Prompt: David isn't going to react well to this. First to finding out that Killian killed his father, then to him disappearing on Emma? Nope.
I’m combining the two. And seeing as how everyone’s bashing my poor guy who doesn’t deserve any of this… I figured I might as well join in at the same time?
He’d heard from Snow that Killian had
finally returned. But no amount of reassurances about things being ‘okay now’
or ‘sorted’ could dampen the rage that bubbled within his veins.
He parked the truck on the opposite side of
the house, fully aware that Emma had left already and Henry was at school.
He took the front steps two at a time and
knocked knowing there was only one person home. The one person he wanted to
The door opened and he saw Killian’s face
pale when he realized who was on the other side.
“David. Come in.”
He gave the man no greeting, just breezed
past him into the living room of the house.
Killian closed the front door and braced
himself for the conversation that was about to take place. He turned to face
the man, ready to grovel and beg for forgiveness.
“David, I don’t even know-”
His words were cut off by the harsh crack
of David’s fist colliding with his face.
Killian fell back, crashing to the floor
from the impact.
“You bastard.” David seethed. “You stood
and watched me tear this town apart-“
“I didn’t know-“
Another fist met his face, causing blood to
fill Killian’s mouth.
“You let me believe it was George, let think
it was another another man.”
“I swear I didn’t know!”
David hit him again as Killian took the
beating, refusing to defend himself.
“I bared my soul to you! And all the time
it was you?!”
Another crack to the cheek split the skin
under Killian’s eye. David couldn’t stop himself. The more Killian just lay
there, the more enraged the prince became, working himself into a mad hysteria.
“And after all that talk of wanting my
blessing, you leave?! Do you know what you put her through?!”
David grabbed Killian’s jacket lapels and
hauled his face up to meet his.
“All that talk about changing and you
haven’t changed a bit, Hook! Just the same lying, selfish, murderous pirate.”
He spat the words at him before pushing his body back to the floor, letting his
head bounce against the wood with a thud.
A pair of hands were grabbing his shoulders
and pulling him off the bleeding man beneath him.
David stood to watch Emma crouch down and
try to help Killian to a seating position. His body thrummed with raw energy
and his breaths came out in harsh pants.
“Why would you do this?!” Emma asked him,
eyes full of betrayal, begging him for an explanation.
“You may be able to forgive him, Emma. But
I can’t. You marry him if you want, that’s your choice, I’ll respect that. But
he will never be welcome in my
David turned and left the house, shaking as
he climbed into his truck, adrenaline fading as reality and remorse took its
Summary: Set during Season 3 - a bit of canon divergence. If Emma and Killian never went through that time portal, but came together a different way. (Okay, a lot of canon divergence) Thanks to the unrelenting stress of being Storybrooke’s Saviour, Emma is suffering from headaches. Regina slips Emma a potion which is supposed to cure them. Only now Emma keeps spilling all her secrets and she’s not entirely sure why.
Word count: Somewhere between 10,000 - 11, 000 words.
It’s cold. So cold that even with two jumpers, a scarf, a coat, tights and jeans, she still feels like an ice block. Her fingertips, though covered in gloves, tingle painfully beneath the material. She knows that if she were to remove them, they’d probably be red raw.
She’s in desperate need of thawing out, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she stands at the docks, watching the ships rock against the icy blue waves, their masts swaying in the wind. She tucks her hair behind her ear, numbly, clumsily, as she stares. It’s cold enough to make her lose feeling in her toes but she doesn’t mind—she likes the cold. It clears her head; here, she can think.
For the past few weeks, she has hardly been able to breathe, let alone think. At least she’s had Zelena to keep her busy, but now that the witch is defeated, she is out of distractions. And time, it seems. She thought she’d be able to hold off on Henry’s memories for a while, so they could escape to New York and he’d be none the wiser. As they say, ignorance is bliss. But not everything goes to plan and cucumber-coloured witches get in the way.
Not to mention that pesky human emotion called… well, that’s the thing. She doesn’t exactly have a name for it. But she knows that she’s feeling it as she stands by the docks, feeling the gentle tug of the wind, the scent of salt wafting around her. It’s the feeling that brings her out here almost every morning, waiting for him.
Sure enough, he comes, as she knows he always will.
And, with a tug of the heart, she scurries off to the nearest boat. It’s a short and stunted thing, with a grey stripe cutting through the white paintwork. It hardly covers her so she has to crouch down, as she always does, amidst the dirt and the sand and a few pebbles. She braces one hand against the boat, the other on the ground, feeling the lump of pebbles under her flat palm. They dig into her hand, but she hardly notices—she’s too preoccupied with the sight that meets her eyes.
Hook makes his way along the docks, and she can only just hear the crunch of his boots against the sandy wood. He always looks taller from far away, and thin, but broad-shouldered. He comes to a stop where she had been mere seconds ago. He stills, but his coat moves in the wind, rippling leather waves that coincide with the movement of the sea. He drags a hand through his hair as he looks out into the water. It sticks up in all directions, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He seems lost in his thoughts, as he always does, and Emma wonders what he’s thinking about. One mad, foolish part of her hopes—wonders—if it’s about her.
She colours almost immediately at the thought, but in anger more than anything. It’s stupid to think such things, especially when she knows that she shouldn't—she can't—feel anything for him. Not when she and Henry will be on their way back to New York if all goes to plan. She can’t have anything keeping her here.
Stupid, she thinks. He’s already keeping her here. She could have set off days ago with Henry—Zelena has been gone a few weeks, her time portal, destroyed—but she stays. And, instead of packing or saying her goodbyes like normal people, Emma spends her time crouched in mud and dirt, watching the pirate from afar. She can only imagine the shame if she were to be caught. He would find her, and she’d never hear the end of it. He’d probably use it as leverage for her to stay—"But Emma, love, you must feel something for me if you’re willing to watch me like this.“
Watch him? More like stalk him.
Because that’s what it is. Stalking. Pure, unadulterated stalking.
But god, she likes to watch him. His feelings for her are no secret. He has made it perfectly clear that she could have him if she so desired. But it’s not about desire and it took her a long, long time to realise that; it’s about love. He loves her. It’s the reason Zelena cursed his lips; it’s the reason he returned to New York in the first place.
No, his feelings are no secret. Hers, on the other hand…
Oh but how could she make her feelings known, when she’s supposed to be leaving this life behind. How can she admit that she thinks about him all the time, or that he makes her laugh and he makes her stomach flip in that delicious way worthy of a romance novel? How can she admit that his eyes are that perfect shade of blue, almost like the sea, as cliche as it sounds? Or that she hasn’t thought of making a home with someone since Neal but now, suddenly, for some time, she’s been wondering if his hair sticks up that way in the mornings, or what his voice sounds like just before he sleeps. How can she admit this—any of this—when it will all be gone before her eyes?
He could come with us… She’s thinking the words before she can stop herself.
She can’t have anything tying her to this life. Not him, not anyone. He would convince her to return to Storybrooke to be with her family, and she can’t have that. She just can’t.
He might not even come with her. He might love her but he is a pirate; settling down might not be his thing. He might not want to make a home. If there’s something she’s realised in all her years, it’s that two people can love each other, but if they want different things…
She has to stop thinking like this. She has to stop imagining false scenarios that will never happen, as much as she wants them to. And more importantly, she has to stop crouching in the dirt, making eyes at a man she’ll never have.
Trying to make as little noise as possible, she rises, brushing sand and pebbles from the knees of her jeans. He doesn’t notice. He’s still watching the sea, deep in thought, as frozen as a statue. With a heavy heart and one last longing look thrown in his direction, she leaves.
cora pearl (born emma crouch in 1835) was at her time the most famous courtesan in paris. she may not have been the most conventional beauty, but she charmed men with her daring sexuality, enviable body, wit and lust for life. there are many stories about cora, some probably true and some not: it has been told she used to bathe in expensive champagne, once had herself served naked on a silver plate at a fancy dinner and dyed her hair red, pink and golden - and her dog’s hair to match hers.
“I have never deceived anybody because I have never belonged to anybody. My independence was all my fortune, and I have known no other happiness.”
She was the most famous courtesan in Paris. She may not have been the most conventional beauty, but she charmed men with her daring sexuality, enviable body, wit and lust for life.
There are many stories about Cora: it has been told she used to bathe in expensive champagne, once had herself served naked on a silver plate at a fancy dinner and dyed her hair red, pink and golden - and her dog’s hair to match hers.
During her years at the all female French convent school she attended, she had engaged in numerous same-sex relationships. After her abrupt initiation into heterosexual sex, however, she did not return to her grandmother’s home, nor go back to her mother, but rented a room for herself.
“…I have never deceived anyone, for I have never belonged to anyone. My independence was all my wealth: I have known no other happiness.”
Regina assumes that Emma shares Henry's desire to add a dog to the family, but she sees a new side of her girlfriend when they find a cat that reminds Emma of one she bonded with when she lived on the streets
Thanks for the prompt :)
It’s a beautiful spring day so they decide to walk home from work, hand in hand in their blissful bubble. Occasionally someone will wave to them but other than that they can just enjoy a casual stroll through the town they call home.
Regina sighs contently resting her head on Emma’s shoulder only to find her girlfriend abruptly pulling away. “Emma?”
She turns to find Emma crouching down and calling over a stray kitten, smiling as she watches the animal cautiously approaching the blonde. Emma strokes it before pulling it into her arms.
“There ya go little fella…you’re so sweet,” Emma gushes.
Regina raises a brow, “Huh…I always thought you’d be a dog person.”
“When Henry goes on about a dog I figured you’d be on his side…”
“Oh…I like dogs,” Emma replies, “But this little guy here…when I was fourteen I spent six weeks living in an old subway tunnel…it was lonely and it was freezing but every night there was a cat and he would come up to me and curl up beside me. At a time when I had nothing, I had that cat and I was a little less alone.”
Regina smiles softly, “I’m glad you had that cat…you want to keep this one don’t you?”
Emma nods sheepishly. “I do…if you’re okay with it.”
“We’ll put up posters to make sure he doesn’t belong to anybody…and if no-one turns up to claim him then…he can be a Swan-Mills.”
Emma beams, “I love you so much…can I name him Mufasa?”
Also on AO3 (posting there may be delayed as I’m out of town again)
This is a direct sequel to Routines (day 2), but it can be read on its own. It is also the @miraculousfluffmonth August 12 prompt, mon coeur.
“Where Mama?” Hugo asked, craning his head around the crowded room. He happily swung his feet, enjoying his vantage point from the carrier holding him to his father’s hip.
“She’s behind the curtain,” Emma said, bending down a bit to explain. After a great deal of practice at Uncle Nino’s music in the park performances, she’d graduated to a spot on her father’s shoulders. "Isn’t that right, Papa?“
He patted his daughter’s knee. "Absolutely, Sweetling.”
“Why are people staring at us?” Emma wanted to know. "Is it because kids don’t go to fashion shows?“
Adrien laughed, catching the eyes of some of the people his daughter was asking about. "Well, there aren’t a lot of kids who go to fashion shows, that’s true. But it’s really because your mama is an incredible designer, and so people are curious about us.”
“Auntie Alya says it’s because you used to be a model,” Emma said, patting his head, as if to soothe him. "She said you were famous.“
Adrien snorted. Trust Alya to toss his skeletons out for his kids to play with. "I still sometimes model.”
“Only for Mama,” Emma pointed out.
“You have a very special mama, Sweetling. She’s worth modeling for.” He rubbed Hugo’s back and pointed to the runway. "Okay. Like we practiced. They’re about to start, and we want people to focus on mama’s clothes, not our bad behavior, right.“ He held up one fist and both kids bumped it with theirs.
Alan Rickman is one of the reasons that the “Harry Potter” series means so much to me. Alan Rickman IS Snape!
Alan Rickman, you will forever be in our hearts and on our minds. Thank you for everything!
The second of my one-shot prompts, the original prompt will be at the bottom of the fic to avoid spoilers. To submit your own one-shot please click here. I will tag all the one-shots with the tag CPoneshot so you can easily find them.
Hiding Something | 2,000 words | PG rating
Emma knew that Regina was hiding something she just didn’t know what that something was. The curse had broken six months ago and since then things had been quiet, or as quiet as a recently cursed town full of story book characters could be.
Emma tries to grab a coconut in a tree, mind you, she’s not tall enough, Hook lifts her up. A little something I wrote a while ago. I feel like the characterisation is a little off (constructive criticism would be appreciated). Alternatively, you can just laugh at how bad I am with this writing thing.
He hears her before he sees her.
Hook brushes aside a giant leaf, the flora of the
Neverland Forest having grown considerably over the decades since his first
Coming up to a clearing, he sees Emma leaping up
and down, grunting in effort and batting her hand at something. He looks up to see a coconut tree towering
over her small form. Hook smirks in amusement at her antics; she’s not tall
enough to reach the fruit but she tries again before huffing and kicking the
stump of the tree in frustration. She puts her hands on her hips, glaring hard
at the tree and even though he can only see her profile from where he’s
watching, he can tell that her lips are in a thin line and her eyes are
She really doesn’t take defeat easily.
It’s one of the things he’s come to admire about
As if to prove his point, she turns and her eyes
sweep over to where he is. He ducks instinctively, but she doesn’t seem to
notice him. Instead, her attention is on the forest floor and her eyes light up
when she finds what she is seeking. Emma crouches down and picks up a branch,
bending it slightly to test its durability, before nodding in satisfaction. She
turns back to the tree and starts leaping again, this time batting the coconut
with the stick.
Deciding to make his entrance whilst she is
otherwise occupied, he steps into the clearing and clears his throat.
summary: Zombie AU with a twist… ft. lots of terrible innuendo (the brother-in-arms of Mindreader Sex)
genre: humour, kinda-smut, angst wc: 9.8k (ish) warnings: the gore you’d expect from a zombie au (blood/cannibalism), alcohol, sorta non-con
I lean back on the furs in the wardrobe, steadying my breathing. ‘Although, just in case… It’s quite cosy in here. Wanna make the most of our final hours?’ ‘What?’ ‘Well, it’s not gonna matter if we don’t use condoms at this point is it.’
What if Pan’s curse brought everyone who was born in the Enchanted Forest back? What if Henry was left behind?
A/N: Oh, what’s that? I have two interviews this week I should be preparing for instead of writing last-minute fic for AU week? What a surprise! I can technically blame you (yes you, reader) for encouraging me by reading this, right? … Right?
“No,” Regina whispers as she crumples to the floor,
clutching Pan’s scroll.
“Regina?” Emma calls
out, concerned as she hurries over to her.
Regina’s shoulders start to shake and tremble, her head hung
as she traces the edges of the scroll.
“What’s going on?” Emma
asks, crouching down next her, unsure if her presence is wanted.
“Something’s wrong,” Regina mutters, brushing her hair from
her face, but refusing to look up from the scroll. “Pan’s magic is too powerful, I can’t stop
it. The curse is taking all of us back to
the Enchanted Forest, Emma.”
Anonymous asked: You should totally write a fan fiction based on what would be Emma’s life if Regina never placed the curse. And what would become of Captain Swan. If they were to meet, and where, and ect. You could make Emma a widow or something so Henry’s still in the picture.
So, Anon, apparently when I told you to ‘give me a few days’, what I really meant was 'give me a few hours’. I obviously got a little excited by this story!
Emma looked out over the bow of the ship and let the fresh sea air wash over her. Her diplomatic mission to the neighbouring kingdom hadn’t been nearly as successful as she might have liked. Her parents would no doubt be disappointed. They’d spent the last 24 years raising her to be the perfect princess: tactful, firm but willing to compromise.
Sadly, Emma had also grown up to be fiercely independent, a little hot-headed, and unwilling to deal with people’s bullshit.
Hence, her inability to negotiate a peaceful truce with their neighbouring kingdom. Still, their neighbours hadn’t instantly declared war on them, so Emma supposed she can’t have messed up too badly.
A year ago, Emma had been grateful that her parents had recognised the restlessness that had been plaguing her and decided to give her the responsibility of protecting their kingdom from possible dangers. No doubt they thought it was a fairly safe task, as no one had threatened their kingdom in Emma’s life time. And with Emma’s training in various forms of combat (sword fighting from her father, archery from her mother, and strategy from her tutors), it had seemed like a perfect fit.
Sadly, the last year had been fairly uneventful. This had been Emma’s first real test, and she hadn’t succeeded.
She comforted herself with the knowledge that she hadn’t actually failed, either. At least she hadn’t made things worse.
She sighed, trying to think of a way to make it up to her parents. If she didn’t, they might not trust her again, and Emma couldn’t bear it they made her go back to her role as a largely useless member of their court. It would break her.
A shout sounded from above, and Emma followed the gazes of the crew members to see a ship on the horizon. She didn’t panic, not yet, as they had encountered a number of ships on their journey. But by the looks on the faces of the men and women around her, something was different.
“What is it?” she asked the nearest crewmember as they hurried past.
“Pirates, miss,” the young girl told her before hurrying off to her duties.