#henry mills cross stitch

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Fathers and Sons

Chapter 55: The Worst-Case Scenario

Belle was angry. He was okay with anger. Angry and alive he could deal with. Happy but dead, he could not.

"Did you reach Regina?" Belle called across the car to Emma, who was on the other side with her phone still pressed to her ear. He would have thought that the presence of it there would have been enough to answer that question, and yet…

"Not yet. I'm still trying."

"We're in the right place," David stated, motioning to the car beside his truck. It was Regina's. He knew it. "That's her car."

Then they were indeed in the right place, and there was no need to waste time. "Regina's still not answering," Emma commented as they began crossing the lawn toward the vault. There were people there already, three to be exact, but only one that he really was happy to see. Standing beside the Pirate and the Pixie, was his son. Good. He was here, and he was safe. That was something, at least.

"When we find Pan," Henry muttered, catching up to him, "remember he's still in my body, so if you have to throw a fireball or something, at least avoid the face."

He could hear the nervousness in Henry's voice; some of the Dark Ones in his head even laughed at the comment, finding it humorous. He didn't find anything funny about this. Not in the least.

"I'll do my best," he responded, trying to drudge up some humor to ease the boy, but he worried that it came out too cold. In hindsight, he was okay with that, too, they had to focus on the task at hand and the seriousness of it. Humor might distract and detract. They couldn't afford that.

"Is that really you?" Bae called out ahead.

"Dad!" Henry shouted before running into his arms.

"Did you find the Shadow?" David asked them.

"Not yet," Tink answered almost bitterly.

"But we'll be ready for him when we do," Hook mentioned holding up the coconut he'd seen on his ship. He shook his head. The Shadow in comparison to Pan…the Shadow was only free because Pan was free. Kill the boy, and the Shadow became no problem at all.

"It's Pan we should be concerned about now," he corrected. "Why are we still up here?" he questioned, stepping up to the vault. In truth, if his son was here, he was rather happy he'd stayed here instead of heading in with nothing but a coconut, but even he had to recognize that "waiting" wasn't exactly a trait Bae or Belle enjoyed.

"It's locked up tight," Neal answered.

"Really…" he let his magic gather and then reach out over the lawn and to the doors of the cemetery. He raised his arm, guiding his magic toward the door playing with the lock and hinges, and then-

Magic.

He released his hold as he paused to wonder what it was he'd hit. It was Dark Magic, but not like Dark Magic he'd ever encountered here. Perhaps…perhaps imagination? Or this world's corruption of it?

"Told ya," Neal snarked behind him.

"Fair enough, this is gonna take some time," he conceded before stepping up to it again. He wasn't quite sure what it was or who had cast it or how. But he was still the Dark One. He could destroy it; he only needed a bit more time.

Behind him, he let the murmurings and whispers fade away. He kept his eyes open as he stared straight ahead, but it was not the Mills Mausoleum he saw in front of him anymore; it was magic. He saw it in his mind's eyes, a well-knit fabric of dark green pulled taut over the building before him, refusing access to any who would attempt it. But if there was anyone who knew how to work fabrics and threads, it was him.

He pulled. He tugged. He used his concentration to tease and test the limits of the fabric he saw, looking for weakness. Every spell had a weakness, a dark corner, a loophole, an Achille's Heel that would allow it all to come toppling down. This spell was well made, he wouldn't deny that, but even it had its flaws.

It appeared to him as a hole, a skipped stitch in the fabric that wasn't as well woven as the rest of the fabric. Once he found it, he let his magic pour off of him and into that weak point. The Dark Ones were the only whispers he heard as they murmured their instructions and ideas to him on how to fix this and pull it apart. It was hard work; in just a few minutes, he was confident that sweat would begin to form and then…a rip. From a weak stitch to a hole and now a tear in the fabric of the magic, from there, it was easier to break it apart, to let the tear breach the sides of the building and the room, to let it fall over the front of the mausoleum and then to tear apart across the front so that-

The doors of the vault crashed open with a bang that put a hitch in his heart and broke the concentration he'd formed.

His hand was raised. The voices in his head silenced. He saw before him no longer the fabric of magic, but simply a mausoleum, unguarded and unprotected. Perfect.

"Shall we?" he questioned, striding forward to get inside. He gathered his magic in to him as he moved closer; there was a heartbeat inside. Only one that he could sense and Dark Magic, the scent of it was strong, and the feel of it hit him square in the chest. He heard the others trailing after him as he moved forward, but he wasn't about to slow down for anyone. He was starting to take this personally.

Up the stairs and into the vault he went before following the stairs that he and David and taken not too long ago to find Regina. He sniffed out the magic, keeping his magic ready as he sent his awareness out before him.

The mausoleum reeked of both Pan and Regina, which was perfectly explainable, but what worried him was what he heard.

One heartbeat. There was only one heartbeat. Which either meant that Pan was no longer here, or he was, and Regina…

There. She was easy to spot. The second he descended the stairs, he looked right down the hall into nothing and then left into the antechamber…and there she was, sprawled on the ground.

One heartbeat. He moved toward her cautiously, examining her form, looking for signs of life, for proof that the heartbeat belonged to her.

Behind him, footsteps moved quickly over the stone stairs.

"Regina!" Mary Margaret called out before she ran around him. He allowed it. The Queen raced forward and knelt down beside her as her husband moved around him next and did a quick sweep of the vault. It was needless. Almost as needless as Mary Margaret's fussing over Regina. The vault reeked of Pan's Magic, but most of it was concentrated over her at the moment. She wasn't injured. She was cursed. A simple curse to keep her down and unconscious, one that would break with a good shake but cursed all the same.

"Pan's gone," David finally declared.

"We're clear down here!" Emma shouted up the stairs behind him. As he waited for the others to crowd the small space, he moved closer to Regina, identified the magic, and…

The curse lifted off her easily, so easily it made him nervous that perhaps that was part of Pan's Plan from the start.

Regina's eyes fluttered open, and he watched as recognition moved over her face and she realized where she was. "What…what happened?" she questioned, pushing herself up.

"It's Henry," Emma explained. "Somehow, Pan switched bodies with him."

Regina sighed. "And I fell for it…"

"We all did," Mary Margaret corrected.

"I wanted to believe what he was saying so badly I missed all the signs!" Regina cried almost tearfully. This wasn't the first time she was figuring it out. Pan had obviously revealed himself to her before she'd gone to sleep. "I just wanted to believe he still needed me to be his mother."

"I still do."

His heart gave an instinctive lurch at Pan's voice, and he felt his magic flare; it was only when Regina breathed "Henry" that he was able to remember. It wasn't the face of Pan he was searching for; it was Henry's. As Henry, in Pan's body, strode forward to wrap his arms around Regina, he turned his attention elsewhere.

Pan, the real Pan, he'd been here but wasn't now. But his magic remained. Far more of it than just a spell to put Regina to sleep and seal the outside. The entire room seemed to have had a spell cast on it as if…as if he'd been searching for something.

When they'd been here last, it had been Regina, the person who had placed everything and knew where things were, magic wouldn't have been necessary to find something for her, but Pan, who had no knowledge of where anything was…

He held out his hand and used his magic like a detector, trying to identify where the magic was concentrated to. He felt it over Regina, he felt it most on the walls outside, but it coated the walls and objects inside here as well. It flared in one place. A box, sitting on a shelf with a few candles, wide open…and empty. Something had been in the box?

"So…what exactly did Pan come down here to get?" David questioned at the same time he was putting it together.

He moved closer to the box and…

He pulled it away in shock and fear.

"What?" David asked as he tried to think through his options and work his way through the possibilities. There were no options. Only one terrifying possibility.

He recognized that magic. He recognized that Dark Magic all too well and felt his insides churn away at it. No…she couldn't have been so stupid as to…

"Please, tell me you didn't keep it down here," he begged, turning to scowl at Regina.

Her jaw dropped open as she took in the box behind him and then shook her head as if in disbelief. "Where else would I keep it?" she asked with the voice of a child.

His heart dropped.

He glared at his pupil, trying to contain his anger, remembering that it wouldn't help them. But...

Fuck!

Fucked.

They were fucked. All of them. Fucked.

Fuck!

"What is it?" Emma asked quietly. "What did Pan take?"

He swallowed hard, containing his anger, trying to breathe through it even though all he wanted to do was grab his son and Belle and Henry and get them somewhere safe as fast as he could…

"The Curse," he stated with a level tone. "He's taken the Curse."

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Belle #Baelfire #Neal Cassidy #David Nolan #Prince Charming #Mary Margaret #Snow White #Regina Mills #Henry Mills #Evil Queen #Captain Hook #Killian Jones #Tinkerbell #Emma Swan #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

[lanaparrillaismyqueen]

Finished Henry Mills!

#oust cross stitch #henry mills cross stitch #ouat cross stitch #wip #ouat #henry mills #cross stitching #cross stitching adventures

[reidandweep]

Stitching

Spencer Reid x Reader (female)

A/N- Much like Adam Driver, I have been a huge fan of Matthew Gray Gubler and criminal minds for years. With quarantine, I decided to re-watch the show from the beginning and I had some inspiration. My writing tends to take a while but if you have any requests or idea for Spencer Reid, please send them my way.

Word Count- 6286 words

Warning- Angst, mentions of violence and torture, fluff, tears, and the usual criminal minds details.

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge? -William Shakespeare.

QUANTICO, VIRGINIA

“Good morning my lover and friends. As of 8:45 am, yesterday morning, four bodies have been found across the Washington State area. Locations confirmed to be Pomeroy, Baker City, Salem, and Mill Creek. All victims were very similar in physical appearance; Caucasian, red hair, brown eyes, approximately 5ft 4’.”

Garcia swiped her tablet to display family photographs of the victims on the screen. The team watched, in the debriefing room, as they scanned through their own tablets; reading through the details. Spencer’s eyes flittered over the images as his fingers scanned across the words in his paper file; still adamant on not working with technology like the rest of his team.

“What about the cause of death? How were they found?”

Garcia shivered at Rossi’s question.

“It’s not a pretty image. Each victim was dismembered at the elbows, knees, neck, and stomach. Further cuts were made vertically down the stomach and across the face, arms, and legs. Not deep enough to cut through bone, but deep enough to bleed out. Where the unsub cut our victims, he then sewed them back together.”

Emily looked up at Garcia.

“Are you saying the lacerations were made before the victim’s died?”

“Precisely. Each autopsy report came back the same with the cause of death pointing to the direction of blood loss; specifically, from the throat.”

The team looked at the new images before them. Multiple pictures appeared on the screen, showing the bodies of the victims. The pictures showing the women laid out in the same pose, thick thread holding together the pieces of their corpses. All had their eyes closed, except one.

“Garcia, the last victim, zoom into her face.”

Garcia did as Spencer asked.

“Her eyes are closed.”

Spencer nodded, glancing towards JJ as she spoke.

“Meaning that he felt remorse for this murder.”

Derek scrolled through the pictures on his tablet.

“The other three victim’s eyes are open, indicating that he wanted them to look. To watch what he was doing, whatever it may have been.”

Spencer looked across the table at the questioning faces.

“So, what changed between the third and the fourth victim?”

Hotch stood from his seat, indicating the others to grab their belonging.

“We can discuss further on jet. Wheels up in thirty.”

WASHINGTON STATE

Being greeted by the local police department in Clagstone, Spencer and the team began their investigation into the murders. Spencer did not know what it was, but the stitching on the bodies felt familiar. Like he had seen them before.

Looking up from his files, Spencer watched as Derek walked into the room, ending a call with who he could only presume to be Garcia.

“Garcia has just completed background checks on our latest victim. Lily Trent visited local film screenings at the Southview Centre religiously, to watch horror movies in particular. Seems like the girl loved anything horror and Halloween; according to her roommate and her computer history. It seems that are other victims did also.”

Spencer stood from his seat and walked towards the whiteboard at the back of the room. Writing down the details Derek stated, his brain began to filter through the relevant information needed.

“Halloween is ranked the ninth most celebrated holiday in the world. With different interpretations of the holiday occurring according to country and culture. Wearing costumes at Halloween did not even become an occurrence until 1585, with the first instance recorded in Scotland.”

Derek chuckled at Reid’s excitement. He knew the boy loved Halloween.

“Well it all looks like they were pretty huge fans of the holiday and horror films. Maybe our unsub was too.”

Spencer looked down at the photos in his hand, scanning his memory for any correlation.

“Maybe, it’s not just horror, but a particular film. If all the victims were presented in a certain way, maybe the unsub is trying to replicate what happened to a character in a particular film.”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ll call Garcia to search through all the victims search history to see if any particular horror films come up in each one. Do you know of any films that the unsub could have replicated?”

Spencer shook his head.

“I can collate his actions to hundreds of films but, the method of torture and look of the victims, I can’t think of one horror feature that pinpoints all that the unsub has done.”

A thought unexpectedly popped into Spencer’s mind. Derek cocked his head at the sudden halt from the resident genius.

“But I know someone who might.”

UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON

“The importance of genre in film alters many of the other aspects. The characters and their narrative arcs, the music score, cinematography, the edit, and so much more. Sometimes genre even dictates the director who signs onto the project. Dennis Dugan would not have a directing career if Adam Sandler stopped making comedy movies. Because that is what he directs. He doesn’t direct comedies; he directs Adam Sandler comedies. Which, in my opinion, are a whole genre on their own.”

The class chuckled.

“Genre plays a part in everyday life. Sometimes, your day will be led by romance, or grief, or action. There may be drama, or comedy, or even silence.”

The class looked on in concentration as Y/N walked across the floor. If someone who did not attend the college walked past the classroom, they could’ve presumed that she was a student. She looked young enough.

“It controls the way the characters talk, act, and move. How the plot thickens and pushes forward and…”

The doors at the back of the auditorium opened. Y/N looked up at the sound of the intrusion to see figures that she could not recognise, and one that she did.

Clearing her throat, she continued.

“And how it even ends. We shall leave it at that today. What I want you to do in the meantime is research a genre in particular and come up with examples that counteract the stereotypes that have been enforced upon the genre itself. Hand it in to your professor first thing Monday morning. Thank you.”

Y/N watched as the students collected their things and filtered out of the room. The figures waiting till she was only left before they walked down the steps.

Coming to a stop in front of her desk, Y/N crossed her arms and waited. Spencer stepped forward with a crooked smile on his face.

“Hi Y/N.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle.

“Long time no see stranger.”

Spencer’s cheeks burned at Y/N’s words. The team shared looks between them at the unfamiliar display. They had seen Spencer blush at people before, but not for a long time.

Spencer cleared his throat, preparing himself to act professional.

“This is Dr Y/F/N Y/L/N. Y/N travels across the country to guest speak at different universities on her topic at hand. She specialises in film studies, more importantly the focus of characters and genres. If I can’t connect the unsub’s actions to a film, Y/N most definitely can.”

Y/N smiled at Spencer’s praise.

“Nice to meet you all. So, what are you here to talk to me about Doc? Obviously, you’re here on a case and if you are asking for my help, I’m guessing it’s going to be pretty gruesome.”

Spencer blushed at the nickname; caught off guard by the word slipping of her tongue.

Sending a raised look towards Reid, Hotch began to explain why they were there.

“Were looking into a case of connected murders. All victims were found to have been mutilated and tortured in the same way. As well as showing resemblances in their physical appearances. With research, we’ve found that each victim was particularly fond of horror films and Halloween. We would just like for you to take a look and see if you could recognise if the ways in which they were harmed stemmed from a film in particular.”

Y/N nodded her head.

“Of course, anything to help.”

She reached for the files from Spencer’s hands, ignoring the tablet pushed in her direction by JJ.

“Sorry, I prefer to use paper. I only really use technology for my lectures or to watch films if they cannot be purchased in physical form.”

Derek smirked, shooting looks to his team, as his eyes landed on Spencer. He never thought he would meet a technophobe like Reid.

Y/N scanned through the pictures and documents, looking in detail at the lacerations at hand. She identified the similarities between the victims, as her mind swirled through the images and characters from the films, she knew held similarities.

“What were the names of all the victims?”

Emily looked towards the woman.

“That information is classified.”

Y/N did not blink at her abrasiveness.

“Were any of them called Sally?”

The team looked perplexed at her question.

“No. Why that name in particular?”

Y/N continued to scan the pages as Rossi questioned her.

“Because the unsub isn’t replicating anything from a horror movie. The unsub is replicating the physical appearance and staging of a character from an animated movie. A Disney one to be more specific.”

A light bulb flickered in Spencer’s mind as he stared at Y/N in realisation. The hair colours. The stitches. It made sense now.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

LOCAL POLICE DEPARTMENT

“The Nightmare Before Christmas is a 1993 American stop-motion animated musical Halloween-Christmas fantasy film directed by Henry Selick and produced and conceived by Tim Burton. It became a cult classic during the early 2000s with orchestral concerts occurring every year to celebrate the spectacle of the film.”

Spencer indicated for JJ to change the monitor as he and Y/N stood in front of the team to explain the information.

“Originally, the story began as a poem written by Tim Burton. Both narratives follow the protagonist, Jack Skellington, into his journey to Christmastown, and how he tries to make Christmas his own. The character in question that your unsub is replicating is the love interest of our protagonist. Created by Dr Finkelstein, Sally is a ragdoll-esque character whose body is covered with stitches to keep her together. The form in which all the women were found is identical to this scene in the movie.”

The screen changes to show the scene in question; paused at the precise moment to prover her point.

“All red haired, all Caucasian, all eerily the same. The stitches are exactly the same and the pose in which they are in the pictures are also.”

“We now know which film our unsub is mimicking, but how can we produce a distinguished profile of our unsub? All we can say is that between his third and fourth victim, he suddenly began to feel remorseful of his crimes.”

Y/N looked towards Spencer, waiting for him to speak as he knew more details about the case.

“Garcia checked into the victim’s computer histories and found that all four victims attended a horror convention in the Washington state area over the course of the past month. The convention in particular runs every other weekend, focusing on different horror films to highlight. However, they always make an exception for one film; The Nightmare Before Christmas. Whilst reviewing receipts for the tickets, they were all brought through the convention’s website, which is run by its board of organisation every year. Up until recently, the board has held the same members.”

Derek tapped on his tablet to the convention’s website.

“Last month, the website released details stating that a distinguish member was no longer part of the board due to unforeseen circumstances.”

It suddenly dawned on Y/N who Derek was talking about.

“Dean Faulkner.”

Spencer whipped around towards Y/N.

All eyes laid on her as her breath increased.

“You know him?”

Y/N nodded at Hotch.

“I guest spoke at a panel with him a few years back at a separate university. We were both there, amongst others, to talk about the works of a genre that are expertise were in. I was there to basically provide loose ends for what they could not answer. Dean’s specialised area was horror. The whole time he spoke about what he described as the true villains of horror and of the world.”

Y/N gulped, her mouth going dry.

“Women.”

The wheels began to turn in the team’s heads.

Spencer stepped closer towards Y/N in assurance, seeing that her thoughts were becoming overwhelmed. He quickly stepped back after he realised what he had done.

“He went on a raging tangent about the damsel in distress and the final girl. Going on and on and on about how women are weak and would never be the last one standing if faced against the monsters in real life. How they manipulated the men and made the monsters seem worse than they truly were. The only time he spoke positively about women was when we finally calmed him down and, during a Q&A session, a student asked him who the perfect horror movie character was. He said Sally because she was forgiving and would do anything for Jack; even if that meant falling apart and being sewn back together. I tried to justify that the film does not necessarily fall into the genre of horror. But he rebutted saying that it most definitely did, because of the fact that Jack’s dream did not come true.”

The room was silent for a second, taking in the information.

Suddenly, Y/N grasped the pen from Spencer’s hands. Her finger scribbling across the whiteboard.

“I need to know the names of the victims. Get Penelope on the phone and tell me the names.”

The team shocked at her erratic movements, sat in silence.

“Do you want to capture this guy?”

Spencer licked his lips and repeated the victim’s names.

“Susanna Cole, Alice Dawes, Liberty May, and Lily Trent.”

Y/N swiftly wrote the names on the boards. Each name below the other. Underneath the last name she wrote the letter Y.

“Can you ask Penelope to track any females with the first name beginning with Y who have purchased a ticket to the next convention?”

Derek quickly began to type to her. The rest of the team looking on in disbelief.

“There were twenty-three purchases, but with cross referencing with the similarities in the other victims, one matched. Her name is Yasmine Driver.”

Y/N wrote the name on the board. Circling all the first letters of each name, it became clear there was another connection with the victims.

“Their initials spell Sally.”

Y/N nodded at JJ’s disbelief.

“Reid, when is the next convention being held?”

Spencer diverted his attention to Emily.

“Their schedule every two weeks, so that would make it… tomorrow.”

The team swiftly moved into action.

“JJ bring together the police force for a debrief. Derek and Rossi, go to the convention centre and question the board about Dean. Ask them how often he visited and if they have any knowledge of the victims visits to the convention. Spencer and Emily, contact Penelope for Faulkner’s address. Once you have visited the home, if he is there, bring him in. We’re going to try and catch him before he gets close to his goal. I will locate Yasmine and bring her to the station for safety. We don’t know how far he is going to go and what the end goal of his fantasy is. But we are going to stop him.”

The team swiftly did as they were told, leaving the room with only Spencer and Y/N behind. Just before the door shot, Hotch leaned back in.

“Thank you, Dr Y/L/N, for all your help. If possible, could you stay here with JJ and look through the documents? You know this guy more than we do, so any more information that comes to mind, please let us know.”

Y/N and Spencer watched as Hotch left the room, the door shutting behind him.

As the silence engulfed them, Y/N and Spencer were hyper aware that they were now alone and had been for the first time in weeks.

Spencer swiftly walked towards Y/N and embraced her in a tight hold. Wrapping her arms around the slender man, Y/N breathed in his scent.

“I’ve missed you.”

Y/N chuckled at Spencer’s muffled words, as his head rested on top of her own. Pulling back, Y/N slowly released Spencer, letting her hands drop to her sides.

“I’ve missed you too Doc. We can catch up later, I will be waiting right here. Now, go and save the girl.”

Spencer chuckled at her words but did as Y/N said. Throwing her a smile, Spencer quickly walked out the room, leaving Y/N behind.

Y/N sat in the room, looking over the files as the time passed, waiting to see Spencer return with the rest of the team. A knock on the door startled her from her search.

Looking up at the door, Y/N saw JJ walk into the room with two cups of coffee in her hands. JJ outstretched the one hand, placing the cup in front of Y/N, as she took a seat and began to sip at her own.

“I didn’t know how many sugars you took so I estimated.”

Y/N smiled at the woman’s kindness.

“Thank you. Have you heard anything from the others?”

JJ sat up in her seat as she watched Y/N look over the documents. Her fingers moving across the pages ever so quickly. Her hand that wasn’t tapped continuously on the table in a rhythm.

“Spencer and Emily located Faulkner’s home, but it was vacant. They’re looking around the premises for clues for where he may be; as we speak. Hotch and Derek just called saying they are on their way down with Yasmine now.”

Y/N nodded at her words. Glad to hear that the girl was safe, but the main priority now would be to locate Faulkner. She wanted to truly help them, before anyone else could get hurt.

JJ grabbed her tablet and began to search through the files for any missed out information. Silence befell across the pair, until JJ could not help but ask what they had all been dying to know.

“How did you and Spencer meet?”

Y/N had been waiting for the question. She had seen the looks the team had shared throughout the day. The questioning gazes towards the pair.

“Spencer and I were both guests speaking at the University of California a few months ago. He must have finished his lecture early as he was wondering the halls when he came across the class I was teaching. I was stood on the desk, encouraging the students to do the same. Spencer thought I was a student causing trouble whilst the professor had left the room. He ran in sprouting facts about the percentage of people who fall and severely hurt themselves whilst standing on tables. Telling me that I should get down before he reports me to my professor.”

JJ chuckled at Y/N’s story.

“Sounds like Spence alright.”

Y/N giggled in agreement. As she spoke, Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the memory of their first encounter. JJ noticed the smile on the woman’s face. She knew what that smile meant.

“So, I told him that he better stay there to catch me, just in case I fell, as I was trying to teach my students about the importance of character actions, and how doing something as simple as standing on a desk can amplify the tone of the scene. Like in the film Dead Poet’s Society. Spencer finally realised that I was also a guest speaker and he actually stood there for the next 40 minutes of my lecture. I didn’t need to stand on the desk that long, but I wanted to see if he would stay. Once the lecture had finished, he apologised for jumping to conclusions. I apologised for making him wait for 40 minutes in case I fell. He told me I didn’t make him wait; he chose to. We’ve been in contact ever since.”

Just as Y/N finished her story, the door to the conference room opened once more. Looking towards the door, Y/N watched as Hotch entered, followed by Yasmine. The young woman looked scared, but unharmed.

Y/N stood from her seat, unsure of what to do as Hotch insisted for Yasmine to take a seat.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Hotch nodded his head.

“We shouldn’t be long. The rest of the team are outside in the bullpen. You can go ahead and join them. JJ and I will take it from here.”

Y/N nodded her head, leaving the room. She watched as Hotch and JJ questioned spoke to Yasmine through the glass, before she turned and walked down the corridor to find Spencer and his friends.

Turning the corner, Y/N failed to stop herself before bumping into a tall figure. Looking up to apologise, her eyes suddenly widened at the familiar face. Before a sound could leave her lips, a blunt force knocked her out cold.

Spencer and the team discussed where Faulkner could be when Hotch strode into the bull pen.

“How did it go?”

Hotch walked towards his team, ready to answer Derek’s question.

“It seems that Faulkner had been stalking the victims for some time. Yasmine detailed seeing him turn up at the conventions, even though he was no longer allowed. She had previously complained about his behaviour to the board before his dismissal. Stating that Faulkner had sexually harassed her. Rossi, did anyone at the convention mention anything about Faulkner that we don’t know?”

“It seems that Yasmine wasn’t the only one. The other board members went into detail about why he was fired. It turned out that all of our victims, including Yasmine, had filed lawsuits against Faulkner for sexual harassment. The charges were ultimately dropped and never recorded to keep the convention’s reputation clear. But they fired Faulkner and banned him from being able to attend any further conventions. Taking away the Nightmare Before Christmas dedicated stand was just a coincidence. They felt that the convention needed something new as they had been celebrating the film for over eight years.”

Just as Hotch was about to declare what the next step would be in finding Faulkner, JJ burst through the ball pen.

“Guys, you have to come quick.”

The team, in shock, watched as JJ ran back towards the conference room. All quickly on her heels. Entering the room, she took control of the laptop, streaming the image to the projector.

Spencer could no longer breathe as he looked at the image on the screen.

“Y/N.”

The screen showed Y/N tied to a chair and bent forward; clearly in pain. Her surroundings empty and dark.

Suddenly a voice was heard.

“I sense there's something in the wind. That seems like tragedy's at hand isn’t there Dr Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

The team watched in horror as Dean Faulkner yanked Y/N’s head back, her body letting out a strangled cry at the pain caused by his actions.

Spencer felt sick, he felt like he was watching himself when Tobias Hankel had held him captive.

“Emily, call Garcia to track his location. We don’t have much time.”

Emily did as Hotch told her to. Talking as quickly as she could on the phone.

“She can’t track it; he’s re-routing the IP address every thirty seconds.”

“She needs to track it. She needs to find her now!”

They all jumped at Spencer’s outburst, watching as tears filled his vision and his hands began to shake.

“Spencer, you need to calm down, we are going to find her. He can’t have taken her far.”

Spencer took in Derek’s words. Taking a breath, he looked back at the screen as he tried to distinguish any recognisable features of where she may be.

Faulkner moved his face to rest against Y/N’s hair, smelling the tresses. She tried to pull away only for him to yank her back again.

“Why did you kill them Dean?”

Faulkner let go of Y/N’s hair. Walking to her side, he grabbed her face in a vicious grip. Yanking her to look at him.

“Why? They ruined my life, everything I ever worked hard for. You all did.”

Y/N looked at him in confusion.

“I did nothing to you.”

Y/N’s breath increased at the vicious look he sent her way. Her eyes flickered to the camera, knowing that Faulkner was streaming what was happening to Spencer and his team. She had to find a way to tell them where she was.

“You made them question my authority. My position. My integrity as a member of the board. You ruined my reputation by belittling me in California.”.

“That’s because you know nothing about horror Dean. You think you know everything about it, but you don’t.”

Spencer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why was Y/N taunting him?

“Garcia’s looking to see if there’s any abandoned properties around the area that he could have taken her to.”

Spencer didn’t even acknowledge Emily’s words.

Faulkner reeled back at Y/N’s taunt.

“I know everything there is to know about horror. I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived it. I’ve created it. Ask me anything about it, I know the right answers.”

“But you don’t. You have an idea of horror, your own idea, that is wrong. You believe that women are the reason you lost your job and became the monster that you are. But they’re not. The reason you’re a monster is because of your sick and twisted fantasies. You made those girls feel small and weak, didn’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The team watched in apprehension.

“Garcia, the location, we need it now.”

Rossi looked between the screen and the phone in Derek’s hand.

“I can get the area he’s holding her, but not the specific building. The whole town is basically abandoned. She could be anywhere from a shop to a house.”

“Keep looking.”

Spencer chewed on his lips. He had to think rationally. If the unsub was upset about the changes and losing his job, what could have been the last straw?

“Derek what was the film they replaced Nightmare Before Christmas with at the convention.”

Derek and Spencer shared a look.

“Cabin in the Woods.”

Spencer ran across the rooms to the files at hand.

“In the location that Garcia has tracked her too, there are three cabins, all within a walking distance of the other.”

The team began to rush out the room, transferring the livestream to a tablet so they could monitor Faulkner and Y/N.

“You’re weak Dean. You’re just like all the horror movie villains. Ghostface, pinhead, jigsaw, all of them. You feed of fear and feeling in control. But the only thing you have in common with them is that you’re not going to win.”

Faulkner scream in rage. Pulling Y/N’s head back, he punched her in the jaw. Striding to the camera, he pushed his face to the lens.

“The party’s over!”

Spencer watched in horror as the feed went off.

“Hotch we have to hurry!”

Hotch sped up the car. Quickly arriving to the location, the team split up into pairs, taking a cabin each to inspect. Hotch and Derek, Rossi and JJ, and Spencer and Emily veered off to their targeted locations. Spencer followed Emily, trying to stay calm, as he slowly walked into the cabin to find it empty, when suddenly a gun shot was heard. Looking in the direction, the pair ran to the cabin that Derek and Hotch had been assigned. The rest of the team already there, looking into the cabin in shock.

“No, no, no, no. Y/N.”

Spencer pushed in front of them, tears pooling in his eyes as he a waited to see the horror before him. He looked in disbelief as Y/N stood from her position on the floor, the gun dropping from her hand as they shook. Faulkner laid a few feet away, in a pool of blood, no longer breathing.

Y/N looked towards the team. Raising her shaking hands towards Spencer.

“I didn’t want to kill him but he was going to shoot whoever walked through the door.”

Spencer rushed forward, grabbing her in a bone crushing hug. His hands stroking her hair as he soother her cries. Leading her out of the cabin, he allowed his team to sort out the rest as he continued to calm Y/N down.

The movement of the team were a blur as ambulances and police cars came. Taking them to the hospital as they sat in the waiting room as Y/N was checked over.

Spencer sat in the waiting room, his leg bouncing up and down with nerves.

Derek excused himself from the groups conversation as he went and sat next to Spencer. Clapping him on the back, Derek squeezed Spencer’s shoulder in re-assurance.

“She’s going to be fine pretty boy.”

“Physically, she has a concussion, bruising along her jawline, and needs stitches on her forehead. Mentally, I don’t know how she is going to handle this. When I suggested asking for her help in the case, I didn’t presume the risk of her being hurt. I should have.”

“Spencer, listen to me. We would have done everything to make sure she lived okay. She not only saved herself but she also helped save Yasmine and this team. Any one of us could have been shot if she had not thought fast and got the gun out of his hands. You know, better than anyone, how to help her deal with this.”

Spencer took in Derek’s words, nodding his head in appreciation, as he leaned against his friend in a comforting hug.

“Probably wasn’t the ideal way to introduce your girlfriend to the team though.”

Spencer stuttered at Derek’s teasing.

“We’re profilers Spencer. We’ve all noticed how you’ve been happier these past few months and seeing how persistent you were for us to consult Y/N, it gave us all an idea why. Seeing you together only confirmed our suspicions. So, how long has pretty boy had his pretty girl?”

Spencer chuckled at Derek’s words. Ringing his hands together as he spoke to Derek.

“Tomorrow is actually our six-month anniversary. She was going to be flying back today so we could celebrate; unless I got called on a case.”

“We can still celebrate.”

Spencer looked up as Y/N walked through the waiting room, fresh stitches on her forehead and an ice pack resting in her hands.

“The nurse said that there was no internal damage. That my body will just be sore for a few weeks. My concussion is light, so I am alright to travel home.”

The team gathered around to check on her. But her eyes could not leave Spencer’s as he rose from his seat. Spencer walked forward slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Carefully he cupped her face in his hands, and to the surprise of Y/N and his team, Spencer bowed his head and placed a careful kiss on Y/N’s lips. Slow, protective, and full of love.

Pulling back, Spencer wrapped his arms around her as he looked at the beaming smiles of his teammates. Y/N couldn’t help the blush across her cheeks or the giggle that followed. Soon, everyone was chuckling at the pair.

“I would like to thank you Y/N. From the entire team. Your actions saved a young woman’s life, and what could have been one of our own.”

Y/N smiled in appreciation at Rossi’s words.

“You’re Spencer’s family. I would do it all again if I had to.”

“Statistically speaking, around 2,000 people a day are reported missing in the US. Approximately, 600 of those would be reported or considered kidnappings. It is highly unlikely for you to be put in a situation like that again.”

Y/N looked up at her boyfriend.

“I never thought I would say this, but your talk about me being kidnapped again is really attractive.”

The team laughed at the girl’s statement, seeing Spencer become physically embarrassed.

“Just to inform everyone, the jet will be ready to depart in forty-five minutes. As I was informed that today you would have been heading home, Y/N we have sent for your belongings to be collected; you can fly back with us.”

Spencer smiled at Hotch in gratitude, the older man knowing he would have only worried if she had flown home alone.

“Thank you, Mr Hotchner.”

Hotch let out a brief smile.

“Call me Hotch. Your part of Spencer’s life, that means your part of this family.”

BAU JET

It had been an exhausting few days for the team, and it showed, as they all were sporadically asleep throughout the jet. Silence encompassed the steel capsule, with only the sound of sleep filled breaths being heard.

Y/N laid fast asleep, with her head on Spencer’s shoulder, as the boy genius sat up wide awake. Looking down at the woman next to him, all Spencer could imagine was what could have happened if they weren’t quick enough. How many days he would have lost with her. All the things he wanted to tell her.

As though she could sense his deep thoughts, Y/N slowly awoke, rubbing her eyes as a yawn escaped her mouth. Blinking her eyes rapidly, she waited till she was fully conscious before she spoke.

“What time is it Doc?”

Spencer jostled out of his thoughts to check the watch on his wrist.

“It’s 2:36 am. You’ve been asleep for approximately 3 hours and 22 minutes.”

Y/N quickly sat up in her seat, wide awake.

Spencer turned towards her in worry, wondering what had made her so alert.

“What wrong? Are you feeling nauseous? Do you need some painkillers, as your due to have…”

Y/N grabbed Spencer’s face and placed her lips flush against his own. Their mouths moved in unison, as Spencer’s own hands moved to circle around her waist, bringing their bodies as close as they could be in the small space they had. They hadn’t kissed since the hospital, and before then it had been weeks. Spencer never realised until then, how much he truly missed her touch, her taste, her as a whole.

Coming to a point where they both lacked breathe, the pair pulled apart. Their eyes fluttering open as Y/N’s hands caressed Spencer’s face. Her one hand travelled to his hair, feeling the tresses that had grown since she had last seen him. She looked at him in a way no one had before. Spencer shared the same expression.

“Happy six-month anniversary Spencer. I love you.”

Spencer looked at Y/N in disbelief.

“Before you start spouting of facts about transference and how I am probably only saying this because you saved my life, you’re wrong. Because then I would be telling Hotch and Morgan the same thing.”

Spencer couldn’t help the watery smile that graced his face. For the second time in the past day, his eyes filled with tears. But this time, they were good.

“I’ve known I have loved you for a long time. For five months actually. I knew I loved you when we made pizza in your apartment and we ended up burning it, so we ordered one instead.”

Spencer laughed at the memory. It was the first time Spencer had initiated their make out. He had watched her cooking, in his apartment, and he had never found her more attractive than he did seeing her in his home.

“I knew that whilst you were spouting of facts about the invention of the pizza that I loved you and that I could listen to you forever. I love you Spencer.”

Spencer pulled Y/N closer to him as he rested his forehead against her own. The pair basked in each other’s presence.

“Past surveys show that men wait just 88 days to say those three little words to their partner for the first time, and 39 percent say them within the first month. Women, on the other hand, take an average 134 days. You knew after 31 days that you loved me. I knew after our first date that the way I felt when I was with you is a feeling that I could not even describe with my vast vocabulary. I knew after 8 days that the way I felt was stronger than liking you and that was a frightening thought. But its scarier to think what could have happened to you yesterday. That I could have lost you without you ever knowing. I made that mistake before. I will never make it again. I love you too.”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile and giggle that overtook her. Spencer, feeling high of the serotonin that was coursing through his body, couldn’t help his laugh either. Soon the pair were a giggling mess, unaware of the team who had all begun to awaken whilst the pair were talking.

The team congregated to the back of the jet, allowing the couple to stay in their own bubble.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen him truly happy.”

The group nodded at Emily’s words.

JJ smiled as she watched her best friend rattle of the possible movies that he and his girlfriend could spend their anniversary watching as she recovered. Her smile growing even wider at Y/N’s enthusiasm to watch the film’s in their original language. None of them could miss the look of adoration beaming between the pair.

“Yeah, it really has.”

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. -Lao Tzu

A/N- It isn’t the best but I really enjoyed writing this one.

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid imagines

[ohmightydevviepuu]

our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 5

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter five

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she’s been thinking that maybe it should say “Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck.”

Her partner’s been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

--

thank you as ever to my support team of mythical beauties, without whom this fic would not exist in its present form:  @thisonesatellite​ for her many, many rereads; @profdanglaisstuff​ for swooping in to save the day (no cape necessary); @katie-dub​ just for being there, and being awesome.

SPEAKING OF AWESOME there are not enough good things to be said about the team @captainswanbigbang​, and the amazing crew in the CSRT discord for cheers and comeraderie and so many late nights of sprinting and bad decisions.

--

cw: canonical character death rating: T/M (implied violence, language) word count:  ~4.5k  AO3  chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

chapter summary:   Hook spends the night in jail, and Emma spends the night dealing with her shit. (It’s not a particularly pleasant way to spend the time, but what the hell--Emma Swan is not a believer.  She is, however, a thief.)

--

Emma had a parking space that was legal, had sightlines into the Mills Organization building, and was far enough back from the entrance that the bright yellow car would not be too memorable. There was even a nearby streetlight that gave enough light to see without destroying her night vision.

It was almost enough to make a person believe in magic.

No cars went by as she sat and waited; no late-night pedestrians passing by in activities either savory or unsavory.

But she sat, and waited, because Hook was right and this was her best chance of making progress. Because she believed him when he said he hadn’t stolen Gold’s “valuable object”, no matter how much it went against her better judgement.

She believed him, about that and--

Her fingers traced over the soft, pebbled leather of Henry’s book as she waited, turning open to a page at random: a cartoonish drawing of a wedding, the bride in white and the groom in plate armor complete with sword belt. It was True Love and Happily Ever After, all of it Mary Margaret down to the core.

Once Upon a Time.

Only the longer Emma stared at the illustration, the more the image began to seem like a photograph, like she could almost see their faces and the stained glass and the way the princess’s skirt fluttered not from fabric but from feathers dancing in the air.

The lights in the window flickered, pulling Emma’s focus fully back toward the building and there was a tall woman--blonde--she was dressed out of time in a voluminous brown skirt embroidered all over in roses and it looked like the curtain-clothing from The Sound of Music. She walked through the front door and vanished in a single flash of hard white light; a scream carried through the air and Emma was out of her car before the echo had faded.

That was when she saw the man in the animal coat, the one with the skin that seemed to glitter. In his hand was something small and white and he carried it as though it were both delicate and valuable.

“Hey!” Emma called out.

His expression, was she could see of it, registered surprise. The object vanished as he held his hands at right angles to each other and he giggled.

“Who are you?” Emma called, trying to walk forward and finding herself unable to do so.

“Not yet, dearie,” he said. “Not yet.”

He vanished; Emma felt a hand brush against her shoulder and jumped.

It wasn’t a hand--it was a silver hook where the prosthetic left hand of James Hook’s had been.

“Tick-tock, Swan,” he said.

The fingers of his right hand rubbed against her wrist and when Emma woke it was with her own hand wrapped around her tattoo and her head leaning against the steering wheel.

--

The thing about stakeouts was that you needed actually to stay awake in order to execute one, so Emma gave up the game and turned the Bug back home when she saw the lights in Regina’s office were out. She parked the car in the first open spot within spitting distance of the of and found herself running inside, nearly banging the door into the wall when she came through. She called out an apology to Mary Margaret before remembering that it was well after midnight and only sort-of noticed that her roommate wasn’t even home as she started pulling drawers and cabinets open, looking for the one box that she never unpacked, never once in the seven different addresses. For most of her life, its contents had been in her backpack, squished up and neglected but never left behind, leaving just enough room for a toothbrush and a change of clothes and a few pairs of socks, maybe a hat if she was living someplace cold.

The blanket was soft, the knitted wool somehow still fluffy under her fingers in spite of its ignominious storage conditions. Emma pulled it out slowly, running her fingers across the smooth purple ribbon woven through, feeling the simple running stitch across the upper corner that spelled out her name. She sat cross-legged on the floor and draped the blanket over her legs and told herself it was just for a minute.

Emma’s life was full of nightmares. Sometimes, on her worst days, her entire existence actually felt like one; a waking hell from which there was no escape except for her own determination to keep going and to keep running.

But none of those nightmares had ever felt like this, like something true and just on the edge of her consciousness, like a memory.

Milah. The crocodile.

Emma could still see his face as he died in her dream, and she wasn’t sure if she meant Graham’s or Hook’s or both, so she sat on the floor with her blanket.

Enjoy the quiet moment.

The blanket didn’t offer much in terms of real warmth when she sat on the floor, but Emma didn’t notice. She rubbed her hand across her wrist as though she could feel the motif inked there--remembered a time and a girl and a friend, her only friend, scribbling on that wrist and saying now we can both be special. Neal and how he had made her feel special; prison and the tattoo to remind herself that she was special without anyone’s help; the buttercup because once upon a time there had been a girl in a storybook that no one thought was special and she became a princess, the True Love to end all True Loves.

Henry’s book had fallen open and Emma slammed it shut almost exactly at the moment when the door banged open again, a slightly disheveled and fully distracted Mary Margaret walking in and nearly tripping over her.

“Oh!” Mary Margaret futtered around her, reaching a hand down toward the floor, apparently changing her mind, and then covering her mouth with it. “Emma! I didn’t expect you.” She paused. “On the floor, I mean.” Her hands were rubbing against each other anxiously as she played with the peridot ring on her middle finger.

“Mary Margaret,” Emma said, rubbing unshed tears from her eyes before her friend had enough focus to notice them. She really did not want a post-coital Mary Margaret going all mother-hen after the night she’d had. “Sorry. Got caught up in...a case.”

“Hmmm?” Mary Margaret said, still distracted. “Oh, that’s good.”

Emma looked at her friend, really looked at her: the woman was a wreck. Tear streaks on her face, the kind that came from ugly crying--and Sheriff Nolan had been the one to pull Hook into custody. So--

“Where have you been?”

“Out,” Mary Margaret said, dully. “Walking. By the water?”

“Is that a question?” Emma said.

“What?” And there was that famous Mary Margaret focus, looking at her as if she had just noticed the two of them were standing in their dining area in the middle of the night. “Emma, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Emma said.

“‘Nothing’ with you always means something,” Mary Margaret sighed, “because if it were nothing, you wouldn’t be sitting on our floor in the middle of the night.”

“We were talking about you,” Emma said, a little desperate.

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret said. “But talking about you is easier right now. Remember how you told me to stay away from David and I didn’t?”

“Yeah,” Emma said, pushing herself upright and going for the Scotch. Mary Margaret didn’t drink that often, but they kept a bottle of it in the same cupboard where Emma had hidden her blanket. Mary Margaret bent over and picked the book up off the floor.

“Where did you find this?” she asked. “Did Henry Mills give this to you?”

“What?” Emma said, startled. “Why?” She poured herself a shot and then another one for her friend, handing it over.

“I lent it to him,” Mary Margaret said wistfully. “It used to be my favorite book, you know.”

Emma took her drink and poured another. “Fairy tales?” Emma laughed, and it was harsh--slightly hysterical, even. “Seems about right for you.” She finished the second shot and put the glass down.

“No,” Mary Margaret said, running her fingers across the gilded lettering. “It was more than that. It was hope. Like--believing in even the possibility of a happy ending.”

“Hope,” Emma repeated dubiously.

“And belief,” Mary Margaret said. “It’s a very powerful thing, you know.”

“Whatever,” Emma said, summoning a smile for her friend. She walked toward the ladder to her loft before turning back in an attempt to offer Mary Margaret some kind of reassurance, but Mary Margaret was no longer there. Or maybe she was, only her hair--long now instead of the short pixie cut she typically favored--her hair piled on her head, her waist confined in a dress with a white silk corseted bodice.

The skirt had feathers.

“Mary Margaret?” Emma said.

“Yes?” The woman in white answered her.

“Good night,” Emma said.

--

Sleep was a challenge and beginning daylight was making the sky go grey; Emma was already dressed and out the door by the time five o’clock came and went. She had gone to bed full of whiskey and frustration and fear, chasing a vision of a woman in white through the pages of the storybook she’d gone downstairs for as soon as she’d heard her roommate’s sobbing go quiet and still.

She hadn’t slept.

The fairy tales were--unexpected. To begin with, they were not in any sort of chronological order, meandering through a series of origin stories and follow-ups seemingly based on whatever interested the author most at that particular moment; an increasingly hard-to-follow series of circumlocutions as if they had been paid by the plot twist to churn out the craziest content they could think of. Snow White was a bandit; Prince Charming a shepherd; Red Riding Hood was the Big Bad Wolf and True Love’s Kiss could conquer anything.

Including The Dark Curse, product of the darkest magic and the most malign intent, unleashed upon the world by an Evil Queen manipulated by a man known as the Dark One, and then Snow White and Prince Charming had wrapped their newborn daughter in a hand-knitted blanket trimmed with purple ribbon and hoped that someday, she would find them.

All of it, he’d said, is because of Regina Mills and Robert Gold.

That was when Emma left a note for her friend, promising breakfast, and went back to The Rabbit Hole.

The rear entrance was locked but the office wasn’t, and anyway Emma had come prepared for both, the tension wrench going straight in and exactly the right amount of pressure on the pins popping the back door open in a matter of seconds. The room was exactly as they had left it, even down to Emma’s unfinished tumbler of rum sitting on the far side of Hook’s desk. This time, though, Emma sat on his side, in his chair, bending to examine the drawers.

In the third drawer down she found the locked box. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the lock on this offered more of a challenge than the back door had done, but it was still open in less than a minute, its contents spread across the desk for Emma’s examination. Emma’s hands fidgeted with the smallest treasure pulled from the trove--a ring on a chain--as she contemplated the curved, silver metal that would not have looked out of place in the collection on the wall in the main bar. The hook was nestled in with a scrap of worn leather embossed with a sigil, a foreign crest stamped atop the name ‘JONES’; what stopped Emma in her tracks was the pen-and-ink drawing of a woman and another of a boy, both with creases so sharply worn from folding and unfolding that she was almost surprised the paper--the parchment--didn’t fall apart in her hands.

The boy could almost have been a twin for Henry Mills.

But Henry didn’t have a twin--that much, at least, Emma knew for sure. She’d only given birth the once.

The ring went around her neck before Emma could ask herself why.

The parchment went into her pocket.

Everything else went back into the lockbox and then back into the drawer.

Everything you think you believe is wrong, he’d said.

But Emma Swan was not a believer.

--

Granny’s at seven in the morning was another challenge. Not just because the neighborhood’s best coffee shop and diner would naturally be bustling during the morning rush but because Emma’s head was still pounding from the Scotch. Almost before she sat down, Granny had sent Ruby over with a cup of steaming hot chocolate, whipped cream on top and a cinnamon stick instead of a spoon to stir it. Ruby pulled a face at being dragged back into her old waitressing gig, then gave Emma a wink and sat down, brandishing a bear claw.

Emma closed her eyes and tried to remember why Ruby had quit working at her grandmother’s diner instead of imagining a werewolf serving a breakfast pastry. Something about a row between Granny and Ruby that ended up with Ruby at the bus stop, threatening to leave town, and Emma finding her and mentioning that she and Graham could use the extra help.

“You look like shit,” Ruby commented, taking a bite of an apple that matched her lipstick.

“Are you sure Granny didn’t just fire your ass?” Emma retorted. “Because that is now how you speak to paying customers.”

Ruby laughed. “I’m a people person,” she said. “One that you pay to speak to your customers.”

“Good point,” Emma said, offering a small smile. “How long did you work here, anyway?”

“As long as I can remember,” Ruby said, rolling her eyes. “Too long, that’s for sure.”

As long as I can remember.

“I’m sorry my heart attack interfered with your plans to sleep your way down the eastern seaboard,” Granny said, coming up behind them. “Eat your bear claw or I won’t save you one next time.” That last was directed at Emma, who hastened to comply.

Ruby laughed. “What’s up with you this morning, Em? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bear claw last long enough for you to put it on a plate before.”

Emma shrugged. “It was a long night,” she said, because that was easier than saying she’d stayed up too late reading fairy tales and drinking, or explaining that she’d already committed a felony and been to the office before seven. She’d sat at Graham’s desk, with his things--added another reminder to her collection when she’d pulled the laces from his work boots and tied them around her wrist to cover her tattoo. Hook’s ring bumped up against the swan pendant around her neck that might as well have been an albatross for how much it had weighed her down in the years since Neal had stolen it for her and then bequeathed it to her, a parting gift she’d received in prison as she served the sentence he’d set her up to take.

It came in the mail the same day she’d taken the pregnancy test.

Emma Swan did not get emotional about men and she carried the reasons--the reminders--why everywhere she went.

It’s always nice to leave an impression.

The ring was leaving an impression in her skin from where she’d wrapped her hand around it, Emma realized as she tried to focus on what Ruby was saying to her, and then the bell over the entrance rang and Mary Margaret came in, looking nervously around her before sliding into their booth. Emma ordered her a tea by gesturing for Ruby to go get it, which got her another fake snarl before Mary Margaret said, in a voice barely above a whisper: “I broke up with David.”

“Ah,” Emma said. She leaned in closer, wanting to offer comfort but not totally sure how to do it. She reached her hand out to her roommate’s in an unfamiliar gesture, then let it fall to the table when her eye caught the peridot ring Mary Margaret wore on her third finger.

"I’m not the jewelry type," said Snow White. "I can tell," said the prince."

“Kathryn,” Mary Margaret said, “his wife, I mean, she got into law school.” She paused. “In Boston.”

And it was then, when he saw his mother’s ring on her finger, that he knew in his heart there was no other woman he would ever love.

Emma pulled at the ring on the chain around her neck.

Consider it a reminder.

“So David is moving with her?”

Ruby laughed. “David, outside of Storybrooke? I’m not sure if he would survive.”

“No,” Mary Margaret said, on the verge of tears. “We talked about it--we agreed--to take the opportunity to start over from a real place. He was going to tell her the truth. We were going to be honest.”

Emma did not fail to notice the repeated use of the past tense.

“He didn’t tell her,” Emma said, not needing to ask. “But she found out, didn’t she?”

“While you were out last night on your case I was with David,” Mary Margaret said. “And then his wife called looking for him. She thought he was on duty at the station but he didn’t answer there so she--” Mary Margaret was wiping away tears. “He was supposed to tell her. He told me that he did.”

“That would have been the honorable thing to do,” Emma muttered.

“And I realized,” Mary Margaret said, “that what we have, it isn’t love. It’s something else, something destructive. We shouldn’t be together. It’s like we’re cursed.”

"Show me you feel the same, and we can be together forever." “They had their happy endings stolen from them,” Hook had said.

Ruby came back with the tea and sat down, looking between Emma and Mary Margaret before enveloping Mary Margaret in a hug.

“I always thought,” Mary Margaret said, “that if two people were meant to be together, they find a way. They--find each other, no matter what. I really believed that.”

“If you need anything--” “You’ll find me?” Snow said, looking at him thoughtfully. "Always,” Charming confirmed. “I almost believe that.”

Emma shook her head, trying to wake herself up, trying not to picture the story she’d read the night before, trying not to see the woman in white and a red-cloaked werewolf where her friends were sitting. She took a sip of her cocoa and looked at the clock: 7:15.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Ruby was saying, an arm still wrapped around Mary Margaret’s shoulder as the bell over the door rang again and Sheriff David Nolan walked in.

“You made a mistake with David,” Emma said. “It happens. Hang in there. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.”

“Thank you,” Mary Margaret said softly, wiping under her eyes, though her mascara was already a lost cause.

So much for True Love.

But Emma still had a job to do, even if she wasn’t completely sure what it was any more. She finished her cocoa and got up, a quick “see you at the office” to Ruby and a hand on the shoulder, which seemed like the right thing to do, for Mary Margaret. She walked toward David and resisted the urge to hit him when she got in front of him and asked, “What happened with Hook last night?”

David’s head moved but he wasn’t looking at her. He was almost looking through her as he said, “I’m looking,” which didn’t seem like an answer to her question.

“What the fuck, Nolan? You really want to dick around right now?” Emma gestured impatiently at the sobbing woman behind both of them.

“I’m looking,” he repeated, and it still wasn’t an answer.

“Whatever,” Emma muttered, moving toward the way out. David Nolan looked like a man possessed.

Or cursed.

Fuck literally all of that, Emma thought as the door closed behind her, nearly walking into someone on the sidewalk. She sidestepped him at the last minute, turning behind her just to double-check, and he was staring at her. The man was tall, with messy hair and wide eyes, something frantic in his gaze. He wore a cravat and a top coat as if that was a thing people did, and turned away when she met his eyes, walking quickly in the other direction.

Emma buried her hands in her pockets, twisting her fingers in the fabric of the pocket bags, and walked to the sheriff’s station.

--

She should have been expecting to find him already gone, if Nolan was out and about getting coffee, but finding the cell empty was still something of a shock. Judging by the charge sheet David had left on his desk--without locking the door, making it easy to snoop--Hook had been bailed out by a woman named Cora Hart. David had left no other notes or thoughts, at least none that Emma could see, so she walked back to the door and came face-to-face with Regina Mills, who was walking in and looking, as usual, angry.

“Seriously?”

“I should be the one asking you that,” Regina said, apparently exasperated in addition to angry. “What game are you playing at, Miss Swan?”

“I could say the same to you,” Emma retorted. “It was you, wasn’t it, who phoned the Sheriff last night?”

Regina did not condescend to answer. “The way the two of you were making eyes at each other,” Regina said with a sneer, “constituted a crime.”

“We do not,” Emma objected, “‘make eyes’.” Emma realized her mistake only when Regina snorted--it felt like an admission, of sorts, and definitely one that Regina could not be trusted with.

“I’ve come to see to him, at any rate,” Regina said expectantly. “What have you done with him?”

Emma gestured at the empty cell with a flourish, suppressing the urge to make a mocking little bow. “He’s gone,” she said. “Bailed out this morning by Cora Hart.”

There was a beat of silence and then Regina’s face went completely white, as if all of the blood had drained from her face at once--except for her lips, which remained so red they looked bloodstained.

“Who is she, Regina?”

“It’s not possible,” Regina whispered.

“You seem to be saying that a lot lately,” Emma said. “It never seems to be true.”

Regina’s perfectly painted lips formed a moue. “She’s my mother,” Regina admitted.

“I thought your mother was dead,” Emma said.

“So did I,” Regina said.

--

Watching Henry Mills on the playground was like staring into the past.

A group of kids crowded around the swingset; another took turns using a slide; and Henry sat, resplendent in his solitude, in the tower of a play structure.

“He calls it his castle,” Mary Margaret explained when Emma had shown up at the school looking for Henry. “That’s where he spends most of his time.”

Emma had always been, at best, at the fringes of childhood socializing. More often, she found herself alone and apart, considered temporary--too aloof, too prickly, too much effort to be worth it.

“You left this in my office,” Emma said, coming up behind him and settling herself next to him. The book she left on the ground in between them.

“Oh,” Henry says, looking sheepish. “Yeah, thanks...Emma.”

“You know who I am, don’t you?” Emma said.

His expression brightened. “You read it?” he asked, excited. “You know?”

“Did I read what?” she said. “Do I know what?”

“The story about you,” Henry tapped the book. “That you’re the Savior.”

“Oh, kid,” Emma said. “You’ve got problems.” Then: “What is it, anyway?”

Henry considered her. “I’m not sure you’re ready, Emma,” he said seriously.

“I’m not ready for fairy tales?”

“They’re not fairy tales,” he said with complete sincerity. “They’re true. Every story in this book actually happened.”

Every story you’ve read, Hook had said, some version of it has actually happened.

“I’ve kind of had enough of the book crap,” Emma said, then winced. “Sorry, I guess I should watch my language or something. But, yeah, I read some of the stories in your book.”

Henry was quiet for a minute, waiting.

“What I meant,” Emma said, “was that I’m your--your birth mother.”

That was the first time she said it out loud.

“I know,” Henry said.

She had never even let herself hold him.

“It’s okay, Emma,” Henry said, his eyes as wide as saucers and his voice gentle and older than his years. “I know why you gave me away. You wanted to give me my best chance.”

“How do you know that?” Emma asked.

“Because,” he said, “it’s the same reason Snow White gave you away.”

Your parents’ entire kingdom was cursed. They sent you here to break it.

“What matters is that you’re here now,” Henry said happily. “You’re going to bring back the happy endings. It says so in the book.”

A place where all of their happy endings had been stolen.

“Did Hook tell you that?”

“Hook?” Henry repeated. “Like, Captain Hook?”

“No,” Emma said, shaking her head. “No, like Hook from The Rabbit Hole.”

Henry was nodding. “Yeah, Liam’s brother. Hook. Captain Hook, Emma. He’s in the book, too.”

“Listen to me: I’m not in any book, I’m a real person. I’m no savior,” she said. “But you’re right about one thing--I wanted you to have your best chance, and it wasn’t with me.”

“But it could be,” Henry said quietly. “You don’t know what it’s like here. With her. It’s not--it really sucks, Emma.”

Emma was surprised to hear that kind of language from a ten-year-old and she wanted to grab him, to soothe him. She didn’t know if she was allowed to, though, so she rubbed her hand against his shoulder and quickly pulled it away.

“You could be,” Hook had said.

She couldn’t do this.

She was not parent material.

How could she be a parent when she never was one? When she never had one?

“Believe me, kid,” Emma said, “I know what ‘sucking’ is. I was left on the side of a freeway--my parents didn’t even bother to drive me to a hospital. But I’m sure, in her way, your mom is trying her best.”

“Emma,” Henry said, “you’ve met her. You’ve seen her. Do you really believe that?”

She didn’t--she really didn’t. But she couldn’t say that to a ten-year-old kid who wasn’t legally hers.

“I want to, kid,” Emma said.

“You know she’s the Evil Queen,” Henry said. “She’s the one who made it so your parents had to send you away--they didn’t leave you on the side of the freeway. That’s just where you came through.”

“What?”

“When you went through the wardrobe,” Henry said, “your parents were just trying to save you from the curse--so you could find them, and break it.”

“You found me,” Snow said. “Did you ever doubt that I would?”

“Sure they were, kid,” Emma said. “So, you spend a lot of time with Hook?”

“Liam’s my friend,” he said, shrugging. “His brother is always really nice to me.”

“And you told him about your storybook? That’s why you think he’s Captain Hook?”

Henry looked shocked. “Of course not, Emma,” he said. “They don’t know they’re cursed. That’s the whole point.”

But Hook--he knew.

“And you think I’m here to break this curse? That’s why you stole Mary Margaret’s credit card to find me? Why you left the book in my office?”

“Yeah,” he said with certainty. “Because you’re the product of True Love. That’s what makes you the Savior.”

“True Love,” he’d said. “That’s the most powerful magic of all, or so they say.” He’d said that, as if magic were real and it was just that simple, and then he’d looked at her with the kind of look you get in your eyes when you’ve been left alone. The kind of look a man might have after growing up under an indenture and losing the brother who had protected him--the kind of look he might have after watching the woman he loved die while he was helpless to stop it--the kind of look that might drive a man to chase his vengeance through worlds and time and finally give himself over to a curse in the hope of finally finding his revenge.

“You really believe,” Emma said, “that everyone in this world is a fairy tale character?”

Everything you think you believe is wrong.

But Emma Swan was not a believer.

“No,” Henry said.

Emma smiled, relieved.

“Just the ones in this part of town, in Storybrooke,” he said. “Time’s been frozen, only, I think it started moving again when you got here.”

“And no one noticed that time just, like, didn’t move?”

“They don’t know,” Henry insisted. “It’s a haze to them, ask anyone anything about their pasts.”

“As long as I can remember,” Ruby said. "As long as I can remember,” Hook said. He’s older than he looks.

“So let me get this straight,” Emma said. “For decades, people have been wandering around, not aging, with screwed-up memories, stuck in a curse?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Henry said. “I knew you’d get it--that’s why we need you. You’re the only one who can stop my mom.”

“Because I’m the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming,” Emma said.

“Yes,” Henry said. “But my mom doesn’t know that--we have the advantage.”

“The child got away,” Hook had said.

“Riiiight,” Emma said, drawing out the word. “And who--who do you think Snow White is, exactly?”

“Miss Blanchard,” Henry said. “Definitely. And I’m pretty sure that Sheriff Nolan is Prince Charming.”

“It’s like we’re cursed,” Mary Margaret had said.

“Oh, kid,” Emma said again.

“I have a name, you know,” he said. “It’s Henry.”

“Yeah,” Emma whispered.

Henry put his hand on her arm. “I know you like me, Emma. And I know the hero never believes at first. If they did, it wouldn’t be a very good story.” He held the book out to her, barely balancing it in both hands.

Emma took the book.

She was not a believer.

--

@kmomof4​ @shireness-says​ @spartanguard​ @optomisticgirl​ @katie-dub​ @eirabach​ @stahlop​ @snowbellewells​ @captainsjedi​ @carpedzem​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​ @mariakov81​

#csrt #our little life (rounded with a sleep) #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs fic #canon divergence #S1 divergence #cursed!killian #an alternate theory of the curse

[charmingturkeysandwich]

“Hope at Christmastime”: A CS Secret Santa Gift

Merry Christmas from your CS Secret Santa, @thislassishooked! I hope you’re enjoying a wonderful holiday season. From our exchanges, I decided that I wanted to do something from Killian’s POV that incorporated lights and decorations. And for some reason, I felt very strongly that I wanted it to be somewhat canon... so here you have it! 

This is a season 1 mostly compliant one-shot in which Killian is a fisherman in Storybrooke, and he meets Emma and Henry a few times. Intrigued and oddly hopeful because of Emma’s fiery spirit, he embarks with her on a Christmas quest for bringing about joy.

It’s not pure fluff and leaves some to the imagination, but I felt like it stayed true to their kind of dynamic. I really, really hope you enjoy!

I know I’m a little early, but I’m sick as hell and worried that tomorrow I might not be conscious, so here you have it on Christmas Eve Eve :)

@cssecretsanta2k19

---

It was an odd feeling, being half in love with a woman you’d practically just met. But it had been years, decades, lifetimes, probably, since Killian Jones had encountered such a fierce, witty, engaging, interesting, and bloody gorgeous woman like Emma Swan.

He’d been living in Storybrooke, Maine… since forever, really. His brother had been in Storybrooke General since his accident years before – still alive, of course, but the doctors continually warned Killian against having any kind of hope that their lives would ever return to the normalcy of Granny’s for breakfast in the off-season and hard work lobster fishing the rest of the year.

It wasn’t just that Emma was the liveliest woman he’d met in ages, she was simply the liveliest being, as if she somehow was part of a totally different, vibrant world.

Storybrooke was… fine. It was safe. He made a living. The people were well enough – he enjoyed talking with Miss Blanchard, the teacher who often read to the coma patients in her spare time. Archie was kind and generous, if not a little bit condescending at times, but his dog was sweet and always made Killian smile. Even Dr. Whale was all right – understanding about the phantom pains from the loss of Killian’s hand that he couldn’t even remember.

But Emma? She was pure magic.

Rumor was she was the mayor’s son’s biological mother, and little Henry had dragged her from her home of Boston to Storybrooke because he was so damn miserable. It made sense. Regina Mills was possibly the least nurturing person he could think of in the whole of Storybrooke, and no one ever really understood why she decided to adopt a child. Henry was wonderful, though – Killian had always thought so. Precocious, inquisitive, kind… many traits he can now attribute to nature versus nurture.

The fist time he spoke with Emma happened to be while she and Henry were walking along the pier one afternoon. Emma’s brows were stitched together in worry, her voice low as she spoke to her son, the boy clutching a large children’s book and never breaking eye contact with her. It felt intrusive to even witness the exchange, but alas they were in his way, and there wasn’t much he could do to avoid them when he needed to get all of his supplies back to his ship without somehow losing another limb.

“Excuse me, love, Master Henry,” he mumbled breathlessly, twisting to the side to pass them by without knocking either of them in the head with something large and possibly rusty (when was the last time he’d gotten a tetanus shot? Did they even offer them at the hospital here?).

“Hi, Mr. Jones!” Henry called excitedly, rushing past his mother and following Killian onto the Jewel.

“How’s your day going, lad?” Killian asked after hefting the pile of supplies onto the closest surface. The boy looked happy, as usual, but seemed to have an extra glint in his eye.

“Henry, what the hell!” Emma shouted as her boots stomped onto the ship, her blonde curls now mangled from the seaside breeze.

“Don’t worry, I know him! This is Killian. He’s Captain Hook.” Henry said it so matter-of-factly that it didn’t even cross Killian’s mind to be offended about the possibly jab at his handlessness. The way Henry was talking you’d think he was just reading from a biography.

“Kid, what did I tell you about that? Operation Cobra is for you and I only, and, like I said, it might be time to take a little break from it.” Emma’s eyes were full of concern, genuine worry for her boy, but also fear. He knew that well enough from his vague recollections of the accident(s) that scarred him and rendered his brother near lifeless. What was she so afraid of?

His attempts to quell her worry were for naught, as she wasn’t about to trust a single hair on his body. “Love, the lad and I are great friends, aren’t we Henry?”

“I’m not your love. And Henry shouldn’t be running on board the boats of near strangers when I’m hardly trusted to keep him breathing let alone keep him from being kidnapped by Peter Pan.” Emma snapped.

“Mom, he’s Hook, not Pan,” Henry corrected, his tone that of an exasperated teenager despite the boy being no more than ten or eleven.

“I don’t care who he is, I’m not letting him be the reason I’m never allowed to see you again, Henry! You know if your mother knew that you ran onto some dude’s boat who apparently you thought was a pirate under my watchshe’d have me jailed. Again!”

“It’s actually a ship here, love,” Killian couldn’t help himself from pointing out, his amusement at her fiery attitude entirely inappropriate for what was clearly a very strong emotion she was experiencing. But it was simply so foreign to him, a person having… feelings. Beyond despair, anyway.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Mo-om,” Henry chastised, though it wasn’t clear if he was offended by her language or embarrassed that she wasn’t quite a fan of Killian’s… sass.

(Killian hadn’t remembered a single other moment in his life where he’d said something so… unfiltered. Damn.)

“My apologies, love, I’m not sure what’s come over me. I’m usually much more polite. Henry, we all know your mother – Mayor Mills, that is – would look for just about any reason to throw this lovely fireball out of our town permanently. Emma is right to worry. Now how about you two go about your way and I’ll show you more about fishing the next time that Regina approves it?’”

“So, never?” Henry mumbled, rolling his eyes and walking toward the gangway. Emma turned to follow him, but Killian wanted one last chance to apologize.

“I really am sorry, love. I can’t imagine you’re having an easy go of it here in Storybrooke and I just wanted… well, I just wanted you to know that there’s at least one more person on your side than you thought.”

Emma finally looked back at him, incredulous, and Killian suddenly felt quite naked. Reaching to scratch behind his ear, he clarified: “Me, I mean. I’m also on your side.”

She rolled her eyes yet again, but a spark came alive in the smirk she shot back at him. “Good to know, pirate, but I’m not your love.”

From that day, he’d had numerous minor interactions with the Mills/Swan duo. He saw them at breakfast at Granny’s one morning, and Emma refused to so much as look at him, while Henry excitedly told him all about the website he’d used to find Emma (he glossed over how he stole his teacher’s credit card, a fact that Emma still appeared to be quite peeved about). The following week he saw the two of them at the playground that Killian passed on his way to his ship. He re-introduced himself to Emma, as she was yet to actually acknowledge she knew his name, but she only responded with some variant of, “OK Pirate,” which had led to her and Henry laughing like fools for at least five straight minutes.

About a week before Christmas, he finally ran into Emma without her son, and while he’d thought that was something he was hoping for – an opportunity to get to know her without her hiding behind Henry – he realized something awful. That fiery spirit in her – the one he so admired – was dimming. This town, it was getting to her. Was she doomed just like the rest of them to live forever without a happy ending? Or even a happy middle? Was this safe, sweet, seaside town nothing but dashed hopes and broken dreams?

“Uh, Miss Swan?” he asked, cautiously approaching the bench she was sat on, her blonde hair whipping in the breeze, her hands tucked tightly into her flame red jacket.

“What,” she called back, not even looking at him.

Even their non-conversations previously had been some type of banter, some kind of force in his dreary life, but today, she seemed defeated.

He didn’t know much about the world – didn’t really care enough to participate most days – but wasn’t this seasons supposed to be the one where you believed even more strongly than ever that everything might just end up being all right?

“Can I sit?

“It’s a free country.”

“My purpose in sitting with you is to speak to you, and while I could talk at you, I’m actually hoping you’ll talk back. Is that a reasonable wish or shall I keep on moving?” With great effort, he kept his voice light and teasing, when in reality his heart was breaking right along with hers. From what he understood about her life, Henry was new to it, but had nonetheless become its center. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have had hope dangled in front of your face only to possibly have it snatched away.

Instead of snapping back at him, she slowly lifted her head, swept her hair to the side, and patted the seat next to her. “Why would you want to talk to me?” she asked, her eyes once again trained on her feet.

“You look like you could use a friend.”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“You could. I’m here,” he offered.

She exhaled deeply, shaking her head and gripping the bench at either side of her legs. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I have no right to Henry… I had him young and gave him up for his best chance. And, as usual, I was wrong. And as usual there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m fighting a losing battle. It’s not like anyone can defeat Regina.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’ve certainly gotten under her skin.”

“Yeah, making it all worse for Henry. I’m just being selfish here, aren’t I? Wanting my son back because he says his rightful mommy is an evil queen? I’m sure that’s something a lot of kids his age feel. I just… I just wanted to be wanted, I guess.”

Killian let his right hand graze the back of hers as he shifted slightly closer to her. When she didn’t flinch away, he allowed his hand to fully rest on hers, squeezing ever so slightly.

“You’re not making Henry’s life worse by being here. Believe me, Emma. I know you don’t know me and I don’t know you, but I have eyes. Henry has always been a bright spot in an otherwise lightless town, but since you’ve arrived it’s like he’s a whole new kid. Confident, excited, hopeful. And don’t discredit what you’ve done for everyone else. Miss Blanchard seems happy to have a roommate. Ruby loves when you visit with her at the diner. Granny seems to think of you as a surrogate granddaughter. Our world was black and white and you brought us color, love.”

The shock in her eyes at his words was enough to both warm his heart and enrage him – it’s not as if he was saying anything that should be surprising to her. Who in her life had made her feel so worthless and how soon could he stab them through the heart with his hook?

You know, if he had one.

But her shock wore off as a bit of mirth seemed to take its place. “Now, I can’t take credit for all of that. Granny likes the money I spend. And Mary Margaret… let’s just say I’m not the one fucking her, so I’m definitely not the reason for the extra smiles.”

“Miss Blanchard!” he gasped theatrically, clutching his heart and hamming it up.

“Oh yeah. You might be the native here, but I know all the secrets, friend.”

“So tell me another.”

“Hmmm. Granny’s lasagnas are frozen.”

“No!” This time he was actually shocked. That crazy loon…

“Oh, yeah. And her nonfat pizza crust? Definitely still has fat.”

“That’s it. I’m calling the health inspector.”

“You know, we don’t have one. I think you’d have to call the sheriff,” she chuckled, flipping her hand over on the bench so her palm was against his.

“Hmmmm, think I have an in with her? I’ve heard she’s a spitfire.”

“I don’t know. Depends on the day you approach her. I’ve heard she has mixed feelings about you, Jones.”

“Oh, so you do know my name,” Killian teased, adjusting the fringe around his hat with his stump.

“I tend to remember the people who try to annoy me to death,” she deadpanned, but he caught the ghost of a smirk at the corner of her lips.

“What if, insteaed of annoying you to death, maybe you let me help you?” Killian offered,  absolutely no clue what exactly he could offer her when she wasn’t wrong about the futility of fighting with Mayor Mills.

“Hey now, I’m no damsel. No one saves me but me,” she said, pulling her hand from beneath his and tucking it back into her jacket.

“Easy, love. I’m well aware that you’re more likely than any other person in this god forsaken town to actually have some success at anything.”

“You been reading Henry’s book?” Emma turned fully toward him for the first time since he sat, her cheeks red and her eyes dancing with cautious amusement.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Why?”

“Well. According to his book, I’m here to save everyone. Bring back the happy endings.”

“Oh? And where exactly have they gone?”

“The Evil Queen – Regina, actually – has ripped them from you. But I, the daughter of Snow White (Mary Margaret) and Prince Charming (the former coma patient she’s been banging) am the  ‘product of true love’ and therefore can break the curse.”

“Damn, you should sell that shit to Disney. You’d make a fortune.”

“Hah. Maybe I should. It’s about the only way I could ever afford to fight Regina the real way, you know with lawyers and money and not … magic.”

It struck him at that moment how true Henry’s story actually rang. Sure, there was no way it was actually real, but hadn’t Killian himself thought countless times how full of life Emma was, how she seemed magical in a world of nothing but ordinary hopelessness? Even if he didn’t believe Henry’s story… scientifically, or what have you – he believed it in his heart.

Emma might not be an actual princess, but she definitely had the power to save. And he’d do anything he could to help her.

“It’s the season for magic, you know?” Killian pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward the wreaths haphazardly hung on the lampposts that led back to main street.

“Are you going to help me achieve a Christmas miracle, Killian?” She reached back toward him and took his hand, squeezing as her eyes sparkled with a plan.

“I’m damn well going to try.”

Together they stumbled through the slippery streets toward Granny’s, armed with an idea and the hopes that Ruby would facilitate their ridiculous plan to bring Henry as much joy as possible, even if Emma couldn’t directly be involved.

“So, you’re telling me you want me to let you decorate the shit out of this place, just so Henry sees it?” Ruby questioned, her one eyebrow nearly touching her hairline, her face so skeptical.

So Killian jumped in. “Listen, Ruby, you know damn well fighting with Regina never ends well. We just have to give the kid some hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”

“Are you sleeping with Mary Margaret now, too, because damn that girl gets around.”

“Ruby!” Emma shouted, smacking her on the arm.

“What? Have you seen him? If Mary Margaret isn’t taking her chance with him and you’re not interested, then hello sailor, fancy taking me for a ride?”

“Ruby, fucking focus yourself. Can you help us? And by help us I mean literally offer free decorating service that will likely increase your tips?”

“Oh, fine. For Henry.”

“For Henry!” Emma and Killian repeated, scurrying off to whatever store they could find that carried Christmas lights, tinsel, blow-up polar bears, and any other kind of purchase-able holiday joy.

Once they’d filled three whole carts, they rolled them back to Granny’s, sat down to sip hot chocolate until close, and then went to town, covering every surface with glittery tinsel, jingle bells, reindeer, elves, and pretty little lit-up presents. Killian borrowed a ladder from the short pharmacist so he could string icicle lights across the courtyard outside and Emma filled the big windows at the entrance with those giant bulb style lights of all different colors. At some point after 2am, Ruby texted Emma that the electricity bill was going to be something she’d have to take up with Granny, but Emma just laughed and Killian said he’d pay it and they kept decorating until about 5am when Granny appeared to start baking in preparation for the morning crowd.

“I’m not even going to ask,” was all Granny said to Killian as she entered her now Christmas paper-wrapped front door and Killian’s heart definitely grew two sizes or more when his eyes traveled over to Emma, carefully arranging the Hallmark Disney castle on the ledge next to the table that Henry and Regina often sat at when they stopped there before school.

It was a losing battle they were fighting, Killian was sure of it – nothing in Storybrooke ever led to winning for anyone who wasn’t Regina Mills. But one look at Emma and all he wanted to do was keep fighting, keep trying, keep hoping that one day their world would be full of happy endings again.

Someday.

#cs ff #cs secret santa #keisha writes #this is a gift

[nemesisbinxartifactseries]

Artifact Series J

J. Allen Hynek's Telescope

J. Edgar Hoover's Tie

J. McCullough's Golf Ball

J. Templer's Wind-Up Tin Rooster *

J. C. Agajanian’s Stetson

J.T. Saylors's Overalls

J.M. Barrie’s Swiss Trychels

J.M.W. Turner's Rain, Steam and Speed-The Great Western Railway *

J.R.R. Tolken's Ring

Jack-in-the-Box

Jack's Magic Beanstalk

Jack Daniel's Original Whisky Bottle

Jack Dawson's Art Kit

Jack Duncan's Spur *

Jack Frost's Staff

Jack Kerouac's Typewriter

Jack Ketch's Axe

Jack LaLanne's Stationary Bike *

Jack London's Dog Collar

Jack Parson's Rocket Engine

Jack Sheppard's Hammer

Jack Sparrow's Compass

Jack Torrance's Croquet Mallet

Jack the Ripper's Lantern *

Jackie Robinson's Baseball

Jackson Pollock's "No. 5, 1948"

Jackson Pollock's Pack of Cigarettes

Jackson Pollock's Paint Cans

Jack's Regisword

Jack Vettriano's "The Singing Butler"

Jack's Wrench

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm's Kinder- und Hausmarchen

Jacob "Jack" Kevorkian's Otoscope

Jacob Kurtzberg's Belt *

Jacqueline Cochran's Brooch

Jacques Aymar-Vernay’s Dowsing Rod

Jacques Cousteau's Goggles

Jacques Cousteau's Diving Suit

Jacques-Louis David's Napoleon Crossing the Alps *

Jade Butterfly

Jadeite Cabbage

Jalal-ud-Din Muhammad Akbar's Smoke Pipe

Jamaica Ginger Bottle

Jaleel White's Hosting Chair

James Abbot McNeill Whistler's Whistler's Mother *

James Allen's Memoir

James Bartley's Britches

James Ben Ali Haggin's Leaky Fountain Pen

James Bert Garner’s Gas Mask

James Bett's Cupboard Handle

James Braid's Chair *

James Brown's Shoes

James Bulger's Sweater

James Buzzanell's Painting "Grief and Pain"

James Buzzanell’s Survey Books

James C. McReynolds’ Judicial Robe

James Chadwick's Nobel Prize

James Clerk Maxwell's Camera Lens

James Colnett's Otter Pelt

James Condliff's Skeleton Clock

James Cook's Mahiole and Feather Cloak

James Craik's Spring Lancet

James Dean's 1955 Prosche 550 Spyder, aka "Little Bastard"

James Dean's UCLA Varsity Jacket

James Dinsmoor's Dinner Bell

James Eads How’s Bindle

James Earl Ray's Rifle

James Fenimore Cooper's Arrow Heads

James Gandolfini's Jukebox

James Hadfield’s Glass Bottle of Water

James Hall III’s Shopping Bags

James Henry Atkinson's Mouse Trap

James Henry Pullen’s Mannequin

James Hoban's Drawing Utensils

James Holman’s Cane

James Hutton's Overcoat

James Joyce’s Eyepatch

James M. Barrie's Grandfather Clock

James M. Barrie's Suitcase

James Murrell's Witch Bottle

James Philip’s Riata

James Prescott Joule's Thermodynamic Generator

James Smithson's Money

James Tilly Matthews’ Air Loom

James Warren and Willoughby Monzani's Piece of Wood

James Watt's Steam Condenser

James Watt's Weather Vane

James W. Marshall’s Jar

Jan Baalsrud’s Stretcher

Jan Baptist van Helmont's Willow Tree

Jane Austen's Carriage

Jane Austen's Gloves

Jane Austen's Quill

Jane Bartholomew's "Lady Columbia" Torch

Jane Pierce's Veil

Janet Leigh's Shower Curtain

Janine Charrat's Ballet Slippers

Jan Janzoon's Boomerang *

Janis Joplin's Backstage Pass from Woodstock *

Jan Karski's Passport

Janus Coin *

Jan van Eyck’s Chaperon

Jan van Speyk's Flag of the Netherlands

Jan Wnęk's Angel Figurine

Jan Žižka's Wagenburg Wagons

The Japanese Nightingale

Jar of Dust from the Mount Asama Eruption

Jar of Greek Funeral Beans

Jar of Marbles

Jar of Molasses from The Boston Molasses Disaster

Jar of Sand

Jar of Semper Augustus Bulbs

Jar of Shiva

Jar of Sugar Plums

Jascha Heifetz's Violin Bow

Jason Voorhese's Machete

Javed Iqbal's Barrel of Acid

Jay Maynard's Tron Suit

Jean II Le Maingre's Gauntlets

Jean Baptiste Charbonneau’s Cradleboard

Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin's Bubble Pipe

Jean Chastel's Silver Gun

Jean Eugène Robert-Houdin's Pocket Watch

Jean Fleury's Aztec Gold Coins

Jean-François Champollion’s Ideographic Dictionary

Jean Froissart's Mirror *

Jean-Frédéric Peugeot's Pepper Mill

Jean Hilliard’s Earmuffs

Jean Parisot de Valette’s Sword Sheath

Jean-Paul Marat's Bathtub

Jean Paul-Satre’s Paper Cutter

Jean-Pierre Christin's Thermometer

Jean Senebier's Bundle of Swiss Alpine Flowers

Jean Valnet's Aromatherapy Statue

Jean Vrolicq’s Scrimshaw

Jeanne Baret's Hat

Jeanne de Clisson's Black Fleet

Jeanne Villepreux-Power's Aquarium

Jeannette Piccard's Sandbag

Jeff Dunham's First Ventriloquist Box

Jefferson Davis' Boots

Jefferson Randolph Smith's Soap Bar

Jeffrey Dahmer's Handkerchief

Jeffrey Dahmer's Pick-Up Sticks

Jemmy Hirst's Carriage Wheel

Jenny Lind's Stage Makeup

Jeopardy! Contestant Podiums

Jerome Monroe Smucker's Canning Jars

Jerry Andrus’ Organ

Jerry Garcia's Blackbulb *

Jerry Siegel's Sketchbook

Jesse James' Saddle

Jesse James' Pistol

Jesse Owens' Hitler Oak

Jesse Owens' Running Shoes

Jesse Pomeroy's Ribbon and Spool

Jester's Mask

Jesus of Nazareth's Whip

Jesús García's Brake Wheel

Jet Engine from the Gimli Glider

Jet Glass Cicada Button

Jethro Tull's Hoe

Jeweled Scabbard of Sforza

Jiang Shunfu’s Mandarin Square

Jim Davis' Pet Carrier

Jim Fixx's Shorts

Jim Henson's Talking Food Muppets

Jim Jones' Sunglasses

Jim Londos' Overalls

Jim Robinson's Army Bag

Jim Thorpe's Shoulder Pads

Jim Ward's Piercing Samples

Jimi Hendrix's Bandana

Jimi Hendrix's Bong

Jimi Hendrix's Guitars *

Jimmie Rodgers Rail Brake

Jimmy Durante's Cigar

Jimmy Gibb Jr's Stock Car

Jimmy Hoffa's Comb

Jin Dynasty Chainwhip

Jingle Harness

Joan II, Duchess of Berry's Dress

Joan of Arc's Chain Mail

Joan of Arc's Helmet (canon)

Joan Feynman's Ski Pole

Joanna of Castile's Vase

Joan Rivers' Carpet Steamer

Joan Rivers' Red Carpet

Joe Ades's Potato Peeler

Joe Girard’s Keys

Joe Rosenthal's Camera Lens

Joel Brand's Playing Cards

Joséphine de Beauharnais' Engagement Ring

Johan Alfred Ander’s Piece of Porcelain

Johann Baptist Isenring’s Acacia Tree

Johann Bartholomaeus Adam Beringer's Lying Stones

Johann Blumhardt's Rosary

Johann Dzierzon’s Beehive Frame

Johann Georg Elser's Postcard

Johann Maelzel's Metronome *

Johann Rall's Poker Cards

Johann Tetzel's Indulgence

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's Prism

Johannes Brahms' Coffee Creamer

Johannes Diderik van der Waals' Gloves

Johannes Fabricius' Camera Obscura

Johannes Gutenburg's Memory Paper *

Johannes Gutenburg's Printing Press *

Johannes Gutenberg's Printing Press Keys

Johannes Kepler's Planetary Model

Johannes Kepler's Telescope Lense

Johannes Kjarval’s Landscape Painting

John A. Macready's Ray-Bans *

John A. Roebling's Steel Cable

John A.F. Maitland's Musical Brainnumber *

John André’s Stocking

John Anthony Walker's Minox

John Axon's Footplate

John Babbacombe Lee’s Trapdoor

John Bardeen's Radio

John Bodkin Adams’ Stethoscope

John Brown's Body *

John Brown's Machete

John C. Koss SP3 Stereophones

John C. Lilly's Isolation Tank Valve

John Cabot's Map

John Carl Wilcke's Rug *

John Crawley's Painting

John Croghan's Limestone Brick

John Dalton's Weather Vane

John Dee's Golden Talisman

John Dee's Obsidian Crystal Ball

John Dee’s Seal of God

John DeLorean's Drawing Table

John Dickson Carr's Driving Gloves

John Dillinger's Pistol *

John D. Grady’s Satchel

John D. Rockefeller's Bible

John D. Rockefeller, Sr. and Jr.'s Top Hats

John Dwight's Hammer

John F. Kennedy's Coconut

John F. Kennedy's Presidental Limousine

John F. Kennedy's Tie Clip *

John Flaxman's Casting Molds

Sir John Franklin's Scarf

John Gay's Shilling

John Gillespie Magee, Jr.'s Pen

John H. Kellogg's Bowl

John H. Kellogg's Corn Flakes

John H. Lawrence's Pacifier

John Hancock's Quill

John Harrison’s Longcase Clock

John Hawkwood’s Lance

John Hendrix's Bible

John Henry Moore's White Banner

John Henry's Sledge Hammer

John Hetherington's Top Hat

John Holland, 2nd Duke of Exeter's Torture Rack

John Holmes Pump *

John Hopoate's Cleats

John Howard Griffin's Bus Fare

John Hunter's Stitching Wire

John Hunter's Surgical Sutures

John J. Pershing's Boots

John Jacob Astor's Beaver Pelt

John Jervis’ Ship

John Joshua Webb’s Rock Chippings

John Kay's Needle

John Keat's Grecian Urn *

John, King of England's Throne

John L. Sullivan's Boots

John Langdon Down's Stencils

John Lawson's Mannequin Legs

John Lennon's Glasses

John "Liver-Eating" Johnson's Axe

John Logie Baird's Scanning Disk *

John M. Allegro's Fly Amanita

John Macpherson's Ladle

John Malcolm's Chunk of Skin

John Malcolm's Skin Wallet

John McEnroe's Tennis Racket *

John Milner's Yellow '32 Ford Deuce Coupe

John Moore-Brabazon’s Waste Basket

John Morales' McGruff Suit

John Mytton’s Carriage

John Pasche's Rolling Stones Poster Design

John Paul Jones's Sword

John Pemberton's Tasting Spoon

John Philip Sousa's Sousaphone

John Rambo's Composite Bow

John Rykener's Ring

John Shore's Tuning Fork

John Simon's Mouthwash

John Simon Ritchie's Padlock Necklace

John Smith of Jamestown's Sword

John Snow's Dot Map

John Snow’s Pump Handle

John Stapp’s Rocket Sled

John Steinbeck's Luger

John Sutcliffe's Camera

John Sutter's Pickaxe

John Tunstall's Horse Saddle

John Trumbull's "Painting of George Washington"

John von Neumann's Abacus

John Walker's Walking Stick

John Wayne Gacy's Clown Painting *

John Wayne Gacy's Facepaint

John Wesley Hardin's Rosewood Grip Pistol

John Wesley Powell's Canoe

John Wesley Powell’s Canteen

John Wilkes Booth's Boot *

John Wilkes Booth Wanted Poster

John William Polidori's Bookcase

Johnny Ace's Gun

Johnny Appleseed's Tin Pot *

Johnny Campbell's University of Minnesota Sweater

Johnny Depp's Scissor Gloves

Johnny Smith's Steering Wheel

Johnny Weismuller's Loincloth *

Joker's BANG! Revolver

Jon Stewart's Tie

Jonathan Coulton's Guitar

Jonathan R. Davis' Bowie Knife

Jonathan Shay's Copy of Iliad/Odyssey

Jonestown Water Cooler

Jorge Luis Borges' Scrapbook

José Abad Santos' Pebble

José Delgado’s Transmitter

Jose Enrique de la Pena's Chest Piece

Jōsei Toda’s Gohonzon Butsudan

Josef Frings’ Ferraiolo

Josef Mengele's Scalpel

Josef Stefan's Light Bulbs

Joseph of Arimathea's Tomb Rock

Joseph of Cupertino's Medallion *

Joseph Day's Sickle

Joseph Ducreux's Cane

Joseph Dunninger's Pocket Watch

Joseph Dunningers’ Props

Joseph E. Johnston Confederate Flag

Joseph Force Crater's Briefcases

Joseph Fourier's Pocket Knife

Joseph Glidden’s Barbed Wire

Joseph Goebbels' Radio *

Joseph Jacquard's Analytical Loom

Joseph Bolitho Johns’ Axe

Joseph Kittinger's Parachute

Joseph Lister's Padding

Joseph McCarthy's List of Communists

Joseph Merrick's Hood

Joseph-Michel Montgolfier's Wicker Basket

Joseph Moir’s Token

Joseph Pilate's Resistance Bands *

Joseph Polchinski’s Billiard Ball

Joseph Stalin's Gold Star Medal *

Joseph Stalin's Sleep Mask *

Joseph Swan's Electric Light

Joseph Vacher's Accordion

Joseph Vacher's Dog Skull

Joseph Valachi's '58 Chevrolet Impala

Josephus' Papyrus

Joseph Wolpe's Glasses

Josephine Cochrane's Dishwasher

Joshua's Trumpet *

Josiah S. Carberry's Cracked Pot

Joshua Vicks' Original Batch of Vicks Vapor Rub

Josiah Wedgewood's Medallion

Jost Burgi's Armillary Sphere *

Jovan Vladimir's Cross

Juana the Mad of Castiles' Crown

Juan Luis Vives' Quill Set

Juan Moreira’s Facón

Juan Pounce de Leon's Chalice

Juan Ponce de León's Helmet

Juan Seguin's Bandolier

Jubilee Grand Poker Chip *

Judah Loew ben Belazel's Amulet *

Judas Iscariot’s Thirty Silver Coins

Judson Laipply's Shoes

Jules Baillarger's Decanter

Jules Leotard's Trapeze Net

Jules Verne's Original Manuscripts

Julia Agrippa's Chalice

Julia Child's Apron *

Julia Child's Whisk

Julian Assange’s Flash Drive

Julie d’Aubigny's Sabre

Julius and Ethel Rosenberg's Wedding Rings

Julius Asclepiodotus’ Shield Boss

Julius Caesar's Wreath

Julius Wilbrand's Lab Coat Buttons *

Jumanji

Jumper Cables

Junji Koyama’s Vegetables

Jure Sterk's Ballpoint Pen

Jürgen Wattenberg's Leather Provision Bag

Justa Grata Honoria’s Engagement Ring

Justin Bieber's Guitar

Justinian I's Chariot Wheel

Justin O. Schmidt's Wasp Mask

Justus von Liebig's Fertilizer Sack

Justus von Liebig's Mirror

[graduationwietskevanbraak]

History of Cross Stitch

    Cross stitch and needlework can be found in the earliest history, as far back as sixth century BC.  Needlework has been around as long as there has been cloth to work it on.  Pieces of embroidery and needlework have been found preserved in ancient Egyptian tombs and in Medieval churches.

    In the Eleventh century, tapestry was the most popular and famous of embroideries depicting the Norman invasion of England in 1066.  Catherine of Aragon, who was Spanish and the first wife of Henry VII is credited with bringing blackwork to England in the sixteenth century.   Blackwork was believed to be the beginnings of what we think of as cross stitch today.  It was worked with black sheep wool on white linen.  Blackwork is still popular today.

    The first printed pattern book was made in Germany in 1524.  It would be some time before patterns became widely available.  In the 16th century printing was invented.  These early patterns left the stitcher to decide what colors to use for their design.

    Linen was very expensive so every square inch of the fabric was used.  Thus the invention of samplers.  Samplers were also intended to teach young women to sew and to memorize the alphabet and numbers.  They were also used to teach moral values and verses from the bible.  Since Linen was so expensive, commoners used what is called perforated paper to do their designs.

    The first fabric made specifically for cross stitch was introduced in 1890.  It was made by a company in Germany called Zweigart.  The fabric is called Aida, it is an evenweave  and it is designed in little squares making it easy to see where to stitch each cross stitch.

    Assisi embroidery is a form of counted-thread embroidery based on an ancient Italian tradition where the background is filled with embroidery stitches and the main motifs are left void i.e. unstitched, similar to a silhouette. The name is derived from the Italian town of Assisi where the modern form of the craft originated.  The traditional color used for most designs was red.  Green and blue were also very popular colors to use.  Traditional themes included animals, plants, and mystical beings like mermaids. Assisi was named after St. Clair of Assisi.  St. Francis, the Patron Saint of Needleworkers, was her brother.

     Zweigart currently has two mills.  One in Germany and one in Switzerland.  They distribute their products world wide.  Their next step is to catch up with the computer age.   It would make their distribution much more efficient.

    Cross stitch as we know it today was introduced in the 1960 when women had more leisure time.   Needlework in this country as generally been attributed to women's work, but in it's beginnings it was a craft preformed mostly by men who spent many years mastering their technique.    Many designs  were made widely available with the ease of printing them and computers to reproduce the designs.  You can find a pattern of just about any subject today.  You can even design your own patterns with computer software.

    Cross stitch is the most popular form of needlework today.  It is very easy to do and to teach.  Most people who stitch, myself included,  consider it to be relaxing and enjoyable to do.

    There are a few different types of cross stitch.  There is stamped cross stitch.  In stamped cross stitch little X's are stamped on what is usually a cotton fabric with a   tight weave (no holes).  The fabric is often used for a quilt, bed linen, or doily.  You just stitch over the little X's to make your design.

    There is no count cross stitch.  This is a great way for beginners or children to learn to cross stitch.  The pattern is dyed onto the cross stitch fabric (usually an Aida) and you just follow the colors while you stitch.  No need for a paper pattern.

    More experienced stitchers like to do counted cross stitch.  In counted cross stitch you use a clean fabric (Aida, Linen, Lugana, etc.) and you use a paper pattern and follow the directions on the pattern to create your design on the clean fabric.  This is the most rewarding kind of cross stitch.  It's fun to watch your design come alive on the clean fabric as you stitch.  It's like painting with a needle.

#borduursel #research

[lanaparrillaismyqueen]

Finished my once project!

#once upon a time #ouat #ouat cross stitch #cross stitch #cross stitching adventures #cross stitching #Charming #David Noland #Snow White #mary margaret blanchard #Emma Swan #Dark Swan #Henry mills #Regina mills #Evil queen #Zelena mills #wicked witch #Cora mills #queen of hearts #big project #ouat project

[lanaparrillaismyqueen]

Part one complete!!!!

#once upon a time #ouat cross stitch #cross stitching #cross stitch wip #cross stitch #Charming #Snow #Emma swan #Henry Mills #Regina Mills #Zelena Mills #Cora Mills #David Noland #mary margaret blanchard

[lanaparrillaismyqueen]

Started a new project this week!

#cross stitching #cross stitch #ouat cross stitch #Charming #Snow #Emma swan #Henry Mills #Regina Zelena and Cora are on their wayc #may add runple and belle as well if i have room!!