#art by zaharadessert
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Fly With the Black Swan
Chapter Two: The Avalanche
Tagging the Usual Crew: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @sotangledupinit @tiganasummertree @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @whimsicallyenchantedrose @deckerstarblanche
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Their arrival in the tiny port town came late at night. After settling the matter of docking and arranging shore leave for the majority of his crew, save the skeleton shift for the night watch, Hook met with a handful of his most trusted sailors to plan for their reconnaissance trip. After staying awake for way too long that evening making plans, they agreed to set out the following morning in order to rest and gather supplies. The North Mountains were known to be cold and snowy all year long, so Hook and his crew would need to be prepared.
“Make sure that a skeleton crew mans the ship at all times,” Hook repeated to Mister Bones, the second mate, who was to stay with the ship and watch over her. He had already made sure to stress this order to the man, and Mister Bones clearly was weary of hearing Hook’s insistence, nodding his head and waving his hand in the air. Hook ignored the man’s dramatics, well used to the man’s mannerisms due to how long they had sailed together on this ship. “Arrange for shifts each day. I don’t want to come back to the Jolly Roger commandeered by someone else.”
“Aye, sir,” Mister Bones nodded exasperatedly for the upteenth time. Finally satisfied that his ship would be taken care of, Hook turned his attention to the rest of the preparations. He knew his ship would be in good hands with the second mate for all his nagging. Mister Bones had come on as a member of his crew shortly after Hook’s turn to piracy, and he had been loyal ever since. Hook spared no more thought to the matter as he made way into town to arrange for transportation of some sort and the necessary supplies.
The morning had dawned bright, a perfect cloudless day with a comfortable wind that belied the coldness that awaited them as they climbed into the mountainscape of the Diamond Peaks range. They had arranged for horses to take them through the valleys, and the band of pirates collected their mounts from the local stable, a small structure that barely had enough extra horses to lend to the men. Hook had made sure that the owner of the stables would be compensated fairly as a result.
Once they collected their mounts, they made haste for the Emerald Pine Pass, the road through the mountain range that would hopefully lead him to the next step in his revenge. The crew of six plus their captain were in good spirits, singing sea shanties and telling jokes at each other’s expense (especially Smee’s) as they started the first leg of their journey. Starkey, a tall, wiry pirate who served as Hook’s master gunner, told bawdry jokes the entire time. Black Murphy, an older man from the Tolou province of Northern Wei, joined in with Starkey, egging him on.
Damien Salt and John Turk, both from Tirulia, spent their time reminiscing about previous fights they won at taverns they had all been patrons at in the past. One Eyed Jack rode silently alongside Smee, occasionally correcting details in any of the stories told by their accompanying party members. Hook led the pack, slightly ahead of the others, but close enough to laugh and chime in with remembered details of his own. His revenge was never far from his mind, so he was more subdued than his compatriots.
Their journey through the Emerald Pine Pass was slow. Snow banks that hadn’t yet melted in the sun frequently cut off parts of the road, and so their horses had to wade through it. Because of this, they had to pause to take frequent breaks to warm the animals and make sure they were taken care of during the voyage. Other than these minor annoyances, the trip had begun without a hitch. That should have been Hook’s first clue that things were about to go awry.
Their good fortune with the balmy, mild weather didn’t hold up. As they slowly climbed in elevation, the temperature dropped. Hook began to grow more and more concerned at the weather conditions, worrying as to whether he and his men could carry on with their already slow pace. Each day brought worse and worse conditions. As the temperature dropped more and more, Hook recalled how some of the locals had spoken of the quickly changing weather and of how sudden snow storms uncommon for the warmer seasonal months could sometimes sporadically appear. He hoped this was just a fluke and the temperatures would begin to warm again, but his hope was to be vain. On the sixth day of the otherwise boring journey, a blizzard came through the area, covering everything in a blanket of snow and whiting out the pass. Hook and his crew had no choice but to hunker down and wait it out.
“A bloody menace these storms are,” Starkey complained around a feeble fire, shivering as he held a thick fur blanket around his shoulders.
“Aye, the deserts of Agrabah are a tropical paradise compared to this,” Damien Salt sneered, holding out a piece of hardtack on a long stick over the fire in an attempt to thaw it out.
“I think I’d take a typhoon,” Starkey shot back, clenching the fur blanket tighter around his wiry frame.
“At least we have shelter,” Smee said, pointing to their makeshift tent, the only thing protecting them from the worst of the elements. “And we can sing songs to pass the time.”
The group collectively groaned, for singing shanties had gotten old after the third day. John Turk and Black Murphy threw pieces of hardtack at their first mate, who crouched and flinched to try and avoid being pelted. Hook sighed but said nothing, continuing to sip from his rum flask that has refilled itself since the last time he had corked it closed. For as much as he hated most magic with a passion, he had to once again thank the gods for his foresight in having the bottle enchanted to always refill itself. He was going to need every drop being stuck here with this lot.
One Eyed Jack rolled his eyes and got up to brave the conditions to check on the horses rather than stick around for Smee’s usual false cheer. Hook ignored them all as they carried on with their antics, double-checking his calculations for how far they still had to go. He hoped the weather would move on and allow them to carry on with their journey. He sipped his flask of rum as he did so, finding that the warmth from the rum made the temperature in the tent almost pleasant.
The rest of the men eventually broke out a deck of cards and proceeded to play a few rounds of five card poker to pass the time. The storm outside grew worse and worse as the evening proceeded and night fell. They all fell into an uneasy sleep at different points in the night, save for a couple left to keep watch. By establishing shifts, they were able to keep their fire going even through the raging storm. Each one checked on the horses at the start of their watches, so there would hopefully be no problems in setting out once the storm passed.
It was just Hook’s luck that the storm lasted three long, miserable days. As petty arguments began to break out that he would have to quell, he began contemplating just how lost he could get in the melee if he left their sorry arses there. After the latest squabble between Starkey and Smee about going to fetch more firewood, Hook rolled his eyes and drank more from his flask, thankful once again that he had had it enchanted to never run out long before his sojourn to Neverland. He vowed to keep up a steady buzz so as to be able to better tune out the bickering of his crew.
The morning after the blizzard finally blew itself out dawned clear and bright, much like their first day in Sapphire Springs. The light off the snow was blinding in these early hours. Hook applied a new layer of kohl to try and help with the glare, but it did little to actually help. Smee, Starkey, Black Murphy, One Eyed Jack, Damien Salt, and John Turk all followed suit with their own kohl, grumbling and griping all the while about not having warm enough clothes and lamenting that they hadn’t stayed behind on the ship.
The group quickly broke camp after a hasty breakfast of hardtack and cured meats, not wanting to linger long in these colder conditions. The group were mostly silent as they packed their belongings into the saddlebags of their horses, tamping their feet and rubbing their hands as they blew into their cupped fists, trying to keep the cold at bay as they did so.
Black Murphy glanced around warily as he tightened the straps on his saddle. “It’s mighty warm today,” he muttered, his breath coming out in foggy clouds. “Much warmer than it was yesterday.”
“Thank the gods for that,” Damien Salt sneered. “Maybe my hands won’t fall off before I get back to the ship.”
“Your hands were already gonna fall off, Salty,” wheezed One Eyed Jack. “What with all your time in front of the forges repairing our cutlasses.”
“Aye, and if you lot would be more careful about breakin’ ‘em, I wouldn’t have to lose any appendages,” Salt laughed. “No offense, Captain,” he added with a respectful nod of his head.
Hook shrugged the comment off, much like he did the cold conditions they were in. “None taken. Are we all ready?”
A chorus of “Ayes” rang out from the others, and he mounted his horse, tugging his duster closed tight once he was settled in the saddle. “Then let’s shove off. We might not have much time before the next snow storm comes and cuts off the pass entirely.”
The others nodded and mounted their horses as well. They began riding through the snow, their horses trudging along through the thick drifts. As the morning progressed, the day grew warmer and warmer, much to the relief of the crew. They had settled into a companionable silence, speaking only briefly as they moved steadily forward. They ate more hardtack and cured meat whilst on the move around noon.
Shortly after they had finished their meal, a soft thump echoed through the mountain air. Smee looked around in concern, having been the one of the group paying the most attention to their surroundings.
“What was that?” Smee asked. The others listened, but the sound didn’t happen again.
“‘S probably your imagination,” Starkey rolled his eyes. Smee had been famous amongst the crew in Neverland for hysterics at the slightest thing gone wrong.
“I heard something,” Smee insisted. “It wasn’t my imagination.”
“Let’s see if it sounds off again,” Black Murphy sighed as he rolled his eyes, hoping the two sailors would avoid another argument.
The group fell silent again. After a moment, another soft whump sounded, this time from higher up the mountain peak they were under. The sound echoed off the sides of the surrounding mountains.
“There it is again!” Smee exclaimed. “What is making that noise?”
John Turk smirked. “Perhaps it’s your stomach.”
The sailors laughed, save for Hook, who just smiled wryly. Another well-known fact about his first mate was Smee’s propensity for constantly eating, drinking, or even just thinking about food. Smee turned red from embarrassment and didn’t respond.
No one else said anything, content to fall back into silence as they trudged forward. The whumping sounds could be heard occasionally, coming more and more frequently as they continued.
Hook glanced up at the sky. Seeing that it was getting quite late in the afternoon and they had maybe only an hour or two before sunset, he halted his horse.
“Let’s set up camp,” he ordered. “I don’t want to get to nightfall without at least a fire going.”
The pirates agreed and began the process of making camp. Smee went off to gather firewood, and wandered off aways as the rest began pitching tents and readying the ground for the fire.
Just as Smee bent over to pick up a large branch, a large cracking sound echoed off the ridge, causing the pirates to pause and look around in befuddlement. Hook surveyed the mountainside above them. He gasped when he laid eyes on what it was that had caused that sound. An avalanche was coming right towards them from the nearest mountainside.
“Run!” he bellowed, gesturing at his men to grab their horses and try to get out of the way.
Five of the pirate crew managed to react quickly and led the way, but Smee, having been the furthest away, fell behind. Hook was nearly to the tree line when he glanced back to see his first mate struggling in the snow.
He groaned and turned back. He struggled to get his horse to turn back around, but once he did, he made it over to Smee in moments. He wrapped the reins loosely around his hook and reached for Smee's hand. Smee grabbed it and Hook hoisted the man up on the horse’ back in front of him, Smee hanging on for dear life to the side of the saddle as his legs dangled awkwardly in the air.
The horse had already struggled to carry Hook through the snow, but now that it had to carry Smee and Hook, it could barely leap over the snowbanks. The horse whinnied and shrieked in fright as it struggled to maneuver through. Hook could see his men in the tree line, cursing and yelling at him to hurry up. The tree line looked to be safe from the falling snow, and Hook nudged his heels deeper into the horse’s sides, hoping against hope that they would make it.
He was forty feet away. Then thirty. Then twenty-five. He felt his horse struggle even more and begin to slow from the exertion, and he jumped off, growling in frustration. There was no way they were going to make it at this rate.
“Captain!” Smee protested but Hook waved him off.
“I’ll be fine. Go!” Hook ordered. The horse began to move faster to the tree line now that its load had been lightened, and it finally made it to the tree line to safety with Smee dangling from the saddle.
Hook was feet away from the tree line, himself, but as he surveyed the flying snow and debris, he sensed with the kind of perfect clarity that accompanied deadly experiences that he wasn’t going to make it. He ducked down into the snow, covering his head with both arms just as it piled on top of him. His crew yelled frantically as he was buried, but they couldn’t be heard over the din.
Hook felt himself get swept away. Everything was a mass of white. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know which way was up. He couldn’t stop his descent.
He smashed hard into some object buried beneath the snow, knocking what little wind he had left. His body felt as if it were on fire. Still he tumbled on. As he finally, finally ground to a halt, his last coherent thought was of how badly his right side hurt. Hook’s eyes slid closed and he knew nothing more.
After some time, Hook could feel his life slowly slipping from his grasp as he came around back to consciousness. His body hurt everywhere, though the feeling was growing weaker every moment he lay there on the snow and debris. Dazed, his vision blurry, he tried to survey his surroundings. The last thing he recalled was the sight of his crew looking on in helpless terror as the snow overtook him, burying him under the mountain of snow and debris in the avalanche as it swept him away. He had knocked into something hard, and he knew instinctively that it had damaged something inside.
He didn’t have long left.
He squinted his eyes against the brightness of the snow that still surrounded him. The snow was dislodged all around him, rocks and pieces of trees scattered throughout the white from where they had been swept away along with him. He had somehow managed to come to a stop at the surface of the snow, which was lucky even if he were dying. Finally his eyes alighted on a lone dark object in the blinding whiteness of his surroundings. He focused through the dizziness on the figure, his heart seeming to come to a stop when his vision finally focused.
It was a woman, with blonde hair as fair as any in Arendelle that he had seen and eyes as green as the evergreen trees around them. Her lips were the color of blood and her eyes were rimmed in an interesting style of kohl that Hook had never before seen, even considering all of his travels throughout the centuries. Her hair looked fluffy, like the down of a newly hatched chick, and she was dressed all in black. Her legs were encased in the tightest black leather pants he had ever seen on a woman, tighter than even Milah had worn hers. Her black leather jacket looked like it had been taken from the skin of a snake, and it was closed tightly over her form. She wore black knee-high heeled boots.
These details were observed, filed away, and dismissed in a heartbeat. It was her skin that gave away who she was.
Her skin, though deathly pale, was covered in white, glittery scales. Hook had seen only one other person with scaly skin like this in his long life.
This woman was the newest Dark One.
He watched as the woman blinked and then approached him. She knelt down to his left, surveying him critically.
“You don’t have much time,” she said, her voice a husky drawl. “You’ll die soon if something isn’t done to prevent it.”
Hook blinked. He grunted, but didn’t actually respond like he wanted to. The pain surged through him, robbing him of his voice.
“I can save you with a flick of my wrist,” she said mildly, carrying on as if he hadn’t tried to speak. “It’s very easy magic, healing internal damage. But it comes at a price.”
Hook eyed her with alarm. He sneered, gathering his breath for one response, whispered and barely overheard through the whipping wind around them: “I’ll not pay any price for your evil.”
She raised her brows in mild surprise but otherwise gave no other reaction. She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The price is 15 years of servitude. No more; no less.”
Hook sneered, whispering, “I’d die before I become a Dark One’s plaything.” His efforts ended in a hacking cough, spitting out blood into the pure fallen snow.
The woman hummed. “It’s up to you. You obviously were in pursuit of something coming into these inhospitable mountains, but I’m sure your pride is worth giving up on that business of yours. You can die knowing that you failed in obtaining whatever it was you sought.”
She stood silently and turned to walk away, picking her way gracefully through the detritus around them. As he watched her perfectly postured form go, Hook thought about all that he had wanted, and all that he had gone through to get his revenge. He remembered how it had felt to hold Milah in his arms one last time as she lay there on the deck of his ship, panting and moaning from the pain of having her heart slowly crushed to dust. He recalled watching the dust blow into the wind along with all of his dreams and plans for the future. He remembered the high pitched gleeful giggle of Rumplestiltskin’s as the demon murdered his estranged wife and mother of his child in cold blood. He thought of the wracking pain his heart had felt as it shattered beyond repair. The pain of losing his hand was nothing compared to the emotional upheaval her loss had caused. Finally, he thought of leaving the demon itself in this world, of not making it pay for preying upon people and twisting them to its sick desires, and he shuddered out of disgust. He could not let his life’s purpose go unmet. Not now. Not when the creature responsible for every torment he had felt these last centuries was standing mere feet from him at last.
He closed his eyes in despair for the choice he was about to make. He had sworn once he had clawed his way out of indentured servitude that he would never be enslaved to another’s bidding again. He had had to agree to similar terms as these during his long stint in Neverland, playing the errand boy to Pan’s machinations, and he had sworn again, No more. Hook desperately tried to recall Milah’s bright smile, faded from his memory due to the passage of time, and of her gray eyes as they looked on at him in pain and heartbreak. He couldn’t let his revenge go, not at the cost of his own life. Not if the price was another stint of servitude alongside the demon that caused all his pain.
“Wait,” he grunted, closing his eyes against his decision.
The Dark One stopped and turned back. She walked back to his side and knelt by him again. “Have you changed your mind?”
Hook closed his eyes, fighting for coherence through his injuries. “I agree to ten years of service.” He was panting harder and harder, the breath he needed to speak growing harder to muster. If he couldn’t accomplish his goal in another ten years, it would be worth suffering this new Dark One’s wrath as he met his end at her hand. Either he would have his revenge or he would be united at last with his beloved. Ten years would have to be worth it all.
The Dark One considered him. She nodded once and waved her hand over his form. Golden light flowed from her hand and into his body. He felt his body heal, the cuts and lacerations closing up, the broken bones forging new ties, the bleeding and bruising stopping and reversing. He began to breathe easier, taking deeper breaths each time, and finally, he was healed.
He raised up into a half sitting position, surveying his body with awed interest, when he noticed a black band around his wrist just below the edges of his tattoo.
“The band represents your agreement to provide services to me. It is magically binding, breakable only by my magic or your completed time. You will not be able to remove it in any way. Once your ten years are up, it will disappear.”
He looked up at the Dark One in shock and fear. She had already turned her back on him.
“My pet will be along momentarily to bring you to my residence. Don’t try to run; it will only make things worse for you if you do.” She stepped forward and disappeared in a cloud of gray-white smoke.
Hook looked wildly around him. He was alone on the mountainside, the sun quickly setting below the horizon. Even if he could run, he had no way of knowing which way to go. His crew were nowhere to be seen, and the mountain was silent. He started shivering and tugged his leather duster closer to him, cursing his ability to now feel the cold he hadn’t felt while he had been dying.
He didn’t have long to wait before this supposed “pet” came along. A rush of wings sounded from overheard, and he looked up, gasping when he realized what it was.
A giant black swan slowly descended from the air, just a ways down the mountain from him. He gaped at it as it landed and tucked its wings against its body. It stared at him with a familiar green gaze, though he couldn’t place why the eyes looked familiar. He slowly stood from his stooped position.
The bird had to be at least as tall as a house and as wide as a small barn. He eyed its beak warily, but it seemed to want to do nothing but blink at him.
“Are- are you here to bring me to the tower?” he asked with uncertainty. The black swan nodded once.
“Am I meant to walk with you?”
The black swan shook its head.
Hook frowned. “Then how are we meant to go there?”
The black swan lowered its head to the snow and unfolded a wing, dipping it to the snow as well in a strange sort of bow. Hook blinked.
“…You want me to ride on your back?” he asked slowly.
The swan looked up at him, its green eyes blinking, and nodded once.
He sighed in uncertainty and looked at the swan’s back. He wasn’t sure how to mount the animal without injuring it with his hook. He found that, though he loathed the thought of being the Dark One’s servant, he did not want to hurt this beautiful pet of hers. It seemed so innocent.
He stepped up to its side and stroked the feathers along its neck. “I apologize if I hurt you,” he murmured before taking hold of a bunch of feathers and hoisting himself up.
He somehow managed to get settled on the bird’s back without pulling any feathers out, but it had been an awkward mounting. He swayed unsteadily as it raised its head, grabbing on with his right hand firmly to keep from falling off. Hook had just managed to secure his grip on the feathers when the bird unfurled its wings and flapped them hard, launching them both into the air.
Hook grabbed the bird’s neck out of an instinctual fear, closing his eyes against the wind and the rapidly receding ground below. He sat paralyzed, afraid to move an inch lest it dislodge his hold on the feathers in his hand. He had never wished more for the return of his left hand than he had in that moment. After a few minutes, once the ascent had steadied, he slowly opened his eyes. He raised his head up slightly and looked around.
The sight was beautiful, Hook had to admit. Though he had always preferred the sea, there was something majestic about these mountains. The sun’s rays hit the peaks just right, singing a melody of sight. He smiled slightly at the view.
After an indeterminate amount of time, the swan began its descent. He leaned as far over as he dared, desperate to see what their destination was. Growing ever closer was a tall tower resting in a valley, completely surrounded by mountains on all sides.
‘How perfect,’ Hook thought. ‘A prison surrounded by land.’
The tower extended quite high into the sky; it had to be at least seven or eight stories. The landscape around it was littered with trees and bushes and flowers of all colors. The tower’s edifice was cheery looking, casting a reflection on to the lake beside it in the now dimming light of evening. It was a stark contrast to the imposing figure that Rumplestiltskin’s castle cut in the countryside of the kingdom in which he had chosen to live after losing his son to his cowardice.
The brick was a smattering of pink and red and white, and windows dotted the sides in levels. The roofline was pointed, the shingles were a pretty cerulean blue, and a Germonian flag flew at the top of a spire. Hook wondered at the flag and why the new Dark One would live in a tower that sported the Germonian flag. He stared at the yellow buttercup on the crimson background for a moment longer before turning his attention to the rest of the valley.
He must have been a thousand feet above the ground, far higher than he had ever been before, even when his ship had the Pegasus sail as they flew to Neverland. A quick survey of the mountains showed no way out, save the aerial kind. Hook frowned. He knew there had to be some way out of this valley; it was simply a question of finding it. He noticed a stream that flowed through the grounds and into the lake just a ways down the shore from the tower, and Hook wondered whether the stream possibly held a way out.
The black swan dove down sharply, startling him from his thoughts. It glided down, down, until it landed on the ground. He clambered gracelessly off its back, falling to his knees once he was back on the ground. The black swan spread its wings and took back off to the air, flying beyond the mountains until he couldn’t see it any more. He turned back to the tower and contemplated the lone door that led into the structure. Before he could take a step towards it, he fell to the ground hard and passed out. He never noticed the Dark One standing behind him with her hands raised, the remnants of a sleeping powder made from poppies blowing in the wind from where she had blown it out of her hands and onto the pirate captain.
The Dark One stood over him, surveying him with curious eyes in the dimming light, before smiling softly. With a casual wave of her hand, the door of the tower shimmered with the release of a ward that served to keep anyone out of her home away from home. She gave one last lingering look to the pirate captain before going inside, waving her hand once more to send his sleeping form to a guest bedchamber that had never before been used. When she stepped onto the threshold, she closed the door, grinning widely at her new fortune.
Somewhere deep inside, the Darkness gave a heaving shudder at this new turn of events.
#once upon a time#ouat#cs ff#cs supernatural summer#Fly With The Black Swan#anmylica writes#captain hook#emma swan#captain swan#killian jones#art by zaharadessert#captain swan fanfic
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Art for @anmylica's @cssns 2023 fic!
finally, it's so late, I'm so, so sorry!
But it's here and it goes with this fic!
I am loving the first chapter and I can't wait for more!
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It’s HERE!!!!
Today is the day I’ve been waiting for FOR MONTHS!!! The day @zaharadessert posts this years CSSNS fic and I get to post the artwork I made to accompany it!!!
The fic is all kinds of hot… the right kind of hot, not the bad kind of hot we have to deal with in the summertime… and it also makes bloodthirsty Krystal VERY happy.
So everyone go read it and be sure to give Zahara all the love she deserves!!!
Ao3 link
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Burn The Ships (3/?)
A HUGE THANK YOU TO @snowbellewells FOR THIS INCREDIBLE ART. I wish I knew how to best express how amazing it feels to have someone make art for something I wrote. It is just the best feeling in the world. <3
THIS IS/WILL BE MATURE.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | ???
Tagging: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert (let me know if you want to be added or dropped)
Exhaustion did not lovingly pull Emma into a peaceful oblivion where she could rest and forget. Rather, it dragged her into a brutal storm - the howling winds tore at her, the thunder rumbled threateningly deep in her bones, and emotions best forgotten rained down on her. She was alone, abandoned on the edge of a forest. The cold rain seeped into her bones, having already soaked through her clothing, as she stumbled forward toward… nothing. She had no place to call home.
In the way of dreams, Emma blinked and was on a beach. Her body ached as if she’d been walking for days. She wasn’t sure where she was going but walked on as waves pummelled the shoreline. It seemed she wasn’t alone, apparently, the storm would accompany her through these strange dreams.
She turned toward the turbulent waters and her next step landed on a wooden board. Her stomach plummeted as the ship was thrown from the rolling sea. Emma desperately reached out, trying to find something to keep her on the deck as the ship leaned dangerously into the water. The boards were too wet, the sea too hungry for new souls… Emma was being sucked under the water, lungs screaming for air.
I’ve got you.
Cool, crisp air filled her lungs. She was back on the deck of a ship, once more. The angry onslaught of violent waves had given way to playful swells that lapped gently against the hull. No other soul was aboard the ship, but Emma felt contented rather than alone. A word, a feeling, that had never carried meaning to her wrapped itself around her heart followed by a consuming fear - panic - it would be taken away.
You’re safe, love.
The softly accented voice reached through her dreams again, wrapping around her as warm and comforting as a well-loved blanket. Emma yearned to snuggle into the melody of that low voice. In that strange way of dreams, she suddenly felt certain that the voice could protect her from the painful reality that waited to greet her upon waking. If she could just melt into it, maybe it would prevent her from losing that feeling she’d spent a lifetime chasing.
Rest now.
And, at long last, with that voice and that feeling wrapped around her heart, Emma rested.
§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§
The white wolf had been stunning, her fur seemed to shimmer with its own light source. But the woman who stormed out of his cabin the next morning was a sight to behold.
With her blonde waves flowing behind her and her emerald eyes wild, this wild woman charged onto the deck armed with only his letter opener and a lot of swagger. She acted as though she were a rival captain set on commandeering his ship rather than a damsel recently rescued from Pan’s clutches. She had taken the liberty of procuring clothing from his wardrobe before launching her assault, the deep plunging necklines of his shirts and the way his soft leather trousers wrapped around her curves distracting him long enough for her to strike out with her borrowed weapon.
Killian captured her wrist and forced her to release the letter opener in a quick motion. He’d offer to teach her how to properly wield any weapon of her choosing once they were better acquainted. Perhaps sometime after he was certain that he wasn’t in danger of finding the weapon buried somewhere in his flesh.
Sighing at her newest attempts to claw at his leather coat, he pulled her closer.
“I’m not your enemy,” he murmured to her as he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side to prevent her from continuing her attack. He tried to focus on calming her and gaining control of the situation rather than the way she felt in his arms and the way her scent stirred something deep within him.
“You’re safe, love,” he soothed. The woman stilled.
Her frantic breathing slowed and the tension slipped from her limbs. The ocean lapping on the hull and their breathing were the only sounds for a few moments. It could have been romantic…if the situation were entirely different.
“If you promise to behave, I will let you go.”
She stared at him with frustration burning brightly behind her eyes. Her wildness and defiance stoked a desire in him - and his wolf - that he was becoming more difficult to ignore with every minute he spent in her presence.
After a moment, during which she held his gaze with hers as if trying to determine the trick in his offer, she nodded in agreement with his terms. He reluctantly released her.
The loss of contact left him desperate for any excuse to hold her again. He suppressed the whine his wolf let loose with a clearing of his throat. Then, with a bit of a flourish, he introduced himself to her.
“I am Captain Killian Jones and you’re aboard the Jolly Roger. You are welcome on my ship for as long as you wish.”
“HOOK?! You’re Captain Hook?” She wasn’t afraid of him, which seemed promising. Doesn’t mean she will love someone like you. Killian shoved away the taunting voice of his father and smiled at her as if she had said something particularly flattering.
“Ah, so you have heard of me.”
She looked at him flatly, clearly not impressed with his antics. “Is this ship enchanted?” The abrupt question was a bit unexpected. Of course, the Jolly Roger was enchanted - to keep a course he set, to alert him of guests aboard his ship, to hide treasures from unwelcome eyes - but the enchantments were subtle and not something that should be so easily detected.
He cocked an eyebrow to conceal his surprise. “I’m not giving secrets away to a lass who hasn’t given me her name.”
“Oh, so it is enchanted.” She looked around as if the spell work would reveal itself to her. She took a few deep breaths, frowned a bit, breathed in again, and turned back to look at him. “Emma Swan.”
“Why are you sniffing my ship,” he hesitated before deciding with certainty, “Swan?” He smiled, the name fit her perfectly - and felt so right leaving his lips.
“Better question. Why would you use magic to make it smell so… incredible?”
Killian scratched a spot behind his ear. What was the correct way to tell someone who woke up on a strange ship and wasn’t sure if you were another threat in the never-ending nightmare of Neverland or a possible ally that the scent they thought was part of a strange enchantment was a sign that they were in the presence of their mate? It seemed a lot to ask of anyone without adding that she had been Pan’s prisoner for some length of time before becoming the target of the most recent hunt.
“The incredible smell of salt and fish?” Smee grumbled. A few of the crew laughed. Emma looked thoroughly confused. Killian wasn’t sure if her confusion was at his comment or at the sudden realisation that they had an audience for this little episode.
Seeing as he’d completely forgotten his men still on the deck, he figured it was likely a bit of both. He did not want an audience for whatever was to follow.
“That’s enough from you, Mr Smee. There is a deck that needs to be swabbed.” Hook growled out. Grumbling, Smee stomped down the stairs to the main deck. The other crewmen fell into their own tasks and responsibilities understanding the example being made of the first mate.
Emma watched all of this with a small frown on her face.
Once they were alone on the quarterdeck, she focused her piercing emerald gaze at Killian. “Do you think he really doesn’t smell that…?”
Killian shook his head and answered softly, gently, “No, love, I don’t believe he smells anything but the sea.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, “But…you, you smell it?” The words sounded as though she were begging him to confirm that she hadn’t taken leave of all of her senses.
“Aye.” He confirmed with a small smile.
Her eyes widened, panic flashing momentarily before several other emotions followed in quick succession. “Oh.”
Killian winced. “Aye.”
#a gift for kmomof4#Emma x Killian#Emma Swan#Killian Jones#Captain Swan#killian x emma#ouat captain hook#cs fanfic#ouat#ouat fanfic#cs ff#fic by Jas#inspired by songs#inspired by Burn the Ships#werewolves#some horror elements#some hurt/comfort
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CS(C)ocktoberfest2023: Mini-event
Art by @iverna
CS(C)ocktoberfest2023: Mini-event
The one time size doesn't matter
Hello all!!! So here we go again. Years back there was an event called Cocktoberfest led by the lovely @initiala and with her blessing I come to offer this one.
A smaller version and I hope it's enjoyable.
To check out the original click on the link.
I'm hoping for at least one item per day. Art, fic or any submission is welcomed.
More info to follow :)
tagging:
@allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @andiirivera
@anothersworld @apiratewhopines
@artistic-writer @batana54
@beckettj @bethacaciakay
@brooke-to-broch @captainodonoghue
@carpedzem @chasedancer17
@cocohook38 @courtorderedcake
@darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche
@demisexualemmaswan @djlbg
@donteattheappleshook @dovelyheart
@elizabeethan @gingerchangeling
@gingerpoliglot @holdingoutforapiratehero
@hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate
@hookedonaswanprincess @hookedonhiddles
@ilovemesomekillianjones @imlaxdris71
@itsfabianadocarmo @jarienn972
@jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic
@jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul
@k-leemac @karlyfr13s @kday426
@killian-will-do @klynn-stormz
@kmomof4 @kwistowee
@kymbersmith-90 @laschatzi
@lassluna @let-it-raines
@lfh1226-linda @lonelyspectator12
@mariakov81 @motherkatereloyshipper
@officerrogers @ohmakemeahercules
@onceratheart18 @pirateherokillian
@purplehawkcaptain @resident-of-storybrooke
@revanmeetra87 @sailtoafarawayland
@sals86 @scribomaniac @searchingwardrobes
@seriouslyhooked @shardminds @shireness-says
@snowbellewells @sotangledupinit
@spacekrulesbians @spartanguard
@stahlop @superchocovian @swanslieutenant
@tehgreeneyes @the-darkdragonfly
@thejollyroger-writer @thepirateandhisson @therealstartraveller776 @thislassishooked
@thisonesatellite @tiganasummertree
@tomeandflickcorner @ultraluckycatnd
@veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight
@wellhellotragic @whimsicallyenchantedrose
@winterbaby89 @iverna @xarandomdreamx
@xsajx @zaharadessert @myfearless-love
@grimmswan @fleurdepetite
@hookmecaptain @once-upon-a-pirate-ship
@undercaffinatednightmare @4getfulimaginator2022
@nachocheese-itsmycheese @booksteaandtoomuchtv
@OUATadmire @lifeinahole27
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Scarborough Fair: 8/?
I apologize for the long wait for this chapter! We just moved into a new house, and at first we didn't have internet. I also felt that every spare moment needed to be spent unpacking and getting the house all set up. I finally escaped to Barnes and Noble to write because I just can't do it at home right now! Anyways, I hope the contents of this chapter make it up to you. We're getting to the good stuff ;)
Is the situation Emma is in as a pregnant foster teen accurate? I really have no idea, but it's in the book Impossible that this is based on. I also have no idea if you can make a shirt like that. Again, I'm going by the book Impossible. I'm not following it exactly, but those two plot points were kind of important, so I left them in. Anyways, things are going to keep getting steamier from here on out, though our lovers are far from out of danger. Plus, we've still got Snow, David, and their kingdom out there somewhere, so hang on, folks! It's gonna be a romantic yet bumpy ride.
Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.
Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)
Words: Over 3k in this chapter
Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six
Also on Ao3
Tagging: (let me know if you wish to be removed or added): @snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jonesfandomfanatic @hollyethecurious
Chapter Eight:
The entire family jumped right in to help Emma solve the riddle that had defeated her mother. Liam dove back into every bit of research he had accumulated about the song Scarborough Fair. He and Ingrid met with the art professor he had mentioned who had done her dissertation on textiles. Elsa talked to the scientists on board ship and zoomed with the family every single day. Even Anna found her niche, taking Emma to the library and helping her check out every book available about pregnancy and childbirth.
And Killian? He was the rock she could lean on. The one who made her smile or laugh just when things got too heavy. He also ran whatever errands he needed to: taking Emma to her first prenatal appointment, shopping for a long list of different types of fabrics at the craft store to make this impossible shirt, and going for a late night ice cream run when Emma’s cravings started. In some ways, nothing changed.
Yet his declaration of love still hung in the air. He hadn’t brought it up again, hadn’t treated her any differently, hadn’t asked her on a date or tried to get physical. He was giving her space to decide what she wanted, and it honestly was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her.
At the same time, Emma was confused. She had always loved Killian, of course. But was it romantic love? She could even admit she had been physically attracted to him at times, but did that mean she was in love with him? Did she even want something like that right now, when she was processing having a kid of all things and still healing from a violent rape? Did Killian fully understand what he would be getting himself into? Did she want to burden him with all her crap?
She was just completely and utterly confused.
Then, as if she didn’t have enough to worry about, Ingrid came home one day from work visibly shaken. The entire family stilled in the process of getting dinner on the table when they saw her standing in the kitchen, her face ashen.
“What is it?” Liam asked, his voice filled with dread.
“Emma,” she said, her voice choking on her foster daughter’s name, “Liam and I need to talk to you. Immediately.”
Killian found Emma later, sobbing in her bed. When she poured it all out to him, he was livid.
“This is absolute shit! I can’t believe they would do that!”
“They would, and they can,” Emma explained as she hugged her pillow to her torso. “Because I’m still technically in foster care, my baby automatically is, too.”
“They can’t just take it away from you!”
Emma shrugged. “Ingrid and Liam are no longer licensed to take in infants. I either have to find somewhere else to live, or my baby will be put in a different foster home.”
“Can’t they just get licensed?”
Emma shook her head. “It’s a year-long process of paperwork and visitations from social workers. I’m due in five months! Killian, what am I going to do? Where am I going to go?”
She began to sob again, and when Killian eased into the bed next to her and put his arms around her, he could feel the small swell at her abdomen where her baby was growing. He felt a strong desire to protect them both.
“We won’t let them take you or the baby away from us. We’re a family.”
“That’s what your brother said. Exactly.”
Killian chuckled. “Of course he did.”
“But Killian,” she choked out, “what happens if I don’t solve the riddle? I was comforted at least knowing my baby would be safe and raised by Ingrid and Liam, but now . . .”
She sobbed again against his chest, and he held her tight. “I won’t let that happen,” he vowed. “You aren’t going to go mad, Emma, you won’t. We’ll solve this. All of it. Together.”
*************************************************************************
The only time Emma’s family ever used the formal dining room was on Thanksgiving. Someone always had to actually dust the table and air out the room, but Ingrid always insisted they “do Thanksgiving right,” even down to the old chipped china plates with the maple leaf border.
So it felt odd to be in here now with the warm summer sun spilling through the window and shining on the ancient area rug. Assorted fabrics littered the table and a sewing mannequin stood in the corner, the headless and limbless torso sending an ominous shiver down Emma’s spine.
“So this one is probably our best bet,” Ingrid explained.
She cradled the bundle of scratchy, thick fabric and held it out to Emma who reached out and ran her hand over the coarse woolen felt.
“That feels like it would make the most uncomfortable shirt in the history of the world.”
Ingrid shrugged. “Does it really matter? You wet this fabric, mold it to that torso over there, and according to Dr. Freemont, when it dries, it will hold together.”
Emma took the fabric and nodded. “So then we have it. A shirt made without needle or seam.”
“Who’s gonna wear it, though?”
Ingrid and Emma whirled around at the sound of Killian’s voice. Emma’s mouth went dry immediately. He stood there, his hair wet with sweat, and his chest bare. Emma couldn’t stop staring at it. She used to think chest hair was gross. She was wrong. Killian’s was thick and dark, and it set her pulse pounding. Realizing just how long she’d been ogling him, she dragged her gaze up to his face. He gave her a knowing grin as he lifted a carton of milk to his mouth and took a swig.
“Where the hell is your shirt?” Emma snapped.
“Where the hell is your glass,” Ingrid added drily. “You’re not the only one who might like some milk, you know.”
“I just got home from work, and I’m hot,” Killian responded, as if that explained everything.
Emma tried really, really hard not to think of the other connotation of the word hot, but she was failing. Killian hadn’t brought up his declaration since that fateful dinner last week, and Emma was still trying to process it. Yet ever since, she was hyper aware of Killian’s presence.
His lack of a shirt didn’t help, either.
“Pour that milk in a glass, Killian, I’m not kidding,” Ingrid said in her rarely used mom voice.
“Sure,” Killian said, sauntering back towards the kitchen. He gave Emma one more backwards glance with a delighted smirk on his face. Emma’s face heated several degrees.
“I think I know what he means, though,” Ingrid sighed.
“What?” Emma asked, her head still a little fuzzy.
“Is it really a shirt unless someone actually wears it?”
Emma sighed in exasperation. “So have someone wear it.”
“I’ll do it.”
They whirled back around to find Killian standing in the doorway again. He had a glass of milk in one hand and a stack of Oreos in the other. He still hadn’t donned a shirt. Emma found herself staring again, admiring the way a summer working in construction had toned his muscles. She dropped the fabric she’d been clutching in her hands and swore under her breath as it rolled across the floor. Killian smirked at her, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap it off his face or kiss him senseless.
“Well,” Ingrid said, seemingly oblivious to the sexual tension in the room, “if Killian’s going to wear it, then that makes things a little more complicated.”
“Why?” Emma and Killian asked simultaneously. He had stepped further into the room, and his close proximity almost made Emma lose hold of the fabric she’d just stooped to pick up.
“Well, if we mold the shirt to that torso over there, and it dries, I don’t think it will fit him.”
“So measure me,” Killian said, taking a bite of a cookie. His back was to Emma now as he addressed Ingrid, and it was just as distracting as the front of him. He had freckles across his shoulders, and a few along the small of his back.
“That won’t work.” Ingrid shook her head. “The fabric doesn’t work that way. Not if we’re trying to make it without needle or seam. We’ll have to mold it to your body.”
Emma gave a little squeak at Ingrid’s words and nearly dropped the fabric all over again. To Killian’s credit, he didn’t acknowledge her reaction.
“What would that entail?” he asked casually, taking a sip of his milk.
“I’m not sure,” Ingrid mused, tapping her finger on her chin.
Silence fell for a moment, the only sounds from Killian snacking on his milk and cookies. Then Ingrid suddenly clapped her hands together.
“I’ve got it! Duct tape!”
Killian’s eyes widened. “If you wrap me in duct tape, you’ll never get it off. Not without taking my skin with it.”
“You could wear a shirt,” Emma said.
“You made that clear already,” Killian smirked at her. “I told you, I’m hot.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “I mean for the duct tape. You wear a white undershirt, I wrap it in tape, then I can put the shirt, molded to your torso, on the mannequin. Then I make the shirt.”
“You’d need to be wearing the shirt when she tapes it,” Ingrid clarified.
“I figured that,” Killian nodded.
Emma’s throat went suddenly dry. She’d have to put her hands on his body. She’d have to be in extremely close proximity to him. She was equal parts giddy at the thought and terrified. She was light-headed just thinking about it.
“Perfect,” Killian announced with a grin. “When do we start?”
Emma wanted to ask Ingrid if she would do it for her, but she couldn’t risk that. The riddle implied that Emma had to make the shirt herself. She steeled herself and turned to Killian.
“Shower so you don’t stink, and then we’ll get to work.”
“As you wish,” he told her with a mock bow before he turned from the room.
Ingrid, still oblivious to the fact that Emma was practically swooning and trembling simultaneously, turned away from the dining room table and grabbed her purse from a nearby chair.
“Since you’ve got this under control, I’ll head to the supermarket. Anything you need?”
Slightly dazed, Emma managed to shake her head “no.”
“Great, I’ll see you kids later.”
In the kitchen, Killian rinsed his dirty glass and put it in the dishwasher. He smiled to himself as he headed up the stairs. He hadn’t pressed Emma in any way since his declaration. Whether she shared his feelings or not, he’d told himself, he would still be there for her. Yet the way she’d reacted to him just now gave him hope. Maybe he would win her heart after all.
*******************************************************************************************
“Sit right here,” Emma instructed, pointing to the dinner room chair directly in front of her. Killian obeyed, and when he looked up at her, his eyes didn’t hold teasing as she’d expected. They were tender and vulnerable. Emma swallowed nervously.
“Don’t be nervous,” he told her.
“I’m not,” she scoffed.
“You’re holding that roll of tape so hard, your knuckles are turning white.”
Emma scowled at him and pulled a long strip of tape from the roll. He blanched, and she laughed.
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” she told him.
He swallowed, and she followed the motion of his adam’s apple. She licked her lips as she drew closer, touching his arm gently as she raised it.
“I’ll start with the sleeves,” she explained unnecessarily.
She had to slip her fingers beneath the fabric to make sure she didn’t accidentally tape his skin. She thought she heard an intake of breath from his throat as her fingers skimmed his bicep, but maybe she’d imagined it. She wound the tape around and around the sleeve of his shirt, but when she began to wrap it around his shoulder blade, she had to step closer to him. He spread his legs to allow it, and she leaned over him, her breasts pressing against his collarbone. The sharpness of breath this time was impossible to ignore. She paused and locked eyes with him - he face was so close to hers . . .
“Did I hurt you?”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head, so she continued. Was his breathing becoming shallow, or was that her? Was that his heart thumping so fast, or her own? When she wrapped the tape around his chest, she could feel a “thump, thump” beneath her palm.
“Um, Emma, give me a second.”
Killian grabbed a throw pillow from the wingback chair in the corner of the dining room then resumed his seat. He clutched the pillow in his lap, and his face flamed all the way to the tips of his ears.
“Oh,” Emma breathed softly.
Killian swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Emma said, her own cheeks warm.
“I just don’t want to freak you out . . . or scare you or anything. You know, because . . . because of him.”
Emma shook her head, tendrils of hair brushing her cheeks where they fell from the messy bun on the top of her head. She bit her lip as she got lost in his eyes; darker than usual and stormy. She stepped close again, between his legs, and she almost laughed when he clutched the pillow tighter.
“Emma,” he groaned, his eyes falling shut.
“I’m glad,” she said, her own voice deep and trembling, “that I have that effect on you.”
“You do?”
He opened his eyes, and she nodded. Her hands shook as she lifted them and rested them upon his temples. She threaded her fingers through his hair. It was softer than she had imagined. He tipped his head back and watched her intently. She thought of him the other night, stating so matter-of-factly that he loved her. He had said it as something unshakable and infallible. Something as predictable and steady as the seasons. Then they had gone on as they always had, with no demands that she respond to his declaration in any way.
“And you could never scare me, Killian,” she clarified.
Then, suddenly, she was kissing him. She was kissing Killian in the middle of the dining room. His torso was half wrapped in duct tape, he was helping her make this crazy, ridiculous, magical shirt . . .
And she was kissing him. He was kissing her back. He was kissing her back after declaring his love for her at the kitchen table. He was kissing her thoroughly, his tongue exploring her mouth, even though she hadn’t said it back. Or maybe it didn’t matter, she wasn’t sure. After all, this was only the second boy she’d ever kissed. But no, she wasn’t going to think about that or him. Not when Killian was kissing her within an inch of her life.
The pillow he was clutching fell to the floor when he wrapped his arms around her, and Emma could feel his arousal through his jeans and pressing into her. For a split second, fear tried to grab hold of her, but it was banished quickly. He wouldn’t just take her; he wasn’t like that.
Killian pulled away, and Emma was shocked to hear a whimper slip past her lips, especially when he stood up from the chair and took a step back. Why was he pulling away, when they - oh.
He was sinking down on one knee, and she suddenly wondered if she were dreaming. It all felt so surreal, and he was still half wrapped in duct tape. Maybe Snow had whacked her in the head with one of those bottles after all, and all this time she’d been in a coma at the hospital. It would explain so much, honestly.
“Emma,” he said, (and were those tears gathering in his eyes?), “I know this is a lot to ask of you, since you haven’t even told me yet how you feel about me. And this is something I think I always knew I would do eventually, just not now.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and continuing. His words reverberated in her soul, and she knew he was right, they were always going to arrive here, somehow. She knew it the same way she knew her own reflection.
“But with everything going on, I don’t want to wait. I know you face an uncertain future, Emma, but I always want to be by your side. So, will you marry me?” He didn’t even pause for her answer, but plunged ahead. “It makes so much sense, if you think about it. I mean, we’re going to break this curse, Emma, we will. We won’t give up, ever. But, I know you worry, and if I’m your husband, you won’t have to. You’ll know I’ll be there for the baby. It will be mine, legally. It won’t end up in foster care. Not that anything’s going to happen to you, I swear to you it won’t, but if I can ease your burden . . .”
He trailed off, and Emma sank to her knees right along with him, reaching out to cup his face in her hands.
“And if I do go insane -”
“You won’t!”
“But if we don’t break the curse . . .”
“I’ll take care of you,” he said solemnly, “always and forever.”
It would be selfish of her, she knew that it would, to ask that of him. Nevertheless, his vow felt like the sun breaking through the darkest of clouds, and she knew she couldn’t refuse his gift. Her hands slipped down his shoulders, then his arms, and she clasped his hands tightly in hers.
“I love you.”
It wasn’t, she discovered, difficult to say. It was just so true, so undeniable, like how she knew the sun would come up each morning. His smile was bright and blinding, and she smiled too at the sight of his dimples. They had been so rare lately.
“Does that mean yes?” he asked her teasingly.
A tear slipped down her face, and she found she couldn’t speak. She nodded, and he understood. Everyone would say they were crazy, of course. He was nineteen, and she was seventeen. It was absolutely insane. Ingrid and Liam wouldn’t like it, she was sure, but she also knew they wouldn’t stop them.
He dried her tears with his thumb, then traced her lips before kissing her tenderly. The kiss continued as they clung to one another in blissful, shining faith and hope. In that moment, she believed him: They would break the curse.
Emma and Killian were so wrapped up in one another, they didn’t notice the slight shaking of the house or the rainbow colored light that swept through the room.
**************************************************
It wasn’t the first time Robert Gold had entered the Swan/Jones home when the family was gone. He had explored every nook and cranny, flipped through photographs, smelled their clothes. He knew this family; every weakness to be exploited had been sifted and examined.
Yet the house had never protested like it did today, and when he turned towards the dining room, he could clearly see why.
It was a shirt. Hideous, smelly, and dripping wet, but a shirt nonetheless. When it dried, it could even be worn.
“Well, well, well,” he muttered, reaching out a hand towards it.
Almost immediately, he recoiled, the shirt burning him before he’d even grazed it. Magic radiated from it. The glamor spell he always wore faded, and his hands turned a scaly green, nails yellowed and gnarled at each finger tip. It wasn’t just the shirt, he realized. The entire dining room reeked with the magic, and he was in pain from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet.
“Of course you’re in pain, Dark One.”
He writhed on the ground and cried out as a much younger face pulled away from his ancient, twisted one.
“Stop fighting me!”
“I’m doing all this for you, son!”
“Are you, Papa?”
“I got her for you, didn’t I?”
“But I can’t keep her!”
The Dark One could no longer hold onto the shared body, and the younger man stood to his feet, opened the front door, and walked out onto the sidewalk. Neal Cassidy was the name he preferred in this realm, a name that Rumplestiltskin hated. Baelfire was his name: a strong, powerful name.
“Oh Papa,” Baelfire - Neal - whispered, “settle down and cooperate.”
“You know I’ll take over again eventually.”
Neal didn’t argue. Instead he clenched his jaw and gritted his next words through his teeth.
“This won’t work forever. You’re losing, and you know it.”
“They only finished the first task. They’ll never complete the rest. Not in time, anyway.”
“But that magic - you know exactly what that was.”
Ah yes, he did. True love. He wasn’t worried. The Dark One had defeated true love before, and he would do it again.
#cs ff#cs fanfic#captain swan fanfic#captain swan ff#cs impossible au#cs au#lieutenant duckling#modern fantasy#angst#cs angsty august#captain swan angsty august#impossible au
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When I Wake
— for CS Angsty August 22
Art by @undercaffinatednightmare 🥰❤️😘
Summary: Killian comforts Emma when she wakes up from a nightmare.
A/N: FINE. I wrote short angst with a happy ending. There, @kmomof4 @cosette141 . Lol 😘😘 And thank you K for betaing. ❤️
Warnings: nightmares, brief mentions of violence/death (but no one is actually harmed)
Rated: T; Words: 485; AO3
——
“Killian!”
Emma awoke with a start, sitting up in a tearful panic, her cheeks wet, scrambling to figure out where she was. Clutching at the sheets, she found herself safe in their bed, Killian sleeping soundly next to her.
The relief of seeing him there calmed her breathing though she couldn’t stop trembling, and she was glad she hadn’t woken him this time. Her sleep had been plagued by nightmares more often than not anymore, which made for countless restless nights for them both.
In her dreams, she’d watched him torn from her arms again and again in the worst ways, her subconscious deciding she didn’t deserve him, didn’t deserve happiness and comfort after a lifetime of being lost and alone. As it drew from their reality and the ways she’d already lost him, she’d had to see him shot, impaled, drowned, tortured.
Tonight, his heart had been ripped from his chest by the man on whom he’d sworn to get revenge. Emma begged for him to let Killian go, even pleading that he take her instead, but he crushed it anyway, laughing while sobs wracked her body as Killian’s collapsed in front of her.
Now she intently watched his chest rise and fall, making sure he was truly alright. Lying back down next to him again, Emma carefully placed her hand there, a light touch she hoped wouldn’t stir him, feeling his heart beating under her palm. Her fingers absently toying with his necklace as she snuggled closer to his side.
Emma gasped softly as his hand moved to rest on hers, his fingers gently clasping it as he lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss before holding it tighter against his chest, knowing how it comforted her.
“I’m alright, love,” he reassured her. “We’re alright.”
“I’m sorry.” Emma’s voice was barely a whisper, apologetic. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just—it was bad again, and I—I needed to check.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” Killian smiled as he opened his eyes and turned toward her, glancing down between his legs. “I was just having a very different dream.”
“Of course you were,” Emma teased, rolling her eyes before kissing him softly.
What started rather chaste quickly became much more, both of them desperate for each other in the same way for different reasons. Emma kept her hand on his chest while the other anchored in his hair. Killian rolled them both, straddling her waist as he kissed away her tears, his palm cradling her head as he leaned his weight on his blunted wrist planted firmly on the mattress. Soon she bucked up into him, needing to touch more of him, and he ground down against her.
“I’m here, my darling,” Killian rasped, his voice still laced with the last remnants of sleep, though Emma could feel he was very much awake. “Let me show you I’m here.”
——
Tag list ❤️: @anothersworld @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @karlyfr13s @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @laschatzi @motherkatereloyshipper @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @sotangledupinit @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @xsajx @zaharadessert
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Un-Kissable :|: Never Been Kissed CS AU
Hello all!! Okay, since life has been rough for a while it kinda scared the Muse away and she has been skittish to come back to me. However it seems she is taking some baby steps back to me.
What does that mean? Well, I have a new update ready but let’s just say I’m embarrassed with how long it has been between updates and maybe you guys don’t even remember the story anymore. Sorry. I did say no fic abandoned and I meant that. I just didn’t know so much crap was going to get in the way.
Okay... So I will be posting the original chapters first then add the new one.
I thank @ilovemesomekillianjones for being my beta for the first chapters and then the lovely @ultraluckycatnd took over. Both lovely human beings!
Art by @herhookedhero
Chapter 1
Killian Jones was the youngest junior copy editor at The Glass Mirror. He should be satisfied with all the success he had accrued in his short life. Sure he had his own office and with it came an unlimited supply of office supplies, not to mention a personal assistant. But he wanted more, so much more.
His dream was to be a reporter, but it still eluded him. Sadly he was too shy and lacked the assertiveness required for the job. Not to mention his total lack of a personal life, how could he expect to report on the lives of others, when he didn't even have his own?
"Killian, do you have the copy of the new library inauguration piece ready?" his boss, Sidney Glass asked.
"It will be ready by the deadline, have I ever failed you before?"
"No, of course not, please just have the piece ready to go to print on time. I know that the computers were down for a long time but the deadline still applies."
Read the rest of CH1 here
Tagging:
@allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @andiirivera
@anothersworld @apiratewhopines
@artistic-writer @batana54
@beckettj @bethacaciakay @bixisarusher
@branlovestowrite @brooke-to-broch
@captainodonoghue @carpedzem
@chasedancer17 @cocohook38
@courtorderedcake @darkcolinodonorgasm
@deckerstarblanche @demisexualemmaswan
@djlbg @donteattheappleshook
@dovelyheart @elizabeethan
@gingerchangeling @gingerpoliglot
@holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious
@hookedonapirate @hookedonaswanprincess
@hookedonhiddles @ilovemesomekillianjones
@imlaxdris71 @itsfabianadocarmo
@jarienn972 @jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic
@jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul
@k-leemac @karlyfr13s @kday426 @killian-will-do
@klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @kwistowee
@kymbersmith-90 @laschatzi @lassluna
@let-it-raines @lfh1226-linda @lonelyspectator12
@mariakov81 @motherkatereloyshipper
@officerrogers @ohmakemeahercules
@onceratheart18 @pirateherokillian
@purplehawkcaptain @queen-serena88
@resident-of-storybrooke @revanmeetra87
@rumdrum91 @sailtoafarawayland
@sals86 @scribomaniac
@searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked
@shardminds @shireness-says @snowbellewells
@sotangledupinit @spacekrulesbians
@spartanguard @stahlop @superchocovian
@swanslieutenant @tehgreeneyes
@the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer
@thepirateandhisson @therealstartraveller776
@thislassishooked @thisonesatellite @tiganasummertree @tomeandflickcorner
@ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgoodwrites
@wefoundloveunderthelight @wellhellotragic
@whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89
@winterbythesea @xarandomdreamx
@xsajx @zaharadessert @myfearless-love
@cosette141 @grimmswan @fleurdepetite
@hookmecaptain @once-upon-a-pirate-ship
@undercaffinatednightmare @caught-in-the-filter @4getfulimaginator2022 @nachocheese-itsmycheese
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Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2022: July Round Up
Hello, everyone! With the beginning of September, we have reached the end of our 2022 CSSNS event -- that’s right, another year in the books! As always we, the mods, have to thank all of YOU: authors, artists, betas, cheerleaders, readers, rebloggers, flailers. All of you. Without each and every one of you, this event would not be nearly as successful -- or as fun.
So, finally, hold your applause until the end... I bring you the JULY 2022 CSSNS ROUNDUP!
We started July 1st with a bang: @sotangledupinit gave us the beautiful “just like a ghost whisperer”, a lovely ghost-filled story
July 3rd came with a real bang: “Orchid Island,” a hot Omegaverse fic by @grimmswan and art by @cocohook38
The first chapter of @motherkatereloyshipper ‘s “Second Second Chances” came next, with awesome art by @eastwesthomeisbest -- and art for chapter 2 | chapter 3 | art
@svenjaliv blew us away with her elven-inspired art on July 7th!
@zaharadessert gave us the first chapter of “Canticum Sanguinis Lux”, which came with a beautiful banner by @clockadile
If you like mermaids, then @cocohook38 ‘s “What I’ve Become” was right up your alley -- as was @tennant-the-tigger ‘s art
@mie779 brought us more elves with “The Dark Elven” and awesome art by @piinfeathers as the cover for the story | chapter one | chapter two
Megan is thrilled to share a birthday with @jrob64 ‘s incredible “Where Her Heart Belongs,” cover and other art provided by @winterbythesea
“To Kill a Kraken” by @o-wild-west-wind came next, with awesome art by @freechoicedreamer
@killianjones-twopointoh surprised us with the second chapter of their 2021 cssns story, “post-mortem”
First-time CS writer @whatevenisthisbloganymore gifted us with “Enjoy Moonlight (Shine Bright)” next, with awesome art by @eastwesthomeisbest
with art by @caught-in-the-filter, “The Devil Within” was an absolute gift from @justanother-unluckysoul
next came @sotangledupinit ‘s “free fallin’”
and finally, the month ended with a follow up to @grimmswan ‘s “Orchid Island,” “Domestic Bliss” with more art by @cocohook38
We’ll give you a week to catch up, and then next week, you’ll get the August round-up!
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CSSNS 2022: “The Devil Within”
Rated: T
Summary: Newly-turned vampire Killian struggles to overcome his bloodlust and self-loathing, seeking revenge against the man that ruined his life, and trying not to fall in love with the woman that saved him.
For Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2022 (@cssns).
A/N: A big thanks to @zaharadessert, my beta for this fic, and to @caught-in-the-filter who created the beautiful art!
The Devil Within
Killian awoke with a reflexive gasp for air he didn't need. He couldn’t see anything - feeling around with his hand revealed solid wood on all sides. A coffin? Killian pushed down the panic, and memories filtered back in slowly; falling out of favour with his boss, the resulting punishment, and his smart mouth getting him into further trouble. Lying on the concrete floor, blood spilling freely from his severed wrist and the world going dark.
“I’m sorry, Killian,” Robin said, his voice hushed and broken, “Please forgive me.”
Robin Locksley. His friend, and the only person Killian trusted in this godforsaken nightmare world he’d been dragged into. But Robin had not helped him this time. Killian had weakly reached for him and seized his sleeve, too far gone to say anything, in one last moment of primal panic as death came for him.
“This is the only way,” Robin whispered, sounding distant and hollow like Killian was hearing him from underwater, “You must survive.”
Killian’s eyes slipped closed of their own accord before he felt something being pressed to his lips. Robin’s voice was muffled as a liquid entered his mouth - swallow it. He obeyed on instinct and then his awareness imploded, his world shrinking around him, knowing nothing but the rush of his blood in his veins turning first to flames and then to ice. If he’d still been able to breathe he would have screamed.
And now he had woken up in a coffin. Killian grit his teeth.
Bloody vampires.
Read the rest on AO3
TAG LIST: @teamhook - @klynn-stormz - @xarandomdreamx - @zaharadessert - @kmomof4 - @therooksshiningknight - @batana54 - @ultraluckycatnd - @anothersworld - @tiganasummertree - @jonesfandomfanatic - @the-darkdragonfly - @jrob64 - @hollyethecurious - @lfh1226-linda - @elizabeethan - @moviequeen51 - @onceratheart18 - @cosette141 - @fleurdepetite - @itsfabianadocarmo
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CSSNS Fic: “Believing Impossible Things” {Part One}
Whew! I’m here (sorry for pushing this so close to the wire on my posting date!) Anyway, this is Part One of an intended three part fic, my entry for this year’s @cssns event. I apologize if there are any typos or other such errors as I was working on this right up to the last minute. I also have to thank my lovely artist @o-wild-west-wind for the gorgeous fic cover art she has created for this piece. It’s so lovely, but in an effort not to give too much away, we’re just posting a teaser section of the art with this first chapter, and the full work with Part Two soon.
My beta @romanceapologist was kind enough to give me early feedback, which I very much appreciated, and @zaharadessert and my friend Jessica (who isn’t on Tumblr, but is a lovely sounding board for me as a writer all the same) helped me come up with a title. I also have to thank @pirate-owl for the prompt and picset she created some years ago now, which first sparked the idea for this story. She gave me her generous blessing to go ahead and try to make it my own and write a full story for it, and I’m truly grateful.
Summary: Miss Emma Nolan needed the governess job badly enough to ignore the gossip about the old mansion and the chilly reception she got about the lady of the manor. And when she met young Alice Jones, she knew she had made the right choice. But some rumors are rumors for a reason, and maybe the little girl who drew her there isn’t the only person on the estate in need...
“Believing Impossible Things”
by: @snowbellewells
part one ~ the house at the top of the hill
Even as she reached the crest of the gentle rise she had been climbing, the petite blonde nearing the old rambling mansion in the early morning light was scanning from the tall spires and gables of the imposing gray house before her at the top of the hill. More than a bit awestruck as her eyes trailed down to the solid front door and gingerbread railing of the wraparound porch, she was both intimidated and impressed. Smoothing her skirts and tugging down the sleeves of her slightly too-small and a season out of fashion dress and jacket, also the best and most professional-looking she owned, the young woman blew out a breath, vowing once more to make a calm, competent impression. She might be more than desperate for a job, she reminded herself, but she could not let her need and fear show through.
Miss Emma Nolan squared her deceptively slight shoulders, gathering reserves of inner strength which most would not recognize upon first glance, and then stepped onto the wide, stately veranda of the rambling home where she was set to interview for the position of governess. Granted, she probably shouldn’t have told the assistant manager at her previous place of employ to ‘sod off’ before assuring this worked out, but she wasn’t making nearly enough to deal with a frightfully overbearing manager attempting to put his fingers on her whenever others weren’t looking. If he had a bit of a sore jaw to remind him to pay a little more respect to his next underling, Emma couldn’t say she was sorry.
Those who didn’t know her - and they would be many; she had grown up an orphan, was guarded and largely kept to herself in early-learned self-sufficience - would see a slim, neat but modestly dressed young woman, quite attractive with blonde hair and sparkling green eyes in a fetchingly lovely face. In short, she might not appear formidable, until one learned she was tougher than her appearance would suggest. She was slow to trust until another person proved worthy, but those few who genuinely knew her could understand the stubborn determination in her small frame, the spine of steel which held Ms. Emma Nolan upright against the cold, cruel would and the bravery that bolstered her soul. And those people knew not to underestimate her.
Yet, determined or not, she would need a bit of luck and a fair chance on her side to come out of this situation as she needed. What she had reluctantly come to accept was that she was a single young woman, basically alone in the world when it came to supporting herself and making her way. She needed another job, one she could count on to be reliable and stable - and she needed it soon. This monstrosity of a house might look daunting, and she had heard all the local whispers of gossip which were more daunting still, but she set her jaw, tilted her chin up and reminded herself it must be this one. She might not need much for herself alone, but she did have to eat.
Nearing the heavy front door, Emma hopefully admired the lovely scrolling accents to the beams and railings, painted a clean, bright white against the duller gray of the outer walls. Forcing herself to move slowly and with a calm she didn’t feel, Emma raised a mostly steady hand to knock upon the heavy front door.
She was startled however, into jerking her hand back quickly to clasp before her when the door abruptly opened without warning. Making her rather more uneasy still, it at first seemed to Emma that no one stood on the other side, as if the sturdy portal had opened of its own independent power, or by some supernatural magic. Yet, given a few more moments, a light, airy giggle sounded, causing Emma to look down and see a head of riotously curling light nutmeg-brown hair belonging to a little girl, peering up at her curiously, a perusing look to her tilted head and squinting eyes, and mischievous grin curling her rosebud mouth. “Hullo there,” she chirped. “Who are you?”
Almost without thought, Emma found her own head tilting in intrigued study as well, mirroring the playful sprite still gazing at her from the doorway, childishly chubby hand still clutching the elegant doorknob, with fingertips that appeared slightly sticky with lingering jam or marmalade. This must be her potential charge - and the very first one upon whom she ought to make a good impression.
“Hello indeed,” Emma greeted, offering a hand to shake cautiously. “My name is Emma Nolan. And you are?”
Twinkling wide eyes crinkled with guileless welcome as the little girl’s grin broadened to beam at her fully. “I’m Alice Lianna Jones, Miss Emma. How lovely to meet you! Though it is rather curious… I didn’t know anyone was coming to see us today.”
Stunned by her well-spoken forthrightness, Emma was speechless for a moment. Though this was almost certainly the child she was interviewing to govern, she hesitated to say so and speak out of turn, not wanting to ruin her chances before she had even begun. The world was still running (though not as well as Emma privately figured it might) on the idea that women were better served to speak as little as possible and at least appear to think or see even less - traits that she found particularly chafing more often than she’d like to admit. Despite those concerns, the little girl staring up at her intently as though trying to decipher her motives from the features of her face, seemed so jovial and friendly, Emma hardly wanted to upset or distance her. Perhaps she did not yet know she was gaining a governess? Or that the one she might already have was being replaced?
Shaking away the scattered thoughts ricocheting within her, Emma hoped that her smile appeared unconcerned as she offered her hand for the bright-eyed child to shake just as she would have if the girl were mistress of the house. “In that case, I must apologize for my unannounced arrival,” she offered politely, her green gaze returning the mischievous twinkle of the youngster’s own mirth, “though I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Alice giggled in delight, her cornflower blue eyes crinkling up at the corners and the sweet sound warming Emma’s heart in a sort of instant camaraderie that she had found all too rarely in her life thus far. Her left hand still gripping the doorknob for balance, the child dipped into an only slightly off-kilter curtsy, her merriment still obvious as she shook Emma’s hand in return. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Milady,” she returned in what Emma assumed she found an approximate imitation of a stuffy upper class woman greeting visitors to her home. Feeling utterly charmed, Emma merely nodded in response and concentrated on pressing her lips together tightly so as not to laugh at the rather incongruous effect.
Mere moments later, the lighthearted mood was shattered abruptly by the strident shout of Alice’s name from inside the huge house, followed by the quick clip of high heeled shoes on marble growing louder as they drew ever closer. Alice’s little hand jerked out of Emma’s grip and the curly head dipped to stare at her shoes as she withdrew slightly before the unseen speaker scolded. “What do you think you are doing, answering the door to a stranger?”
Emma’s startled and more than a bit concerned gaze shifted hurriedly from the child she had been pleasantly engaged in talking with to see that a tall, stone faced woman had now appeared at the young girl’s side, seeming to fill the whole of the doorway with an unsettling presence that could not be ignored. She had not missed the way Alice had immediately withdrawn; seeming to shrink in on herself protectively, that sparkle which had shown from her cherubic face instantaneously dimmed. Given the opportunity, she would want to get to the bottom of that; she felt a deep concern for Alice already, regardless of having known her for only moments. There was enough in her own past to turn Emma’s stomach at the possibilities for why such a vivacious child would recoil so suddenly from one meant to be a caretaker, none of them pleasant to dwell on. That also served to galvanize her resolve in the face of the nerves she had been battling. Not only did she fervently need this job; it would seem this child needed her here as well.
Holding her tongue - just barely - the strong-willed side of Emma’s nature inwardly cheered to see that though her new little friend had gone wary and still, she hadn’t fled and was still watching hopefully from behind the door. Realizing that now was the moment to employ every scrap of the poise and charm she often struggled to muster, knowing too much hard reality and harsh fact to trifle with fancy sensibilities, Emma redirected her attention to the ramrod straight and unsmiling matron before her, frighteningly pale with wildly storming eyes burning from her wan face and hair vividly, shockingly, red in contrast to the rest of her.
Ignoring her disconcertion, Emma held out her hand, feigning polite obliviousness in what she hoped seemed proper respect and propriety. “Pardon me, Ma’am. It would seem to me that you are the person I had hoped to see. I’ve come in response to your advertisement.” Again she hesitated to be specific in front of young Alice, not sure what she knew, but with every tense minute that passed, she wanted to reach out to the children more and more. Any sane, average person might have decided this was highly tense and uncomfortable silence was not to be borne and turned to flee, but Emma’s innate stubbornness rooted her to the spot in waiting. The immediate warmth and affinity she’d felt for young Alice Jones becoming a sixth sense which allowed her no other recourse.
Just when it seemed she might not get any further than the front stoop, nor any answer at all, the other woman did look down her nose at Emma for another moment before clearing her throat, flicking her wrist impatiently as if to gesture her forward, then stepping back just barely to allow emma passage. “Very well. Come in we shall get down to business.”
Emma’s brows rose in startled surprise, not expecting the abrupt change in bearing from the stern scrutiny which had preceded it. Deciding not to question the development that suited her or hesitate before the winds changed, Emma nodded smartly and slipped into the stately home before the door was slammed in her face. The fact that a shiver ran down her spine as she stood in the hall, awaiting further direction, was something she forced her mind to chalk up to a perverse flight of fancy. Nevermind too that the high-ceilinged space seemed more dark and shadowed than one would normally expect on a bright, clear morning, or that the temperature seemed too cool and chill for the temperate balminess she had just experienced outdoors. Such nonsense was surely her own nerves spinning out of control.
The woman who was no doubt Mistress of the house closed the door behind them, the sound of the latch locking back into place making Emma’s heart lurch in her chest in a way she couldn’t well explain. “This way, if you please,” the formidable matron intoned coolly. She stood what seemed easily half a head taller than Emma, and her voice was short, sharp, and not to be argued with. “I have been conducting interviews in the study.”
Emma surreptitiously attempted to gather her skirts slightly as she moved to follow in the dim and unfamiliar space. The last thing she needed was to trip on her own hemline and go sprawling to the floor, disgracing herself and showing just how far she was from being trained to carry herself around fancy ballrooms and stately mansions. Though governesses themselves were of course employees like maids or cooks, they were part of rearing and training proper young men and women in the ways of society they would someday navigate. They should therefore carry themselves with the decorum they would be expected to convey to their charges. Emma had grown up much to rough and tumble for such frivolities, gathering most of what she knew of manners and bearing from her friends who worked in fine homes and had tried to help her prepare as best she could between jobs on the assembly lines and in the linen works. Though this odd prospective employer had allowed her entrance, Emma got the distinct impression she was seeking out a flaw to send her packing once more.
She offered a sidelong wink and smile to Alice who still followed them closely, like a silent shadow. Upon reaching a room wherein Emma could see a crackling fireplace, largely mahogany desk with two handsomely appointed chairs before it, her hostess turned abruptly to calmly order, “Alice, go to your room, please. Our business does not concern you at present, and no one likes a little snoop who lingers in doorways.”
An argument rose up Emma’s throat, wanting to scold the woman for being so cold and dismissive. If nothing else, she wished she could at least caught the little girl’s hand as she darted quickly from the room, the hurt devastatingly clear on her elfin face as she vanished without a word. Fighting her natural instincts, Emma did neither, knowing that if she wished a chance to truly help the girl, to console her for more than just a moment, she had to be hired by this imperious woman. There was no doubt now she was seeing herself and her own past pain played out in the youngster now; it was no longer simply about needing employment. But Alice was not the one doing the hiring, so Emma wordlessly dug her fingernails into her palms to remain silent and bided her time.
“Right. Now then,” the flame-haired lady of the house spoke crisply as she snapped the door closed, assuring they would remain alone and uninterrupted, and turned to search Emma’s expression. “You’ve come to apply as governess, have you? And what makes you think you should be considered?”
There was a smug, doubting look on her interviewer’s face that made Emma’s blood boil. Already well on her way to disliking the woman for her hurtful treatment of the child in her care, Emma was further incensed by the same snobbish, condescending attitude she encountered from so many in polite society whenever she sought more fulfilling employment. As if finer clothes and more cultured speech determined either the work ethic or character of a person. If anything, people like the haughty ghoul before her only made emma more certain that breeding and money often made people worse rather than better.
“That is correct, Ms. - ah - Mrs. Jones?” she tried, realizing as she floundered briefly that the other woman had not actually introduced herself or provided her preferred title. As Emma paused, swallowing and trying to still her rising temper, the lighted lamps and candles in the room flickered fitfully, as if some unseen butler tried to extinguish them all at once. Pressing on, Emma tried to ignore the oddity, and added, “I have quite a bit of experience looking after children of various ages, as well as affidavits of my characters from others who know me well.”
Emma handed her recommendations across the desk to the woman, even as she sniffed and snatched at them as if she barely wanted to touch or look at the offending items. “Very well, let’s check them over, shall we?” she snipped.
Not know quite how she had gotten herself into the other woman’s bade grace so quickly, Emma held herself in check rather remarkably she thought, under the circumstances. At this point, it was only the memory of those sweet, hopeful little eyes looking up at her in greeting that kept her from taking her leave.
“And it isn’t Mrs. Jones, either,” the frosty voice corrected with a level of disgust that suggested Emma had called her some unforgivable epithet. “Alice is a Jones, yes, but though I have found myself guardian to the little waif, I am not her mother.”
“Oh,” Emma tried, very little else seeming possible to say, and her mind wanting to shout that she should be lucky enough to have a lovely child like that to call her own. “I didn't realize,” she finally settled on.
“Clearly,” the other sniffed again, chin held high. “My name is Eloise Gardiner. My family were some of the founders of this community; this home part of our legacy for generations. When the child’s shiftless father deserted her on my doorstep and disappeared, well I couldn’t very well leave her on the street, could I?”
Polite veneer completely forgotten, Emma’s mouth fairly hung open at the baldly hurtful way this Ms. Gardiner explained coming to have Alice in her home. Though Emma did not remember a storm or even strong wind outside the manor before she had entered, at Eloise’s harsh words, a howl of wind whipped up outside, rattling the window panes as if in response to the callous statements the woman made. Even without the unsettling sound effects, something rang false in the explanation, at least to Emma’s ears, and she had always trusted herself as a rather astute judge of such things - her life and livelihood often depended upon it.
“Why would her father leave her here?” Emma finally asked, knowing it might not be proper, but at last unable to help herself. Ms. Gardiner seemed far from a maternal or loving choice the girl’s parent had been seeking a fitting guardian. “Did you know him?”
Eloise Gardiner leaned forward with a knowing smirk, conveying the sort of acquaintance it had been with an arched brow and curl of the lip that no true demure lady of class would suggest. “In a way I did, at one time,” she answered vaguely. “He was a handsome devil, charming too, but it had been some time since I’d seen him, when I gained Alice as my ward.” A stack of books which had been sitting on a shelf nearby suddenly toppled and crashed to the floor violently, though no one had moved to jostle them. One, inexplicably, went sailing through the air, nearly hitting the mansion’s proprietress squarely.
Emma flinched backward as the tome flew past, but Eloise barely blinked, catching the volume in a firm grip and giving Emma a stiff grimace of a smile. “He never was one who could be held down. Apparently even his own child did not prove to be enough to do so.”
Heart burning in her chest, Emma felt the line within her statement even more strongly than before, but she couldn’t be sure what part or how much of the story was untrue. What she did know was that she wanted to be Alice Jones’ governess more than ever.
Dropping the offending book to the floor at her feet, Eloise Gardiner made a show of glancing at Emma’s experience and references with little interest before seemingly making up her mind in an abrupt, unconcerned sort of way. “I suppose you’ll do,” she stated, standing quickly and handing the papers back to Emma impatiently. “You do at least have some prior knowledge and some sense, unlike the last couple of applicants I’ve seen. I have important matters to attend and cannot be doing with Alice underfoot any longer. You’ll start tomorrow if you accept. Room and board is included. You stay in the tower room, the attic really, but it’s furnished and private.”
Shocked by how quickly the mater seemed to have been decided, and feeling she really had no choice but to accept - for a variety of reasons - Emma agreed to the terms almost numbly, not ready to celebrate yet that she had food and a roof over her head secured once more. Suddenly, she was almost as troubled as she was relieved, and she could not shake the sensation, even as they shook hands, signed a contract for the first six months, and Ms. Gardiner showed her back to the door with a directive to return at eight the next morning. Back out on the cobbled walk, Emma turned to look back up at the structure where she would soon be living and working, biting her lower lip and wondering if she had done the right thing.
Then, from an upstairs window, she saw Alice Jones appear, waving at her briefly with a wide smile before flitting from view once more. Holding that image in mind, Emma Nolan comforted herself that she had made the best choice after all, and left resolved to wait and see what the morrow might bring.
~~~*~~~
That evening found Emma seated in a cramped but warm and welcoming corner of the kitchen in the home of the fine family where her friend Ashleigh Hermann had just been promoted to head cook. Hoping not to add any extra bother or difficulty to Ash’s workload, Emma had pulled a tall stool into the corner by the hearth and was keeping her hands busy breaking beans that would be prepared as a side dish for the evening meal her friend was preparing. Emma was glad to help in return for a couple of the cinnamon buns Ashleigh made from scratch, and to have a little company as she mulled over the strange interview she’d had that day and sought a spot of her friend’s advice on how she should proceed when reporting for her first day of work in the morning.
Ashleigh and Emma had met in school years ago, both often arriving in patched or threadbare clothing and dealing with being shunned by the more outgoing and well-to-do students. They had bonded early and the friendship had lasted well into their young adulthood, even now that Ashleigh was married to a handsome young lamplighter named Sean and first time mother to an adorable babe named Alexandra.
Though not a true orphan as Emma was, Ash’s family had treated her as more servant than cherished offspring, and so she had grown up self-sufficient and knowledgeable in all manner of work. Since she toiled more than hard enough to support herself by the time she was a teen, Ashleigh had struck out on her own early, and had been able to advise Emma in various types of employment from her own experience as soon as Emma followed her into the work force a few years later.
Unlike Ashleigh’s selfish relations, Granny, the doting elderly woman who had been a friend and mentor of Emma’s deceased parents and taken her in to raise as her own, had been doting and attentive, giving Emma all the attention she could spare while working hard to run a quaint country inn. Granny had not possessed much in the way of money and material objects, nor had she much spare time to dally and relax but she had provided the best she could for the lonely child left in her charge and loved her like family. Emma adored Granny for it, but though she still functioned quite well, she was getting up in years, and Emma hated to see her still working so hard to support them both. It hadn’t been long after she was of age that she had set out for the city on her own, hoping to even send something back occasionally to help Granny and maybe allow the woman to finally slow down and have a moment’s rest.
Setting down the cocoa Ashleigh had offered with a knowing smile the moment she’d claimed a seat upon arrival, Emma watched her friend bustling around the kitchen, and finally sighed, coming out with the question still troubling her mind. “So, do you think I’m crazy for taking this on? I can’t imagine that woman will be at all pleasant to work for, and you know as well as I do the stories about that old mansion, but… if you could have seen this little girl… She is so bright, so curious and sweet. She must be stifling, locked in there all alone. I couldn’t turn my back on her…” She trailed off, her teeth digging into her lower lip anxiously as she awaited her oldest friend’s trusted opinion. The large bowl of beans were finished, and she rose to dump the vegetables from the container in her lap into the rapidly boiling pot on the stove, needing to move to calm her impatient nerves.
Despite the numerous other chores she had on her hands, Ashleigh came to stand at Emma’s side, offering her a wooden ladle to stir with, but also pausing her constant motion to wrap an arm around Emma’s shoulders and peer into her face. “Of course you couldn’t,” she acknowledged softly, her eyes full of gentle understanding. “With the way you grew up, without your parents, really pretty lost until I adopted you,” here she winked playfully to let Emma know she was teasing. “You saw a bit of yourself in her, which is completely understandable. You needed a job, the old crone will likely be away or otherwise occupied most of the time, and I think you and little Alice will be good for each other.”
“You really think so?” Emma debated, returning her eyes to the rolling surface of the water before her. She wasn’t even half the cook her friend was, and she hardly wanted to ruin one of the side dishes for the dinner. Still, despite her reluctance to let too much relief creep in, it did her heart good to know her friend felt just as she had about the situation. “That was my conclusion as well, but I feared I might be too close to see it clearly.”
Shaking her blonde head and nearly undoing the kerchief she held it back with for kitchen work, Ashleigh chuckled, “Would I lie to you, Emma?” Bustling off again to take the fresh baked buns from the large oven as gracefully as if it were a dance around her working quarters, she added, “And if you’re worrying about al the gossip and old wives’ tales about the place, I’m sure that’s all they are. I’ve never known you to let rumors and nonsense stop you before.”
Emma agreed aloud, but continued to leave unspoken the strange drop in temperature, the howling wind on a calm day, and the books flying as if cast through the air by an unseen, malevolent hand. Not as frightening as the lady of the house herself, but unsettling to be sure. Still, Emma did not like to be thought of as easily daunted, and when it came down to it, she would return regardless; that innocent child deserved someone who cared for her, and Emma had already become attached, whether she fully understood it or not.
She lingered a bit longer, helping Ashleigh see to the rest of the meal preparation and then catching up on her friend’s life as they cleaned up afterwards. When Ashleigh left for the evening to return to her little family, and Emma back to her boardinghouse room for one last night, she felt much more certain of her course. Maybe odd things did happen on an estate that old, and having now met Ms. Eloise Gardiner, Emma would concede she might indeed be a witch, though doubtfully the kind local legend suggested. The sillier flights of fancy she had heard over the years - that the ghosts of ancient sailors roamed the halls seeking revenge, or that once one entered the place they became trapped and couldn’t leave - were the work of overzealous imaginations and bored people starved for excitement, nothing more.
~~~*~~~
The next morning dawned pleasantly warm and bright with sunlight as Emma made her way to the estate at the top of the hill once more, reporting for her first day as Alice Jones’ governess. If she were completely honest, Emma was hardly looking forward to a second conversation with the lady of the house, but she had steeled herself as best she could, and she was able to overlook that in her anxiousness to see and talk once more to the little sprite who had charmed her from the moment she’d opened the door and looked up into Emma’s face with such trusting openness. Her focus was on making young Alice’s life better, on seeing that the child had someone on whom she could depend. Anything else was secondary, and she intended to keep that focus in mind, whatever other obstacles or distractions might present themselves.
Clutched in her hand, she carried a valise packed with her meager clothes and other belongings, and in the crook of her other arms her heavy winter coat which would not fit in the case and a snow white knitted baby blanket which she could never leave behind wherever she traveled. It was the one family heirloom she possessed. It had been made for her and given to her parents by Granny herself before Emma was even born, her named stitched in purple at the edge by the capable older woman. Emma was far from sentimental; her no-nonsense practical upbringing cementing that tendency well. She didn’t hand onto trinkets or collect many things. She had the bare minimum of a wardrobe and shoes necessary and a few pictures and pieces of jewelry, but she traveled light, and so she pressed the blanket, the one exception, to her side all the more tightly as she again reached the solid front door of the mansion where she would live and work.
Pressing her lips together tightly, Emma once more steadied herself, intending to appear capable and prepared for anything, then knocked on the sturdy portal. She waited only moments before hearing quickly, lightly scuffling footsteps within, and her heart leapt in happy relief, hoping it was Alice and not Eloise Gardiner, even as she didn’t wish for the child to be scolded again on her behalf.
The door swung open widely to reveal the youngster beaming at her brightly in greeting. “Miss Emma, you’re really here!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together with delight and giving a little hop right where she stood in the grand entryway. “I’ve been ever so anxious for you to arrive!”
Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Emma felt a smile of her own spreading across her face in response to Alice’s greeting. Considering that she was no longer a stranger and arriving for the job she had been hired to perform, Emma stepped forward into the house gladly and chuckled indulgently when Alice took her hand and excitedly pulled her further into the ornate, high-ceilinged hall. Their voices and footsteps echoed massively in the large, open space, but though still dimly lit and overly ostentatious, her surroundings seemed much less oppressive and foreboding than they had during her interview the day before.
All the same, before letting her guard down, Emma couldn’t help glancing about cautiously to make certain Ms. Gardiner was not lurking anywhere, watching unobserved for her to make some sort of disastrous slip that would see her thrown back out of the place on her ear. Seeing no one else anywhere nearby, Emma released a breath and let her shoulders ease slightly, not sure where her employer was, but at least reasonably assured the woman was not about to leap from some hidden corner and fire her on the spot.
Cleverly seeming to read her new caretaker’s thoughts, Alice tugged gently on Emma’s hand, regaining her attention and giggling at her wariness. “You don’t have to worry,” she broke into Emma’s thoughts with her sweetly endearing young voice. “If you’re wondering about Ms. Eloise, she isn’t her right now. She left again early this morning.”
Emma’s brow furrowed in confusion. “She did?” she queried, puzzled. “Without making sure I’d arrived or giving any final instructions? Wouldn’t it have been better to wait and be certain you weren’t left alone?”
Alice tilted her head to study Emma for a moment, looking as though she were giving serious adult consideration to Emma’s questions, even if they weren’t truly directed at her or even more than musing out loud. Finally, she straightened again and wrapped Emma’s hand in both her smaller ones before clutching them to her chest. “You really did come here for me, didn’t you?” she seemed to reflect, sounding awed at the realization. “I could sense it, you know,” the girl continued, holding Emma’s gaze with her own wide eyes brimming with emotion. “That you were sincere, I mean. That you cared. I wanted so much to believe it, but I’ve been wrong before.”
Her confession felt troublingly cryptic to Emma, who was still trying to digest Alice’s words, even while being grateful the child could read her genuine hope to be friends, to help, to make her life better and keep her safe. Still… “Wait, what did you mean by that, Alice?” she pressed. “Of course I’m here for you. I mean, I need a job naturally - one has to work in order to get by - but I agreed to be your governess because I care about you. Shouldn’t that be the case?”
Alice nodded sagely at Emma’s words, those large, guileless eyes in her pale, innocent face wiser than they out to have had to be. “You’re right, Miss Emma. Naturally that would be the best way of it, but you would be shocked at how many people come here for the money alone, or hoping to gain Ms. Eloise’s favor and her standing and power to help themselves. Or even just to see if the place is haunted or cursed by a witch the rumors claim.”
As she was speaking, Alice had turned to move further into the house, pulling Emma along behind her through a gloomy formal parlor, an empty sitting room, and to what would likely classify as a sunroom squeezed in along the back wall near a flight of stairs up to the second floor. Emma followed numbly, realizing that Alice Jones was no fool, nor was she as blissfully childishly ignorant of what went on around her as Emma would have hoped. Clearly love - as all children deserved - had been all too rare in her life, just as it had been in Emma’s.
“I’m sorry that has been the case in the past,” Emma managed shakily, placing steadying hands on Alice’s shoulders as she turned to look up into Emma’s face after stopping once more. Finally they had found a space in the ancient structure where light could get through, and it came streaming through the bank of windows, illuminating Alice’s pixie features and highlighting her hair in a way that resembled a bright halo resting atop her head. “You didn’t deserve to be overlooked in such a way… and that won’t be the case this time. I can promise you that much.”
Once again, Emma had the brief impression that Alice was weighing the words she had spoken, gauging them for truth. It might not strike her so clearly if it weren’t something she also did, but nonetheless, she understood the need behind it, and forced herself to be still and submit to the inquisitive scrutiny. As quickly as the moment had begun, it ended, and Alice lunged forward, wrapping her think arms around Emma’s waist in a tight hug. “Then you’re just the one I’ve been praying for,” she exhaled in breathless exclamation against the material of Emma’s dress, holding tight for some minutes before letting go and stepping back, friendly exuberance lighting her eyes again, despite the glassy appearance of tears that hadn’t actually fallen. “Would you like to see your room?” Alice asked, passing the more fervent swell of emotion that had overtaken her and obviously now attempting to be a proper young hostess. “I can show it to you and help you put away your things.”
“That sounds perfect,” Emma replied with a matching grin.
Alice whirled quickly, now assured in her purpose and cheerfully urging her governess to follow her as she slipped from the room and back toward the stairs. Her tread was light on each as she tripped along merrily, prattling on about the tower, her own room, her favorite toys and games - anything her young mind seemed to think her newfound friend should know.
When they reached the second floor landing, Alice looked back over her shoulder at Emma coming up behind her, an impish expression on her face and an eyebrow cocked up on her forehead playfully at the slightly more labored sound of Emma’s breathing after the steep climb with baggage in hand. “Alright there, Miss Emma?” she questioned solicitously, but with a teasing smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards.
Narrowing her eyes in false sternness at the jibing, Emma nodded and let the girl know that she would manage, while admitting to herself that so many stairs might take some getting used to. “My room is just there,” Alice pointed to her left toward a room with the door opened just enough to show walls painted a light robin’s egg blue in contrast to the dark colors which seemed to dominate the rest of the house, and the velvety ear of a stuffed white rabbit hanging off the side of a canopy bed. “And Ms. Gardiner’s room is that way,” she gestured to the other end of the hall. “But don’t ever go in there. It’s off limits,” she advised solemnly with the voice of one who had been informed of the information in no uncertain terms. She wrinkled her nose in the next instant, her irrepressible nature taking over once again. “Not that you would wish to bother her moldy old room anyway.”
By this time, Emma had caught her breath and did laugh at the girl’s affronted expression. “Right you are,” she agreed with a wink, then a reassurance that she understood the warning, “but duly noted all the same.”
The winding steps up to the tower were much narrower as they ascended, not leading to an entire third floor this time, but a single room in what must be one of the gables Emma remembered seeing from the outside. Alice pushed the door open at the top with the air of a ringmaster unveiling the final act of his circus, turning eager eyes to see what her governess will make of her new lodgings. “Here it is,” she crowed, “the tower!”
Brushing an escaped tendril of hair back behind her ear, Emma gratefully dropped her valise to the floor and tossed her coat and blanket onto the worn quilt covering the bed just off to her right. The room is sparse: bed, dresser, closet, mirror, but thankfully clean and more than sufficient for her needs. There have been many times she has been in danger of having to do with much less. Moving over to the window in the wall facing the door, Emma looked out briefly, seeing the lawn running back down the hill alongside the path she had trod when she arrived that morning, thinking how lovely and peaceful the grounds truly were, despite the heavy chill that had seemed to surround them only yesterday.
Perhaps it was only the sullen mistress and not the old place itself at all?
“What do you think?” Alice’s voice piped up, sounding a bit more hesitant, perhaps even nervous as she awaited the verdict. “It isn’t fancy, but the tower has always seemed interesting to me. Up here, tucked away all by itself and quiet. I’ve always figured its hiding its own mysteries.”
She was rambling a bit, though it endeared her to Emma all the more as she turned back into the room and made her way back to the bed where Alice had plopped down and took a seat beside her. The poor thing seemed almost anxious that Emma might dislike her accomodations and leave. Reaching out to take the child’s hand and press it reassuringly in her own, Emma marveled again at the bits of her own psyche that she saw surfacing time and again in this sweet girl trusted to her care. Peering into Alice’s face, she whispered with conspiratorial warmth, “It doesn seem to have a story, doesn’t it?”
~~~*~~~
That night, long after Alice had been tucked into bed and Emma had retired to her own room, she ran her mind back over the day fondly. She and Alice had toured the rest of the house, made a brunch of toast, marmalade and tea, and then explored the wonderfully overgrown backyard, where Alice had shown her the climbing tree in which she sometimes to naps in the wide branches in the afternoon sun and the long untended garden where she often caught glimpses of a stray cat and her young, and even once a fox. Alice’s curious, intelligent mind shone through as she continued to share all the things she had studied and discovered ont he property while left largely to her own devices. It seemed almost miraculous that she was neither bitter nor spoiled, but pleasant and kind, eager to her treasures, as she called the simple things she had gathered in her solitude.
Vowing the the precocious young woman would no longer have to spend her days alone - not ever again if she could help it - Emma had found herself physically tired from the day’s activity, but her mind not yet ready for sleep. Noticing a slight draft in the room, Emma picked her blanket up from where she had tossed it on the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders as most would a dressing gown. Moving toward an alcove in the back corner of the room, she discovered where the cool air was streaming in; it seemed that where the two walls met was not quite snug, and as she pressed and prodded searchingly, she discovered that there was actually a hidden door in the wall that she hadn’t seen. She wondered that Alice had never done so either, and bit back a smile at how thrilled Alice would be when shown it tomorrow.
It was a bit stuck, no doubt from neglect, but putting her shoulder to the task, Emma finally forced open the wooden panel to discover that it led out onto a high widow’s walk overlooking the back of the property. Her sense of adventure momentarily overriding her good sense, Emma stepped out onto the narrow walkway into the night air, exhilaration flooding her veins. The breeze was stronger so high up, above the trees even in her secret perch, and Emma’s hair, loose and flowing for the night, whipped around her face wildly.
There was railing along the structure clearly meant as a handhold for anyone venturing out to use it as a vantage point, but it wasn’t tall - not even waist high - and she made a mental note to be careful not to get to close to the edge, and to warn Alice of it too, if she even decided it wise to show the child at all. She was just debating the wisdom of such action along with her responsibility to keep Alice safe, when the strident wind seemed to take on renewed vigor; almost a life of its own. The shingles of the roof at her back rattled as if about to be pulled free and the door out to the walk knocked against the side of the tower. Unnerved by the almost sentient reaction of its force, Emma got the distinct impression it was somehow upset with her.
An impossibly strong gust snatched suddenly at the blanket draped loosely over her shoulders, nearly ripping it away from her and carried it off. Without thinking, Emma dove forward to keep hold of the blanket, her one tie to the parents she had never gotten to know and couldn’t even remember, and lost her footing. She slammed into the guard rail rather than slipping over the edge, but it caught at mid thigh not the waist, and she nearly toppled over it headfirst.
A strong grip caught her around the waist and yanked her back from a fall that would have surely been the end of her. For a moment Emma was frozen, stunned, her blanket clutched to her chest as her startled lungs struggled to breath again after the shock. It took a few minutes for her to regain her senses and realize that she hadn’t averted disaster on her own; someone had caught her.
Turning slowly, she came face to face with a man equally wide-eyed and panting, looking just as surprised to see her standing there as she was to see him. He was a half a head taller than her, his eyes a wild, stormy blue like the sea and his disheveled dark hair fluttering across his forehead in the breeze still sweeping around them. His shirt was scandalously half-buttoned down his heaving chest under an expensive and old-fashioned looking waistcoat, allowing think dark hair to tantalizingly show in a way Emma had never seen on the high collared and cravat wearing gentleman of her previous acquaintance.
Before she could force any words out however, his voice, shaking with some intense burst of feeling broke out in clear agitation. “What were you thinking, Lass? Are you mad? You nearly threw yourself over the edge for a mass of thread and ribbon!”
Spluttering indignantly, Emma wanted to set him straight and defend herself, but she was still too overcome by the fright she’d weathered and the sudden precious of an overwhelming intense and masculine stranger pressed quite close to her in such a small space. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly without her forcing out any sort of explanation.
As he raised his hand to brusquely shove a thick forelock of hair out of his eyes, Emma gaped even more at the sight. Where his left hand would have been, the man who had just pulled her from the ledge instead had a hook in its place. She blinked mutely, even trying to rub her eyes as if the fog would lift and what she saw would turn sensible once again. Instead, it only led her to realize that something about the man’s form was not fully solid; she could still see the door back into her room, the shingles on the roof, and the stars above through him. It shouldn’t be possible. It wasn’t possible…
Reaching out a tentative finger, she intended to just barely touch her rescuer, to prove to her own eyes that she must be mistaken, but instead she gasped as her hand passed right through him to the wall beyond. Her gaze snapped back up to meet his; deep, fathomless pools lined strikingly with dark kohl but someone just as fearful in that moment as she knew hers must be.
“Bloody hell,” he swore, looking almost pained, “will I never learn?” And then, before Emma could stop him, he vanished from sight.
Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @winterbaby89 @thejollyroger-writer @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @cosette141 @apiratewhopines @the-darkdragonfly @darkcolinodonorgasm @justanother-unluckysoul @drowned-dreamer @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @scientificapricot
#cssns22#cs Victorian ghost au#cs three part fic#knightrook au fic#believing impossible things#part one
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Sacrificial Lamb
for CSSNS 2023
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: cultism, demons, kidnapping
Length: ~6k
Summary: Princess Emma of Misthaven's coming out ball does not go as expected
Notes: Thank you so much to @kmomof4 for both betaing and making me art! It's awesome! Also thank you to the @cssns mods for running this event again.
Tagging: @kmomof4 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @jonesfandonfanatic @undercaffinatednightmare @anmylica @elfiola @booksteaandtoomuchtv @tiganasummertree @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @myfearless-love @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart
Also on AO3
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Emma’s head felt foggy, and she was shivering with cold.
As she opened her eyes, they struggled to comprehend the space through the darkness around her.
She felt weak, as though she wasn’t in control of her own body, but she tried to sit up. The harsh wooden bench beneath her dug into her hips and snagged at the delicate white lace of her gown.
She blinked in confusion as her hair shifted around her shoulders. It had been coiffed to perfection, hadn’t it?
The last thing she remembered was dancing with the Captain of the Guard at her coming out ball…
But then the memories started to filter in.
The windows shattering and covering the entire ballroom with coloured glass.
Dozens of figures in black cloaks almost floating across the floor as they overtook the room. One, wearing a robe edged in gold, pushing through the main doors and making their way directly towards her. A hand flashing out to freeze everyone else where they stood. Her parents eyes darting frantically between them as they met in the middle of the room, Graham’s sword frozen in place, half drawn in her defence.
Her own magic sparking to life in her palms. And then…
Powder blown in her face, making her stumble and sway before her eyes fell closed and she hit the floor.
That was why the hard bench hurt so much.
She swung her feet to the floor, drawing them back from the cold stone with a hiss at the feeling of ice-cold stone beneath her feet. Her shoes had been removed, as had several layers of petticoats, causing the layers of skirt to tangle around her legs and making the material far too long. It was now nothing more than a cumbersome mess rather than an elegant sweep of fabric.
It was then, too, that she noticed the jangle of chains, connecting her feet to one end of the bench and her wrists to the other.
The echo of footsteps started to float through the air towards her, but she couldn’t tell from where.
She sat up on the bench as best she could, and concentrated on finding her magic so that she could free herself and get out of here before the men in cloaks- because she couldn’t imagine who else would be walking down here right now- came back.
But nothing happened.
She couldn’t feel anything more than an itch under her skin.
The footsteps got louder, closer, and Emma started to yank frantically at the chains.
With the nearing footsteps came a glow of light, illuminating a long rocky corridor with moisture glistening on the walls. It crept closer, highlighting the uneven walls and the hoods of the cloaks that bobbed as the people contained within walked.
She could feel panic start to rise in her chest, pushing away the remaining fog from the enchanted sleep the powder had put her into.
The light flickered and danced, torches held above the heads of the procession.
“What is the meaning of this?” Emma snapped as the figures started to surround her.
The figure in the gold-trimmed cloak walked right up to her, his face shadowed from view, but his hand reached out, fingers pale and cold as they clasped her chin, turning her face this way and that.
“Yes, the Demon we seek should be very pleased with you, Princess,” he said, his voice as cold as his fingers. “It will be a delight to watch him devour your virgin soul in return for the resurrection of the Dark One.”
Emma’s eyes widened in horror. She’d heard tales of the Dark One her whole life. Everything she knew about magic cast him as the cautionary tale in how high a price it required. She’d heard, too, about the cult that had sprung up in his absence, the men obsessed with returning Darkness to the realm.
“No!” she cried, pulling her face out of his grip and struggling against the chains once more, doing her best to summon her magic but only feeling a fire start to burn under her skin which made her cry out in pain.
“Your magic will do you no good down here. There is too much darkness, no true light can survive. Not for long, anyway.”
He flicked his hand at the chains, which released themselves from the bench. The ones attached to her ankles formed a shorter chain between them that would allow her to walk. The ones around her wrists snaked up over her shoulders and met around her neck.
The man pulled her to her feet by yanking on her arm which tightened the chain around her neck noticeably as she struggled to stand.
“You will walk.”
Emma scoffed. “To willingly assist you in returning Darkness to this realm? Never.”
Another twist of his hand and the chain between her wrists started to shrink, drawing her hands up towards her throat. The chain tightened around her neck, making her choke as she struggled to breathe. She could feel her eyes starting to bulge. Emma sank to her knees, clawing at her neck, and shivering even more as her head swam with dizziness.
Suddenly, the chains lengthened and she could breathe again.
“Do as you are told, and I’ll make this relatively painless. And the Dark One might even spare your kingdom for your assistance in his return. Get up.”
Emma realised that there was no way to fight this, not now. She would have to wait.
She struggled to stand. The long skirt of her dress, now wet with the damp filth from the floor, was heavy in her hands as she lifted it to allow her to walk.
Hands closed around her upper arms, guiding her through the torchlit gloom, preventing her from slipping on the slick ground.
They entered a chamber, rocky walls painted black with gold symbols, the same as adorned the hem of the golden edged cloak.
In the centre was a large stone altar, and Emma found herself lifted onto it, the chains at her wrists and ankles moving as commanded to secure her to it.
She struggled and cried out in protest but there was nothing to be done. The chill of the stone crept into her body. She could feel it sapping her strength and making it harder to concentrate on fighting what was being done, stealing away the hope in her heart.
All her parents had done to train her to protect herself, and… it was all she could do to lay there. Like the pathetic damsel in the stories princes and knights loved to tell.
Despair joined the fear encasing her heart as the cultists moved around her, painting more symbols on the floor.
Emma’s eyes flicked frantically around her, looking for anything to help her escape.
The cult leader arranged her dress- making the sleeves lie perfectly around the chains- splayed her hair around her head in a fan of gold, and smoothed down the wrinkles in the dirtied lace. Every time she tried to move the chains tightened a little more. He rounded the altar and stood by her head, drawing from the depths of his cloak a distinctive dagger, the edge curving wickedly like waves and held it over her body. He started to chant and she struggled against the chains until she couldn’t hold back the tears of pain any longer.
She let them fall, the heat of them almost burning her cold skin as she let out one desperate whisper as she closed her eyes.
“Please, help me.”
Emma didn’t know who she was asking or what the chanting around her meant. All she knew was that as much as she thrived on being able to save herself most of the time, she couldn’t help herself this time and her parents wouldn’t have any idea where she was. They’d been trying to rid the realm of the cult of the Dark One for years and they’d never found them. It was most unlikely they’d be able to do so now, even with the added motivation of finding her. They could still be frozen in the ballroom for all she knew.
She felt the soft, hot tracks of her tears across her face before they splashed on the stone.
Blinding pain radiated up her arms as knives sliced into her skin, burning as blood started to pour into the grooves on the table, staining her dress immediately as the tears, too, turned into a flood.
Emma screamed in agony and defiance.
But through the pain she felt a soft weight on her head and at her waist, a warmth gently passing over her hair.
“Fear not, My Queen. All will be well,” a voice like liquid velvet intoned softly next to her ear.
Her head started to swim as the blood drained out of her body, but with each weakening heartbeat, the hand on her head and at her waist felt more real.
“Can’t save…” she whispered back, shaking her head. “Dark One…” she tried again, needing him to understand.
“Isn’t that why you called on me?” the voice replied, and now she could feel breath across her shoulder and cheek as he spoke.
Emma forced her eyes to open and she looked up into brilliant blue fire. They were his eyes, of course, but in her drowsy state she could have sworn they danced with real fire. His gaze filled her with warmth, and she blinked lazily as she smiled up at him. She’d never looked into a face like his before and she found herself immediately entranced by his dark beauty.
The chanting stopped, and cries of joy rang against the walls instead.
“Who are you?” she breathed, as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with fingers that almost burned her skin with their heat.
“Foul Demon, I have summoned you…”
The demon, Emma now had the wherewithal to notice the horns poking out of the top of his head, looked up at the cultist still holding the knife over Emma’s head.
“Who summoned?” he asked coldly, and Emma felt his thumb ghosting over the wound on one of her arms, could feel warmth creeping back into her limbs as her heart started to beat a little surer once more.
“We cast the spell, we sacrificed…”
“I think you’ll find it’s her blood on the table, but interestingly, it wasn’t that which summoned me.”
“I command you to resurrect the Dark One in exchange for this sacrificed soul!”
The demon sighed and looked down at Emma. “I’m sorry, My Queen. Explaining this gross incompetence might take a moment,” he told her apologetically.
“Can’t go anywhere…” She breathed sleepily.
The demon grinned roguishly, and with four deft flicks of his clawed fingers he shattered the chains holding her down, but Emma still didn't have the strength to move. The demon sat down on the altar beside her, his fingers now trailing over the wound on her other arm and healing that one, too.
“Now, I’ve seen some truly ridiculous cults in my time, but you lot? You really do take the biscuit,” he drawled. “Firstly, this altar accepts any liquid, and you let her cry, which hit the table before her blood. So. As you were intending to use the blood, she used her own tears to summon me. Secondly, if you’d wanted her blood to work you had to partake of it somehow, because even if her blood had worked to summon the demon you intended to summon, she’d still have had control over it. Lastly, and most importantly, you’ve ended up saddled with the demon responsible for condemning the Dark One to the deepest, darkest depths of hell where his mortal soul will face its darkest fears for eternity. So… do you really think I’m going to be the one to let him out? All in all, you’ve gone and fucked this up royally…” He glanced down at Emma and grinned. “With a very pretty royal, too,” he added, and she shivered as his eyes looked her over and part of her wished she had the strength to do something to hide herself. But then his gaze flicked back to the cult leader and darkened with anger once more, his casual, instructive tone fading into menacing darkness. “So, while I appreciate the effort to find me such a delectable offering, I’m afraid… You’ve hurt My Queen…”
Emma watched as demonic darkness overtook his features. His skin turned red and his eyes turned to flame and the reality of the world around them seemed to crack as he rose to his feet, growing in height, muscles bulging, forked tail whipping back and forth in anger as a language of darkness rolled off now black lips and tongue. The long coat he wore furled out into enormous black wings which sliced the two closest cultists in half, exposing his muscled chest and drawing her gaze despite her predicament. Flame speared out of previously nonexistent slices in the very air, wrapping around the cultists and setting them aflame as he sat up and grabbed the cult leader around the throat.
“So I’m afraid it’s your souls I’ll be consuming in her name.”
The man seemed to burn alive from the inside, screaming in agony until he exploded in a shower of embers that made Emma flinch.
The demon turned back to her, his features fading back to the handsome, tempting human she’d first seen when she’d opened her eyes.
She felt a sob of relief, of gratitude rising in her chest despite the fact that she was now slightly terrified of her saviour.
He settled himself back on the side of the altar and pulled her to him, cradling the back of her head and running his hand up and down her spine, his warmth seeping into her and bringing her back to shivering rather than weakly numb with the cold.
“Fear not, My Queen. You are safe now,” he said, soothingly.
For some reason, Emma believed him, and allowed herself to sob into his shoulder as she let the fear that had plagued her since the moment the windows in the ballroom shatter subside.
“What’s your name?” she asked quietly.
The demon seemed to stiffen in surprise.
“Demon or not,” Emma reasoned as she pulled back, “I should like to know the name of my rescuer so that he may be properly acknowledged.”
The demon looked suddenly unsure of himself.
“You may not think so kindly of me in a few moments,” he replied, sounding almost sad about it.
“You were part of the vanquishing of the Dark One, and you just saved me from helping bring him back,” she pressed.
“Aye,” he replied, his voice strained.
“There are conditions to your summoning that I am unaware of,” she replied. It was a statement, not a question and he nodded in confirmation.
“The altar may not be fussy, but I’m afraid Demonic Law is,” he replied carefully.
“You still need blood.” He nodded again but she sensed there was more. “My blood.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied again. And despite his being a demon, she believed him.
“So I still have to die?” she asked, shrinking back from him a little.
“Ay…” The response had been on the tip of his tongue, but he suddenly pulled back, rising to his feet and pacing.
Emma watched him curiously as he muttered to himself, reciting something in the dark tongue she’d heard him use before. The way his lips curled around the words made her squirm a little on the cold stone and she shivered once again, the absence of his heat allowing the chill of the stone to creep back into her bones.
“Apologies, My Queen,” he said briskly, returning to her side and encouraging her to lean against him.
“Emma,” she said with a sigh as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Princess Emma of Misthaven.”
“Ah, then… I daresay no one is going to like the alternative much better,” he said as his fingers trailed up and down her arm, making her hum in contentment. He smelled amazing, far more appealing than anyone- let alone a demon- had a right to. She let herself breathe it in, getting a little lost in it.
“What is it?” she asked. Her voice sounded dreamy and sultry, even to her own ears.
“Your Highness, don’t do that.”
“Do what?” she asked, lifting her head to look into his eyes.
“Make it harder for me to not claim what I am owed without explaining myself first,” he managed to grind out through gritted teeth. There was no anger in his words, only a possessive spark in his eyes as he looked her over.
Emma straightened her spine, her eyes wide and startled as her breath stuttered in her throat. “I… I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” he replied with a warm smile. “The other option to spilling your blood and claiming your soul for hell now, since I have fulfilled the task you summoned me for, is to take an… alternative virgin blood.”
Emma felt her cheeks heat immediately with embarrassment and she looked away.
He hooked his finger under her chin, and looked into her eyes.
“I understand what this would mean in human terms, but you would need to understand this in demonic terms. We would be bound to each other. I would relinquish my immortal calling and live by your side as your protector and… lover… until your soul and your mortal body part ways. At which point, we will return to hell, and you are bound to me for eternity.”
He was being honest, that much she could tell.
“But that isn’t always the case, is it? I mean… don’t demons regularly defile virgins?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to offend him.
He chuckled, low and deep and it rumbled in his chest making her breath catch.
“It’s complicated. But most cults realise that virgin blood simply means from a vessel that has never been used for a sacrifice before,” he explained.
Emma frowned, looking down at the hands clasped in her lap. “But then… my blood wouldn’t work that way, anyway.”
“Technically, their ritual was not completed so your blood remains viable. I could still just kill you. But Princess, you’re far too lovely to waste on such a thing when I can have you for eternity…” His tone was laced with hunger that made a shiver run down her spine. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her neck again and making goosebumps rise across her skin. “Let me seduce you, My Queen. I promise you won’t be disappointed in the result. We’ll rule your kingdom together, you light magic balancing out my darkness and when we get back to hell you can torture every soul who ever hurt those you care for into madness.”
Even his offer was seductive, and Emma’s eyes slid closed, her head tilting away from his, almost offering him her neck. His forked tongue flicked out to caress the shell of her ear and she gasped, her eyes snapping open as she pulled back just a little. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest.
“I smell good, don’t I? Your body knows what we could have. It’s a rare opportunity. Not everyone can even hope to make this attempt. You are unique, Emma. I can feel your soul calling out to mine and it’s taking everything in me not to claim it.”
She could feel it too, the want, the need to let him have what should have been promised to the prince of another kingdom. Something she should be guarding with more fervour than her own life. But who was there to stop her? There was no other heir to the kingdom, if she died today…
“My kingdom will need an heir,” she found herself muttering.
“Then we’ll give them more than enough to pick from,” he promised without hesitation.
“They’ll be… human?”
“As much as it matters. Like I said, my darkness and your light will create a balance within them. They will likely have magic as you do, and they may be stronger than other humans, live longer, I mean. But… is that such a curse?”
Emma absorbed this. Why she was asking him this, turning this into some kind of negotiation she wasn’t entirely sure, but here they were. She needed to think of her kingdom and not let the need singing in her blood overpower her just yet.
“Tell me your name,” she replied, looking up at him, determinedly.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“I’m not going to agree to eternity with someone who won’t even tell me their name,” she declared, almost haughtily.
“If I tell you my name…?”
Emma held his gaze, and smiled. It was small, almost seductive.
“Then I shall be yours. For eternity.”
“My name is Killian Jones,” he told her, in a way that suggested he hadn’t spoken it aloud in a very long time.
“Be gentle with me, Killian,” she requested, suddenly nervous.
With a groan, Killian hooked a finger under her chin once more and tilted her head up, bringing his lips to meet hers.
Emma felt a rush in the pit of her stomach as the warmth of his lips brushed hers and her eyes slid closed.
His hands moved to cradle her face, holding her exactly where he wanted her as his lips caressed hers, pulling back and changing angles, guiding her as his fingers threaded back into her hair. His lips peppered kisses across her cheek and down onto her neck.
Her eyes snapped open as she gasped at the sensation sparking through her entire body. Her hands curled around the lapels of his now returned coat, soft leather and velvet warm under her palms.
One hand moved around to her back, hand splaying across her spine and pulling her into his lap where she shuddered at the way his warmth seemed to wrap round her. Her own hand moved, threading into his hair, silky and soft and she pulled back a little to look at him again, breathing ragged, chest heaving, before she pulled his lips back to hers, moaning softly as he responded with a groan that made her core clench with need.
She kissed him harder now, taking back a little control and letting instinct take over.
The sticky dampness of her skirt forgotten, pain wiped from her mind, Emma kissed him like her life depended on it. He responded by holding her tighter against him and she could have sworn her skin was burning where the lace of her dress was thinner.
And then she felt calloused fingers on her back, not having noticed that he’d been undoing the delicate buttons down the back of her dress. She gasped as she pulled back to look at him, eyes wide and unsure.
“Don’t back out now, Darling. I don’t think I could restrain myself,” he said, his tone soft but his eyes full of dark promise.
Her core clenched again at his words. “I’m not, I…” she swallowed, trying to gather words that could explain. “Touch me more,” she requested, shyly.
“Gladly.” He grinned back at her.
A sweep of his arm and a twist of his claws tore the encumbrance of the sodden lace from her legs. Winding his other arm around her waist, he lifted her just enough that it slipped from her form and onto the floor, leaving her more exposed in front of a man that she had ever been in her life and she found herself revelling in the thrill of it.
He set her down so that she was straddling his thighs, exposing her and making her flush with excitement and self-consciousness in equal measure. His fingers barely grazed her thigh, but it felt like a spark of magic across her skin.
“More, My Queen?” he asked, and she could hear the smirk in his voice before she even looked up at his face.
The moment she met his gaze, his fingers started a teasing dance across her skin and she couldn’t help but moan, her eyes falling shut and her head falling back into his hand, just waiting to cradle her head.
“Such perfect, delicate skin…” he murmured, watching as his claws raised red lines on her pale flesh, and she whimpered at the hint of pain through the burning pleasure she was already feeling. His hand splayed over her thigh, gripping and squeezing as his other hand slipped down from her neck to continue to unbutton the back of her dress.
“That’s it Darling, let me hear you,” he murmured just before his lips found her neck once more. Kissing down towards her collarbone, his pointed teeth grazed her skin, always followed quickly by the soothing heat of his tongue.
And Emma gladly sang the pleasure of it towards the ceiling of the dim cavern, moans and cries and gasps spilling from her lips until the dance of his fingers ran through the slickness between her legs. Her hand twisted in his hair, making him hiss in pain and growl, delivering a slightly sharper nip to the skin of her shoulder.
“I won’t be able to be gentle with you if you can’t reciprocate, Darling,” he told her, firmly, speaking right into her ear and nipping at her earlobe.
Emma responded with a moan and a roll of her hips that had his fingers brushing that spot again. “Killian, please,” she whimpered.
“Do you really think I’m going to stop?” he questioned with a chuckle. “Oh, Princess, you have no idea just how much I have in store for you.”
“Show me,” she replied breathily.
“As you wish…” That was all he said before his head dipped, his teeth catching the neckline of her dress and twisting his head to tear the lace and the silk chemise from her chest, exposing her corset.
Emma shivered as the cool air of the cavern hit her skin, but the cold didn’t last for long as Killian’s lips found the tops of her breasts, kissing, licking, sucking and nipping as her chest heaved with panted breaths and the fingers below started to caress in earnest.
Her hips rolled into his fingers, her back arched to bring her chest to meet his mouth and the angle caused her corset to slip just enough that the next sweep of Killian’s tongue wrapped around her nipple.
Emma bucked in his arms, and as he growled with want, his assault of pleasure on her body was renewed. He seemed intent to torment her with it, to ensure that she thought of nothing else ever again other than the next time he could put his hands on her body.
With every sweep of his tongue or caress of his fingers, Emma was sure this was it, that it could not get any better. But with every frantic beat of her heart, he proved her wrong. She was babbling incoherently while he murmured encouragements into her skin. Emma didn’t think she would ever tire of hearing his velvety dark voice telling her how beautiful and perfect she was, that she was made for this, for him. He was relentless and determined, and she didn’t care how wanton she might look, all she wanted was for him to keep going, to drive her higher, to…
“Come for your demonic prince, My Queen,” he commanded, his lips just below her ear, pressing a kiss to her pulse point before dropping back to wrap around her nipple, sucking hard as his tongue flicked over it just right.
And then her whole body seemed to freeze in place, stars dancing behind her eyes as her muscles started to tremble and he pulled her more securely into his arms, his lips now caressing her hairline, his murmurs calming, soothing, reassuring.
She let herself breathe into his neck, shallow breaths coming out on satisfied hums as each muscle in her body seemed to relish in the slow drift back from the peak of her pleasure.
“That was…”
“Remarkable to behold, but we’re far from done,” he promised.
“I’m not that naive,” she protested, pulling back to frown up at him. Okay, so she’d never been told details, but animals did the deed, too, and…
“Is that so?” he asked with a raised eyebrow that made her eyes narrow even more. “Then would you like to tell me what I plan on doing with my tongue, next?”
Emma flushed scarlet and dropped his gaze. With a soft chuckle he hooked a finger under her chin once more and made her look into his eyes.
“I’m going to lick your pussy clean, and then I’m going to make a mess of you all over again,” he promised, his hand dropping from her chin to press the fabric of her dress into the wetness still dripping from her.
Emma whimpered, her eyes sliding closed and blushing even harder.
“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he praised, pressing a kiss to her lips. “It’s intoxicating.”
“Am I?” she murmured back, her lips blindly chasing his for another kiss.
“Let me taste you, Emma,” he replied, nudging her nose with his own before capturing her lips again. His tongue pressed them apart to caress hers and she welcomed him into her mouth with a moan.
“I take it that’s not how you meant?” she queried when he ended the kiss with a soft peck to the tip of her nose.
He shook his head with a salacious grin. “Lie back for me.”
Emma looked over her shoulder at the stained and bloody table before looking back at him.
But it seemed she didn’t even have to voice her discomfort at that idea, and with a roll of his shoulders, the leather vanished from under her fingers and was once again transformed into wings which curled around her and easily took her weight as she sank back into their warmth with a hum of contentment.
The intensity with which he looked down at her was like nothing she’d ever experienced before and it made her blush.
He grinned. It was toothy, and hungry and it was only a moment before he leaned in, pulling the soiled white dress from her body as he kissed his way over each revealed inch of skin. He pushed apart her bare thighs and she squirmed under the heat of his gaze as he licked his lips salaciously before lowering his head, his eyes meeting hers as he brought his tongue to her core.
It was Emma that broke eye contact with him as her back arched with pleasure and her eyes closed with the potency of it. The heat of his tongue was like nothing she’d ever imagined. The graze of his fingers on her thighs was intoxicating. She could feel the vibrations of words she couldn’t hear through the rush of blood in her ears, could feel the hoarseness of her voice increasing with cries that she couldn’t comprehend.
He built her up quicker this time, the feelings so overwhelming she could feel her consciousness wavering. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of an abyss that part of her longed to welcome, but he kept licking, caressing, sucking on her until she came back to herself with another wave of pleasure as he shifted above her. His mouth found hers, kissing her hard and then she became aware of a slight burn and pressure down where his tongue had been.
Her eyes snapped open as she squeaked with the discomfort, building towards pain. “Relax, My Queen, the pain will be over soon,” he purred into her ear. “Let it happen,” he encouraged, his fingers finding her clit once more and making her back arch.
She felt him slip further in, and then something inside her seemed to break and she cried out at the sensation. She didn’t know if it was pain or pleasure in that moment but she had never felt so full.
Above her, he let out a strangled groan, his muscles tense as his eyes fell shut for a moment before they snapped open, burning with blue fire once more.
“Mine,” he growled.
“Yes,” she choked out. “Killian…”
He kissed her again, and started to move. It burned slightly, but with each thrust of his hips the discomfort turned to pleasure and she found herself moving with him, meeting his hips with her own as her legs curled around his waist.
He littered her neck with kisses and nips as she cried out his name into the darkness around them. She embraced the peak of her pleasure once more, fingers tight in his hair, lips sealed against his as she tried to keep herself moving for him, so that he could finally join her.
“This will be a little hot…” he warned as his thrusts sped up, hips stuttering a little before Emma felt a rush of heat inside her. It was strange, but she fell in love with the feeling, knowing she would want more of it before long.
“I feel so…” she started, searching for the right word to convey everything. There would never be anything like this, wrapped in his arms, filled with his seed, feeling his breath across her neck. “Complete,” she settled on.
Killian raised his head and smiled down at her, brushing his nose against hers.
“Incredible,” he murmured, shifting to pull out of her. Emma felt the flood of his spent leave her body and he glanced down, shifting his wings to let the mix of his cum and her blood fall onto the altar. “And now all immortal planes are satisfied, as well as us,” he said, looking back up at her.
With the sweat cooling on her skin, Emma felt suddenly self-conscious and looked away.
“Regretting me already, Princess?”
Emma’s eyes snapped back up to his face, to find disgust starting to settle in his features. She reached up and brushed the tips of her fingers across his brow.
“No, I… I’m sore… and almost naked with a demon, and… I don’t know what to…”
“Your demon,” he corrected, a hint of a smile starting to curve at his lips. “We can be completely naked, if you would prefer? Or maybe you’ll make me wait for a human wedding night to have that final prize?” he teased, making her blush all over again.
“I can’t go back home without a corset. I’m already severely lacking in the rest of my attire,” she reasoned, embracing the chance at levity.
“Well, for the moment, that is a sacrifice I am happy to watch you endure,” he commented, taking a good look, his fingers tracing the edge of her corset.
“You’re incorrigible,” she commented with a sigh. “But I really would like to get out of here if that’s all the same to you.”
“We’ll find you some clothes on the way out.” He offered his hand to help her sit up, gathering her into his arms.
“Just get me out of here, and I can summon something from home,” she said with a smile as she laid her head against his chest.
“As you wish, My Queen,” he replied as he stood from the altar, wings melting back into his leather coat. Shadows curled up around them as the cavern melted away, but even once they were out in the open again, there was no chill strong enough to reach her. Not with her demon by her side.
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A Scoundrel... Or a Gentleman? Ch. 3
Y'all... I STILL can't get over y'all's enthusiasm for this fic!!! THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART!!!
And now, it's time for the new chapter! I hope y'all enjoy and let me know what you think!
But first, can you all join me in screaming at @snowbellewells for the gorgeous banner she made for the fic?! Thank you soooo much, babe!!!
Thank you again to @jrob64 for her beta services and listening to me whine, @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 who did as well, and @motherkatereloyshipper for the chapter art she made that I mistakenly posted with the Prologue instead of Ch2 where it belonged. Thank you all so much, ladies!!!
Chapter summary: Hurt/Comfort incoming!!! Enjoy!!!
Words: closing in on 6600 of approx 59,5k
Rating: M (smut in later chs)
Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton's Story, Smut in Later Chapters.
On ao3 From Beginning / Current Chapter
On Tumblr Prologue Ch2
Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.
@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615 @donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings @booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza @djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @suwya
Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.
Ch. 3
“Didn’t Killian say he would join us for dinner this evening?” Ruth asked.
Emma looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It wasn’t like him to be late. “He did.”
“And didn’t we tell him the time?”
Ruth’s face betrayed that she was worried about their unaccounted for dinner guest, and Emma sighed. She’d been dreading his arrival all day long - on account of her epiphany in the park and then the conversation with her mother. She just wasn’t sure she could face him without her face betraying her. But small blessings, he likely wasn’t even aware of what happened to her in the park.
She nodded. “I confirmed the time with him when we arrived back here after our stroll through the park.” She remembered the exchange with perfect clarity. She’d felt quite sick to her stomach at the time - not wanting to see him again so soon - but she had no choice in the matter. Her mother had extended the invitation, not her.
“Perhaps I should go check on him,” Emma said, rising to her feet. The more she thought about it, the more concerned she grew about him. He may be known as a rake and scoundrel, but he was polite and courteous to a fault and would never be late - over thirty minutes late - to any gathering he was invited to. Not without sending some kind of word.
“Oh, would you, dear? I’d be so grateful,” Ruth assured her.
Emma nodded and hurried out of the room. It only took a few minutes before she was safely ensconced in a carriage and on her way to Kilmartin House. The streets weren’t terribly busy. The ton wouldn’t be out on their way to balls and parties for another couple of hours yet.
She arrived at the house and climbed the steps, the door opening before she even had a chance to use the knocker.
“Is Kilmartin here?” A small smile touched her lips as she realized it was the first time she’d referred to Killian as such. It was strange, but good too, how easily she called him by his title. It was probably time anyway. He was the earl now. She wouldn’t refer to him as Mr. Jones or Killian with the staff ever again.
“I believe so,” the footman replied. “He arrived home this afternoon and I haven’t been made aware of his departure.”
Emma nodded in acknowledgement, then hurried up the stairs. If he’d been in his downstairs office, the footman would have known. She reached the second floor landing and hurried down the hall to his bedchamber.
“Killian?” she asked, once she reached his door. “Killian?”
There was no answer, and Emma slowly pushed the door open. “Killian,” she called again, a little softer this time, not wanting to wake him if he slept. Perhaps he was still tired after his long journey.
Perhaps…
She couldn’t finish the thought. She burst through the door in a panic and ran to the bed to find Killian huddled in the middle of the bed, looking as sick as anyone she’d ever seen in her life.
“Killian!” she cried, unable to keep the alarm out of her voice, although she was very relieved that he was indeed alive.
He startled and turned toward her. “Emma?” His voice was a low rasp that she’d never heard from his lips. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes - from what she could tell in the semi-darkened room - were glazed, his skin was mottled and flushed, and the level of heat emanating from the bed quite took her breath away. Not to mention that he smelled sick. That kind of awful, putrid kind of smell that if it had a color, would surely be vomitous green. Emma touched his forehead and immediately drew her hand back from the heat of it.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Oh, it’s nothing but a head cold,” he croaked.
There was no way for her to keep the incredulous shock off of her face. “That is not a head cold,” she asserted.
He tried to smile, but it came across as more of a ghastly grimace instead. “A really bad head cold?” he tried again.
“Killian George Alaster Jones!” If he wasn’t so sick, she might have smacked him on the arm. But since he was, she restrained herself.
“Good God, you sound like my mother.” He pulled the covers back up over himself, his whole body shaking with the exertion.
“Killian,” she growled, “I insist that you tell me what is wrong with you. You forget, I know you and how you operate. You always act like nothing ever matters, like water off a duck’s back. You will not brush me off and attempt to minimize this. Do you understand me?”
“I’ll be better tomorrow,” he mumbled.
“Oh, right,” Emma replied, with every bit of sarcasm she could muster, which was quite a lot, actually.
“I will, truly,” he insisted, turning over onto his back with a groan. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Something about the tone of his voice struck her as odd. “And what about the day after that?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Oh, well then I’ll be sick as a dog again,” he said with a harsh chuckle.
“Killian,” she said, the dread in her heart forcing her pitch lower. “What is wrong with you?”
“Haven’t you guessed, Emma?” he asked, poking his head back out of the covers. He looked so ill, she wanted to weep. “I have malaria.”
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, backing up a step. “Oh, my God!”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you blaspheme,” he remarked. “Should probably be flattered that it’s over me.” She had no idea how he could be so flippant at a time like this. She reached out for him, but drew back again, unsure what exactly to do. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “You can’t catch it from me.”
“I can’t?” She blinked in surprise. “I mean, of course, I can’t.” And even if she could, it shouldn’t have stopped her from trying to help him. This was Killian. He was… well, it was difficult to define exactly what he was to her, but they had an unbreakable bond between them - they always had - that time and distance had not erased.
“It’s the air,” he said, tiredly. “You have to breathe the putrid air to catch it. It’s why they call it malaria. If you could get it from another person, we would have infected all of England by now.”
She nodded at his explanation. “Are you… are you…?” she tried again. She couldn’t say it out loud.
He shook his head. “No,” he assured her. “At least, they don’t think so.”
Emma sagged with relief, then sat down. She couldn’t imagine a world without him. Even when he was gone the last four years, even with as furious as she was at him for leaving her in the first place, she took comfort in the fact that he still shared the same planet with her. That if she truly needed him, he’d be at her side as quickly as he could be.
He was here. He was alive. And with Liam gone… She shook her head. She didn’t know how the universe could expect her to lose them both.
He shivered again, violently.
“Do you need medicine?” she asked, snapped out of her musings. “Do you have medicine?”
“Took it already,” he said, teeth chattering.
She had to do something. She never blamed herself for Liam’s death, but it haunted her that it had happened while she was out. That he had died alone. And even if Killian was only sick and not dying, she wasn’t going to allow him to suffer through it alone.
“Let me get you another blanket.” She hurried through the door to her adjoining suite and took the pink coverlet off the bed. She couldn’t help the small smile as she thought of his grumbling and complaining about the color once he reached a state of sensibility again. “Is there anything else I can do?” she asked as she tucked the blanket around him.
He shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”
“Are you sure? There’s nothing I can do?” She pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down.
“Nothing.” The single word held such a note of finality about it, she had to believe him. He had obviously dealt with this before.
“I cannot believe…”
“We are meant to simply wait it out,” he interrupted her.
“That cannot possibly be true.”
He groggily opened a single eyelid and shot her a look. “Do you mean to contradict the entire medical establishment? Hmmm?”
She ground her teeth in frustration and caught a shadow of his old smirk on his face. She hated how well he knew her. “Are you sure you don’t need more medicine?”
He shook his head just the tiniest bit, and groaned at the exertion. “Not for a few hours yet.”
“Where is it?” she asked. If the only thing she could do was wait by his side until it was time to give him more of the medicine, then, by God, that was exactly what she’d do.
He moved his head slightly to the left and she saw a medicinal bottle on top of a folded newspaper. She picked it up and read the label as she came back to her chair.
“Quinine,” she murmured. “I’ve heard of that.”
“Miracle medicine,” he said. “Or so they say.” The look she sent him was dubious in the extreme. “Just look at me. Proof positive.” He gave her a lopsided - but still altogether charming - grin.
“I am unconvinced.”
A groan escaped him as he shrugged a single shoulder. “I’m not dead.”
“That’s not funny,” she admonished him.
“No, it’s the only funny thing,” he corrected her. “In the middle of this, we have to take our laughs when and where we can.”
She reached out and took his hand. “We’ll get through this.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. Just when she thought he’d fallen asleep, she heard him whisper.
“It’s better with you here.”
~*~*~
Killian awoke the next morning feeling - at least somewhat - refreshed, if not a damn sight better than he had the night before. He looked around to see Emma, much to his horror, sound asleep in the armchair she’d pulled over to the side of the bed. She looked about as uncomfortable as a body could possibly be and still be asleep, from the way her head and neck were at a terribly awkward angle, to the way her torso was twisted so that she could draw her legs up into the chair.
He knew it was too much to hope for to keep his illness hidden from her. She was far too perceptive. And nosy to boot. But as much as he didn’t want to be a burden to her and have her fussing over him, it was a profound comfort to him to have had her here with him the night before.
She snored softly, and for some reason that quite delighted him. He’d never seen her asleep and a soft smile spread across his face. Of course, he had imagined watching her sleep more times than he could count. She stirred slightly, and he realized she was on the verge of awakening. In all his daydreams, he’d never pictured this - the low rumble from deep in her chest as she changed position, the soft sigh as she yawned, the delicate flutter of her eyelids as they opened.
She was utterly breathtaking.
He knew that, of course. He’d always known that. But for some reason, this morning, it was something he felt in his very soul. The center of his being.
It wasn’t her golden hair, that even in the darkness of his still shrouded bedchamber glowed with its own inner light. It wasn’t the depth of her green eyes - which to Liam’s constant amusement had inspired poetry when she was still a debutante. It wasn’t even the bone structure of her face, the delicate loveliness that characterized all the Nolan ladies.
It was something in the way she moved.
The way she breathed.
The way she simply existed.
“Killian?” she murmured, opening her eyes at last.
“Good morning,” he greeted her. He hoped she was either not awake enough to notice the huskiness of his voice or, if she did, that she’d chalk it up to utter exhaustion after a very rough night.
“You look better.”
He nodded. “ I feel better.”
She swallowed hard before speaking. “You - you’re used to this.”
He nodded again. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m used to it, exactly, but I do know what to do.”
“How long will this continue?”
“It varies,” he began. “I’ll have fevers every other day until they just… stop. Generally a week or two, at most.”
Her face was a mixture of dismay and unbelief. “And then what?”
“And then, I go on about my life and hope it never happens again.”
“It can do that?” she asked incredulously. “Just never come back again?”
“It is a strange, fickle disease.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t say it’s just like a woman.”
“It never crossed my mind until you mentioned it.” But he couldn’t resist smirking meaningfully at her.
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “How often do they come?” She looked puzzled for a moment, then spoke again. “What do you call them?”
“I call them attacks,” he informed her. “They certainly feel like one, anyway. It’s been six months since the last one.”
She brightened considerably. “That’s good!” And then fell again, just as quickly. “Isn’t it?”
“Considering the one before that was only three months between, I’d say yes.”
“How often has this happened?”
“I’ve been dealing with this for almost two years,” he replied. “And this is my sixth attack. But I have seen much worse.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I supposed to take solace in that?”
“I do,” he said bluntly.
She pressed her lips into a thin line then reached for his forehead. “You’re much cooler.”
“Yes, I would be. It’s a remarkably consistent disease, at least when in the midst of it. It would be very nice to know when I might expect an onset, though,” he mused.
“And you’ll really have another fever in a day’s time?” she asked. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he confirmed.
Her eyes grew soft as she watched him for a moment. “You won’t be able to hide this from your mother, you know.”
It hadn’t even occurred to him. In his shock, he tried to sit up. “For God’s sake, Emma, do not tell my mother…”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Killian!” she interrupted. “Do you really expect to keep something of this import away from her? Do credit her with a bit of intelligence!”
He slumped back against the pillows. “Very well,” he humphed. “But no one else. I do not wish to be known as the freak of London.”
“You’re not the first person to be stricken with malaria.”
“I do not want anyone’s pity,” he grit out. “Most especially, yours.”
She drew back as if he’d struck her, and of course he felt like an ass.
“I’m sorry. Truly,” he apologized. “Please forgive me. That came out wrong.” As an explanation, it was woefully inadequate, but it was all he had at the moment. “I don’t want your pity,” he tried again, repentance in every word. “But your care and good wishes are most welcomed.”
Her eyes wouldn’t meet his and he knew she was trying to decide if she believed him.
“I mean it,” he assured her. “I have been through this before, and having you here last night… made it better. Easier.” The exhaustion was overtaking him again and he could only just nod at her. “Yes, easier to bear… with you here. Thank you.”
“Of course,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” That made him turn his head sharply toward her. She looked down at her clasped hands folded demurely in her lap. She truly wouldn’t have been anywhere else than by his side when he was this ill. It brought him such a sense of peace, he had to blink back tears. He turned away from her, reluctant to allow her to see how her words affected him, and could just see the light through the gap in between the curtains.
“Won’t your mother be worried about you?”
“Oh, no!” she cried, leaping up and slamming her hand on the table. Her hiss of pain made him try to sit up again, but he couldn’t manage it, slumping back against the pillows. “I’d quite forgotten about my mother. She was expecting me back last night.”
“Didn’t you send her a note?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied with a hint of impatience. “I told her you were ill, but she wrote back and said she would come by this morning to offer her assistance. What time is it?” she asked, looking around before her gaze landed on the mantle clock. Of course she’d know where the clock was. This had been Liam’s room, after all. “It’s only eight. She’s never awake before nine, unless there’s some sort of emergency. Which, I hope, she wouldn’t consider this to be. I told her you were ill with a head cold, so she doesn’t know about the malaria, but I hope she doesn’t rush over here because I panicked her with my note.”
Knowing Emma, it was probably the utter opposite of panicked and she was worrying for nothing.
“There’s no need to panic.”
She shot him an incredulous look. “I know that’s what you said, but that wouldn’t stop her from panicking because of my note and rushing over here, and you said you didn’t want anyone to know about it.”
His lips parted in a soft O of surprise. He’d never dreamed she would hold his wishes so close to her heart. “You would keep this from your mother?” he asked softly.
Her eyes softened. “Of course. It’s your decision to tell her. Not mine.”
It was quite touching. Tender, even.
“Even if I think you’re insane,” she added.
Well, maybe tender wasn’t the right word.
“But I will honor your wishes.” She planted her hands on her hips, quite honestly as vexed as he’d ever seen her. “How could you think I would do otherwise?”
“I have no idea,” he murmured.
“Really, Killian,” she grumbled. “I do not know what is wrong with you.”
“Swampy air?” he tried to joke, aiming for his signature devil may care grin.
She shot him A Look. Capitalized.
“I am going back to my mother’s,” she said, pulling on her boots. “If I don’t, you can be sure that she’d be here within an hour with the entire faculty of the Royal College of Physicians in tow.”
“Is that what she did when you took ill?”
She let out a little sound that was half snort, half grunt, and all irritation. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.”
He made a half-hearted motion toward the sickbed and tried to grin, though it was most likely more of a grimace.
“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you,” she sassed.
“Your faith in my superhuman strength is most touching.”
She paused at the door and pursed her lips. “I swear, Killian. You are the most annoying deathly ill patient I’ve ever seen.”
This time, he did manage a smile. “I live to entertain you.” She huffed and spun out of the door and down the hall. He was quite sure if she’d had something to throw at him, she would have. And with great vigor.
He might be an annoying patient, but she was a crotchety nurse. Which was just fine with him.
~*~*~
It had been a week since Emma discovered Killian had malaria. She’d kept his secret from her family, no matter that they were most anxious to see him. It had been quite a job in and of itself, and Emma was sure Ruth wasn’t going to be put off for much longer.
Keeping Killian out of sight of the ton proved to be much easier. He simply turned down all invitations, pleading his long journey and need to settle in before he entered society. His mother had yet to arrive from Scotland and so Emma spent her days at Kilmartin House nursing Killian, and her nights back at Number 5.
Surely today Alice would arrive, and she could move back into Kilmartin House permanently, no longer worried about their lack of a chaperone.
“I believe I’ll come with you to Kilmartin House today, Emma,” Ruth informed her at breakfast. Emma almost choked on her muffin.
“W-why?” she stammered.
“I want to see Killian, of course,” she replied.
“I-I am not sure of his plans today, Mother,” Emma answered quickly. Killian had had another attack the night before- his fourth to be precise- and they were both hopeful it was the last in the cycle. But while he’d be much recovered this morning, he still looked, quite simply, dreadful. If Ruth caught a glimpse of him, she’d be horrified. And furious. Ruth Nolan hated to be kept in the dark. Especially about a matter that could be termed as “life or death” without being accused of hyperbole.
“If he’s not available, then I shall return home,” Ruth said serenely.
Emma rose from the table with as much grace as she could muster. “I’ll just go on over and see if he’s available, and if he isn’t, I’ll send word.”
“I’ll see you out.” Ruth rose with her and Emma sighed, trying desperately to keep her agitation contained.
Once they were at the door and waiting for the footman to bring Emma’s coat, Ruth spoke.
“Do you have something to tell me?”
“I-I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” Ruth’s countenance was serious and Emma breathed a quick prayer that she’d quickly get to the point. And that she’d have an answer for her.
“I assure you, Mother,” she put on her most innocent face, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“You have been spending quite a bit of time at Kilmartin House,” she informed her unnecessarily. “And without a chaperone.”
“And the problem with that is?” Emma asked. “He’s my brother. In-law,” she added quickly. “And I’m not a never-married virgin!”
“What exactly is your relationship with the earl?” Trust her mother to cut right to the chase without beating about the bush. Emma couldn’t contain her shock if she tried.
“Mother!”
“You needn’t look so shocked. It is not a silly question.” Her mother was serious. Her mother believed her to be having an affair with Killian. Emma couldn’t begin to formulate a response.
“H-he’s my b-brother!” she exclaimed again. She could think of nothing else.
“He was your husband’s brother,” Ruth corrected.
“And mine,” Emma insisted, sharply. “I can’t believe you’d believe… Good heavens! I can’t even imagine!”
Except that she could. Caring for Killian the last week had kept the thoughts at bay, but now, with her mother guessing… she couldn’t pretend that the moment at Hyde Park hadn’t happened. The moment she saw Killian as a man. Not as her brother. In-law. She was absolutely mortified. She didn’t have any attraction to Killian. She couldn’t. It was wrong. It was just… wrong. There was no better word for it.
She took a deep breath trying desperately to bring her chaotic thoughts under control. “I told you, Mother. Killian has been ill.”
“Seven days is quite a long time for a head cold,” she observed.
Emma nodded quickly. “It is, but I’m confident he’s feeling better and will soon be up for visitors and to take his place in society. I’ve felt it my duty to help him settle in and become acclimated to his new duties. He has been gone a very long time.”
“Yes, he has,” her mother conceded, but without taking her eyes off her daughter. “I will see you in an hour.” And with those words, Ruth turned and walked away, leaving Emma very panicked indeed.
~*~*~
Killian was enjoying a few moments of peace and quiet when Emma burst into his bedchamber quite agitated and out of breath.
“You have two choices,” she informed him on a rough exhale.
“Emma,” he said, concerned. “Did you run all the way over here?”
“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “Just up the stairs.” Her breathing was harsh and rapid and Killian worried about her dropping with a case of the vapors.
“Emma?” he asked gingerly, very aware that he should proceed with caution when she was in such a state. “Are you quite all…”
“My mother is coming,” she interrupted.
“Here?” Killian asked, his brows nearly hitting his hairline.
She nodded. Killian pressed his lips together. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but he wouldn’t have thought it worth the level of panic he saw in her.
“Why?” It seemed the next logical question.
Emma’s hand fluttered from her hip, to her forehead, mouth and finally over her breasts before speaking.
“She thinks…” she trailed away and took another harsh breath. “She thinks… oh, heavens, you won’t believe it.”
He waited for her to speak again, and when she didn’t, he simply raised a single eyebrow at her in inquiry.
“She believes,” Emma shuddered, “that we are conducting an affair!”
“After only a week back in London,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I’m faster than even I believed.”
Emma blanched. “How can you joke at a time like this?”
“How can you not?” But of course she wouldn’t joke about it. To her, it was unthinkable. To him, however…
Well, to him it was something else entirely.
“I am horrified.”
Killian shrugged indifferently, even if he was feeling rather pricked. He knew Emma didn’t see him that way, but an expression of horror didn’t exactly leave him feeling proud about his manly prowess.
“What are my two choices?” he asked abruptly.
She stared at him.
“You said I had two choices.”
She blinked in surprise, and would have looked rather adorably befuddled if he hadn’t been overly irritated at her at the moment.
“I… don’t recall,” she finally said. “Oh, my heavens! What am I to do?”
“Settling down might be a good beginning,” he said mildly. She was in such a state, her head jerked sharply when she turned to him. “Stop and think, Emma. We are talking about us. Your mother will take one good look at us and realize how ridiculous…” he nearly winced at the word, but he believed he caught himself before she would have caught it, “the idea is.”
She took a deep cleansing breath, but the color was still high on her cheeks and her movements sharp. She wasn’t calmed by his words in the slightest.
“That’s what I told her. Oh, my heavens,” she lamented. “Could you imagine?”
Yes, he could actually. Even if she obviously couldn’t.
“It’s simply…” her arms flailed about her as she began to pace, unable to find the words to express herself. “Inconceivable! Unfathomable! As if I… As if you…!” She continued her tirade under her breath as she paced.
“You know, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you quite so put out,” he observed. She stopped and looked at him as if he was some loathsome creature that crawled out of the most foul smelling refuse pile in all of London. “You really ought to endeavor to calm down.” He meant the words sincerely, even if he knew Emma wouldn’t heed them. Women everywhere hated to be told to calm down and Emma was no exception.
“Calm down? Calm down?” she repeated. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, Killian! Are you still feverish?”
“No.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“Quite.”
“It’s insane. Completely insane,” she said with a little shake of her head. “I mean, look at you!”
He raised his eyebrow at her for that. “Yes, I’m aware of what I look like, generally. And what does that have to do with anything?” he asked, struggling mightily to keep his temper in check. “You know, there are a lot of women in London who would be quite pleased to be, how did you put it, ‘conducting an affair’ with me.” She stopped in her tracks and stood staring at him, her mouth hanging open.
He leaned back against the pillows and waggled his brows at her. “Some would call it a privilege.”
Her mouth snapped shut and she glared at him.
“Some women…” he continued, though he knew with absolute certainty that he shouldn’t bait her like this, “might engage in physical battle just for the chance…”
“Stop now, Killian,” she snapped, interrupting him. “Really, this overinflated view of your own prowess…”
“I’m told it’s deserved,” he interrupted her right back, a smug smile on his face. Her cheeks flamed. He might love her, but he couldn’t deny a small bit of satisfaction at seeing her so tortured. It was only a portion of what he lived with on a daily basis, after all.
“I have no wish to hear of your amorous exploits,” Emma said primly.
Killian’s brows nearly hit his hairline in surprise. “Oh, really? You used to. All the time, in fact. What was it you used to say?” he mused. “Ah yes! Tell me something wicked,” he continued, trying for all the world to sound as if he really had just remembered what she used to say to him, when he never actually forgot anything she ever said to him. “Tell me something wicked,” he repeated. “That was it. You were always curious about my exploits.”
“That was before…”
“Before what?” he asked mildly, quite interested in what she might say in answer to his question.
She stared blankly at him again, as if she didn’t quite understand the question. “Before this… now… everything…”
“And I’m supposed to understand that?”
She glared in response.
“Very well, then. I suppose I should prepare myself for your mother’s visit.” She still stood staring at him, and he lifted a brow in inquiry. “Are you just going to wait here for me to ready myself, and thus expose yourself to certain parts of my anatomy you’d rather not see? Or will you await my dashing presence downstairs?”
Emma’s jaw dropped slightly before she turned and fled the room. Which was odd. Emma never fled anything. Nor did she ever allow him to have the last word. And most of all, he couldn’t believe she’d let him get away with calling himself dashing.
Most puzzling indeed.
~*~*~
Emma never had to suffer through her mother’s anticipated visit. Not twenty minutes after she left Killian’s bedchamber, a note arrived from Number 5 announcing that Emma’s brother August had just arrived home - after gallivanting around the Mediterranean for months on end - thus requiring Ruth to postpone her visit.
And then, that evening, Killian’s mother finally arrived from Scotland, allowing Emma to return to Kilmartin House full-time since a chaperone was now in place. Alice Jones was, of course, delighted to see her son return home, as demonstrated by the tight and enthusiastic embrace she greeted him with, but she was quite taken aback when his sickly countenance registered and she was informed of his malady.
Much to Emma’s surprise, she agreed with Killian about keeping the malaria a secret. Now that he was home and apparently ready to take on the duties of the earl, Alice was determined to see him married by the end of the season, and this disease could only be a detriment to that end.
And to be honest, Emma was quite relieved to hear Killian’s mother talk to him about getting married. It took Alice’s attention off of Emma and her own plans for the season. She had enough to worry about from her own mother’s interference, without Alice adding to it.
So Emma and Alice occasionally ventured out in the evenings with Killian continuing to refuse all invitations. And while Emma had expected some questions about her brother-in-law, she’d been utterly unprepared for the volume and frequency of those questions. Everyone wanted to know about him. And not just the single ladies and their mamas. Even older married women, widows, and a few men expressed interest in his whereabouts. No doubt looking for some tidbit of gossip to share among their respective circles. It was all Emma could do to keep a straight, and pleasant, face without rolling her eyes at their collective intrusive nosiness. Their transparency was ridiculous. It was going to be utter madness when he actually recovered.
And then, suddenly, he did.
Well, perhaps it wasn’t as suddenly as she supposed. The fevers had been spacing themselves out and had been less severe, but it truly did seem sudden with him looking pale and sickly one day and the next hale and hearty as he ever was.
“Quinine,” he remarked with a shrug. “I’d take it six times a day if it didn’t taste so damn foul.”
“Language please, Killian,” Alice reminded him as he sat down at the breakfast table.
“Have you tasted the quinine, Mother?” he asked.
“Of course not.”
“You wouldn’t scold me for my language if you had,” he assured her.
She huffed, but it was plain for all to see that it was only for show. She was far too pleased to see him out of bed and looking like himself again.
“Now that you are recovered,” she began, “You must attend to the duties of the earl.”
Killian groaned and rolled his eyes.
“Oh, don’t be so petulant,” she chided him. “No one is going to hang you by your thumbs. I was simply going to say that you need to schedule a visit to the tailor for a set of evening clothes.”
“I think I’d rather donate my thumbs,” Killian muttered.
“They’re lovely thumbs,” Alice replied, not missing a beat, “but they’d be much more use attached to your hands.”
Killian met her eyes before speaking. “I must have neglected to inform you of my appointments today,” he said. “First, I am meeting with the prime minister concerning the assumption of my seat at the House of Lords. Then I have an appointment with the family solicitor so that I might review the state of our financial holdings, and then finally an interview with our primary estate manager, who I’m told has come down to London for the express purpose of discussing the state of all seven of our family properties. At which point should I squeeze in a visit to the tailor?”
Alice and Emma were both speechless.
“Perhaps I should inform the prime minister that I had to move him to Thursday?” he asked mildly.
“When did you make all of these appointments?” Emma asked, still stunned at his apparent diligence.
“Did you think I spent the last fortnight staring at the ceiling?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“Well, no…” She hadn’t really given much thought to how he’d spent his days. She would have spent them reading.
“As I hope we have quite clearly established,” he said, pushing back from his seat, “I have a very busy day ahead of me. If you ladies will excuse me.” He hadn’t even risen to his full height when Alice caught his attention with a light cough.
“An appointment tomorrow with the tailor is perfectly acceptable,” she informed him with a smile. Emma could see his jaw muscle clench in irritation. “You wouldn’t want to miss Lady Nolan’s birthday celebration would you?”
Emma quickly took a bite of her eggs to hide her grin. Alice was positively devious when it suited her purposes. Her mother’s birthday party was the one event that Killian would absolutely feel obligated to attend. Anything else, he could shrug off.
But Ruth?
Emma didn’t think so.
“When is it?” he sighed.
“April 11th,” she informed him, sweetly. “Everyone will be there.”
“Everyone?” he echoed.
“All the Nolans.” He brightened visibly. “And everyone else,” she continued with an indifferent shrug.
“Am I to get no reprieve?” he asked the room at large.
“Of course you do,” Alice replied. “In fact, you had one last week. We called it malaria.”
“And here I was looking forward to health,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.
“I am sure you’ll have a lovely time,” Alice continued. “And perhaps meet a lovely lady.”
Killian sighed and rolled his eyes again. “Ah yes, lest we forget my true purpose in life.”
“It’s not such a bad purpose, you know,” Emma said, unable to resist teasing him just a bit.
“Oh, really?” His piercing gaze landed on her, and Emma wondered if perhaps she shouldn’t have provoked him. “And just what are your purposes?”
Alice looked to her with clear interest and Emma had to lick her suddenly dry lips.
“Oh, this and that,” she answered blithely, waving her hand carelessly. “At the moment, to finish my breakfast,” she continued before taking another bite of her eggs. “It is most delicious, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Hmmmm,” he hummed, amusement coloring his features. “Coddled eggs with a side of meddling mothers?”
“And sister-in-law as well,” Emma reminded him, a sly smile on her face. She shouldn’t, she knew she shouldn’t, but she just couldn’t help herself. There was little she enjoyed more in this world than teasing Killian Jones, and moments like this were simply too delicious to resist.
“And how will you be spending your season, Emma?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly to tell her he knew exactly what he was doing and was waiting patiently to see how she would answer him.
Well, she had provoked him first after all.
“I expect I’ll begin by attending my mother’s birthday party.”
“And doing what?” He wasn’t going to let up.
“Offering my felicitations, of course.” She raised her chin slightly in challenge.
“And is that all?”
“Well, I won’t be inquiring after her age, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, don’t do that,” Alice offered.
“I’m leaving now,” Killian informed them, turning towards the door. Emma said nothing. She was too surprised to say a single word. Alice’s interjection effectively brought the back and forth between them to an end and Killian had taken the interruption as a justification to withdraw from their usual repartee.
Killian had changed.
It wasn’t that he’d been irresponsible before, but he hadn’t had any real responsibilities. And while she knew he’d do what was expected of him once he returned home and assumed his duties, it hadn’t really occurred to her just how well he’d rise to the occasion.
“Killian,” she said softly, gaining his immediate attention. “Good luck with the prime minister.”
His eyes caught hers and something flashed between them. A moment of gratitude and understanding. A moment of communication that only those in the closest relationships engaged in. The kind of moment she’d often shared with Liam.
Did that really just happen? With Killian? Her friend and brother-in-law? It wasn’t possible, was it? Was it?
What was she going to do now?
~*~*~
Thank you for reading and sharing! Next chapter will be up on Saturday!
#a scoundrel... or a gentleman?#krystal writes#inspired by francesca bridgerton's story#banner by snowbellewells#chapter art by motherkatereloyshipper
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hi im new to tumblr and love ur blog, i rly love captainswan! can u suggest some other captainswan tumblrs to follow? thanks xx
WELCOME, MY DEAR NONNIE.
HAVE I GOT BLOGS FOR YOU...
(I am still fairly new to the fandom so this is not an exhaustive list at all.)
Art
@cocohook38
@piinfeathers
@wild-werewolf - her Insta is more active and I highly recommend following
@pirateswhore
Gifs/Edits
@pirateherokillian
@killianjonesz
@k-leemac
@naiariddle
Fics/Meta/All the Things/Reblogs
For fics, I elaborated at length here and my tag 'major cs fic rec' has many, many other lists that others in the community have done. (I will spare the retag for most of those folks.)
@teamhook
@ishoulddefbedoingotherthings
@piraterefrigerator
@cptainjones
@vasfasan
@saptaincwan
@grimmswan
@exhaustedpirate
@goforlaunchcee
@snowbellewells
@killian-whump
@killiansprincss
@kmomof4
@nachocheese-itsmycheese
@anmylica
@stahlop
@tiganasummertree
@jrob64
@djlbg
@zaharadessert
@xarandomdreamx
@hollyethecurious
@whimsicallyenchantedrose
@elfiola
@undercaffinatednightmare - Also has lots of relateable writing things over there
@kazoosandfannypacks - Kazzy did OUAT-tober last year and propelled me into the OUAT fandom. Even when she is not doing OUAT things, she is doing amazingly creative things that encourage you to write or create on your own. Crack pairings? She's got them. Meta? Got it. And, it is smut-free and curse-free for those who take that into consideration.
@ouatsnark - Doing the good work of defending CS against so much hate
Event Pages
@cssns
@cshistfic
@csjanuaryjoy
@cssecretsanta2020
@ouattober
Listen... I know that I forgot people I KNOW that I did and I am so, so sorry. But, follow them too!!
Oh, and I am so glad you like it here.
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17 Questions
Tagged way too long ago by the amazing @thisonesatellite! So sorry it took wayyyy too long but I’ve managed to wrangle something up!
Nickname: Tons of variations of my name. My mom like to call me Tipu as a fun garble of my name and my brother has really ran with it, lol
Zodiac: Taurus
Height: 5′5”
Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw
Last thing I googled: An hours from now calculator to make sure I get off on time from work
Song stuck in my head: Sucker by Jonas Brothers
Followers: 239
Amount of sleep: Probably 7 on average on a weekday? I have to get up early now because of work which I do not enjoy.
Lucky number: I don’t really have one? I suppose 2 because I’m the second child, lol
Dream job(s): I’ve always wanted to be a movie or book critic so that I could read and watch a bunch of stuff and get paid for it.
Wearing: Red t-shirt, black sweats, purple jacket with the hood up (and am still cold!)
Favorite song: I have too many songs that I love in different ways!! I guess Strangers Like Me from Tarzan
Favorite instrument: Either guitar or piano, though I also used to play flute and I love how that sounds
Favorite animal noise: I love baby animals making noise as their talking
Random: I took martial arts classes when I was younger and my brother said it was perfect for me because I like to take every opportunity to fight with others (apparently) just him
I will tag (no pressure!) @violets-and-tea-leaves, @everything-person, @jlalafics, @myloveformcrwillneverdie, @i-will-sing-no-requiem, @zaharadessert, @the-darkdragonfly, @gingerchangeling, @sophiez85, @motherkatereloyshipper and anyone else who would like to do this!
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Coming Soon: Lover - A SilverHook Tale
This started out as a cute little One Shot (as they all do) but it's become something a little bit... more.
(thank you to @k-leemac for the SH art - I love it more than I can say!)
♥♥♥
Emma Nolan was playing a dangerous game.
He had been telling her that for ages, voice rough in the soft light of morning as she whispered her game into his skin, teeth nipping at his shoulder while she giggled and pressed firmly into him, warning her that something like this would happen.
But she couldn’t stop herself; the thrill of it rushed through her as she kept the two men entirely separated by a few letters in the contacts of her phone. Even with the near constant threat of mixing up messages that loomed over her, she would smirk and type out a message to her boyfriend- I’m a bit old for that title, love- a mixture of text and emojis which would have him squinting in annoyance at her message, flushing deeply to the tips of his ears as he deciphered the explicit hieroglyphics she had sent him.
She had teased him, it was so easy to do, laying draped across his back in their Boston apartment before the accident which uprooted both of their lives- as she groaned against the light streaming in through the curtains he insisted on leaving open- years of Royal Navy service, darling- which shone bright across her face, that while he may not be old enough to be her father, he was old enough to be her daddy. He’d grumbled and growled and called her a pervert, but the small secret smile which he tried desperately to hide between his teeth gave him away and she sucked a mark into his shoulder.
Fine- she smirked as his hand connected solidly with her ass, a loud crack through the quiet room- we do need to move at some point, my love- pushing the quilt off herself, feet curling at the shock of the cold floor under her- you can be my man-friend instead.
He had tackled her, blunted wrist tight against her middle- that sounds like a dog- hauling her back to the nest of blankets before pressing her beneath him, ignoring the chirping of her alarm.
That had been over three years ago, and while he still grumbled about it every so often, he had stayed that way in her contacts, making her smile each time a message pinged across her screen.
♥♥♥
Coming Soon!
Read my other stuff here.
Tag List (let me know if you would like to be added!):
@elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @sailtoafarawayland @teamhook @wefoundloveunderthelight @caught-in-the-filter @batana54 @ultraluckycatnd @veryverynotgood @veryverynotgoodwrites @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @jrob64 @kmomof4 @artistic-writer @gingerpolyglot @xarandomdreamx @xhookswenchx @justanother-unluckysoul @itsfabianadocarmo @zaharadessert @jadehowlettthewolf @xsjax @karlyfr13s @tiganasummertree @asluve @wyntereyez @klynn-stormz @onceratheart18 @rkrbirdgirl @ouatdaily @blowmiakisscolin @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @pirateprincessofpizza @superchocovian @deckerstarblanche @jlsadphoenix @alexa-fangirl-forever @stahlop @ohmakemeahercules @undercaffinatednightmare @lostintheskyfaraway @anmylica @motherkatereloyshipper @last-tsarina @lfh1226-linda
#Coming Soon#Lover#a silverhook tale#the darkdragonfly#captain swan#killian jones#emma x killian#emma swan#once upon a time#a modern au
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