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citoyenne · 7 years

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Miranda Hamilton’s war against England

I love Black Sails’ Lady Miranda Hamilton, because she is unapologetic and has the autonomy of a Jane Austen or Mary Wollstonecraft heroine. The witty, educated, literary, flirtatious salon hostess turned dissenter and rebel - that’s a trope I would like to see more of on television.

Miranda would have been at the centre of political and artistic life in London. She was wealthy, assumably respected despite the rumours of her affairs, and happily married. History is full of women trapped in horrible, violent, stifling marriages, but that of Miranda and Thomas seems to have been a true marriage of minds, based on actual love (in whatever form) as well as mutual respect and admiration. Black Sails is preoccupied with narrative and story telling, and the power of a good story is frequently used to shift alliances and to create villains.

In the eyes of England - imperialist, patriarchal England, Miranda would be at her most admirable as an accomplished hostess, an undesirably intelligent woman perhaps, but she adhered to and upheld the rules of society, and if she ever deviated she did so quietly, in private. For instance, although she wants James to accompany her in public, she only kisses him in the carriage, once they are out of the public eye. She knows exactly what she is allowed to do, but also how she can discreetly manoeuvre her way to obtain something forbidden. When James initially announces that he and Miranda will not settle in Europe, we get the sense that he intends to raise hell when he reaches New Providence. He does not. Instead he adapts and becomes the very thing he swore to fight and reform. In Nassau, Miranda becomes increasingly reckless and restless, meddling in the politics of the place by forging alliances, confronting and initiating sex with the pastor and she continuously urges James to keep Thomas’ legacy alive by evoking change, even if it is just change for the two of them. In England, James was the plain spoken lieutenant and she the witty, much admired and much adaptable socialite, but in Nassau their roles are reversed. James becomes the figure of adoration (or at least fear) and Miranda the rational dissenter, forever sparring the arguments of others, those of the pastor, the Guthries and James. Why did Miranda settle in Nassau? She could have severed all ties to James, even spoken out against him to save her own skin, throwing herself on the mercy of Lord Alfred Hamilton. Less drastically, she could have started a new life in Amsterdam or Paris with the help of Lord Ashe. By assuming a new identity (which she does anyway), she could have lived modestly but comfortably as a governess, teaching music, literature, languages. She could have hid behind a personae, like James does with Flint, but even as Mrs Barlow, the pious, Purcell-loving recluse, she is very much the Miranda Hamilton she has always been, even if she does not fully realise it herself. Miranda settles in Nassau after making a ‘hard choice, to achieve the least awful outcome’, to use the wording Lord Ash later employs to excuse his own treachery. Miranda’s chooses to leave civilisation but to keep her integrity, an act of open rebellion against society. Miranda Hamilton declares war on England.

She has not yet realised the extent or the danger of her rebellion when she urges James to ask for a pardon. She laments the lack of company, art and music, and pleads with him to return to civilisation. James furiously refuses to take her advice and accept a pardon, stating that it would be equivalent to apologising to England. ‘The moment I sign that pardon,’ he gnarls; ‘the moment I ask for one, I proclaim to the world that they were right. This ends when I grant them my forgiveness not the other way around.’

While on their way to Charlestown, Miranda confesses her astonishment to James on finding that Abigail has grown up. ‘It’s like she’s some sort of clock that’s finally struck its chime and woken me from this dream we’ve been living, reminded me how many years separate me from a world I still think of as home. How unrecognizable the woman I am now would be to the woman I was then,’ she states. As viewers, we are invited to view this as a poetic way of showing for just how long Miranda and James have been exiled, (and perhaps suggesting that mourns her own childlessness), but when James replies that he still recognises her, it is not just a kind reassurance, it demonstrates how little they have changed, despite everything. They are recognisable to each other because they are cut from the same cloth, because their integrity is still intact, because they tirelessly refuse to capitulate, because they are allies in the war against injustice and England.

Miranda inevitably realises the extent of her rebellion, because of the clock, her clock, which now stands in the home of Lord Ashe in Charlestown. It is at this moment that she realises how her values and those of the civilised world are at odds, how her autonomy makes it impossible for her to return to society. Civilisation comes at too high a price. Having been uncharacteristically quiet for the duration of their visit, Miranda raises her voice at a critical point. She demonstrates that at a moment when James is prepared to compromise, she is not. Compromise is capitulation, and capitulation is out of the question.

Miranda, James and Lord Ashe have all had to make hard choices, but unlike the former, Lord Ashe lost his integrity the moment he de facto capitulated to Lord Alfred Hamilton by aiding him vilifying James. Lord Ashe considered the least awful outcome to be one where society persevered over scandal, where England triumphed over degenerates and the status quo was upheld. ‘You wish to return to civilisation,’ he scorns, ‘that is what civilisation is.’ Lord Ashe stands for civilisation, Thomas, in allegedly forgiving the treachery of his friend, stands for civilisation, Miranda and James stand for justice, integrity and freedom.

Miranda, which was as her most admirable to England as a polite socialite, raises her voice and becomes this raging, furious rebel, which makes her all the more admirable to the viewers. We half expect James to interfere, to cut Lord Ashe down then and there, as the camera zooms in on his face as the truth dawns on him, that he was almost tricked into capitulating to his greatest enemy. In a furious monologue which would not be out of place if delivered by James, Miranda states that she wants to see the Charlestown burned to the ground, and as she does so, she pleadingly turns to James.

We were initially told stories about the mysterious Mrs Barlow’s hold on Captain Flint and how she made him kill on her behalf. Later we hear her blaming herself for letting James know Lord Alfred Hamilton’s whereabouts, we hear her blaming herself for being an instrument in their murder. In truth, there is no way she could have resisted letting him know which ship he was on, it would not have been in her nature. As she tells James when they first meet: ‘Great men aren't made great by politics. They aren't made great by prudence or propriety. They are, every last one of them, made great by one thing and one thing only, the relentless pursuit of a better world.’ Miranda has an agency of her own and no means of quitting it. The narrative of Black Sails depicts Miranda’s transformation from villain, to an understandably bitter intermediary to murder and finally, in Lord Ashe’s dining room, to an autonomous rebel, outright promising destruction.

As Lady Hamilton, the hostess and socialite, she was tolerated. As Mrs Barlow, a nondescript exiled Englishwoman, she was tolerated. She might even have been tolerated in Charlestown, had she been submissive and repentant. As a plain spoken, vengeful - and more importantly, rebellious woman in open dissent of the values of civilised England, she could not be tolerated. Had she agreed to Lord Ashe’s plan, or fallen to her knees pleading for him to concoct another, less vile, she would have lived. But here we have an educated, cultivated, intelligent woman who once knew and followed the rules of society, who refuses to capitulated her integrity, who still thinks of England as home. A treason not to be borne! Lord Ashe acted to protect the status quo, but Miranda acts to protect herself in the face of hypocrisy, and this is what kills her. Miranda was a free spoken Englishwoman and her persistently unapologetic existence put her at constant war with civilisation. She was shot because she stood too close to Lord Ashe, too close to England. She refused to offer her country forgiveness of its treatment of her and was executed for her rebellion. ‘The danger here is real,’ she warns James in London. In Charlestown she finds herself in fearless in opposition. Miranda dies because she has realised that she is at war, because a rational, autonomous, dissenting woman is too dangerous an enemy for England to let live.

#black sails #miranda barlow #miranda hamilton #mrs barlow #lady miranda hamilton #i am ruined over you #captain flint #james mcgraw #black sails meta #miranda hamilton meta #bsbarlow #bsladies #ALL THE FEELS

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mrmichaelchadler · 5 years

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Nelly Kaplan Retrospective at NYC's Quad Cinema Celebrates Ferocious Filmmaker

Just days after I moved to New York, the Quad Cinema screened a double feature of Suki Hawley and Michael Galinsky’s “Half Cocked” and “Radiation,” two melancholic portraits of mid-to-late-’90s indie rock life that recalled films like “The Last Picture Show” and “Inside Llewyn Davis.” I had never heard of Hawley and Galinsky or their work before, and I attended the one-night-only screening basically on a whim. By the end of the night, I was converted. In the past year, I was introduced to the work of Alan Rudolph, Eduardo de Gregorio, and Joan Micklin Silver; watched such X-rated works as “Salon Kitty” and “La Grande Bouffe”; and caught up with canonized titles like “Celine and Julie Go Boating” and “Daisy Kenyon.” For this Midwesterner, it was something of a gold mine.

When Chris Wells announced his departure as Director of Programming at the Quad Cinema two weeks ago, it compelled me to reflect upon how his work has impacted me during my brief time living in New York. As a regional novice with an interest in repertory cinema, the Quad’s programming was instrumental to my assimilation into the scene, and a neat introduction to the variety of options available in the city. Series like “Crimes of Passion: The Erotic Thriller” and “Some Are Better Than Others: The Curious Case of the Anthology Film” sought to both showcase works around a common through line while also highlighting underseen works. Wells and his team routinely exhibited unheralded films within unique contexts, guiding audiences to view these texts through new lenses with appropriate context. They challenged audiences to take chances on films with offbeat sensibilities or from artists who haven’t made big impacts in the States.

Case in point: the Quad’s "Wild Things: The Ferocious Films of Nelly Kaplan," their latest retrospective and a celebration of Nelly Kaplan, an Argentine-born filmmaker who abandoned her economics studies at the University of Buenos Aires to emigrate to France and pursue a career in cinema. In 1954, she met director Abel Gance and quickly became his professional (and personal) partner. She spent a decade in his orbit, collaborating on works like “Magirama” and “The Battle of Austerlitz,” before eventually striking out on her own. At first, she directed a series of documentary portraits, including ones on Gustave Moreau and Pablo Picasso, but soon after she moved into directing fiction features and, later, co-writing telefilms with Jean Chapot. Kaplan’s films examine the intersection of sex and the patriarchal social order, foregrounding female desire as a revolutionary act within a conservative cultural sphere.

"Abel Gance and his Napoléon"

Her breakthrough debut feature “A Very Curious Girl” (pictured at top) explores the social hypocrisy within a conservative French village after an orphaned young woman becomes a sex worker. Marie (Bernadette Lafont) toils away on a farm and mostly receives abuse and harassment for her trouble. After her mother is killed in a hit-and-run accident, she embraces self-liberation and decides to charge the men in the village for sex as payback for being treated as bait for years. The village labels her a whore and tries to run her out, but despite their public objections, none of men can resist her beguiling wiles. Every elite in the neighborhood shames her sexuality yet physically engages with it every chance they get.

Kaplan’s broad social satire mines laughs from the gap between public and private personas, as well as the inherently shallow nature of conservative values, but “A Very Curious Girl” wouldn’t make such an impact if it didn’t also have gentle reverence for Marie. She channels her bitterness into a sexual revenge plot as a survival tactic and an avenue for radical expression; she rewrites her own objectification so that she’s the hero instead of the victim. Her sweetness towards a horny mute grandfather and a film exhibitor that views her as an equal illustrates that Kaplan’s critique lies less in individuals and more in the flawed system of social propriety. If the men in the village weren’t suffering under a culture of repression, they wouldn’t be punishing women for embracing their desires. In a way, Marie liberates the village by tearing apart its social fabric, even if they refuse to heed the lesson.

"Papa, the 'Lil Boats"

The other films in the series, playing all this week, spotlight Kaplan’s diverse range in genre and tone: “Papa, the Lil’ Boats,” a 1971 caper about a beautiful heiress (Sheila White) who uses her temptress ways to confound her kidnappers; “Néa,” an adaptation of a novel by Emmanuelle Arsan, writer of the erotic “Emmanuelle” series, about a young shoplifter (Ann Zacharias) who tries her hand at erotic fiction at the behest of an older publisher (Sami Frey); the melancholic social comedy “Charles and Lucie,” about a aging married couple who inherit a luxurious mansion and subsequently reevaluate their relationship. The series also features her 1984 documentary “Abel Gance and His Napoléon,” a tribute to her mentor that chronicles the making of his 1927 epic “Napoléon,” as well as her final feature to date, “The Pleasure of Love,” about a down-on-his-luck tutor (Pierre Arditi) who falls into sexual disarray after three women pursue him during a gig on a tropical island.

Quad owner and real estate magnate Charles S. Cohen says that the four-screen theater will still showcase “restored and classic films” despite Wells’ departure and its official designation as a Landmark theater. Whether that actually happens remains to be seen, but as of now, the Quad still programs exciting work from marginalized or overlooked voices. Look no further than its Nelly Kaplan series for proof.

Wild Things: The Ferocious Films of Nelly Kaplan runs at New York's Quad Cinema from April 12-25. For more information on the series, click here.

from All Content http://bit.ly/2KVK1nw

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torontohypnotherapist · 5 years

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DECEMBER 25 — GEORGE GURDJIEFF QUOTES

IT WAS THIS THAT WENT STRAIGHT TO MY HEART

The Christmas celebrations were equally unforgettable. For example, even though Christmas trees are usually placed right side up, Mr. Gurdjieff sometimes had them hung upside down, their roots symbolically turned toward heaven. Most years, however, the enormous pine tree in the salon was set up in the usual way and covered with gifts and delicacies. The Christmas dinner was held in the large dining-room next to the salon. It held not only the main table reserved for the adults, but also one for the adolescents and a lower one for the children.

I remember a particularly amusing Christmas Eve when Mr. Gurdjieff’s generosity and devilish provocations were skilfully combined. On certain evenings, important visitors from Fontainebleau and elsewhere were invited to the Prieuré and seated in the places of honour on either side of Mr. Gurdjieff.

On this occasion, however, it was a different story, but I must first explain that an old stonemason from nearby was helping us at the time with certain building projects in the park. When we were busy elsewhere, the old man continued to work by himself, and would even work for several days at a time without supervision. Mr. Gurdjieff very much valued the professional integrity of this good man who, despite his old age, managed to do even more than Gyorgi Ivanovitch expected of him.

Mr. Gurdjieff quickly took to this old mason. He was invited to join us when we went to the baths, and as the man was very attached to his grandchildren, he was allowed to bring them to play with the children of the Prieuré. Because of their sweet nature and good upbringing, the masons grandchildren quickly earned the affection of everyone. On this particular Christmas Eve, the mason had been invited with his entire family. As we were sitting down to dinner, Gyorgi Ivanovitch placed the Mayor of Fontainebleau and a visiting English lord on his left, and, on his right, the mason, the curator of the Chateau de Fontainebleau, and other notables. Right from the beginning of the meal, I felt quite embarrassed for the old mason, given the seating arrangement. In this dignified company, the mason seemed very ill at ease, and I did as well. Now, as often happens before a general conversation gets under way, every one was chatting with his neighbour, talking of one thing or another. Then little by little a general conversation started up on some current topics in the news, and the mayor and the other notables displayed their authority, knowledge, and expertise with a great deal of panache.

It was strange to observe Mr. Gurdjieff taking part in this worldly discourse, and it amazed me to see how adroit he was in entering the conversation. Suddenly, turning the discussion to a subject of his choice, he asked the old mason for his opinion. As soon as the mason began to speak, Mr. Gurdjieff nodded his head in approval and, because of this consideration, the mason became more and more relaxed, seeming to forget where he was. The other guests gradually became aware of his common sense and simple faith, so that the sincerity of his words not only caught the attention, but also gained the respect, of this august assembly. Feeling then at ease, the mason naturally joined the conversation, all the while observing the rules of etiquette and asking permission of Gyorgi Ivanovitch each time he spoke. Mr. Gurdjieff continued to be attentive at every moment to what the mason was saying.

Gyorgi Ivanovitch always maintained a marvellous simplicity even when frequenting the court of the Tsar, and it was this that went straight to my heart that Christmas Eve. An especially pleasant atmosphere pervaded the entire evening.

~ Tcheslaw Tchekovitch “Gurdjieff: A Master in Life ...

HIS EYES OUTSPARKLED THE TREE’S LIGHTS

He [Gurdjieff] celebrated Christmas by the Orthodox calendar, on New Year’s eve, and turned it into a combination Russian Fair and surprise party. He invited all seven of us, giving no hint that it was to be anything special.

Forty or fifty people were already crowded into his apartment when we arrived — in bedrooms, kitchen, dining room and hallway, and in the Christmas-tree salon, the center of gravity for the occasion. Only eighteen adults at a time could fit into it to admire the immense fairy-tale tree hung with rare glass ornaments, colored lights and small Russian costumed dolls. Viewers could stay for so many minutes, then had to pass along to make place for others. Children, exempt from the time limit set for grownups, sat cross-legged beneath the glittering boughs, staring up and piping with delight.

The forty hatboxes we had helped to pack were stacked at one end of the hallway. As reward for our labors, we thought, Gurdjieff was going to allow us to see the distribution to ' his people.” We were familiar with many present — his Fontainebleau family and in-laws, his Russian friends, Dr. Stjoemval, Rachmilevich, the chauffeur and his family, his publisher, the apartment-house manager, all the nieces and nephews and Gabo, his handsome Russian aide-de-camp and faithful kitchen helper for big occasions.

There was an ebb and flow to and from the Christmas-tree room, an undercurrent of excitement as if a large supporting cast were trying out the stage before the star performer appeared. Presently Gurdjieff entered and the hubbub ceased instantly. He held a notebook in which were listed the forty names of those who were to receive a Christmas box. His eyes outsparkled the tree’s lights as they swept the room.

~ Kathryn Hulme “Undiscovered Country” ...

EGYPT WAS CHRISTIAN MANY THOUSANDS OF YEARS BEFORE THE BIRTH OF CHRIST

"The Christian church, the Christian form of worship, was not invented by the fathers of the church. It was all taken in a ready-made form from Egypt, only not from the Egypt that we know but from one which we do not know. This Egypt was in the same place as the other but it existed much earlier. Only small bits of it survived in historical times, and these bits have been preserved in secret and so well that we do not even know where they have been preserved.

"It will seem strange to many people when I say that this prehistoric Egypt was Christian many thousands of years before the birth of Christ, that is to say, that its religion was composed of the same principles and ideas that constitute true Christianity."

~ George Gurdjieff as quoted by PD Ouspensky in "In Search of the Miraculous" ...

THE CHRISTMAS STORY By Annie Lou Staveley (a student of George Gurdjieff)

In the darkest nighttime, in the coldest and most cheerless time of the year, at the season of the winter solstice—the Christ child can be born. It has to be that way—light in the darkness. The Sun dies and the Sun is reborn. It is the same sun that dies and is reborn, but from time immemorial this has represented a mystery. The child that is reborn, the Christ child, is something new, something promised and long awaited, a messenger from another realm for whom the highest part of us waits. And waits in the darkness for the coming light.

Every part of the Christmas story has to do with man. Any man: you, me. It is an account of real man as he could be—the God-Man, the Hu-Man—but it is also the story of man as he is.

Very few, like the Cherubinic Wanderer of the Middle Ages recognize that “I must myself become Mary and give birth to Christ.” But all of us owe a debt for the gift of our lives, a “tax” that will one day have to be paid. Sometimes we remember that.

In the way we at present live, each of us is the Inn, where there is no room for the Christ child to be born. The Inn is too full, too busy, there is too much coming and going, getting and spending. It has its own life and knows no other.

And so the Holy Family who have come to pay their tax can find no place for the child to be born except in the manger, the place where the animals eat. Bethlehem also means, “the house of eating.”

Who are the holy family? The as yet unborn Christ child, and Mary, his mother. Mary is called the Virgin and the meaning of virgin is unused. Mary is also the name for the sea: the living water in which higher forms can exist.

Mary represents the unused energies in us. These are the higher energies we disregard and waste during the course of our lives. Joseph is not actually a part of the Holy Family. He is that part of us that is able to recognize and care for them, value, guard and keep them. This he does in the story.

There are only two animals present at the birth of the Christ child, the ox and the ass. They are alike in that they spend their lives in patient, unremitting toil for others. They have nothing of their own.

In that dark night all the world was oblivious and asleep, save for some shepherds in a higher place—“the hillside,” where they watched their sheep by night.

Because they were awake they could be present to a mystery beyond their understanding—they heard the angels rejoicing at the birth of Man.

Something of the magic and mystery of this story has rung down through the ages and we can hear it still. Children are not strangers to this starry night, this night of lights and music emerging from the darkness. Even now there is still that child in us which is not buried totally under the grossness, the sentimentality, and the lies with which we at Christmas fill our “Inn.”

The three wise men followed a star—the inner light reflected from above—and travelled from the East, where the sun rises. They brought gifts for the divine child. Gold incorruptible for the King; frankincense, which when burns ascends in fragrance, for the God; but for the man, Jesus, a bitter herb. For any who would really be like Jesus must taste that bitterness.

But the wise men could not remain and they were obliged to return to their source “by another way.” They needed to avoid Herod, the Tetrarch who wished, and will always wish, to destroy that which threatens the status quo. He is also part of us.

The story is told, the year is ended. Tomorrow the ordinary light of day will be a fraction more, the dark a fraction less. But for a moment the vault of heaven opened and the wonder and the glory could be sensed.

Now we are asleep again. Herod is safe. The cock crows, the dog barks, the donkey brays. The noisy, busy life of the Inn begins all over again. ...

MAN IS AN EXACT REPLICA IN MINIATURE OF THE EARTH. THE LAWS FLOW FROM THAT

PA: Mr. Gurdjieff, is it possible to escape the law of polarity?

GURDJIEFF: It is possible if you cut off your limbs and put others in their place, if you put the right on the left and the left on the right. No. How are you going to change this? It is impossible. On the earth, there is a South and a North. It is a law. We depend on the sun. There are always influences, always responses, always an equilibrium. How can you make the North Pole into the South Pole? It is impossible. Man is an exact replica in miniature of the earth. The laws flow from that, the laws of polarity.

~ “G. I. GURDJIEFF — Paris Meetings 1943”

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i-love-me-a-lotta-whump · 7 years

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Once Upon a Time Fanfiction: (Part 3 of “My What?!”) “Captain Swan” {L}

Short recap of the last 2 parts: Sex, gun, pregnancy, birth, proposal and overall, happiness.

Synopsis of this part... to put it crudely: It’s about damn time.

***(Location: Captain Swan household)

“Oh no. You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding starts. It’s a superstition that even I agree with.” Regina said to Killian. He was all dressed up in his pure black tux with the one pink flower, from Camelot, in his pocket. His tie was a really dark navy blue. His guyliner was perfect. Belle had done it earlier that morning.

“I forgot something. I’ll be in and out before you can say Jolly Roger.” Killian said.

“What is it? I’ll get it.” Regina crossed her arms.

“I need my handkerchief.” He was going to try to walk past her. He heard a poof. There it was. The dark green handkerchief that he needed. It was in his pocket, already, folded like the other groomsmen’s. It was so that it would look like the flower’s leaves.

“Now get out of here before you accidentally see her.” Regina grabbed him by the shoulders, gave him a turn and a slight push, then headed into the house.

“What was that?” Emma asked. Regina had been standing outside all day and had only come in to grab a drink. She looked Emma up and down and stopped in her tracks. “What?”

“I didn’t think that dress would work, but you look amazing.” Regina said as she looked her friend up and down. Her wedding dress was magnificent. It had a red leather bustier, with a ball gown-style bottom that was pure white. Her train was long but not too long. Her veil was an intricate and beautiful white lace. Her shoes were pure white heels with two light green leaf jewels on the back of each shoe with a single jeweled red rose in the middle. Her makeup had never looked that good in her life. It was nude with a crimson lip. She didn’t want too much makeup on, though, because she wanted it to symbolize being completely open to Killian. No “masks” on.

“Thank you.” Emma said. “But what was that outside?”

“Hook came over to get his handkerchief. He’s left, now, so you don’t have to worry about him seeing you.” Regina said. She sat down with the glass of green tea she had just gotten. Zelena’s been shoving it down her throat and she’s actually starting to like it.

“Alright. Everything’s ready to go.” Belle said, walking around Emma. Snow walked down the stairs, right after Belle finished her sentence, carrying Laurel and took one look at her daughter before the tears started to flow.

“You going to be okay, mom?” Emma asked. She tilted her head with the softest smile.

“Yeah. I think so.” Snow replied. Emma nodded and did her magical hand gesture and everyone was poofed from where they stood, to the inside of the boat shed. That was where the other bridesmaids were getting ready. It was decorated, though, to look like a salon.

***(Location: The Docks)(The Jolly Roger is there)

The altar was right in front of the best view of the horizon on the docks. It was two, twenty foot tall, artificial trees. Their plastic leaves looked almost overgrown, but they were still perfect. Both had small branches “growing” out in the other’s direction, at 10 feet. A beautiful pearly satin was laid on top of both of the branches and flowed down all the way until it barely touched the ground. To the right was a newly cleaned and painted Jolly Roger, whose shadow was cast nearly onto the seating. Regina had cleared up the weather for the perfect day. It was sunny, but it wasn’t too bright. There were clouds placed just right. It was a cool, yet warm day. Every single thing was perfect. Magic can really do that for a wedding.

Killian and the groomsmen were already at the altar, rearing and ready to go. All except for David. He was the best man. The bromance was strong with those two. The groomsmen included; Henry, David, Hook’s kid brother, Liam, August and in spirit, Robin. Their tuxes were as black as Killian’s, with white button-up shirts and navy blue ties. They all had the same flower from Camelot and dark green handkerchiefs.

The bridesmaids were; Belle, Regina being the maid of honor, Mary Margaret, Granny who was holding Laurel, Ruby and Ariel. They all wore red heart line strapless dresses made of chiffon. The bustiers of their dresses were also red leather. Laurel was wrapped in a white blanket with red stitching on the outsides and her name sewn in, in black.

In the chairs, literally sat almost every single person that’s ever step foot in Storybrooke. Jefferson was even there. He and Emma had made amends after she admitted to him that magic was real and he apologized for drugging her and holding her and Snow hostage. His daughter was there, as well. All of the dwarves were there, from Grumpy to Doc to Dopey. Killian looked down the aisle. The music had started. It was the classic “Here Comes The Bride” played on the violin and harp.

Emma and David walked out to the head of the beautiful red carpet that was laid on the concrete. Killian’s eyes watered and began overflowing with tears. Thank God the guyliner Belle used was waterproof. He bent down and put his hand and hook on his knees, then stood up quickly and threw his head back. The tears were like the Mississippi River in high tide. He wiped them away with his hand and his hook and stood back upright and looked to his beautiful bride. Emma had a smile from ear to ear while her tears flowed, as well. Her eyeliner was also waterproof. She finally reached the altar, standing next to Archie and Killian. David stepped to the side, right behind Hook. She looked over her husband-to-be’s shoulder and saw her father crying. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Before this ceremony begins, Emma made it clear that she had something that she needed Killian to know before anything got started.” Archie said.

“What is it, love?” He was getting nervous but he kept as cool as he could.

“These people. They’re not just here for me. I want you to know that. Every single person is here for you, too.” Emma said. She smiled and they looked out into the crowd. Hook’s eyes started to water again.

“Yeah!” The wedding attendants yelled. “We love you, Killian!”

“Bloody Hell.” He said, voice shaking. This was the first time he truly saw it. He was loved. Not just by Emma. But everyone else that was there, that day. He finally had what Nemo had tried to give him all of those centuries ago. A family.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road.” Emma laughed. Killian looked back to her and she wiped the tears from his face, gently.

“We gather here today to make two people, one. Emma Swan and Killian Jones. We celebrate the love of two heroes. A woman who’s saved the town a million times over, and a pirate who didn’t give up on pursuing the woman he loved. He’s also saved the town a bunch of times let’s not even pretend to forget that.” Archie began. There were smiles all around. Tears, too. “We shall begin the ceremony. Do either of you have anything to add before we do?” He looked to the beautiful bride and the groom.

“No.” Emma said, smiling. She looked back to Killian.

“Not that I know of.” He said. Everybody laughed. He did the puppy dog head tilt. He didn’t know why they were laughing but ultimately just accepted it. Archie nodded and began the beautiful bonding of the two.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony. I require and charge you both, as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts will be disclosed, that if anyone knows any impediment, why these two may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Everyone looked around. No one said a thing.

“Killian Jones, do you take Emma Swan, as your wedded wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour her, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” Archie continued.

“I do.” Killian said. His eyes started to water, again, but he managed to hold it in and blink them away.

“Emma Swan, do you take, Killian Jones, to be your wedded husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honour him, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“Aye.” Emma said. “I do.” Killian let out a small laugh. The rest of the crowd laughed through their tissues. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house! Or dock…

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” Archie asked. David stepped forward from his previous stance.

“I, Killian Jones, take thee, Emma Swan, as my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.” Killian said to Archie. David walked around and gave Killian the ring. It was silver with a round, 6.5 carat diamond. He had much larger diamonds but he knew it would be too bulky and uncomfortable. Regardless, everything he had was hers, in his eyes, already. This marriage was only going to make that official. Killian took Emma’s left hand and placed it onto her ring finger.

“Who gives this man to be married to this woman?” Archie asked. Killian’s kid brother, Liam, made his way to Emma with his big brother’s band. It was pure silver, as well, with an intricate pattern carved into it with a fleur de lis that would show from the top view of his hand.

“I Emma Swan, take thee, Killian Jones, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.” She looked back to Killian. She took his right hand and placed the ring on his ring finger. The two smiled at each other.

“By the authority invested in me by the town of Storybrooke, and the internet, I pronounce you, husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Archie took a large step back, sensing something amazing was about to happen. He was right. Emma leaped into Killian’s arms, and he swung her around until she was bent over backwards, with their lips pressed together firmly. When they finished the kiss and were upright again, they ran down the aisle while everyone in the crowd was throwing pink rose petals everywhere. Everyone cheered for Captain Swan!

“She had better be in good hook!” David yelled. Everyone laughed. Even Killian.

And they lived happily...ever...after…

...fighting bad guys together. Like a real, badass couple does.

The. End.

(This was the final part to my CS fic and I’m proud. I hope you love it as much as I do, if not, more!)

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #ouat #my writing #my fiction #my fanfic #my fic

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