I got another prompt saying that Wish Hook shouldn’t be with anyone but a version of Emma (no) which I’m not going to fill (because no – remember Milah, people?). That being said, I LOVED THIS IDEA and I had to write it immediately. All it requires is pretending that the Hyperion Heights curse involved a backwards time jump to 2010. (I know it isn’t 2010, shhhhhh. Go with it.)
Rated Explicit, ~3400 words.
It was at three in the morning, somewhere in the middle of North Dakota, on the darkest stretch of highway that Emma Swan had ever experienced, that she really started to question her life choices. Because seriously, was this kind of blackness, where everything beyond her own headlights was an inky, terrifying miasma, even real? It shouldn’t be real. She gripped the steering wheel of her Bug, shifting from one butt cheek to the other to try to restore some feeling to her backside. Exhaustion felt like a fuzzy, tangible thing, lurking in the corners of her brain, but for now, the surge of adrenaline brought on by the darkness seemed to be keeping her going.
When she got into the bail bonds business, she’d expected to find enough work near Boston to make travel like this unnecessary – three thousand miles across the top of the United States, all the way to Seattle. It was crazy, making this kind of drive on her own in her crappy old car, and she knew it was crazy. But the payday she would get if she caught this particular bail jumper, she just couldn’t resist. She could easily live for three months on what she would get off of this one score. It seemed worth the risk of a broken down car in North Dakota.
Or, it had seemed worth the risk two days ago. Now, at three in the morning, surrounded by blackness, it didn’t seem worth the risk at all. It didn’t seem worth the risk of being a pretty, blonde, 27-year-old woman alone on a dark highway in the middle of nowhere. Leaning forward in her seat, blinking her eyes several times, Emma said a tiny prayer to the automotive gods.
CS Top Gun AU: Emma Swan is one year away from finishing pilot academy before she meets someone that will change it all.
Dedicated to @captainswanandclintasha as a Hub Santa gif. You can watch the terrible 80s video that was inspiration in here: La Incondicional (Luis Miguel) So you can get an idea, Luis Miguel was the bomb in the 80s and 90s. He was like Ricky Martin’s rival in popularity. The shock for a certain part in this video was HUGE.
All the thanks in the world to @sambethe for beta and hand-holding duties
She should have known, it was the bar all the pilots hung out at after all. Passing through or stationed, they all eventually found themselves at the same place. Emma herself had been a regular since she joined the Academy. And even now, in her last year, she still found herself here more nights than she’d like to admit. It was overrated – peanut shells littering the floor, pool tables in desperate need of refelting, and a beer selection that would make you wince – but the music was good, the drinks cheap, and it gave her the chance to scout the future competition.
Falling snow was knitting a blanket of white over all of Storybrooke, thick enough to rival one of Granny’s. Emma watched it come down from the safety of her sitting room, standing in the bay window with a mug of cocoa in her hands and wearing a borrowed pair of Killian’s flannel pajamas with the pink fuzzy socks her mom put in her stocking last year.
Tomorrow was Christmas, which would inevitably be chaos—the good kind, though. She and Killian would spend the morning together—likely doing some things that would put them on the naughty list—before heading to the large family gathering at her parents, which was sure to be filled with too many presents, too much laughter, and way too many sweets. (Emma may have gotten an early start there, judging by the empty spots on the cooling trays of cookies, but she didn’t think anyone would blame her.)
There were occasional times in the weeks leading up to the holiday that she wanted things to be a bit quieter, a bit calmer. Between the shopping and her mother’s attention to detail and just, everything, she was tired and seriously considering asking Santa for a nap.
But then she’d remember all the years of longing for something even halfway resembling the family and celebration she had to look forward to—the years where the day went by with little to no fanfare, the ones spent in her own in whatever near-empty apartment she’d leased—and any concern or stress melted away. It was hard to complain when she was surrounded by her crazy, loving extended family and her amazing, beautiful husband, especially when they had so much to look forward to.
Speaking of, gentle footsteps snuck up behind her, and suddenly, she was wrapped in a cozy blanket and a pair of strong arms. Killian placed a soft kiss on her cheek as he molded himself to her backside. “Everything alright, love?” he murmured as he pulled her closer.
“It’s perfect,” she answered. “And even better now,” she continued, leaning some of her weight back against him and continuing to gaze out the window. “It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”
“Aye,” he replied with a kiss on her neck. “I agree; you are gorgeous.”
She should have known he wasn’t looking outside, but still giggled and blushed at his comment. “What’s the blanket for?” she asked, moving on.
“I’d be a piss-poor husband and even worse father if I let my wife and the mother of my future child catch a winter cold from a drafty window.” His hand caressed the bump at her midsection where their baby was growing; their child wouldn’t arrive for some time still, but was yet another thing she couldn’t have ever imagined having, let alone with her True Love. “Are you warm enough, darling?”
She turned in his arms, taking hold of the blanket and wrapping it around him, too, once she faced him. He was staring down at her with a soft gaze of complete adoration in his eyes, made bluer by the pale light from outside. And she couldn’t help but think that even if the rest of the world froze over, as long as she had him—and the love shining back at her—she’d always be fine.
“I am, but I’m always warmer with you.”
Sending love to all the amazing friends I have here! Hope you all have/had wonderful holidays with your families and loved ones!! Here’s to a great 2018!! (tags under the cut)
The ninth chapter of my season 6 drabbles series. Also on Ao3 here.
A Little Miracle ~ (6×09)
Emma took a deep breath before she walked out onto the porch
of the convent. The whole ordeal had been tiring, worrying, and exciting all at
once; how Belle must have been feeling through it all, Emma could only wonder.
But it all seemed worth it now, the new mother back in the small room holding
her newborn baby boy.
On the porch, Killian was leaning against the railing on his
forearms, looking around for any sight of Gold or similar bothersome presences.
He took the job seriously, Emma could tell. Protecting his friend, the people
he loves: sounded like Killian.
“You can breathe again.” she said as she made her way
towards him. He whipped his head around the second he heard her voice,
straightening up slightly, “Healthy baby boy,” she continued, walking into his
arms, “and healthy happy mother.” she finished, voice muffled where her face
burrowed into the leather of Killian’s jacket. She could literally feel the air
rush out of him.
“Belle’s okay?” he asked, despite Emma’s reassurances. It
had taken the drive from Granny’s to the convent to convince Killian Belle
wasn’t going to die. She knew it came from a good place; labour was a very
different thing back in the Enchanted Forest, a fair few mothers dying in
childbirth. It had taken some persuading to pry Killian away from her side.
Characters: Emma Swan, Killian Jones, Henry (Swan, I suppose?), Liam Jones, OFC
Rating: PG-13
(for this chapter)
Summary: Sand, sun, a child who’s promised
not to wander off the moment her back is turned and a new book to read. What,
Emma thinks, could possibly go wrong?
Prompt: Your
kid just randomly came to me and wanted to build a sand castle but is really
sweet so I went along with it.
Author’s
note: Written for the fabulous @captainswanouat as a thank you for
making my beautiful tumblr and twitter headers.
My dear Ash, I’m afraid the one-shot is now a two-parter because I am a
ridiculous person. I hope this first part pleases you and brightens your day.*hugs*
With his brother’s life on the line, Killian Jones finds himself on a quest for a cure in the form of a mythical bird. What he finds instead is Princess Emma of Misthaven, bound and cursed to serve Lord Rumpelstiltskin. Together, he and the princess make a pact: she will cure his brother and he’ll return her home. But the road is a long one, with surprises along the way, and feelings can change…
Rated: T Warnings:
depictions of illness, enslavement, mild violence
Here it is at last, my contribution to the Captain Swan Little Bang! Please be sure to check out the artwork and gifset done by the fantastic @fairytalesandtimetravel and @sailingcaptainswan that goes with this fic. I may have cried.
Many, many thanks to ALL of the authors and artists involved with the CSLB for making this so much fun to work on, keeping spirits up and listening to complaints and commiserating about how hard writing is.
Special thanks to @emmaswanchoosesyou and @idoltina for beta’ing this and helping me beat it into shape and also keep it to the word count.
Tales are told in taverns. In some ways, the breath spent telling tales keeps the tavern walls up far better than the gold spent on ale and hunter’s stew. If tales in taverns ceased, no new adventures would be had, no songs written, no maids lured into bedchambers that weren’t their own.
Killian Jones has grown up hearing all sorts of tales. The ones his mother told, then his father, then the captain that spun a tale of why Brennan Jones sold his children into slavery. Then it was sailors’ tales, ones speaking of krakens and mermaids, harpies and sirens, white whales and storms that could only be caused by the wrath of the gods.
Birds that healed any illness.
This particular tale, the mythical healing bird, is what keeps Killian in his seat. His head hangs low, his hands keeping warm on this chilly night by cupping his warmed cider. There’s plenty of tales to be told in this tavern, all of them in increasingly thick burrs from the bawdy men around him, and Killian’s fingers tighten around his tankard when the group nearest him bursts out laughing.
He’s had too little sleep in too many days and his nerves are frayed worse than the lines on the Jewel after a storm.
I was recently asked how long Emma and Killian had been living in the same city in Between Heaven and Hell and how that came about. While I keep some details deliberately vague, I did say that there was some backstory I could write about. Here’s a little flashback about how their current “arrangement” came to be, with a teeny bit of smut.
Having (literally) all the time in the world and little (if any) in the way of scruples was a tidy combination when it came to acquiring wealth.
Spending it was even easier.
Killian Jones had everything he could possibly want, a closet full of impeccably tailored bespoke suits, a different watch for every day of the year, newer, faster cars whenever he got bored with the old ones, fabulous antiques that had been new when he bought them, the finest spirits and a wine cellar that any sommelier would sell his soul for (again, literally) and a real estate portfolio that spanned both continents and centuries. The London house and the Boston apartment, the chateau in France and the place in Malibu, and that was just some of the residential properties. He also owned nearly a block of downtown New Orleans, in the heart of the French Quarter, colonial villas and rundown warehouses in the Caribbean, high-end strip clubs in Montreal, and a controlling interest in a new hotel currently being built in Las Vegas, with a suite specifically designed to his own taste for when he visited the city built on sin.
Money was no object, not for him.
Except…
He tossed the velvet jewelry box aside with a sigh. Diamonds, pearls, emeralds, he’d tried them all and every time they were returned. It had been awhile since he’d sent her a pair of earrings or a necklace, finally accepting that his angel would not be tempted by the best Cartier or Asprey & Garrad had to offer, but he’d been in a bit of a mood lately. Emma had been gone for weeks, taking off with nothing more than a hurried phone call to answer someone else’s prayer. Someone handsome, perhaps, dark-haired and blue-eyed like him (he knew she had a certain fondness for that) but with the one thing he’d always lack, that no amount of money could buy.
By the rules of the Holy Book, demons couldn’t be redeemed.
Emma Swan went to Britain looking for family. It should have been a Hallmark movie, a Christmas miracle waiting to happen. Instead she’s stuck in a grimy London ‘flat’, with the worst next door neighbor in the world.
Well, maybe not the worst.
Ok, here it is! My contribution to the @captainswanbigbang ‘s little bang! Thank you so much to all the mods for organising it and for all your hard work. Specifically I owe a blood debt to @phiralovesloki for being an awesome beta, my heart on a platter to @katie-dub and @killiancygnus for cheerleading and, of course, a million thank yous to my incredibly talented and lovely artist @shady-swan-jones who sent me a prompt a year ago and had to wait a reaaaaally long time to see it come to fruition in a way she almost certainly didn’t expect! The fact that we were paired together makes me grin like a loon Sophie, I hope I did you proud.
As well as the beautiful banner, @shady-swan-jones has also created X this gorgeous artwork for the first half and this X beautiful spoilery piece too! I am a spoilt writer.
Thanks for the title Death Cab. And the tears.
Wordcount: 14999 (yep, that close!)
Rating: M
Other Pairings: Snowing, Outlaw Queen
Warnings: Excessive drinking, swearing, sexual situations.
Emma Swan has never really been one for romantic comedies. They aren’t made for the likes of her – a woman described as prickly by her friends and rather less flatteringly by the vanishingly few dates she’s had over the years. No, romantic comedies are really more Mary Margaret’s thing, full of hope and joy and promises that things will get better if you believe in yourself, Emma.
(She believes in herself just fine, as it happens. It’s other people she struggles with.)
It makes sense, then, that her vague memories of watching one such movie years ago are of being curled up under a blanket on Mary Margaret’s college futon, her attention carefully focused on the television and not on the way David’s hands roamed over Mary Margaret’s knee. Public displays of affection were even less appealing to her than some stupid movie’s ideas about the perfection of true love, and that’s why she remembers most of it even now. There were lobsters, for sure, and something about pornography that made Mary Margaret gasp. (She hopes that was the reason. Maybe her memory blanked that part out.)
And at the end, a beautiful airport reunion that made David sniff surreptitiously against Mary Margaret’s shoulder.
Her experience of London’s Heathrow is nothing like that.
She arrives on a miserable foggy November night, clutching her single case and blinking grit from her eyes in the overly bright arrivals hall.
She steps through the late night crowd waiting for loved ones and out into the darkness, struggling to read her new address from the back of an aircraft napkin in the dim glow of an orange street light.
(Peckham. Mary Margaret had said, a little furrow between her brows even as she tried to smile. Sounds fancy.
If you’re a chicken, maybe. David had muttered, pulling Emma against his side. Do you have to go?)
Emma sits down hard on the chair, cradling her sore foot. There’s no chest there in Killian’s cabin, she thinks sourly.
Fucking Black Beard and fucking Isaac and god damn her life.
Ever the gentleman, Killian had offered up the captain’s cabin for her to use while they sailed back to fix whatever Isaac had done. According to Henry, it wasn’t a curse exactly, but being swept into a storybook where their lives were all rewritten didn’t feel exactly un-curselike either.
Though it had only been two days, the rewrite makes her believe it’s been two years since she’s had a proper bath; as soon as Killian had left her to her own devices, she’d found almost everything she needed for a proper bath. Scrubbed and feeling clean, she’s been scouring the cabin for anything resembling a brush or a comb, something which seems to have been completely foreign to Black Beard, despite all his hair.
Maybe he didn’t have all that hair in this world.
Maybe it’s time she goes to raid the galley for a fork.
“Miss? Er–Emma?”
She sighs, rubbing her sore foot. It’s weird to have Killian at her side when it’s not him, not really. His… memory’s been wiped or his personality changed or… she doesn’t fucking know what Isaac did but she’s got to figure out something to get her Killian back. Or at least get this one into some kind of fighting shape if they’re gonna make any headway here. “Yeah, it’s open, Killian.”
When Killian jumps through a portal in answer of Henry’s desperate calls for help, Emma soon finds herself in a strange new town in Seattle with her daughter in tow, a husband and son to find, and a curse to break.
Rated: T, no warnings or any nasty stuff!
I DID IT! This is my completed story for the Captian Swan Little Bang this year! I’m so glad I participated in this this year and I’m really happy with how the story turned out 🙂
Huge thank you to @cocoa-and-rum for being the most amazing beta through all the stressful times we’ve had – I couldn’t have done it without you! It’s been so good getting to work with you and chat about ideas and just the beauty of our ship in general!
Another shout out to the amazing artists I got paired with this year, @ansoliq and @liloproductions! You guys have been awesome to get to know! You can find their artworks here and here – they are absolutely amazing!
Also, big thanks to @happilyswanjones for helping out with revisions 🙂
Emma walked the streets of the odd neighbourhood, her daughter at her side. She was looking for him: dark hair and missing hand. It had been a month since she’d seen him last, but it felt like a lifetime.
Elizabeth held her hand, singing a song to herself as she jumped over cracks in the pavement. Emma thought back to memories from Storybrooke, her and Killian swinging her around between the two of them as they walked to Granny’s. She needed to find him. For their daughter, their son waiting for them back in Storybrooke.
It was hard to believe she had three kids now. Charlie was the newest addition, born two years after Elizabeth. The little boy was the spitting image of his father, and was the kindest three year old Emma had ever laid eyes on. Elizabeth herself, a whole six years old, was the rambunctious one, with a rebellious streak to match her Uncle Neal’s.
And then Henry of course, the very reason she was in this town in Seattle. He had left home when he was 18 and was ready to find his own story. As hard as it was to let him go, Emma had known it was the right decision. He needed to have a life outside of quaint little Storybrooke. So he’d left, acting so independent, his mothers and step-father forced to get used to life without the teenager around.
With Charlie’s birth and Elizabeth going through what seemed like the extra terrible twos, time flew by. Before they’d known it, the years had rushed by.
It All Starts With a Dance 