kmomof4

[kmomof4]

Hi Cat!!!! Welcome back!!!! So glad you’re back with us!!!!

It's Time to Get to Know Your Mods!!!

We are back to welcome @ultraluckycatnd to the mod team!!!

Name

Cathy

How long have you been a part of the CS fandom?

I dabbled starting at the beginning of season 3, but fully jumped in by the end of 3A.

What is your favorite part about fandom?

I love that the fandom encompasses people from all around the globe, and that even this many years later, we're all still so passionate about our favorite couple.

What drew you to this event?

I've done beta work for many years and have been involved in some way or other since the beginning.

What do you do in your "real life?"

My day job finds me teaching general music and band to elementary kiddos.

What are you most looking forward to in this event?

I'm looking forward to all the amazing stories and art work that is going to be produced this summer!

It is going to be an AMAZING summer, Cat!!! Welcome back! It's so good to have you back on the team for our final year!!!

#cssns24 #get to know the mods #ultraluckycatnd

[kmomof4]

Cannot wait for ALLLLLL of these!!!

CS WIP Wednesday Challenge

Thank you to @captainswanwipwednesdays for putting together this challenge!

Prologue Challenge (pre-week one)

Post a list of your current WIPS with the last line you wrote/posted from each.

(I decided to only include fics currently residing in my WIP folder and not any from the Back Burner, Plot Bunny, or Wild Hair folders)

Pan Says... (posting)

From Part Nine:

“I’m sorry, love,” he said, holding her close to his chest once more. “Of course we’ll get that chance. We’ll have an entire lifetime to say all the things that need to be said. They’ll find us. Of that I’m certain. They’ll never stop fighting for us. And neither will I.” “Good.”

CS Grimm AU (for this year's @cssns)

“In over my head?” he said in feigned offense. “I’ll have you know, love,” he murmured in a low timber, edging a bit closer to her. “If there is one thing I’m good at… it’s surviving.” “Mhmm,” Emma hummed, meeting his taunting expression of challenge with one of her own. “Well, I’m going to insist that you stop by afterward in order to prove that to me.” He smiled down at her, another message alerting from his phone, indicating it was past time for him to go. “As you wish.”

CS Land Run AU

Hadn’t he promised his brother no more fighting, no more gambling, no more unsavory activities? Hadn’t he promised they would make a fresh start of things here in America? A fresh start required funds, though. Should he win his bouts, the purse would more than cover their expenses for the next several weeks, providing them a cushion of resources whilst they settled in and began to build a life here. Besides, hadn’t his brother always told him that a man unwilling to fight for what he wanted deserved what he got? Killian was willing to fight for the future he and Liam dreamed of obtaining in this new land. It had been worth the risk when he’d wagered on getting them here, so was it not worth the risk now? “Well, lads,” he said, standing once more and donning his hat. “What time is the match and who do I pay?”

Mob Sequel

She glanced back at him, his expression telling her his gratitude was for more than just her willingness to deal with Hyde and get them breakfast. The melancholy in his eyes tore at her heart. She wanted to protect the sanctity of his cabin for as long as she could, allowing him to have these moments of vulnerability until duty dictated he put on his armor and face the day without any visible weaknesses. “Take all the time you need,” she told him, waiting until he disappeared into the washroom before opening the door.

Enchanted Forest AU

Uncontrollable laughter filled the cabin, first guffawed by Emma and quickly met with Hook’s own chortles, the ridiculousness of the entire conversation hitting them both full force. Once they’d both calmed themselves back down, Hook yawned and said, “I know you have many more questions, love, and I promise to answer each and every one of them as best I can, but… perhaps we could continue to do so in the morning? I have a feeling tomorrow will bring a new set of challenges for us, and I, for one, would rather face them well rested than not, if it’s all the same to you.” “Of course,” Emma replied with a yawn of her own. “You’re right.” “Good night, Swan.” “Good night… Hook.”

Curious about any of my WIPS/posted works? Come Ask Me!

#wip wednesday #cs wip wed #words by hollye

[kmomof4]

Battling Anxiety Day 549

Tagging @jrob64 @snowbellewells

#faith #encouragement #song of the day #perfect peace #vous #battling anxiety #day 549 #youtube

[kmomof4]

It’s Joni!!!! So glad to have you back my friend!!!

It's Time to Get to Know Your Mods!!!

Everyone please help me welcome one last time to the mod team, @jrob64!!

Name

Joni

How long have you been a part of the CS fandom?

I’ve been active in the fandom since 2018

What is your favorite part about fandom?

The ability to talk openly about my OTP with other people who feel the same way about them. The friendships I’ve made. Being able to use my talents for writing and art to express my love for Captain Swan.

What drew you to this event?

Krystal is so passionate about it that I kinda got sucked in

Will you be participating either as a writer or artist? If so, what will you be doing?

Hopefully both. I enjoy doing pic sets and, even though my muse has so far been very quiet, I’m hoping to come up with a story to write, also.

What do you do in your "real life?"

Retired teacher, part time associate librarian, tutor, volunteer, mom to 2 grown children, dog mom.

What are you most looking forward to in this event?

Seeing how, once again, people come up with creative ways to depict our favorite couple in supernatural settings and situations.

It's good to have you back for one last go round, Joni!!! And *spoiler alert* she has come up with a fantastic story idea and it will be dropping on July 9!

#cssns24 #get to know the mods #jrob64

[kmomof4]

CS WIP Wednesday Challenge (an evergreen list)

A new WIP writing challenge every week! Dust off your keyboards and bust out your red pens, because we're summoning the muse whether she likes it or not 🧚‍♀️

Feel free to jump in and out as you please - just make sure to tag us so that we can reblog all your updates!

If the week's prompt doesn't work for you, write anything you want! Write what calls to you! Just write something! The same fic can also be used for more than one prompt!

Week 1

👻 The WIP haunting you most (you know which one it is - it's the first one that came to mind when you saw this challenge)

Week 2

👵 Your oldest posted WIP (can you even remember what year it was when that one first went up?)

Week 3

🥰 Your favorite WIP (which one do you actually WANT to be writing right now, regardless of what anyone else thinks of it)

Week 4

🕛 The WIP that has gone the longest without an update (have pity on us readers please)

Week 5

💡 The WIP that has all the notes/outline already done but you haven't managed to start (that's half the work done already!)

Week 6

🎂 The WIP you most recently updated (more cake!)

Week 7

🤏 Your shortest WIP (as in the one that will be the shortest, so short that you can totally write it... right? right.)

Week 8

🤷‍♀️ Any WIP - 500 words (shake that muse until words fall out - any words at all!)

Week 9

📜 Your longest WIP (look how many words you've already written! What's a few more?)

Week 10

🫶 Your WIP with the least amount of notes (let's give it the attention it deserves!)

Week 11

☝️ A oneshot WIP (come on, you can do it! It'll totally stay a oneshot....)

Week 12

🔥 That smutty WIP/scene you've been avoiding (suck it up and write the smut - or fade it to black - just don't let a little smut stop the story!)

Week 13

☹️ The WIP you started and abandoned/decided not to post (don't let that WIP be an orphan!)

Week 14

🙌 Your posted WIP with the most comments/kudos/notes (give the people what they want!)

Week 15

✍️ That one scene/bit of dialogue in a WIP you don't want to/haven't been able to write (make them do the thing or say the thing even if they do or say it badly!)

Week 16

🃏 Dealer's choice (whatever your heart desires, writers, that's all we want you to have)

Week 17

😈 A new WIP (You've already got so many on the go... what's one more?)

Week 18

😭 That WIP that's going to be so long and involved you don't even want to think about it (Time to bite the bullet and write that first/next sentence)

Week 19

🪈 The WIP you talked about but never started (we're waiting - time to pay the piper...)

Week 20

👀 Let someone else pick which WIP they'd love you to update (it's not peer pressure if it's your friends right?)

🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋🖋

Feel free to send me any suggestions you might have and we can add them to the list - There will be a weekly post as well for each topic as a reminder.

Happy Writing!

#cs ff #wip wednesday #captainswanwipwednesdays #cs writing challenge #i'm coming for your wips

[kmomof4]

#captain swan #otp forever

[kmomof4]

Ohhhhhh, YES!!!! Anyone need a prompt for the last CSSNS?

“Noble monster hunter! Thank goodness you’re here! We’ve had to sacrifice a villager to this werewolf each month to keep it at bay!” “That is quite possibly the worst course of action your village could take.”

#writing prompt #werewolf #monsters #dark hook #CSSNS

[kmomof4]

#dark hook #killian jones

[kmomof4]

Ohhhhhh this was BLOODY FANTASTIC!!!!

when Emma falls in love [from the vault]

Summary: When Emma falls in love, I know that boy will never be the same | When she came to Storybrooke, finding love was the farthest thing from Emma's mind. Until she started to get to know Ian, the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole. A crush is the last thing she needs—not when she's in the middle of a murder investigation and her son keeps talking about curses. Or maybe it's exactly what both of them need. [Inspired by "When Emma Falls In Love" by Taylor Swift] A/N: This is the next in my series of fics inspired by Taylor Swift's vault tracks (mostly from Speak Now (Taylor's Version), but there will be more!). Wanted to post this before we all died from TTPD tomorrow ;) I think this is also my favorite of the ones I've written so far; hope you like it, too! And, as always, thank you to @optomisticgirl for being the best beta ever. rated T | 6.2k words | AO3

When the door swung open, Emma was half expecting it to be someone from downstairs yelling at her to stop her pacing; too many years living in crappy apartments had done that to her. But it was just Mary Margaret, coming home from work.

That said— “Uh, you okay? If you pace any harder, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” her roommate remarked.

“Ugh, sorry,” Emma answered, taking a seat at one of the barstools at the counter. “It was that or attacking the toaster again.”

“You didn’t get fired again, did you?” Mary Margaret asked as she set a bag of groceries on the counter. “‘Cause last I checked, you were your own boss.”

Emma scoffed. “No; just…other stuff.” She swallowed. “Boy stuff?” (She wasn’t sure why she said it like it was a question, other than the fact that she’d never been one to talk about relationships or anything—never had anyone she could talk to about that, so she wasn’t sure if this was the right way to start.)

“Well, that’s convenient,” Mary Margaret said, and reached into the paper sack. “I bought wine,” she finished, pulling out a cheap screw-top bottle of rosé.

“Might need more than that.”

“Good thing I got two,” she answered, producing another.

They curled up at opposite ends of the couch, not even bothering with wine glasses. After a few (hefty) sips, Mary Margaret looked at her pointedly and Emma was suddenly very aware of why her students respected her so much. “Okay. Spill.”

Emma sighed, but obliged. “Okay, you know the bartender down at the Rabbit Hole?”

“Not well, but I know who he is. Ian, right?”

“Yeah, Ian Johnson. He, uh…I mean, I…” She hummed. “I think I like him.”

“Oh my god, you sound like one of my fifth graders,” Mary Margaret replied. “You’re attracted to him? Or maybe a little more?”

Emma took another pull from her bottle. “Maybe a lot more.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

(His ass was fantastic, but that was beside the point.) “But…you know how I am. My history. It hasn’t really been that long since Graham…” She still had a hard time saying died.

“I know,” Mary Margaret said softly. “No one says you have to rush into anything. But if you’re feeling something, it doesn’t hurt to pursue it. Especially if he seems to reciprocate.”

Well, that was her other conundrum, wasn’t it: did he? Much like her, he wasn’t really prone to showing emotion—not noticeably, at least; he wore an air of apathy as well as he did his dark-wash jeans. In fact, she didn’t give him much thought after she first met him—when she’d been called to the bar to drag Leroy to the drunk tank on one of her first overnight shifts as a deputy. 

She’d definitely seen him, though; Ian was certainly easy on the eyes—perfectly disheveled hair above light blue eyes, just the right amount of gingery stubble, and a hint of chest hair visible through the open vee of his appropriately tight henley—but her thoughts towards him didn’t go deeper than the surface. She also hadn’t missed the quick once-over he gave her, though she couldn’t tell if it was in appreciation or merely assessment.

It wasn’t until her following visit (Leroy’s next trip to the station’s overnight accommodations) that he did more than hum at her, but there was very little effort in the casual pickup line he threw at her (and she did her damnedest to ignore the lilt of his foreign accent).

She knew his kind—or so she thought: the type of asshole who hid behind a pretty face and a quick come-on and that was all it took to get into a girl’s pants. Frankly, that was something she’d fallen for a few too many times, but not here—not in Storybrooke. Not when Regina was constantly looking for a reason to send her out of town (even if she won that sheriff election fair and square, Gold’s involvement notwithstanding) or limit her time with Henry.

It wasn’t until the first time she got a call at the bar after Graham died that she exchanged more than passing pleasantries with him. Ian wasn’t the first to express his condolences, but he was the first to say, “It’s just not fair.” That was exactly how she felt, too. And that’s when things started to shift between them.

(Apparently, he and Graham went way back—he didn’t specify how far, but it sounded like a while, the kind of vague forever that seemed prevalent in such a small town. Graham had helped him out of a few scrapes, and vice versa. “He was a good man,” Ian had concluded. “Seems those always go too soon.” It felt like there was more to go with that statement, but then “Only the Good Die Young” had come on the jukebox and it was a little too on the nose and she had to get out of there.)

But it really took a turn the night he intervened while she was breaking up a bar fight, getting in the way of a drunken punch meant for her and taking it in the cheek instead. (That was also the night she finally noticed his left arm ended not in a hand, but a prosthesis, as she made the assailant wait in the squad car while she put together an ice pack for Ian’s face; she also found out that night that he mixed a mean whiskey sour.)

So they were…she wasn’t sure if they could really say “friends” after that—not quite a team, either; allies, maybe? Whatever it was, it was definitely something she needed. 

She started to run into him at Granny’s after that. The first time, she was getting her morning coffee before heading into the station; he was getting some tea before heading home after closing the bar. Then they’d see each other at lunch hour; if the diner was full, they shared a booth. But then that became something of a habit, too, on the days he didn’t close and she didn’t work overnight (though they eventually started another of sharing a drink at the end of their late-night shifts).

Admittedly, it was a little awkward at first; Emma had never been great at the whole small-talk thing (and even worse at the making-friends thing)—but on the bright side, so was he. She found out little things, like when a favorite song would come on (“Behind Blue Eyes” was up there, unsurprisingly/heartbreakingly), or when she’d ask for a liquor recommendation (rum—always rum). She let slip at one point how much she enjoyed Motown, and he quickly picked up on her hot chocolate order.

More solid information came to light later; as she’d guessed, he was a loner, too—no family left, and had drifted around England and the US until he ended up in Storybrooke, somehow. He made an appreciative comment about her being a fellow jailbird over a beat-up copy of that awful article in the Mirror, but his face fell when she mentioned how old she’d been—a rare emotional moment for him. (But not as intense as when she’d commented on the tattoo on his forearm late one night, and the unmistakable look of loss took over; all they could do at that point was make a toast to living through heartbreak.)

It was…she didn’t want to say easy, but it was nice—there were no expectations, no responsibilities. Just the pleasure of each other’s company, and a sense of kindred comraderie. 

She was also aware, but ignoring the fact, that the less she knew, the better. There was less chance that he was lying to her or holding something back; less chance for him to get disappointed in who she was. (Less chance to be hurt.) 

“He does, right?” Mary Margaret’s question dragged her back to the present. 

Which brought Emma to the downside of being attracted to someone whose walls abutted hers: it was hard to get a read on what was going on in his head, especially when he wasn’t outwardly expressive (more than when they first met, but it was still rare). All she could do was shrug at her roommate and take another pull of wine. 

“Yeah, he’s always come off as kind of aloof,” Mary Margaret agreed. “Not altogether unfeeling—more like, not a lot?”

Emma was the last person to make any comments there. What was it she’d said to Graham? “Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you're feeling sucks.” They both had reason enough for that. 

“But it looks like you’ve gotten closer to him than anyone in a while,” her roommate went on, “and vice versa?”

“More or less,” Emma conceded. “Present company notwithstanding.”

“I’m honored. And you know what I say about hope,” she answered. 

Emma did, but wasn’t sure she was ready to say she was that far in. She extended the end of her bottle to Mary Margaret, who clinked her own against it in solidarity. 

By the end of the night, she had no further clarity on the situation and the beginnings of a hangover. Maybe she was overthinking it—or maybe it wasn’t even worth overthinking; it’s not like these things ever worked out in her favor anyway.

But…she did keep thinking about hope. 

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Her friends eventually dragged her out to the Rabbit Hole for a girls’ night. They’d cited the fact that she missed all the excitement on Valentine’s Day, with Ashley’s engagement, so she needed to make up for it. 

Despite still being new to the whole having-female-friends thing (having any friends, really), she had fun. Ian poured the drinks strong and sent more than a few small, sideways grins her way as he watched her dance with the others. She was hoping her subsequent blush could be blamed on exertion or alcohol, except—

“Oh my god,” Ruby yelled at her as they returned to their booth for a refreshment. “Just go screw him already.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been eye-fucking the bartender all night! Go do something about it!”

Well, now her cheeks surely matched her bright red dress—and, to make it worse (or better, Ruby would probably say), when she glanced over at Ian a moment later to see if he’d heard, he was smirking and raised an eyebrow as soon as she caught his eye.

(They hadn’t crossed that line yet but—it had been close. She’d been all too aware of the proximity of their lips when she was helping him shut down last week and they’d collided in the back hall—her hands on his firm chest, his coming to her waist, the dart of her eyes to his mouth—she’d basically sprinted out of there.)

There was definitely an itch to scratch, but she wasn’t about to go there with him. Because she knew, with him, it would be so much more than that. (And if he didn’t reciprocate…that would be even worse.)

“So I hear you’ve been hanging out with the bartender,” Regina asked her one day after she dropped Henry off at the mayor’s house.

Emma shrugged. “I guess,” she answered, downplaying whatever it was they had—if only because she had a feeling Regina would find a way to weaponize it. 

(Also, he was good with Henry—like, really good, maybe even better than she was. For someone who didn’t appear to care much about…anything, he always seemed to brighten and engage so much more around her kid whenever they ran into him at Granny’s. He even indulged Henry’s theories about the “curse”, but her son hadn’t decided who Ian was in this supposed other life. Emma didn’t have any ideas, either, if only because that meant Ian was the one person safe from Henry’s childlike scrutiny.)

“Even with everything he’s done?”

That got her attention. “What has he done?”

“More like what hasn’t he done; you’re the sheriff—you could look up his rap sheet. He’s got some blood on those hands—well, hand. Has he even mentioned how that happened?”

“No,” Emma said stiffly. “He hasn’t.”

“I don’t suppose he’s mentioned anything about his ex either, then. Who was married.”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, maybe you should look into it—so you can be aware of just who you’re allowing around my son.”

The mayor pointedly closed the door at that, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts—never a good combination. She was mulling it over on the drive to the station—how much did she actually believe what Regina was saying? 

But her curiosity was too piqued to let it rest. She felt like the biggest asshole, but after she got settled for the start of her shift, she ended up in the records room, particularly in front of the drawer labeled H–J.

As much as she didn’t want to—she had to know. She slid the drawer open and dug through the folders, until she found the one near the back labeled Johnson, Ian Brennan.

It was thick.  His ‘jailbird’ comment from a while back returned to her; she thought he’d been joking at the time.

She didn’t look inside until she was in her office, with the door shut—not that she expected any visitors, least of all him (he was working anyways), but she still felt like she was doing something wrong, even if she had perfectly legal access to these files.

She took a deep breath and flipped it open.

Ian was glaring at her from the photo paper-clipped to the stack of forms—a bit younger, a bit angrier than the man she knew, with a fire in those blue eyes she’d never seen, even from behind a layer of guyliner and shaggy bangs. 

Beneath it, typed out, it listed his name, birthdate (although the year was smudged beyond recognition), that he was born in England, and a charge for drunk driving.

The next sheet: illegal possession of a firearm.

The next several that followed included a handful of drug-related charges, mostly involving the transporting of them.

The last page said manslaughter.

She slammed the folder shut and threw it in the empty bottom drawer of her desk.

In vain, she tried to pretend she hadn’t seen it. Maybe someone planted it there? She wouldn’t put it past Regina, though as to why, she couldn’t guess. The comments about an affair, though—she’d done the whole dating-a-married-guy thing; it hadn’t ended well, but it still wasn’t something she was keen on.

For the next week or so, she managed to avoid him—took all her Granny’s orders to go; sent Ruby to deal with anything at the bar; and one time, ran down an alley when she saw him coming the opposite way down the sidewalk. (She didn’t say she was mature about it…or subtle.)

When she got home later that week, there were two bottles of rosé on the counter again. “My turn,” Mary Margaret said, handing one over.

Was infidelity just a thing here? Because now her roommate was dealing with it, too. Emma’s opinion of David wasn’t the highest at the moment—he couldn’t string her best friend along and stay with his wife—but the longer Mary Margaret pursued this, the more heartache it was gonna cause.

“Thanks for talking to me about it,” she said, halfway through the bottle. “What about you? How are things with Ian?”

Emma took a long, long drink. 

“Gotcha,” Mary Margaret said knowingly.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

It came to a head when she was in the station one morning, having arrived to her shift early in order to avoid seeing him at the diner. She was dealing with some paperwork when she heard the front door open. “In here,” she called out, assuming it was Regina telling her off for something she hadn’t done right. Footsteps approached. “What would you like to yell at me about today, Madam Mayor?” she asked sarcastically.

“I hadn’t planned on yelling, but I did want to ask why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Oh shit. Ian was there in the doorway, a coffee cup and bag from Granny’s in his hand, and a serious set in his stare.

“I haven’t,” she lied, then turned back to the computer screen (not that it was doing anything—it still ran Windows 98, after all). “I’ve just been busy.”

“See, I’m actually quite perceptive,” he replied, then stepped forward to set the foodstuffs on the corner of her desk. “And this? This is avoiding.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Yeah,” she had to admit. They’d always been honest with each other, even if they’d clearly withheld some things. And given how poorly her attempted lie a moment ago went, it would be dumb to try to again.

“What is it, love? Did I do something wrong?”

She opened her eyes to look up at him, and regretted it—he looked genuinely hurt. What she was about to do probably wouldn’t help.

Staying seated, she bent down to open the bottom drawer on her desk, and then pulled out his file. Then she carefully set it in front of her.

He immediately recognized it, she could tell. “Ah.”

“I’m sorry; I was talking to Regina and she said some things and—curiosity got the best of me.”

“I see.”

She couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt—or both—but either way, she felt like an ass. May as well throw fuel on the fire. “She mentioned something about your ex, too—specifically, her marital status.”

“She did, did she?” His words were suddenly emotionless.

“Is…is that all you’re gonna say?” she eventually asked quietly.

He blinked slowly, as when he opened his eyes, they were just a bit duller—a bit more reserved. (That was worse than anything else she’d seen recently.)

“What else needs to be said, Swan?” he shrugged. “You apparently have all you need to know right there, between that and whatever the mayor has told you.”

His gaze settled somewhere near the floor and silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Even louder to her, though, was the fact he was just…accepting it. 

“Seriously?” she snapped. “You’re not gonna defend yourself, or fight back at whatever is incorrect in my assumptions?”

He furrowed his brow. “What good would it do?”

“Show me you give a crap!” she shouted, standing so fast it sent her rolling chair sliding into the wall. “Because I’m trying to figure out whatever the hell this is,” she went on, gesturing between them, “but I can’t tell if you actually care or not.”

Finally, something steely settled in his gaze. 

“Not feeling anything is an attractive option when what you’re feeling sucks,” he stated, plainly but pointedly. 

She swallowed at the recitation of what she once had said to Graham. She already knew she wasn’t the first sheriff to strike up a friendship with him, but she was probably the only one Ian had thrown their own words back at. 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make it go away,” she countered. 

“If you do it long enough, it does.”

“And then what? You just never feel anything for the rest of your life?” God, Mary Margaret was really rubbing off on her—though that didn’t mean her calling him out wasn’t a little hypocritical. 

“It had been working well for me.”

“Fine then,” she spat. “You can go back to your lonely existence and I’ll fuck off to mine and we’ll just leave it at that.” She crossed her arms and curled in on herself; she was definitely pouting, but the alternative was flopping back in her seat and crying. 

His face relaxed, almost going the other way into a frown. “Bloody hell, that’s not what—no, love, I—I just thought you knew me better than that,” he admitted, almost apologetically. 

“Well, apparently I don’t,” she parroted back. “I’m wondering if I know anything about you. This is some serious shit, Ian.”

“And I thought you of all people might understand that,” he said matter-of-factly. “I remember the headlines after you arrived in town; just because you have a badge now doesn’t mean you’ve always been on the right side of the law, either.”

“I’m not pretending I didn’t!”

“Neither am I. I just don’t go broadcasting it, given that I still have the option not to.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d be telling people I killed someone either.”

“I—” He started to talk, but then closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. After taking a deep breath, he said, “Not that I really need to, but can I tell you the full story? Before you completely write me off?”

She nodded, but held back what she was really thinking: that she didn’t want him to write himself off. 

“I did get into some bad shit,” he started. “My brother was gone, my ex had just died, and I was suddenly an amputee, so I was alone and spiraling. Fell in with the wrong crowd—classic story. Got in deep with a drug ring, and then I got caught. Killed a member of a warring cartel in the process. But, by some miracle, I had a great lawyer. They got a few of the charges thrown out for lack of evidence and I reached a plea deal on the others, along with a heavily reduced sentence for my cooperation in taking down much of the rest of the ring. Did my time, now I’m here. And I regret it every day.”

“Damn.” That was heavier than expected. 

“Aye.” He scratched nervously behind his ear. “Anything else?”

She chewed her bottom lip; she was nervous to ask, but she had to. “So, your ex…”

“My ex was married when we met. But it wasn’t a happy marriage. And I didn’t lure her away, or whatever may have been said—she ran off with me. But I loved her, so I went with it. Until her husband found us and went mad. Tried to cut off my hand; stabbed her. Doctors had to take it the rest of the way off,” he explained, raising his prosthesis. “Add that to the list of reasons why I fell in with the wrong people.” 

Fuck. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

“Indeed.” He toyed with the fingers on his false hand for a moment, and then looked back up at her. “But Swan, why couldn’t you just ask me that? Rather than take the word of a woman who we’ve all seen lie to you—to everyone—before.”

She swallowed. “Because I couldn’t take the chance I was wrong about you.”

“Were you?” 

It took her by surprise. “Was I what?”

“Were you wrong about me?” He was staring back at her intently, like he hadn’t just asked a simple but potentially earth-shattering question—but also looked like he was bracing for impact.

She nearly stopped breathing. Not that she had planned any part of this conversation, but when she imagined talking to him again, she thought it’d be more about her figuring out whether he’d let her inside his walls. Logically, it was only fair that he did the same; it was just the first time anyone had followed her in—not to mention challenged her once they were there. (Especially not someone with intense blue eyes, bolder than she’d yet seen them.) And she didn’t know how to respond.

“Because I know I’m not the biggest catch or anything—I’m certainly not Graham—” he went on (and apparently knew where to sting her), “and yeah, I probably still drink a bit more rum than is advised, but other than this—” he nodded at the folder, “—I’ve been nothing but honest with you. So now it’s up to you to decide: whatever it is you’re worried about—were you wrong?”

It had been a long-ass time since anyone had been that bluntly honest with her. (And never someone she was interested in.)

He was right—her lie detector had never gone off with him, either. (It also hadn’t when Regina was gossiping, but it was a little less accurate with noticing exaggerations or omissions.) 

He’d never really answered her earlier question, though. “I just need to know one thing,” she said as she stepped around the desk. “I’m not alone in feeling…this, right?” she asked, blatantly stepping into his space. 

“No,” he confirmed on a breath.

“Then no, I wasn’t wrong. I think what I was actually scared of…was that I was right.”

“Right?”

She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and quickly found his lips, kissing away any further confusion. (As she was finding out, they were both a bit better at nonverbal communication.)

(And he did taste a bit like rum, but—she liked it.)

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

She wanted to say things changed from there—they took it fast, or slow, or whatever—but in reality, their relationship really didn’t change. There were still the meals at Granny’s, the nights at the bar. She’d never really been a date-night kind of girl. But emotionally—woah. 

It was like she was seeing a whole other side of Ian—but at the same time, it felt like it had always been there, just hiding below the surface. It wasn’t a universal thing—he was still a bit reserved while at work, or around just about anyone other than her and Henry—which made what they had feel all the more special.

There were also more than a few makeout sessions sprinkled in there, too. (Being chased out of the back hall of Granny’s by said proprietress, giggling like teenagers, was one of her more cherished memories since arriving here.)

For a short while, it was simple and sweet and it made her happy. For a little bit, she maybe had the kind of life she’d always hoped—with her son, friends, and a guy she really liked.

But it was like the universe noticed or something—no, Emma Swan couldn’t simply have nice things. Shit always, inevitably hit the fan.

Starting with having to arrest and book her roommate for murder.

She texted ahead and he had a shot waiting for her when she got to the bar after, then a couple more after that. She was definitely loitering—and he could tell. “What is it, love? Aside from the obvious.”

One thing she’d realized: he was exceedingly good at reading her, like a book he couldn’t put down.

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” she admitted. “It’s not that I’m afraid to be alone, but knowing that she’s in a cell and I’m there—and that someone may have been in the loft—I just…it freaks me out a bit.”

He swallowed. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but…I could go with you,” he offered. “At least to make sure everything is safe.”

“I’d like that.”

The walk to the loft from the Rabbit Hole was short but filled with energy; there was literally no reason for her to be any sort of excited, but she never invited guys back to her place. Even if she had no plans of anything intimate happening, this was something of a big step for her.

Of course, it ended up being anticlimactic—there was nothing amiss in the flat—but she was still hesitant to want to leave his presence, while at the same time not wanting to seem needy or like she was coming onto him in a subversive way.

“I, uh, could sleep on the couch, if you’d feel better,” he offered, doing that adorable nervous scratch behind the ear. Right—it had been a while for him with this kind of stuff, too.

“Um, yeah, I would. Thanks.”

That was the night she learned he snored—but the sound eventually lulled her to sleep, too.

As it did for the next few nights.

Then came the one after she narrowly escaped that crazy Jefferson’s house with Mary Margaret. She was still shaking as she took the stairs to the apartment and almost didn’t notice Ian sitting on the landing, nearly tripping over his feet.

“Swan, what’s wrong? You never answered my texts so I got worried and came here and, well—I wasn’t sure who to call when the sheriff is the one missing.”

She invited him in—or tried to, but she was trembling so much, she could barely get the key in the lock. Not until his steady hand wrapped around hers and helped. 

Once inside, she nearly collapsed just closing the door—both out of relief, and because her adrenaline was finally wearing off. But Ian caught her. And for the first time in years, she let herself be comforted by someone else. (She didn’t cry—she wasn’t ready for that kind of vulnerability yet—but this was kind of a big deal.)

“Do you want me to stay on the couch again tonight?” he murmured when she began to sway, fatigue winning over. She shook her head into his shoulder. (Also: he smelled good. Like, real good.) “Should…should I go?” She shook her head again.

Emma wasn’t a spooner. She took what she needed and then she left. But that was the night she understood why people enjoyed it so much. And waking up still wrapped in his strong arms was a kind of comfort she hadn’t known existed.

There was a brief—but weird—reprieve from the emotional heaviness when it turned out Kathryn Nolan was miraculously alive (despite her heart supposedly being outside her body), and then they held a party to welcome Mary Margaret back home. She shared (more than) a few drinks with Ian after the former; their first official outing as a couple, if it could be called that, was the latter. Mary Margaret arched an eyebrow and smirked at her as she and Ian moved around the kitchen getting ready. Emma just blushed—and then blushed harder when Ian pressed a quick kiss on her cheek as he stepped past her.

Then August kind of went crazy—his offer of help in dealing with the Regina-Sidney-whatever turned into another journey of emotional whiplash. She slumped onto what had become her usual stool at the bar, just a few minutes before close. Ian put some tea in front of her rather than anything stronger and took her upstairs after he’d locked up. He lived there, apparently, in a pretty spartan studio apartment. 

“Tell me,” he said gently. Not long ago, she would have brushed something like that off—but not anymore; not with him.

“I’m just tired of all this crap. Not just Regina—the whole curse thing, too. It was fine when it was Henry and I could play along, but now August? And he just—expected me to solve his problem? Just like that? No—no way.” She sighed. “It’s like everyone wants something from me or to fit some role; no one wants just Emma.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” he teased lightly. “Because I do.”

Well. She couldn’t argue with that.

And it became all the more obvious when she attacked his lips—and realized the rest of him was in agreement. She’d hesitated to take their relationship to that level; physical relationships were what she was used to, but adding in the emotional layer was something else—something more. 

But, as she learned, that was in a good way.

And while drifting off into a post-coital slumber while wrapped in Ian’s steady arms, she didn’t really care what went on in the outside world—as long as she had this.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

Should have known that’s when it would all really, truly crash down on her. Henry—god—seeing him in that hospital bed…and not being able to do anything…but it worked: she believed. In magic, the curse—everything. (Especially once Regina confirmed it.)

So now she was on a mission, practically storming from the hospital—when she ran into a pair of arms she’d give anything to just be able to take shelter in right now. “Love—is Henry okay? What’s going on?”

For a minute, she just looked in Ian’s eyes: that now-familiar blue that carried a wisdom beyond his years and echoed his every emotion, so different now from when she’d first met him—but in a good way. The way his worry creased his brow, the weight of his hand on her waist. If the world was about to change, she wanted to memorize him—them—in this moment. “Is everything alright?” he asked again.

She rose up on her toes to give him a firm, but all-too-brief kiss. “It fucking will be,” she told him, then ran off to save the world—or something.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

An eternity later (really only a couple hours, but holy shit did it feel longer), she had fought a dragon and then apparently broken a goddamn curse with True Love’s Kiss. All that really mattered was that Henry was okay, but all around her, everyone was coming to terms with what had been done to all of them.

She’d never expected to find out the waitress was a werewolf, or the therapist was a freaking cricket—and really never thought she’d be reunited with her parents. It was amazing, but it was also a lot.

She left Henry with his grandparents—god, grandparents—so she could take a minute and just—breathe.

The salty sea air hit her nose and she realized her feet had taken her to the docks. The view of the sea was soothing, but then she saw someone else there taking in the horizon—someone familiar. He wore the same clothes—the same motorcycle jacket, the black sweater that fit him extremely well, atop his usual dark jeans. But rather than the hand-like prosthesis she’d come to recognize, there was a hook—a freaking stereotypical pirate hook—at the end of his left arm.

(Henry had told her the fairytale counterpart of just about everyone in town—except for Ian. The illustrations in his book were good but maybe not distinct and there were a few options. She had a pretty good idea who it was narrowed down to now, though.)

“Ian?” she asked as she approached, partly to get his attention—and partly because she wasn’t sure who she was talking to.

He turned at the sound of her voice, but looked confused. Until he blinked and shook his head. “Aye, it’s me,” he answered, moving toward her. “My real name, though—it’s Killian, Killian Jones; it…took me a minute there.”

Killian. Similar, but different. It suited him. 

But also: Kill-Ian—was the man she held so important now gone, effectively killed by his new—true—self?

“So…how much was real? About you?” she had to ask.

“Some of it.” Apparently that nervous ear scratch carried over. “I am—was—am? A pirate, for decades, until I was caught.”

“Captain Hook?” she wondered, nodding at his prosthesis.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me,” he smirked. It was similar to the one she knew—the same dimple—but it had a darker edge to it.

“Who hasn’t?” she replied, ignoring the bit of discomfort that was…well, adding to her overall sense of unease.

“The truth—my actual life—is a bit more gruesome than what I once told you. I wanted revenge for the murder of my love. That part was true—she had been the Dark One’s wife, and he killed her, then took my hand.” He emphasized it by toying with the (rather sharp) end of his hook.

Right; Mr. Gold was apparently—actually—a centuries-old sorcerer. “I’m not gonna have to lock you up for going after him, am I?”

“No. See, I got sloppy; I lost sight of things, and that’s how I was caught—by your parents’ kingdom, actually. Was about to be hanged when the Evil Queen’s knight rescued me. Graham.” Her heart skipped a beat. “In return, I offered them my services should they ever need them. Never heard from them again, and then got swept up in the curse.”

She swallowed. “Did she ever take you up on it? During the curse?”

He shook his head. “Never.”

“So, us…” God, she couldn’t even put it into words. If what they’d shared wasn’t…hadn’t meant…she couldn’t fathom.

He very quickly moved into her space and took her hand. “That was very real, Swan.” His gaze had never felt more intense as he went on. “It was my understanding that the curse twisted things—changed us. I had always been someone who felt things very strongly and deeply; it’s why I was so single-mindedly focused on revenge for decades. But then under the curse…I felt nothing—not a bloody thing, for years on end—until I met you, and it all came back. It was like my heart was turned back on—like you brought me back to life.” He rubbed his coarse thumb over the back of her hand. “I know you’re probably questioning things again—especially given that you don’t fully know me, the real version, now—but Emma, I still know you, and I still desperately want you.”

She sighed in relief and nearly sagged into his arms. “Good. Because I think I love you.”

He smiled; it started as a small thing, but he couldn’t hold back from turning into a grin. “That’s appropriate, because I’m fairly certain I love you, too.”

There was a lot she needed to figure out—her life was all kinds of a mess right now—but him—this—whoever he was, he was hers. Even if she didn’t fully know him, it still felt like her heart fit right in the palm of his hand (and vice versa).

She wasted no further time in wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his; he was equally quick to reciprocate.

And, actually? Killian kissed even better than Ian did.

———.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.———

thanks for reading! Tagging some friends (including the fabulous and supportive Word Forge): @ohmightydevviepuu @shireness-says @iverna @thejollyroger-writer @wistfulcynic @phiralovesloki @initiala @idoltina @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @colinoeyebrows @pirateherokillian @annytecture @stubblesandwich @wingedlioness @scientificapricot @snowbellewells @searchingwardrobes @jrob64 and I know there's more I tend to include but tumblr is being weird about it rn.

#cs ff #when emma falls in love #spartanguard #spartanguard: from the vault #cursed killian au

[kmomof4]

Oh, look! It’s me!!!

It's Time to Get to Know Your Mods!

Please give a warm welcome to one of the creators (and the biggest cheerleader) of this event @kmomof4!

Name

Krystal

How long have you been a part of the CS fandom?

I joined fandom summer of ‘16 after bingeing all 4 1/2 seasons the summer and fall of ‘15. I watched 5b week to week and couldn’t get enough of CS when the season was over, so after a Google search, I found a Facebook page dedicated to them and joined it, followed by making my Tumblr account in August.

What is your favorite part about fandom?

The relationships. My very best friends in the world were met through fandom and I can’t imagine my life without them!

What drew you to this event?

It’s my baby!!! After a discussion with @snowbellewells in the fall of ‘17 about the WOEFUL lack of werewolf Killian fics out there, the idea was born. After a series of discussions with @winterbaby89 and @hollyethecurious, I gauged interest in a supernatural themed event and was BLOWN AWAY by the response!!! Summer of ‘18 was our inaugural year, and it has been a FANTASTIC run!! I’m very excited to see what everyone involved comes up with this summer for our final year!

Will you be participating either as a writer or artist? If so, what will you be doing?

Both!!! I have two OS's written- the first very loosely inspired by Dracula and the other a werewolf fic. I figured since it was the last year, it was appropriate to write fics featuring the original inspirations for the event!!! I'll also be doing art for Joni!

What do you do in your "real life?"

I’m a retired homeschool mom, but I haven’t worked outside the home since my first child was born 26yrs ago. Now, with my kids all grown, I’m more of a life coach than anything.

What are you most looking forward to in this event?

All the new supernatural content, of course!!!

This has been a spectacular event for many years Krystal, and we're looking forward to both of your stories on July 3 and Aug 22 and your art!

#cssns24 #get to know the mods #kmomof4

[kmomof4]

re-reading my own fic because the author has exactly my taste in tropes, ships the same ships in the right way, and also shares my sense of humour. what a find, what a revelation. i hope they write more of this sort of thing.

#writing #fic writing #fic writers

[kmomof4]

That is all…

In Another Life - Chapter 8/40 - A Pirate's Life

Banner by @snowbellewells Read on A03

After being taken by pirates, Princess Emma of Misthaven finds herself held for ransom on the high seas. But in the time it takes the pirate Captain Killian Jones to reunite her with her family, the two begin a dangerous game of pretend, imagining a different life, one where their forbidden love can come into the light. Their hope for a life together eventually leads them on a rescue mission that will change them both forever and make them confront old fears and unforeseen futures.

In the morning, Emma awakes with her legs tangled with Hook’s and her hand at his hip and her cheek against his chest. She sits up and realizes that he is already awake, looking at her, but not with that hunger from yesterday, but some sort of quiet peace. She half-expects him to kiss her or draw her hand down between his legs. Instead, he pushes hair behind her ear with his stump and gives her a small smile.

“Good morning, Miss Emma.”

“Good morning, Captain.”

The morning continues as it has all the days before, her quickly making her way to the kitchens to help Bart with his preparations for the breakfast and the rest of the day’s meals, but once all of the crew have queued up for their food, the cook dismisses her with a grunt that, “The Captain will string me up by the bollocks if I let you stay another minute.” Shaking the image from her mind, Emma makes her way above deck.

Though she had spent most of her time so far below deck, Bart had never kept her slaving away all day long. He had ordered her to take some breaks and to get fresh air several times throughout the day. She’s familiar enough with the sight of the deck and receives no confused looks when she climbs up the ladder and out of the hatch.

Hook is at the helm.

For a moment, Emma observes him unseen. His hand and his moniker each hold a spoke of the great wheel, legs wide apart to better brace himself for the work of keeping the ship on course. The strong sea breeze sends his long coat flapping around his knees. He had been wearing that coat the first time she saw him, watched it whirl and spin as he had battled Flint. But in the cabin, since that first morning, he has been without it. He seems to stand differently with his coat on again, seeming more like a pirate captain and less like the man who debated the virtues of honesty with her.

In his cabin, he was gentle.

Here, on his deck, among his men, wearing his thick leather coat and brandishing his hook, he is legend.

Emma hesitates. And then the sea breeze kicks up again and it ruffles his wild midnight locks. Emma is struck by a desire to do the same, to run her fingers through his hair, and when he turns abruptly, spots her, and his face breaks into a grin, she determines that she shall do so at her earliest opportunity.

“Miss Emma.” He drops his moniker from the wheel to give her a jaunty bow.

“Captain Hook.” She dips into a dainty curtsy.

With his namesake, Hook beckons her forward until she steps up to the helm, and then he resumes his previous position, this time with her body trapped between him and the great wheel.

“Take a hold of it,” he says, loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the waves crashing and the men around them working, but still quiet enough that no one is eavesdropping. She places her hands right under his hand and hook, uncertain. “Grasp it nice and firm, love.” His voice is deep and rough at her ear, and though Emma has been sheltered in many of the ways of the world, she is clever enough to recognize an innuendo when she hears one. His hand slides down until it is covering hers and he encourages her to grip the spoke tighter. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

For several delicious minutes, locked between Hook and the wheel, he teaches her the basics of how to steer and just how firm her grip needs to be. In fact, well before she wishes, he calls one of his men to take over, and leads her away from the helm with his hand at the small of her back.

Over the course of the morning, Hook thoroughly explains the different parts of the ship, how and why to raise the sails, the mechanics of traveling across the sea, what different ships look and sail like, and the requirements to continue to care for his ship.

Emma hardly thinks that she should mention that, in fact, his ship, The Jolly Roger is really her ship, The Jewel of the Realm.

By the time the sun has reached her zenith, Emma confesses that she has taken dozens of voyages during her life and has not had anyone take the time to teach her as he has.

The corners of Hook’s mouth turn down at that. “Bloody shame then, miss. Any sailor with a true love for the sea would trip over himself to teach a lovely lass like yourself all he knows about sailing.”

Emma considers all the ships she’s been on and all the sailors that gave the princess a wide berth. They were only being proper. But at a cost to her education and learning a love for something as exciting and beautiful as this morning. And then she is struck with a wonderment.

“So how many lovely lasses have you taught about sailing, Captain?”

He freezes as though he has been struck, and for a wild moment, Emma thinks he might have, freezing herself so she might look him over for a stab wound. But the way his face has grown dark betrays the depth of emotion her simple teasing question has brought on.

“Only one.”

And she remembers the tattoo on his forearm, a dagger and a heart and a woman’s name. Is she the one?

At any moment, Emma expects to be dismissed. She has obviously vexed him. Emma watches, waiting, but whatever storm had risen passes again, and then he blinks back to the present and continues his lesson as though nothing had happened.

-/-

Having taught her some of the basics of sailing, (“Even a cabin boy knows more, lass,”), Hook has her do a few simple tasks throughout the afternoon, offering her either a sardonic eyebrow or the applause of his hand against his hook, depending on her mastery. Like the work in the kitchens that she returns to in the late afternoon light, her muscles and mind find themselves pleasantly challenged in the exertions. She likes being a pirate. The freedom of this life on the seas is something she has never before known or dreamed of.

But Emma soon discovers that a life of piracy is more than a life of independent sailing. One afternoon, after helping Bart take inventory and make a list of needed provisions, Emma enters the captain’s quarters and is surprised to find it occupied by not only Hook, but also his First Mate, Smee. A large map is spread across his deck and both men bend over it quite seriously. Hook barely spares her a glance when she enters, but Smee keeps his eye on her longer, no doubt still forming an opinion on the prisoner who has been allowed a great deal of latitude.

“Miss Emma,” says the Captain by way of greeting.

“Captain,” she replies sweetly. Smee’s eyes narrow a bit, but then he nods and turns his attention back to the map. Intrigued, Emma crosses the cabin and looks over Hook’s shoulder. “The Southern Isles?”

Hook’s gaze shifts to her and he observes her for a moment, seeming to consider something. He must come to a decision, because he asks, “Have you traveled there before?”

Emma has never had reason to travel so far from Misthaven before. Although she is familiar with the geography of lands across the Enchanted Forest, she can answer honestly when saying, “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Hook hums. “So you won’t be recognized when we dock there?”

“Captain, I thought-”

“Quiet, Smee,” Hook cuts off his First Mate without a look. “Answer the question, miss.”

Having no idea what he is about, Emma chooses to be honest again. “No, I wouldn’t.” Unless she were to be taken to the palace and meet up with King Arvid or Ambassador Magnus, no one else in the Southern Isles would know her to be Princess Emma of Misthaven.

Hook’s hand rises from where it is braced on the desk to scratch at the hairs on his chin. “Miss Emma, how are you with the art of deception? Are you capable of playing a part?”

If he knew she were the daughter of the infamously truthful Snow White, he would never consider asking such a question. Throughout her life, every person has always assumed her beyond lies or even exaggerations, taking each of her stories at face value. Emma has been able to use that trust to her advantage more than once, from being able to get extra cakes and sweets from the kitchens to hand picking her ladies in waiting. And, of course, there is the small matter of how she has managed to keep her true identity a secret for almost two weeks.

“I am excellent at that, Captain.”

Hook’s eyes flash with delight and he places his hand back on the map, firmly tapping at the northernmost island. “Our first stop shall be Sunspring Island, Smee. We will gather all the provisions we need to make our way to Port Erikson and then immediately make our way as far east as possible before we are discovered.”

His First Mate’s mouth has become a thin line, trying to hold back his disapproval of his Captain’s plan, but Smee seems to know better than to talk back, because he rolls up the map without the order and tucks it with its compatriots on a wall shelf. He salutes Hook, who nods and says, “Back to the deck, Smee,” and allows the man in the red cap to exit.

Crossing his arms, Hook surveys her for a long moment. Emma has become used to his gazes and has begun to categorize them. Hungry, amused, surprised, annoyed, impressed. But now he is sizing her up and Emma crosses her own arms, wondering how he will find her.

“Have you enjoyed pretending to be my woman, Emma?”

She is proud that no blush works its way across her face. Meeting his gaze evenly, she simply nods. “Yes.” To be held in his arms as they sleep, to feel the weight of his hand on hers when they share a meal, to be the recipient of his rare, sincere smiles, she has enjoyed it immensely. Although she is fully aware that his willingness to pretend would extend further, to kisses and coupling, she has been content with these simple intimacies. In four week’s time, she shall return to her true life and she imagines that allowing Hook to touch her body in such a way would allow him to touch her heart.

Emma receives one of those genuine smiles now, and the way he drops his arms and holds them out slightly makes his desires clear. She steps forward and into his embrace. Her hands anchor at the small of his back and his arms wrap around her shoulders. For a few minutes, he only holds her and she almost forgets that she had interrupted some sort of planning and managed to get involved.

“I need your help.”

The sense of command has left his voice, and Emma can feel the abrupt switch between the Captain to a member of his crew and a man making a request of his lady. Emma pulls her head back from his chest so she might look in his face.

Her response flies to her lips so quickly that even she is startled. “Anything.”

Hook’s eyebrows shoot up, and then his arms tighten, holding her close again, and she feels his mouth press against the hair at the top of her head. “Anything, my darling, anything?” No innuendo in his tone, only wonder.

Emma shrugs into his chest and backtracks a bit. “Just tell me what you need,” she says as lightly as she can manage.

He leads her to the table and bids her sit across from him. “There is a man in Port Erikson who is expecting to meet a merchant by the name of Sir Tristian. The man will hand off a large and profitable shipment of goods to be sold by Sir Tristian with the expectation that he will receive payment at a later date.”

Emma grins, catching on to the ruse. “And yet he shall never see Sir Tristian again.”

Hook winks. “Right you are.”

“How do you know that this Sir Tristian will not arrive for the meeting?”

He removes an envelope from his voluminous coat. “Because I have managed to purloin his invitation. Such a pity that mail service is so unreliable.” His mock sympathy makes her laugh.

“Sounds like an ingenious plan. Whyever do you need my help?”

Hook tucks the envelope back from whence it came and leans back in his chair. “Sir Tristian never travels anywhere without his lover, the exiled Princess Isolde, with whom he shares True Love.”

Emma’s heart pounds even as her mind spins with the implications of his words. “Princess?” she asks to start.

The look the Captain gives her is kind, not accusatory, and the way he sits forward to run his thumb across the apple of her cheek assures her that he does not suspect her true identity. “Aye, a princess. We had planned for me to employ a whore or play actress, but I rather suspect you will sell the role of princess better than any commoner. There is no disguising your good breeding, Miss Emma.” He tilts his chin down and gives her a playful smile. “Or should I say Princess?”

Emma wrinkles her nose. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Hook chuckles and his fingers trace the line from her cheek, across her neck and shoulder, and down her arm until he can grasp her hand in his own. “You may not be a princess, but I believe you could pass for one. You are certainly as lovely as any I have ever seen.”

Desperate to change the topic of conversation away from royalty, or risk exposing the truth, Emma asks, “And you would be a merchant?”

Hook nods. “Aye. A former knight, in fact. Now a man who lives on the run after absconding with a king’s bride.” Seeing Emma’s look of shock, Hook grins. “My love, have you never before heard the tale of Tristian and Isolde?”

#cs ff #in another life #belovedcreation #heather fics cs #forbidden romance trope

[kmomof4]

#emma swan

[kmomof4]

😍😍😍

           What’s the big deal about these things?

                                                               You were saying?

#captain swan #otp forever #cs movie

[kmomof4]

Jennifer Morrison

Beautiful 😍

New look, same beauty 😍

I'm honestly obsessed with her beauty! She is glowing! ❤️❤️❤️

#jmo #enchanted swans

[kmomof4]

HAPPIEST OF HAPPY ENDINGS!!!!

🥹❤️🥰

The Astronaut's Daughter chapter 7 + Epilogue

Yup this is all done and over now... so next project is my CSSNS fic and an iceskater fic idea that popped into my brain some time ago... yeah my muse is a crazy nutty one.

Hope you enjoy, read it here FF.NET and AO3

#cs ff #the astronauts daughter #mie779

[kmomof4]

Utter perfection. That is all.

Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x20 Kansas

Summary:  A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my    rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time.  There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season.  Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 770

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay 

@ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @brooke-to-broch 

@missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich 

@jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma 

@daxx04 @nickillian  @gillie  @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst

@kmomof4 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes 

@hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch  @allyourdarlingswans  @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 

@therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64  @anmylica 

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @i-will-sing-no-requiem @bluewildcatfanatic @laianely

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)

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“Hook! Hook! Hook!  Wake up! Killian!” Emma shouted, shaking him, hearing the blinding panic in her voice.

Nothing happened.  He lay there, senseless and immobile. Not breathing. She caressed his face, leaning down close. “Killian, come back to me!”

Still nothing.  Emma knew this was what Zelena wanted.  She’d manipulated them into the exact place she wanted them.  Emma could either let him die or give him mouth to mouth–giving up her magic.

It wasn’t even a question.  She couldn’t lose him.  She couldn’t.

She’d been trying so hard, so damned hard ever since drinking the memory potion Hook had given her, to deny….well, a lot of things, but in particular the pull, the unbreakable emotional tether she had to Killian.  The thought that he had burrowed his way into her heart, that he’d begun to matter to her frankly terrified her.

Oh, she could admit she liked him.  She could admit he’d been her friend and confidant ever since Neverland. She could admit they would have been far worse off in this fight without him around.  And as for his looks, well, she wasn’t blind.  Obviously he was hot as hell.

What she hadn’t been able to admit, even to herself, is that it went deeper.  That she was beginning to care for him in a way she hadn’t cared for anyone, at least since Neal.

And so she’d told herself over and over again that she wasn’t going to let him all the way in.  She wasn’t going to give him the power to break her heart.  When all was said and done, she could walk away back to New York without a backward glance.  Leaving him behind would be no big deal.

And yet he continued to push and push and push.  It wasn’t so much that he was pestering her to be with him.  He wasn’t.  He had always, always let her set the pace of their “relationship” or whatever it was.

It was that he got to the heart of the matter.  Pushing her to move past her denial.  Pushing her to move past her fear.  Pushing her to accept that things had changed and that she couldn’t take Henry away from his family again, at least not without doing damage to both him and them.

And so she’d been snarky–nearly to the point of being cruel–as they’d trudged through the woods to Zelena’s house.

“You’ve taken care of the boy quite well here,” he’d said,  “You can talk about danger all you like, but it isn’t that. So tell me, what is it? Why are you so scared of staying?  I think it’s because you can see a future here. A happy one.”

As usual, he’d hit the nail on the head.  Back in New York before she’d taken the memory potion, he’d told her he knew her better than she knew herself, and once again, he’d proven the truth of that statement.

The fear had risen up and made her respond in a mocking, cutting tone.  One meant to dismiss.  One meant to convey that he was nothing to her.

One that was a lie from beginning to end.

“Let me guess, with you?”

For a split second, she’d seen the pain in his eyes at that, and she’d had the urge to apologize, but then, as usual, all hell had broken loose.  Zelena and Gold had shown up, and well, it all led to this moment right now.

The moment she had to admit, at least to herself, exactly what he meant to her.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered before leaning down and letting her lips touch his.

There was an instantaneous wave.  She felt her magic lifting from her, like the removal of a cozy coat in the middle of winter.  It left her cold, vulnerable.

But there was something more, some kind of energy surge.  The deep, dark honest part of her that her conscious mind viciously kept under lock and key wondered if that had been it, proof that they’d shared a True Love’s Kiss.

And really, truth be told, what happened between them had been more like a kiss than mouth to mouth rescusitation. 

She’d sat back, looked at him, waiting, her fear mounting as the moments passed by, each one feeling like an hour.

And then he’d coughed, water spewing from his mouth, and the relief that flooded her was stronger than any she’d felt. 

He turned horrified blue eyes up at her. “Swan, what did you do?” he asked.What I had to, she thought. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would be worth letting you die.

#cs ff #season 3 rewatch drabbles #kansas #whimsicallyenchantedrose #a moment of truth #before the denial comes back at the end of the episode #🤦🏻‍♀️🙄