Summary: Into every generation a slayer is born: one girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. She is the Slayer
As ever, you can find all of my work on both AO3 and FFN too.
This is my contribution to the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer (@cssns, @kmomof4)
Artwork credit for this piece goes to my fellow Angel fan, @hollyethecurious
I’m gonna switch things up with this one and try and update it every other Wednesday from now on. Fridays are just too busy for us right now.
Emma was grateful for Zelena’s extensive knowledge of the town, as she made her way over to the large mansion on the outskirts of it. She’d never been to that part of Storybrooke before, but she assumed once she took on the full responsibilities of her new title, it wouldn’t take her long to get to know it all.
The mansion Killian had asked her to meet him at was unmissable. Its stately form loomed large in the distance, overlooking the only lake in town. It was clearly a beautiful home, at one point in time, but it was obvious the building was now abandoned. The hedges and lawns were overgrown; most of the windows had been smashed, with some boarded up and others left open to the elements; and there were large cracks in some of the exterior walls.
Emma assumed that Killian had picked it for its remote location and space, rather than its visual appeal.
“Hello?” she called out, as she made her way through one of the rotten doors into what was left of the interior. The ceiling had caved-in at some point in time, but it looked like someone had cleared away the debris from incident. “Killian?”
“To your left,” he called out calmly, startling Emma a little.
She turned through the first opening in the direction his voice had originated from, and emerge into a large room that appeared to have survived whatever ills had befallen the rest of the house. There was some furniture inside of the room that was covered in large dust sheets, and pushed against the walls. But the main space was completely free, and in the middle of it all stood Killian, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a black vest.
“Nice place,” she teased. “Not terribly romantic though.”
It All Starts With a Dance 