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) and will update every Friday. As the prologue was so short, I thought Iād give you chapter 1 today.Ā
Ready to meet some of the Scooby Gang?Ā
Artwork credit for this piece goes to my fellow Angel fan, @hollyethecuriousĀ
The young woman moaned a little in her sleep as she rolled over once more, tangling the sheets around her legs.
There was a moment of peace in the room, before she rolled back the other way and let out a soft cry of, āNo! Please donāt.ā Ā
Sweat was beginning to bead on her forehead as she twisted back again. The sheets were tangling up further around her legs, binding them together tightly. Ā
Finally, with a louder cry of, āPlease no,ā on her lips, she bolted awake. Ā
As she waited for her heartrate to calm down once more, she reached over to flick on the light in the room.
The girl took a few huge gulps of water from the warm glass beside her bed, as she used the back of her arm to wipe her sweaty forehead.
She felt like sheād just run a marathon. Every inch of her body was screaming in protest, and her mind was still a jumble. Ā
She couldnāt remember what her dream was about.
All she remembered was an urge to fight.
A need to survive.
And one loan word, printed in the darkness.
Vampyr.
Emma groaned loudly as her phone blared from its position on her bedside table, alerting her to the fact that she needed to get up. Ā Even thought sheād crashed before ten the night before, exhausted from helping her father clean and unpack their kitchen, she still felt like she hadnāt slept at all.
The alarm was promptly followed by her father yelling, āEmma. Itās almost time for school,ā up the stairs, which had her groaning a little more and burying her head under her pillow.
The first day at a new school was always a daunting experience.
Emma had been fairly popular in her old school, back in Boston. Sheād had good friends; a handsome boyfriend that she enjoyed spending time with; and had been doing reasonably well in all of her classes.
But that had all changed the moment her father had been offered a new job, in a small town sheād never even heard of before. And now, Emma was having to pick up and start her life over again. She had no friends in Storybrooke. There would be no handsome boyfriend waiting for her after her classes. And she would be starting in the middle of the school year, already behind on the work her classmates were completing.
GlorianaĀ – my Tudor Court AU with Emma as Elizabeth I and Killian as a mix of Robert Dudley and Francis Drake – was one of those fics that I did intend to continue but time just got away from me, and it did work as a one shot so I left it as it was. But I had started writing a second part forever ago and when I got this message I pulled up the file, reread it and my inner history nerd came out againā¦.
ā¦.7,000 words later, here is Part 2. I always envisioned this as a non-linear story anyway, so thereās two flashback scenes plus a scene that takes place after part 1 and Iāve included the night at Hatfield referenced in this line,Ā āShe hadnāt been a virgin since that night at Hatfield House lo those many years ago, when Killian had taken her to his bed and made her a woman in his arms, ruining her for any other man from that day forward.ā
(rated M)
Part 1 is here on Tumblr and the fic is posted on ff.net here
Gloriana – Part 2
Hampton Court Palace Some Time Ago
āI do not believe we have been properly introduced, my lord.ā
āWe have not, but Iām afraid I must correct you, Your Highness, as I am not a lord.ā
āAnd I must correct you, good sir, as I am simply Lady Emma and in my sisterās court it is a foolish mistake to call me Highness.ā
The tall man with bright blue eyes that reminded Emma of the sea leaned down slightly in a graceful hint of a bow and lowered his voice so that it carried only to her ears, āI assure you I am no fool, Your Highness. My name is Killian Jones, and I have come to court to swear my service solely to the Princess Emma, lawful daughter of the great King David and true heiress to the throne of England.ā
Across the room Philip of Spain bowed somewhat stiffly to Emmaās half sister Mary, daughter of her late father David and his first wife, the repudiated Kathryn. The whole of the court was there to celebrate their marriage, including Emma, the rather inconvenient heiress presumptive who Mary could hardly bear the sight of at times but couldnāt quite ignore completely. The courtiers tended to follow their queenās lead and few were brave enough to be seen conversing openly with Mary Blanchardās daughter. Queen Maryās memory was long and her hatred of the dark haired siren of a woman who had drawn her father away from Kathryn had never abated over the years, frequently spilling over to the only child of the passionate union between king and commoner.
Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, sheās winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU
Killian had the entire bus ride out to the wilds of Musselburgh to get a grip on his anger. A whole forty minutes to compose his thoughts, an hour if you factored in having to stop home to change. A leather jacket wasnāt going to cut it with this crowd.
It was Ladies Day at the races.
The one day a year when the movers and shakers of South Eastern Scotland congregated to blag their way through a succession of conversations about horse racing as if they had any clue. Anything to impress the boss, or seal that deal. The place was fit to bursting with moneyed types and semi-famous faces. People heād shaken hands with at various luncheons and dinners, and other pretentious press events masquerading as dining opportunities.
He never grew used to it. It didnāt matter how long it had been since heād welcomed Elsa and her not-inconsiderable trust fund into the family, or lived in that veritable mansion on East Castle Road. When it came to mingling with the blue bloods, Killian always came out of the encounter feeling like some kind of Dickensian orphan, whoād accidentally wandered into the wrong part of town.
It All Starts With a Dance 