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salenakingston · 3 years

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Mystery March Day 24 - Fear

(How about another gift fic? This one is for @clownsuu‘s Yandere!Lewis. What an interesting portrayal of Lewis and the dynamic between him and Arthur, and also perfect for this prompt. I saw that there were no other published works for this little au spin, so I hope you like it! <3)

The fall should have killed him. Whether it had been a surprise or not, Lewis’ motivations were made clear with one small act. Hunt down the man that ruined his life, recreate the location of his demise, and then drop him in the same manner he perished in. But something was wrong. Arthur’s reaction had been unexpected… Shock. How?

And he was still falling. A heart, dark and shattered, the illusion being brushed away. The ringing of the shotgun bringing it all to an end… at least for this one moment. The danger hadn’t retreated just because the spires were gone. There was still the plant woman with a sword in the shape of giant sheers, and even when that was taken care of, their once friend had turned against them.

If there was one thing this made the ghost realize it was that there was more to the story of his death. Well, maybe there were two things. Between the possession, the danger brought about by the ghost’s own hands, and prior experience, it was that Arthur was a magnet for danger. Well, to be fair, all of them were, but the blonde more than any of them. The rest of them had a means of protecting themselves.

Fire for the ghost, ice for the bluenette, and a secret form for the ‘dog.’ What did Arthur have? He had intelligence, creating rather than fighting. Even in a fight, he ran more than throwing a punch.

Perhaps it was that conclusion that caused Lewis to follow his former best friend. He had come back to the group, all of them working to adjust to one another. Tension ran between them, especially between the two men. This wasn’t unexpected considering the circumstances around their situations. The ghost held his attention on the metal arm, having been one of the other changes to the blonde’s life. The greatest thing taken away from his once friend, and only fueled the new goal to make sure nothing else happened to him.

Anytime there was a choice to split up, Lewis insisted on going with Arthur. It was one of the most unpredictable decisions of their new dynamic. This new desire to make sure the blonde remained safe was a bit strange, but no one saw a reason to argue against it. If anything, Vivi and Mystery saw this as a good opportunity for Lewis and Arthur to rebond. Even the blonde seemed on board with this plan the more times he was placed in the ghost’s care.

Everything was going fine except for one problem.

The blonde was still not entirely safe.

He could use his powers to protect him, but he couldn’t always account for stray targets moving for him, or what the outcome would be if his partner decides to run rather than stick around for his protection. More over was the danger he couldn’t protect the man from when they were on their downtime. There was no denying that Arthur had his problems, ones Lewis got to see first hand; and even though they were getting better, there were still moments when they would creep up.

What was he meant to do about these? Kind words of encouragement didn’t seem to do much.

Arthur had to admit that things were starting to go from alright to a little uncomfortable. There was quite the difference from endearing worry to hovering over him. Even when asking for a little more space, he could swear the feeling of someone watching him was always lingering. It was hard to find a reason as to why this was happening. Why would Lewis change so much? Sure, he was glad the two of them reconciled on past events, but then why was the ghost continuing to hang so close?

The best he could do for now was ignore it.

Lewis was hatching other plans.

Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure what brought on this new drive to make sure his blonde friend was safe. Perhaps out of guilt over nearly bringing death over a misunderstanding? Perhaps now seeing just how much risk this one friend was putting himself in? The way this friend was destroying himself when it seemed like no one was looking? In life, he would have done anything to make sure his best friend was taken care of.

Now that relations were repairing, why should he stop that promise?

The ghost found himself in the blonde’s room one night, watching the way he tossed and turned. It hurt watching the way his face scrunched up, sometimes having tears fall from his eyes. Large hands and arms wrapped around the man’s trembling frame. Arthur’s body seemed to turn towards his chest, making the ghost hold him closer. This had to stop.

He floated through the door, leaving the blonde’s home, and made his way towards a familiar mansion.

When he woke the next morning, it wasn’t hard to tell something was wrong. He looked around, confused as to why there was so much purple in his room. The more he woke up, the more a certain fact clicked in his head. This wasn’t his room. His work table was gone, and this room was far too clean to be his own. Even so, he knew where he was.

And this was confirmed when the ghost walked through the door, “Oh, you’re awake.”

“Lew? What happened? Why am I here in the mansion?”

“I brought you here.”

“Well yeah… I got that, but why?”

There was a long pause. That was something that made the blonde uneasy. Why did something about this feel so wrong about this? Lewis finally spoke again, “You were having a nightmare. I thought you might be better here. You did seem to calm down some when I did.”

“Oh… thanks Lew.”

“I’m making some breakfast if you’d like it.”

“Yeah… that sounds nice…”

The ghost disappeared, leaving the mechanic all on his own. He could see a set of his usual clothes resting on the dresser. Did Lewis think of everything? The only missing aspect in this room were many pieces of metal and papers with detailed blueprints across the floor. He pushed himself out of bed, changed, and made his way to where he remembered the kitchen being. Sure enough, there was the suit-wearing ghost, plating up breakfast. He managed a smile, “Hey Lew. I’ll have to go to work after this. Did you happen to bring the van with you?”

“Oh, no I didn’t. I guess I could get you to Kingsmen.” Two plates were set down, a chair pulled out for the blonde friend.

Arthur took a seat, looking at the amount on the plate in front of him. It was far more than he usually ate. Maybe he should have expected this. After all, it was the Pepper cooking. This was normal. He reached for his fork, starting, “Yeah? I would appreciate that.”

Lewis didn’t like how some of his food was going to waste. It got to one point where the blonde was just pushing it around. That was something he would have to work on. Guess he couldn’t exactly force the man to eat. The noise was starting to grate on both of them, a good sign that it was time to go. He held his end of the promise, taking his friend to his workplace, though turned invisible rather than leaving.

He couldn’t leave. He had to make sure everything was going to be alright.

As the day went on, the more antsy the ghost was becoming. It was true his friend slept a little better, but that didn’t fully change his fatigued state. There were still circles under his eyes, lack of sleep and nightmares were the direct cause. It didn’t help that since the cave, he’d grown a tendency to stay up far later than normal working on one of his many projects. Sometimes it wasn’t even the same one. Just another problem to fix for his safety.

Speaking of his safety, or rather it was the lack of this which was causing the unwanted visitor to become increasingly worried. Accidental injury was not uncommon here, and just because it happened to the metal arm rather than his flesh one didn’t change the fact that it was dangerous. Imagine what would be done if it was still flesh…

No, he didn’t like that image, and the more it sank in, the more he hated it. This had to be fixed too.

By the end of the day, Arthur had begun to walk home, seeing as his ride was still not here. His uncle could probably give him one, but why bother him with that? His eyes popped open when he felt himself being lifted off the ground, a pang of fear racing through him, “Whaaa?”

“It’s just me Artie.”

“Oh Lew. Are you taking me home?”

“Yeah.” Sort of.

He was flying in the direction of the mansion. That wasn’t home. The blonde dared a small pull on the sleeve of the suit, “Umm.. Lew, my home is the other way.” But Lewis ignored him. Ignored him.It was so off putting, one that made worry strike. He tried again, “Lew?” Once again ignored.

Lewis knew what he had to do. He had to keep Arthur safe. He wasn’t safe at Kingsmen. When they returned to the mansion, the ghost promptly took his friend to his room, and sat him down on the bed. He turned around, floating towards the door, “It’s been a long day. You should try and get some rest. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“Lew!”

The door shut, a distinct click following it. Lewis actually locked him in.

The blonde began to tremble. What was happening to his best friend? Did something happen at one of their jobs that changed him like this? Maybe Vivi would know something that could lift whatever was causing the ghost to behave so strangely. Ok, then all he had to do was make it to tomorrow. He’d be off from work anyways for their usual going out days.

Sure enough, Lewis came back, but whatever appetite that might have been there was gone. His head turned away, “I think I may just go to bed, Lew. I’m not really hungry.” There it was again, this strange habit of not eating anything. Magenta on black narrowed pushing the plate towards his friend. He had to eat something, “Eat Arthur.”

There was that fear coming back for the blonde. The tone of voice… so commanding. It was as if he put a hidden threat behind those words. Swallowing silently, he took the plate, working to push past the sick feeling in his stomach so that he could eat, even if that meant releasing it all once the ghost left. Which he wasn’t doing. He was watching him eat.

When the plate was nearly empty, he offered it back to his friend, “I really can’t eat anymore Lew, I’m sorry.”

Lewis looked it over, apparently satisfied enough to give a nod, “Alright. Get some sleep then Arthur.”

Lewis might have left right after that, but the feeling of being watched continued to linger through the room for the entire night.

The next morning was not that surprising, almost a repeat of the last morning and night in the mansion. He was expected to eat, no matter how much he didn’t want to, or how sick it seemed to make him. When prompting the idea to go into town, at least the ghost seemed to be alright with the idea… so long as he could come with. Actually, that might not be a bad idea. He’d get the chance to see Vivi and Mystery again. Maybe it would be something all of them needed.

Lewis was a little on edge. He’d changed his form back into his old look, sunglasses to cover his eyes so no one would suspect his true condition. Anyone around them could be a danger. He kept his watch. It wasn’t until Tomb Tome came into view that worry spiked again. He shouldn’t be. He knew who would be here. Vivi and Mystery. His love, their mascot.

One of them was a liar. The one that ripped Arthur’s arm off in the first place.

Ok, so he had to keep Arthur away from Mystery, but Vivi couldn’t possibly be unsafe. But then what about all of the blonde’s habits? Why didn’t she help him? Surely they wouldn’t have spiraled as much as they had at the start of this whole mess. She should have done more.

If she wasn’t much help then, then what help would she be now/ She couldn’t keep Arthur safe. Neither one of them could.

Arthur appeared to be picking up the pace, especially when it looked like the bluenette was about to make her way out the door. Without much thought, the ghost took a hold of the metal wrist, knowing he’d be able to hold it harder than his real one, dragging his friend away. This was a mistake. They had to go back to the mansion, even if that meant dragging the blonde all the way back like this.

When they did finally return, Arthur tugged harder on the metallic limb, finally getting it free. Amber eyes narrowed to his friend, “What the hell Lewis? Why did we leave?! They were right there!!” Once again, the ghost didn’t say anything. Why should he? Why didn’t Arthur understand everything was being done for his safety. He was the only one that could keep him safe. Instead of giving an answer, he took hold of the wrist again, pulling his friend back towards his room. He gently sat him down, feeling the trembling his friend was producing. It would be alright. He’d stop soon and see his best friend was just trying to help him.

All it took was time.

And nothing seemed to get better. If anything, it got worse.

If Arthur feared the Lewis that was gunning him down in an effort to end his life, then this one was far more terrifying. One small step out of line and there was no telling what the ghost would do.

When he tried to escape out the window, Lewis at first boarded it up, but then made it disappear completely upon other multiple attempts. The ghost had been kind enough to transfer over the blonde’s workspace, tools, and materials, if only to give him something to do while in his room. With said tools, Arthur had tried picking the lock on the door, but with no success. Whenever he was allowed out of his room, Lewis stuck to him like glue.

He’d tried to run before, having gotten a better idea of the mansion’s layout, but the front doors were always locked, and before he could reach a window, a chill was sent down his spine, feeling another soul dancing with his’ inside his body. Possession. Of anyone present to learn the truth of the cave, he would think the ghost would understand the most what fear came with this feeling. His body moving on its own. If he could shriek, he would.

Every time the ghost resorted to such a measure, it left the blonde trembling beyond reason, digging up memories he wished would be buried forever.

Meals and sleep were not any better. Lewis was constantly cooking for him, and when he wasn’t feeling hungry, or couldn’t eat everything on his plate, he was forced to finish. Sometimes it would be through possession, but other times, more drastic measures were taken. When it came to sleep, well there wasn’t any. Even the nightmares were preferable than having the ghost watching him all night. The only times he did seem to be sleeping were when he had no other choice than to pass out from sheer exhaustion. Every time he woke up, he would find himself tucked in bed, the ghost never too far away.

How long has this been going on now? Months? To be honest, the blonde was losing track, and the fear growing inside of him wasn’t ever going down. He had to confront Lewis about this or nothing was going to change.

Sure enough, the moment he was allowed out of his room, the ghost was there. Fear was holding him back from speaking. No, he had to do this.

“Lewis.”

“Yeah Artie?” That nickname.

“Lewis, this has to stop.”

Both of them stood still, the ghost falling silent. His arms crossed. This wasn’t going to stop. He was the only one able to keep the blonde safe. No one else. Anyone he previously might have trusted became nothing more than another resident of Tempo. There was no connection to them, not even the once love of his life.

“Lewis!” Oh, he must have gotten lost in thought.

“Lewis listen to me!” He turned his back on his friend.

“What are you planning to do with me?! Keep me locked up til I die?! What about Vivi?! Or Lance?!” Silence.

“Are you even listening to me?!”

Oh, he was listening alright. When the ghost turned back around, fear was coursing through the blonde’s body. He’d done what he needed to do, and now it was Lewis’ turn to correct this. He ran.

The ghost was never far behind, and once caught up, a very familiar chill ran over the fear. Lewis had possessed him again. Rather than walking him back to his room, or somewhere else in the mansion, his body stood perfectly still. Arthur’s soul was trembling, but soon felt an embrace. A terrified wail echoed around him, a small ‘shhhh’ following it. As if that was supposed to calm him down. A voice was heard, but it didn’t put him at any ease.

“Don’t worry Artie. You’re safe with me.”

#MysteryMarch2021 #mystery skulls animated #tw; force feeding mention #my writing #my submission #I'm a little behind #but I think I'll be forgiven #a little busy irl which is why this one is behind #I'll get today's done and up later #msa au

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yet-another-saberface · 4 years

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Interim Headcanons: Fuyuki -> Orleans

This is the first in what’ll be a series of story posts that are ‘Interims,’ or what takes place in between singularities! (Other than the eventual events.) They have less heavy story content but are still necessary because they do contain character stuff.

This one has a fic section roughly in the middle of the post! It’s around 1500 words & in the first person POV, which is actually what I’m most experienced with writing, so I hope everyone can enjoy that! There should be another short fic post coming out before I start on Orleans that’s less story and more slice of life stuff, but I’m still figuring out what exactly I want to do with that and had everything else done, so I decided to post it now!

We’re summoning some people, so get ready!

Between Fuyuki and the first real singularity, Eva practically refuses to have any downtime. She’s told that she should take it easy, let her leg heal, and wait for them to pinpoint the appropriate rayshift point. At some point they’ll help her set up the summoning circle for backup, but until then, she doesn’t need to be doing anything.

Instead of following those orders, Eva essentially ends up doing the work of multiple people herself. She hangs around the command room, usually standing the entire time, and will rush over to help anyone that seems to be having any difficulties. One of your numbers seems off? She’ll double-check it for you and if it’s correct she can explain exactly why. Tech isn’t working? Not her area of expertise but she’ll troubleshoot it until she can’t anymore, at which point she runs off to find Da Vinci. Something weird happening magically? You better bet she’s all over it and probably pushing you out of your workstation to handle it herself.

After a day or two, Roman notices what’s going on and takes her aside. She’s promptly banned from the command room unless someone asks for her to be there.

She tries to hide her disappointment… Which is surprisingly easy when the only emotion you can really convey at the moment is ‘tired?’ She heads back to her room, takes her boot off, and collapses onto her bed trying to figure out what else she should do, falling asleep in the process.

She wakes up around a full day later with a brilliant idea.

She’s gonna set up the summoning circle and perform the ritual herself. She forgets about the boot and immediately rushes off the Chaldea’s library with the intent of double-checking her memory.

She actually ends up spending a lot more time in the library than she intended when she finds out just how expansive it is. There’s all the books on magic she’s read before, along with literally everything else she could ever hope to find. This is how she finds herself filling a crate with somewhere upwards of 15 books and dragging it back to her room after leaving a note so people know who took them.

Mash catches her as she’s heading back with the books, glad to see that she seems less tired. When Mash offers to help with the books, Eva tries to say no, until Mash notices that she isn’t wearing her boot anymore.

“Senpai, did Doctor Roman say your ankle is okay now?” “Uh… Wait. Right. My ankle is injured. Still. Crap.”

It’s only then that she starts to notice how the pain is coming back from all the unsupported weight she’s been putting on the injury, and finally accepts Mash’s offer to help with the books. When they finally get them back to Eva’s room, Mash makes sure that Eva actually puts on the boot this time. Afterwards, Eva is posed with a question she’s not sure if she should answer.

“What are you planning on doing with all of these books?” A pause. “I was just going to refresh my memory! I’ve done a lot of research into servants and stuff in the past, but I’m not sure how much of it I actually remember…” “That’s a wonderful idea, Senpai! Do you mind if I borrow some of these?” “Oh… No, go ahead! Just uh… Not this one, I was gonna start here!” She conspicuously grabs the book on rituals.

She spends the rest of the day reading up on how summoning rituals work, and later that night, when the fewest people possible are awake, she sneaks off to the summoning room that was pointed out to her earlier…

I open the door to the summoning room to find darkness. It’s unexpected, unsettling. Darkness is not something easily found in Chaldea, where everything is lit up with screens and fluorescent lights. It’s fitting, I guess, that humanity’s last hope should be constantly illuminated. But if that’s the case… Then why is it here, of all places, that I find darkness? Doubt creeps into my mind, as it always does. Millions of questions spring from that first one, slowly weighing me down, and looming over me like a shadow. Is this really a good idea? Maybe there’s a reason they said I should wait for their help setting this- No. I can’t just not do it. I need to prove it. That I’m capable of being the Master that saves humanity. And this is the first step. The light from the hallway illuminates just a bit of the room, but it’s enough that I can see that a circle has indeed already been drawn on the floor. Good. Now I just need to take care of… Everything else. I feel around on the walls by the door for a light panel until I finally knock my hand against it. The room lights up in blues and whites, unlike anything else in the facility, leaving me in awe. This is definitely the place to be doing magecraft. Glancing around a bit more, the room appears to be empty… With one exception. Tucked into the back right hand corner, there’s a small stack of white crates. Okay, then. Let’s start there. I make my way around the edge of the circle that takes up most of the room, ducking my head a few times as I try not to disturb any of the floating bands of light throughout the room. I don’t know exactly what they are, but I can’t afford to take any risks. When I reach the boxes, and carefully remove the lid of the top one to find it full of prism-like stones, each one containing every possible color. They’re big enough that I can only fit one in the palm of each hand, and are lighter than I expect. I set the one I’d been holding back down in the box, rummaging for the book I’d stuffed into my pocket before coming over here. I skim through the pages for just a second before landing on the one I’d marked earlier. Stones, stones… Gems, maybe? Why are these here? I’m halfway down the page when it hits me. They’re probably catalysts. I have no idea if they’re meant to summon anyone in particular, but there’s little chance they’re anything else. Summoning’s supposed to be easier with a catalyst, right? There’s several boxes of these… Surely using a few wouldn’t be noticed. And besides, most catalysts stick around even once the summoning is complete. Most of them. Hopefully that’s how these work. Given that I’m unsure what exactly they are, I grab 3 just to be safe after setting my book down on the floor. With one in each hand and a third tucked against my chest by my upper arm, I carefully inch a toe into the summoning circle. Nothing happens. …Okay then. It’s probably not activated yet. That’s good. I set the stones down in the very center, one at a time, so that they’re arranged in a triangle formation, before walking out of the circle as quick as I can. Still, nothing happens. Good. No surprises. I put the lid back on the box, grab the book, and then walk back around to close the door for good measure. Something tells me I don’t want anyone walking in on this. Circle, catalyst, mage… There’s no way this is as easy as it seems, is there? There’s gotta be a catch to it. But… If there is one, it’s definitely not mentioned at all. So all I can do is hope that what works in theory works in reality, like always. So I set my book down and stand my ground in front of the door, facing the circle. Don’t screw up the incantation. Remember how you changed it. Remember your theory. This is all gonna work out just how it’s supposed to. I take a deep breath. I blink. And before I speak, I picture it in my head. A drop of ink hitting paper, spreading a deep blue color across the white page. With that, I can feel the familiar hum and warmth of magic circuits spread through my body, giving me focus. I can do this.

“Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let my own hope and faith in humanity be what allows it. Let a wall rise against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the kingdom rotate. Know this; I am all the good remaining in the world. I stand against all the evil threatening our world. And it is I that shall come to have dominion over that evil. Heroic Spirit, attended to by the three great words of power, Come forth from the right of restraint, keeper of the balance!”

As I progress through the lines of the chant, I can feel more and more magical energy building up in my body, desperately trying to be released. But that heat, that feeling of everything building up, cannot compare to what happens as I end the spell. All of the energy is pulled from my body at once. I can feel each and every individual nerve fighting against it, to no avail. It’s like my heart has stopped beating, yet is also beating too fast. I’m hit with a sudden migraine, yet the next second, it seems like it was never there in the first place. And all the while, I’m forced to close my eyes because the room, once dimly lit, is now full of a blinding white. And while they’re closed, images flash through my mind. Fire. Death. A silhouette, unidentifiable. And finally the back of a boy, my age, in a Chaldea uniform, standing at the ready. I hear something incredibly loud, some sort of boom, though maybe that’s not the best way to describe it, followed by a much quieter cracking noise, as the light behind my eyelids fades away. My hearing starts to recover, but I’m scared to open my eyes. I have no idea what just happened. Did it work? Was all of that meant to happen? The book hadn’t mentioned any of that. So I stand there, listening and breathing. Hoping against hope that everything is okay. Until I hear someone speak. “I ask of you, are you my Master?”

As I finally open my eyes, another girl stands before me in the center of the circle. The stones are gone. (Dammit.) As she looks at me expectantly, her green eyes seem to see right through me. I can’t tell if I’m being judged or not. But as I take in the rest of her, I do my best to offer a response, however quietly. “Yeah. I… I’m your Master.” It’s barely more than a whisper, riding along a shaky breath. So much for seeming confident. We stand in silence for a few more seconds as I catch my breath. It worked. It really worked. That’s a Servant. Right there. In front of me. That I summoned. This time when I look at her, I begin to notice things without trying beyond her physical appearance. For starters, she’s a Saber. Wait a- That’s not any Saber. That’s. “You’re King Arthur.” “That… Is correct, Master,” she replies, showing slight confusion. “Holy… Okay. Um.” As I’m pausing to take a breath, the door behind me slams open. I jump a bit, and when I land, pain shoots through my leg. My boot broke during the ritual. I glance behind me to find Mash, Roman, Da Vinci, and a few other staff members staring. “Senpai, what did you-” “IsummonedaServant,” I blurt out, trying to shift as much weight off my right foot as possible. When everyone keeps staring, I add on a halfhearted “...Sorry?” There’s a collective sigh from the group, none of whom really seem to know what to do. “You do realize we told you to wait, right?” Roman asks. “Yes, but I thought I could handle it, because I’ve studied this a lot, and clearly I can handle it, because it worked, so-” “Chaldea actually has an alternate summoning system-” Da Vinci starts, but I cut her off. “...Oh. Of course! That… Makes a lot of sense now.” I find myself looking towards the ground. “Why’d I go and do this?” I add at the last second, quieter than the rest. “Don’t worry, this is nothing I can’t handle!” Da Vinci responds. “Just make sure to let us know before you summon anyone again, okay?” “Okay,” I respond, still quiet. When no one else says anything, Roman speaks up again. “All right then, everyone else should get back to what they were doing.” He glances at the leg the boot had broke off of, even more worried than before. “Mash and…” “Saber,” the other Servant answers. “Right. Mash, Saber, can you help Eva to the infirmary for now?” The two of them nod before stepping over to me and adjusting so that each of my arms is over one of their shoulders. I cringe a bit when I have to adjust my right leg, and soreness is slowly starting to spread through the rest of my body. This idea is continually turning out to have been way worse than I thought it would be.

So, as it turns out, Eva continually doing things that put strain on her injury has set back the healing process, and even when it does heal, it’s likely still going to be weaker than it was. She won't need a cane or anything, but she should still be wary of it and avoid relying on her right leg too heavily from now on. Running and other simple physical activity is fine, but should she need to say, kick something, she should absolutely favor her left leg unless she’s made the necessary precautions and given her right ankle the support it needs to prevent more injuries.

They get her a new boot and she’s essentially grounded for 2 days, not allowed to leave her room. They also start cutting the lights in her room on a schedule for as long as she’s grounded so that she’s forced to sleep.

She emerges, somehow, both less tired and more grumpy. Everyone catches on pretty quickly that she’s getting antsy because she’s not allowed to do anything, so they decide to set up the summoning system and let her try out a summoning that won’t make her injuries worse.

She’s initially hesitant to try any summonings with the more tech-heavy system, but she eventually agrees to go ahead with it after Da Vinci spends over an hour explaining every intricacy of how it works and how it differs from normal summoning. It’ll work, according to magical theory, so she doesn’t have anything to lose by trying it out.

This time, instead of just a single servant, she actually manages to summon several, those being Medusa, Caster Cú, Archer Emiya, and Saber Alter.

The tension between the 2 Sabers is pretty obvious, so Eva does her best to make sure that they aren’t forced to interact much while still spending time with and attempting to understand each of them. Since they’re both pretty reserved, it’s a slow process, but at least she figures out pretty quickly that they both really love food.

Cú is still salty that he’s not a Lancer, but is still glad to have at least been summoned again. He’s actually rather surprised by just how much Eva immediately puts value in him. She starts carrying a notebook around with her, and will write in it whenever she notices something new about Runes she didn’t know before. He actually tries to help her use Runes at one point, but it ends up blowing up in both their faces because Eva was focusing more on her anxiety than on the effect she wanted to achieve.

Eva knew literally nothing about Emiya, so more than pretty much every other Servant that’s around, she tries to seem professional around him. That completely collapses when he catches her in the kitchen at 3 in the morning halfheartedly making grilled cheese. From then on she’s a lot more casual and every once in a while she pesters him incessantly about Reality Marbles. She’ll probably eventually figure out that he knows more about the Sabers than he lets on.

Medusa actually surprised Eva a bit. While Eva knows a lot about her from mythology, it took awhile for her to figure out anything about her as a Servant, other than what she could discern from practice battles. The first real bit of progress she makes is when she finds Medusa reading in the library. Now they just kinda have one of those “sit and read in silence together” type friendships.

Eva isn’t exactly all hyped up for whenever the next singularity is identified, but she promises herself that she won’t be scared to go and do whatever’s needed in order to correct it. After all, she has more allies this time, and it seems like her magecraft is getting better by the day. Now all that’s left is to save humanity.

New Servant Log:

Artoria Pendragon (Saber)

Artoria Pendragon (Alter)

Cú Chulainn (Caster)

Emiya (Archer)

Medusa (Rider)

I actually have an excuse to tag people and that makes me happy

@contractgreen @panyum @withanina @campanulabell @delfinaschiffer @princessaslan @armageddon25 @patproductions @xviicprc

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 5 years

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Echo pt2

@kthomas325

Warning: This is a little dark. There is blood, death, Strong Language and yeah ... please read with caution. **Still not sure what direction this is taking so I should add a warning for Author with no plot **

Masterlist

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Echo part 2

The castle was always active at the start of a new day but it seemed to be particularly lively right now. Servants darted from chambers and rooms fetching and carrying as orders were barked at them from the 9 siblings and their Mother.

Today was the audience with the crown. Dignitaries, as well as members of the general populace, were gathering to seek out solutions to issues from the highest authority in the land. This was part of being a ruling power here but it did seem that the Queen and her offspring took matters a little too far in the direction of dramatic flair.

Main gates were temporarily closed allowing the castle to be set up for the expected crowds that were already milling around outside the castle walls in the streets below. Fresh flowers arrangements were placed on the white stone staircase that lead up the incline to the castle proper. Rooms around the lower level were also locked and sectioned off so that no one could venture further into the building without proper clearance. Light flooded the corridors providing a kind of natural carpet effect on the floor and the Throne room was pristine in all its grandeur.

Twelve thrones set in a crescent moon shape were at the very top of the chamber. The white stone of the building gleamed thanks in large part to the massive lead lined windows that stood majestically behind the thrones. The light from the twin suns reflected through the multiple diamond shapes casting shimmering shards of incandescent light into the room. There was no doubt it was a room designed for ultimate effect and the Queen knew how to use that to her advantage.

After the hoard of visitors had settled into place and taken position in their queue, the large doors at the side of the Throne room opened and the siblings entered in pair formation. Each was elegantly dressed and shone like a priceless gemstone. In the shadow of one of the large supporting columns of the room a thin razor-sharp smile spread over one man’s lips as he watched the “performance”. It was the only word that could be used for this. The Queen viewed this land as her stage and everyone in it, including her offspring, as mere players on it.

Drones. The thought passed through his mind easily as he watched the royal formation move. Every hair on their head, every accessory, every piece of clothing had been chosen for them by the Queen. Their movements were trained, their words were not even their own as much as they would protest against it the truth was simple.

The eldest child entered with his mother on his arm. The Queen standing straight and tall her age masked easily by the glamour she held. Her flowing blonde hair cascaded down her back and her form-fitted dress moved like ocean waves as she glided towards her seat. The empty chair to either side of her stood as markers to a tale that had slipped into the history books. Beautifully crafted Pawns. I applaud you, dear Queen, you did well. As if she could hear his thoughts her eyes settled on his. Those piercing cold blue eyes that could cut like ice would freeze a lesser man, but not him. He simply stood and maintained his gaze the smile on his face almost mocking.

---

“You took on a case without clearing it with me first?”

The door to her chief coordinator's office barely closed before they rounded on her.

“I’ve told you many times already I cannot always clear these things with you two or three weeks in advance.” She sat straight in the guest chair unflinching as the older man who was like a father to her in a lot of ways sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“That is not the point Kid and you know it. You have just moved and the case is out of your jurisdiction.” He pinched the bridge of his nose where his glasses usually sat. Probably thinking that this choice to wear his contacts today was maybe not the best plan given that headaches made the lenses uncomfortable.

“Most cases are out of my jurisdiction. It has never stopped you from letting me take them on before.” If it had been someone else, she would have been just as indignant as she protested the restriction on her work.

There was nothing except basic formalities that required her attention right now. All Ops had been grounded and placed on downtime which provided her with more than enough time to sit around twiddling her thumbs and being bored. Last time this happened she took on a case that saw her flying to Africa to check a water source for a rare bacterium that should not have been present in freshwater. That wasn’t just out of her jurisdiction it was out of the same god damn continent. She couldn’t understand why her boss was choosing now to be an obstruction on a case.

“Look pick a case any other case. Just not this one.” The sound of his begging pathetically was a far cry from the man she knew. She leaned back in her chair and levelled a defiant glare at him.

“Col you are being unbelievably stubborn and pushy on this which isn’t like you at all. I’m not going to do anything until you say what you are really wanting too and don’t go trying to candy coat it. I’m not a kid.” Her blue eyes that were normally clear had turned thunderous and dark. He knew from past experience that when things felt wrong and she wasn’t getting straight answers it could only ever end badly, for the other guy. He certainly did not wish to join the ranks of the fallen.

“Look. Your father and I go way back right?”

“Right” She nodded firmly. Colin had been one of the first other adult males in her life outside of family members to visit their house. He had helped with schooling and relocations so many times it was hard to think of a time when he wasn’t in her life.

“Wrong.”

“What?”

“Wrong. Look Kid the first time I met your dad it was about three decades ago and he looked like he had survived falling into a mincer at a slaughterhouse. I found him at the side of the road and you were wrapped up in his arms.” Col’s words were blunt and direct. There were no detectable traces of anything that could be considered a lie which made the bombshell he just dropped on her even harder to process.

“How is that even possible? All the years I’ve known you and what? You lied to me the whole time?”

“Only about how far back I’ve known your dad. He is a good man and dammit if I didn’t feel terrible for him.”

“Why?”

“That is something he would be able to tell you, not me. I told you he was injured. He looked like he had come from a renaissance or medieval fair or something, you both did. He was babbling about not letting them have you and how he didn’t have a wife anymore.” Col chose this time to get up and walk to the false shelf on his bookcase. Tapping it so it popped open revealing a bottle of scotch and some glasses. She had known he kept it there but she hardly ever saw him drinking at the office. He poured some amber coloured liquid into two glasses and handed her one as he went back to his own seat. It burned in her throat as she took a sip of it but she felt the muscles in her body begin to relax a little with the alcoholic lubrication.

“I don’t get what any of that has to do with the case.”

“Because for a couple of weeks during that time. We found things.” He looked over at her making sure she was still alright to continue. “Things like large animals, deer, bears all dead. All fresh and all drained of their blood. Some hikers too.” He downed his drink in one go as if the memory of the events was still with him. It wouldn’t be uncommon; you see it a lot in stressful or unusual cases where you have pushed your mind and body to get on with the job at hand you end up with like a remnant of the memories you suppress. Like an echo coming back to you time and time again, some echoes were worse than others.

Her mind went back to the case reports. Mountain rescue and rangers all reported finding campsites abandoned and later finding the inhabitants dead. The things Col was bringing up matched with what she had already found but they didn’t explain the connection to her and her father or why nothing had been said to her before.

“Why didn’t you say anything about this to me sooner?”

“Told ya. It wasn’t my story to tell. And that body thing was an old case that never came up again.” It was clear from his one that even with a feeling of guilt he was going to stay tight-lipped on this.

“What happened with it?” Asking this she followed Col’s lead and drained her glass. The sudden volume of the fluid travelling down her throat caused that familiar burn you got from strong alcohol to tingle in the back of her nose and she suppressed a cough.

“Shelved. Never caught the ones responsible or found out how they pulled it off. But it only went on for a few weeks and then stopped completely.” Col didn’t sound satisfied. She knew him he hated unfinished work, but back then he would have been a rookie. Nothing you can do if a higher-ups decides to shut down an investigation.

“Right.” She put the glass down on his desk with a hollow clink sound and got up to go. Her hand was on the office door when he called out from behind.

“What you gonna do?”

“You said so yourself. Not your story to tell. So, I’m going to go ask the guy whose story it is.”

One thing she learnt was butting heads with a stubborn person when you are also a stubborn person gets you nowhere and to be honest right now, she was in no mood to fight a wall. She wanted answers. The files she received from the Met were back in her office she would grab those. But most important task now was going to find the person whole tale it was to tell and getting him to talk.

---

The Queen elegantly draped herself in her private chambers near her vanity table. The room was a perfect image of what one might be tempted to call excess. Every surface was highly polished and inlaid with crushed crystals making it look rather like the centre of a geode. The audience with the crown was over and she sighed lightly before catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grinned.

It had all gone according to plan. The masses were happy and she had been praised for her beauty, kindness and intelligence so many times she was walking on cloud nine. If it was possible to survive on adoration she felt like she could be immortal right now. Naturally however even in this realm that was not something that could be done. Immortality was the stuff of fantasy. But prolonged life? sustained beauty? You could have all of that. It came at a cost if you were willing to pay, and she was just mad enough to do it.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of two figures. Both were dressed similarly in loose clothing bound over with strips of fabric to pull it tight to their forms. This was the typical uniform for scouts. Nothing more than required and everything designed for complete freedom of movement and cover.

“What did you find?” She didn’t bother with greetings. Observing the two visitors like a cat would a mouse.

“The rift is strong, and it holds. We can go back.” The taller one explained with a complete lack of emotion or detail. She was pleased to see this, emotions wasted time and made for weak soldiers.

“Good. Bring me what I desire.” She waved her hand and turned back to her reflection.

“One other thing My Queen.”

“What?” She moved her eyes in the mirror staring through it at the second scout who had spoken.

“The rift from what we can tell didn’t naturally tear.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat at this piece of information. Naturally forming rifts were rare and took generations to form and become stable. A non-natural rift would mean someone with the power to tear at the fabric of time had created it. Someone as powerful as she was, possibly even more powerful. Her blood ran hot as she picked up a clear crystal turning it over in her hand until it changed to citrine. The glittering yellow like a shard of trapped sunlight glowed from within and she tossed it towards the scouts who caught it nimbly.

“When you go back take this. I want to know what happens to it.”

“As you wish.”

The two scouts briskly left the Queen’s chamber. They had their orders and it never paid to keep her highness waiting. Once they were a safe distance away, a shadow in the corridor rippled a pale outline of a figure moved in the opposite direction. Long fingers pulled the edge of their cloak up higher, turning its hood over their head.

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myfearless-love · 6 years

Text

A Trip to Your Heart

Summary: Emma Swan is forging a devious plan to save the sanity of her best friend, Mary Margaret, or at least to stop her form quoting those stupid swashbuckling pirate tales. The core of her plan is to hunt down and neutralize the internet famous writer, dashingpiratecaptain aka Killian Jones. But soon her ideas go down the drain, because she certainly hasn’t counted on developing feelings for the man whose entire writing career she is about to destroy.

Rating: M

Word count: ~8.2k

Also on: FF.net and AO3

A/N: I’m so excited to finally share this little story with all of you!! It’s my first time participating in something like this so I’m hoping you’ll like the fic I created for this wonderful event. A huge thanks to @captainswanbigbang for organizing all of this and bringing us fans all together!

A big ass thanks to my my beta @1handedpiratewithadrinkingprob for helping me throughout creating this story and making sure that what I wrote is actually making sense and is presentable for all of you to read!

And an enormous thanks to @katie-dub who created ths kick-ass and beautiful art for my fic! Check out her art HERE And if you’re there, check out her other works because she’s super talented!

A Trip to Your Heart

Why is it that people always want the things they don't actually need?

This is the million dollar question Emma is pondering on as she sits down on one of the beach chairs with a rum-based cocktail in hand, christened as Salty Dog for some reason. She feasts her eyes on the open water and endless white sand as the wind is playing with the ends of her hair and the salt water is gently spraying her face – it's something she's absolutely not used to in the crowded and hectic city of New York.

She's aware that people must be giving her strange looks as they pass by her and she can hardly blame them. Her attire practically screams she's not really dressed for the beach: the frame of her big, red sunglasses almost cut a hole through her straw hat, her upper body is wrapped in a thin yellow blouse (its shade is so vivid that Emma is sure the material would glow in the dark) and her long legs are covered with a long, black summer skirt. The largest surface on her skin that remains uncovered are her feet, and not intentionally. She fell asleep on the ferry here, and in her hurry to get off the vessel she forgot to put her sandals back on.

Walking all the way here on the hot pavement and sand was quite a pain in the ass but what could she have done? She wanted her drink more.

Despite her looks, her brain is functioning quite well, but as it happens, she needs to make a certain someone believe otherwise. This person is called dashingpiratecaptain and she's been working on hunting him down for over a year now.

She's incredibly annoyed it took her this long to finally find him, considering she does this for a living on a daily basis.

The first time dashingpiratecaptain, or in short, KJ (as he usually signs his thank you comments) appeared on her radar was last June. He is considered a veteran writer in the world of online writing and his stories are a favorite of her best friend. Such original works emerged from his keyboard like The Crimson Flag, Isle of the Black Sand, Give No Quarter. If the titles and his username didn't make it clear, he specializes in pirate stories spiced with black humor.

Like really bloody pirate stories.

Mary Margaret is completely hooked on them. After a while, she just started vomiting quotes from his works, even during breakfast, which very nearly made Emma climb the walls of their shared apartment in annoyance and exasperation.

(She really can't wait for her brother to finally pop the question and have the flat all to herself).

Now imagine a twenty-something woman with a pixie haircut as she jabs her fork into her scrambled eggs and shouts "Avast ye, landlubbers! 'Tis cackle fruit is for me liking!"

Of course, Emma's first thought was to find a shrink as soon as possible (and the second to look up what the hell Mary Margaret said).

Her acquaintance, Archie Hopper, who is actually a therapist, said that there's nothing wrong with the brunette – her fanaticism, while a little intense, is still normal. Emma would beg to differ though, and she doesn't really want to imagine then what counts as 'not-normal' in Hopper's dictionary.

So the whole parade with the stupid pirate stories and references just went on. Just before the end of summer and the start of their last year in college, Emma's least favorite writer published his newest creation named 'Honor Among Thieves' which is about a brunette bandit woman who tries to seek passage on a pirate ship to escape being hanged by the authorities.

Let's just say that Mary Margaret felt a strong connection with this character pretty quickly. By November, almost her entire wardrobe was replaced with white (it's the character's favorite color apparently) and medieval looking clothes, and she all but stopped hanging out with others (except with her boyfriend and Emma obviously).

Nice words, threatening, stealing her laptop – none of that worked.

Emma felt like her friend was slowly withdrawing from reality, the only thing she wanted to talk about were these stupid swashbuckling tales.

So Emma decided she needed to single-handedly remove the source of the problem – alias dashingpiratecaptain.

But how?

First, know your enemy. The most effective way of getting close to a writer, she suspected, is through his works. So she read. A lot.

KJ got one or two brownie points from her – she found his jokes original, the mood of the stories were enjoyably twisted, the ratings were fairly correct.

In truth, there was not much she could hold against him except what he did to her best friend. But that alone demanded retribution.

In the next step, she started adding comments to a few of his chapters, then after a bunch of praise, she decided it was time to bring in the big guns and composed a fan letter to him.

But soon their exchanging of emails turned into a regular thing. In the end, she found herself quite frequently enjoying their correspondence.

And what had she found out?

The following things in a nutshell:

He graduated in Natural Resource Recreation and Tourism (she didn't even know they teach these kinds of things).

He was born in a small town in England and moved to the States a few years ago (he didn't specify the reason).

He wanted to take tourists on his ship and sail the high seas but an accident (again, he didn't specify) had thrown a wrench in his plans.

He has an older brother.

He's the proud owner of three dogs - adopted from three different places (how admirable).

Besides writing, he likes hiking and playing his guitar.

The question then arises; what did he manage to learn about her in turn?

Well, only the fact that she is completely nuts.

In the midst of midterms and getting her degree in Criminal Justice, she didn't have the energy to keep up with all of her lies. So, she fed him a different tale each time. Eventually, she got tired of it and went absolutely bananas.

She thinks he enjoyed it.

Because why else would he continue to reply to her emails and agree to meet with her?

That is why she's spending her downtime under the burning sun and among an endless number of squealing children running free whilst trying to enjoy her alcoholic beverage. Apparently, KJ (or one of his relatives) owns a vacation home near this beach and he's currently spending the last days of July here with his brother and sister-in-law.

And so on impulse, Emma thought she could visit him. Because crazy people are supposed to be spontaneous, aren't they?

Her phone shows ten o'clock - exactly when their little 'date' is supposed to happen. For guidance, she described her huge sunglasses and glow-in-the-dark blouse. He said he would wear his favorite leather jacket - probably no one would be stupid enough to run around the beach in that kind of clothing except him.

She peeps around.

She has the image of the leather jacket in her mind down to its every thread, but the rest is shrouded in mystery. She hasn't the faintest idea of how he looks. Usually, she pictures him somewhere between Calico Jack and Jack Sparrow, with tanned skin and scars, maybe even with a parrot on his shoulder.

As she continues to wait for her target, she wills the last remaining ice cube from the bottom of her glass and pops it in her mouth.

"Warriorprincess?" a deep voice echoes behind her suddenly.

She throws her head back on the chair, and the straw hat she's been wearing flops down to the sand. A pair of insanely gorgeous blue eyes are blinking down at her, and she has to do a double take. She's so stunned that it takes her half a minute to realize that this freakishly good-looking man just called her by her own username.

Warriorprincess.

It sounded quite catchy when she first thought of it.

She leans her head back a little more to take a better look at the notorious dashingpiratecaptain, but the movement causes the ice cube in her mouth to slide backward on her tongue. She quickly turns on her side, gasping and choking, trying to overcome her shortness of breath. After she succeeds, she pushes herself up and accepts his hand when he gives it to her to help her stand up from the beach chair.

And that's when she realizes his other hand, covered in something that looks a lot like a black glove. Which is odd, because his right hand is bare, except a ring on his thumb.

Then she remembers something he wrote in one of his letters - a sailing accident.

Oh.

So, that must be a prosthesis.

"You okay, lass?"

She nods, embarrassed, both at almost choking on a stupid ice cube and because she was practically ogling his fake hand.

If he noticed, he doesn't comment.

"Killian Jones," he introduces himself instead.

She can barely force back the groan that is threatening to escape her mouth. It's not enough that he's freaking handsome with his perfectly disheveled midnight hair and dark scruff along his sharp jawline, he, of course, has to have an accent like that.

And she didn't even mention the glorious chest hair peeking out of his half unbuttoned shirt.

She forces a crazy smile onto her face. "Anna Clarke," Her favorite but unfortunately very much deceased tutor in the foster home probably doesn't mind if she borrows her name for a few hours. Taking on the personality of the woman who she always thought was dancing on the verge of craziness but was the friendliest and gentlest human being she met in her life was probably what Emma needs right now to pull off this entire scheme.

He removes his sweaty hand from hers. "I'll soon perish in this jacket…" he explains, adorably scratching a spot behind his ear and gracefully shrugs the leather off.

For a brief moment, she thinks he's going to get rid of his dark blue shirt too, mentally preparing for that eyegasm she's just sure she will be getting - but he only pops two more buttons.

He snatches her stuff from the sand and nods toward the buffets and other booths along the beach. "Shall we go?"

Although she doesn't have any clue where he's taking her, she follows as quickly as possible. She thinks she can actually hear her feet sizzling atop the hot sand and pavement as they reach the stores and stands selling souvenirs and other useless things.

Killian comes to a halt beside her. "Where are your shoes?"

"I have none. I'm experimenting with the hippie lifestyle."

"And how's that working out for you so far?"

"Pretty great."

He watches her with amusement in his eyes as she shifts from one foot to the other. Eventually, the heat gets unbearable and she's forced to flee into the coolness of a nearby store.

Killian marches after her and targets the sandal collection in the middle of the place.

"I'm good without shoes," she insists, pulling him back by the elbow before he can pick up a footwear.

She's about to sabotage his online writing career, she doesn't need the additional guilt in the mix.

"Then what will it be? Should I carry you on my back?" he gives her a once-over and in a low and teasing tone he adds: "Though, a herniotomy might be a tad more expensive than a new pair of sandals."

She huffs and snatches off her sunglasses, giving him her best fake death-glare. "Hah, I'll have you know I'm as light as a feather."

She's really tempted to call his bluff though, she would really like to test out his back muscles.

God, it has been far too long since she got laid. It makes her mind quite one-sided and distracts her from her main task and the reason she's actually here.

"The cheapest, then?" he bargains, pointing at a green one with an ugly ribbon on top. It's really repulsive and not at all her style, but his intense blue gaze and the fact that she very much prefers to have skin on the bottom of her feet decides for her.

She fishes out her wallet and completes her purchase so quick that even The Flash would get jealous, just so it wouldn't even cross Killian's mind to buy it for her.

Somehow she knows he would.

He only shakes his head and smiles as she slips her now empty purse back to its previous place. Her life, consisting of constantly running away and living on the streets had taught her to be thrifty, which means, beyond her travel cost she gave herself a $10 limit.

Looks like now she has to reach that five o'clock train, or else she can walk all the way back to her apartment.

She walks silently beside him and notices a deep frown across his forehead as he probably broods over something. They're strolling through the walkway alongside the beach. On their left, a multitude of vacation homes and a huge forest stretches out. The air is mixed with the scent of pine and the ocean and Emma inhales, closing her eyes in the process.

Only to open them when her stomach decides to play the sound of a dying whale. She feels her face heat up.

"Are you hungry?" Killian asks, a child-like enthusiasm hiding in his voice.

"You could say that." Clearly, that one grilled cheese she had in the morning wasn't enough to get her through the day.

"My sister-in-law likes to play Martha Stewart and usually makes enough food to feed an entire army, even if it's just the three of us now," he informs her, rambling. "They already know about you, so ah, they insisted I invite you… if you want that is." He finds that same spot behind his ear and Emma thinks it's a sure sign of his nervousness.

But his invitation kind of leaves her like a living statue, probably looking very much like the figure from the painting called The Scream. He watches her reaction and lets out a hearty laugh.

She doesn't join him in his fun.

Horror is taking residence on her face. Emma only prepared to spend a few hours with him alone - emphasis on alone. During that time she would somehow get her hands on his phone, delete all of his stories in secret, and change his password for good measure. She already knew he was kind of a lazy shit when it comes to his phone, always using the "remember me" function - and besides, it's his fetish to answer every critic as soon as humanly possible, so he checks each story on his phone twice a day.

Her plan would've been perfect. But she didn't count in the brother and in-law. How the hell is she supposed to screw over a great guy while his family is around?

He puts a tentative but encouraging hand on her shoulder. "Relax, love, they won't eat you alive."

Mary Margaret - she reminds herself. Her best friend's common sense and social life are on the table.

She will deal with her conscience later.

To keep her gloomy thoughts at bay, she inquires about the menu.

"Tomato soup, the good old Spaghetti Carbonara and ice cream for desserts," her stomach gives an appreciative gurgle at that line-up. "I wasn't sure about that particular type of pasta though because up until last month you were vegetarian," he considers. Fortunately for Emma, her sunglasses and hat are able to somewhat cover her grimace. Where the hell did these brilliant ideas of hers come from? "But last week you shared your experience about a new diner and their heavenly Buffalo wings, so…"

She flashes him a cryptic and maniacal smile. She thinks he's satisfied with her answer.

They come to a halt before a lovely, two-story house. On the other side of the fence, there are three dogs, currently playing the "who can bark louder" game. The smallest is a Bichon Bolognese, its fur all white like the snow, the middle - quite the chubby thing - is a light brown terrier of some sort (or so Emma guesses, not that she knows much about dogs, though, but one of her foster families had a similar looking one). And the last one - the biggest - is a three-legged mixed breed with beautiful dark fur. Killian mentioned that this one is the closest to his heart and now she can see why.

While Killian slips through the entrance to try and tame the wild beasts, Emma attempts to match the names with the dogs from his emails. She remembers rolling her eyes when she got to know what they are called - he clearly loves Peter Pan too.

She crouches down and the pudgy one tries to reach her with its tongue through the bars, wagging its tail in the process. "Jolly?" she guesses.

Its mate, the one that looks like a living cotton candy, goes absolutely ballistic by her presence, pacing anxiously up and down in front of her. "Smee?" At that. the dog stops and leaps, bouncing off the fence as it prevents the wild thing from attacking her.

"Smee!" Killian scolds, and the dog cowers at his commanding tone. Emma can actually imagine him as the persona he so likes to write about in his stories, the dashing pirate captain standing on the deck of his ship in all black ordering his crew around.

She shakes her head. Now is not the time for fantasies.

The other two mutts seem friendly enough - Roger, the black one, even glares at her with loving doe eyes. Emma decides to venture inside, and to her relief, none of them bite into her ankles.

"You were right. They didn't eat me alive," she nods.

"Yet. The worst is yet to come, love."

He lays his hand on the small of her back lightly as he guides her further on to the house. She can see a nicely set table on the veranda peeking through the many plants and flowers decorating the front of the house.

It looks quite cozy.

She takes a deep breath and starts taking off her accessories.

As she reaches up to remove her hat, her one size too small blouse rides up slightly at the movement, exposing a sliver of skin by her hip bones. Killian's attention is immediately drawn to the bared area.

"Stairs," she warns him.

But it's too late.

He trips, and in order to not land face first on the ground, he somehow leaps to the table and grabs onto it, pushing it away a good half meters in the process.

Emma looks up and there's a man, probably in his late thirties, standing in the doorway, shaking his head. From his expression, Emma assumes he's been standing there since the beginning of Killian's little stunt. "Now, now, little brother. I don't remember asking you to redecorate. That table was exactly in the right place."

Emma can see as two red spots appear on Killian's cheeks as he finds that spot behind his ear with his finger. "I'm going to help Elsa…" he grumbles and stumbles into the house.

Emma and the man shares an amused and conspiratorial glance. He puts down a bowl full of soup next to the vase on the table and shakes hands with her. "Liam Jones."

"Anna Clarke," she continues to promote her dead tutor's name further with her ever-growing shame. Lying to only Killian didn't seem like such a serious crime, but doing it to his family is another thing. "Thank you for the invitation and sorry for barging in on your vacation."

"Nonsense!" his blue eyes, a deeper shade than Killian's, are glowing with warmth and a smile stretches onto his face, peppered with light brown scruff. "My git of a brother was practically counting down the days and it's always good to see a fresh face around the house," The words leave his mouth like a jingling serenity, accent very much the same as his brother's, and she immediately feels welcome.

It certainly is a first.

From inside, light rock music starts to filter through. Liam whirls around just as Killian appears by the doorstep again and waves a black phone in front of his face. "Your mate, Robin, was calling you."

And suddenly like thunderbolt, the sight of the dark device reminds her of the reason for her visit: to remove all of KJ's writing from the cyberspace and change his password.

The thought sends a wave of nausea through her. She doesn't even realize as Liam's wife approaches her. "Are you alright?"

"Of course!" she almost yells, forcing a huge smile onto her face. She quickly thrusts out her hand. "I'm Anna Clarke."

"Elsa Arendelle-Jones," she gives Emma a smile and suddenly Elsa has her in a firm and friendly hug. Emma is so stunned that at first, she doesn't know what to do, but then her arms tentatively snake around the woman's shoulder. The gentle squeeze ended with the other woman's thorough examination of Emma's attire. "I like your style."

Emma feels a strong need of correcting her – not hers, it's Anna Clarke's, her evil and crazy side.

"My dearest sister-in-law," Killian growls beside them, though there's no heat behind his words. "Can you do me a favor and stop harassing our guest?"

Elsa elbows him in the ribs gently and Killian lets out a laugh. She really likes his deep melodic laugh, Emma decides, while the two continues to bicker like little siblings.

"Now," Liam claps his hands together. "Let's eat," he practically shoves her towards his brother and he graciously pulls out the chair for her next to him. "Eat as much as you like," he urges. "Don't be shy!"

Liam only seems satisfied when her plate is full to the brim with all kinds of food (Elsa really overdid herself). He's such a mother hen, Emma thinks. And also, the fact that she hasn't had a good home cooked meal since she could remember is probably written all over her face.

When the dessert is served, she draws whipped cream circles vigorously on her plate until the strawberry ice cream is completely lost under the white colored foam. Killian is quietly chuckling next to her and when his knee accidentally bumps with hers under the table, her hand jolts at the sudden body contact and a small amount of whipped cream lands on his face.

"Oops," she puts her hand theatrically to her mouth. Killian blinks at her in surprise and his family lets out a laugh simultaneously.

After his face is clean again and declares that he intends to get even with her, the topic of their conversation drifts to everyday life, especially where it concerns her. She would even enjoy the special attention if she wasn't burdened with forging lies upon lies. They are half-lies, in fact. She's really attending a university in New York, but instead of dorms, she's renting a decent apartment with her best friend. And although she did want to study law and become a lawyer, her scholarship was only enough to go through with criminal justice instead.

Emma is more and more certain that she must be one of the best at being undercover, if her current situation is any indication.

Or not.

By the time they are finished with the whole three-course meal and Killian showed her around the house, she is all fidgety – all the lies she created has piled up inside her and every time she recalls them, guilt cuts through her like a sharp blade.

She starts chanting her best friend's name in her head, willing her determination to find its way back to her.

It doesn't work, goddamnit.

Her stomach shrinks with fear – her resolve is nowhere to be found.

What the freaking hell is she doing here?

She's jolted out of her thoughts by a light touch on her forearm. A soft smile is dancing at the corner of Killian's lips as he looks at her and all she wants to do is fling herself into his arms and confess her sins.

"Did you bring swimming suit?" he inquires and she nods. "Then let's go back to the beach!"

After she stutters her gratitude for the invitation to his brother and sister-in-law, Killian links their arms and drags her out of the house.

All the way to the seashore she's studying her blood red toenails as Killian walks beside her silently, his hand occasionally brushing hers in the process.

She doesn't mind the close proximity.

She's gradually becoming very aware of how much she's grown to like him, way before they met a few hours ago; and in parallel, a recognition takes root in her – she's in a hopeless situation. Her brilliant 'Operation: Save Mary Margaret's sanity' project is officially doomed as well as any kind of fantasy about Killian.

In the end, the only one she double-crossed is herself.

Congratulation, Emma, you did it!

She's hoping she can blame all of this on the nuisances and headaches that her graduation had caused her. Until then, if Emma can't get out of this game victoriously, Anna Clarke can still have some fun, right?

Killian turns his impossibly blue gaze on her, and when he notices her grin, he breathes out in relief. "I was beginning to be afraid my family has upset you with something."

"Of course not," she protests. "But if you don't mind I'm gonna go and change." With a graceful movement, she seizes her bag from his hold (he had insisted on carrying it for her, and while she typically wouldn't like this, she couldn't resist his intense gaze and the I'm a gentleman, love dripping from his lips) and slips in the nearest dressing room.

After a while, Killian emerges from the men's room and fuck, she's absolutely certain that happy trail goes beyond his waistline. They're trying to disguise their mutual ogling by doing mundane tasks in the process; Killian by neatly folding his clothes and Emma by searching for something in her bag. With a raised eyebrow, she removes a sponge ball from under her water bottle and holds it up to him.

His eyes brighten and the sight knocks the wind out of her lungs. Again. The contrast of his blue eyes and the darkness of his hair are in perfect harmony.

As she takes all of him in, she realizes he removed his prosthetic hand and even with the scars and angry marks at the end of his wrist he's still a freaking walking-talking genetic wonder. He glances back at her sheepishly when he notices where her gaze has wandered to, but when he doesn't find disdain or revolt or whatever he's assuming on her expression, he visibly relaxes and takes off towards the water faster than superhuman Usain Bolt. He dives into the sea when he's at knee depth, and laughing at his antics, Emma drops her bag into the sand and joins him. The salty water hits her heated skin and she doesn't even care that she forgot to apply sunscreen. It wouldn't be the first time she has to deal with a little sunburn.

"Baywatching to the deep water?" he offers and she approves his suggestion.

The scene, where she gallops forward in slow motion fits perfectly into her 'nutty as fruitcake' profile. They glance at each other occasionally and mouth silent and overly articulated words to each other. The people in their area are trying to avoid them and all the splashing water they're leaving in their wake - except the children. Emma reads something like this from their expressions: So we'll behave exactly like we do now when we're adults, only dumber and no one will scold us for it? Yay!

The deep water, in this case, reaches a little above Killian's navel and for Emma, the surface grazes her breasts. They're backing away from each other unhurriedly and she holds the ball in her hand ready to throw. Killian estimates the distance between and takes a couple more steps backward. He clearly thinks he can outwit her with a few more added feet.

"Let it fly, love!"

She swings her arm and the ball lands with a splash directly in front of him. He stares at her skeptically as if sensing some trickery in the air. "You've been working on this all summer, haven't you?" It's his turn to toss the ball, but he somehow miscalculates the gap between them and his fling turns out too short.

"And you clearly haven't been working out all summer, have you?" she taunts.

He purses his lips into a thin line; his man pride demands retribution. The next throw isn't directed at her, but rather at another freaking continent. She snorts resignedly because really, she can barely see that damn ball now it flew so far away. "Are you serious?"

"You were doubting my competence."

"What competence?"

"You seriously wound me, love," he feigns offense. She waves in a sign of surrender and dives in the water.

The last time she pulled off such a distance in freestyle swimming was probably in grade school, so it's not really a surprise when her urge to brag is overcome by weariness as she reaches her target.

But she decides, no matter how stupid it would seem, that she will inch back on her feet. She lowers her legs and sinks immediately. She thrashes until she's below surface again and attempts to scramble forward. Then a horrible thought flashes through her mind - what if one of her limbs starts cramping?

She only had to wish it.

Her calf twitches with a dull ache as if this is the first time it's used after months. Her brain is suddenly clouded by sheer panic.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God. - she repeats to herself over and over again. The land doesn't seem to be getting any closer, her toes are groping for the ground in vain. It's like the sea is tugging her inwards, right into its belly. She can already envision with vivid clarity the news article about her death: Deceased young woman was masquerading as somebody else; her friends are standing astonished by her double life.

She's flailing without any consideration or co-ordination - her only goal is to somehow remain above surface and get air into her lungs.

"Anna, it's alright!" Killian's voice is coming from afar, even though she senses he's somewhere close to her. She continues to thrash uncontrollably.

"Clarke!" he shouts. She doesn't fully realize what is happening; she's busy fighting for survival. She clings desperately to the first solid thing her hands can reach. And at some point, freaking finally, her feet burrow into sand again. Her traitor of a calf starting to regain consciousness again.

"Bloody hell," he puffs out. She's still clinging to his neck like her life depends on it, and fuck, it was. His wet raven black hair is bundled with her blonde curls, creating an exquisite contrast. She untangles herself from his body, quite reluctantly, she might add.

He turns his gaze at her and their eyes lock. After a few silent moments of staring at the other, they both let out a laugh at the situation and can't seem to stop for several moments. When their amusement subsides, they straighten and look into each other's eyes. She swallows at the intensity of his gaze, but is unable to glance away. She holds her breath as his hand reaches under her wet hair below her ear, his thumb caresses lightly on her cheek.

His eyes search hers, silently asking for permission and she should pull away and run back to the beach and then to New York, but because she's a weak idiot, she stays. He leans into her, his lips drawing near and hers open in anticipation. He stops inches away, his blue eyes drift down to her mouth as though he's savoring the moment. Her heart beats faster than ever when he finally presses his lips to hers in a long kiss. It's gentle and slow first, she feels her hands begin to slide up his naked chest and encircle around his neck as the kiss begins to grow heavy. She exhales through her nose when his hand slips off her cheek and tightens around her waist. She doesn't want this moment to end. Her entire body has been taken over by the overwhelming feeling of relief (because she finally got a taste of those luscious lips), combined with a good deal of panic (because she likes him and she should be deleting his stories and getting the hell out of dodge) and lust (for obvious reasons).

But soon her tense nerves begin to relax and her troubling thoughts are melting away, their surroundings disappear, leaving only her and Killian.

This feels true. And good. And right.

She draws her tongue over his teeth and swallows his groan of pleasure as they slid closer to each other, no visible gap between them. She's about to get completely lost in him when a bunch of shrieking kids run by them, spattering their bodies with a great amount of salty water, breaking their moment.

(Stupid summer camps).

As they part, she sees his eyes sparkle and lips curve up into a gleeful smile and she can't help but smile back. As her heart calms down and starts beating at a normal speed again, she contemplates him. His hair is a complete mop of mess atop his head, locks of hair clinging to his forehead and his cheeks are slightly red from joy and the hot summer weather. All of this and the last couple of minutes don't even remotely fit into the notion she formed about him based on his writings. He looks so young and innocent.

She voices her thoughts to him too.

"Writing helps to let off some steam," he explains. "Otherwise I wouldn't be such a gentleman," he winks and she doesn't argue. She couldn't really find a fault in his manners since they met.

At the same time, an incredible idea strikes her - if they find him an alternative solution for managing stress and tension, then maybe… "Have you ever thought about athletics? Maybe running?"

"It wouldn't work," he dashes her hopes. "It would only tire me in the long run, thus making me more tense. Who the bloody hell loves being sweaty all the time and waking up the next day with muscle strains?" She couldn't agree more, if she's being completely honest. Besides running after jerks who skip their bail, she's lazing on her couch with a bag of chips all day, watching Jeopardy and screaming at her TV.

Forget it. She sighs to herself. A day late and a dollar short. Water under the bridge. She's full of idioms now for her stupid situation because she screwed up. It's time to face the music.

"I saw a park nearby. Let's walk there," she suggests after they make their way back to the beach.

Killian pulls on his shirt and Emma does the same with her flashy yellow blouse. He watches her with worried eyes, one eyebrow high on his forehead. "Are you sure? It sounds quite dangerous. You could trip on a pebble, or catch some disease from the birds there. You could bump your knee against a bench," he lists. "Based on previous events, I say you would do better in a meadow with nothing but a water bottle."

She presents him her best poker face. "I could get an allergic attack from the flowers," she argues. "Or choke on the water, as you saw earlier."

He looked on with no change of expression. "Aye, you are right. There's danger lurking out there at every corner."

"It's hanging over me," she agrees. "But lucky for me, you're here to get my back," she inches closer to him. She laces their fingers together and he gives her a brilliant smile.

On their way, they're discussing which one of them has the most embarrassing and downright weird stories under their belts. In Killian's anecdote, he, his brother and Elsa went to a restaurant one evening to celebrate the couple's engagement. A bearded, slightly chubby old man ate his dinner at the neighboring table and was peeping at them every now and then. Elsa and his brother paid no mind to him, only Killian noticed it; the man made his flesh crawl with his creepy glances. But after paying the bill, he left and Killian thanked his lucky stars.

"Half an hour later we, too, finished our meals. We were walking down the streets peacefully and when we turned at the corner he was there. The guy was just standing there, one of his hands fumbling for something in his pocket," he goes silent, intentionally increasing the tension, like the great storyteller he is.

"Gun? Knife?" she urges.

"Oh, no. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter," her face turns into a disappointed grimace. "When we got closer he smirked and spoke up for the first time. I'd wished he would have shot me instead."

"What did he say?"

Killian temporarily holds off the storytelling when they get to the cocktail bar because the girl behind the counter is shouting at them loudly. "Wait!" she yells. "You left this here!"

When they pass the stand, he continues his tale. "He said: Killian Jones! How you've grown!" he glances at her with a gloomy look.

In the background, the cocktail Girl is yelling out a name. "Emma! Emma Swan!"

Emma glances back over her shoulder, the bartender is waving a black card holder at her.

Killian reaches the end of his story. "He was my P.E. teacher in grade school. Every year he tried to fail me."

Emma freezes, her eyes are on the cocktail girl's hand, more precisely on her papers she is holding. I.D., Social Security card, etc. The girl can't really bring it to Emma, at least five customers are waiting in line to get a drink, one of them drumming his fingers on the counter impatiently.

"Anna?" Killian asks, puzzled.

"Emma!" the girl yells again, now happy that Emma finally noticed her.

Emma swallows hard and trudges towards the beach bar, only mumbling "My papers," at Killian's still confused expression.

She walks back to him with bowed head and a racing heart, the plastic card holder almost breaks in her vice-like grip.

Killian asks the dreaded question. "What the bloody hell was that?"

My march to eternal humiliation, my journey through shattered plans, Anna Clarke's last mission - she would have answered, but no sound comes out of her mouth. She needs to make a grandiose gesture. Something honest. She awkwardly extends her arm, like she's introducing herself for the first time.

She watches her slightly shaking fingers, the seconds tick by slowly, her embarrassment growing like weed. Then her gaze falls to his long fingers as they encircle her hand. She snaps her head up in disbelief. An army of emotions are battling on his handsome face: forgiveness sits at the corners of his lips, puzzlement rests on his forehead and hurt is swimming in his eyes.

Since her vocal cords decided to not work, he is forced to take the first step. "Killian Jones, still."

"Emma Swan, now."

The ceremony is extremely awkward. Killian runs his hand through his half wet hair and slumps on the edge of the bench nearest to them. Emma sits down on the other end.

"I was aware that you lied about plenty of things in your emails," he watches the sea with slumped shoulders. "Not that it bothered me that much. It wasn't your lies that I loved, but the way you presented them. After a while I just sensed when you were being truthful," he pauses. Shrieking children and chatting parents sound in the background. The gleeful noises are driving her crazy. "Or at least I thought I sensed it," his voice goes at least an octave deeper and he turns to her with a scowl on his face. "Why did you do this?"

She confesses to him the real reasons. It can't really make her seem worse in his eyes than it already is. "My best friend went completely nuts, because of your stories. I thought if they were gone, everything will be alright with her again."

He gives her a condescending glance. "Have you never thought about talking with her and trying to understanding her?"

Oh yeah, it did occur to her. Unfortunately for her, a few weeks too late. But it wasn't Killian that made her realize this. By the time they met she was already aware where she took the wrong turn.

This whole thing wasn't in the interest of Mary Margaret for a while now. She was led by her curiosity and adventurousness. She orchestrated a play for herself and without his knowledge, Emma forced Killian to play a role in it.

Why? Because she liked the character that she created: the heroic best friend, the witty pen pal, the dorky Anna Clarke.

But really, why is it that people always want the things they don't actually need?

She's mulling over this question yet again while fiddling with the hem of her ridiculous yellow blouse, the salty summer breeze hitting her face lightly.

Killian asked for some time, said he needed to sort his head out. He promised he would be back in an hour and they agreed to meet at their original meeting point. Her phone shows that she's quite ahead of time. She places her ugly sandals on the beach chair she occupied just a few hours ago and attaches a piece of paper between its straps with her goodbye scribbled on it: Thank you for everything. And I'm sorry. For everything. - Emma

That is the extent of her lyrical talent.

She's reflecting on the day's events for two hours as she waits for her ferry, and as the vessel arrives to take her back to the mainland, she realizes there's nothing to think over.

She screwed up.

End of story.

She was so caught up in her mission to fix her best friend that she didn't realize there's nothing to fix. Emma saw an opportunity in her best friend's obsession; an opportunity to break free of her monotonous life and be someone else. Someone who is spontaneous and trusting, who is the complete opposite of her. She wanted an adventure and now she got it: she was so far gone in her play that she hurt two people in the process without even realizing it: Mary Margaret, who did nothing wrong but love a few pirate stories, and Killian, who only wrote said pirate stories.

Emma made herself the villain in this tale.

She's learned from her mistake (or at least she hopes so) and as soon as she gets home she's going to squeeze the life out of Mary Margaret - metaphorically, of course, because she'll give her best friend the biggest of hugs. They will have a girls night and talk about what is really going on in her head. It will be great.

But there's hardly anything she can do to make it up to Killian. She owes him another apology in case her note doesn't get to him, but her options end here. She's not even sure if he will even open her emails, let alone answer them.

The farther she gets from the beach, the gloomier her mood becomes; a feeling of sad resignation takes over her. She pulls her legs up on the seat and flips through her card folder in boredom. Stupid papers; they were all against her today.

And at the top of everything, a damned mosquito is about to have a feast on her elbow. She strikes down hard and her green folder flies away, sliding on the dirty floor until the black hole underneath a seat swallows it up. She squats down to try and fish it out, but her fingers touch something completely different: the straps of a faux leather sandal.

She lets out a laugh and ceremoniously buckles her previously lost shoes back on her feet. She regards them as a sign from above. As if it was life's way to say that "She's wrong, the fates are on her side".

She grabs her notebook and a pen from her bag and writes her very first (and probably last) short novel about how much of a moron she has been. She finishes just as she arrives back home, the two-hour train ride goes by in a blur.

She types it into her laptop as soon as she arrives at her apartment, publishes it under the name 'Warriorprincess' and waits for the miracle.

After only a week, she gets it.

"Emma!" Mary Margaret bursts into her room, balancing her laptop in one hand. "You wrote this, didn't you?" she shows her the "masterpiece" of Warriorprincess.

"Yes," Emma admits.

"I can't believe it!" she jumps up and down like a kid on a sugar high, her voice several octaves higher than normal. "You're highlighted! You're among the recommended writers! Just under KJ's story! Oh my God!" she places her laptop down on her nightstand and starts pacing in front of the bed in pure ecstasy. "Do you know how much I love you?"

"What?" she's taken aback.

"My friends will die of envy if I tell them what a crazy genius my best friend and future sister-in-law is. You're even friends with KJ!"

Emma buries the urge to correct her on that, instead, she focuses on the first part of her sentence. "Your friends?" she repeats.

"From the site."

Since her little adventure, she's been fighting to restore their friendship to the way it was before Killian's stories, and now Warriorprincess had reached that breakthrough.

She steps closer to Mary Margaret. "Will you tell me about them?"

And words are flowing out of the brunette's mouth, because Emma is finally there to listen to them without judging her favorite stories and claiming her best friend went insane. Mary Margaret doesn't have any mental diseases, she proves to be a thousand times healthier than Emma and furthermore, she doesn't lack in friends or rationality. The only thing she's short of is the tolerance for boring people and, sadly, her colleagues at the preschool are included in this category.

Emma's best friend inhabits the large group of misunderstood artists and dreamers. Case closed.

"I'm happy we could talk this through," Emma grins at her when Mary Margaret is out of breath from talking for thirty minutes straight.

"Me too," she smiles at Emma. "So the next time KJ posts a story, you won't call our provider and have them shut off the internet, will you?"

"Don't worry. I'd probably break my own arms first before I would do that."

Mary Margaret appreciated her lame joke, she's still swimming in the waves of hyperactivity. She hugs Emma and grabs her laptop from the nightstand, clicking and typing in it a few times.

"Kj didn't write a comment on your story," she reports. "But someone else did," she turns the device toward Emma so she can look at the screen. She starts reading the review and when she gets to the middle she snatches the laptop from Mary Margaret's possession.

Dear Warriorprincess,

Stylistically, there is still room for improvement, and I advise you read the story over again; you left a few typos in it.

Moving to the content of the story: the heroine's motivations are absurd, as well as her actions. The storyline, partly as a result of this, is messy. Also, I could not take delight in the emotional background you have outlined. If your main character is inspired by a real human, I suggest she visit a specialist.

You did not let the male character's story to properly unfold, although I saw a great amount of potential in him. And huge competence. In addition, I missed the further demonstration of the characters' external features. Why did you not mention the heroine's big, aquamarine eyes and her shapely legs?

The ending is simply terrible.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed it. Congratulations on being highlighted!

P.S.: Would you be interested in exchanging some letters, which could help me fill your head with nonsense and turn your head? Then we could perhaps meet in person. I would introduce myself under a fake name, bewitch you even more, get caught red handed and vanish into thin air – of course, I would leave a dramatic goodbye note behind. So what do you say, love? I can tell you from experience, it works quite well.

Above her shoulder, Mary Margaret is trying to make out the name of the user. "Warriorcaptain...Do you know each other?"

"Not enough. But we can remedy that right away," Emma grins and clicks on the sign in button.

fin.

#cslb #captain swan little bang #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan #one shot #cs oneshot #ouat #ouat ff #ouat fic #once upon a time #Emma x Killian #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook

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