#wench emma (sort of?)

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “One Little Ray of Hope”

This week I’m re-running my @csss20 gift fic: “One Little Ray of Hope” (originally written for my giftee @let-it-raines) I was genuinely nervous writing this one because I adored Raines’ writing so much. But she was truly kind about sweet about having me as her Santa, and I thought this one would be fun to look back at this week...

There are two part to it. I’ve linked Part Two at the end of this first part, and the story can also be found on AO3 if that is your preference. Enjoy - and Merry Christmas Eve!

Summary: The Enchanted Forest under the Evil Queen's reign may be a dark and dangerous place, but at a lowly tavern one wintry night, a captain and a serving girl still keep a welcome spark alive.

“One Little Ray of Hope”

by: @snowbellewells

              Though the fire in the stone hearth was blazing merrily, the lights from their lamps battled the dark sky and frigid wind blasting flurries of snow outside their windows, and the jovial voices of many of their regulars mingled on the air to make things cozy inside the little inn and tavern, Emma Swan still shivered at the winter's chill. There, was some hint of frost that wouldn't go away, forming small icy crystals inside her chest - one particular voice that always stood out from the rest to her ears, was missing. She cursed herself for noticing, cursed him for being so unmistakable, and slammed an empty tankard onto her tray as she cleared the just-vacated table more violently than she had meant to.

              Naturally Ruby would be passing by just then, on her way to wait on some exuberant new arrivals, and she playfully arched one of her dark brows with a teasing smirk. "Looks like someone's a little frustrated this evening."

              From over her shoulder, where Emma hadn't even realized anyone was nearby, Tink tittered with a playful little giggle to Ruby, "Well, you know, we do seem to be short some of Emma's favorite guests this evening…" pirate was not her special anything. Honestly, she was just tired, overworked, overheated, and ready for some fresh air away from the evening crowd. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that Captain Killian Jones, with his unfairly blue eyes and his stomach-flipping accent wasn't here pestering her and getting in her way. What did she care if his farewell to her before he set sail nearly two months' back was that he would return in time for the Yuletide festivities? False hope and nonsense, all of it anyway…

              And yet… tomorrow was Christmas day, her traitorous mind whispered as she plunked her heavy tray of dishes on the counter where the Widow Lucas - the proprietor of their inn, and 'Granny' to all of them - was serving up orders and Ashley was doing dishes as fast as she could to serve warm bread and hearty stew on them once more. Again, her approach was none too gentle, as she huffed out a breath of air and pushed her hair from her face impatiently.

              "Careful there, my girl. Any dishes you break will be comin' from your pay," the widow threatened idly. Granny put on a tough front - one had to in a rough and tumble harbor town - and she meant business if she had to bring out her crossbow from where she kept it close to hand beneath the counter, but she was a soft heart beneath the necessary bluster and hard shell. She loved all "her girls" and most of her patrons dearly, wanting them to know they were welcome and cared for in her inn - and while many like she and her granddaughter had little in the way of blood-related family, she aimed to give them a feeling of home in her place.

              Emma smiled slightly, acknowledging Granny's words without comment, despite knowing the older woman would do no such thing. She unloaded the dirtied tankards and bowls more carefully into the soapy water for Ashley and forced herself to draw a couple of deep breaths as Granny loaded her up with the next order.

              Just as Emma moved to lift the tray and move off again, Granny placed her own hand over Emma's kindly, keeping her there until Emma met her eyes. "Don't let Ruby irk you. She means no harm," was the quietly offered advice, to which Emma nodded sagely, already knowing as much. It was only when Granny winked and added, "Of course, if you're awaiting some handsome sailor, I wager he'll be here soon," that Emma let out an exasperated huff and spun away to the sound of her boss and pseudo-grandmother's laughter at her back. Shaking her head, she seethed, 'Everyone thinks I'm waiting for Jones…. Well, I'm not!'

              The night went on without much further interruption; the snow fell in continued flakes, swirled and eddied by the window and pilling up on the windowsills. Inside their crowded tavern, however, the cozy warmth continued to rise right along with the songs and laughter of those gathered within. Soon Emma found her face flushed, cheeks pinked from the heat and close quarters. Even as the gathered crowd began to dwindle, slowly trickling out the door and homeward in twos and threes, as she, Ruby, Tink, and Ashley began to wipe down empty tables and see to storing up leftover food and seeing drinks stoppered and sealed for the night. Granny had gone upstairs nearly an hour before as the midnight hour had come and gone, claiming her old bones needed the rest, and Mulan, who did not appear the musical type, but who had once confessed when more than a bit tipsy on dwarf mead that her parents had seen that she was learn all sorts of marriageable skills in the hopes of seeing her matched with a smart, dashing husband before she had left home to make her own way - had switched from plunking out bawdy sea shanties and reels for the gathered revelers and lighting begun pecking out chords to a few softer and slower Yuletide carols as a background accompaniment to the cleaning and the quieter murmurs of those who still lingered in conversation over their last drinks.

              Not long after, Ruby silently slipped out the kitchen exit in back with the solemn huntsman who came every night to break bread and drink not at all, other than to drink in her presence and bask in her company, had stood and followed her like a silent shade as she beckoned from the doorway. Ashley had headed upstairs herself for some rest in her own apartments, as had Tink, saying the last town gazette's gossip section was calling her name. Mulan had paused at the door before heading to her own house a couple streets over, telling Emma she would make rounds of the block first, to see that all stragglers had gone home, and no trouble was lingering about them before she left.

              Emma thanked the beautiful warrior sincerely, knowing that it was no more or less than the other woman did every night, determined that these friends who took her and all others at face value, welcoming all lost and weary travelers without trying to change them were safe and secure. She would see no harm come to the Widow Lucas and her adopted "sisters" on her watch; Emma knew Mulan took that charge upon herself as a sworn duty. The rest of them would never have put such weight on her shoulders, but each one of them also slept easier knowing Mulan was nearby. The slim build, shining curtain of silky black hair and delicate features could have long ago earned Mulan the hand of any prince, pirate, or nobleman who laid eyes on her, but those physical attributes all deceptively hid her strength, speed, and core of deadly steel if anyone threatened harm to those she loved.

              "We'll be alright," Emma assured again, as Mulan bid her goodnight. "Everyone was in good spirits this evening. No fights, no trouble. Please rest easy once you get home. I can't imagine anything should happen until we see you again tomorrow."

              "As you say," the raven-haired woman replied simply, and with a slight dip of her head in a bow, she turned and slipped into the night with such soundless agility and grace that she seemed to melt into the darkness - unseen in mere seconds.

              Closing the door at last, Emma latched it securely, making certain the tavern and rooms above were locked properly for the night. She then began to move about the large, open main room, blowing out the candles still left aglow on scattered tabletops and snuffing out the wall sconces as well as she made a final pass around the main space. At last her final chores were complete, one last lit candle in her hand as she stood before the front window, looking down the moonlit street toward the docks for a moment longer. Captain Jones and his crew had yet to be seen in town, and while she could tell the others she didn't care - could even tell herself that in the light of day - here alone in the silent frosty night, Emma couldn't help wondering where he might be, and if he were well.

              "Jones, if you're out there," she murmured, hoping only the snow and ice and the Christmas star would hear her, "Take care or yourself… and be safe 'til we meet again."

              She had crossed the darkened room, placed her hand on the stair rail and was on the first step up to the second floor, when she heard the lightest rapping at the side door into the alley. Pausing there, Emma held her breath, listening uncertainly for the knock again, hardly daring to hope. She only had her candle in hand, the shadows long around her. Were Ruby and her huntsman still outside keeping each other warm despite the winter's chill? Could there be a prowler who had lain in wait until their self-appointed guardian had left for the night, or might it be the visitor she had been promised? The face she had looked for in anticipation every time the inn's door had opened to welcome a new patron that night? She would deny it to anyone, but those dark brows arched up into his windswept hair in challenge or jest, over eyes as blue as his beloved ocean, had been sorely missed; she had hoped to see him home again for Christmas more than she wanted to allow herself.

              She drew nearer to the side entrance, not wishing to give any her presence if the person on the other side bore ill intent, but straining to hear all the same; seeking some sign she was right and to confirm the feeling she had about who awaited on the other side. Gathering her courage, Emma reached for the fireplace poker beside the large stone hearth. Its embers were now dead for the night, but only a short while ago it had been blazing hotly, heating the entire space. She was not some frightened child at any rate; she'd hold her own against any intruder if the opened door led to a nasty surprise.

              Sure enough, the rapping came again, more firmly and with the added hushed entreaty, "Swan? Are you still about, Lass? Emma Swan! It's Captain Jones if you're still about and wish to see your sailor!"

              Her concerns brushed aside at the tones of that voice she could not mistake, Emma let the metal of her makeshift weapon clatter against the stone as it dropped from her fingers. With an exuberant little cry, she was at the door and lifting the latch in a second. The candle in her hand flickered and nearly went out with the stunned breath that left her upon glimpsing his handsome form once again after so long away.

              To his credit, Jones didn't tease; instead looking rather stunned himself as his gaze appeared busy drinking her in as well. Soon, he slipped inside out of the blustery chill and, seeing that her hand holding lighted taper was shaking considerably, he took it from her with care and reached to light the nearest sconce, casting their immediate surroundings with enough warm glow by which to see.

              Finally, she regained enough of her faculties to speak, and Emma stuttered, "It seemed you were not coming, Captain. Ruby mocked me all day for my foul temper and Tink joined in of course to say it was due to my missing and certain pirate and his crew. The busybodies!" she scoffed. But then she reached across the space between hem to catch his hand. "I did worry you might have been arrested, or hurt, or wrecked…or lost…any number of things. Or perhaps I gave you no clear assurance, and instead you had moved on, not to return."

              Killian shook his head just barely, looking troubled that she could even think he would abandon or fail her so easily. "Hardly Lass," he stated fervently, a sort of fiery glow in his eyes she had not seen before. I did say I would return by Yuletide, did I not? A pirate I might be, but I still have my honor.  It would take more than the increased vigilance of the Evil Queen and her forces to keep me away."

              Emma sucked in a worried breath at the cause of his delay. They all hoped to keep far under the notice of the usurper monarch - as cold and cruel as she was darkly attractive, she would end a life as easily as snapping her fingers, and at the slightest provocation, real or imagined. Life had been all the harder and more fraught with danger since Regina had wrested the crown from her kind and gentle stepdaughter Snow White, the rightful heir to the crown. If Killian were wanted by Queen Regina and had snuck back into her borders only to keep his promise, Emma could not bear to consider what would happen if he were discovered.

              Now was the moment of truth, before anymore needless time slipped past. It was time she told him what she had realized while no teasing friends or rowdy onlookers were listening in. "I missed you," she finally managed to croak out around the lump in her throat. "Thank you… Killian…for keeping your word."

              He dipped his head to look into her eyes where she had dropped her gaze to her feet. A strong, calloused hand, warm and gentle in its intent, tipped her chin back up to stare into his searching gaze. "Of course, Swan - Emma. All I could have wished for this holiday was…" he paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously and a hand coming up to worry the spot behind his ear - gesture she had long ago noticed signified nervousness. But he plunged on determinedly, "was to see you again, to see you and give you this."

              Pulling a small pouch from some inner pocket of his long leather jacket, he held it out to her with sparkling eyes, appearing almost boyish for a moment in his eagerness to see her open his gift, and whispering "Happy Christmas, Emma," as he placed it in her upturned palm.

              Emma's mouth formed a surprised "O", having not expected or hoped for anything more than his safe return. Opening the ties, she tilted the soft material until the item within spilled out in her hand. Holding up a long, golden chain with an exquisite stone of lovely pale green, near to jade in color, swinging from it, she was enchanted by the pendant he had brought her. "Oh, it's gorgeous," she breathed, rather stunned at how nice the piece of jewelry was.  She wore (or even owned, to be honest) little of such finery.

              "It's sea glass," Killian explained, taking the piece back in nimble fingers when she offered it, then turned, lifting her long hair so he could place the chain around her neck and fasten it for her. "Though sailors believe sea glass is good luck, that it keeps the wearer safe, and I would always wish you to be so, I knew it had to be yours because of the color. It reminded me vividly of your eyes…" Though the necklace was secured, his fingers still grazed featherlight along her skin, causing prickles of awareness to course throughout her body, and his own voice had turned decidedly husky.

              At last, Emma turned to face him once more, breaking the trance between them, but needing to thank him, and for him to see how touched she was by his gift, even if her voice was breathless and her words trembled with emotion. "I don't know what to say. You shouldn't have, but I adore it all the same. I'll treasure it, Killian. Truly." And without further hesitation or pausing to think and second guess, Emma threw her arms around him, squeezing him tightly to her. "Thank you," she whispered against his chest, breathing in the salty, spicy essence of him and nuzzling against his chest. She realized with a force that almost knocked her off her feet that she never wanted to let go.

              She felt Killian Jones' fingers thread through her hair, stroking gently, reverently as they stood there wrapped up in each other, swaying slightly in the candle glow and the howl of the wind outside. Emma felt they might indeed stay that way forever, and that neither of them would mind at all, until more rapid knocking interrupted their silent moment. The door handle rattled urgently, and she heard a nervous voice she recognized as Killian's first mate's speaking in hurried words. "Cap'n, you told me to summon you when an hour had gone. I've already seen one patrol of black guard go by. If they notice the Jolly in the harbor…"

              "Aye, Smee," he gritted out, stopping the anxious flow of words. "Head back and make ready to sail. I'll follow in a moment."

              He sighed as he turned back to Emma, tracing his thumb over the apple of her cheek and pausing to caress the dimple in her chin as he cradled her face in his hand.

              "You have to go," she acknowledged reluctantly; hating it, but understanding and wanting to see him safe, just as he did her. Her words were wistful, wishing he could stay there with her - or that she could run away with him - but it was too much, too quickly, no matter how she dreaded being parted again so soon.

              "I must, for now," he affirmed, the regret lacing every syllable of his words. "But I hope that now you know I will return."

              She nodded mutely, her mind trying to memorize every detail of his face, his voice, his touch, until she could see him again. "And I will be here waiting for you," she promised with equal intent.

              Bending slightly, Killian brushed his lips against her cheek, his stubble tickling her skin and again making her shiver at the sensation. It was the lightest and most gallant of kisses, and yet it only served to make her burn for more - for him to take her in his arms, for those firm lips to kiss her everywhere, for him to take her to her own apartments, or back to his cabin. It would keep her burning for however long they might be kept apart.

              As he had to leave, heading out again into the dark night, Emma stood at the door watching until the very second his vanished from her sight, no longer able to deny how anxiously she would await his return.

On to Part Two...

Tagging a few who might enjoy.... @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @sotangledupinit @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @scientificapricot @tomeandflickcorner @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @resident-of-storybrooke @ineffablecolors @xsajx @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @hollyethecurious @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @kazoosandfannypacks @booksteaandtoomuchtv @bluewildcatfanatic​

[theartofdreaming1]

Some more Captain Swan (or would this qualify as Captain Duckling? idk)

This started out as a simple, mindless ouat doodle, but then my brain decided to come up with bits and pieces of a story for this while I was working on it, so... If you're interested, you can read the basic premise under the cut:

Basically, we have bar wench Emma teaming up with infamous pirate Captain Hook to bring down the Dark One: Killian has finally gotten a way to get rid of the damn crocodile and Emma has learned of that while the crew of the Jolly Roger stopped by the tavern she works at; for Emma, it's about getting her son back (Neal/Baelfire is still Henry's father in this AU, but left the realm to escape his father, so Rumple's trying to use Henry to track down Neal, i guess)... Anyway, Emma steals onto the Jolly Roger (to steal whatever magical item required to best the Dark One or to stowaway on board, your pick), gets discovered by our good captain ('feisty lass' that she is, she still manages to hold a dagger to his throat before he gets the best of her - there are on his ship, after all), she reveals why she's doing this in the first place - to reunite with her son - and they strike an accord to work together as they share a common goal... Shenanigans ensue, (and no, there is connection/bond between them that's growing closer over time, Emma is absolutely positive of that, thank you very much ;), plans go awry - they are chased by a monster of some sort, Killian decides to fight it off, to give Emma some more time to flee - she has to make it back to her son, after all - and tells her to go, to leave him behind... (but we know she doesn't listen... she never does ;)

Something like that, I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (and hey, if any Captain Swan writers out there feel like writing that story for me, let me know - I'd love to read it!)

(Also, I'm kind of happy how dynamic the poses in this drawing have turned out! I reworked the lineart a couple of times, not sure if I was wasting my time but while I liked the og sketch, I think the end result is a definite improvement)

Og sketch/doodle:

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"It Now Belongs To You" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 4/10: Captain Hook Returns Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: T Word Count: (1.2K/10.6K) Summary: When Emma and Killian receive a pair of magic beans as a wedding gift, they take a voyage on the Jolly Roger for their honeymoon- but a wrench is thrown into their romantic getaway when they run into a notorious pirate who's staked a claim on the Jolly Roger. Chapter Summary: Upon Emma's persistence, Killian tracks down Black Beard in an attempt to outwit him once again and escape with The Roger. Tags: post-canon, canon compliant, fluff, no smut, suggestive themes, alcohol, gambling, self indulgent fluff with a sprinkling of angst Author's notes: part of the opening dialogue of this chapter was actually part of the dialogue in my concept notes for this fic, so like. that's special. Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 Despite the grave stakes of their quest, Killian couldn’t stop smiling at his wife. She was resourceful, brave, fast-thinking, determined, street-smart, beautiful, savvy- everything his pirate heart could dream of finding in a woman- and somehow she loved him- him of all people!

 “You seem awfully chipper,” Emma said, “for a guy who might be losing his most prized possession.”

 “I was just thinking,” Killian said, “how did I manage to woo the most amazing, beautiful, perfect woman in all the realms?”

 “Can’t say for certain,” Emma blushed, “But it probably helps that you’re amazing, handsome, and perfect yourself.”

“I’m far from perfect.”

“You’re perfect for me.”

 He kissed the top of her head and took her hand in his as they walked down the street. Before long, they found themselves in front of the pub.

 "Now, love," Killian said. "This is a rather unsavory joint- full of the worst sorts of pirates. Watch yourself."

 "You don't think I can handle a few filthy pirates?" Emma smiled. "I've already stolen the heart of the filthiest pirate in the realms."

 He smiled and booped her nose with his hook. "And that's why he wants you to be careful."

 “And you’re sure you’re up to the task?” Emma asked.

 “Of course, love.” Killian said, not sure he believed it but hoping Emma would. “Why wouldn’t I be?,

 “Killian.” 

 “I’m not sure.” Killian corrected. “But we’ve faced higher stakes before, and always come out on top.”

 He put up the hood on her cloak, wishing she hadn’t come along with him to such a seedy joint, but knowing that she’d’ve followed him either way- best to bring her on his own terms.

 “Now remember,” he said, “don’t come in until a few moments after I do, don’t watch us too closely, and…” “Stay out of trouble, I know.” Emma said. She stepped up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Good luck.” she said.

 “Aye, love.” he smiled with all the confidence he could fake and walked into the pub.

 Upon first glance, he was hit with two feelings- the first: remembering that this place used to bring him so much pleasure, and the second: wondering why this place used to bring him so much pleasure. The lighting was subpar, the smell of gross food and alcohol unbearably strong, especially when mingled with the smell of dirty pirates, and the shanty crew playing by the bar was off-key- though he supposed if your rum was strong enough, none of that would matter.

 Still, as fondly as he remembered this place, he almost wished they were back in Storybrooke, at Granny’s, sitting down with grilled cheese and onion rings- and cinnamon hot cocoa.

 “I understand now why people’ve been saying I’ve gone soft.” Killian thought, “Wonder of all wonders is why I used to take that as an insult.”

 He'd hardly taken a few steps into the pub when he heard a wench call out "Girls, looks like Hook's back!" and he was immediately flocked by women, tavern wenches, half of whom he'd remembered being, ahem, a patron of at least one night, and the other half- well, just because he didn't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen. Apparently though, they remembered him, and they were on him like spiders on a fly.

 The old Captain Hook would've doubtless appreciated this kind of attention and flirted with each of the wenches individually in the seven seconds since they'd surrounded him, but the new Captain Hook was different, and, as it stood, their attention almost made him feel cheap and uncomfortable, especially knowing Emma was right outside- and hoping she wasn't watching through the window.

 His plan relied on two things- the first being that Black Beard had already begun his celebratory drinks- a drunken opponent, or even a half drunken one- is far easier to win against.

 But the other card up his sleeve was his own reputation, and to save that, he couldn't simply brush off these maidens surrounding him- you walk into a pirate's pub and start telling the wenches you're off the market, and there goes your entire reputation.

 "Unfortunately, ladies," he said, "I'm here on business today- and not your kind of business I'm afraid."

 Some of them giggled and a few rolled their eyes, but for the most part they just winked as they slinked away, one or two saying something about sticking around "in case you change your mind."

 Killian rolled his eyes at the ceiling for only half a second before heading to the boisterous table in the back- a table he could tell was patronized by Black Beard's crew.

 "What are we playing tonight, mates?" Killian asked.

 The crew laughed a little when they saw him, and Black Beard smiled.

 "So, here's the newlywed." Black Beard sneered. "Your first mate told me you've gone soft and settled down."

 "Settled down, yes." Killian said, shoving one of the men out of their seat so he could sit across from Black Beard, "but few men have called me 'soft' and lived to tell about it."

 He picked up the cup in front of the guy next to him and took a sip- not that he especially wanted his cheap ale, but the effect of barging in on someone else's game, stealing a seat and a swig of their drink- no one could call him soft now.

 Black Beard picked up the deck of cards in front of them and shuffled it.

 "I take it you're after the Roger now?" Black Beard asked. "How's the new wench feel about that?"

 Killian clenched his fist under the table, about to kill Black Beard right then and there for speaking ill of Emma, but instead he kept his cool.

 "I'm still her Captain." Killian said, leaving the "her" ambiguous as to being the Jolly Roger or his new bride.

 "Roger's not yours anymore, mate." Blackbeard said.

 "Smee made an interesting point when I returned aboard." Killian said, pulling a piece of metal out of his pocket and twirling it between his fingers, "Something about only needing one piece of the ship to track it back down, anywhere it is."

 "You wouldn't know how to use that kind of magic." Black Beard reached across the table for the piece of rigging.

 Killian laughed as he grasped the piece more firmly. "The realms I roam these days, a locator spell is an average Tuesday. And have you forgotten I survived two hundred years on Neverland magic? And has the news not reached this realm that I spent half a month as The Dark One, and have quite literally been to hell and back? If anyone's messing with magic he doesn't understand, it's you."

 "So it seems we're at a standstill, ever chasing each other across the realm."

 "Not if one of us leaves it." Killian said. "I myself have acquired a magic bean, and with it, I can be out of this realm aboard my ship anytime I wish."

 "So why haven't you left yet?"

 "Because I don't wish to leave yet. But, I can't have washouts like you tailing me across the high seas- terribly bad form. So, I propose a new bet- the winner gets the Roger, both pieces we have here, and the magic bean to get her out of here.

 "Now how do you know I don't have a bean of my own?"

 "You'd've used it to leave Neverland last month if you had one. How long did it take for your men to come find you?"

 Killian took a sip of the ale again, smiling at Black Beard's frustration.

 "One round." Black Beard sneered. "Winner take all."

 "Deal." Killian said, and he cut the deck, and the game began.

[honorhearted]

--

"Oi, ya shoulda seen it! I thought your new friend was gonna burst right on the spot."

"She is not my friend," Ben grumbled, and perhaps too quickly. "You heard Washington in there, didn't you? I am now to be nothing more than a glorified nursemaid."

Caleb grinned. "Could be worse, eh? She's at least easy on the eyes."

Affronted, his gaze snapped toward his friend and he scowled. "Must everything always trace back to your pego? This is serious business, Brewster! People are being killed in her name, and now because of outer politics, I have to put our plans for the ring on hold."

Caleb hummed. "Now, as much as I'd love to talk more about my pego, allow me to talk some sense here."

Ben snorted. "That would be a first."

Ignoring him, the whaler continued, "Emma's the immediate concern, aye, but if ya have pressing matters, just send me." Catching his friend's look, Caleb coaxed, "Oi, c'mon now! Y'know I'm good for it!"

"Sure, if there's a profit or some wenching to be had," Ben muttered. With a sigh, he amended, "Look, I know you are, Brewster, but I'm worried. I'm unfamiliar with this new threat, so I am unsure of how to best protect the princess. Granted, she doesn't know I'm her bloody look-out yet, and perhaps we should keep it that way."

"Speak o' the devil," Caleb said, nudging him.

Following his gaze, he internally winced at the sight of Emma pacing about in her tent. Another soldier was guarding the premises, so at least she wasn't being entirely reckless.

"Well, here we go then," Ben muttered. Leading his friend up to the princess' quarters, he had a word with Gold, then was admitted with little fanfare. "Swan?" he greeted. "I apologize for dropping by unannounced, but it would seem our business is not quite yet finished."

"You're lookin' at your new life guard o' sorts," Caleb spoke up with a grin. Ignoring Ben's displeasure, he stepped forward with his hand extended. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. The name's Caleb Brewster -- I only make the foot wabblers call me 'lieutenant,' so on account o' you bein' a lovely lass an' all, I think-"

"That's enough 'thinking,' thank you," Ben muttered. To Emma, he explained, "I was briefed on what happened. I do not know the specifics, but I have been assigned to ensure your protection." He nodded with a sigh. "In other words, wherever you go, I go, so if you could try and remain within camp, that would be very much appreciated."

"Absolutely,” Emma said softly, accepting that he needed her to stop - of course she’d always respect that, but she hoped that in this case, maybe not now but someday, Benjamin Tallmadge would think about it and feel that it was right, that it wasn’t his weight to carry. She got up after he did, taking one last bite of food, and hoped that before saying goodbye they’d have to chance to talk alone one more time, and he’d have a sweeter memory of her than their last conversation.

But while she had hoped she could get a day of rest after reuniting with general Washington, she realized while the men made their plans that she couldn’t, because while sending out other teams as a distraction was great, she wasn’t sure De Francy would reach France. “May I, general?” she asked in a moment of silence, and George - whom she had called as such in private, sadly not around the Major - gave her a gentlemanly ’of course’. “I can take the papers to France. I can leave all by myself and people will hardly suspect a woman to be doing anything of importance alone, and I’ll speak to Luis-to the king in person once there. If anyone does stop me and has bad intentions, you know I can take them,” she touched the sword at her side, glancing at the only other men she could see from her position, Lieutenant Brewster, who had an intrigued smile on his face. That was encouraging, at least. “It’s what I do. I just need a map because I have no idea of where I’m going.” “Princess, the dangers you’d face taking off on your own…” he was searching for words that wouldn’t offend her, and she took the opening. “If the British capture me, all I have to do is show my seal and they’ll apologize for interrupting my journey, maybe even escort me, in fact.” “It’s not my enemy that concerns me, it’s yours.” The easy smile on her face faded instantly, and somehow she already knew. “What?” she managed to grit out, rage filling her chest.

“I was hoping to talk to you about this matter in private later, but I worry it may be too late. There has been an attack… not too far from here, people have been executed and the… manner in which the executions were carried suggests that those are your enemies, attempting to gain your attention. I invite you to stay until the situation has been resolved.” The way he spoke, no specific location, told Emma that if he was skipping details it was only because he did remember her and her father well, and knew she’d jump on the first horse. “Hearts or heads?” He understood immediately, which had Emma tensing up even more, and quietly answered: “Hearts.” “Grandmother, then,” she was using all her self-control to keep her tone calm, but it was all she could do, she was sure no one there doubted she was about to pull a muscle from anger alone, “And in the unlikely case they get to kill me after I leave, I’d have been murdered while supposedly under your care, which could cause you trouble.” “That’s not-” “It’s not the only reason you wish for me to stay, but it’s the only reason for me not to go look for them now. I came to help, the last thing I want is to do more damage. So I will stay put. I will write my parents and let them know I’m not under your watch anymore and I’m going on my own mission, and only when I get a confirm that they have read the letter… then I will go after them.” “But you’ll be welcome to stay if you change your mind, or to be escorted to the nearest port,” he could only offer back, but she doubted he believed he could convince her not to risk her neck. She was going to die from an explosion of her heart if she didn’t go outside. “Thank you. I clearly am in no position to help anymore so I’ll leave you all to your plans. I need rest after the long ride.” She didn’t, she needed to punch something. Emma forced another smile, “I’ll take my leave.” He nodded and there was a small polite goodbye before she left quickly.

Of course George had planned for her staying, she already had a tent, seemingly with more commodities than other women at camp had been given since one of the men there was meant to guard her and informed her that more women would be sent to help her personally. Politics, he had to keep the princess at least more comfortable than a camp follower, especially since said princess had already told him in private that she meant to send supplies. But she didn’t need the special treatment, she needed to keep busy so she wouldn’t go out there and avenge those deaths. She had made her temporary guard - Officer Gold, James to her now - spill details about the massacre and was even more furious, but she had to behave. So she had punched her own trunk, nearly breaking her hand. And then had spent the next five minutes trying not to make a sound over that, and the next fifteen arranging the place, taking some of her things out of the trunk, and looking for ink and parchment. And the next ten trying to come up with a letter while pacing around the tent and considering punching the trunk again because bruises aside she had felt better for a bit. The next, better, idea, was to pile up crates and sacks so she could make them into a target and stab it. She was all alone there, and forced to wait, and those were the two things she hated most.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Prologue

Please welcome our new POV, Pate. He's a novice at the Citadel.

"Dragons," said Mollander. He snatched a withered apple off the ground and tossed it hand to hand.

"Throw the apple," urged Alleras the Sphinx. He slipped an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bowstring.

"I should like to see a dragon." Roone was the youngest of them, a chunky boy still two years shy of manhood. "I should like that very much."

Okay. Alright.

The first few lines of this book feature dragons, and a sand snake shooting arrows.

We're off to a good start!

+.+.+

He could hear Emma's laughter coming through a shuttered window overhead, mingled with the deeper voice of the man she was entertaining. She was the oldest of the serving wenches at the Quill and Tankard, forty if she was a day, but still pretty in a fleshy sort of way. Rosey was her daughter, fifteen and freshly flowered. Emma had decreed that Rosey's maidenhead would cost a golden dragon. Pate had saved nine silver stags and a pot of copper stars and pennies, for all the good that would do him.

This is awful, but nothing new. Even highborn girls have a Bride Price.

+.+.+

"Throw the apple," Alleras urged again. He was a comely youth, their Sphinx. All the serving wenches doted on him. Even Rosey would sometimes touch him on the arm when she brought him wine, and Pate had to gnash his teeth and pretend not to see.

In case you're unaware, Alleras is actually Sarella Sand, Oberyn's daughter.

Read more.

It's not clear if she's pursuing personal development, or if something else is going on.

Unless she returns to Dorne, there's naught I can do about Sarella save pray that she shows more sense than her sisters. Leave her to her . . . game. - The Captain of the Guards, AFFC

Dot, dot, dot.

+.+.+

Far and fast the apple flew . . .

. . . but not as fast as the arrow that whistled after it, a yard-long shaft of golden wood fletched with scarlet feathers. Pate did not see the arrow catch the apple, but he heard it. A soft chunk echoed back across the river, followed by a splash.

Mollander whistled. "You cored it. Sweet."

Excellent shot!

+.+.+

It would not have been the first time that good fortune had turned sour on Pate. He had once counted himself lucky to be chosen to help old Archmaester Walgrave with the ravens, never dreaming that before long he would also be fetching the man's meals, sweeping out his chambers, and dressing him every morning. Everyone said that Walgrave had forgotten more of ravencraft than most maesters ever knew, so Pate assumed a black iron link was the least that he could hope for, only to find that Walgrave could not grant him one. The old man remained an archmaester only by courtesy. As great a maester as once he'd been, now his robes concealed soiled smallclothes oft as not, and half a year ago some acolytes found him weeping in the Library, unable to find his way back to his chambers. 

Please don't say you're unlucky, not enough time has passed since Merrett Frey.

Pate is Bizarro Jon. The little optimist gets chosen as a personal helper and assumes he's about to climb the ladder.

The little pessimist was the opposite.

"And what will my duties be?" Jon asked sharply. "Will I serve the Lord Commander's meals, help him fasten his clothes, fetch hot water for his bath?" - Jon VI, AGOT.

+.+.+

In the apple tree beside the water, a nightingale began to sing. It was a sweet sound, a welcome respite from the harsh screams and endless quorking of the ravens he had tended all day long. The white ravens knew his name, and would mutter it to each other whenever they caught sight of him, "Pate, Pate, Pate," until he wanted to scream.

Look, the white bird calls his name! Bizarro Jon! Insert joke about trading dragon for maiden girl here.

This chapter is all birds and apples, and I'm lost.

+.+.+

Perhaps it was the fearsomely strong cider—he had not come here to drink, but Alleras had been buying to celebrate his copper link, and guilt had made him thirsty—but it almost sounded as if the nightingale were trilling gold for iron, gold for iron, gold for iron. Which was passing strange, because that was what the stranger had said the night Rosey brought the two of them together. "Who are you?" Pate had demanded of him, and the man had replied, "An alchemist. I can change iron into gold."

To go along with all the apples, 'fearsomely strong cider' is used roughly 87 times. Sure, whatever.

Long story short, Pate needs money to be with Rosey, and out of the blue a stranger (the alchemist) shows up offering money in exchange for something in the Citadel.

Twice in this chapter we'll be told Rosey brought them together.

The coin appeared. The alchemist made it walk across his knuckles, the way he had when Rosey brought the two of them together. 

I don't know what to make of that. Maybe she's working with the alchemist, or maybe she fancies Pate and would like to see him get that coin?

Pate loved her hazel eyes and budding breasts, and the way she smiled every time she saw him. He loved the dimples in her cheeks. Sometimes she went barefoot as she served, to feel the grass beneath her feet. He loved that too. He loved the clean fresh smell of her, the way her hair curled behind her ears. He even loved her toes. One night she'd let him rub her feet and play with them, and he'd made up a funny tale for every toe to keep her giggling.

+.+.+

The Quill and Tankard never closed. For six hundred years it had been standing on its island in the Honeywine, and never once had its doors been shut to trade. Though the tall, timbered building leaned toward the south the way novices sometimes leaned after a tankard, Pate expected that the inn would go on standing for another six hundred years, selling wine and ale and fearsomely strong cider to rivermen and seamen, smiths and singers, priests and princes, and the novices and acolytes of the Citadel.

Rest in peace, The Quill and Tankard.

Daddy's coming.

+.+.+

Even in Oldtown, far from the fighting and safe behind its walls, the War of the Five Kings had touched them all . . . although Archmaester Benedict insisted that there had never been a war of five kings, since Renly Baratheon had been slain before Balon Greyjoy had crowned himself.

Archmaester Pedant.

I have no desire to return to that HotU chapter, but I will say I'm starting to question whether those four dwarfs molesting the beautiful woman are meant to represent the War of the Five Kings.

It's recently come to my attention that Tyrion and Daenerys like to metaphorically sex.

+.+.+

One sailor with a story, aye, a man might laugh at that, but when oarsmen off four different ships tell the same tale in four different tongues . . ."

"The tales are not the same," insisted Armen. "Dragons in Asshai, dragons in Qarth, dragons in Meereen, Dothraki dragons, dragons freeing slaves . . . each telling differs from the last."

All of these are true, except Asshai. Weird.

He lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green Dothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the Jade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise. - Bran III, AGOT

+.+.+

"There's another apple near your foot," Alleras called to Mollander, "and I still have two arrows in my quiver."

SHE HAS THREE ARROWS.

+.+.+

"Fuck your quiver." Mollander scooped up the windfall. "This one's wormy," he complained, but he threw it anyway. The arrow caught the apple as it began to fall and sliced it clean in two. One half landed on a turret roof, tumbled to a lower roof, bounced, and missed Armen by a foot. "If you cut a worm in two, you make two worms," the acolyte informed them.

Uh, help?

+.+.+

"One last apple," promised Alleras, "and I will tell you what I suspect about these dragons."

[...]

Alleras threw a leg across the bench and reached for his wine cup. "The dragon has three heads," he announced in his soft Dornish drawl.

Thanks for that information? Lol.

Is she suggesting three have been hatched? Correct.

Is she suggesting there's three Targaryens? Incorrect.

I count five. At minimum, there's four.

+.+.+

"No dragon has ever had three heads except on shields and banners," Armen the Acolyte said firmly. "That was a heraldic charge, no more. Furthermore, the Targaryens are all dead."

"Not all," said Alleras. "The Beggar King had a sister."

"I thought her head was smashed against a wall," said Roone.

"No," said Alleras. "It was Prince Rhaegar's young son Aegon whose head was dashed against the wall by the Lion of Lannister's brave men. We speak of Rhaegar's sister, born on Dragonstone before its fall. The one they called Daenerys."

"The Stormborn. I recall her now." Mollander lifted his tankard high, sloshing the cider that remained. 

Yes, we definitely need clarity on who was unidentifiable.

Imagine being known as The Stormborn.

+.+.+

Leo turned to Alleras. "A lord's son should be open-handed, Sphinx. I understand you won your copper link. I'll drink to that."

Alleras smiled back at him. "I only buy for friends. And I am no lord's son, I've told you that. My mother was a trader."

Leo's eyes were hazel, bright with wine and malice. "Your mother was a monkey from the Summer Isles. The Dornish will fuck anything with a hole between its legs. Meaning no offense. You may be brown as a nut, but at least you bathe. Unlike our spotted pig boy." He waved a hand toward Pate.

Alleras speaks no lies.

If you're wondering who this piece of garbage is, it's Leo Tyrell, cousin of Mace Tyrell.

My goodness, those Tyrells.

+.+.+

If I hit him in the mouth with my tankard, I could knock out half his teeth, Pate thought. Spotted Pate the pig boy was the hero of a thousand ribald stories: a good-hearted, empty-headed lout who always managed to best the fat lordlings, haughty knights, and pompous septons who beset him. Somehow his stupidity would turn out to have been a sort of uncouth cunning; the tales always ended with Spotted Pate sitting on a lord's high seat or bedding some knight's daughter. But those were stories. In the real world pig boys never fared so well. Pate sometimes thought his mother must have hated him to have named him as she did.

I'm not so sure about that, Pate.

"It would seem they have run short of poachers and thieves down south. Now they send us pigs to man the Wall. Is fur and velvet your notion of armor, my Lord of Ham?" - Jon IV, AGOT

+.+.+

The tiles turned against me at the Checkered Hazard, and I wasted my last stag on supper. Suckling pig in plum sauce, stuffed with chestnuts and white truffles.

Pate, I'm a little worried about ya, bud.

+.+.+

Every man off every ship that's sailed within a hundred leagues of Qarth is speaking of these dragons. A few will even tell you that they've seen them. The Mage is inclined to believe them."

Armen pursed his lips in disapproval. "Marwyn is unsound. Archmaester Perestan would be the first to tell you that."

[...]

The Mage was not like other maesters. People said that he kept company with whores and hedge wizards, talked with hairy Ibbenese and pitch-black Summer Islanders in their own tongues, and sacrificed to queer gods at the little sailors' temples down by the wharves. Men spoke of seeing him down in the undercity, in rat pits and black brothels, consorting with mummers, singers, sellswords, even beggars. Some even whispered that once he had killed a man with his fists.

When Marwyn had returned to Oldtown, after spending eight years in the east mapping distant lands, searching for lost books, and studying with warlocks and shadowbinders, Vinegar Vaellyn had dubbed him "Marwyn the Mage."

Marwyn!

Look, Daenerys is getting her very own Qyburn.

+.+.+

"Archmaester Marwyn believes in many curious things," he said, "but he has no more proof of dragons than Mollander. Just more sailors' stories."

"You're wrong," said Leo. "There is a glass candle burning in the Mage's chambers."

[...]

Pate knew about the glass candles, though he had never seen one burn. They were the worst-kept secret of the Citadel. It was said that they had been brought to Oldtown from Valyria a thousand years before the Doom. He had heard there were four; one was green and three were black, and all were tall and twisted.

[...]

Armen the Acolyte cleared his throat. "The night before an acolyte says his vows, he must stand a vigil in the vault. No lantern is permitted him, no torch, no lamp, no taper . . . only a candle of obsidian. He must spend the night in darkness, unless he can light that candle. Some will try. The foolish and the stubborn, those who have made a study of these so-called higher mysteries.

[...]

"It is a lesson," Armen said, "the last lesson we must learn before we don our maester's chains. The glass candle is meant to represent truth and learning, rare and beautiful and fragile things. It is made in the shape of a candle to remind us that a maester must cast light wherever he serves, and it is sharp to remind us that knowledge can be dangerous. Wise men may grow arrogant in their wisdom, but a maester must always remain humble. The glass candle reminds us of that as well. Even after he has said his vow and donned his chain and gone forth to serve, a maester will think back on the darkness of his vigil and remember how nothing that he did could make the candle burn . . . for even with knowledge, some things are not possible."

It's mandatory I include the glass candle stuff, but I have little to say about it.

Three black, one green? No thoughts on that.

+.+.+

Archmaester Walgrave had no trouble telling one raven from another, but he was not so good with people. Some days he seemed to think Pate was someone named Cressen.

Pate, I'm a little worried about ya, bud.

+.+.+

"Careful," Pate heard Armen say as the river mists swallowed up the four of them, "the night is damp, and the cobbles will be slippery."

Lol, I love when George mocks Melisandre.

That line will prove to be relevant later.

+.+.+

Leo needed no reply. "I expect that once I've broken in the wench [Rosey], her price will fall to where even pig boys will be able to afford her. You ought to thank me."

I ought to kill you, Pate thought, but he was not near drunk enough to throw away his life. Leo had been trained to arms, and was known to be deadly with bravo's blade and dagger. And if Pate should somehow kill him, it would mean his own head too. Leo had two names where Pate had only one, and his second was Tyrell. Ser Moryn Tyrell, commander of the City Watch of Oldtown, was Leo's father. Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South, was Leo's cousin. And Oldtown's Old Man, Lord Leyton of the Hightower, who numbered "Protector of the Citadel" amongst his many titles, was a sworn bannerman of House Tyrell. Let it go, Pate told himself. He says these things just to wound me.

Bravo's blade and dagger? I'd like the hear more about that.

I'm pretty sure Leo Tyrell is close to Samwell's age, making what I'm about to say impossible, but I feel like sharing the tinfoil anyway:

Her name is Rosey, her mother is a prostitute, and both Rosey and Leo are described as having hazel eyes.

There exists at least a small possibility this dude is joking about sleeping with his own daughter. Or maybe not daughter, but still Tyrell blood.

+.+.+

When the first shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds to the east, morning bells began to peal from the Sailor's Sept down by the harbor. The Lord's Sept joined in a moment later, then the Seven Shrines from their gardens across the Honeywine, and finally the Starry Sept that had been the seat of the High Septon for a thousand years before Aegon landed at King's Landing. They made a mighty music. Though not so sweet as one small nightingale.

That's a lot of ringing bells.

+.+.+

And beyond, where the Honeywine widened into Whispering Sound, rose the Hightower, its beacon fires bright against the dawn. From where it stood atop the bluffs of Battle Island, its shadow cut the city like a sword. Those born and raised in Oldtown could tell the time of day by where that shadow fell. Some claimed a man could see all the way to the Wall from the top. Perhaps that was why Lord Leyton had not made the descent in more than a decade, preferring to rule his city from the clouds.

This is how I envision Leyton Hightower:

Some claimed a man could see all the way to the Wall from the top.

Because of that one line, people believe Leyton Hightower has a glass candle.

"What feeds a dragon's fire?" Marwyn seated himself upon a stool. "All Valyrian sorcery was rooted in blood or fire. The sorcerers of the Freehold could see across mountains, seas, and deserts with one of these glass candles. They could enter a man's dreams and give him visions, and speak to one another half a world apart, seated before their candles. Do you think that might be useful, Slayer?" - Samwell V, AFFC

That seems like a bit of a reach to me, but what do I know.

+.+.+

A butcher's cart rumbled past Pate down the river road, five piglets in the back squealing in distress. 

Pate, I'm a little worried about ya, bud.

+.+.+

He was on one knee, trying to wipe the mud off his robes, when a voice said, "Good morrow, Pate."

The alchemist was standing over him.

[...]

"Have you decided what you are?"

Must he make me say it? "I suppose I am a thief."

"I thought you might be."

The hardest part had been getting down on his hands and knees to pull the strongbox from underneath Archmaester Walgrave's bed. Though the box was stoutly made and bound with iron, its lock was broken. Maester Gormon had suspected Pate of breaking it, but that wasn't true. Walgrave had broken the lock himself, after losing the key that opened it.

Inside, Pate had found a bag of silver stags, a lock of yellow hair tied up in a ribbon, a painted miniature of a woman who resembled Walgrave (even to her mustache), and a knight's gauntlet made of lobstered steel. The gauntlet had belonged to a prince, Walgrave claimed, though he could no longer seem to recall which one. When Pate shook it, the key fell out onto the floor.

Is that miniature woman a Florent?

This feels like bait. Should I care about these items? I'm going to say no.

+.+.+

If I pick that up, I am a thief, he remembered thinking. The key was old and heavy, made of black iron; supposedly it opened every door at the Citadel. Only the archmaesters had such keys.

The alchemist wants entry into every room! What could he want? Yay, a mystery.

+.+.+

"I want my dragon."

"To be sure." The coin appeared. 

[...]

Pate grabbed it from his hand. The gold felt warm against his palm. He brought it to his mouth and bit down on it the way he'd seen men do. If truth be told, he wasn't sure what gold should taste like, but he did not want to look a fool.

Oops.

The old man would count it out carefully, sorting the coins and stacking them up neatly, like with like. He never looked at the coins. Instead he bit them, always on the left side of his mouth, where he still had all his teeth.

[...]

The kindly man understood. "And with that coin and the others in his purse, he paid a certain man. Soon after that man's heart gave out. Is that the way of it? Very sad." The priest picked up the coin and tossed it into the pool. "You have much and more to learn, but it may be you are not hopeless." - The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD

+.+.+

"The key?" the alchemist inquired politely.

Something made Pate hesitate. "Is it some book you want?" Some of the old Valyrian scrolls down in the locked vaults were said to be the only surviving copies in the world.

"What I want is none of your concern."

Many have speculated the alchemist might be looking for the following:

Ten years ago, Tyrion had read a fragment of Unnatural History that had eluded the Blessed Baelor, but he doubted that any of Barth's work had found its way across the narrow sea. And of course there was even less chance of his coming on the fragmentary, anonymous, blood-soaked tome sometimes called Blood and Fire and sometimes The Death of Dragons, the only surviving copy of which was supposedly hidden away in a locked vault beneath the Citadel. - Tyrion IV, ASOS

Anyone searching for a book about the death of dragons is A-OK in my books.

+.+.+

"Show me your face."

"As you wish." The alchemist pulled his hood down.

He was just a man, and his face was just a face. A young man's face, ordinary, with full cheeks and the shadow of a beard. A scar showed faintly on his right cheek. He had a hooked nose, and a mat of dense black hair that curled tightly around his ears. It was not a face Pate recognized. "I do not know you."

"Nor I you."

"Who are you?"

"A stranger. No one. Truly."

Pate, you don't know him! Pate!

"I know this man," she did hear a priest with the face of a plague victim say. "I know this man," the fat fellow echoed, as she was pouring for him. But the handsome man said, "I will give this man the gift, I know him not." Later the squinter said the same thing, of someone else. - The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD

Boy, that alchemist sure sounds familiar.

"I do. My time is done." Jaqen passed a hand down his face from forehead to chin, and where it went he changed. His cheeks grew fuller, his eyes closer; his nose hooked, a scar appeared on his right cheek where no scar had been before. And when he shook his head, his long straight hair, half red and half white, dissolved away to reveal a cap of tight black curls. - Arya IX, ACOK

+.+.+

He was halfway down the alley when the cobblestones began to move beneath his feet. The stones are slick and wet, he thought, but that was not it. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. "What's happening?" he said. His legs had turned to water. "I don't understand."

"And never will," a voice said sadly.

The cobblestones rushed up to kiss him. Pate tried to cry for help, but his voice was failing too.

His last thought was of Rosey.

No, Pate! :(

The night is damp, and the cobbles will be slippery! :(

Anyway, spoiler alert. We're not going to have a difficult time connecting the prologue with the last chapter.

"My thanks." There was something about the pale, soft youth that he misliked, but he did not want to seem discourteous, so he added, "My name's not Slayer, truly. I'm Sam. Samwell Tarly."

"I'm Pate," the other said, "like the pig boy." - Samwell V, AFFC

Final thoughts:

It was an impossibly long chapter, so I must be reading AFFC.

Jaqen is headed to the Wall when he's first introduced, and now he's potentially looking for a book about the death of dragons.

I'm not sure whether I should be concerned over his interest in Samwell. I'm going to hope for the best.

"There's an empty sleeping cell under mine in the west tower, with steps that lead right up to Walgrave's chambers," said the pasty-faced youth. "If you don't mind the ravens quorking, there's a good view of the Honeywine. Will that serve?"

"I suppose." He had to sleep somewhere. - Samwell V, AFFC

-> return to menu <-

[caught-in-the-filter]

Sucktember 2022

Day 12: Gag

For the prompts from @suck-tember

Summary: A continuation of what I wrote for the prompt “Messy.”

Dark Hook has Princess Emma in his dungeon of sorts. (Ring gag, gagging, a bit of deepthroating/facefucking.)

A/N: These are unbetaed simply because September started out of nowhere. 😅

Rated: E; Words: 842; AO3

——

“Such a pretty little plaything.”

Emma yelped as the Dark One slapped her ass hard enough that the crack echoed in the room. She gritted her teeth as crimson smoke tightened ropes around her wrists, keeping her bent over the table into which he’d just thoroughly plowed her.

“So fucking soaked,” he said, burying his release deeper inside her with his fingers before circling the table and stopping in front of her. Kneeling before her, he raised her chin with his hook and tilted his head to meet her gaze, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as he examined her. With an unexpectedly tender touch, he wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb.

“So fucking used.” The Dark One grinned as he stroked her tongue, flooding her senses with the tastes of them both on his hand, the metal ring keeping her mouth open for him.

Emma coughed as he touched a little too far back and forced his fingers down her throat.

“Shh shhh, Princess,” the Dark One tutted, dismissing her groan of discomfort as he kept them deep and kissed her temple. “You can handle it, sweet girl. Come on.”

Emma fought against the urge to gag, trying her best to breathe through her nose as he tested how far and how long she could last. As a tear rolled down her cheek, The Dark One caught it with his lips and licked slowly along its path, making her tremble and whine. Her tongue flexed against his fingers as she swallowed back the threat of bile, and he moaned as he finally removed them, spit trailing between them and her mouth.

“Mmmm, save that for my cock.” The Dark One petted her head with his wet hand and grabbed a fistful of her hair, holding her steady as he got to his feet. Teasing her lips with the tip of his cock, he purred, “You want it, don’t you? You want to take it in this tight little mouth just like you did in your cunt?”

“Uh huh,” Emma nodded, though her hands clenched in anticipation, her nails digging crescent moons into her palms as she wondered whether or not she really could handle him.

“There’s a good little Princess. Deep breath.”

Emma closed her eyes as the Dark One rolled his hips forward, gagging on his length despite her efforts to prevent it.

“Look at me, lass.” He pulled back only to thrust again as she obeyed. “That’s it.”

Emma gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white as he fucked her mouth mercilessly.

“You want to be filled at both ends like the good little fucking wench you are.”

Though he’d given her ways to signal him if she needed him to stop, she wasn’t entirely sure anymore if he would heed them. But he seemed to catch on to the rhythm she needed to be able to manage the way her stomach lurched, and his words, somehow praising even in their degradation, made her all the more eager to please him.

“Don’t swallow until I tell you. Are you ready?” He asked through gritted teeth. “I’m so fucking close.”

Emma nodded and obeyed as best as she could with the ring’s hindrance as he ordered her to suck.

The Dark One bucked his hips, dirty encouragements pouring from his lips as he spilled himself in her mouth.

“Let me see how pretty you are with my cum on your tongue.” The Dark One wrenched Emma’s head back as he carefully pulled away from her, in an effort to ensure she wouldn’t lose a drop despite the gag propping her mouth open.

Emma choked at the change in angles though, a small amount of his warm release dribbling down her chin. Fear widened her eyes as she wondered if he would find another way to punish her for it, but he simply grinned and lowered himself so his face was eye level with hers once more.

“Stunning,” he growled, kissing her chin clean. His hand moved to the leather strap at the back of her head, and he unhooked it from itself, cautiously removing the ring from her mouth. “Swallow,” he instructed more softly.

Emma wriggled her jaw for a moment to return feeling to it before she listened and showed him the proof.

“This too,” he said, tipping the ring for Emma to lick the remnants from the metal. “Good girl.” Dropping the gag, the Dark One kissed her lips, slow and deep.

Emma couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, his gesture rather comforting after everything he’d just put her through. As he cupped the back of her head, the Dark One waved his hook and freed her wrists. Emma flexed her fists and reached for his hair, clutching him desperately as she stretched toward him over the table.

“Insatiable lass,” the Dark One muttered as he nipped at her bottom lip. “I’m sure we could think of more ways to wear you out.”

——

Tag list ❤️: @anmylica @anothersworld @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @karlyfr13s @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @laschatzi @mischievousgraxaim @motherkatereloyshipper @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @sotangledupinit @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @tintedfl0wers @ultraluckycatnd @undercaffinatednightmare @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @xsajx @zaharadessert

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Dreaming You Into Reality (2/?)

Summary: Emma had heard of lucid dreams, but had never experienced one for herself. Disappointment over realizing the truth weighed her heart down into her stomach. If she was dreaming then that meant the man she’d been dancing with before wasn’t real. He was nothing more than a figment of her imagination… Who knew she had such a vivid imagination?

A/N: This is all @therealstartraveller776​‘s fault. She shared this post in the cssns Discord, and the last lines haunted me until I had to write something. Naturally, after I posted part one with no intentions of adding to it, there were demands requests for more. All y’all are the worst enablers ever, and I positively love them for that! So, here we are. I’m thinking there will one more part to this, but it could end up being two. Only the muse knows for sure.

Shout out to @kmomof4​ for looking this over for me, and to @artistic-writer​ who listens to me whine as I attempt to make fic art. Love you both!!

Rated M / ~3k words / Available on ao3 and ff.net / Part One

~/~

Part Two

The amber liquid swirled in her glass, the ice tinkling against its sides before Emma brought it up to her lips. Her eyes continued to scan the club for a specific head of mussed, dark hair and a pair of brilliant forget-me-not eyes. Even under the dimmed lights, she knew his gaze would find her, but with each second ticking by as the bass reverberated through the mahogany bar at her back, Emma feared her previous dream truly had been a one time thing.

The night was still young, though. Maybe she just needed to focus more? This was her dream after all. She ought to be able to control it. Mindlessly toying with the swan pendant hanging from the chain around her neck, Emma closed her eyes and focused her attention on her mystery dream man. The buttery feel of his leather coat, the vibrantly embroidered vest, the blanket of chest hair that beckoned from the open collar of his shirt, the lilt of his accent, the way his tongue swept over his lips when his brows arched high and teased her with a suggestive waggle.

Emma could feel the change of her surroundings. Like the last time, she became aware of new sounds and smells, even the feel of her wardrobe as it shifted from modern club clothes to something… more restrictive. Her eyes opened, and she looked down to find herself tightly corseted in something straight off of a bodice ripper romance novel cover, casting her as the saucy bar wench. Raucous laughter caused her head to snap up. The tavern she found herself in accommodated a handful of tables, with only a few of them taken up by a rabbled variety. When her eyes met the blue hue she’d been searching for in the club, Emma made her way over, drawn to him without thought until she stood before him.

“Swan,” he exhaled with an awed tone while standing from the table.

Emma cocked her head and pinched her brows at him. “How did you… I thought you didn’t know my name?”

His eyes widened, a look of astonishment besetting his features. “That’s actually your name?”

“If you didn’t know it was my name, then why did you--”

“Your necklace,” he supplied, gesturing to her cleavage. “You were wearing it last we met and I sort of,” he reached up and scratched behind his ear, the tips of which were beginning to tinge pink, “likened you to the motif upon it.”

Emma nodded and wet her lips. It made sense, she supposed. Not that she was ready to fully buy into the idea that he wasn’t actually a figment of her imagination. She’d spent the last several days attempting to find some sort of logical explanation for the mask appearing on her headboard, mulling it over during stakeouts in her cramped bug. Keeping odd hours during her current case, she’d had to rely on sleeping pills to help her get to sleep which usually meant a dreamless one. Tonight she’d foregone the pill, hoping to meet her mystery dream man and maybe get some answers… as well as little relief to the frustrations that had been building a little more each time she’d thought of him during her waking hours.

“Have a seat, love,” he offered, waiting for her to sink down on the bench before following suit. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No,” she declined before he could signal one of the tavern girls. “Not tonight.”

“Why?” he purred seductively. “Afraid you’ll find me even more irresistible after a few libations?”

It was Emma’s turn to flush pink, remembering their last encounter with him hot and heavy in her hand. Her blush deepened and the heat of it spread through her body, settling in her core at the hope they might get a bit further tonight.

“I already had a drink,” she told him. “At the club we were in at the beginning of the last dream. I was hoping to meet you there again.”

He flashed her a smug sort of grin, clearly pleased that she had wanted to see him again, but his look then shifted, his gaze falling to the table between them. “I tried to get back there, but without your name it proved…” His words fell away and his brows scrunched together. Snapping his head up, he asked, “How did you get here, Swan?”

Emma reached up and stroked her pendant as she tried to recall how she’d come to be in the tavern. “I just… tried to focus on you. How you were the last time I saw you. In all your,” releasing her necklace she gestured towards him, “pirate leather glory.”

He chuckled at that, his eyes crinkling at their corners and sending another flare of want over Emma’s skin. A moment later, his pensive expression returned. Cocking his head to one side, he pressed his tongue along the backside of his teeth, working something out in his mind before relaying the inner workings to her.

“I was thinking of you as well,” he mused. “When my efforts to locate the club, as you call it, failed, I imagined you here.” His eyes landed on her, his gaze taking in her appearance with a bit more scrutiny. “I thought of you dressed just so,” he murmured with a hesitant note of amazement. “Invoking the nickname I’d given you, not knowing it was your true name, and then… there you were.”

Emma had no idea why he seemed to be getting all worked up. What did it matter how she arrived in the tavern? She was here now, and ready for him to get her out of this blasted corset he’d, apparently, put her in.

“Come with me!”

Taking her hand he practically yanked her up off the bench and out the tavern door, his steps hurried with an excited gleam in his eye. “The dreamscape is my reality,” he told her. “With fixed rules for those of us imprisoned here, but malleable for visitors like you.” He wound them further through the dark streets, the evening air cooling around them as a briny bite infiltrated her sinuses. “It’s been long rumored that we can occasionally change our reality with the assistance of an outsider, reshape it how we choose as if we had control of the dream ourselves. I think that might have happened last time, too. When we shifted from the club to the ballroom. I’d been to that castle before, you see. And I was thinking how stunning you’d be, that you’d cut quite the figure in a dress meant for a princess, when we were suddenly transported there. That’s when I started to suspect you might be my way out. I just needed your name to set things in motion.”

“What are you talking about?” Emma asked, winded. “Where are we going?”

“To the harbor,” he replied, just as they made their way around one final corner that revealed the open expanse of ocean past the vacant piers stretching out towards the waves. Spinning towards her, he asked, “What does every true pirate captain need in order to master the sea?”

“Um… a ship?”

“Exactly,” he said with a giddy sort of expression. “Imagine a ship, Swan. A sleek ship with two masts and billowing sails.” He took her hands in his and gave her a pleading look. She sighed and rolled her eyes before closing them, bringing the image to mind. “Don’t resist, love. I’m going to make some changes.” Emma scrunched her brows together, unsure what he meant until the image in her head began to shift, coming into vivid focus with details she never would have thought to give it, seeing as she had little to no knowledge of old timey sailing vessels. “Open your eyes, but keep that ship locked in your mind, just as it is now, then imagine it docked in the water.”

Emma did as instructed and her jaw dropped when the exact ship she’d been visualizing appeared, bobbing and swaying lightly on the evening tide. A moment later she gasped when she was suddenly lifted off her feet, wrapped tightly in her pirate’s arms and swung around from his elation. When he set her down, his hands placing themselves at her waist to ensure her stability, her breath caught at the look in his too blue eyes.

“Thank you, Swan,” he exhaled. “Thank you for giving her back to me.”

His lips were on hers before she could take in a proper breath, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. What was oxygen, anyway, when his lips were as soft and supple as she remembered, his kiss just the right side of demanding when his hand came up to caress the side of her face, using the slightest bit of pressure to change the angle of her head so he could deepen it before his tongue won entrance past her lips. The slick heat of it sliding against her own had her moaning in tandem with his own desperate sounds.

Sounds that tempted her to imagine them back in her bedroom and resume what they’d started in the previous dream.

Before she could make that dream a reality, he pulled back. His hair was a riotous mess from her fingers, though she hadn’t even been aware she’d buried them within those luscious locks, his lips red and kiss swollen, and his eyes a deep midnight shade of desire, pupils blown wide and lids low over his hooded gaze that made her skin prickle in the most delicious way.

“Come, love,” he said, taking her hand. “Allow me to show you my ship, then perhaps we could continue this over a nightcap?”

Bottom lip secured between her teeth, an action that only seemed to darken his gaze, Emma nodded. “Lead the way, Captain.” Before he could do just that, she tugged on his hand drawing his attention back to her. “You know, you never did tell me your name.”

“Apologies, love. Where are my manners.” Lowering himself into a formal bow over her hand, he kissed it lightly then flicked his eyes back up to her, murmuring, “Captain Killian Jones. At your service, Miss Swan.”

“Emma,” she said. “My name is Emma. Emma Swan.”

“A pleasure… Emma.”

The sound of her name on his breath sent a shiver of wonder down her spine, rippling its way over every inch of flesh until they reached his ship and stepped aboard. Every fiber of his being seemed to relax the moment he was reunited with his ship, his hand lovingly gliding along the rails and wrapping themselves around the spokes of the wheel.

“Hello, love,” he murmured, softly. “It’s so bloody fantastic to have you back in my loving arms.”

“You do know she’s just a ship, right,” Emma teased on a small giggle, earning her a scandalized look.

“She’s not just a ship,” he insisted. “She’s all I had after my brother died. Being separated from her, my one last love, has been…” He trailed off, shaking himself and wrapping his arms around Emma with a chagrined smile on his lips. “Forgive me, Swan. It’s just been an age since I’ve seen the old girl. I’ve missed all she represents. The freedom.” His arms tightened and his expression shifted once more. “But it’s bad form to neglect one’s guest, and a woman as beautiful and wondrous as you deserves my full and prompt attention.”

Emma’s hands slid up his waistcoat, her fingers curling through his chest hair before finding their way around his neck. “I believe a nightcap was promised?”

“Aye, love,” he breathed. “Let’s see what sort of spirits your dream has provided.”

Assisting her down the hatch that led to the captain’s quarters, Emma cursed the tangled mass of skirts threatening her descent until they finally managed to trip her up, sending her flying. Fortunately, Killian managed to catch her. Hands braced at his shoulders, his grip splayed at her waist and back, their breaths mingling between them while their eyes flicked back and forth between one another’s until both pairs settled on the other’s mouth.

“To hell with the nightcap,” Emma muttered.

Their teeth clicked together from the ferocity of the moment, with sloppy, uncoordinated nips and flicks of tongue as they both fought to rid the other of their garments. Emma sighed in euphoric relief when the damned corset was finally ripped off her body, causing a growl to release from deep within Killian’s chest. He hoisted her up by the backs of her thighs and she wasted no time wrapping her legs over his hips. Not even waiting until they reached his bunk, his mouth latched onto her breast, his teeth and tongue lavishing sweet anguish over her nipple.

When he deposited her onto the soft mattress a chuckle rumbled up his chest. “I don’t seem to remember my bed being this… accommodating for two.” His brow and lip were arched in matching fashion, teasing her for the modification she’d clearly made to the dreamscape as he stripped off the last remaining garment between them before climbing onto the bed and hovering over her prone form. “Can’t say as I mind, though.”

He kissed her again, deep and unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. They both knew better, though. All too soon the dream would end, and for all either of them knew this might be the last time they ever met in the dreamscape that was becoming more real to Emma with each passing moment. It wasn’t, though, and she didn’t want to waste a second of her slumber.

Canting her hips up into his, they both groaned at the feel of her center sliding over his hardened cock, as velvety and firm as she remembered.

“Tell me you want this,” he pleaded. Waiting for her assurance even as he lined himself up at her entrance.

“I want this,” she told him. “I want you.”

Her breath left her when he pushed his way in, the burn and stretch of his sizable cock everything she’d imagined and so much more. It took a few tender thrusts before he managed to bury himself to the hilt, sinking into her until every last inch of him was fully encased in her tight heat. Hitching her legs up to wrap around his hips, Killian began a steady pace, increasing in speed and intensity until he found the spot that made Emma’s eyes roll back and back arch off the bed.

“So bloody beautiful,” he praised on panted breaths. “I can’t wait to see you come. Come for me, Swan. Come on my cock. Let me see how glorious you are when you fall.”

Emma wasn’t sure if it was his words, or the way his hair had fallen over his eyes which were now clamped shut in pained concentration as he tried to stall his own release until she found hers, or the way he expertly worked her body, seeming to know exactly how to make her reach that peak of desperate ecstacy in a way no lover ever had before. An ecstasy that was nearly ruined when a treacherous little voice sounded off in her head, nearly drowned out by the litany of sounds accompanying her orgasm. Nearly, but not completely. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. Not when Killian followed her over the edge a moment later, coming in hot spurts that splashed her walls while his features displayed the most erotic expression she’d ever seen, almost making her come again.

Collapsing together, a heap of sweaty, panting, thoroughly satisfied limbs jumbled together, they both softly smiled at one another when their eyes finally opened and met.

“That was…”

“Mhmm.”

“Bloody hell.”

“And hot damn.”

Attempting to maneuver them into a more comfortable configuration, the brief loss of Killian’s body heat had Emma shivering against the cold that had seeped into his cabin.

“Are you cold, love?”

“Just a little.”

The whimper that escaped her when he left the bed turned into a whine when he coaxed her up into a seated position.

“Here, Swan. Put this on.”

Emma slid her arms into the billowy softness of Killian’s shirt as he helped slide it over her head then nestled back on the mattress, beckoning him to join her. Wrapped in one another’s arms once more, the bliss of their activities began to ebb away as they both silently recognized how short their time together was. Emma could almost feel the vestiges of the dream giving away at the corners of her subconscious, the pull of wakefulness looming just beyond the intimacy of the captain’s quarters.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and Emma chided herself. It wasn’t like any of this was actually real. He was in her head. A fantasy she’d concocted in her dreams. That voice had been right. The only reason he knew how to please her so well, how to touch her and make love to her like no one else was because she’d made him up in her own mind. He wasn’t real. This wasn’t real, so there was no use crying over it ending.

“You still think I’m a figment of your imagination, don’t you?” he questioned softly, breaking the tension that had charged the atmosphere.

“How could you not be,” Emma sniffed. “You said I could make you real, but when I wake up you’ll be gone. I’ll be back in my own bed, alone.” Anger for allowing herself to open up and actually feel something for a man totally unattainable forced Emma to sit up once more, wrenching herself from Killian’s embrace. “I should go. This was stupid. You’re nothing more than a subconscious need for me to let off some steam.” Try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to move off the edge of the bed, so when Killian gently took her hand in his and pleaded with her to stay, she laid back down and nuzzled into his chest.

“We’ll find each other again, Emma. I promise you that,” he murmured against her forehead where his lips rested. “You’ll see. Now that we have each other’s name, it’ll be easier. We can find a way to make me real again.”

“Again?” She tilted her head back so she could see his face, but it was already beginning to dissolve with the crumbling dreamscape around her. “What do you mean, again?”

Wakefulness came before he could answer. Morning light filtered into her room, illuminating the barren space beside her and causing a sob to catch in the back of her throat. Reaching out to slide her hand over the cold sheet she startled at the fabric covering her arm. The sheer, smoke like linen of Killian’s shirt still clung to her body and filled her sinuses with his scent of salt and leather and spice. Somehow, like the mask, his shirt had transcended the dreamscape and entered her reality, becoming tangible. Becoming real. And if a mask and shirt could do that…

Maybe she could make Killian real, too.

Part Three 

[rebelbyrdie]

SwanQueen Ficlet:  Black and White Pt 2

More reasons for Emma to drool over Regina. Also Regina shows a different side to herself.  It isn’t really edited because I typed it out at work.  It’s just sort of an idea.

Snow was going to pout forever.  Thank God Emma didn’t live with her anymore.  She could not imagine putting up with her full time right now.  She had said words that Emma had never imagined coming out of sweet Mary Margaret’s mouth.  She had covered the kidlet’s ears.  The White Court had lost the big tournament.

It had been close.  Mulan had trashed everyone in the sword fighting event.  She’d won easily.  The archery stuff had gone differently, though.  Merida Hill, the fire department’s chief, had easily beaten Snow and everyone else.  So it had gone, neck and neck all day so jousting had become the big tie breaker.  David and some other the other White Court men were all excited to compete.  Even Henry had scampered off remarking that his Mom had promised to let him play at being a squire.

Emma had never seen jousting, except for watching A Knights Tale on cable.  It looked painful.  Snow had excitedly explained the whole thing to her.  Leather and cushioned armor, padded lances, horses going slower than usual.  It still looked hella dangerous.  Emma was never going to let Henry do it.  Even full-contact football was safer then this knight shit.

They had watched, Emma wincing, and Snow politely clapping, every time two knights crashed into each other.

David was doing good.  He was knocking everyone down.  Which, Emma had gathered, was winning.

Of course the other side was doing just as well.  There was a rider in all black that was knocking just as many people over.

“I can’t believe Regina would let a teenager do that.”  Ashley remarked.  “I mean look how small they are.  No way they’re a full knight.”

“Could be a woman.  Regina had several female soldiers.  Jill maybe.”  Sean, who had been knocked out of the jousting tournament earlier, replied.”

The final match was between David and the small dark rider.  When David hit the dirt, Snow had let out a shout so loud it hurt Emma’s ears.  She hadn’t stopped bitching and whining to make sure David was okay.

They had all lined up down on the field for the “closing” ceremony.  Archie was waiting with a big trophy.

The announcers, two of the supervisors from the cannery, came over the loud speaker.

“And here to accept the victory for the Black Court is His Royal Highness, Prince Henry.”

Henry, escorted by Zelena and Maleficent, came out to the middle of the field.  He had changed clothes  Well he had changed his whole image to match the Black Court’s over-the-top gothic image.  He was wearing a black suit was a fur-lined black cape and a gold mini-crown (circlet?  man-tiara?) with black gems in it. He looked older than his years and handsome,  Like a real prince.  

“Sorry Grandma, Grandpa.  I sort of had double-duty today.”

“Wait.”  Snow all but stamped her foot on the muddy grass.  “Where’s Regina?”  

Henry blinked, confused.  “Right here, duh.”

The black knight, complete with a green and gold cloak thrown over their armor, stepped forward and took off their metal helmet and mask.

Emma almost had a heart attack.

Regina stood there, in armor.  Her hair was sweat-soaked and plastered to her head. There was a scrape on her cheek and the vein on her forehead was prominant which told Emma that she had a headache.  Despite, or maybe because, all of that Regina was beautiful.  Like an Amazon Queen who had lead her people to victory and was about to take her spoils.

 “I thought it would be more appropriate to let Henry accept the award.” Regina cocked a brow.  “I am not photo or speech ready.”

Emma just stared, open mouthed.  Regina.  Regina who wore dresses and always had a perfect manicure.  Regina who was the feme-est of femes.  Regina, who snarled her nose up at everything not-fancy.  She had just whipped countless dude’s asses with a pony and a big stick?  Emma couldn’t comprehend it.

“You-”  David cocked his head to the side.  “You didn’t compete under your coat of arms though?”  He sounded a little confused and a lot embarrassed. “Its not green.”

Regina shrugged a leather clad shoulder.  “My father’s coat of arms.”

Archie held up a microphone.  “I am pleased to announce the First Annual Black and White Tournament has been won by the Black Court.”

He handed the microphone to Henry.  Henry grinned.  

“Thank You.  I want to give a round of applause to all of the competitors today.  Black and White, we all represent Storybrooke.”  He paused for a thunderous roar of applause.

“The proceeds from today and a matching donation will be given to the Black Court’s chosen project, the Storybrooke Youth Center.  Thank you everybody for coming out and we hope to see you tonight at the ball.”

So here they were, at a way-over decorated ball room in City Hall.  Emma had no idea what kind of magic Zelena, Maleficent and Regina had used but it had  worked.  She felt like she had walked into a scene from a movie.  

THe whole town was going to ring in the new year with style. Not Emma’s style, though.  She was way not her style.  She was in a long white pageant gown with ruffles and tulle and more fluff then a dress should legally be able to have.  She felt awkward and out of place.  

Hook, dressed all in white (which she was sure Snow paid for) sidled up to her about nine o’clock.  He already smelled like rum.  

“You look beautiful, Luv.”

She wanted to puke.  She should have scooped up Henry to be her escort before Regina had lured him to the dark side.

Speaking of Henry, her Kid was surrounded by teenage girls.  His Price act and new edgy Black Court look was a hit.  

She kind of wanted to ground him for treason or something.

“Care for a dance, Luv?”

He had his one hand in his pocket, like he was holding on to something.

Emma definitely did not want to dance, or anything else, with him.

“I’m sorry, Captain.  As the victor, Emma is obligated to give the first dance to me.”

Emma turned around and felt her heart stutter and her brain flat-lined. Regina stood behind them.  Gone was the sweaty knight of earlier.  She was dressed to kill in an outfit that had to be from her Evil Queen days.  She had a black corset top and leather pants that was covered, barely, by a long black jacket that was cropped in the front and flowed to the ground in the back.  Her cleavage was partially covered (more like accentuated) by a big and fancy necklace that matched the crown on her head.  The gold made her skin glow and the rubies were the same color as her lips.Her hair was long and curled into a complicated up do with even more jewels in it. She had to be wearing boots with a killer heel because she was almost the same height as Hook.

When Emma finally regained her senses, she let out a hoarse.  “Yeah.”  She pulled in a deep breath and hoped the oxygen helped her brain reboot.  “Can’t say no to My Queen.”

Regina lead her to the dance floor with a chuckle.  

Hook stood in place, eyes wide and furious.  He knew better to fight Regina, though  Not only did she have magic, half of her posse did too and exactly none of them liked Hook.  Basically, Emma had thrown her lot in with the wrong team.  

“Thanks.”  She mumbled to Regina when they were far enough away.  “It was either this or deck him.”

They started to twirl around in what Emma was almost sure was a waltz.  Regina lead her confidently along and she followed as best she could.

“You do realize he has a ring box in his pocket.  I believe the pirate was going to ask you to be his wedded wench.”

Emma bit back a groan.  She had been afraid of that.  “Frankly I’d rather go ten round against you with the ponies and the sticks.  No padding.”

Regina laughed.  A full on threw her head back laugh.  It was better than the music, the best sound Emma could remember hearing in a long time.  Regina so rarely laughed.  

“Speaking of.”  Emma continued as she fumbled through the dance.  “How did you learn to do that?  It doesn’t seem very queeny.”

Regina smiled.  “My father.  He went behind Mother’s back and taught me when I was a teenager. I had to do more than a few practice runs to re-teach myself a few things.  It was not at all like riding a bike”

Emma literally could not imagine.

“So-”  They turned and Emma could see Snow and Hook having a heated conversation on the other side of the room.  Neither of them looked happy.  She dropped her head to Regina’s shoulder for a moment.  

“I think I’m defecting to the Black Squad next year.  You and the Kid got cooler better clothes and nobody on your team is trying to set me up with an asshole.  Between Hook and my mother I am never going to make it to midnight.”

She was totally done and over this whole Black and White bullshit.

Regina was so close, the dancing had slowed down and they were basically just swaying together now. Emma soaked in the moment, the intimacy of it all. 

Regina’s skin was hot against her own.  She smelled like apples, rain and honey. Her touch was electric and sent delicious.   Regina was intoxicating.  Like lines of cocaine on black velvet, intoxicating, addictive, an incredible high that could so easily turn into decadent and delirious destruction. If Emma let herself slip, if she took even the tiniest taste, if she gave in to temptation, she would be lost.  She knew that she would never be able to stop.  Would never want to.

Regina’s hands crawled up her back.  Emma could feel her touch burning through the material of her dress.

“Em-ma.” Regina’s voice was like whiskey and starlight and it was whispered right into Emma’s ear.

She had seen so many sides and shades of Regina, so many moments had passed between them.  This moment, with Regina’s arms wrapped around her, was her favorite.

“I would be honored to have you on my Court.  Beside me, beside our son,  Where you belong.”

Belong.  Emma hadn’t felt like she belonged anywhere, ever.  The very idea was ridiculous.  Yet.  Yet, she craved it.  She never felt more like herself than she did when she was with Regina and Henry.  They felt like home, like the living embodiment of Tallahassee.

“I-”

Emma lifted her head.  She searched Regina’s eyes.  She looked for sarcasm or spite but only saw love.  Overwhelming amounts of love.  She got lost in Regina’s beautiful eyes and the endless capacity of her heart.

“Regina.”  Emma licked her suddenly dry lips.  She had so much to say.  To confess.  She had never been good with words.She wasn’t even sure there were words for the emotions swirling inside of her.  “My Queen.”

Regina’s eyes lit up at that.  Like it was the sweetest thing she had ever heard.  Based on Regina’s checkered past, it probably was.

Emma couldn’t wait anymore.  She didn’t care where they were or who saw.  She was tired of black and white, good and evil, fighting and drawing lines.  They were in a fairytale town, at a fairytale ball and they were fairytale royalty. It was time for their Happily Ever After.

Emma leaned in and did the one thing she had been dying to do since the first time she’d seen Regina.  She kissed her. 

The floor tilted under Emma’s feet.  Angels sang in her ears. Kissing Regina was better than drugs.  Emma ran her hands through Regina’s hair and let it curl around her fingers.  Regina held her close, her nails dug into Emma’s shoulder blades.  It was perfect.

Claps and gasps invaded their little bubble of bliss.

Emma opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) and looked around.  The room was bathed in golden light.  THere were stars dancing across the ceiling and black and white pops of light, like fireworks.

There was no denying it now.  The entire town had witnessed them share their first and apparently true loves kiss.

Regina rested her forehead against hers.  

“You want to get out of here?”

As opposed to facing down the entire town and her crazy mother?  Absolutely.

“Your place or mine?”

Regina’s smirk was the only answer Emma got as they disappeared in a swirl of smoke.

[wistfulcynic]

Drink the Wild Air (5/?)

IN WHICH the pirate returns after a long absence, smut is smutted, a plan is hatched, and Lieutenant Jones learns what the heck is going on. 

SUMMARY: Once upon a time a princess fell in love with a pirate. This is their story.

A Captain Duckling high-seas adventure tale in which princesses are kidnapped (OR ARE THEY), sea battles are fought, SWASH is BUCKLED and CASTLES are STORMED.

(also EVIL is VANQUISHED and FAMILIES are REUNITED)

For @thisonesatellite​​ (who has been struggling with flames, so she has something swashbuckle-y to wake up to) 

@ohmightydevviepuu​ @katie-dub​​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @kmomof4​ @teamhook​​​ @stahlop​​​ @mariakov81​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @shireness-says​​ @snidgetsafan​​ @xarandomdreamx @winterbaby89​​ @jennjenn615​ @facesiousbutton82​​​

(please do say if you would like a tag or if you would like not a tag)

(Also on AO3) (Tumblr: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four)

PART THE FIFTH: THE PLAN

With Killian gone Emma’s world felt dull and grey, each day following on from the one before in an endless chain of monotony. In the morning she arose and dressed and ate and performed her royal tasks, maintaining her schedule out of a sense of duty to her parents and her body and her kingdom, though all she truly wished to do was curl up beneath the thick quilts on her bed and never move again. In her mind’s eye she could see her future stretched out before her, flat and featureless as the landscapes of the inland kingdoms, lacking only the husband her parents so wished for her to choose. The thought of living out that life for years, for decades, squeezed her chest in tight bands of panic and the thought of marrying a man who wasn’t Killian—of doing with anyone else the things that they had done together—actually made her skin crawl. 

A lifetime of duty and protocol and decorum. A lifetime of no Killian. No arrogant pirate to challenge her, or to entice her with his wicked grin and his eyes like the sea, cold and sharp until they landed on her and softened into the summer sky. 

She tried to tell herself that they had only spent five days together and that she had lived her life perfectly well, been perfectly content before she met him. But the truth was that he had changed everything for her, and life no longer felt satisfying without him in it. Daily she struggled against the fear that something might happen to him. If he were injured or—her mind shied from the thought—killed, how would she ever know? She would wait for him, for endless days and months and years but he would never return, and she would have no way of knowing what terrible fate had befallen him. 

She wished with increasing sorrow as the weeks wore on that she had told him of her love. If he were to die without ever hearing her say those words, without ever saying them back to her… but she forced that thought from her mind. He wasn’t going to die. He would be back. He’d promised, and she knew with the same certainty that assured her the sun would rise in the east each morning that, pirate or not, Killian Jones was a man of his word. 

As the weeks dragged into months Emma’s moodiness increased, leaving her irritable and snappish one moment and utterly listless the next. Her parents didn’t pry but she could tell they were deeply concerned. She felt their worried gazes on her when she spoke sharply to the royal ministers, saw the glances they exchanged at the dinner table when she picked at the food she used to love and the anxious way they frowned when they found her wandering aimlessly through the palace or standing for long hours at her window, staring out at the sea. They each found little ways to show her their support, from the fresh flowers her mother ensured were always in her bedchamber to her father’s overly-jovial insistence that she keep up her sword training with him so as not to fall out of practice. Emma made a show of protest but deep down she treasured their efforts, and their patience, and the way they always made sure she felt the strength of their love surrounding her. 

Until the day they didn’t. 

~

Six months after she had sailed from Misthaven, the Jolly Roger and her crew returned. As the harbour came into view over the horizon, Killian forced himself to appear calm, to perform his duties and command his crew as they expected, in defiance of the nervous anxiety clawing at his chest. The past half year had been the longest of his life, every spare moment of it filled with thoughts of Emma and every night haunted by dreams of her. More times than he could count he had relived their single night together, alone and aching in his bunk, and in his dreams his imagination had roamed free, into places they had never been together, acts they had yet to perform. When his ship was in port he found he could no longer bear the noise and hearty genial atmosphere of the taverns, could not even feign an interest in the drinking and wenching that he’d once so enjoyed. He found himself slipping away earlier and earlier, back to the ship to sip his rum alone and torture himself with thoughts of the only woman he wanted, leaving Smee to smooth things over with the crew. Smee alone knew the true identity of the supposed tavern wench he had dallied with in Misthaven, and only Smee knew the depth of Killian’s feelings for her. He knew he could trust Smee, both the man’s loyalty and his fear of his captain’s wrath to keep that secret safe. 

If only he could be as sure of Emma. The closer they got to Misthaven the more Killian’s anxiety grew, tightening the knot in his chest to an unbearable tension. How would she feel about the way he’d left her while she slept, sneaking away without a goodbye? He’d thought only to spare her the heartache of a drawn-out farewell—spare them both, if he was honest—but what if she were angry with him, or worse, hurt by what he’d done. His nightmares were plagued with horror scenarios: she was betrothed, she was already married, she was too furious to speak to him, but the very worst he could imagine was that she was hurt, suffering from something he had done. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. 

His fingers gripped the ship’s wheel as they drew closer to the harbour, their knuckles glaringly white against the deep red stones in his rings. They must be visible from Emma’s window now, he thought. Had she seen them yet? What was she thinking? What would she do? 

He forced himself to focus on his tasks until the ship was securely docked and most of his crew disembarked, off to seek their own adventures with their own women. Standing at the top of the gangplank with his heart in his throat he scanned the crowd, swallowing bitter disappointment when he caught no glimpse of her among it. His eyes dropped—and met those of his princess (Not yours, mate, he told himself firmly, and tried to believe it) standing right below him at the foot of the gangplank, smiling brightly as he hurried down to meet her, with an eager tension in her posture that said she wanted to throw herself into his arms nearly as much as he wanted to catch her in them. He felt the fear that she would hate him drain away, replaced by a different sort of tightness. 

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing to her. 

“Captain.” Her hands were clasped tightly, fingers twisting. “I missed you,” she blurted, then flushed. 

He thought his grin would crack his face. “I missed you too,” he replied, halting with a good foot of space remaining between them and just drinking her in. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, the morning sunlight caressing her face and glinting through the few strands of hair visible beneath the hood of her cloak, and his fingers itched to touch her. But the docks were heaving and bustling with people, decidedly not the place for the reunion he wanted. He didn’t trust himself to get any closer. 

She seemed to have the same thought. “Can we— is there anywhere we can go?” she asked. “Somewhere private.” 

Killian looked around. His crew had disembarked, everyone save the few would remain to guard the ship, leaving the Jolly Roger all but empty. Did he dare to bring Emma there, to the one place he most longed to show her? He turned back to find her biting her lip as her eyes devoured him and he swallowed a groan.“There’s my cabin.” 

She smiled, relieved and excited and vibrating with the same nervous energy he felt. “That’s perfect.” 

He returned her smile and held out his hand, gasping at the hiss of sensation when their fingers met. The idea of her in his cabin, in the very room where he had spent half a year missing her and dreaming about her made his hands shake and his heart pound, and he had to force himself not to drag her straight there. Instead he gave her a tour of his ship, enjoying the light of interest in her eyes and the way her fingers curled around his until finally he led her into his cabin. 

The moment the door closed behind them she was in his arms, her fingers gripping the lapels of his coat as her mouth pressed against his, hot and desperate. He groaned, tangling his fingers in her hair, pulling her as close as she could get, his tongue in her mouth sliding against hers until he feared he might perish from the overwhelming rush of lust and love and the sheer joy of being with her again. 

After a long moment they broke apart, gasping for air, pressing their foreheads together as she cupped his face in her hands. 

“I love you,” she said fiercely. “I should have said it before. When you were gone it felt like half of me was missing, and I love you so mu—” 

He swallowed the rest of her words with a frantic kiss. “I love you too,” he murmured against her lips. “Oh, Emma—” He broke off on an aching moan as she hooked her fingers beneath the waistband of his trousers and pulled his hips into hers. 

There was no fumbling or hesitation this time as they slipped the clothes from each other’s bodies, chasing each garment with kisses and soft touches, the press of their skin together, their gasps and moans driving them higher until Emma gripped Killian’s shoulders with desperate fingers.  

“Please,” she said. “I want—I want to—” she made a frustrated gesture and he smiled. 

“We’re going to have to work on your vocabulary, love. For now…” he pulled her down onto his bed, lying on his back and encouraging her up to straddle his hips. “Take it away, darling.” 

Her eyes went wide. “Really? I can…”  

“Aye.” He nodded. “Whatever you like. I’m entirely at your mercy.” 

She trailed her fingers down his chest, swirling them through the thick hair. “I love this,” she whispered. “It’s softer than it looks and it feels so good against—” she flushed. 

“Against your nipples,” he supplied and she nodded. 

“Against my nipples.” She let her thumbs caress his. “Are they called the same on you?” 

“Aye.” 

“And this?” She reached down and closed her hand around him, squeezing gently. “It’s so hard, but the skin is soft. What’s it called?” 

“It has many names. The correct anatomical term is ‘penis.’” 

She gave a small laugh and shook her head. “How do you know this?” 

“You’d be surprised what they teach you in the Royal Navy.” 

 He held his breath as her fingertips caressed him, letting her explore at her own pace despite the frantic pounding of his blood. 

“So what other names does it have?”

“Oh, all manner of them. Willy, prick, knob, pecker… but my favourite is cock. Simple, straightforward. To the point.” 

She nodded. “Cock,” she repeated, the word somehow sweet and lovely falling from her lips. “And what about my… parts? What are they called?”

“They are also known by many names. This—” he stroked her with his thumb, making her jump and gasp “—is your clitoris. It guards the entrance to your vagina.” He slid a finger inside her and she sighed, pressing herself against this hand. “Those are the anatomical terms.” 

“And the —oh, yes— the others?” 

“Pussy,” he whispered, stroking her more firmly. “Fanny, muff. Lady garden.”

She made a choked noise, half giggle, half moan. “Isn’t there a simple one? Like… cock.” 

“Aye. The one I prefer is cunt.” 

“Cunt,” she repeated. “And cock. So I can—” she swallowed. “I can take your cock in my cunt. Like this?” She grasped him firmly and lifted her hips. Killian pulled his fingers from her heat and curled them around her waist, guiding her as she slid down onto him. He inhaled sharply when he was fully inside, his hand clenching on her soft skin. 

“Just like that, darling,” he moaned. “Gods, you’re so bloody wet, and hot, and you feel so good around me.” 

“You feel good inside me,” she gasped in reply. “So full… it’s almost too much but also I want more? Do I just?” She rocked her hips experimentally. 

“Aye, love, exactly like that. Find a rhythm that feels good and just fuck me.” 

“Fuck,” she repeated, and he could almost see her filing that word away alongside the others in her clever mind. He had no idea what he could possibly have done in his short life already so drenched in blood and betrayal, to deserve this astounding woman, to know the feeling of her grinding down on his cock with her head thrown back in pleasure, but Killian swore to her and himself and to every deity he could name that he would do whatever it took to be worthy of her. 

Emma quickly found her rhythm, bracing her hands on his legs and arching her back as she rolled her hips and clenched her muscles, and he could tell from her short, breathy moans and the flush on her skin that she was close. He didn’t dare come inside her, however much he longed to, so he pressed his thumb against her pearl—his own favoured name for the clitoris—and rubbed it gently until she cried out in bliss. She slumped against his chest and with a deft twist he rolled her beneath him, adjusted her legs around his waist and fucked deep into her, drawing out her pleasure and ratcheting up his own until with an aching groan he pulled out and spilled his release on the sheets beside her. 

She curled against his chest, almost purring in satisfaction. “Is it always like that?” she asked. 

“No.” He was still trying to catch his breath. “What we have is extraordinary. Or maybe it’s just love.”  

He felt her smile against his skin, and the soft kiss she pressed just beneath his collarbone. He tightened his arms around her and let himself drift halfway between asleep and awake until she spoke again.

“Killian, there’s something I need you to do for me.” 

He blinked himself back into full awareness. “Anything, love.” 

She snorted, most indelicately for a princess. “That’s a bold statement from a man who left me for half a year because his crew was restless,” she retorted. 

“Anything that is reasonably within my power to do, I will do for you,” he amended with a sigh. 

“Well, I think you ought to be able to do this.”  

Her voice was solemn and he heard the worry behind it. Gently he brushed the hair back from her face and tilted her chin until she met his eyes. “What is it, my love?” he asked. “What do you need me to do?” 

Slowly, choosing her words carefully, she told him of her observations, her suspicions, her theories, and what she needed from him. 

He frowned as he considered options, weighed possibilities. “I believe I can obtain what you require,” he said. “But I don’t like the idea of leaving you here, if—” 

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’m nothing but a spoiled and brainless princess, remember? As long as I just keep on doing what I’ve been doing, they won’t suspect a thing.” 

He nodded. “All right. But I can’t go through another separation like the last one, love, with no word between us for months on end. If I’m to do this we must have some means of communication, if I’m far away and you run into danger—” 

A grin spread across her face, a wide, triumphant grin with an edge of wicked. 

“I’ve thought of that already,” she said. “We’ll use my mother’s birds.” 

~

Four months later, Princess Emma of Misthaven disappeared from the palace gardens. No trace of her was ever found.  

---

Lieutenant Jones entered the captain’s quarters and shut the door as instructed, then stood at military attention before the captain and the princess. 

Captain Jones chuckled. “No need for that, lad,” he said. “Have a seat.” He indicated the unoccupied chair opposite where he sat. Lieutenant Jones cast an uncertain glance at the princess, who returned a wide smile. 

“Please sit, Lieutenant Jones,” she said. “We have quite a lot to tell you and believe me, you’ll want to be sitting down for it.” 

Lieutenant Jones sat. 

The captain fixed him with a serious look. “I need to you understand before we begin that nothing we say in this room can ever leave it. Can we trust you to keep everything we discuss today in the strictest confidence?” 

“A-aye, sir.” 

“Be certain, lad. The lives of more than one person may depend on your discretion.” 

Lieutenant Jones hesitated. Loyalty was a thing that meant a great deal to him, and he bestowed it sparingly. He’d had it betrayed once, viciously, and since that day only a handful of people had ever succeeded in earning it. 

He realised with a start that two of those people were currently across the table from him, watching him closely. He nodded. “I’m certain, Captain. Nothing you tell me will go any further.” 

Captain Jones smiled, a smile that said he’d expected nothing less, one that held a hint of pride. He leaned back in his chair. “About a year and a half ago, the king and queen of Misthaven disappeared,” he said.  

“What?” 

“Aye, you may well be astonished.” 

“But how— I’ve heard nothing—”

“You’ve heard nothing of it because they were immediately replaced by extraordinarily well-disguised impostors. No one but their closest companions—or family—would ever spot the difference.” 

“And with them being working royalty, there aren’t many of those,” added Princess Emma. “My parents have many good friends but due to their busy schedules they don’t often see them and it is easy to invent reasons to postpone any potential reunions. The only person who really might notice anything amiss is me. And notice I did.” 

“But—” began Lieutenant Jones, then broke off. 

“Speak your mind, lad,” said the captain. “Any questions you have you must feel free to ask.” 

“But wouldn’t whoever was responsible for their disappearance consider that? That you, Your Highness, would of course recognise that your parents seemed different.” 

“Yes.” She seemed pleased by the question. “Unless the person responsible thought I was nothing but an empty-headed, spoilt princess who cared nothing for anyone but myself.” 

“Who would possibly think that!” Lieutenant Jones was indignant. 

Princess Emma smiled. It wasn’t an altogether pleasant smile. “We have good reason to believe that it was your former employer. Queen Regina.” 

“The Evil Queen!” 

“Indeed. Are you familiar with her history with my parents?” 

“Aye, some of it. Your mother was her stepdaughter and she fought a war to get her kingdom back from the Evil Queen’s control.” 

“Alongside my father,” she confirmed. “Once the war was won they cut Regina off from her magic and banished her to her own small kingdom, hoping that she would have learnt the lesson of her defeat. Apparently she did not. We believe that she has managed to regain her magic and use it to abduct my parents and plant these impostors in their place.” 

Lieutenant Jones frowned. “What would be her aim in doing this?” he asked.  

“To destroy Misthaven from within,” replied the princess. “So that once the kingdom is irretrievably weakened she can step in and take over. If she attacked outright the people and the army would rally in its defence, but if the infrastructure slowly crumbles leaving them miserable and destitute then she can paint her conquest as benevolence and they will welcome her. Or at least, we believe that’s her intention.” 

“Thats— rather a complex plan.” 

“Regina is not a woman who does the straightforward thing,” said Captain Jones drily. “And she’s had quite some time to plot her revenge. This is a plan twenty years in the making.” 

The lieutenant nodded, his brow creased in thought. He ran a hand over his face, stroking the short beard on his chin. Princess Emma’s eyes narrowed but she made no comment. 

“So why are you telling me this?” asked Lieutenant Jones. “I presume you require my assistance but for what?”

“We’re telling you this because Killian and I also have a plan,” the princess replied, smiling down at the captain. “We’re going to rescue my parents. And we need your help.” 

[laschatzi]

My fic masterlist

Here I’ve listed all my fics - list is constantly updated. Here you find the summaries and ratings - fics without an M or E-rating are all G. The ff.net and ao3 links are included in every fic if you click on the link.

I tried to list them in a way that makes most sense... if you’re looking for more specifications like hurt/comfort etc., word count, just click on the link.

Multichapters (there’s only one so far):

Smooth Sailing (With A Chance Of Definite Passion) (M) Set post 3x22 - I wanted to explore the question where the relationship was going without obstacles like Elsa and Marian. Later, though, other obstacles might appear, because as we know - there’s always a crisis. My very first CS fic, 12 chapters.

Fics with three or more parts:

So Far And Out Of Sight (M in the epilogue) A post 3x20 canon divergence in five parts: Zelena’s portal never opens, and so Emma never has the revelation about missing her parents and Storybrooke being her home. She takes Henry back to New York, just like she’s planned, determined to go back to their life during the missing year. But with her blissful ignorance gone and Henry being less than cooperative, it’s not as easy as she thought. And then someone comes knocking at her door, determined to make it even less easy…

Cute Little Heartbreaker (M in part 4) Modern AU in 4 parts: Emma Swan is a vagabond. She never stays in a place longer than for six months. The night before the first day at her new job, she decides she needs a little distraction and walks into a bar looking for a one-night-stand and finds her object of choice in a good-looking guitar player. Oh, and he sings, too. From that moment on, nothing goes as planned.

Never Hurts (M in part 2) Modern AU in 3 parts, based on a prompt: We are coworkers who hate each other, but on the staff Christmas party you drunkenly confessed your feelings for me, and now I don’t know how to act around you (except, Killian knows exactly how to act). This is also a Christmas fic.

You Can Walk Under My Umbrella Modern AU: 3 parts, based on the prompt  “I forgot my umbrella and you offered to walk me home in the rain and I thought this would be the beginning of a cute love story but you’re really shit at this oh my god my shoulder is so wet, hold the damn thing properly wth man”

Neverland fics:

Sugar And Spice Killian is preoccupied that Emma endangers herself by eating something she doesn’t know. Turns out, actually it’s something he doesn’t know. Set somewhere pre-kiss.

Trying Something New The Nevengers have arrived on Neverland only shortly ago, when Killian overhears a conversation between Emma and her mother about whether it’s really wise to trust a pirate.

Fair Fight The day before the big showdown with Pan to get Henry back, he finally confronts Emma with the fact that her sword fighting skills are not as good as she thought. Is she willing to take lessons from him?

In Pain, In Need Set after Killian’s betrayal of Ursula. He returns to the accursed island full of more self-loathe than ever. Tinkerbell tries to help.

Not The Time To Be Jealous Observing a conversation between Killian and Tinkerbell causes Emma to think back to Neverland and her jealousy of the fairy. 

I Bathe Quite Frequently Emma goes to a lake to refresh herself a little before the final battle with Pan. Killian had the same idea, and she just can’t keep herself from watching. 

Christmas fics:

Since We’ve No Place To Go Modern AU: After a car accident in the middle of nowhere of rural Maine, Emma Swan almost freezes to death, but is rescued by a three-legged dog named Smee and his grumpy master Killian Jones who can’t seem to get rid of her soon enough to have his self-chosen hermitage back.

Pardon The Way That I Stare Modern AU: When Emma Swan meets Killian Jones, he seems to be too good to be true. Good she doesn’t have to ponder over it, but then she meets him again.

Home Alone or How The Grinch Found Christmas Modern AU: Emma Swan and Killian Jones both planned to visit their siblings for Christmas… both were thwarted by the weather. Does it have to be a lonely Christmas for them?

And A Teaspoonful Of Love The first Christmas Day dinner at Emma’s and Killian’s new house, and Killian and Snow get into a fight over the perfect recipe for Christmas Pudding. Will this end well?

Belated Gifts (M) Holiday smut about unwrapping the wrong gifts.

Never Hurts (M in part 2) Modern AU in 3 parts, based on a prompt: We are coworkers who hate each other, but on the staff Christmas party you drunkenly confessed your feelings for me, and now I don’t know how to act around you (except, Killian knows exactly how to act).

Mistletoe And Wine (M) More holiday smut. Emma is giving Killian a hard time while putting up their first Christmas tree. Until he has enough.

Let Your Heart Be Light Killian and Emma are about to celebrate their first Christmas together and realize that it’s their first truly happy one.

Dark One fics:

Dark One Lies, Dark One Tricks A spec fic about Dark Killian having a secret agenda, and that is to save Emma and destroy the darkness.

It Creeps Up In You The fight of the darkness Vs. the light inside Emma, a spec fic written from the darkness’s POV.

Broken Toy What if the Dark Swan wasn’t able to save Killian in time after he jumped off the roof in 5x08?

Exit Light, Enter Night, Take My Hand (M) Killian is still trying to find a way to save the Savior gone dark. A spec fic written before we knew that he was a Dark One, too.

Other one-shots or two-parters, smutty (some are M, some E, some in between):

In My Wildest Dreams Emma just can’t get enough of Killian - quite literally. And that leads to her having a dream. And it’s wild. But also loving. (This is a threesome fic, so skip it if that’s not your thing. But it only happens in a dream, if the sort-of-cheating aspect is what puts you off.) 

Corruption And Consequences Driving lessons taking a turn? Idk my dudes, this is basically pwp, slightly kinky.

In The Good Way Yes, this is what you think it’s about. Handcuff shenanigans at the sheriff’s station.

Just Another AU Emma Swan has a stressful job and a demanding family, and sometimes she just needs to unwind. Killian Jones is always willing to help out when he gets a distress call.

In The Wee Hours, part 1 Emma wakes up in the middle of the night, and well… she just goes with the flow. This is very tender pwp.

In The Wee Hours, part 2 Killian wakes up from a pleasant dream only to find he isn’t really dreaming. Still very tender pwp.

A Hard Day’s Night Emma sends Killian an indecent selfie, and like Regina once said: never thinking of the consequences…

Fuzzy Feelings A neat pile of smuff, Killian’s fuzzy butt is the heart of this ficlet.

Where We Belong Set between 5x21 and 5x22, pretending there’s at least one day of peace to breathe and take care of some wounds before hell breaks loose again. Killian and Emma deal with the aftermath of being the Dark Ones.

Do You Think Of Me? Killian comes home from a sailing trip unexpectedly early and finds Emma engaging in a little self-love.

Up To No Good Emma claims that Killian is predictable. But is it really wise to challenge a pirate?

Consider Living A Life During the peaceful 6 weeks: When Killian doesn’t show up, Emma goes looking for him nervously - and walks in on him when he’s just leaving the shower, seeing him naked for the first time.

It’s In His Kiss Killian’s fingers are even talented enough to braid Emma’s hair. And there’s more.

The G-spot Killian learns something new about the modern world every day. For example, what a g-spot is.

That Damn Bar Wench I Kissed What if Killian actually remembers the encounter of his past self with Emma in the Enchanted Forest?

A Birthday To Remember Emma finds out by accident when Killian’s birthday is. He doesn’t want any fuss over it. Emma and Henry are having none of that. Set in season 4, before Killian got his ship back.

A Few Planks, A Sail, And A Red Vest After Killian gets his ship back, he and Emma inspect it and, when Emma finds a certain garment she remembers, reminisce on their adventure in the Enchanted Forest.

All Of The Hell I Had To Walk Through Set after 4x11 - how it should have gone after Emma restored Killian’s heart.

Other one-shots or two parters, non-smutty:

It’s Forever A ficlet set roughly in the peaceful six weeks between 4A and 4B. Smee is surprised when his Captain approaches him for a chat.

What His Captain Needs A ficlet set in 3x17. After his unsatisfying talk with Killian, Smee watches his Captain from afar talk to Emma Swan and her son. And suddenly he understands a few things.

Lay Your Weary Head To Rest Missing scene from 5x21. Right before moving on from the Underworld Killian meets his father. Can they forgive each other and find closure?

Hook’s Smooth An ode to Killian’s body hair... and Emma’s obsession with it.

A Sorrow That Never Was Said Snow discovers something about Killian's childhood and uses the occasion to assure him of his place in their family.

Not Today Killian’s state of mind right before he follows Emma through the portal in 3x21.

A Vision Softly Creeping Set post-wedding:  Killian keeps having nightmares he can’t quite remember. With Dr. Hopper’s help, he discovers one of the reasons for them, and that might require a painful, in-depth talk with Emma.

It’s You Set in 4x16: A continuation/divergence of the conversation Killian and Emma have about the wooden man child.

The Man You Want To Be Set after 6x10. Killian tells Emma story how he found out that he had a little half-brother. Yeah, painful. 

Thirteen Snow just wants to make sure that Emma is really happy. Slightly crack-ish fic about Emma being grilled by a curious Snow in the style of “Was there a goodnight kiss?” 

Privacy And Pancakes You’d think Snow has learned not to use her spare key. Well, she hasn’t. And this time, she brought David. 

Unhappy Beginnings During the peaceful 6 weeks after Gold’s banishment, Emma is determined to find out more about Killian’s beginnings.

Smiles A little 3x20 canon divergence where Killian is not left out at the hospital but is unexpectedly included.

The Past And All Its Scars After his return from Neverland, Killian finds that Emma has already packed away his belongings, and he’s upset. So much for always believing the best in him. A post 6x17 fix-it fic.

The Life That You’ve Lost Set in 3x12: A drabble about Emma’s thoughts and feelings right before she takes a leap of faith and drinks the stuff the weird leather-clad guy is offering her.

Family, Kind Of Alice Jones from Hyperion Heights, Seattle, comes to Storybrooke, Maine to finally meet the man who looks like her papa’s twin… and to hug the woman who saved his life.

The Way These Stories Go Set between 2x05 and 2x06: A glimpse into Killian’s thoughts and feelings during the walk from the ogre lawn to the beanstalk.  

A Part Of Something A post-3x20 canon divergence where Zelena’s portal never opens. Just when Emma has made up her mind about a possible future for herself and Henry in Storybrooke, she discovers that Killian is planning to leave.

Done With You While fighting Hook for the magical compass at Lake Nostos, Emma catches a glimpse of his soft side, and she thinks back to their last encounter in Rumple’s cell…

What This Family Does Killian comes back from Neverland, and some things should not be swept under the rug. Another 6x17 fix-it fic, because I felt that Killian deserved a little more than just being forgiven.

A Favor Returned Modern AU. Emma is scelebrating New Year’s Eve with her girls, and they are having fortune cookies of a special kind. A handsome, but infuriating stranger doesn’t help to lift the mood…

She’s A Marvel Killian wants to propose to Emma and is nervous about her reaction - but first, he has to seek approval from the other important men in her life: David and Henry.

Every Little Thing She Does Post Underworld: Emma’s magic goes haywire every time she and Killian get intimate, causing the power in Storybrooke go crazy. This doesn’t remain unnoticed.

All Hope Abandon Ye Who Enter Here The rescue mission for Killian shows up in the Underworld. But first, they need to convince him that they’re not just one of Hades’s cruel tricks. Written as a spec fic before season 5 aired.

Dexterity Devotee Just a little anatomy study of Killian’s hand.

Not Black And another anatomy study of Killian’s hair.

That’s What They Said It takes Killian and Emma a long time, for various reasons, before they say the three little words to each other. But not really.

Home A little ficlet about the 3x22 kiss from Killian’s POV.

Lullaby Emma wonders why her daughter always wants Killian to bring her to bed.

Persistence Killian and David are sharing a beer and memories about memory losses and how not to break them.

Home Again Cross The Sea Killian takes Emma and Henry on a sailing trip.

Blown Fuses Modern AU in 2 parts: Emma Swan and her son Henry are on holidays in a secluded beach house at Cape Cod, away from people, just like she loves. Unfortunately, there are other beach houses for rent, too, and Henry has taken a liking to their temporary neighbor.

Little Girl Lost While Killian and David bicker, they lose sight of more important things, such as their children.

When You Love Them And They Love You After Emma takes the darkness and disappears, Killian’s first impulse is to set sails and go find her. Mary Margaret wants to convince him that they have to do it together - as a family.

More Than Words Modern AU: After another breakup, Emma moves into a shabby apartment. Every night, she hears someone playing guitar and singing through the air vent. She never believed you could fall in love with a voice.

Save Me From The Nothing I Become Set in 2x14/2x15: What happened after Emma knocked Hook out in New York and chained him in a basement room?

Lie Down With Me A little daddy Killian ficlet.

Sleepless Emma can’t sleep, several talks she had with Killian are weighing on her mind.

Expecting Sequel to Sleepless: Killian’s reaction to Emma’s news.

Rotten A little 4x11 divergence where Emma defeats Gold and restores Killian’s heart and assures him that it is, indeed, not rotten.  

Black As The Devil, Hot As Hell Sequel to Rotten: Emma and Killian go on their second date. This time, the loft isn’t as crowded as the last time, and so she invites him in, for coffee.

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “A Cottage by the Sea”

Good news, shipmates!! There’s a reason I am promo-ing this fic this Sunday. I finally have a new (and rather lengthy) update for this long neglected fic ready to go tomorrow. It’s been such a while though that I felt like I should tease it a bit and put the story back in peoples’ memories - as well as post easy links to the previous chapters. To those who have been waiting, I am truly sorry. After this, there should only be one more part, more of an epilogue really, so you shouldn’t have too much more waiting in store...

(Also always, a HUGE thank you to @searchingwardrobes for the stunning fic cover art!  And to @kmomof4 and the @cssns20 for patience as this story stretched out so long, and for the reblogs and recognition.)

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the sand near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the beach, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half.  But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…

Previous chapters here on Tumblr: Prologue  Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Four

Previous chapters on AO3: Prologue     Part One    Part Two    Part Three    Part Four

And, as promised, a bit of a teaser for the tomorrow’s update... ;)

“...No sooner had Emma been able to swallow hard in a throat suddenly parched with apprehension, her fingers clenched in the material of Killian’s sleeve, above all else determined she wouldn’t let him be taken from her again, when everything around them went horribly, unnaturally still. The waves, the wind, all their surroundings silently seeming to hold their breath before chaos broke loose. For one last moment, she and her lieutenant fixed their eyes on each other; wordlessly swearing to see each other on the other side, whether or not it was within their power to follow through on such a promise. Then he turned to face his sire - if one could truly be made to believe that the monstrous captain towering over them at the prow of the other ship could have had any connection to the true and honorable man Killian had become. Intending to remain at his back, to do whatever she could to help him fight and keep them afloat, Emma straightened her shoulders and stiffened her spine as they waited and watched.

Sound and fury returned to the world around them as the accursed captain reached the very helm of his ship, bringing him fully into view as his low, malevolent chuckle at their show of resolve seemed to set the waves crashing and churning once more. “Oh ho, Killian, you’ve brought your intended to our long-awaited reunion, have you? Not particularly well-advised, but she is a pretty wench. I supposed I can see why you’d be loath to leave her behind.”

Killian’s frown deepend, the muscle in his jaw working as he bit down on his anger. Those eyes that she usually likened to the brilliance of a summer sky or the blue of his beloved ocean were instead lit with the pale fire of the hottest of flames at Davy’s callous words. “Hardly,” he clipped in a low growl. “I had no intention of meeting you at all. And I’ll not have you getting anywhere near Emma.”

“Is that so?” Davy snarled, his own temper seeming to erupt at his offspring’s defiance. “We’ll just see about that!”

The waves their little boat floated upon suddenly seemed propelled forward, rising on a towering crest of water as if drawn to Davy’s hand. Skilled a sailor as Killian was, there was no steering them anywhere else when the very elements were turned against them. The air seemed to quiver just as Emma found herself doing, as they came face-to-face with the accursed being. The boards of the vessel beneath their feet groaned and creaked as the frothing sea bearing it seemed ready to dash it to kindling. The air whistled and howled, whipping her hair against her face until she was nearly blinded. And yet, she saw the horrifying shade who faced them, the dark cloud of obsession clouding eyes which might once have been clear and striking as the sons he claimed as his own. He stood taller than the average man, seeming even larger with the wild hair and wide-brimmed, ostentatiously old-fashioned hat atop his head. All his dress was from a more ornate and bygone age, and yet looked gone to ruin rather than impressive; almost mildewed, or perhaps it was a growth of some sort of moss or coral upon his apparel after so long within the sea. Beyond the visible appearance however, the aura of evil power practically radiated from his being, and Emma felt herself draw back before even realizing she had done so.

Pleased with the nightmare impression he never failed to make, Davy Jones chortled in maniacal glee. “Oh yes, I see you there, Princess. Try not to fret overmuch. No matter how brave, they always cower before me in the end.”

She wanted to contradict his words, to call back that Killian wasn’t afraid and that she believed in him, but Emma found her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, speechless and unable to react other than to stare, frozen, until with one last murderous crow, Davy cackled, “You’re both in my clutches, and no hope to escape. Look your last on the world above...”

Tagging a few who might be interested... @cssns @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @jrob64 @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @winterbaby89 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @thislassishooked @xsajx @drowned-dreamer @thisonesatellite @shireness-says @aloha-4-ever​ @ultraluckycatnd​

[welllpthisishappening]

All Was Golden in the Sky (10/27)

Magic is dying.

Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away.

To New York City.

And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

—

Rating: Mature AN: Hey, thanks for reading. Things are starting to get really real. We’ve got some more explanations, more twists on canon that I hope actually make sense, romance, and uhhhh some quasi Captain Wench. As always @resident-of-storybrooke @distant-rose and @bmbbcs4evr are the best. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam || 

“Emma!”

She waves an impatient hand over her shoulder, not taking her eyes away from the map in front of her and they’re going to have to do something about the fortifications on that side of town because--"Emma,” Ruby snaps, yanking on the back of her shirt tightly enough that Emma feels nails through the fabric.

“Gods,” she groans. “What could you possibly want that warrants ripping my skin off?” Ruby makes an unimpressed noise, David’s soft chuckle echoing off the otherwise silent walls of the room. Emma’s lost track of how long they’ve been in there – hours or, possibly, days, but she’s at least eating consistently again and Mary Margaret would likely have a conniption otherwise. And none of it seems to be making much of a difference.

They’ve looked at maps. They’ve drawn their own charts. Mary Margaret has talked to every woodland creature who’ll agree to stand still long enough to have any sort of conversation.

It hasn’t done them much good.

The whispers started rather suddenly – Emma and Mary Margaret and Ruby taking turns sneaking into town with hoods pulled close to their cheeks and magic rushing in their veins and Emma’s gotten very good at figuring out who’s lying to them. The last one was the absolute truth.

“It’s been getting more and more dangerous,” the woman had said, voice dropping low and eyes cast down towards Emma’s boots. “To be out here. People are starting to question, wonder about George and--that Jones boy, why he’d turn on us like that.”

Emma had nearly bit her tongue in half at that, a burst of anger that circled around her spine, twisting and tugging until she was certain it was actually cracking. “There have been rumors, ma’am, a whole group who are talking--telling us what you're doing up behind those walls.”

“And what are we doing?” Emma asked.

“Waiting. Taking over. Making sure your magic is the only one in control.”

The words had made Emma’s whole body tense, jaw clenching down sharply enough that she was genuinely concerned about her tongue. She waved her hand, a quick spell that wasn’t particularly good, but she couldn’t change anything and the woman hadn’t said anything else.

She hadn’t been lying.

And Emma knows she’s right. There are murmurs and talk, quiet discussion of the royal family’s control and how it may be slipping because George still refuses to come out of his rooms, and the people in the town mutter about the growing legend of captain Killian Jones and his crew of respectable men turned pirates. Emma does her best to ignore that.

Still, there’s been no sign of the Dark One or any type of magical anything that might help Emma destroy him and she’s trying not to drift towards the precipice of desperate.

It’s been months, the crunch of autumn leaves turning to consistent and frustrating snow, but now the sun shines a little longer each day and there are spots of green on the ground and it may be wishful thinking – or the product of being force fed by Mary Margaret – but Emma’s willing to assume that is some sort of sign.

Of growth. Or change. Or the magical ability to defeat ultimate darkness, tell the people in town to shut up and rule a kingdom without actually doing that second thing because telling the general populace to stop talking very likely won’t do much to inspire any sort of consistent devotion.

“Emma, seriously,” Ruby hisses, another twist of fabric and Emma hears the telltale sounds of threads snapping.

She rolls her whole head. David almost looks amused. “We are busy,” she sneers. “We’re--what are you looking at David?” “You’re delirious,” he says, a smile she absolutely does not appreciate at all. “And this is Arendelle, we’ve talked about this.” They have. Several times. Emma’s asked about it more than once. She’s not delirious. She’s terrified. And she’s got a growing suspicion that some of the talk in town isn’t natural.

She’s got a growing suspicion that it’s magical.

Dark magic.

Ruby has started tapping her foot.

“If you’re going to do that at least wait until Regina is here so she can preen when she realizes you’re stealing her moves,” Emma mutters, twisting out of Ruby’s hold so she can turn towards her. She crosses her arms, eyebrows lifted in silent challenge and free falling off the edge of desperation is not as bad she assumed it would be. Metaphorically, at least.

“Would you like to hear my news or not?” “Obviously,” David grumbles, and Ruby flashes her teeth at him. Her nails are definitely a little longer than normal.

Emma presses her tongue against the inside of her cheek, not sure if that feeling in between her ribs is from the sense of metaphorical falling or something a little more important. Ruby’s stare turns decidedly pointed.

There’s dark magic in town, she knows it.

“You want the good, the bad or the absolutely horrible?” Ruby asks, rocking back on her heels when Emma reaches behind her and throws an inkwell across the room.

David clicks his tongue in frustration. “Are you kidding me?” “And you didn’t want to use magic?” Ruby continues. Her eyebrows shift, but there’s half a smile tugging at the ends of her mouth and that feeling in Emma’s center grows. She can’t seem to take a deep breath.

“What’s the absolutely horrible?”

“Oh, Em, that’s masochistic.” “The absolutely horrible.” “There’s supposedly a witch in the town,” Ruby answers simply, mouth twitching when both Emma and David make nearly identical sounds of surprise and something akin to rage.

“What kind of witch?" he asks. "Someone who could be working for the Dark One?” Ruby shrugs. “I don’t know, but I’d imagine he would. I’m fairly certain that’s why he’s here.”

Emma freezes. Her eyes widen. That means, strictly speaking, she hasn’t actually frozen. “What does that mean?” she whispers, Ruby’s smile widening until she looks as if she’s found a particularly appetizing rabbit.

It’s a disgusting thought.

Mary Margaret wouldn’t appreciate that type of food.

“Ruby,” Emma continues, voice turning pleading and David’s hand is warm when it lands on her shoulder, “who...is it…” Ruby nods. Her smile looks a little less wolfish now, not quite as predatory. Her eyes even look a little glossy. “I didn’t see him,” she says. “But the man who was very quick to take my rather generous amount of gold--” “--Focus, Ruby,” David mumbles. She rolls her eyes. “It was far too much gold for the information I got. More a puzzle than anything really, but, well, I’m very good at that at this point.” “Modest too.”

She winks. “The man at the docks said he saw a ship, looked quite a bit, and I’m quoting here, like that one the Jones boy stole all those months ago --” “--Commandeered,” Emma interrupts, and both Ruby and David groan. She presses her lips together, fighting off her own smile because it’s absurd to feel hopeful, but the snow is starting to melt and--God, she hopes. She hopes with every bit of her. And then some. “It’s commandeered when it’s a ship.”

“I do not care about the specifics of it,” Ruby promises. “The man thinks our good pirate captain stole a naval vessel, corrupted a whole crew of men to turn against the crown as well and while he’s stunned that someone could do that, he’s not all that interested in supporting the crown either.” She glares when Emma opens her mouth to ask another question. “Don’t,” she growls, “anyway, he said he saw a ship like the Jolly moving towards the north coast early this morning and isn’t it interesting that the pirate would show his face in Misthaven at the same time the witch in the alley has started making herself known as well?”

“The witch in the alley?” David repeats skeptically. Ruby may sprain her shoulders if she keeps shrugging like that. “What the hell does that mean?” “Did you miss the part where I said I didn’t know, but that Killian probably would?”

Emma’s breath rushes out of her, body sagging and heart hammering. She can feel the smile stretch across her face though, glancing down at slightly shimmering fingers and powerful magic and one of Ruby’s eyebrows arches when she all but jumps towards her.

“You didn’t actually see him?” Emma presses.

“I assumed you’d rather be the one to find him,” Ruby says. “I wouldn’t want to steal your true love thunder.” “We don’t know that that’s true.” Ruby scoffs. David makes a noise that does not sound human at all. “Sure, sure,” he mumbles, rolling up the chart of Arendelle before Emma has a chance to object. “Did this man happen to say where the alley witch was staying?”

“I’m not sure that she left a particular address, o ye captain.” “You’re not funny.” “Incorrect,” Ruby argues. “I am hysterical. And have also come up with several thousand ways that this is the sign we’ve been waiting for.” “Of?” “The Dark One was working with George. If he's got magic and support, why shouldn't we? “That’s not how the Dark One works,” Emma says, a certainty in her words that she doesn’t expect until she’s voicing them.

“That so?” Emma blinks, twisting her lip between her teeth and her nod isn’t quite jerky, but it’s enough that her hair shifts slightly, so she knows she’s, at least, moved. "I don’t--I don’t think so. That’s got to be the difference, right? The Dark One is...selfish and opportunistic. He’s not going to depend on anyone else unless he can get something out of them.” “That’s depressing.” “I think that’s where darkness thrives,” David murmurs, and Ruby rolls her eyes. His eyes flicker back towards Emma when she moves again, hands flying through the air and feeling her own magic trace across her skin is strange. She shakes her hair back over her shoulders, shirt and pants changed for a dress and far-too-tight laces and--

“Did it work?” Emma asks. Her voice has shifted slightly, not quite the right tone, but there’s still enough of her there that someone who knows her will notice. Her nose feels a little off center as well, eyes a bit closer together than usual and the feel of her own tongue in her mouth is a little foreign.

David nods slowly, gaze going incredulous. Ruby cackles. It’s loud and exuberant, nearly joyful, as if Emma’s ability to change her appearance so she can sneak into town and find a pirate who isn’t really a pirate but may possibly be her true love is a sign that they’re going to win.

She’ll take it.

“It worked,” Ruby promises. “That was...did you even say words when you cast that?” “Don’t tell Regina,” Emma mutters, pulling absentmindedly at the sides of her dress. Ruby laughs again. She might not have ever stopped, honestly.

“Sure, sure, that’s what I’m going to hide from her majesty. Do you have a plan or…” “I’m going to go into...some tavern, I’m going to find Killian, we’re going to figure out what is going on in this kingdom and then we’re going to save the world.” David hums approvingly. “Good plan, succinct, straight to the point. I like it.”

“Well, it’s the only one I’ve got, so…” “And some tavern?” Ruby repeats. “That’s the best, though?” “You have another suggestion?”

She must have learned something about eyebrows dexterity from Killian. “True love,” she answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Emma’s not entirely opposed to those words in that particular order, has been depending on them since Killian left if she’s being honest, but it does feel like quite a bit of pressure and even more expectation. Her hand moves to the ring hanging over the front of her dress.

“Exactly,” Ruby continues. “You focus that incredibly powerful magic of yours on your feelings and--” Emma doesn’t wait for the rest of it. She closes her eyes and pulls in a slow, steady breath, picturing ridiculous eyebrows and a flash of blue eyes and the smell of salt.

She’s only slightly disappointed that’s what seems to make all the difference.

Emma’s feet land on dirt and wooden planks, knees buckling under her. She throws her hands out behind her, determined to keep her balance and no one glances her direction. Her heart still hasn’t quite evened out yet, but that almost matches up with the magic lingering in the tips of her fingers and the backs of her calves and Emma glances around, trying to get her bearings.

She jerks her head up when she hears the shouts, a door slamming open and a body flying out. The man is stout, more than a few stains on his clothes, visible even from Emma’s spot on the docks, and he doesn’t look all that surprised at his current predicament. He grumbles a few choice words under his breath as soon as the door slams shut, twisting to grab what appears to be the oldest hat in the world, yanking it down his head.

The fabric is bright red.

Emma’s seen him before – memories of clothes without stains and shoulders that were a bit straighter without the weight of all that ale sitting on them and her feet move on instinct. “Mr. Smee,” she calls, realizing only after he jolts in surprise that she shouldn’t know him.

He scrambles up, eyes bugging and hat wobbling perilously on the top of his head. “Do I--do I know you ma’am? I--I’m not looking for any trouble, just trying to get some information.”

“About?” “That’s not really your place, ma’am. Now, if you’ll--” Smee tries to stand up, swaying dangerously as he does and Emma can’t mask her frustration. She huffs, scrunching a nose that she’s still not entirely used to. “Gods, I don’t think the whole world is supposed to shift like that when I stand up, do you?” “I can’t say that it is, no. Can you tell me something, Mr. Smee?” He blinks, lips twisted in confusion and a very distinct scent has started wafting off him. "Do I know you, lass?” “I doubt that, but I have heard some talk about how dependable you are and, well, as you can see...I’m just a poor lass out here on the docks, looking to make sure the whole world doesn’t end.” Her sarcasm is absurd, all things considered, but Emma has to breathe through her mouth now and Smee’s eyes are crossed. He keeps swaying. “Aye, aye, of course,” he mumbles, reaching a hand out like he’ll be the one to comfort her. His arm falls back to his side before he can even come close to Emma. “What can I do for you, my dear?” “I’m looking for your captain.”

Smee’s right foot slides out from underneath him. “What...what captain?”

“Let’s be honest with each other, Mr. Smee. I don’t want to have to do something drastic.” “A little lass like you? What could you--”

Emma swipes her hand through the air, annoyance getting the better of her. Smee cries out when both his feet lift off the ground, legs swaying and trying to get back onto the ground, and Emma flips her palm up. Her fingers curl lightly, twisting and turning until Smee moves in a rhythm that matches every shift.

His face goes a very distinct shade of green.

“Is your captain here?” Emma presses. Smee nods. “That tavern?” She nods towards the building Smee’s only recently been tossed out of, and she fully expects another agreement. She doesn’t get it.

“No,” Smee says, jerking his arm at his side. Emma’s eyes follow the movement, another door she hadn’t noticed before, cast in shadow and low murmurs that barely find their way to her ears and she doesn’t think. She waves her hand, Smee’s soft grunt barely noticeable before it turns into a noise that is, quite obviously, snoring.

She doesn’t run. She doesn’t trust herself to, but she moves with purpose, quick steps and even quicker magic, swinging open a door she did not expect to be that heavy.

“Holy--” Emma grunts, slipping into the tavern and it’s not as loud as the place she assumed she’d have to get into. It’s darker, dim lights and half-melted candles on tables, but there are people everywhere, heads tucked together with secrets and plots and Emma’s fingers flutter at her side.

There’s a tiny ball of light there now, as if it’s trying to ground her or remind her of something good, bouncing between the fingers she can’t stop moving and it only takes a few moments for the first few glances to be cast her way.

Emma rolls her shoulders, pushing her hair back behind her ears and the first step she takes isn’t easy. The second is. The third is a bit like floating, a voice working towards her that makes a warmth flit up her spine and settle at the base of her skull. He’s in a small crowd, people seated around a table with half-finished mugs and dice that clack loudly every time they fall.

She leans forward, fingers curling around the edge of the table and one of the women looks up in surprise. “What are you boys playing?” Emma asks, half a smile and a bit of flirting and neither one is entirely necessary, but Killian stares at her like she is the goddamn sun.

His tongue finds the corner of his mouth, chest moving when he lets out a shaky exhale. The clothes are different again – more charms around his neck and a jewel in his ear that Emma will very likely make fun of later, possibly after preventing the end of the world, and the lapels of the jacket he has on look particularly yankable.

He looks at her like he’s been waiting for. Or, at least, hoping for her.

There’s that word again. “Game of chance,” Killian says. “Some of these lovely folk here claim to have seen a rather interesting and powerful woman in the last few days and I’m trying to figure out where she’s gone since then.” “That so?” He nods, tongue shifting to the inside of his cheek so he can smirk at her. Emma narrows her eyes. “And how is it going for you, so far?” “Ah, it’s been a little give and take, but I’m optimistic my fate has changed rather suddenly. After all, what sailor would say no to a shiny, new good luck charm?” Emma’s laugh is shaky and breathy and more misplaced flirting. The woman at his side keeps glancing between them, and Killian’s shoulders jump as soon as he feels Emma’s magic react to that. “That’s rather presumptuous of you, isn’t it, Captain?” “Ah, so you know who I am, but I haven’t gotten your name yet, love.” She’s not her – has no idea what she actually looks like, but Emma knows he knows and that was the point. Her magic is going to burst out of her, if she’s not careful. “Where’s the fun in that?” she asks. “Ah, so just...ships passing in the night, then?” “Closely,” she amends. “I hope.” “That so?” “I believe you’re repeating me, Captain.” He nods, offering the space at his side and Emma has to twist around more than a few people, slightly roaming and heavy stares and Killian’s hand lands on her leg as soon as they’re blocked by the table. He squeezes it lightly.

“Well, gentleman,” Killian says, gazing at the rather dingy and vaguely dangerous looking man across from them. “Shall we roll again? Best two out of three for the location of your witch?”

“You cheated!” “You keep saying that mate, and I keep finding it difficult to figure out how you’ve come to that particular conclusion.”

Emma chews on the side of her lip, certain that laughing at the man in front of her will only end with several drawn swords and even more use of her magic. They had cheated. Every time. And won. Every time.

She’d flip her hand under the table and the dice would land a specific way and Killian’s fingers twitched whenever he felt the small burst of her magic.

Now, they just need the information about the witch.

“I don’t know how you did it,” the man growls, standing up quickly enough that the table wobbles precariously. Killian grins. “But I know--that wench showed up and--” Emma rolls her eyes. Killian all but leaps up, hand on his sword and fire practically blazing in the air around him. “I’d choose my next words very carefully,” he whispers, a threat dripping from every single letter.

The man blanches.

“I can take care of myself, Captain,” Emma murmurs, resting a hand on his chest and she can feel his heart beating. “And I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sir. There was no cheating, simply luck of the throw, as it were. That’s the saying, right?”

She glances at Killian, his lips still pressed together and fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword. “Aye,” he mutters.

“So,” Emma continues, “we’ve won fair and square. That means you need to hold up your end of the bargain, I’m afraid. Or I won’t be able to stop things from turning...how would you describe it turning, Captain?” “Bloody.” Emma flashes a sympathetic smile at the man who has, miraculously, gotten even paler. “And we wouldn’t want that, would we? Sir?” “No, no, of course not,” he stammers, although his gaze hangs heavy on the sword Killian refuses to let go of. Emma rolls her eyes again. “I’ll--well, I haven’t actually spoken to the woman, this witch, she--” “--What?” Killian roars, and there’s not enough oxygen in the world for how much Emma keeps sighing. She sinks her nails into his chest, only a little frustrated the shirt is getting in the way still. He gapes at her, but they’re not supposed to know each other and there is absolutely no point in looking like a different person if he’s going to stare at her like that.

“She...well, the rumors about her make the hair on the back of my arms stand up,” the man adds. “She’s--I don’t think she’s any kind of human.” “A lovely description,” Emma says. “What does she have? Tentacles? Scales? Perhaps a horn or two?” “No, nothing like that. I...well, from what I’ve been told she showed up in that alley, but now she's been spending most of her time in that shack down by the hill.” “The hill,” Killian echoes. “I’ll need you to be just a bit more specific.”

Emma wonders if the man is even getting blood to his head anymore. Killian draws his sword, the tip of the blade pressed against the hollow of the man’s throat, and a low hum moves across the tavern, but no one takes a step forward and no one tries to stop him and the legend of captain Killian Jones has grown enough, it seems. “Yes, yes, of course, sir,” the man babbles, “I--my own girl, she saw the woman a few days ago, just appeared, didn’t she? Showed up in a flash of light and burst of warmth and well--Matilde, that’s my girl, ma’am…” “Naturally,” Emma nods. “Still not an answer, I’m afraid and--” She shrugs, tilting her head back towards a glowering Killian and that shadow that’s fallen across his face makes Emma’s breath catch in her throat.

“Matilde, she said the woman wasn’t much older than her, young even, with flowers in her hair and a soft smile and she was…she looked a little sad, though. As if she’d just left somewhere she didn’t want to. She went into that shack, have you...the one on the side of the hill on the north side of the kingdom? It’s barely even Misthaven anymore, close to--” “--That’s Midas’ kingdom,” Killian finishes, and Emma doesn’t mean to lean into the hand that lands on the small of her back, but the touch is a little greedy and something about history and memories and they’d spent hours there.

“Yes, that’s right, Captain. It’s quiet there. Matilde said she thought the woman wanted a bit of quiet, she asked for privacy.” “And yet here you are giving up her location.”

The man grimaces, a hand reaching up to tug on the hair at the back of his head. “Yes, I am. You must have heard the rumors, sir. In the town, people whispering about what you wanted and, well...you did offer so much gold. I figured I’d roll you for it, take some of that weight out of your pockets and you’d be none the wiser.” Killian’s eyes narrow, thumb tapping an irregular rhythm on the hilt of his sword. “I’m sure it’s very disappointing to come up on the short end of such a detailed plan.”

Emma scoffs, trying to turn the sound into anything except the laugh it almost is. Killian’s hand moves to her hip.

The man looks distraught.

“You must be the luckiest man in all the realms then,” he says.

Killian’s lips quirk up. “Aye, something like that. C’mon, love, I think we’ve got a witch to find.”

It takes them, by Emma’s admittedly shaky count, approximately fourteen and a half steps to get out of the tavern, turn into the nearest alley and for one of them to tilt their head. She gasps. It’s ridiculous, but Killian’s lips taste like rum and that same desperation she’d been fighting off before, quick hands and rolling hips and it almost hurts when her head falls back against the wall she hadn’t realized is behind her.

“Take this off,” Killian mutters, dropping his mouth to the side of her neck and the swath of skin the dress doesn’t cover. “The dress?” He huffs against her, warm breath and a soft nip of his teeth. Emma yelps. That’s also ridiculous, although it does get him to laugh and she can feel the smile there, a sudden press of lips to her collarbone. “Whatever the magic is, Swan,” Killian says. “Maybe the dress after we deal with the witch.” “Promises, promises.” There are goosebumps on her skin - although she’s not sure if it’s a byproduct of her magic or his voice or that very specific, impossible to describe shade of blue his eyes get in moments like these. Moments where he wants her. Moments where he knew it was her.

Every single time.

“How did this even work?” Killian continues, apparently content to linger in the moment if the moment means he gets to keep tracing out a pattern of kisses dangerously close to the swell of her chest.

“A glamour spell,” Emma breathes. Her voice isn’t entirely even. The lips dragging across her shift again. “Ruby heard you were here and I--” “--Came rushing to my side?” “I can leave if you’d like.” He doesn’t jerk back, but he freezes and that’s infinitely worse. And Emma knows she can’t actually hear him swallow. She does. She also doesn’t care. Because she can feel the shift in the air around them, a distinct lack of magic and wholly unfunny jokes and she’d been so worried. Every report. Every detail of the pirates and the destruction and what Misthaven’s navy was trying to do to fend off the latest threat.

“Why didn’t you come find me?” Emma whispers, the question pushing up her throat and out of her mouth without permission. “I--how long have you been here? Ruby said--” “--Just this morning, love,” Killian cuts in. “We were in Oz.” “Oz?” “Aye, Oz. Met several different witches there, one of whom suggested that there was a weapon that could destroy anything. It’s called the Olympian Crystal.” “Destroy,” Emma repeats. “Not...not kill.”

“You may be the smartest woman I know, you realize that?” “Ah, well, flattery will get you everywhere, I suppose.” He chuckles, another quick kiss that’s over before it’s really begun, but they’re also on exceptionally borrowed time and there has to be a reason a witch appeared in Misthaven on the exact same hill she and Killian had spent most of their childhood.

A hill where, Emma is fairly certain, she fell in love with a magicless boy and the specific shade of blue his eyes turned as soon as he glanced her direction.

“Destroy,” Killian says again. “The witch--Zelena, her name was, she said it was a powerful weapon of the gods, designed to take over Olympus itself.” “And I’m assuming it wasn’t in Oz.” He grins at her. “It was not in Oz. Unfortunately Zelena was a little hazy on the location of this crystal or what we may have to do to obtain it. So, we were sailing when a bird landed on the helm of my ship.” “Was it Joshua because he and I should have some words about incorrect messages some time. I think Mary Margaret took that personally.” “The bird and I didn’t exactly converse, love. He dropped this--” Killian shifts, reaching into the jacket to pull out a--”pomegranate seed in my palm. And the only place I know that bears this particular kind of fruit is--” “--The hill on the northern side of the kingdom,” Emma whispers.

“Exactly. So we replotted a course for Misthaven, docked at some ungodly hour this morning and were almost immediately met with rumors of the witch that only just arrived as well. I...I wanted to find you, love. I--” His eyes drop, tongue flashing between his lips. Emma shifts her weight between her feet, the ring she’s never actually taken off falling over the front of her dress.

Killian nearly falls over.

“Steady there, Lieutenant,” Emma laughs, and she knows how that sentence was going to end. He didn’t want to find her before he had answers. He didn’t want to find her before he could save them.

Before he could save her.

“But,” she adds, “if you ever try and do something ridiculous like that on your own again, I’ll throw you in the ocean. Ask your...whatever Mr. Smee is now. I’m sure he’ll be quick to tell you.”

His laugh quivers out of him, not quite a boastful pirate captain, but something that might just be Emma’s and she holds on to that with all of her. “First mate,” he says. “Did you do something to Mr. Smee?” “Made him more comfortable, at least. He had just been thrown out of a different tavern.” “He was supposed to be inconspicuous about that.” “Maybe he shouldn’t have had quite that much ale then. Insubordinate crew, you have.” “I was rather preoccupied, Swan,” Killian argues, fingers dancing up her side and ghosting over the top of her dress and Emma’s teeth find her lip as soon as he touches the chain hanging around her neck. “Can I see you now?” She furrows her brows in confusion – magic completely forgotten and it’s an almost blissful moment of unintended ignorance. Killian taps his thumb against her jaw. “Your nose is all off, you realize that, aye?” “It was kind of quick magic,” Emma grumbles, closing her eyes and focusing on the rush of heat that shoots through all of her limbs. She knows it works when he sighs. “Better?” she asks, Killian already nodding and smiling and he’s barely caught her lips with his when the cry rings out at the other end of the alley, something that sounds like pirates and that’s him echoing around them.

“Are you going to go crazy if I---” Emma waves her hand through the air, Killian's lips twisting into a sneer.

“Do you have to?” “Unless you’d like to fight your way out of here.” “I’m very confident in my ability to do that, actually.”

“Gods, you’re stubborn,” Emma groans, yanking on the lapels of his jacket and she’d been right. “Do not let go of me.”

The grass under Emma’s feet is soft, a dew hanging on each blade that doesn’t belong under an evening sky. Killian’s hands are heavy on her back, pulling her against his chest as soon as she opens her eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” he mutters, Emma laughing against his shirt. She reaches up, scratching her nails lightly against the skin his shirt doesn’t cover.

“Who knew pirates whine so much.” He makes a noise in the back of his throat, letting his cheek rest against the top of her hair. “I don’t know why,” he admits softly. “I--it feels like you’re not actually there.” “I am, though.” “Aye, I know that rationally. But, well, in the moment, even when I’m holding on to you as tightly as I can...it’s as if you’re being yanked away from me. I’ve always been able to feel your magic, Swan, always, but when that happens it’s--”

Killian cuts himself off, Emma pressing up on her toes and the stubble on his cheek scratches at her palm. They’re wasting time. She doesn’t move. He kisses the inside of her wrist. “I can’t feel anything,” he whispers. “It’s like I’m completely empty and there’s nothing keeping me connected to anything anymore.” Emma opens her mouth, not sure what she’ll say, just certain she has to say something and the hint of fear hanging over Killian makes her whole body ache. So, naturally, someone coughs softly behind them.

She has no idea which one of them moves quicker – Emma’s hands flying up and light pulsing from the tips of her fingers, Killian’s sword flashing against a sunset that casts shadows and low light and the woman in front of them does not look human.

Ethereal, that’s the word.

There’s a soft shimmer to her skin, like there are stars underneath it, and the crown of flowers in her hair blooms as if those petals are still alive. Emma isn’t convinced they’re not. Her eyes are soft, caring, even, with a knowledge that seems impossibly vast, even before she says a single word.

Her tongue shifts across her teeth, an arch to her brows when her eyes flit towards Killian’s sword. “Ah, so there it is, then,” she muses. “You don’t have to threaten me, Captain. I’m actually here to help. Breaking the rules too.” Killian doesn’t lower his sword.

The woman clicks her tongue. “I figured it might be like this. I did try and pick somewhere i thought you’d both be comfortable.” “You know who we are?” Emma asks, and the woman nods. “Does that mean we get a name?” “It’s probably best if we don’t focus too much on names, princess. As I said, I am breaking the rules a bit here with you.” “And those rules are…” “Interfering with prophecy.”

Killian’s arm lowers slightly. “What do you know about the prophecy?” “Probably quite a bit more than you do, actually.” “Well, that’s menacing, isn’t it?” “That’s not my intention,” the woman says, and Emma knows she means it. There’s none of the usual warning signs of a lie – no flutter at the back of her brain or nervous energy pulling at the base of her spine. Every one of her internal organs seems to be operating correctly.

“So what is your intention, then?” Killian presses. He tries to take a step in front of Emma, but that only makes her roll her eyes again. The woman’s lips turn up.

“You’re chasing the wrong weapon. You won’t be able to get the Olympian Crystal.” “Why not?” “Well, for one thing, it’s broken. And for another, it’s not on this earthly plane anymore. I’m afraid, it’s stuck...somewhere you won’t be able to go.” “Which is?” “Stubborn, aren’t you?” “I told you,” Emma mumbles, Killian’s eyes flashing her direction. He doesn’t try and stop her when she steps towards the woman – it’s probably because there’s still light falling out of her fingers. “Is that even possible?” she asks. “To find a weapon that could defeat the Dark One? I thought--well, I thought I was the weapon.” The woman tilts her head, gritting her teeth in what Emma can only assume is thought. “A little yes, but also no. You have powerful magic, your highness. And it’s grown since you and the pirate--” “--Gods, are we still doing that?” Killian growls exasperatedly.

“My apologies, Captain. It’s, well...those who control these things often work in titles and the princess and the pirate does have quite a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t hate it,” Emma says, glancing over her shoulder and she isn’t surprised to find Killian smirking at her. “Plus, the jacket is really something.” The smirk gets more powerful. And her magic jumps.

The woman coughs again, rocking forward slightly. The blades of grass under her feet don’t bend. Emma reaches behind her, Killian’s fingers finding hers almost immediately.

“You have powerful magic, your highness,” the woman repeats, “and it’s always been foretold that the person who wields that kind of light magic would be able to save the world from darkness. But, and here’s the rub, that magic, that same power the whole universe has been waiting a lifetime for, it’s far too much for one person to control.”

Emma’s fingers tighten. Or Killian’s do. It doesn’t matter. “What does that mean?” Emma asks.

“It means that you needed to find something...anything, some kind of happiness to accept your magic. And, as fate would have it, that happiness derived from a magicless boy who believed you were the sun and every star in the sky.”

Emma exhales, a burst of air and magic and emotions. The woman’s smile doesn’t waver. “And, again, as fate would have it, that same boy found his happiness in you. In that belief you showed him, that trust, to give a bit of yourself to him every day.” “That doesn’t sound particularly pleasant,” Killian points out, the woman already laughing. It’s exactly the sound Emma expects her to make, melodic and easy, immediately setting her at ease. She still doesn’t let go of Killian’s hand.

“Ah, and that’s a little pessimistic, Captain,” the woman says. “Understandable, all things considered, but that’s what I’m getting at. You’ve been searching for the Dark One, but he never would have come for you without the princess. True Love, and all that. He wants that.” “That’s what George said.” “And as much as it pains me to say that George is right about anything…” The woman shrugs. “You’re both still missing the point, though. You were looking for a weapon, but you have the weapon and you created it yourself. Emma was born with magic, the most powerful light magic in the world, and Killian accepted that. Without question. Loved her in spite of the fear that lingered in her and the worry that festered in the back of her brain. And she loved him despite the lack of standing and everything his brother had done. Tell me, Captain, what would you say your most prized possession is?” Killian blinks. And Emma’s jaw drops when she realizes.

“The sword,” she breathes, nodding towards the blade he’d never sheathed. The woman nods.

“Exactly. A gift, your highness, from a princess to her pirate. Imbued with the very magic that you learned to control right here. A bit of you, a bit of light--” “--Light in the dark,” Emma mutters.

“Exactly. That sword has become something more than it was, just as you both have as well. A Swan and a Knight. That was the rest of it, wasn’t it?” Emma hopes she nods. She isn’t sure she’s breathing. Killian kisses the top of her hair. “You can wield it, as the Savior and as one half of the True Love the Dark One wants. Desperately.” “And what will the sword do?” “Cut ties,” the woman answers simply. And eventually, Emma is sure, she’ll be able to get her questions out in some kind of timely fashion, but that is apparently not the reality she’s living in and the woman curses in a language she doesn’t understand as soon as the first tremor moves across the field.

As if the world itself is fighting back.

“Why weren’t you supposed to tell us that?” Emma presses, struggling to stay upright and the shadows moving towards them are very clearly human. And very clearly from the town.

“Gods, the pirate thing has to stop,” Killian grumbles. “And why did you tell us?” The woman shrugs again – an increasingly strange movement with the questionably green grass under her bare feet growing. “I’ve always been partial to a particularly good love story,” she says. “And I know what you’d be willing to do for her, Captain. You may have to keep that in mind. Soon.” Emma resists the urge to repeat the word menacing, far too focused on the flicker in Killian’s eyes and the curt nod he gives a nameless woman who may be growing grass simply by standing on it. “Aye,” he whispers.

And that’s all there is. The agreement is no sooner out of his mouth than the woman is gone, and the shadows are swords and people pointing them, shouts of a reward on their tongues and Emma waves her hands before she thinks.

The nearest man flies back, sword disintegrating in his hand until he’s holding an empty hilt. The scene dissolves quickly, steel on steel and Emma’s hands moving, a push of power and adrenaline and she barely hears Killian’s quiet bring us back to the ship, love, pleasebefore she’s lacing her fingers through his and blinking.

“Idiot,” she cries, not for the first time, pacing the same semicircle in the captain’s cabin. Their landing had been the worst ones yet, probably because of the gash on Killian’s side and the blood staining his shirt and it had only taken a moment for Emma to close her eyes and fix it, but there’s a scar there now and she can’t stop moving.

“Swan, if you’d just sit--” “--No,” she snaps, spinning on the balls of her feet instead, and the small rug underneath her nearly trips her up. Killian’s eyebrows jump. “Don’t,” Emma warns. “Just---Gods, I can’t believe that happened.” “It does make my use of the word underling in relation to August seem all the more legitimate though, doesn’t it? It's rather rude of him to offer a reward for my capture.” Emma glares at him, sharp enough that she worries she’ll cut him again if she looks too long. “Didn’t you feel the blade?” “Aye, I did.” “And?” “And what, love? We were trying to get out of a field where a woman I sincerely doubt was human told us that we’ve been wasting our time for months, searching for a weapon that’s been strapped to my hip since I was twenty-one. I was admittedly a little preoccupied.” Emma stops pacing. She exhales, all drama and those worries whatever her name was alluded to and--"Tell me about a place,” she says instead.

Killian stares at her, not an immediate answer, but his hand shifts, patting the few inches of open space on the cot next to him. “C’mere, Swan.” “You are injured.” “Was. You fixed that. Some may even say you saved me.” “That’s far too dramatic,” she mumbles, although her feet start to move before she completely decides she’s going to walk forward. The cot creaks under her weight. “A place, Lieutenant. Somewhere...somewhere we could go.”

She hears him chuckle, low like he’s accepting her words or letting them settle in him, and Emma wiggles her fingers to get the thin blanket at the edge of the cot over both her legs. “Magic has made you very lazy, your highness,” Killian says.

“I was trying to protect your side.” “We’ve discussed that already. I am fine. You made sure of that. I’m sure you could fix things that were even worse.” Emma clicks her tongue. “Let’s not test that theory, huh? And you’re deflecting my question.” “I’m not,” he argues. “I’m trying to come up with somewhere that’s worthy of bringing you.” “Gods, stubborn and dramatic. Quite a suitor to chose.” She doesn’t say it for the reaction. At least, partially. But the reaction is fairly wonderful anyway, a quick shift and mouths pressed together and Emma’s mumbled you’re going to hurt yourself falls on definitely deaf ears. “Stop suggesting your magic isn’t going to work, love,” Killian says, not bothering to move his mouth away from hers. “Did you mean it?” “Mean what?” “Emma.” She scoffs, but she can’t mask her magic and that’s probably for the best. For a variety of reasons – mostly whatever it does to Killian’s entire expression as soon as he feels it. “Of course I did,” she says, hoping it sounds like the promise she wants it to be.

He lets his head fall, landing with a soft thump on her chest. The chain there must be pressing against his skin, but Killian doesn’t seem all that inclined to move and Emma’s fingers find their way into the back of his hair, measured touches as if she’s trying to press it into his memory.

She has no idea how long they stay like that, simply content to linger in each other’s space, the steady rise and fall of their breathing and the slight shift of Killian’s shoulders when he tries to pull himself closer to Emma. She doesn’t tell him to move.

She doesn’t want him to move.

It’s the first time she’s ever been in the captain's quarters.

“If this were a normal kingdom there’d be a line of suitors outside your door,” Killian says eventually, dragging the words against the top of Emma’s dress.

She clicks her teeth together. “If this were a normal kingdom I wouldn’t have been a princess to begin with. I’m not exactly royal pedigree.” “Ah, I don’t know about that, Swan. There’s a rather regal air about you. Commanding, even.” “Doesn’t sound like a compliment.” He tilts his head up, smirking from underneath impossibly long eyelashes. “Would I do something like that?” “I’m not answering that question,” she grumbles, trying to swat at his shoulder. His reflexes are too quick – or she’s the open book he’s always promised her he finds her – fingers catching her wrist and lips brushing over the back of her palm and Emma hopes she doesn’t actually melt into the cot. “Even so,” she adds, “if...if this wasn’t...this. If there was no magic and no prophecy. If I was just me and you were just you, do you think--” “--Every single time,” Killian interrupts, a fierceness to his voice that brokers no argument. “It was never about the magic. I didn’t stay because of the magic.” “I know.” “Good. And Agrabah.” She hums in confusion, eyes fluttering shut and it’s impossibly warm on that ship, sun long set and the ebb and flow of an ocean that could take them anywhere else. “Agrabah,” Killian repeats. “That was...we haven’t been many places that were particularly pleasant, but I think you’d like that.” Emma opens one of her eyes. “And why is that, Lieutenant?” “You think you’re awfully clever, don’t you, princess?” “Aye,” she answers, a horrible impression of his voice that leads to more kisses and laughter and that had been her intention.

He nips at her lip, hips rocking without much thought to the friction it’s causing. The blanket is in the way now. “It was warm,” he starts, tongue pressing against the seam of Emma’s mouth, “Sand everywhere, which, well, that’s not ideal, but the market they have there--we were trying to find some staff that could control people and--” “--You are not painting a very good picture here.” “If you’d stop interrupting me, I’d be able to finish.”

“Get better at storytelling.” “Aye, aye, ma’am.” “Gods.” He chuckles, grinning against her cheek and Emma is momentarily distracted from her frustration by the flurry of kisses pressed to the bridge of her nose. “Anyway, the sand wasn’t ideal, but the city was...there was life to it, a buzz and a hum. As if it were alive. Magic there as well, although it wasn’t like it was here. It lived in the air and settled in the cracks in the buildings, like the whole city was built around it.” Emma doesn’t say anything, stunned almost by the by the distant look in Killian’s eyes, as if he can see the whole future play out in front of him. “We could go anywhere, Swan,” he adds. “But I think you’d like it there. And I’m a little partial to some of the dresses they sold in that market.” She laughs. Loud. And exuberant. And wrong, far too much pressure to save everything, but Emma is happy and wanted and she knowsgo anywhere really means that he’d follow wherever she led.

Every single time.

“I love you,” she whispers, fingers still carding through his hair and that particular shade of blue may be her new favorite.

“I love you too, Swan.”

“Good dresses, huh?” “Exceptionally.”

Her laughter clings to her, and Emma is woe to give it up, but there’s still that pesky future and those expectations and she’s going to turn August to stone or something. “Do you think she was telling the truth?” she asks. “The woman, I mean. That we created...something like that?” Killian’s face goes somber, that same shadow from earlier appearing again. Emma ignores it. That may be a mistake. She hopes not.

Hopes.

She hopes.

“It’d almost make me believe even more,” Killian says. “That...that we could do that. Although it does leave us with the problem of finding the Dark One again.” “She said---well, she never did say it would destroy the Dark One, did she? Just that it would destroy darkness.” “Do you think there’s a difference?”

Whatever noise Emma makes hurts her throat. “What else could it mean?” “It’s not my prophecy, love.” “See, I don’t think that’s true,” Emma objects. “A Swan and a Knight. That’s...that’s us, Killian, it’s got to be. And you’re the one who came up with swan. I think it’s both of us.” “That’s always been true.” “Sentimental.”

“About fulfilling my role as proper suitor, yes.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s a flutter of emotion in the pit of her stomach and her magic refuses to stay in those metaphorical shadows. “But I--” Killian says, the words going quiet, “let me ask eventually, alright, love?” Emma can’t tilt her head, most of his weight resting on her chest and her own body pushed into a small pile of pillows, but her heart stutters and her pulse races and her ok is more than a little breathless. “It’s not a normal kingdom, Emma,” Killian continues, “it’s magic and fate and I really do not think that woman in the field was human, but this...you and I? That’s been the one normal thing. Like...like breathing, or finding the right star to sail towards.” There are tears in her eyes. She never wants to leave this cot.

“The one normal thing,” she repeats, and Killian’s smile settles in every inch of her memory, imprinting itself on the darker parts of her brain that still wonder if she’ll wake up in an alley with magically repaired clothes and entirely alone.

“Aye. Do I get to kiss you now?” “Was something holding you back?” “The aforementioned sentimental speech.” Emma nods, nose scrunched and she silently congratulates herself on whatever noise she causes when she rocks her hips up. And the rest is a blur of discarded clothes and getting rid of that blanket, pillows knocked on the floor and fingers tracing over every bit of skin that appears in front of them. She tells him she loves him again. He promises more. And the future stretches out in front of them, the hope of it and the want Emma is certain simmers in the very center of her soul, more kisses and words pressed into memory and her breath catches as soon as she shifts above him, falling into a rhythm that makes stars explode behind her eyes.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep. She only realizes she was when she wakes up.

“Let me down there, now!” Emma groans, but Killian is already moving, not bothering to reach for his shirt before he grabs his sword. He has to shake the scabbard off.

“You look ridiculous,” Emma mutters, but exhaustion is still clinging to her words and the commotion on deck is getting louder.

The door swings open, Mr. Smee already sputtering and looking a little green around the edges. “I tried to stop him, cap’n, but…”

David pushes Smee away, stare thunderous and his own sword pointed up. He sighs as soon as he sees the cot. And it’s occupants. “Gods, this is--” “--A private cabin, your highness,” Killian sneers. The tips of his ears have gone red anyway.

“I do not care. Put a shirt on, Captain.” “What’s going on, David?” Emma asks, sliding further under blankets in a misplaced attempt to maintain her modesty.

And, really, of all the answers she expects, the next few words that fall out of David’s mouth are the last one she’s prepared for – the realization of what he’s said making it feel as if the world itself is falling apart around her.

She swears the tide stops moving.

“Once more,” Killian says. David huffs. “That can’t be--” “--It is,” David interrupts. “Regina found him this morning. And we were right, Emma, we should have fortified that corner of the castle. George is dead. The Dark One killed him.”

[artistic-writer]

The last 4 on the ask game. Dream AU, high five, etc.

🌍 What is your dream AU?

- Nothing Can Div.  Lots of angst.  A little whump.  Maybe Killian someone has a dog.  Or PTSD.  Or a dog FOR their PTSD. Mayyyyybe a little character death.  Absolutely NO CHILDREN.

✋ What reader or writer do you think most deserves a high five?

- Everyone.  You all deserve a high five!

💡 Tell me a headcanon (and who you wish would write it)?

Well, I have one but its a bit angsty. It’s only that Milah never died and when Hook sees bar wench Emma (she goes to that realm with someone other than Hook) he immediately falls in love with her and uses everything in his power to find her, gradually falling out of love with Milah, and then eventually turning up in the unknown realm of NY.  But who I want to write it would never write it, would you @hookedonapirate? :p

🎵 What do you listen to while you read?

Normally, the sound of my husband snoring. lol  I read at night time whilst I wait for my drugs to kick in.  Remember kids, I’m not crazy because I take the right pills every day ;)  I usually like to have some sort of background noise, like rain, or a babbling brooke, to drown out my tinnitus.

[mattatouile]

Top 5 ways in which you have personally been victimized by changes from a book to a TV/film adaptation

1. There is NOT YET a P&P adaptation that includes the amazing exchange where Lizzy asks him when he knew he was in love with her, and he says he was in the middle before he knew it had begun. I STILL DON’T HAVE THAT.

2. There’s only been one Emma adaptation that even sort of respects the age difference between Knightley and Emma. They always gloss that over and it’s IMPORTANT.

3. Despite the fact that I would never trade Nik and Gwen for ANYTHING, I will always be bummed out by SEVERAL Jaime/Brienne things. Including, but not limited to, a) Brienne did not swan dive; b) Jaime doesn’t call her wench; c) WE DID NOT GET THE DREAM; d) we did not get the bit where Jaime had a dress made for Brienne SECRETLY; e) we didn’t get Jaime saying “I dreamed of you.”

4. Mansfield Park adaptations suck and we all know it and we all deserve better. 

5. I like Anne with an E and I love the Megan Fellows productions from the 1980s, but I still don’t and Anne of Green Gables adaptation that keeps the spirit of the books and followed even sort of the books after the first one or two. 

[ao3feed-captainswan]

One Season Following Another (Laden With Happiness and Tears)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2lJcjpk

by HollyeLeigh

Killian and Emma had been friends since before they could walk. Entrusted into the care of her mother’s best friend, Emma had been raised by Ruby Lucas - a tavern’s proprietor - since her parent’s deaths shortly after her birth. Killian’s mother worked in the tavern, often bringing her infant son with her to work, and the two babes grew up together in the kitchens, making all sorts of mischief together, a conspiratorial team from the get go.

That is until tragedy struck Killian’s family, prompting his father to take his two young sons on an adventure at sea. An adventure that should only last a few months, Killian assures Emma.

Words: , Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Fandoms: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Emma Swan, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, captain silver, Liam Jones, more to be named later

Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), Childhood Friends, Separations, Teenagers, slave killian, Taverns, Triggers, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Lieutenant Killian Jones, Bar Wench Emma Swan, Two-Handed Captain Hook | Killian Jones

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2lJcjpk

[searchingwardrobes]

White Flag

Happy Birthday, @winterbaby89! When we were chatting earlier today, I was so tempted to tell you I had a gift for you, but I wanted it to be a surprise! So here’s a brooding, pining pirate for your birthday 🙂

Yes, this is based on the song by Dido. I know we’ve all heard it on countless crack fan vids, but when I really listened to the lyrics the other day, it just struck me how all the lyrics of this song fit Killian so well, especially during the year he was away from Emma. And how many ships can boast an ACTUAL ship? Right?

Summary: Killian Jones swore that not a day would go by that he wouldn’t think of Emma Swan. Of course, his crew doesn’t have to know about that. Until a certain first mate figures it out and seems hell bent on helping his captain . . .

Rating: G

Words: 3,000+

Also on Ao3

Tagging @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @snidgetsafan @kday426 @bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @hollyethecurious @branlovestowrite

I will go down with this ship, I won’t put my hands up and surrender. There will be no white flag above my door. I’m in love, and always will be.

If there’s one thing Killian Jones learned after tossing his Lieutenant's coat into the sea, it’s that being a good pirate captain is ten percent action and ninety percent reputation. By the time he lost his hand to the Dark One, he was already known as a deadly swordsman who captained the fastest ship in all the realms. Once he became Captain Hook, the legend only grew. Pirate Captain Killian Jones had to fight to the last man while most everyone gladly surrendered to the fearsome and ruthless Captain Hook.

Killian frowned as he looked down at the rings adorning his fingers. Of course, there was truth to the rumors as well. He’d done many a foul dead in his long centuries of life. But for every tale of bloodshed and villainy that was true, there were ten more that were gross exaggerations.

The same held true when it came to women. He was no saint in that regard either, not even much a gentleman, but he didn’t bed every woman he came across. Despite his bravado, for example, he had never coerced an unwilling lass, and he certainly would never use violence to satisfy his libido. Yet the rumors said otherwise, of course. Sometimes, like Milah, the rumors protected the reputation of the dissatisfied housewives who found temporary escape in his bed. Or permanent escape, in Milah’s case. Yet the rumors also helped build up the aura of Captain Hook; the pirate who would run you through as his eyes glinted with two red spots, the man who would plunder your village and ravish your women. People would cower before a man with that sort of reputation. Made piracy so much easier.

But he was a different man now, as much as he was loathe to admit it, and keeping up the ruse was becoming tiresome. He remembered what Ariel had called him – a hero – laughable, really. Even worse, Blackbeard had called him soft. Both those descriptors had fueled his decision that day: to sacrifice a man’s life to get his ship back. With the Jolly in his possession again, the tales of besting Blackbeard and feeding him to the sharks buzzing around every tavern, he felt that surely he could finally forget. Finally, he could slip back into his old ways.

There was only one problem: he couldn’t forget her. He saw her lovely lips turned down in a sad frown every time he had a dagger to a man’s throat. He saw her flashing jade eyes every time he lifted his hook over a trembling, pleading sailor. Emma wouldn’t want this. And he would have mercy. He saw the confused expressions of his crew, heard the whispers that suddenly went silent when he entered a tavern. He knew other rumors were flying aside from his duel with Blackbeard. Captain Hook has gone soft.

The most difficult reputation to maintain, however, was his reputation with the ladies. He knew his flirtation had become half-hearted at best, and surely word had gotten around about the willing lasses he had left unsatisfied. Then there was this constant charade with the wenches he kept paying; but not paying for their services, paying for their subterfuge. Tell people I gave you a good time.

So here he was again, as he often found himself, alone in his quarters as his men passed their shore leave with rum and women. He hunched over his desk, his eyes squinting in the lamplight, as he replayed the way Emma Swan had smiled at him that final day. Good she had said.

“Captain?”

Killian startled and looked up to see Smee poking his head through the half-opened door. Instead of growling at the man, he suddenly found himself blushing as if caught in the act. His first mate shuffled hesitantly into the room.

“I uh, didn’t mean to pry, but I ran into that wench on the docks? And um, she looked like she was hiding something, and I was worried, so . . . “

Killian’s embarrassment morphed into anger as he scowled at the man. “I don’t need a nursemaid, Mr. Smee. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of meself.” He bent once again to the paper and pencil in front of him. “You’re dismissed.”

“If I may sir,” Smee continued, undeterred. Killian sighed wearily under his breath as the man shuffled closer to his desk. “The men and I have been a bit concerned. You seem . . . off. You only just left with that wench naught ten minutes ago, and -”

Killian surged up from his desk, sending papers scattering to the floor. “I said you’re dismissed!”

“Y-yes sir,” Smee said, bobbing his head nervously as he twisted his cap in his hands. He looked down at the papers scattering the floor, and he brightened. “Let me help you, Captain!”

Killian attempted to lunge and stop him, but he couldn’t get around the desk in time. He clasped his first mate’s wrist just as his eyes took in the parchment in his hand.

“This . . . is the Princess, Captain.”

“Obviously. Now, leave me be.” He slumped down in his desk chair, rubbing his forehead.

Smee laid the drawing of Emma reverently upon his desk. “I haven’t seen you draw a woman’s likeness since Milah, sir.”

Killian looked up tentatively at the man’s soft words. Smee could be a bit of a buffoon at times, but in all honesty, he was the closest thing Killian had to a friend. The man was loyal to a fault, and he was probably the only one who had seen Killian’s mask slip at times. In every such instance, he had kept that information to himself.

“What happened in Neverland between the two of you?” Smee asked after a moment’s silence.

Killian’s jaw clenched. Closest thing he had to a friend, yes. Confidant about matters of the heart, however? Definitely not.

“My relationship with Miss Swan is none of your business,” he bit out, gently sliding his drawing closer with the tip of his hook. Or lack thereof, he thought bitterly.

Smee seemed unoffended as he gave a firm nod and placed his cap back upon his head. “Say no more, Captain. And don’t worry, I’ll keep the ladies of the night away from you, sir.”

Killian rolled his eyes and waved Smee out. “Oh, and Smee?”

“Y-yes Captain.”

“Speak of this to no one.”

“Course sir, wouldn’t dream of it.”

Killian looked down at his drawing and frowned as he picked his pencil up once again. The eyes weren’t quite right . . .

********************************************************

The days slipped by, and Killian was fairly certain Smee had forgotten their conversation. Until it dawned on him that he was left alone in the taverns more often than not to nurse his rum in peace. And were his crew giving him sympathetic looks? If that imbecile had been wagging his tongue . . .

The man himself suddenly took the chair in front of him at the back of the tavern, an eager expression on his face. Oblivious to Killian’s angry glare, he gestured to the woman he had brought with him. Killian blinked as he took in the woman’s odd appearance. She lowered herself elegantly to the seat beside Smee, adjusting her luminous skirts of grey and white, made of ripped and tattered strips of satin. Her bodice seemed to be made of cobwebs, topped with a blood red corset. Her black lace gloves had holes in them, and her black hair hung in dirty dreadlocks. A tattoo, a constellation that he could have identified if he hadn’t felt uncomfortable staring, filled half her face. The most startling thing, however, were her eyes. They were milky white. Yet she gazed upon him fully, so he didn’t think she was blind.

“Tanith here thinks she can help you, sir,” Smee told him, his smile eager.

“You are a man of heart ache,” she said in a voice that grated like a hinge in need of grease. She reached out with fingernails like talons that tore through the tips of her gloves and caressed his hand. He jerked it back.

“Going to a sorceress is a dangerous business,” Killian muttered, eyeing her shrewdly. “All magic comes with a price.”

“Smart you are, my pretty pirate,” she replied with a smile, showing a mouth full of blackened teeth. Killian suppressed his revulsion lest he insult the powerful woman. “But the price for this is not steep to most.”

She produced a wand of deep purple, decorated in swirling carvings painted red. He swallowed nervously, as if he could feel the magic pulsing from it.

“It can undue a spell,” Smee put in, fidgeting in delight.

Tanith gave Smee a sharp look for stealing her thunder, then turned a smile upon Killian that would have been seductive if not for her foul teeth. “It will reunite you with the woman you love.”

Killian’s jaw clenched as he tried to push down the hope that swelled in his chest. His fingers itched to pick up the wand as Tanith set it on the table before him. “And the cost?” he managed to choke out. Unable to resist, he picked up the wand, his gaze mesmerized by the vermillion carvings.

“The life of the one who cast the spell,” Tanith said flippantly. “Like I said, it is a trifle for most. What better revenge than to undue a spell and take the life of your enemy at the same time?”

Killian’s eyes pressed closed as he released a sigh of disappointment. “She is not my enemy.”

“The Evil Queen?” Smee scoffed. “She’s been your associate, but hardly a friend. Most people would call you a hero for getting rid of her.”

Killian set the wand on the table again and slid it across to the sorceress. “She is the boy’s mother. I would never break Henry’s heart that way.”

“The princess is really his mother, I hardly think -”

Killian grabbed Smee by the front of his shirt and hauled him across the table. “I suggest you stop talking, mate.”

He pushed the man back into his chair which wobbled on one leg, almost sending Smee sprawling to the floor. As he strode in anger from the tavern, the looks on the faces of his crew almost seemed relieved. They were used to his brooding so long as there was a helping of rage to go with it.

******************************************************

Smee, in his typical fashion, took Killian’s threats to him in stride. He seemed no worse for his failed scheme with Tanith the sorceress, still asking his Captain what he needed with almost annoying regularity. Worse were the times he popped into the Captain’s quarters and inquired after Killian’s emotional health with a motherly tone. It was driving Killian batty. At least he had stopped commenting on the growing pile of sketches he’d made of Emma.

One evening, after they had just set sail from yet another meaningless port, Smee bustled in unannounced with a satchel in his hands. Killian tossed aside his pencil in irritation.

“A man needs his privacy, Mister Smee!”

“Apologies, sir, but now that we’re out to smooth seas, I can finally show you what I found.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a crystal ball. “Where do you think this came from?”

Killian arched a brow as he took the offered globe and hefted it in his palm. “I wouldn’t know.”

“The Dark One’s castle! It’s been pillaged, and all sorts of magical objects can be found in every merchant’s wares.”

“And you believe I would be excited about this because . . . “

“The merchant I bought it from told me that all you must do is think of someone you care about, and the crystal ball will show that person to you.”

Killian chuckled sardonically. “Or it’s just a glass ball and you’ve been had.”

“Try it, sir, think of the princess!”

Killian rolled his eyes, but it was a temptation he couldn’t resist. Besides, thinking of Emma was his constant state, so why not give it a go? He gazed into the glass orb and concentrated his thoughts upon it. He gasped when it gray clouds began to swirl within it, and Smee cried out. Then, through the clouds, there she was. She was walking down a street with her lad beside her. Her golden hair was free and blowing in the wind, just as he remembered it. She was laughing at something the boy said, and he was smiling up at her. They were happy, and it made him smile. They walked through a door and shed their coats as they sat at a small dining table. Emma picked up a menu with “Solo Pizza: New York, New York” emblazoned across it. Then the globe went dark.

Killian blinked, his eyes suddenly wet, and he extended the crystal ball to Smee. “Take it,” he choked out.

“But sir, it worked!”

He gazed sadly at his first mate. “Which is exactly why you must get it far away from me.”

“I don’t understand - “

“Through it into the bloody sea!” he thundered.

Smee recoiled, and Killian felt instant remorse. The man had gone to so much trouble to help his troubled heart, and how did he repay him?

“I’m sorry, mate, I just . . . I don’t want to invade her privacy, you understand? And the temptation -”

“I think she would trust you with it,” Smee replied gently as he put the clear globe back into his master’s palm. Then he turned and left.

Killian clenched his hand so hard, he feared the glass would crack. The orb began to swirl again, and he hastily shoved it in the bottom drawer of his desk.

****************************************************

He lasts only until the next port before succumbing to temptation. This time, he sees Emma open the door to a man in a suit with an unflattering haircut. He scowls in disgust, then stuffs the crystal ball into his satchel before he can find out if the man is Emma’s date or just a traveling merchant. That’s it, he’s selling this bloody thing.

When he walks into the closest merchant’s shop and reveals his prize, the man behind the counter reaches for it with eagerness.

“How much?” he asks.

“Perhaps a trade?”

Killian doesn’t really care, but he rubs at his jaw anyway, glancing around the shop. He’s been frugal lately with his doubloons, but perhaps the man has something they could use at sea. Or more drawing paper and pencils his traitorous mind offers, but he pushes that thought away. He had made a decision recently – no more sketches of Emma. It was too painful.

“See what catches your eye,” the merchant tells him, “then we can settle on a deal. How’s that?”

Killian nods and ambles about the room. He does look at a nice art set in a mahogany case, but shakes his head even as his fingertips skim across it. He’s just about to head to the back where the more practical items are displayed when he sees it. He isn’t sure why he’s drawn to it. Maybe because the tiny vial is made of jade the same shade as Emma’s eyes. He picks it up and holds it up to the light. Attached to the cork in its neck is a tiny scroll.

“Now that would be an even trade,” the merchant speaks up, “one rare magical item for another.”

“What is it?”

“If you catch your tears inside, it will reunite you with a lost love. Living, of course.”

Killian doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll take it.”

*******************************************

It’s humiliating how easy it is for him to catch a few tears that night. He thought the pain would get easier, but now that about a year has passed, the anguish is only deeper. He really is separated from Emma forever. He can’t believe he’s reduced to this: believing the words of a random merchant without so much as a second thought. Nothing happens to the little jade bottle as the salty water drips inside. He puts the stopper in, then unrolls the miniscule scroll. The spell is short, and luckily in Greek. He doesn’t have to worry about getting the pronunciation wrong. Latin would have been another story.

“Eímai erotevmenos kai tha einai panta”

Suddenly, he’s no longer in his quarters on the Jolly Roger. There’s no burst of magic, no portal, not even a sudden wind. He’s simply just . . . somewhere else. It’s cooler here, is the first thing he notices, but then he looks down, blinks, and . . . it’s her. Sleeping peacefully in her bed, just inches away from him, is Emma Swan. All he can do at first is drink in the sight of her, so peaceful, as her breaths rise and fall, her hair fanned out on the pillow. His gaze flickers to the tiny shirt she wears to sleep, the one she called a tank top in Neverland. One strap has slipped down her shoulder, exposing a good portion of one of her breasts. He curses himself as he shifts his gaze elsewhere.

It suddenly occurs to him how bad this is. If she awakens to see him there, he’ll scare her to death. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had a gun loaded in that nightstand beside her, and without her memories, she’ll most likely shoot first and ask questions later. He wouldn’t blame her. He wets his lips, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do now. His eyes dart to the door, but what if he runs into the lad?

He clenches his fist around the jade vial still in his hand, and that’s when he notices: he isn’t corporeal. He can almost see the vial through his fist. He pats his chest, he can feel himself, but the colors of his skin, his clothes, are all muted and hazy.

And getting hazier. “Swan!” he cries out, unthinking. Her eyes blink open, and a furrow creases her brow.

“Killian?”

Abruptly, he’s back on the Jolly Roger, in his quarters.

“Bloody hell.”

****************************************************

It’s only about a week later, and Smee is chattering in his ear incessantly as he navigates the Jolly Roger to yet another port. His men haven’t questioned how antsy their Captain seems to be, never at sea for long stretches of time, hopping from port to port yet never satisfied. As long as they have enough doubloons to satisfy their bellies and their libido, they are a happy lot.

“ . . . so I was thinking of this soothsayer that I met in Glowerhaven once, who has a cousin here in Misthaven. Not a soothsayer, mind you, but he dabbles, and -”

“Mr. Smee, would you quit blabbering on and get to your post.”

“Y-yes, sir,” he runs down to the lower deck, but doesn’t cease his rambling, “anyways, that vial of yours I’m sure is worth plenty to my friend’s cousin. He’s always got some interesting spell books, even does a bit of palm reading. Or is it tea leaves? Anyway, then there was also the skuttlebutt I heard about a pirate with magic beans -”

“Smee!” Killian stomps down the steps from the upper deck, and the entire crew goes silent. “No more spells, no more false hope.”

“B-but sir” Smee protests, yanking his cap off to twist it nervously. Killian hitches his thumbs in his belt loops and tilts his head back in irritation. As fidgety and fearful as the man is, he certainly has no qualms arguing with his Captain. “Did you hear what I said? Magic beans! Portals! Now, one sailor said it was Blackbeard who had them in the Southern Isles, but you and I both saw him walk the plank, so I thought -”

“I don’t care what you bloody think!” Killian snapped, his temper rising. “You sell that damn vial for a pile of doubloons. That’s final!”

Killian turns, his breaths coming hot and fast. He doesn’t even bother to shout orders, but his crew makes port easily anyway, leaving him to brood. Suddenly, right near his hand, a dove flutters down, cooing as if to get his attention. Killian tilts his head in surprise to see the tiny paper tied to its leg. He reaches out tentatively to take hold of the bird, and it doesn’t protest as he holds it to his chest with the crook of his left arm. With his right, he slips the paper – a note – free. Then he releases the bird, and it flies away. Scrawled hastily on the tiny parchment is written:

“Curse coming! Get Emma!”

He crumples the missive in his fist as he gazes out over the water, but there really is no decision to make.

“Sir, are you coming ashore?” Smee asks, his voice more subdued after his dressing down.

“No,” Killian says quietly, “but enjoy yourself, mate.”

The men depart with eager cries and slaps to the back. He feels a bit guilty abandoning them once again to face another curse. But this time, it’s for a greater good. His Swan needs him.

************************************************

Emma’s eyes blink open, and she frowns. She dreamed of him again, the man in black leather. Dressed lke a pirate? It’s ridiculous. The first time she had the dream, it felt as if he were really there, standing beside her bed. She had even called his name – Killian. But she doesn’t know anyone by that name, and she’s certainly never met a man who dresses like a pirate.

A handsome man who dresses like a pirate.

She shakes her head and laughs at herself as she heads out to the kitchen. She turns on some music, looking forward to a lazy, quiet Saturday with Henry. He steps out of his room soon after, bleary eyed, yet smiling. He waters the plants while Emma gets breakfast ready.

They’re just sitting down to eat, when there’s a knock at the door . . .