#ouat 3b

[spartanguard]

green with envy

Summary: Being back in Storybrooke brought up a lot of emotions in Emma—some forgotten, some new, and mostly unpleasant. Is that why she literally seems to be turning green with envy? And what can she do about it? (canon-divergent-ish from 3x14)

A/N: Hello! I am still here! This is just a kind of silly idea I've had floating around for a while, and finally finished. All the thanks to @optomisticgirl​ for looking it over! Hope you enjoy it!

rated T | 5.7k | AO3

Emma was wired with nervous energy as she and her dad shuffled into the loft. Finding the Witch’s hideout—and apparently that she had been holding the supposedly-dead Dark One captive—was definitely jarring, but it wasn’t the only thing that had her on edge.

That moment with Hook in the woods was still playing through her mind. 

“If it can be broken, that means it still works.”

Despite the distance she’d put between them after it (even though she came dangerously close to closing it), the idea lingered. She hated that he wasn’t as wrong as she wanted him to be, but mostly, she was envious that he could still have such an optimistic outlook, especially knowing that he’d been through as much shit as her, if not more, in the heartbreak department. 

Jealousy wasn’t a good look on anyone, but that hadn’t stopped her from metaphorically taking on the same pallor as the forest around her. So she was going to try to ignore that—and him—as much as she could. There were much bigger issues at hand. But for now, she’d settle with a nap and a drink.

Cruelly, though, this new curse had taken her mother’s expectant condition into account, and upon inspection of the cabinets and fridge, there wasn’t a drop of anything harder than ginger ale in the loft. She was making a mental note to bug Granny for the good stuff once she got back to the inn, but her mom had a different idea.

“Well, Zelena left this tea here,” Snow offered, holding what looked like a homemade tea bag. “It’s green, so it’s got too much caffeine for me, and your father doesn’t like it. Why don’t you take it?”

Eh, what the hell; it would do in a pinch. And Emma did have to admit, as she sipped it from one of the mugs she’d favored before the first curse had broken, that it was probably the best green tea she’d had in a while, even better than from her favorite sushi place in New York. 

It worked, for a bit, even though it made her a little homesick for the Big Apple. (The shot of whiskey she eventually got from Granny helped, too.) 

And, like she was prone to, she swallowed down all those difficult feelings as she drifted off to sleep that night.

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The alarm on her phone came way too early the next morning, even if it was one of her favorite songs. She started to groan and curl inward, until she remembered that Henry was still asleep, and quickly silenced both her phone and herself. She shivered a bit as she got out from under the thick covers, wishing she could stay in the warmth but knowing she had stuff to do.

That didn’t stop the brief pang of jealousy as she looked over at Henry, still asleep and snug in his bed. But that was why she was doing this, right? To make sure he stayed safe and comfortable? She’d take a nap this afternoon or something.

As quietly as she could manage, she grabbed some clothes and headed into the bathroom to get dressed and ready. Except—was it just her, or were the lights in there terrible? She knew she was probably a little pasty after having spent most of the last year indoors, but she didn’t think she looked…green.

It looked better after she put on her foundation, though, so she finished her makeup, pressed a kiss on Henry’s head, grabbed her coat, and headed downstairs to meet her parents and the rest of their motley witch-hunting crew.

She blatantly ignored the flip of her stomach when she saw Killian was already in the sitting room, quickly jumping into business with her parents, who were also expectedly punctual. They set a plan for the day, and if Killian noticed that she intentionally put distance between them—both during their meeting and in their plan of action—he made no effort to breach it, thankfully.

Though even that was its own kind of torture—that he knew her so well as to give her space. Ugh.

Anyways. The rest of the day went without event—no progress, but no setbacks, either. She’d take that as its own kind of win, and couldn’t wait for one of Granny’s grilled cheeses for dinner.

At least, she had been, until she walked into the diner and saw Killian seated at the counter, leaning across it with a lascivious smirk on his face as he apparently flirted with Ruby. That jealous feeling from this morning turned her stomach again, so badly that she made a dash for the restroom. She thought she heard a “Swan” spoken on her breeze as she crossed the dining room, but she didn’t want to stop.

In the privacy of the ladies’ room, she took a deep breath. The nauseous feeling dissipated, but the longing didn’t quite. She splashed some water on her face to cool the flush that had arisen, and put a bit on her neck, too—but when she brought her hand back, it wasn’t red on her throat…it was more green, all along the left side. Not anything dramatic, but a noticeable change from her normal skin tone, and she couldn’t blame it on the lighting this time..

What the hell? Was there something wrong with the water? Maybe she should shower at her parents’ tomorrow.

But for now, she just tied her scarf tighter around her neck and decided to call it a night; there were some Pop-Tarts in the room that would have to suffice (goodness knew she’d had worse meals in the past). 

She hit something warm, solid, and wrapped in leather when she emerged, though. “Love, are you alright?” Killian had a steadying hand on her shoulder and worry in his brow.

“I’m fine; just tired,” she said quickly, stepping away from him—and pointedly avoiding his eyes.

“Swan, I know that’s not the whole of it,” he protested as she started to move for the stairs.

“Well, it’s certainly part,” she tossed back. “I’ll see you tomorrow; tell Ruby I said hi.”

She probably didn’t need to say that last part, but the jab felt good as she took the stairs two at a time. (The fact that he had no response—and knowing it was a low blow—wasn’t something she’d think about until she was safe in her room. She also may have feigned a headache as a reason to dim the lights, lest Henry notice the odd spot on her neck.)

═══════════════

It seemed like the spot had faded the next day; or, at least, she’d done a good job of convincing herself it had. She still needed her scarf to cover it, though; winter in Storybrooke necessitated one, so no one would really notice. 

In fact, she was feeling totally fine until she got down to the dining room. Henry had headed down first (only after promising not to talk to strangers, which was still most of town) and she saw him across the way, seated at a booth, laughing. For a minute, she was confused, until she saw David was sitting across from him.

She should have been happy to see that, even without Henry’s memories, he was still getting on well with his grandfather, and how good David was with him regardless. She may still have a hard time accepting David as her father, but there was no denying the man’s paternal leanings. 

The longer she watched, the more that sour, jealous feeling stirred in her stomach again. Henry didn’t have a complicated relationship with his father—not that he knew about, anyway; and he didn’t have to grapple with all the fairytale BS in his background. (She may have told him that he came via stork when he asked when he was 5, but that was still more probable than being shoved through an intra-realm portal in a tree.)

But at the same time, she didn’t want to rain on their good time with her descending mood, so she took the last seat on the counter instead. Granny almost immediately noticed the way she was slouching in her seat. “Hot chocolate and bear claw?” she called out from the other end of the bar.

“Please,” Emma gratefully replied.

It only took her a minute to get the necessary sustenance to Emma, and she expertly slid them across the counter. But before Emma could even pick up the mug, Granny’s firm grip was holding her chin. “Hold on there, girl; you have something on your nose.”

Emma had never known the feeling of a grandparent tending to her; it was simultaneously touching and embarrassing—especially when Granny used a little too much force trying to wipe away whatever was on her face. “Huh; it’s not budging. How did you get green on there, anyway?” she asked, narrowing her eyes and peering closer.

Shit—more of that? What the hell? “Oh, I must have knocked into something and bruised it,” she quickly lied, hopping up off her stool and out of Granny’s grasp, covering her nose with her hand. “I should…probably go look at it; I’ll bring the dishes back,” she blurted out, grabbing her plate and mug, and hurrying back upstairs (well, as fast as she dared with a mug of steaming hot cocoa).

Once back in her room, she set the food items aside and ran to the bathroom, flicking on the light. Sure enough, there was a greenish smudge on the side of her nose—not terribly dark, but noticeable.

Quickly, she grabbed her concealer stick and attacked her nose. A few times. That seemed to moderately cover it up. But this was getting weird; just what was in the water here that was causing—whatever this was? A rash, maybe? She’d gotten hives from nerves a couple of times; maybe this was related?

She stared for one more minute, but then just sighed and put her concealer in her pocket. There were bigger things to worry about than some weird blemish.

To her dismay, she ended up needing it more often than she expected. It seemed like every time she was in the restroom, she was reapplying makeup on some new spot. The rest of her nose changed color after a meeting in the mayor’s office, where Regina and Robin were shamelessly flirting (and honestly, they should just get together—but she envied that they both seemed so comfortable together); she had to cover up a spot on her chin after patrolling the woods with Robin and Roland and being in awe of how great a dad Robin was (she was jealous of how confident he was, and maybe a bit that Henry didn’t have any positive male role models like Roland did in abundance); and nearly caked it on the back of her hand during another stop at Granny’s, just after seeing a mouthwatering-looking grilled cheese on someone else’s plate.

As she frowned at her pallor in Granny’s washroom, still coveting that sandwich, she had to remind herself that envy didn’t look good on anyone, even though that was all she’d been feeling all day.

Wait—was that it? 

Was she literally turning green with envy?

This was Storybrooke; stranger things had certainly happened. (Flying monkeys, anyone?)

But…this seemed like a step too far. No, it was just a weird rash or something. She’d just make a dermatologist appointment when they got back to New York, she’d get some cream, and it’d go away in a couple weeks. Yup, that was all.

And everything was fine until she went back out to meet Henry for dinner. She glanced around the dining room for him, only for her stomach to turn more than once. 

First, when she saw Killian seated at the counter with Tink, deep in what seemed like a friendly, light conversation. There was a salacious smirk on his face, but Tink looked to be giving it right back to him—especially when he threw his head back and laughed, showing off the cords of his neck and that constantly teasing bit of chest hair that seemed to become even more exposed as his body heaved and shook. She’d love to have something like that with him, but her damn walls and worries kept that from happening.

Forcing herself to look away, her gaze settled on her parents, seated together on one side of a booth. The way they were cuddled together was almost sickly sweet, but what really got to her was the way David’s hand rested high on Snow’s so-round baby bump, likely feeling her future little sibling move around. God, was Granny chopping onions? She wiped some mist from her eyes, but it was hard to ignore the overwhelming jealousy she felt—both that her baby sibling would always know they were loved and wanted, and that she had to go through her own pregnancy just like she’d done everything else in life: alone.

God, she was queasy from how much it stung—both of those sights. Hopefully no one had seen her yet because, oh god—she was gonna be sick.

Fast as she could, she ran back to her room, just making the toilet in time before bile came up. She felt flushed and angry and bitter, even if she really had no reason to feel those things—or every reason to, and had just been triggered too many times in one day.

She turned back to the sink and ran the cold water, splashing a bit on her face to hopefully cool her overheated skin. She closed her eyes and did briefly enjoy the sensation; it helped a bit. At least, until she opened her eyes.

Because when she did, it became blatantly obvious that her hands were green.

And so were her forearms, when she pushed up her sleeves.

And then she looked in the mirror—and let out a yelp. Because whatever this new skin condition was had covered her entire face and neck now—even her scalp, when she moved her hair a bit to check. It wasn’t an ugly green, at least—kind of a light fern-y color—but still, so wrong.

What the fuck was going on?

She felt her face; her skin didn’t have any different texture than it usually had, so maybe the rash idea was out. 

Algae in the water, maybe? No; that didn’t do…this, whatever this was.

She’d look perfect if she wanted to audition for Wicked once they got back to New York, but there wasn’t enough concealer in the whole town to cover this up until then.

For a moment, she was envious of the way she looked when she woke up that morning—and, to her horror, watched herself turn a shade of green darker as that jealous feeling overcame her.

Fuck. She hadn’t been wrong—she was literally turning green with envy.

She groaned and hung her head. This. This was why she wanted to go back to New York. Where none of this stupid magical shit happened. At least, she had to assume that was the cause; she’d worry about the ‘how’ later; for now, she just had to not make it worse.

Maybe if she just stayed away from the stuff that seemed to be triggering it, it might reverse itself? With all the other crap going on, she didn’t want to pile this on—but at the same time, she knew trying to go out and about would inevitably draw attention to it, and her mom or someone would want to fix it.

But mainly—how the hell would she explain it to Henry?

So yeah, trying to resolve on her own was the best plan of action.

She called down to Granny to see if she could run up some food; the old wolf was confused by the request but complied, and Emma was careful to make sure she’d gone back downstairs before opening the door to grab the (perfect, beautiful, delicious) plate of grilled cheese and onion rings.

Playing the headache card again bought her another night in the dark with Henry, but she’d have to come up with a valid reason for that tomorrow. (Was it logical to say there was a power surge and the room was out of electricity? Even though there were other empty rooms on the floor? Eh, that was a tomorrow Emma problem.)

Thankfully, he didn’t question it again, and she was able to chalk up the hoodie wrapped tight around her head to the room being drafty.

But the next morning was another story. She woke before he did and tiptoed to the bathroom, but there was no change in her complexion. Damn.

She managed to get back under the covers and wrap them around her head before Henry stirred. Bless her caring boy, he figured she was still asleep and moved quietly around the room as he got ready before gently shaking her “awake”. “Hey Mom, you want to get some breakfast?”

She had to feign sounding ill. “Sorry, kid; I’m not feeling the best,” she said weakly.  “Maybe go see if Killian wants to go with you? And ask if you can hang out with him today?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a stomach bug; I’m feeling a little green around the gills,” she said, then winced at the accuracy. “Give me a day and I should be fine.”

“Are you sure? Want me to get you some ginger ale?”

“Mm, maybe later; I just want to sleep right now.” Thank god her internal lie detector wasn’t hereditary.

“Alright,” he said, though he sounded uncertain. “I’ll check on you later, okay?”

“Okay,” she chuckled. “Have fun.”

She felt him press a kiss to the blanket wrapped around her head, then waited until she heard the door click shut to remove it. Hopefully, she could convince Granny to do delivery again.

Several minutes later, she was still sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling her phone absentmindedly (she’d been about to call Granny when she got distracted by a Facebook notification) when a sudden, insistent knock on the door made her jump and drop the device in her lap.

“Swan? Are you alright, love?”

Dammit. She should have known Hook would want to check up on her after Henry talked to him. Though, based on the way he’d been flirting with every other woman in town the last two days, she was mildly surprised.

“I’m fine,” she called back. “Just a stomach thing; I’ll be good by tomorrow. Can you watch Henry today?”

“Of course, but who’s going to look after you?”

She scoffed. “Me. I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t have to, you know,” he said softly; she almost didn’t hear it through the thin door.

“I’ve made it this far,” she bit back. “I’ll survive another day.”

“Can I bring you anything, then?”

“No!” she yelled, mostly out of panic; knowing him, he wouldn't be satisfied to leave her something without actually seeing her. “I’ll be fine; just—go.”

He sighed, and it wasn’t hard to imagine him hanging his head in frustration. “Can you at least open the door for a moment? Assuage my worries?”

She rolled her eyes. “You have nothing to worry about. Besides, I look super gross.” That part wasn’t entirely a lie, at least.

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“Trust me,” she lamented, looking over her chartreuse hand. “Seriously, just—take Henry fishing or something, or go hang out with Tink; I know you’d be happier hanging out with her.”

“Swan, you do realize that by insisting on my absence, I’m far more likely to want to stay?”

Emma groaned at his persistence and flopped back on the mattress, making her phone clatter to the floor. 

“What was that? Hold on; I’m coming in.”

“No!” she shouted again, jumping up and running for the door. Henry hadn’t locked it so Hook had no trouble turning the knob. But she was on her feet immediately, and he’d only opened the door a few inches before she was slamming her whole body against it, forcing it shut. 

“Emma, what the bloody hell is going on?”

“Nothing! Can’t I just have a day to myself?”

“If it were that simple, then why feign illness?”

“Well, I thought that meant people would leave me alone, but I guess I was wrong.” Who knew she’d long for the days when she didn’t have people looking out for her—but, more importantly, expecting her to save the day? She held her hand up, and sure enough, it turned another shade of green darker. At least she’d have good camouflage the next time she went into the forest.

“Perhaps it’s because people care about you,” Killian snapped. He may not have said it specifically, but they both knew he was referring to himself. “Have you considered that?”

“Yeah, well, maybe they care too much. The sooner they figure that out, the better.” She was being dramatic, she knew, but until she got over this thing, it’d be better to keep people at arm’s length.

“Swan,” he nearly whined. “You can’t possibly still think so little of yourself. There are so many people here who—”

“Don’t even start,” she cut off. “I’ve heard that hope speech before. But it’s not exactly something you can easily accept when your whole life, you’ve been some orphan freak. No one wants that.”

Well, now it was getting personal, it seemed. Why did he always have that way of cutting to the deep of her issues?

“You are not some ‘orphan freak’, love,” he replied, almost indignantly. “You are a fierce, strong—”

Okay. It was time to shut him up. Without even thinking, she swung the door open and finished his sentence for him. “Green-skinned weirdo?”

It was rare she was able to render him speechless; this situation wasn’t quite the confidence boost it normally would be, though. His jaw hung slack and she could see his eyes roving over what skin he could see (not much outside of her hoodie and sweats). 

After an eternal several seconds, he closed his mouth and swallowed. Then, to her surprise, he gave her a smirk. “That’s quite the look, Swan—it rather complements your eyes.”

She rolled her eyes; of course he’d turn this into flirting, so she tried to close the door on him. But he stopped it with his hand. “Hold on, darling—might I come in? I suspect you don’t want to draw any wandering eyes into our forthcoming conversation.”

She hung her head; he was right—they needed to talk, but she didn’t want anyone else to see her. “Where’s Henry?”

“He’s downstairs with Ruby.”

She snorted. “Surprised you’re not there to properly teach him how to flirt.” It slipped out automatically.

“Beg your pardon?” Killian sounded slightly offended. 

“You heard me,” she scoffed. “I saw you with her yesterday; I know you can’t resist her charms,” she replied, mimicking his accent (poorly).

His brow furrowed, but not in anything resembling the shame she wanted to see on his face; no, his eyes were wandering over her own face and neck in a way that made her feel exposed. She looked away, down at her feet, but that was when she noticed that the skin of her hand was yet darker. Dammit.

She just sighed and stepped aside, extending an arm to invite him in. He slipped into the room swiftly and quietly with a grace that she was doing her damnedest to not be envious of; surely there was a maximum on this thing? (Plants could only turn so green, right? Maybe this was a…chloroform? No, chlorophyll—thing. She’d never paid much attention in science class.)

She closed the door quickly behind him, and he turned to face her, his jacket swishing distractingly around his legs and making it seem like he was taking up more of the room than he actually did. Or maybe it was just the overall immensity of his presence in the room, or the weight of the tension between them. 

“Is it safe to assume that this isn’t a cosmetics choice?” he started, gesturing at her face.

“Obviously,” she confirmed, rolling her eyes. “And last I checked, my foundation hadn’t gotten moldy.” Though she did need some more—she’d just about used hers up with all of this.

“Am I to gather, then, that it’s something a bit more…supernatural in its occurrence?”

“If that’s your fancy way of asking if it’s magic, then yeah; at least—I think so,” she shrugged. “I don’t know how or why it started all of a sudden, but every time I feel jealous, I get a little more…like this. Looking like the freaking Wicked Witch herself.”

“Do you think it was her?”

“I don’t know; maybe,” she huffed, then flopped down on the end of the bed. “I hadn’t exactly gotten that far. It’s not like I’ve really had a chance to think about the things happening to me. It’s as good a guess as any, but it doesn’t solve a damn thing.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he concurred, his voice gentle, and she could almost cry—it was the first time anyone had just simply agreed with her in nearly a week and let her vent. “What started it?”

She recounted as much as she could remember over the last couple of days—the little things, like wanting to sleep in or coveting a sandwich, and the bigger emotions from last night when it came to her parents and Henry. She couldn’t bring herself to mention anything regarding her emotions towards him, though.

He listened, but tilted his head when she was done. “That doesn’t seem like everything, love. I’m no expert on magic, but I know it involves emotion, and you haven’t described anything particularly deep.”

“What, seeing my parents getting ready to have the perfect life with their new baby isn’t a deep enough emotion? Why would they still want me around when they’ll have everything they ever wanted with that one?”

It was a cathartic release of everything she’d been holding in on that subject pretty much ever since they got back to town. Killian said nothing, just stared intently, seemingly inviting her to go on—so she did.

“And Henry—I’m so jealous of the fact that he doesn’t have to deal with all this magical bullshit, but even the fact that he’s missing those memories is magic in itself and…god, I wish I was still there with him. I miss our old life, and I feel like such an awful parent having to lie to him constantly here.

“And you!” she continued, now on a roll. “I’m still mad and a little heartbroken over the Walsh crap—absolutely not in the market for a new guy, at all—but you’re here and being all caring and I think, y’know, maybe? But then I see you flirting with Tink and Ruby and I just remember—why on earth would you want someone with all my baggage?”

She paused to catch her breath. Then, in a small voice, ended with, “And how much of an asshole am I for thinking all of this?”

She wasn’t prepared for whatever judgment was on Hook’s face, so she just fell backwards against the bed and threw her arm over her eyes. 

No response came immediately, but then she felt a dip in the mattress near her and the springs squeaked as Hook took a seat a respectable distance away. “A completely normal one,” he finally said. “Perhaps even justified.”

She rolled her eyes, even if they were still hidden under her arm. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. It’s not uncommon for an older child to feel replaced by a younger one; even if the age gap is a bit more dramatic here, given the course of your life, it’s completely understandable. And it’s even more so that you miss what you and Henry had; even if it started falsely, the last year was real, and special, it sounds like.” There was a bittersweet edge to his voice at that, reminding her that he still hadn’t been fully honest with her regarding his past year. Not important now, though.

“And, love,” he went on. His careful fingers found her wrist and gently pulled her arm away from her face. She was hesitant to meet his gaze, but when she finally did, the condescending look she was expecting wasn’t there—only a small, almost insecure smile and understanding. “I don’t know why you’d think I’d be concerned about the complications of your past, when my own is significantly moreso—a fact of which I know you are aware.”

He had her there; it was no use to try to argue that fact.

“And when it hasn’t stopped me from admiring you thus far,” he added, a bit quickly—like he was blurting out a confession, even though he’d never exactly hid his feelings. She certainly hadn’t forgotten the Echo Cave, or their brief encounter prior to that. The one that meant a lot more than she’d told herself it did.

Although—she’d kind of just admitted as much, hadn’t she? She could feel the heat rise in her cheeks as she blushed (and wondered what color it came up as). 

“Yeah, well, I’m sure your daydreams didn’t include some green freak,” she countered, rolling on her side away from him and crossing her arms. Even if she had just accidentally admitted her feelings, that didn’t mean she was ready to pursue them right away. So back behind her walls it was.

“Emma,” he sighed, sounding almost exasperated. Good. He stood and stepped around her, looking down at where she was pouting. “Despite my care for my personal appearance, I’m not actually that shallow. I don’t give a damn what’s on your outside; your spirit and your soul are what’s beautiful to me. And don’t you dare doubt it for a second.”

She swallowed; he sounded genuinely angry, and she could see something resembling hurt within the fire in his gaze. She sat up. “You really mean that?” she asked quietly.

He sat down again next to her. “Bloody hell, love; how else can I convince you?”

Her entire body was suddenly aware of how close his was to her—even more than their moment in the woods the other day. She wasn’t sure if she was feeling heat from the adrenaline of their conversation, or just off of him, or both, but she found herself swaying ever so slightly closer to him, chasing it, until her face was hardly even an inch from his.

He was watching her carefully, his blue eyes taking her in under the studious set of his brow. She held his gaze, but then glanced at his mouth—and that was all it took.

Almost involuntarily, she leaned the rest of the way in and found his lips with hers. He stiffened at first, but only for a fraction of a second before leaning into her, his hand finding its way into her loose hair.

She hadn’t forgotten how skilled he was in this department, but it was a nice refresher; like their first time, she grabbed his jacket to get closer and deepen the kiss. His hand slid down, gripping her waist, and she felt his hook settle on her other hip.

And as they sat there making out, it was like a weight lifted off her—yeah, she was dealing with some pretty heavy feelings, but she didn’t need to feel guilty about it; she just needed to feel them, and then move on. The people that loved her would love her no matter what. She maybe wasn’t ready to admit that was what the situation was with Killian, but he was on her side—and that was enough.

And goddamn, could he kiss.

She couldn't help it—she was craving more and threw her leg over his lap to straddle him. But he wasn’t ready for that and ended up falling back on the mattress, bringing her with him. “Oh, shit—sorry!” she blurted out (while trying to catch her breath).

He just laughed, that deep chuckle that did nothing to tamper her growing arousal. “It’s plenty fine, love,” he wheezed, grinning with his eyes squinted shut.

She at least rolled to the side so she wasn’t crushing him while he tried to catch his breath, and couldn’t help but laugh a bit herself. Finally, he turned his head to her and opened his eyes, a soft expression settling over him. “There you are, Swan,” he said, reaching across and brushing her hair out of her face. “Looking more yourself already.”

Huh? She glanced at her hand where it had settled on his chest, temptingly close to the open vee of his tunic. It was back to its normal (probably too) pale color. 

“Though I must admit, the green had been growing on me,” he quipped. She lightly slapped his chest where her hand rested. “You seem to be in better spirits, then,” he observed.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “Thanks for getting me through that.”

“Anytime, love,” he said softly, and she knew he meant it.

So she kissed him again.

(Several times.) (And maybe a bit more than kiss.)

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They did eventually meet back up with Henry, who had been hanging out with Ruby in the meantime. He might have given Emma a knowing smirk she pretended to ignore, but was mostly happy she was feeling better. (And later, when he got his memories back, was far too amused by the fact his mom was dating Captain Hook.)

She might have leaned a little bit harder into her parents’ hugs that week. And might have enjoyed a couple more grilled cheeses.

But the most satisfying moment came during an encounter with Zelena at Granny’s, once they knew she was their enemy. She looked at Emma and sneered. “Why aren’t you green?”

Emma glanced over her shoulder at Killian, who was giving her an encouraging smirk. “Guess I just didn’t let envy get the better of me. Better question is: why aren’t you?”

Zelena screamed in frustration and disappeared in a cloud of green smoke. They hadn’t beat her yet, but with everyone who loved her on her side, they were bound to yet.

Though if she took a few extra kisses from her pirate for moral support…that was her business.

═══════════════

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps: @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic​  @phiralovesloki​  @thisonesatellite @iverna  @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture  @wingedlioness @word-bug  @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa-default @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich  @athenascarlet​ @kmomof4​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @donteattheappleshook​ @jrob64​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop​ @klynn-stormz​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @deckerstarblanche​

[spartanguard]

ohhhhhhhh that is so sweet and SWOON-WORTHY. fits PERFECTLY into canon!!

"Working Hands" by kazoosandfannypacks

Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: G Tags: 2K words, Pining (Mutual?,) Season 3B, i swear each and every one of those run on sentences is necessary Summary: Killian broods at Granny's after hours, pining for Emma and wishing the colder Storybrooke climate didn't make his hands so dry. Author's notes: @silver-the-phoenix and I have had this headcanon about Killian having dry hands for quite a while, but when @cosette141 and I figured out we live near each other and are both experiencing similar cold weather problems, I decided it was high time to sit down and project them onto Killian Jones

Also on Ao3!

 Neverland had been a much more tropical climate. It was warm, and humid, and Killian was used to it. Something about it just felt right to him- he could wear multiple layers in the heat of the jungle and scarcely break a sweat.

 Killian managed to get by with the weather in the Enchanted Forest too, even and especially during this last year- though admittedly, he'd had other things to think about during that time than the weather- atmospheric conditions mean nothing to you when you're separated from the one you love, when you know that you can never see her again, and she doesn't even remember you- when you have to bear all the work of remembering and grieving for the both of you all by yourself.

 But now he was with her- not with her with her, but both in the same realm, in the same town, Emma renting out a room at Granny's just down the hall from him. 

 "But what does it all matter?" Killian thought. "All I did was bring her back to Storybrooke, back to her family, back to a life that still doesn't need me."

 Of all the memories they'd shared, the ones where he felt a connection with her the most- the beanstalk, their kiss on Neverland, sharing drinks in New York- in all of them, in all those moments where she almost made him feel special in her eyes- in all of them they were alone. She'd never treated him so fondly when her family was around- she scarcely acknowledged his presence then- and Storybrooke was a land filled with her family.

 But what he wouldn't give to have just a moment alone with her!

 He tried to turn his mind from that and found himself remembering how cold he was here in Storybrooke, and how sharp and brisk the air, and the havoc it was wreaking on his hand.

 He could handle the cold without a need for change of clothes- if losing a hand didn't make him stop wearing twenty nine buttons in every outfit, surely something as impersonal as the weather wouldn't convince him to change his aesthetic. He didn't mind the harsh winds, as it reminded him of his days on The Jolly Roger- and how he hoped she was being treated well now.

 But what really bothered him was what the cold did to his hand-how it roughened it like sandpaper, crackled it like sands under the sun- how, much like the crocodile's cold heart had made his skin rough and scaly, so the cold weather made Killian's hand.

 Today though, all the cold was really getting to him- he almost considered making himself a cup of coffee, or some of that cinnamon hot cocoa Henry loved so much, just to warm up- but at the same time he knew if he used Granny's ingredients without her permission, he might lose his roaming privileges around the diner after hours.

 But he quickly forgot all about the quest to keep warm-he looked up and was warmed through the core when he saw Emma Swan enter.

 He noticed her before she noticed him, but when she did she seemed a bit startled. 

 "Hook!" she asked, clearly searching for an escape route. "I didn't know you were here, I…"

 He didn't want to watch her walk away- her presence was a soothing one.

 "That's alright, Swan." He said. "I wouldn't've brought you back to Storybrooke if I didn't want to run into you every now and then."

 Emma rolled her eyes, but she also didn't leave, instead taking a seat at one of the bar stools across the room, staring intently at a paper napkin that had been left on the counter.

 Killian watched as she stared at it for a few minutes, seeming more than a tad frustrated with every passing second. He tried to continue his solitary brooding, but after a few minutes he realized the futility- it was ridiculous to mourn his affections for Emma when she sat thirty feet away from him.

 So he got up, quietly, so as not to startle her, and walked over.

 "What are you doing?" He asked. She started, and out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the napkin move.

 She let out heavy breaths, trying to regain her composure. "Just testing out my magic a little." Emma said. "Granny said I can work on it in here at night, while Henry's not around."

 "How's that going?" Killian asked.

 "So far?" Emma asked. "Not well. wasn't exactly a master magician when we left, and I haven't been practicing this past year."

 "That's alright, Swan." He tried to reassure her. "I'm sure you'll regain the hang of it in due time."

 "I appreciate your vote of confidence," she said, then turned back to the napkin.

 "What are you trying to do?" Killian asked.

 "I'm trying to move it." She snapped.

 "Well that's not so hard." He joked, trying to ease her tension. He then picked up the napkin and placed it a few inches away from where it was.

 "Without touching it." She glared at him.

 He blew on the napkin and it slid across the table a little.

 "That's not so hard, is it, love?"

 "Oh wow" she rolled her eyes, "master Yoda couldn't've taught me better himself."

 "Master who?"

 "From Star Wars." Emma said.

 "Star Wars?"

 She rolled her eyes again and turned back to the napkin.

 He felt sure he was distracting her, that his presence was a hinderance, but after she haunted his every moment the last three years, he felt it only fair to haunt even one of hers.

 "Is there anything can do to help you?" He asked, pulling out his flask.

 "Leave me alone?"

 "Alright." He wasn't about to infringe on her boundaries, but he hesitated only a moment before he left, just long enough to take a sip of rum.

 Perhaps it was fate that she looked up at that moment as he brought the flask to his face with his chapped, red hand.

 "Woah." She said, and he turned back a moment.

 "What?" He asked, corking the bottle and stashing it.

 "Your hand." She said. "It's so dry."

 It was his turn to roll his eyes as she dug through the small backpack she'd brought in with her. "Thanks for noticing for me, Swan." 

 "Here," she handed him a small canister, "this lotion works wonders."

 "Thanks." He said, holding the circular green container, and looking down at his hook, wondering how well he could apply the lotion with it.

 "Oh." His hook had caught her glance, and she looked up at his face, "I'm sorry, uh, do you want help?"

 "What?" He asked, unsure how to respond. His pride said it was an insult for her to even ask that, his humility said there was no way Swan cared enough about him to even offer that- but his heart said "please."

 "Sorry, just- do you want me to help you?"

 "Yeah." He blinked a few times as she twisted off the lid and scraped a dab of the lotion onto her finger. It was very rare for Emma to initiate any contact with him, especially physical, so he was a little surprised at her stepping down from her high walls to touch him.

  "Stop making this romantic, Killian!" He thought. "This is purely platonic, she's the Savior, she probably feels obligated to help."

 Despite his best thoughts, it was hard to push back his feelings as she took his hand and caressed it- no, not caressing, just applying the lotion, just trying to fix his crackled skin- there wasn't anything romantic about the magic of her touch, the sparks he was sure he felt, how every swirl of her thumb was like writing love letters in a language only they knew- but surely it meant nothing, just like their kiss on Neverland.

 She hadn't looked up at him the whole time- and he knew, because he hadn't taken his eyes off her for a second- but instead had focused on smoothing his rough skin as best as she could.

 "I think that'll have to do it." She said. Did she feel the same tension he did? Surely she didn't. Did his hand feel the same in hers as hers felt around his? Surely it didn't. Did their touch rouse passions any further awake in her, like it had in him?

 Surely, it couldn't've.

 She'd made the mistake of letting her hand linger half a second- a half second which Killian read into, which Killian almost felt meant hope, in which Killian didn't think he'd be out of line if he took the opportunity to twist his hand so he could hold hers- so he did, holding her fingers between his fingers and thumb.

 He didn't look her in the eyes- the scared expression he knew they'd hold would break his heart- but looked down at her beautiful little hand, and how well it fit in his.

 "Thank you." He said, and dared to play on his old-fashioned reputation in her mind, dared bring her hand to his face, dared to bring her knuckles to his lips, dared to kiss her hand.

 Had she grown up a princess in the Enchanted Forest, she would've been accustomed to this, probably receiving this gesture from every man who crossed her paths- and he never would've done it if that were the case.

 But nature having presented an opportunity to thank her as none ever had- but all ought to have- he took it. 

 It felt so right, so right to hold her fingers to his lips, so right to show her the love and honor she was due- so right that it felt a great sorrow to let go.

 He risked looking in her eyes afterward, afraid of her confusion and anger, but instead seeing confusion and awe.

 "You're welcome." She said.

 She didn't turn away from his gaze, and he wanted to savor the moment as long as he could- for in that moment, he almost felt like maybe, like maybe he was something in her eyes.

 But as he remembered who she was- the beautiful princess, the Savior, a hero in every realm she graced with her presence- he remembered himself- the filthy pirate, the vengeful captain, the villain of every story he forced his way into- and he realized how ridiculous it was for him to think he'd ever be good enough for her.

 And to share this moment with her, but to know she'd never care for him, not like he cared for her, that he was trying to wedge himself into another life he didn’t belong in, it tore him apart.

 "I should go." He looked away from her, unsure what he was even staring at, or where, just not at her, "I'm distracting you from your magic practice."

 "Right." Emma turned back to the napkin on the counter as he walked away.

 He scolded himself for that hopeful little part of him that told him to look back, told him to see if she was watching him leave- but he listened to it anyways, and saw her not looking at him at all, instead intently focused on the napkin.

 So he intently focused on whatever was ahead of him, on the hallway, on his door, on his room, on the door he could slam, then that he could lean back against, and heave a heavy breath, looking down at the hand that moments ago had held Emma's- and that probably never should again.

 But had he watched Emma a moment longer, he would've seen her magic in action, seen the napkin move across the table at her will, in response to her feelings.

 And he would've seen how the napkin snuck across the table and landed a moment on her knuckles, just as his lips had moments ago. He would've seen how, in response to her feelings, her magic had tried to mimic him, to recreate and replicate his affection for her. He would've seen her excitement at making her magic work shift into panic as she realized too what that meant- that perhaps his feelings were more mutual than she'd been letting on, that perhaps she enjoyed their moments alone almost as much as he did, that perhaps she cared for him in return- and he would've seen her smile as she looked back at the hallway he'd just about disappeared down.

 If only he'd been able to bear watching her just a moment longer!

 Then perhaps, he wouldn't find himself where he did now, staring up at the ceiling on a lumpy old mattress, staring at the hand that had just touched hers, placing a finger to the chapped lips that had just kissed her hand, clenching the fingers he’d just let her slip through, lost in his pained, impassioned wondering, trying to shake himself, but knowing after a year’s struggle that it was a losing battle.

[wicked-storybrooke]

Ouattober 2023 Day 3 - (2nd) Favourite Arc

[happy-emmdings]

Captain Swan Vibes 1/2⚓️ 🦢

Seasons 2&3&4

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

How the Witch Stole Christmas--A CS Secret Santa Fic

Note: Merry Christmas @captainswan-kellie!  I was your Secret Santa this year!  I hope you enjoy your gift, and I hope you have a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list):

@jennjenn615 @laschatzi @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @kmomof4

@linda8084 @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 

@therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64  @anmylica 

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @i-will-sing-no-requiem @bluewildcatfanatic @laianely

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

“Thanks, Killian!  Maybe we could go out on your boat again sometime,” Henry said as he bounded into their room at Granny’s.

“Anytime, lad,” Killian said softly, and Emma felt her heart turn over at the affection she heard in Hook’s voice toward her son.  If she stopped to think about it too closely, it would scare the daylights out of her, how much she was coming to depend on him and lean on him in the midst of the latest craziness.

But that was a concern for another day.  For right now, she just wanted to celebrate another day where they were still standing and the villain of the day hadn’t succeeded.

“How did the queen fare against the witch?” Killian asked, as though reading her thoughts.  It was kind of unsettling how effortlessly he was able to do that..

“She survived, but the rest is definitely more than a doorway conversation,” Emma said, suddenly feeling tired as she recalled the showdown in the middle of town square.  

She was about to thank him again, when suddenly her phone rang.

“Hey Mary Margaret, what’s up?” she asked, seeing her mother’s picture on the screen when she pulled the device from her back pocket.

“Can you and Hook meet us down in the parlor in say five minutes?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Sure?” she said, the word coming out more of a question than a statement.  “What’s up?  Is everything okay?  Did the witch–”

“Oh nothing like that,” Mary Margaret said.  “Don’t worry.  Your father and I just had an idea.”

Killian gave her a concerned look as she hung up the phone.  “Another crisis, Swan?”

“I don’t think so,” she said slowly.  “That was Mary Margtaret and she sounded….excited.  She wants us to meet her in the parlor.  Just give me a second to tell the kid where I’m off to.”

Five minutes later, they found themselves seated on a loveseat in front of a merrily roaring fire in Granny’s parlor, an equally confused–and annoyed, from the look of it–Regina sitting across from them.

Before any of them had a chance to speculate what was up, Mary Margaret and David breezed in, cheeks reddened from the cold and a few stray snowflakes in their hair.

“Brr!  It’s cold out there,” Mary Margaret said with a smile, “and it’s starting to snow–which is just perfect.”

Emma shot Killian a bemused look, and he shrugged, clearly as at a loss as she was.

“Mom,” Emma said, hoping to win some favor by using the familial term.  “What’s all this about?  Is there a new threat from Zelena?  Did something else happen?”

“Oh nothing like that!” Mary Margaret said.  “We called you all here because, well, tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”

“Tomorrow’s….Christmas Eve?” Killian said blankly.

“Oh come on, Hook,” David said, “we had Christmas back in our land.  Surely you know what it is!”

“Of course I bloody know what Christmas is,” Killian bit out.  “What I fail to grasp is why that warrants a meeting of the heroes.”

“We have to plan a celebration, of course!” Mary Margaret said, nearly bounding on her chair.  And there’s no time to waste!”

Regina gave her erstwhile enemy a look of disbelief.  “My insane half sister is running around, trying to steal hearts and courage and who the hell knows what else, and you want to plan a party?”

A look of steely determination came into Mary Margaret’s face.  “Yes, that’s exactly what I want to do,” she said.  “I don’t know what the witch has planned.  I don’t know how she plans to go about getting what she wants, but I do know one thing: when this town comes together we don’t fail.  I refuse to let her steal the joy of the holiday from me or my family–or my town!”

“And the best way to stop her is to set up a Christmas tree and drink eggnog and give each other presents we don’t want anyway?” Regina continued.

“Couldn’t hurt,” David said.

“Of course it could!” Regina exploded.  “Who knows what she’ll get accomplished while we galavant around town like idiots!”

“Swan?  What do you think?” Killian asked, turning toward her.

She thought for a moment before formulating her answer.  “I say, screw her,” she said finally.  “Whatever insane plot she’s hatching, she’s basically acting like a spoiled kid, and what do you do with a spoiled kid?  You ignore them.  She wants to throw a temper tantrum, we’ll be ready for her.”

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

The next morning, Zelena adjusted her hat, and then poofed herself out of her farmhouse to the edge of town, curious to see the effect her showdown with her pathetic younger sister had on the rest of the town.

She’d defeated her handily, thanks in part to her secret, Dark One, weapon.  

Would the town be cowering in fear?  Would they be huddled together trying to prepare for whatever new hell Zelena planned for them?

She looked around, and her brows furrowed in confusion.  There was no spirit of fear or concern in the air.  There was an air of excitement, of festivity.  Grumpy and the rest of the dwarf’s were dragging a huge pine tree onto the square and untangling strands of lights.  Marco and Archie hung decorations on light posts.  Belle sang a Christmas carol as she strung garland on the door of library.

Zelena huddled farther into the large coat she’d donned to hide her identity for her reconnaissance mission.  Stepping into Granny’s, she noticed the core group of heroes–along with Granny and Ruby were engaged in a strategy meeting.

But it wasn’t any kind of strategy meeting she would have expected.  They seemed to be planning….a party.

“Should there be a gift exchange?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Put together in one day?” Regina asked skeptically.

“Why not?” Mary Margaret said.  “What kind of Christmas party doesn’t even have a gift exchange?  We could make it a game.  A white elephant gift exchange!”

They were planning a party?  The morning after she’d so soundly defeated her younger sister?  Had they all gone crazy?

Wordlessly, Zelena slipped out of the diner.  They thought to ignore her and the threat she posed?  She’d see about that!

As she made her way back to her farmhouse, an idea came to her mind. A wonderful, terrible idea

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

“So….the whole town is having a Christmas party?” Henry asked as he, Emma and Killian walked from their rooms toward the diner bright and early on Christmas morning.

“That they are lad,” Killian said, smiling delightedly. “Replete with gifts, games and holiday treats.”

“But…but weren’t you all just working to find the person who killed my dad, and how you’re having a party?” he asked.

Emma stopped and put a comforting hand on her son’s shoulder.  “Kid, don’t worry, we’ll catch her.  We just can’t stop living while we do.  We can’t let her steal our joy.”

“Your father would want you to enjoy the season,” Killian added.

“But….are we safe?” Henry persisted.

A steely look came into Emma’s eyes.  “The only person who isn’t safe is the w–I mean the killer, if she tries anything today.”

He looked closely at her for a moment.  The kid had an unsettling way of looking for lies–much like she’d always had.  Finally, he nodded.  “Cool.  So what does this town do for Christmas?”

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Emma said.  “And kid…this town is….different, so don’t be surprised if some of their…traditions…are kind of weird.”

“Hey, I’m a kid,” Henry said. “As long as there are presents and sweets I’m happy.”

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

The party went off without a hitch–until late in the afternoon.  Frankly Killian was shocked how long it took for the witch to strike.

They’d just finished a delectable Christmas dinner and were setting up for the white elephant gift exchange–which would no doubt prove to be interesting, given the fact at least four of the dwarves were well into their cups by that point, and Happy was fully inebriated–when a tremendous clatter was heard outside the diner.

As one, the residents of Storybrooke fled to the door and windows to see what was happening.

Zelena, in full on green skin, black dress and hat walked purposely toward them, while a band of flying monkeys screamed to each other, tearing decorations from windows and doors, destroying the carefully decorated tree.

A loud murmur of concern and fear went through the assembly as the witch approached.  Henry, for his part, gave his mother a bemused look.

“Uh…” she said, thinking hard, “this is….this is…”

“The traditional Christmas interactive play,” Regina said, coming to her aid. 

“She looks like the Wicked Witch of the West,” Henry said, skeptically.  “What does she have to do with Christmas?”

“It’s the green skin,” Emma said.  “She’s like… the grinch.”

“So….you do an interactive Grinch play starring the Wicked Witch of the West?”

Fortunately, Swan was saved answering that question by the arrival of the witch herself.

“Well, isn’t this a festive assembly?” Zelena said, walking in confidently.  “Didn’t get enough the other night, sis?”

Without further ado, Zelena raised her hands, called on all of her magic, and…..nothing happened.

“What the hell?” she asked, looking down at her hands.

“Protection spell,” Regina said, gesturing around the diner.  “Covers the whole place.  Sorry to ruin your greatest Christmas wish, but your annoying green hands are tied here.”

“You can’t keep a spell that powerful up forever!” Zelena thundered. “Sooner or later I will break through.”

“Maybe so,” Regina continued.  “But it won’t happen until after Christmas.”

“Look, greenie,” Emma said, “It’s Christmas.  We’re all here to enjoy ourselves.  You’ve got two options: leave us the hell alone, or get over yourself, grab an eggnog and act like an adult, rather than a spoiled child.”

Zelena looked murderous for another moment, and then her facade crumbled.  “You’d really let me join your party?  Knowing who I am?  What I’m capable of? That I’m planning to destroy you all?”

Mary Margaret approached her with a cup of eggnog.  “It’s Christmas, Zelena.   Everyone deserves a little grace and a second chance at Christmas.  I bet there’s even a gift for you under that tree.”

“Come join us,” David said.  “After all, you can always go back to trying to destroy us tomorrow.”

Perhaps the magic of the season touched her.  Perhaps she, like all the rest of them was simply tired.  Perhaps her heart grew three sizes that day. Whatever the reason, after a long silence, in which it felt like no one so much as moved, the witch nodded and the party went on.

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

Much later that evening a bemused Zelena returned to her farmhouse.  What manner of witchcraft had her spoiled sister used upon her?  She’d gone to the town to destroy their Christmas, and instead they’d invited her in, allowed her to make merry with them, treated her as one of their own.

Was it possible she’d been wrong about them–wrong about everything?

No, she finally decided, sitting before the fire. No, she wouldn’t let a little reverse psychology derail her like that!  Tomorrow it was back to business as usual.  Tomorrow she went back to getting the ingredients she needed.  Tomorrow she took the next step toward getting what she truly deserved–a life in which her sister had never been born.  A life in which she was the favored and only daughter.

And, after all, tonight hadn’t been a complete waste.  She’d gained some useful intel.  It seemed the Savior and the pirate were quite close.  The way they looked at each other.  The way they sought each other out.  Quite the budding romance there.

Perhaps she could use it to her advantage.  Perhaps it was just what she needed to neutralize the savior.  Just a little bit of manipulation, a little bit of deception, and she had no doubt she’d succeed in cursing the pirate’s lips and letting him do the rest for her.

Until then, she had a bigger problem.  The whole noxious town had come together to work as one.  She couldn’t have that.  Couldn’t have that at all.  She had to do something to wipe the warm fuzzies from everyone’s consciousness.

Looks like it was time for one last memory spell.  Taking a vial from her bag, she uncorked it and let the fog waft from it toward the town.

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

“So kid, what did you think of Storybrooke Christmas?” Emma asked as the three of them headed back toward their rooms.

“Mom, this town is really, really weird,” he said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered under her breath.

“But,” he concluded, “it was a really good Christmas.  Thanks for bringing me.”

She gave him a quick hug.  “Kid, there’s no one in the world I’d rather spend Christmas with than you, no matter where or how we do it.”

“Me too, mom,” he said, returning her hug, before yawning loudly.

“Okay, time for bed, kid,” she said, opening their door, and gesturing inside.  “I’ll be in in a moment.  Just want to talk to Killian.”

She waited until the door was closed after him, and then turned back to Killian.  “Well, it looks like a Christmas disaster was averted, and the kid’s no worse for the wear.”

“Your lad is stronger than you think, love,” Killian said softly, taking a step closer to her and hooking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “And you did a fantastic job giving him a joyful and memorable Christmas.”

“You really think so?” she asked tentatively.  “Killian, I never really had Christmas growing up the way I did, and so I always want to make sure Henry doesn’t feel the loss the way I did.”

“And he never will,” he said with a gentle smile, “because he has a mother who loves him.  It makes up for any….less than perfect Christmas moment.”

Her heart turned over at the look he gave her.  The look he was always giving her.  He believed in her, really, truly believed in her.  He was on her side and in her corner, no matter what.  It didn’t matter what she did, what she said, how much she tried to push him away.  He’d once told her he was in it for the long haul, and she was finally, finally beginning to suspect that he meant it.

She looked up at him for long moments as her heart pounded.  If she didn’t step away soon, she was going to do something stupid. Like kiss him.

She should turn around, walk back into her room.  Bid him good night.

But it was Christmas.  The day had been magical.  She was feeling good–and he was a big part of it.

Screw it.  Tomorrow she’d go back to guarding her heart.  For tonight.  For one night only, she’d show him what his support meant to her.

Reaching up, she grabbed his lapels and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss.  If he was surprised at her actions, he didn’t show it, merely pulling her close, and kissing her back just as fervently as he let his hand tangle in her hair.

Just how long the kiss would have gone on–and how passionate it would have become–Emma didn’t know, because just as she turned her head to deepen the kiss even further, she caught a faint wisp of–something (smoke? Fog? A spell?) out of the corner of her eye.

She pulled away, watching as the fog billowed toward them, and then overtook them, so quickly, she didn’t even have time to cry out.

But no sooner had the cloud overtaken them than it dissipated, and suddenly Emma couldn’t remember what they’d been doing or why.

She shook her head.  The showdown between Regina and Zelena must have rattled her more than she’d thought.

“How did the queen fare against the witch?” Killian asked, 

“She survived, but the rest is definitely more than a doorway conversation,” Emma replied.  “Thanks again for taking him out on your ship.”

[spartanguard]

This is an entertaining look on Killian’s adventures in the missing year! Especially loved the parts with the fae!

A Year Without (1/?)

Summary: After the curse returns Killian to the Enchanted Forest, he struggles to acclimate to his old life and his old ways. When a bird with a letter and memory potion arrives on his ship, he accepts the challenge to find Emma and help her save her family. Getting to Emma won't be easy and will cost him dearly, but what choice does he have when he cannot go a day without memories of her haunting him? A03

Day 05

Golden strands of sunlight break through the forest canopy as the horse trekked on and carried him further from the Enchanted Forest for which this land was named and toward the first port on his search for his misplaced ship. Watching the golden strands dance pulled him back to Neverland.

Soft, golden strands of hair filling the space between his fingers. Warm lips pressed firmly, desperately on his own. His own surprise and quick surrender to her sudden invasion. The shift he felt in the depths of his soul when they connected for the second kiss. The words "just a one time thing" thrown at him, nonchalantly, as she raised the walls back in place to protect herself from the very real truth that kiss revealed to both of their broken hearts - broken hearts can be put back together, to be broken, again, in new ways.

Killian let out a shaky breath and pulled himself into the present. The forest was thinning, the trees less suffocating than the days before. A breeze stirred the leaves and carried a briny scent, stirring up a bit of anticipation.

Pirates, for that is all he was, belonged on ships. Fierce pirate captains, feared in the seas, belonged to their ships. And somewhere out there, the Jolly was out there, waiting for her captain to be back at her helm. Without him, she was lost, directionless, rotting at sea. Despite a lack of consciousness, she was more aware of his absence than Swan would be.

With the crocodile gone, his future lied with his ship. Wherever she was and he needed to find her to figure out just what that would entail.

Day 13

Another shabby sea town, another rumour of his ship sighted followed directly into a dead-end, another pub with cheap pints of watery ale, and another day he kept his promise to Swan.

Even, now, while drowning in the tenth? ninth? pint of the warm ale that small smile she gifted him before turning away and leaving them, leaving him, to the curse lingered in his mind. Perhaps, he'd cursed himself when he'd spoken those last words to her. Words she'd forgotten as easily as she'd forgotten him.

A loud eruption of laughter drew his attention to how crowded the pub had gotten. Killian scowled at the lot of messy sailors yelling for women, booze, and rooms. Throwing some coin on his table, he stumbled from his table toward the door. His escape was blocked by a burly in a bright red hat.

“Captain?” squeaked out a familiar voice.

Killian smiled, more of a grimace that didn’t reach his eyes, “If it isn’t my favourite, flea-ridden, bilge rat scampering about on two legs again, are we?”

“We’ve been looking for you since the curse dropped us back here. We can’t wait to join you, we’ve been keeping an eye out for the Jolly Roger, but I knew you’d find her!” Smee spoke without pause for a breathe, then he called over his shoulder to a table behind him, “boys, captain’s back, we’re going home, tonight!”

Killian groaned and stepped into the persona he’d worn so comfortably over the last few hundred years.

Hook turned, spread his arms wide, and greeted his former crew with a wicked smile. “Men, tonight we celebrate for tomorrow we will begin a new adventure. One on land. Relieving many a carriage of their burdens.”

Day 27

A few of his faithful crew left that night, muttering about how the captain had either gone soft or lost his senses. The few who'd stayed with him had profited handsomely. They'd gotten rich as highway bandits as they travelled between ports searching for the Jolly.

While they enjoyed pints in a pub indiscernible from those visited the evening prior, Killian's wondered if he'd left enough with the carriage to ensure the safety of the couple he'd robbed. They'd had knights escorting them, so that spoke of some wealth and standing. He'd assuaged his guilt with another pint and stood to toast his crew.

"To the most clever, dastardly band of pirates to ever set sail-," he shared a laugh at his slip up with Smee before continuing, "stride, on the open road!"

"To Captain Hook!" Smee responded, clinking his drink with Hook's. They took a sip in a companionable moment of quiet. As Hook turned, Smee stopped him, "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. The boys and I chipped in and got you something."

Hook followed Smee's fingers toward a brunette woman walking toward him, seductive smile at her lips. He forced a smile as he escorted her out, planning on how on to buy off her silence and where he'd spend the rest of the night. It was too early to go to the room he'd let - quiet nights welcomed thoughts veering dangerously close to heartbreaking - but he couldn't return to the pub once he'd dismiss this mistress.

Once she'd left, pleased with her heavier purse, Killian planned to walk the docks. Maybe the Jolly had made an appearance after all. A sharp pain burst on the back of his head and he was on the ground with a knife at his throat. One of his victims must have recognised him an planned to exact his revenge.

"Move and I'll slit your throat!" The command was issued by a feminine voice.

[caliburn-the-sword]

rip to zelena. sorry your hair clashes with your own skin. i wish her a very don't be envious. not because i care about it from a moral standpoint or anything just because she's hard to look at when she's the wicked witch

[athynaoswald]

Love Once Upon a Time implying that nothing could be worse than living in a small town in Maine lmao

[livvyofthelake]

love being a sequel girl but only for movies that kind of suck. i’m a babysitter killer queen girl. a now you see me 2 girl. an insurgent girl. a high school musical 2 girl. an after we collided girl. a descendants 3 girl. a return to neverland girl. a princess diaries 2 the royal engagement girl. a tall girl 2 girl. a lego movie 2 the second part girl. a maze runner the death cure girl. an ocean’s thirteen girl. a prince caspian girl…

[gch1995]

Season one, but it’s a genuinely fun ride up to 3A, in spite of some flaws here and there. 3B-S7 has a few nice moments here and there, but it went too far into blatantly emotionally manipulative nonsensical writing territory for me to be able to support it. Yeah, I love angst. A lot of us in the Dearie/Rumbelle fandoms really do. The problem with OUAT is that it became increasingly *forced* and inconsistent on the show after 2A, but it was bearable up to 3A because at least A&E and the writers still had stories to with relatively satisfying endings for the main characters planned ahead of time up to the Neverland arc.

The problem with 3B-S7 was that they completely threw away character development to focus on nonsensical plots to keep bringing them back to their stories between S1-3A, and every time they reset them, it felt increasingly ooc, forced, and lazy. I don’t hate the Aesop Amnesia trope when it’s well-done in fiction because people often make the same bad choices and/or mistakes at least a few times before they finally grow and move on, especially in the cases of children, reforming villains, and the mentally ill. The problem with the writers of OUAT is that it felt increasingly contrived and cheaply shocking character assassination every time they reset them because they forced them there with mischaracterizations and ass pulled plot twists with their go big or go home “what a twist” mentality when the from late 2B onwards.

In other words, A&E and the writers were far too invested in instantly gratifying plot-result oriented in their storytelling. They wanted to get to the end of every story they wrote right away, and focused way too much on pushing the characters there with deus ex machinnas and mischaracterizations.

Yes, I was primarily watching OUAT between 2015-2017 in my late teens-mid twenties because I was a Dearie/Rumbelle/BATB fan, too. In a way, I always will be. I gave up on watching after S5 out of exhaustion with the bad writing, I continued roaming the fandom at S6 to find our what was happening on the show through tumblr out of morbid curiosity, and I watched one Rumbelle centric episode of S7. Otherwise, I mostly just continue to love the characters and relationship after 3A through AU and certain canon-divergent scenarios in fanfiction.

Recently started for the first time season 3 and i HAVE to know, which is your favourite season of Once Upon A Time?

[thestraggletag]

okay, so there is a little buzz of bringing back once upon a time, nothing set but some ideas are out there, and I was thinking, I want to see maybe the kids of the couples doing their own adventures, especially with Gideon gold. I mean he would be a very interesting character, he's the son of belle and rumple, good and evil basically. like nothing more lawful neutral. if they were going to have an adult Gideon I think he would be a lawyer of some kind. likes rules knows how to bend them

God, do I want them to bring back the best worst show I've ever watched? OUAT was amazing and so, so bad. I was sad and ecstatic when they ended it and put me out of my misery.

The thing about OUAT though is that, because the show got so bad so fast (I'd argue that the show's only good season was season 1, things derailed in season 2 and crashed in season 3B) the one thing I liked were the characters because the actors who played them were so good. Robert and Emilie, in particular, kept the show alive and interesting for me, so I don't know whether I would be into bringing the show back without them.

If I could be guaranteed good storytelling I would really be into it. I love the notion of a magical world coexisting with/hiding from our real, non-magical world and what that would entail for magical creatures. And that is something that OUAT did not explore enough (or even at all). I would be into that a lot. Specially with Gideon.

[i-will-sing-no-requiem]

santa here again! 🧑🏻‍🎄 i totally get what you mean, i think watching the build up in season three just followed by them figuring out their relationship and all the domesticity is just too good ❣️ i saw you also liked aziraphale/crowley and got super excited bc they’re one of my favorite ships too! and what do you like reading? oh and i’ve always wanted to try bookbinding so that is just amazing ✨ my next question is: do you have a favorite captain swan season/scene/arc?

Hi!! Yes Aziriphale and Crowley are perfect and I love them (I am unwell thinking about the Final Fifteen Minutes). I tend to read a lot of fantasy and contemporary fiction, although I’m starting to get a bit more into memoir and essay collections. The best books I’ve read recently are This Is How You Lose The Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone and In The Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado, and some of my all-time favourites are The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green, Beartown by Fredrik Backman, and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

I think I would have to go with Season 3 for favourite season. Specifically the Neverland arc was my favourite storyline that Emma and Killian were both in, but 3B had some of my favourite captain swan moments (I feel like this is an underrated one but I really love the moment in the last episode before the 2 part finale where they’re in the hospital and he thanks her for saving his life and it’s just like really clear that he thought she might let him die rather than risk her magic and saving the rest of her family but that wasn’t even a possibility in her mind) I also like the idea of them hanging out together at Grannys a lot during that time based on that one scene where they’re just sort of there together when it’s clearly closed and Emma’s practicing magic, and I’m just assuming he must also be staying at a room there (i’ve thought about it a lot and this is the only thing that makes sense to me for where he’s staying. Literally I’ve spent way too much time wondering where this man sleeps at night during 3B)

Also the time travel eps are hands down my favourite ouat episodes i’ve seen them so many times and I love their scenes in those too!

[snowbellewells]

@exhaustedpirate This story was so lovely and wonderful and very much needed after that particular episode and the words that were said. I never particularly felt Emma meant them to be hurtful, but I could also see how they would trouble Killian and stay with them weighing on his mind. 🥺❤️‍🩹

It’s hard for me to even pick favorite lines to quote back to you, as the whole entire thing spoke to me - seriously!! You really did a brilliant job portraying Killian’s shame and doubt though, when he pulled away and tried to hide his hook, and how Emma reassured him, held onto it, and made right the injury she had inadvertently caused.

Plus, then, at the end, when they’ve turned the “handless wonder” insult into very much a spicy compliment and a secret between them that bonds them even closer. 💖💖💖It’s perfection!! (And who could resist Henry loving the drama?!? 😉😁)

Thank you so much for sharing this with us!!

her handless wonder

this all came to be from my love for the season 3 finale, my unsatisfaction at the resolution of that little Emma slip up a couple of episodes before AND my dislike of Regina; blended it all up and added a sprinkle of smut and voila! edited by the amazing @belovedcreation

rated M | 2498 words

also on AO3

“You traded your ship for me?”

“Aye.” 

It feels like hours ago and no time at all that he had made his confession. It still makes her heart pound just thinking about it. The truth and the devotion in his eyes meant that she could have done nothing except kiss him. Not that it was a hardship, really.

Killian kisses her now, on a dark corner next to the bathrooms, his lips insistent and passionate. Emma wraps her arms around his neck and prepares for the ride. Distantly, she knows they should stop - anyone could find them there. 

But his body is strong and warm against hers and his arms tight around her waist. Her self-restraint has limits - she had to wait an hour already (an eternity) so that she could make a quick exit, claiming exhaustion, and catch Killian’s attentive eye so he would know to follow her. Which led to her pressing him against the wall of this dark corner and pulling his lips to hers before he could say anything else to delay her desire to kiss him. And touch him. And hold him. And be touched by him.

Her lips trail down to his neck, hearing his quick breathing against her ear. She touches his chest over his many layers, her fingers caressing the chest hair peeking out through the shirt’s opening, and she feels his hand and hook on her hips. She smiles against his neck, worrying a mark to his hot flesh and feeling her insides tingle at the responding groan. 

“Touch me,” she demands, grabbing his wrists to urge him to do something, anything, her mind too flooded by desire to think of specifics.

But he flinches and pulls his arms away from her gasp. She lets him go, not wanting to force anything on him, and looks up. His lips are parted and his breathing rapid, signs of his lust, but there’s shame in his eyes overtaking the desire even as he tries to escape her gaze. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks quietly and places her hand on his cheek to bring his eyes to hers. “Killian?”

“I think,” His voice is rough as he responds, eyes shuttered even as he looks back at her. “We should stop, hmm, for tonight.” 

She wants to respect his wishes, she does, but she knows he’s deflecting. He wants her, can feel the proof of that against her belly, but something is stopping him. And then she notices how, while his right arm stays at his side, his left is carefully hidden behind his back.

“Killian,” Emma insists, her hands laying on his shoulders before slowly moving down his arms. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It-I-” He stutters and that’s even more jarring than him stopping her advances. He flinches when she finally takes hold of his hand and hook and she finds her final clue.

“Is it because of this?” she asks, keeping her eyes on him while she tugs on his hook. He doesn’t answer but she sees the truth in his eyes. “You know, I don’t care about that, right?”

Killian takes a deep breath and there’s carefully hidden pain in his eyes. “That isn’t what you said earlier,” Emma frowns, her mind working overtime to figure out his meaning. And, like a lightning strike, she remembers - Davids insists Hook join her and she deflects, of course, because she’s emotionally fucked up: “What is he gonna do? I have magic. He’s got one hand.”. In her remorseful reminiscing, he is able to extricate himself from her loose grip. Her cheeks redden with shame and she looks away. He sighs. “It’s alright, Emma, don’t feel obligated to be with me just because of what I did.”

That catches her attention though. She looks up sharply and finds a resigned expression in his face. “No,” she says determinedly and sees his eyes widen slightly. “That’s not why I’m doing this.” She takes hold of his hand and hook once more, her grip tight. “I’m kissing you because I want to kiss you and I'm touching you because I want to touch you.”

He shakes his head against her determination. “Emma, it’s-”

“I was wrong and stupid,” She interrupts and locks his gaze with hers. “I said it because I was pushing you away, because I didn’t want you to get hurt. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it,” She pulls his arms around her and feels warm at how they instinctively wrap around her again. “I don’t care that you only have one hand, I care about you and I care about being with you.”

He doesn’t let her say more, his lips pressing against hers in a hungry kiss, one she is more than happy to reciprocate, her arms wrapping around his neck. Their bodies mold against one another and she relishes the warmth, the perfect fit of their bodies. His hand finds the round curve of her ass and she grins against his lips before letting out a pleased gasp when the cold metal of his hook finds the bare skin of her back. 

“Besides,” she whispers. “I’m sure you can do a lot more with one hand than many men can with two. Wanna prove it to me?”

He chuckles darkly, his lips at her ear, teeth finding the flesh of her earlobe. She feels warm and like there’s electricity in her veins. She has never felt this way from such small touches before. “As you wish, Swan,” he whispers back in a hoarse voice, warmth pooling between her legs. “But we should find a more private place, don’t you think?”

She doesn’t answer, her hips grinding against his and her hands covering every inch of his body she can reach. Emma sucks in a sharp breath and takes hold of his hook. Without a word, she pulls him up the stairs, his steps in time with hers. They reach his door in a blur but it’s been far too long since she’s kissed him. He must feel the same way because he twirls her around until her back hits the wall next to his door and takes her lips in his.

“Killian,” she sighs against his lips, her hands grasping his shoulders.

“I got you, love,” he mumbles, hand finding the waistband of her jeans. “I got you.” His lips trail down her neck, focusing on her pulse and she feels like she wants to scream in victory. It feels better than she ever imagined. And she did imagine. A lot.

Emma is so distracted by his talented lips kissing, nibbling and sucking her skin that she doesn’t realize he unbuttoned her jeans until she feels his warm hand over her underwear. “Please,” she gasps, his fingers circling slowly against her clit. “Touch me, please.”

Her begging works. With a growl, he nibbles on her collarbone as he slips his hand inside her underwear and she swallows her sigh of relief with a loud moan. His hand stops and she opens her eyes to see him glancing around before looking back at her with a glint in his eyes.

“You’re going to have to be quiet, love,” he whispers and she bites her lip at the sound, his fingers twitching over her pussy at her reaction. “Can you do that for me?” he asks and his hook caresses her jawline.

She nods enthusiastically, rubbing her thighs together to urge him to touch her more and he grins, a smile full of promise and lust. He slants his lips over hers and she feels his fingers press against her clit, sinking her teeth on his bottom lip. 

“Gods I can’t wait to feel you around my cock, Emma,” he murmurs as his fingers begin to circle at a quickening pace. “You’re going to feel amazing, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” she gasps, gripping his biceps tight in her grasp. “I want to feel you inside me.” 

His hook slides up against the skin of her belly and her mouth parts in a gasping moan. She feels his eyes on her but all she can focus on is the way his circling fingers quicken and his hook reaching the fabric of her bra. With desperate movements, she unhooks her bra, letting the undergarment sag underneath her clothing. She takes hold of his brace and looking into his eyes, she pulls his hook against her breast. His eyes darken as if he can see it, as if he can feel it, and she likes to believe he does. 

The cool metal presses against her hard nipple at the same time he slides a finger inside her. “More,” she whispers, she begs. “More.”

“Fuck,” he gasps, sliding a second finger inside her while pressing the heel of his palm against her clit. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, Emma?”

She nods desperately, wanting nothing more than to grant him that desire. But she needs something more, she needs- His lips find hers, a burning kiss. “Then, come, my love, come for me.” he begs against her mouth and his teeth find her bottom lip.

She shatters with a silent scream, his fingers slowing down to drag out her climax, to turn her into jelly in his arms. His left arm wraps around her waist to pull her against him, holding her up in her unstable legs. Emma blinks her eyes open to find him watching her, a desperate look in his eyes.

“I knew you’d look enchanting when you come,” he whispers and she is surprised to feel her body heat up at the praise, at the sound of his voice. His fingers drag between her folds slowly, whispering over her clit. “Better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it?” She smirks as her hands rub up and down his arms. 

“Many, many things, Emma.”

“So did I,” she confesses and bites her lips at his sharp intake of breath. Her hands move to his chest, feeling his heartbeat and slowly making their way to the waist of his leathers. “Should we go inside your room and see if reality measures up to fantasy again?”

“With pleasure, love.” 

Despite her request, she is still disappointed when he has to remove his hand from her clit. But he more than makes up for it by licking his fingers clean from her essence, his eyes fluttering shut with delight at her taste. He cups her chin and kisses her, his tongue tangling in his hers and she gasps out a moan at her taste in his tongue. His hips grind against hers and she feels his hardening desire against her. Her hand cups his cock over his pants and he pulls away from her lips to let out a strangled moan.

“Shh,” she grins, her hands massaging him while he looks at her with that blazing gaze and his bottom lip captured between his teeth. “You’re going to have to be quiet.” Her grin widens as she repeats his order back to him. “Can you do that for me?”

“Bloody hell,” he groans before fumbling for his keys in his coat pockets.

It takes too long for the door to open, especially when Emma is much more interested in pressing her body against his back and running her hands everywhere she can reach. The door slams behind her and the lock is turned determinedly, her body vibrating with anticipation and desire. The result is scattered clothing, rumpled sheets, sweaty bodies, a delicious morning shower and more orgasms than she ever thought she was capable of having. A perfect first night together. First of many.

Early in the morning, with her naked body draped half on him, half on the bed, she traces her fingers down his left arm, fingertips tracing his scars lightly. His right arm curls tighter around her waist but he doesn’t stop her.

“Maybe I should start using Regina’s nickname for you,” she randomly says, trying to cover up the teasing in her voice.

“Captain Guyliner?” She can hear his raised eyebrow. Ridiculous.

She grins, finally looking up at him. “Handless wonder.” There is teasing in her voice but also fondness, so much affection she feels like she’s drowning.

“So, just as good as a man with two hands?” He raises his eyebrow in jest but she can see his desire for an answer. 

“Hmm.” She bites her lip and swings her leg to straddle him, the sheet falling from her shoulders, her body in full view of his eyes in the light of the rising sun. She grinds her folds against his length and bites her lip at his moan. “A million times better.”

---

Regina is part of the family. Emma really needs to remember that. 

Needs to remember that she is Henry’s adoptive mother and Snow’s … stepmother. God. Needs to remember that family dinners are a great thing and, after so long on her own, she loves her family, loves spending time with them. No matter how hard it gets to do so.

“Next time, Miss Swan,” Regina’s haughty eyebrow is pointed judgmentally at the bread rolls she was asked to bring, “get something of quality.”

Murder is bad. Murder is illegal. She is the Savior, she can’t murder people. 

Killian’s hand finds her thigh under the table, massaging it reassuringly, and her pulse slows. She turns her head towards him and smiles back at him in gratitude. He pats her jeans covered flesh and turns back towards the table. 

“Actually, your Majesty,” She loves the way he says it like an insult, nothing like the way he refers to her mother. He stretches his arm to take a bread roll from the basket. “I was the one who chose these as they are my favorite.”

It’s a lie. Emma had been the one to pick them - finding the cheapest option, considering they were just bread rolls - but she wasn’t going to say so. He grins at the former Evil Queen as he takes a bite of one. He doesn’t fake it. He doesn’t care, not like she does. No one does.

She sees Henry trying to hide a grin from the corner of her eyes. He enjoys family dinners but Emma thinks he enjoys it more because of the inherent rivalry between his adoptive mother and his birth mother’s boyfriend. Maybe she should have a talk with her son about his enjoyment of family drama. Although she’d feel like a hypocrite.

“Of course, the Savior can’t think by herself without her handless wonder.” 

Regina speaks with disdain, meant as an insult. It would be, at any other point. But they remember that first night, his insecurity, her reassurance, his touches, his talent. And so, to the surprise of the smirking Queen and exasperated family members, Killian laughs. And Emma laughs with him.

“You are absolutely right, your Majesty,” Killian smirks, sitting back on his chair and subtly placing his hand back on her thigh. “I am her handless wonder.”

[ohmightydevviepuu]

fanbinding: roses in december

the story: the fic that installed my buttons for OUAT 3b divergence in all of its glory and delight. it is a testament to the wonders of fandom community that i now get to call @justanotherwannabeclassic a friend, and to have made this for her--a small token of how much i've enjoyed this fic and her company over the years.

binding: half-letter sewn boards, fabric bookcloth cover. kept it simple in the design, leaning in to the contrast of the gray and red and the images it evoked of something bright in a cloudy, snowy time. i decided to bling it up with gem motifs and add a rose as an obi band.

[mythuzalasheir3]

Why do I do this to myself?

I was just planning out exactly how many chapters I need to write for the Once Upon A Time In Hatchetfield AU and here’s my running total broken down by season of OUAT

Season 1: 20 chapters

Season 2: 10 chapters

Season 3A/Neverland: 10 chapters

Season 3B/Oz: 8 Chapters

Season 4: 12 Chapters

Season 5: 5 Chapters

Season 6: 5 Chapters

Season 7: 15 Chapters

So that’s 85 chapters and I’ve only written and posted seven of them 💀💀💀

I cut and removed Seasons 4A, 5A and 6A and retrofitted their corresponding B sections so they all flowed together because I wanted to make it slightly less convoluted :)))

[caliburn-the-sword]

it is SUCH a good thing that i wasn't allowed to write ouat. mainly because i was 5 years old when it first started airing but let's pretend for a minute we live in a world where time travel exists. because if i was then in season 3b you want to know how i would have revealed that snow and charming had split a heart keeping them both alive?? i would have had rumple rip it out of david's chest against his will, and for david to start keeling over, and everyone start freaking out... only for snow to ALSO cry out and collapse. ideally this happens across a battlefield, because david in true david fashion tried to rush zelena guns (sword) blazing. and as they die they crawl to each other to curl up and die together hand in hand romeo and juliet style. something about the futility of outrunning fate ending up in dooming them both. they adhered to prophecy and forced emma to grow up without them, and by trying to outsmart the terms of the curse they've now doomed their second child to grow up without them. except!! that's not entirely the case. because everyone in neal's life can pass on their wisdom, their lessons, their skills, their stories, in a way that emma never got for the first 28 years of her life. also idk what to call this because it's not exactly closure or redemption, but emma taking this child and raising it herself?? not being in a place of such instability, with such a lack of support that she has no choice but to give up this baby?? give her sibling the home and family that she never had?? AND KILLIAN. he doesn't at this point know that he killed david's father, but just imagine. he's gone from leaving a child fatherless to raising the child OF that boy. not to mention liam ii... this isn't about killian at all i just like talking about him. anyway idk this makes sense in my head and my head alone