#cs French Revolution au

[snowbellewells]

*~ Happy Month Late Birthday, Krystal! ~*

Back in October on her birthday, I promised @kmomof4 a bday fic, and even offered up a sneak peek, but it has pathetically taken this slow writer another month to finish and post said offering. (Let’s not even talk about how long @itsfabianadocarmo has been kept waiting on the story I hoped to write for her birthday...) 

At any rate, Krystal has always been kind enough to show love to my little French Revolution-set CS au, and it’s largely due to her that more than a single drabble of it exists at all. Here for her belated birthday gift, I offer at last the conclusion to “A Private Revolution”. Hope you enjoy, my lovely friend!! :)

(A link to the start of the story on AO3 can be found above ^^^)

Summary: On the eve of Revolution, when it seems his whole world is falling down around him, nobleman Killian Jones is given a wonderful reason to keep fighting for his life.

Part Four

by: @snowbellewells 

Darting through shadows, over downed branches, and empty grasping limbs that caught at her hair and cloak, Emma Swan dashed as fast as she could through the obscuring forest, praying she was not making more noise than those who followed. She could hear the lumbering of their heavy boots on  rough terrain, as her pursuers shouted reports to one another. It seemed to her own ears that every rasp of breath through her lips or snap of a twig underfoot was magnified in heartstopping volume, sure to be the sound which gave her away, despite the much heavier and louder sounds of her enemy in pursuit. At the moment, she could do nothing else but fervently hope that impression was a product of her own panic and not the truth of the matter.

She had just hurtled over a narrow gulley before the ground sloped upward to a higher plateau. Nearly tumbling to her hands and knees, Emma righted herself - lungs screaming in protest and painfully crying for breath. She forced herself onward, shaking the moment of weakness from her thoughts and willing her trembling legs to keep moving, one foot in front of the other. The rise was gradual, and she had long since come to recognize the sign that the encampment she sought was nearing. Just a bit further, and she would be safe…

Though she had managed to slip into the revolutionaries’ base and retrieve the maps and documents they sought, Emma had known it was only a mater of time before the absence of such important papers was discovered. As if to reassure herself once more of their presence, she traced her hand over the rolled bundle she had stuffed down the front of her bodice before momentarily closing her eyes and offering up thanks to the Lord that she had managed to reach the surrounding trees before hearing the rebel leader’s voice at her back, bellowing for his men to hunt down a thief.

“Halt! You there!” a far-off voice sounded, coarse and demanding as the terrifying rabble of which its owner must be a part. The sound was nothing like the sedate and genteel tones she had heard spoken in the quiet halls and grounds of the estate they had left behind - the place which had been as a second home to her all her life. Nor did it even resemble the more raucous, but still good natured, tongue used in her family’s modest cabin on the border of Jones land.  Those comforting echoes of her father and brother joking by the fireside, complemented by her mother’s laughter crinkling her lovely, rounded cheeks and warming the small space even more than the flickerings in their hearth could do, seemed further away from her present than Emma could bear. No, these calls were the war cry of the monsters who had overtaken countrymen she would once have viewed as brethren. She could hear their muffled tread along the forest path off to her right, making her skin crawl with apprehension as they seemed to gain ground despite her nearing destination.

Far from pausing as demanded, she somehow found the reserves to put on one more burst of speed. Though she could hear those voices coming frighteningly closer, the first telling the others that he had seen a flash of green which moved too quickly to have been a waving branch or grasses amid the dried browning landscape of the countryside as it edged from autumn into winter.

She was just nearing the rockface which, when rounded, led toward a frozen riverbed and beyond to the temporary base of her allies atop the growing rise, when suddenly, arms gripped her with startling force, jerking her into a hidden enclave in the rock, one that - even with her newly-acquired familiarity to the area - she had not seen, nor even known existed.

Firm, calloused fingers pressed over her mouth, smothering the angry yell that rose in her throat, and a muscled arm circled her waist tightly, immovable as steel, making escape impossible. Eyes wide, Emma fought her unseen assailant’s hold; bucking against his implacable force and clawing to break free. Until, incongruously soft lips brushed against the shell of her ear and an almost crooning tone from a voice she could never mistake, broke through her alarm. “Calm yourself, ma tigressa. Emma, ‘tis only me.”

Her body went limp with relief, collapsing against his wiry frame and the support it offered, even before he removed his muffling hand from her mouth, assured now that she no longer meant to cry out. “Killian…” she breathed, her terror melting away  in an instant. On ordinary occasions she chafed at his overprotectiveness, trailing her steps to make sure she was safe, no matter how often she reminded him bluntly that she knew how to handle herself. If he were not often gone on scouting missions when she was sent into nearby towns to spy and listen for news of the insurgents’ movements, or when they needed her light-fingered touch to procure something when the bonds of military protocol did not allow such leeway, Emma knew she would have been forever tripping over Killian’s shadow as he watched over her anxiously.

But after the breathless mission from which she was returning, Emma could not deny the comfort it brought her to see him facing her, pulling her to safety in his arms as they both vanished into the unseen crevass out of their enemies’ view. Her heartbeat was still thudding rapidly against the walls of her chest, eyes wide with near-panic she quickly attempted to calm and hide. Though she had been determined to run for all she was worth, she’d not been at all certain she would escape them in time and return to see the gleaming blue depths of his eyes full of mischief and love once more.

Leaning into his steady warmth, she allowed herself the tiniest shiver of realization at how close she had come, resting her forehead against his sternum and breathing out a steadying huff of air while his lips brushed the top of her head and his arms held her, wrapping his dusky brown cloak around the both of them for further camouflage until their surroundings were truly clear.

For more soothing, silent minutes than Emma cared to measure, she huddled there with him in that break in the rocks. Little by little, the calls back and forth, the pounding of booted footsteps in pursuit, faded, moving further and further away. Still, neither of them stirred; Emma’s hands clutched tightly to Killian’s waist, her desperate hold giving away much more than she would wish. Yet, despite her lowered walls, he remained quiet, gently running his hand over her back, rocking them ever so slightly to and fro as the forest emptied to the two of them alone.

When at last she pulled away just enough to look at Killian gratefully and draw a ragged breath into her lungs, her handsome noble didn’t push, nor did he gloat. Instead, he offered her a crooked, endearing smile with twinkling eyes. “Now, now, mon trésor, missed me that much did you?”

He was allowing her to play off her fright, making light of it to put her at ease, but Emma found all that would cross her lips was the unvarnished truth. Meeting his gaze fully, she assured him, “Indeed, ma moitié. Indeed I did.”

~~~**~~~

It was well into evening by the time they once again found a quiet moment together. They had presented Liam’s superior with the maps and communications she had procured. Kudos, congratulations, and joyous celebrating had lit their camp as much as the flickering bonfire. With the newly acquired intelligence on the planned movements and targets of the rebels, it was fair to consider that they might at last strike a strong enough blow to slow the terrorizing rout plaguing their countryside. It was high time some sort of order was restored to all the innocent bystanders frightened and caught in the middle. Perhaps at last they had the foreknowledge necessary to see the work begun. 

Hand-in-hand Killian and Emma made their way to a nearby clearing as the sunset burst across the sky in vibrant pink, orange, and gold. Barren and brown with fast-encroaching winter on its way, the calm and quiet of the open space, even without the tall grass and wildflowers of the field back home where they had lain under the sunlight and wide blue sky, was still a comfort. Anywhere which brought to mind the first time Killian’s tempting full lips had touched hers was welcome for how it returned to her the feeling which had fluttered within her chest as she realized for the first time that she loved him, body and soul.

Looking over at her with such warmth in his eyes, she felt that Killian must know what she was thinking and be experiencing that same fondness for the moment long ago, and gratitude that they were still together, despite how far they had come. Wordlessly, he brought their joined hands to his mouth, pressing kisses to her knuckles before loosening his grip to spread the blanket they had brought  out over the ground and following her in taking a seat.

Hardpacked dirt riddled with rocks and clods was hardly ideal, nor as soft a blanket as the clover and timothy they had once enjoyed without realizing how quickly it could all be taken away. Still, Emma found herself every bit as comfortable as she lay back next to her love and gazed up at the same blue sky, despite the miles between. A sharp, biting chill had entered the air, and she shivered slightly there on the ground, but not for long, as Killian pulled her in closer to his body, wrapping the the warm material around them both. Emma gratefully snuggled further into his side, thankful as she often was, for the heat which seemed to constantly radiate from his very skin. It was almost as though the gentle warmth of his character spread throughout his physical body and she could not help but feel it when she was near him. Yet the drop in temperature made it a trait she didn’t take for granted as she tucked her head beneath his chin, resting her cheek upon his shoulder. Idly she stroked her fingertips through the hair that covered Killian’s chest where his linen shirt opened loosely at the neck, almost mesmerized by the soft feel of those dark curls to her touch.

His long, sturdy fingers eventually came up to clasp her roving hand, and pressed it to his chest, held in his own, as if wishing to keep them there in such safety and contentment despite the danger and madness raging around them constantly in the light of day.

“If only it could always be like this…” Emma whispered into the curve where Killian’s neck met his shoulder. 

Hearing his wistful exhale, Emma could only huff an amazed breath when he murmured, “Aye, mon ange, if I could stop time upon this very moment, I would do so without question.”  Neither of them spoke or moved for several long moments, as if holding their breath not to alert the universe to whirling and set time moving around them once more. Emma was transfixed in her lover’s sea blue gaze, transporting her as it always had to a place where she only felt cherished, safe and loved. Her teeth bit into her lower lip as she studied him, blushing and almost as nervous as she had been the first time she had shared with him her true feelings. Killian was a living, breathing work of art - and she knew her desire to touch him, to drink him in, must be conveyed plainly across her features.

Whether he read her desire or it was the sight of her lips bitten and then wetted with the tip of her tongue, Emma wasn’t sure, but Killian released a pained sort of groan in his chest. The fire radiating off his body, already a flame by which she ached to be consumed, flared hotter, and as he rolled them quickly, encasing her beneath his lithe framr, she felt just what was causing his discomfort.

Naturally opening to him as his hips settled within the cradle of her thighs, welcoming him as his delicious weight pressed carefully over her - not enough to crush, but for her to feel braced, protected, and held together. She clung to his wiry arms, savoring every shift and flex as it rippled beneath her touch. Though they might not be able to remain like this always, she would treasure each second as it passed. If she closed her eyes and allowed the sensations Killian’s teeth and tongue were causing to carry her away, Emma could almost believe they had returned once more to their familiar meadow. Instead of being separated from the people and places they knew and might not see whole again, she felt as if they a part of her again. In the end, nothing else which had been lost could matter, if she still had Killian’s hand to hold and a path to tread beside him. With Killian, she would always be at home.

Tagging a few others who might enjoy, or who have read the earlier parts: @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @shireness-says​ @thisonesatellite​ @tiganasummertree​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @revanmeetra87​ @teamhook​ @stahlop​ @jrob64​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @winterbaby89​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @elizabeethan​ @gingerchangeling​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @donteattheappleshook​ 

[snowbellewells]

Happy Birthday Krystal!!! ~***~

{Okay, @kmomof4, I think I have dithered over this and fretted and edited as much as possible for one day. I genuinely hope that you will like this addition to my French Revolution CS AU universe! Probably because it was for you, but this isn’t going to be all of it either. I think there will be a couple more parts - if not three - though I’m not going to promise any sort of time frame for them until I have written some of the other pieces I’ve committed to this month.

Anyway, I am so lucky to have you as a fandom friend and a dedicated reader and encourager. I feel so blessed to have met you and am grateful for your support constantly. This really isn’t enough, but I hope that it will add a bit of enjoyment to your special day.  All the best to you today and always!!}

On the eve of Revolution, when it seems his whole world is falling down around him, nobleman Killian Jones is given a reason to keep fighting for his life…

Previous Installments: Part One    Part Two

Part Three

The pounding rush of hoofbeats outside the makeshift tent where she was attempting to suspend and dry the clothing she had washed in the nearby stream sent her heart into her throat as the thundering drew up outside, shaking the ground beneath her feet. Though Emma had now been living in temporary encampments with Killian and with Liam’s regiment nearly six months, under his brother’s watchuful eye and protection (despite Killian’s chafing at the overprotectiveness) she still found herself tensing at the sound of new arrivals. Would this be an angry mob? Messengers bearing horrible news? She couldn’t help it when she thought of the climate around them and the way she and Killian had fled their home with pursuers on their heels.

This time though, she did not have to worry or wonder very long, as within moments, she heard Killian’s rich, strong voice calling out her name just before he threw back the tent flap and appeared, beaming at her, in the opening. “Swan!” he greeted breathlessly, his eyes alight with joy and his crooked smile spread across his face, his dark hair ruffled by the wind and a long, hard ride. “Aren’t you the most beautiful sight to which a man could return?”

Emma’s tensed shoulders fell loosely, and she was across the tent in two seconds, throwing her arms around him tightly and clinging to him with a sob of relief.

Killian might have found purpose and fulfillment in the ensuing months since they had fled his family’s estate and life of privilege, but for Emma, his new vocation had led her into constant waiting and praying for his safery each time he rode out as a scout for Liam’s regiment, and fear that he might not return. Though not officially enlisted, he could do that - and had proved quite adept in both stealth and attention to the details necessary for giving his brother’s forces all the intel they could have on the land and who or want awaited them before they marched forward. It gave the two of them a place in the camp and let Killian feel truly useful, something he had rarely felt in the life of a sheltered aristocrat, he had confessed to her as they huddled together for warmth, both their heads sharing a single bedroll for a pillow, in the chill night air inside their tent.

More than anything, in that moment, she could only be grateful that he had returned whole and safe to her once again. Her insides were still quivering with the anxiety she always held that it might be word he had been discovered and shot down or captured out there alone. Liam, of course, instructed his younger brother to only collect what information he could gain from a reasonable distance - but she also knew Killian. The thrill of riding on the edge of danger, and his reckless lack of self-preservation, made him an excellent scout, but constantly had Emma’s stomach in knots until he rode back into the camp after each reconnaissance mission he undertook.

So much so that she had made up her mind not to bear it any longer. If her love, her best friend, the sole reason she left her home and family and the bucolic countryside she had always known, was going to be out risking life and limb for a cause he believed in, then she would be as well. Waiting helplessly for word or sight of his return would little by little drive her mad with imagining all the worst possibilities one after the next. There had to be some way that she could help him out there on the rough, dirt-packed trails. She was a decent horsewoman, could track and shoot to keep them fed, and she would be able to take down his observations, speeding the work and lessening the chance of being caught. Not to mention that she could mend his wounds if he were hurt, would know if something bad happened. They must be stronger together; she simply would not believe anything else.

Killian, however, unaware of the determination she had reached in her mind, was more involved in showing her just how much he had missed her and how glad he was to see her again. His once delicately soft fingertips, indicative of his family’s prestigious station, were now roughened by callouses from work and the elements, as they traced along the slope of her neck, then lightly brushed an escaped curl from her chignon back over her shoulder.  The sensation made her insides quiver in a wholly different manner than the worry which had shaken them before his arrival - one that was deliciously addictive. “Swan, truly, what enchantment do you use to grow even more lovely each time I return? It is not fair, ma Chérie. How can a man hope to  compare?”

She rolled her eyes lightly, his silver tongue having always been one of his many attributes capable of charming her, even if his actual words were overeffusive flattery to her way of thinking. He meant what he said, but he was more than a bit biased and pre-disposed to see her in her best light, through very rose-tinted lenses. Huffing out a light breath of air, she shook her head at his ridiculous compliment, even as his head dipped to lightly trail his lips along where her shoulder met her neck, making the air escaping hitch slightly with the tingles he sent chasing down her spine. Where she had opened her mouth to chide him for being such an incorrigible flirt, she instead only released a blissful sort of sigh, allowing her whole body to sway towards his never-failing warmth, drawn under his spell as inextricably as an unwitting fly might first enter the spider’s web.

“Mhmm...Killian…” she breathed shakily. “One might also question how you become a better and better kisser after each time we have been apart. Have you been obtaining practice elsewhere? Or are you the one making use of some enchantment?”

Her handsome gentleman raised his eyes then, to stare into her questioning green gaze with unblinking sincerity. There was nothing for her to do but believe him as he rasped devoutly in a voice hoarse with emotion. “I would never so much as think of another before you, mon amour. Please tell me you know that.”

Emma smiled back tremulously, her emotions making her a bit teary-eyed at the fervor he proclaimed. Leaning her forehead against his, just savoring their closeness once again she whispered, “Of course I know, Killian. Of course. You have never given me any cause to doubt your word or honor.” And it was true. This  man had lost much in the last half year. Nearly everything about his life and circumstances had changed, and yet there he stood, as gallant and true as ever. His heart was still as open as it had been when they played together in the flowering fields or splashed into the fountain of the front circle at his father’s chateau, despite the scolding it had earned her and the whipping it had undoubtably bought him. He was still that boy as well as the man now standing before her. The only man she had ever loved… or ever would.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before sweeping in to capture her lips with his own, “because not a day went by when I did not think of you.”

In spite of the sturdy, practical bent to her nature, Emma swooned a bit at the admission, honestly wondering what a simple maid like her had done to earn such ardent courtship. Though Killian smelled of sweat and horse and the dust of the long miles he had crossed, she couldn’t get enough of him as she returned his kiss, opening to his questing tongue and teeth and savoring the soft scratch of the stubble that had grown on his once smoothly clean-shaven face. The overwhelming masculinity her childhood friend now bore might cause her to unravel, but as the fire rose in her blood, she felt it would be a more than worthy capitulation..

Humming with pleasure, she was just truly beginning to reciprocate and to give back as good as she got when they were interrupted by the tent flap being thrown open once more. “Killian! You’re needed back in the saddle at --” his brother’s deep, commanding voice called out, speaking with such intense urgency that he had carried on in a rush before choking off, embarrassed, and averting his eyes upon realizing that his younger brother and childhood friend were caught up in a quite passionate embrace, Killian’s hand tangled in her hair, Emma’s chest heaving undeniably and eyes glazed over, and both of them pressed so close together that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Killian’s other hand had even begun to conspicuously bunch up her skirts - a tell tale giveaway of what they had been about, even if he dropped it quickly and took a step back, flushed beneath the dark beginnings of a beard covering his cheeks. “Liam - bon sang! A little warning before you charge in, Brother!”

Liam shook his head in consternation, still looking determinedly off to the side rather than at either of them, his voice clipped with awkward chagrin as he continued speaking more calmly. “As I was saying, Little Brother, I realize that you have only just returned, but we have need of yours skills again - as soon as you can make ready.”

Frustration worked the muscle in her love’s jawline, not doing anything to ease the unsatisfied flame in Emma’s blood, but before he could protest or speak at all, she reached up to touch the side of Killian’s face with a tender, staying hand.  Looking over to Liam, she nodded dutifully. “I am sure we can make ready by nightfall.”

“We?!” both Jones men spluttered indignantly, eyes wide with disbelief.

Killian’s clearly affronted chivalry had him practically gaping at her in shock as he drew her closer. “What are you thinking, Emma?”

Meeting his gaze head-on, having known this would be cause for a fight, she answered in a voice steely with resolve. “I am thinking,” she put emphasis on the same word he had used to question her, “that waiting here imagining what might go wrong or how you might not return is torment I can bear no longer. I can help you, Killian. … And I am going with you.”

Tagging a few others who might enjoy (even if it is Krystal’s present): @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @therooksshiningknight @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @winterbaby89 @thisonesatellite @scientificapricot @bmbbcs4ever @aloha-4-ever @effulgentcolors @thislassishooked @angellifedeath @ilovemesomekillianjones

[snowbellewells]

~*~A Birthday Sneak Peek~*~

Today is @kmomof4​ Krystal’s birthday, and though I am not quite finished yet with the gift I had hoped to make for her, I’m posting a bit of a teaser to let her know how much she is appreciated, and in the hopes of making her smile on the actual special day. The complete next installment of this story that I have come to think of as “hers” ;) should be forthcoming before the week is out, but for now, K, I hope you are having a lovely birthday evening. Enjoy this bit of Part Four from “A Private Revolution”...

(Excerpt from Part Four for @kmomof4​)

.....She had just hurtled over a narrow gulley before the ground began to rise slightly toward a higher plateau. Nearly tumbling to her hands and knees, she righted herself - lungs screaming in pain and crying out for rest. Emma shook the moment of weakness from her thoughts, forcing her legs to keep pumping, propelling her forward. She was almost there! She was going to make it!

“Halt! You there!” a far-off voice sounded, rough and demanding as the frightening rabble of which he must be a part. It was nothing like the sedate and genteel tones she had heard spoken in the quiet halls and grounds of Killian’s family manor - the place which had been as a second home to her all her life. Nor was it even the more raucous but still good natured tongue used in the more modest home her own family occupied on the edges of the Jones estate where her father and brother joked around the fire and her mother laughed with dimples crinkling her lovely, delicately round face and warming the small space even more than the flickerings in their hearth could do. This was the war cry of the monsters who had overtaken countrymen she woul donce have viewed as brethren.

Far from pausing, she somehow found the reserves to put on one more burst of speed. Though she could hear the voices coming frigtheningly closer, the first telling another he had a flash of color which seemed to move too quickly to be leaves or waving grasses amid the dried, browning landscape as the countryside edged from autumn to winter.

She was just nearing the rock face which, when rounded, led toward a frozen riverbed a few yard beyond, then up to the encampment of her allies atop the high ground of the nearby hills, when suddenly, arms gripped her with jarring force, jerking her off her course and into a hidden enclave in the rock, one that - even with her newly acquired familiarity to the area - she had not seen nor even known existed.

Firm, calloused fingers pressed over her mouth, stifling the angry cry which involuntarily rose in her throat and an arm grasped her around the waist with the strength of a steel band, so tight as to make escape impossible. Eyes wide, Emma struggled in her unseen assailant’s grasp, bucking and fighting to break free, until soft lips brushed against the shell of her ear, whispering in a voice she could never mistake, “Easy now, ma tigresse. Peace, peace...’tis only me.”

Her body went limp with relief, collapsing against his wiry frame and the support it offered, even before he removed his muffling hand, seeing that she recognized him and wouldn’t give them away. “Killian,” she breathed, her terror seeming to melt away from her in an instant. Though not yet back to safety, hidden there pressed close to him, she might as well have been home again....

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “A Private Revolution”

On the eve of Revolution, when it seems his whole world is falling down around him, nobleman Killian Jones is given a wonderful reason to keep fighting for his life...

 { I first began writing this fic more than two years ago, during a summer hiatus event. The prompt was simply “French Revolution”. At the time, I just put together what struck me for a quick one shot, and though it’s short and dubious in its historical accuracy, I have a friend who loved it and kept asking for a sequel. Once I finally posted Part Two, I thought ‘Okay, now I’m really done with this.’ But then @kmomof4 actually made the above fic banner art for it for my birthday in August, and I just couldn’t really ignore the request for after such a lovely gesture! ;)  In honor of her birthday this week, there will be a new addition coming on Tuesday, since a suitable plot idea has at long last taken shape. So, for my Self-Promo Sunday contribution this week, here is the story as it stands so far. Enjoy! }

** Also on AO3: Part One and Part Two and on ff.net **

“A Private Revolution”

Part One

The knock at the door was so soft he almost did not hear it, and Lord Killian Jones tilted his head to listen curiously, unsure if the faint noise had been there at all or if he had imagined someone coming to him in his solitary moment of loneliness and ruin. Yet though the knocking sound was not repeated, he could hear a quiet scuffle as he listened closely, as if someone shy or hesitant to disturb were shuffling their feet just outside his chambers – and with that, the young nobleman felt quiet sure he knew who was waiting for admittance.

“Enter,” he called out, pushing confident assurance into his voice, despite the sensation of everything being unmoored, crumbling, trembling at the brink of downfall. He could not let his fear or his uncertainty show – his family name, his noble line must be upheld, regardless of his own personal doubt. It would not do to have some disloyal servant see him quaking in his shoes and to spread that news to the crass, militant rabble in the streets. Though if this was the person he expected, she would never dream of doing any such thing.

The door swung inward by slight degrees, until a flawless, pale and heart-shaped face was revealed, muted only by the glowing halo of flaxen curls piled out of the way atop this angel’s head, with tendrils escaping here and there to trail along her neck and shoulders enticingly. The huge door, ornate with whorls and loops of hand wrought carving and adding to the opulent white and gold leaf décor of his personal apartments could not hold a candle to this chambermaid with simple and quiet dignity. It had always been so, ever since their childhood on the estate together when they had laughed and played happily, much less aware of the difference in their stations. Her mother had been his mother’s favored ladies’ maid, and Emma Swan had been on this estate in his family’s employ since birth. It mattered little however that she was a mere housekeeper and assistant to the cook; he had always been in awe of her beauty, the way sunlight caught her hair and lit it aflame, or how the sparkling humor in her verdant green eyes could bring a smile and laughter to his lips no matter what had befallen him. He was tempted even now – as he had been countless times before – to touch an escaped curl of her luxurious mane and twirl it around his finger, to know what those soft strands would feel like against his skin.

“Emma,” was all he said aloud, giving a slight nod and beckoning her forward with crooked fingers. “Come in, please.”

She curtsied as she had been taught, and moved forward, graceful tread sinking into the plush carpet. Though he had tried as often as he could for years to convince her that such formality was unnecessary, she persisted for some unfathomable reason that remained beyond his grasp. His mother had been dead nearly a decade now – to the fever – even if her loss still ached in his breast, his father had already fled the country as Killian himself had been cautioned and advised to do, and his older brother Liam fought for the crown somewhere, surely trying to protect and keep the peace in the midst of a frightening Revolution. Killian has received no word of his elder sibling, his hero, in nearly two months’ time, and the horror and panic at the thought of what might have befallen Liam threatened to climb up his throat and choke him whenever he dwelt upon it too long…

“Milord,” Emma’s quiet voice – so unique, demure and respectful, but also husky, low, undeniably sensual – interrupted the thoughts that had begun to overwhelm him, and he clenched his fists against his thighs, hoping that his childhood friend, now servant to a decrepit manor falling around both their ears, would not see that he had begun to shake when she continued speaking. “Beg pardon, Monsieur, but do you not mean to depart for the country? It is no longer safe for you here, Sire.”

His eyes darted up sharply in order to search hers, their icy blue piercing her; he could tell by the way her perfectly shaped pink lips parted on a startled gasp. “You are the one who should leave, Mademoiselle,” he remarked, irked once again that she still refused to drop her guard and address him as someone she actually knew. He cast his eyes back down to study his fine trousers and the elaborate buckles on his shoes – all silly affectations of his class that seemed so pointless now – unable to meet her guileless eyes any longer. “Flee from here, tell no one from whence you came, blend with the oncoming mob and seek their protection from your oppressors. Why do you stay?”

Trembling herself, as if she could barely stand to be so bold, Emma drew closer to him than she had allowed herself since they were fourteen, since before his mother’s death and the weight of his position had fully fallen upon his shoulders, when they had been spinning under the open sky in a sunlit field of wildflowers until they had tumbled dizzily to the ground and in a moment of reckless abandon he had pulled her to his side, brushed her hair from her flushed face, leaned over her and kissed her. It had never been repeated, but in unguarded moments Killian could sense that neither of them had forgotten that one perfect kiss. This was one such time; it was clear in Emma’s open, pleading gaze as she tentatively reached forward and put her delicate fingers beneath his chin, tilting his face up to meet hers.

“Don’t you know, K- Killian?” she whispered, stumbling momentarily over his given name, a familiarity she also had not allowed herself in years. “It is you who keeps me here. You cannot remain to make yourself a sacrifice to these fiends. Mon Dieu! I could not bear it if -”

She broke off suddenly, wrenching her gaze away with a heaving breath, and withdrawing her gentle touch. But Killian pushed forward, emboldened for the first time in what felt like ages. Resolved in an instant, he took her hand in his, his face still burning pleasantly from her touch. The thought that she lingered for him, that she would not abandon him even for her own safety and a life of freedom, shook Killian to his core. ‘Even after all this time,’ he realized, so stunned it nearly stole his breath, ‘she still feels as I do.’ He might not have been willing to flee for the sake of his own hide, but for her he would go to the end of the world itself.

Bringing the back of her hand up to his mouth, Killian placed a fervent kiss to her soft, creamy skin. “Then upon my word, we leave at once. Emma,” he savored her name on his tongue like fine wine, “it will be as you wish.”

And so, that night, when the violent mob with their torches breached the gates of his chateau, Lord Killian Jones and Emma Swan had already vanished, disappearing as one into the night.

Tagging a few who may enjoy (if they haven’t already seen it): @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @let-it-raines @effulgentcolors @jennjenn615 @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @laschatzi @winterbaby89 @linda8084 @thislassishooked @darkcolinodonorgasm @thisonesatellite @bmbbcs4evr @aloha-4-ever @angellifedeath @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose

[snowbellewells]

“A Private Revolution: Part Two”

Friends - Your lovely little response to this fic I posted pretty much just for fun to try something different has really made my week and warmed my heart!! :)  Thank you so much for reading (please remember that I have not done tons of research in history or French geography here) and I hope you will enjoy the conclusion to this little venture!

Part Two

by: @snowbellewells

Their flight lasted through the evening hours, as soft dusk lengthened into deep indigo shadows and then turned over to black night, punctuated here and there by what seemed to be large fires in the distance (Killian tried not to place just where) and the occasional frightening roar of a large crowd piercing the night and running their blood cold. Once they had slipped from the grounds of his family’s estate, as silent and unheeded as shadows themselves, they dared not stop, uncertain what the nightmare nipping at their heels might bring, but sure it would devour them whole if allowed to catch up. The angry horde that had been gathering when Emma came to rouse him to action would have already torched the Jones family manor no doubt, but how far would they pursue to find the nobility they meant to punish?

Pulling each other onward hand-in-hand, Killian and Emma were both breathing heavily, nearly dead on their feet and hours into the forest after crossing fields, streams and roads of their once-familiar countryside, when they finally stumbled into a small clearing, run off their feet and unable to go any further. Stopping was a terrifying decision; being caught so obviously fleeing the chaos and destruction all around them could be tantamount to death.

Killian had almost resigned himself to that fate as he had sat alone in his apartments at the family villa, knowing the mob was on its way, and that he had perhaps lived far too sheltered and coddled a life, that the universe might well take its due for the ease that he had enjoyed. Once Emma had come to him though, he had been inspired to save his own life. That she would go with him, leaving everything - the only world she had ever known - behind, made him desperate to make it out, to reach safety, if only for her sake. She had to survive. In his life, there had always been her, a light brighter than any of the gold or finery, and though he had not always understood what that meant, he did now. Emma was everything - all he had left - and seeing that she was not hurt and did not pay dearly for standing by his side when all else fell away was the only thing that mattered.

The sound of her dropping heavily to the hard-packed dirt and dry grass under their feet, brought him back sharply from his inner thoughts, alarmed that she didn’t move or speak , but merely huddled there silently shaking in cold or fear, he wasn’t sure which. “Emma,” he gasped, barely retaining enough sense not to cry out in distress, and rushing to her side.

She shook her head, and he could see her try to wet her lips, though both of them were parched dry from exertion and it did little good. Her hand fluttered exasperatedly at her side, as if trying to wave off his anxiety on her behalf, just as she had always put off his help when he wanted to aid her in dusting, washing, or whatever chore she had been assigned in their chateau and she was trying once again to convince him it wasn’t his place to clean with the maid, just talk and entertain her, keep her company. She always said that would make the work time hurry by. “I am not hurt, Killian,” she managed, her voice still a bit breathless and thin, but the tone of consternation at the second son of the Jones family fussing over her somewhat reassuring and familiar. “I am fine... I promise.”

He tilted his head to search her face more closely in the dark, not sure if he should believe her and relent in his concern, or if she were merely being strong for his benefit. Quite spent himself, he only managed to huff, “Are you certain, Swan?”

Her lovely pink lips quirked up at the corners a hint of mischief sparkling in the pale green light of them as she looked back at him, in spite of her exhaustion. “I am, truly. What about you? You’ll pardon me for saying, my Lord, but you appear near collapse yourself.”

Ducking his head to hide from her all-too-knowing gaze, Killian found his hand trailing up to brush against his earlobe, worrying the skin just behind it in an endearingly awkward gesture he’d had since childhood. Sheepishly he nodded, though not deigning to admit her triumph aloud, and accepted that they were both in as good a shape as could be expected.

He grew a bit thoughtful, as the stiff breeze rushing through the branches overhead began to cool the sweat on both their skin and the chorus of owls, frogs, and crickets began a nighttime symphony. A small part of him wished to take a measure of comfort from the normalcy as it began to erase some of the terror that had drove them onward. Yet, he hardly dared grow complacent, when the young woman at his side had cast her lot in with his own.

Neither spoke for a time, though their harsh painting slowed to steadier breaths and eventually blue eyes met green with tentative momentary relief.

“Shall we stay here for the night?” Emma ventured hopefully, biting her lower lip with pretty white teeth and worrying her hands together in her lap. He could see tremors in her thin frame and cursed himself for a fool at not seeing the chill she must be suffering sooner.

“Aye,” he affirmed with a short nod. “Seems as fine a place as any.” As he spoke, Killian attempted to subtly unclasp the fine traveling cloak his mother had once gifted him from his shoulders and lay it, along with a  comforting arm around Emma’s own. Were he too obvious, she would certainly chafe against his hinting at weakness, but he could not stand to see her cold and shivering; not after all she had already sacrificed for him this night.

Emma’s eyes cut to him sharply with the action, in spite of his attempted stealth; however, she held her tongue, and after several breathless minutes on his part, leaned into Killian’s side. Much relieved, as he too was feeling the night’s chill rather more than he cared to admit, Killian pulled her a bit nearer still in his grasp, burrowing his chin against the downy-soft blonde halo of hair at the crown of her head, and closing his eyes for a moment against the dark, disorienting world in which they were set adrift. If nothing else, they still had each other. That thought slightly dulled the chill trembling that had begun to quake through his own veins, though he continued to feel them run through Emma from time to time, and he tried to shield her further in his surrounding embrace in response.

After some time, with their combined body heat thankfully diffusing between them, and the shivers besetting them both subsiding, Killian found the courage to ask Emma at least one of the questions which had haunted him since they’d stolen from his home. “What of your parents, Swan?  Do they know where you’ve gone? They cannot have approved you taking such risk simply to help me… your employer.” There was a heavy pause before Killian stumbled over the label to their association, not feeling it quite right, but uncertain what other to apply. He cared for Emma far beyond her station in society, but he would not assume he meant the same to her. Though she had come back to urge him to save himself, to see his own worth through his blame and self-doubt, and prod him into flight, she was so good - loyal and true - that she would quite possibly have done much the same for anyone of her acquaintance.

For her part, his golden-headed Swan looked up at him for some time, her emerald-hued gaze studying him carefully in the bare moonlight, as if trying to decipher whether or not she could say whatever truth was hovering on her tongue. Finally, she drew in a deep, fortifying breath and ever so lightly, still holding his gaze with her own, pulled back from him just enough to raise her delicate hand to his chest, tentatively brushing her fingertips along the open collar of his loosely buttoned (blouse?) under his heavier woolen jacket. Her breathing sped up even as she did so, and the heat that coursed through him at the sensation of her light, curious touch through the dark hair that furred his solid chest effectively drove away any lingering night chill he felt.

“Well,” she hedged, eyes dropping from his at last, “Papa did try to forbid it,” she gave him a tremulous little half-smile while shaking her head slightly. “He wanted to be sure I was safe with them...but...Mama...she loved your mother so much...and she has always adored you and Liam as well.  She - she got him to see that I really had no other choice. I had to come to you, to help if I could… I couldn’t let you…” her voice trailed off then, as if the too-terrible alternatives still waiting on the tip of her tongue could not be voiced. Where she had sought out his eyes when their conversation began, Killian now felt keenly how she avoided meeting his gaze. She had told him why back at the chateau, but it was only now, as she struggled in a way that pained him, that Killian dared to believe her previous words.

Still, he had to be sure. “What is it?” he finally urged on a whisper, tilting her face up to search her eyes once more, gentle fingers still cradling her chin. “Someone who…?”

Emma seemed to smile at him with a sort of affection only she could muster, that warmed those dazzling eyes of hers as well as curling her lips and dimpling her cheeks prettily. She gently pulled back from him just slightly, as if needing to gather herself before she went on. When she at last shook her head and blew out a breath, he almost chuckled easily along with her self-deprecating words, “I am not at all sure why I’m the only one baring my soul here, Milord.” Mischief flitted across her face along with the mix of embarrassment and amusement which had already been present, but Emma’s expression quickly turned serious once more. “I told you, fool that I am, being just a servant girl and all. I couldn’t leave someone I care about - someone I love - alone in their misery. The rioters and looters were gathering in the streets. It frightened me, what some of them were planning. I know you feel horribly that some have so little, so much so that you rack yourself with guilt you don’t deserve. They were making for the fine estates first, and...I feared if they came for you… that you might not fight back.  Living with myself if I had stayed away and you… you were…” Unshed tears beaded her lovely long eyelashes as her words floundered to a halt, and Killian found his breath stolen away as he put his fingers out to cover her trembling lips, soothingly pressing in a gesture that tried to convey he understood. He couldn’t yet speak around the lump in his own throat.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could barely even blink, much less give Emma the answer she was obviously waiting on tenterhooks to hear. She had always been a bright spot in his life, even before he knew or understood what that might mean. Even more so after the loss of his beloved mother when so much of the place he had grown up in and the things he had so treasured went dull and grey. But even after he realized what the pull towards her meant, he had never put it into words, never spoken it aloud. She was so fiery and brave, so sparkling, sharp, and charismatic. The world might say that her class made her less than him, but to Killian’s mind it was reversed. How could he ever hold the attention and love of an angel like her?

However, as he felt her breathing falter and a tear tremble and finally escape to trail down her cheek, he knew he must speak. Emma attempted to pull away, embarrassed, and he gathered her close again tightly before she could. “Wait, Emma… please…” he begged. She shook her head where she had buried it against his chest, now blatantly refusing to meet his eyes, though he had heard the sniffle she tried valiantly to hide and cursed himself for being its cause.

“You don’t understand,” he attempted once more, hoping he could forestall her shutting herself off from him after the risk she had taken with her heart as well as her person. He simply had to make her see. “Emma, I feel the same. Surely you must have had some idea. Please believe me. I was merely shocked for a moment. I never thought that you could feel the same.”

Her delicate frame stilled in his arms; all fighting against his hold ceased, and big, beguiling green eyes stared back at him, blinking away the tears that had started. The look on her face seemed suddenly so hopeful, so awed, that he could not contain the answering smile that broke across his own face - even if they were freezing, lost, on the run, and their next day no longer a given. “I believed it once,” she murmured, her voice low and her fingers, as if finally freed to do so, reaching up to trace along the planes of his face. “But I did not dare hope that it would still be true.”

Killian shook his head, stunned, and having to laugh at them both, and how foolish they had been, each devoted to the other, but afraid to let them know. Leaning his head down to rest his forehead against hers, he breathed out in a comforted voice, “Strange as it may seem, my Love, I felt exactly the same.”

Emboldened by their mutual confession, he gathered Emma’s slight frame to his chest and allowed his lips to sip and taste the sweetness of hers, set alight by the feel of her kiss and of Emma in his arms.

She responded in kind, and the flame growing between them was enough to warm them both through the darkest watches of the night.

~~~**~~~

Nearly two weeks later, as they stumbled through the gates of the estate where they had learned along the road that French soldiers were sometimes stationed between campaigns, they were ragged, beyond fatigue, and half-starved, but still together and buoyed by the simple twining of their fingers together hand-in-hand.  That they had been lucky enough to find the very regiment Killian’s long absent elder sibling marched with was beyond their wildest dreams of blessing. Being able to fall into his strong arms; broad-shouldered, warm and steady Liam gathering both of them in his grasp with tears in the corners of his eyes as he happily brought them to the campfire and shared his own rations, was like finding themselves safely home.

Tagging: @therooksshiningknight @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @jennjenn615 @bmbbcs4evr @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @darkcolinodonorgasm @gingerchangeling @revanmeetra87 @mayquita @kingofmyheart14 @nikkiemms @blackwidownat2814 @vvbooklady1256 @ilovemesomekillianjones @charmingturkeysandwich @resident-of-storybrooke

[snowbellewells]

4, 7, 14&15, 18&19 for the end of year asks please! And I will be answering yours soon!! I think it was yours… ignore me if it wasn’t… not my ask, don’t ignore my ask, ignore the rest of it… 😘 merry Christmas!!!

Oh Krystal @kmomof4, there are a LOT of questions here (and I am so late trying to answer them!) But I'll do my best, and I'm sorry for the delay. Thank you so much for asking though; I'm flattered you want to hear more about my writing. :)

4 - Total number of words you wrote this year?

I know that this is probably not a satisfactory answer to your question, but I genuinely have no clue. Because I so often write by hand on paper, I don’t have a quick word count. Then, by the time I get it typed up, I’m usually in such a pinch and time crunch to edit and post it, that I don’t usually make note of the word count. Sorry that I don’t have a better guess, but I just don’t know.

7- Longest completed fic you wrote this year?

My longest completed fic is almost certainly “The Belle Dame Emma”, written for the @cssns . I enjoyed writing a take on a dark fae Emma and knight Killian, and weaving in some of the Keats I studied in college as well. It had been in my head a long time and I was really happy with how it turned out. :)

14 - A fic you didn't expect to write?

I honestly never expect to write another chapter to my French Revolution CS AU, “A Private Revolution”, and then somehow I get excited thinking about you enjoying one more installment... Then there I was in October writing one more part for your birthday! ;p

15 - Something you learned this year?

Honestly, I’m not completely sure this is a positive, but I’ve learned that I can get as many fics going as I’m inspired to, and the world won’t cave in. I used to not want to have more than one (or maybe two stories) in progress at a time. I was afraid people would get frustrated with me, or tired of waiting and stop reading, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised to see that most fandom friends seem to be of a “the more the merrier” mindset and to be incredibly kind, encouraging and patient. I’m still trying to get quicker with the updates though!

18 - Current number of WIPs?

Oh sheesh, are you trying to overwhelm me here?!? Let’s just say that I have nearly ten fics that are actually started and have some amount of words written down for them. Yet, I also have nearly an entire subject section of a notebook full of possible ideas yet to tackle!

19 - Any new fics to start next year?

Yes, definitely. I’ve wanted to write a police/bailbondswoman modern AU, or some sort of mash-up policeman/writer Castle-inspired AU for quite some time. Maybe I’ll finally get one going this year. 

Not only that, but I’d also love to do one where Killian is trying to raise either a young Liam 2.0 or young Alice alone, and someone makes trouble for him. Emma is a social worker who gets involved and helps him so he doesn’t lose Liam/Alice.  (I’ve always thought a good social worker - like she deserved as a kid - would be a wonderful modern AU job for Emma.)

Plus, I have to decide on a new @cssns 22 idea.  So you get the drift - the well of ideas never seems to dry up...

[snowbellewells]

1 14 21 23

Thanks so much, Krystal! @kmomof4!  I’ll do my best to answer well! ;)

#1: Favorite fic you wrote this year: I don’t really know if I should count ones that will quite probably still be in progress as the new year begins, but my favorites would probably be my Western CS AU “The Lawman, The Thief and the Outlaw” that I’ve just begun and I am SO excited about, and my @csrolereversal piece “The Case of the Heart in Armor” to accompany @courtorderedcake‘s art that is a bit of Sherlock Holmesian/Victorian AU.  That ended up being even more fun than expected and the response just blew me away!

#14: A fic you didn’t expect to write: Well you (@kmomof4 , yes you! ;p) were the cause of one fic I didn’t intend to write: the second and third (and maybe more sometime) installments of the French Revolution AU you requested.  I considered that finished when I wrote the first little drabble long ago, but you convinced me otherwise. ;)  Also, the “A Litter More Than They Bargained For” one shot I wrote for @cspupstravaganza was not a fic I would have envisioned until I tried to come up with something for the event - but I loved writing it once I got started.

#16: Most memorable comment/review: @thisonesatellite has left me a couple that just had me grinning like a loon, I was so happy! One that read: “Honey. This is the fic equivalent of sitting inside with warm cider while the first blizzard of the year rages outside.   And you just wrapped this story around us like a warm blanket, and it’s so very lovely.”  Talk about feeling your heart warm - I was so completely touched.  And then you, Krystal: You continually make me smile, feel validated, like I’ve been alternately hugged or smacked in the arm, and just as if someone loves my words and feels they’re worthwhile.  Your comments and reviews are INVALUABLE ~ ALWAYS!!!

#23: Fics you wanted to write but didn’t: Oh good heavens! There are tons, honestly!  Now this doesn’t mean I won’t still write them someday, but I have a musician Killian fics that has about three-to-four chapters written but none posted yet that I wanted to start posting and haven’t.  I wanted to do a circus/trapeze artist CS au that still hasn’t really been started. There are a couple different EF AUs floating around in my head that I really want to work more on. And of course the infamous Casablanca AU that I keep daydreaming about, but not getting accomplished - and that’s just off the top of my head! ;p

[snowbellewells]

3, 14, 16, 28 for the fanfic end of the year asks, please and thank you! :)

Ooh, thank you @laschatzi !! I really like this ask list and hoped to get a few more. ;)

#3: Favorite line/scene you wrote this year: This one is tricky! I tend to look back at what I’ve written and find flaws and edits needed instead of really feeling like I’ve done well.  All the same, the scene that came to mind for me here was the scene I managed to set in the prologue for my shorter @cssns work this summer “A Story Told at Last”. Looking back on it, I feel like I managed to make it atmospheric and set the tone just the way I had hoped to... I was also really pleased with the opening to “The Lawman, The Thief, and the Outlaw” - probably partially just because I have been wanting to write that particular Western for SO LONG, and I was so excited to finally be started!

 #14: A fic you didn’t expect to write: Well, one fic I didn’t intend to write was  the second and third (and maybe more sometime) installments of the French Revolution AU @kmomof4 requested.  I considered that finished when I wrote the first little drabble long ago, but she convinced me otherwise. ;)  Also, the “A Litter More Than They Bargained For” one shot I wrote for @cspupstravaganza was not a fic I would have envisioned until I tried to come up with something for the event - but I loved writing it once I got started.

#16: Fic(s) you completed this year: I’m gonna have to genuinely look back at Tumblr, AO3, and ff.net and take a count to be certain on this one... I guess it’s 6, as far as ones that are actually completed.

“Run to Me (in the Dead of Night)”  - This is actually last summer’s MC from the @cssns event, but I didn’t complete the final chapter until January of this year, so I’m going to count it. ;)

“Captain Swan is my Favorite Rom Com: While You Were Sleeping” - I started this last summer as well. The rom com movies re-tooled as CS fics was an idea I saw @searchingwardrobes doing really entertainingly, and I decided to give it a go as well.  By the time I posted the last chapter though, it was spring of this year.

“A Story Told at Last” - my shorter @cssns piece from this summer. Only a prologue and two main chapters, but I’m really fond of it.  I had a great time trying to fashion my own version of a sort of Rapunzel/CS kind of fairy tale homage, and trying my hand writing grown-up Henry as a main protagonist.

“Savior’s Haven” - This was a two-part fic I wrote for @csseptembersunshine and I really liked what I came up with, even if it was a little more “feelsy” than I first intended!

“A Litter More Than They Bargained For” - CS family fluff for the @cspupstravaganza event.  This one was pure fun to write, and I giggled a lot imagining the literal fluff as I put it down on paper!

“Bless What is Given You” -   This is part of my “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts” one shot collection, but it was also written as a birthday gift to stand alone, so I’m going to include it separately here as well.

#28: Longest fic you read this year:  Oh my, um, I’m not sure????  I don’t usually keep a word count or even tend to look it up.  If it sounds go, I read it - whatever the length. I’m just really not sure here, unfortunately.

[snowbellewells]

14, 15, 18, 19

Thank you for these, Krystal!! :)  I was genuinely hoping someone would send a few of these my way!!

#14: A fic you didn’t expect to write: Well you (@kmomof4 , yes you! ;p) were the cause of one fic I didn’t intend to write: the second and third (and maybe more sometime) installments of the French Revolution AU you requested.  I considered that finished when I wrote the first little drabble long ago, but you convinced me otherwise. ;)  Also, the “A Litter More Than They Bargained For” one shot I wrote for @cspupstravaganza was not a fic I would have envisioned until I tried to come up with something for the event - but I loved writing it once I got started.

#15: Something you learned this year: I learned the benefits and joys of participating in and using the various Discord channels and group chats. That was not really something I had been part of (or even known how to use) until this past year, but it’s been invaluable and so much fun!! I love being able to talk with other writers about what we’re working on, about the show and CS, and motivating each other through sprints. 

#18: Current number of WIPs: Oh man, I’m almost embarrassed to try to mentally count them up! Some are in the process of posting, and some haven’t been seen by anyone yet. But I think I have around 10? Yep, TEN! (At least...)

#19: Any new fics to start next year? Again, if you could see my pages and PAGES of fic ideas yet to be written you would either be super excited or completely appalled - there’s so much CS to write and so little time! And the ideas pop up much more quickly than I can write them, so it’s always expanding!! (I guess that’s a good problem to have though?) I really want to start the CASABLANCA AU I’ve had in mind for ages in the next year. And I would like to find the right way to go about a detectives modern AU, or detective and bailbondswoman AU - I have some vague ideas for various plot points, but need a main through line...

[snowbellewells]

The 9s for the fanfic writer asks. For #9, the last fic you posted 😊

@hollyethecurious I am always more than a little bit flustered and flattered when someone sends me Writer Asks, especially when it’s a writer whose work I enjoy myself! So, thank you for these!! 😊

#9 - In your xxx fic, what’s your favorite scene that you wrote?

Okay, well the last fic I posted was chapter four of my sequel CSSNS werewolf fic “Face to Face in the Broad Daylight”. I have to say, in that one I actually had a lot of fun writing the opening scene between Gold and Morgan’s, scheming and plotting, both with and against each other. That was a nice change for me, as usually I am so anxious when I try to write Gold believably. Also, I am having more fun than I could have expecting writing Graham and Belle as prospective parents; they are way too sweet! 💕🐺

#19 - Are there any stories that you’ve written that you’d love to do a sequel to?

I didn’t really think so for myself. I thought the story verses I had posted were finished. But seeing as @kmomof4 made me gorgeous fic art for my French Revolution CS AU and really wished for some more of it, I am trying to come up with a plot line and plan to add to it...

#29 - Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

Yes, there are a few like that. It’s kind of a mysterious business really. There are ones I post and really don’t feel very sure about; yet they sometimes get the best response. Others I love with all my heart and they don’t get much readership at all. Still, I would probably say one that focused a lot on Henry and Graham, and the sort of friendship/support system they might have had way back in season one, called “She’ll Be Back”. A Halloween-tinged, CS, Belle, and Henry one showing them organizing fun for the children of Storybrooke called “Moonlit Ghosts”, and my Liam and Belle one is always going to go on that list. I knew going in with it not being CS and lesser used characters at that, that it wouldn’t get as much attention - and that’s okay - but I’m still proud of it.

#39 - Do you prefer first, second, or third person?

Third person, almost always. There’s a time and a place where I might want to use first, but usually third is going to feel less awkward and more natural to me.

#49 - Do you remember the first fic you ever read? What was it about?

I can’t give a title or author, but it was absolutely a Dawson’s Creek fan fic, and surely one shipping Pacey and Joey. Before I discovered fics for that show, I didn’t even know fan fiction existed. Let me tell you, I was blown away! As to what it was about, I think it was Christmas-y. Dawson and his family had gone away for a winter vacation somewhere, and Pacey’s dad and brother had basically kicked him out. Joey and her family sort invited him in, and in the course of the celebration, their feelings changed into more than friendship, or they sorta realized what was already there under the surface. 😉

[kmomof4]

Sooo…

Worth the wait…

My friend…

Absolutely GORGEOUS!!!

But you must also know…

For MORE!!!!!

*~ Happy Month Late Birthday, Krystal! ~*

Back in October on her birthday, I promised @kmomof4 a bday fic, and even offered up a sneak peek, but it has pathetically taken this slow writer another month to finish and post said offering. (Let’s not even talk about how long @itsfabianadocarmo has been kept waiting on the story I hoped to write for her birthday…) 

At any rate, Krystal has always been kind enough to show love to my little French Revolution-set CS au, and it’s largely due to her that more than a single drabble of it exists at all. Here for her belated birthday gift, I offer at last the conclusion to “A Private Revolution”. Hope you enjoy, my lovely friend!! :)

(A link to the start of the story on AO3 can be found above ^^^)

Summary: On the eve of Revolution, when it seems his whole world is falling down around him, nobleman Killian Jones is given a wonderful reason to keep fighting for his life.

Part Four

by: @snowbellewells 

Darting through shadows, over downed branches, and empty grasping limbs that caught at her hair and cloak, Emma Swan dashed as fast as she could through the obscuring forest, praying she was not making more noise than those who followed. She could hear the lumbering of their heavy boots on  rough terrain, as her pursuers shouted reports to one another. It seemed to her own ears that every rasp of breath through her lips or snap of a twig underfoot was magnified in heartstopping volume, sure to be the sound which gave her away, despite the much heavier and louder sounds of her enemy in pursuit. At the moment, she could do nothing else but fervently hope that impression was a product of her own panic and not the truth of the matter.

She had just hurtled over a narrow gulley before the ground sloped upward to a higher plateau. Nearly tumbling to her hands and knees, Emma righted herself - lungs screaming in protest and painfully crying for breath. She forced herself onward, shaking the moment of weakness from her thoughts and willing her trembling legs to keep moving, one foot in front of the other. The rise was gradual, and she had long since come to recognize the sign that the encampment she sought was nearing. Just a bit further, and she would be safe…

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[jennjenn615]

Love love love love this!!!!! What an amazing birthday gift for @kmomof4!!! Thank you for sharing this with all of us!!!! I am going to go back and have another read!!!! Thank you!!!!

*~ Happy Month Late Birthday, Krystal! ~*

Back in October on her birthday, I promised @kmomof4 a bday fic, and even offered up a sneak peek, but it has pathetically taken this slow writer another month to finish and post said offering. (Let’s not even talk about how long @itsfabianadocarmo has been kept waiting on the story I hoped to write for her birthday…) 

At any rate, Krystal has always been kind enough to show love to my little French Revolution-set CS au, and it’s largely due to her that more than a single drabble of it exists at all. Here for her belated birthday gift, I offer at last the conclusion to “A Private Revolution”. Hope you enjoy, my lovely friend!! :)

(A link to the start of the story on AO3 can be found above ^^^)

Summary: On the eve of Revolution, when it seems his whole world is falling down around him, nobleman Killian Jones is given a wonderful reason to keep fighting for his life.

Part Four

by: @snowbellewells 

Darting through shadows, over downed branches, and empty grasping limbs that caught at her hair and cloak, Emma Swan dashed as fast as she could through the obscuring forest, praying she was not making more noise than those who followed. She could hear the lumbering of their heavy boots on  rough terrain, as her pursuers shouted reports to one another. It seemed to her own ears that every rasp of breath through her lips or snap of a twig underfoot was magnified in heartstopping volume, sure to be the sound which gave her away, despite the much heavier and louder sounds of her enemy in pursuit. At the moment, she could do nothing else but fervently hope that impression was a product of her own panic and not the truth of the matter.

She had just hurtled over a narrow gulley before the ground sloped upward to a higher plateau. Nearly tumbling to her hands and knees, Emma righted herself - lungs screaming in protest and painfully crying for breath. She forced herself onward, shaking the moment of weakness from her thoughts and willing her trembling legs to keep moving, one foot in front of the other. The rise was gradual, and she had long since come to recognize the sign that the encampment she sought was nearing. Just a bit further, and she would be safe…

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[snowbellewells]

@kmomof4 With a reaction like that, I feel like I’ve gotten a gift too! 😆😍😆

*~ Happy Month Late Birthday, Krystal! ~*

Back in October on her birthday, I promised @kmomof4 a bday fic, and even offered up a sneak peek, but it has pathetically taken this slow writer another month to finish and post said offering. (Let’s not even talk about how long @itsfabianadocarmo has been kept waiting on the story I hoped to write for her birthday…) 

At any rate, Krystal has always been kind enough to show love to my little French Revolution-set CS au, and it’s largely due to her that more than a single drabble of it exists at all. Here for her belated birthday gift, I offer at last the conclusion to “A Private Revolution”. Hope you enjoy, my lovely friend!! :)

(A link to the start of the story on AO3 can be found above ^^^)

Summary: On the eve of Revolution, when it seems his whole world is falling down around him, nobleman Killian Jones is given a wonderful reason to keep fighting for his life.

Part Four

by: @snowbellewells 

Darting through shadows, over downed branches, and empty grasping limbs that caught at her hair and cloak, Emma Swan dashed as fast as she could through the obscuring forest, praying she was not making more noise than those who followed. She could hear the lumbering of their heavy boots on  rough terrain, as her pursuers shouted reports to one another. It seemed to her own ears that every rasp of breath through her lips or snap of a twig underfoot was magnified in heartstopping volume, sure to be the sound which gave her away, despite the much heavier and louder sounds of her enemy in pursuit. At the moment, she could do nothing else but fervently hope that impression was a product of her own panic and not the truth of the matter.

She had just hurtled over a narrow gulley before the ground sloped upward to a higher plateau. Nearly tumbling to her hands and knees, Emma righted herself - lungs screaming in protest and painfully crying for breath. She forced herself onward, shaking the moment of weakness from her thoughts and willing her trembling legs to keep moving, one foot in front of the other. The rise was gradual, and she had long since come to recognize the sign that the encampment she sought was nearing. Just a bit further, and she would be safe…

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[kmomof4]

*sobbing uncontrollably*

it’s so BEAUTIFUL!!! And PERFECT!!! And there’s MORE to come!!! And I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!! And I can’t WAAAAIT!!!

But I have to admit to being very nervous about what’s next!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH MARTA!!!!

Happy Birthday Krystal!!! ~***~

{Okay, @kmomof4, I think I have dithered over this and fretted and edited as much as possible for one day. I genuinely hope that you will like this addition to my French Revolution CS AU universe! Probably because it was for you, but this isn’t going to be all of it either. I think there will be a couple more parts - if not three - though I’m not going to promise any sort of time frame for them until I have written some of the other pieces I’ve committed to this month.

Anyway, I am so lucky to have you as a fandom friend and a dedicated reader and encourager. I feel so blessed to have met you and am grateful for your support constantly. This really isn’t enough, but I hope that it will add a bit of enjoyment to your special day.  All the best to you today and always!!}

On the eve of Revolution, when it seems his whole world is falling down around him, nobleman Killian Jones is given a reason to keep fighting for his life…

Previous Installments: Part One    Part Two

Part Three

The pounding rush of hoofbeats outside the makeshift tent where she was attempting to suspend and dry the clothing she had washed in the nearby stream sent her heart into her throat as the thundering drew up outside, shaking the ground beneath her feet. Though Emma had now been living in temporary encampments with Killian and with Liam’s regiment nearly six months, under his brother’s watchuful eye and protection (despite Killian’s chafing at the overprotectiveness) she still found herself tensing at the sound of new arrivals. Would this be an angry mob? Messengers bearing horrible news? She couldn’t help it when she thought of the climate around them and the way she and Killian had fled their home with pursuers on their heels.

This time though, she did not have to worry or wonder very long, as within moments, she heard Killian’s rich, strong voice calling out her name just before he threw back the tent flap and appeared, beaming at her, in the opening. “Swan!” he greeted breathlessly, his eyes alight with joy and his crooked smile spread across his face, his dark hair ruffled by the wind and a long, hard ride. “Aren’t you the most beautiful sight to which a man could return?”

Emma’s tensed shoulders fell loosely, and she was across the tent in two seconds, throwing her arms around him tightly and clinging to him with a sob of relief.

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[jennjenn615]

Uh oh Emma's trying to let the brothers know that she is done waiting behind!!!!! It really must be nerve racking if she is considering going with Killian. Though I feel its not safe for her to do so there is no telling Emma any different when she's got her mind made up!!!!!

I love this so so so much!!!!!

Happy Birthday Krystal!!! ~***~

{Okay, @kmomof4, I think I have dithered over this and fretted and edited as much as possible for one day. I genuinely hope that you will like this addition to my French Revolution CS AU universe! Probably because it was for you, but this isn’t going to be all of it either. I think there will be a couple more parts - if not three - though I’m not going to promise any sort of time frame for them until I have written some of the other pieces I’ve committed to this month.

Anyway, I am so lucky to have you as a fandom friend and a dedicated reader and encourager. I feel so blessed to have met you and am grateful for your support constantly. This really isn’t enough, but I hope that it will add a bit of enjoyment to your special day.  All the best to you today and always!!}

On the eve of Revolution, when it seems his whole world is falling down around him, nobleman Killian Jones is given a reason to keep fighting for his life…

Previous Installments: Part One    Part Two

Part Three

The pounding rush of hoofbeats outside the makeshift tent where she was attempting to suspend and dry the clothing she had washed in the nearby stream sent her heart into her throat as the thundering drew up outside, shaking the ground beneath her feet. Though Emma had now been living in temporary encampments with Killian and with Liam’s regiment nearly six months, under his brother’s watchuful eye and protection (despite Killian’s chafing at the overprotectiveness) she still found herself tensing at the sound of new arrivals. Would this be an angry mob? Messengers bearing horrible news? She couldn’t help it when she thought of the climate around them and the way she and Killian had fled their home with pursuers on their heels.

This time though, she did not have to worry or wonder very long, as within moments, she heard Killian’s rich, strong voice calling out her name just before he threw back the tent flap and appeared, beaming at her, in the opening. “Swan!” he greeted breathlessly, his eyes alight with joy and his crooked smile spread across his face, his dark hair ruffled by the wind and a long, hard ride. “Aren’t you the most beautiful sight to which a man could return?”

Emma’s tensed shoulders fell loosely, and she was across the tent in two seconds, throwing her arms around him tightly and clinging to him with a sob of relief.

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[kmomof4]

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAL!!!!!!!

This is one of my favorites of Marta’s fics!!!!!! And she’s writing more of it for my birthday??!!!!

Self-Promo Sunday: “A Private Revolution”

On the eve of Revolution, when it seems his whole world is falling down around him, nobleman Killian Jones is given a wonderful reason to keep fighting for his life…

 { I first began writing this fic more than two years ago, during a summer hiatus event. The prompt was simply “French Revolution”. At the time, I just put together what struck me for a quick one shot, and though it’s short and dubious in its historical accuracy, I have a friend who loved it and kept asking for a sequel. Once I finally posted Part Two, I thought ‘Okay, now I’m really done with this.’ But then @kmomof4 actually made the above fic banner art for it for my birthday in August, and I just couldn’t really ignore the request for after such a lovely gesture! ;)  In honor of her birthday this week, there will be a new addition coming on Tuesday, since a suitable plot idea has at long last taken shape. So, for my Self-Promo Sunday contribution this week, here is the story as it stands so far. Enjoy! }

** Also on AO3: Part One and Part Two and on ff.net **

“A Private Revolution”

Part One

The knock at the door was so soft he almost did not hear it, and Lord Killian Jones tilted his head to listen curiously, unsure if the faint noise had been there at all or if he had imagined someone coming to him in his solitary moment of loneliness and ruin. Yet though the knocking sound was not repeated, he could hear a quiet scuffle as he listened closely, as if someone shy or hesitant to disturb were shuffling their feet just outside his chambers – and with that, the young nobleman felt quiet sure he knew who was waiting for admittance.

“Enter,” he called out, pushing confident assurance into his voice, despite the sensation of everything being unmoored, crumbling, trembling at the brink of downfall. He could not let his fear or his uncertainty show – his family name, his noble line must be upheld, regardless of his own personal doubt. It would not do to have some disloyal servant see him quaking in his shoes and to spread that news to the crass, militant rabble in the streets. Though if this was the person he expected, she would never dream of doing any such thing.

The door swung inward by slight degrees, until a flawless, pale and heart-shaped face was revealed, muted only by the glowing halo of flaxen curls piled out of the way atop this angel’s head, with tendrils escaping here and there to trail along her neck and shoulders enticingly. The huge door, ornate with whorls and loops of hand wrought carving and adding to the opulent white and gold leaf décor of his personal apartments could not hold a candle to this chambermaid with simple and quiet dignity. It had always been so, ever since their childhood on the estate together when they had laughed and played happily, much less aware of the difference in their stations. Her mother had been his mother’s favored ladies’ maid, and Emma Swan had been on this estate in his family’s employ since birth. It mattered little however that she was a mere housekeeper and assistant to the cook; he had always been in awe of her beauty, the way sunlight caught her hair and lit it aflame, or how the sparkling humor in her verdant green eyes could bring a smile and laughter to his lips no matter what had befallen him. He was tempted even now – as he had been countless times before – to touch an escaped curl of her luxurious mane and twirl it around his finger, to know what those soft strands would feel like against his skin.

“Emma,” was all he said aloud, giving a slight nod and beckoning her forward with crooked fingers. “Come in, please.”

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