#young modern au cs

[snowbellewells]

One More {Part Four}

Oh goodness, Melanie @searchingwardrobes This is still your birthday fic (even though I apologize for taking so long to finish it that we could now be celebrating your half-birthday!) One more chapter after this - and I think by the end of this one, things will finally feel like they are looking up for our younger Emma and Killian...

Also available on AO3, if that’s your preference - 

Or from the beginning here on Tumblr

iv. 22 years old (three years old)

“One more move, Henry,” Emma murmured, glancing at her little boy in his carseat behind her as she adjusted the rearview mirror to start out. “We’ll try one more town, okay?” She offered the happily babbling toddler a reassuring smile - really as much for herself as Henry - though he couldn’t agree in words or fully understand her. His gummy grin bolstered her courage all the same.

“Yep,” she repeated with a bob of her chin, putting the loaded car in gear. “This will be the one.” She pulled away from the curb near the small fourth floor apartment she’d rented for the last few years, almost since bringing Henry home from the hospital, and after carefully making sure there was no traffic coming, eased her beat-up yellow VW onto the two lane road out of town.

Despite what she had told Sabine, a friend she had made through Tink Green and whose mother had rented her the apartment she and Henry had called home, Emma didn’t truly have a good reason for moving on . Things had been tough at first - her money certainly stretched to the limit - but she had also found true friendships and gotten as close to putting down roots as she had ever come. Bless Tink’s sweet, mothering soul; the nurse had stuck to her side from the delivery room all through Henry’s infancy and beyond, allowing Emma to finally feel what having a bestie, or even a sister, might have been like. Tink had introduced her to Sabine - no-nonsense, wryly hilarious owner of her own Creole food truck and maker of the best beignets east of Louisiana, and thankfully with a family in all levels of real estate. Between the two of them, they kept Emma afloat, pinch hit as babysitters, and were the only reason she hesitated when the urge to go began to stir within her bones once more.

Despite the small semblance of roots she had established, no place had ever quite felt like where she was meant to stay. Emma couldn’t explain it; she only knew that an itch would start to prickle beneath her skin, restlessness to stir until she couldn’t focus, couldn’t help but think about where she might go next, and then she’d be packing her bags again. Largely due to Henry, and wanting him to have a more stable childhood than she’d had, and the support system she had gained, these three years since his birth had been the longest Emma stayed anywhere since she had lost - 

“Nope,” she hissed under her breath, shaking her head fervently as she glanced back to be sure her sharp reaction hadn’t disturbed her little boy’s quiet doze. “We’re not going there,” she admonished herself, forcing away images of the wrung-out despair on Liam Jone’s face as he’d come to deliver the earth-shattering news, the hopeful excitement in Killian’s bright blue eyes when he had left, those front porch steps where they’d both met and said goodbye, and the cozy den at Liam and Killian’s house, where all three of them had laughed and talked and stuffed their faces full of popcorn as they’d journeyed the world via tv travel shows, all scrunched onto the brothers’ small overstuffed couch together. That was only place she had ever left that she truly missed.

By this point, she had lived all up and down the eastern seaboard, from Maine to Florida, and each of the bustling cities and small hamlets had their charms, but not one had ever stuck to her, not the way she felt that a home should do. When Tink had demanded to know where she was heading, why she suddenly had to go, Emma didn’t even have a good reply, other than to say Maine and that she felt like giving it a second chance. She just knew some thread inside was pulling her, and instead of forward to some unknown once more, she was winding her way back.

Maybe she shouldn’t have left so quickly years ago. She had been shattered, yes, and there wasn’t anything holding her there, but she could have been present for a devastated man who might as well have been a brother; they could have grieved together, found some sort of closure and peace. Instead, she had been romaing ever since - as if some new place, some view over the water or the right stretch of highway could ever fill the void in her soul.

Flicking her turn signal, Emma left behind the quiet street she travelled nearly every day, guiding the sturdy older car smoothly onto the busy highway that would have them slowly beginning to wend their way northward. Henry slept contentedly, though Emma left the radio on a gentle, folksy station just in case, hoping the easy rhythms might be soothing if he woke fussy. Her whole world and reason for being sat just behind her in that carseat, and though it had been painstakingly hard to trip, fall, fail, pull herself up, and repeat the whole thing over and again, she wouldn’t choose to live her life differently, or she wouldn’t have him.

Not doubt there would be those who considered her a terrible parent for uprooting her son from the environment he was used to, the extended family who had been there for them both when Henry had colic, or she just needed a few hours to herself, or who were willing to accept rent just a couple days late if her paychecks didn’t fall quite right one month. Emma was well aware that she was working without a net and didn’t have much of a plan either, but then, that had been the case her entire life. When it came right down to it, she had to depend on her own grit and determination - having known a bit of backup and support in the last couple years didn’t undo a lifetime of prior experience.

Plus, if she was to keep a brave face for Henry, to show him a strong, capable front as he got older and doubtlessly more perceptive, then she had to see to her own needs and desires occasionally, whether they made sense to the rest of the world or not. When she finally stopped for the evening, to find them some supper and a motel room for the night, they were almost out of Georgia and up into North Carolina. Henry whined grumpily when she extricated him from the carseat and took his hand to lead him into the all-night Waffle House, but he cheered considerably at the prospect of chocolate chip pancakes, just as she had known he would.

It was only as she curled up in bed that night, surrounding her little boy’s small form with her own body as she attempted to get comfortable on the thin mattress which had clearly seen better days - certainly not a lot of support for her neck and back already stiff from driving for hours - that she found she still couldn’t relax. With a resigned sigh, Emma forced her eyes closed and tried to rest. She’d chosen to make this journey on as small a budget as possible, not wanting to decimate the tiny nest egg she’d scrimped and saved to put away for the future. They could have stayed somewhere a bit nicer, if her earlier life hadn’t trained her to be frugal to the extreme - even now as an adult gainfully employed and getting by better than she might once have been able to imagine.

Thankfully, the thickness of mattresses or the age and wear of motel wallpaper made little difference to a three-year-old. Henry was simply excited by the whole adventure; he’d gotten chocolate chip pancakes, an extra story as he fought valiantly to keep his eyes from closing in sleep, and the promise that tomorrow they would see and ride a real train on the Tweetsie Railroad in Blowing Rock. Emma wondered if she had ever been that easily joyful - happy and unafraid. Unconcerned for what a new day might bring, and excited to find out.

Exactly as she’d wanted, exactly as she’d hoped and sweat and clawed and fought to make reality, Henry’s first three years had been so different from her own start in life. The way he was resting calmly without a care in the world right now, while she lay staring into the dark restlessly, was proof enough of that.

Despite how physically tired she was from remaining alert and driving for so long, Emma was lost in her thoughts, her mind unable to let go of its restless swirl as her limbs had done. She had just forced herself to close her eyes regardless, when she heard the buzz of a text message from her phone on the nightstand.

Rolling over and then reaching out for the offending object, Emma pulled the cell close to her face, squinting a bit without her contacts and much less light than normal by which to see, she stubbornly strained to decipher the type before her on the small screen. It was from Tink, because, of course it was. In some ways, it felt as if the woman had been hovering over Emma’s shoulder, waiting to cushion her falls like her magical Disney namesake ever since they met. It was little wonder Tink would feel the need to make sure they had reached somewhere safe and stopped to rest for the night. Belatedly, Emma chided herself for not messaging her friend with an update first, so she wouldn’t have had to worry.

‘Hey, E – ‘ the message began before charging ahead in her friend’s typical quick, effervescent fashion. ‘I couldn’t sleep, and I wondered if you might be having the same problem and see this. Anyway, I got to thinking, you’re headed for Maine, right? Some place you spent time in when you were younger? Well, I know I told you that I did some practicum hours several years ago at a physical therapist’s office up that way…’

Emma couldn’t help rolling her eyes playfully at her friend’s way of rambling effusively, even when typing instead of speaking aloud. If they were together, she would be teasing Tink to ‘get to the point already’. Instead, she only shook her head and kept reading.

‘While I was there, I met this gentleman… retired Navy, if I remember right… Anway, he was very nice - helpful, dependable… You should look him up once you get settled. You know, if you need restaurant recommendations or to know which repair companies won’t rip you off, that sort of thing. The guy is noble to a fault, probably why we only went on one date because - Whew, girl, was he handsome!’  Tink’s winky-faced, tongue-out emoji had Emma chuckling to herself just imagining the diminutive blonde saying all that in her usual rush of words and accompanying facial expressions. It made her shock at the last lines of text on the screen all the more pronounced, her breath catching in her throat, choking down her windpipe and making her cough and gasp for breath. Reading the lines over again, Emma still couldn’t wrap her mind around how it was possible. She had never told Tink - or anyone - about the Jones brothers, the closest people to family she’d ever had, and yet there it was in black and white: ‘His name was Liam. Liam Jones’ followed by a telephone number and the promise that she wasn’t trying to set Emma up, her feeling on that had been made perfectly clear.

Stunned, Emma sat the phone back on her nightstand before it fell from her nerveless hand and blinked away the moisture stinging the corners of her eyelids. However it had happened, Fate had either an incredibly cruel or patiently hopeful sense of humor. She might have eventually tried to find her self-adopted big brother once more - if she’d ever felt she could see him without Killian and not bawl until she made herself sick - but it would appear that destiny worked on a schedule all its own.

            %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Three days later, having stopped occasionally for picnics in parks, sleep at motels that seemed relatively clean and safe, and a few other attractions that had caught Henry’s fancy, Emma finally found herself at the address she had seen advertised for rent, not very far from the street where her old foster family had once lived. She could have made much better time without stopping as often, but with a three-year-old in tow, breaks were a must. There wasn’t a particular need to hurry anyway, other than the strange pull in her gut which had set them on their current journey. And in truth, why shouldn’t she sightsee and let Henry have a little fun along the way? She meant what she’d told her son, whether he understood enough to hold her to it or not. She didn’t intend to drag him all over the country like some rootless nomad. She would find a way to silence the wanderlust and stay in one place for him; as long as he liked it here, that would be what mattered.

Dusk was just beginning to gather in the evening sky, pink and orange streaks in the clouds darkening to lavender and gray as late afternoon inched toward the night. Emma exited the Beetle, stretching her back with a groan, and moving to round the front of the vehicle and get Henry from his carseat in back on the passenger side. Her hand had just grasped the door handle when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

Wheeling, Emma froze at the sound of her own name whispered hoarsely on the gentle breeze. Blinking and dumbstruck, she tried to correct her vision, knowing she had to be imagining the sight before her. 

But the vision didn’t melt away, and her heart leapt, finally daring to believe what she saw. “K - Killian?” she breathed, not sure the words had even come out loud enough to be heard. “Is it really you?”

Tagging a few who might enjoy @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan @cosette141 @anmylica @sotangledupinit @xarandomdreamx @justanother-unluckysoul @motherkatereloyshipper @stahlop @lfh1226-linda​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @thislassishooked​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @scientificapricot​ @tomeandflickcorner​ @winterbaby89​ 

[aurorawest]

Reading update

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers - 3.75/5 stars

I hate myself a little bit for using this word to describe this book, but it's a meditation on modern (western) culture, the drumbeat of living a purposeful life, and, imo, the millennial condition.

It also, separately from that, made me think of the song 'New Constellations' by Ryn Weaver: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13EX7qGdUGI

The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen by KJ Charles - 5/5 stars

This book features Gareth Inglis, a member of the gentry whose father shipped him off to his uncle when his mother died. Gareth never saw or heard from his father (who remarried and had another child) again, and no one knew he existed because his father was a piece of human garbage. Which meant I couldn't stop thinking about my former father-in-law, who had two sons from his first marriage whom he, as far as I could tell, never had any contact with after remarrying and having another child. Life imitates art?

Anyway, it's KJ Charles, so you pretty much can't go wrong. I saw someone refer to this as enemies-to-lovers and realized my toxic trait is railing against people who want to apply enemies-to-lovers to everything. Spoiler alert, this is not enemies-to-lovers. But it is lovely, and includes Gareth and Joss Doomsday (a smuggler) bonding over beetles.

The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by SA Chakraborty - 4.5/5 stars

It was no Daevabad Trilogy, but then again, I remember finishing City of Brass and being like, yeah, it was fine, I'll probably pick up the sequel at some point. It wasn't until Kingdom of Copper that I grew to really love the series, so I'm hoping the same happens with this. This book was a lot of fun, and the fact that all the characters were middle-aged was pretty delightful. I'm definitely excited to see where this series goes.

The Long Run by James Acker - 5/5 stars

Excellent YA book about two lonely jocks in New Jersey.

Feel the Fire by Annabeth Albert - 3.75/5 stars

His Accidental Cowboy by AM Arthur - 4/5 stars

Brida by Paul Coelho - 1/5 stars

One of the reviews for this book on Storygraph says it 'aged like milk' and I can't put it better than that. This is a soul mate AU where souls undergo cell division, essentially, and your soul mate is from your same base soul from before the soul split in half. Okay, great. Oh but wait, the soul always divides into male and female. And your soul mate is always someone of the opposite sex, even though that doesn't make sense because as souls divide again and again, that means there are a lot of people out there who came from the same original soul as you. Also, witchcraft? Also also, even though the book is called Brida and is ostensibly about the title character, her whole journey was really just to serve the unnamed male character, the Magus. This isn't implicit either, it's completely explicit. At the end it's like, 'sometimes young women come along to show men the way' (I'm paraphrasing but...not much).

This went straight to my give away pile, and I hated it so much that the rest of my Coelho books joined it (except The Alchemist).

Enlightened by Joanna Chambers - 5/5 stars

Or, For The Love Of God Please Give David Lauriston And Murdo Balfour A Break, And Preferably A Happy Ending.

They got one, btw.

Song of Silver, Flame Like Night by Amélie Wen Zhao - DNF

Honestly, the Mad Libs YA title should have warned me off of this one, but I always give my Illumicrate books a try. Cartoonish villains and protagonists I find myself liking less the more we get to know them. The prose is quite good but not enough to make up for the character deficiencies.

Solomon's Crown by Natasha Siegel - 5/5 stars

Blurbed by no less than Tamora Pierce (Song of the Lioness supremacy!), Rainbow Rowell, Freya Marske, and CS Pacat. Did I go into this book with insanely high expectations? Yes. Did it mostly meet them? Yes! If you're a Captive Prince fan, this one's for you.

Siegel tells us up front, before the book even starts, that it's a romance and not historically accurate. So don't go into this expecting a historically accurate love story between King Richard of England and King Philip of France. It is, however, a gorgeous romance. The world-building is top notch. Even if it's not totally accurate to the High Middle Ages, it feels accurate, if that makes sense? Siegel really captures the feeling of being in a different world. Lush writing, amazing sexual/romantic tension, lovely sad boys. Highly, highly recommend.

Daniel Cabot Puts Down Roots by Cat Sebastian - 4.75/5 stars

I docked .25 stars because it bugged me that they didn't move in together at the end. Idk, just felt too 'look, I'm subverting romance conventions!' Still good, obviously.

Like Real People Do by EL Massey - 4/5 stars

A very wholesome and low stakes hockey romance. I found myself often thinking that the interactions of the men on the hockey teams seemed unrealistic, but it was charming and sweet enough that I didn't care.

The book reads like fanfiction, which is because it was fanfiction—but it's in a mostly good way, not a bad way (*cough* All The Way Happy *cough*). Apparently the original version was Check, Please! fanfiction, which I am vaguely familiar with as a thing that exists. Apparently it's a web comic? Anyway, I enjoyed the book enough to pick up the sequel.

[jrob64]

Silly Songs With Killian - a CS Modern AU One-shot

You can blame @sotangledupinit for this silly, but sweet, little story! She posted a prompt on Discord which caused my muse to jump to attention, and I wrote it in two days. If you're not familiar with the Veggie Tales videos, you'll still be able to enjoy this, but do yourself a favor and check out the songs on Spotify here. You don't have to be a kid to enjoy them and I guarantee they'll make you laugh!

Special thanks to Kit for making young Henry look even younger for the pic set, Mary for being my beta, and Krystal for being a second set of eyes for the Silly Songs lyrics and also for the pic set I created. It pays to have wonderful fandom friends!

Summary: After a frustrating and exhausting day, Emma Cassidy is relieved when her little boy, Henry, is entertained by a gorgeous musician at a restaurant, giving her a chance to sit back, relax, and enjoy the music (and the view!) It gets even better when the singer, Killian, sings some of Henry’s favorite Silly Songs from his favorite videos, Veggie Tales. 

Rating: T

Words: 3946

Also posted to Ao3 and ffn

*********

It’s been one hell of a day. It wasn’t supposed to be this exhausting, but of course my ex, Neal, had to complicate things.

I was looking forward to going wedding dress shopping with my future sister-in-law Mary Margaret and her other bridesmaids, sipping champagne and giving my input on each of the possibilities. It was going to be so much fun.

And then...remember the saying that was popular many years ago - shit happens? Well, Neal can be used interchangeably with shit - they’re one and the same.

It was his scheduled weekend with our three-year-old, Henry, which was one reason why Mary Margaret chose this day. Then on Friday, almost an hour after Neal was supposed to pick Henry up at my apartment, he sent me a text: Something came up. Can’t make it this weekend. Tell Henry I’m sorry.

Apparently he turned off his phone after sending it, because he didn’t answer any of my increasingly volatile texts - eighteen of them, to be exact - or phone calls. I had to sit Henry in front of the television so I could go into my bedroom to leave some choice words on Neal’s voicemail.

Fortunately (or unfortunately for my sweet little boy) Henry is used to being let down by his father. In the eighteen months since we called it quits, Neal has skipped out on more weekend visits than he’s kept. I guess being a lying piece of shit takes up way too much of his time and he can’t spare any for his son.

Also unfortunately, all of the people who usually babysit for Henry were unable to watch him. Most of them were included in the shopping trip, my brother David was busy because he was painting the living room of the house he and his fiancée just bought, and Ruby’s Granny was off bowhunting with her new beau. (Bowhunting with her beau has been a running joke ever since she left a week ago.)

So instead of enjoying a carefree day of shopping with Mary Margaret, Belle, Ruby and Elsa, I had to keep an active, inquisitive toddler entertained in one bridal shop after another. We were all relieved when he finally fell asleep in the third shop, until the manager woke him up by screeching about how he was going to drool on the green velvet upholstery. That cost her any business she might have had from us (though in all honesty, her gowns were all hideous and looked like something only the Wicked Witch of the West might wear.)

Eventually, Mary Margaret said ‘yes to the dress’ in the fifth shop late in the afternoon, then we all decided to get an early dinner at a nearby restaurant that serves kids’ meals and has outdoor seating. If Henry has to spend one more minute inside today, I think he might have a complete meltdown.

After placing my order and getting Henry situated with the provided coloring sheet and obligatory four crayons, I hear someone speaking into a microphone and look over to see a guy standing on a small stage with a guitar. A very, VERY attractive guy.

“Good evening, everyone,” he says, and my jaw drops at the sound of his British accent. “My name is Killian and I hope you enjoy the music tonight. I do take requests. Feel free to sing along or dance in this nice, open area in front of me.”

“Oh, wow!” Belle gasps. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he, Emma?”

My jaw snaps shut and I turn to look at her. Seeing her sly smile, I teasingly say, “Why are you asking me? We all have eyes, you know.”

“Yes, but we all have significant others, too,” Ruby adds, which is completely unnecessary but, sadly, also completely true.

While my self pity begins to set in, the guy - Killian - strums his guitar and launches into the Eagles classic “Take it Easy”. Henry, who by this point has scribbled all over the coloring sheet, somehow managed to break his crayon into at least four pieces and, judging by the color of his teeth, took a bite of it as well, looks up with bright eyes. Since I allowed him to kneel on a chair instead of trying to strap him into a booster seat, he takes advantage of it and hops down.

Before I can chase after him, he makes a beeline for the open space in front of the admittedly gorgeous singer and begins jumping around in what passes for a three-year-old’s version of dancing. I sigh and start to get up, but Mary Margaret stops me with a hand on my arm. “Let him go. He’s been very good all day and deserves to burn off some energy. Besides, he’s only a few feet away and we can see him clearly from here.”

It doesn’t take much convincing for me to heed her advice. If someone else can entertain Henry for a while, I’m not going to complain.

When the song comes to an end, Killian acknowledges the smattering of applause and plays the extremely recognizable first chords of “All Right Now”. Henry doesn’t miss a beat, throwing himself around like a rag doll while all of us at our table, as well as most of the other diners, laugh delightedly at his exuberance.

By the time Killian is in the middle of his third song, “Old Time Rock and Roll”, our food arrives and I face the dreaded task of dragging my son back to the table to eat. I nibble at my fish and chips until the song ends, then dash to the makeshift dance floor to cajole Henry. When he shows the expected resistance, Killian chuckles and helpfully says, “Go with your mum, lad. I’ll play a slow song that’s not as much fun for dancing.”

True to his word, he croons the song “Everything I Do, I Do It For You” as Henry acquiesces and comes back to his seat to shove French fries into his mouth as fast as possible. It might not be a good song for Henry’s style of dancing, but Killian’s smooth voice singing the beautiful lyrics is sending pleasant chills down my spine.

Another song with a slow tempo follows, during which my little man polishes off his fries. But when Killian starts “Footloose”, all bets are off and Henry is back on the dance floor with a chicken nugget squeezed into both of his chubby fists.

After we finish our meals, Belle, Ruby and Elsa leave to spend the rest of the evening with their boyfriends. Mary Margaret lingers, telling me she’ll stay to keep me company, because she’d rather not have to help David clean up his painting mess. We don’t want to take up a table, so we move to some empty seats along the edge of the patio from where we can still see my little dancing king.

“You’d think his battery would run down soon,” Mary Margaret comments.

“Are you serious? That kid is like the Energizer bunny, plus he’s been cooped up in stuffy dress shops all day. My money is on the singer wearing out before Henry.”

She’s uncharacteristically quiet for several minutes. When she finally speaks, she says quietly, “He really is very handsome and seems like a nice guy.”

Her statement is out of left field and I’m confused. “Who?”

“The singer - Killian,” she clarifies.

I narrow my eyes at her. “What’s your point?”

“No point. I was just making a comment,” she shrugs, all innocence.

I don’t believe her. Mary Margaret is the queen of set-ups and wears the crown proudly. She introduced Belle to Will, Ruby to Jefferson and Elsa, well, she introduced Elsa to Victor, but that didn’t work out very well. Elsa met Graham on her own.

“I’m not looking for someone to date, Mary Margaret. I’m still dealing with my idiot ex and trying to concentrate on raising my son not to follow in his father’s footsteps.”

“I understand, but…”

And it’s at this point I resign myself to the fact she’s going to spout some argument that’s going to weaken my resolve not to date.

“If Henry had a really good male role model in his life, it would help you in raising him to be a gentleman.”

“Seems to me David does a pretty good job of that, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I know,” she sighs, “but between working, getting the house ready and planning the wedding, his time with Henry is very limited.”

“The house will be ready before you get married and the wedding is in less than five months. After the honeymoon, he’ll have more time.”

“Oh, but then we’ll have children of our own, and you know how much time that takes.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re pregnant, Mary Margaret?”

‘’What?” she gasps. “No! I’m just saying…”

“I know what you’re saying and I hear you. If the right guy comes along, I wouldn’t be opposed to dating him, but I’m not gonna try to force something to happen.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have a date for the wedding, though?” she presses.

“Henry will be my date. He’ll be very dapper in his little tux.”

“But…”

“No buts, Mary Margaret. I don’t want to be set up with someone just so I don’t look pathetic at your wedding.”

We both fall silent as we watch Henry continue to dance in front of the bemused musician. Glancing at the time on my phone, I realize he’s been at it for well over an hour and isn’t showing any signs of slowing down. It’s beginning to get dark and I know I’ll have to wrangle him into the car before too much longer for his bath and bedtime.

I feel a little sorry for Killian, though. Nobody else has taken him up on his offer to dance, despite his repeated invitations. In fact, most of the diners aren’t paying attention to him at all. I hate to take his number one fan home, especially when I’m able to sit back and relax while listening to some seriously good music.

“I’m going to take a little break and then I’ll be back,” Killian announces, lifting the guitar strap over his head.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue to take Henry home,” I say to Mary Margaret.

“I suppose so,” she agrees. “Let me say goodbye to him and then I have to be on my way, too. According to his text, David is anxious for me to see how the living room turned out.”

We both stand up and move toward the stage, but I stop in my tracks. Killian is squatting down in front of Henry, listening to him with a huge smile on his face. I don’t know what Henry is saying, and I’m not sure Killian will be able to understand it anyway. Henry has an extensive vocabulary for a three-year-old, but I listen to him with ‘mom ears’, which means I can actually decipher what he’s trying to say.

When we reach them, Killian looks up at us and whatever I was going to say flies right out of my head. From a distance, the man is handsome. Close up, he’s nothing short of breathtaking. Carefully trimmed scruff covers a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, his cheekbones would put every male model to shame, and his dark hair is swept back from his forehead with a few rogue strands hanging down enticingly. Even his slightly pointed ears are adorable.

But it’s his eyes that shut down the functioning part of my brain. To say they are blue is like saying the sun is a tad bit warm, and the way the waning light catches them makes them shine like sapphires. I’m aware that my mouth is hanging open like a fish on dry land, but I can’t seem to make it form actual words.

“Hello, Killian. We’ve been thoroughly enjoying your music tonight, even if we haven’t been showing it as much as this little guy.”

Thank God for the natural chattiness of Mary Margaret.

Killian reaches out to ruffle Henry’s sweaty hair, then stands up. “I’m very happy to hear that,” he says in that beautiful, lilting accent. “I was just telling young Henry here that I’ll play some special songs for him after the break.”

I finally find my tongue. “Oh, but I was coming to tell Henry it’s time to go home.”

My little con artist turns his baby browns on me. “Please, Mommy. I be a good boy, I pwomise.”

That’s just great. Now if I take him home, I’ll have to forfeit my Mom of the Year award.

Mary Margaret laughs. “Well, Henry and Emma may be able to stay, but I really have to go.”

Why did she emphasize my name so much? As if I don’t already know.

She hugs Henry and me, tells Killian goodbye, and winks at me as she passes by. Even without trying to set me up, she’s setting me up.

I look back at Killian, who finishes chugging a bottle of water and grins at me. Reaching out to take my hand, he shakes it and says, “It’s nice to meet you, Emma, and little Henry.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Killian. Thanks for entertaining my son tonight.”

“It’s been my pleasure. I love how uninhibited kids are, and how joyful.”

“Well, his day certainly didn’t start out joyfully at all.” I shouldn’t have said it, but I’m still boiling about what Neal did to his own son, especially when this stranger seems so happy to spend time with him.

“No?” Killian questions. “May I ask what happened?”

I glance down at Henry, not wanting to bash his no-good father in front of him. He’s happily lining up little stones he collected along the edge of the patio, oblivious to the conversation going on above him.

“He was supposed to be with his dad this weekend, but he canceled. Again. So Henry was stuck shopping for wedding dresses with us all day.”

“I see.” He ponders for a second. “Would that wedding dress be for the lovely lass who just left…or someone else?”

“Yeah, it’s for Mary Margaret. She’s engaged to my brother.”

“I’m very glad I was able to make Henry’s day better, because his dancing did the same for me.” We watch Henry play, babbling to himself. “He seems like a happy little lad,” Killian observes.

“I do my best, but as a single mom, I make a lot of mistakes.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Love. All parents make mistakes. It’s a good thing kids have perfect aunts and uncles,” he says with a smirk.

“So, are you an imperfect father or a perfect uncle?” Am I really flirting with him right now?

“I have two nieces, so that would make me the latter.”

“Do you get to see them very often?”

“Aye, they live just a few miles from me, so I spoil them as often as possible. They’re my brother Liam’s girls.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’re originally from the U.S., if you don’t mind me saying.”

He chuckles again, rubbing his finger behind his right ear. “We were born in England and lived there until I was fourteen, then my father took a job here so we moved across the pond.”

“That explains the accent.”

He nods and checks his watch, blowing out a breath. “I should probably get back to my set. Will you allow young Henry to stay for a few more songs?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Sure. What’s another fifteen minutes in the grand scheme of things?”

A genuine smile splits his face. “Excellent! I think he’ll particularly like the next three or four songs I play.” He looks around and grabs a nearby chair from an empty table, setting it down beside me. “Won’t you please have a seat, Emma?”

“Such a gentleman,” I say, sinking onto the offered chair.

“Oh, I’m always a gentleman.”

Somehow I don’t mind him flirting with me.

He steps back on the stage, slips his guitar into place, and positions himself in front of the microphone. After giving me a wink, he announces in an overly accented, squeaky voice, “And now it’s time for Silly Songs with Killian. The part of the show where Killian comes out and sings…a silly song.”

I burst out laughing at the very familiar words. Henry is addicted to Veggie Tales, the wacky shows featuring talking fruits and vegetables. I love them because they teach good moral values; he loves them because they’re hilarious. His favorite part of every video is Silly Songs with Larry the Cucumber, which we watch over and over and over again. Apparently he conveyed this obsession to Killian.

Killian closes his eyes, somberly strums his guitar, and sings, “Oh, where is my hairbrush? Oh, where is my hairbrush? Oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh where, oh wherrrrrrrre…is my hairbrush?”

Henry is jumping up and down like a kangaroo on a pogo stick, shouting, “Mommy! Mommy! It’s the Lawwy song! Keeyin is singin’ the Lawwy song!”

Wiping tears of laughter from my eyes, I look around at the half-dozen people at the tables, who are looking at the musician like he’s lost his damn mind. Bunch of sticks in the mud. Lighten up.

But Killian isn’t bothered by their response, or lack thereof. He smoothly transitions to another of Henry’s favorite silly songs. “Oh, everybody’s got a water buffalo. Yours is fast, but mine is slow. Oh, where’d we get them, I don’t know. But everybody’s got a water buffalo, oooooo.”

Henry is beside himself with excitement. He’s running around in a circle, waving his arms in the air in his best impression of a rabid chimpanzee.

Killian moves on to sing a few lines of “I Love My Lips” (I can’t help thinking I’m quite fond of them, too), followed by “The Pirates Who Don’t Do Anything”.

By this time, the diners have relaxed, laughing and clapping along with the crazy tunes. Meanwhile, my son has finally worn himself out, collapsing in a small heap in front of the stage, looking up at Killian adoringly.

“...and we’ve never been to Boston in the falllllll,” Killian concludes with a flourish and takes a deep, dramatic bow.

I dig into my purse and pull out a twenty dollar bill. I always try to watch my budget, but I’ll skip getting a chocolate caramel latte for a few days to compensate. It’s worth it for what Killian did for Henry tonight.

Walking up to the stage, I drop the bill into the tip jar, smiling up at the singer. He’s between songs, so I say, “Thank you so much, Killian. You’re my hero for entertaining Henry tonight. It was great and he loved it, didn’t you, kid?”

Henry jumps to his feet. “I weally did, Keeyin! I love Lawwy songs!”

“What do you tell him?” I prompt.

“Thank you, Keeyin,” he says obediently.

“You’re very welcome, lad. I play here again in three weeks. Perhaps you can stop in and see me again?” He’s talking to Henry, but he’s looking at me.

“Can we, Mommy?” Henry pleads.

I know we probably can’t. This restaurant is all the way across the city from where we live, plus it’s pretty expensive. Mary Margaret footed the bill today, but twelve bucks for a kid’s meal is a little steep and I won’t pay it. I don’t want to say any of this though, because my tired son is walking a thin line between lingering happiness and an emotional collapse. So I use the parental standard, “We’ll see.”

Taking Henry’s hand, I say, “Thanks, again, Killian. Have a good evening.”

Something that looks like slight panic flashes through those gorgeous eyes of his and he speaks into the microphone, “I’ll be back in five, folks.” He slides his guitar around to his back and steps off the stage, placing himself directly in front of me. “Emma, if I may be so bold, and if you’re not already dating someone, would you consider going out with me?”

“Wh-what?” Apparently, getting asked out by the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on renders me a bit stupid.

He lightly wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me further toward the side of the patio for some privacy. “Even though we just met, I would really like to get to know you better.”

“But…but you don’t even know my last name.”

“What is it?”

“Cassidy.”

“Mine is Jones, so now we know each other a little better already.”

I stare at him, trying to think of a single reason why I should say no to him. “I…we…um…Henry and I, we…uh…we come as a packaged set.” That’s the way, Emma. Use your kid to try to scare him off. And you did it so gracefully, too.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m really quite fond of your son. That’s not a deal breaker,” he states firmly. He still hasn’t let go of my wrist and now he’s rubbing his thumb over it. I find I don’t mind at all.

“I…”

“Mommy, potty!” Henry announces.

Oh, geez. Killian has to get back to his set and Henry has to pee. I’m running out of time.

Dropping Henry’s hand, I rummage through my purse, trying to find a pen. “Got a piece of paper?” I ask, mid-rummage.

Killian dashes to his guitar case and pulls out a piece of sheet music, returning with it just as I locate the elusive pen. He plants his foot on a chair and slaps the paper down on his knee so I can scribble my number on it.

When I finish, I lift Henry into my arms and take off to find a bathroom. Before disappearing inside the restaurant, I glance back at Killian. He’s still standing where I left him, a broad smile on his face as he grips the paper in his hand. Raising my free hand, I give him a little wave and he returns it.

After I’ve had time to think about it, I might regret giving him my number. Right now I just have to keep my kid from peeing down the front of my dress.

*********

A year ago, Killian Jones was my hero for giving me a chance to relax while he entertained my son. Five months later, he was once again my hero by being my date to Mary Margaret and David’s wedding. Today, he’s still my hero because he’s continuously proving that not all men are incomparable asses.

On the contrary, he’s everything I dreamed a man should be, once upon a time. Killian Jones is talented, intelligent, funny, considerate, masculine, caring, loving, passionate, and a great conversationalist, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous (if I didn’t mention that, it would be a crime.) He’s the total package and I’m head-over-heels in love with him.

Oh, and he’s a fantastic role model for my little boy. I usually hate to admit when Mary Margaret is right, but in this case, she was unequivocally correct. He and Henry absolutely adore each other and it makes my heart so happy. They do everything together - read books, play Star Wars with lightsabers, build block towers, climb trees, ride bikes, you name it.

And Henry loves singing silly songs with his soon-to-be stepfather. What more could a mother want for her son? Except, perhaps, a sibling.

Killian and I are working on that…and thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

*********

Thank you for reading. I hope it brightened your day!

Tagging: @hookedmom​​​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​​​ @cs-rylie​​​​​​ @qualitycoffeethings​​​​​​ @grimmswan​​​​​​ @wyntereyez​​​​​​ @the-darkdragonfly​​​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​​​ @paradiselady19​​​​​​ @xarandomdreamx​​​​​​ @motherkatereloyshipper​​​​​​ @julesep3026​​​​​​ @courtorderedcake​​​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​​​ @pawshapedheart​​​​​​ @vampcoffeegyrl23​​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​​ @captainswan4life85​​​​​​ @bluewildcatfanatic​​​​​​ @eleveneitherway​​​​​​ @elfiola​​​​​​ @kday426​​​​​​ @julieenchanted-swans​​​​​​ @gingerchangeling​​​​​​ @andiirivera​​​​​​ @djlbg​​​​​​ @jonesfandomfanatic​​​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​​​ @huntressandlioness1​​​​​​ @anmylica​​​​​​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​​​​​​ @pirateherokillian​​​​​​ @cocohook38​​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​​​ @laschatzi​​​​​​ @zaharadessert​​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​​ @yasbio2015​​​​​​ @lyssapup27​​​​​​ @nachocheese-itsmycheese​​​​​​ @singersdd​​​​​​ @mie779​​​​​​ @undercaffinatednightmare​​​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​​​ @xsajx​​​​​​ @jackieorioncat​​​​​​ @teamhook​​​​​​ @bdevereaux-blanche​​​​​​ @soniccat​​​​​​ @searchingwardrobes​​​​​​ @jarienn972​​​​​​ @apiratewhopines​​​​​​​ @softkilly​​​​​​​ @goforlaunchcee​​​​​​​ @kymbersmith-90​​​​​​​ @captainswan217-blog

[shireness-says]

A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink (5/5 - Epilogue)

Summary: Two people are trained from childhood for a magical competition they don’t fully understand, whose stakes are higher than they imagine, all to be played out in a magical traveling circus. Falling in love complicates things. A CS AU of the book “The Night Circus”.

Rated M. 220 words. Also on Ao3. On Tumblr: Chapter One| Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's loved this since the beginning. You're the reason this fic was finished.

Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Tagging the usual suspects: @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @thejollyroger-writer, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @phiralovesloki, @wistfulcynic, @iverna, @stahlop, @cssns

---------------------------

The circus arrives at night.

There is never any warning, no television advertisements or event invitations on Facebook to tell you of its coming. It is simply there one morning, stark black and white and silver nestled between all the chaotic colors of modernity. 

It’s easy to get lost amongst the tents, exploring each one in turn. A young man tells fortunes in one, scattering tiny silver stars to read the future, though he will only tell you that change is coming. A young woman practices feats of illusion in another, sweeping a bow in her tails and hat when you find yourself watching just a little bit longer than anyone else. There are acrobats, and fire eaters, and tents filled with clouds and dreams bottled in jars, all of it more magical than you ever believed you’d discover.  

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” asks a voice from beside you. A glance reveals a tall, lean man with messy hair, dressed in a stark black suit with white shirt and a black tie. A member of the circus, then.

“It is,” you reply. “How can it even be real?”

The man smiles, hands you a plain white business card with silver script. Henry Mills, it reads, Proprietor.

“Welcome to the circus,” he tells you. “Let me tell you a story.”

FIN

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"Open to Interpretation" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 13/16: Rain on Your Parade Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: General Word Count: (1.8K/24K) Summary: Emma Swan is appalled at works by modern artist Killian Jones- until a handsome stranger convinces her otherwise- and after introducing himself as the artist in question, he invites her out on a date. As their relationship develops, they find that they might not be as different from each other as originally thought. Chapter Summary: Killian introduces Emma to many of his relatives and family friends. They later share a quiet moment together, which is awkwardly interrupted. Tags: au, fluff, captain swan, modern au Author's notes: for my next trick, I will cram the most random assortment of ouat cameos imaginable into this chapter /hj Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 Emma'd slept better that night than she usually did in new places, and when she made her way to the kitchen that morning, she was greeted by a kiss on the cheek and a "good morning, love" from Killian, as well as a pancake breakfast with him and his family. Afterwards they dove into last minute party preparations like decorations and getting the food ready, with his parents insisting Emma was a guest and didn't need to help, and Emma insisting that it was no big deal and she wasn't about to sit around and do nothing, and Brennan mumbling something about how if that's the case then opposites very clearly attract, as Killian had made a living off of doing just that.

 Once the rest of the guests started to trickle in, Emma then began to mingle with them, Killian introducing her to many of his relatives, former teachers, and family friends. A lot of them seemed somewhat insufferable in their own way, but there were a few kinder people among them. Most of these ones, Emma made it her goal to remember- she'd always been pretty good with names and faces, so it wasn't too hard.

 One of the first guests in attendance was "Granny" Lucas, a kindly widow who lived down the street. She apparently treated the neighborhood kids like her own grandkids, Killian mentioning how she'd let the kids play in her yard with trees to climb and dogs to run around with whenever they wanted. He mentioned as well how she'd bake them cookies and knit them scarves and blankets. To this day, from what Emma heard, Granny's backyard was the center of town for the neighborhood kids.

 They spent quite a while talking with Uncle Nemo, who gave Killian more than his fair share of teasing about the "lovely young lady friend" he'd brought with him that day, and though he seemed a bit embarrassed by his remarks, Killian still looked fondly upon his uncle. They talked for a bit about Uncle Nemo's contracting company, Nautilus Home Improvements, and how excited Liam was to soon begin his apprenticeship there. Nemo also seemed very proud of Killian's art career, saying he'd be certain to head down to the Nolan Blanchard to see his art himself at some point.

 Killian introduced Emma as well to his step-aunts, Ruel, Bell, and Astrid. Aunt Astrid brought a somewhat familiar face with her, her boyfriend Leroy. Emma quickly recognized him as the lead from the jazz band that'd played at the museum's benefit dinner, and realized that it was the family connection that had landed him that gig.

 Perhaps the most memorable person Emma met was Killian's cousin, Rogers. Killian had told Emma in advance that people always said they looked alike, though Rogers was a few older and neither of the two could see the resemblance. However, when Emma met him, she marveled at the powers that be, and how they'd been gracious enough to grant such perfect looks to two fortunate people. Rogers did look a little bit older than Killian, though he attributed the gray streaks in his hair to the stress of being a single parent, but aside from that, they looked so similar it was almost uncanny. Emma was secretly a little glad when he left early to take his daughter to dance class, because his mere presence was, admittedly, a little confusing. Even afterward, Emma almost felt it easier to pretend he was just a weird dream that never happened, as it made things a lot less confusing for herself and everyone involved.

 Sometime later, Liam introduced them both to a friend of his, a sweet young lady named Paige. Based on the side-glances and smiles Killian was giving Liam as they talked, Emma could tell that she was more than just a "friend" of Liam's- and if not, he was clearly hoping it'd head in that direction. She seemed impressed to meet a semi-famous artist, and when she mentioned having a great appreciation for the arts, Killian offered to give a personal tour of the museum should she ever come down that way, then not-so-subtly hinted that Liam was heading in that direction sometime soon and they might even consider going together. This, of course, was met by blushing and stuttering on both of the teens' parts, but neither of them seemed entirely upset by this suggestion.

 "I don't see why you said this weekend would be unbearable," Emma whispered to Killian when they'd found themselves alone in the kitchen, savoring a moment together before joining the rest of the guests back outside, "it's not so bad so far."

 "That's because you're here, Swan," Killian replied, "how could I be miserable with you by my side?"

 Emma could feel her cheeks turn red and looked down at her shoes, wondering how Killian always knew exactly what to say to fluster her so much.

 "Besides," Killian said, leaning against a kitchen counter, "my father is less critical of me when there's others around. Can't have anyone see how disappointed he is in me, now, can he?" "I'm sure he's not disappointed in you," Emma said, despite having heard quite a few statements otherwise from him in the brief time they'd spent together that morning, "and Liam and your step mom seem alright." "They're great people," Killian whispered, "but I never really knew them as family. I'm just beginning to connect with Liam, and you probably know my step mom about as well as I do by now."

 "Then maybe get to know them," Emma suggested.

 "It's harder than you'd think, love," Killian said, "the only thing we really share in common is my dad, and some days I wish we didn't."

 Emma rubbed his shoulder to comfort him.

 "Somedays I almost wonder if it'd be easier if I didn't have a family at all," he said.

 "It's not," Emma replied, so quickly she hadn't realized she was saying it until she'd already said it.

 "Great going, Emma," she thought, "what a way to comfort him- reminding him his life is so much better than yours and that he should just suck it up and deal with it? Is that what I just did? Maybe he won't notice."

 But the look on his face made it evident that he knew her response was borne of personal experience.

 "I'm so sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to…"

 She was interrupted by his arms wrapping around her, cradling her in an unexpected hug.

 "Here I am, complaining about my family," he whispered, "and you don't even have- gosh, Swan. I'm so sorry."

 "It's alright," Emma said, shifting in his arms so she could return his embrace, "just because your pain is different from mine doesn't mean it doesn't still suck."

 They looked up at each other, each reading something in each other's eyes, something that transcended words.

 "Apology accepted, love," Killian said.

 Emma smiled, so lost in him she forgot where she was- and so did he. They started to lean closer to each other, already holding each other tightly and trying very hard to remember why their lips weren't already back together– though they were already moving in that direction.

 They were soon reminded why, however, by Killian's dad's voice.

 "Killian James Jones!" Brennan said, in a tone equal parts shocked, appalled, and disappointed.

 Killian and Emma quickly snapped back to reality, letting go of each other and stepping a few feet away from each other.

 "Oh, uh," Killian said, "uh, hey, dad? Can I, uh, help you?"

 "I was going to let you know we're about to cut the cake and raise a toast," his dad said, condescension building in his voice, "but I can see you've still found some excuse to let your little brother down and bail on him yet again. Had I known bringing your friend along would be so much of a distraction, I never would've invited her."

 "I'm sorry," Emma said, her cheeks red for a different reason than usual, "I was, uh, upset about a family thing, and Killian was comforting me."

 "And do you still need to be 'comforted?'" he asked, "or is my son free to rejoin with the rest of his family?"

 "I'm good now," Emma said, needing comfort now more than ever, ashamed at embarrassing Killian in front of his father.

 "Then feel free to join us, but remember," Brennan said, "Killian can do just fine at disappointing us on his own; he doesn't need some pretty blonde distraction to help him out with that."

 "Yes, sir," Emma nodded, wanting to melt into her shoes and disappear.

 "I would appreciate if you'd show Emma a little more respect than that," Killian said, interrupting her shame to defend her.

 Emma and Brennan both looked at Killian, a little confused, though Brennan's confusion was tinted with disdain, and Emma's was tinted with awe.

 "What was that?" Brennan asked.

 "I don't mind that you don't respect me," Killian said, "I've gotten over the fact that no matter what I do, I'm always just the family disappointment. I'm okay with that. But I'd at least expect you to treat Emma with a little more dignity than that, seeing as it's not a high standard anyways. You can treat me like dirt all you want, but I draw the line at you treating Emma like that."

 The awe on Emma's face didn't fade as she watched him defend her. He'd been shrinking back in front of his father so much that to see Killian stand up to him for her was impressive, remarkable- and attractive.

 But the disdain on his dad's face didn't fade either.

 "And I'll draw the line at you disrespecting me," Brennan said, "I thought I raised you to respect your parents, and not to be so rude to your host."

 "I'd hardly say you raised me at all," Killian said, "seeing as I was raised to care about others."

 Before the argument could get any more heated, Fiona walked in.

 "Oh, there you guys are," she smiled, unaware of what had just been going on, "everyone's waiting outside."

 "It'd be rude to keep them waiting," Brennan said.

 As they followed his parents outside, Killian and Emma walked next to each other, though not quite close enough to be touching, not even on accident.

 "I'm sorry," Killian whispered.

 "Sorry?" Emma asked, "I was about to thank you for defending me."

 "I wouldn't've needed to defend you if I hadn't brought you here in the first place," Killian said, "I'm so sorry."

 "It's okay, babe," Emma said, "and I do appreciate you sticking up for me."

 "All in a day's work, love," he said.

 And despite how things had just gone so sour, Emma couldn't help but think to herself that, if him protecting her like that was all in a day's work, she wanted to spend every day she could by his side.

[cagedchoices]

Okay so this is a second attempt at trying to make kind of a age/appearance reference sheet while also tying in a small amount of verse info so here's hoping that it will actually kind of make sense this time?? Especially since I don't really use icons very much anymore and I get the feeling that sometimes it can be hard to get a feeling for what Caleb would look like outside of the context of W/estworld. Even I kinda forget from time to time so this is for my benefit as much as anyone's. Under a cut because it's long.

SEASON 3 PRE-CANON

ignore the fact that this is a 40 year old man for just a second, everyone keeps casting him in projects that involve playing characters who would've looked significantly different when they were younger and we all just. keep letting him get away with it?? (lookin at you E/l C/amino... also the B/CS cameos...)

Realistically, Caleb would've looked around THIS young when he went into the army, This was a 19/20 year old actor in this case playing a 17/18 year old character. Appearance-wise, he will look more or less like this in any verse I'm writing where he's a teenager, and also in College V1 since that's a verse where he goes to college instead of joining the army.

By the time Caleb gets OUT of the military, he'd be around 25 or 26 years old. This is what he looks like in flashbacks in the show...

This is roughly how he would look instead, although I do keep in mind that the actor was about to turn or had recently turned 30 here, he at least looked young enough to be playing a character who was 24/25 years old.

I generally envision Caleb maintaining an appearance similar to this any time I do threads in verses where he falls between the ages of 25 and 30 years old, mainly Modern V1, and maybe my yet-to-be-developed S/tar T/rek verse. When it comes to canon, it helps put into perspective just how young he still was when Serac's system completely destroyed his life. He wasn't really a kid anymore, but in a lot of ways he still kind of was.

SEASON 3 CANON

As season 3 canon goes, Caleb is 35 years old, being played by an actor who is 40 but looked pretty much the same way when he was 35. This used to be the age and appearance I'd default to for any thread based in W/estworld canon or post-season 3, and I'd also use it when I had no idea what verse I wanted to use.

SEASON 4 PRE-CANON

From the end of season 3 to roughly 1 year later, Caleb is 36 and not changed much from before, although he does seem to have let the beard grow a little longer and actually kinda be a beard. His hair grows out a little more while he's in the hospital and starts to lay flat, and he gains a small scar on his left cheek from a laceration which is held closed by butterfly stitches until it heals. We never actually see it, but I headcanon he has a scar on the right side of his abdomen, from where he got shot and had surgery to remove the bullet fragments.

I haven't used this particular appearance for much outside of a few post-season 3 threads set during the riots/war waged against Incite, as it's really not that different from season 3 canon. But maybe I should use it more?

SEASON 4 CANON

Season 4 Caleb is at least 42 years old, pretty well synced up with the actor who would've been the same age when this was filmed. I will often default to writing Caleb at this age in particular because in my experience, muses over 35yrs tend not to get as much attention as young 20-somethings or early 30-somethings, and muses over 40 frequently get even less attention in the first place.

For specific threads, I mainly use this appearance, who I call "Scruffy Caleb," in my season 4 canon and post-canon verses, and then I also use it for the verses Fidelity, Modern V2, T/LOU, P/eaky B/linders, and R/ed D/ead R/edemption. Like before, Caleb has a scar on his left cheek, and he has a scar on the right side of his abdomen. If I'm writing any sort of AU where the events of season 4 happen but human Caleb manages to survive, he gains a new scar on the left side of his abdomen.

[theartofdreaming1]

well howdy! hope you're doing well ^_^ for the wip asks, how about 🧠 & 🖊?

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

Well, since I'm currently back on fixating on OUAT/Captain Swan, I've got some CS ideas floating around in my brain... One I kinda already outlined here and then I've had a niggling idea of a Modern/Mermaid AU (scientist breaking out a captive mermaid is somehow calling out to me, I dunno)

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Y'know, I think I'll post 2 snippets, just because I feel like it ;)

The beginning of the next chapter of "This Is Not Over, But Just the Beginning":

Chris Hackett led Laura to a hidden room inside the lodge that could only be accessed through a closet in his quarters. (At this point, there was no denying that this guy was related to Travis — what was it with the Hacketts and their ridiculous, over-the-top attempts at secrecy?!?) The cramped hideaway into which the camp leader owner ushered Laura only contained a cluttered desk and chair, a pinboard that had a few notes and photographs attached to it and a few filing cabinets. “There you go,” Chris Hackett said, his eyes scanning the room, “you should be safe here.” Laura wasn’t exactly convinced that their definitions of ‘safe’ were exactly the same, but she guessed that “creepy-ass hick-bunker” was about as safe as she could get in Werewolf Territory™️.  “Sure.”

And an excerpt of a Batman/Bruce Wayne birthday story I've been working for quite some time and I really love how this particular segment turned out (even if it made me cry while I was writing it):

Once his bedroom door had clicked shut and the sound of Alfred’s receding footsteps had made it clear that he was alone, Bruce poked his head out of his blanket cocoon. The now nine-year-old boy rubbed his red-rimmed eyes warily before his gaze landed on the breakfast tray on his bedside table. In the center of the tray, the customary cupcake with its lit candle drew Bruce’s attention. With empty eyes the boy observed droplets of wax making their way down the small striped candle, prevented from spilling onto the immaculate frosting only by a small plastic candle holder. It didn’t take long until the candle holder was completely caked in wax, each new droplet more likely than the next to finally run over and mar Bruce’s perfect birthday cupcake.  Bruce’s gaze flicked towards the dancing flame; to prevent this tarnish, he’d only have to blow out the candle and make a wish -- No. There was only one thing Bruce wished for, with all his heart, and this wish, he knew, could never come true. The expression on the young boy’s face hardened. Determinedly, he turned around, his back now to the cupcake and candle as he settled back into his blankets. It wasn’t long until the smell of a snuffed-out candle reached Bruce’s nose. ‘Good,’ the boy thought grimly. There was nothing happy about this birthday anyway.

[xpumpkindumplingx]

Whatever you do, don’t imagine this precious bean...

coming by to pick up this equally adorable cinnabon...

for their first date.  

And whatever you do, don’t imagine this look on David’s face when he realizes his little girl is in love with the boy who lives down by the bay.

Or how about this darling dork, always so vigilant in his task of keeping his little younger brother out of trouble... 

until the day his eyes land on this delightfully peculiar lass with the hair almost as blonde as the snow itself...

and don’t think for one minute about how this shimmering snowflake will try all she can to not let Liam get to her. She has a duty after all, look after her sister Anna and keep her Aunt Ingrid’s house in order. Elsa certainly has no time to entertain the thought of falling in love with boys. Especially ones with menacing brown curls and eyes as blue as the sea after a storm. 

[justkending]

Moral of the Story (Prologue)

Series Summary: From childhood friends, to highschool sweethearts, the two naive, young, and lovestruck teens decided the best way to keep a strong relationship during college would be to marry right out of highschool. No one batted an eye at the idea as everyone knew they were soulmates. However, college is a big step in a person’s life. You learn new things about yourself, you make new friends, find new hobbies… And maybe being newly weds and going to different colleges across the states wasn’t the best plan… After a falling out, and a tragic heartbreaking divorce, the two now hold grudges for how the other handled the whole thing in the past. Neither not really knowing both sides of the story. 10 years later, and they both get a call from the lawyers office that settled their divorce. Somehow the papers never went through and the divorce was never completed. So now, the exes, or should we say husband and wife, have to meet back up after all these years to settle their failed marriage once and for all. (This summary will be shorter in other chapters. I just needed to get the full concept out there;)

A/N (repeat): So the other day while I was doing my hair (quite the process), I was playing music and the song Moral of the Story by Ashe came on. Mind you, I’ve heard this song hundreds of times, but for some reason, this time I got a major story idea! Listening to the lyrics brought me to this new series. Of course, the lengthy summary above will give you an idea of what came to my brain, but I recommend you listen to the song still because it plays a big part in my thought process:) (Plus it’s a good song;) Enjoy and please do not hesitate to share your thoughts and comments with me! I love each and every single one<3

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N (Modern AU)

Word Count: 1200+

Prologue:

"Melody, have the papers for the Bee's Knees company come in yet?"

"Uh, no. But I can call them again and see if they faxed it or sent over a physical copy though," Melody answered from her desk, already typing away to find the company.

"Perfect. We have a meeting with a recycling plant next week and I want to get everything set before we go in with them," Y/N nodded, coming out from her office with a file in her hands. She turned to her assistant at the front desk who was about 20 emails deep and already finding the issue. "Hey, you're not coming in tomorrow, right?"

"Um, no, no. I am. I rescheduled that date," she answered bashfully as if she had been caught in the act of something.

"Melody..." Y/N drug out, hand on her hip.

"What? I- He understood. He said he was fine moving it to Saturday," the young woman shrugged, never looking back at her boss that was clearly sending her a motherly stare.

"You're already over your 40 hours this week, and you've rescheduled with him, what? 3 times now?" Y/N moved to the front of the desk so the young brunette had to make eye contact with her.

"Yes," she answered hesitantly.

"Is it just nerves or something else?" Y/N smirked.

"I'm not nervous... It's just been a while since I've had time for a date."

"Two things about what you just said in the past minute. One, clearly this guy likes you because he's rescheduled with you this many times and hasn't called it off yet. So if you're nervous about it not going well on his end, I think you're safe," Y/N pointed a finger at her.

"But-," Melody started.

"Second," Y/N cut off with a raised eyebrow. "I'm giving you time to go on a date and you're still not taking it. Work is no longer an excuse."

Melody stopped avoiding eye contact and looked up at the Y/H/C hair woman leaning on her reception desk.

"You've been talking with my mom again, haven't you?" she sighed.

"I promised I'd take care of you. So yes, I have. And though her reasoning for you dating is because she wants grandbabies, I just want you to have fun and live your life. You're 22. Don't waste your young years being scared."

"Ugh, fine. I'll text him now and see if he's still available for tonight," she groaned.

"Perfect!" Y/N grinned in victory as she started to walk back to her office. "I expect the details in the morning," she winked before she walked in.

"Oh, Y/N!" Melody stopped her. "A message came for you while you were in that last meeting."

"Who from?" Y/N quirked an eyebrow, moving back to the desk.

"Uh, I don't really know. Didn't sound familiar, but here's the name and number they said to call back from," she answered, handing her a note.

Y/N took the small paper and looked it over. Her face dropped and her eyes widened.

"You ok? Is it someone you know?" the young assistant asked, noticing what looked like horror on her face.

"Um, yeah. Yeah, an old acquaintance of mine," Y/N tried to quickly brush off. "Um, I'm going to take this. Can you hold any calls and if anyone comes to talk, tell them to just email me?"

"Oh, ok. Yeah, I'll take care of it," Melody nodded.

"Thank you."

Rushing back to her office and quickly shutting her door, she raced to her phone. She read the business name again, not sure if she was dreaming or if it was a hallucination.

Nope. Hammer Attorney was written in Melody's perfect penmanship on the paper with a number that held an area code from New York. A place she never thought she would hear from again and from a town she hadn't visited in almost 10 years._________________

"Buck, did you tell Fury about getting those new water therapy machines?" Steve shouted from his room.

"We're at home, Steve. Why are we talking about work?" Bucky groaned as he slouched on the couch. A beer in hand and a documentary with I Survived stories playing in front of him.

Steve came in from around the corner looking down at his phone in hand before moving his eye line to his roommate.

"Because I just got a call from the night crew saying that the last one that was working, finally went out tonight while they were running it for some test," Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Ugh, you would think that a facility run by a billionaire who literally makes his money on high-tech machines, wouldn't have to ask for those kinds of things," Bucky groaned, grabbing his own phone and going through emails. "Let me check to see if the email went through. He wasn't in office when I went to tell him."

As he was sorting through the hundreds of emails sent back and forth just this week alone, he found the reply message.

"Yeah, management confirmed it. They should be in by Saturday it looks like. Guess Stark was still working out the kinks to a new one and was waiting to send one our way until the last one died to get more time on his newest model."

Steve nodded before walking to the kitchen and typing Bucky's response to the other crew members.

"The man is always finding new ways to upgrade them before he can even send them to us."

Just as Bucky was about to throw his phone to the side again though, it started ringing. Looking at the caller ID, he didn't recognize the unknown number. It was from in-state but in his hometown area of Brooklyn. He pinched his eyebrows together confused at the call, but answered it anyway, thinking it must be someone from home.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is this Mr. Barnes?" The other voice answered.

"Yes, this is him. Who's this?" he asked, sitting up a little and putting the beer on the end table.

"My name is Matthew Murdock. I work at Nelson and Murdock Law firm," he went on. Bucky shook his head not knowing what that was supposed to mean. "Well, you may actually know us previously as Hammer Attorney. We recently just took over their business after some fraud issues."

Bucky's heart stopped. He knew what that name meant.

"I hate to inform you, but we were going through some of their old files. Ones we were informed could be incomplete or done completely incorrectly due to little care in the actual cases, but more so in taking the money."

"Incomplete cases?" Bucky said softly. His brain was still trying to wrap around the conversation.

"Yes, unfortunately, it looks like a lot of cases having to deal with divorces that the past owners handled, were done strictly in order to launder money. They weren't actually certified, nor trained in handling divorce settlements."

Bucky froze. Eyes wide. Mouth agape.

He stuttered out a response when the man on the other line didn't continue.

"A-And talking about incomplete divorce settlements, you called because..." Bucky knew. He needed to hear it out loud because if he didn't, it wasn't true. It couldn't be.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Barnes, but it looks as though you and your wife, Y/N Y/L/N or sorry, Y/N Barnes, are actually not divorced."

(I will release the first chapter at the beginning of next week! That way I can give myself some time to write more chapters before sharing it!)

Moral of the Story Taglist:

@taylormobley @ximaginx @vicmc624

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555  @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses​ @pham-tastical 

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon​ @lauravicente​ @kakakatey​ @traceyaudette​ @notyourtypicalrose​  @laneygthememequeen​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sandlee44​ @thorne93​ @thefaithfulwriter​ @essie1876​ @greyeyedsmile14​ @capsiclehan​  @xostephanie​ @averyrogers83​ @awesomenursingstudent​ @gh0stgurl​ @cs-please​ @carls1022​ @jjlevin​ @rainbowkisses31​ @carls1022​ @anise-d-castle6​ @deannotmoose​ @their-bibliophile​ @kitkatd7​ @willowbleedsonpaper​ @mariaenchanted​ @snffbeebee​ @couldabeenamermaid​ @rebekahdawkins​ @alyispunk​

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker​ @charmedbysarge​ @jbarness​ @bellamy-barnes​ @katiaw2​ @aikeia​

[elytrafemme]

obsessed w/ me having so many scenes i want to shove into my modern AUs but i have to carefully filter btwn what would work best as a young adult in an urban or rural setting (origins fic), what works best for like 16-20 y.a. in metropolis setting exclusively (superpowers), teens in suburban setting given plot contraints already existent (cs), nd what works for kids pre teens or late teens in the middle of fucking nowhere (horror fic). like im just sat here agonizing over how much i miss swimming pools so im like Ok which one of u has that . 

[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 

[snowbellewells]

CS Fic Rec Monday: "(not so) young, drunk and alone" by: @donteattheappleshook

Oh my goodness! I just loved this fic - it alternately tugged at all my heartstrings and continually made me smile (and yes, sometimes chuckle at poor drunk, self-deprecating Killian's expense!) @donteattheappleshook does such an amazing job at bringing these modern AU versions of Killian and Emma to life, and yet somehow still making them seem so real and true to the characters we love, even in a different setting and situation. **Plus, bonus points for a live Graham that Emm is clearly still good friends with!! <3

Don't miss this nice long one shot - it's this perfect thing to relax with and warm your heart on some cold evening this week!! You should absolutely check it out.

Read it here: "(not so) young, drunk and alone" by: @donteattheappleshook

[searchingwardrobes]

For the Salty OuaT Asks, would you mind doing 7, 11, 20 & 23?

So sorry I am just now getting to this! I got busy with stuff. Anyways . . . 

#7 Is there anything you used to like but can’t stand now?

I liked Outlaw Queen in 3B, but the Marian storyline ruined it for me. It just didn’t seem to fit with Robin’s personality to cheat on his wife while she was frozen. I mean, it’s like stories you hear of people cheating on someone while they are dying of cancer. Just ick. It’s also when I started despising Regina. In season one, she was a fantastic, “love to hate her” villain. Then in season three she really started to grow into a wonderful redemption arc, but again, it was all obliterated by the Marian storyline. And is everyone just supposed to ignore the fact that if Emma hadn’t rescued her, Regina would have murdered Robin’s wife? The writers just didn’t think all that mess through. 

In modern AUs or canon divergence, I will still write Outlaw Queen, however. Just ignoring the mess the writers made of that ship in season four onward.

#11 Is there an unpopular character that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why? 

Hmmm . . . I have to really think about this one. Most characters I like aren’t universally unpopular, just divisive. I like Alice, even though some adamantly don’t. I like the name Hope for the CS baby, though some passionately despise it. I think Zelena was a fun and campy villain (no need to redeem some villains, Once, just let some revel in their evil) while others think she’s too over the top. I thought Lucy was cute and the perfect daughter for Henry (though I was indifferent about Jacinda), while others found her irritating. So yeah, that’s all I’ve got. 

#20 What is the purest ship in the fandom?

I think this is really easy - Snowing. Without them, why would you even watch Once? And though they aren’t perfect, they are still adorable #relationship goals.

#23 Unpopular character that you love?

Maybe I’m confused, but this seems really similar to #11. But, to go a different direction, I love young Baelfire. I feel like he is almost a completely different character from adult Neal. I loved his relationship with the Darlings, I felt his pain when his father became the Dark One, and I loved his relationship with Hook. What happened to him? He grew up to be just like his father! Both cowards, both willing to turn on the people they claim to love when it’s more convenient for them, and both emotionally abusive to the women they are in relationships with. (Yes, I stand by that statement for Neal. The condescending way he talks to Emma will forever irk me.) And am I the only one who thinks the actors for young Baelfire / adult Neal don’t even look alike? 

Send me a salty ask!  https://searchingwardrobes.tumblr.com/post/636597486272872448/salty-ask-list

[let-it-raines]

Yellow Flowers In Your Hair (1/3)

Emma Nolan has been raised in a privileged household and has never wanted for anything other than freedom to live her life on her own terms. Her parents want that for her as well, at least to a certain extent, but when her father unexpectedly passes, Emma is left with two options: marry a man she doesn't love or lose the home filled with memories of her beloved father as well as memories of her first love, a man with blue eyes and a kind smile who left for the Navy years ago and hasn’t been home since.

But what if her first love were to come back? 

Rating: Teen (for now)

a/n: Hi, hey, hello! This is based off of the two prompt game “Historical + Grief + Star-crossed lovers” and @shardminds​ picked it as her fic as a part of my fic giveaway! She passed up on more of Indirect Deposit for this, so, you know, I hope you all enjoy it. lol. If you know me, you know I’m a modern AU girl. This is decidedly not a modern AU, so we’ll see how this goes!

To @shardminds​, you’re a sweetheart, and somehow you’re getting three parts of this story much faster than I anticipated! ❤️

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tag list: @snowbellewells @captainsjedi @wellhellotragic @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven  @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81​

-/-

A soft breeze blows over tall blades of grass, causing them to sway and for the leaves on the trees above to shake in a quiet rustle that mutes most other sounds of nature. There are birds chirping, but they’re quiet, their songs not as beautiful and vibrant as they usually are. Somber. Emma would describe the songs as a somber melody that causes an ache in the heart as it searches for a happy tune amongst the darkness.

And yet maybe that is her own mindset. Maybe that is all in her mind’s own making. If she’s honest with herself, which she hasn’t been lately, she knows that the muted sounds and the slightly grayer sky are all in her mind. In actuality, the sky is a vibrant blue, one that painters wish to recapture in their work, and the birds are likely chirping happy tunes that one could skip to or dance to at a picnic. The sun shines brightly overhead, warm enough to coat Emma’s skin in a glow that should bring life back to her, and yet Emma still feels a chill over her flesh, little bumps rising on her arms despite the knitted coat she has hanging loosely off her shoulders.

What today is can only be described as beautifully pleasant. It is a day Emma has experienced many times in the nearly twenty-four years of her life, and while otherwise it should be a normal day where she rides her horse or spends her afternoon in the study reading one of the novels her father has brought back for her from his travels or simply from a trip to the market, today is anything but a normal day in her life.

Today is very much the worst day of her life, and she is so overcome with grief that she is not sure if her mind has even been able to wrap around it all.

Truthfully, though, Emma may not be able to wrap her mind around today being the worst day of her life because she has spent the last six years thinking that another day was the worst day of her life. She has spent six years replaying the day where Killian walked off of the estate to travel to the Naval base where he enlisted, and having that day not be the worst is…unimaginable even though her heart has never been more broken than it is in this moment.  

Everything about that day is still so clear in her mind. Her memories can replay the sad curve of Killian’s lips that quickly turned into a reassuring smile when the tears started to fall from her eyes. The blue of Killian’s eyes and the way they sparkled in the sunlight, the complete lack of stubble on his face, the new cut of his hair, the deep accent of his voice that was so different than how it sounded when he was becoming the man that he is - it is all so clear in her mind even though it is a distant memory.

She misses him. She misses the way that he’d sneak her apples from the orchard as if they were not already owned by her family. She misses the way that he’d sneak away from work to come sit by her at the lake, the two of them talking until he absolutely had to go back. He used to always say he was simply doing a bit of gardening, and while he would occasionally pick a yellow flower for her, there was no gardening involved.

They always were weeds and not flowers anyhow, but Emma has found that she has a fondness for pretty things that most people deem unworthy because they are not expensive or proper things.

She misses his laugh and the way his skin looked under the sunlight, especially after a summer of Killian spending his days outside. She misses the way his lips felt against hers in stolen kisses that had her cheeks painted red and a constant smile painted on her mouth even when she was supposed to be looking serious.

She misses every little thing about him, and she’s been counting the days he’s been gone. He told her that he would wait for her, that not a day would go by where he would not think of her, and he asked her if she would do the same.

Of course, she would. She has, even if she knows that in reality, her parents would never allow her to marry someone who is under their employ. She is supposed to marry a man of status, of worth equal to that of hers if not more.

Status has never been much of one for love.

To hell with status and being proper when she has never been one for conventional methods and traditions anyways. Growing up with Killian by her side likely aided in that.

Emma always thought that the day that Killian left would be the hardest day of her life.

She never assumed that it would be eclipsed by the death of her father if only because her father has been too young and healthy to die.

And yet, he has.

She…can’t. It’s not real. This isn’t real. She loves him too much for him to be gone.

Her mother had been sitting in the parlor knitting, something she always seems to be doing, and Emma was gardening by the front gate, something she always seems to be doing as well.

(The senior Mr. Jones is no longer around to work, replaced by new grounds-keep, but everyone always seems to forget the flowers in the front. Killian never did, and neither will Emma.)

Everything had been normal, happy, and when Emma saw Will Scarlet walking toward their front gate, she thought nothing of it other than that he was here to see Belle. The two of them have been courting, so he’s been around quite often. But the melancholy look on his face immediately told her that he was not at the house to see the woman he fancied, and when he very quietly told Emma that there had been an accident, her heart plummeted into her stomach as her legs crumpled under her dress.

No.

No.

No.  

The scream she emitted still echoes in her mind, the shrill hoarseness and utter heartbreak written there, but nothing will ever compare to the way her mother had collapsed when she heard the news. Her mother, who despite all of her shortcomings in understanding that Emma does not want to be a proper lady whose only purpose in life is to serve her husband, is a wonderful woman full of strength, love, and hope for a good life. Her mother who Emma very much loves and her mother who was very much in love with her father.

Emma thought Killian leaving to provide for himself was the hardest day, was a loss that nothing could be compared to, but there is nothing as eternal as death.

Mary Margaret Nolan, a woman who has done nothing in her life except love everyone around her, especially her beloved husband, David Nolan, lost everything on a day that was just like any other.

The love her parents have for each other…or rather the love that they had, is the love that Emma always strived for. When she went into town or talked with her school friends about their parents, most of them talked of them sleeping in different bedrooms or not talking at the breakfast table. Many even mentioned the maids that their fathers would sleep with.

Not David and Mary Margaret Nolan.

They always slept in the same bedroom, in the same bed actually, and as long as her father was not traveling for work, they sat next to each other at the breakfast table chatting and laughing and being genuinely happy. Her father knew how her mother took her tea, and her mother knew that her father enjoyed having the hair at his neck scratched.

It was genuine love in a world where marrying someone of equal or better stature is more important than marrying someone who makes you happy, and their love is exactly why Emma grew up believing in it, even if she did have a few doubts about it all.

Just because she is the product of genuine love doesn’t mean she was guaranteed to find it.

But she did, and he’s gone now as well.

The loss of the two most wonderful men in her life has painted the blue sky gray, but today, her paintbrush is covered in black.

Her beloved papa is dead, and all she wants in this world is to hold him and have him hold her as well, staying as the warm and steady presence who has guided her life.

-/-

“Mother, do you want to go for a ride this afternoon?”

Emma asks the question, but she doesn’t get much of a reply, a non-committal hum as Mary Margaret stirs her tea in her cup and picks at her muffin that Granny baked for them this morning.

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” Emma sighs, grabbing a muffin herself and plopping herself down on a stool at the kitchen table. “The weather is so nice outside today, and it’ll be good to get some exercise in – for us and the horses. We can even take a picnic. You can pick a book, and I’ll read it to you.”

There’s still no reply, her mother’s focus on her tea intense, and it’s starting to grate on Emma’s nerves. It’s been three months since her father died, and while it has been anything but easy, a bit of color is repainted into their lives every day.

But damn if Emma isn’t tired of playing the part of a proper daughter when her mother sometimes doesn’t even pay attention to her. It’s usually only in the mornings, Mary Margaret returning to her normal chipper self as the sun continues to rise in the sky, and even if it is selfish, Emma would like to be able to do something happy for once.

Today is already a particularly hard day for her as she received news that Liam Jones had been married, and she did not receive an invitation to the wedding. It’s fine, not that big of an insult, except that Liam once worked for them and lived on their property.

Oh, and the fact that Liam Jones very much knows that Emma was involved with his brother.

No one else knew except for Liam and possibly Emma’s maid, Ruby, as her parents forbade her to court with anyone they did not pick for her – which very much seems the opposite of what they should have done with their true love – and she expected to at least receive an invitation to the wedding ceremony.

That is not what hurts her, however. What hurts her is the thought of Killian being within miles of her and not coming to see her.

How could he do that?

Emma is not even sure that he was there, she has no reason to think that he wouldn’t come to see her, but her mind has begun to imagine every scenario. Over the months, she has told herself that she will not think of how sad missing Killian makes her because the pain of the loss of her father is worse, and yet thoughts of him still manages to creep into the corners of the pages of her mind.

So, today she needs her mother to be her mother, to be her friend. She needs the two of them to have a nice day together and then maybe return home and invite Granny and Ruby to sit with them at dinner.

Ruby has been her closest companion throughout everything, and if she can make Mary Margaret laugh in the way that she makes Emma laugh, it will be a good dinner indeed.

“Mother? Shall I go prepare the horses?”

Mary Margaret finally blinks up at her, her lips downturned, and Emma’s heart sinks into her stomach once more. It may as well take up permanent residence there lately. This morning is very obviously a bad one for her mother.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret sighs, placing her cup of tea down onto the table, “I have something I need to tell you.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes – I mean, no.” Her mother sighs again before straightening her back and plastering a very obviously forced smile on her face. “I received notice two days ago that we could lose the house and all of the land. I don’t know how this slipped my mind, but it did. I was too…after I…my mind has been muddled with other thoughts, and I didn’t think about the fact that we are not allowed to own land.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re women, sweetheart.”

The words click in Emma’s mind, and while her heart has still dropped, it’s beating much more quickly now. The realization as to what her mother is saying causes rage to boil inside of her, and suddenly riding off into the woods on her horse sounds like the best option for her to do.

“No,” Emma protests, shaking her head as she angrily rips the covering on the muffin before tossing the pieces onto the table. “Fuck no.”

“Language,” Mary Margaret gasps as if that is the worst thing to be happening in this moment.

“What at all does my language matter, Mummy?” Emma groans, slapping her hands against her thighs before curling her fingers around the material of her dress so that her knuckles turn white. “What does it matter about being proper when we are going to lose our home simply because we were not born as men? What about a cock makes a man superior to me?”

“Emma!”

Emma rolls her eyes, knowing that she’s probably mortifying her mother but not caring. Her mother knows that Emma is right, but the language is obviously what is doing her in.

“We can’t lose the house. We can’t. There has to be some way. Papa’s memory is painted all over this place. When I walk into this kitchen, I see the two of you smiling and talking to each other as you drink your tea. When I go into the study, I see him reading me a book, using all of his voices to make me laugh even if it made you roll your eyes. When I walk up the stairs and my foot touches the step that creaks, I remember him telling me that it was simply the house speaking back telling me how glad it was that we were all home. I can’t – we can’t – ”

The words disappear from her as a sob overwhelms her, clogging her throat and making the air escape from her body. She can’t breathe. She can’t. It’s too hard to breathe in the air of this home and the familiar smell that is so uniquely her family because soon she will not be able to breathe in this scent.

No. No. No.

Tears sting in her eyes, and while she manages to regain some air flow, everything that she sees is through the tear-stained lenses that her mother has been wearing for months now.

How is it that she has already lost nearly everything and yet the feelings of anguish do not come until now?

Slight arms wrap around her, and Emma would know the slight arms of her mother anywhere. She would know that scent of her, the warmth. She would know everything, and despite the fact that Emma is going to ruin her mother’s dress, she presses her face into her shoulder and sobs as Mary Margaret runs her hands up and down Emma’s back.

“We’re not going to lose the house, Emma,” she promises. “There are ways around it.”

“What possible ways are there around it? We cannot suddenly become men.”

“But I can marry one.”

Emma’s head immediately rises from her mother’s shoulder, and after blinking away the tears, she finally sees the way her mother’s cheeks are faintly stained with the path of tears this morning as well.

“Mummy, no,” Emma protests, reaching up to cup her mother’s cheeks. “You can’t.”

Mary Margaret sadly nods her head. “I have to. It’s not love, but it will be a way for us to keep the house. I have already found a man, a wealthy man, who is willing, and I – ”

“I’ll get married,” she blurts out, the words rolling off of her tongue without her realizing the repercussions of them. “I am getting older. I’d have to be married soon anyhow, and I am the heir to the Nolan estate. If I’m married, it goes to my husband, and we can keep the house and have a place to live. You loved Papa too much to marry someone else, especially when you still sleep with his shirts.”

Emma thought the only man she would ever marry would be Killian, but if these are their options, Emma will be the one to make the sacrifice.

Killian may never come back anyhow. It’s been years, and the waiting may never end.

Saving her mother is the most important thing right now.

Saving her family.

-/-

The man she is to marry is named Neal Cassidy, son of banker Robert Cassidy.

He is perfectly nice, if not boring and a tad bit too…brutish for Emma. He’s not harsh or violent, of course, but he does believe that a woman is better to be seen and not heard. To him, she is nothing but a pretty thing to keep on his arm, and Emma knows it. It sends a shiver down her spine and makes her blood heat in her veins, but there is nothing she can do about it.

This is the only way to save their home and to save her mother from more heartbreak.

If she has to marry Neal Cassidy, she will.

They will probably never be in love, but she doesn’t want to be in love with him. And as long as she is able to spend time with her mother and her friends without him keeping her away, that is fine with her.

It is not the life she grew up imagining, but life never does seem to go to the plan of a woman when the world is designed for them not to be treated the same as a man.

-/-

The lawyers and bankers give them an additional two months of staying in the house when they find out Emma is engaged to be married. It’s not much, but it’s more than enough as summer fades away and the leaves begin to change colors before falling to the ground. The blue skies that were around all summer, filling Emma with the slightest bit of hope, have morphed into the shades of gray she was imagining.

Her imagination has very much become her reality as Ruby and her mother tie her corset to make Emma lose all of her breath with her ribs being crushed so tightly.

She never has been one to wear a corset on a daily basis, and on the occasions that she does, it is usually miserable.

Today, on her wedding day, it is much worse.

That also may have to do with how much Emma doesn’t want to get married, but she is holding that secret closer to her heart.

The dress she is wearing is long and covered in white satin with a bit of lace that falls off of her sleeves. Every bit of her is covered, which feels unnatural, and autumn flowers of colors orange and yellow are threaded into the plait of her hair as makeup is painted onto her skin and her lips. She looks beautiful even if she doesn’t feel that way, and she’s sure that everyone at the church will think the same.

It does not matter to her, but it matters to society.

After all of her preparations are finished, including a conversation about the marriage bed that Emma most definitely does not need to have with her mother, the two of them load up into the carriage that Mr. Cassidy has provided for them and begin their ride to the church in the center of town. Emma stares out the window the entire time, watching buildings and people go by, and while she knows that it’s not true, she feels as if her own freedom is disappearing when this is the only way for her to keep that freedom.

Reaching for her mother, Emma intertwines their fingers and squeezes, needing reassurance and a reminder of why she’s doing this, before looking out the window again.

And that’s when she sees him.

“Stop the carriage,” Emma screams out to the driver up front, and within seconds the horses slow down in their speed, the gravel not crunching as loudly underneath their hoofs.

“Emma, what are you doing?”

“I,” she starts, but she doesn’t know the words to finish her sentence. “I need to get some fresh air outside of the carriage.”

“We’ll be late for the wedding.”

Damn the wedding, she thinks.

“I’ll only be a moment,” she says instead before opening the carriage door and stepping out on her own, knowing that she’s stepped on her gown.

He hasn’t seen her yet, but she’s most definitely seen him.

He’s…different than before. His shoulders are much broader, the body under his clothes obviously more muscled, and the angle of his jawline is sharp enough to cut skin. He’s also covered in scruff. He used to be before, of course, but it was more in patches and his father would often make him shave. His hair is shorter, more clean cut, and she likes the way that it looks over the top of his Naval uniform.

And with everything that’s different, she knows that the blue of his eyes and the brightness of his smile are going to be the same. How could they ever be diminished?

“Killian,” she whispers, her voice unable to get any louder than that.

If it were anyone else, she knows that he wouldn’t have heard her, but he turns to look at her with parted lips and widened eyes that have tears already forming in Emma’s.

This is all a dream. It has to be. It’s been nearly seven years now, and while she had received letters years ago, ones she had passed off as being nothing more than friendly communication, she has never been able to send one in return since his location seemed to always be changing. She always sent them anyways, hoping that he would somehow receive one, but she had no indication that he ever did.

She was always too afraid to ask Liam.

“Emma.”

His voice is exactly the same, still that low, deep timber, and it sends shivers down her spine as she picks up the bottom of her dress and walks forward until she’s colliding into the firmness of his body, her arms wrapping around his neck and his arms wrapping around her waist. He’s different. His body feels and smells different, but there is an undeniable warmth that could never change and could never be replicated.

“Did you miss me?” Killian chuckles into her neck, his breath warm against her skin, and it only makes her embrace him more tightly.

She cannot breathe, and there is no telling if that’s because of how undeniably ecstatic she is or if it is because of the corset she’s wearing.

The corset.

Underneath her wedding dress.

Oh fuck.

She’s supposed to be getting married in under an hour.

Can she even do that anymore?

“Every single day of my life, it feels like,” she whispers back, pulling back so that her hands can cup his cheeks, fingers tracing underneath his eyelids so that she can study him. There’s a scar on his cheek now. That wasn’t there before. “Where have you been?”

“Everywhere, I believe,” he laughs, that same wonderful laugh. “I’ve been in America for the past two years, but I was in France for a little while, Denmark before that. It’s been a whirlwind, Emma, and I want to tell you about it all later. I – ”

His eyes seem to finally take in her appearance – the makeup, intricate hair, white veil, and the very telling white gown that she very much wishes would burn up into flames right now for the way that it makes the blue of Killian’s eyes dull into a gray that she never wants to see again.

“I,” he repeats, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “I returned home yesterday. Liam has gotten married a few months prior, you see, and he’s offered me work in the shipping business that his wife’s father owns. I wanted to come and see you as fast as I could, but then…I heard about your father, love. I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes flutter, lashes blinking away the tears, and Emma can practically feel her mother’s gaze on her behind her back.

“I am as well,” Emma sighs, her happiness continuing to fade away. “I miss him every day.”

“I imagine you’d want him here today especially.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Killian blinks his eyes closed, his long, dark lashes landing against his tanned cheeks before he shakes his head the slightest bit. “Why, it is apparently your wedding day, my love.”

[alexandralyman]

Bite Me

Halloween may be over now, but if you’re still in the mood for a bit of darkness then I’ve got this not so little CS vampire AU you might be interested in. 

Once upon a time Emma Swan was a princess. But that was before she died and was reborn as a vampire, forever thirsting for human blood. Now she works nights as a bounty hunter, chasing down bail jumpers with her enhanced senses and she's out on the hunt after a mysterious dark-haired man whose blood calls to her like none before. Can she resist taking a bite?

Now a few little notes about this, it has an open ending but I’m considering it a complete one shot, I just needed to get the creative process flowing again and this was the idea that came to me. I’m using “Rogers” as Killian’s alias, which I know is touchy for people who didn’t like S7, this is still a Captain Swan story though and no S7 characters appear. It’s a vampire AU, so there’s biting and blood drinking but I don’t think it’s super graphic or heavy on the gore factor.

Words: 8300, Rating: M AO3 Link  FF. net Link

                                                bite me

Once upon a time, Emma Swan was a princess.

Not one that was famous, or noteworthy, or of any great importance. Her royal house had been a minor one and was long forgotten, from when what was now Germany had been ruled by a collection of provincial dynasties and grand duchies, but she'd been born a real, actual princess, in a castle nestled deep in a forest of ancient myths and folklore that warned pretty young maidens not to wander alone in the woods after dark.

She'd died as a princess too, in the arms of the man who'd hid his sharp teeth behind a lazy smile and lured her away from the safety of the tall stone walls to take both her virginity and something far more precious from her on one moonless night, centuries ago.

Her life was supposed to have been a fairy tale, of balls and banquets and happily ever after with a handsome prince.

Now if was a horror story, of blood and death and a thirst that could never truly be quenched.

Emma Swan was a vampire, and she was on the hunt.

For a bail jumper, not for blood (although she'd take a little of that too, a girl had to eat, after all) just another scumbag who hadn't shown up for court and disappeared into the night. Bounty hunting was the perfect job for a vampire, she was a predator at heart, and she could set her own hours and work exclusively after sunset without raising any suspicion. And if a skip was a little paler once she'd brought them in and collected her reward? Well, no one ever noticed the tiny little bite marks on their necks.

She hadn't drunk for days, too preoccupied with her latest case to hunt for mere food. Not that it was ever that hard to find sustenance, Emma wasn't a princess anymore but she'd been bestowed many other titles by men over the years, a doll, a looker, a fox, a babe. It wasn't difficult to entice one into the woods, or an alley, or back to her apartment for "coffee,", letting them think they had been the one to seduce her and then turning the tables on them once they were alone and there was no one to hear them scream when the sexy, flirty blonde turned into a stone-cold bloodsucker. Sometimes she just drank, piercing a vein with teeth that went pointed and sharp as fangs at the scent of the blood moving just beneath the surface of the skin, rich, red elixir that was thick on her tongue and gave eternal life to the dead and damned. They stopped screaming then, Emma could make it feel good, so good that they surrendered willingly into her embrace and would let her drain them completely dry if she wanted to, although she hadn't done that in years. Too messy, to have to find a way to dispose of the body afterwards, and too complicated these days to have meals suddenly go "missing."

If she wanted to play with her food then she'd take them to bed first, on the nights when the need between her legs equalled her hunger and it was even more satisfying to fuck and feast, sometimes doing both at the same time.

That's what *he* had done, coaxing her thighs open with his pretty lies and false promises on that night so long ago, stealing her innocence before sliding his fangs into her slender neck, only he hadn't stopped when her heart did.

Either way, Emma made sure they forgot exactly what had been done to them and they woke up in the morning with nothing more than a headache from the blood loss and what they thought was a dream of a beautiful woman with lips stained crimson and skin as pale as moonlight.

She didn't dream, not since her last one turned into a nightmare from which she'd never woken up.

The bar where they were supposed to meet sounded like a dive (The Dark Hollow? Seriously, what kind of name was that?) but it was surprisingly upscale, sleek and modern, the kind of place where all the liquor was top shelf and the staff could double as models. Still, Emma turned her share of heads when she walked in and she could hear heartbeats around the room speed up as the men (and a few of the women) took her in. Tight dress, towering heels, tousled curls, she was dressed to kill and more than capable of actually doing it. The urge never fully went away, but tonight she'd have to settle for the satisfaction of only capturing her prey instead. She quickly scanned the dim interior and zeroed in on a man sitting smack dab in the middle of the room, seated alone at a table for two. As if he sensed her arrival he looked up from his phone, meeting her gaze and giving a smile that was the most dangerous thing in the room after her.

John Rogers. It was almost certainly an alias, probably a bit of identity theft on top of the charges of stealing from his employer, Gold Enterprises. He had dark hair, just the right amount of stubble on a jawline that could cut glass, and eyes as blue as the midday sky.

Not that Emma had actually seen the midday sky in person since the day she'd died, a perfect, clear day where the sun was warm and the gentlest of breezes had stirred her long skirts about her ankles as she walked into the forest without knowing that she'd just lost blue sky forever under the thick canopy of the trees and the shadow that lurked on the path ahead.

The memory made her falter for a moment before she pushed it away and strode right up to his table, putting a swing in her hips that made his heartbeat stutter and skip a beat. Emma was a vampire, but she was still a woman and it was gratifying to have such an effect on him, even though she was only here for the bounty and the unofficial bonus that had been offered by the owner of Gold Enterprises to bring him in and face justice.

"Anna?" he asked, getting to his feet at her approach. Emma smiled and nodded, she'd used an alias as well on the hookup app where she'd finally found a profile picture that matched his mug shot. His smile grew even wider. "I'm John. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

He had an accent, something that hadn't been listed in the police report and the sound of it sent a tingle right down her spine. One of his hands was unnaturally stiff, covered by a black glove that matched his black jeans and black vest. The missing hand had been in the report, with a notation that he wore a prosthetic but there'd been no info about how he'd lost the limb and no one at Gold Enterprises knew the story either. He pulled her chair back and waited until she was settled before sitting back down in his own seat, he might be a thief, but he clearly had some manners. There was a glass in front of him already, half-filled with a dark amber liquor that carried the rich aromas of burnt sugar and heavy spice.

Rum.

Emma ordered wine, she could eat and drink like an ordinary human, but her body took no nourishment from food and nothing could truly slake her thirst except human blood. Everyone tasted slightly different, some people were sweeter, like smooth chocolate or ripe berries, and some were more savoury, like a sharp cheddar or perfectly rare steak.

John Rogers looked like he'd taste like the rum, sweet and spicy at the same time.

And damn, if she didn't want a drink of him.

"More wine?" John asked, after she'd finished her second glass and they'd shared a plate of artful little hor d'oeuvres that did nothing except whet her appetite for something else instead.

"No, I'm good," Emma replied, pushing the empty glass away and eyeing the vein that ran along the inside of his wrist when he reached for the last canape.

"What's the matter love, a bit worried you'll find me too irresistible after another libation?"

From another man it would have come across as smarmy, but somehow he pulled it off. She ran a foot teasingly up his calf under the table, watching his throat bob with a heavy swallow. The honey trap was the easiest way to corral a skip, since Emma found most men couldn't resist a pretty face and the thought of getting lucky even when they should be lying low. John Rogers might be more attractive and have a larger vocabulary than the average deadbeat, but he wasn't any different than the rest of them and when she leaned forward and rested a hand high on his thigh she could hear his blood pumping even faster through his enticing veins, pooling a few inches away from her pointed nails.

"Who says I want to resist you?" she murmured in his ear. The muscle under her hand twitched and he quickly tossed back the last of his rum.

"Well then, I suppose I just have one more question. Your place or mine?"

Normally she'd invite whoever she was tracking back to her place and then take them to the nearest precinct instead, minus a pint or two of their blood. The Rogers case was different though, since whatever it was he'd stolen from Gold Enterprises (the police report was strangely vague and just called it "something of value") hadn't been found after the initial arrest and stringing him along for a little while longer might be the only chance to recover it. There was just one hurdle, a not insignificant one, to her plans.

But the reward would be worth it in the end.

She slid her hand the tiniest bit higher. "Why don't you show me yours?"

There was a flush on his whiskered cheeks as more blood rose to the surface and if Emma still had a pulse, it would be racing with anticipation.

"If the lady insists," he said, voice a low rasp that curled enticingly between her legs while he pulled out his wallet and carelessly tossed a few bills on the table without even looking. They rose in unison, ignoring the knowing looks from the neighbouring table and making their way to the door with his hand settling on the small of her back to guide her. Outside the night air was cool, the sky a deep indigo and plush as velvet while the pavement was slick and the sidewalks damp. It must have rained while they were flirting over overpriced drinks and puff pastry, Emma should have heard it with her vampiric senses but she'd been too focused on John Rogers and the ancient dance of predator and prey. He clearly thought he was the hunter, seducing her into going home with him with his dark good looks and silver tongue, getting what he wanted and then swiping onto the next girl on the app without a second thought. His hand moved, brushing her hip and she tensed, wondering if he was going to cop a feel and grope her ass right outside the bar. Or try to, anyway, since she could break all his fingers before he could blink. But then it was pulled away as he went to shrug off his jacket, draping the soft leather over her shoulders instead.

"While I must say that you cut quite the figure in that dress, it's a bit of a walk to my flat and there's no Swyft drivers around right now."

She realized with a jolt that he'd given her his jacket because it was cold. Emma was dead, she didn't get cold, or hot, not anymore, and she wasn't used to anyone being concerned if she did. She'd been cold when she died, wracked with chills as her life slowly dripped into her murderer's mouth and he hadn't bothered to cover her, dress still hiked to her waist and pale legs splayed open as he drank at his leisure. The twin scars that were left on her neck were a reminder, to never trust anyone again.

John didn't care, not really. He just wanted to get laid.

That's what made her cold, not the nip in the air, cold and hard under her crimson dress and fuck-me heels even as she gave a kittenish smile and thanked him with a delicate hand brushing his chest. She was the real hunter tonight, for his bounty *and* his blood, and she was going to get both.

They walked together like lovers without a care in the world and eyes only for each other, each carrying their own secrets behind the flirty looks and sly innuendo. Emma could see perfectly for blocks and scent everything in the air, the exhaust from cars that had driven by hours earlier, the smell of chicken noodle soup being heated up in one of the apartments above them, every note in the perfume a hooker on the corner was wearing (lilacs, white tea and middlemist flowers) as well as other, more hidden odors, like the drugs in the hooker's blood from when she'd shot up not too long ago, the refuse running through the sewers deep underneath the asphalt and that there was something dead in a nearby dumpster. Too large to be a rat or a raccoon, it was rotting away unseen underneath old coffee grounds and moldy bread.

Most of all she smelled her prey, the metal of his jewelry, rings on his fingers and a necklace just visible at the open collar of his shirt, the fainter scent of whatever shampoo he used still clinging to his dark hair, and the more recent smell of the food they'd just eaten at the bar mixed with rum on his breath.

And his blood.

Always the blood.

He smelled good enough to eat.

John's flat was a small apartment in an older, nondescript building not far from the harbour. He put his key in the lock and opened the door with an offhand, "Come on in," that solved a major problem for Emma. Thanks to his careless invite she was able to cross the invisible barrier and step over the threshold, her stiletto heels making no noise on the floor. Inside it was shadowed and dim, but she could see everything perfectly and took a quick glance around. Couch, coffee table, TV, nothing out of the ordinary but there was also nothing personal about any of it. There was no mail left sitting out, no photos on display, no knicknacks or any kind of hint about the life of the man who lived here and while his scent was present, it was shallow and recent and hadn't had time to fully permeate the space. The apartment was probably a temporary residence, a safe house where he could hide from both the cops and Gold Enterprise's extensive private security, hopefully with whatever he'd stolen from them.

A lamp switched on with a faint click and bathed the room in a soft yellow glow. "You know, I was just about to delete that app when your message popped up."

"Were you?" Emma asked, turning to face him and taking a step back as she did, deeper into the apartment and encouraging him to follow. And follow he did, reaching to pluck the jacket from her shoulders and dropping it over the arm of the couch. His voice was pitched low, intimate, still thinking that he had the upper hand.

"Aye. Never quite found what I was looking for on it, until I met you."

Emma would have said it was just another line, a bit of flattery to help get her out of her dress and into his bed, if it wasn't for her extra little superpower. Vampires had more than just a thirst for blood and eternal youth, they also had special gifts that had given rise to the host of legends and superstitions about the children of the night. Some could jump so high and for so long that it looked like they were flying clear across the sky, some could control and command animals, like a female vampire Emma had met once in the 1920s who kept a pack of spotted dogs to do her bidding, and Emma herself had discovered not long after being turned that she could tell when humans were lying.

John Rogers was being sincere.

Maybe that was why she gave into the impulse, not to bite him, but to kiss him, closing the brief gap between their bodies to press her lips to his. He reacted instantly, mouth opening to match the movement of hers, hand pulling her to him so that they were pressed together from shoulder to knee and a deep groan rumbled in his broad chest at the contact that she felt echo through her right down to her toes. Their noses bumped and their tongues met, she sucked a little too hard on his bottom lip but the rock of his hips to press the hard outline of his erection to her stomach when she did it again told her that he liked it a little rough.

"Fuck," he gasped when they broke apart, pupils dialated with lust and cheeks flushed nearly scarlet under his stubble.

"I think that was implied," Emma laughed. She never slept with skips, but there were hours left before dawn and her thirst was quickly being matched by the growing ache between her legs, one almost as insistent as the urge to feed.

"A gentleman never presumes such a thing," John said with a wink and a grin, another line

that should sound cheesy as all hell and Emma had heard a lot of cheesy pickup lines over the centuries, but somehow he was just enough of a charming bastard to make it work. She almost didn't want to turn him to the cops in at the end of the night.

Almost.

By the time they stumbled into the bedroom Emma still had her heels on but her dress was on the floor somewhere out in the hall, left in a tangled pile with his discarded vest and belt. His shirt was barely clinging to his shoulders, open down the front to reveal a muscular chest covered with a thick dusting of hair that ran down his stomach and disappeared into his boxer briefs. The jeans were undone too, she'd been a bit careless with her strength and hoped he didn't notice that she'd accidentally twisted the button right off before tugging down the zipper. Since his eyes had rolled back in his head and he'd let out a strangled gasp of pleasure when she slid her palm over the bulge of his erection and gave it a good squeeze, she was pretty sure he hadn't seen the little bit of metal rolling across the floor and disappearing under the bed.

She gave another squeeze, just to be sure, and certainly not to hear that delicious noise bubble out of his throat again.

The room itself was like the rest of the apartment, as impersonal as a hotel. Bed, check. Emma could smell that the sheets were fresh and clean, which was a point in his favour. Bedside table with a lamp on top, check. Generic Ikea dresser, check.

A ship in a bottle.

Her eyes narrowed over John's shoulder. It was sitting on the dresser next to some loose change, an actual ship in a bottle. The ship itself was finely detailed, the hull painted with yellow and blue stripes in perfect lines, miniature sails raised on tiny rigging that must have taken hours to set into place. It almost looked real.

For a moment she wondered if that's what he'd stolen from Gold Enterprises, but she dismissed the thought just as quickly. A major corporation wouldn't go to such lengths to recover a kitschy bit of bric-a-brac, it had to be something like a confidential client list or important files. She turned her attention back to the man in front of her, still far too dressed for her liking. Emma went to finish peeling the shirt off his shoulders, only to be stymied when it wouldn't slip off one wrist.

Right, or left, in this case, his missing left hand.

"Ah," he said, when he saw her looking down at the gloved prosthetic. "Long story, which I'd rather not get into now, but if it's a dealbreaker for you, I understand."

He said it easily enough but he was tense, she could see it in the ripple under his skin as muscles tightened and cords flexed while he braced himself for her answer and she wondered if that had happened before, women walking away after discovering he was different.

As someone who was also different, albeit in a way that wasn't so readily apparent on first glance as a missing limb, Emma felt a pang of sympathy for him. She knew was it was like to lose a part of yourself and never get it back.

"It's not," she assured him, reaching out and grasping the prosthetic as gently as she could. They stayed like that, his chest rising and falling for a few quiet breaths and his long lashes resting against his cheeks until he opened his eyes and instead of a cocky smirk or another come-on, he gave her an unguarded, boyish smile that reminded her of the suitors who used to come pay court to her in her father's castle, when her life was still full of laughter and light.

"Just who are you, Anna?" he whispered, and if her heart wasn't silent and still it would lurch at both the longing in his voice and the sharp reminder that she wasn't that starry-eyed princess anymore who nothing of the evils that could lurk behind a man's pretty words. Who was she? She was death incarnate, the wolf in sheep's clothing with blood on her lips.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she countered, flip and flirty, knowing that he didn't, not really. Not if he knew.

"Perhaps I would."

The sentiment was nice, but Emma wasn't the sentimental type so she simply reached behind her back and flicked open her bra, letting the cobwebby lace fall to the floor before thumbing her underwear down her hips and sitting on the edge of the bed to slide the silky bit of nothing off one leg and then the other. The lack of a hand didn't slow him down one whit, he had his shirt completely off and his pants down with speed and dexterity that was impressive even to a vampire. He'd invited her in but she was the one beckoning to him now, sliding back on the duvet and crooking a finger with her tongue just poking from between her teeth. He crawled forward after her on his knees, dark hair falling over his forehead in a careless sweep as his head dipped down and hot breath touched her cool skin.

Lips closed over her nipple, already hard and pebbled with anticipation. She felt it tighten even more when he swirled his tongue around it and flicked the tip before sucking hard. He did the same to her other breast, callused fingers tracing delicate patterns on the inside of her hip and she widened her legs, expecting him to settle between them and get on with it like most men did after a bit of foreplay. But he clearly had something else in mind first, moving lower and lower down her body until that warm breath was hovering right over where she ached the most. The blue eyes looked up, reminding Emma of the sky she never saw anymore and had almost forgotten as he waited for her to give him a sign of assent.

A hand on the back of his head was enough and she quickly found herself clutching a fistful of inky hair as his mouth descended and he began to feast. Damn, Emma thought to herself, he was good at this, really fucking good, circling with his tongue and increasing the pressure on each pass until she was a writhing mess, hips rocking against his face and desperate for more. Just as she was about to fall over the edge he backed off, using only the softest of licks and the faintest of flicks and if he didn't finish the job then she literally was going to kill him.

"Patience," he whispered at her needy whine, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh. "We've all night, love."

All night, but nothing more. That was all she could ever have now with a man.

His beard scraped against the delicate skin, a shocking contrast to the gentleness of his mouth as he went back to his task, working her up again with lips and tongue and fingers. Pleasure sparked along every nerve, building to the peak at a torturous pace until finally, finally, he sucked hard on her clit and shoved two fingers deep inside her at the same time. Emma's back arched and her jaw dropped from a silent scream, it looked like agony but it was pure ecstasy, her thighs flexing and tightening around his head until the climax finally faded and she went limp against the mattress, boneless and spent. John went up on his knees, looming above her and she didn't even care about how smug the bastard looked, he'd more than earned it. His lone hand wrapped around his erection and he gave it a few slow pumps, raising an eyebrow and asking another question without words.

Emma answered by letting a bit of her vampire strength loose again, flipping him onto his back and pining his wrists to the bed while she swung her leg over him and straddled his lean hips. He blinked up at her in surprise, face still deliciously damp, his pulse fluttering against her thumbs as rapid as a hummingbird's wings. The hard ridge of his erection was now trapped between them, twitching hot against her stomach while she leaned down and let her breasts brush his chest, scraping her teeth on his neck and making the skin redden before tasting herself when she pressed her lips hungrily to his. The urge to taste him was almost overwhelming as her fingers tightened on his wrists, holding him down, her teeth begged to sharpen behind her kiss, but as he said, they had all night. Or almost, since she couldn't linger too long in his bed and risk the sunrise.

There was also the not so insignificant matter of dropping her alias and turning him over to police custody to deal with, but she'd worry about that later.

Emma was more interested now in the way his stomach muscles clenched when she shifted her hips, the drag of his lips between his teeth and the sharp inhale when she almost, but not quite, took him inside. It was her turn to smirk, teasing and torturing him until she was sure he was about to beg for relief.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Anna?"

She faltered, caught off guard by the unexpected question. "What?"

"Your Happy Ending. The app?" he clarified at her confused look.

Right, the dating app. It had launched with this whole cheesy fairytale theme and commercials about meeting your charming prince and living happily ever after and all that bullshit, but it had quickly morphed into just another hookup app instead, where people got off and got out.

A happy ending.

Life (and death) has taught her that there was no such thing.

"I found you," she said. It was supposed to be flip and flirty, but for some reason it came out far too serious for a one night stand who was looking up at her like she was everything he ever wanted.

The air in the room thickened with tension that only increased as she sank down on him, slowly, inch by inch. Her hands spread flat on his chest to brace herself and she relished the stretch and burn until he was finally buried to the hilt. Emma was dead, had been for centuries, but she felt alive again with a living pulse throbbing inside of her, a heartbeat thudding against her palm and the spreading warmth from the friction as she started to ride him. His knees bent behind her, large feet planting on the bed and finding the leverage to start meeting her moments with his own upward thrusts while she threw her head back and closed her eyes. Their tempo increased of its own volition, a heavy and hot slide of rigid flesh against yielding softness that hovered deliciously on the knife's edge between pleasure and pain. Emma could hear his blood pounding through his veins and the call to her most primal need was almost too much. She fell forward, latching onto his neck with enough force to leave a bruise and only just managing to stop herself from breaking the skin to get to what lay underneath.

"Do it!"

His voice was thick as honey and dripped with promise while his arm wrapped around her back and he turned his head to the side, baring even more of his long throat.

"Bite me!"

It was an invitation Emma couldn't resist and her fangs came out, piercing straight into the plump vein throbbing against her lips. An obscene moan spilled out from above her while her mouth flooded with his blood, warm and rich, like cocoa made fresh on the stove. It was full of life and went straight to her head like alcohol used to but better than any drink or drug could possibly be. And not only did it taste amazing, it briefly tethered them together even more than where they were joined so intimately, letting her feel everything he was currently feeling.

Lust.

Longing.

The sensation was overwhelming, he was still inside her, still rocking up with heavy thrusts even as she took deep pulls from his neck that had to be draining his strength. It would be easy, so easy, to take a little too much, drink a little too long...and then there was a surge that was almost her undoing as he came undone, the blood flowing even harder as he came and the echo of it triggered her own climax, both of them trembling with his body still locked in hers and his vein still open in her mouth until his loud gasp for air and his sluggish heartbeat broke through the haze of blood and sex like a dash of icy water. Emma forced herself to let go, sealing the wound on his neck before it could scar or before she could give in to the worst of her urges whispering seductively in her ear, the dark desire to turn him into something no one should ever have to become.

To make him like her.

"You knew I was a vampire."

It came out harsh and biting, an accusation, not a question. Once the post-coital and post-feeding bliss had faded and she'd realized what had just happened, Emma had stood up and silently gotten dressed before turning to face John Rogers again, still lounging in the rumpled bed with an amused look as if he didn't have a care in the world and wasn't missing a few pints of his blood.

"I had my suspicions, aye. Confirmed once I saw in person that you don't breathe anywhere near as often as you should and you have no heartbeat or pulse."

She folded her arms across her chest, somehow feeling completely exposed even though he was the one who was still naked, arm propped behind his head and sheet draped low across his hips.

"Most people don't notice that. And even if they did, they don't know vampires are actually real."

A dark brow lifted and he gave her an arch look. "When you lived as long as I have, you learn a thing or two."

Emma snorted at that. Lived as long as he had? "John Rogers" was definitely a false identity, but whoever he really was, he didn't look older than thirty-five. Her skepticism only seemed to amuse him further and he gestured showily along himself, the sheet dipping down even lower with the movement. Fresh with his blood she flushed and looked away, which was stupid considering they'd literally just had sex, but she needed to distance herself from that so she could do what had to be done.

His voice lost that honeyed mirth and went more serious and flat. "Don't let the youthful countenance fool you, darling, like you I am far older than I appear. A few centuries older, in fact."

"How?" she spit out. "You're not-"

"-A vampire like you?" he finished. "No, I'm not. In fact, I'm the opposite. I've been magically cursed with eternal life."

That was not what she was expecting, not that Emma even knew what the hell she thought he was going to say, and she stared blankly at him for a few seconds.

"Magically cursed," she repeated at last. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Says the undead vampire who just drank a considerable portion of my blood," he pointed out, and she flushed again with said blood.

"Fine," she said, conceding the point. "You were magically cursed. How?"

His smile curled into something different and for a moment Emma thought she heard the crash of waves upon a shore, the scent of salt in the air and the kiss of the wind on her skin.

"Now that is a rather long and unhappy tale, but let's just say that I once took something of considerable value from a man I considered too cowardly to fight back, and he was, then. Only people sometimes change, don't they, and not always for the better. He came back years later and he was no longer the snivelling coward I'd humiliated in my own arrogance, he was something different, something no longer fully…human. He took this-" John held up his stump of a wrist, "-as punishment, and cursed me with eternal life so that I would always have to live with what I'd done. I can't die, and believe me, love, I've tried."

That got Emma's back up at once, a familiar feeling settling between suddenly tense shoulders. "So is that what the whole 'bite me" thing was about? You've got a death wish and you thought a vampire was your answer?

She was moving before he could say anything, tossing clothes onto the bed in a blur and avoiding his piercing blue gaze. "Get dressed. You skipped out on your bail and there's a warrant for your arrest. I'm taking you in."

"Anna-" he tried to protest.

"Emma," she corrected. It would be on the paperwork down at the station, he was going to find out anyway. "Emma Swan, bailbondsperson. You've got five minutes."

She stormed out of his bedroom and shut the door behind her, needing to put some space between them. Not that it helped much, he might be out of sight but his blood was racing through her veins and she could still feel the echo of his body inside hers. This was why she didn't get too close to skips, they all had some ridiculous sob story and claimed someone else screwed them over.

Her fingers crept up to the scar on her neck and groped blindly for the small patch of maimed skin. Don't trust anyone.

Emma shut out everything else except that. The long years of practice made it quick, if not easy.

She hated that it wasn't easy.

It was both too quiet and too noisy in the small apartment. She could hear the hum from the refrigerator, the rumble of pipes in the walls, the footfalls from someone walking around above and the whistle of a breeze coming through an open window in the...

"Shit!"

Emma wrenched the door right off the hinges when she flung it open and rushed back into the bedroom, hearing everything except his heartbeat. Sure enough, a window stood open and the gauzy curtain was fluttering like a sail. She leaned over the sill and saw an iron fire escape attached to the side of the building that led down to the street, when a pair of headlights suddenly sprung to life from a parked car that fishtailed as it pulled away from the curb and took off in a squeal of rubber that made her wince. As keen as her eyesight was, the angle was all wrong for her to catch the license plate and all she got was a glimpse of the driver, clearly him, looking up at the window with an expression that wasn't angry at her deception, wasn't smug at having tricked her, it was just resigned.

And then he was gone.

She spent the next few days cursing herself for her own carelessness in letting him slip away every time she woke when the sun set, she should have kept her guard up and stayed while he got dressed, or at least left the door open, she was a vampire, for fuck's sake, not the naive princess who had died all those years ago. She could handle being in the same room with a naked man for five minutes.

His profile was still up on Happy Ending but the picture had been changed from the mirror selfie he'd used before to one of a swan, something Emma knew had to be a deliberate jab that she'd definitely felt when she first saw it. Her stakeouts at his apartment had been fruitless and his scent was quickly fading, it was clear he wasn't coming back. Not that there was much to come back to, she'd searched the place thoroughly and there was only a few clothes, some barely touched toiletries that were so new the Target receipt was still crumpled up in the trash, and the ship in the bottle.

The ship was now sitting on her coffee table, since it was the only thing that seemed like it might have some sentimental value to whoever John Rogers really was. Or maybe Emma was just kidding herself and he was nothing more than a thief and a liar.

Gold Enterprises had doubled the reward for his capture and every bounty hunter in three states was now out looking for him. It was only a matter of time before someone tracked him down, and while Emma had a lot of advantages over her human competition, she had one big disadvantage in that she couldn't go outside in the daylight. All of her speed and strength were completely useless from dawn until dusk and it grated at her, always a reminder that she was different from everyone else.

She was currently cooped up alone in her own apartment, waiting for the sun to finish dipping below the horizon before she ventured out in search of new leads. She'd woken up a bit early from the deathlike sleep that was her own eternal curse, which happened from time to time. It was because of the dream she'd been having, of a woman she didn't recognize, dark haired, beautiful, dressed in the clothing of another time and holding a large knife with a jagged blade in one hand and a bright red object in the other.

"Take me away," the woman whispered. "Forever."

When she lifted the knife and pierced it straight through the red thing Emma realized it was a human heart, blood flowing between the woman's fingers and the scent of it hit Emma even in the dream, making her fangs sharpen and jolting her awake.

She was musing on it when her phone buzzed, lighting up with a notification and she snatched it off the table in a blur with sudden wild hope flaring where her heart didn't beat that maybe it was him, messaging her through the chat function on Happy Ending. It quickly turned into a frown of disappointment when she saw it was actually just an email, framed against a photo of the castle where she'd grown up that she'd found online a set as her wallpaper. She thumbed the email open, the frown freezing on her face when she saw what it was.

"Gotcha!" she said out loud to the empty room, shooting the ship in a bottle a triumphant look before jumping to her feet and going straight to her laptop. When she'd first taken on the Rogers case she'd entered his mug shot into a facial recognition program that would auto search the Internet for potential matches. On TV or in a movie it would have spit out a near instant result, but real life didn't work that way and it had been running quietly in the background ever since, going down rabbit hole after rabbit hole of umpteen social media pages, news archives and alumni pages looking for a match. It was a heck of a lot more expensive than a simple Google image search, but the bounty would more than cover the cost and once Rogers had snuck out on her, Emma had to admit that it was personal now, so she'd paid extra for the highest level of data.

And it had returned not one, but *two* potential hits. Emma clicked the first link and watched eagerly as the page loaded, scrolling down until she reached the picture.

And stopped dead. Literally.

It wasn't actually a picture, it was a drawing. Of a man who looked exactly like John Rogers, sketched out in what was probably charcoal on a yellowed piece of paper. They had the same dark hair, the same sharp jaw, same smile that promised danger and excitement both in one fell swoop. But the resemblance wasn't the reason why Emma could feel his blood rushing hot in her ears, it was the other sketch displayed next to his, of a woman with a shawl draped loosely around her shoulders and a large pendant around her neck, staring wistfully out at the viewer from the page.

It was the woman from Emma's dream.

"Milah."

The name fell unbidden from her lips as she quickly scanned the site the images were posted on. It was for an antique and consignment shop in Bermuda, and the pair of drawings were up for sale either individually or as a set. The listing stated that they were believed to have been done by the same artist, and were approximately three centuries old.

"Don't let the youthful countenance fool you, darling, like you I am far older than I appear. A few centuries older, in fact."

His voice whispered in her ear while she clicked on the other link with a numb finger, not sure what to expect. It opened in a separate tab as a wall of mostly text and the picture itself was little more than a thumbnail. Emma enlarged it to get a better look, even though her vampire sight was more than enough to confirm that it was a perfect match.

This one was a photo, and like the one she'd fed into the program it was another mugshot. She wasn't really surprised that he'd been arrested before, what was surprising was that it was clearly much older than the crisp, digital image that had been taken of John Rogers after he'd been hauled out of Gold Enterprises's downtown headquarters. It was in black and white, faded with age and a corner had been torn away. But it was still him, although he was clean shaven and his hair was cut much shorter, in almost a military look. The placard he was holding read:

STORYBROOKE SHERIFF'S DEPT 52-07-20 B&E, VANDAL, THEFT JONES, KILLIAN

Jones, Killian.

Rogers, John.

Quickly, Emma clicked back on the charcoal sketch. Sure enough, there, just where the drawing ended at the man's waist, smudgy and indistinct, were the remains of a name. The "K" was still legible, as were the "a" and the"n."

Killian Jones.

Pieces were rapidly clicking into place as more of the puzzle started to come together. It hadn't been Emma's dream at all, it was his, a memory carried in the blood and passed along when she'd drunk from him for so long and so deep, a memory of a dark haired woman named Milah. The knife and the heart didn't make much sense, but dreams were funny that way. John, no, Killian, had said he was cursed with eternal life, and the sketch and the old mug shot certainly seemed to confirm that he actually was telling the truth about that.

Emma went back to the mug shot. B&E, that was shorthand for breaking and entering, vandal, probably a charge of vandalism, and theft. The 52-07-20 took her a moment longer, until she realized it was the date. He'd been arrested on July 20th...1952. In some place called Storybrooke, wherever that was.

Maine. After a few more clicks she learned that a grad student named Henry Mills was doing an in-depth research project on the history of a small fishing village named Storybrooke, in Maine, and posting parts of it on his blog as he went. The entry with the mugshot had gone up the day before, explaining why the facial recognition program had only just found it. In July 1952 there had been a break in at a local pawn shop that was the talk of the town, if this Henry Mills was to be believed, where windows had been smashed and "an object of value had been stolen," to quote the pawn shop's owner.

His blood was still warm in her veins, but it suddenly ran cold as Emma read the name of the pawn shop where the theft had taken place.

Gold & Son Pawnbrokers

Gold Enterprises.

That couldn't possibly be a coincidence.

An object of value had been stolen.

Killian had told her that he'd taken something of considerable value from a man who'd later taken his hand and cursed him with eternal life. He'd been arrested four months ago for stealing something of value from Gold Enterprises, and apparently had also stolen something of value almost seventy years ago from Gold & Son Pawnbrokers. It had to be connected, but why, and to what end?

The Rogers case had started out as just another skip, but now it was a mystery that had gotten under Emma's skin as an itch that had to be scratched. Or maybe it was because Killian Jones's blood had turned out to be as potent as a drug and she was desperate for another taste of it, of him, and while she wasn't a princess anymore and hadn't been since the night she'd followed Baelfire into the woods and never went home again, she felt more alive than she had in years as she packed a bag and prepared to set off.

She locked up her apartment and headed down to her old yellow Bug, already anticipating salt air and sea breezes at her destination, it would be a welcome relief to her vampire sense of smell from the city stench. Her tight, honeytrap dresses were left behind in favour of more practical jeans and boots, and she'd also changed her profile photo on Happy Ending to send a pointed message back to the man whose taste still filled her throat and made her mouth water.

Crimson text on a black background.

I don't bite...unless you ask me nicely.

A red leather jacket the same shade as fresh blood was slipped over her shoulders and she tossed her bag into the backseat of her car before typing in an address into the Google Maps app and checking the estimated time of arrival. It would be a long drive, but since she didn't need to stop for food or bathroom breaks, just for gas, Emma would reach the little town of Storybrooke Maine just before the sun rose over the ocean.

Her prey had slipped from her grasp once, but the hunt was far from over.

It was just beginning.

[teamhook]

The Orphanage ~~ CS AU

I wanna thank @ultraluckycatnd for letting me talk things over, unleash my crazy and helping me when I got stuck. She also checked it over. @gingerchangeling for Betaing and being patient with me. She’s the sweetest!

Never enough eyes to look over a fic, specially if it’s mine.

FFN

AO3

A/N: Not all beginnings are happy, but sometimes the journey makes the end worthwhile.

The Orphanage

Convent of the Sisters of Saint Meissa

The orphanage's dull, colorless walls framed with religious artifacts and idols left little to hope for. The old orphanage was stuck in time without the luxuries of the modern world which currently served as a residential group home for the small towns and surrounding area. The children ranged in age from toddlers to teenagers. This was the place you came when no one wanted you. Emma Swan was one such lost girl.

The young blonde girl had moved from family to family. Once upon a time she had been adopted and had a home. Her happiness didn't last, though. She was soon returned when the family had been blessed with a biological child of their own.

Emma would sneak to the garden to gaze at the buttercups; the colors in sharp contrast to the inside of the archaic building. The garden that night was filled with the aroma of the sweet flowers. The stars and the moon lightly illuminated the colorful blossoms. That is where she first saw him.

The translucent outline of a young child.

She could make out his brown hair, pale skin, and hazel eyes. Her curiosity pulled her to the boy. The closer she got, the colder her surroundings became. She could see her breath as she called out to him. "Hey, who are you?" she asked curiously.

The boy only smiled. "Hello, my name is Henry. Can I be your friend?"

Emma couldn't stop her smile. She didn't have any friends at all; the other kids bullied her by calling her names or taking her things. She had told Mother Superior on them, but that only made things worse.

Nothing else mattered. She had her friend Henry and that was all she needed. He gave her hope. They played together; their favorite game was hide and seek.

The other kids would look at her oddly. The name-calling hadn't been creative, mostly calling her crazy or making fun of her imaginary friend. It should scare her that no one else could see her friend but instead, she felt special. He would only appear to her. Mother Superior would tell the kids that there was nothing wrong with having an imaginary friend.

Henry would encourage her to dream. He would tell her to believe in herself as he did. Following her best friend's advice, she recorded a short song on an old audio tape recorder she found but was interrupted by an older girl in the group. "Poor little Emma, do you really think you are good enough?" the mean girl asked with crossed arms as she glanced at the paper advertisement for a singing competition. "Don't you know Emma? No one wants to hear an orphan sing and you will be alone forever like the rest of us. You are not special." The mean girl walked out of the room.

Emma stared at the ad and crumpled it. "Emma, don't listen to her. She is just jealous because she knows how special you are." Henry smiled as he stood in front of her.

Throughout the rejection, she maintained hope because of her old friend. She never felt alone. Henry had become her constant, her rock.

Sadly there were days when she couldn't shake the feeling of not belonging.

On a fine day, a day that should be a happy day, eleven-year-old Emma and the other younger kids watch as a little girl left in a car for her new home with her adoptive parents. Mother Superior stands next to Emma, as the young girl stared with longing after the family now fading away into the horizon. "Emma, you will have a family someday too."

Once Emma is back in her room she cannot help but mourn for the dream that is slowly dying as she grows older.

The cold gust of air announces her oldest friend's arrival. "Henry, I wanna be alone."

The boy's image solidifies as he smiles at her. "Emma, someday you will have the home you deserve. Once I had a family too, but it wasn't full of love. My mother gave me up to give me my best chance. She was young and fell in love with someone that only wanted to take advantage of her. She left me in a basket outside the door of this very orphanage. I was adopted as a baby but my mother never loved me," Henry sadly confessed. "That is why I'm here. She liked to push me to conquer my fears and one time she pushed too far." He shrugged.

"Oh, Henry." Emma wanted to hug her friend. "How do you know all of this?"

"I don't know how but I just know. I believe that is why I'm here." His form started fading, "I'll leave you alone now. Just remember that you will find the home you deserve. I'll help you find it." He was gone. She knew in her heart that he was right but the pain lingered a while longer.

~~~At Age Thirteen

She had tried to fill the void. She had been placed at several foster homes as she was getting older but nothing stuck. Sometimes she would run away. Or towards something. She still didn't know which one it was.

On one of those occasions, Emma finds herself living on the streets. She is ripping out pages from a fairytale book she had found in the trash. She starts burning the pages to keep warm. As she reaches the page from The Ugly Duckling story, an old friend makes an appearance, although he's clearer than normal. Henry smiles fondly at her. "Emma, stop. Don't do it. You are a lot like that duckling. I think that is why your name is so fitting. This story is about transformation." He smiles. "Do you know what that duckling turns into? A beautiful Swan."

Emma returns the smile and whispers, "I think the duckling was always a swan and didn't know it."

"You might be right but I think she turned into a swan because of the power of belief, and if someone believes in something hard enough, they can change their fate. Emma, if you don't want to be with those families, Mother Superior will always have a place for you at the convent."

~~~At Age Sixteen

Emma becomes a beautiful young lady but somehow that doesn't make life easier for her. Some of the homes interested in her have less than genuine concern for her well being. All they care about is the money they get paid for keeping her. Once she becomes more trouble than she is worth is sent back to the orphanage. She keeps to herself to stay away from trouble but inevitably it finds her. Whether it be harassment from the other kids or unwanted attention from the husbands and the wives turning a blind eye to the unwanted touches, Henry is always with her protecting her. He saves her, always interrupting at the perfect moment with a loud door slam, breaking things; whatever it takes to stop the advances.

Emma decides that it's time to make her own luck. She hops on a bus to Arizona. In Phoenix, she enters a store, her stomach growling. She goes to steal a box of Poptarts, which are her favorite. She notices a girl watching her, but the latter quickly walks away. Emma goes back to the task at hand, food. She conceals the box of pastries in her jacket. Emma slowly begins her escape when a store employee stops her and is about to call Security. The other girl comes to the rescue approaching Emma with a shopping cart smiling. "Thanks for waiting while I went to go get the card to pay for the food. Did you find them?" The employee doesn't seem to believe them. "Come on, let's go pay." The girl encourages Emma to follow her and discreetly put the Poptarts in the cart. The employee follows them to the checkout where the girl pays with a credit card. Emma was relieved that her cover wasn't blown.

Once outside, Emma tells the girl "Thanks for helping me."

"No problem, my name is Lily. What's yours?"

"Emma."

They become friends. Emma assumes Lily is like her, an unwanted orphan. They both notice a man following them, and Emma believes he is a social worker trying to return Lily to her group home. They manage to lose the man. They find a vacant home that they decide to squat in for the night.

Inside the house while they're playing home, Emma notices a star imprint on Lily's wrist. Lily tells her it makes her special so she draws a matching one on Emma's wrist. The two girls smile at each other. While exploring the house, they find a video camera and record themselves pledging friendship forever.

Later that night, somehow the man that was following them tracked them down. Annoyed, Emma confronts the man as he exits his car. "We are not going back!"

The man smiles. "I'm here to take my daughter home. We have been worried sick."

Emma is shocked. "Daughter? You are not here to take her back to her foster family?"

"No, she is our daughter."

Emma feels betrayed. She walks to Lily. "Your father is here for you."

Emma doesn't stop walking as she leaves her friend behind.

Lily screams out Emma's name but is ignored.

Emma rubs off the star Lily had drawn on her wrist.

She misses Henry; he hasn't shown up for some time now. Perhaps he finally tired of her.

A few months later Emma's new foster family already had two boys. Things are going well. In fact they're even taking her on her first camping trip the following morning. She is so excited that she decides to go pack to be ready. While she is packing she is searching the garage for her sleeping bag and finds Lily hiding out there. Emma can't believe she is there. Emma hisses, "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to apologize. I'm sorry, but I didn't lie about being an orphan. We are alike. The difference is that I was adopted.''

Emma scoffs. "We are not alike. I don't have a family," she sniffles. "No one cares if I run away, no one will come looking for me. So no we are not alike. You should leave before my foster parents see you."

Sadly it's too late.

"Emma, did you find the sleeping bag?" her foster father asked as he approached the garage. He reaches the garage and stares at Emma and Lily. "Who is this?"

"Oh hi, my name is Lily. I'm new to the neighborhood."

Lily's ease at lying should have been a warning to Emma, and it led to Emma begging Lily to leave. The girl refused to leave without her missing crescent moon necklace. Lily's true colors were shown when she steals from Emma's foster family After a few calls, her foster father finds out the truth. Her new foster father had been furious that she had knowingly allowed a criminal near his children. By the end of the night, Emma was left with nothing. Emma grabs her things and runs. At the bus station, Lily approaches her to apologize but Emma doesn't want to hear it. Lily begs her to stay together that she is the only light in her life. Emma walks away from Lily one final time.

Months later Emma ends up in a group home in Richfield, Minnesota. Somehow the camera was still in her possession. One of the older boys noticed it and wanted to take it away from her. She screamed for him to let go of it. Miss Fisher had quickly intervened and promptly returned the camera to Emma. Once the foster mother returned to her activities before the altercation the bully warned Emma of the consequences of not turning over the camera to him. Emma still refused to give it to him. That night she is caught mid escape by Sarah the foster mom. In a moment of conspiracy between the two she tells Emma that the boy is afraid of spiders and where she can find some rubber spiders. Emma decides to stick around. Maybe she is home.

Sometime later, while Emma is at a carnival with Sarah alone, Sarah tells Emma that she is a special girl. Emma starts to feel nervous. She had seen papers from an agency in Sarah's purse. Emma assumes this treat is a goodbye. However, Sarah confesses that she wants to adopt her. Sarah knows Emma might not see her as a mother, but she will be happy to be like an older sister to her. Everything seems to be falling into place for her and she remembers Henry always told her that she would find a home. She misses Henry terribly but she still feels him with her.

The pair are waiting for their bus ride. Suddenly Sarah pushes her in front of oncoming traffic. Before she can think, Emma is pushed onto the sidewalk by an unseen force- Henry. Emma glares at Sarah and flees after realizing that Sarah Fisher is a lunatic who never truly loved her. Emma runs away and never returns.

Seventeen-year old Emma ends up in Portland, OR after getting emancipated before she turns eighteen. She notices an old yellow bug. The car is an antique, she rationalizes; no one would miss it. She is about to break into the car when a whisper stops her. "Emma, don't do it."

She pauses, "Henry?"

"Emma, please don't do it. This will not lead you to your happy ending." Emma's breath hitches, and she slowly walks away from the vehicle. The decision is easy to make because she trusts her only friend.

Minutes later, inside the same yellow car's backseat a man wakes up from a nap.

Across the sea, three men say goodbye to a loved one. The younger two hold each other as their tears fall. The older man, stands behind them promising undying devotion to the boys he now considers his. "My lovely Alice, I promise to take care of your boys as if they were mine. I will guide them and ensure for them to be good men," Dakkar Nemo pledges his lost love. He had met Alice Jones shortly after her husband abandoned her with two young sons. The youngest of the two was only a few months old when he met them, but he was now 17 years old. The slightly older man had become smitten with the young mother soon after their first meeting. Alice had gotten cancer. She had won a few battles but overall lost the war. After her death, in order to start over and provide the young men with a fresh start they leave England and travel to the United States.

Dakkar Nemo had had an exceptional Naval career. He retired not long after he lost his love, and was able to start a successful business in America. They had found their new home in Storybrooke, Maine.

Although Alice Jones had never married Dakkar Nemo, her two boys had grown to love the man that doted on their beloved mother.

The eldest boy enlists in the Navy following in his father's steps. The youngest decided to stay in their new home.

~~~At Age Twenty-One

Emma continues her life of petty crime, just enough to survive on. For years she was able to get away with it. While traveling back to the Maine area where she was found as a baby, she asks an old lady at the local diner for information about anyone who might remember the incident, but she receives nothing. Escaping her troubled past with the law just in time, each time it catches up with her.

She was so close to the orphanage she had called home in her youth. While at the local library she was so lost in her research she didn't notice an older woman sitting down next to her. The lady looked over Emma's shoulder guessing that the abandoned baby was Emma. A startled Emma turns to leave. "I know you stole from stores in Portland and you finally got arrested and skipped bail."

Emma looks back at the woman and tenses; she has a feeling the woman wants to apprehend her. Emma does what she has learned to do best and runs, leaving her research behind. The woman catches up with Emma at the bus station. A defeated Emma goes with the woman, whose name she learned is Cleo.

They go to a motel. Cleo handcuffed her bounty to the bedpost, and decides to jump in the shower.

While the bondswoman is in the shower Emma picks the handcuffs lock easily and steals money from Cleo's wallet. Emma finds an old picture of a girl she suspects is the woman's daughter. Emma is about to leave, but she spots Cleo's laptop which has access to courthouse documents. She does some quick browsing, and discovers the Camden County Courthouse has a file on her.

Cleo gets out of the restroom to find Emma staring at the computer screen. In a moment of weakness, Cleo decides to help her. Emma reminds her of her daughter. They drive to Camden to get the file. "Emma, this file might not have the answers you are looking for or want to see.."

Emma looks at the woman, "I have to try."

Even with Cleo's help the search had been pointless. No solid leads to follow. Days had become weeks and Cleo notices the disappointment in Emma each time they reached a dead end.

"Do you see this?" Cleo points to her red jacket.

"Yeah, what about it? It's just a jacket."

"No Emma, this is my armor. You need to learn how to protect yourself."

Emma's tear-filled eyes, "I just want to go home."

"Emma, I think you should let go of the past, your parents. Sweetie, you're not going to find them. You should pay for your crimes, and start a new life."

"You don't care about me. All you care about is your payout for taking me in."

Cleo stares at Emma, her guilt over giving up her daughter is haunting her.

"I'm going to help you."

"Why would you want to help me?"

"You remind me of my daughter." With those words, Cleo decides to take Emma under her wing. Cleo had gotten some legal help and in the end, Emma was only given community service since her petty crimes had not been too costly.

Emma convinces Cleo to look for her daughter.

"What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"If I was her…. Hell I am her! If I was in her shoes, I'd want to see my parents," Emma says sadly. "It won't be easy but isn't she worth it?"

Working together they soon find Cleo's daughter, Tasha Morris. They find her in Boston working in a clothing store. The reunion is a whirlwind of emotions at first but in the end, it's the calm after the storm.

A few years later they go into business together using their combined savings to open a bonds company, Fox Swan Armour Bonds and PI. They stay in Boston in order for Cleo to stay close to her daughter. Emma understands why they don't want to be apart.

Henry has been quiet since Cleo found her. But Emma tries to not let the yearning of a family of her own haunt her.

~~~At Age Twenty-Four

Things were good for Emma. She was part of a successful business, and Cleo and Tasha were the closest thing to family she had. But something was still missing.

Chasing after her newest skip, a wannabe writer, Emma ends up in a small town in Maine. Storybrooke by all accounts appeared to be straight out of a fairy tale. Perhaps that is what drew the writer to it. He had a good lead on her and she was losing him as she was approaching the corner. Should she go straight or turn the corner? Emma turn - a voice from the past tells her. She turns, except now she's not running into her skip, but a different man as they collide. They both fall and her skip is gone.

Emma mutters, "Shit" as she turns to the cause of her lost paycheck.

Beautiful blue eyes stare up at her from his spot on the floor. He turns to gather his things. "Lass, I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah, well he got away," she sighs dramatically. "What's all that?" she asked as she pointed at the objects he was putting in a box. Some hooks, an iron wolf, and other decorative items.

"Just some of my work," he says as he finally rises to his feet and extends his free hand for her to hold.

She hesitates for a second before he is pulling her up. "So what do you do?"

"I'm a blacksmith."

"What are you, two hundred or something?"

He laughs. "It's mostly artistic work with iron. I do what blacksmiths did in the old days too when needed."

"How about you, lass? What were you in such a hurry to capture?"

"Well, I'm a bail bonds person, and I was chasing a big pay day. He gave me the slip. I will get him, it's just going to take longer than I wanted."

"Ah, you're a tough lass. I'm sure you will get your man." He looked at his box. Nothing seemed damaged. "I'm sorry, where are my manners. My name is Killian Jones."

She smiled. "I'm Emma Swan. I guess I better go. It was nice meeting you. Sort of." She was about to walk away, this time in the opposite direction.

"Swan, if you're going to stick around, you should go to Granny's Inn. That's the only hotel in town. Unless your man has family here, you should probably find him there."

"Yeah, cause I didn't think about that, but thanks." She didn't mean to be snarky. It wasn't his fault she lost the skip. "I'm sure the dude is long gone. I was just going to go see if I could get something to eat. Then, maybe see if I get lucky and get a lead."

"If you don't mind some company, I was going to get lunch myself."

Emma was hungry and the guy had been nice. There's something about him that makes her feel comfortable and apparently her stomach agrees, so it growls. "Okay, so where are we going?"

Killian smiles. "Come along, Granny's Diner is this way." He points in the direction that she was coming from.

Emma vaguely remembers seeing the little diner on her drive into town. It was a quick walk to the diner from where they were. The bell rings as they enter and they find a seat.

"This feels very cozy, very homey."

"Aye, it is. Granny is everyone's grandmum."

"So what do you recommend?"

He looks at her and smiles. "I have a feeling you will love the grilled cheese with onion rings."

The pair enjoys their meal. Killian introduces Emma to the local Sheriff, a greying, good looking mid-forties man, and his perfect counterpart, his bubbly, energetic wife in hopes that he can help with finding the elusive skip.

With the Sheriff and his wife's information on a potential match for her skip, Emma was able to use the background they'd given her to track him down. Turns out the wannabe writer was the adoptive son of the town carpenter. Emma's heart broke for the kind old man as she cuffed his son. She was happy that Sheriff Nolan was there to explain to the man the situation his son, August, was in. Emma had exchanged cards with the Sheriff.

Emma was about to leave the town when Killian stops her to give her a small token. He had one of his first sculptures with him, a swan. She hands him a card just in case he ever needs it.

A couple of days after meeting the young bail bonds woman, the Nolans can't stop thinking about her. Sheriff Nolan was talking with his wife about it. "Sweetheart, I know what you're thinking, and I-" "David, I know what you're going to say. That it's not her and that you don't want me to get my hopes up. I mean we don't know anything about her. But, I can't help it." His wife, Mary Margaret, puts her hand on her heart. "This time, it's different. I feel it here, and it's not because of her name or because she has my chin or that she has your hair. This is it. Our girl found us." She finishes with tears in her eyes.

"Sweetheart, how can you be so sure she's an orphan or ever was?" He didn't want to have to pick up the pieces of her broken heart once more.

"She had a look in her eyes. That look was there when we told her about Marco adopting August as a young boy, and again when we told her he had been getting in trouble with that Cassidy boy, and that the last we saw him was when they stole poor Marco's old yellow Volkswagen and ran away, breaking poor Marco's heart. That was until he showed up here last week. I think that's why she gave them some time to spend together before she hauled him away."

"What are you planning on doing? You can't just tell her, she will think we're crazy."

"The card she gave you says Private Investigator too, right? Well, I'm going to call the number and speak to her boss."

~~~Weeks Later

Back in Boston, Emma can't shake the feeling that she's missing something. She had stayed in touch with both Killian and the Nolans. Killian in particular was never far from her mind, her eyes always landing on the swan sculpture that he had given her that day. On her birthday, she had chosen to stay home. Cleo and Tasha had given her their gifts earlier. Tasha gave her a red leather jacket from the store she worked at. Cleo, for her part, gifted her a paid week off work and insisted, with a wink, that she return to the small town that had her so captivated. All Emma could do was promise she'd think about it.

As Emma was about to light the candle on her twenty-fifth birthday cupcake, there was a soft knock on her door. She wasn't expecting anyone so she approached the door cautiously.

She opened the door and there stood a smiling Killian Jones, with a single red middlemist.

"Uh, Killian, what are you doing here?" Her wide green eyes blinked, before narrowing in suspicion. "And how did you know where I live?".

"Lass, may I come in? I promise I will answer whatever questions you might have." His blinding smile warmed her heart.

"Ok, but don't think I'm taking my eyes off of you for a second."

"I would despair if you did." Killian slowly entered her apartment.

Emma guided him to the sofa in her living room.

"I made a delivery not far from here, and I thought I could surprise you. I hope I'm not overstepping," he sighs.

"So how did you find out my address? I hope you're not some kind of crazy stalker."

He smiles. "I called your office. Your boss said you were off."

"Oh. Cleo told you?"

"She also said today was your birthday."

"Cleo has a big mouth," she sighs. "I always spend my birthday alone."

"She also said you had a week off, and perhaps you would consider going to Storybrooke?" he asked with a hopeful tinge to his voice.

Reluctantly Emma agrees. She feels a connection with the blacksmith that she simply cannot ignore.

Cleo hesitantly agrees to meet with Mary Margaret, where Mary Margaret shares her suspicions about her connection to Emma. Cleo nodded her agreement, saying she will look into it. If she can help Emma find her family like Emma helped her find her lost daughter, she will.

While Emma is in Storybrooke, Cleo visits the Convent of the Sisters of Saint Meissa and speaks with Mother Superior. It had been a miracle to Cleo's ears when they told her that they stored items left behind in the attic. After a few apologies about the oversight from the nuns, they give her a box labeled Emma. Once she is alone in her car, with shaking hands she opens the box. Inside, she finds a blanket with a torn corner just as Mary Margaret described.

Cleo headed towards Storybrooke to meet with Mary Margaret and David Nolan to confirm their suspicions.

Killian and Emma are enjoying their food at Granny's when a text message alert chimes.

"Is something wrong, love?"

"I don't think so, it's Cleo. She wants me to meet her at the Sheriff's office."

"Are you sure nothing is wrong? Your eyebrows are furrowed together," he says, concerned.

"No, it's just that she never calls me on my time off." She sighs, "she's also driving out here."

"If you want, I can go with you," Killian offers.

After a soft encouraging whisper from an old friend she hadn't heard from in a while, without thinking Emma nods.

They arrive at the station soon after.

Sheriff Nolan is waiting for them when he notices the blossoming bond between the town's blacksmith and the lovely bondswoman who happens to share his wife's chin.

Emma turns to Killian nervously. What the hell is going on? Killian squeezes her hand in support as they follow the Sheriff to the interrogation room.

Cleo is sitting next to Mary Margaret Nolan. A box is set on the table. Cleo smiles at her. "Hello, Emma. Please, sit down. You too Mr. Jones."

Killian, always the gentleman, pulled a chair out for her to sit while Mary Margaret is quiet, watching the scene unfold in front of her. David sits next to his wife and immediately holds her hand.

Emma turns to Cleo, "Okay, so what's going on?"

Cleo smiles, "I'll let Sheriff Nolan explain."

Sheriff Nolan clears his throat. "Twenty-five years ago, there were a series of kidnappings. Four newborns were stolen from St. Joseph Hospital during the night shift. The police were able to recover two children right away once the kidnapper was captured. A third was recovered almost a month later. The child had been found by an older couple and they had watched the news. However, there was one child that was not found. Our child. We tried everything. Private Investigators rewards for information, but since the woman had snapped when she took the children, she was of no help to us. She was a nurse at the hospital at the time of the kidnappings. It turned out years before, she had lost her own daughter. Once in custody, though, the woman still remained unresponsive and unwilling to cooperate with police about the whereabouts of the last child. We don't know all the details yet and to be honest, we don't care." David chokes up and turns to his wife, "Mary Margaret could you please continue?"

Mary Margaret sniffles, "We had been on vacation and I went into labor. We never thought that our little girl would be kidnapped at birth. We tried looking for her, but every lead we found was a dead end. Yet we never lost hope. I held on to this for twenty-five years. This is part of a blanket Granny knit for our little girl along with this matching hat." The little hat had twin buttercups on each side.

Cleo smiled, "You will find that the torn piece is a perfect fit to this one." She pulled out a baby blanket with the name Emma with a buttercup next to the name.

Emma is staring at the blanket, her eyes tearing. "What are you saying?"

"Emma, I was so wrong to discourage you from looking. I truly thought I was helping you and protecting you from disappointment. This is your blanket. Mother Superior gave it to me. She was supposed to give it to you, but you never returned."

Killian squeezes her hand gently. "Emma, love, I think you found your family."

"How can you be so sure?" Emma shakingly asks.

Mary Margaret laughs, "For one thing, you have my chin and this is the same blanket I wrapped you in as a baby. But if you need more proof, I'm sure we can get a DNA test. I don't need it, we don't need it." Mary Margaret points to her husband.

Emma still cannot believe it. "I-"

Killian smiles. "Emma, when you love someone you just know."

"I think I need a moment." Emma gets up and rushes out of the room.

Emma walked to her car and needed to think. While contemplating a place to go, she hears footsteps approaching. "Swan, I know you said you needed a moment alone but I was hoping you wouldn't mind if I took you to the perfect spot. If you would allow me to accompany you?" Emma stares at him with teary eyes and agrees.

Emma and Killian arrive at Storybrooke Heritage Park and walk to his favorite bench by the duck pond. They sit in silence as they watch a family of swans swim.

Emma turns to Killian, "I can't believe it's real."

Killian smiles. "It's real. I had wondered why they didn't have kids and Granny told me they had a little girl but it wasn't her story to tell. Emma love, you deserve this. They deserve it too. Please, don't shut them out."

"No, it's just I always wondered why I wasn't enough but I never thought that they were suffering as much as I was."

Killian slowly grabs her face and gently wipes the tears away. "The wondering is over, and now you can have the family you always wanted. Give them a chance, don't lose more time."

Emma smiled, she knew he was right. As crazy as it sounds, it wasn't their fault. Some unbalanced lady did this to them. Should she feel bad for that lady? Because mental issues are horrible, but in this moment she didn't.

"Okay, we can go back." Emma grabbed Killian's hand.

On the way back to the station, she couldn't help but be thankful for meeting Killian; he was nice and sweet. She wasn't blind, he was handsome. She felt connected to him and it was beyond the physical attraction.

Killian could feel her eyes on him. He fights the urge to run his hand through his hair to scratch behind his ear. He feels connected to her. He had laughed when the thought first occurred to him. It was crazy, they've known each other for such a short period. He was smitten, though; that was a given.

Once back at the station, Emma hesitantly embraces her parents for the first time.

Cleo advises her to stick around in Storybrooke longer to get to know her family.

After a few months of living with her parents, Emma finally gives in. She moves permanently to Storybrooke, her life is here. She has loving parents and she had started dating Killian. Their first date had been an experience. Her mother had been so excited, they had gone shopping for a dress to wear and had taken so many pictures of her and Killian. Emma wore a light pink dress that had a v neckline with a bodice and belt. Killian wore his dark jeans, a black shirt, and vest. Her father had done the overprotective thing even though he has known Killian longer than her. She acted like it bothered her, but deep inside it made her smile.

One year and a short courtship later, Emma and Killian marry in an intimate wedding at Storybrooke Park Heritage. Family and close friends gathered to congratulate the pair.

Nine months later they welcome twins Hope and Henry Jones. The little girl shared her dazzling blue eyes with Killian. The boy had hazel eyes that reminded her of an old friend.

This was a new beginning for them all.

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