#csbb 1018

[mayquita]

Pictures of Reality  - Prologue

Summary: Emma Swan returns to her birthplace, Storybrooke, in search of a fresh start after a life marked by abandonment and betrayal. After a year there, she finds the stability she needed and also the possibility of learning about one of her passions, photography. Killian Jones, a former British war reporter with a tragic past, establishes himself in the same town as an instructor of photography, following in the footsteps of his best friends, the Nolans. What will happen when their paths cross? Will their common passion for photography help them heal old wounds?

Rating: M (Language, mature themes, implied sex)

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, mentions of the loss of a limb in an armed conflict

Other ships / Characters: Although, obviously, this is a cs fic, Snowing plays a major role here, mainly David. In fact, the story contains three different points of view, those of Emma, Killian and David. Also, Henry appears in the story as Regina's adopted son but he is not Emma's biological son.

Beta: @jarienn972 , thank you so much for all your help, your suggestions and your support throughout these months.

Artist / art: @imagnifika  I can’t wait for everyone to discover the wonderful art that Kate has created for this story. It's amazing how she has been able to capture the essence of this fic. Thank you so much for your effort and for offering your talent to my story. / Art for the prologue

Word count: ~ 5500 (116k total in 16 chapters)

Also on: Ao3 / Ffnet  Tumblr: Prologue Chapter 1

A/N: This is my contribution to the Captain Swan Big Bag Challenge this year. I still can’t believe it but it's finally happening! This story is so important to me on so many levels that I can’t even express it with words. I got the inspiration for this fic more than two years ago and even wrote some sections, but I didn’t continue with it until the CSBB event offered me this opportunity. Writing it has been a complete challenge for me throughout these months and an almost perpetual struggle. Even after the penultimate check-in, when my life turned upside down, I almost gave up. Fortunately, I was able to continue and edit it in time to offer it to all of you. My first complete CS fic, my first complete story ever.

@saraswans , you know better than anyone what all this means to me and. I'd like to express my gratitude to you, my savior. There is part of you here and I'm sure that without your ideas and your continued support and encouragement this wouldn't be happening. THANK YOU! Thanks also to @suwya and @lenfaz for your encouragement an to the moderators for making this possible. It has been totally worth it. And don't forget to check the rest of the amazing csbb stories!

Are you ready for a journey full of angst, love and lots of pictures? Here we go...

PROLOGUE

Killian Jones. A nameless town under an armed conflict. Two years ago

This was the bloody end of the world.

Killian should be used to it already. His camera had captured countless anonymous people, wandering aimlessly through the streets of ravaged villages after so many of these absurd attacks. Their eyes, the reflection of despair, helplessness, and confusion. Why us? What crime we have committed to suffer this punishment? They seemed to ask him without needing to utter words. Being born in the wrong place, he was always tempted to respond. His lips remained sealed, though.

But this? This was hell come to Earth.

He was crammed into one of the shelters set up for the few international journalists who were reckless —or suicidal — enough to stay in a country that was falling apart. The only sound that accompanied them in these long minutes were the bombs falling over the town, destroying everything in their path.

The waiting always became eternal, especially because his thoughts took advantage of those moments of tense silence to torment him, reminding him that at least he was safe, while others - those who remained on the surface - were not so lucky. The pull of such guilt, firmly settled in the pit of his stomach, was a constant in these situations and today wasn't going to be any different. Other equally disturbing thoughts invaded him as well. He didn't stop wondering why he kept accepting to cover these increasingly dangerous missions. Because you have nothing to lose anymore, he thought while bitterness washed over him. Because someone has to be the voice of these innocent people, corrected himself.

After what seemed like hours, though it probably only lasted a few minutes, a shrill siren announced the end of the attack. The danger had passed - for now. However, his colleagues still seemed reluctant to leave the shelter. It was understandable, although all these journalists were fearless people, their reactions to these traumatic events could become unpredictable. This wasn't his case. He had the ability to keep his mind cold, especially because now that the attack was over, it was time to show the world what its consequences had been. So, ignoring the disapproving look of his teammate, he went out into the street, camera in hand.

His courage was challenged the moment he came to the surface. An oppressive atmosphere enveloped him in the form of a thick dust, while the smell of destruction filtered through his nostrils. The sirens of the emergency services, the only sound that reached his ears at the beginning. Gradually, when the villagers began to leave their makeshift shelters, the sound of the sirens was muffled by the screams and desperate cries of people searching for their families among the rubble.

The sensation of hell increased, as did his urge to run away, to seek refuge in his hotel room and take the first flight that would take him away from this damn war.

Killian gripped the camera, feeling his stomach tighten into knots. He could not let himself be carried away by helplessness and fear, not now. He clenched his jaw with determination, ignoring his urge to run. Instead, he started walking, looking for the effects of the destruction.

He spotted the first people a few steps away. A woman held a little baby in her arms, while two other small children clung to her legs with terrified expressions on their little faces. He approached them with tentative steps, making sure his press badge was clearly visible, while raising his hands in peace.

"Are you okay? Do you need something?" He tried to make himself understood, accompanying his words with gestures of his hands. The woman gave him a sad smile while shaking her head. The menacing tentacles of helplessness crept over him, coming dangerously close to his heart. The look that one of the children gave him, the girl who seemed to be the oldest, did nothing to alleviate his uneasiness. It was a look he knew very well - her eyes still hiding vestiges of childhood innocence, and a glimmer of hope that had not yet vanished altogether. He felt the need to do something to maintain that glimmer for a while. "Are you thirsty?" He offered, as he pulled a bottle of water out of his bag. Before accepting, the girl made sure to have her mother's permission.

"We're looking for my father." Killian was surprised to hear the girl answer, speaking in English, after passing the bottle to the other child, her brother, he supposed.

"How can I help you?"

The girl shrugged, while her lips trembled slightly. He offered her his hand, and the girl tentatively accepted it at first and then clung to it with more force. They didn't have to walk much. Luck had not completely abandoned this town or this family, after all, because in a few minutes a man hurried to them while screaming. Only then did the girl release his hand and run to the one Killian assumed was her father. He contemplated for a moment the family reunion, with a mixture of feelings - relieved, because this family was going to have a new opportunity, but impotent at the same time, because maybe tomorrow they would not have so much luck.

The events of the day had managed to drain all his strength and an extreme tiredness seized him, making it almost impossible to keep walking. Just as he was about to turn around in the direction of his hotel, the man approached him and offered his hand with a small bow in gratitude. He swallowed hard, pressing his lips together in a tight line, feeling shame overtake him. How could this man thank him when all he had done was offer a bottle of water and hold the hand of a little girl? As if that were not enough, the man pointed to the camera, asking him with gestures to take a picture. He had no choice but to accept, nodding in silence as he placed his camera in position and immortalized the bittersweet moment, a family celebrating a reunion amid chaos and destruction.

Just as he started to walk, a whistling sound through the air activated his sense of alert. After so many years in the line of fire, he had learned to recognize these sounds as the prelude to an impact. Instinctively, he threw himself to the ground, protecting the camera against his chest, while his body curled into a ball. The last thought that crossed his mind before everything went black, was that he hoped that the family he had just helped had gone far enough. His death would have been in vain otherwise. Then, nothing.

David Nolan. London, two years ago

"You're scaring me, David, what is it? What's wrong?" His wife knew him well. Although he had tried to maintain a neutral expression, Mary Margaret had only needed a glance at his face to know that the call he had just received did not bring good news.

The words repeated in his mind as a continual reminder, digging a hole in his heart and filling it with guilt and frustration. This should not have happened, he should not have allowed him to be part of this suicidal mission. The news, despite being devastating, had not surprised him. Deep down, he feared that something like this would happen sooner or later, but even so, the idea of confessing it to his wife, weighed like a slab on his shoulders.

David gave her a contrite look as he tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. Somehow, she knew it, because when their gazes met her eyes widened in horror as she put a hand to her chest. "It's Killian, isn't it?" She muttered. David could only nod in silence. "Is he... dead?"

"No, he's alive." David hastened to reassure his wife, approaching her and rubbing both her arms to try to give her some comfort. Once the initial shock was over, he forced himself to bury the thoughts that tormented him and instead focused on the most important thing, bringing Killian back home. "He is alive." David repeated it aloud in an attempt to convince himself. "He's been taken to one of the hospitals, he's safe now. We..." He pressed his lips together before continuing, looking for his wife's gaze. He needed her support here. "He only has us. I have to go, Mary Margaret, and make sure I bring him back." A wave of determination washed over him, as his stomach tightened into knots and his hands curled into fists.

"Sure, of course! Go and bring him back home, David." Her voice sounded almost like a plea, which caused his determination to increase. David nodded firmly, while Mary Margaret’s lips curled into a watery smile. They had already lost too many people in their lives that no matter how hard Killian engaged in that self-destructive spiral, they were not going to let him leave them that easily.

Emma Swan. Boston, fourteen months ago

Maybe it was chance. Maybe it was destiny. The truth was that she was not looking for it, but the name appeared, as if calling her, in bold letters in the middle of the newspaper's job offers page. She wasn't even looking for a new job. She was just bored, in a waiting room, waiting to be seen by her doctor at a routine checkup. The newspaper was the first in a pile on the table in front of her. And that's how she found it. Storybrooke.

Personal Assistant of the Mayor of Storybrooke, job description.

We are looking for a master multi-tasker with excellent communication skills and an upbeat attitude. Candidates should be able to assist management and all visitors to the town hall by handling office tasks, providing polite and professional assistance via phone, mail, and e-mail, and generally being a helpful and positive presence in the workplace. In addition, an absolute dedication will be required for any demand from the mayor. In compensation, we will provide you with adequate accommodation in the town, Storybrooke, and economic reward for any event that involves working more hours than stipulated as usual.

Storybrooke. Her birthplace. And one of the few vestiges that she kept of her origin. A place and a knitted blanket with her name embroidered. And a hole in her heart every time she thought about it.

She knew little of the town, having spent only her first hours of life there. According to the records she still kept, Emma was adopted shortly after her birth and moved to Boston, to the residence of the Swans, which would be her home for the next three years. She had a happy life for three years. Or at least that's what she wanted to think. The truth was that when her adoptive parents died, she was still so small or so shocked by the loss, that any memory of that time was removed from her mind. She kept only a few photos from those years, pictures of a happy, smiling little girl, a person she was unable to identify with.

Her ordeal had begun the moment she entered the system after the death of her adoptive parents, with an incessant march of foster parents to group homes, new foster families, new group homes until finally, when she turned seventeen, she got tired and ran away.

She had never felt the need to return to her birthplace, too busy trying to survive first and then rebuilding her life after serving a sentence in prison for a crime she had not committed. At least that was what she told herself. But sometimes she would ask herself questions that she was afraid to know the answer to. Would her parents still live there? What would the house in which her mother spent her months of pregnancy be like? Would she have a sibling walking the streets of the town? Or maybe Storybrooke was just a fluke? A point on the map where her parents had to stop when the time of her birth arrived? Maybe they followed later, moving their lives away from there. Either way, she would never have answers to those questions, because she had no intention of returning there. Never.

That had been her premise for the following years. That name, and with it, her past, hidden in the deepest recesses of her mind, as if that town had never existed. Until just that moment when the word appeared before her eyes, tempting, like the song of a mermaid calling a sailor.

She fell into the net. The old questions, long forgotten, surfaced, while she was unable to look away. Would this be a signal? An indication that the time to return had arrived? A chance to find answers to all those questions?

Her weary mind implored her with silent cries to close the newspaper and leave it on the table again. Her heart, on the other hand, tightened in her chest, while her fingers tingled as they slid through the words.

In the end, her heart was the winner. Despite not possessing any of the required skills — she was just a bail bonds person, looking for people and earning her reward when she found them — she sneakily cut out the newspaper sheet that contained the offer and put it in her purse.

Later, in the shelter of her apartment, Emma forced herself to block any negative thoughts, acting mechanically, while starting a small investigation about Storybrooke, the town hall and its mayor. She also found the job offer on the internet. She only had a brief instant of hesitation, closing her eyes for a moment as her heart pounded hard in her chest. After exhaling deeply, she did not think about it anymore; she filled out the necessary data and almost without realizing it, applied for the job.

After two weeks, when she had almost forgotten about it, she received the call that would change her life. Emma had gotten a job interview. Although she tried to restrain it, a thought settled in her mind - a continual reminder: She was coming home.

Emma Swan. Storybrooke, Present Day - November 4, 2017

The sun was still far from appearing when Emma woke up that Saturday morning, finding her bedroom dimly lit. She snuggled up, seeking shelter between the sheets of her bed as she closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by what the rest of her senses captured.

Cold. The first days of November had brought an almost polar cold, causing her to use two blankets if she wanted to get to sleep. Damn this old building with high ceilings and difficulty to be heated conveniently.

Silence. That was usual in her apartment, since she lived alone. It was also one of the advantages of living in a town as small as Storybrooke. Or maybe that was not so much an advantage as a torture. Under this oppressive silence, her thoughts wandered freely, pressing in an almost constant company.

Because it did not matter where and when, it did not matter that since she returned to Storybrooke, the weight she had always carried over her shoulders had been lightened. Her ghosts from the past were always with her, hovering, as a continual reminder that, no matter how many people were around her, she would always be a lost child. No family or anyone to care about her. You have made friends, her inner voice hastened to remind her. Only acquaintances, no one to trust enough to make the protective walls around her heart disappear. Well, maybe someone, she reminded herself - Ruby, Graham and that little boy, Henry, whom she had clung to as a kind of lifeline that first day here, the day that her life would change.

Emma buried those thoughts in the most hidden corner of her mind. Today was not a day to let her demons torment her. Today was the day when something new and exciting would start. Do not look back, always forward, she repeated her mantra with determination.

Hungry. It was still too early to have breakfast. But the nerves had that effect on her, causing an impulsive craving, a need to ingest any sweet and greasy food. And it was undeniable, Emma was nervous. So freaking nervous.

The nerves had already settled in the pit of her stomach from the moment she had received the camera as a birthday present along with a photography course, although she had managed to keep them at bay by staying as busy as possible during these two weeks. But today, the wait had finished and in a few hours, she would attend the first class of that course so nerves had made their appearance again. She needed a bear claw — or two — and a hot chocolate to try to placate them.

It should not be such a big deal, she tried to convince herself as she crawled out of bed and headed towards the kitchen. It was just a course for amateurs, just a way to learn how to operate the camera and spend an entertaining time every Saturday. She had not even bothered to inquire about the person who would teach that course. According to Ruby, he was a hottie, but considering that Ruby found almost everyone sexy, male or female, that had not worked as motivation.

Who was she kidding? Of course, it was a big deal. Maybe not for others, but for her. For the first time in a long time — ever — she felt that she had the opportunity to learn, to do something that totally motivated her, something she had wanted since she was a little girl and had seen for the first time how a Polaroid camera worked. Photography was the medium she had found to express herself, to shout to the world what she was like - how she felt, how she thought. She believed firmly in the power of the image, in the frozen reality captured in an instant.

Maybe that's why her Instagram account had achieved relative success. Her photos were honest, they showed reality without filters, and also showed everyone who followed her the beauty of the little details. But she needed more. It was as if a pull of creativity wanted to venture outside, but she could not find the channel to express it correctly. That was why this course and the possibilities offered were so important to her. She could not fail, not this time.

Since her social skills were not her most outstanding characteristic, she needed to make at least a good impression on a physical level. After all, despite her numerous insecurities, she could not deny her physical attractiveness and knew how to exploit it in her favor. It had already served her when she worked as a bail bonds person, and although here, in Storybrooke, she no longer needed it, her years of practice were not so easily forgotten. Maybe for that reason she spent more time than necessary in front of the mirror, trying to decide the most appropriate outfit. Finally, she opted for a creamy sweater that fitted perfectly to her curves, tight jeans and her inseparable red leather jacket, her protective shield.

"Dammit!" Emma almost shouted when she realized that she was late, so she hurriedly finished preparing, grabbed her purse and camera and shot out towards the exit, hoping that the traffic, usually quiet in town, did not decide to generate a traffic jam today. Before leaving, though, Emma remembered something.

She placed her camera on the coffee table, making sure that the light was right from that angle, took the phone out of her pocket and, after making the necessary adjustments, she shot.

TheLadySwan I’m starting today a new journey that will take me to know more about this exciting world of photography. During the next twelve weeks I’m going to learn how to use this little gadget. So, what do you say? Join me on this journey?

  Killian Jones. Storybrooke, Present Day - November 4, 2017

Killian woke up the moment the first rays of sun filtered through his window. His years as a war reporter had had that effect on him, his senses were always alert to any change, no matter how subtle it was, he always was prepared to run avoiding danger.

He did not react at first, his mind still dull by the effects of sleep. Little by little, he began to become aware of what awaited him this morning, increasing his desire to go back to sleep and not wake up for at least another five hours. A sigh of frustration escaped his mouth as he run his hand through his hair, mussing it even further. Any motivation to start that bloody course had disappeared almost at the very instant his friend David had suggested the idea.

However, he knew that David was right - he needed to start over. Staying in England kept him too tied to his memories.

Still, he didn’t know if he would be able...

Killian stayed in bed, raising his left arm to look at the scar-covered stump, a continual reminder of how much he lost. Before his world had threatened to collapse once again, he was already aware that most people who lost a limb of their body still continued to feel it for a while. They even suffered real pain caused by the phantom limb. It was not strange to witness these cases when you worked on the battlefield, surrounded by soldiers. But nothing had prepared him to experience it in his own flesh. Even today, two years later, there were times when he felt that strange pain, a continuous reminder of the lost limb that still tormented him in spite of the time elapsed.

To make his situation even more pathetic, he hadn’t yet accepted the prosthesis he was forced to wear - a poor substitute made of metal and plastic, incredibly useless to make him feel anything, his own touch gone forever.

He rubbed his eyes with his right hand in an attempt to eliminate those negative thoughts, or at least keep them under the surface for a while, enough to properly start his new project.

After a deep exhalation, Killian finally decided to get up and start his daily routine, the same one he’d repeated since he arrived at Storybrooke four weeks ago.

Meanwhile, he did not stop thinking about what he might find this morning when he started classes. He knew, from his previous experiences, that most of the students who attended this type of courses did so to learn how to handle a complex camera or simply because they wanted to get the most out of their device to make family portraits or photos of nature. Killian could teach more professional courses, but what really satisfied him was finding a hidden gem in some lost town, someone with as much passion for photography as he had, and who otherwise would not have the ability to exploit or even discover that passion.

He might be the most pessimistic person regarding his own persona, but he did not lose hope in that other regard. He had already found some photographic promise in previous courses and, although he was now in a different country, he was confident to find someone really interested in absorbing all the knowledge that he could offer in this small, almost unknown town on the coast of Maine.

However, as the moment approached, the nervousness began to take hold of him. Killian had barely touched a camera since the attack. In fact, his whole life had been disrupted from that moment on. He was aware that he could continue to take pictures with one hand, especially if he used the prosthesis, but he had always been very demanding with himself, and he felt that his work would not be complete, that something would be always missing, either quickness when handling adjustments or balance to hold the camera or any other situation in which he previously had required the use of both hands. That was why this course was a challenge in terms of being able to transmit to his students what he could no longer do.

The start time of the course was near. Killian took a quick shower hoping that hot water would carry away those negative thoughts.

The shower didn’t work, though, his demons still wandering through his head, so he had to make an effort to try to bury them in the most recondite corner of his brain. That could only be achieved if he kept his mind busy. For that reason, he decided to focus on something as superficial as the clothes he was going to wear, determined to make the best possible impression.

His almost perpetual self-loathe had not yet left him blind, he was aware of his good looks — if he ignored his stump, that is — a resource that he continually exploited to mask his inner turmoil. He decided on tight jeans and a blue henley shirt, matching the color of his eyes. That will work, he thought with ill-concealed vanity.

He kept all the necessary material in his inseparable backpack, his loyal companion, along with his old camera, the two objects that had traveled with him and shared all his experiences of the last few years, vestiges of the past he was not able to detach from.

Before leaving home with his backpack slung over his shoulder, he looked at himself in the hall mirror. He observed his posture and his movements until he got that armor that had worked over the years - the pose of a swaggering and vain dude; a mask of arrogance that hid his inner fears and frustrations. The reflection in the mirror returned a smug smile but at the same time, transmitting the confidence he needed to face this crucial moment. After casting one last glance, he was finally satisfied with his reflection. With a deep breath, he got out his apartment, leaving his inner demons parked and determined, finally, to give opportunity to a fresh start.

Students List

Anna Arendelle

Elsa Arendelle

Tink Bell

Ariel Fisher

Leroy Grump

Archie Hopper

Aurora Prince

Phillip Prince

Will Scarlet

Emma Swan

Robin WoodEleven names. Eleven different people, with different experiences in life. Killian looked again at the list of people who would attend the course while wondering what was behind each of these names. He could have accessed the different files that contained the basic information of each of these people. In fact, Belle, the librarian who would perform the duties of his secretary, had offered him these documents, but he had politely rejected them. He did not want to create any preconceived ideas, preferring that these anonymous people surprised him. But that did not imply that he could not play with their names, assuming the kinship between some of them since some shared the same last name, or guessing their physical appearance, their aspirations... Hopefully, he would be able to put faces to those names shortly, now that the first class was about to start.

Seconds before the door opened, he inhaled deeply, while closing his eyes for a moment, burying any possible negative thought and replacing it instead with determination and the hope of finding a talent hidden among those eleven names. The moment the door opened giving way to the first students, he flashed his most charismatic smile, while his stomach tightened into knots of anticipation.

Unfortunately, his hope was short-lived. Killian only needed a first look at the people sitting in front of him to realize that this time there would be no luck, that no promise of photography would bloom in Storybrooke. At least not in this class. Maybe in the next one, the one with children, he would have more luck.

A sigh of resignation slid between his lips as he forced himself to keep the smile. He got up from the chair and stood in front of them, sitting on the desk, holding the tablet with the list of names with his right hand while leaving the prosthesis resting on the smooth surface, conveniently away from the rest of the eyes. No matter how threatening his inner demons were, Killian always tried to act committed to what he was doing, so, once again he ignored the screams of those demons and focused on his task, making his smile become wider while he displayed all his charm in front of the people who would accompany him every Saturday for the next twelve week

"Hello everyone and welcome to this course. I suppose if all of you signed up, it's because you're interested in photography, so, for the next twelve weeks, we're going to explore that exciting world together." He paused for a moment, making sure that his confident and closed tone managed to keep the attendees' attention. He found some heads nodding - good. "But for that, I need to get to know you, so, what do you think if we make a little introduction?"

His gaze traveled through each of the people, still reluctant to lose hope altogether. He just needed a spark, some hint, however subtle, but he found nothing. Only curious looks, even some boring expression. Still, maybe one of them surprised him with its introduction, although none seemed very willing to start, so to try to make things easier, he introduced himself.

"Oh, but where are my manners? My apologies for not being the first to introduce myself." He made an exaggerated bow, earning some giggles among the female audience. "My name is Killian Jones. I'm a professional photographer and have worked for many years as a press reporter." To his relief, his voice did not even tremble at the mention of his former profession. "Photography is my passion and I hope I can transmit it to you, but for that, I need to know what your aspirations are, so do any of you dare to be the next?"

The students remained silent, looking at each other, something he was already waiting for. He was not going to deny it, in a way, he enjoyed this type of performance, it was as if through the duration of the classes, he was playing a role, putting himself in the shoes of a different character to who he really was. The next step in the representation was to choose a name from the list. "Okay, since I see that you are all so willing to start, I will have to choose." He paused deliberately, looking at the paper as a means to generate even more tension among the nervous students. "Ariel Fisher?"

A redheaded woman, sitting in the front row, raised her hand hesitantly, while the corners of her lips lifted slightly. "Welcome, Ariel." His lips curled into an encouraging smile. "What can you tell us about yourself? Why are you here? What do you hope to achieve in this course?"

For the following minutes, Killian could finally put faces to all those names, while his hopes were fading away. At least they were mostly nice people, so he hoped that the next few weeks would be satisfactory enough on a personal level or at least not just a mere exchange of fake smiles and pretend.

"I like to take pictures of the sea."

"My brothers have forced me to come here."

"We love taking family photos."

"I spend a lot of time in the forest and taking pictures is a way to pass the time."

"I have nothing to do on Saturday mornings"

Those were some of the explanations that he got. Only two of them, the two sisters — Elsa and Anna, seemed to have a minimum of interest. According to their explanation, they worked in an ice cream parlor and wanted to learn how to take photos to create a website for their business. There was no spark, there did not seem to be talent. But it was a beginning.

When he got to the last person on the list, Emma Swan, he looked around, but did not find anyone. This person had not even bothered to appear. Resigned, he was about to cross out the name, when the door suddenly opened, giving way to a swirl of blond curls, a woman who moved with her head bowed while muttering an apology and who sat down quickly in one of the most hidden seats.

Killian cocked his head as he followed all her movements with renewed interest. At least she had brought a good camera with her. That was a good start. The woman, he supposed it would be Emma Swan, held her head down for a few more seconds, until finally, she looked up. His heart skipped a beat when his eyes met with an enigmatic green gaze and, most importantly, with a spark. When she blinked, that spark had vanished but, for a moment, had been there. Not everything was lost after all.

Thanks for reading, let me know what you think. :)

What can we expect for the next chapter? We will learn more about Emma's backstory and we will also know how the first class develops.

[saraswans]

This story is amazing and I love it 👏👏❤️❤️

Pictures of Reality  - Prologue

Summary: Emma Swan returns to her birthplace, Storybrooke, in search of a fresh start after a life marked by abandonment and betrayal. After a year there, she finds the stability she needed and also the possibility of learning about one of her passions, photography. Killian Jones, a former British war reporter with a tragic past, establishes himself in the same town as an instructor of photography, following in the footsteps of his best friends, the Nolans. What will happen when their paths cross? Will their common passion for photography help them heal old wounds?

Rating: M (Language, mature themes, implied sex)

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, mentions of the loss of a limb in an armed conflict

Other ships / Characters: Although, obviously, this is a cs fic, Snowing plays a major role here, mainly David. In fact, the story contains three different points of view, those of Emma, Killian and David. Also, Henry appears in the story as Regina’s adopted son but he is not Emma’s biological son.

Beta: @jarienn972 , thank you so much for all your help, your suggestions and your support throughout these months.

Artist / art: @imagnifika  I can’t wait for everyone to discover the wonderful art that Kate has created for this story. It’s amazing how she has been able to capture the essence of this fic. Thank you so much for your effort and for offering your talent to my story. / Art for the prologue

Word count: ~ 5500 (116k total in 16 chapters)

Also on: Ao3 / Ffnet

A/N: This is my contribution to the Captain Swan Big Bag Challenge this year. I still can’t believe it but it’s finally happening! This story is so important to me on so many levels that I can’t even express it with words. I got the inspiration for this fic more than two years ago and even wrote some sections, but I didn’t continue with it until the CSBB event offered me this opportunity. Writing it has been a complete challenge for me throughout these months and an almost perpetual struggle. Even after the penultimate check-in, when my life turned upside down, I almost gave up. Fortunately, I was able to continue and edit it in time to offer it to all of you. My first complete CS fic, my first complete story ever.

@saraswans , you know better than anyone what all this means to me and. I’d like to express my gratitude to you, my savior. There is part of you here and I’m sure that without your ideas and your continued support and encouragement this wouldn’t be happening. THANK YOU! Thanks also to @suwya and @lenfaz for your encouragement an to the moderators for making this possible. It has been totally worth it. And don’t forget to check the rest of the amazing csbb stories!

Are you ready for a journey full of angst, love and lots of pictures? Here we go…

PROLOGUE

Killian Jones. A nameless town under an armed conflict. Two years ago

This was the bloody end of the world.

Killian should be used to it already. His camera had captured countless anonymous people, wandering aimlessly through the streets of ravaged villages after so many of these absurd attacks. Their eyes, the reflection of despair, helplessness, and confusion. Why us? What crime we have committed to suffer this punishment? They seemed to ask him without needing to utter words. Being born in the wrong place, he was always tempted to respond. His lips remained sealed, though.

But this? This was hell come to Earth.

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