Look, guys, I’m aware the dagger is name-side out for the aesthetic of the shot, but do you ever think the canon reason is because Killian couldn’t stand to see Emma’s name attached to that cursed dagger?
In honor of Once coming to its conclusion, I will be posting my deleted scene fics here on tumblr leading up to the finale. There are 14 total, and they will be posted in chronological order. Each week leading up to the finale, I will post the scenes in a particular arc.
Summary: But the one thing that cuts deepest of all is the mirror that hangs on the other side of the chamber. This is Killian Jones true torture. Or how Killian went from a hero’s death to being tortured by Hades. Title and lyrics from song of the same name by needtobreathe.
Words: Almost 2,000
Rating: T
Episode: Swan Song through Labor of Love (contains dialogue from Labor of Love)
Trigger Warnings: Major Killian whump
I am a troubled mind, I am a calloused heart
A failing engine from driving way too hard
Trying way too hard
I pulled a thirty eight out of my bleeding heart
I killed my selfishness for bringing me this far
This far away from you
Oh, this is the way I wanna go down
This is the way I wanna go out
Killian Jones, sadly, has lied to Emma Swan before. Many times. It’s a fact that he wishes weren’t true. A fact that merely points to the depth of blackness in his soul. But this lie has to be the worst one he’s ever told her.
He lies and tells her it’s okay, nodding at her as she sobs, Excalibur clutched in her fist. The tears streaming down her face break his heart in two, and he wishes she didn’t have to do this. He thought about doing it himself, of holding the sword to his breast and falling upon it. But he feels the darkness throbbing just below the surface, and he knows he isn’t strong enough. It has to be her. So he lies.
He lies and lets her believe it won’t hurt him, that he isn’t afraid of steel slicing right through him. Lies as if he doesn’t mind dying. Not that he doesn’t know this is the right thing to do. But he wanted so much more. His heart breaks to think of all they wanted together and now will never have. Tries not to think of all the memories they will never make in that house he picked out for them.
He told her this day would come, that afternoon in that cabin in the woods. He warned her someday he would lose his happy ending. But now he lies as if he won’t miss it at all.
But then again, Killian Jones has never really been one for “shouldn’t”
He should have died centuries ago, been nothing but bones and dust long before she was even born. He should have despised her for her betrayal, leaving him chained like an animal at the top of that beanstalk with words that smarted far more than he cared to admit. He should have sailed off when he had the chance, with the magic bean in his hand and all the realms at his feet. He should have taken what he wanted like the pirate that he was, not ceded his hard-won ground to his rival and given up his pursuit, his pledge, his oath.
When I win your heart….
He shouldn’t have fallen in love with Emma Swan.
Her final kiss tastes of salt, from her tears or his (it’s both), her skin is warm and alive under his hand when he touches her cheek, her hair is the sunlight he’ll never see again, as bright as the break of dawn over the bow of the Jolly. Her love fills the empty space in his chest as she sought to fill it with her own heart, cleaved in two and offered without a moment’s hesitation.
I love you
He brushes his lips across her knuckles, a gesture he knows is old-fashioned by her standards, a remnant of another time and place. They shouldn’t have had this time at all, he is dead, he died by the hand he holds until she is pulled away from him at last and the light fades away.
She shouldn’t have come here at all, shouldn’t have risked herself for him….but she did.
His heart shouldn’t break when she’s gone…but it does.
I just wanted to give Emma a break from her batshit-crazy life and a chance to cuddle on the couch with her husband, but I ended up giving her a cold with a side of angst.
Takes place shortly after the Final Battle.
She’s sick within a week.
Truly nothing serious, but thoroughly miserable
nevertheless; she’s put her body and her nerves through too much lately, and
now she’s paying the price. Naturally, Killian acts as though she’s dying and
given the events of the past few months, she tries to be sensitive about it. He
does come from a world where a fever and a sore throat very well could have been
the beginning of the end. And, of course, there’s the fact that she very
clearly did die (or at least came
close to it) right in front of his eyes not even ten days ago.
In a way, it’s a relief. She can’t even think of the last
time that she’s been free of gut-sickening adrenaline long enough for her body to
succumb to simple illness.
It’s a relief to feel run down and beat up when the cause isn’t
some malevolent magical force trying to wrench her away from the people she loves. She’ll take this any day when it means getting to wake up to her
husband who still looks at her like she’s the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s
ever laid eyes on despite the fact that her eyes are swollen and she can only
breathe through her mouth.
Summary: What if Killian and Emma shared a sleeping curse? A canon divergent/ what if fic.
Notes:Just a quick little piece I wrote on a whim on my phone yesterday. I really quite like it and I’m really pleased with how it came out so I wanted to post it anyway. Hopefully this takes your mind off things. Kinda angsty. Unbetad.
True love now is a post-it note stuck to a bathroom mirror, elaborate curling script declaring that she is beautiful one day, a vision the next.
It’s breakfast waiting for her warm in the oven, always with freshly cut fruit on the counter, sometimes a bouquet of flowers, no doubt pilfered from Maurice’s shop in the dead of night, on the table.
She misses when it was warm lips pressed to her temple. A firm hand grasping her own, fingers responding to her touch, curling into the spaces between. She misses moans of satisfaction vibrating into the skin of her neck, and teeth tugging on the lobe of her ear.
She curls into him, sleeping and lost, a warm body with no warmth, and pretends the arm she tucks around herself draws her closer. Pretends his grip tightens on her hip as she shifts further into his space, breathing him in. Pretends he has just fallen asleep before her, that he’ll be there, smiling sleepily at her when she wakes.
She woke up to the soft touch of his fingers on her face around
midnight.
Despite their words at the docks earlier, their night didn’t include
rum, Chinese or even a small quiet moment by their fireplace.
Instead Emma got to hug Henry goodnight for a beat or two too long,
before padding into her room —their room, alone. It wouldn’t be until she was
already asleep that Killian joined her in their bed.
She slept, pitifully, but did so for a few hours. That, until the soft
touch of his fingers running idly circles on her temple and cheeks, slowly
stirred her from her slumber.
His movements didn’t still, not even after he realized she was awake
—the shift on her breathing pattern subtle, yet enough for her pirate to
notice.
Emma kept her eyes shut though, relishing the moment in spite of
everything.
It wasn’t until she heard that faint sniffle in the quiet of the night,
that she decided to open her eyes and speak.
She shifted slightly, her face angled up just enough to make out
Killian’s in the dark of their bedroom. Emma drew in a breath at the sight of
him, his profile in the dark just as beautiful and precious to her as it was
during the day.
In a perfect world she could be able to take away his pain —that same
pain she singlehandedly caused.
Captain Swan and Captain Cobra fic, Rated Teen, ~1300 words, Spoilers for 6×03
I’m sorry about this, I tried to write something happy and instead I made angst.
She can almost forget that she’s living under a death sentence.
His clothes are in her closet and his toiletries are in her bathroom. (She’s amused to see he’s discovered modern hair products but not an electric beard trimmer, and she makes a mental note to buy him one.) He puts his books on the shelves, his ancient tomes pressed against the few dog-eared paperbacks she’s bothered to hold on to. He proves to be a better cook than she would have given him credit for, especially considering his disability.
Her parents bring over a housewarming gift and stay for dinner, her mother smiling and her father frowning (but deep down, probably also smiling) at their casual intimacy. Henry takes it all in stride, incorporating Killian into the family routine without complaint. If there’s a faint flicker of worry behind his eyes sometimes, she doesn’t let herself dwell on it.
Emma watches him dress from her spot in her bed, admiring the methodical way he buttons first his shirt, and then his waistcoat. Killian quirks an eyebrow in amusement at her interest, but says nothing as he continues to dress.
It’s become a routine for them. He stays the night, and then leaves early in the morning. Outside of his foray into the Land of Untold Stories, and later, New York City, he’s spent every night with her, in her house, in her bedroom, in her bed.
It’s supposed to theirs, she knows. He’s the one that picked out the house, his promise for a future, their future. One that they won’t even share assuming her vision proves to be correct.
cshappybeginning 