#cs Victorian au

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 Fic: "For All Life and For All Time" (A CS Dracula AU in 3 Parts)

Author's Notes: Okay, so this is posted late, on a day that was luckily unclaimed. I struggled with doing justice to the work that probably began my love of all things Victorian Gothic, and re-reading it again for plotting and inspiration certainly didn't make the prospect any less daunting. While I love the original Bram Stoker novel's epistolary format, it was not something I wanted to carry on for an entire fic. Nor is this fully true to the original's narrative. I do hope that those who have read the novel and enjoyed it may find nods to the original to make them smile. I didn't want to make Killian the Dracula character - he is neither at all attractive nor redeemable in the original work - so he became my Van Helsing. Emma is the kick-butt awesome Mina Harker, quite a standout female character for that time, but I did away with the Jonathan Harker character altogether.

This starts in the middle of the action, then has a fair bit of reflection to bring readers up to speed. The next installment should have more action and pick up where this one leaves off.

A MILLION thank yous to @myfearless-love for all the editing work she did - my writing is quite a mess when I first translate it from my handwritten pages to a doc! She made it so much better, and I am incredibly grateful!!

A Victorian, Dracula-inspired AU in Three Parts

Please Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.

**Also available on AO3, if you prefer

Part One

by: @snowbellewells

Emma craned her neck to peer out the small window of the carriage into the impenetrable darkness encroaching on all sides as the conveyance careened around sharp curves and stark cliff faces, making her stomach pitch and her heart leap into her throat. More than once, her mouth opened to call the driver, beg him to slow down, but each time a sudden jolt or swerve had her clenching her teeth and swallowing the words as she gripped the seat tightly. Pitching wildly from one side of the bench to the other, Emma was nearly toppled to the floor repeatedly as they sped on.

The torches beside the carriage doors flickered wildly behind the glass sconces but barely made pinpricks of light in the surrounding night; deep blackness which had swallowed them since leaving the small gypsy outpost where they had supped just an hour past. Emma realized belatedly that she was only becoming more overwrought by attempting to stare blindly into the void while they hurtled forward, and instead forced herself to lean her head against the seat back and close her eyes, resolutely taking deep, calming breaths.

Scant moments passed in such a manner before Emma felt her racing heartbeat slow. It was a different sort of thrill which then ran along her spine - distinct from the chill which had settled on her skin with the horrifying loss of Aurora’s sweet friendship and from the eerie foreboding which had accompanied her since setting out in this last effort to ensnare the perpetrator of her younger friend’s downfall. This determined trek higher and higher into the isolated Carpathian heights seemed to weigh on her more with every mile they gained.

Yet, despite the tightening pit in her stomach and the anxious flutter of her pulse, Emma would not fail to accomplish her part in Killian’s plan. The Professor had turned Emma Swan’s already teetering world upon its axis. He was beyond description - no words could capture what his mere presence, his voice, a glance in her direction could do to her - a power no man had ever held before, because she would not allow it. And yet every hair on her body stood on end when he was near; her awareness utterly captured by the mysterious scholar. He had introduced himself merely as Killian Jones when they met at Aurora’s sick bed, but as they had nursed her together, even when their every desperate attempt proved futile, it had become clear his vast intellect, his determination and resolve, placed him well beyond the scope of any man she had met before - or likely would again.

By the time he had spoken the truth of the fiend who had siphoned Aurora’s life before their eyes, she could not doubt him, even in the face of the utterly impossible - a vampire.

This ancient evil, Count Dracula, had ruled his isolated corner of the world for ages, but in coming to England and extending his reach, he was a threat to all mankind. Aurora had been only a prelude to what he intended. A monster of myth and legend had destroyed her innocent friend, and without pausing for rest, he had stalked and marked Emma as his next victim, only she had the advantage of awareness and warning enough to resist.

Though the threat was deadly, and knowing what she faced - stakes and dark graveyards and the betrayal of her very humanity from what she gathered of Aurora’s end that no one would speak of in full - Emma did not wish to be shielded and to wait hidden in safety while others risked their lives for her sake. She would have her hand in it, even if that meant to some extent playing the helpless damsel as bait in the trap.

To Killian, it was personal as well. He had still been a medical student long ago, traveling to study folk remedies in Romania when he met a darkly beautiful Countess, lonely and sad, all too eager to join him on his travels. She had set his world aflame - first in joy, and then in ruin, for she had not been as free as he had believed. He had fallen for her, and then seen her drained of life by her husband - the creature of night who had proven nightmares lived and walked the earth. Killian had only survived that first encounter because the Count wished him to suffer. For years, Killian had studied and prepared. He had made himself into an expert much different than he had once aimed, and he had intended for his suffering to end only when his life, or the Count’s, did as well.

There was a fine line to walk, however, between justice and bitter revenge. When he had seen the desire for reprisal in Emma after Aurora’s death, when she learned of the indignity to which the young beauty had been subjected and the lengths to which the men who cared for her had gone to assure her peaceful rest, she had sworn she would see this Count Dracula pay for his cruelty somehow. That was when Killian had told her all. “Do not fall into that trap, Swan,” he had spoken softly, though the import of his words was unmistakable. “That way lies ruin - only wasted years and endless torment.”

His blue eyes bored into her very soul as he strove to make her see. “When I lost my love, my Milah, I sore revenge upon her foul husband, the vampire who murdered her without remorse. I was nearly consumed, and when I finally came back to myself, I realized that seeking only retribution would make a monster of me as well. That was when I took on the name Van Helsing, obtained my licenses and degrees with it in fact, in the hope of evading his detection while I waited and watched and the years crept by. I must pursue the course for the sake of all, but not for my own ends, my own anger and hate.”

He would not release her eyes, his focus searing as he continued, “You too must find a way to separate yourself, to retain your purity of heart despite the terrible mission you undertake. Do what you must to save all, but do so without letting it twist your soul with similar darkness.”

And so, in their desperate alliance, they all had their roles to play - Aurora’s bowed but unbroken suitors, and she, Aurora’s dearest friend. The three gentlemen had rallied around Emma, swearing to protect her in her friend’s name. And Killian, their worthy advisor and leader, had not yet steered them wrong. She wanted justice and what retribution could be found for the torment Aurora had suffered. None of them would falter. They had taken solemn vows. Now all that remained was to see the mission through.

Emma could only wonder how had her life been altered so drastically in a few short weeks. Such thoughts replayed through her mind in what was at first a rose-tinged procession as she recalled how bright and full of promise she had been when first arriving on the coast of Whitby for a holiday with her childhood playmate. It had been some time since she and Aurora had seen each other, and those first days on the shore were spent in a haze of sunshine and laughter. They caught up with one another’s lives as they shared tea and biscuits on the wide veranda of the Spindleton’s gorgeous summer cottage. They giggled under the covers long into the nights, whispering of Aurora’s debut season, the many eager suitors who had vied to court her, and her blushing fondness for her chosen fiancé Sir Philip Thornswood, Lord Briarling. They also chuckled over Emma’s adventures - how she disguised herself in men’s pants to move freely while researching her stories, and the various pseudonyms she used when submitting her pieces for publication, subverting the male-dominated publishing world. 

It had been an idyllic change from the crowded, dingy part of London where Emma could afford to live and work. Aurora’s family belonged to the upper echelon of society, well-known and old-moneyed, and Emma had been mostly alone in the world for as long as she could remember. She was discovered on the front stoop of the Widow Lucas’ boarding house as an infant, wrapped in a snow white baby blanket with her name stitched in purple as the only clue to her identity. Fortunately, the Widow Lucas was a formidable woman, well-versed in making her way in the world against harrowing odds. She had already raised a granddaughter who was now off traveling the continent, so she took in the little blonde foundling and raised Emma as her own, teaching her all she knew. Though the tough older woman - “Granny” to all who knew her, especially Emma - had been gone for some years now, Emma remained eternally grateful that it was her doorstep her unknown parents had chosen that cold dawn so long ago.

Granny had even managed to scrounge and save enough, and was willing to spare Emma’s assistance twice a week, for riding lessons - where Emma had met Aurora Spindleton. Though poor Aurora had been an absolute lost cause at equestrian pursuits, Emma had excelled with enthusiasm, and everyone involved was relieved when she took the slightly younger future debutante under her wing during their lessons.

Emma loved the freedom riding gave her, and Granny was glad to know her charge would have the ability to get help quickly and effectively if ever needed - and defend herself too, if her skill in archery and marksmanship was any indication. In truth, Granny had been secretly delighted. She had lived long enough to know just how dangerous the world could be, and she wanted to see her girl as prepared as possible without completely tarnishing her outlook.

Though Aurora’s family was of a higher social standing, they had always been welcoming and kind to Emma whenever she visited their townhouse in Mayfair. She sensed that they were glad their only child had found a practical friend who could provide a steadying influence on Aurora’s naive, head-in-the-clouds sweetness. Since gossip photographers insisted on capturing and reporting the doings of the peerage, her parents were certainly relieved that Emma’s tips and encouragement had kept Aurora from being caught falling off her mount or in some other embarrassing faux pas. Aurora, for her part, was so endearing and open that Emma couldn’t resist being charmed. She might have been cosseted and sheltered, but she was hardly the sort of snob Emma had expected to encounter when mingling with the upper crust during her lessons. Instead, Emma was pleasantly surprised to make her first close friend - a friendship that lasted for years, with Emma always missing the Spindletons when they left for the shore in summer, counting down the days until her confidante would return.

This year, however, she had received a request, along with a train ticket, to join them at Whitby. It had been wonderful - strolling, swimming, and lovely summer hours blending together joyously - until all had gone horribly wrong. If only the happy, haze of sunshine-warm days had not gone dark and tinged with blood.

Aurora had already been betrothed to Philip by the time Emma had arrived. Still, it had been lovely to meet each of the worthy men who had sought her hand. With not an ounce of malice in her slender body, they had each sworn their friendship and fealty, even after the troth had been gently rejected. Even without Aurora there to blush and smile sweetly while introducing them, Emma could easily see why her friend might have been drawn to each in his own way, despite the obvious differences between them. All the men who had sought Aurora’s hand in marriage were honorable and true, respectable and worthy beyond reproach. Their faithfulness to Aurora tested beyond natural bounds and withstood the onslaught, and Emma felt the protection of their bravery as they had rallied around her when she faced a similar fate. If only any one of them had understood what had preyed on Aurora before it had been too late!

Philip Thornswood, Aurora’s betrothed, was the most like her young friend in Emma’s eyes. Upon first meeting the landed peer, she felt the warmth in his large, chocolate eyes, his gentle strength and charm, and she knew they would have melted Aurora’s heart irrevocably. There was a sad sweetness to his expression, as if Emma herself returned a bit of his lost love to him with her presence. He had bent over her hand to gallantly kiss its back, and she had blinked away tears for the happiness that Aurora would never enjoy, knowing the two would have been well-matched beyond her friend’s wildest dreams. All she could do was press his hand in return, and give him a wordless smile she only hoped might express her bittersweet feelings.

Graham Morris, from the wild, rolling hills of Ireland - a cowboy of sorts, as they would call it in the Americas - was a man of few words and swift action, easily winning and debonair, but  also a bit rumpled and informal. He was clearly happier out of doors, more comfortable in the woods and riding horses than in a crowd of people, and yet his easy good humor and almost bashful regard could easily have swayed her young friend. He was an excellent shot, ever on the alert, and a godsend to have in their desperate endeavor.

The third suitor, Dr. Jefferson Seward, was a celebrated and innovative physician who had fought to restore Aurora’s health with every fiber of his energy. If the foe he had battled had been a mortal man rather than an immortal being, Emma had no doubt they would have prevailed. Though he was slightly older, he was thoughtful and doting; Aurora would have naturally been fond of him. The affection between them had been undaunted by her choice of another - so much so that when Jefferson had found himself losing the fight for her life, he had urgently sent for his friend, the renown Professor Van Helsing, expert on the supernatural forces, to do what he could not.

And that was how she had come to be in this rattling horse-drawn carriage, racing up a treacherous mountain path. The devious monster who had taken everything from Aurora - and who now threatened to drain Emma’s own life as well - awaited her in the deserted outpost at the end of this long night’s journey. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. Every few minutes, her fingers reflexively gripped her reticule, its strap looped around her wrist, drawing comfort from the small Derringer hidden within its folds. She also took strength from the knife secured in a special holster at the top of her stockings, pressing against her thigh. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of Professor Van Helsing - Killian - explaining its purpose as he presented her with the clever sheath. He had been deathly serious about her safety, but there also had been a heated flicker of clear attraction when she shyly gestured to ascertain where it should be worn, a moment that had ignited a warmth deep inside her.

The gentle feathering of gray in his hair near his temples and sideburns reminded her of the vast experience and knowledge he had gathered in his life - the very things they were all counting on to help them survive. The deeper lines around his startlingly bright blue eyes and at the corners of his firm lips reminded her that he had once smiled much more than he allowed himself to now. It made Emma wish to see him do so again. Everything about the man radiated power and purpose, commanding her respect from the moment they met, just as Aurora’s terrifying affliction had reached its peak. 

They had not won the victory any of them had prayed for, least of all Lord Briarling. Emma had hardly been able to bear looking at the strong young man bowed by grief as she had boarded the carriage for her mission. Philip Thornswood had given her a hand up onto the step, and was the last to speak to her before Killian Van Helsing’s own farewell. The gloom in his demeanor made her very glad she was not leaving the young gentleman alone, but in the company of true comrades. Even so, she trusted that Philip would not allow himself to falter in their cause. That steady hand, such a gentle support for her own as she ascended into the carriage, might have trembled in the doing, but had not hesitated to drive a stake into the breast of one he loved most in all the world for the sake of her eternal soul.

Breaking from her reflection on the journey’s beginning, Emma remembered herself suddenly as an eerie calm seeming to settle over her surroundings. She was instantly on alert when the carriage began to slow. A shiver of trepidation ran up her spine, returning her harshly to the present and the task before her. Outside there was a foreboding, unnatural quiet, only the crunch of the carriage wheels and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the rough ground broke the eerie silence. They rolled to a stop, and Emma leaned from the window, intent on calling up question the driver.

To her utter confusion and horror, when she glimpsed the seat where the driver had perched, she found no one there. He was gone, and she was stranded alone in the dark. Uncertain of what to do, but knowing she could not stay on the desolate mountain pass in the cold, Emma exited the carriage and alighted on the ground. As her feet touched the rough stone and dirt beneath, some unnerving signal was sounded. The silence was broken by the howling of wolves - loud, spine-tingling, and coming from every side, all around them.

There was no way to outrun them, and as the echo and answer of their baying circled nearer, Emma knew there was no way through their number at any rate, even without being able to see. The horses stamped and tossed their heads nervously, panic driving them as instinct warned them predators lingered just beyond the faint circles of light from the carriage lamps. She would not leave them to be devoured; nor would she lie down and wait to be torn apart herself. She was nearly there!

Desperate and trembling, but steeling her resolve, Emma moved to the front of the carriage, intending to climb up onto the driver’s box, take the reins, and break through the pack, to drive them to the castle herself. It might have been her imagination, her terror breathing life into her senses, but it felt as though the creatures drew closer still. She could almost hear the heavy pants and growls between their mournful howls and feel their hot, slavering breath on the back of her neck. A nervous glance over her shoulder showed only moving flashes of grey fur and horrifying red eyes shining out of the shadows. She had gripped the metal railing to pull herself up when all seemed to fall away, the night going perfectly still.

A dark figure glided with unnatural grace through the mass of half-seen forms. The pack almost seemed to bow their shaggy, sharp-toothed heads before it, if Emma could at all reconcile that impression in her mind. One would almost believe they had been summoned.

The slim, dark, and sinister figure appeared before her, having reached her almost before Emma could mark his movement. Wearing a fine black cloak trimmed in thick fur and reaching almost to the ground, Emma saw little else but the flash of deep garnet in its lining and the glimmer of an evil, yet irresistible, smile. A pale hand reached out of the folds of the garment, outstretched to take hers in strangely formal greeting.

“I believe you are seeking me,” a sibilant voice nearly crooned.

Emma fought back a shudder at the sight of dagger-sharp nails at the end of long fingers somehow reminiscent of spider legs, pulling her into the web. She wanted to deny his claim, but all resistance failed her. What else could she do but allow the cold, dry hand to encase her own, and pull her forward through the wolves and dark and gathering mist? This was the nightmare she had come to find…

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

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight

@stahlop @myfearless-love @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @kday426 @lfh1226-linda

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @drowned-dreamer

@anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @resident-of-storybrooke @everything-person

@undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm

@donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @revanmeetra87

@goforlaunchcee @laianely @belovedcreation @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

@grimmswan @ultraluckycatnd

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Being Ghosted (2/4?)

Summary: Killian and Liam Jones are called in to help with the haunting of an old carriage house where a skeleton was recently found walled up within the cellar. This is no ordinary ghost hunt for the supernatural fighting brothers, however. This job will require Killian to face the person who has been haunting him for nearly a year. Emma Swan. The woman he ghosted.

A/N: Yeah, yeah. I know the holiday season is in full swing and we ought to be done with the spooky stuff, but I love a Victorian/Dickensian Christmas aesthetic that leaves room for good old ghost stories. This addition gives me a BINGO for my Fall/Spooky card (better late than never) and will likely have two additional parts to come.

Shout out to @kmomof4 for her exceptional beta skills!

Rated T / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One

Part Two

Leaves rustled overhead, clinging to branches that were ready to be freed of them as the crisp autumn breeze coaxed them from their perch and gently swirled them to the ground below. Those with the misfortune of landing on the pavement were crunched beneath the tires of Killian Jones’ Chevelle, pulling up in front of an old carriage house that was being renovated into a home.

A home for Emma Swan. A home she recently began to share with her boyfriend. A home where the two resided, sharing all of the intimacies he desperately wished he could have shared with her. Intimacies and quiet moments and heated arguments and passionate make up sessions and mundane chores and yes… even their current plight.

A haunting.

Killian would have willingly faced it all with her had circumstances been different, which, he supposed, was why he was here now.

“You ready for this, little brother?” Liam questioned after Killian had put the car in park and shut off the engine.

“Younger,” Killian reminded him in his usual exasperated tone, pushing open the driver’s side door and climbing out while side-stepping his well-meaning brother’s inquiry.

The front door of the carriage house opened and a man exited, greeting them hesitantly, “You must be the Jones brothers?”

“We are,” Liam said, approaching the man with an outstretched hand. “I’m Liam. This is my brother, Killian. Are you the owner?”

“Uh, no,” the man said, shaking Liam’s hand then stuffing his hands in his pocket with an acknowledging nod towards Killian. “I’m Neal Cassidy. My girlfriend’s the one who called you. She technically owns the place, but we both live here.”

Something in Killian’s gut twisted, the ache intensifying when Emma emerged from the carriage house, looking as stunning as he remembered but without the warmth and affection he’d last received from her.

“You guys must be exhausted,” she said after introducing herself to his brother and barely giving him her notice. “We’ve made up the guest room and there’s a pullout in the office.” Turning to her beau, she placed a loving hand on his arm and sweetly suggested, “Why don’t you show Killian to the office and I’ll take Liam up to the guest room.” Addressing Liam - and only Liam - once more, she said, “After you two get settled, we can take you down to the cellar where this all started.”

“That sounds grand,” Liam said, gesturing towards the carriage house. “Lead the way, lass.”

As they filed in, Liam looked back at Killian over his shoulder. His expression echoed that which Killian was already telling himself.

He had fucked up.

Badly.

“So,” Cassidy began, showing Killian into the office where the pull out couch had already been made up for him. “How do you know Emma? She wasn’t really clear on the details.”

Dropping his duffle on the bed, Killian busied himself with rifling through his supplies, attempting to keep a neutral tone. “What details did she share?”

“Something about a dare and the cemetery and not wanting to talk about the experience because it had been too intense.”

Killian let out a commiserating hum. “Intense is certainly one word for it,” he murmured, the memory of Emma laid out beneath him, kissing the holy hell out him while making sounds that haunted him to this day flashed through his mind and tightened the fit of his jeans.

Unwilling to betray Emma’s confidence, and not exactly eager to share the details of their acquaintance with her current paramour either, Killian shifted the conversation to the matter at hand. “As I understand it, the paranormal activity began after the two of you uncovered skeletal remains in the cellar. Is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Cassidy replied, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought Emma was crazy at first when she insisted we had a ghost. I mean… you know how irrational women can be.”

Killian chafed at the man’s derisive tone. “If there’s one thing I know about Emma, mate,” Killian informed him with a slight edge to his words, “it’s that her instincts should never be dismissed.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Cassidy back pedaled. “I believe her now. Kind of hard not to when a ghost appears over your bed while you’re trying to convince your girl she’s not too tired to fulfill her duties. You know what I mean?”

Fists balled, Killian took a deep breath and tried to rein in his anger. He was saved from doing anything rash by the sounds of his brother’s voice.

“Ready to check out the cellar?”

“Aye,” Killian clipped out, following after Liam and resisting the urge to shoulder check the repulsive man who had somehow fallen into Swan’s good graces - and her bed (not that he wished to dwell on that fact) - as he passed.

Emma led them down a steep flight of steps into the cold, dark, and dank space below. The atmosphere had an immediate effect on Killian, raising the hair along the back of his neck and giving him the eerie feeling of being watched.

“This was part of the original structure, yes?” Liam asked, shining his flashlight into the inky black corners the dim bulb at the bottom of the stairs couldn’t quite reach.

“Yeah,” Emma answered, lingering by the stairs with Cassidy as the Jones men looked around. “From what I understand, it was cold storage for oats and hay and other food stuffs for the horses lodged here when it was a carriage house.” Gesturing towards an opening, she continued, “I noticed that space had been bricked up and I wanted to open it back up. That’s when I found…”

“The body,” Killian supplied, casting a glance towards her and meeting her eye for the first time since he’d arrived. His heart clenched, the look on her face making him wish he could have spared her such a discovery. Perhaps if it had been he who had been there… No. There was nothing to be gained in thinking that way now. The past was the past and there was no changing it.

“And you called the police?” Liam confirmed, searching the area where the skeleton had been found.

“Of course we did,” Cassidy scoffed. “What else were we supposed to do?”

Killian and Liam exchanged a look. Neither of them could fault their decision, but they both knew, had it been them, they would have handled it much differently.

“And how soon after the body was removed did the occurrences begin?”

“Almost immediately,” Emma answered. “It started with noises on these steps.” She gestured at the stairs they’d used to access the cellar, the tension in her demeanor evident in the stiff, closed-off way she stood in the unsettling space.

“Noises?” Liam questioned. “Like footsteps?”

“No,” she replied. “More like… something falling down them. Then things actually started crashing down them.”

“What do you mean?” Killian pressed, his concern heightening as she continued.

“If we leave anything sitting in the hallway outside the cellar door, it will eventually make its way down here. Clearly having taken a tumble down the stairs.”

“Yeah,” Cassidy said, backing her up. “I thought it was the authorities being careless, because we had a parade of crime scene personnel traipsing through here for weeks after we reported the body.”

“But you knew it was more than that, didn’t you, Swan?”

Emma locked eyes with Killian. He could tell his question had brought back the memory of her first ghostly encounter. She swallowed hard and for a moment it was as though they were the only two people there.

“Rooms would get cold,” she told him in a quiet voice; her words conveying all the nuance and unspoken truths she knew he would understand in a way her boyfriend had not. “I would hear things. Smell things. Things I hadn’t experienced in all the months I spent renovating the upper levels.”

“What sort of smells?”

His brother broke the reverie that had momentarily linked them, snapping the connection that reminded Killian of what they had once shared.

“Um,” Emma began, shaking herself and focusing on the question. “Leather? Hay? Like a barn, but without the pungent animal smells. More how I’d imagine this place was when it was an active carriage house, I guess.”

“So, he could have been killed here during that time,” Killian said to his brother

“Agreed. We’ll need to learn more about the building’s history.” Addressing Emma once more, Liam inquired, “You told Killian the authorities had yet to identify the remains, is that correct?”

“Yeah. But they did issue a cause of death. Blunt force trauma and a broken neck.”

“Injuries one might sustain from falling or being pushed down a flight of stairs,” Killian remarked. “It would certainly explain the occurrences surrounding the cellar steps.”

“My friend Belle is the town librarian and she has access to city records,” Emma informed them. “When you agreed to come, I asked her to pull anything that might tell us the history of the carriage house. Who owned it. Who may have worked here. Things like that. She said she’d try and have a file ready for when you got here.”

“Good thinking, love,” Killian praised, unaware of the endearment he’d let slip until Cassidy shot him an affronted glare then suspiciously flicked his gaze to Emma’s pinked cheeks before sending another hard look Killian’s way.

Clearing his throat, Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear, turning his attention towards Liam and suggesting, “Before we go any further, we should ascertain what sort of spirit we’re dealing with.”

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

Killian couldn’t help the smug feeling that went through him at the sight of her pulling away from Cassidy’s attempt to wrap a possessive arm around her waist. She took a step towards the center of the room where Liam was already pulling supplies out of the bag he’d brought with him.

“There are generally two kinds of spirits who refuse to move on,” Liam told her. “Malevolent ones who were equally nasty while alive, and those who simply have unfinished business they feel compelled to resolve before they can find peace.”

“Malevolent spirits refuse to leave,” Killian added. “Hell bent on punishing or exacting revenge against the living. The only way to be rid of them is to--”

“Salt and burn their bones,” Emma said, causing Cassidy to balk behind her.

“How did you know--”

“Aye,” Killian said, cutting Cassidy off. “Which will be somewhat difficult to accomplish, seeing as they are still in the medical examiner’s possession.”

“So…” Emma drawled, joining he and Liam as they continued to set up the space for the task they would need to perform. “Best case scenario would be this spirit just having unfinished business?”

“That won’t necessarily make matters any easier,” Liam informed her. “Figuring out a spirit’s unfinished business isn’t usually as straightforward as salting and burning bones.”

“So, how do we determine which kind of spirit it is?”

“Ems, the thing attacked us while we were making love,” Cassidy said, being sure to emphasize the making love part as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “The thing is obviously bad news.”

“We weren’t--” Emma began, mortification giving way to irritation as she looked back at him then shook her head and said, “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter.” Looking down at the two brothers as they finished lighting the circle of candles they’d set out, she said, “As I told Liam upstairs, when he manifested he didn’t look threatening. He had his hands over his mouth--” she raised hers to mimic what the spectre had looked like, “--but was clearly trying to tell us something when he vanished almost as quickly as he appeared.”

“Well,” Liam said, pulling the last piece of the equipment from his bag, “This will hopefully allow him to tell us what he tried to communicate with you.”

A belittling snort escaped Cassidy. “A ouija board? Be serious.”

“I assure you, mate. We are quite serious,” Killian informed him as he took a seat upon the cold, cellar floor alongside his brother. “But if the idea of communing with the dead is too much for you, then feel free to sit outside while we conduct our investigation.”

Clearly catching the challenge to his courage, Cassidy grit his teeth and grumbled in Emma’s ear. “Can you believe this guy?”

“Neal,” Emma sighed with a tone of censure. “Shut up and sit down.”

Entering into the circle, Emma lowered herself onto the stone floor and crossed her legs beneath her. Reluctantly, Cassidy followed, a disgruntled look passing over his features in response to the sitting arrangement that had placed him between Emma and Liam instead of separating her from Killian.

“A few ground rules before we get started,” Liam began, holding the planchette in his hands.

“I think we’ve all played with ouija boards before,” Cassidy interrupted rudely, earning him a stern stare from the elder Jones.

“Aye,” Liam responded with a cutting edge to his words. “You may well have, but what we are preparing to do is not child’s play. We are opening a portal to the spirit realm, and for all our safety, precautions must be taken and adhered to.”

Cassidy shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing more.

“Go on,” Emma urged. “We’ll do whatever you tell us to.”

“Right,” Liam began again. “Once we’ve placed our hands on the planchette, they must remain there until the session is concluded. I shall be the only one addressing the spirits, so you must refrain from talking or reacting. And when it becomes clear that the spirits are finished communicating, we must all close the session together by moving the planchette to goodbye. This is the only time we intentionally guide it. Understood?”

Everyone nodded. The seriousness of their endeavor hung heavily around them as Liam continued.

“I’m going to set the planchette on the board, but before anyone touches it, we need to attune the space.” Setting the planchette down, Liam extended his hands to Killian and Cassidy, saying, “Everyone needs to join hands and focus on the spirit we wish to call forth.”

Killian took his brother’s hand then opened the other to receive Emma’s. When she tentatively placed her hand in his, Killian glanced up at her face. They locked eyes for a brief moment before she flicked hers away, but Killian knew his touch was having the same effect on her that her touch was having on him. There was no mistaking the familiar physical tension they’d once shared under similar circumstances.

“Focus on the person we seek,” Liam instructed. “We know him to be a man. We know there is something he wishes to communicate. We know this space was his final resting place until a few weeks ago. However you choose to manifest him within your mind, hold that image there and focus on him.”

Difficult as it was, Killian tried to push aside thoughts of Swan and the feel of her hand in his. Even still, she remained a fixture in his attempt to concentrate. She was there when he thought of the man’s body being discovered. She was there when he imagined how he may have looked when he’d manifested himself to her. She was there with every noise, every scent, every strange occurrence that had led her to reaching out to the one person she knew could help her. Despite the tragic circumstances that led the man to being walled up within the cellar, Killian could not help but feel gratitude to the spirit who had brought Emma Swan back into his life.

“Right,” Liam said a moment later. “With the man still centered in everyone’s mind, place your hands on the planchette.”

Killian sucked in a breath at the loss of her hand, but quickly schooled his emotions and joined the others, placing his hands upon the planchette and readying himself for what was to come.

“We call forth the spirit of the man found concealed behind the wall in this cellar,” Liam called out. “We ask that he come forth and tell us his name. What is your name, spirit?”

The temperature dropped and several of the candle’s flames flickered. Killian could hear Emma’s rapid breaths over the pounding of his own heart.

“Spirit!” Liam called out again. “We invite you to tell us your name!”

A gasp fell from Emma’s lips when the planchette jerked beneath their fingers. With wide, green eyes, she cast her gaze towards Killian as the planchette slid across the board. He gave her a look of encouragement, hoping his own gaze conveyed that there was nothing to fear - that he would not let any harm come to her - before her eyes fell back to the board and the word being spelled out beneath their fingers.

“D-A-N-I-E-L,” Liam read out as the planchette roamed across the board. “Daniel? Your name is Daniel?”

Yes

“What is it you want, Daniel?”

H-E-L-P

“You need help? That’s why we’re here. How can we help you to move on?”

H-E-L-P

“We understand. How can we help? What do you need us to do?”

T-E-L-L-H-E-R

“Tell her? Her who? You want us to deliver a message to someone?

Yes

“You need to tell us who. Who is her?”

L-O-V-E

“Someone you loved?”

Yes

“What’s her name?”

R-R-R-R-R-R-R … No

“No? No, what?”

No

“We don’t understand. No, you don’t want to tell us her name?”

C-A-N-T

“You can’t?”

C-A-N-T

“Why can’t you?”

C-C-C-C-C-C

Killian leaned over and whispered into his brother’s ear. “Another spirit maybe? Interference from another entity?”

“Is there another spirit with us? Someone who does not want you to communicate with us?”

Yes

Killian removed his hands from the planchette, earning him a startled gasp from Swan and a scathing reprimand from his brother.

“Killian!” Liam hissed. “What the devil are you--”

“Use my energy, Daniel,” Killian offered, opening his arms, and himself, up in surrender. “Take my energy and manifest yourself. Tell us who’s trying to silence you.”

“Brother, have you lost all sense?”

“It’s alright, Daniel,” Killian encouraged, ignoring his brother. “You can take my energy and--”

Killian’s words fell away when the fine hairs began to lift over his entire body. His arms began to feel heavy and it was a struggle to keep them lifted, especially when his breathing also became laboured.

“Killian, put your damn hands back on the--”

Liam’s admonishment was cut short by a startled, expletive falling from Emma’s lips. Manifesting above the board, in the center of their circle, was the ghostly image of a young man.

“Is that… Daniel?”

“That’s the man we saw!” Emma confirmed, her eyes wide as saucers and brimming with equal amounts of fear and awe. Forgetting herself, and the rules, she tentatively asked, “Are you…? Are you Daniel?”

The spectre nodded. He couldn’t have been more than early to mid twenties when he died, and though it was difficult to ascertain certain physical identifiers like height or hair or eye color, given his current metaphysical state, his clothing could serve as a clue that would narrow down the timeframe of his passing.

“Tell us how we can help you?” Liam said.

Killian, relieved that his brother was willing to capitalize on the moment, knew that he’d get an earful later, especially if Daniel managed to draw energy off him to the point of him passing out. Though woozy, Killian focused his efforts on the questions his brother continued to repeat and the spirit’s attempted replies.

“Who is the woman you want us to contact? Who else is here with us?”

Daniel tried again and again to speak, but the sound of his voice could not pass from his plane to theirs. Reaching down with ghostly hands, Daniel nudged the planchette and guided it once more to the R. Before he could maneuver it to the next letter, a second pair of hands appeared from behind Daniel’s head and wrapped around his lower face, obscuring his mouth.

Emma screamed and Neal jolted back, nearly knocking over the candles behind him.

“Nope!” Cassidy exclaimed, scrambling off the floor and sprinting towards the stairs.

“Neal!” Swan called after him, though she remained rooted where she was with her hands still affixed to the planchette.

Daniel struggled against the phantom hands, clawing at them with his own while Liam tried to wrestle back control of the seance.

“Reveal yourself, spirit! Tell us who you are and why you wish to silence Daniel! What unfinished business does Daniel--”

The planchette began to spin, making it impossible for Liam and Emma’s hands to remain there. An impossible gust of cold wind swept through the cellar, extinguishing the candles and ruffling both Killian’s and Emma’s hair. The light bulb at the bottom of the stairs shattered, sending down a shower of sparks. The only illumination remaining was Daniel’s ghostly form, but it too was quickly snuffed out, leaving the three of them in darkness.

“Bloody hell,” Liam cursed, the sound of him rummaging through his duffle preceding the beam of his flashlight. Reaching over, he grasped Killian’s shoulder and questioned, “Are you alright, little brother?”

“Younger,” Killian muttered, earning him a relieved clap on the back from his brother; his petulant response the only proof Liam needed as to his brother’s condition.

“You two stay still,” Liam instructed. “I’ll relight the candles and clean up the glass. Is there a broom down here?”

“Y-Yeah,” Emma responded, shakily. “In that cabinet.” She gestured towards the corner, then offered, “But I can do that.”

“No,” Liam said, waving her off as he finished lighting the candles. “You stay with Killian. He’s going to need a minute to recover from his tomfoolery.”

“It got us answers, didn’t it?” Killian shot back, heavily. Drained of energy, it was all he could do to remain sitting upright, but he’d be damned if he let Liam know just how much the encounter had affected him.

“Aye. I suppose it did,” Liam conceded, procuring the broom and dustpan so he could begin sweeping up the broken bulb.

“What answers?” Emma asked. “All I have is more questions.”

“We know there’s indeed another spirit here,” Killian told her. “A woman, if the ringed fingers and manicured nails give any indication. We also have a name to work with - Daniel. Based on his manifestation, I’d wager he was in his mid 20s when he died and by the looks of his clothing, I would guess he worked as a stablehand at some point. That gives us a frame of reference to work with as we investigate his identity further.”

“Speaking of which,” Liam said, disposing of the broken glass and tucking the broom back into the cabinet. “You said you had a friend assisting with research?”

“Yes!” Emma replied, plucking her phone from her back pocket. “Belle. I’ll text her now and see if she’s ready to share her findings with us.”

“Perhaps you would like to check on Mr. Cassidy as well?” Liam suggested, reminding them both of the forgotten man.

“Um, right. Yeah.” Swan stood and brushed the dust off the back of her jeans. Her phone vibrated in her hand, capturing her attention. “Belle says she has everything ready and we can come by the library any time.”

“Terrific,” Killian responded, attempting to pick himself up off the floor… and flailing. “Um, Swan? Would you mind, uh…”

Emma glanced down at him and must have perceived his predicament. Her eyes widened, a startled expression crossing her features, as she reached down and helped him up.

With a steadying hand pressed against his chest, she asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just a bit… unsteady.”

“Here,” she said, leading him towards the stairs where he could rest against the banister. “Better?”

“Aye. Thank you, love.”

Her posture stiffened in response to the endearment and she turned away, intent on climbing the steps out of the cellar. Killian reached out and lightly grasped her elbow, stalling her steps.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… are you alright? I should have asked how you’re handling the ordeal.”

“I’m fine,” she told him. Her position on the steps had brought her to eye level and though there was still only candlelight illuminating their surroundings, Killian could see the truth of her words in her eyes. “This isn’t my first haunted rodeo. Remember?”

Killian let out an amused huff. “Aye. How could I forget.”

They stood there a moment longer, Killian’s hand still resting against the crook of her elbow. He could feel the raised flesh of her arm through the thin fabric of her sleeve and wondered if it was a remnant of the ghostly encounter or perhaps an involuntary response to his touch.

Was he wrong to hope for the latter?

“I, uh… I should go check on Neal,” she said, dragging her tongue across her lip before her teeth scraped over the tender flesh in its wake.

The sound of something heavy scraping the floor above them pulled Killian from thoughts of capturing her mouth with his own, and almost too late he noticed an object about to hurl itself down the cellar steps.

“Swan! Look out!”

With all the strength he could muster, he managed to force her against the wall, shielding her as something crashed down the stairs. Their bodies pressed together, chests heaving against the other’s, it took them both several moments to process what had just happened.

“Emma!” Neal cried out, sprinting through the floors above and coming to a stop at the top of the cellar stairs. Staring down at his girlfriend who was currently being blanketed by another man, Neal’s face grew thunderous as he exclaimed, “What the hell is going on here?!”

“It appears to be some sort of statue,” Liam commented. Killian wasn’t sure if it was genuine ignorance as to the man’s meaning or if his brother simply wished to avoid a scene. Crouched down, Liam inspected the object and added, “Lucky the two of you managed to get out of the way. This could have done serious harm.”

Swan pushed against Killian’s chest, forcing him to step back from her so she could turn and take the man still fuming at the top of the stairs to task.

“It was that stupid garden statue of Pan you insisted on bringing inside!” she shouted. “I told you not to leave it in the hall!”

“How was I supposed to know a ghost could move it?” Neal shot back. “The thing weighs like fifty pounds!”

Stomping up the stairs, Swan grabbed Neal by the arm and hauled him away from the cellar entrance. Although Killian could not discern what was being said between them, there was no mistaking the tone of argument in their voices. He probably ought to feel guilty for having a hand in their current discord, but all he could focus on at the moment was the way his body was still reacting to having been pressed against Emma’s. The way she’d felt beneath his weight, the intoxicating scent of her hair, the feel of her hands clutching the back of his shirt, the way their eyes had connected after the danger had passed, the moment their gazes flicked down in unison to the other’s lips, the impulse he’d nearly given in to kiss her, the certainty he felt that the same desire had run through her mind as well.

“Brother,” Liam said, his tone making Killian groan internally.

He knew what was coming.

“Don’t,” he replied. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh?”

“Aye,” Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was rash and foolish in the way I invited the spirit to use my energy, and I need to get my head on straight. No more distractions.”

“Actually,” Liam said, hoisting his duffle, which he’d repacked, up onto his shoulder before crossing the cellar and joining Killian on the stairs. “I was going to say… A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.”

Slapping his brother on the shoulder he continued up the steps, leaving Killian utterly gobsmacked.

Chapter Three - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@kmomof4 @jrob64 @zaharadessert @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @killianxswan @mie779 @motherkatereloyshipper

@jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @superchocovian @caught-in-the-filter

@winterbaby89 @wyntereyez @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @gingerchangeling

@exhaustedpirate @cocohook38 @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

@jackieorioncat @paradiselady19 @snowbellewells @earanemith @ultraluckycatnd

@pirateherokillian @calmjoonie @unworried-corsair @tiganasummertree @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @kday426 @djlbg @fairytalepretzkle @maggiegreenvt

@natascha-ronin @ilovemesomekillianjones @iamstartraveller776 @deckerstarblanche @shadowsaur

@qualitycoffeethings @idristardis @phoenix-untamed @bluewildcatfanatic @bananachickens

[divinecomedyproductions]

RWBY: Saints of Remnant notes: Spectulative Theology

WARNING: CONTAINS TOPICS OF RELIGION, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Now anyone who has been following my blog is well aware I am a Catholic and my reimagined RWBY AU, RWBY: Saints of Remnant, is set in the Narnia Multiverse.

Why I did this was because I felt the best way to incorporate my faith into RWBY was to turn to the likes of CS Lewis and learn to think like him.Not that I consider myself on par with him or the rest of the Inklings.

Supposed Remnant was another world created by God in the same multiverse as Narnia/The Space Trilogy, and The Triune God(The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit) revealed himself there, what would that look like? How would it change the nature of Remnant?

Which I came to several conclusions

Humans and Faunus, like Humans in Narnia, are descended from Humans from Earth's past who had stumbled into it by God's will

Things like Aura, Semblance, the existence of Faunus, Dust, are a configuration of Deep Magic of this world

Christ and The Holy Spirit appear in this world by different appearances and different names and The Father created Remnant through Christ as he is the creator(Colossians 1:16)

The Grimm given their nature must exist as some kind of Satanic force within this world and are connected to the fallen nature of Humans and Faunus

So I will go into each one briefly so let's start with the first one

This one is plainly obvious given the setting Im implying its set in, humans and faunus are descended from Humans from Earth. To be exact humans around the world dating from the days of the Roman Empire up to the late Victorian Era/Gilded Age during times of war, exploration, and persecution.

Remnant itself, formerly known as Omnibus, is older than Narnia but younger than Charn. And it's also set after The Last Battle so Narnia is long gone by the start of the story. But it should be noted the Ragnarok War which shattered the world takes place at the same time as The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.

Second. Deep Magic

As I understand it, Deep Magic in Narnia is basically the Supernatural Law of each universe which is in different configurations in each world and thus have different results.

For Remnant's case, Deep Magic would probably be responsible for the odd hair colors of people, it would transform some humans into faunus(thus making them Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve, an offshoot race of humans), and giving both the potential of semblance and aura. And the Maidens and Wizard(who are among a total pantheon of 13 individuals in this AU) are of a deeper magic.

3. How God(The Father,The Son, and Holy Spirit) reveals himself in Remnant

This is obvious, I tried to do what CS Lewis did and come up with a supposed incarnation of Christ/Aslan in Remnant, and borrowing ideas from @vitamaeternum

I present The Storyteller(art done by @magiesheartlove)

sent by the mysterious Author Allfather to "tell" Omnibus into existence and proceeding from The Author Allfather through The Storyteller an entity known as The Ink of Life which works a lot like Aslan's Breath.

4.The Nature of Grimm and the connection to Original Sin and the nature of evil

We all know Grimm are drawn to negativity and how they are soulless abominations.

What if the Grimm are a manifestation of original sin that Satan and his horde of demons use to ravage and corrupt Remnant?

St. Augustine of Hippo describes Evil as privatio boni, evil exists as a corruption, negation, or absence of Good for Good is substantial while evil is not. It exists only as some kind of sickness, a cavity in your tooth, the hunger of an empty stomach, a festering wound, a black hole.

And I will go into this when I explore grimmified humans and faunus, The Grimmborne.

But basically Remnant is a wounded world, the Grimm exist as a corruption/negation of creation that festers in said wounded world and has increased after the Ragnarok, and the negativity from sin, corruption of the four kingdoms, and the tragedy of the increasing death rate of hunters exacerbates it("Always Winter, and never Christmas!")

I don't want to reveal too much, but I wanted to give you all a taste of what I have in mind.

[snowbellewells]

MY FICS

“Carolina Moon” (my current main focus WIP from @cssns23)

“Believing Impossible Things” (a Victorian flavored CS AU, with Alice as well, from @cssns22)

“The Lawman, the Thief, and the Outlaw” (a Western-set CS Rio Bravo AU)

“A Year in the Court of Misthaven” (a series of vignettes set in the Enchanted Forest, where Emma grew up with her parents as the princess she should have been, very much Lieutenant Duckling)

“Foot Caught in the Door (This Time)” (a Music Man AU originally started for the @captainswanmoviemarathon but I psyched myself out of getting very far with)

Untitled Reverse Cinderella Enchanted Forest Fic (Krystal’s VERY late birthday gift, with Killian in the Cinderella role)

Untitled Musician/Band and EMT fic (Killian is a musician who meets Emma when she saves his life at the scene of a serious accident)

Untitled Pro Dancers CS Fic (this modern AU has a good chunk started but it’s been so long since I got to work on it - Killian and Emma are paired together for a competition and can’t stand each other at first, but their chemistry on the dance floor…! 🔥

"kick-in-the-pants" writer's game!

Rules:

Reblog this post and put the names/working titles of your wips in either the tags or your reblog. (You may add a brief bio/ship name/any other info if desired)

Your followers can send you the name of one of the wips in an ask, and are welcomed and encouraged to send multiple.

For each wip title you recieve, work for a five minute sprint on writing that wip!

Respond to their ask with one of your favorite lines you wrote during that sprint!

(to encourage community spirit, it is suggested to send an ask to the person you reblogged it from, and whoever reblogs it from you)

[sailtoafarawayland]

Best Left Buried

(A CS Halloweek AU)

SUMMARY:  It's a strange place, Storybrooke – empty streets and picturesque Victorians that loom a little differently than the shadows they cast. Like most things in this town, you can't be sure they're being entirely honest about who they are. Curtains flicker in the windows as you pass, and gates swing on rusty hinges even after the wind is long gone. There's one too many black cats to be entirely natural, and there's something unsettling about the dolls that sit in the pawn broker's window. Like most old, New England towns, Storybrooke has a bit of a checkered history – except the truth is that Storybrooke isn't actually very old at all, and its history is a bit more black than checkered.

RATING: T 

Happy @cshalloweek, everyone! The prompt that struck me was: Monsters / red - under a spell | mystery | "I'm not going anywhere" | bloodcurdling

This takes place in an AU Storybrooke with Halloween and supernatural vibes. I hope you all enjoy my take!

AO3 - FF

Best Left Buried

I'm new to storytelling, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't follow the rules. I don't want to start at the beginning, or the end. One would think that leaves the middle, but...how about we begin at 'on the way to the end'?

And every story needs a little mystery, don't you think? The stranger on a lonely night, the bloodcurdling scream that no one hears? Like most Halloween tales, we'll need to start with some dark and gloomy, and a woman all by herself on the side of the road.

Well, maybe she isn't so alone after all...

/

“Everything alright here, Sheriff?” a slow, cautious voice called, cutting through the hazy beam of light that glared from the SUV parked twenty feet or so behind her.

Gravel crunched beneath heavy boots, moving closer.  

Arms stretched and gripping the raised trunk of her cruiser, Emma stared down at the person tied up and bent within, knees tucked against the bumper and eyes glaring up at her, narrowed and angry above the length of black cloth cutting into the corners of his mouth.

Well, fuck – old fashioned worked just fine up until the moment a state trooper wanted to intrude on her evening plans.

Before the man could make a sound, Emma twisted her wrist.

His eyes went wide, panic winning out over anger as he discovered his voice no longer worked the way it should, and that no matter how hard he tried to scream, there was nothing to hear.

No matter how desperately he tried to kick the bumper to alert the person approaching them, his body just wouldn't obey.

Arching a brow as if to say, 'did you think I was just gonna let you call for help?', Emma smiled and simply tossed the shovel resting against the bumper over top of him, the thunk of it hitting the back of the trunk resounding in the quiet night.

“Yup,” she called back, letting the 'p' pop from her lips as she slammed home the latch of the trunk, leaving her cargo in complete darkness. “Just clearing up some roadkill. Must be an easy night if you're up this way – Portland run out of Halloween mischief?”

The trooper shook his head, stepping into her space as she turned away from the trunk and leaned casually against it, brushing her gloved hands together as if to rid them of dirt.

“I wish,” the man muttered, adjusting the volume on his radio as it roared with static. “Man, these things never work in this town of yours – must be a lousy signal. Don't know how you guys manage.”

“Small town,” Emma shrugged, “not much trouble to manage. What brings you up so late?”

“We actually got a call in for a missing person, thought I'd head up your way and see if you'd laid eyes on him.”

Emma leaned forward to study the trooper's phone as he held it between them, the screen illuminating her furrowed brow and lips pressed into a concerned line.

“Doesn't look familiar, but I can ask around if anyone's seen him. He dangerous?”

“Nah, don't think so – might be off his meds though – anxiety, apparently. His fiance called in and said he ran out of their hotel room a few days ago during a fight over which direction they should head, inland or up the coast. She mentioned he'd wanted to head this way.”

“I swear, the foliage brings out nothing but crazies,” Emma groaned, rolling her eyes. “Well, I'll keep my eyes open, let you know if we see anything. It's been nothing but TP'ed houses and ding dong ditch the past week.”

“Technology may change, but the classics never get old,” the trooper laughed. “Speaking of, the wife was asking after the recipe for that lasagna you dropped off at the station a few weeks ago. Any chance you could – ”

“I wish I could help you out,” Emma cut in, raising her hands in supplication, “really, I do, but Granny would have my head if I even asked, or worse – she'd stop serving me.”

“Ah, well, I suppose some secrets are best left buried,” the trooper chuckled, flashing her an understanding smile. “Besides, I'd hate to run across you without your caffeine on board.”

“Right on both counts, Dietz,” Emma grinned. “Tell Charlene that Killian and I said hello, and keep safe.”

The trooper waved a gloved hand in farewell before climbing back into his SUV and pulling a u-turn. Emma slid into the driver seat of her own car, watching in the mirror as his lights were swallowed up by the darkness that would lead him safely out of Storybrooke.

//

Have I captured your attention? It's so good to finally have someone listening. How about we jump back to the beginning now, and I'll tell you a story about a quaint New England town called Storybrooke?

It's a strange place, Storybrooke – empty streets and picturesque Victorians that loom a little differently than the shadows they cast. Like most things in this town, you can't be sure they're being entirely honest about who they are. Curtains flicker in the windows as you pass, and gates swing on rusty hinges even after the wind is long gone.

There's one too many black cats to be entirely natural, and there's something unsettling about the dolls that sit in the pawn broker's window. Like most old, New England towns, Storybrooke has a bit of a checkered history – except the truth is that Storybrooke isn't actually very old at all, and its history is a bit more black than checkered.

Or perhaps I should say red.  

If you're just another tourist passing through in October, blinded by the leaves and farm stands filled to brimming with pumpkins and hot cider, then you might not notice that something about this town isn't as it seems. That's what everyone here hopes for, that you'll spend a few bucks on some food and plastic souvenirs and move on up the coast to the next small town with a good story.

But the locals lose their easy smiles when someone looks too closely beyond Main Street, asking questions about things that are best left buried.

They don't want you to ask questions about the occurrences and complaints, the accusations and stories that have found their way to the darker corners of the internet. They frown when curious couch detectives hold up printed photos of people long gone – or should I say 'missing' – directing them instead to a rack of shirts emblazoned with the words 'I survived Dead Man's Peak'. Have you heard the legend of the centuries old ship's Captain whose spirit roams the cliffs? People go up there all the time to take photos...can't be too careful around those steep drops, they say, nothing but cold sea below...

It has an odd reputation, Storybrooke, for missing people and gruesome deaths, most of them ruled accidental – falls from great heights, victims of drowning – but the town makes its living on the backs of all those old legends, witches and vampires and ghosts, so they sell their shirts and coffee mugs, and look the other way when morbid curiosity seekers and ghost hunters make the long drive from their dark apartments and flickering screens all the way to their small town in Maine.

Most of the time.

As long as you don't look too closely and become someone they don't care for.

Because those people...I can promise it's not long before their social media goes quiet. Their camper van disappears unseen from Main Street one night – and just like that, it's as if they had never driven to that quiet town at all. The friendly old lady who runs the diner never saw them, never served them coffee and tucked a mint under their pillow. The sweet librarian never made suggestions on what they might like to check out for their stay. The harbormaster never leased them a boat to take a tour around the bay, and the kindly shrink who walks his dog three times daily  never once saw them sipping coffee on the park bench.

It's not until too late that you can see them for who they really are.

How the friendly old woman who owns the diner pulls raw meat from the fridge after closing, arthritic fingers digging deep into the mass of red flesh and drawing it closer to her mouth, her eyes flickering shut with pleasure as she tears hunks of it free and swallows them down. How the sweet librarian locks up at the end of the day and returns to the back room of the Pawn Shop, the knowledge she's gleaned during her studies made useful as she seeks to return her lost love to the world of the living. How the harbormaster grins wickedly in the dark of a warehouse, teeth sharper than humanly possible as his eyes hone in on the soft, pulsing flesh of a young woman's neck. How the shrink sits beside an unsuspecting stranger on the park bench, drawing their sadness and woes from them and feasting, leaving those he speaks to holding darker and more open wounds than only moments before.

You won't see it until it no longer matters, until they have no intention of allowing you to flee to the next town with a story to tell.

But I promise you, none of them have a story quite like Storybrooke. I should know, I was there when it began.  

And now...well, I'm not going anywhere.

//

“So, this is the evidence I needed to see?” Emma grimaced, toeing the bit of faded, rotten canvas poking from the dirt, the orange tarpaulin long separated from the bit of metal that was once a frame.

“This is where it all started,” the man insisted, walking frantically between the trees and gesturing widely to the overgrown clearing. “This was where we'd set up camp, and here, right here – ” He knelt and swiped his hand through a layer of wet leaves, exposing what looked to be an old circle of stones. “This was where we roasted marshmallows.”

“It look's like an old campsite,” Emma agreed, eyes darting to the sun that was only just setting low over the forest, “but there must be hundreds of these abandoned all along the Maine coast. I don't see how it's – ”

“I found this,” the man rushed, desperate to make her see reason. He yanked a mildewed piece of fabric from the ground nearby, waving it between them. “It was my dad's. His name is on the tag. This is the spot, right here, where it all started.”

“Alright, look, Mr. Mendell – ”

“Greg. My name's Greg.”

“Greg, can you just slow down and explain this to me again – one more time, from the beginning, please?”

“Thirty years ago, my father and I were camping in the wilderness. Then out of nowhere, there was a rush of something in the air, and an entire town appeared right beside us.”

“Out of nowhere?” Emma deadpanned, whipping out her flashlight and shining it over the rapidly darkening forest. “Towns don't just fall from the sky, Mr. Mendell.”

“It was like magic, and when we tried to leave the town, she kept my father here – the Mayor. When I tried to get help and get back to him, it was gone – the entire town. Like it was under some sort of magic spell.”

��You're saying magic a lot.”

“I know I sound crazy,” he stammered, running his hands over his close cropped hair as he paced back and forth.

“Yeah, just a little,” Emma snorted, passing the beam of light over his face and watching as his eyes squeezed shut.

“But I'm not. I tried to move on, start a new life, but I couldn't, not until I figured it out – and now I have. It's this town, it has secrets,” he hissed, his hands tightening into fists at his side.

“Okay, sir. I think it's best we get you back to town and maybe give someone a call – do you have any family I can reach out to?”

“I don't need you to call anyone,” he blurted out, eyes wide and panicked as he took a step away from her toward the shadowed trees. “I need you to help me find out what happened to my father – everyone in this town, they're in on it. The Mayor, she looks exactly the same as she did back then. The woman who runs the diner and her granddaughter...they're all the same!”

“Sir, I'm gonna need you to just calm down,” Emma sighed.

“Do you have any idea how many people have gone missing in this town? My father may have been the first, but he wasn't the last. As soon as anyone starts asking too many questions – poof, gone!”

Reaching up, Emma rubbed at her brow with an exhausted huff as she approached the man while he continued to rant.

“There were those two women – the DeVille woman and her friend. They took vacations from work to visit and never came back. That blogger – the one who posted a photo of some strange, purple cloud that went viral. His partner came to meet up with him after he got a concerning text and never found him, then – strangely enough – his partner disappeared as well.”

“So you're telling me that this town somehow magically appeared here out of thin air,” Emma scoffed, “and that we're murdering people to keep it secret.”

“I looked into you – you only moved here recently, so you're safe. You have to do something about it, Sheriff.”

“Here's the thing,” Emma sighed, shrugging lopsidedly. “You're right.”

“What?” the man rasped, some instinct that rises in humans when danger is sensed making his face grow paler with each second that passed between them.

“You're right about the town, about magic, and this – ” she toed the rotted tent again, grimacing. “This was an oversight of Regina's. Why am I always cleaning up her messes...”

“You're in on it,” he mumbled, staggering backwards and as far from Emma as possible, nearly falling beneath the canopy of the trees.  

“Quite perceptive, this one,” hummed a disembodied voice from behind him.

Greg spun wildly on his feet, trying to pin down exactly where the voice had come from, his movements eliciting a chuckle from the shadows. With his back turned to Emma, he never saw the blow coming, his eyes slipping shut before the dark, leaf-covered soil rose to meet him.

Emma leaned her weight on one hip, a large branch spinning idly in her hand.

“The troublesome ones always are.”

“Excellent form, love,” Killian praised, and Emma smirked as her husband stepped forward, black leather and dark hair separating from the shadows, his sea blue eyes glimmering mischievously. “I was wondering when you'd just get to the point.”

“Needed to know exactly what he knew.”

“The same as everyone else, it seems – except for this,” Killian pointed out, kicking the remains of some rotted out camping gear. “Why am I not surprised another of the Queen's disastrous decisions has come back to haunt us.”  

Emma waved her hand and the forest floor was magically pristine, completely devoid of anything resembling a long-disused campground.

“Problem solved.”

“Well, almost,” Hook smirked, waving his hook at the unconscious man lying between them. “There's still this one to deal with.”

“Yeah,” Emma sighed, toeing at the man's chest with her boot. “Look's like dinner is gonna be late unless one of us heads back now. Rock-paper-hook?”

“Quite humorous,” Hook drawled, rolling his eyes as Emma waved a single hooked finger in the air, “but I think I'll tackle dinner. Otherwise, the lad will be eating pop tarts and deli meat from the packaging.”

“Hey, that's protein, and the pop-tarts are pumpkin spice, so that has to count for something.”

“I highly doubt there's any squash in those monstrosities – a balanced meal they are not.”

“Should I point out how hypocritical you're being,” Emma retorted, stepping into his space and matching his grin with her own. “I'll try to be quick, unless you wanted to...” She nudged the body between them with her foot, her eyebrow angled in silent question.

Killian glanced down at the unconscious Greg Mendell, his tongue lingering over sharp fangs as he studied the tremulous pulse in the man's neck. Then his eyes darted back up to Emma, catching the way her pulse quickened and arousal widened her pupils.

“I think I'll take my repast once you return, love.”

“Just what I was hoping to hear,” she purred, knowing the wait would only make him more voracious. “I'll see you home in a bit.”

“I'll count the minutes,” Hook whispered darkly, leaning down and capturing her lips in a kiss, her tongue swirling around the curved fangs that replaced his canines. His fingers found their place in her curls, and he angled her head with a gentle tug, leaving the imprint of his teeth on her neck. “Now, allow me give you a hand back to the cruiser.”

“Such a gentleman,” she breathed, still battling her racing heart and the desire pooling low in her gut as Hook squatted and lifted Greg's body as easily as if the man weighed nothing, tossing him over a shoulder.

“Shall we?”

They hiked the short distance back to the pull off, the squad car already covered in a thin layer of fallen leaves that drifted down from above.  

“You know, I could have gotten him myself,” Emma said, knowing he would have been back with Henry already if not for her. “You'll be that much longer getting home now.”

“Nonsense, Swan. Henry can wait a few minutes on good form. Go on then, pop the boot.”

“It's called a trunk. Who did you even pick that up from? Pretty sure they don't have 'boots' in the Enchanted Forest.”

“You know, I'm not sure,” Killian shrugged, using the motion to slough Greg's still unconscious form into the trunk beside the rest of Emma's things. “Nottingham, perhaps?”  

“Do I want to know what you guys have been up to?”

“Nothing untoward, I assure you. The man can hardly hold his rum – I think Robin simply likes to include him so he can rob him blind during poker.”

Before Emma could blink, Killian had pulled several lengths of rope from his jacket and quickly bound Greg's hands and feet together, finishing the entire presentation with a strip of black cloth that he rolled tightly and wedged into his mouth, tying it round the man's head.

“So old fashioned,” Emma teased, slamming the trunk shut and leaning against it, welcoming her husband down for another kiss, trying to ignore the way it set her body afire.

“I'll see you at home, love,” he promised, and then he was gone, leaving nothing more than the cold press of his lips and the ghost of his thumb against her chin.  

“Look's like it's just you and me then,” Emma sighed, rapping on the trunk twice before fishing for the keys in her pocket. “Let's get this over with.”

//

This is the part of the story that always makes everyone gasp, although I think if you've been paying attention, the reveal will hardly be as shocking for you as what happened next was for me.

I woke, though I don't remember falling asleep. I was too terrified for that, so like everything else that happens in this god forsaken town, I blamed it on magic. Magic had stolen my voice and ability to move, it had disappeared countless people, my father included, and it was about to get rid of me as well.

And tied up in the trunk of a cop car, there was nothing I could do about it.

Everything was black, and it took me a minute to realize that nothing was moving. I could feel my breath hot and wet around the gag in my mouth. After a moment, the trunk clicked open, swinging high to reveal a starry sky surrounded by a halo of trees.

It was kind of a beautiful view, but you don't appreciate those things when you're pretty sure you're about to die.

And she stood there, blonde hair lit from behind and the edges of her jacket glowing red as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I'm gonna be late for dinner because of this shit. Every year, it's someone new.”

I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. As if she sensed my intention and it made no difference at all, she waved her hand and my voice rushed back to me, the gag and the magic that had silenced me both gone.

“Help! Someone help – ”

“There's no one around to hear you,” she snapped, reaching for the shovel that she'd chucked behind me. “Now get out of the car.”

“You're crazy if you think I'm just going to – ”

Her wrist flicked again and suddenly I was standing ten feet from the car in the middle of a field, the ropes that had bound me gone. I stumbled, trying to regain my balance, and I wish I could say I'd been quicker to run, but I wasn't, and even if I had, I'm sure it wouldn't have mattered.

My eyes drifted to the ground beside me – or the lack of it. A large hole roughly the size of a person had been dug into the earth, black, loamy soil piled high beside it.

“Please – ” I took a step back as she took one forward, but another wave of her wrist stole any ability I had to move on my own, my breaths shuddering against my rib cage as I stood there like a deer frozen to the road.

I could only watch in horror as she reached toward me, a look of annoyance on her face. Her hand pressed against my chest, and before I could even understand what was happening, she reached through it –  pain gripped me, tearing a feral sound from my lips as roughly as she jerked her hand free.

She stepped back, something bright red and glowing caged within her fingers, a heart – my heart.  

“Get in the hole,” she sighed, as if she were directing me to fill out paperwork and not ordering me to my death.

I wanted to object, to run and scream, but instead my feet moved, carrying me to the looming pit. I could only stare, utterly terrified, as my shoes dangled over the edge, the soil threaded with roots damp in my palms as I gripped the edge and dropped.

“Please,” I begged, staring up at her where she stood, looming over what was to be my grave. Her face was shadowed by the moon behind her, but her jacket glowed as red as my heart where she held it. “Why are you doing this?”

“I'm the Savior,” she explained with a tone that said she found the job rather inconvenient. “I protect this town, keep it safe.”

“From what?”

“From people like you, who come and poke your noses into our business. We have a life here, and we just want to live it in peace. So I do my part, we all do.”

“So now you're just gonna what, bury me alive?” I screamed, bile thick on the back of my tongue and my limbs shaking with adrenaline.

“Alive?” she laughed. “No, what kind of monster do you think I am?”

I could feel my heart thumping against my bones as she held her arm over my open grave, the red glimmer moving closer, illuminating the glistening curves of worms and beetles that treaded the freshly disturbed earth.

And then she squeezed.

Pain unlike anything I'd ever known consumed me, and as some non-corporeal part of me rose high above, I looked down and saw the grey ash that fell from her hand to litter my corpse below.

She brushed her palms together, as if they were dirtied by nothing more than crumbs, and then with a tired flick of her wrist, the black soil scattered on the ground tipped itself back into the hole, burying me entirely.    

//

There's an old, scenic Victorian home whose windows peer out over the sea.

Inside, a woman comes home for the evening. She hangs her red leather jacket reverently beside its black companion.

At the table, a husband dusts hot cocoa with cinnamon, smiling as she takes it to warm her hands after an evening in the cold.

She sits on the sofa with her son, watching as he's captivated by the soft glow of the TV, a controller gripped between his hands and an empty dinner plate on the table.

It's a scene fitting for an autumnal New England night – Norman Rockwell for the millennials.

There's no outward sign of the monsters that lurk beneath. There's no blood on her hands, but they're red with it all the same, just as her neck is painted red later that evening as her husband takes his own meal.

Her and every other person in this town – it's all painted red.

So, now you've listened to my story – one more 'tourist' who's taken the long drive up the coast to this damned town, searching for mystery and ghosts.

You've found one, one of many – the only question is, will you linger to hear the rest, or will you flee onward to the next small town with its small stories, grateful that the monsters you sought have passed you by?

Choose wisely, Ghost Hunter – some stories are best left buried.

END

Tagging:  @donteattheappleshook @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54 @ilovemesomekillianjones 

[cshistfic]

Get-To-Know-Me: @donteattheappleshook

We’re excited to introduce the authors and artists who will have signed up for this event! Stay tuned in September, and make sure to give them lots of love.

Tumblr/Ao3 handle: @donteattheappleshook/donteattheappleshook (formerly PlanetsBendBetweenUs on Ao3)

How long have you been involved in fandom? I've definitely always been a fan girl but I joined the OUAT fandom after I binged the show and caught up to episode 3x04. I made a tumblr after seeing the sneak peek for 3x05. I only really got to know all the lovely fandom people though when the pandemic hit and I joined the CSSNS and then the CSMM discords and I'm really glad I did 😊

What draws you to this event? I've had a historical fic outlined in my docs for 8 months and @elizabeethan pushed me into joining with her and writing it ❤😁

Do you have a favorite historical period to learn or read about? I'm a sucker for the Victorian Era and the Regency Era. 

Why do you like historical fics? I don't read that many historical fics but I love the marriage of convenience trope which historical fics lend themselves to so well.

What is the inspiration behind your story? A few things all mashed together. My love of the marriage of convenience trope, the movie "In Secret" and the fact that one of the first CS fics I fell in love with was an abandoned mail order bride AU 

Do you have a sneak preview or summary you’d like to share?

It's still only outlined so I'll leave it at: Western, slow burn forbidden love, and mail order bride AU with a twist. 

Do I smell some possible pining coming our way? I think I might... can’t wait to dive into this slow burn goodness!

@donteattheappleshook‘s fic will be dropping on Wednesday, September 22nd.

[intothewickedwood]

Once Upon A Time Rewatch: 5x11 Swan Song

Wow. Selling your kids into slavery, just wow!

Wait, how did Rumple get the wavy sword. Is that the wavy sword?

I can’t wait for Emma to stop being the Dark One, oh my God.

Wait, why is Zelena so sure the Dark Ones won’t attack her?

Robin, that pointy arrow isn’t gonna do anything against the Dark Ones. 

Why doesn’t Regina just teleport them away??

Aaah! Get away from Snowing!

Henry, run!

Why can’t they just stay away from the ferry?

This was really freaking awful of Dark Hook. I mean, even Rumple would never try to kill all his loved ones as the Dark One. What the hell?! He tried to Orphan Emma and baby Neal and kill Henry, who’s a freaking child!! This was a step too far. I don’t know what the writers were thinking here. The very fact that he tried to kill Emma’s son seems irredeemable. I don’t think a season 1-season 3 Emma would ever forgive that. I don’t even think season 4 Emma would. It’s just unrealistic that anyone would forgive their lover for trying to kill their child and parents, consumed by darkness or not. Step too far.

I think fire and brimstone is worse than the Underworld, unless you’re to be tortured like Hook. Why did Hades torture Hook so much, anyway?

Is that the only time Regina calls him Killian?

They missed such a huge opportunity, not having Regina face her victims in the underworld. It had a good possibility for growth.

It’s weird seeing Hook have power over Regina like that. 

Didn’t Colin say they did it in that carriage? Or am I misremembering? Ah well, I like to think of them having had a few sexual encounters as canon. He totally did it with Cora too.

Oh God, this is horrible!! Her whole damn family! This was beyond cruel to all those involved.

Oh yeah. When Rumple went out back to get Excalibur, didn’t he tether it to himself or something. In that moment he made the decision to become the Dark One again, I think.

How the heck did she know how to find his father? And how mean, making it part of the deal that he kill a parent too. Maybe it made her feel better that way. Wouldn’t it have been easier to control one of her guards via their heart and force them to kill her mother? Or even to control Hook with his heart?

Zelena, baby, you can’t call your kid Pistachio!! Omg. I’m headcanoning Robin Jr.’s middle name to be Pistachio!

Regina really doesn’t like those name options lol.

“The withered knob of that sad old man.” Oh my God!! I’m screaming!!!!

BULLCRAP!! No your memory does not freaking serve because you have to use dark freaking magic to control that wand and your magic wasn’t dark enough!! It’s nothing to do with power or believing in yourself, what the hell?! Regina must have done some dark crap recently to get that thing to work.

Zelena, just teleport away!

Zelena, noooo! Gonna miss her! She made this arc bearable! 

Killian, for God’s sake. Do something! Reverse it somehow!

How does he know that’s not Liam? I guess the straight hair?

He left more than a century ago. Killian is over one hundred years old at this point! I worked it out with the help of Baelfire arriving in Victorian England after Big Ben was created and Killian is at the very least 130 years old at this point in time! The timeline this season has been horrendous!

It’s very weird that that nurse ‘fell in love’ with a sleeping patient she’s never even communicated with and kissed him.

All this for freaking revenge. Leave the Charming’s alone!

I’m sorry? He doesn’t wanna hurt her?? He doesn’t wanna hurt her?? He wants to kill her entire freaking family! How is that not going to hurt her?

He’s doing this to get revenge on Rumple or Emma? Both? He’s saying he owes Emma, well then why doesn’t he just kill Rumple? Revenge achieved! He didn’t have to bring her family into this.

Killian: “And now because of that you get to watch everyone you live die.” Back the hell off!! Rumple had the darkness for years and he never would have killed Belle’s loved ones to spite her! Sure he would have killed her father but never out of spite for the person he loves!

Dark cs is so freaking toxic.

Killian: “Enjoy the time you have left with your family.” Get the hell out! Beyond evil! Nothing angers me like this episode! This was the final nail in the coffin for my love for cs. There was just no coming back from this in my opinion, especially because he acted perfectly normal before he remembered he was the Dark One.

Oh no!

How does Robin know the fairies will take Neal. What if no one thinks to look in the diner and he starves!!

Tbh I need to read an au where Emma raises her brother due to all this, though it will hurt like hell!

Henry: “So this is really it.” Hook (smiling): “I’m afraid it is, lad.” I am going to swear!! This is so unforgivable!

It is kinda out of order that he called his third son Liam after what he did to the first. It does kinda seem like he’s replacing him. 

That felt unnecessary. He just orphaned his little brother! He could have at least have made sure he was taken care of. How did Liam II age so much, anyway? I guess he wasn’t affected by the curse and wasn’t under Cora’s time freezing bubble somehow.

He should have absorbed the Dark One’s into the sword in the freaking first place!!

He did a 180 so fast.

How you gonna kiss him after he just tried to kill your whole family??! This was the first step in their relationship where they would just forgive each other for anything, no matter how toxic and would put their relationship above absolutely everything else, to the detriment of relationships with family. Like, he could quite literally kill her son and she’d probably forgive him.

Thank God! Emma got rid of that ridiculous outfit and hairstyle!! I am gonna cry happy tears for days!!

Aww. Henry called Belle!

Belle to Rumple: “you lied to me again! *makes out with him*. For the first time you were truly selfless.” Wtf Belle?! Did you not outright refuse to leave Storybrooke so you could get killed by a giant bear the other day because it was the ‘brave thing to do’, but then when your friends were in danger it was okay for Rumple to lie to you and tell you to leave? That makes no sense! This is kinda ooc and unrealistic. But then, is it ooc? It’s certainly the quickest she’s had a change of heart. And didn’t you just say you had to protect your heart from him like yesterday? I will never understand this woman. What a puzzle to the rest of us is Belle. Is she on drugs?

She can still hear the dagger!

I don’t get it. Didn’t Excalibur crumble? 

Rumple, why??

That small vile of magic was hella convenient!

Rumple has Emma’s power as well as every other Dark One’s. Wow! 

They are all bananas going to the underworld. Leaving their babies without parents for what could be forever! And taking Henry (a child!) to the freaking underworld where they might never come back and Rumple literally just said it was a place worse than hell, where you’d beg for death!

Fun family trip to hell!

Their feet are gonna get wet.

Emma, you’re still talking like that! Please, I beg of you, stap it!

Hell no. You do not get to take “I will always find you.”!

Thank God this arc is over!! At least the next one’s a little better, I think.

[teamhook]

Chapters: 24/30 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan, Prince "Charming" James | David Nolan/Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Emma Swan, Huntsman | Sheriff Graham/Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Milah, Pinocchio | August Booth/Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Liam Jones, Captain Hook | Killian Jones & Prince Charming | David Nolan Characters: Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Prince "Charming" James | David Nolan, Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Jiminy Cricket | Archie Hopper, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Robin Hood (Once Upon a Time), Henry Mills (Once Upon a Time), Roland Hood, Huntsman | Sheriff Graham, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Tinker Bell (Once Upon a Time), Pinocchio | August Booth, Geppetto | Marco, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Grumpy | Leroy, George | Albert Spencer, Wizard of Oz | Walsh, Sheriff of Nottingham | Keith, Liam Jones, Milah (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Angst, Alternate Universe - Jane Eyre Fusion, Romance, Drama, Inspired by Novel, References to Jane Austen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Young Emma, Young Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Slow Romance, Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Emotional Hurt/Comfort Summary:

CS historical AU (mid-19th century), real world setting, teacher!Emma and artist!Killian.

After years of private tutoring, Emma goes to teach in a village by the sea in a desperate bid to escape her heartbreak and the outside world. She thinks that she'll always be lonely and out of place, but the local lighthouse keeper, a fellow recluse and the town outcast, makes her see that she is right where she belongs.

[qqueenofhades]

Hi Hilary, you’ve always been on my list of favorite CS authors. I desperately miss Timeless. I haven’t read any fic yet. Can you rec any of yours? I lean towards Lyatt but I’m not opposed to Garcy. It’s not a notp by any stretch of the imagination. I wouldn’t appreciate any that trash or dump on Wyatt though cause I’m not about that. Thanks for your time!

Sure!

All the Timeless fic I’ve written has been Garcy, because they own my ass. But Wyatt is always in my fics, I never needlessly villainize or dump on him, and enjoy writing his dynamic with Flynn in particular. I don’t think I’ve been notably hard on him, or at least any more than I am anyone else (since if you’ve read my CS stuff, you know everyone goes through the wringer).

If you’re interested:

My current project, Starlight & Strange Magic, is a Victorian/steampunk/slowburn (we’re at almost 138k words and chapter 17 is not done yet) that will give you a lot of Lightbearers vibes, if you read that, with bickering enemies-to-(maybe in 100 years?) lovers in a magical AU. The whole gang is in that and there are a lot of twists and turns and so forth.

I have two long-ish Garcy AU oneshots, [citation needed], which is cute and funny and fluffy, and The American(s), which is angsty as hell, depending on what you’re feeling.

the tangled web of fate we weave is my most recent completed fic. It’s a Timeline Zero fic and Wyatt’s a major character in that. It also may be slightly angsty, but I have only heard this from others. Ahem.

the dragons on the map has gotten unfortunately a bit sidelined due to SSM taking over my muse, but that’s a solidly team-balanced fic about them getting stuck in 1195 France. Flynn, Lucy, Rufus, Wyatt all get POV chapters and developments.

I also have (and perhaps it was) inevitable, also known as the Trash Saga, which is a little older, but was my first Garcy fic and is somewhat legendary. It’s basically smut. And then plot appeared, and more smut, and feelings, and smut. So yes. Depends on how much you want to dive into the Garcy of it all.

Have fun!

[cssns]

Drum roll please!!! Welcome @wordsmith-storyweaver to the CSSNS!!!

Hello everyone! We now turn the spotlight on @wordsmith-storyweaver for our CSSNS author spotlight! Everyone go say hi!

 How long have you been in the CS/OUAT fandom?

I followed the show from the beginning, but I first joined Tumblr and the fandom during the summer hiatus between seasons 2 and 3.

 When did you start shipping Captain Swan?

Probably since 2.04 aired. Lol

 What drew you to this event?

K twisted my arm super hard. Lol. She and I were chatting about the lack of CS fic after Jen's exit from the show and the lack of themed AUs. When I realized she was putting this together, I decided that I needed join and help correct this lack.

 What inspired your topic?

A poem, and a couple mood boards and fan art here on Tumblr. And an episode of one of my other favorite shows. ;)

 If you would like to share a snippet/sneak peek/summary of your fic or artwork, please use the space below.

In the quaint little New Jersey tourist town of Cape May, ghosts are everyday business. Emma Swan's family has owned and operated a haunted hotel for years, but she's never been a believer in what she can't see. However, when Killian Jones, a student of Victorian spiritualism and haunting debunked comes to town looking to write his latest book on her hometown, she can't deny that a lot of strange things have started happening. And then there are the super realistic dreams involving him in Colonial clothes...

Oh man, I can’t wait for JJ’s fic to drop! Which it will do on Aug. 3. JJ is an incredible writer and I am beside myself that she is participating! You can find the rest of her works here. So everyone go say hi and welcome her to the CSSNS!!!

[mg-bsl381]

The Staircase Question

I was going to wait until after the new year to raise this conundrum but posts by @thymefortea & @like-an-officer-and-a-sergeant have already brought this to the fore.  

1) The Turners new home (aka Mushy Mansion) - please note the little windows by the front door.

2) Shelagh greets Sister Julienne in the hallway - see again the little windows but from inside the house.

3) The beginning of the staircase - see the white painted wood finish

4)  The top of the staircase (with a pacing Patrick), again the white painted wood with the multiple lights hanging above it.

All straightforward so far,  no because in CS-17 we saw this -

5)  Another staircase in an open tread wood style!

As the “new” staircase is not in the hallway, I can only assume that the house has a second set of stairs, maybe leading to a guest room suitable for an au pair or a teenager lair away from tiny screaming and messy siblings. (My grandparents house had two staircases but it was built in Victorian times when servants were common)

This appears to be in the back of the house with a kitchen/family room and a downstairs cloakroom (through the door behind Patrick).  

I think that there is the hallway with the main staircase and some other rooms we haven’t seen yet and then this multi-purpose room at the back of the house. It is unlikely a house this size has only one living room, even though it is massive.

Here endeth my thoughts on the staircase question.  I am hoping we get to see more of the house in series 7 and it makes vague sense (unlike the old flat!)

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 fic: "For All Life and For All Time" {Part Two}

I certainly did not intend to keep everyone waiting so long for Part Two, but I won't ramble on with a lot of excuses, I'll just let you get right into the story. The action here picks up just after Part One left off, and with finding out what the rest of their brave band is doing in Emma's absence. I hope you'll still enjoy despite the delay - and, as always, I'd love to hear what you think!

A Victorian, Dracula-inspired AU in Three Parts written for the @cssns24 event

Summary: Having lost her dearest friend and with her own life on the line, Emma Swan joins a noble band to face an ancient evil. Three of them stand by her in honor of the one they loved and lost. The other might be the first man she could love. He might love her as well - even more than life itself. Time will tell... if they both survive the fight against their immortal enemy.

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

Part Two

Killian Jones could not help but worry incessantly, pacing the floor of Lord Briarling’s study without ceasing, mind assailed by all which could go wrong. He had no doubt of Miss Swan’s bravery, her determination, or her intentions - she was a wholly incomparable woman - unlike any he had ever encountered, even his Milah long ago. The problem was, he knew better than most just how powerful, how debilitating the will and control of the being they faced… that they had sent Emma to face alone.

Already, he had asked much of her in the short time he had known her. The trust Emma Swan had bestowed up on him in return was nothing short of astounding. She was smart, discerning, careful not to be falsely taken in - and yet she had not doubted or questioned him, even when his orders and conclusions must have seemed egregious to her ears. That he had been forced to lead the men who had loved her dearest friend to stake and behead the poor sweet Aurora Spindleton’s corpse on the claim that the girl had been turned into a vampire must have seemed an intolerable insult; yet she had steeled herself and accepted the dire need, not holding their actions against any of them.

Not only that, but Emma had stood forth boldly, seeking what she could do to end this creature’s reign before more were turned, their lives destroyed as her friend’s had been. Her voice might have trembled, but she stood straight and tall, her chin jutting forward in stubborn resolve. Though Killian knew she must have been afraid, her pale, perfect face looking to him for guidance had seemed like a candle’s flame breaking through surrounding darkness - more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

It was a risk, certainly, this plan they had concocted in the hopes of ensnaring their quarry. He certainly did not relish the idea of sending Emma alone into perilous surroundings. The thought of her in the Count’s thrall without himself or at least one of their compatriots at her side was enough to bring bile rushing up his throat and a cold pit of fear to settle in his gut. The demon was unpredictable, nearly invincible, and suffered no compunction or fits of conscience to reign his actions. And yet, despite the way his limbs nearly burned for action, how he had wanted to follow behind her carriage to see to her safety, Killian knew their best possibility of luring Count Dracula von Stiltskin into their net and putting him off his guard enough to attack with success was to send her to him in the guise of a besotted innocent. Emma was beguiling enough, and the Count’s thirst, even the Count’s intention, was already turned toward her. He had to trust that she could hold her own, and that she could respond with false interest while still remaining on her guard.

Yet, it was the not-knowing which made his wait so trying. There was no way to ascertain what Emma might have already been faced with - or was already enduring - now that she was out of their reach and beyond communication with him. That morning before the sun had even fully broken across the chill sky, Killian had ridden out on his sturdy Andalusian to follow the path Emma’s carriage had taken the previous night. By the time he had reached the empty and abandoned conveyance and found no sign of either Emma or her driver, he had already known it was a futile journey, yet it was all he could think of to do. It only made his nightmarish reel of possible scenarios Emma might be suffering cycle through his mind more quickly. The poor horses were still hitched, and to Killian’s surprise, still in the area, despite having no tie or guidance, but they were pawing the ground, eyes wild with fear, and he had been able to bring them back to Lord Briarling’s chateau and see them properly tended. Where he had located the carriage though was in the forbidding shadow of the dark, austere castle towering over the area. Even the poor beasts had sensed the “wrongness” in the air - the presence of something wild and unnatural. 

They had all tracked the monster back from his prowl across English soil to the outskirts of his own country. As fate would have it, the Briarling estate owned a hunting outpost just before one crossed over the Romanian border - long unused but perfectly suited to their needs. From there, Emma had ventured on alone, and the rest of waited unwillingly until they could follow.

Finally, Killian stood and strode from the room to find his compatriots in this almost unreal, but necessary, mission. It was now well into the new day, the sun full and warming overhead and rendering the next several hours much safer from their lurking foe. He heard the others moving in the hall and throughout other rooms on the floor below. They have much to do, and the sooner they are off to complete their part of the overall plan, the sooner he can be off to face Dracula head-on at last, after so many years and so much turmoil and waiting. Even more importantly, the sooner they can ride after Emma, hopefully finding her still well and whole, and bring her back to safety again.

He found them all - Sir Philip Thornswood, Graham Morris, and his old friend and colleague Jefferson Seward in the sun porch, partaking in coffee or tea and a late breakfast, but quietly and with an undercurrent of tension, waiting and knowing that their next move was nigh, yet not sure what that move might be. As Killian appeared in the doorway, all three heads turned toward him abruptly, eyes alert, and in Morris’ case, even half-rising from his chair, coiled to spring into action.

“Van Helsing,” Jefferson greeted simply, standing to bring him a cup of coffee and place a strong hand on his shoulder in support. The greeting jarred him in itself, as he had spent much more time recently in Emma’s company - first tending to Aurora, then listening to Emma’s fond memories and intense grief and anger, and then outlining their plan of attack for her - what she must do and how to keep herself as safe as possible. However, in her presence, he had let down his guard and allowed himself to be simply “Killian”, far more than he had done in a very long time. 

“When do we set out?” Jeff pressed, his mouth pursed in tense readiness as his eyes busily attempted to read Killian’s face. 

He took the cup from the physician and drew a long pull of the hot liquid, wincing slightly at its heat and bitterness, even as he savored its familiarity. Pausing only a moment, he then nodded sharply, as if to acknowledge all of them deferring to his direction.

“The task before us is a weighty one,” Killian began solemnly, meeting their eyes and quickly confirming each man’s commitment. “It will not be easily accomplished, but must be done - whatever the cost - if we are to stand any chance against this devil we face.”

Each man, Seward, Morris, and Thornswood in turn, nodded their assent, understanding on their faces and merely awaiting his instruction to take action. In every one of their bearing, he saw the intent and the loss that drove them; they would do what they must and would not shrink from fear or challenge.

“We are aware that the Count must have other lairs, a maze of strongholds in which to hide from the light, as he has made his way far from his citadel in the mountains - with a purpose he has not evinced in an age. Each and every one of these must be destroyed. He must be forced into the open where we stand a chance to fight him.”

“Right you are, Mate,” Graham spoke up with brisk determination, but a slightly puzzled expression marring his brow. “I’ve no question with that.  If sunshine and open space be his only weakness, then we must do away with all his shadows. But how may we know where he has chosen to hide? And, once found, how may we be certain to dismantle each lair?”

Killian’s gaze flicked over to Jefferson’s, as if gauging from his friend who knew Morris better whether or not he should bare all. At the Doctor’s subtle nod, Killian launched into his past history with the Count - how he had watched and studied the monster, waiting and biding his time until he had finally gathered enough knowledge to strike while Dracula von Stiltskin would be most vulnerable to harm. It had to make a mark, for when fighting such a one as this, he might not get a second chance.

When he had finished his condensed tale of explanation, he paused, eying Lord Briarling, Philip Thornswood, in particular with acute regret. “That I was too late to help our dear Miss Spindleton is a heavy burden I must bear,” he finally intoned, forcing the words past clenched teeth and a tight throat. “But I can only pray you will still trust the information I have and the hope that we can save ourselves and countless others, along with our brave and true Miss Swan, who was so dear to Aurora. When Jefferson’s urgent summons reached me, I was in truth already on my way to these parts. All my tracking, spying, and observation had finally bought me an opening that led me straight to this very countryside, even as you called upon me to assist.”

“No wonder you arrived so quickly,” Jefferson exclaimed, clearly taken aback by this revelation that was new to him as well.

He might have said more, but Morris had already broken in urgently. “What had you discovered then? How can it help us?”

Killian noticed that Sir Philip was silent nearest the window, clearly listening to their exchange, but not moving or speaking, a pained look of focus etched upon his features. He could not tell what the other man was thinking, or if beneath his grief the bitterness was taking poisonous root. Whether he laid blame at Killian’s feet or no, he could not judge Van Helsing more harshly than Killian already judged himself. All the time and the sweat and blood, the effort of years, and he had still been too late to thwart the vampire’s draining another innocent of life. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Killian plowed on, not having any recourse but to see the story through to the present. Whether any of them deemed his plans reliable or possible to carry out, he needed to be on his way. He would do all he knew to weaken von Stiltskin, to bring on even an ounce of human weakness he might inflict, before facing the demon once more. He would not - no, he could not survive it - if he were forced to see Emma suffer the same fate as his Milah, and Aurora, had before her.

“There was a ship,” Killian explained, holding out a staying hand as Graham began to pace - needing the movement and action so much that Killian feared the cowboy might race to the docks that very moment before he could even explain what they sought. “It made slow, hidden voyage all the way from (Varna?) near where his castle stands overlooking (Transylvania?) to our English shores undetected. Even with contacts and spies scattered throughout the distance between, I did not hear of its existence until it stopped briefly at some small port for supplies. The uneasy fear its very presence impressed upon the harbormaster there made it memorable enough for him to note when he was next questioned of any strange happenings in his jurisdiction. The description of a dark and eerily silent ship, barely in dock an hour, and odder still, with hardly enough crew to properly man its decks, was enough to convince me Von Stiltskin was on the move with some nefarious purpose in mind - especially joined as it was with reports that he himself had not been sighted on his own lands in some weeks, even at night when he usually hunts.”

His three man audience was captivated now, motionless with eyes fixed upon him as Killian continued his ghastly tail. “However, as concerning as this news was, no one had any way to be certain where he was bound. I was at that point in Italy, seeking a holy relic - a jewel hilted dagger from the Crusades - which my studies had led me to believe might equip one to mortally wound the vampire. I needed to have it in hand before returning to English shores.”

Jefferson opened his mouth at this, no doubt to ask if the mission had been successful, but his friend’s lips snapped together again wordlessly when Killian pulled the weapon from the hidden pocket inside his heavy, dark cloak. Holding it out upon his palm for their perusal, he watched as each member of their band registered its clear import silently, seeming to straighten their shoulders and steel themselves further. This dagger signified their way forward.

“No others know this blade is in my possession,” Killian intoned seriously. “And it must remain that way. One of the very few things which can strike fear into the Count’s blackened heart is the existence of this item which can control his power and do him mortal harm. Though legends and rumors disagree upon how it was ever wrested from his possession, it almost certainly torments him not to have it - the one thing keeping him from true invincibility. I found it safeguarded by a long-forgotten hidden order of monks and managed to successfully convince them I was the correct avenger with whom to entrust the relic. Unfortunately - “

He bowed his head toward Sir Philip Thornswood once more, a heavy moment of quiet remembrance covering the room before he wet his lips and carried on at Philip’s small acknowledgement. “Unfortunately, I was too late. I was still a week’s journey from the English coast when I received Dr. Seward’s summons, along with a notification of the same dark, silent ship docking in Whitby, only to horrify all those at the harbor with the discovery that all aboard it were dead - and this only after a large, black wolf had leapt from its deck snarling and slavering and cutting a path through the area and up into the surrounding wooded hills, leaving behind it an echoing howl that set all who heard its hair on end and chilled them to the bone. They found the poor captain a mere corpse lashed to the mast, note clutched in his hand detailing how something in the dark was picking them off one by one. He was the last one alive and dared not sleep, but knew at some point his body must do so; the note was his attempt to explain what might be found remaining on board.

“The Count!” Sir Philip spat with the force of an invective. “Murdered his own crew as it transported him? For what purpose?”

“He had reached his destination,” Killian answered simply, not at all nonchalant about the slaughter, but needing to be clear how very little a life - any life - truly was to worth to Dracula. “They had served their purpose, and he could not have any witnesses who might cause complications to his plans or raise an alarm (too soon?) If one could sully and drain the beauty and sweetness of an innocent such as your betrothed, my Lord, please be assured, no atrocity is beyond him.”

The sharp, almost spasmodic dip of Philip’s chin showed his frank agreement, having learned all too well the appalling truth of Killian’s words. “Right you are, Van Helsing,” he rasped with a voice that sounded almost rusted with disuse from the last few days’ wordless grief and brooding thought. “So tell us what we must do.”

“Indeed,” Morris chimed in readily, stepping forward once more. “You have the dagger, how will you wield it, and how shall the rest of us work to insure you succeed? We must be off and doing it.”

Killian inclined his head to each of his compatriots, acknowledging their eagerness and desire to be of use. “We will not have to wait much longer,” he assured them. “There is only one last part to my tale, and then we will be on the move, following the tracks he has recklessly left for us - too overconfident in his long invulnerability.”

Here he nodded to Jefferson to take over the narrative, the doctor having gone with him to see almost as soon as Killian had reached Whitby - nigh on a week ago. Emma Swan had requested a mere hour or two alone with her dear friend, promising she knew how to do the few things left to them which would bring Aurora any comfort, and that she would send for them if there were an emergency. The young lady had been wasting away at that point, nothing to be done for her but attempt to ease her discomfort and bide the time. He had seen no harm to leaving Aurora in Emma’s capable hands, nor did he begrudge them any last feminine secrets or promises of the heart in the sweet Miss Spindleton’s final hours. He had needed to see for himself what had been found on the ship in any case, and he did wish for Jefferson’s accompaniment and the added benefit of his insight. 

“On that ship,” Jefferson began, picking up the story’s thread adroitly and pulling it taut again with speed. He held the other two men’s attention as rapt as Killian had done - perhaps more so even, due to their greater connection and shared history, “very little had been found at all, until Van Helsing and I ventured below, into the depths of the hold.”

Killian gratefully turned away as the Doctor raced through the rest of the information needed. He was thankful to have focus off of his person for a moment as he clenched and unclenched his fists and forced himself to draw in and release several deep, cleansing breaths. Every bit as impatient as Graham Morris to be riding into the fray, he only barely kept his impatience from showing through herculean effort. Staring out the window as he swallowed a long pull of rum from the flask discreetly hidden at his hip - he didn’t give a bloody damn how early in the day it was, though others might - Killian stared out the window and forced himself to remember that Emma knew what she was doing, of how often he had marveled at her strength, rather than letting his mind fly to all the ways she could have already been overpowered, tormented, broken beyond - 

With a harsh jerk of muscles that he feared could hardly be missed by the astute men around him, Killian spun away from the view out the window of the morning dew on the nearby fields and caught the last of Jefferson’s explanation.

“So, to the best of our knowledge and deduction, this metal casket full of raw earth must have been the one our Dracula traveled in - his shield by day, as it were. He has, no doubt, others scattered throughout the countryside at intervals so that he may move around as needed, stalking his chosen victims and adding to his cursed ranks while maintaining safe places to retreat from the light of the sun. We must split up, find these strongholds, and destroy the caskets within, leaving him no place to left to rest concealed.”

“Aye,” Killian resumed, signaling Jefferson seamlessly, and the doctor turned to get the maps he had brought, marked with the targets for them to hand to Thornswood and Morris. “We dare not travel and enter these possible lairs completely alone, but if we break into pairs and reconvene this evening when the task is completed, then we can make our way toward Castle Dracula itself as a reunited band. The fiend himself will have no choice but to flee back from whence he came when he sees that there is no other place for him to hide. We can only hope and pray that our brave Miss Swan has remained safe from his influence in body and mind, has been able to use her quick wit and feminine wiles as planned to infiltrate and put him at his ease. He will wish to prolong and savor his enjoyment of such a rare delicacy…” His abhorrence for the way the creature would view this woman as a mere object, as a possession to be enjoyed and then tossed aside, was clear in his pained expression and the way he nearly spat the words, even as he strove to be realistic about what she and the rest of them faced. “His last casket will no doubt be in his castle. If Emma can find and destroy it while he is unaware, and we arrive before his return to find it so… we will be ready for him. He will have to face us - once and for all - desperate and with no other hole in which to hide, weakened enough that we just might stand a chance against his evil power.”

As one, the other three were on their feet standing before him; all reached in, hands clasped between them in solemn promise. They would chase this demon to his end, or die in the attempt. If he had more than a moment to dwell in such thoughts, he would have been almost overcome with a surge of conflicting emotions. For years now, Killian had been a man apart - had forced himself to be so, out of duty and penance, and for the safety of any who might have joined him. The sense of brotherhood and belonging which flooded him before their tight huddle was broken seemed more than he could have hoped to find again in this life.

If only they might succeed in their wild hope of a quest… and he could reach Emma Swan to find her still well and whole… he might at last cease to be only his mission and a vindicating shadow of a man, and find himself once more a man of flesh and blood - with a life of warm reality - for her sake.

They had much to do before they could ride after her. It was time they began.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Emma held her breath while she crept through darkness thick and gray, heavy as hanging vines or a thick curtain, as she made her way determinedly through the bowels of Count Dracula von Stiltskin’s castle. Guided only by the small flare of a single candle in hand, a mere pinprick in the black veil surrounding her, for she dared no more, Emma slunk as soundlessly as possible down one long, deserted hall and corridor after another, moving lower floor by floor, her breath shallow with dread that kept her lungs from drawing in a full breath.

She had to be near the lowest level of the massive structure; it felt as though she had been alone in the dark for hours, for so long that it seemed she might never reach the end, even as she scolded herself it had to be fear and paranoia working on her nerves and overriding her good sense. When Killian had instructed her where to seek out the Count’s lair, he had reasoned that the further below the surface and into the Earth should could get, the more likely to find Dracula’s true resting place. His nest would be removed from all else, far from any risk of light or accidental exposure and discovery, and difficult to reach. The monster had not survived so long without caution and numerous safeguards - no matter the preternatural strength he wielded. 

Even at that, however, Emma still doubted her chances at finding his coffin bed - even if on the surface far above her all was still and von Stiltskin was far from home. It could not be so straightforward as all that. She feared all that could go wrong with her heart in her throat, even as she forced herself forward, one foot in front of another. 

Killian had also advised, and she had agreed with him - as daunting a challenge as it would be - that her best hope was to feign intrigue, curiosity, and an impulse she could not fight, once she encountered Dracula upon his own land. To implore him to expose her to the wonders, freedoms, and power at which her dear friend had only vaguely hinted. Their chance at convincing him she was stronger, that she would survive where Aurora had not, and that she, Emma, could be useful to him, was her prayer of survival and the way in for the rest of them following after - if she could keep up the charade that long.

It had turned her stomach to pretend interest, perhaps even wide-eyed attraction, when Dracula had met her waylaid coach in the darkness the night before - seeming to separate from the shadows so subtly that he must have been part of them. Every fiber of her being had teetered on rebellion at batting her lashes like some ninny and simpering coquettishly to wheedle a welcome into the vampire’s abode - so much so that she had fisted her hands into the fabric of her skirts to keep her fingers from balling up and smashing violently into the creature’s cold-eyed face.

But gain entrance she had, and the ancient being had played a dutiful host, a rich and generous nobleman offering food and shelter to a weary, lost traveler. He had smiled as he asked Emma of herself and what brought her to the area, but the whole time an undercurrent of knowing malice ran between them. He was already aware of her, had allowed her admittance because he wanted her there. Von Stiltskin watched her ever movement avidly - a spider waiting for the hapless, innocent fly to tumble into his web and be ensnared. Just as Emma knew what he was, the Count had been aware of her too, and had already decided she would add nicely to his macabre collection. It was eerie, unsettling knowledge that only served to put her further on edge, though the Count had not shown himself since bidding her adieu near midnight, telling her he was rarely available - “a busy man” - in daylight hours, but to make herself at home.

She had done just that, though certainly not for the sake of simply enjoying fine hospitality. Thankfully, her thoughts were saved from continuing on the same whirling cycle of wondering if the vampire knew exactly what her intentions were, where he might be, and if he watched her from the shadows, even at that very moment. Before her stood a heavy wooden door, solidly barring the passage she had begun to fear unending.

Having come too far at this point to give up, Emma struggled to pull the door open with one hand, not willing to put down the candle and risk its going out - the utter darkness she would be plunged into if that occurred struck sickening fear to her very core. Careful not to wrench too quickly and make more noise than absolutely necessary, the heavy barrier finally began to move as she continued to tug steadily with all her might.

The vault of sorts which greeted Emma beyond the door seemed exactly the sort of hidden nest she had sought. Though she felt her cheeks heat at how pleased and playfully self-satisfied he would be at hearing it, Emma allowed herself a mere moment to savor the image of Killian’s face when she was able to tell him how well he had guided her; it was almost exactly as he had attempted to describe. It might not be proper, but the effect even his image had on her pulse and shivering frame was a comfort there in the nightmare depths.

She moved forward with pure determination and force of will, though her knees trembled beneath her. Feeling for the satchel which hung at her waist, Emma tried to draw strength from the vial of holy water and the communion wafers she knew were stowed within. All was ready. She was ready. She needed only to find and open the coffin which must be von Stiltskin’s, put the emblems within the dirt it contained, and it could no longer house the vampire - his last refuge would be ruined for him.

As the light of her candle illuminated the small space, it was hard to miss the large, ancient-looking casket nearly central in the room on a sort of plinth.

‘Not a bit dramatic,’ Emma grumbled to herself in nervous comment. ‘Not at all.’  Still, she shook herself from the uncertain pause and hurried forward, not about to linger if she needn’t do so.

Having waited until the dusk of evening and for dinner once again to be concluded and for the Count to excuse himself from her presence for the night, Emma had only undertaken this venture when as sure as possible that he must be gone - out hunting or gathering his minions. That hardly made it easier to stand beside the coffin though - feeling more fragile and small than she’d ever had cause to in her life.

Finally, she forced out a tense breath and shoved the lid from the casket, not allowing herself to hesitate a moment longer. Every second she lingered was another second in which she could be discovered.

As the heavy lid fell away, clanging to the stone floor, Emma couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her, horror in every pore of her being. Dracula was there, lying still as Death in the coffin before her. Shock held her rigid in indecision for terrifying moments as her mind tried to process what to do, the other possible plan if given the miraculous opportunity.

Hands shaking, she fumbled for the hidden blade at her thigh, bypassing the elements and hoping to move right to staking the creature before it woke to find its stronghold breached. She raised her hand to strike, aiming to pierce the monster’s heart and paralyze him against any attack until she could manage to sever the head.

But before she could let the blow fall, those inhuman eyes flicked open, a garish sneer on his face as the reptilian eyes froze her in place helplessly. “Oh Miss Swan,” Dracula chided silkily, as one might scold a wayward soul who knew they’d earned their punishment. “You must know better than that. You see, I’ve been expecting you.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The hoofbeats of their horses pounded on the hard ground as the four riders raced desperately along the treacherous pass as quickly as they dared in the rapidly failing light. Night was falling fast, and though they had managed to ruin the numerous hideaways Dracula had planted along his route from ancient castle to the English soil he meant to claim, it still seemed an empty victory until they reached the end of this frantic ride. Only seeing Dracula himself reduced to ash and vanquished forever with absolute certainty would allow any member of the band rest or peace. That the first prong of their attack had been managed, allowed a flicker of hope but little more, as they careened around sharp corners of rocky cliff face and whipped past the grasping fingers of bare branches and thorned hedges; little green lived here, in what seemed a dark waste of gray stone and deathly stillness. Was it merely their horrified fancy, or had the entire region come to resemble its horrid master?

Killian could not bring himself to pull back on his mount’s reins, even as rocks skittered from the edges of the narrow, uneven path as it wound higher, and crashed down the steep incline with disturbing regularity - sharply reminding that their own fall would be no less swift if one step went wrong. Still, the tremor running through his hand clenched tightly on the braided leather leads was not fear for his own safety, or even that of the companions at his side, but the sense that their arrival had already taken far too long for the woman awaiting them. 

The sturdy Andalusian’s dark flanks were flecked with sweat as they at last crested the final winding rise and plunged into a dense copse of gnarled trees. As they left the shadows of the twisted grove minutes later, the grouping thick but not wide, they emerged upon a wide open expanse in the shadow of tall walls surrounding a wide gate on yet another sharp rise. Startlingly close to the Count’s forbidding stronghold at last, nearly on the proverbial doorstep before realizing it.

Killian did pull up then, his horse’s tossed head and the shivering of its coat making even the animal’s unease clear. The courtyard and grounds seemed quiet and deserted before them, but he looked to the other three men for any hesitation, a last warning to be alert and on their guard needless on the tip of his tongue that he swallowed back with effort.

Seeing no hint of hesitation in them either, Killian wheeled around to press onward. His horse had just begun to move again when a sharp jolt nearly wrenched him from his saddle. Searing pain clutched his insides, squeezing his gut until he couldn’t help doubling over his mount’s withers. Blinding light overtook his vision for a moment, and when it receded, he knew. Something had happened to Emma - or was happening even that moment as he struggled to regain his breath. He knew no science, history, or legend of such visceral physical connection, but the knowledge was certain in his blood all the same. They were somehow connected, and he was experiencing her turmoil and fear in his own veins.

Having managed to retain his seat, if only just, Killian charged forward, teeth grit in determination against the quivering in his limbs from the easing onslaught and the pounding of his traitorous heart. Seward, Morris, and Thornswood at his back had never been more welcome than in that moment, his heart gone cold within his chest no matter how hard he tried to steel himself for what awaited.

As they reached the towering doors in the surrounding wall, the entrance into the fortress itself, Killian swung from his horse’s back, pleased to find himself stumbling only slightly upon impact with the ground, his strength returning with every breath. A sharp swat to its flank sent the majestic creature off to safety, Killian musing idly that at least perhaps the Andalusian would survive the night. He was prepared to pry open the door with his bare hands until his fingers bled or beat at the sturdy wood with sticks and stones until he chipped the barrier away, so heedless was his need to get inside and reach Emma Swan before it was too late. Oh aye, he still desired the end of his long-sought foe, and would see it accomplished if it took another unfathomable stretch of years, but there was no hiding the truth from himself any longer. It was more important that Emma Swan lived - that her shining light not be extinguished by the vampire as had so many been before her. She was paramount - and beyond her, little else truly mattered, not in his deepest heart of hearts.

However, though they had all raised their hands or put shoulders to the gates to push, to see if the sturdy boundary could be moved, before they could, the portal shifted and with heavy groan began to move inward of its own volition. That, or it was rolled back dramatically by some powerful unseen force.

It didn’t bod well. Killian looked sideways to Jefferson, brow arched in suspicious query as if to confirm his suspicion. Their quarry knew they had arrived and was granting them entrance. His friend did not hold his gaze long; a stiff nod of agreement, and then his eyes fell with a terrible resignation and turning of his head to hide the expression. If the beast awaiting them wished their approach, what would surely greet them could only be horrendous.

None of that mattered though. Striding forward, the four men entered Dracula’s castle, needing only to step fully into the large entry hall before the thick doors were swung shut behind them with a bang, sealing them within. They could see by the flickering light of candles and torches throughout the wide, high-ceilinged space, but the fading evening’s natural light was held outside by the lack of windows in the stone walls and the heavy draperies concealing what apertures did exist, shielding the vampire from the rays that would burn him irreparably.

Eyes adjusted, all came up short, frozen at the nightmare tableau across the room, glowing a sickening amber and red in the flickering flames that illuminated it for their human sight. Not in the least slowed or phased by discovery, the creature continued what he had been about before their entrance. Held before him as a shield, stood Emma Swan, the vampire’s arms seemingly holding her upright as she slumped frighteningly limp within such firm grasp. Her blonde tresses streamed down her back like a flood of molten gold, but bile clogged Killian’s throat at the sight of the white-pale clawed hand that held it aside to bare her neck. From what he could see of her face, Swan’s eyes were open but unfocused in some sort of trance - though her hands did appear to be raised to push back futilely against von Stiltskin’s chest in hopes of holding him off.

The only thing granting him any sort of relief was the subtle rise and fall of her breast barely visible across the space separating them. She was still breathing, still trying to fight.

And then, as though he had merely been waiting for an audience to his depravity, Dracula sent one evil, calculating look at those who had hoped to defeat him, and bent to sink his fangs into Emma’s flesh.

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

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight

@stahlop @myfearless-love @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @kday426 @lfh1226-linda

@tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @drowned-dreamer

@anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @resident-of-storybrooke @everything-person

@undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm

@donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @revanmeetra87

@goforlaunchcee @laianely @belovedcreation @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

@grimmswan @ultraluckycatnd

[youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat]

Tonight I fucking remembered that I had a whole idea for a Victorian mystery/thriller Jack the Ripper type cs au that I was rlly freakin excited abt but that I put aside to finish other projects first and then completely forgot abt 😑😑😑😑😑😑

[seriouslyhooked]

Just a Taste (A CS AU) Part 4/10

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.

Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here

A/N: Week Four means dessert week for the characters of ‘Just a Taste’, but it also means something fun and light for us readers – a Halloween special that pits all our characters in costumes and by extension, into momentary alter egos. Expect lots of CS fluff and interactions with Emma and her friends that are cute and fun.

To say that the production team had gone over the top for this week’s segment was an understatement, and Emma could do nothing but marvel at the intricacies of the decorations within the big white tent this beautiful Saturday.

All of the foliage and beauty adorning the world outside was brought to life in the contest space as well and then supplemented with tons of festive paraphernalia. Though it was still technically a week before Halloween, the network had decided to highlight the thematic elements and everything was reflecting the holiday right down to the contestants themselves. That’s right - today Emma and the others weren’t just baking… they were baking in costume.

“To have been a fly on the wall during the meeting where they assigned us all these outfits.” Belle’s words reached Emma’s ears as they were all filing into their opening spots for the first shot of the day. Emma had to agree, that the thought process on most of these costumes was bizarre, but she at least had gotten lucky with her getup, some of the other’s hadn’t been as lucky.

“I don’t remember any Disney Princesses having a red dress,” Belle added as she looked Emma over and Emma informed her that she was Princess Buttercup from The Princess Bride. Both Belle’s and Mary Margaret’s faces showed understanding then and they glanced over Emma’s shoulder to Killian.

“That would make our friend Killian a Dread Pirate named Westley.”

Emma nodded, and couldn’t help the bit of a blush that washed across her face. This was another way for production to make it about the two of them being an item, but Emma and Killian could manage. Besides, this was one of Emma’s favorite movies, and Killian looked really good as a pirate. He’d also decided to hijack the costume a little bit in an attempt to remove some of the blatant couple-ness. He’d somehow managed to swipe a hook, presumably from a Peter Pan themed costume in the back, and was wearing a black leather jacket that added a kind of modern edge. All in all, it was working spectacularly well, and every time Emma cast a glance his way, she was thrust into some very dirty fantasies, cameras and lights be damned.

“What is it about me in particular that screams ‘vampire seductress?’” Mary Margaret asked, genuinely curious and expressing a bit of discomfort at her day’s outfit. She looked great, very cool and otherworldly, but it was a strange choice, Emma had to agree.

“Probably the same thing that tells people I would ever want to be a Victorian Era zombie slayer.” Emma muffled her laughter as she looked once more at Belle’s outfit. It’s not that her friend looked bad per se, she just looked so frilly and yet was expected to wield some sort of revolver thing to kill the undead. “I mean how are we supposed to move around in these. At least it’s a baking show and not like a physical race. But still, these sleeves are a fire hazard.”

“How do you think Regina will like Robin’s get up?” Emma asked and the three friends lacked any sort of discretion as they turned to the man in question and acknowledged the biker costume he was currently rocking. It was the complete opposite of his usual single dad, good guy clothes, and honestly, Emma highly suspected their famous female judge would approve.

“Alright everyone, the judges are making their entrances. We of course want honest reactions but…” Tink pushed her glasses further up her nose and fidgeted slightly on her feet.

“But don’t poke too much fun or the Golden Goose’s ego will get tarnished. We know, Tink, no worries. My new Victorian Era alter ego is very aware of how to repress, repress, repress.”

Emma bit back another giggle at Belle’s seemingly never ending sass when under this white tent and Tink smiled, looking a little relieved that it was Belle specifically who said that. With the assurance, the small woman was able to set things in motion for Liam and the judges were brought in donning some really entertaining outfits as well that were no doubt contractually obligated. Granny was currently Sherlock Holmes, Gold was dressed in his usual clothes, but had zombie makeup on (much to Belle’s satisfaction, who whispered something about her first twenty first century zombie kill) and Regina was a fifties girl, with a baby pink sweater, a poodle skirt, and pigtails.

“Oh my God, do you think they did that on purpose?” Mary Margaret whispered about Robin and Regina’s costumes, but Emma shook her head. She doubted that Liam would dare to alienate a judge who was contracted to the show long term for the possible intrigue. It could be really bad for the show if people thought there was something going on between a judge and a contestant during the competition. Besides, why bother more people than his little brother and the woman who loved him?

There’s that word again, Emma thought as she shot a quick look to Killian who merely nodded and gave her a grin. God, that cocky look with the outfit was really going to be trouble for Emma. All of their work to keep their attraction away from the cameras (which wasn’t really working great, since most of the audience was still ‘shipping’ them, whatever that meant) was possibly going to be undone by this outfit alone. If Emma could keep her hands off of that leather, she would deserve a serious reward.  

“Bakers, welcome to week Four of our Bake Off which as you know is Dessert week. As you’ve no doubt gathered we’re changing things up. Some shows are going green, but we’ve gone scream.” The terrible pun from Graham got a load of groans from contestants and judges alike that was probably exactly what the writer’s had wanted. Still, it was Ruby’s reaction, scripted or otherwise, that took the cake. She patted him gently on the arm, a little condescending, something that was only amplified since she was rocking a killer Wonder Woman costume.

“Alright honey, no need to hurt yourself. You, me, and the American public can all agree, I say the punch lines and you keep looking pretty…” And boy did he ever. Graham looked less like the lumberjack that he was attempting to be and more like a 3-D version of some hot male model from those calendars that killed with housewives. “Now let’s get to it. Today’s starter challenge is to make a molten dessert, however you may like. All that you need to have is a baked outer crust and something ooey and gooey in the center. The rest we leave to you.”

“Bakers, if you will please man your stations,” Graham instructed.

They all made their way swiftly to their spots, and when they did, Ruby and Graham gave the official count down setting them all off on their way to creating their first Halloween treat of the day. For Emma, this first round was an old faithful, one that always served her well in the past – triple chocolate molten brownies. She was only making one notable change to the recipe, and that was to temper her own white chocolate so she could color it orange. That counted as Halloween themed right? It would have to.

The morning’s bake went by pretty well with no noticed sabotages from a more subdued Catherine (who was dressed as what Emma was guessing was a drunk starlet or a spring breaker who had seen better days). Still, when the group stood in front of the judges, tensions were high. Melted centers were not an easy thing to come by, and a baker ran all sorts of risks when they tried to make one. The sauce could melt into the cake or cookie base itself if cooked too long or at too high a temperature (as it had with Lance’s blackberry filled vanilla cake), but could also stay too thick to be considered melted (like with David’s caramel confection). Today, both outcomes were unacceptable.  

“I thought the hosts made it pretty clear that we were looking for a melted substance, Mr. Nolan, not a pudding. Do you know the difference?” Gold spat out.

David bristled only slightly at the words before grinning at Gold and giving a joking reply that if a lawyer knew how to do anything it was spin. Maybe he hadn’t achieved the objectives of the challenge, but he’d challenge anyone to go against him on taste. When Granny and Regina sided with him on that, Emma could have sworn Gold went red, even if it wasn’t visible from underneath the crazy costume makeup he was wearing.

The judges moved on, taking note of all the remaining bakes, and while Emma’s was definitely a hit, it was Belle’s mini monster skillet cookies that stole the show. Filled with peanut butter sauce, and composed of a dough base that incorporated oats, chocolate chunks, m&ms and about another dozen treats, they were delicious, and definitely on Halloween theme. Emma had managed to steal one of the left over cookies and was mid mind-blowing bite when Killian came up beside her.

“Seems I’ve missed out on the morning’s favorite.”

The gravel in his voice only further fueled the charge between them and shot straight to Emma’s heart. The lilt in his voice had her whole body reverberating with warmth. She did something that he didn’t expect though and smiled, offering to share her mini skillet with him. Handing him an extra spoon, she invited him to try a bit, and though she was glad he liked it, she was a little jealous at the sound that came past his lips when he tasted the treat. She kind of only wanted him to make that noise for her baking, or her in general.

“That good, huh?” Killian licked his lips playfully but then pulled closer, so close that his whispered words left a warm air tickling Emma’s ear and setting another flutter coursing through her.

“Everything tastes this good to a starving man, and I have neither had the spoils of your baking, or my hands on you this morning. I am by all definition’s, starving.”

Emma thought back to last night, and regretted the second part of his statement. She had missed him, but they’d decided to cool it, if just for one night since the town’s influx of tourists were watching eagerly to see if they were or were not a couple. The whole town knew of course, but thanks to their loyalty, it hadn’t leaked to the larger public, at least not yet. Honestly, though, Emma didn’t give a damn if they did find out, it wasn’t worth spending her nights away from Killian.

“I think the drought should end, don’t you?” Emma grinned wickedly and the hope in Killian’s eyes was so apparent it almost made Emma feel bad for reaching past and offering him one of her brownies. The way his face fell had Emma wanting to reach out and kiss him, but instead she played with the hook on his hand. That was innocent enough right? Then, sure that there were no cameras trained on her face she whispered: “Tonight, my house.”

With that, Killian made another sound of vigorous approval of Emma’s brownies and was off, back to his own station, leaving Emma alone once more for only a moment until the hosts were speaking to them once more and instructing them on what today’s test would be.

Their task this week was a tiramisu cake from Regina that required not only precision in the face of all of the redacted instruction, but also working with chocolate to design suitable Halloween inspired adornments.  When the bell rang for them to get started, Emma immediately moved through the parts of the recipe she knew. She’d made this treat before a few times, and while she wasn’t an expert, some things she definitely remembered, like how the slices of cake needed to be extremely thin, and how they all needed to be soaked in the coffee/espresso mix.

“You know, Emma, if they decide to hand out extra points at the end of all this for the person who gets the least mess on their costume, you just might win.” Ruby’s compliment as she made her way to Emma’s station with Graham and a cameraman made Emma smile a bit and then look down at her red dress. It was in fact, still pristine, and without the assistance of an apron or anything. Quickly, Emma took a look around to the others, and realized that the same couldn’t be said for many of the others. Lance and Belle in particular both seemed to be struggling with that objective.

“I hardly think they’d take that into account, but here’s hoping right?”

“Speaking of costumes, you are the iconic Princess Buttercup from The Princess Bride. Are you a fan of the story?” Emma bit her lip at Graham’s comment but nodded and responded that she was. “For those of our viewers who might not know, the story centers on a princess and a stable-boy turned pirate who fall in love.”

“Well there’s a lot more to the story than that, but yeah that’s a big part of it.”

“Funny that one of our other characters then is dressed like the pirate from that story.” Emma felt a blush creep to her cheeks but then looked past the judges to Killian and tried to put forth a jesting vibe.

“Really, I think that’s a pretty loose interpretation of Westley.” Ruby, who had tensed up a bit at Graham’s question chimed in.

“Yeah, I mean really what we’re looking at is a hot Captain Hook. If there were no perms and waxed mustaches, and a new found affinity for leather of course.” Emma grinned at that and looked back to Graham.

“Can’t really argue with that assessment, and since there is no hot Captain Hook in The Princess Bride…” Emma trailed off.

“You both realize that all I’d have to do is steal that hook from Killian, and your argument would be out the window,” Graham professed and Emma and Ruby looked at each other and both shrugged.

“You could try that, but if I know anything about our town’s newest citizen, it’s that he’s not likely to let a pretty boy lumberjack like yourself steal anything of his.”

Before either of them could understand fully what was happening though, Graham made a sprint to Killian’s table as if to get the item in question, but with grace and poise, Killian picked up the hook from it’s spot on his table and quickly put it back on.

“Ah, Graham, you should know better than to mess with a man’s hook.” Graham was a little out of breath but he smirked back.

“To be fair, you’re an architect, so I wasn’t anticipating you’d have such a sense of pirate duty.”

“And that, my friend, is why you’ve come up short.”

Emma could hear the interaction between the two of them and was standing with Ruby, holding back laughter but this was the last straw. Both women were now giggling, and even though Emma should really be working on her bake, she couldn’t seem to care. That lack of desire to retreat only increased when Killian turned to Emma and winked.

“Something new to add to the ‘things I didn’t know about myself’ list…” Ruby began, “I am weirdly into Captain Hook.”

Emma shook her head and laughed once more before forcibly removing Ruby from her station so she could get back to her bake. As it was, the distraction didn’t take too much time away form Emma’s ability to present something to the judges, but still, there was no denying that the scene that had just unraveled would be heavily featured on the next episode. Emma intended for that to be the only bit of ‘will they / won’t they’ footage this weekend, so she threw herself back into the competition head first, only coming back up for air when the timer buzzed once more.

“Alright everyone, time is up, time is up! Bring your bakes forward and await your fate. Muahahaha.” Ruby’s evil laugh was something Emma had heard once or twice before, but clearly very few of the others ever had, including Graham, who for a moment was nearly paralyzed with a mixture of shock and fear.

“Remind me not to cross Ruby, because I would happily live the rest of my days never hearing that again.” Killian’s comment pulled a smug grin from Ruby who then flipped her hair.

“My favorite’s her wolf howl,” Mary Margaret said with a smile on her face. “It sends chills down your spine it’s so real.”

“Perhaps another time, I think Graham’s scared enough as it is.” David’s comment had all the contestants and Ruby alike looking to their other host, who was indeed a little paler than he had been a moment before.

“Right – well… we’re kind of on a schedule here people, so let’s get going.” Graham’s not so graceful segue was still humorous, but everyone had mercy and kept from laughing and soon enough the desire to do so was gone as one by one the judges filed in. On the plates before them there was a real assortment of styles for a tiramisu, some were far and away better than others (like Tiana’s that not only had perfectly even layers, but amazing skeleton chocolate work) while others lacked any sort of cohesion.

“This one looks like it was hit by a truck and then someone attempted to put it back together.”

Gold’s harsh censure was over the top because it didn’t look that bad, but tiramisu was actually drooping all through the middle, and there was some excess liquid leaking out on the side. Lance though seemed pretty indifferent to the scrutiny. Maybe it was his background as a sheriff’s deputy, but Emma gathered it was more his personality.

Lance Knight was a force to be reckoned with, sure of himself in a kind and quiet way and Emma had heard him openly dislike very few people. Gold though, was one of those few, and when Emma ran into Lance during the past week, he’d called the man big headed and cold hearted. To Lance, owning a successful baking restaurant empire meant nothing if Gold was a bad guy. Though Emma couldn’t say for certain, she would bet that Lance was thinking along similar lines right now and that was why he didn’t care about the criticism.

“I think this cake suffers from a lack of uniformity, though I would say the tastes are there. People underestimate the difficulty of layering a cake like this. It’s not for the faint of heart.” Regina’s words though not complimentary were also understanding and far warmer than gold’s while Granny simply shook her head looking at the sight before her.

“Maybe they do things differently outside of Storybrooke, but around here, if someone brought that to a party, we’d all still eat it. Don’t matter the look of a thing. It smells good, tastes good, and someone worked hard to make it for us. That’s enough for me.”

On and on they went down the line, until finally ranking the bakes. Unsurprisingly Tiana came in first with Emma and Mary Margaret close behind, while the bottom of the bunch included Lance, David and Catherine. Once the judging had commenced, the cameras were shut off, the production for the day broken down some and all of the contestants were allowed to finally take off their costumes.

Emma had never been so glad to take of an outfit in her life as she was with this dress, but there was something niggling at the back of her mind. She would have really, truly enjoyed getting to take the hot pirate costume off of Killian. She couldn’t put her finger on why, all she knew was that Killian in all black with a little more edge and a dab more danger was really working for her. Needless to say then, that when she left the confines of the big white tent for the day and found Killian wearing black jeans, a black tee and that same leather jacket, with his hair ruffled from the slight breeze and that glimmer of desire in his eyes, Emma was very excited.

“You cut quite the figure in that dress today, Swan.” Killian said as he took her hand in his and Emma leaned into it, coming to stand closer with him.

“You didn’t look so bad yourself.” He chuckled at that and brought his other hand to her hip, pulling her closer so she was flush against him.

“Come now love. There are no secrets between us. You and I both know you rather liked the look of me as a pirate.” Emma gulped, her throat suddenly dry and her body practically pulsating with need.

“I more than liked it actually. I’ve had ideas of your potential pirate tendencies since week one, if you remember.” Her words hung between them as she brought her own hand up to trace the place where his open jacket met the thin cotton beneath and she watched his muscles tense under the perusal of her fingertips.

“Emma, love, I highly recommend that you let me take you home, for try as I might, I hardly think I can resist you much longer.” Emma pressed her lips to his ever so softly and just as he was about to deepen the kiss she pulled back, smiling.

“Then lead the way, Captain.”

The low growl that came from Killian as he made their way back to his car filled Emma with a rush of emotions that made her almost dizzy. In this moment she felt both incredibly turned on and undeniably happy, something that always seemed to come hand in hand when she was with Killian. It was this divine swirl of emotions that had that small internal voice whispering about love once more, and though she didn’t say the words, she truly did feel that she loved Killian, most ardently.

………………

The next night, after another full day of filming, Emma and Killian were together once more, this time with some of their friends, trying to decompress after a long day. Their Sunday had been anything but relaxing, and among those in attendance at tonight’s impromptu gathering was Lance, the person who the judges had decided to send home. Where others in the past had been saddened or disappointed though, Lance was only relieved. Though he couldn’t tell anyone his fate until after the episode aired, he seemed eager to let everyone know.

“The guys at work have been teasing me mercilessly, and in all honesty, I wasn’t cut out for a world where everyone knows my business. Besides, now I’ll never have to see Gold aside from the finals, and God willing he won’t come anywhere near those of us who were disqualified.” They all raised a glass to that, for it would definitely be a positive of leaving this race early.

“I really did think Robin was going to punch him in the face earlier though.” Mary Margaret’s comment was agreed to across the room, for in the final moments of judging, Gold had made a tasteless remark about Regina when she complimented Robin’s donut display, and Robin had all but spit out a cutting remark about good manners and how to speak to a lady.

“Can you imagine a fight breaking out under that tent today though? They made the challenge ‘Dawn of the Doughnuts’ and if Robin had thrown that punch, you know all hell would have broken loose.” Emma looked at Belle and smiled.

“And by ‘all hell,’ you mean you would have been chucking doughnuts, loving the excuse for a food fight.” Belle considered for a moment and then nodded.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

The others laughed, and Emma appreciated the way that their long, grueling day was ebbing away through the laughter and banter of her friends. Equally helpful though was that she was currently wrapped up with Killian on the couch, his arm around her waist, and her head tucked into his chest. She felt warm and happy and safe and that was definitely something to be thankful for.

“I’m just glad that the whole costume element is behind us,” David said and Emma could understand that.

While yesterday’s football player ensemble had been easy enough, David had been selected for the part of Prince Charming on today’s set. While he’d looked dapper, and Emma had noticed the appreciative glances of Mary Margaret to him more than once, it also looked pretty stiff, and as soon as the cameras were away (and even a little before) David had been adamant that the outfit was itchy. He now had the red scratches along his arms and legs to prove it too.

“No worries, knowing my brother there are bound to be more forms of torture in store.”

Emma felt Killian tense even as he made the joke to the others. While their friends laughed, Emma could tell Killian was a bit sensitive about his brother’s actions during the filming. Killian originally believed that Liam would be sticking to the no-drama, limited personal expose feel of the original franchise. With each passing week, that hope was tarnished more and more and when the episodes themselves aired, it was clear that the focus was on getting people invested in contestants instead of in the show and the food. Still, while that was frustrating, it was workable, and in a few more weeks, this would all be behind them. For now though, Emma ran her thumb across Killian’s knuckles as a gesture of support and he bent down to kiss her on the crown of her head.

“I still can’t believe he stole six of Emma’s left over donuts! I wanted one, they were fantastic.” As she said the words, Ruby looked as if Liam had made the gravest of offenses by grabbing the remaining half dozen of Emma’s ‘Charlie Brown Sugar and Great Pumpkin’ doughnuts. Maybe if Ruby had been denied a doughnut, Emma would understand, but Ruby had eaten three of the treats herself.

“They were so good! I couldn’t believe you didn’t win star baker.”

Lance’s words were touching, for as someone who didn’t often eat the baked goods Emma made, he was almost an untested pallet. In the end though, Emma had been thwarted for the top spot by Tiana and that was more than okay with her. Tiana had grand ideas of opening her own café some day, and winning this could make all the difference for her. For Emma, it would just be a display dish in her home. There would be no quitting the day job she loved to bake full time.

“Emma will rally, make no mistake of that.” Emma shoved playfully at Killian’s arm for his comment but still smiled. When their eyes caught once more, the teasing fizzled out and was replaced by a spark of attraction that set in her chest and wouldn’t let go.

“That’s probably true. But not tonight, I’m beat.” It was easily the most transparent excuse to get out of there so she could be alone with Killian, but Emma stuck to her guns, and rose from her seat. Not a second passed and Killian was rising with her.

“Allow me to escort you home, love.” The silky smooth tone of his words made Emma shiver even as she heard Ruby’s muttered joke.

“I think it went without saying that he was taking her home.”

Belle nearly spit out her drink and Emma barely bit back her own laughter. In the past something like that might have embarrassed her, but with Killian it really didn’t, for even if she didn’t want all of America knowing about their relationship, she definitely wanted to tell their own little world of people. Quickly Emma bent down to her friend and whispered back.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have your own pirate… but I bet if you called a certain lumberjack, he wouldn’t mind taking you home either.”

Ruby turned the same shade as her namesake and Emma knew she had stumbled upon a budding attraction. What Ruby would or wouldn’t do about it, was up to her friend. For Emma, the path was clear – always follow your heart, and by extension, always follow the love. So she did just that, and it led her, unsurprisingly into Killian’s waiting arms.

Post-Note: So, I toyed with the idea of having the story earn its M rating this week and then opted to save it for a later date. I have an emotional trajectory for the story (trust me, it stays fluffy) and earning the M makes sense about two chapters from now. Until then, hope you guys are satisfied with the plethora of desserts and the banter back and forth of our characters this week. I also want to thank you guys so much for your continued support and enthusiasm for the story. It means a lot that so many people are responding to the fic, and I hope you all continue to enjoy! Until next time!

[fairytalegf]

Congrats on hitting 1K!!!! You're awesome and you deserve every single one of them and more! For a book rec, I just started reading Throne of Glass by Sara Maas and I'm LOVING it so far. Oh and I'd love a blog rate please!

omg thanks so much justine

color - lilac || midnight blue || peach || silver || seafoam || crimson || magenta || emerald

flower - white rose || sunflower || violet || daisy || snapdragon || tiger lily || poppy || cherry blossom || tulip

creature - mermaid || fairy || trickster || siren || phoenix || god || angel || dragon || succubus || valkyrie || ghost || nymph || elf

location - castle || island || city || outer space || mountaintop || meadow || ocean || forest

era - antiquity || middle ages || renaissance || regency || victorian || roaring twenties || contemporary

space - stars || moon || sun || mercury || venus || earth || mars || jupiter || saturn || uranus || neptune

scent - pine || grass || chocolate || citrus || baking bread || rain || vanilla || mint || old books

season - summer || autumn || winter || spring

compliment: you’re really pretty and i love your fics so much! (roses of yesterday is so precious i cry - also your ten things i hate about you cs au 👌👌)

want one?

[joycerixxa-blog]

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Cancer Council Australia. 2017. Smoking - Cancer Council Australia. [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.cancer.org.au/preventing-cancer/smoking-and-tobacco/smoking.html. [Accessed 16 May 2017].

 Tobacco smoking (AIHW) . 2017. Tobacco smoking (AIHW) . [ONLINE] Available at: http://www.aihw.gov.au/risk-factors/tobacco-smoking/. [Accessed 16 May 2017].

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