep that inclination in check. Again she wondered how someone could endear her to them so quickly.

Before he could reply, the cameras were in motion and Emma felt the strangeness of the situation. Four different crews worked simultaneously, catching a whole host of angles in what seemed like barely organized chaos. Liam gave out his orders into a headset, and though they were whispered low enough that Emma couldn’t hear them, she thought they’d still have a bit of bark to them. The man practically exuded authority; there would be no silent entreaties from him, but his methods seemed to work. In the span of a few minutes they’d gotten some stock footage of each contestant, which was no easy feat.

Aside from Emma herself, Killian (who Emma knew from word around town was an architect), Leroy, Catherine, Mary Margaret, and Belle, the final twelve included a range of characters. There was Catherine’s boyfriend David, a real saint by all accounts for her dealt with her terrible temper and meaner qualities in stride. He was the town lawyer, and Emma’s guess was that in such a post, one ran into a whole host of personality types. Beside him was Tiana, a waitress at Granny’s who was both hard working and sincere and just before them was Lance, one of the deputies to the sheriff. Then there was Archie, who was a grief counselor, Robin who was a single Dad and the town’s only contractor, and Ella who was a stay at home Mom and very nice if still painfully shy.

All in all, it was a pretty good representation of the town, though there was one clear demographic missing, for not a one of the gaggle of gossips (a band of elderly women who frequented Granny’s) was there. That was because they were all running the betting ring that was consuming the town as they waited for intel on the show. Yup, this was Storybrooke, a place where the illegal betting rings were run by the AARP crowd. America was in for a real treat.

Into the tent at that moment strutted a tall brunette dressed to kill and donning four inch heels as if they were nothing more than slippers, and a man who stood another five or six inches above her with light brown hair and a handsome face. Emma recognized the former as her friend Ruby Lucas, and she nearly called out to see what the heck Ruby was doing here, but a worried Tink stomped down that inclination with a stern shake of her head to Emma. The man was still a stranger, but his face was familiar even if Emma couldn’t quite place him.

“Graham Huntsman is a judge on this show?!” Catherine’s grating voice sounded from the back of the tent, and though her instinct was to roll her eyes, Emma was glad that she hadn’t, because watching Tink’s reaction was so much better.

The small blonde looked near bursting, and was clearly unimpressed with Catherine. If Emma didn’t know her to be loyal to Liam, she’d have expected Tink to shame Catherine from here to Sunday, but as it was, she bit her tongue and moved her attention back to the iPad in front of her. His name had sparked her memory though, and Emma returned her gaze to Graham, a man who had been on another show to try and find love, only then deciding none of the girl’s were his perfect match.

“Yeah he is, Parker, so do us all a favor and shut that trap of yours before you embarrass the town further.” Ruby’s words were too much, and now Emma, Belle, and Mary Margaret were laughing so hard that they were shaking with it. They all three tried to keep quiet, but it was hard to do so, especially when looking back to Ruby and Graham, the latter of whom was blown over by the comment and looking at Ruby with newfound respect.

“If we’re quite done, let’s get the ball rolling shall we? Ruby, Graham you’re up.” He motioned to the camera beside him and Graham and Ruby both lit up with a happy smile.

“Hello and welcome to the Great Storybrooke Baking Show!” Ruby looked so excited as she said the words, while Graham feigned distress beside her.

“Um, no, Ruby, not quite. It’s actually the Great American Baking Show. We’ve just picked your town for the first season.” Ruby rolled her eyes.

“Ignore him, he’s new to this. As I was saying, we have got twelve competitors rearing to go, fighting to see who will be the next King or Queen of this small town in Maine.”

“Again, not what we’re doing here. Back me up on this guys,” there was general murmuring from the crew and a victorious smile from Graham. “And while you are right that we have twelve eager contestants ready to show us their skills in the kitchen, none of them will become royalty.”

“So what’s the take? Is it money? A new kitchen? A lifetime supply of cake?” Ruby asked and Graham shook his head, looking back at the camera.

“To be quite honest, it’s a dish and bragging rights. Oh, and if this show does well enough, hopefully the love of the American people.”

Emma placed a hand over her mouth as she watched the scene unfolding before her. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought that all of this was off the cuff, completely free styled, but it wasn’t. Whoever was writing this was doing a good job, it was funny and light and actually kind of true to the humor of the two women who hosted the show overseas.

Ruby and Graham went on and eventually made their way through the tent to a designated spot so that the camera crews could do a sweeping shot of all the contestants. Emma didn’t know whether to smile or stay neutral, and she nervously tucked another lock of hair behind her ear. Yet soon enough that take was over and they were moving on to the judges’ introduction. It was kind of exhausting to be honest, all of the setup. Maybe it was naïve of her, but Emma had kind of hoped to just come, bake, do some sort of ten minute testimonial style interview after for the editing room and get home, but this was an unaccounted for time suck.

When the judges were finally brought in, Emma was surprised again to see that one of the judges (there were three in this version of the show instead of the usual two) was another familiar face. Ruby’s Grandmother who everyone just called Granny, the owner of the local diner, was dressed fancier than Emma had ever seen her and was clearly just as excited as her granddaughter about her new position. That she was sandwiched between two people who Emma did recognize was too much to handle.

“Contestants, it’s time to meet the judges you’ll be working to impress over the next few weeks.” Graham said happily. “The first needs no introduction. Known to the culinary world simply as Mr. Gold, he owns nearly a dozen high scale restaurants, including Dark Side Snacks in New York, this year’s hottest spot. He’s written three books, worked with the world’s top bakers, and has ranked as CakeBake magazine’s Master of Cake’s three years running.”

Every contestant clapped for the man in question, who though clearly qualified to be here, could barely smile for the cameras. His long hair spoke of not caring, his suit was expensive but a bit too flashy, and he carried a cane for no noticeable limp. He looked so severe and so unimpressed, it left a bit of a sinking feeling in Emma’s stomach.

Something she’d liked so much about the original show was that the Brits kept it light and airy. Though they didn’t reward bad bakes, they also didn’t look like being there was torture. This all of a sudden felt more like an Americans singing competition. Yet, Ruby’s introduction helped lighten things a bit.

“And of course, ‘her majesty’ the lovely and talented Regina Mills. She is a co founder of the now nationally branded chain Wicked Bites, is a New York Times best selling author of the Royal Recipes series, and is the face of The Food Station with not one, not two, but three shows on the network. She’s agreed to join us through some sort of magic it seems, for really, who has the time to be so accomplished?”

Regina laughed at that, and though Emma could tell it was fake and for the cameras, it worked and would play better on the show than whatever Gold had done. Regina understood her image and her brand, and this poised almost calculating good humor, coupled with her ‘no-hair out of place’ appearance was a part of that.

“We also have this season’s ‘Regional Consultant.’ Known by the people of Storybrooke just as Granny, and determined to keep the moniker, she’s the owner of the town’s diner, and in many ways the glue that binds Storybrooke together. Show of hands, how many of you are regulars at Granny’s?” The cameras panned over the contestants, all of who were raising their hands and Granny smiled happily. “Full disclosure, she is also my grandmother, and the reason I couldn’t try out for this competition.” Ruby joked.

“No, my dear, the reason you couldn’t try out is you are a disaster in the kitchen,” Granny quipped.

“Also true. Now, without further ado, let’s get to today’s challenges.” Only despite Ruby’s words, they didn’t get straight to work. The camera’s needed readjusting, and as they worked, Granny said something to Regina who was receptive if a little cool in her answer.

“No I’ve never been to Maine. So far it seems… quaint, but pretty.” That was good enough for Granny, who always tried to sketch out a person’s character on their first meeting. So when she looked over to Gold and asked his thoughts, she was in for a far less favorable reading.

“Look lady, I’m going to be honest with you when I say that this job is entirely about a check and bit of PR polishing. Call one too many people a fuck-up on video, and you start to lose your public sparkle. So for the next ten weeks, I may bite back my nuggets of truth, but know that I find this entire show a fiasco of the highest caliber and a thorough waste of my valuable time. Now hopefully you can take a hint and will refrain from speaking to me for the rest of this.”

“Do you think he meant to use all those gold puns, or was that an accident?” Belle huffed under her breath, but Gold seemed to hear her. He sent a glare her way, but she merely smiled back, daring him to throw his salt and bitterness her way. It was an amazing sight to see, and Emma couldn’t have been prouder or more impressed with her friend.

“Well in order to get that check, we need an actual show, so if we’re quite ready, let’s move on.” Liam motioned the cameras once more, and they focused on Ruby and Graham who stood before the bakers with their instructions.

“Bakers, the task before you is simple: create a cake in ninety minutes with at least three layers and two filling variants. Your time begins… now.”

As a small bell chimed, the kitchen went from stagnant expectation to fully mobile, with everyone working towards the task at hand. For this signature challenge and the one to come tomorrow, they were allowed to prep in advance, so this should be easy. The hard part would be a few hours from now, when Emma had half a recipe to go off of to make something that she’d probably never heard of.

“It would be a bloody embarrassment to mess this one up, eh Swan?” Emma looked over to Killian and nodded without saying anything. She was surprised that he’d once again said exactly what she was thinking.

“Killian, it appears you’re making friends already.” Ruby remarked, as she came up with Graham beside her and one of the camera crews to ask him about his intended cake.

“Are we to assume you’re the town loner?” Graham asked skeptically and Killian shook his head before responding.

“Not intentionally, though being new to the area does have its drawbacks. Still, a competitive bakeoff seems as good a way as any to meet people.”

Killian looked back at Emma and their eyes caught. She smiled before turning back to her own work, though she listened as Killian outlined his wild berry circle cake that would incorporate blueberries, blackberries and raspberries in one confection with a basic white base. Emma liked the idea a lot, and hoped she’d get a chance to try it later. He’d been smart to choose fruit that were in season. The freshness would make for an excellent treat.

When they were done with Killian, Ruby and Graham made their way around the room, and Emma felt herself relax into her own course of action. She worked diligently to combine the flavors just so, and make sure she had everything timed out as she needed. She was making a mocha latte cake, based off a recipe she’d been working with through most of the winter. It was her favorite drink, aside from cocoa, and in cake form it was out of this world. Her design was split into three distinct segments – the white cake infused with a minimal amount of espresso, a layer of chocolate frosting, and a layer of coffee frosting, then covered in both frostings mixed together. It was always a hit wherever she brought it, but still, Emma was worried, she didn’t want to lose points for a stupid oversight, so needed to take her time.

“What you got there?” Ruby asked causing Emma to startle and nearly drop the cakes before they went in the oven, but she recovered and then threw a look up to Ruby. “Sorry, Ems. My bad.”

Emma just smiled and waved her friend off and explained the cake’s intention to the hosts as she set to making the frosting – She had three huge containers, one with each flavor variety, and while the cakes were on the cooling rack, she would set them to cool in the fridge, but for now, she mostly answered questions about her life and hobbies.

“So when did you start baking?” Emma didn’t even need to think, she knew instantly.

“In college. I didn’t ever have a place to try before that, but I always liked the idea. You know, every kid wants the smell of chocolate chip cookies when they walk through the door. I decided to make that for myself.”

“What, your Mom wasn’t the baking type?”

“I wouldn’t know. Never met her. But it doesn’t matter, because I am the baking type,” Emma said, “and if I’m still here the week we make cookies, everyone else is in serious trouble.”

Ruby had looked like she might pass out at Graham’s question, since she knew about Emma’s past as a foster kid, but the look of pride in her friend’s eyes now was true and sincere. Emma had handled the question with grace, not making herself a victim or coldly refusing to reply. She’d done a marvelous job, and to celebrate that, she allowed herself a taste of some of the mocha frosting.

“If your reaction is anything to go off of, love, we should all be very afraid for this challenge too.” Killian’s words pulled Emma from her internal reverie over the chocolate and she grinned playfully.

“Hey, you said it, not me.” Ruby and Graham lingered just a moment longer before returning to the others as Emma moved her frostings to the group fridge neatly labeled with her name. They’d sit for fifteen minutes, to give her enough time to have the cakes cool and the frosting to get to the desired consistency. She passed the time, checking in on Mary Margaret and Belle and seeing they were on their way to some good-looking cakes too.

The problem came when she returned to the fridge. Emma arrived at the same time as Catherine, and watched as the blonde saw her approach and then ‘accidentally’ knocked over one of Emma’s containers of frosting. The contents fell to the ground, spilling out and ruined in the blink of an eye. The room went silent, and Emma felt all of their eyes and the camera’s turned to her and Catherine who had a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Oops, sorry about that, Emma. But good thing you made extra right?”

Breathe, Emma. Ripping this woman’s hair out on national television will get you nowhere. Emma stepped forward and took her two remaining frostings and whispered low to Catherine.

“Bring it. Whatever insecure, asinine moves you’ve got, I can handle.”

Then Emma turned on her heel and proceeded to silently freak out. She most certainly did not have enough frosting for everything, and she didn’t have enough time to chill another batch, which was necessary. She paced back and forth, trying to come up with something. She felt her friend’s and Killian’s eyes tracking her but she continued to move about, needing an idea and fast. When she had it, she set to work immediately.

The clock was running down and time was precious, but in the end Emma created a satisfactory replacement for the frosting – a sweet cream glaze that covered the cake with a sprinkle of cocoa on top. While the appearance wasn’t as pristine as she’d hoped, the taste would still be stellar, of that Emma was sure. Just as she stepped away from her cake, the buzzer sounded and time was called.

“Bakers that does it for this round. Step away from your creations and take a breath, you’ve made it through the first challenge.” Everyone applauded politely, but Emma just wanted this judging cycle over. She had just gone from a top contender, to a wild card, and that was a stressful thing, even if they were essentially playing for nothing.

The judges were called, making their rounds through the tent to see what worked and what didn’t. The reviews were mixed. For some, like Tiana, who Emma was somewhat friendly with, they were glowing, while for others, like Leroy, they were bordering on insulting, yet most people stayed in the middle with both compliments and complaints. When they finally reached Emma, it was Regina who spoke first.

“Miss Swan, seems you’ve provided a less… traditional circle cake.” Emma nodded and tried to smile through her frustration.

“A mix up with some frosting, unfortunately, but when does a bake ever truly go perfectly?”

The other woman smiled at Emma’s joke, while Mr. Gold looked less than impressed with the façade of the cake and Granny looked down right murderous at Catherine. She no doubt had heard what happened. It wasn’t until they were cutting into the cake and each trying a bite that Emma felt any real anxiety though. After a moment of contemplation, Gold spoke first.

“Presentable or not, this is actually quite good.”

“You sound surprised.” Emma almost slapped a hand over her face in embarrassment but stood her ground as she heard both Granny and Belle smothering laughs for it. He meanwhile narrowed his eyes slightly as if she’d truly angered him.

“I actually like the design. It’s very DIY friendly, and I think you could find this on any magazine cover. People love deconstructed anything made into cake.” Such praise from Regina had Emma smiling again before turning to Granny.

“I don’t know what you were planning to do with the rest of this, but plans have changed.”

Emma watched as the older woman actually removed the cake from her table and began to walk away with it and shook her head stunned. There was a small break for people to do their testimonial responses, which Emma couldn’t even remember completing before they were on to the technical bake – Regina’s apple streusel cake.

While tensions were high, Emma stayed collected and moved through the ninety minutes with a sense of collectedness she hadn’t expected. In fact, the only thing she noticed beside herself and the recipe before her was Killian, who took great care to speak with her throughout the time.

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you know what the ribbons around town are for.” Killian’s words as they both waited for their cakes to bake pulled a smile to Emma’s lips.

“They’re everyone’s allegiances, for the competition. We’ve all been assigned a color, and the rest of our nosy neighbors can have up to three colors for the pool that the GG is organizing.” Killian looked confused.

“The GG?”

“Sorry, the Gossip Gaggle. You know, the white haired coalition of ladies with the permanent table at Granny’s?” Recognition set in for Killian and he laughed heartily.

“I rather like that. So what color are you?” Killian inquired.

“They gave me white, if you can believe it.” He chuckled again, and the sounds sent a hum of pleasure coursing through Emma.

“I can. And do you happen to know the rest of us?”

“Yes…” Emma purposely held back to see if he’d keep asking, and she was rewarded with a pleading look from him.

“What can I trade you for such information, love?” She pretended to consider.

“You can tell me what you’re making for the competition tomorrow.”

“Vanilla mouse with a lavender infusion and raspberry frosting.” Emma’s mouth watered a little at the idea and she was slightly envious of that flavor compilation. It would surely taste wonderful.

“Your band is black, because you’re the competition’s dark horse.” Killian grinned at that.

“So you’re the light to my darkness then, Swan?” She raised her hands in defeat.

“Hey, I didn’t make the color scheme.”

“Tell him about the other bet!” Mary Margaret called from her side of the room and Emma flushed slightly.

“Yes, Swan, do tell,” Killian implored.

“There’s a pool about you too.”

“About me?” he asked skeptically.

“Oh come on Jones. You’re a single guy who just moved to small-town Maine. Women take one look and wonder who you’ll end up with.” The comment from David was both unexpected and entirely spot-on, though now that Emma thought about it, she had noticed David and Killian speaking a few times before. Perhaps they were friends. Still, Killian’s jaw dropped and Emma stifled a laugh.

“Who’s the favorite?” he asked, his breath a bit gruffer than before.

“David.” Belle replied as she pulled her cake out of the oven. She was the first to do so, but still seemed pleased with herself.

“So everyone thinks Dave and I are gay?” He didn’t say it like it was a repulsive statement, just like it was a clearly incorrect assumption.

“No. The old ladies just like a little fantasy. Plus you haven’t asked anyone out and it’s been a few months, so…”

“My brother is a bit shy, Emma, you’ll have to forgive him.”

Emma raised a brow at Liam’s sudden comment where he’d broken the wall between producers and contestants and was about to ask why he would apologize to her in particular when her own buzzer went off and everyone began focusing on their cakes once more. Soon the time was up, and they were all being judged on a blind taste test. Things went very well for Emma, who actually came in second for the apple cake.

All in all, as the day was ending, Emma had to admit she’d done rather well, and that she was really looking forward to tomorrow, but she did have one tiny regret. She would have liked to talk to Killian once more, to see what Liam had meant, but her friends had other ideas. Ruby, Belle and Mary Margaret all decided that their first day deserved a wine night ending, and Emma couldn’t turn down the chance to relax and unwind. Her queries, it seemed, would have to wait until tomorrow.

…………

“Why didn’t I think to incorporate a book into my theme?” Belle asked the next day, as Emma was working to decorate her Peter Pan Petites in the allotted time they’d been given for their thirty-six cupcakes challenge. Emma shrugged in reply and Belle simply shook her head. “Let me guess, you’ll have a book theme every week?” Emma nodded.

“I need an inspiration. I can’t just come up with ideas on the fly, like you can.” This seemed to appease her friend, but it sparked Killian’s interest.

“Have a thing for reading, love?”

“It would be a problem if I didn’t, seeing as I am an editor by trade.” She didn’t have to look over to him to see his surprise.

“How did I miss that?” Emma looked up to see him genuinely wondering and she looked at him quizzically.

“Researching the competition, Jones?” she asked playfully.

“Only you, love.”

This caused a blush to creep across Emma’s cheeks and she bent her head back to the cupcakes before her. They were decorated meticulously, with a miniature Jolly Roger placed over a swirl of green. She’d also included a little Pan’s shadow and a fondant mermaid on each. Everyone brought their own stands on which to put their finished product, but Emma also had props to incorporate on the spread for her display. At one point, she noticed as the costume hook she’d brought was swiped away. Killian had taken it, in an attempt to get her to speak to him once more.

“Don’t you have some cupcakes to make yourself?” Emma asked with a hand on her hip, playing at being frustrated, when all she actually felt was excited. She loved the attention from him, and she wanted more of it, which surprised her as she was kind of a guarded person. Her past experience had taught her that putting yourself out there romantically never paid off, yet the gleam in Killian’s blue eyes made her wonder if she’d written love off too soon.

Pull it together, Emma, no one said anything about love, she thought to herself critically as he finally replied.

“Aye I do, Swan. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to do much until I can get one of those beautiful smiles out of you.” As if he’d willed it into happening, a full-blown grin broke out across her face.

“Has anyone ever told you that all the charm is a little suspect?” He looked affronted and waved the hook around as if it was a part of his being.

“Never, love. Usually women comment on my being devilishly handsome or my roughish appeal.”

“You sound like a pirate.”

“Captain Jones has a nice ring to it, actually,” Mary Margaret offered from the back of the tent.

“How does she hear me from all the way over there?” Killian asked aloud and Mary Margaret herself responded.

“It’s a teacher thing. My superpower is almost as cool as Emma’s.” Killian returned the hook to Emma’s display and then finally retuned to his station, but he wasn’t done with his questions.

“A superpower, Emma? You hold so much back about yourself.” She laughed at that. He had no idea.

“She can tell when anyone is lying, always. She’s never wrong.” Belle sounded so proud of Emma as she said it that Emma had to turn to smile at her friend.

“That’s a load of bull.”

And just like that, the silence from Catherine was broken and Emma was once again set on edge by the rude woman. Still, Emma ignored her and went on with her cupcakes like no one had spoken. Emma did hear David asking Catherine to pull back some, but that only made Catherine more hostile.

“I just don’t know why everyone thinks they’re so great. Between her, the bookworm, and Sister Mary Margaret it’s ridiculous. I mean look at her,” Catherine aimed her gesture at Mary Margaret in particular, “she goes about her life like birds dress her in the morning, but it’s all a front.”

David looked like he was truly angry at this point, and kept glancing to Mary Margaret to see if she had heard (which she had) and to see if she was okay (which she was). Still, it was interesting. Perhaps David wasn’t so fully under Catherine’s spell as they all thought.

“Just a friendly reminder that there are cameras around and the bitter words usually make the cut for television.” Tink’s intervention was controlled, but barely. Her dislike for Catherine was just as apparent today as it had been the day before and Emma was growing to like her more and more. In another life they likely would have been friends. As it was, she smiled at her thankfully and the petite blonde smiled back in kind.

Time went by quickly after that, and though they’d all had a bit of distraction, most of the contestants had nice looking end results. Only one was truly lacking and it was Leroy’s. His frosting looked like it had been scratched on with a fork of all things, and the judges really couldn’t seem to find anything kind to say at all. When it was revealed soon after that he would be the one going home this week, no one was surprised, including Leroy. What was surprising though was that Emma was the person chosen for star baker of the week.

“There was no way around it. Miss Swan provided three wonderful bakes for consideration, despite a bit of sabotage in the first round. She has a good understanding of flavor and presentation.” Emma heard Regina’s words and felt a lot of pride at all she’d accomplished this weekend. Gold’s words were less uplifting.

“While no bake was perfect, she seemed to have a bit more control over her vision than the others.”

“So verbose,” Belle said as she rolled her eyes. Emma was starting to wonder what it was about this man that bothered her friend so much, still she couldn’t deny the outbursts were funny and made her feel better.

“Emma’s a good girl,” Granny said. “And clearly I wasn’t the only one who thought so. That Killian certainly paid her a lot of attention, even when it put his own treats at risk.”

Emma looked to Killian who smiled at her and shrugged as if to say ‘she has a point.’ Emma couldn’t help but laugh. When the cameras were finally finished getting what they needed from the judges, the producers came towards the contestants once more.

“As all of you know, we’re working on a sped up model for the show, but it turns out it’ll be far faster than we’d realized. Thanks to a few early cancelations from this season’s scripted dramas, the network needs content fast. All of this footage will be cut down edited, and sent into the networks by midweek. We expect a Thursday or Friday time slot.” Liam said all of this calmly but it caused a flurry of questions and comments.

“Wait, like Thursday or Friday of this week?” Ella asked looking pale at the thought.

“Yes, this week.”

“I thought this wasn’t going to air until the holidays.” Belle continued.

“That was the plan originally, but this is television, and they follow the money.”

“How realistic is it that this is where the money is?” Archie asked.

“No idea. But for the sake of the dozens of people who are counting on this as a job, hopefully long term, lets hope the chances are high.” Emma hadn’t thought about that, though she’d met some lovely people over the past few days who did everything from hair and make up to lighting to security.

“Do we still need to keep who got kicked off a secret?” Tink and Liam nodded vigorously.

“Of course, that was in the agreement you all signed.”

“Do you have any idea what else the network is canceling? I don’t want to risk getting to attached to anything.” Killian’s comment had most of the contestants laughing (save for Catherine and Leroy) but it seemed to ease any lingering tension. With that they were dismissed, most to reconvene the next weekend.

Something occurred to Emma as she left the tent for her life outside once more. She had never actually expected this to be fun. Sure, it would be an experience, a great story and a cool thing to have on her life resume, but it wasn’t what she’d thought of as entertaining. She was nervous about the cameras, shy of too much competition between her neighbors, and a bit scared she might not measure up skill wise, but this had been surprising. She’d had a great time, better than any weekend in a long while, and the person largely responsible for that had gorgeous dark hair, a sexy as sin accent and kind blue eyes.

“Emma!” Killian’s voice from behind had Emma turning to him, waving to her friends that she’d meet up with them in one minute. “I know we’ll be meeting again next weekend, but I was wondering if perhaps… you might be – well what I was hoping was that-,”

His stammering was adorable as he ran a hand through his hair clearly flustered, and Emma had an undeniable urge to kiss the shy smile that toyed at his lips. Somehow she knew that he wasn’t used to acting this way. Like his brother he probably teetered closer to the edge of control and collectedness than this scene before her indicated.

“Here’s my number.” Emma said, pulling out a pen from her purse and writing it down on his hand. She could have found some paper, or just put it in his phone, but inexplicably, she wanted an excuse to touch him.

When she’d written it clearly, she smiled at him and turned around to head back home. She could have sworn she heard him mumble ‘Bloody hell’ under his breath and it filled her with a rush of excitement. A moment later though, she spun around to see him once more. He was still standing there, staring at her as she walked away like he was in some sort of daze.

“I’ll be waiting for your call, Captain.” The fire in his eyes at her endearment was exactly the effect she wanted. Now all she had to do was wait.

Post-Note: So there we have it! Hopefully you guys liked it. Subsequent chapters will likely have one of the three challenges and the results featured and either a little bit of their normal lives, or recaps of it. There will be nine regular chapters in total (one per episode) and then an epilogue, HEA guaranteed. So thank you guys for reading, and hope you all have a great rest of your week!

#captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fic #cs modern au #cs ff #cs fic #cs fluff #emma swan #killian jones #the whole storybrooke gang #just a taste #just a taste au #just a taste fic #ouat au #captain swan ff #great storybrooke baking show #seriouslyhooked repost

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