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snowbellewells · 4 months ago

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Self Promo Sunday: @cssns19 MC "Face to Face in the Broad Daylight"

(This week in reruns celebrating previous @cssns works, we have a sequel to my werewolf, alternate season two and beyond fic from 2018’s @cssns offering. This one partially exists just because I wanted to revisit these couples and enjoy a bit more of their fluffy happily ever afters. However, they also get into some new surprises and challenges, and: is Rumplestiltskin still under control, or is he back to his usual scheming and plotting? If you weren't around back then, I hope you will give this a try and enjoy. If you read it back then and choose to revisit it, I hope you'll enjoy the walk down memory lane!! Either way, I'd love to hear what you think!

Complete in 9 Parts

(Thanks once again to @branlovestowrite for the stunningly lovely cover art she did for this story as well. I still absolutely love it!!)

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

Summary: After finding one another and triumphing against the machinations of the Evil Queen and the Queen of Hearts, Killian and Emma, and their friends and family are ready to enjoy the happiness they've earned. However, a new threat is about to rise that may put those happy beginnings in grave jeopardy.

by: @snowbellewells

~~ prologue: altogether in one place

As a cooling breeze blew in off the water of the harbor to combat the bright heat of an early May afternoon, Killian Jones smiled easily, enjoying the trace of air over his neck and ruffling his dark hair as he headed back up the street from the docks toward the center of town. It was a perfect day for the celebration he was on his way to attend, planning to meet Emma and Henry at the pretty little two bedroom cottage not far from the harbor that they moved into some weeks past, before the three of them walked the rest of the way to Granny’s together. The rest of their family and several friends were doubtless already gathering at the diner’s outdoor tables for the planned picnic. It was Mother’s Day, and the first which Emma would be able to spend with her mother, and with her boy as well. Killian smiled fondly at the tentative joy mixed with nervous anticipation on his love’s face as they’d spoken of it laying side-by-side that very morning. His heart had warmed right along with dawn’s first rays peeking through the curtains, glad that Emma could have her loved ones surrounding her, as she always should have. Though his own mother had been gone so long that he only retained the barest memories of a gentle voice singing to him and the twinkle in kind, loving eyes, he still felt not a fiber of his being to be jealous or begrudging of the wealth of love and belonging his lady had found. Emma deserved it all, and more besides.

It helped, he admitted to himself as he neared the front walk, their yard surrounded by white picket fence that he could now see Emma leaning on casually with Henry at her side, that he too had been welcomed into the fold gladly. With the wolf born inside him, his horribly checkered and painful history, and how long he had wandered alone in the world, Killian could never have imagined being accepted as a part of something so good, nor feeling that he mattered to others again. Despite his stunned disbelief, however, he could only continue to be grateful.

As he drew nearer, Henry caught sight of him and waved enthusiastically, a wide grin stretching across his face. “Hey, Killian!” the youth called out. “Are you ready for this?”

“Aye, lad, of course,” he answered with a chuckle, smiling to Emma as well, his heart swelling still further at the blush which rose on her cheeks as he waggled his eyebrows playfully. He turned his attention back to Henry quickly, not wanting the young man to feel dismissed, but instead leaning forward to whisper secretively to Henry, “We wouldn’t want to miss your grandma’s famed cherry chess pie, now would we?”

Henry agreed emphatically with Killian’s winking query, then scampered on ahead of them as Killian pulled Emma into a quick embrace while she stretched up to press a chaste kiss to his lips before they joined hands and followed her son the rest of the way to Granny’s before they were late.

Not many minutes later they were turning into the front seating area of the diner, entering under the arch and being greeted from all sides by family and friends. Ruby bounded over to gleefully wrap Emma in an exuberant hug, whispering in his love’s ear that she wanted to hear what they’d been up to at the new house in a blatant enough way to have the blond blushing once again. Killian followed Henry’s urging over to his grandparents’ table, shaking David’s hand and easing into conversation with Emma’s father thankfully.

He liked the people gathered around him very much, but so often in the past he had kept to the shadows, on the outskirts of society, either due to prejudice and ostracism or his own attempts to insure others’ safety from the beast within him. Having at last found his home in Storybrooke, and also a peace within himself that he had rarely known, Killian felt as stable as he had ever been in both parts of himself. His wolf had room and freedom to run, even a pack of sorts with Ruby and Graham nearby, and he rarely feared the howling need to break free he had sought to hide or contain in his youth and throughout his years of bitter, aimless wandering. All that being true, he still sometimes preferred to ease into larger groups one person at a time. Once Emma’s slightly overprotective and traditional father had gotten to know him, Killian found the man quite easy to talk to and good company, so he naturally went to speak with him first.

Their friendship hadn’t taken long to develop once things had settled down around the holidays, some six months ago, after Regina, Cora, and Rumplestiltskin’s defeat. Both David and Killian served as reinforcements to the sheriff’s department when needed (though in sleepy, calm Storybrooke they rarely were) and so had spent many long afternoons when there were no calls sharing long chats, wadded up paper ball free throw contests in the desk trash cans, endless one-upping games of darts, and - if they grew truly desperate - filing of the somehow never ending stacks of paperwork. Their little town had been free of most trouble beyond cats in trees and neighboring fairy tale characters’ squabbles since Thanksgiving. None of them had forgotten that Gold was still simmering impotently in his shop (surely wanting revenge, but hands tied by the fact that his dagger forbade it, thanks to Emma’s brilliance). In fact, the citizens were enjoying an everyday normality most of them had never been able to experience before - in either this realm or the Enchanted Forest.

So, though there was often hardly enough work to keep one person busy, Graham had remained Sheriff, and kept Emma on as his deputy. Killian’s eyes found his sandy-haired fellow wolf amidst the happy crowd of partygoers, attentively leaning to whisper something in Belle’s ear where she sat talking to Granny Lucas herself, along with Nova, Leroy, Bashful, and Doc. The Sheriff was clearly happy to watch over his girlfriend, glad just to see her in high spirits, having brought her a drink and standing behind her chair to listen and look on. Graham had always been a good and competent lawman, but now that he was completely free to act of his own will and as he saw fit, it became even more clear just how kind, compassionate, and worthy a man he was. He no longer had to glance over his shoulder at each turn, fearing retribution for his choices. The townspeople liked and trusted him even more than they had before, seeing how dedicated he was to their causes and thorough in handling problems immediately and lawfully for the good of all to the best of his ability.

Watching just a moment longer, Killian saw Belle pause in her conversation, looking up over her shoulder at Graham with an adoring expression in her eyes, resting her hand over his where he had placed it on her shoulder. Something passed between them wordlessly, so slight that it went unnoticed by most around them, but to Kilian’s honed and heightened senses, it sent almost a frisson of intense feeling all the way across the space to where he stood. He didn’t know what it meant, but he found himself more than a little curious, and happy for his friends whatever the cause of their joy.

His attention was drawn back to his own immediate circle when David threw his head back in a booming burst of laughter as Henry finished relating how Killian had recently taken he, his mom, and his friends Grace, Nicholas and Ava out fishing and swimming on the Jolly. It wasn’t the first time Killian had dropped anchor in the harbor where the preteens could dive off the bow and bob in the waves to cool off while he and Emma sat in the sun watching over them and talking, but what had gotten such a reaction from his grandpa was the mental image of Ava’s disastrous practice at casting and somehow catching her hook in Grace’s hair. The ensuing noisy melee had caused quite a commotion until they’d gotten Grace free from the painful tangle, reassured Ava that they all knew it was an accident and gotten back to catching fish rather than each other.

As the afternoon wore on, Killian relaxed into the atmosphere of easy camaraderie around him, graciously complimenting his hostess on the lightness of her dinner rolls and the fine quality of her rum - to which he earned a sniff of begrudging thanks but also a sidelong smile. He exchanged a few words with Belle on the last book she had recommended to him and what he thought of it so far, and though she carried an obvious glow of satisfaction and practically radiated good humor, he was no closer to the reason that it seemed so especially prominent today, even after conversing with her. He exchanged pleasantries with Graham, and let Henry drag him into a ridiculous game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey that Snow had organized to hilarious results with the assorted dwarves’ poor aim and inebriated states by that hour of the waning day.

Despite what else he was doing however, his eyes were continually drawn back to Emma wherever she was. There was the simple fact that he couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty, for one thing. Her golden hair stood out like a beacon in any gathering, this one no exception, and the very sight of those flowing waves cascading down her back against the red leather of her favorite jacket made his hand itch to brush through its silky softness. Her long, lean form, her throaty chuckle, and the sparkle in her jade green eyes all made hunger rise in him that had him aching to pull her out of the party and into the first empty room he could find. A long life of practice made him able to rein in his desires, but it certainly didn’t slake them in the least.

He remembered too that it was nearing the full moon, which made all his more canine traits closer to the surface. As intensely protective as he would have been anyway, because he loved her, the animal instinct within demanded he be aware of his mate and her safety at all times. Especially when they were out in the open and not alone, whether or not those with them were friends and the gathering innocent. There was possessiveness as well that he could contain, but not vanquish completely. Between those two impulses warring inside his average human faćade, Killian was rather proud of himself for managing to eventually retreat to a corner table with his drink, lean back in a chair and observe the goings on around him with at least the air of calm.

Still, needless to say, he was relieved when the festivities did begin to break up an hour or so later. Many called out a friendly goodbye to him, and he waved back jovially to them. Some, like David, came over to say ‘good night’ and make plans for when they’d get together next. When Emma finally came up to him with an easy smile and an outstretched hand, asking him if he was ready to head home for the night with a teasing tilt of her head and playful “Captain?” he was on his feet in a moment. With Henry in tow, they headed back toward their house on the shore as the stars came out above.

A deep sense of satisfaction warmed Killian once again at the very idea that this could be his life, while Emma leaned into his side as they walked and Henry pointed out the various constellations that he had learned to recognize through Killian’s tutelage. It was more happiness than he once could have imagined having in his life on a regular basis. In a few days he would need to prepare for shifting about three nights in a row, as was his monthly due, but for tonight, he could sense it was still safely far enough off to take his time seeing the two most important people in his life home safely and enjoy that they saw him as one of their own.

Once they reached the front gate, Henry hurried on up the walk and into the house with a “See you tomorrow!” for his mom’s boyfriend. Alone at long last, Emma turned to him, her face tilted up to his with a devious glimmer in her expression. Only moments ago, he wouldn’t have imagined things could get much better, but when she ran her hands up his torso to rest on his chest and whispered invitingly, “Wanna come in for a nightcap, Sailor?” she blew his mind all over again.

A couple of drinks, an entire bowl of popcorn and a movie later, they were cuddled together on the couch in Emma’s living room, making out like two teenagers. Killian didn’t leave his love’s arms again until the next day dawned. Slipping out to his boat before Henry could walk up and begin scavenging through the cupboards for his breakfast cereal, Killian stooped to place a kiss on Emma’s groggy forehead as she mumbled a sleepy farewell. No one else in the house was stirring as the former pirate headed away down the walk, and he was too cheerful and relaxed to be on his guard, so the eyes watching his every move from the shadows as he moved toward the docks, went unnoticed…

~~***~~***~~

Far removed from the cheerfulness and revelry of the rest of the town and their holiday celebrations, Mr. Gold was holed up in the dim, shrouded back room of his shop, scowling silently at a clouded orb with its contents swirling inside. He hadn’t bothered to unlock or open his shop doors today, not wanting to see the idiotic smiles of the townsfolk, nor to waste effort pasting on a smile and haggling to make sales that mattered little to him, all things considered. No, all that mattered now was possessing the one item which could free him of the Savior’s binding order stoppering his Dark One powers to set things right. He would be loosed of her interfering magical hold; it was merely a matter of tracing the artifact to its hiding place and summoning an accomplice he knew was powerful enough to aid him in the ritual needed to slip the noose of his Dagger’s control, and therefore Miss Swan’s meddling command.

All the pieces were in place; once the crystal showed him where his former compatriot could be found, he would set the ball rolling. He would make Belle see sense, return her to her place by his side, where she clearly belonged. That Sheriff who had dared to try taking his place in Belle’s affections would rue ever having his heart put back in his chest. And that wretched cur ...that wolf he had nearly finished off before - and the woman who had prevented it, who had the audacity to tangle with him and think she could defeat the Dark One - both of them would pay, once and for all.

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

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @xarandomdreamx

@motherkatereloyshipper @booksteaandtoomuchtv @anmylica @stahlop @myfearless-love

@teamhook @revanmeetra87 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm

@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @bluewildcatfanatic @xsajx

@undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @drowned-dreamer @jonesfandomfanatic @kday426

@lfh1226-linda @linda8084 @resident-of-storybrooke @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree

@belovedcreation @eddisfargo @zaharadessert @laianely @goforlaunchcee

#self promo sunday #cs ff rerun #cssns19 #face to face in the broad daylight #cs werewolf au #ouat au mc #graham x belle #hunted beauty #is that a possible ship name?#prologue

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losergames · 2 years ago

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sorry if this is venturing into spoiler territory, but will we get to assign a nickname/alias for the MC a la some of the other crew members later on? as someone who requires approximately three to five business weeks to pick out names for my characters I just wanna be emotionally prepared lmao

not spoilery at all!

the mc actually gets nicknamed by a new character that will be introduced in ch3, which then becomes your alias down the line. so i am afraid the player has no control over that.

#you are referred by it in the prologue 🤭#cs ask

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xspiderchloe · 2 years ago

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Yeah... I do...

#trails of cold steel #Alisa Reinford #alisa my poor girl it's not your fault #it's the cs prologue :')#sen no kiseki #i'm kind of a cold steel apologist myself but damn if the cs prologue leaves a bad impression #but calling alisa a tsundere who was angry for too long is a slander i will not accept #we respect angel-theme techno girl with parental issues in this house

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safyresky · 2 years ago

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Hiii Friendos! Sorry for the silence this weekend--I was in Qubec for my bachelorette, lol. BUSY WEEKEND! ANYWAY! Now that I'm home I'll catch up on arts and stuff this evening and, hopefully, this week ish, I can share some fun things with y'all, INCLUDING but NOT LIMITED TO

-Chapter 23 of CS (Or is it22? Idk)

-Crossposting CS to Ao3 FINALLY :D

-Real cute young blinter piece :3

#dani speaks #dani updates #and not necessarily in that order #it'd probably be blinter or cs update first #crossposting dead last bc I do wanna TIDY the prologue a bit :)#anyway I hope you all had a LOVELY weekend! I sure did :3

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snowbellewells · 6 months ago

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@kmomof4 Good heavens, Krystal!!! 😭 What exactly are you trying to do to me?!? I’m seriously just in your prologue, and I was tearing up and almost bawling, not once, not twice, but three different times!!

You wrote Killian’s guilt and inner turmoil of loving his brother’s wife so well that my heart was breaking for him - even before the horrible, heartrending event happened. You have always been a brilliant writer - better than you give yourself credit for, I think - but you get more masterful with every story you put out, and this is very definite proof of that. 😍😍😍

I did love the joy and happiness and affection that was clearly present in Emma and Liam’s union. It was beautiful to see, even if just for a little while. And I loved the playful comraderie between the three of them, family and best friends, even with the pained turmoil Killian was hiding away. Emma was right about his loyalty and honor; he would have hidden it forever and never said a word, and would have preferred that to the pain losing Liam brought to the both of them. I loved their easy conversation and how well they understood each other as in-laws and friends, as evidenced in their evening walk…and then it was just shattered so completely. 😭

The abruptness, the quick finality and the unfairness of Liam’s loss so soon. And then her not even having the comfort of his child with her! 💔 It seems like more than Emma, and all of them really, should have to bear. You did such an intensely vivid and powerful telling of that scene though. From Killian’s hearing Emma scream, to the sight of his brother already gone, to Emma stumbling across the room and begging him to wake Liam - wow! I couldn’t breathe or look away until that scene was finished, even as I wanted for it not to be happening. And then Emma’s strength, even though her pain is clear, and Killian’s struggling to do his duty and wanting to be there for Emma but not being able to without revealing his secret. You’ve evoked all of it so well, but it was just tearing me up in the best and most dramatic of ways. I have been accused more than once 😏 of liking the hurt and angst, and I guess that’s true, because this was SO GOOD. I guess, if the hurt is this painful, then the comfort when it comes will be all the more satisfying? 🤷🏼‍♀️

Sheesh! I know I am not saying enough- and I’m not sure I am doing all the feels you produced any sort of justice, but what a start!!!

And the. Emma comes to see him, wants to know why he is staying away, and he can’t tell her!! And then he’s going to leave!! You are breaking my heart! But you know I’ll be back for more! 💔😉💔

A Scoundrel… Or a Gentleman?

Ohhhhhh, I’m so happy to FINALLY be posting this fic!!! Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s story, When He Was Wicked, I wrote the prologue - 8k words - last September, then took a six month break before sitting down and getting the rest of the thing written. I so hope I did the story justice and that you enjoy and let me know what you think!!

And now thanks to whom thanks are due!!! @jrob64 is a LITERAL SAINT for everything she did to make this fic better. She is an outstanding beta and a dear friend, but I seriously tried her patience going back over and back over and back over AGAIN trying to make this just right. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, my friend, for EVERYTHING!!!

To @hollyethecurious for all the historical info that she shared with me and asking the questions that needed to be asked and answered before the fic was ready for posting. Her support was absolutely invaluable. Thank you, babe!!!

To @motherkatereloyshipper for her work on the Prologue artwork shown below. It is soooo beautiful, I could stare at it for hours!!! Thank you so much, darlin!!! Please give her lots of love!!!

The fic is complete with a total of 9chs. I’ll be updating twice a week- Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Summary: Killian Jones has been in love with Emma Nolan since the day he met her - the day before she married his brother Earl Liam Jones. That was six years ago, and Liam has been gone now for four years. Emma and Killian have both arrived in London for the season - her to seek a husband so she can hopefully bear children, him to finally take up his duties as the earl, including finding a wife. Will they succeed in their respective desires?

*spoiler alert- of course they will. It’ll just take them a little while to get there…*

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Words: almost 8400 words of approx 59,5k

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s Story, Smut in Later Chapters

On ao3 if that’s your preference.

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@Jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615 @donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings @booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza @djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @bluewildcatfanatic

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Prologue

There is a moment in every man’s life in which his future becomes clear. A turning point of sorts. The moment when he becomes a man, when he leaves the irresponsibility and temerity of youth behind and turns his eyes to the future. A future that he’d never bothered to think about before. Unfortunately, that moment came for Killian Jones when he first laid eyes on Emma Nolan at a supper celebrating the imminent marriage between herself and Killian’s brother, Earl Liam Jones.

After years of chasing anything in a skirt, Killian grimaced at the irony. In all that time, he’d never allowed his heart to become entangled with his many, many romantic exploits. Allowing himself to be chased until he conquered, his reputation as a rake and a scoundrel was well deserved. He’d even stopped attending church, although he assuaged the pricking of his conscience by telling himself the derelict stones of Kilmartin Abbey on the Kilmartin estate up in Scotland… no originality among his ancestors there, who were so proud of the title when it was newly bestowed about 300 years ago, they attached it to everything they possibly could... Anyway, the Abbey couldn’t withstand a direct strike of lightning, which would surely happen if Killian Jones ever showed his face inside.

Killian Jones

Worst of Sinners

He would have had it printed on calling cards if he didn’t think it would actually kill his mother. The only semblance of honor he’d maintained in his heart over all these years was the fact that the only times he’d slept with married women was if their husbands were tossers, and they’d produced at least two male offspring. Three, if one was sickly. He’d also never seduced a virgin, but even that wasn’t enough to redeem him now. Because this was the one thing that truly blackened his soul beyond all redemption.

He coveted his brother’s wife.

And had since that fateful moment two years ago. The day he met Emma Nolan. Now Emma Nolan Jones. Lady Kilmartin. Countess Kilmartin. Wife of his brother, the Earl of Kilmartin.

He could torture himself for days, thinking of every iteration of Emma Nolan Jones, but it would never change the simple fact. He couldn’t have her. She’d never be his.

Now, looking around the room where he, Emma, and Liam were enjoying some after-dinner conversation, he had to rise and cross the room to the decanter, pouring himself a drink to avoid the thoroughly besotted eyes Liam and Emma were making at each other.

“What shall we do for our second anniversary?” Emma asked, sitting down at the pianoforte, her long delicate fingers tickling the keys. Killian swallowed a low groan.

“Anything you want, darling,” Liam answered. He smiled gently at his wife as he opened the evening edition of the Times. She turned her attention to Killian.

“What do you think?”

“About what?” he asked, turning to her, a charming, lopsided smile on his face. No one took him seriously when he smiled like that, which was exactly the point. She pressed her lips into a thin line and Killian relented slightly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

“What should we do for our anniversary?”

If she’d thrust her own hand into his chest and squeezed his heart to dust, it probably would have hurt less. He shrugged indifferently. He was, after all, an expert at hiding what he really felt.

“It’s not my anniversary.”

Emma rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips lifting in amusement. It probably wasn’t a good thing that Killian spent far too much time studying the lips of his brother’s wife.

“I’m aware,” she huffed. “I was asking if you had any ideas for us.”

Killian lifted one brow quizzically. “Why would you ask me, when I have absolutely no experience in the realm of marriage or the anniversary celebration of such?”

The amusement left her face and was replaced with irritation and no small amount of sympathy. Emma rose and moved toward him.

Oh, God, he thought. Please no. There’s nothing worse than when she…

She placed her hand on his arm.

“You won’t always be unmarried, you know,” she said gently.

She shouldn’t be touching him. She couldn’t be touching him. His next words were with the singular purpose of getting her away from him.

“Am I to become your project then?” he bit out. “‘Killian can’t possibly be happy living his life of debauchery and aimlessness, so I must see him married,’” he mocked. “I am not interested in marriage, thank you very much.”

She removed her hand from his arm and backed up, her brow furrowed, her mouth a small o of hurt. Thank heaven, it bloody worked, he thought, even as the guilt surged.

“We care about you, Killian, and we want to see you happy.”

And there it was. We. Not I. We. They were a unit. Liam and Emma. Lord and Lady Kilmartin. She may not have meant it that way, but that was what he heard. As if he’d ever forget it.

“I care about you, too.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper and he shot pleading eyes toward his brother who finally gave up all pretense of reading.

“Emma,” he chastised lightly. “Killian is a grown man. Let him find his happiness when he’s ready. In his own time.”

Emma shot her husband a disgruntled look. Killian had to bite back a bark laugh. He knew Emma almost as well as he knew his brother, and he recognized the root of her irritation was at being thwarted in her attempt to arrange the people in her life to her satisfaction. Liam smirked at him and picked his paper back up as she returned to the pianoforte and sat down, her visage contemplative. It suddenly lit up and Killian’s heart rate increased with it.

“I should introduce you to…”

“Emma.” It was only a single word, but Liam’s voice held a note of reprimand in it. Leave him alone.

Emma deflated and Killian could have kissed his brother. He may have only thought he was saving Killian from Emma’s nagging, but if he had to suffer the woman he was in love with trying to find him a match - a match he was wholly uninterested in - it might be the final straw of his sanity. Truly.

“We should all go for a walk,” she said suddenly. Killian looked out the windows where darkness had finally descended over London.

“Isn’t it a little late?” he asked.

“Not with two strong escorts,” she cheeked.

“I’ve an appointment in an hour,” Liam said. He winced and rubbed his temple. “And I’ve got a headache. I think I’ll lay down for a bit before leaving.” He looked at Killian then. “But you should go.”

Absolute proof that Liam hadn’t a clue about his brother’s true feelings for Emma.

“Parliament?” Emma asked. Liam nodded and rose. “Do you want me to wake you when we return?”

“I’ll ask my valet to do it, darling,” he said, dropping a gentle kiss to her lips. Killian averted his eyes. He’d never begrudge his brother and his beloved their happiness, but he certainly wasn’t going to watch them bask in the clear love between them.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Emma assured him once Liam left, a soft smile on her face, her forest green eyes glowing. Perhaps it should disturb him how certain he was of the color of Emma’s eyes when she wasn’t even in the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He dreamed in shades of green these days. Emma green, the color should be called. He poured himself another drink and slammed it back, trying to steel himself for their impending constitutional.

He knew he shouldn’t be accompanying her. He knew he shouldn’t ever be alone with her. But when she smiled, he was helpless to resist her. It may leave him wracked with equal parts guilt and desire later, but he couldn’t deny himself any amount of time in her presence. Because that’s all there would ever be. He’d never act upon his desires. Never betray his brother in that way or sully Emma’s reputation. There’d never be a kiss, meaningful glances or touches, whispered words of love and affection, or moans of passion.

All he’d ever have was her friendship, her smile, and her company. And besotted fool that he was, he’d be happy with it.

She came back down wrapped in a soft yellow cloak and he held his elbow out for her to take. Resigned to his fate, he escorted the love of his life out of the house and to the street below. Lucky him.

~*~*~

As Emma and Killian walked along the street, Emma couldn’t help but think what a dear man her brother-in-law was. Oh, he’d be certain to scoff and list all the reasons his soul was as black as they came (none of which, she was afraid, were exaggerated) if she expressed those sentiments out loud, but she knew him nearly as well as she knew her husband, and Killian Jones possessed a heart of honor and had a capacity to love that was unequaled among the men of her acquaintance. And if she didn’t find him a wife soon, she’d go mad.

“Killian,” she began, turning to look at him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupted. “Didn’t Liam just suggest that you let me find my happiness in my own time?”

Emma’s jaw dropped in shock. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“You’re a bit of an open book, my dear,” he said, looking at her and booping her on the nose. Emma huffed indignantly as they continued their walk.

It was funny. When she met Liam, she fell head over heels in love more quickly than she ever imagined possible. He understood her in a way that she’d never experienced before. Of course, she loved her family immensely, but as the youngest of six siblings, she often felt lost in the shuffle. Killian was the only sibling Liam had, and removing herself from the hubbub of London and her large family felt like a breath of fresh air. Not to mention the actual fresh air of Scotland, her new home.

But then there was Killian. She hadn’t met him until the day before her nuptials to Liam, since he’d just recently returned home from the Napoleonic Wars on the continent. He was handsome, to be sure, but there was an undeniable connection between them that she felt from the moment she met him. If Liam understood her the way no one ever had before - the opposite side of the same coin - then Killian was like a puzzle piece that fit her perfectly. A puzzle piece she never knew she was missing. He completed her. Besides Liam, Killian was her very best friend and that was why she wanted him to be as happy as she was. And the only way that was going to happen was if she found him a wife who’d make him as happy as Liam made her.

“Finding me a wife is not among your duties, Lady Kilmartin,” Killian spoke again, drawing her from her musings.

She huffed again. “Well, it should be.”

He laughed, which delighted her immensely. She could always make him laugh.

“Very well, then,” she said, dropping the subject for now. “Tell me something wicked. Something that Liam wouldn’t approve of.” Her lips lifted in a conspiratorial smirk that he returned in kind. It was a game they played, that spoke again to how Killain somehow completed her. As much as she loved her husband, hearing about Killian’s exploits was always immensely entertaining. And she knew Liam enjoyed hearing about them, too, even if he gave a token admonishment whenever he was also present. Killian never shared too much, he had too much discretion for that, but he’d share hints and innuendos that never failed to amuse her greatly.

“Alas, I’m afraid I’ve done nothing wicked this week,” he said with a sigh.

“You?” she asked, incredulous. “I find that very difficult to believe.”

“It’s only Tuesday, my dear,” he reminded her.

“I’m aware,” she shot back, “but aside from Sunday, which I’m sure you’d leave sacred…” She shot him a look that belied her words completely, earning her another laugh, “that would leave Monday, and a man can get up to quite a bit of mischief on a Monday.”

“Not this man,” he assured her. “Not this Monday.”

“What did you do then?”

He was quiet for a moment as they continued walking.

“Nothing, really.”

There was a tone of melancholy blanketing his words and Emma stopped and turned to him. His blue eyes shone under the street lamps and Emma was shocked at the intensity she found there. A moment later it was gone and the thought occurred to Emma that Killian Jones perhaps wasn’t really the man he wished others to believe him to be. Even her.

She squeezed his arm gently. “We must find you something,” she whispered into the night.

He held her gaze a moment longer then he looked up.

“We must return. Liam will have my head if you catch a chill.”

“Liam will blame me for my foolishness of insisting on a walk after dark, and well you know it. This is just your way of saying you have a woman waiting for you, probably wearing nothing but a sheet.”

He smirked. A devil-may-care grin that made Emma roll her eyes and recall why the female half of the ton fancied themselves in love with him, even without the title.

“Don’t be jealous, my dear,” he said, the teasing clear in his voice, making Emma roll her eyes again.

“As if I ever could be,” she scoffed.

He stopped and faced her, the way his black hair flopped over his brow making her long to brush it back. The intense look was back in his crystal blue eyes and Emma had trouble drawing a deep breath.

“I know.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “It’s the only reason I tease you.” He reached up and lightly ran his knuckles down the side of her face. “You’re the only woman I know who would never stray. I can’t tell you how much I admire you for that.”

“I love your brother. I could never betray him.”

“I know that, too.” His hand returned to his side. He was so handsome and so in need of love, Emma felt her heart would break. If only he’d let someone, anyone, into his heart. If anyone would care enough to look beneath the handsome, yet devilish facade, they’d find the man she knew- kindhearted, loyal, and true.

They continued toward Kilmartin House and Emma took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing me out tonight. I was just feeling so closed in, claustrophobic almost. The fresh air did me quite a bit of good.”

“Then I’m happy to have been of service, milady,” he said as they climbed the steps to the front door of Kilmartin House. The door opened, the butler obviously looking out for them, and Emma undid and handed him her cloak and gloves.

“Will you stay or must you go?” she asked Killian. She could just see Liam’s valet coming down the stairs out of the corner of her eye.

Killian checked his pocket watch. “I’ll wait for Liam, if he hasn’t left yet. I came on foot, so I might as well avail myself of his carriage after he’s done with it.”

Emma nodded and turned to the valet.

“Has his Lordship left yet?”

“No, my lady. I’ve rapped on his door, but he must be sleeping quite soundly. Do you still want me to wake him?”

Emma sighed. As much as she wished he could sleep longer, she knew how important this meeting was.

“No need,” she assured the man. “I’ll wake him myself. Thank you.” She nodded at him and Killian and hurried up the stairs.

Moments later, Emma’s scream pierced the night.

~*~*~

Killian had no memory of taking the stairs three at a time to rush to Liam’s bedchamber, one of two thresholds in the house he’d never breached. He suddenly found himself there, staring at the bed on the other side of the room, barely conscious of Emma screaming from where she sat on the edge of the bed as she shook the shoulders of his unnaturally pale and still brother.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Whoever that was lying on the bed, it wasn’t his brother. His brother was gone. He’d seen death in battle, but death wouldn’t dare come for Liam. Liam. Who was so strong. So steady. The pillar of their family. The one they all relied on. The picture of good health.

He took a laborious step forward.

“Emma.” His voice was hoarse, strangled, and unsurprisingly Emma made no indication that she’d heard him, her screams continuing unabated. When she finally stopped to take a breath, her face turned to him.

She rose, her movements so slow and graceful, her face nearly as pale as Liam’s, Killian could have mistaken her for a ghost. She glided toward him and as she got closer, he could see the splotches of color high on her cheekbones, the sunkenness and redness of her eyes, the tear tracks down her cheeks. She grabbed his hand, her grip so tight her knuckles were white.

“Wake him up, Killian,” she begged, more tears spilling from her eyes. He met her gaze, knowing the same devastation she wore on her visage was reflected back to her on his own. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in tightly, automatically, like some kind of machine. She grabbed the lapels of the coat he wore and buried her face in his chest, moaning like a wounded animal. “It was just a headache.” Her tears soaked his shirt. “It was just a headache. How could this happen? I don’t understand!”

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t offer her any sort of comfort beyond holding her as he was now because he didn’t understand either. Between Eton, Cambridge, and the Royal Navy, he’d been trained for everything the life of a gentleman had to offer. But he’d never been trained for this.

She pulled back suddenly, the cry falling from her lips coming from the depths of her soul.

“WHYYYYYYYY??!!”

Just as suddenly as she pulled back from him, she collapsed in his arms, bringing them both to the floor. He stared, unseeing, at the far wall, wondering why he wasn’t crying. He was numb and his body felt heavy, like his very soul had been crushed. Killian’s internal cry echoed Emma’s.

Why?

~*~*~

“Could she be with child?”

Killian sat behind Liam’s desk, and blinked at the question posed to him by Lord Isaac, a short and thin man who rather reminded Killian of a rat. The representative of the Committee for Privileges of the House of Lords had a self-important air about him that grated on Killian’s nerves. Liam hadn’t been gone - he still couldn’t bring himself to say or even think the truth - twenty-four hours and here was this bastard, demanding an audience and droning on about some sacred duty to the crown. He turned his attention back to Lord Isaac, his brow furrowed.

“What did you say?”

“Her ladyship,” he repeated, enunciating each syllable carefully, as if Killian had no idea of whom he spoke. “If she’s carrying, it will make things… difficult.”

“I don’t know,” he said, enunciating his own words just as carefully. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this right now. “I haven’t asked her.”

“You need to.” The man sniffed indignantly. “I’m sure you’re eager to assume control of your new holdings, but before you can do that, we must determine if she’s carrying. Furthermore, if she is, a member of our committee will need to be present at the birth.”

Killian was stunned. There was no other word for it. “I beg your pardon?” He was amazed he was able to get the words out.

“Baby switching,” Lord Isaac said grimly, with all seriousness. “There have been instances…”

“For God’s sake…” Killian interrupted, scrubbing his hand down his face.

“It’s for your own protection as much as anyone’s,” Lord Isaac assured him. “If she were to give birth to a girl, and no one is there to witness it, what’s to stop her from switching the babe with a boy?”

Killian couldn’t bring himself to dignify that with any kind of response.

“You need to find out if she’s carrying,” Lord Isaac insisted. “Arrangements will have to be made.”

“She was widowed yesterday,” Killian bit out. “I will not burden her with such intrusive questions.”

“There is more at stake here than her ladyship’s feelings,” Lord Isaac continued, haughtily. “We cannot properly transfer the earldom while there is doubt as to the succession.”

“The devil take the earldom,” Killian snapped.

Lord Isaac drew back in visible horror. “You forget yourself, my Lord.”

“I am not your lord,” Killian growled. “I’m not anyone’s…” He stopped suddenly, realizing almost too late that he was perilously close to tears. He glared at the man in front of him, trying to stave them off. This little weasel, who didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t just an Earl who had died, but a man.

His brother.

He expected that as soon as the abhorrent little rodent left, the door was locked behind him, and Killian was sure no one would observe him, the tears would finally come.

“Someone has to ask her,” Lord Isaac said.

“It won’t be me,” Killian murmured.

“Then I will.”

Killian could take it no longer and was out of the chair like a shot, grabbing Isaac by the lapels of his jacket, pushing him against the wall before the man could even blink.

“You will not approach Lady Kilmartin,” he growled, menacingly. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the damnable man choked out. Killian realized he was turning an alarming shade of purple, so he stepped back, releasing him.

“Get out.”

“You’ll need to…”

“Get out!” Killian roared.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, when you’re in a more calm frame of mind.” The man left quickly with as much dignity as he could muster and Killian closed the door firmly behind him, turning the lock before he returned to the desk.

He dropped his head into his hands and a single tear finally spilled over and tracked down his face. His chest was tight and his throat felt so narrow, it was a wonder he could breathe at all. A gasping sob escaped him and the dam broke. Killian’s anguish poured from him in a seemingly endless tide, the tears streaming down his face, soaking the loosened cravat he wore and the shirt underneath.

How had it come to this? Yes, as long as Liam and Emma had remained childless, he was second in line to the earldom. But no one seriously expected him to inherit. Liam was barely thirty and the picture of health.

Word had already reached him that men at the club were calling Killian the luckiest man in Britain. What no one realized was that he’d never wanted this. He’d never wanted the earldom. He wanted his brother.

And no one seemed to understand that.

Except Emma. Her devastation equaled his own, he knew.

They’d put her to bed last night, him and her mother, Ruth, who’d arrived quickly after his urgent summons, and she’d slept soundly all night, too worn out from the shock of it all. Killian knew, because he’d spent the night opposite the large bed where Emma slept, in one of the chairs where he imagined Liam and Emma taking their morning coffee before starting their days. He couldn’t bear to leave her or be alone with his own thoughts.

When she woke this morning, he could see the moment she remembered the events of the night before. Her eyes landed on him and he saw a moment of alarm, surprise, confusion, and then finally realization. He stood on shaky legs as her eyes filled with tears. They only lasted a moment, however. He watched as a firm resolve took over her gaze, her movements choppy and stilted as she swiped away the evidence of her anguish.

He grudgingly admired her for that and stood before her helpless to do anything useful. What were they to do? Neither of them was prepared for this. They were young, happy, carefree. They’d never dealt with death before and all the myriad details involved with it.

Who would have guessed the Committee for Privileges would get involved? And demand a front row seat to an event that should be a private moment for Emma. If indeed she was with child. Which he was not going to ask her.

“We must inform Alice,” she said.

“Of course,” he murmured. Why he hadn’t thought of that, he’d never know. Their mother would be equally devastated.

“I’ll write the note.”

Killian could only nod, wondering what he was supposed to do. The answer became apparent when Lord Isaac arrived. But he couldn’t think about that now, all that he stood to gain since Liam was gone. There was nothing good about Liam being gone. And if anyone dared to offer him congratulations…

His tears spent, Killian lifted his head and stared sightlessly out the window. He hadn’t wanted this. Had he?

He only wanted Emma. But not like this. Not at this cost.

He’d never coveted Liam’s title. The money or power.

He’d only ever coveted Liam’s wife.

And now he stood to gain everything that had been Liam’s. Except his wife. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart and threatened to strangle him.

He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted this.

“Killian?” Her soft knock and voice drew his attention to the door. The locked door. He rose and moved toward it, making no effort to hide his grief. He unlocked and opened the door and she stood there, as thin but strong as a young birch tree, her face pale, her green eyes round as saucers and beyond exhausted.

“I’ve sent a note to your mother,” she murmured. “Is there anyone else…”

Killian shook his head slowly. He knew he should say something to her, but his mind just refused to give him anything. He was too broken, too grief stricken. Just like the woman in front of him.

He gently took her elbow. “You should sit down. You look exhausted.”

Emma shook her head, even as she allowed him to lead her into the room and toward a chair.

“I can’t,” she murmured. “I can’t stop. If I do…” She shook her head. “If I don’t stop, I don’t have to think. And if I don’t have to think…” she trailed away and her eyes filled with tears again. It didn’t matter. He understood perfectly.

Then she turned her eyes upon him and her mouth opened like she had something to say. He steeled himself against the despair in her eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

~*~*~

Seemingly overnight, Kilmartin House in London changed.

First, Alice Jones arrived from Scotland.

Second, Emma’s own mother, Ruth Nolan was a much more frequent guest than she’d been when Liam was alive.

Third, Killian was a much less frequent guest than when Liam was alive.

And Emma wasn’t sure she’d survive that last one.

Of course, it was a comfort to see her mother-in-law. They got along well and Emma loved her. And she’d known the grief of losing her husband. But now she’d lost her son, and in many ways was in as much need of comfort as Emma herself.

And of course her own mother was also a comforting presence, having also been widowed young, but Killian was the one she needed. Killian was the one who knew and loved Liam best, besides herself of course, and Killian was the one who most understood what she was going through.

He still came to visit occasionally, but when he did, he didn’t feel there. Not like he was when Liam was alive. His eyes were distant and he didn’t come anywhere near her, beyond what propriety demanded when greeting her or taking his leave - a formal bow, a slight brush of her knuckles with his lips, murmured words she could barely hear. He wasn’t the same.

And it was killing her.

But, she reminded herself, he was hurting, too.

She reminded herself of it when she didn’t know what to say to him. She reminded herself of it when he didn’t tease her. She reminded herself of it when they sat together in the parlor and neither had anything to say.

She’d lost her husband. And she’d lost her best friend at the same time.

She was lonely. And so sad. Why had no one told her how sad she’d be? But would she have believed them? Of course not. There was no understanding this kind of grief without experiencing it for herself.

Killian was the one link to the husband she’d lost - who’d loved him as she did - and she hated him for being here, but not being here. To walk beside her in their mutual grief. So they could be a comfort to each other.

It never occurred to her that in losing Liam, she might lose Killian, too.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Alice’s gentle question drew Emma from her musings. She blinked, momentarily unable to really comprehend the question, much less answer it.

“Uh, fine,” she said after a moment, with a slight shake of her head. The soft smile on the face of her mother-in-law, coupled with the joyful sadness in her eyes, prompted a small smile from herself as well. It brought home the fact that while Alice had lost her first born, the fact that Emma was carrying a piece of him brought a measure of peace to her grieving heart. “No different than I ever have.”

Alice sat down across from her and folded her hands in her lap. “It’s remarkable. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“If it wasn’t for my missing courses, I’d never know anything was different.” And it was true. She’d been around enough pregnant women to know what to expect in the early weeks and months, and the only thing she was experiencing that might be a symptom of early pregnancy was that she was a bit more tired. But, of course, that could be the grieving as well. Her mother had told her she’d been tired for a year after her father passed. Emma experienced none of the expected quirks and illnesses other women had told her about.

She’d be happy to be losing what little breakfast she was actually eating each morning, if only so she could imagine the little one waving, hello, I’m here!

“I wonder if Killian will be visiting today?” Alice mused.

“He hasn’t been here in three days,” Emma murmured, “So I expect he will.” She’d never admit to counting the days between his visits, but she had been, and he was due for his bi-weekly visit.

“He’s grieving Liam,” Alice said softly.

“So am I.” Her voice was a bit sharper than she’d have liked. “So are you.”

“But it’s different for him,” she continued. “He’s a bit in limbo until you deliver. And that’s still six months away.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about that.”

“Of course not,” she replied. “I just hope that he begins thinking about the future soon. If you do deliver a girl, he’ll have to marry and produce an heir.”

Emma scoffed. “Killian will do what has to be done, but he’d never marry while he’s still grieving Liam and it’d be dreadfully unfair to expect him to.”

“Of course,” Alice agreed. “I just so want him to be happy. Even with Liam gone.” She sighed forlornly.

It was odd. Emma wanted Killian to be happy, too, but imagining him married was rather hard to picture. Of course, it hadn’t stopped her from trying to push Killian in that direction. But if she was really honest with herself, he just didn’t seem the type. For years, she’d had Liam and Killian had been their rather constant companion. Could she be happy for him if he found love and happiness and she remained alone? Was her heart big enough?

She was tired and feeling a bit weak as well. She stood, grasping the arm of the chair when a sudden wave of dizziness came over her.

“I think I’ll lay down for a nap,” she said. “Wake me when Killian comes, if you please.”

“Of course, my dear. That’s a very good idea. You need your rest.” A sudden gasp escaped Alice and Emma saw that she wasn’t looking at her, but at the seat she just rose from.

There in the middle of the cushion was a small patch of red.

Blood.

~*~*~

Killian stared at the almost full bottle of rum sitting on his desk. His life would have been much more bearable if that amount of alcohol was enough to get him drunk. But unfortunately, Killian was blessed with quite a robust constitution and could hold his liquor with aplomb and grace.

He glanced outside the window to see it was still some hours from sunset. Also unfortunately, he couldn’t make himself override the good manners and etiquette Alice had instilled in him from the time he was a small boy that refused to let him get bosky before the sun set.

He tapped his fingers against the desk and wondered what he ought to do with himself. Liam had been gone for nearly two months now, and he hadn’t yet brought himself to move into Kilmartin House, still living in his modest apartments a few blocks away. According to Lord Isaac, whose lectures he was eventually forced to endure, the title would go into abeyance until Emma delivered. And if she gave birth to a girl, then the title and everything with it would be his. But given that that event was still six months away, Killian felt he could get away with not taking up residence in the earl’s house. He told himself he didn’t want to move in only to have to move out again in six months.

But the truth was something else entirely. He wasn’t sure he could survive living under the same roof as Emma.

She was still living in the house. She was still the Countess of Kilmartin. And would be until she gave birth to a girl and he married. Which he was absolutely not inclined to do.

Because even if he did end up as the earl, Emma wouldn’t be his countess, and that knowledge was enough to make him seriously think about damning etiquette to hell and downing that entire bottle of rum between now and sunset.

He would have thought his grief would have overtaken the longing in his heart for Emma, that he could be near her and not want her so much he could barely breathe. But no. His heart still ached with the pain of loving her. Even being in the same room with her caused his breath to hitch and his heart to race.

And now, all that longing was intertwined with a suffocating guilt. As if there hadn’t been enough of that when Liam was alive.

Emma was in pain. Grieving. And he should be there comforting her. Who could better do so? No one had known Liam better than he did. The two people who knew and loved him best should be comforting one another in their loss. But no, instead of comforting her, he was lusting after her. What kind of bastard lusted after his sister-in-law, his pregnant sister-in-law, when his brother wasn’t even cold in his grave?

Him, apparently.

And so he stayed away. Not completely. He couldn’t get away with that, not with his mother in residence at Kilmartin House. In addition, although the title wasn’t potentially to be his for another six months, everyone was looking to him to manage the affairs of the earl.

It was the least he could do. For Liam. For Emma.

He may not be able to be her friend at the moment, but he could make sure her finances were in order.

She didn’t understand. And he knew she didn’t. She’d often come to visit him when he was working in the study of Kilmartin House - going over various solicitor’s and land steward’s reports - looking for their previous camaraderie, he knew, but which he was unable to give. Not yet.

“My lord?”

Killian looked up at the door to see his valet, Smee, and a footman wearing the unmistakable green and gold livery of Kilmartin house.

“A message from your mother,” the man said, approaching with an envelope in his outstretched hand. “She said it was urgent.”

His brows rose on his head. Urgent? That was new. His mother had sent him nearly daily missives, or it seemed like it anyway, but they were never more than just prattling on about the doings at Kilmartin House. She was likely just trying to keep herself busy.

Once Smee and the footman left the room, he opened the letter.

Come quickly, it said. Emma has lost the baby.

~*~*~

Killian himself was nearly killed several times, not to mention the numerous pedestrians who were in his way, as he raced on horseback to Kilmartin House.

But now he stood here in the foyer, holding his crying mother, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

A miscarriage they called it. It seemed like such a small word for such a profound happening. And why had they called him? This was the province of women and doctors. Of which, he was neither. What could he possibly do?

But then it hit him. He was the earl.

Slowly but surely over the last two months, Killian had been stepping into Liam’s shoes. And now that process was complete. The final nail in the coffin, so to speak.

It took nary a thought to murmur comforting nonsense to his mother as he led her to the downstairs parlor, her sobs abating.

“It’s like losing Liam all over again,” she whispered.

“I know,” he agreed. And he did. While Emma had been pregnant, a small piece of Liam still existed on this earth. And while he wasn’t yet prepared to step fully into Liam’s shoes, by the time she delivered, he would have been, and he would have done everything duty demanded. For Liam, his child, for Emma.

But he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t. Not yet.

That last fragile link to Liam was snapped and he was right back where he was two months ago.

“How is she?” he asked.

“In shock,” she answered quietly. “She’s been crying. She can’t seem to stop. She asked for you.”

Killian’s head snapped toward his mother.

“Me? Why?”

Alice’s face was surprised. “She wanted you.”

“But… I can’t…” he stammered.

“Yes, you can.” His mother looked confused at his refusal. “You have to,” she insisted.

Killian shook his head vehemently, his hands starting to tremble. “I can’t go in there.”

“You can’t abandon her!”

“I’m not! I didn’t!” he cried, the grief breaking free. “Liam abandoned her! Liam abandoned me!” he shouted. His voice shocked him. He sounded like a wounded animal - pained, panicked, confused. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “She was never mine to abandon!”

“Killian George Alaster Jones!” his mother cried, shocked. “How can you say such a thing?”

“Mother,” he all but moaned. “She needs a woman. What can I do?”

“You can be her friend,” she said softly.

“No. I can’t. Not yet.” The anguish on his mother’s face was real and he knew his was the same. In a move of utter and pathetic cowardice, he rose and ran from the room.

~*~*~

If there truly were nine circles of Hell, then in the month since he’d taken on his duties, Killian surely must have taken up residence in one of the lower levels of Hell on earth. With every new ceremony, each document he signed as Kilmartin, and every “my lord” he was forced to endure, it was as if Liam's spirit was being pushed further and further away.

Everything that had been Liam’s was now his.

Except Emma.

And Killian was determined to keep it that way. He would not bring that last insult to bear against his brother’s memory. He’d seen her, of course. And offered his best words of comfort. Which were, truthfully, woefully inadequate. And both he and Emma knew it.

He’d been more relieved that she was physically unharmed than upset over the loss of the child. But he couldn’t very well say that.

Their mothers, for some reason, felt compelled to describe the event in gruesome detail, a chamber maid trotting out the bloodied sheets as proof that Lady Kilmartin had indeed lost the baby. Lord Isaac had nodded in approval when presented with the evidence, but had then added that Lady Kilmartin would still need to be observed closely for the next few months to be sure she was not increasing. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to circumvent the sacred laws of primogeniture, he’d asserted.

The rage inside Killian at that statement nearly propelled him to pick up Lord Isaac bodily and throw him out the window, but he managed to control himself by the most tenuous of grips.

He still hadn’t moved into Kilmartin House. He knew it was expected, but the circumstances at the house hadn’t changed, and Killian still couldn’t bring himself to live in the same house as the woman he loved.

Who now stood at the threshold of his study. She looked thin and pale, but her green eyes flashed.

“Emma?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

He was shocked. He couldn’t deny it. She’d never been here. Not when Liam was alive. And certainly not after.

“I wanted to see you.” The rest of her statement, her accusation really, went unspoken. You’ve been avoiding me.

Was this improper? He hadn’t a clue. Their relationship now was so different and ambiguous, he couldn’t guess what rules of etiquette applied. He motioned to a seat and she took it, her fingers twisting in her lap.

She finally looked at him, her gaze intense, grief and anger swirling in their depths.

“I’ve missed you.” Make that an even lower level of hell.

“Emma…” he tried.

“You are… were… my friend,” she said, angrily, swiping at the tear that tracked down her face. “Besides Liam, you were my closest friend!”

Emma, I…” he tried again. He was a fool. And a coward. And he didn’t know what to say to her.

“Where have you been?”

“I…” He was speechless. Brought down by an angry and grief-stricken face, and a mountain of guilt. Although guilt for exactly what, he couldn’t pinpoint any longer. It came from too many sources to make sense of anymore.

“I needed you.” The plaintive need in her voice nearly undid him. “You knew him best. You loved him the most, besides me. Why didn’t you come and help me?”

Killian looked down at his desk. He couldn’t lie to her. But he couldn’t tell her the truth either.

“I don’t know,” he settled upon instead. She was quiet and Killian couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

“That’s it then,” she whispered.

“I guess so,” he replied sadly. The sadness threatened to consume him. In the eyes of the ton, he may have gained much, but in reality, he’d lost everything. And the one person who needed him the most… he couldn’t be what she needed. He couldn’t stand to be near her. Because the grief and the anger and the love and the guilt were a never ending flood, and he was drowning.

The ticking clock on the mantle was the only accompaniment to her swirling thoughts. She looked at Killian and took in his tense shoulders, his rigid bearing, the unbridled grief on his countenance mirroring hers.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he finally said, taking a tentative step toward her. Then another. Then another. Then he was kneeling before her, his hand on her knee. “I’m so, so sorry, Emma.”

“Why did this happen?” she cried. “I don’t understand!” The tears poured from her eyes and Killian gathered her into his arms. “It isn’t fair!” She clutched at his jacket, holding on for dear life as all the grief, all the anger, all the confusion that she thought she’d already released burst forth from her all over again.

“It isn’t fair that it happened to me!” she lamented. “It isn’t fair that this happens to anyone! Oh, what am I to do?”

“I don’t know.” She could just hear him murmuring into her hair and placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. And the comfort she felt from him holding her was almost more than she could bear. For the first time in months, she felt safe and warm. And not alone.

Her tears finally spent, she pulled back from him.

“Will you come back? To Kilmartin House?” she asked, her voice shaky. “Will you stop ignoring me? I still need you.”

She could see the tears in his own eyes, grief and something else she couldn’t identify, as she waited for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know what to say to you. Didn’t know what I could do, so I stayed away.”

“I know,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap. She still clutched at him, unable to let him go, or the warmth and safety he gave. “I knew that’s why you were staying away, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” He released her and stood, even as her arms reached for him again. “I’ll take up my residence in Kilmartin House.”

He could deny her nothing. And living under the same roof couldn’t possibly be any worse than what he’d already had to endure. And if it was, and it did actually kill him, then so be it.

“Thank you. That will… that will be a great comfort to me. And your mother as well.” She paused for a moment and rose. “You know, you were to be his father, in a way.”

Killian felt the blood drain from his face and his heart stop.

“What did you say?” The words were soft, weak, he could barely catch his breath to get them out.

“The baby,” she replied, turning toward him. “In the absence of his father, you’d have been the closest thing he had. And even with him gone, having you here will help me let him go. Let them both go.”

But Killian didn’t hear those last words. His heart started beating again at a gallop and the blood rushed in his ears. All he could grasp from her statement was that he would have been a father to the baby, and that knowledge destroyed him.

The title, the lands, the money, the power, the responsibility were all his now. The only things that weren’t were Liam’s wife and child. And now Emma was telling him that wasn’t true either.

He grabbed Emma by the arms. He was shaking, and she looked frightened but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let her go.

“No!” he cried. “I can’t! I won’t! I’m not Liam!”

“Of course you’re not,” Emma cried out, thoroughly alarmed at the sudden change that had come over Killian. She’d never seen him like this. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, his grip on her arms painful, but her words to try and reach him, to get him to release her, fell on deaf ears. He looked wild, crazed, like a cornered animal that would either make a last desperate attack to try and save itself, or fall over and wait for the final killing blow.

“You can’t ask this of me,” he breathed, the strength and energy that fueled him, completely disappearing. He still held her tightly, but his eyes were finally seeing her and not some vision playing out in his mind. “I can’t do it.”

“Killian, you’re hurting me,” she whispered. “Please let me go.” He released her suddenly, the recrimination in his eyes and the restored blood flow in her arms bringing tears to her eyes.

“I’d… I’d better go,” she said, pulling away from him. She looked at him for a moment more, trying to make sense out of what just happened. She’d never seen Killian like that before and it frightened her. She wasn’t afraid of him, though. Even after that, she knew with utter surety that he would never harm her and would protect her to his last breath.

“Perhaps… perhaps it would be better if you remained here instead of Kilmartin House.”

“Y- yes,” he stammered, nodding with a jerky motion. “I think that would be best.”

Not only had she lost Liam, and her child, but it was now clear she’d lost Killian as well. And she didn’t quite know what she would do about that.

~*~*~

Once Emma was gone, Killian sat back down behind his desk and poured himself a tall drink.

He’d made a promise to her and broken it almost in the same breath. He’d spent the last month fulfilling the duties of the earl and then Emma’s words made him realize something.

She truly had no inkling of his feelings for her, and as long as that was the case, as long as she didn’t understand how much he hated himself for every step he took in Liam’s shoes, he couldn’t be near her.

And that brought him to a decision. Rarely in life had his path been this clear. He slammed back the rum and rose from his desk. When he arrived at his bedchamber, he found his valet carefully folding a cravat.

“Smee,” he asked. “What do you think of India?”

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought! Next ch will be up on Saturday!

#a scoundrel… or a gentleman?#krystal writes #inspired by francesca bridgerton’s story #art by motherkatereloyshipper #cs ff #chapter one #prologue #cs au mc #major cs fic rec ❤️⚓️❤️#such a talented shipmate ⚓️🩷⚓️

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nell0-0 · 2 months ago

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Prologue 1

Cover || Part 1 | Part 2 | Next (soon?)

Red is surprised Mask doesn't know what the Minish or the Picori festival are since they're so important in his time. Sure, Mask is a kid, but a kid raised in the forest and no clue about the little race usually only seen by children?

Then again, Red doesn't know what exactly the kokiri are, so they're even.

#links meet au #culture shock au #prologue 1 #CS Mask #CS Red #CS Mido #my art #tloz au #my au

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wholoveseggs · 18 days ago

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Dark Star {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Bound by love that defies centuries, Elijah Mikaelson will do whatever it takes to resurrect his lost wife. Even if it means forsaking everything he believes in. Once the north star guiding his family, his shattered heart now leads him down a darker path, transforming him into a version beyond redemption. A damned soul, drawing his family into an abyss they may never escape.

♡♡ Hello my lovely followers! This will be a six part series inspired by @njeancastro316 post about red door Elijah (Girl, I've been writing this non-stop since you tagged me! thank you for the inspo). I really put my whole heart into this one, {I even made a playlist to capture the vibes} exploring the depths of Elijah's character and his struggle between love and darkness. Enjoy! && expect pain... ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: angst, angst and more angst, grief, heartbreak, intense violence, red door Elijah, emotional turmoil, so much Mikaelson family drama {the whole gang is here && some faves from Mystic Falls will show up later}, No smut in this part, but prepare for plenty of darkness... oh! && croissants...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore

Prologue ~ Europe 13th Century

"This way!" A boy laughed as he darted beneath a low-hanging branch. Behind him, a small girl hurried along, lifting her skirt to keep up, her breath catching in short gasps.

"Slow down! Wait for me!" she called, tripping over roots and brambles in her haste. "I can't run as fast as you!"

The boy glanced back, grinning. "Then hurry, will you."

"We ought to be home by now." She replied, frowning.

"We are almost there," he replied, leaping over a fallen branch before turning to face her, eyes gleaming. "We can get home quicker through the woods."

"I don’t like it," she murmured, clutching her skirt tighter. Shadows crept over the path as the sun sank lower, casting an orange glow through the dense branches. "The hour grows late."

The boy shook his head, catching her hand with a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be fine. It’s only a short way."

Reluctantly, she nodded, holding onto him. "If anything ill should happen, I’ll tell Mother."

He only laughed, tugging her down the narrow path. "If something ill happens, you may not get the chance!"

Their laughter echoed in the stillness as they raced ahead. The trees grew taller, their branches clawing toward the darkening sky, while thick underbrush crowded the trail, rustling with each step. Yet the children, lost in their game, scarcely noticed, laughing and squealing as they chased one another.

Then, a sound, a subtle, almost a whisper, seeped through the quiet. The girl stopped, clutching the boy’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

“What is it?”

“Shh,” she hissed, pulling him closer, her wide eyes searching the shadows. "Listen."

They stood in silence, the air heavy and still, broken only by their own quickening breaths.

“It’s nothing. Perhaps a deer-”

“No, it’s more than that,” she whispered. Somewhere ahead, faint and distant, came the flicker of firelight. And with it, laughter. Wild and strange.

“What is that?” the boy asked, his voice barely a breath.

“Quiet,” she said, creeping forward, pulling him toward the light.

They peered out from behind a tree, breath catching at the sight before them. A great fire blazed, roaring into the sky as shadows twisted around it. Two figures danced wildly around the flames, naked, their skin smeared with red and ash. Their laughter, sharp and otherworldly, pierced the night air.

The girl’s scream barely escaped her lips before the boy’s hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her back. They stumbled, clutching one another, then turned and fled, racing down the trail as fast as their little legs would carry them, branches clawing at their clothes.

By the time they burst into the village, their faces were pale, their breaths ragged. Villagers gathered around as the children stumbled forward, pointing frantically toward the woods.

“Demons!” the girl gasped, clutching at the skirts of the nearest woman. “They’re out there! In the forest!”

There was a hushed sadness over the compound. The lights seemed to have dimmed, and the atmosphere hung heavy, cold and suffocating. It had been that way since the night Elijah found your lifeless body on the cold pavement. The night that changed everything.

Rebekah didn’t like it here anymore. Her home felt more like a tomb than a residence. It was too quiet, too full of memories and emotions too painful to confront. Her big brother was suffering, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

She found Klaus sitting in the courtyard, staring blankly at a chessboard. The pieces were scattered, mid-game, but his focus seemed to drift in and out. Normally, this contemplative silence from him made her nervous, but today she couldn’t muster the energy to care. The weight of everything was too much.

“Any news?” Rebekah asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Klaus didn’t move, didn’t speak at first. He shifted a chess piece absentmindedly and shrugged.

The sound of Marcel’s footsteps echoed through the stillness of the courtyard. She felt one of his warm hands rest gently on the small of her back, and she leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence.

“I’ve been asking around. Only lead I have is that he’s somewhere in Europe,” Marcel said, his voice sounding hollow.

“Well, where in Europe?” Klaus finally spoke, his gaze never leaving the board.

“Don’t know. Haven’t pinpointed his exact location yet,” Marcel sighed. “But he’s been killing low-level Strix members, leaving bodies in his wake.”

Klaus scoffed softly, moving another piece on the board. “Keep looking,”

“You almost sound like you care,” Rebekah hissed, glaring at him.

“Don’t start with me, little sister,” Klaus warned, his voice low and sharp.

“Elijah has always been there for us,” she snapped, “And when he needs our help, where are you? Sitting here, playing chess with yourself.”

Klaus’s fist slammed down on the chessboard, sending the pieces flying across the table. He stood abruptly, stalking toward her, his eyes blazing. But Rebekah didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. She held his glare with her own, unrelenting.

“What do you want me to do?” Klaus roared, his voice cracking as his anger gave way to the grief simmering beneath. “Tell me, Rebekah. How do I fix this?”

“I want you to find him!” she screamed, tears stinging her eyes. “He’s our brother, Nik!”

Klaus’s shoulders slumped. His rage deflated, leaving him hollow. “I don’t know how to fix this, little sister,” he admitted quietly.

Marcel cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Maybe we should give him some time. Let him mourn her.”

“He’s not mourning, Marcel,” Klaus growled, clenching his jaw. “He’s murdering. He hasn’t even accepted that she’s dead.”

Rebekah and Marcel exchanged worried glances.

“We can’t just let him destroy himself,” Rebekah argued, her voice breaking. “Wherever he is, whoever crosses his path... they’re doomed. He’s out of control.”

“He’s changed,” Marcel muttered, rubbing his temple. “I’ve never seen him like this. So violent, so volatile.”

“That’s why I’m worried, Nik,” Rebekah said, her tone deadly serious. “If he’s not stopped, the Elijah we know will be gone. He will become a monster.”

Klaus looked down at the shattered chess pieces scattered across the table. “We are monsters, Rebekah,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“No, Nik,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

Klaus remained silent for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Suppose someone took Marcellus from you. What would you do?”

“I would raze this earth and dance on the ashes,” she answered without hesitation, the fire of her love and loyalty burning bright in her eyes.

“That’s what he’s doing,” Klaus said darkly.

“Yes,” Rebekah agreed, “but Elijah would come for me. He would find me, and help me, keep me from losing myself. Now he’s the one who needs help.”

“How do we stop him?” Marcel asked, though his voice was laden with doubt.

Klaus shook his head slowly. “We don’t.”

“Nik…” Rebekah started, her voice pleading.

“We contain the damage,” Klaus cut her off, the steely resolve returning to his voice. “I’ll go to Europe. I’ll bring him back.”

Rebekah exhaled, relief flooding through her, and she pulled Klaus into a tight hug. She didn’t say anything, just held him as though her arms alone could keep the family from falling apart. He hugged her back, and for a moment, the cracks in their family seemed to close.

Marcel stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

When she finally pulled away, Rebekah gave her brother a sad smile. “Be careful.”

Klaus nodded. “I will.”

His eyes flicked to Marcel, and the two men exchanged a knowing look. They both understood how dangerous this was. That if Elijah couldn’t be saved, they might lose him forever.

Or worse... they might have to put him down.

Two members of the Strix walked side by side, their steps echoing off the marble floors. One glanced around nervously, eyeing the high-tech security measures surrounding them, cameras in every corner, reinforced steel doors, layers of magical barriers.

"Is this really necessary? I can't stand being cooped up here. What's the point?" the taller vampire complained, his voice echoing through the empty corridor.

"Protocol," the other replied, his tone bored. "You know how paranoid Tristan can be. But I’m telling you, no one's getting in here. Not even him."

"I don’t get it. We had nothing to do with her death. Why are we hiding?"

"He doesn’t know that." The second vampire shook his head, his eyes flicking toward a monitor displaying multiple feeds from around the compound. “And he doesn’t seem to care about guilt or innocence anymore.”

They stopped at a reinforced door, pressing their palms to the scanners. As the heavy doors slid open, the two shared a final glance, the reality sinking in that even their supposed impenetrable defenses might not be enough.

They stepped into the dim room, illuminated only by the flickering light of the chandelier hanging above a long oak table. Strix members filled the chairs, their faces tense and uneasy. They had gathered in secret, far from prying eyes. Whispers of fear and uncertainty drifted across the room, but no one dared to speak above a murmur. The air was heavy with dread, and no one felt safe.

At the head of the table, Aya stood, her sharp gaze cutting through the room like a blade. She had always been the picture of composure, a pillar of strength, but now, her patience was thinning, her power waning, cracks in her armor where fear leaked through. Beside her, Tristan de Martel leaned casually in his chair, an amused smile playing on his lips, as if this was all a game to him. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of his fellow Strix members, reveling in their discomfort.

“We all know why we’re here,” Aya began, her voice cold and steady, but there was an underlying tension to it, like a string about to snap. “Our ranks are thinning, and the reason is no secret.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Heads turned, glances were exchanged. They knew. Everyone knew.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” Tristan added, his voice smooth and casual, as if he were discussing the weather. His eyes gleamed with a cruel delight. “The noble brother has gone rogue. It seems the death of his beloved has… unraveled him.”

"That's an interesting way of putting it," one Strix member commented, his voice dripping with disdain. "He ripped apart fifty of my men, left a trail of bodies and witnesses, it took me days to cover it all up,"

"And how many vampires has he killed since then? Hundreds? Thousands?" another voice chimed in, sounding bitter.

"You're just scared," another vampire challenged, his tone mocking.

"Of course, we're scared. Do you know what he's capable of?" the first vampire hissed, baring his teeth.

"Silence," Aya ordered, her tone icy. The room fell quiet, the air crackling with tension. "We cannot defeat him, nor can we sit by and wait for him to tear us apart. He has lost his humanity, and it's clear that we must take action."

"We have already taken action and all it does is piss him off," the Strix member grumbled, "I have no interest in fighting a losing battle."

"You're a coward," Aya snarled, her eyes flashing with anger.

"What would you have us do?" another vampire spoke up, their voice strained, "We're no match for him."

"Perhaps we should consider a bargain," Tristan suggested, a sly smirk creeping across his lips. "Find the killer, deliver them to him, and save ourselves the trouble of being murdered."

The members murmured amongst themselves, some seeming open to the idea, while others still appeared wary.

"I cannot fathom why someone would be so foolish. Surely the person who did this knows the repercussions," a member said, a hint of fear in their voice.

Tristan's smile widened. "They were foolish indeed, and now they are the most hunted man, or woman, in the world,"

Aya's face was impassive, her mind racing. She had no doubt that Elijah would tear down the world to find his killer, and if the Strix didn't deliver them, he would do the same to their ranks. Tristan's indifference infuriated her. While he sat there with a smile, the Strix were suffering the consequences of his poor leadership.

A soft little cough pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see a small girl standing at the other end of the table. She looked no older than twelve, with delicate features and wide, doe-like eyes. She looked lost, and this wasn't a place you could just wander into.

Other members noticed her presence and got to their feet, the scraping of chairs echoing off the walls. Aya narrowed her eyes, taking in the girl's appearance.

"Who are you?" Aya asked, her voice sharp.

The girl was clearly terrified, her hands shaking, and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Aya found it strange. She didn't sense the power of a witch coming off her, she was just a girl, and a very young one at that.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl stammered, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't know why I'm here. I just woke up here and now, I-I'm scared,"

"How did you get in here?" Aya questioned, her voice low and menacing.

"A nice man told me to come here," the girl mumbled, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the tense, hostile atmosphere. "He wanted me to talk to you."

Aya raised an eyebrow. "And why would he want that?"

The girl shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know, please, I just want to go home,"

"What did he look like?" Aya pressed, her voice growing louder.

"He had dark hair, and brown eyes," the girl sniffled, trying to hold back her sobs.

Tristan's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing dangerously. The room was suddenly silent, the tension now unbearable. Aya stared at the girl, her face an unreadable mask, but inside, her mind was racing.

"What did he want you to say?" Aya asked, her voice quiet, dangerous.

The girl’s breath hitched, her words barely audible. "That... he will give all of you a slow death."

The temperature in the room plummeted, and a cold shiver ran down Aya’s spine. She struggled to hide her unease, but the implication was clear: Elijah had infiltrated their sanctuary.

"A-and that... if I can get in..." The girl gulped, her small voice quaking, "He can too."

The room fell into a suffocating silence as the weight of her words settled on the group. Tristan shot up from his chair, his face dark with fury.

“Lockdown procedures. Now.” Tristan barked, his voice commanding and harsh.

"What about the girl?" Aya asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the trembling child. Her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

"Kill her," Tristan spat, his voice cold and merciless. "She’s served her purpose."

The room erupted into chaos. Sirens blared as the compound went into immediate lockdown. The lights flickered, dimming to an eerie glow. The Strix moved quickly, vanishing into the shadows, their bodies blurring as they scattered, heading for safe rooms or exit points.

Aya hesitated for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the girl. She started toward her, but a voice in her head warned her against it. With one last glance, she turned and hurried toward the safe room.

The little girl stood trembling in the darkness, tears streaming down her face. The once-imposing vampires had fled, leaving her all alone in the icy silence.

"It's okay, sweetheart," a voice purred from the shadows, smooth and calming. The girl gasped, her heart racing as she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm yet oddly comforting.

She turned to see a tall man standing behind her, his dark hair framing his sharp features, his kind eyes watching her closely. "Run along now," he said softly, giving her a gentle push toward the door.

The girl nodded quickly, wiping her tears before scampering away, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.

Elijah watched her go, his kind smile fading as the room returned to darkness. His eyes glinted coldly, the warmth in them vanishing like smoke. Slowly, the veins beneath his eyes darkened, spreading like cracks in the surface of his calm exterior.

He was already inside.

As the sirens echoed, he vanished into the shadows once more, his presence like a gathering storm. And what followed this storm, was pure, unrelenting destruction.

The soft drone of a news broadcast drifted through an abandoned loft, dust floating through the air. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, the room dark and shadowy, save for the light of a flickering TV. The anchor woman's face was somber, her voice solemn.

“Une tragédie a frappé Paris la nuit dernière... un incendie dévastateur a détruit un immeuble historique, laissant peu de traces de ce qui s’y trouvait. Les autorités locales confirment que l’origine du feu demeure inconnue, mais la rapidité à laquelle il s’est propagé soulève des questions.”

Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen in English: "A tragic accident struck Paris last night... a devastating fire destroyed a historic building, leaving few traces of what was inside. Local authorities confirm that the cause of the fire is unknown, but the speed at which it spread raises questions."

The camera cut to images of the smoldering wreckage. Blackened stone, twisted metal, and fire trucks still spraying water over what little remained.

Elijah wasn't paying attention to the TV anymore; he had his head in his hands, hunched over in a chair, his body wracked with sobs. Bodies were strewn about the room, blood spattered on the walls and floors. A macabre painting of violence and rage. The sight of the lifeless forms weighed heavily on him, a chilling reminder of his own actions.

He didn't know how long he had been there, but it felt like an eternity. Each day blended into the next, the hours stretching into a meaningless void. Days would go by where he felt utterly detached, lost in a sea of grief and loss, and then the anger would return, awakening him to a new trail of bodies. There were so many, too many, and yet it wasn't enough.

“Les témoins affirment avoir vu des ombres avant que l’incendie n’éclate, mais aucune preuve tangible n’a été trouvée. Des sources proches de l’enquête évoquent une possible attaque ciblée, bien que les détails restent flous.”

"Witnesses reported seeing shadows before the fire broke out, but no physical evidence has been found. Sources close to the investigation say there may have been a targeted attack, though details remain unclear."

"You used a child? My love, what has become of you?"

Elijah didn't flinch, didn't react as he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, your lips pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your voice was soft, tinged with sadness and disappointment. He hated himself for it.

"She's fine," Elijah said, his voice strained, barely able to meet your gaze.

"You don't know that," you sighed, your hands moving to his chest, trying to soothe him. "And you know this isn't the way,"

"There is no other way," he replied, his voice cracking, desperation lacing his words.

"You used an innocent child, one not much older than Hope," you said, a hint of anger breaking through your sadness.

Elijah stiffened. He knew you were right. It didn't make what he did any better, and he felt his self-loathing increase tenfold.

"They killed you; I did what I had to," Elijah defended, but the words felt hollow, a pitiful excuse.

"This isn't the way," you repeated, your voice pleading, "and you don't know who did it, or why. This is all just a guess, a hunch."

He let out another quiet sob, then grabbed his glass of blood and threw it against the wall, the shards falling like crimson rain. He stared at the stain on the wall, watching the liquid trickle down, and he couldn't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

"You have to stop," you whispered, appearing in front of him, your hand cupping his cheek, trying to pull him away from the dark, destructive spiral he was on.

"I can't," he said, his voice breaking, unable to look at you, this ghost haunting him.

"Please," you begged, your hand moving to his neck, gently stroking his skin, trying to comfort him. "I know this pain. It's agony, it's consuming, but I promise you, it will fade."

He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close, trying to breathe in your scent, to feel your warmth. But he couldn't. You were an echo, a phantom he couldn't grasp.

"You can't bring me back. You know that," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, sad reminder.

He didn't respond, just held you, his fingers digging into your skin, his eyes closed tightly, fighting back tears. He had spent so many nights like this, crying himself to sleep, waking up to nothing, just an empty bed, a cold room, and a hollow, broken heart.

He opened his eyes and let out a gasp as he realized he was clinging to one of the dead bodies on the floor, the vampire's skin gray and decaying, the body long since gone cold.

Elijah released the body and staggered to his feet, his head swimming with despair and self-loathing. His pain and sorrow gave way to anger and frustration, fueling the urge to hurt, to destroy anything and anyone.

"Par ailleurs, une jeune fille a disparu après ne pas être rentrée chez elle. La jeune fille, qui aurait douze ans, a été vue pour la dernière fois dans la zone de l'incendie,"

"In other news, a young girl has gone missing after failing to return home. The girl, who is reported to be twelve years old, was last seen in the area of the fire..."

Elijah snapped, grabbing the TV and throwing it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. His rage burned bright, a hot, white flame. His heart raced, his breathing ragged, his body shaking with fury.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to kill, but more than anything, he wanted you. He wanted to hold you, to feel your warmth, to hear your voice. He couldn't take it anymore; he was falling apart.

Klaus was never a big croissant fan; he preferred something heartier for breakfast. But here, in France, the flaky pastry seemed to taste infinitely better. Maybe it was the morning sunlight filtering through the café windows or the distant sounds of bustling streets.

He took a sip of his espresso, his eyes scanning the crowded café, absorbing the lively atmosphere. Freya sat across from him, her brow furrowed as she read a spell book, her expression thoughtful.

"Anything in there about wrangling wayward siblings?" Klaus teased, a wry grin playing on his lips.

Freya glanced up, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "That's more your area of expertise."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter. "Fair enough."

Freya’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through. "It will be okay. We'll find him."

Klaus nodded, biting into his croissant, the flakes melting in his mouth. The clatter of dishes and murmurs of conversation surrounded them, along with the distant strains of a busker playing a violin.

"Then what? I’ve never known what to say to him," Klaus said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "He’s always the one with the wise words, not me."

"Honesty is all we have," Freya replied, her tone gentle. "We tell him we miss him, that he’s our brother, and we want him home."

"And that we need to have a funeral, or at least a memorial. Hope is very confused about what happened to her aunt," Klaus added, his gaze drifting to the people walking by the window.

"We'll do it together, as a family," Freya reassured, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her touch was gentle, a lifeline in the turmoil. "He needs to know we’re here for him."

"And if he doesn’t want to come back? What then?" Klaus asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it." Freya pointed at the spell book, her expression brightening. "I’m looking into ways to calm his mind. Perhaps if he can control his rage, he can start to heal."

"I don’t wish to subdue him," Klaus said, frowning. "He deserves the right to his pain, to grieve in his own way."

Freya’s eyes widened, surprised by his response. It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had tried to force Elijah or the rest of their family into doing things his way. Yet, despite his brashness, she knew Klaus was a man of deep, powerful emotions, capable of empathy.

"What?" Klaus asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"You’ve grown," Freya smiled. "It’s good to see."

"Don’t get used to it," Klaus quipped, taking another bite of his croissant and washing it down with a sip of his espresso. "I wish for us to go back to normal, where I’m the problem."

"You’ll never not be a problem, Nik," Freya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Rude," he scowled.

"But true," she sighed, returning to her book with a smile.

Klaus took another sip of his espresso, his gaze drifting to the TV hanging in the corner. A news broadcast caught his attention, the images of a fire flickering on the screen. He leaned forward, his expression sharpening as he listened intently.

"De nouvelles informations proviennent de l'enquête sur l'incendie du centre-ville de Paris. La police a désormais identifié plus de deux cents corps retrouvés sur les lieux, sans aucune indication pour l'instant du nombre de personnes portées disparues. Il semblerait que les victimes étaient toutes membres de une société privée de conservation d'œuvres d'art, possédant des participations dans plusieurs pays. Alors que les autorités enquêtent toujours sur la cause de l'incendie, il a été suggéré que l'incendie avait été allumé délibérément.”

"There is new information coming in from the investigation into the fire in downtown Paris. Police have now identified more than two hundred bodies recovered from the scene, with no indication yet of how many are still missing. It's believed the victims were all members of a private art curation company, with holdings in several countries. While authorities are still investigating the cause of the blaze, it's being suggested the fire was set deliberately."

Klaus’s stomach dropped, a familiar dread creeping in. The timing was too convenient, and this 'art curation company' sounded like a cover for a secret society. He gestured to the screen, espresso still in hand, splashing a few drops onto the table. "Looks like a place for us to visit, wouldn’t you say?"

Freya looked up, her brow furrowing. "Do you think Elijah has anything to do with it?"

"If this organization is the Strix -sorry, was the Strix- then absolutely," Klaus replied, a grim smile forming on his lips. "Perhaps they gave him the answers he was looking for. Answers we weren’t able to find."

"I can’t imagine it would have been a pleasant reunion," Freya sighed, shaking her head. "I can’t say I blame him."

Klaus’s smile faded. He had tried his best, searching for months through the ashes of Elijah’s rage. He had gone from city to city, country to country, even continent to continent. And now, as he stood on the brink of discovery, he couldn’t help but wonder what condition Elijah would be in when they finally found him.

"Well then, no point in wasting any more time," Klaus said, taking a final sip of his espresso.

Freya nodded, closing her book, quickly downing her coffee before stealing the last bite of Klaus’s croissant, earning a playful glare.

"Oi!" he growled, "I was going to eat that."

"Too slow, brother," she smirked.

Klaus rolled his eyes and stood, tossing a wad of cash on the table without bothering to count. The two of them hurried out, the waiter shaking his head as he picked up the money and Klaus's empty plate.

"Americans," he muttered under his breath.

The site of the fire was a blackened husk, the acrid smell of smoke still heavy in the air. Klaus and Freya walked along the sidewalk, watching the firefighters douse the smoldering remains with water. Distant sirens echoed, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Can't believe it's still burning," Klaus mused, a slight frown on his face.

"Must have been quite the inferno," Freya remarked, her expression thoughtful.

"Magic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I don't sense any," Freya said, shaking her head. "Whoever started it didn't use magic."

Klaus glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. "I thought you didn't think Elijah had anything to do with it?"

Freya shrugged. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."

Klaus wrinkled his nose, his keen sense of smell picking up the lingering scent of blood beneath all the ash and smoke. Human, vampire, a mix of the two. The fire had raged through the night, burning hot and fast, devouring everything in its path.

"I do sense death, though," Freya murmured, her brow furrowing, her expression darkening. "Lots of it."

"Well, I can't imagine there'll be much left for us to find, considering how thorough my brother is," Klaus muttered, his gaze roving over the ruined buildings, his stomach sinking.

"Why are you so sure it was him?" Freya asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Because I can smell his cologne, no1 passant guardant," Klaus replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Kinda weird that you can smell that, Nik," Freya smirked, giving him a sideways glance.

"I'm a hybrid, love; it's one of my many gifts," Klaus replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Freya shook her head, a wry grin on her lips, suppressing a giggle as she watched her brother sniff the air, his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

"Could be someone else with the same taste in cologne; you never know," she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

"It’s very difficult to come by; only a handful of stores carry it," Klaus muttered, ignoring her teasing. "And... she bought it for him just before... you know."

"Ah," Freya's expression softened, her amusement replaced by a mix of sadness and understanding.

Klaus opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the destruction once more, the weight of grief settling on his shoulders. He missed you. Your laughter, your wit, the way you could put him in his place. He admired your loyalty, your strength, and how much you loved his brother.

"What are you thinking about?" Freya asked, her voice quiet and cautious.

"Our departed sister-in-law... the cause of all of this," Klaus said, a sad smile on his lips.

"You can't blame her, you know," Freya murmured, her eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. "I miss her too."

"It's hard to be reminded, is all," Klaus replied, a hint of pain in his voice.

Freya gave him a soft, sympathetic smile, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder. "You know... I never learned how they met," she said, trying to steer the conversation toward something less melancholy.

Klaus laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it's quite a tale, and some parts I'm not privy to. But I can tell you that she was a novice in a convent," he began, a sparkle in his eye.

"A nun?!" Freya exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up.

"Indeed, although she hadn't taken her vows," Klaus chuckled, amused by the surprised look on her face.

"So, what happened? How did they end up together?" Freya asked, intrigued.

"For all parties involved, it was quite a dramatic affair," Klaus continued, a wistful smile forming on his lips. "But we have more important things to focus on, don't you think?"

Freya sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter and returned to focusing on the scents around him, trying to find a trail, something that might lead him to his brother. He caught the faintest whiff of blood, the scent leading away from the fire, and deeper into the city.

"This way," he said, striding confidently down a street, away from the site of the fire.

Freya hurried to catch up, her long legs making short work of the distance, her boots clattering on the cobblestone streets.

"How can you be so sure?" Freya asked, falling in step beside him, her voice low and cautious.

"I just am," Klaus said, his tone brooking no argument. "That bloody cologne of his is everywhere. No one else has such atrocious taste in fragrances."

"Nik..." Freya cautioned, her tone warning, her gaze flickering to the passersby, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "We don't know what's waiting for us. We can't just charge in."

"I know; that's why you are going in first, my dear sister," Klaus smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Nik," Freya protested, her expression indignant.

"Don't worry, I'll be right behind you," Klaus grinned, giving her a playful nudge as they rounded a corner.

The two of them came to a stop outside an old building, its stone façade crumbling, the windows boarded up. Klaus gestured for Freya to go in, and with a roll of her eyes, she did.

"This place is creepy," she muttered, her boots echoing on the cracked tile floor.

"There's blood, a lot of it," Klaus said, sniffing the air, his eyes closed, his body tensed. "Upstairs."

They made their way up an old spiral staircase, the steps creaking under their feet. They reached a landing; the hallway was dark and narrow.

"Down there," Klaus said, pointing at a closed door at the end of the hall.

Freya nodded and slowly approached the door, her senses alert, her magic tingling under her skin. It was eerily quiet; the silence weighed heavy in the air, pressing down on her.

She stopped at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. She looked back at Klaus, his expression calm and composed, but she could sense his nervousness, his apprehension.

"Ready?" she whispered.

Klaus gave her a curt nod. Freya took a deep breath and turned the handle, the door opening with a creak.

"Elijah?"

The two of them were met with the sight of a massacre: body parts strewn across the room, blood splattered on the walls.

Freya gasped and took a step back, Klaus's hand gripping her shoulder. His eyes roved over the carnage, landing on a lone figure in the middle of the room, standing motionless.

"Elijah," Klaus breathed.

His brother was wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, tattered and bloodstained, covered in dirt. His hair was matted and wild, his eyes haunted, the light dimmed within them.

Klaus and Freya stepped inside, careful not to slip on the blood, the floor sticky and wet. They approached Elijah slowly, his gaze fixed on the severed arm in his hand, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Brother?" Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand reaching out.

"You are not real," Elijah murmured, not taking his eyes off the limb, his expression vacant and distant.

"Elijah, we're here," Freya said gently. "It's time to come home."

"I won't be fooled again," Elijah hissed, his grip tightening on the severed arm.

Klaus took a tentative step forward, one arm stretched behind him to protect Freya, the other held out, placating and non-threatening. "We're not illusions, brother," he said softly, reassuringly.

"Freya," Elijah breathed, his head snapping up, his gaze finding hers.

"Yes, Elijah, it's me," she replied, giving him a gentle smile.

He blinked, his eyes flicking from her face to Klaus's, his brow furrowing. "Have you found a way to bring her back?"

Klaus and Freya exchanged glances, their expressions sad and resigned. It wasn't something Freya wanted to do... to tap into such dark magic. She had been searching for you on the other side but found no trace. She believed you had found peace, and to tear you away from that would be a cursed, evil thing, an affront to the balance between life and death.

"Elijah, there's no way, not without consequence," Klaus said, his tone firm, his eyes filled with regret. "We discussed this."

Elijah dropped the severed arm, his hands clenching into fists. "You're wrong. There is a way."

"Elijah," Freya began, but he cut her off.

"Bring her back," he demanded, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I can't," Freya said, her voice quiet and regretful. "I'm sorry, Elijah. She's gone; she's at rest."

"No, no, no," Elijah growled, his hands coming up to grip his hair, tugging at the roots, his chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Brother, she's in a better place," Klaus tried, his tone firm and reassuring. "I think it's time you come home... You need to let her go."

Elijah shook his head, his breathing ragged, his whole body trembling. "No, no, no," he chanted, his eyes darting around the room, looking for something.

"Elijah," Freya murmured, her brow furrowed, her expression concerned. "Please, come with us. She wouldn't want this for you."

"No, no, no!" he growled, his voice echoing off the blood-spattered walls, his face contorted in a mask of rage.

He grabbed a nearby table and threw it against the wall, the sound of splintering wood reverberating through the air.

"Bloody hell," Klaus growled, grabbing Freya and yanking her backward, shielding her with his body.

Elijah lunged at them, his fangs bared, a murderous look in his eyes. He tackled Klaus, sending them both crashing into the wall, the plaster cracking under the impact.

"Nik!" Freya exclaimed, her magic sparking at her fingertips.

"Elijah, you've gone mad," Klaus grunted, shoving him away, sending him careening across the room. "She's dead."

"Niklaus," Elijah growled, his body vibrating with anger, the haunted, hollow look in his eyes replaced by raw, unhinged rage. "Bring. Her. Back."

"We can't, and you know it," Klaus spat, his eyes flashing yellow, his face shifting into the hybrid’s feral features. "She's at peace, Elijah. We need to let her go."

"I won't, I can't," Elijah raged, his body trembling, his eyes filling with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. His voice broke. "How can you ask me to do that?"

Freya’s heart clenched at the sight of her brother unraveling, his usual restraint shattered. "Come home, please," Freya pleaded, her eyes welling with tears, her voice thick with desperation. "We can help you."

Elijah's chest heaved, his wild eyes shifting from Klaus to Freya, barely recognizing them. "Get out," he growled, the words vibrating through the bloodstained room. His gaze locked on Klaus, his voice turning into a vicious snarl. "GET OUT!"

Klaus stared at him for a moment, his expression conflicted. Freya watched him pull a silver dagger out of his pocket, the familiar glint of the cursed weapon that had subjugated their family time and time again. She hadn't even known he had brought one with him, and her heart clenched at the sight. She didn’t want this for either of them. But given Elijah's state, she knew it was necessary.

"I'm sorry, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice solemn. He rushed forward, his movements a blur, and before Elijah could react, he buried the blade in his brother’s chest. The gasp Elijah let out echoed in the empty, ravaged room. The look on his face was heartbreaking, a mixture of shock and pain. Klaus had to steel himself against the emotion threatening to overtake him, reminding himself it was for the best, for all of them.

"Rest now, brother," Klaus murmured, pulling him into a tight embrace, cradling his body as Elijah slumped, his strength leaving him. His big brother, the north star of the family, now lost to grief.

"I thought you didn't want to subdue him," Freya whispered, her voice shaky, her eyes wide with shock as she pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"It was a last resort," Klaus said, his voice thick with emotion, trying and failing to hide the crack in his composure. "I couldn't bear seeing him like this any longer. I didn't think... he would be so... unhinged."

"He's grieving," Freya said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy as she knelt beside them, brushing a hand through Elijah’s matted hair. "He loves her, Nik. Losing her... it's broken him."

"I know," Klaus muttered, his arms tightening around Elijah, holding him close as if he could protect him from the demons he was fighting inside. His voice cracked, and before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek. Quickly, he wiped it away, trying to maintain his strength.

"Time to go home," Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with sorrow. "For all of us."

Freya reached out, gently taking Elijah's limp hand in hers, squeezing it tight as they prepared to leave the nightmare behind. She hoped and prayed that Elijah could feel her love through the numbness, that somewhere, deep within the wreckage of his mind, he knew they would never give up on him.

That the battle to bring you back hadn’t been in vain. It had only just begun.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

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cyber-dump-171 · 1 month ago

Text

Prologue: Distress Call

The End is Near (Gravity Falls x Reader)

Masterlist | Chapter 1 →

Word count: 1.2 k.

WARNING: Violence, monsters and blood.

Note: thank you for stopping by and reading! Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! For those who come from my profile and are waiting for Chapter 6 of OSYGM, it's on its way!

══════════════════

ROADKILL COUNTY SHERIFF'S OFFICE

Transcript of 911 distress call

10/2/1980 - 1:13 A.M.

────────────────────────

RW: Rita Woorley, Dispatcher.

CS: Caroline Simmons, Victim.

JS: Jeremy Simmons, Victim (?).

────────────────────────

RW: 911, where’s your emergency?

CS: *heavy breathing* *clothing shifting* *distant objects clattering*

RW: Hello? Is anyone there?

CS: *heavy breathing* *distant clatter*

RW: *sighs* For God’s sake, these kids and their pranks.

CS: Please… help me…

RW: Hello? Ma’am, what’s the address of your emergency?

CS: Trantow Fields, house 131 in Gravity Falls. I’m Caroline Simmons and I-I need police here… Just, please, hurry. *distant door banging*

RW: *typing* Alright, and what’s the emergency?

CS: *rapid breathing* It’s my husband… I don’t know what’s happening… Oh God- *distant clatter* *a male voice screaming*

RW: Police are on their way, ma’am. Tell me what’s happening.

CS: I-I don’t know… he’s gone insane… he was fine this mornin’, s-sick with a bug but he was his chipper self. But-

JS: *distant shout* CAROLINE! LET ME OUT, SWEETIE!

RW: Ma’am, are you in a safe place?

CS: *hyperventilating* Y-Yes! I barricaded the bedroom, where he’s at… *heavy breathing* I-I locked myself in the kitchen. *crying*

RW: Ok. Take a deep breath, ma’am. Police are around five minutes away from where you are. Keep walking me through what happened.

CS: *heavy breathing* S-Sorry… I… I woke up to him holding a knife… h-he… he… *distant hurried banging* he tried to stab me… H-He had crazy eyes… his mouth was bleedin’, I think he bit his lip too hard… *loud crash*

RW: Ma’am?

JS: CAROLINE! *door falling* *distant hurried footsteps*

CS: Oh my God… h-he broke the door… HE BROKE THE DOOR! SOMEBODY! SAVE ME!

RW: Ma’am, you need to calm down. Take a deep breath. Is your husband still armed?

CS: No… I took the knife from him. Oh my God… what happened to my Jeremy? *crying*

RW: Ma’am, take a deep breath. Police are close.

CS: *whispering* *hyperventilating* I think he’s downstairs… I-I can hear him… *footsteps grow louder*

RW: Ma’am, remain calm.

CS: *heavy breathing* *loud distant footsteps*

CS: *soft knocking* *muffled bizarre breathing*

JS: Caroline? Honey, it’s me… There’s something wrong… I don’t know what’s happening to me…

CS: *crying* Jeremy… Please don’t hurt me…

JS: Sweetie, I need you to open the door, please…

RW: Ma’am, do not open the door. Police are close.

CS: *hysterical crying* YOU’RE NOT MY JEREMY!

JS: Caroline, I know you’re scared, but please, I need you to open the door.

CS: *hysterical crying*

JS: Darling? Do you remember our wedding vows where I promised to always protect you?

CS: *crying* Y-Yes, I-I remember.

JS: I can’t protect you if the door’s closed… So please, open it. I want to see you.

CS: *sniffling* *heavy breathing* *phone clatters on the floor*

RW: Ma’am, do not open the door… Hello?

CS: Please… Jeremy, love, don’t hurt me. *kitchen door opens*

JS: I’m so sorry for scaring you, darling. *distorted breathing*

CS: …

RW: Ma’am? Are you there? Hello?

*Call is abruptly disconnected*

══════════════════

ROADKILL COUNTY SHERIFF'S OFFICE

Transcript of 911 distress call

10/2/1980 - 1:27 A.M.

────────────────────────

EK: Elmer Kain, Dispatcher.

DM: Dylan Moss, Victim.

LW: Lawrence Woodworth, Victim.

KB: Kyle Baker, Victim.

UM: Unidentified Male.

────────────────────────

EK: 911, what’s your emergency?

DM: HOLY SHIT! FINALLY! WE NEED AN AMBULANCE! HURRY!

EK: Sir, remain calm, what’s your location?

DM: W-W-We are at a… *heavy breathing* fuck, sorry, at Gravity Falls High School! Please hurry, somebody’s bleeding to death!

LW: *distant* Kyle, do not fall asleep!

EK: *typing* An ambulance is on its way. Walk me through what’s happening.

DM: W-We were working on a f-final project and was g-getting late so we went to drop our friend Kyle at his house! B-But this fucking thing... it just- *crying*

LW: *distant* S-Something came out of the forest and tore K-Kyle’s stomach out!

EK: Were you able to catch sight of what it was?

DM: *crying* We don’t know! I-It was too f-fucking dark… I… we… I’m so fucking scared!

LW: *distant* I-It looked human, but it… it wasn’t human? I-I don’t know! It had huge claws!

KB: *coughing* * groaning in pain*

EK: What’s the current state of your friend?

DM: *crying* H-He’s breathing but his stomach is just… gone… it’s like a… *retches*... pile of mush o-on the floor. *retches*

EK: Take a deep breath… are you applying pressure to the wound?

DM: *crying* I-I’m so scared…

LW: *distant* W-We are! We tied m-my hoodie and I-Im’ pressing on it but he’s getting paler!

KB: *coughing* I want my mom…

DM: *crying* H-Hold on, man. H-Help is on the way…

EK: The ambulance is five minutes away, keep applying pressure. Do not hang up the phone.

DM: *branches and leaves snapping* *distant footsteps* … what the fuck?

LW: *distant* DYLAN! LOOK AT THE FUCKING FOREST!

DM: … Kyle? But… he’s right here… what?

EK: What’s happening?

KB: *distant coughing* *crying* Mom…

LW: *distant* GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM US!

EK: Hello? What’s going on?

DM: *distant footsteps* Holy shit… it’s… I… it’s Kyle, but… Kyle’s also… bleeding on the floor.

EK: What? I don’t quite understand.

UM: *distorted crying* Mom…

LW: *distant* FUCK! WHAT DO WE DO!?

DM: I DON’T KNOW! HELP… PLEASE!

UM: *distorted crying* I want my mom…

EK: What’s happening? Dylan?

DM: *incoherent screams* *distorted roar*

*Call is abruptly disconnected*

══════════════════

ROADKILL COUNTY SHERIFF'S OFFICE

Transcript of 911 distress call

10/2/1980 - 1:33 A.M.

────────────────────────

KJ: Keneth Jarvis, Dispatcher.

TB: Tabitha Roberts, Victim.

UF: Unidentified Female.

────────────────────────

KJ: 911, where’s your emergency?

TB: *distant glass tapping* Hello? My name is Tabitha Roberts, I live on Oakley Road, house 28 in Gravity Falls. I need the cops.

KJ: Alright miss, what’s the emergency?

TB: *distant glass tapping* Someone… no, scratch that, something is trying to break into my house.

KJ: *typing* Uh, sorry… I’m a bit confused by your statement. “Something” is trying to break in?

TB: *distant glass tapping* I… I just don’t even know how to describe it. I got home from work about twenty minutes ago when I heard something banging on my backyard door.

KJ: Uh-huh.

TB: *distant glass tapping* I opened the curtains and… well… you’re definitely not going to believe this but… something that looks like me is trying to smash the glass and come in.

KJ: … Pardon?

TB: *distant glass tapping* I know it sounds insane but you have to believe! The weird part is that it looks like me but at the same time, there’s something wrong… I can’t place it… I think it’s the eyes… the skin looks loose…

KJ: Uh… O-Ok miss, a unit has been dispatched to your place, please stay on the line. Are you in a safe place?

TB: *distant glass tapping* No, I’m in the living room, it’s the only place where I have a landline. I’m staring at the… thing… Jesus Christ, it doesn’t even fucking blink!

TB: *distant glass banging* *sound of glass cracking* Oh God… the glass… it has a crack…

KJ: Miss?

TB: *distant glass banging* FUCK! IT’S BREAKING THE GLASS!

KJ: Miss, remain calm. Do you have a place where you can hide?

TB: *glass breaks* FUCK! HELP ME! PLEASE! IT’S COMING AT ME!

KJ: Miss, find a place to hide, police are on their way.

TB: *incoherent screams* *glass and furniture breaking* GET OFF ME!

KJ: Miss, what’s going on?

TB: *something is smashed against the ground* …

KJ: Miss Tabitha? Is everything alright?

TB: … *footsteps*

KJ: Hello? Miss Tabitha?

UF: *distorted* Hello? My name is Tabitha Roberts, I live on Oakley Road, house 28 in Gravity Falls. I need the cops.

*Call is abruptly disconnected*

══════════════════

Tag list:

@rotknox

#gravity falls #stanford pines x reader #ford pines x reader #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x reader #bill cipher x you #fiddleford mcgucket x you #fiddleford mcgucket x reader #stanford pines x you #stan pines x you #ford pines x you #bill cipher x reader #gravity falls x reader

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snowbellewells · 1 year ago

Text

@spartanguard You always know how to “hook” me right into your stories - and from the very start too!!! This one does the same, and I am already asking questions and making guesses, and trying to figure out where all of these opening events may lead.

I feel badly for the real Killian if Granny, Leroy and others continued to think he was the man they know, but I loved that Emma wasn’t fooled, that she knew within seconds he wasn’t the man she loved - even if he appears to look just like him. Surely she will spread the word and straighten things out with those he offended.

In the meantime, you’ve set up a satisfying puzzle and a definite threat for our beloved characters to unravel. Who is this intruder in their town? How will they figure out that he’s after the dagger, and will they do so in time? The bars probably won’t hold him long, considering how we saw him melt other barriers, so who is in the most danger when he escapes?

I’m already very curious - and worried for the rest of them too - and yet I cannot wait for more!!! You are incredibly good at doing that to me when I start one of your fics!! ❤️❤️❤️

sons of love and death, 1/13 {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon]

A/N: It’s time for @cssns 2023! Although this story has been in the works for a VERY long time—since fall of 2015, in fact, when a casual manip of some set photos featuring a mirror image of Killian was floating around tumblr and I was suddenly overcome with the desire to see two Killians. (Note that this was WELL before we actually had two Killians in canon!) A not-so-anonymous prompt (from one @kat2609 ) requested I follow that idea, and I started to—but then canon happened and meant the canon-divergent idea I’d been playing with no long worked. And so it sat for quite a while, until I sat down last year to finally hash it out. And here we are! Hope you enjoy this adventure—which is also complete! Eternal thanks to @optomisticgirl for her excellent beta skills on the whole thing! Quick note: the text in italics (or not in italics, during flashbacks) are quotes taken from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde (considering I also borrowed the main character, in what I hope is an OUAT-esque take on that tale).

rated M | 1.9k words [prologue] | AO3

The man approached the barrier. An untrained eye might only see the neon line on the pavement, but he could tell that wasn’t all—he could feel it. The hum of magic dinned quietly in his ears and made his skin prick ever so slightly, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He held his hand up to the invisible wall and closed his eyes, concentrating on some unknown. A cigarette burned at his lips and a bit of ash fell on his leather motorcycle jacket, yet it rolled off the material like water.

In a few moments, his hand began to glow a fiery orange, matching the ember at the end of his roll; slowly, he passed the limb through the barrier, feeling a tingle as he did so. A wicked grin covered his face as he opened his eyes and continued to walk over the town line. He tossed the butt of the cigarette off the edge of the road, not caring if fire caught—things tended to go up in flames wherever he went, anyway.

Centuries of chasing down the Dark One were about to pay off. He’d finally take what was rightfully his—what Rumpelstiltskin had stolen—and finally claim the darkest magic known to man for himself.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Signs pointed the way into town. Despite being in a land without magic, this little village was brimming with it. He almost felt as if he was drowning in light magic, even though the town was created by the Dark Curse. As he walked past the cemetery, he picked up a whiff of something different; curiosity piqued, he followed the pull to a mausoleum. Getting in was easy, and he had to admit, that was quite a collection of hearts. But it didn’t belong to the Dark One; this must be that of the Evil Queen who dragged everyone here in the first place.

In his time spent with Zoso, he’d grown accustomed to the feel of the Dark One’s magic, and the few times he’d been near closing in on Rumpelstiltskin, he easily recognized it. But here—he wasn’t sure. There was something in the air, but he couldn’t put a finger on it; it was just outside the cusp of his awareness. But magic worked differently here, so he kept searching.

Another cigarette fell to ash as he trekked out of the graveyard. He tossed the remains on a random grave (Neal something, whoever the poor sap was), and promptly lit another one. Tobacco was just one of his many vices; women, booze, and gambling rounded out the list of usuals, but magic was by far his biggest, and while he had plenty of his own, he craved more—of a specific variety. After all, the only way to get rid of a temptation was to yield to it. Resist, and the soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.

It was a short walk to the main drag of the town. A seedy bar, ridiculously named The Rabbit Hole, was definitely calling to his baser instincts. The diner across the street was still open, and a few town residents were making their way home in the twilight. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide his face, letting the embers from the cigarette illuminate his jagged scar, strong nose, and blue eyes in a threatening manner.

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#cssns 2023 #killian jones ff #cs ff #cs fanart #sons of love and death #part one #prologue #major cs fic rec ⚓️❤️⚓️#such a talented shipmate 💕⚓️💕

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snowbellewells · 1 year ago

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MY CSSNS23 MC: "Carolina Moon" {prologue}

**Thank you SO MUCH to my event artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the absolutely amazing cover art she created (in much less time than I should have afforded her). I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it, and am thrilled to be able to put it with each update of my story. Also, I'm so grateful to have @xarandomdreamx as my beta for this fic as well, though I did not give her this prologue, so any mistakes here are absolutely and unfortunately mine! And thank you too to the @cssns as a whole for once again providing such a great event of which to be a part!!***

Here is my second submission to the @cssns23 event!! This one is a modern au of the Nora Roberts novel and subsequent tv movie Carolina Moon. The main female character in the movie is psychic/clairvoyant (I’ll admit, I’m not too sure about the distinction between the two) and I thought her visions and what she goes through in connection to them made a nice real-world parallel to Emma’s magic. (There’s also a scene in here where the male lead says something that I could so perfectly see Killian saying to Emma… I just cannot wait to get to that point!)

Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this romantic thriller with some murder mystery elements. There are some instances of abuse and violence in here though - which I feel like I should mention, since that’s a little darker than my typical style. Most of them are in flashbacks of Emma’s past, or in visions she has of victims, more than in the actual present day plot; still I wanted to make people aware before we got too far.

Please enjoy! (I’d love to hear what you think.)

Prologue

July 1993

The water at their hideaway always feels so good. She could sink into it until her head slips below the surface and never, ever want to come up for air. It’s cooler, more luxurious than even the rich, satiny sheets on the trundle bed those rare nights when she gets to sleep over at Rose’s. Emma Swan’s gangly, 13-year-old limbs slice through the murky water as if the constant humidity and sultry air of Storybrooke, South Carolina can’t penetrate here in their little forest haven. She knows, of course, logically, that the real world isn’t all that far away. The shaded pond she and Rose discovered two summers ago is just a short trek into the woods at the furthest edge of Rose’s family’s boundless acreage. Still, it feels removed enough to bring Emma a sense of peace and contentment she gains nowhere else.

Looking over her shoulder to the large, smooth boulder jutting out of the pond at the bank where they left their flip flops and cutoff denim shorts, she can see her best friend stretched out with her new book where they had spread their towels on the rock’s surface, just in the wash of warming sunlight that streams through the tree branches overhead. Rose’s flawlessly creamy pale skin is prone to burning, but at the moment her friend seems willing to take the risk for the benefit of lazing cozily to read as she dries in the sun after taking a quick dip. Shaking her head, Emma plunges back under, happy to stay in the chilly water a bit longer herself. She knew as soon as they’d met outside Rose’s house that afternoon, and she had seen that Rose held a new Boxcar Children book in her hand, that her friend would not be able to resist burrowing into those pages for long.

It’s funny, Emma supposes, but that’s exactly what bonded she and Rose Jones in the first place. They might seem different on the surface, but in the end, neither of them quite fit with everyone else, and so they gravitate to each other, and have ever since Emma first arrived in Storybrooke as an eight-year-old orphan. They are each willing to give the other at least one person who takes them as they are and with whom they won’t have to pretend. Emma doesn’t care if Rose wants to read quietly and tell her about the stories she’s already finished instead of picking out dresses for the next cotillion class or preening in front of the mirror, practicing batting her eyelashes to charm boys or bragging to Emma about which ones she intends to kiss. Her sister Ruby, who shares the same thickly shining, burnished mahogany hair and pretty pink lips but little of her fraternal twin’s calming, gentle personality, does enough of that for the both of them. Their mother, a former debutante and southern belle, delights in the one daughter’s traditional coquettishness, and despairs of the other’s shyness. Cora Jones is a true throwback to another time who wants nothing more than to see both her daughters marry well and retain their places atop the social ladder. Emma could not care any less about such details; she is already clinging to the very bottom rung of such a social structure - if she and the so-called guardians with whom she lives are on the ladder at all. In turn, Rose doesn’t mock Emma for her thick, dark-framed glasses or secondhand clothes, nor does she cringe away from the “fits” that sometimes take hold of her friend, making strange, disturbing scenes Emma can’t understand flash across her mind with such intensity they sometimes knock her off her feet. Emma knows Rose’s mother and sister find her an unsuitable and embarrassing companion for Rose, but she is eternally grateful her friend seems able to see the best in anyone - even a lost girl nobody else wants - and so blithely acts as though she has no idea about the rest of her family’s opinions.

Cringing even while still submerged in the pond’s depths and practically invisible, Emma tries not to think of her unwanted visions. Her strict, hypocritical, and more than a bit deranged, foster father claims she’s possessed - and more than once has taken her episodes out of her hide. The man swears he’s beating the devil out of her and putting the fear of God in Satan’s place when he takes the thick leather strap to her shoulders, back and legs until she bleeds, but Emma has already lived long enough in a cruel and unfair world to know that his violence and “discipline” have less to do with parenting and concern for her soul, and more to show for his own twisted mind and overindulgence in the bottle. She wants to hide her spells from him, but when they come on her so abruptly and with such power, they are impossible to miss. She can’t fathom how a person like him was deemed fit to take in and care for a child, but mistreatment and injustice seem to be her lot in life thus far, and so she simply grits her teeth and survives.

It’s different though when the spells happen around Rose; the slight brunette merely rests a cool, steadying hand on Emma’s forehead or her arm until they pass, then she helps Emma stand until she feels in control again, listens as she attempts to make sense of whatever she’s seen, and most importantly… believes her. If only she could stay in the huge house Rose’s family calls home. She’d cook, clean, do chores, even stay in the servant’s quarters; Emma isn’t picky. It would still be a far sight safer than the situation she has in the rundown shack with the monster who’d been deemed her caretaker. Barring that, she would honestly rather live wild in these woods and survive off the land. She knew which plants and berries were safe to eat; Graham, her first friend, once a fellow orphan now happily adopted, had shown her ages ago, as well as taught her how to fish. It wouldn’t be easy, but she’d get by, and at least no one would lay a hand on her again.

This afternoon, those eerie images she sometimes has seem far away as she splashes up out of the water, trying to arc playfully like a mermaid as she breaks the surface. Drawing in a big gulp of air after staying underwater so long, Emma startles at the sound of teasing laughter, and whirls to see three figures on the bank where she and Rose left their shoes and shorts.

“Well, look here,” calls out a taunting voice that never fails to set Emma’s nerves on edge. “It’s the baby beached librarian and her drowned rat friend!” None other than Emma’s nemesis, Killian Jones, crows from his vantage point on dry land.

Rose sits up ramrod straight, book still in hand and annoyed scowl on her face at Killian and his friends’ interruption to the quiet peace of their sanctuary. She isn’t genuinely angry, though; for all that she and her sister share little in common, she and her two-years-older brother are affectionately close. “Shut up, Killy!” she shoots back, throwing in the childhood nickname they all know he hates. “Who asked you to come looking anyway?”

The boy standing next to Killian speaks up next, making Emma scowl just as playfully as Rose had moments before. Graham Hunter might as well be her big brother; he’s the closest thing she’s had to family since her parents were lost in a car crash and she was thrown into the foster care system. Be that as it may, he and Killian Jones are thick as thieves, and he’ll give her a hard time for all he’s worth while in the presence of his buddy. “We just wanted to swim,” he calls across the water to the two girls, smirking at Emma, who now stands in the water with one hip jutting out and hands planted on her waist. “How were we supposed to know you two were infesting it?”

“Ha!” Emma jeers back, the affront plain in her voice; despite the fact that the entire routine is like a practiced girls-versus-boys exchange they’ve all engaged in countless times. There isn’t much else to do for entertainment in their sleepy little one-horse town. “You idiots know this is Rose’s and my hideaway, fair and square!”

“Well, Rose’s anyway,” a third voice cuts in snidely.

The cruel jab reminds Emma once more that to most folks she is just a charity case, quite possibly only included in anything at all because of her friend’s kind heart, and at the intentional slight, cuts her gaze to the third member of the boys’ little crew, skulking a step back in the shadows behind where Killian and Graham stand, as he always does. Her green eyes narrow to slits in genuine dislike and suspicion. Where before her animosity was largely for show, when they land on Walsh Ozman, it is all too real.

She has never understood why the other two boys - jokers and annoyances though they may be, but good guys when it comes right down to it - hang out with Walsh at all. Where Graham and Killian are much more cut from the same cloth - athletic, outgoing, well-liked and pleasant - Walsh is a splindy, sniveling character, complaining and whining whatever their little trio gets up to. He lives not far from Emma’s foster father’s cabin with his single mother - a bushy-haired redhead who seems strangely overprotective and attached to her only child. Most people give the property a wide berth, except when high schoolers teepee it the whole month of October, and the general town consensus is that Zelena Ozman might be a witch and to steer clear. Still, beyond all of that, Emma might have been able to look past the boy’s circumstances and see him for himself - she of all people knew the gift it was not to be judged by where a person came from - if Walsh hadn’t simply given her “the willies”. Even standing too close to him made the fine hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end - and not in the way that nearness to Killian sometimes did; an altogether much more pleasant tingle, even if she was just as unable to explain one as the other.

“We could take their things,” Walsh suggests, holding up the threadbare, faded jeans Emma had left on the bank. “Make them walk back in their skivvies.” The wicked smile on his face makes Emma’s stomach turn over sickly.

Something sharp flashes in Jones’ eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly and his head giving a subtle shake of dissent that Emma can see even at the distance she stands away from him. Protectiveness, chivalry, or maybe the honor of a southern gentleman passed down to him through generations of his impressive family line; whatever it is, it sparks to life in his eyes at that moment as he quashes Walsh’s mean-spirited suggestion in no uncertain terms. “That’s my little sister you’re talking about Oz,” he growls, smacking the worn material from the smaller’s boy’s hands, even if the article of clothing isn’t Rose’s at all.

Emma feels her breath rush back into her lungs, though she continues to watch the guys warily for whatever they might do or say next. Before long, they grow bored of standing around and move on, hollering out age old taunts of “Bye, losers” and “Hey, smell ya later” to Emma’s derisive snort and Rose completely ignoring them to flip open her book again.

However, even with the intruders gone, it seems as if the perfect comfort of their retreat has been shattered by the unsettling interruption. Soon, Emma wades to the shore and Rose clambers down from her perch, to dress once more and return to the world outside. For a moment, as she refastens her jeans around her skinny waist, Emma feels a strange prickling along the fine hairs on her arms… like they’re being watched. She jerks around, searching the surrounding trees and brush, but can’t see or hear a thing.

Rose’s small hand takes hers, snapping Emma out of the moment. “What is it?” she whispers, only true caring in her voice. “Did you sense something?”

Emma nods, but can’t give her suspicions voice. Usually her visions are clearer than that - this had just been heavy breathing and like looking at herself and Rose through another person’s eyes, outside her own body.

Rose stooped to grab the little canvas bag she’d bought along with water bottles, towels, and a second book in it. “Hey, don’t worry, okay?” she offers, hopeful and kind as always. “You’ll figure it out. Wanna meet back out here tonight? Secret Sister bonfire?” she winks mischeivously. “I have to get to dinner now. You know how Mama hates it if I’m not washed up and properly attired for the evening meal - or a second late. But we can talk some more then, maybe you’ll remember more and it will be clearer.”

Emma nods gamely. “The stars’ll be beautiful by midnight,” she suggests. “And we’ll definitely have the place all to ourselves.”

“Since we were so rudely interrupted,” Rose chimes in with a giggle and roll of her eyes.

“Shake on it, pinkie swear,” they say together in practiced unison, executing a complex handshake that ends with their pinkies hooked together and wide, matching grins on both their faces.

“Thanks Rose,” Emma whispers sincerely, trying to speak around the lump in her throat as if it’s no big deal. “I’ll be out here as soon as I can sneak away.”

Rose, for her part, wraps her taller, golden-haired friend into a tight, momentary hug. “Hey, we’re Secret Sisters! You can count on me. I’ll see you then!”

They part ways at the edge of the forest; Emma heading to the rundown cabin that serves as her nightmarish version of a home, and Rose to the pristine Jones family mansion standing tall over all the surrounding land. Rose looks back over her shoulder with a smile and wave that bolsters Emma, and the memory fades back into the haze of the past…

Eighteen years later….

September 2011

The blaring of the horn as a sports car whizzed by, barely missing the nose of Emma’s beat-up yellow VW where it had begun to edge out into the country intersection, jarred her back to the present with a gasp and painful jolt to her chest. Panting for a moment as she gripped the steering wheel, Emma tried to clear her head and calm the pounding of her heart at the near-miss.

‘Get it together,’ she berated herself. It might have seemed like only yesterday as she remembered that sunny afternoon at the swimming hole, but that day had been nearly two decades ago. She was a grown woman, had made a way for herself, fighting tooth and nail for every step forward, and she answered to no one. She had learned to stand up for her rights and her needs, to control her visions and use them for good, and had even served a special consultant for the Boston PD. But, more than all of that, she had come back to this place to find peace, to lay to rest the ghosts that had followed her everywhere else she’d gone in the years between, once and for all. If she expected others to leave the past in the past, she would first have to manage to do the same.

She’d had no way to know as she and Rose parted that afternoon with promises and plans for later that it would be the last time she would ever see her friend. Emma had harbored the pain and the guilt and the unanswered questions ever since. Finally, it was time to meet the gazes of all of those who had stared at her in suspicion before she’d been packed up and moved away once more, and it was time she found answers. She wasn’t the scared, whipped, mistreated adolescent she had been at 13. What she had lived through then was not her fault, nor was what had happened to Rose that muggy July midnight.

And if she had to return to Storybrooke, South Carolina to lay that burden down… well, it was long past time she did.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssns @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @wefoundloveunderthelight @eastwesthomeisbest @xarandomdreamx @sotangledupinit @justanother-unluckysoul @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @xsajx @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @drowned-dreamer @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @blackwidownat2814 @blowmiakisscolin @let-it-raines

#cs ff #cs fanart #cssns23 #carolina mooon #prologue #nora roberts au #cs modern au mc

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