#( muse: emma swan. )
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❈ 🚔 ❈
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#ouat#once upon a time#snow white#mary margaret#david nolan#prince charming#mr. gold#rumplestiltskin#emma swan#regina mills#evil queen#killian jones#captain hook#belle french#henry mills#random polls#muse's polls
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Chaos ch3
ao3 - ffn (ffn may take a minute to load)
I've been stalling on posting this because my taglist is still in progress. All of you who responded to my posts about it.. I'm overwhelmed 🥰 I thought maybe one or two people would respond, but everytime I go to post this and check my notifications, there's another response. Y'all make me all teary and emotional
Taglist below the line - if I tagged you and you don't want to be here LET ME KNOW. Same if you'd like to be added!
@jrob64 @kmomof4 @teamhook @tiganasummertree @stahlop @hookedmom @booksteaandtoomuchtv @elfiola @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @kday426 @zaharadessert @djlbg @xarandomdreamx @jonesfandomfanatic @huntressandlioness1 @lfh1226-linda @motherkatereloyshipper @dashingpiratesandswans @anmylica @hannahhook7744 @stardreamer28 @tequedarasavinon @thomlugaro26 @grimmswan @gingerchangeling @momontheice @insanelydeadlybookcollector @rapunzelsghosts @csadmire @zippoluv @deckerstarblanche @rachelhosking90 @xellewoods @convolutedconundrum @veiled-in-moxie @caityrayeraye @flslp87 @paradiselady19 @bg12sofia @ouat-the-hell @bluewildcatfanatic @eddisfargo @julesep3026 @a-faekindagirl @middlemistcs13 @charmed101 @laschatzi @pirateprincessofpizza
#captain swan#fanfiction#killian jones#emma swan#ao3#once upon a time#ouat#ffn#cs#chaos#emma x killian#killian x emma#captain hook#my relationship with Muse is toxic#rylieoriginal#unplanned pregnancy
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fandom is so weird because like... am i grown woman? yes. has it been the better part of a decade since i first watched ouat and fell in love with regina mills? yes. i was a child then. i am an adult now. i have less free time and more worries and yet when i find myself struggling or having a bad time, what do i turn to? thinking about my goddamn blorbo. writing fic wherein i can better understand parts of my own troubles via these fictional people who i have come to know, over the years, as if they are old friends. sharing shitposts with u lot to make u giggle. there is an unending well of comfort and familiarity here that is so strange and silly and special.
#love u love us#i am Feeling weird and just clocked myself logging onto here#when i havent had time in months#it is so odd#but i like it#gina baby is kind of part of me now#and im okay w that#ouat#regina mills#swan queen#emma swan#blorbo from my shows#my blorbo#once upon a time#fandom#musings
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I think the one of the mains problems of OUAT is that s1 was great because it showed us that fairytales are just as hard & difficult as real life and in the end it was: real life is as stupid and superficially moralistic and follows no logic or reason like fairytales. It went from “fairytales are like real life, everywhere you have to fight, everywhere there’s stuggle and you have to keep fighting” to “real life is a fairytale, you only live for a douche with no personality/ID/reason to exist, he’s the only thing that gives your life meaning, everything bends to your will, even death, if your loved ones die it means nothing if you don’t lose yourself, love is either True Love or meh-who-cares-he-died”.
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(¸.• ♛ → it has been a couple of peaceful weeks, it was nice but she was preparing for the storm to come as well so she was always alert just in case. "don't you find it weird?" she couldn't help but ask. "about this sudden peace."
@devilsmenu (abby)
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The Portrait of Regina Mills - Part 3
This is based on this prompt by @italymystery-swanqueen
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pairing: SwanQueen
fandom: Once Upon A Time
setting: AU
chapter summery: Emma and Henry have some mother-son bonding time with each other and the old manor. However staying here starts to become creepy as Emma has an unlikely nightly encounter and makes an interesting discoverey...
WC: 3703
prev / next (coming soon)
read on AO3
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CHAPTER 3: The first full moon.
The first week of their stay at the late Mills manor was nearing its end and Emma finally dared to say, the old house started to feel like a home again. She could see their three months here turning into something like a vacation. Being a house sitter wasn’t at that hard after all, she determined proudly. Now that she had eliminated times dusty grasp on the manor. The old keeper really hadn’t done a great job at maintaining it. She blew out her feather duster like a sheriffs revolver and winked at the pair of golden eyes of R. Mills in front of her.
The paintings brown eyes sparkled in amusement.
“Don’t worry, Darling, I am your knight in maid’s armor. Those dust bunny armies have nothing on me and my Excalibur. Pew, pew, pew!” She fished some cobwebs of the paintings corner.
“Hehe! Emma Swan, manor maid magnifique!” She stopped abruptly. “Okay no. That sounds atrocious.”
“Don’t you laugh at me! Not my fault this house is such a dust bin! Couldn’t you have lived in a smaller one?”
Her ladder wobbled as Emma shifted her weight and she yelp as she held onto it.
“Woah! Okay, okay! I didn’t say nothing! Your house is beautiful. Peace, okay? No ones gonna clean here, if I fall. Certainly not Henry!”
“Moooom! I am done dusting the living room!”
Emma could have sworn the paintings eyebrows rose ever so slightly. She rolled her eyes.
“Okay, usually you wouldn’t get him to clean anything. Have you seen the room of a teenager these days?”
“Mooom?” Henrys head appeared in the doorway to the entrance hall. “Who are you talking to?”
“Uhm, no one…. ?”
Her son raised his eyebrows in a way that made it abundantly clear he was not convinced.
“Are you losing it? Do I need to call the nice people in white?”
“Oh yeah! Ruth really is. Especially for brainstorming story ideas. She really has good ideas, unlike someone …”
“Ha.ha. Very funny.” Emma climbed down the ladder.
“If you must know, I was talking with Mrs. Mills. She is an excellent listener.”
“I don’t, but Ruth? Really?”
“Henry, give me a break! No everyone can have a mind like yours, also…. Ruth? Why Ruth?”
“ R dot Mills? Or do you know her name?”
“What? It starts with “R”!”
“Sure, but have you looked at her? She doesn’t look like a Ruth at all!”
“She totally does!”
“No way!”
“Okay what do you think is her name then?”
“Absolutely!”
“Never!”
Emma hesitated. She looked back up at the enormous painting of the dark haired woman. Her dark eyes looking back down at her. Their brown iris seemingly almost golden in the midmorning sun. Her expression regal. She looked like a queen ready to rule over her subjects, watching her residency. She looked refined and respectful.
“If she’s old, what am I then?”
“I don’t know, something powerful and elegant, like… Rose or Raven … maybe even Raegan.”
“Nahhh, those are too modern. She’s old!”
“Not in that picture, mom! But have you looked at this place. These portraits are painted like what, a hundred years ago? No one lived in this place for ages.”
Henry was right and Emma had cleaned the dust to prove it. But still, it felt utterly wrong to call a woman like that old. It felt disrespectful and somehow…. Unfair?
“Still, Ruth? That’s not it. Maybe Roslynn?”
“She so does NOT look like a Roslynn! You really bad at naming people, it’s embarrassing.”
“Hey! I named you!”
“Mum, my name is Henry. As in your grandfather. Reaaaaal creative!”
“OH, SHUT UP YOU LITTLE-!”
Her voice got cut by her son’s yelp as she began chasing him into the living room, waving her duster like a baseball bat. Henry giggled and laughed as he ran from her until his escape came to a sudden halt on the big sofa.
“I, Henry Daniel Swan, shan’t be afraid of a mere woman, waving about with a toothpick. Face me wench, ENGARDE!” and he pulled his own feather duster from in between the sofa cushions, holding it out towards his mother. Emma was taken aback for a second then, she grinned.
“You have overstepped your welcome boy!” she taunted, lightly tapping her duster against his. “I shall accept your duel, for I win, tonight’s dinner shall be server by your hands, child!”
“Wretched maid, so it shall be, for I win, it shall be paid by your gold in the fine woman granny’s establishment!”
“So it shall be!”
“AHHHH MOM AHAHAHAH NO, STOP AHHAH I can’t,I yield…. I YIELD!!!”
With a quick flick of her wrist Emma gave Henry a mouthful of feathery dust. Her son coughed and yapped and glared at her.
“The wench plays unfair. So be it!” he tossed a cushion at her and followed it up with a big jump from the sofa onto her. Emma managed to avoid the pillow but couldn’t dodge her son. Immediately she felt his bodyweight in her arms and sputtered to get the dusters feathers out of her mouth.
“Take that, evil queen!” he laughed as he kept tickling her nose with the old feathers.
Emma couldn’t speak, her mouth still full of feathers, her nose itching from the dust and with a gigantic sneeze she threw her son back onto the sofa. He yelped. Emma sneezed again before her fingers found their way under his arms and began tickling the boy relentlessly.
“Take that, ungrateful peasant.” Emma grinned. “Dinner’s on you tonight.”
Henry grumbled and sat up.
“That’s so unfair.”
“Hey, I won fair and square. You gave up.”
~*~
In the evening Emma and Henry settled on the huge leather couch. Both grasping a cup of cocoa with cinnamon in their hands and huddled around Emma’s old Laptop for a cozy Netflix session. The manor didn’t have a TV, which wasn’t all that bad, Emma reconned. It was a good reason for Henry to try out new things and activities that he couldn’t do in the city.
They had settled for Star Wars, both of their favorite movie franchise - also the only movies Emma had still downloaded on her laptop. Their love for movie nights was one of Emma’s favorite things she shared with her son. That and hot cocoa with cinnamon of course. She loved it when Henry snuggled into her. She’d miss this terribly once he’d be all grown up, maybe even moved out. So she took every second of his cuddling, even when it meant she’d have to watch Start Wars for the millionth time.
“Huh… I don’t remember there was a piano in the score in that scene…” Henry suddenly mumbled.
“What do you mean?” Emma asked confused. Her mind had drifted off, lulled in by John Williams’ music and the constant light saber noises.
“Don’t you hear the piano? I don’t remember there being a piano.” Henry repeated and this time Emma heard it too.
“You’re right. I never noticed before.”
“ ‘Cuz there usually isn’t!”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely!” Henry kept insisting and finally just paused the movie. His and Emma’s eyes grew wide as the faint sound of the piano continued.
“What, it wasn’t in the movie?” he whispered, his voice audible scared.
“No, I am coming with you!” He demanded. Emma chuckled.
Emma shifted on the couch and sat up.
“Sounds like it’s coming from the music room. I probably forgot to turn off the radio after cleaning this afternoon. I’ll get it. You can continue the movie, if you want.”
“Are you scared?” she teased.
“Maybe a little…” he admitted, his hand slipping into hers.
Emma held her tongue. It was not fair to tease her son for being scared. He was a child after all and the stories about the manor being haunted probably hadn’t gone past him either. She felt a small bit of anger rise up in her chest again. Small town folk really was the worst. Never the less the two of them made their way to the music room, following the soft piano notes.
“Did… Did that piano… just play on it’s own?” Henry whispered, his voice quivering.
“Mom… that doesn’t sound like the radio”, Henry whispered and she felt him hugging her arm. It in fact did not sound like the old radio sitting atop the fireplace. There was no crackling or statics within the sound.
“I know that song…” Emma mumbled.
With determination in her step she walked over to the old piano and opened the wooden lid atop it’s key. Within moments the music stopped, but Emma could have sworn she had seen the keys below the cover move, when she lifted it.
“Almost seems like it. But hey, that’s not unheard of” Emma tried to reassure him.
Henry nibbled on his lower lip and eyed the instrument from a safe distance.
“But, it’s a piano!”
“Well it could be a pianola.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a clockwork instrument, like a hurdy gurdy. Some rich folks or like restaurants had them to simulate life music. They have a small metal cylinder with bumps on it, that turns and basically pings the right strings of the piano to play the notes. It’s all mechanical an no magic.” She winked. “We probably activated it this afternoon. Nothing to worry about.”
“Okay…”. He didn’t seem convinced.
“So it did play on it’s own! The piano is haunted!” Henry shrieked and immediately duck behind the Chaise in the middle of the room.
“Come, look if you press the key, you can’t hear anything, it’s dead-“ her voice got cut short when the soft pling of the piano note sounded through the room.
“What the-“, she mumbled. She pressed the key again. The note was slightly out of tune, no one, it probably hadn’t been played in years, but this… definitely wasn’t a pianola.
Emma had to admit, she was at a loss for words. There was no reasonable explanation. If that piano was a simple, regular old piano – was there really a ghost in these halls? She just stared at the wall against which the piano was placed. It wasn’t an outer wall. She couldn’t find anything that could explain the notes. No mold, no water, no signs of mice living in it, no wind blasting through the walls. Just a regular old piano, against a wall decorated with paintings. There even was one, where R. Mills sat on a very similar one, eyes closed lost in the music she probably was playing. Maybe this was the same piano? Was it really haunted by the late owner? Maybe she missed hearing its sound.
Without much of a thought Emma slit back the stool placed in front of the instrument and sat down. It had been sometime since she had last played, but some songs had been so engrained in her mind that her fingers still remembered them. Within a few unsure notes, she started playing Für Elise. The piano was out of tune, yes, but not so bad that it was horrible to listen to. The notes were some halftones lower and gave the song a deeper, kind of sorrowful sound to it.
“What are you doing, Mom?” Henry asked after some lines.
“Are you not scared?”
“I am playing the piano. If there really is a ghost, he very obviously wanted the piano to be played again. I might not now all the notes to the Bone Waltz, but I guess that’s the next best thing to it, don’t you think?”
Henry was quiet, but she saw him come up from his hiding place.
“Maybe a little.” She winked as she continued playing.
“What if the ghost doesn’t like it?”
“Then he should request a song I have the sheets for next time.”
The soft laughter of her son warmed Emma’s chest and her fingers grew steadier.
“I didn’t know you could play the piano.”
“There is a lot you don’t know about me, kiddo.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked.”
“Can you teach me?”
“Sure! Come here.”
She made room for her son on the piano stool and Henry slipped beside her. She took his small hands and placed them on the key.
“These are the base octave, called C-Dur.” She played the notes. “And every 8 keys up and down the line there is the same but an octave higher or lower.”
“What are those then?” he pointed to the black keys.
“Look if you press a key it makes the sound and slowly fades again, because the string in the piano is stopped from vibrating once it’s hammer is pressed onto it again.”
“Those are halftones”
“For what do you need these pedals?”
“For special effects.” Emma made Jazz hands and Henry laughed again.
“There are strings in a piano? And hammers? Don’t they break it?” Henry’s eyes were big and Emma realized he really had never learned anything about a piano before. She chuckled
“Of course not.”
With that their movie was forgotten and the two of them spend the rest of the evening on the piano. Emma teaching her son how to play some simple scales and how to use the pedals. As usual Henry was a fast learner and Emma played with the thought of getting him a keyboard, once they were back in the city.
For the rest of the evening the piano did not once play by itself again.
When Henrys yawning got more frequently and the full moon already shone bright through the windows of the music room, Emma decided it was time for her son to hit the hay. He did protest, of course, but by now she was pretty experienced in shutting him down.
“Okay. Good night, Ruth.” He waved the portrait above the piano. “Looks like she liked our jamming session.” He grinned and left the music room.
“We can continue tomorrow. Maybe we can find some old music sheets in the shelves then. But I am pretty sure we’d need sunlight to read them.”
He rolled his eyes, obviously looking right through her bad argument. The manor had electricity after all.
Emma followed his wave n confusion. The raven-haired woman was leaning on the piano, a brown dog curled up at her feet, her head resting on her hand, the other softly resting on the piano top. A soft smile playing around her lips and her dark eyes gently looking down at Emma, who stared at the portrait.
She hadn’t noticed the dog before, and hadn’t Mrs. Mills been playing the piano before? Her eyes closed and her hands on the keys? Emma rubbed her eyes. She must have imagined that. The painting was still gently smiling at her, blinking softly. Blinking?!
“What the-?!” Emma jumped from her seat. “I guess I should go to bed as well.” She decided and almost sprinted from the room. She must be tired. Portraits don’t blink. Well, usually people also don’t talk to them, like she had done for the past week. But that was different. She didn’t think Ruth would answer! Maybe she had acted to much like the portrait could listen. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. Her mind was most definitely playing tricks on her! And yet, when she reached her room, she still threw a blanket over the portrait hanging above her dresser. In this one Mrs. Mills was sitting in the room’s armchair, reading a book. The same chocolate brown dog from the piano painting curled at her feet. No, if this woman really haunted the manor, she would most definitely not be watched during her sleep. Emma made sure the blanket was secure and wouldn’t slip down during the night.
“Ghosts aren’t real…” she mumbled.
But she still pulled her blanket over her head tonight.
~*~
Within seconds she was wide awake. On tiptoes she sneaked to her door, in her hand she held the first things her fingers had reached – her bedside lamp. Upside down.
The old grandfather clock down the hallways chimed when Emma suddenly woke up.
There was someone in the house. She was sure she hadn’t just dreamed the sound of footsteps walking down the hall outside of her door.
She held it close like a baseball bat, ready to swing at whoever came her way.
“Henry, is that you?” she whispered into the darkness. Well it wasn’t all that dark really. The house was lit up by the full moon shining through some of the windows Emma hadn’t bothered to close all the way.
There, in the pale silver light stood a figure over the sink. One of the sharp kitchen knives glistened in the moonlight as the figure appeared to … cut some apple slices???
Again, there were sounds coming from downstairs!
Emma gripped her lamp tighter and tiptoed down the stairs. A metallic clanking made her turn towards the kitchen.
“Hold it right there!” Emma called out, her lamp raised high, ready to swing.
She heard the figure gasp as she turned around. It was most definitely a woman. Dark hair. A bit smaller than Emma. For a long woman the two of them just stared at each other than the woman bolted from the kitchen towards the dinning room. Emma’s lamp broke on the floor as she sprinted after the intruder.
Suddenly Emma stood in a room where she hadn’t been in before. She was sure this room had been locked before. It looked, however, like a study. One wall was a single big book shelf, a second a single window front. In the middle of the room facing the door stood an enormous desk. Its dark polished wood reflecting the moonlight shinning directly into the room.
“Stop!” she called after her, but the woman literally burst trough the dining rooms double doors into the entry hall. Emma could barely follow. She ran full force into the big swinging doors and could just see the woman’s feet bolt up the stairs. She immediately ran after her. Almost on all fours Emma ran up the stairs and down the hall way. Past the grandfather clock, past Henrys room, past her own and through the door at the end of the hallway.
Emma leaned with one hand in the door frame, panting heavily.
Where did that woman go? She was no where to be seen and this was the only room that had been open. There was no second door out of the room, no window open. It was as if the woman just disappeared into thin air.
“This can’t be…” Emma mumbled. “You don’t get to disappear like that, Missy. I have found quicker people than you again!”
So, the young mother took to exploring the room, searching for any clue where the woman had disappeared to. The bookshelf resulted into no hidden staircase. The desk had no obvious hidden compartments. Or at least none, that would be big enough to house a human. There were no closets in the room Just a dresser on the third wall, opposing the bookshelf. Above the dresser hung another one of R. Mills’ portraits. This one however looked different than the other. It was the same woman, undoubtedly, as in the other pictures all over the manor. But she didn’t smile. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes had a sort of panic in them. She looked uneasy, agitated, as if she was waiting for something - something bad. She sat at the edge of the huge desk, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Her posture however wasn’t straight, now regal. She looked as if she had hurried to be on time to an appointment and just waited to jump up again to get to the next. Below her feet der was the rugs corner folded back as if she had just stumbled over it and the painter had decided to capture this exact moment to paint. A truly remarkable painter. This portrait looked so much more life like than the others. It felt like it had just dried moments ago. No, as if the paint was still fresh, still dripping. Emma leaned closer. She could almost feel the emotion of the hurried women in it. Hadn’t she just had a similar situation? R. Mills almost looked like she held her breath in order to not pant.
“Huh, you really must have had a busy life. But why decide to keep a painting like that? Well, I guess I know why you locked it in here, huh?”
Finally, Emma gave up on looking for the intruder. She must have fled into anther room and probably had already jumped out an open window or left the same way she had come. Emma decided to looked for her exit in the morning and swore herself to control every room from now on, so no one could come in uninvited. She probably shouldn’t have been so sloppy with it. After all, hadn’t that been on of Mills’ rules?
She turned on her heels giving the room one last once over before heading back to bed. On her way to the door however her food caught on something and she stumbled. Looking down it was a corner of the old rug, that was folded back. Huh, she must have lifted it, when she had burst into the room. When she kneeled down to fix it her eyes noticed a small indent in the sideboard of the enormous desk. Curiously she let her fingers glider over it. Wait – that was a button! Curiously she pressed it. With a soft click opened the desks side panel. Emma nudged it open fully. It was a small compartment between the inner and the outer panel of the desk, just deep enough for a small book to fit in it. Marveling at the craftsmanship of the desk Emma took out the book from its hiding place.
It looked to be a handbound notebook. Its neat canvas surface was dusty. In the moonlight Emma could read the words on the cover, written in an elegant cursive handwriting:
The diary of Regina Mills.
#SwanQueen#swanqueen#SQ#Once upon a Time#OUAT#ouat#Regina Mills#Emma Swan#The Portrait of Regina Mills#the mystery behind the portrait#my fanfictions#Sorry this took me so long#I am not a really regular writer#but the muse of the story bit me again and this was a lot of fun writing#also i still have my outline sooo good chance i'll actually finish this sometime
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hate 99% of how ouat handled basically everything past s1/2. but love this idea of emma having immense potential for both good and evil
#.muse ( emma swan )#it's so important to note that there's nothing INHERENTLY good about her#(nor anyone else for that matter)#but the acknowledgment that she CHOOSES to be good#even despite the reasons she could choose otherwise
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AU where August actually gives Emma the money that Neal meant for him to give her.
Wouldn't change much, but I can imagine it would have changed some things.
#Musings#Emma Swan#Neal Cassidy#Baelfire#Once Upon A Time#Seriously fucking August#I mean I get it he was a little kid at first shit happens but still after that
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Dum Spiro, Spero - CS One Shot
AO3
Killian was paralysed as he watched the yellow bug disappear over the horizon. He had always thought the sound of heartbreak was gloomy, desperate pleas, or maybe the dramatic sounds of an organ played by a tortured soul. But, as the wind stirred trees full of bright green leaves and the birds chirped joyful songs to one another, he realised the sound of heartbreak could be those of an ideal spring afternoon.
She’d always said she’d get out of this town one of these days; it had never occurred to him that Emma would do it without him. They’d been inseparable for as long as he cared to remember - the time before her was a haze of emotions that hurt to revisit and memories that seemed to have happened to someone else. Even as he helped her pack up the few items that would make the journey with her to New York, he hadn’t fully accepted that they were actually going to be separated.
When she’d gotten the opportunity to join her college roommate’s art gallery, she’d hesitated - I am not ready for this. He wouldn’t hear any of that nonsense; reminding her how incredibly talented she was and how her work thus far only proved she was absolutely ready for something exactly like this. He pulled her into his chest and kissed the top of her head. He held her, giving her comfort, until she’d pulled away, “I have to pack. I have to find a place to live. I can’t believe this. Where will I get coffee?”
He’d chuckled at her, “I bet they have coffee places in New York; it’s a big town.”
“Not with an owner who adores me enough to have my order ready before I’ve walked in and paired with a pastry that I didn’t know I needed.”
“You’ll charm one soon enough, love.”
She’d pouted at him. “Or you could take me with you,” he’d said it playfully, with a flirty smile on his face, but his heart pounded in his throat when he’d said the words. She scoffed but hadn’t answered. Instead, she’d offered him some wine to celebrate her way out of this hidden town and the subject was forgotten.
He cursed himself for never telling her how her eyes were the most beautiful shade of green he’d ever seen, how she took his breath whenever she smiled at him, how he wished he could come home to her and trade the stories of their days in person every evening while he cooked dinner (Emma was an awful cook), and how lost in love he was for her. He couldn’t tell her these things now without her assuming that he was asking her to stay, to give up her dreams, for him.
When she’d called him this morning, he hoped it was to say she’d miss him or anything other than to beg him to bring her one last perfect cup of coffee when he came over to say goodbye later.
He met her at her flat with lunch and a full thermos and helped her carry her stuff down to her tiny vehicle. He held on hope that she’d give him any indication that she was already missing him even the smallest bit, even as she carried down the last box from her flat and stuffed it in her tiny car. She blew a stray hair from her face and gave him a quick hug, “Well, wish me luck.”
“You’ll be brilliant, Swan.”
She gave him one of her small smiles, one that flirted the line between a frown and a smile, before she drove away from him. His vow to never go a day without thinking of her was drowned out by the hum of the engine; the shattering of his heart too quiet to be heard over the cheery birdsong.
§§§§
They’d talked every few days when she first moved. Days turned to weeks turned to months. They’d planned a trip for him to see her gallery and her new life. But, she’d asked him to reschedule when a big commission came in that week. She started dating a fellow artist at the gallery and stopped answering Killian’s calls. The trip never rescheduled. The months turned to years.
As time passed, Killian expected the crippling ache in his chest to lessen, but the sharp pain never dulled.
He hadn’t stopped living his life; he had a standing game night with close friends, he had expanded his coffee shop and started shipping his speciality roasts all around the Northeast, and he was mostly a kind of good. It was just that his “good” was haunted by the constant presence of her absence.
It was another one of those unbearable spring days, filled with sunlight, bird chatter, and her ghost, so he’d taken off from work at lunch. Killian started walking without a destination in mind, just a need to escape the memories threatening to catch him and swallow him whole. He walked until the sweet smell of blooming flowers was replaced by the briny scent of the sea, the crunch of gravel underfoot turned to the rich thud of steps on wood, and a torturous spring day transformed into the ideal afternoon for sailing.
He spotted his sailboat, Dum Spiro, Spero, standing proud in her mooring and smiled. His kind of good wasn’t so bad.
“Killian?” a woman’s voice called over the sound of water lapping on the hulls and piers around him. He turned with a warm smile on his face, ready to welcome Belle on his impromptu adventure. She would often join him on days like these. He suspected the sea granted her wounded heart the same serenity it gave his.
His heart tripped and his smile faltered when he did turn to find the woman who’d called his name. The ghost that had haunted him made flesh. “Swan?” his voice was thick with emotion, too quiet to carry the distance to her.
She must have heard him though because she started running toward him. He stood a moment, dumbfounded before he walked quickly toward her. She jumped into his arms and he held her tight for a moment before he returned her to her feet, “I doubted I’d ever see you again.”
“I know.”
“I called.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t.”
“I didn’t.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched as he studied her, afraid to ask but desperate to know all the answers to the questions he has held on to since their last conversation. He didn’t know where to start or what it meant that she was here, now. “Why?,” he asked, voice quiet.
“I couldn’t,” her eyes flashed with hurt and anger that he couldn’t discern. But, he knew better than to press her on it.
“Why are you here, Swan?”
Tears pricked at her eyes, the nickname seeming to break something in her. “I’ve missed home. But, I wasn’t sure how to come back.”
“Couldn’t find a map? Google didn’t have directions to Storybooke?” Killian quipped.
Emma looked away. She studied the boats around them as if they could give her words she was struggling to find. She let out a breath and looked back to Killian, “I didn’t know how to come back to you. I missed you. But, I was the one who pulled away.. how do I undo that?”
“You can’t,” Killian was interrupted by Emma’s humourless laugh. He started again, “You can’t undo it, Emma. But, maybe if I had your word that you won’t shut me out again, we can get to know each other again?”
“Yes, absolutely,” Emma flashed him a smile that fused together a few of the fissures in his heart.
“Well, Swan, join me?” he gestured to his boat, eyebrow raised in question.
Emma studied the boat. “While I breathe, I hope,” she translated as she boarded the boat behind him. “Hope for what?”
“For you, love,” Killian answered. Always for you.
#cs fanfic#captain swan#killian jones#emma swan#killian x emma#once upon a time#cs modern au ff#angst with a happy ending#this is what the muse wanted to write?#I'm sorry - I think?
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“You can’t let fear of failure keep you from trying.” ( @bluebellestorybrooke from Henry, to Emma during operation Cobra )
@bluebellestorybrooke
Emma sighed, tho it wasn't as annoyed sounding as she assumed it would come out. "Kid... I know you want this to work... but not everything has happy endings like your storybook there... sometimes... people do fail. Sometimes people don't defeat the badguy and they get away. They escape bail, run to Mexico or Canada and just... the world turns... not everyone gets a happy ending..." I would know.
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❈🦎❈
Want more? Join the Tag List
Tagged: @nephrysdarkwater-blog, @Teesee975
#ouat#once upon a time#snow white#mary margaret#david nolan#prince charming#mr. gold#rumplestiltskin#emma swan#regina mills#evil queen#killian jones#captain hook#belle french#henry mills#random polls#muse's polls
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Closed Starter | @rawbutprecious
They all went to the Underworld because Emma wanted to rescue Hook, it was her fault that he was there in the first place. After she had became the Dark One and then made Hook one to save his life. She barely got any sleep and even refused to get some sleep. Everyone sort of went their own way when arriving in the Underworld as did Emma, although she had no idea where to go at this point, or where to look, her head was a mess and all she could think about was finding Hook and hoping he's okay. She never wanted this to happen, this wasn't supposed to end this way, look where it brought her. The blonde went her own way when she suddenly bumped into someone. "I'm s-" She didn't even finished her sentence when she looked up and saw who she bumped into.
"N-Neal?" From all the people she did not expected to see him here. Taking a step backwards to see if she wasn't going crazy with seeing him here. Her first love, the first one she loved here in the Underworld while she was looking for her current love. God, this hasn't been too difficult right. "Wait, if you're here. Does that mean you have unfinished business. What is it?" Emma then asked, as she was curious about it. Then again, this must not be a coincidence that she ran into Neal like that.
#*•.¸♡ interactions 【faeryworlds】#*•.¸♡ Musing: Emma Swan: ❝ you want people to look at you differently make them!❝#rawbutprecious
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Aand I'm back ❤️ I'll make my way through replies today, if it's been a while (not in the last two weeks) please let me know and I'll find it to reply.
Anything smutty please keep to DMS but I'm very happy to write that too 💖
#emmasaviorswan#ouat roleplay#emma swan#ouat#ooc#all the replies#all the muses#all the ships#ruby lucas#david nolan#bringing back cora too#need to let my dark side out with anger atm 😉
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❝ i didn’t ₒₚₜ ᵢₙ to be your 𝑜𝑑𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑢𝑡. ❞
ttpd lyric starter for @sabohteurs
#sabohteurs#• | muses ━ emma swan.#• | dynamics — regina mills ( feat. sabohteurs ).#so long london makes me cry every mf time
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monster: giant spiders.
(¸.• ♛ → "at least hope is not here." because when they went out, they left hope safe and sound with her babysitter. however, she would like to go back to her daughter. "let's just try a way out of this place and..." but she stopped herself when she saw something, well, something disgusting. "it seems this maze is gonna throw big things at us."
@lcxstsouls (killian)
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not to be talking about once upon a time for some reason in *checks watch* 2022, buuuuut. hot take. they shouldn’t have killed baelfire/neal. like it’s such a whack thing to do to remove that character. i’m not saying he was some sort of fan fave that people clamored for but season 2 was so much a set-up for that character that it all feels pointless that they kill him off.
i have no clue what the original plan was in the writer’s room but i feel pretty confident that hook and emma’s relationship was expanded after seeing the chemistry with jen and colin and the fan reaction to it (i think i’ve read about that?) and that’s how they end up writing themselves into a love triangle in season 3 with neal, hook, and emma. but let’s be completely honest... they kill neal to end the love triangle, right? they don’t want emma to have to pick between her first love/baby daddy and her new attraction with hook, possibly because they feel after the ending of season 2 that she would pick neal, but that just feels like such a disservice to hook and emma as a concept. even in 3a, emma is clearly not “making a decision” other than picking henry over both of them, but hook is clearly confident in the bond he has with emma. just because she had history with neal didn’t mean she had to choose him, nor that they had to kill him off to avoid emma making a decision.
and more than the emma/neal plot, the killing off of neal is egregious because literally killing off neal metaphorically kills rumple. and look, i fucking hated rumple for 90% of the show, i’ll be real, but i do genuinely think s1-2 rumple has intriguing moments and do you know why? BECAUSE HIS SON IS HIS MOTIVATION. by killing off rumple’s son, they are effectively killing off any likability rumple had. sure, there’s still belle, but rumple is awful to belle at pretty much every turn. neal is pretty much the only place rumple is redeemable at any point in the series and we have to watch him for THREE MORE SEASONS be the fucking worst with absolutely no good motivation. anyway. hate it.
#ouat#look this was not the only mistake ouat made by a long shot kslglkfdgd#but i was just using neal's death episode for clips#so it's in my mind#also i think i'm one of the rarer captain swan's who didn't like. vehemently hate swanfire.#like obviously i preferred CS the whole time but swanfire were cute i did not mind them#i think it could've been cool to show emma and neal amicably split and coparent henry *shrugs*#also a fun 'your first love doesn't have to be your inevitable ending'#by choice and not by deaht#mira muses
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