#cs canon compliant ff

[kazoosandfannypacks]

“Blanket Fort Fluff” by kazoosandfannypacks

Pairing: Captain Swan Rating: Teen Word Count: 1788 words Summary: When Emma realizes Killian's never made a blanket fort before, she sets up a blanket fort for their next night-in together. Author’s notes: A few months ago, we were watching my cousin's young son, and I asked the lad if he wanted me to make him a blanket fort. He seemed confused by this question, and I realized his parents and uncle and aunts had all failed him, in that he had never had a blanket fort before. He was delighted when I made him his "very own room" with some tray tables and blankets. Always on the lookout for fanfiction ideas, I realized that our favorite pirate has probably never had a blanket fort before either, so I decided to write a fic to remedy that. Taglist:@zahara@kmomof4@jonesfandomfanatic@booksteaandtoomuchtv@jrob64@tiganasummertree@anmylica@teamhook@undercaffinatednightmare@gingerchangeling@lonelyspectator@caught-in-the-filter  @ultraluckycatnd  @cs-rylie @silver-the-phoenix @pawshapedheart  [if you’d like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 Killian sat on the couch next to Emma, his arm wrapped around her as she scrolled through the pin-interesting application on her talking phone. How Emma and Henry were able to focus on watching a moving picture show while also focusing on their phone screens was still a mystery to Killian.

 Emma's talking phone buzzed- a digital message from Henry, one with a picture.

 "You do realize your mother is actually right here in the room with you?" Killian asked Henry, who sat in his own chair a few feet away. "Why don't you just get up and show her whatever it is you want her to see?"

 "It's just easier to send a text message," Henry said, "Less work."

 "Makes sense," Killian said, secretly wondering how any step that involved using more technology was something someone could consider less work.

 He saw Emma smile at whatever it was Henry'd sent, then reply with a picture of a face that was laughing while crying. She showed the message to Killian; it was an image of text that said: "I've decided to no longer be an adult. If you need me I'll be in my blanket fort- coloring and eating fruit loops."

 "A fortress made of blankets?" Killian asked.

 "You guys didn't have blanket forts back in our world?" Emma asked.

 "Of course not," Killian said, "we had fortresses made of practical materials, like wood and stone. What's a blanket fort supposed to protect against?"

 "Bad days," Emma shrugged, "sadness, I guess?"

 "And adulthood," Henry tacked on.

 "Ain't that the truth, kid."

 "So kids in this realm just build forts out of blankets," Killian asked, "for fun?"

 "All the time," Emma said.

 "Fascinating." Killian said.

 He didn't bother trying to continue the conversation, as the movie was just getting to what Emma and Henry referred to as "the good part," the final confrontation between good and evil, and Killian wanted to give it his full attention.

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 That conversation was all but forgotten after a week, when Killian took Henry sailing to give Emma a day to herself. He then dropped Henry off at Regina's- and now Emma and Killian could have a night to themselves.

 "Emma, love," he called as he entered, "I'm home!"

 He was in for a bit of a shock when he entered the living room. It looked like someone had set up a tent over the couch. It was made of blankets, hung on a clothesline strung across the room, fairy lights from last Christmas strung along the blankets' edges.

 One of the blankets lowest to the ground moved, opening like a flap to reveal Emma peeking out underneath.

 "Surprise!" Emma said.

 "Indeed I am," Killian said, "what's all this?"

 "Remember when I told you about blanket forts?" Emma crawled out from under the blankets, wearing a robe and pajama pants.

 "Aye," he smiled as she walked over to him, "I take it this is one of them,"

 "Not too shabby, if I do say so myself." Emma placed her hands on his shoulders and gave him a kiss. "I figured it might be fun to do something special tonight."

 "Every night with you is special, love," Killian kissed her cheek, "I'll join you in the fort as soon as I've washed up."

 "Don't be long."

 "Wouldn't dream of it."

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 He'd noticed when he went upstairs that Emma had laid out his own fluffy robe and pajamas pants for him, as well as his slippers, so after a quick shower he changed into those, then hurried downstairs, not about to keep his Swan waiting too long.

 Emma was waiting for him at the entrance to their blanket hideout, holding a bag of microwaved popcorn

 "That was quick," Emma remarked, "I almost didn't have enough time to make popcorn."

 Killian smiled. "You'd be surprised at how motivated a pirate can be when he's got a blanket fort and the most beautiful woman in all the realms waiting for him."

 He gave his wife a kiss on her now blushing cheek. Ever looking for a chance to be a gentleman, he took the bowl of popcorn from her so she wouldn't have to carry it herself.

 She smiled and pulled back the "door" to their fortresses and gestured for him to enter first. He did so, and she followed after him.

 He hadn't expected it to feel so much cozier than the blanket fort than it usually did in the living room- and yet, something that felt like home hit him as he walked into the blanket walled room, which contained the couch, a pile of pillows and blankets in front of it, and more fairy lights around the inside.

 "In the spirit of nostalgia," Emma said, taking his hook in her hands and dragging him across the fort by it, "we'll sit on the floor."

 "And color in a coloring book while eating fruit loops?" Killian joked as he followed Emma to the pile of pillows and blankets in front of the couch

 "I was thinking I could pull up a movie on my laptop, and maybe we could have popcorn and snuggle instead," Emma said.

 "Aye, I like that plan," Killian smiled.

 Emma took a seat on the floor, and Killian followed her down. He found a comfortable position reclining against the back of the couch, and it soon became a lot more comfortable, as Emma sat down next to him, nestling into his arms like they were the only place she could possibly belong.

 Emma pulled out her laptop.

 "What movie are we gonna watch tonight, love?" Killian asked.

 "I don't know," Emma said, "picking which movie we watch every time is such a huge responsibility."

 Killian could tell she was being sarcastic, but he still understood the sentiment. As much as he wished he could be more helpful in picking movies, he really knew nothing about the topic in question at all.

 "In the name of nostalgia," Killian offered, "maybe a movie you liked as a kid?"

 "That narrows it down," Emma rolled her eyes, then looked at him and smiled as she added, "but I appreciate the suggestion."

 "I just wish I could be more help."

 "You're all the help I need," Emma said, patting him on the leg.

 Killian pressed his forehead against the side of her head and took her hand. "And you're all that I need." he whispered.

 A slightly flustered smile crept across her face, just as Killian had calculated would happen, and she set her laptop down and turned towards him, so their noses brushed against each other.

 "You're all I need too," Emma said.

 "The most incredible woman in all the realms needs an old washout like me?" Killain thought, shaking his head and smiling.

 "What?' Emma asked.

 "Have I told you recently that your eyes sparkle like the morning dew on the grass?" Killian asked, brushing his hair out of her face with his hook, "Or that your smile is like the silver lining in the clouds after a week of storms? Or that your hair shines like the sun in winter, and that flush of red creeping across your cheeks right now is the most beautiful color I've ever laid eyes on?"

 Emma placed her hand on his neck.

 "I don't know," she replied, "have I told you recently that your eyes are like a dip in the lake in the summer? That your hair's like a field of flowers that I just wanna run through," and she slid her hand back and her fingers charted their courses already through his hair, "and that your lips are like a ship, like a home I want to fall into?"

 Now he was blushing too, trying as he may to keep his cool.

 "I believe you have, love," he said.

 "Have I?"

 "At least once or twice- but about that last line," he then tapped her lips, then his, with the flat of his hook, "something about falling into my lips?"

 "Oh?" Emma leaned forward, her smiling lips hovering next to his, just close enough to drive him mad. "And what was that?"

 Killian smiled, "I think you know," he raised an eyebrow.

 "Do I?" she raised an eyebrow in return. "Do I really?"

 "Now you're just toying with me," he said, "you know how it gets to me when you play coy with me."

 Emma's smile widened, "You wanna kiss me so badly it's almost pathetic."

 "I don't want to kiss you badly," he said, letting go of her hand so he could cradle the back of her neck instead, "I want to kiss you well- oh so very well."

 Her breath spiraled across his lips like a hurricane, and her fingers twirled around his hair and twisted across his neck like they'd gotten caught in the storm. She smiled, then whispered, "Go for it."

 She didn't have to tell him twice. He pulled her lips into his like the tide draws a ship to her home port, less like he was pulling her and more like he was leading her exactly where she wanted to be anyways.

 And it was right where he wanted to be too. Half a decade ago, he wouldn't've dreamt of a moment like this one- holding Emma Swan- his wife, Emma Swan- in his own two arms, in the living room of their house, her lips on his, her hands on his neck, wanting to be here, wanting to kiss him, to hold him, to love him! In two centuries spent trying to get what he wanted, he never would've guessed that what he wanted was as simple and beautiful as this.

 She slid her hands down to the edges of his robe, pulling him even closer than he already was, curling her lips even tighter around his.

 He shifted her ever so slightly, Emma giggling a little as he laid her down, her head now resting on the couch, himself almost laughing as well as he wrapped himself around her. His lips stayed on top of hers, his face on hers, his chest on hers- his heart on hers.

 "Oh," she sighed. She let go of his robe, only so she could run her hands underneath it, all along his chest and back, tracing out routes she was well acquainted with. "Thanks for the help."

 "Help with what?" he asked, with a low voice, and with messy kisses as his lips danced across hers.

 Emma wrapped her arms around him tighter, pulling him even further onto her, then left his lips so she could plant a field of kisses just below his ear, before whispering a response into it.

 "I don't think I'll have to worry about picking a movie tonight."

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#captain swan #once upon a time #killian jones #emma swan #ouat #cs ff #fanfiction #post canon #canon compliant #henry mills #once upon a time season 6 #fluff #kazzy writes

[winterbaby89]

My Fics - A Masterlist

Dagger by @artistic-writer

Hey all, I am making this masterlist for a few reasons... 

1. To let you all know even though my Tumblr has been less active, I am still around, I’m just dealing with real life issues. 

2. For my new followers to find my works (If they are so inclined). 

3. I am hitting a posting milestone (to me anyway) with this post. Figured I might make it count. :)

So, without further ado... to the list :)

All of my works are up on AO3 FF & Tumblr *The rest below a cut because it got long*

One Shot/Two Shot

A Lesson in Muscle Memory

A smutty deleted scene after everyone is brought back from the alternate storybook to just before the party at Granny’s. (Episode 4 x 22/23) Art by: @elaine-captain-swan Rated M

Friendship, Food, and Fatherhood

A presumed S7 compliant, one-shot of what's happening in Storybrooke for my follower appreciation winner @whimsicallyenchantedrose. Killian has a chat with David about his concerns of impending fatherhood. And some whacky pregnancy cravings to boot. Art by: @hollyethecurious Rated G

I’m Falling For You - 

Part 1 Rated M - Part 2 *Walsh POV* Rated T  Art by: @hollyethecurious

All it takes is one text to make Killian’s world stop... one text from his best friend since college to simultaneously break his heart and breathe new life into him, effectively turning his world on its head.

Killian is Emma’s rock. The one person she knows that will be there for her time and again. When the break up from hell, and residual fallout, puts her best friend, once again, in the role of caregiver and comforter, Emma can no longer deny the feelings that have been brewing within her ever since college.

Can the magic - and questionable mixture of alcohol and pain meds - during the holiday season finally force the confessions they’ve both been suppressing for years?

The Red Dress Affair

Emma and Killian have been dating for a little while and Emma is tired of waiting for Killian to make the next move, so she plans a sultry surprise. Smutty one-shot. Art by: @hollyethecurious Rated M

Multi Chapters

As Destiny Has Its Eyes On You - Complete

Prologue/Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16

This fic is inspired by Destiny has it's eyes on you by the lovely EmilyBea on AO3 & FF ( @seriouslyhooked here on Tumblr). Chapters 1-4 are based on chapters 1&2 of Destiny Has It’s Eyes on You. If you haven’t read her works I highly recommend it, she is a queen of fluff.

Princess Emma Swan of Misthaven has been prophesied as the Savior since before her birth. Now with the help of a Lieutenant from her past she is going to take her destiny into her own hands, to defeat the Evil Queen. Art by: @artistic-writer & @hollyethecurious Rated M

Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke - Complete

Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Epilogue

This is a fic that I Co-wrote with the lovely @hollyethecurious it is our joint custody baby, so if you enjoy this fic show her some love too.

Moments before the Evil Queen’s Dark Curse whisks our beloved fairytale characters to Storybrooke, Captain Hook finally gets his revenge on the Crocodile. Twenty-eight years later, Killian Jones awakes in Storybrooke expecting just another ordinary day, that is until a number of abnormal occurrences disrupts his otherwise scheduled life. The greatest of which is a new face in town. A young woman by the name of Emma. Emma. What a lovely name… Art by: @xhookswenchx & @flipperbrain Rated M

DHCtS Excerpts - WIP

A collection of additional/missing scenes from the DHCtS verse. Relationships and ratings will vary by chapter. 

Killian Jones Meets the Mayor's Son - Complete

Based on the prompt: I would really love to read Killian and Henry's first meeting in Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke. Art by: @hollyethecurious Rated G

The Fate of the Medjai - WIP

Prologue, Ch 1, Ch 2

Librarian Emma Nolan joins forces with Ex-Military man Killian Jones on the adventure of their lifetime as they venture out into the deserts of Egypt in search of ancient secrets. They encounter an unforeseen evil determined to resurrect his lost love and rule his new world. Based on the 1999 Brendan Fraser movie The Mummy. Art by: @abeylin1982 Rated M

Prompts

Movies and Overnights - Complete

This ficlet was spawned by the anonymous prompt: I was talking to the security guard at the hospital during my shift today about his favorite movies and he said “anything with water”. Naturally, my next question was “pirates?” And he grinned at me and said “oh yes” then started off in a British accent to say Pirates of the Caribbean. Any chance I could get you to CS this? Art by: @hollyethecurious Rated G

If you have a prompt you would like to see, feel free to send me an ask (anon or not). Let me know if you would like to be tagged (or removed from my tag list).

Tagging those that have requested tags in the past:

@abeylin1982 @aprilqueen84 @artistic-writer @badwolfreturns @best-left-hook-jones @branlovestowrite @captain-k-jones @captain-swan-coffee @cocohook38 @deathbycaptainswan @downeystarkjr @eala-captian @flipperbrain @florenzu @freakassbuthunter @gingerchangeling @goldengirlschildhood @golfgirld @greenleaf777 @hollyethecurious @hooked205 @ilovemesomekillianjones @in-spirational @jennjenn615 @joneskillian @jsilva0117 @juliakaze @kday426 @killian-whump @kmomof4 @kymbersmith-90 @laschatzi @leiaswanjoneskid @lifeismadeup-ofmoments @like-waves-on-the-beach @linda8084 @mariakov81 @natascha-ronin @onceuponaprincessworld @resident-of-storybrooke @rookiehookie @seriouslyhooked @sherlockwhovian @shireness-says @smutqueen27 @snidgetintheapple @snidgetsafan @superchocovian @supergirl42universe @teamhook @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @ultraluckycatnd @whimsicallyenchantedrose @wordsmith-storyweaver @xhookswenchx @yayimallamaagain

#Captain Swan #cs ff #cs au #cs canon compliant ff #cs canon divergent ff #winterbaby89writes #words by hollye #my cs ff compendium #cs ff masterlist #this is my 32K post #if you were curious

[jrob64]

Perhaps She Truly Cares - a CS canon compliant story

I love the development of Emma and Killian’s relationship in Season 4 and wanted to write a one-shot about his feelings when she kept avoiding him, so I did! Thanks to @hookedmom​ who used her beta skills on it after it dropped into her inbox unexpectedly. Three days ago, she didn’t even know I was writing it, and now here it is! 

I tried something new for the artwork. Please let me know what you think about it, if you feel so inclined.

Summary: A canon compliant story about Killian’s thoughts and reactions during the events of episode 4x03 “Rocky Road”. 

Rating: G

Words: 1718

Can also be found on Ao3 and ffn

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“I don’t have time to argue with you about this. Can you for once just do what I say?” 

Killian knew Emma was under pressure to get the mystery of the person who froze Marian solved, but her words to him stung all the same. Of course, she could have just been reacting to Regina’s snarky comments about the savior needing saving, but he had a feeling there was more to it than that. 

He thought they had a breakthrough the night before when she nearly died in the ice cave. She allowed him to stay beside her throughout the evening, comforting her and helping her to get warm again. But when he offered to go along with her to help track down the person who cast the freezing spell, she snapped at him. 

Now she was heading head-long into danger. Alone. And she made it clear that he was to go to the sheriff’s office to keep that Elsa woman safe. The very person who had imprisoned Emma in that ice cave death trap. Well, he’d be damned if he was going to sit around protecting an icy menace when the woman he truly cared about was out there putting herself in peril.  

He led Elsa through the back alleys of Storybrooke, avoiding contact with the townspeople; still following Emma’s instructions to keep her safe, but needing to quell his worry by starting to track whomever was creating the current threat against the town…and against Emma. 

He nearly lost his temper when Elsa balked at following him, but after convincing her he wasn’t about to hide out in a sheriff’s station either, she was onboard with his plan to visit the bloody crocodile. If there had been any other way to go about it, he would have taken it, but Regina was busy trying to undo the spell on Marian, and no one else had the magic he knew was required. 

Threatening Gold was risky, but when the Dark One realized Hook’s motivation and spat, “I do hope Miss Swan is worth it”, there was not a doubt in Killian’s mind. 

Traipsing through the woods following the swirling flakes of magical snow, Killian found himself surprised at the insightfulness of the soft-spoken Elsa. “When you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, it can be hard to let people in. To trust them, even when they want what’s best for you.” 

It gave him pause, made him question the meaning behind Emma’s sharp words to him. The citizens of this bloody town were always throwing their problems at her, expecting her to fix everything. No wonder she was vexed right now. 

Yet, he still felt there was an undercurrent of worry in her words that had nothing to do with the town. His Swan was normally strong and confident, ready to take on all forms of monsters and curses without batting an eye, so this uncertainty on her part was troubling, to say the least. 

Which is why he decided not to heed her orders to hunker down with Elsa in the sheriff’s station. If he could find the person responsible for the icy conundrum plaguing Storybrooke, he could take that burden off her shoulders. 

The snowflakes led them directly to a woman, a stranger who appeared to be casting some sort of spell; and when Emma didn’t answer her talking device, he waited as long as he could before setting off to find her. He was confident she would forgive him for ignoring her command, because he had found the ice witch. His Swan would be proud of him. 

He didn’t get far though, because the witch had seen them too. The ice encasing his foot held him captive, and he knew he was in even more trouble when suddenly there were giant, deadly spikes of ice hanging over his head.

And then there she was - his savior, accompanied by her father, coming to his rescue. David’s attempts to free him were well-meaning, but feeble at best, and now both of them were in a perilous position. With a sweep of Emma’s arm, he and her father were thrown out of the way of the falling icicles which would have torn them to shreds. The Snow Queen fled, but not before she filled Emma with more doubt and anxiety. He could sense it as they searched for any sign that would lead them to the woman who had tried to kill him. 

Once again, Emma turned her wrath on him. When he suggested continuing the search, she barked, “So you can almost get yourself killed again? That’s EXACTLY why I told you to go to the sheriff’s station!” 

That’s when it hit him. She wasn’t angry at him. She was trying to protect him. Captain Hook. One of the most feared pirates to sail the seas, who had lived for hundreds of years, surviving duels, monsoons, villains, and bloody Neverland. She thought she had to save him, and of course she did. Not only from the falling ice, but also from his self-loathing, self-destructive tendencies, and vengefulness. 

As much as it warmed his heart realizing she cared enough to rescue him, it also caused him pain. She didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust him to keep himself out of trouble, or to be her partner in trying to rid the town of the latest menace…to be her partner at all. 

He couldn’t help himself, though; he had to be close to her, no matter how much she tried to avoid him or push him away. So now here he was, sitting in the evening air outside of Granny’s, knowing she was inside trying to figure out the next step in the plan to capture the Snow Queen. He hadn’t gone in because he could sense her still-simmering anger toward him. For all his swagger and bravado, he was nursing his wounded pride as he sat there, drinking his rum. She had admonished him not once, but twice that day, and he knew she would more than likely do it again if he dared to join her inside. 

Her words niggled at his brain, rolling around it repeatedly, creating a cacophony of troubling thoughts. How was he ever going to earn her trust? 

When the door opened and she descended the stairs, he could tell she wasn’t expecting him to be there, but covered it with more biting words, “I’m not in the mood for a drink or…a man” as she hurried past him. 

He had to run to catch up with her, as the words Elsa had spoken to him earlier came tumbling out of his mouth. She didn’t slow down, evidently hell-bent on getting away from him, until he reached out to capture her arm with his hook, stopping her in her tracks. 

“You’ve got to trust me.”

The look she gave him was incredulous. “That’s what you think this is about - that I don’t trust you?”

Wait…was she saying… 

“Is that not what it’s about?” 

“Of course I trust you!” 

And there it was, without a second of hesitation. She trusted him. Somehow they had moved past the doubt planted in her when the Wicked Witch cursed him and backed him into a corner, forcing him to make a rash decision to save Henry. “I can’t trust you now. How can I?” Those words had echoed in his head more times than he could count. 

But if she truly trusted him… 

“Then why do you keep pulling away from me?” he asked, anger and confusion lacing his words. 

“Because everyone I’ve ever been with is dead!” 

That’s when he saw the truth in her eyes; the hurt and the fear all reflected in those beautiful emerald eyes he loved so much. It wasn’t because she didn’t trust him or that she was angry with him. It wasn’t even because she wanted to protect him. She kept pulling away from him because she cared about him. Truly cared about him, and was afraid he was going to get hurt…or worse. 

As he processed this information, listening to her recounting all the people she had lost, another question arose in his mind. Was she saying…

“I lost everyone. I…I can’t lose you too.” 

Her words, full of pain and almost whispered as she fought for control over her emotions, told him everything he needed to know. Everything he had been yearning to hear ever since he brought her back from New York. 

She loved him. 

Oh, he understood he wouldn’t hear those exact words fall from her lips tonight, and possibly not for a very long time, but he had always been able to read her like an open book. 

Emma Swan loved him. 

Realizing this, he knew he had to reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he would never leave her. He would sooner lose his other hand than cause her to lose one more person she loved. 

His eyes softened as he gazed at her, wanting so very badly to tell her his true feelings, but knowing she wasn’t ready to hear them yet. So he took a page from her book and conveyed his feelings another way. 

“Well Love, you don’t have to worry about me.” 

Her shoulders relaxed a bit as her eyes searched his for any sign of dishonesty. He gave her that moment, before continuing on. 

“One thing I’m good at…is surviving.” 

She blinked, and a tiny upturn of the corners of her mouth let him know she believed him. He wouldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t hurt her. He loved her. 

Killian had always allowed Emma to take the lead in initiating the kisses they had shared, but with the knowledge of what she revealed to him in the last few moments fueling his actions, he surged forward to capture her lips.

All his uncertainty, doubt and confusion melted away as she clung to him, and he could sense a shift in her as well. Gone was the hesitance, the tension and the pulling away. She returned his ardent kiss with the same passion he was pouring into it.

There in the middle of Storybrooke’s main street, he kissed the woman he loved with everything he had because the woman who kissed him back loved him, too. 

*********

Thank you for reading, and hopefully liking, reblogging and leaving comments, if you feel so inclined!

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#csff #cs fanfiction #perhaps she truly cares #jrob64 #cs canon compliant #episode 4x03 #Rocky Road #CS fic #captain swan fan fiction #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #CS One shot

[elizabeethan]

Warm

A brief look at Killian's POV after Emma comes out of the ice caves.

Rated G

~1000 words

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Read on Ao3

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~~~~

She’s in his arms at last, falling from the narrow tunnel towards her father, who helps her stand as she reaches for Killian. 

 She reaches for him. 

 Her skin is frozen as his hand finds her back, tugging down the thin shirt she wears beneath her jacket. The leather did almost nothing to keep her warm, a fact that’s obvious enough based on the blueish tint of her lips when he pulls away. He doesn’t want to, wants to feel the way her hands reach into his hair and pull him closer to her, but her father is here, and so is Elsa, and she needs to get home and warm up. 

 She stumbles, and all thoughts leave his mind as he hoists her into his arms, letting her curl her own around his neck, reveling in the feel of her frozen nose pressed against his throat.

 She sits heavily, groaning as Elsa and David wrap thick blankets around her shoulders and Henry offers her hot chocolate, and her shaky fingers move to adjust. He thinks she’ll pull away, expects her to release his hand, but her fingers spread, letting his own lace into hers so that her hand is in his. 

 He thought she would pull away, and he’s as frozen as she is at the feeling of her fingers squeezing tightly over his hand, his heart nearly stopping as she so plainly and openly lets him comfort her.

 When the lights flicker on, Killian doesn’t think before standing quickly, hurrying towards the bathroom and grabbing for the small gadget that can heat the room and pointing it towards her. She nods, praising him for his find. 

 He returns to her, letting his arm fall over her shoulder atop the blanket, hoping that the weight of it will warm her even more. He feels her shiver against him violently, unable to get warm, and he wants nothing more than to pull her into his lap, into his arms, and squeeze her against his chest until her shivering stops. 

 He keeps thinking she’ll shove him away, expecting her walls to shoot up quickly after her near-death experience and once the adrenaline fades, but she doesn’t. He feels her head fall heavily onto his collarbone, her chilled forehead meeting the skin of his neck and then lightly nuzzling closer, seeking the warmth of his flesh. He doesn’t think before pulling her closer in response, wanting nothing more than to warm her after almost losing her to the cold. He has to remind himself that she isn’t his to lose. 

 And despite that truth, he doesn't think before slipping his hand up and down along her blanket-covered back, hoping the friction will help, and she falls even more heavily into his arms. Her hand is on his hook, holding it tightly as if trying to ground herself. She doesn’t resist him as he pulls her even closer. When her mother returns to the apartment, it’s as if the focus is removed from her, and he feels her breathing becoming more even as she lets out a heavy sigh. The chattering in her jaw has stopped, and she falls more heavily into his hold, her face hiding in his chest and seeking the warmth between his open collar. He drops his mouth to the top of her head, pressing a soft, almost imperceptible kiss to her hair because he simply can’t stop himself. 

 It’s as if the rest of the room has melted away as her chill melts as well, no one here but the two of them as she settles finally in his grip and lets him kiss her hair again more boldly, lets him allow his hand to linger along her spine and her arm and into her hair. It feels as though hours have passed, and he knows she should get into her warm bed, remove her boots and her chilled leather jacket and allow herself to rest, but she never moves. Henry goes to visit Regina, David takes Elsa to Granny’s to get a room, Mary Margaret puts baby Neal to bed, and Emma and Killian stay put. She never lifts her head from his chest. 

 Finally, his feet begin to tingle under his weight as he kneels beside her, and he has to shift if he wants to keep his legs. She protests softly, seeming to think better of it as she straightens and clears her throat, and he offers her his hand. 

 “It seems to be time for bed, love,” he suggests quietly, being met with her heavy sigh. 

 “I can’t sleep,” she admits in an almost-whisper. “I usually stay up until I can’t keep my eyes open.” 

 “Ah,” he says in understanding, because he’s been there. The horrors of his own imagination are enough for him to avoid shutting his eyes from time to time, though it’s gotten better. “I see. Perhaps the couch would be more comfortable, then?” 

 The chair she’s been sat in couldn’t be that uncomfortable, but he can imagine that she would rather stretch her legs or lounge a bit more rather than sitting stiffly. She nods in silent agreement, slowly standing and groaning as she does, her hands landing on her lower back as she shakes her head. He guides her down, and just as he considers going towards the door and leaving her be, she grabs at his hand and squeezes. 

 “Stay for a little while?” she asks in a whisper, her eyes meeting his for a brief second before dropping to the floor just as she drops his hand. It’s as if she thinks he’ll say no, and he almost laughs. 

 “Of course, love,” he agrees, sitting beside her and barely waiting before opening his arms again and letting her fall to his chest. She sighs heavily, content as she seems to release the stress from her lungs. 

 “Thank you,” she whispers as he lets his hand dance up and down along her back some more, pulling at the blanket that they lie beneath and letting it drape over her shoulders. 

 He isn’t sure exactly what she means, but it doesn't matter as her cheek nuzzles into the skin above his collarbone, her hair tickling his neck, her fingers gripping the leather of his vest. He whispers, “Always,” but he isn’t even sure she hears him, her breathing becoming even and deep as she slips comfortably to sleep. 

~~~~

~~~~

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#captain swan #captain swan fanfic #once upon a time #canon compliant #white out #season 4 #cs ff #warm ff #ouat ff

[wistfulcynic]

till we be dead ourselves

I saw a thing today that made me a bit cross and reminded me of how unsatisfying I've always found the Brothers Jones reunion in the underworld. This is the result. It's not anti-Liam but it does change him quite a lot from canon, so if that's not your jam you may want to skip this one.

Basically, this is the Brothers Jones I would have liked to see.

Also, at least part of the inspiration came from chatting with @thesschesthair and @winterbythesea about alternative POVs on our OTP. So here, guys, have a Liam. Beware, there are feels. 

SUMMARY: Liam Jones has been waiting for his brother for three hundred years. When he finally arrives, he's not as Liam remembers. Some not-typical or particularly respectful of canon Brothers-Jones-in-the-underworld feels, plus a dash of Captain Swan.

words: 2025 rating: T tags: not canon compliant, underworld AU, brothers jones. Major characters are already dead. 

on AO3

-

till we be dead ourselves: 

He’s been waiting a long time for this. Three hundred years. 

Well, two hundred ninety-three years and eighty-six days, to be precise. He knows because he looked it up. He had to. It’s not easy keeping track of time here; some seconds tick so slowly they’re torture while years can pass in the blink of an eye. 

Years, such as they are. There aren’t really years in this place, or truly ‘time’ at all. There’s not really anything. This is nothingness, a void, a repository for whatever souls are made of, and different to each one. They’re trapped here, these souls, until they finish whatever business still remains for them, and over the centuries he’s seen so many come and go—some sorrowfully confused by what they need to do, others firmly certain. 

As for Liam Jones, he’s always known why he’s here. His unfinished business is Killian. 

On the day Killian arrives Liam can barely contain his excitement. Not just because he may finally be free of this place but because he longs to see his little brother again. He’s missed Killian, and also he’s keen to know what the devil took him so long. How is it possible that his brother’s life stretched on for over three hundred years? 

He walks quickly through the town—an odd little town, unlike any he encountered while alive. His afterlife has manifested it for only a few years. Before that it was ships and ports and then it was jungle. Ships and jungle, jungle and ships for so very, very long. He’s come to realise that his afterlife reflects what his brother does Above, though what precisely that consisted of he is not privileged to know. He’s hoping Killian will tell him. 

He knocks on the door of a large, blue house and waits, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. When it opens he turns with a smile that freezes on his face. 

The man framed in the doorway is his brother, unmistakably him, yet Liam finds he’s not prepared for how much Killian has changed. He feels foolish for being taken so by surprise; of course Killian is not what he remembers. He’s not still the eager young lieutenant he was when Liam died, obviously not. He couldn’t be. 

But the man before him is… hard. Jaw set and eyes cold, with an aura of both danger and command. A man not to be trifled with. His face is still youngish—mid-thirties, perhaps—but his eyes are ancient. Tired and bitter and heavy with the weight of ages, and abruptly Liam feels very, very young. 

“K-killian?” he ventures. 

Killian’s brow wrinkles in confusion that lasts an uncomfortable beat or two, and then it clears. His eyes widen. “Liam,” he breathes. “Is it really you?” 

“It’s me, brother.” Liam attempts a smile again. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

“Bloody hell.” 

Killian pulls him into a hug which he returns warmly, though the sound of curse words on his brother’s lips has stunned him. He smells of leather, and of the sea. And rum. Liam blinks through a fresh wave of astonishment. Killian has been drinking. Drinking rum. 

Killian pulls back from the hug but keeps his hand on Liam’s shoulder. His eyes are crinkled by a smile that Liam can’t help noticing barely touches the depth of sadness in them. “It’s good to see you, brother,” he says. 

“You’ve changed,” Liam blurts, then curses his impulsive tongue when the smile fades from his brother’s face. 

“Aye,” Killian says. “It’s been some time.” 

“Three hundred years, give or take,” Liam agrees. “How? How was it that long?” 

“Perhaps you’d better come in, Liam,” Killian says. He steps back and holds the door. “We’ve rather a lot to discuss.” 

-

Liam spends that first night in his brother’s house. Killian seems at a bit of a loss for what to do with himself in all the space and curiously reluctant to speak of why his afterlife has manifested such a dwelling just for him. Of course the dead don’t truly sleep, but Liam passes the night deep in thought, still in shock over what he’s learned about life his brother led. 

Killian is Captain Hook. A pirate. A man whose name Liam has heard in hushed whispers on the lips of many a soul who’s passed through this place. None of those whispers spoke of anything good. 

He cannot reconcile his little brother, even three hundred years of bitter loss and violent struggle later, as the cruel and vengeful villain of those tales. He cannot. It’s simply not possible. 

“Much of what they recounted was likely exaggerated,” Killian said wryly, “or hearsay. But I’ve done much I’m not proud of, Liam. I killed men without a second thought. I plundered lands across the realms. I have not led a good life.” 

“Then why are you here?” Liam demanded. “If you were as bad as all that, you wouldn’t end up in limbo.” 

“Perhaps I may have done enough in the past few years to warrant a chance at redemption,” Killian reflected. “I suppose we’ll see.” 

“And do you know what your unfinished business is?” 

Killian swallowed visibly, then nodded. “I believe I do.” 

-

Over the next week Liam keeps an eye on his brother. It’s not that he’s concerned—well, yes, it is that he’s concerned. There’s a restless energy to Killian that makes Liam uneasy, worried that he might do something rash. So he watches, from a distance, as Killian sets about finishing his business. He watches his brother seek out many of the men who bore the tales about him, those who still remain at least. He sees the fear in those men’s faces, and the anger. Sometimes he hears their voices, raised and vicious. It pains him to witness these things—not least the shame on Killian’s face—but he forces himself not to interfere. 

His brother is not a man to be trifled with. 

One day he observes Killian deep in conversation with a woman, dark-haired and statuesque. They stand close together in the manner of those who’ve shared a deep intimacy, and even from a distance he can see that they are crying. Killian pulls the woman into his arms where she weeps into his shoulder, and before they part he presses his lips to hers. 

It’s farewell. 

With every interaction Killian’s burden lessens, though he remains weighed down by things Liam can barely fathom. Each night they meet at the blue house, where they sit together and talk. They have three hundred years of catching up to do. As they talk Killian drinks, and Liam has begun to as well. He senses his brother could use company in more than conversation, and it’s not like alcohol can harm the dead. It doesn’t do them much good either, but the phantom rum seems to soothe Killian, and loosen his tongue. 

Though not enough, Liam comes to realise, for Killian to speak of why he’s really here. 

-

Her arrival sparks an uproar such as Liam has never experienced, even in all the time he’s passed in this place. She shouldn’t be here. She can’t be here. It’s not possible. 

Yet here she is. 

Word of it spreads like wildfire; Liam is polishing glasses at the bar where he inexplicably works when it reaches his ears. 

“They say she’s alive,” says one of the regulars, in hushed tones. “Alive, and here.” 

“That’s impossible,” Liam scoffs. “None of the living can come here. And even if they could why would they want to?” 

“She’s here to rescue someone,” the regular replies. “Her true love. That makes it possible, or so they say.” 

“And the man died in sacrifice,” another adds. “Huge sacrifice, before his time.” 

Before his time, Liam thinks. That should rule Killian out. Yet he can’t shake this feeling, this creeping suspicion born of Killian’s refusal to discuss how he died, or how he lived these past few years. There’s a reason this town is his afterlife, and Liam’s too. There’s a reason he’s alone in that big house. 

He sets the glass down, and the rag. “I have to go,” he says. 

-

It couldn’t be more obvious that the woman doesn’t belong. She’s visibly, ostentatiously alive, so full of life she glows. It draws the souls—ghoulishly, Liam thinks—but none dare approach too closely. The woman looks as though if anyone could kill a soul that’s already dead, it’s her. 

She heads down Main Street and Liam follows. Past the diner and the library, around the corner and up the street where Killian lives. A tight knot forms in Liam’s chest as she walks up to the blue house then stops, with her hand on the gate. 

The door flies open and Killian appears on the porch. He stares at the woman, who offers him a smile that strikes Liam as far too tremulous for her take-no-prisoners demeanour. 

“Swan,” Killian chokes. His voice sounds broken. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to save you,” the woman replies. She opens the gate and takes a few steps forward. Killian stumbles off the porch to close the distance between them. 

“You shouldn’t have come,” he says. “You shouldn’t be here, not here. Not you.” 

“I had to, Killian!” She looks up at him imploringly. “You shouldn’t have died like that. You shouldn’t have had to make that choice.” 

She takes his hand and laces their fingers tighter. Killian’s breath catches. “Come back with me, Killian. Come home.” 

“I can’t,” he whispers.

“You can. I know a way.” Her voice drops as she steps closer, but Liam can still hear her words. “Don’t try to make me live the rest of my life without you, Killian Jones,” she says. “I won’t do it.” 

“Swan—” 

“I won’t do it,” she repeats. “I love you.” 

Liam can see the moment Killian breaks. He snatches the woman into his arms, holds her tightly as she clings to him and magic twines palpably around them. This is not what he had with the brunette, Liam realises. That was love, yes, and intimacy. It was grief, deep and terrible but of a normal sort. 

This is agony. This is two souls that should never have been parted and the connection that still binds them, so powerful it can draw a living woman into the land of the dead. 

No wonder Killian couldn’t speak of her, Liam thinks, or of the circumstances of his death. The pain must have been too great. 

Liam’s been dead so long he’s forgotten how sensitive a subject it can be. 

The man died in sacrifice, he recalls. Huge sacrifice, before his time. 

He died for her. And now she’s here to bring him back. 

-

“This feels too soon,” Killian says, as he hugs Liam tight. “I only just found you again.” He pulls back and gives his brother a shrewd look. “And I sense that when I’m here again, you no longer will be.” 

“No,” Liam agrees. His business is finished now. And Killian’s not coming back, not to this place. Not if Emma Swan has anything to say about it. The next time Killian Jones dies it will be with his life’s purpose fully met. 

He’s glad they had this time, though, and not just because he needed it to move on. He’s glad he got to know his brother as a man, a flawed and troubled one, yes, but one who has goodness at his core and is finally where he needs to be. It only took three hundred years for him to get there. 

He’s also glad Killian is still shorter than he is, for all that Liam appears ten years younger than his brother now. He’s glad because he can still wrap his arm around Killian’s neck and ruffle his hair. He does so now, though Killian’s indignant “Oi!” of protest twists his heart. He sounds so like his younger self, that boy Liam spent centuries waiting for and will never see again. 

“I love you, little brother,” he whispers. 

Killian swallows hard, and nods. “I love you too.” 

#cs ff #cs ff au #underworld au #brothers jones #not canon compliant #or especially respectful of it #alternative version of Liam #killian pretty much as is #here there be feels #my own version of the underworld #not quite a ficlet #till we be dead ourselves #profdanglaisstuff

[zaharadessert]

The May

Rating: T

Summary: When Henry goes to rush out the door without his coat, Emma doesn't think anything of the old saying that tumbles from her lips, until her pirate suggests it shouldn't be said quite the way she just said it.

Length: ~1300 words

Notes: A little canon compliant fluff with some mentions of their pasts. 

Thanks to @ultraluckycatnd​ for betaing this fic for me. I actually wrote it while I was on holiday with my mum and step dad on a narrowboat a few months ago after a conversation with my mum. Just goes to show that literally anything can be inspiration. I hope you all enjoy! Art by me!

Tagging: @jrob64​​ @xhookswenchx​​ @kmomof4​​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​​ @superchocovian​​ @lfh1226-linda​​ @teamhook​​ @jonesfandomfanatic​​ @tiganasummertree​​ @onceratheart18​​ @snowbellewells​​ @karlyfr13s​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​​ @ouatpost​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @winterbaby89​ @thepirateandhisson​ @xarandomdreamx

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Also on AO3

- - - - -

“Don’t shed a clout until May is out,” Emma trilled in amusement as Henry grumbled at her insistence on his taking a coat. It was cold outside, and teenager or not, she wasn’t going to let her son freeze. 

“What did you say, Swan?” Killian asked as he came out of the kitchen, following them to the front door, with amusement in his eyes. 

“It means don’t take any layers off until it’s after May because it’s too cold,” she explained, figuring it was a phrase he hadn’t heard before. 

Killian chuckled and shook his head. “Only when you say it wrong.”

“Wrong?” she asked, her forehead furrowed in confusion as she turned to look at him.

Killian nodded, stepping closer to slide his braced arm around her waist. The curve of his hook was a gentle, comforting presence as it glided up and down her spine. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

“Where did you hear that saying anyway, isn’t it a little ‘old school’ for you?” Killian asked gently, his curiosity winning out as his instincts told him he was about to get another insight into his beloved’s beginnings. 

Emma caught her bottom lip between her teeth and glanced away before taking a deep breath and looking back at him. He could see it in her eyes, the fight against her natural instincts to put her walls up. The war between wanting to let him in because she trusted him and the need to protect herself, but there was something else in her eyes too. An uncertainty. 

“You don’t have to tell me, Swan,” he assured her, ducking his head to try and meet her gaze. Never wanting to pressure her into telling him anything but needing her to know that he would always be here to help her deal with whatever came up. They weren’t hiding their issues; they were aware that there were always going to be things that just hadn’t come up yet, and they would help each other through them at the pace they needed to do so. 

“It’s okay, I’m just working out exactly… It was a long time ago,” she clarified. She turned her head towards his and leaned into his forehead. “I was… ten, I guess. Group home down south somewhere. I don’t remember the specifics,” she started.

Killian stayed quiet, watching her casually through his eyelashes as she spoke. He’d heard stories like this before, of the kinds of places they put children like them in this realm. He didn’t know where ‘down south somewhere’ was, but he could tell that Emma wasn’t recalling the place with any kind of fondness. 

“They were pretty religious, and the woman used to watch these super old shows in the evenings. She’d use all these old wives tale type phrases she picked up from them to justify a lot of the weird shit they did.” She sounded like she was reciting, distancing herself from it a little, and Killian worried she had darker recollections of her time in this group home.

Killian nodded slowly in understanding. Silver was like that, using anything and everything to justify his tyrannical rule aboard his ship. 

Emma’s hand appeared on his cheek and he leaned into it. Not realising he’d closed his eyes, he opened them and the mutual pain reflected in their gazes was confirmation that she felt as he did. He hated hearing of the way that people had mistreated Emma when she was younger. The ways she had been betrayed and abandoned, but all the while knowing that it was those pasts that had made them the way they were. Those pasts that had given them the common ground they needed to start to build something. 

That something that had led to this happiness, this trust and this love between them. 

Killian turned his head slightly and kissed the inside of Emma’s wrist, his gaze flicking back up to her eyes as he gave her a reassuring smile. There was a moment of silence as they collected themselves before she continued.

“So, that saying was the only one that ever felt genuine to me. It’s the only one I remember, that hint that maybe, deep down, they did care,” she finished. “They weren’t insane, or especially cruel and it wasn’t bad… but… it was the weirdest group home I was ever in.”

Killian tucked a golden curl behind Emma’s ear with a smile. 

“They still got the saying wrong, Swan.”

“So, what should it be, Mr. Old Fashioned?” she teased. 

“Don’t shed a clout until the may is out.”

“But…” Emma frowned, trying to work out what he meant. “That’s the same thing, how is mine wrong and yours right?”

“Because yours assumes the month of May, where mine means the may blossom on the Hawthorn bush.”

Emma blinked, still not quite getting his point. 

“The idea being that the hawthorn, also known as the ‘may-tree’ due to the month in which it normally blossoms, blossoming is the indication that Spring is underway, on the brink of turning into summer, and the weather is warming up enough that you can put your long johns away.”

Emma tilted her head and was watching him carefully. She felt like she knew the answer to what she was about to ask, but selfishly she wanted to hear him say it anyway. She loved hearing about his happy memories as a child, she wanted to hear him celebrate them and enjoy the fact that he could remember someone who had been that good to him. 

“And where did you hear it?”

Killian’s mouth curled up in a smile and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “My mother,” and the way he said it was warm with nostalgia. “Every time Liam or I were about to walk, or more likely run out of the house without a coat, or with shorts on when we should have had long trews on before the may had blossomed on the Hawthorn tree in the village square.”

Running her nails through the scruff along his jaw, Emma pulled her head back a little to look at him properly. 

“You may have been through a lot, Killian, but your Mom sure started you off right.”

“Aye, she did,” his voice was still warm with the love for his mother that he held onto like a talisman.

Emma pressed a tender kiss to his cheek and pulled away to go and make sure her son had actually picked up his coat and not ignored her. 

Aye, his mother had started him off right. Made sure he’d recognise a woman worth fighting for when he found one. 

Emma came back, carrying his leather duster and a cheeky smile. 

“I have no idea if the may is out or not, but it’s really cold out there. Last thing I need is a frostbitten pirate. You’re my personal space heater, not the other way around.”

With a smile, Killian shrugged the familiar leather onto his shoulders. 

“Leading by example, I can do that,” he told her with a smile. 

Emma paused to rest her hand on his upper arm, giving him a soft, appreciative smile before her hand slid down to curl around his hook and led the way to the front door. 

#cs ff #Captain Swan #ZaharaDessert Writes #The May #One Shot #fluff #mild angst #canon compliant

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “The Simplest Touch”

Today’s selection is an older one shot I wrote during 3b, back when Emma was still fighting hard against that attraction and connection she definitely felt with her pirate, still not sure she wanted to make the strange little town of Storybrooke (and all that came with it) her permanent home. There all of these beautiful little quiet moments between CS in that stretch of the show, and particularly in 3x18 - that almost-touch of Killian’s hand at Emma’s back! - which really prompted this.  It’s pretty much canon compliant up to that point as well.

The reason I’ve truly chosen it for this Sunday’s Self-Promo though is that I shamelessly want to show all of you and sing the praises of the fic art to accompany it that was made for my this week by @searchingwardrobes​. <3  Thank you so much for this lovely story cover art Melanie! I’m so flattered at the thought and how wonderfully it fits the story I had in mind. 

Summary: In the moments between scenes in 3x18's "Bleeding Through" there is more brewing under the surface for Emma and her pirate than they yet know how to express...

Notes: This little one shot fits right into show canon during episode 3x18, and more than being divergent or AU, it’s missing moments in a way - or at least, it’s the thoughts and feelings behind some of the quieter, tiny moments we saw onscreen.  I was attempting some stylistic things in this, and to switch from Emma to Killian’s point of view at various moments in that episode. I still think the result turned out pretty well. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

"The Simplest Touch"

by: @snowbellewells​

He acts as though he is cursed.

Emma Swan doesn't understand what has changed in the pirate captain, but something is different. His eyes haven't twinkled mischievously at her these last few days, and she suddenly realizes how much she liked the playful attention, how it made her cheeks flush and her heart beat fast, even as she rolled her eyes and pushed him away. His innuendos are missing from their most recent interactions, and though Emma did nothing to encourage his outrageous attentions when he was lobbing them at her constantly, she feels strangely bereft now that they are gone. When he does toss her a line now, it feels empty without the lascivious heat and intent, and she comes close to begging Hook to tell her what is wrong, what has changed…why he no longer seems to want her.

Thinking back over the past week, Emma cannot come up with any new disagreements they have had, insults or slights directed at Hook. There is no way for her to question him the way she wants without revealing just how much she really cares, how much he does mean to her. Instead, she practices her magic, making sure she can protect him – and all of those she loves – prompts and playfully needles him while trying not to let his blackened mood and purposeful distance sting…and she hopefully watches and waits.

^^^00000000000000000000000000000000000^^^^

She touches his stump as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

It nearly steals his breath, heat rising unbidden within him at the sensation of her fingers lightly gripping the leather that covers his violently truncated wrist. So many years – literal ages – have passed since anyone made to hold what was once his left hand, and the sensation of warmth and comfort would risk bringing him to his knees if he were not already seated at Regina's table. Most avoid getting anywhere near his left arm, and especially the prosthetic hook and brace, but his Swan has surprised him once again and claimed even more of his affection.

Killian Jones, notorious pirate captain and erstwhile villain of the realms, is holding his breath at the mere pressure of a lost princess's fingers, but he cannot help the reaction. For one horrified second, he had wanted to shy away from her, pull his arm from her grasp for fear she would make contact with the amputated limb and show disgust, but he had held himself steady, and now he is praying that she doesn't let go. Emma prompts inexplicable reactions within him: thaws parts of him long frozen in hatred and anger and makes him want to feel. Her simplest touch can do things to him that the most powerful magician surely could not accomplish. This though, is new and even more intimate. Her gentle clasp around his brace, that he swears he can feel completely even through the heavy leather, shows no fear, no horror or repulsion, and speaks to him of nothing more than pure, blessed acceptance. His devotion to her swells even higher – when he could have sworn he would never be able to love her more than he already did.

Her fingers clasp just a bit tighter, holding on that tiniest bit more firmly, almost as though she wants to stroke his skin. Her eyes lift from where they have followed her fingers' movements to meet his gaze. She gives him a wavering half-smile, in spite of the chaos and dead witch summoning about to begin, nods to him slightly, and he simply knows. They are in this together now, and they will be from now on…

^^^^0000000000000000000000000000^^^^

He had nearly guided her down the stairs with a hand at the small of her back.

Emma sucks in a sharp breath at the tingling sensation he causes with his good hand wavering just shy of touching her until he snatches it away. Whatever has been troubling Hook is still present; he retreats just before making physical contact, and it has the effect of making Emma feel starved for his touch. She doesn't understand the reversal that seems to have taken place; her following him, being drawn to him, and Hook pulling away from her, but he seems to have decided he is some sort of poison – a threat – the way he so studiously avoids contact when always before he has been creeping into her personal space.

They are preparing to leave Regina's after the failed séance, to make another patrol seeking signs of the Wicked Witch. She wants to pull him after her, drag him off into the woods where they can find some true privacy, not be overheard, and she can demand that he explain what is troubling him. The near-touch was tantalizing enough in its assumed closeness and almost possessive nature. The pirate captain, for all his dangerous rebel tendencies, is an old-fashioned gentleman when all is said and done. The chivalry in his nature still sometimes steals the breath of a formerly unwanted, ignored, orphan Lost Girl. Moments like this one, where they are about to go out seeking danger again, show her anew that he is right here at her back, intending to guard it with all that he has.

She brushes her hair back impatiently from her face, stealing a quick glance over her shoulder at Hook before turning again to precede him down the steps. There are too many words she wants to say to him for the company they have and the task they are attempting, but she wants him to know that she is onto him, she sees what he is doing, and she wants to help. He wouldn't allow her to be alone in a world of lies, and so now she won't let him drown in whatever lie he is determinedly keeping.

Her skin burns with longing for the touch he almost gave unthinkingly, and then robbed them both of. She is not accustomed to letting someone else take care of her; it is a concession, a weakness that has always made her distinctly uncomfortable. Wanting to allow him so much of her now is both frightening and a long-awaited relief. They will fix whatever has been marred – she will not leave him alone until he tells her his secret – so that she has the chance to experience how good letting him in could be.

^^^^0000000000000000000000000^^^

Killian knows that he has been cursed.

If he had thought there was any loophole, any way to lessen the pain for what has been lost, he sees now that those were vain hopes.

He watches Emma darkly as he broods in his seat at one of the booths in Granny's Diner. She seems so light, so happy, since she has just made a mug of cocoa with cinnamon appear before her at the counter, and he wants to smile, to chuckle along with her, and celebrate her unparalleled brilliance when she magically makes it disappear and reappear in front of him. He does not wish to darken her mood or spoil her moment, but he cannot bring much joy to the surface either.

Cringing at himself, Killian wants to stab his hook into his own chest when he snaps at her for playfully stealing the weapon with her powers. The mischievous light in her eyes flickers fitfully, and she stops teasing him, lowering into the other bench at his claimed table. She starts to reach out, to take his hand, and he wants so badly to meet her halfway, to pull her close, to rain kisses all over her face and tell her everything. Knowing that he can do neither seems almost too cruel to bear, but he cannot give in. The risk is too great; he will not have anyone else he loves hurt because he fails them.

Something in Emma's expression makes him think she knows, or has guessed, more than he realized, and he lets himself dare to hope that she understands his fear. She cocks her head, raising an eyebrow at him curiously and blowing out a tense breath. Finally, she comes out and asks him beseechingly what is wrong. He leans forward, literally biting his tongue so as not to let it all pour from him in a rush.

Then Belle is there interrupting breathlessly, and Emma snaps back to attention, a true leader through and through. He cannot help watching her in awe, drawn to stay near her; despite the pain it causes, he cannot separate from her. He watches her make up her mind and stand from the table. Following her, he cannot help believing in this tough, street smart princess, and hoping that there may still be a cure for Killian Jones – a chance for redemption at the touch of Emma Swan.

#self promo sunday #cs one shot #ouat 3b missing moments ff #the simplest touch #cs canon compliant #gorgeous cs fic art #thank you a million @searchingwardrobes

[hollyethecurious]

CSSS 2019: The Christmas Bean

A/N: Merry Christmas @clockadile​​! “Tis I, your CS Secret Santa! It was such a pleasure chatting with you these past few weeks. My gift to you is this one shot inspired by some of our conversations. It is set post S6, the first Christmas after Henry leaves to go find his own story. I hope you enjoy it!!

Thanks to mods of the @cssecretsanta2k19​​​ for putting this event together, and all my love to @kmomof4​​​ and @winterbaby89​​ for giving this a once over for me

Summary: Canon compliant, post S6. Travel between realms has never been easy. Unless you happen to have a magical item that opens portals. When Emma and Killian are gifted with magic beans, they can’t quite agree on how best to use them during the holiday season.

Rated G / ~2250 words / Available on ao3 / buy me a coffee

~/~

It really shouldn’t have been so much of a surprise. Most of the town knew Anton (or Tiny, as he was affectionately known) had been cultivating a crop of magic beans. He’d already gifted one to Henry Mills in honor of his graduation, and the young man had used it several weeks later to go find his own story. Still. When the former giant had announced he’d be gifting beans to those closest to him, as well as several randomly selected townsfolk, so they could use them to visit loved ones in different realms over the holidays, the denizens of Storybrooke had been momentarily stunned with utter gratitude.

Tiny distributed the beans at Thanksgiving, along with instructions for their use since he’d made some modifications to this particular variety of legume. Each bean would open a portal to the user’s desired location, and the same portal would reopen twenty-four hours later, thus ensuring a way back.

Regina had wasted no time in announcing her intentions of using her bean to check in on Henry, and invited Emma and Killian to join her. The three of them were heartened to find their young man faring so well, even if they were astonished at how much he’d aged in those few short months after spending time in a realm where time passed differently than their own. They spent a glorious day hearing all about Henry’s adventures and even met a friend, Nick, he’d met during his journey. When the time came for them to return to Storybrooke, Emma had tried to give Henry her bean so he could come home whenever he was ready, but her son had flat out refused.

“No, mom,” Henry protested. “Use your bean to go see Elsa. I know how much you’ve missed her.”

Indeed, it had been Emma’s plan to take a trip to Arendelle after Regina had offered to take them all to see Henry, just as Killian had planned to use his bean to drop in on Nemo and his little brother, Liam. Killian took the lad’s side and encouraged his Swan to hold onto her bean so she could visit her friend at Christmas. Ever the sly pirate, though, he slipped his own bean into Henry’s pocket when he gave the boy - who was very much his own man, and one Killian could not be more proud of - a final hug of farewell.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Emma kept insisting Killian get the Jolly Roger ready to set sail so they could use his bean to see Nemo and Liam, unaware that he was no longer in possession of it. He waved off her suggestions, ensuring her there’d be time enough once they returned from Arendelle, not wanting her to know the truth of the matter, lest she forego the use of her own bean in an attempt to bid him to go see his family instead.

He should have known she’d suss out the truth, though.

“Killian,” she began one morning several days before Christmas.

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to remember that I’ll know if you lie to me when you answer.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Swan. You know that,” Killian replied.

Emma cocked a brow at him and folded her arms over her chest.

Guiltily rubbing at the patch of skin behind his ear that always seemed to flare when she looked at him like that, Killian added, “I might side-step the question from time to time, or give an answer that doesn’t include the entire truth, but never with any nefarious intent. Do you really expect me to tell you what gifts await you beneath the tree? That would take all the fun out of it.”

“I’m not going to ask you what you got me for Christmas.” Emma rolled her eyes at her pirate’s attempt to skirt the issue and resolved to not let his charm override the seriousness of her question. “I want to know if you still have your bean.”

Killian furrowed his brows and gave his wife a perplexed look. “Why would you ask that, love?”

“Because you side-step the conversation every time I bring up going to see Liam and Nemo. And it would be just like you to give your bean away to someone you thought more worthy of getting to see their loved ones over the holidays.”

Killian sighed. His Swan knew him too well.

“I gave it to Henry,” he confessed. “Dropped it into his pocket without his knowledge before we left.”

The two stood staring at one another for long moments. Emma’s expression betrayed the war her mind was waging with itself, wanting to be angry with him for giving his bean away when he’d insisted she keep hers, but not able to fault him for gifting it to Henry, knowing how much they both missed him. Killian held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

It wasn’t one he’d expected.

Plucking her phone from her back pocket, Emma began to forcefully tap the buttons before putting the device to her ear. It took Killian several moments to comprehend what she was doing when she started conversing with the person on the other end of the line.

“Mr. Smee, it’s Emma. I need you to ready the Jolly Roger for the Captain and me.”

“Belay that order, Mr. Smee!” Killian hollered as he took hurried steps towards Emma.

“Don’t listen to him, Smee,” Emma countered while attempting to stay out of her husband’s grasp. “Call me back when she’s ready to set sail.”

Emma ended the call just as Killian caught her. “Swan, what are you doing?”

“Taking you to see your brother and Nemo.” She jut out her chin towards him, her silent act of defiance and stubborn resolve.

Killian let go another sigh and wrapped his arms around her. “You don’t have to do that, love. I know how you’ve longed to see Elsa. I won’t take that opportunity from you.”

“Yeah, I have missed her. But Liam is your family. Your only family. You should go see him. There will be other beans.”

“Exactly,” he argued. “In another few years, when Anton is able to harvest the beans again, I’ll go see Liam and Nemo. You should use your bean to go to Arendelle.”

Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Killian cut her off with a press of his lips.

“No arguments, Swan,” he murmured at the end of their kiss. “You’re using that bean to go see Elsa.”

“Fine. I’ll use the bean to go see Elsa,” Emma huffed against his lips before flicking her eyes open to look up at him from beneath her lashes. A smile started to lift at the corners of Killian’s mouth at his wife’s acquiescence, but was stalled by her next words. “As soon as you have another bean to go see Liam with.”

Patting him on the chest, Emma brushed past Killian as he muttered, “Bloody stubborn woman.”

And stubborn she was. For the next few days they were at a stalemate regarding the Christmas bean, each of them roping in their friends and family to try and talk sense into the other. It was all for naught, though. Killian was every bit as resolute as his wife, and refused to budge on the issue.

“Ugh! Why are you being such a pigheaded pirate about this?” Emma exclaimed while they were getting ready to go to Granny’s for her annual holiday party.

“That is your bean, Swan,” Killian reminded her for the upteenth time. “For you to go see your friend.”

“But Liam is your brother!”

“And Elsa is like a sister to you, and one of the only people in all the realms you can claim for your own.”

Emma blanched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Killian sank down onto the bed and beckoned his wife to join him. Once settled he imparted, “I know you have friends here, love. But none of them are… just yours.” He scrubbed his hand down his face, knowing he wasn’t making himself clear and desperate for her to see the issue as he did. “You told me when you first came here, how special a friendship you had with your mother before the curse broke. Even though you two are still close, I know it isn’t the same as it was. You miss that special bond of friendship you had with Mary Margaret and I suspect the only other time you’ve ever felt it was with Elsa.”

“I have friends here, Killian,” she assured him.

“Aye, love. But none that are just yours. You and Regina had no other choice than to become friends, for Henry’s sake. Most of the other ladies in town were your mother’s friends first back in the Enchanted Forest. And though you and Belle get on well, you consider her more my friend than yours. Elsa is your friend. Just yours.”

“But–”

“No buts, Swan,” Killian persisted. “You put everyone before yourself far too often. This time, you’re going to put yourself first.”

Emma’s shoulders dropped in surrender and she leaned forward to rest her forehead to his. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“Completely, love.”

The next morning, two days before Christmas, Emma relented and used her bean to make the long awaited trip to Arendelle. Killian usually despised being separated from his Swan, especially by realms, but had insisted she go without him in order to make the most of her and Elsa’s time together. He knew it had been the right decision when she returned with a big smile on her face, a rosy hue on her cheeks, and one tight hug with a lingering kiss.

“Miss me?” Killian cheeked with his arms still securely embracing his wife.

Emma gave him a coy smile and shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

Lacing their fingers together, they went inside the house where Emma told Killian all about her visit.

Later that evening, while enjoying some hot cocoa and snuggled up by the fire together, Emma sighed. “I wish travel between realms was easier. I hate knowing it’ll be years before we have another bean crop.”

“Aye, love, me too,” Killian lamented with her. “Wouldn’t it be grand to simply set sail on the Roger and bring our season’s greetings to all our loved ones in person each year?”

“Visit them on their birthdays.”

“Celebrate milestones with them.”

“Drop by your parent’s house unannounced, hoping to spend Christmas with them even though you don’t have any gifts to give them,” a voice added, snapping both Emma and Killian’s attention to their open front door.

“Henry?!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“I wanted to spend Christmas with you guys,” he told them while embracing each in a warm hug. “I used the bean Hook gave me - very sneaky of you, by the way - to get here.”

Emma embraced her son once more, fighting back tears and swallowing past the emotional lump in her throat. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Even if it is sans gift,” Henry joked.

“You’re the only gift we need, my boy,” Killian assured him.

Christmas Day, everyone was thrilled to see Henry when he, Emma, and Killian arrived at the Charming’s farm for the day’s festivities. They all ate their fill, played games, exchanged gifts, sang songs, and ate some more. When the time came for the Swan-Jones family to return home so Henry could catch his portal, Emma put on a full court press to convince her son to stay.

“Mom, I can’t. I have to finish this journey I started.”

“I know,” Emma relented. “I just wish I knew when we’ll see each other again.”

“Yeah, um… about that.” A smile teased Henry’s lips as he pulled an envelope out of his back pocket.

“What’s this?” Emma asked, taking the proffered envelope from her son.

“Your Christmas gift. Well… not just yours,” he hedged. “Go on. Open it, you’ll see what I mean.”

With Killian at her side, Emma lifted the tucked flap and pulled out a heavy piece of parchment. Written in Henry’s familiar script, it read:

From this day forth, travel between realms will no longer require the use of an object to open a portal. A portal will open in each land, at a designated time and place for its citizens’ to use at will. Objects, such as beans, will only be required should a person not wish to wait for the scheduled portal

Their eyes snapped up, both of their mouths hanging open, causing Henry to chuckle.

“Seriously? You can do that?”

“I’m the Author. Of course I can. Which reminds me…” Henry took the parchment back from his mother and pulled out his Author’s pen. “It’s not official until I finish the sentence.” With a quick stroke, he added the period to the end of the line and a sweeping energy seemed to vibrate through the air from where the page glowed with magic. A moment later, Henry’s portal opened. “I assume I can leave it to the two of you to spread the word about my gift to the realms?”

“Aye, son. Leave it with us,” Killian told him before pulling him in for one final hug.

“Yup,” Emma agreed, not letting Henry leave without one last embrace from her as well. “And I know just who to start with.” She gave her husband a pointed look which prompted him to pull out his phone.

“I’ll have Smee ready the Jolly Roger.”

The End

Tagging the Curious Crew:

@kmomof4​​ @sals86​ @jennjenn615​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​ @artistic-writer​​ @courtorderedcake​​ @winterbaby89​​ @snowbellewells​​ @heavenlyjoycastle​​ @sunshine2632​​ @stahlop​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @kday426​​ @cocohook38​​ @unworried-corsair​​ @aprilqueen84​​ @tiganasummertree​​ @angellifedeath​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​ @wyntereyez​​ @ultimiflos​​ @superchocovian​​ @qualitycoffeethings​​ @facesiousbutton82​​ @theonceoverthinker​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​ @lillpon​​ @killianjonesownsmyheart1​​ @shardminds​​ @skystar87​​ @teamhook​​ @therooksshiningknight​​

#cs ff #csff #cs fic #csss2019 #captain swan #canon compliant #post season 6 #cs holiday #Killian Jones #emma swan #henry mills #the christmas bean #art by hollye #words by hollye

[aprilqueen84]

WYLEI Sneak Peak

I might have a sneak peak of the next chapter coming your way tonight!! I really hope people are still invested in this story and excited for the ending!!

#Captain Swan #when you least expect it #cs ff #cs fic #killian jones #emma swan jones #canon compliant #until s6 #then #cs canon divergence

[the-captains-ayebrows]

Here, have some post-canon domestic CS while I try to remember how to write. Rated T for swearing and implied sexytimes. ~1200 words

“Ouch! Dammit! Shit!”

Emma rinsed the blood off her hand and glared at the shattered remains of Killian’s favorite coffee mug, knowing full well she only had about 5 seconds before-

“Are you alright, love?” Killian bustled into the kitchen, blue eyes wide with worry. For a fearsome pirate captain, he could sure be a fussy mother hen sometimes.

Emma sighed. “Yes, I’m fine. But I think your ‘Captain Studmuffin’ mug is a goner.” Slippery little fucker had slid right out of her soapy hands and without thinking, she’d reached for it and stabbed the hell out of her finger.

“Emma, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine.”

“Let me see.”

“It’s just a little cut. It’ll stop in a sec.”

“Swan.”

“Hook.”

Emma crossed her arms, holding her wounded finger up a bit so it wouldn’t touch the sleeve of her sweater, and studied her husband. These days it was usually ‘Emma’ and ‘Killian’. ‘Hook’ and ‘Swan’ only came out during the two F’s: fighting and foreplay. She hadn’t decided which F this was yet.

Killian cocked an eyebrow, leaning closer into her space and she was getting an inkling now. Yep, that feeling below her belt was definitely an inkling.

He smiled that smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and gently took her injured hand. His thumb caressed the lifeline on her palm.

“I feel we’re treading in familiar territory, love.”

“Mmhm,” Emma answered grinning despite herself. “And you’re just as stubborn as ever, but this time you don’t have a giant as an excuse to play doctor with me.”

Killian kissed the tip of her finger, which had, in fact, stopped bleeding by now, and released her hand. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in tight. His stubble tickled her cheek as he murmured in her ear, “Aye, but I’ve still got that scarf upstairs in the bureau drawer. Perhaps we can find some other use for it?”

Emma responded with a low, throaty laugh and pushed away from him. “Make sure the deadbolt is locked and meet me upstairs, Captain.”

Killian grinned knowingly and made to secure the front door. She only called him ‘Captain’ for the third F - their very favorite F of all.

-/-

The next morning, Killian came downstairs to find his coffee and newspaper waiting for him on the kitchen table. The scene was familiar enough, but the blue ceramic vessel holding his morning dose of caffeine was clearly new. Emblazoned on the mug was a little pale blue anchor and white letters proclaiming: “I have the vocabulary of a well educated sailor.”

Killian smiled to himself at Emma’s thoughtfulness. He knew she had always enjoyed his way with words, but it surprised him that she had managed to find a gift so specifically suited to him. He was, in fact, a well educated sailor after all, both from his time in the Royal Navy and his years of personal study thereafter. He planned to thank her very thoroughly whenever she returned home from her early shift at the station.

He settled into his morning routine, taking the occasional sip from his new mug between filling in the answers to the daily crossword. He found himself stuck on 12 down when he heard keys jangling at the back door. Killian looked up as his step-son strode into the kitchen, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Henry, m’lad! Everything alright? We weren’t expecting you back until after school.”

“I’m good, I just left a book upstairs that I need for class today.”

“Ah, I see. Can you spare a moment? You’re just the man I need for this accursed puzzle.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Another pop culture reference in the crossword?” Killian nodded and Henry sat down across from him, placing his backpack in another empty chair. “Let’s hear it.”

“Four letters. ‘Professor Henry Walton Jones, as called by his friends’.”

“It’s ‘Indy’. I-N-D-Y,” Henry answered. “As in Indiana Jones? Yeah, we’re definitely watching Raiders of the Lost Ark on our next movie night.”

Killian penciled in the letters as Henry had spelled them. “Perfect! These bloody modern references catch me every time. Thank you, lad. I like to think I otherwise have a rather impressive command of the English language.”

Henry laughed. “Yeah, we could probably call you Professor Jones.”

“Too right.” Killian took a sip of his coffee, making sure the print on the side of the cup faced Henry. “Your mother seems to be enamored of my vocabulary.”

Henry squinted at the writing. “Wait, mom gave you that? That’s a little ironic coming from her.”

“How do you mean?”

Henry stood, a wry smile tilting his lips. “Well, if anyone in this house swears like a sailor, it’s mom.”

Killian scowls, completely taken aback. “Swears like a-”

“Anyway, I better grab my book before I miss the bus.” Henry snatched up his book bag and headed toward the stairs before Killian could finish his thought.

He was still stewing a couple minutes later when he heard a muffled “See you guys tonight!” followed by an unceremonious slam of the door.

‘Swear like a sailor’, eh? In his day, the Royal Navy highly disapproved of swearing. Terrible form for a man in uniform. Pirates were a different matter, he supposed, but even as the dreaded Captain Hook he only ever uttered the occasional ‘damn’ or ‘bloody.’ Foul language had never been his vice of choice.

So, this must be a modern expression lost on him. Usually, he knew when Emma was quoting something - as much as he knew she loved that he didn’t know what it was - but this? This felt more like an opening salvo. Shots fired across his bow. Far be it from him to ignore a challenge from his Swan.

-/-

When Emma came back to her office after a quick trip to the ladies’ room, she hadn’t expected to find her pirate sitting on her desk. Manspreading should be annoying, not attractive, but dammit if he didn’t look tempting perched up there wearing that stupid smirk that still did things to her even after a year of marriage.

She bit her lower lip to stifle a smile and moved to stand between his thighs, fully planning to kiss the smirk off his face. Before she reached him, however, he hopped down and held out his left arm, a small gift bag dangling from his hook.

Emma tentatively accepted the bag. “What’s this?”

“Can’t a man give his wife a present for no reason at all?”

“He can…” Emma narrowed her eyes. Yes, Killian was prone to spontaneous romantic gestures, but he was giving off a weird vibe here. No, not weird exactly. What’s the word?

“Don’t open it until I leave, darling, but I saw this in an after-Christmas sale and it struck me as the perfect thank you to you for the lovely mug you gave me yesterday morning.” He leaned in and gave her a quick-and-dirty kiss that left her toes tingling, then slipped past her out of her office.

“See you at home, love,” he called back over his shoulder.

Frisky, Emma decided. The word she was looking for was frisky.

Emma rushed to her desk chair and sat down to open her present. Inside the bag she found a white porcelain coffee mug emblazoned with a smiling gingerbread man holding a candy cane. Well that explained the ‘after-Christmas’ part, but-

“Sonnuvabitch.” Emma grinned, shaking her head slightly. Just above the gingerbread man’s shoulder in cheerful red and green letters were the words “Bite Me!”

“Oh, Captain,” she thought aloud, “just wait ‘til I get home.”

#cs ff #cs canon compliant #cs canon extension #captain swan ff #cs post canon #yes those are my favorite mugs #hollie versus the writing slump #be nice i'm rusty

[blowmiakisscolin]

What’s in a Name? // CS FF

I saw this prompt thread on Twitter and I just couldn’t resist writing a drabble/short oneshot to go with it.

Fluff and Killian ‘Feminist Icon’ Jones. That’s basically it. Word count: 970

They'd been married for six months when Killian first heard about it. He'd been watching some soap opera he could never remember the name of, on the magic box they kept in the sheriff station for slow shifts. He often put it on for some background noise if he was covering a shift alone, having become accustomed to Emma's preference for having the radio or TV on at home most of the time.

He was paying more attention to the soap opera than he usually would, fascinated by the conversation two characters were having about marriage and the changing of names. He hadn't been aware of any such tradition, and it perplexed him. Why had Emma never mentioned it? Had she not wished to uphold that tradition or was it considered uncouth to discuss it?

Pulling out his cell phone, he decided to ask the father of his bride, casually inquiring as to whether the changing of last names was a common - or even a required - tradition to go along with marriage in this realm.

"Yeah, it's the norm in this realm," David text back quickly, "You don't have to change last names as a rule, but most do. Or they combine both. Like...in your case, it could be Swan-Jones."

Nodding thoughtfully as he read over his friend's response, he grabbed a pen and the paperwork he'd been planning to sign off on. He was already six months overdue, he thought, so quickly decided that there was no better time than the present to start using his new name…

CS

Emma frowned in confusion, scanning the paperwork she had to co-sign and file that day. She was sat at her desk in the station, and the signature she was staring at was a little different than the one she was used to seeing from her husband.

"Killian Swan…?" She muttered, "What the hell-"

"Love, they were out of bearclaws, so I got you-...what's the matter?"

Killian appeared in the doorway, brandishing a paper Storybrooke Bakery bag that clearly contained their breakfasts but which was quickly forgotten when he saw the frown on his wife's face. She held up one of the papers he'd signed the day before.

"What's this?"

She asked softly, and his eyes fell on his new-and-improved signature in his usual neat cursive at the bottom of the page. He blushed and shifted on the spot, wishing he had a hand free to scratch behind his ear as he felt the tips of them burning. Emma was gazing at him with a soft smile now, but he still felt a little embarrassed, worried he'd committed some kind of cardinal marital sin by assuming she'd want him to take her name.

"I just thought...well, I spoke to your father and he said...and it was on the picture box too...I thought...I'm sorry, love, I just assumed it'd be alright. I should've asked you, I know. Forgive me? Your father said a name change with marriage was the norm in this realm…"

Emma's smile softened even more, if that was possible, and then she started laughing, adoration in her eyes as she stood up and stepped closer to him. Taking the paper bag out of his hands and dropping it on her desk, she turned her attention back to him and pressed a kiss to his blushing cheek. Pulling back, she cupped his face in her hands and smiled lovingly up at him.

"Oh, babe. This is maybe the most adorable thing you've ever done. It's true, there's usually a name change, and sometimes the man will take the woman's name. But it's more commonly the other way around."

Killian looked baffled for a moment, and then his eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up incredulously.

"Wait...you mean you take my name?"

He asked, awe in his voice at the very idea of the amazing woman in front of him sharing his name. Emma nodded, giggling again and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips before turning turning back to her desk and searching through a stack of papers. Killian shook his head, still reeling from the revelation of something Emma had taken in her stride. He'd felt honored by the idea of sharing her name, but somehow the idea of her taking his made his heart grow even bigger, feeling fit to burst with love for her.

Emma finally found what she'd been looking for, and handed him another piece of paper, a shy smile on her face now. His gaze dropped to the bottom of the page, his heart soaring as he saw her pretty scrawl. Her new signature.

Emma Swan-Jones.

"Bloody hell."

He whispered, and he didn't even bother putting the paper down before pulling her into his arms and kissing her soundly. She chuckled against his lips, happily letting him deepen the kiss and revelling in the freedom they had to make-out like teenagers in the otherwise-empty station. Eventually, she pulled back with reluctance but a coy grin played at the corners of her well-kissed lips.

"Maybe we should practice our new signatures, if you want to be a Swan-Jones too."

She said playfully. He growled at the suggestive purr in her voice, and kicked the door to her office shut behind him as she lowered the blinds. They'd be spending most of the afternoon practising something, but it probably wouldn't be their signatures...

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs fluff #captain swan fluff #cs oneshot #captain swan oneshot #cs drabble #fluffy drabble #canon compliant #mia writes fics #mia writes oneshots

[sambethe]

CS FF: Hush

A/N: I wrote a little something for the CS Storybook, Volume 2. I opted for a missing scene that falls at the end of Dark Hollow and before the events of Think Lovely Thoughts picks up. @gingerchangeling did a lovely little piece of Emma sitting by the fire to accompany it - go check it out here!

Summary: Emma just needs a break, figuratively and metaphorically. Hook may be the one to give it to her.

Words: 1400 | Rated: gen | ao3

+++

It’s another day down, and another night with Henry out there, alone. It’s enough to make Emma want to steal Neal’s lighter and burn the island down. Take her – take Neal’s - cutlass and hack a path to Henry. Instead she distracts herself by poking at the fire in front of her, watching the embers spark and pop as she disturbs them with the stick she pulled from the brush earlier.

From the corner of her eye she can see Mary Margaret roll out her bedding next to David’s. They still don’t seem to be talking, exactly, but there's a thaw between them. They have once again slid back into that practiced ease of theirs, moving around and with one another seamlessly. It both warms her heart and makes her burn with jealousy. Leaves her with a whole host of what ifs that she tamps down brutally before they can take up residence in her chest, where she is already too full of wants and worries for Henry.

Emma wishes she could say the same of her and Neal. He’s been quiet since they returned from the hollow and set up the night’s camp, curling up on his own bedroll, his back to the fire – and all of them. She doesn’t know whether to huff a sigh and roll her eyes, or hit him in the chest and tell him to get it together. Petulance isn’t what she needs from anyone at this point. She’s feeling enough of it herself.

She meant what she said back in Echo Cave. It would be easier to put everything with him behind her. She doesn’t want face all of it again, doesn’t want to think about the way every part of her cracks when she sees his face. How the ache forms in her chest and begins to gnaw once more, a steady reminder that she has never been enough for someone stay.

But if Neal being here, being back, means there’s a chance Henry doesn’t have to grow up without him, she would face that age-old ache and then some. Because she’ll be damned if Henry ever has to spend one moment more wondering if he matters, to her or anyone else.

Then there’s Hook.

She stabs at the fire again, sliding the stick deep into the embers, shifting them around even when she knows she should leave them be. He shifts behind her as she does, ducking beneath some branches at the edge of the clearing. She wars with herself about whether she should ask, and the words slip from her mouth before she’s realized she’s made up her mind.

“Where are you going?”

She keeps herself from turning as she asks, though, not wanting to see the hint of a smirk on his face or the teasing lift of his eyebrow. She can hear him pause, the swish of his overlong coat fading, and she wonders if he’s turned back towards her or if he, too, refuses to look.

“There’s a river nearby, thought I would get us some fresh water.”

She turns at that point and finds him with the straps of a few canteens wrapped around his hand. Before he can move further, she stands, brushing dirt from her pants.

He waves her off. “You don’t have to. I’ll be back in a tic.”

Not answering, she grabs the cutlass from the top her own bedroll and moves past him. “Let’s go,” she grunts, hacking at the brush in front of her despite the fact they had cleared it away on their way in.

They aren’t more than a few steps from the clearing when his hand wraps around her wrist, stilling her before she can raise her arm for another useless swipe. She glares back at him but doesn’t shrug him off.

“How about we try for a quieter approach?” he asks, one finger rubbing at the side of her wrist. “Not attract any Lost Boys unnecessarily?”

His thumb at her pulse point makes her want to lean back, to sink against him, but she catches herself before she follows that instinct. Slowly rolling her shoulder, she steps forward. Hook drops her hand and steps past her with a nod, taking the path that forks to the right. He doesn’t look to see if she’s followed and she wants to roll her eyes at that, but falls into line behind him instead.

They are quiet as they walk, allowing the sounds of the crickets and cicadas to settle around them. At least she imagines them to be crickets and cicadas. She doesn’t want to ask and risk finding out that even the bugs on this island are the stuff of childhood nightmares. It isn’t long before the trickle of water joins the chirping, and after another bend, the overgrown path dead ends into small river.

Hook drops the canteens to the ground along the bank and shrugs off his coat. She stands at the edge of the water. The quiet that surrounds them is almost soothing. If she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend they are back in Storybrooke. Home and safe, or whatever counts for that there.

“Take off your shoes, love.”

“Huh?”

Emma turns back to find he has shed his vest as well, leaving him in his thin, billowy shirt. His boots are discarded and he’s rolled up the ends of his pants, exposing his ankles and shins. She’s not sure if she’s ever seen this much of his skin and she’s sure she’s staring with her mouth hanging open.

If she is though, he ignores it and nods to the water as he takes a step forward. “The water runs warm. When nights go cold like this one, it’s a good respite.”

“You came out here to play in the water?”

“There’s nothing more we can do for Henry tonight, and we are no good to your boy if we haven’t rested. This...” He reaches his arm out and gestures for her to join him. “This allows me to relax. Come, try it.”

She narrows her eyes and drops a hand to her hip.

“Swan.”

The way her drawls her name sends a shiver through her that she tries hard to ignore. Rather than answer, she rolls her eyes, but lifts a leg so she can remove her boot. She does the same with her other foot and then leans down to roll up her pants. Hook is smiling by the time she is done and encourages her out into the water.

He’s right, not that she wants to tell him that, and for a brief moment she wishes the water was deep enough to dunk herself in. Then she shakes away the thought. She doesn’t want to think about the last time she’s had a shower, or have a reminder of just how long it has been since Henry was home and safe.

After a few minutes, Hook moves back to the river bank, settling down on the soft grass there, stretching out to leave his feet at the water’s edge. She watches him, drawn to the way the bones of his ankle stand out, the lines and sinews of them tempting. The hair of his legs stops just above the knob of bone, and her fingers itch to follow the swirls of it in the same way he held her wrist earlier.

She stops herself though, sitting down next to him and purposely leaving a decent gap of space between them. Her fingers tangle through the grass beneath them, and she tugs a bit but not enough to pull it up. Keeping her attention at her hand, she quietly asks, “Can you tell me again?”

“What’s that?”

“That we’ll find Henry? That we’ll keep him safe?”

She slaps her toes against the surface of the water, enjoying the small beads that land on the tops of her feet and how their warmth seeps into her skin. Hook extends a foot towards hers, poking at her ankle with his big toe until she finally relents and looks at him.

“You’ll get your boy back, love, of that I’ve never been more sure.”

He then turns towards her, stretching one foot over his extended leg, planting it on the ground and creating a bridge with his leg as he lies down on his side. He props his head in his hand, his hook lying between them.

She shifts to face him and gives him a small smile. “We should go back,” she says, closing her eyes.

“Hush,” he whispers. “We’ve time, just rest.”

#cs ff #captain swan #cssb #cs storybook #missing scene #canon compliant #quiet moments are my favorite thing for these two #my ff ouat

[wistfulcynic]

good ships and wood ships and ships that sail the sea

SUMMARY:

Blackbeard has long coveted the Jolly Roger, for her speed and her beauty and her impossible daring. And of course to get her away from his arch enemy Captain Hook. But when the finest ship in all the realms is finally his, he soon discovers that there is more to the story of Hook and the Jolly than he could ever have imagined--and possibly more than he can handle.

(Canon compliant up to the end of S3, divergent from S4 and completely ignores 6)

AO3

Happy New Year!! 🤞🤞🤞 it will be much, MUCH better than the last few have, for all of us. Thanks to @csjanuaryjoy​​ for making these dark days brighter for the past five years! This is my third time participating and it has always been a bright spot in my year ❤️. 

This fic grew out of a head canon that I think many of us share--that the Jolly Roger is truly more than just a ship. That there’s something about her magic that allows Killian to sail her on his own, and a special relationship between them. And for all that many of us have written about how Killian felt giving up his ship for Emma, it wasn’t until @winterbythesea​​‘s latest chapter of Given The Choice that it really sank into my brain how much Killian would have hated knowing that the Jolly was in Blackbeard’s control... and then I thought, but what would she feel about that? What would she do? And thus this fic was born. 

Told from Blackbeard’s POV... just roll with it. 

-

good ships and wood ships and ships that sail the sea: 

The first time Blackbeard tripped on a loose board on the deck of the Jolly Roger, he was annoyed. At himself more than anything, for not watching where he was going and for making a fool of himself in front of Hook’s crew.

His crew. They were his crew now. He was their captain, whether they liked it or not.

He’d had to leave a fair few loyal men back on the Queen Anne’s Revenge—not being fool enough himself to misplace his own ship the way Hook had—which meant the Jolly’s crew was presently comprised of far too many of Hook’s men for his comfort. He’d made them swear an oath of loyalty, of course, but they knew as well as he did that pirate oaths of that sort go only as far as the next change of leadership. True loyalty lies only in men’s hearts.

And possibly, Blackbeard soon began to realise, in the hearts of ships as well.

The second time he tripped he fell flat on his face with a sound that Bones told him later was akin to that of a melon split open on a rock. “I feared fer yer ‘ead so’s I did, Cap’n,” he growled. Bones had been at Blackbeard’s side since they both were barely more than lads—and never once shown so much as a hint of anything resembling humour—so he did not die for that remark.

Young Harry Hannigan, who laughed aloud the third time Blackbeard tripped and went tumbling face-first into a fish-barrel, was not so fortunate. Blackbeard tossed him overboard with both legs in irons, to set an example.

No one laughed when he tripped again. But he kept tripping.

The migratory—predatory—loose board on her deck was far from the only peculiar happening aboard the Jolly Roger. There was also the distinctly determined way she “drifted” off-course if her bearings were not constantly and painstakingly maintained. There were the knots in the sheets that never seemed to hold and the sails that slipped from the rigging at precisely that moment when they were most needed to catch the wind. There were the crates of supplies that went missing and the locks in the brig that wouldn’t latch, the hammocks in the crew’s quarters that loosed themselves from their hitches in the night, snatching the men from their much-needed rest and tumbling them headfirst onto the damp and draughty floor.

Now Blackbeard, despite what Hook was wont to claim, was no fool, and it wasn’t long before he divined a pattern to these occurrences. When Hook’s men were at the helm the ship’s course kept steady and when they were up in the rigging all knots and sails held fast. Their hammocks remained firmly fixed to the wall and once he’d appointed Starkey as quartermaster, the missing crates not only affected a mysterious reappearance but remained thereafter consistently—ostentatiously, he felt—present and accounted for.

Pirates are suspicious beings by nature, and Blackbeard personally credited his success in the field to his complete lack of faith or trust in anyone, with the possible and very tenuous exception of Bones. But suspicions, he reminded himself, are not facts, however compelling they may seem, and so it was not until one afternoon as they slipped into perilous waters in pursuit of a valuable prize that he overheard Starkey murmuring to the mainmast “Steady on, old girl, we need ye t’ take us safely through these shoals,” and comprehension truly began to dawn.

He recalled how Hook had always stood at the helm of this ship, with that smirking arrogance that set Blackbeard’s teeth on edge. How he’d seemed to move with the vessel, as much a part of her as the hull and masts. How they would appear from nowhere and when least expected, a yellow streak across the horizon, cannons blazing even as they moved and never once falling short of their mark, the whole manoeuvre so quick and so deft it seemed nigh on impossible. This was why Blackbeard had coveted the Jolly Roger, why he would have done anything to have her—for her speed, yes, and her elegant form, but more than that for her impossible daring. For her mischievous nature and her staunch loyalty. Her stalwart love.

Twaddle, he told himself sharply. Foolish nonsense. A ship felt no loyalty. A ship did not love.

And yet.

The storm caught them just off the tip of Glowerhaven, swirling out of the farrago of warm winds off the southern seas and icy ones from the north, and the fierce, opposing currents that grappled beneath the water. Blackbeard had been witness to such storms before, had been wrecked in one as a lad when the Moordaunt foundered and sank in a vicious gale off the coast of Coabana. He would never forget the helplessness of standing on the deck as it was rent to shards beneath his feet, torn by the weight of the water and the strength of the wind. He could never forget the iron grip of fear on his heart as he’d scrabbled to catch hold of anything he could cling to, gripping like a limpet to a broken scrap of plank as he was swept out to sea, buffeted by merciless waves with no thought in his head beyond keeping it above water from one breath to the next.

Fear’s chill fingers sank deep in his chest again now as the waves began to swell, higher even than the ones that swallowed the Moordaunt. But Blackbeard was no longer a green cabin boy and he forced the fear away, buried it deep as he stalked along the deck, barking orders to his crew. Orders they needed to hear just as he needed to give them; only discipline and purpose would keep their own fear at bay.  

They rose to the challenge, his men and Hook’s; together they secured the ballast and stowed the sails, and lashed one another to the masts and railings, anything that might hold them fast to the ship when to go overboard meant certain death. They would make it, Blackbeard thought. The ship was steady and the men undaunted, and they would make it through. The fear loosened its grip and he turned to Bones with a look of triumph—only to find the first mate’s eyes wide and stark with terror.

“Cap’n!” he cried out, but the wind whipped the word away before it could reach Blackbeard’s ears. He turned to look where Bones was looking, off the port bow where a wall of water appeared to hang suspended in eerie calm, rising slowly, rising… rising… rising impossibly high until it it broke in a froth of white against the dull grey sky.

The wave arced downward directly towards them with the weight of the ocean’s fury at its back and Blackbeard knew, there in that endless moment he knew that this breath would be his last. The wave would roll the ship—there was no way that it could not—would tear her asunder as the Moordaunt had been torn, and the next day’s dawn would find whatever splinters may remain of her washed up on Glowerhaven’s rocky shores. He felt a flash of outrage—how dare he die like this—then clenched his fists around the wheel and closed his eyes, and offered the tattered remnants of his soul to the gods.

And then.

The wheel spun, whipping him round and flinging him into a heap upon the deck. He grabbed for it again; barely had his fingers closed around the sodden wood when the ship heaved up and swung around in a pinpoint turn—as she had so often done for Hook—then dipped her bow low as the wave began to break over them. The wave broke, Blackbeard was sure of it, but the Jolly paid no heed; she dipped her bow beneath the water’s surface and surged forward, against the wave and through it, slicing that impenetrable wall as a cutlass slices flesh.

Blackbeard clung to the wheel as the breath was snatched from his lungs, as the water fought against them, crashed around them, and still the Jolly pressed on, through the wave and out the back of it, where she bobbed like a child’s bath toy for a moment then swept round, faster than any ship could possibly move, making for the curving point of Glowerhaven’s cape and a large cave that Blackbeard had never known existed, buried deep within the cliffside. There she came to rest with a shudder like a sigh of relief that echoed through the marrow of all their bones.

Blackbeard lay gasping on the quarterdeck with his hand still clutching the wheel, long past the point where he should have risen, should have gone to check the status of his crew. He knew that they were fine, somehow he knew that each and every soul aboard had made it through alive. She would, of course, have made certain of it.

“You—” his voice was weak and croaky; he cleared his throat and tried again. “You saved us.” He would feel foolish later but just then, caught up as he was in an overwhelming rush of relief and gratitude, the idea of speaking to a ship seemed a perfectly sound one. “Thank you.”

The Jolly huffed and a voice whispered through the corners of Blackbeard’s mind.

Don’t mention it, it said. Seriously. Don’t.

The next morning when they ventured from the cave again the skies were clear and the sea calm, and Blackbeard tripped thrice within the space of an hour. The merry sound of laughter echoed through his mind each time.  

-

He’d had the Jolly only a few months, barely enough time to truly learn her nature, when Hook returned to claim her. In typical Hook fashion he came swaggering onto the deck with no plan and no backup, none but that gormless first mate and a lovelorn mermaid princess at his side. Blackbeard longed to teach the picaroon a lesson he’d not soon forget, but he knew—from the way the ship reached out, how she called to Hook before his boot had even touched her planks—that any efforts he might make could only come to naught. He gave them a good fight regardless, watched in seething fury as she all but cradled that one-handed bastard in her rigging, protected him with her sails and with that thrice-damned loose board, and only hoped he held enough cards to escape the cursed vessel with his life.

Fortunately, he had trumps to play on the little mermaid.

Returning to the Queen Anne’s Revenge with his tail between his legs and his every move dogged by whispers of how he’d been saved from an ignominious death by a woman was certainly not Blackbeard’s proudest moment. Determined to assuage his pride and reputation in pillage and plunder, he took his ship out on the seas, where it soon became evident that everywhere they went they were just that little bit too late. Every ship they targeted had already been hit, every village plundered. However fast they moved was never fast enough, and Blackbeard rather suspected that he knew the reason why.

When word reached his ears that his former crewmen remaining on the Jolly had sworn enthusiastic allegiance to Hook and were now vigorously raiding up and down the coast of Agrabah in a ship so thrilled to be back with her true captain that she performed feats of such fantastic daring and skill that they defied belief, he smashed the chair in his cabin in his fury and had three men flogged for insolence when they came to see what all the ruckus was about.

The tales were unbelievable but Blackbeard believed them. He knew what that ship was capable of.

He doubted the Jolly Roger would ever fall into his hands again; now that she and Hook were back together they would not easily be parted. But he dreamed of it nevertheless, dreamed of taking that ship and teaching her manners, dominating her, winning her loyalty to him and him alone, by force if necessary. In his dreams he was her master and Hook lay broken and defeated at his feet, Blackbeard’s sword at his throat, begging for death.

And yet. Not even a year passed by before he had Hook at his mercy, alone in Blackbeard’s tavern and surrounded by Blackbeard’s men, his famous bravado worn threadbare by a raw desperation that was plain to see in his eyes. The Jolly Roger, Hook offered, in exchange for a magic bean, and Blackbeard, to his own surprise as much as anyone’s and though his sword hand itched to do it, did not kill him. He took the trade instead.

“What could be so important that you would trade your ship for a bean?” he asked Hook, on the deck of the ship herself so she would be sure to hear.

“There’s—someone I need to find,” Hook replied.

“A woman,” sneered Blackbeard.

Hook nodded. “Aye.”

Blackbeard was triumphant as he watched Hook disappear into the swirling portal, off into another realm from which, with any luck, he’d not return. The ship must bow to him, now, he thought, she must. Hook had left her, abandoned her, traded her for another woman, and Blackbeard knew as well as any the lengths of spite to which a woman scorned will go.

And yet. Barely had he taken two steps upon her deck than he tripped again, tumbling arse over teakettle down the steps from the quarterdeck with mocking laughter ringing in his ears.

You don’t become a pirate captain though mercy, Hook had once said, and on this point at least, they could agree. Blackbeard was clean out of patience and thoroughly done with being made to look a fool. He took the ship in hand and he forced her into compliance, worked her to exhaustion with her sheets tight and her sails high, dragged her along rocky coasts and across stormy seas all the way to Arendelle. He could sense her emotions now, her hatred and her fury, the bitter resentment and desire to see him dead—but he also learned to sense the shift in the air that came just before she loosened a board in his path and took malicious pleasure in the impotence of her rage when he stepped clear of the danger each time, with a mocking cackle and a supercilious pat upon whichever part of her was closest.

“There there, lass,” he taunted. “There’s no cause for that. You’re mine now and I’ve no intention of letting you go. Best to just get used to it.”

In Arendelle however, he fell foul of another scheming princess, too caught up in goading her to sense the ship’s intent until it was too late and he had tripped again, tumbling this time into his own sea chest and trapped within it by the princess’s quick thinking, then tossed into the sea. It was Bones who saved him that time along with his bosun Stu Jenkins, who leapt in after him and between them managed to haul the chest from the water before Blackbeard could drown and drag it to safety upon a tiny spit of sand and rock. There they three were stranded with naught but coconuts and the shade of a single tree until Anne Bonny—of all the bloody people—happened by and was so delighted by their predicament that she allowed them to negotiate passage on her ship under the tenuous protection of parlay.

“You’ll be some time in living this down, I fear,” she said, with laughter glinting in her eyes.

And with that, the iron entered into Blackbeard’s soul. Never again, he swore to himself. Never again would he sully his boot by stepping foot onto the Jolly Roger. Never again would he covet anything Hook had. The Queen Anne’s Revenge was a fine ship, tough and sturdy and fast and she was enough. Never again. He swore it.

Years passed before he had a chance to test his resolve on the matter.

-

The tavern was noisy and crowded, the air a miasma of ale fumes and smoke and men whose approach to personal hygiene was casual at best. In one corner a game of dice was loudly and hotly contested amongst a group of sailors rowdy and jovial in their drunkenness, whilst in another shady dealings were going down between a pair of bar wenches and a man whose discomfort in his surroundings was palpable. Blackbeard could not sympathise. This was his kind of atmosphere and he revelled in it.

He sat at a table surrounded by his men, cards and dice spread out before him and a buxom wench to sit on his knee and flatter his vanity. He felt like a king holding court, the undisputed master of the seas now that years had passed since either hide or hair was seen of Hook or that wretched scow of his. A toast was raised to his good health and just as he lifted the tankard of ale to his lips—for why should he not drink his own health?—the tavern went abruptly quiet, an unnatural hush that fell like lead and hung in the air more heavily than smoke from a dampered chimney.

Blackbeard lowered the tankard and turned to the door, and his lip curled into a deeply unpleasant sneer. There, framed in the tavern’s crooked doorway was Hook, dressed in a most peculiar manner, with a short, fitted jacket and trousers made of a material Blackbeard could not identify. At his side was a woman, her long legs encased in similar trousers and wearing as well a similar jacket, only hers was a vibrant shade of red. Her hair flowed down her back in waves of an extraordinary golden hue, framing an exquisite face set in an expression that dared him or anyone present to start something with her.

So this was she, Blackbeard thought, the woman Hook loved more than his ship. Skinnier than he tended to prefer them though he supposed he could see the appeal. There was a toughness behind that fair face, a core of steel wrapped up in pretty dressing—not unlike Hook himself. She stood like him as well, deceptively casual but poised for a fight. They stood together, not touching but united, a team, and Blackbeard took one look at them and knew that whatever they were after he wanted no part of it.

“Bugger off,” he spat.

“Now, now.” Hook attempted conciliation. “No need for incivility, mate. We’re here to make a deal.”

“I’ve made my last deal with you.”

“And here the Jolly was finally beginning to warm up to you,” cajoled Hook. “Come on, third time lucky.”

“I want no part of you or your gods-bedamned hulk,” Blackbeard sneered. “Find someone else to be your patsy.”

“But you’re the only patsy I know who has a hoard of magic beans,” quipped Hook, ignoring his blonde when she smacked him on the arm.

“I thought you were going to play nice,” she hissed.

“It’s too late for that, I fear.” Hook tucked his thumb behind his belt buckle and raised an eyebrow. Blackbeard rolled his eyes. Different clothes, same obnoxious swagger. The man would never change. “Look, mate, if you don’t want the ship then name your price,” said Hook, with a note of sincerity in his tone that caught Blackbeard by surprise. “We need a bean to get back to our daughter, and we simply haven’t the time to climb a beanstalk to find one. Not again.”

The woman snorted and Hook flashed her a grin, and though they still weren’t touching the connection they shared simmered in the air between them. Blackbeard watched the exchange, intrigued despite his better judgement. “Tell me the tale of this beanstalk,” he said. “That’s my price. If your story’s good enough then you can have your bean, and you won’t even need to fight your way out of this tavern to use it.”

“Hmm,” murmured Hook, with a glance around the room. “It’s a solid offer. What say you, Swan?”

The woman fixed Blackbeard with an assessing look. Her eyes were green, he observed, the rich shade of tree moss, intelligent and unflinching. Without breaking eye contact she grabbed a chair and swung it round, straddled it and leant her arms on its back. Her lip twitched in an almost-smile. “Throw in a round of drinks and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she said.

Blackbeard stared at her as the tension in the tavern drew unbearably taut, poised on the knife’s edge of his judgement. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“I like this one, Hook,” he said.

“I’m rather fond of her myself.” Hook pulled up his own chair as voices rose around them again, bright and boisterous, and Blackbeard signalled the barman for more tankards of ale. Ale of which, he was impressed to note, the woman finished every drop.

“Well, lass,” he said to her, once the tale of the beanstalk had been told. “Any woman who can best this blackguard, leave him chained in the lair of a giant and not look back is one I am pleased to do business with. You’ve earned your bean.” From his pocket he withdrew a small leather pouch and from that a magic bean, holding it up to the light for them to see.

“Thank you.” The woman accepted it with a smile and tucked it away into her own pocket.

“Thank you for the entertainment,” replied Blackbeard. “And now you’d best be on your way, before this lot reconsiders that offer of safe exit.”

He imagined they’d have no wish to tarry anyway and indeed they did not. Blackbeard took his tankard over to the window and watched as they proceeded down the alley that led from the tavern and along the dock to where the Jolly Roger was moored, just visible from where he stood. Even from such a distance and with so many years passed since he’d stood on her deck, Blackbeard could still sense the ship’s reaction, her pleasure and relief at their return, and, curiously, a fondness for the woman that very nearly equalled the depth of her love for Hook.

Hook and his two wenches, thought Blackbeard with a chuckle. May the bastard have the pleasure of them both.

“Ye sure as that was wise, Cap’n?” inquired Bones from where he hovered at Blackbeard’s elbow, scowling at the scene. “Lettin’ ‘im go like that, I mean? Ye could at least’ve held ‘im a spell, or ransomed ‘er. I ‘ear tell she’s a princess.”

“I’ve heard that as well,” said Blackbeard, “and frankly I’ve had my fill of princesses, and of Hook. Good riddance to the lot of them.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” said Bones.

“Though it may interest you to hear,” continued Blackbeard, “that their journey home might not turn out to be as quick or as smooth as they’re anticipating. It’s possible that they may find that bean doesn’t quite work the way they expect it to.”

Bones choked on his ale. “Ye gave ‘em the accursed one,” he stated, without a particle of surprise expressed in his flat and affectless tone.

Blackbeard grinned a wicked grin. “I gave them the accursed one.”

Together the pirates watched as the Jolly swept away from her mooring, as a swirling abyss appeared in the water, as the ship dipped into it with a flourish and vanished from sight. Blackbeard was feeling rather pleased with himself and with the subtlety of the manoeuvre that would pay Hook back at least in part for all the slights and humiliations Blackbeard had suffered at his hand in the long years of their acquaintance. The thought of the daughter did give him a twinge—even he drew the line at harming children—but their separation was unlikely to be very long. Hook would find his way home again and far sooner than he should, of that Blackbeard had no doubt. The bastard had always had the devil’s own luck, and with his women at his side there would be very little he couldn’t handle.

Blackbeard tipped his tankard in salute to the now-calm ocean and drank a silent toast, then clapped a hand on Bones’ shoulder and turned back to the tavern to take up his throne again.

-

There are good ships and wood ships and ships that sail the sea. But the best ships are friendships, may they always be!

-Irish proverb

-

@thisonesatellite​ @ohmightydevviepuu​ @katie-dub​ @kmomof4​​ @mariakov81​​ @stahlop​​ @snowbellewells​​ @shireness-says​ @teamhook​ @killianjones-twopointoh​ @optomisticgirl​​ @spartanguard​ @captain-emmajones​​

#csjj 2021 #cs ff #cs fic #cs ff au #canon compliant #canon divergent #divergent from 4A #ignores S6 entirely #captain swan #the Jolly Roger #killian and his ship #it's a ship ship #Blackbeard's POV #some jolly old crack nonsense #good ships and wood ships and ships that sail the sea #profdanglaisstuff

[csficpromotion-blog]

Tsunami (from the Disasters Series) by @gingerchangeling

Summary: “All it takes is one shift in the foundations to create an insurmountable wave. All that can be done is to try and tread the water for as long as possible. And sometimes the easiest way to stay afloat is to drown in something else.“

**This fic is only available on AO3, so please leave kudos/comments on the original story! And if you’d like to send the writer some love, it’s @gingerchangeling here on Tumblr! :)

CS Fic Promotion: Tsunami

I... I.... I am emotion. I have so many very strong feelings about Killian and his ever-present self-loathing, and this is so painful and perfect that I am just blubbering over here. All those years being stuck in the darkness are sure to haunt him even now, especially now, maybe, that he is trying to move on from the feelings of hatred and pain and vengeance to build a better life for himself with Emma. The intensity of this breakdown sounds like a terrible, relentless panic attack, and something I can sincerely empathize with. I’m relieved that he has someone who truly cares for every part of him, someone who can bring him back from his precarious teetering over the edge of darkness and surround him with light.

So lovely and heartbreakingly well done.

#rating: E #oneshot #>3k #canon compliant #cs angst #cs ff #cs fic rec #captain swan #cs #csfp #csficpromotion #tsunami #gingerchangeling

[searchingwardrobes]

I was just telling @spartanguard​ the other day that I hadn’t written a one-shot yet in 2020, and then this came to me! I was first inspired by a conversation I had with my husband the other night about the heat and my sleeping habits. Then I was thinking about a trip to upstate New York to visit my mom’s family a few years ago when they had a record-breaking heat wave. We were shocked to discover that very few people - or even businesses - had air conditioning. Because, regardless of what you may have seen in John Grisham movies, we Southerners understand the importance of central air.

** Important Notes: First of all, despite the title, this is NOT smut. There is nudity, and sex is hinted at in the end, but that’s it. Also, if you’re concerned about baby Hope and SIDS because she’s on her back with a blanket, don’t be. She’s around nine months old in this, when babies are perfectly capable of rolling over on their own.**

Summary: There's a heat wave in Storybrooke, and it's making it hard for Emma to sleep. But regardless of the heat, Emma can't stop touching her husband. She never can.

Rating: T

Words: About 1,500

Also on Ao3

Tagging:@snowbellewells​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​ @kmomof4​​ @let-it-raines​​ @teamhook​​ @bethacaciakay​​ @xhookswenchx​​ @tiganasummertree​​ @shireness-says​​ @stahlop​​ @scientificapricot​​ @welllpthisishappening​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @thislassishooked​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​ @kday426​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​ @lfh1226-linda​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​ @nikkiemms​​ @optomisticgirl​​ @carpedzem​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​ @branlovestowrite​​ @superchocovian​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​ @vvbooklady1256​​ @hollyethecurious​​ @winterbaby89​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​ @jennjenn615​​ @snidgetsafan​​

Emma’s hand was significantly warmer than the rest of her body. She was wearing nothing but her panties and the thinnest tank top she owned, she had flung the blankets away and was covered with nothing but a thin sheet, and one foot was sticking out of said sheet. The window to their bedroom was opened wide to let in what little breeze there was on this sweltering August night, and the ceiling fan worked as hard as it could to move the stale air.

So she should really move her hand away from her husband’s chest.

Storybrooke was in the midst of a record-breaking heat wave. It was so unheard of this far north, that Emma, Regina, and Zelena had even searched for a possible magical explanation. But no, it wasn’t a strange curse. All of Maine was experiencing the heat wave. The 97 degree heat didn’t break the record (that was 105 way back in 1911), but it was sure making everyone in town miserable.

So she should really move her hand away from her husband’s chest.

To make matters worse, their dream house had no central air. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal when Emma purchased it. After all, it wasn’t usually needed in Maine, and this close to the sea, they could just open up all the windows to let the ocean breeze waft through the house. This week, however, they were really wishing they had air conditioning.

So yeah, it didn’t make sense that her hand was still resting on Killian’s chest. What was it about the male species that they radiated heat like a furnace? In the winter, it was wonderful. Emma would curl up against her warm, furry husband, eliciting a “bloody hell” from him when she slid her ice cold toes between his calves. She had never been a cuddler before, even with Neal, but with Killian, she was. She loved to tuck her head under his chin and run her fingers through his chest hair. She loved when he gathered her close when her back was to him, and she would wrap her arms around his, relishing the way he nuzzled into her neck. When he came to bed after her, she always sensed the way the bed dipped and would reach out for him. Not always in the most subtle way. There was the infamous evening of November 12th when the crack preceding his “bloody hell” made her worry that she’d broken his nose or something. She’d never been very graceful. Thankfully, all she’d done was smack him in the face.

The point was, she couldn’t not touch him. Even on a night like this, she had to feel him, know he was there. It was too damn hot for cuddling, but she could at least feel his chest hair beneath her fingers and the beat of his heart against her palm.

But that chest of his was hot - and she meant that literally. She’d be a whole lot cooler if she pulled away, and maybe then she wouldn’t be lying here wide awake. She sighed as her gaze raked his body head to toe. He was sound asleep, snoring softly, completely nude, and completely on display, with no sheets or blankets covering him. Killian had told her when they went to bed that if she wanted to be cool, she should just strip down and not use the sheets. Emma had retorted that she hated sleeping naked, her boobs flopped around. He’d waggled his eyebrows, naturally, his gaze falling to her chest, and pointed out that the scrap of fabric she called a tank top couldn’t possibly provide that much support. She’d rolled her eyes and pointed out that he had no way of understanding the burden of having breasts.

“Your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear.”

Remembering the conversation made her chuckle. They laughed a lot. She really liked that about them.

Emma sighed. She was so damn hot! Maybe Killian was right, maybe she should discard the sheet. No. She couldn’t do it. It would make her feel exposed, alone, forgotten. Like those temporary holding places in the system where all you got was a cot in a line of others, and you couldn’t sleep for the sounds of soft crying.

Emma scooted closer to her husband.

She rolled over onto her back, but still didn’t move her hand. Her arms were stretched out now like a starfish. She stared at the ceiling fan for a minute, then turned her head to check on Hope through the video monitor. She was out cold, just like her dad. Also like her father, Hope was on her back, one arm flung up over her head. Emma could see the rise and fall of her chest since she was wearing nothing but a diaper because of the heat. Emma had given her a thin blanket, just in case, but Hope had flung it aside. Like father, like daughter.

If the older ladies of Storybrooke could see her, they’d have a fit. Emma had gotten an earful in town today about her baby girl being cold because she was wearing nothing but a spaghetti strap sundress. In 97 degree heat she was cold? Why did everyone 65 and older think babies needed to be bundled up at all times? In the winter, they had always lectured her about Hope’s bare feet (underneath piles of blankets, mind you). Had these women never attempted to keep socks and shoes on a baby? It was impossible! Hope’s socks should have been scattered all over Storybrooke at this point, but no. Whenever she lost them, it was as if they'd been sucked into a portal to an unknown realm, never to be seen again.

“Your thinking was so loud it woke me up, Swan,” Killian mumbled next to her.

Emma rolled back over to look at him, but his eyes were still closed. “Sorry,” she whispered, “I’m just so hot.”

He cracked one eye open, “I told you to get naked.”

Emma chuckled as he rolled towards her and tried to gather her in his arms. She pushed both hands against his chest. “Ugh, Killian, it’s too hot for this!”

“Then why can’t you keep your hands off me, love?” he teased, though he let go of her, propping himself up on his hand instead.

“I wish I could deny it,” she sighed, reaching up and brushing at the hair that had fallen across his forehead, “but I can’t. I just always have to be touching you. Even awake.”

He smiled softly and reached out with his stump to brush her hair off her cheek. She remembered well how long it took him to be comfortable touching her with his stump, and now he did it without even thinking. Her heart swelled.

“Why do you suppose that is?”

“You can’t stop touching me, either,” she replied with a smile, tracing his jaw with the tip of her finger.

“I asked you first.”

Emma’s head dropped back to her pillow as she laced their fingers together. “I guess I just want to be sure you’re still here and that you’re safe.”

He frowned, and Emma slid her fingers up to his forehead to smooth away the creases that had formed there. She didn’t mean to make him feel guilty. He turned and kissed her palm, and his face relaxed.

“And I suppose I just want to be sure this is all real. That I’m not dreaming.”

Emma threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer. “You deserve your happy ending, Killian Jones.”

She could feel his contented smile against her lips as she brushed them against his. He nuzzled his nose with hers when she pulled back. “And you don’t have to worry about what every self-appointed granny in Storybrooke says, love. If we’re hot, so is Hope. That’s what all the baby books say.”

A gasp left Emma’s lips. She wouldn’t say he could read her mind - gods knew they wouldn’t have the communication problems they sometimes had if he did - but he always seemed to know what was bothering her. And he always knew how to assuage those fears. Emma grasped his face in her hands and kissed him aggressively, pulling him down with her onto the mattress.

“I thought you said it was too hot for this,” Killian mumbled against her skin as he trailed kisses down her neck.

“Well,” Emma smirked, “if we’re already sweaty . . . “

#cs ff #future fic #canon compliant #cuddling #married life #heatwave

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: Canon Compliant Fics Part Two

Here is my promised continuation of previous fics I have written that could fit right into missing moments of canon, or are only slightly divergent from the episode after which it was originally written. I didn’t want to bombard everyone last week, so I did five or six early CS ones, mostly taking place in season three and four. This set picks up in season four and there are several from season five as well. It looks like I will be doing a Part Three next week with a few from season six and seven. Hope that someone gets some enjoyment from these if they didn’t see them the first time around!

{Most of these came from my one-shot collection called “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts”.}

“Stories to Help Us Sleep” ~ Honestly, this one is barely more than a Drabble, but I enjoyed writing the Captain Cobra in it. A what might happen pondering written in the summer between Season Four and Season Five.

“Lover of the Light” ~ This one was originally written to fulfill a challenge of writing a story that focused on a single color. There are a lot of imagines missing moments from Killian’s history, but it does fit into canon within the season four finale.

The Lonely Never Sleep” ~ A little Captain Book friendship fic (still focused on CS though) that I have always had a soft spot for. I couldn’t help but imagine the both of them would be sleepless and at loose ends, needing to find something to do to help after Emma disappeared in the Darkness.

“Knight in Training” ~ A season five spec fic imagining how they would begin to seek out and save Emma in Camelot. This has another hit of CaptainCobra that I simply couldn’t resist, as well as some Captain Charming and some separated CS angst.

“Dark Swan, Hot Chocolate” ~ This one is really more Swan Believer than CS, but it is canon compliant, happening just after we see Emma last in episode 5x02, standing outside Granny’s while everyone she loves is in there together. I have a soft spot for this one as well, and am always trying to draw more eyes to it, so I threw it in as well.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @thisonesatellite @profdanglaisstuff @shireness-says @resident-of-storybrooke @searchingwardrobes @optomisticgirl @effulgentcolors @spartanguard @laschatzi @therooksshiningknight @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @snidgetsafan @let-it-raines

#self promo sunday #ca ff #cs canon compliant #part two #ouat fics #ouat one shots #cs one shots