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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years ago

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THE WASTELAND - Chapter Four: THE ATHENAEUM // THE CABIN, Part 2

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY: In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

a/n: Now we’re getting into some really deep worldbuilding shit, and even deeper magic. This chapter took me so long to perfect, continually questioning the viability of the magic and magic-teaching and the Atheneaum as a whole... hopefully it makes sense to everyone else!

Header and the art for every chapter by the lovely @spartanguard – special thanks to @cssns for making this monster happen!

Prologue on AO3 // Prologue on Tumblr // Chapter One (ART) // Chapter Two (ART) // Chapter Three (ART)

Chapter Four on AO3

ART

– – –

“I’m so proud of you, brother,” Killian says, clapping his hand on Liam’s shoulder as he fixes his collar in the mirror of their shared barracks.

Liam meets his eyes in the mirror, flashing a large smile before reaching around to wrap his arm around Killian’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Killy.”

If anyone else ever even tried to call him ‘Killy,’ he would probably throttle them, but no one has ever tried. Only Liam has ever come up with a nickname for him, and though he knows the tips of his ears turn red on the rare occasion Liam calls him ‘Killy’ in public, he would always take ‘little brother’ over that any day.

It wasn’t a lie, though: Killian is proud of his brother. Very proud. Today is his promotion — both of their promotions, actually, though Liam’s is a much bigger deal than his own.

The youngest admiral the Nephilysis military has ever seen. The only dryad to even become a high-ranking officer in the navy. Gold’s son, Baelfire, even called him the ‘most skilled fae’ he has ever seen. All because he has honed his abilities in a way no one ever expected, combining his air manipulation abilities with his love for the ocean and working with an Elder and a Fae to create a whole new system for travelling: the airship.

So today is more than a promotion for the elder Jones brother; it is also the day Liam gets a ship of his own, the perfect and pristine Jewel of the Realm, whose flying technologies include the best of everything Killian and Liam, with the help of Merlin and the rest of Gold's elders, have created over the last eight years working for Gold.

The ceremony, though filled with age-old traditions, does not take nearly as long as Killian anticipated, even with both of them receiving promotions: Liam to Admiral of the Jewel of the Realm and a small fleet of ships equipped for air travel and Killian as Captain, serving directly under his brother for the time being.

The ceremony does not take long, but the meeting that he and Liam have directly afterwards, where they are getting their first assignments in their new positions, is proving to be the opposite.

Killian had assumed that the only business of the meeting would be giving them their assignments, and he had been dead wrong. Instead of only them, he and Liam found themselves meeting with Gold’s entire war council, which included the Elders for each Nephilim faction, other admirals and generals from all across the Wasteland — not to mention the Prince and his band of Elders and guards, much younger and less traditional than Gold’s men. It’s a stark contrast in the room, really, between the Elders who follow Gold and those who follow his son, between those in traditional Nephilysis uniforms and those in jeans and sweatshirts. Killian would never dare to show up to a meeting with Gold the Elder, the King of Nephilysis, the man that he serves under, wearing jeans. Hell, he would be embarrassed to even be seen by the King of Nephilysis wearing jeans — but he supposes that Baelfire and his collection of followers lead a very different, and much more privileged, life than he does.

Finally, after what feels like hours — though, according to Killian’s wristwatch proves to only be an hour and a half — Gold turns his attention to the Jones brothers for the first time.

“Now, as for the newest members of this council,” he says, his voice odd in a way Killian struggles to describe, though slimy comes to mind. He smiles, though there is not a happy thing about it, more sinister than anything else. “Many of you should already know about Admiral Jones’ work with his airships, so now it’s time to give him and his small fleet of Captains their first destination. I’m very pleased that we are now able to go to far-off places thanks to the hard word of Admiral Jones, and so it is an honor to finally announce that he will be leading an expedition to somewhere my advisors and I have had our sights set on for a while now.”

He says nothing beyond this, waiting for every eye in the room to be on him. The last to look up, Killian notices, is Prince Baelfire, who rolls his eyes when he realizes what his father is doing, but looks up at him nonetheless. Finally, Gold turns back to Killian and Liam, that same sinister smile on his face again.

“Neverland!’ he says with a laugh even more sinister that chills Killian to the bone.

There is just something about him that Killian strongly dislikes but he can’t figure out what. He realizes, perhaps a moment too late, that he may have let his disgust with him show on his face, and tries to wipe off all expression --and then realizes exactly what Gold just said to them.

When he turns to Liam, his brother looks just as confused as he feels. “How is it I’ve studied maps of the world practically my whole life and yet I’ve never heard of this place, this Neverland?”

Gold’s slimy smile grows, somehow. It takes all of Killian’s energy not to cringe, though he’s useless against the confusion he feels when the Prince answers Liam’s question instead of the King. “Well, because Neverland isn’t on any map, it’s not somewhere you can navigate to.”

It’s time for Killian to voice his concern, turning to the Prince. “Then how are we supposed to get there?”

But Gold himself answers instead. “There’s only one man who has ever made it to the island and returned, so he is going to join you.” He gestures towards the door just as a young man — much younger than even the youngest recruits, Killian notices — pushes through the door, as if on cue. Out of anyone in the room, his eyes meet Killian’s, a smile just as sinister, if not more, than the King’s, spread across his face. “Admiral, Captain, this is Peter Pan.”

Liam slams the door to their barracks behind him, the anger that he’s been trying to keep off his face suddenly obvious.

“He can’t be serious, can he?” he practically yells, furiously pacing between the close walls of their cabin. “That Pan, he’s — he’s just a boy. He speaks so highly of himself, as if he has more knowledge than anyone else in the room.”

“I hate to say it, brother, but I do believe there is more to that boy than meets the eye,” Killian responds, sitting down on one of the chairs in their common area.

Liam whips around. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t — he could be…” He shakes his head, then rests it in his hands. “One of the books I read recently spoke of these… these beings who don’t age, who are from all of these weird lands, and I thought it was fantasy, just a myth, but then I saw this—this boy, and I got this… I don’t know, this feeling that he was one of them.”

“Killy, that’s insane.”

“I thought it was insane, too, but now I’m not too sure.”

Liam pushes his fingers through his hair, huffing, but sits down next to him anyway. “What else did your book say about them?” he asks finally, the words coming out slowly.

“Dark magic, Liam. They’re creatures of pure black magic.”

Liam shakes his head. “King Gold does a lot of things, brother, but I cannot believe that he would go to that extreme.”

“That’s not all. Not only are they dark magic, but the places they come from are the same, are home to the darkest magics of the world, items and poisons and weapons. This Neverland, I’ve never heard of it, but I can only imagine that it’s one of these places.”

He is still shaking his head. “No. No, I refuse to believe it. King Gold is— he’s corrupt, yes, but dark magic? That’s insane, Killian.”

“I’m just telling you what I read.”

Liam stands up again, continuing with his pacing where he left off. “Dark magic,” he whispers, scrubbing his face with his hand, then he starts to unbutton the jacket of his dress uniform. “You don’t think King Gold would send us on a mission to collect dark magic, do you?”

Killian does, a fear that he feels seeping into the deepest parts of him — but he just shakes his head. He may think Gold is evil enough to send them to a land of dark magic, but to say it out loud, even to his brother, would be treason. Bad form.

The gates to the Athenaeum loom above them, shining in the golden sunlight of the dawn. It took them a whole day’s drive to get there, opting to go around the bulk of the city instead of through it, hoping to keep as much attention off of them as they can, even if it meant adding another four hours in the car.

Regina has never much cared for the second entrance to the Athenaeum, never afraid to travel through the city because of her immunity, both an atheneid and an Elder on the Gale Council. But she understands how careful Emma and Mary Margaret want to be, being so close to the Prince himself.

With a huff, Regina checks her watch. It’s been almost a minute since she knocked on the door, and there has still been no sign of movement on the other side of the gate. Finally, one of the gates swings open, revealing a dark-skinned Naphilm soldier in a dress uniform — something Regina hasn’t seen for years, since she was a young woman studying to become an elder and an atheneid. Something she never thought she was going to see again once she left Nephilysis behind.

"State your business." His voice is sinister, angry, but he is unable to deny them access once Regina shows him her credentials as an atheneid, which allows her access to the Athenaeum and no questions asked about her allegiance. He doesn’t let them any further than inside the gates, though, barring them from walking any closer to the building.

Even still, Regina rolls her eyes when he stands in the middle of the path, keeping them from going any further. "We're here for a meeting with Magistra French, she's expecting us."

He doesn’t budge. "You're going to have to wait here for her to come get you."

Both Emma and Mary Margaret take a terrified look around, noticing all of the Nephilim in uniform around the building, both as guards and simply sitting in the gardens in the gated area around the Athenaeum, more than either of them have seen in a single place.

Regina stands her ground, conjuring a fire ball in her right hand without breaking eye contact with the guard. "Both you and I know that's not the protocol." Her voice is hard, confident, one she has had more than enough practice with as a member of King George’s council.

"Gold has changed the protocol," the guard growls. He tries to make himself taller, tries to tower over Regina, but he is still a few inches shorter than her in her heels.

Her fireball grows bigger., her eyes wider "He doesn't have the power to do that, not here."

"Tell him that yourself and see how willing to listen to you he is."

A flash of fear crosses her face, and the guard laughs, only to be stopped by the doors behind him opening to reveal the Magistra herself. She, unlike the guards, is dressed much more casually, in a pair of black jeans and a yellow button-down top. After narrowing her eyes towards the guard, who has now stepped to the side, she smiles at the three ladies, her eyes landing last on Emma, holding there for a moment before returning to Regina.

"Please, Regina, come in."

She has a thick accent, different than Emma has heard, though she assumes it’s from the southern parts of Nephilysis, perhaps even the islands off the coast, knowing the accents get stronger the further from the Wasteland.

“Thank you for travelling all the way out here, ladies,” she says, leading them through the entryway to the building and through the stacks. “And on such short notice.”

“Thank you for seeing us,” Mary Margaret says, voicing the words that Emma is somehow unable to vocalize.

Instead, she is focused on the sights around her, the wooden stacks of books that stretch to the high ceilings. Emma has been to some of the smaller universities around the Gale, traveling with Johanna while honing her medical and magical abilities, or with David after she formally became personal aide to the prince, but none of them are anything like this, even the biggest ones in the Gale.

Emma has always wondered — silently, never voicing her questions — why this is the place that every Elder must come to study the arts under the Magistra, thanks to an order by one of the previous King Gold’s (Emma can’t remember which one, never needing to memorize it for academia.)

But she understands it now, following the Magistra and Regina through the building with Mary Margaret taking the rear. There are rows and rows of books in every direction, seemingly endless in the monstrous building. Every once in a while, the repetitive rows are dotted with a collection of tables; broken by a staircase, leading to another floor; or a small study room surrounded by glass walls, some of them covered in writing from the people inside.

Belle leads them up one of these sets of steps and down a small hallway, placing her hand against a biolock not unlike the ones Emma uses in the hospital to open one of the identical doors. Emma notices the large, intricate “M” carved into the dark wooden door as she walks through it, and her suspicions are confirmed when she finds herself in a large office, the walls lined with bookshelves only broken by a window that overlooks a small courtyard. The books, she notices, are some of the oldest she has ever seen, and meticulously organized in some sort of fashion that puts the dusty, cracked ones with pages visibly falling out near the edges of the bookshelf, allowing the bulk of the entire middle to be lined with matching sets and collections of different-colored leather-bound volumes. Many of them do not have words printed on their spines, some of them only letters, if anything at all.

Belle sits down behind the desk, folding her perfectly-manicured fingers in front of her. She allows herself to look at each of them for a few seconds, once again ending with Emma, but this time she does not look away.

"Your phone call sounded urgent, please tell me what I can do to help."

Even though the call did not come from Emma, the question is obviously directed at her, but when Emma fails to voice any response, Regina speaks up. "Emma, this is your story, I think it's only fair."

She takes a small breath, gulps, then clears her throat. For some reason, just the thought of relaying the story to someone as important as an Atheneid — as the Magistra herself — brings a new sense of realness to their situation.

And with that comes a new sense of fear.

From the first time she felt the way the wound on Killian's chest reacted to her magic, she found herself afraid to share it with anyone, sure that it was some sort of secret that she would never be able to discover the meaning behind. (Sure that Killian wouldn't be alive long enough to allow it, really.) And when she learned that it was her magic that did it, and not just light magic responding to the darkness and the poison in the wound, she was even more sure that this was not something to take lightly.

So needing to recall the whole story to the most important fae in the world at the hunch of Regina made her a little uneasy.

But she does it anyway, every eye in the room on her as she tells a shortened version: finding Killian in her office, her ability to heal his wounds save the ones seeping with dark magic, and describing as best she can what happens when she tries to use her magic on them, since this is the detail that made Regina so sure they had to come here.

At this, Belle's eyes go wide, and she jumps out of her seat and starts to search the wall behind her for something.

Emma is too stunned by her response to say even another word, though she did come to the end of her tale, save the very little information Regina gave them in the cabin before they left. Sensing either her shock or the fact that her recollection has come to its end, Regina takes over. "I remembered what you showed me once in one of the obscure healing books that you insisted I memorized, something I haven't thought about in years, and when I gave him a vial of SOMETHING she was able to extract the Dreamshade from his wound for just a moment."

Belle turns around from the shelf, bright eyes wide with both excitement and awe. "So you're thinking she's—"

Regina doesn't let her finish. "Yes, I'm almost sure of it, but I knew I had to bring her here to know for sure."

“Has she tried it with other poisons?”

Both Regina and Belle turn to her, waiting for an answer. “I’ve never dealt with other poisons. Only Dreamshade once before, and I never tried to do anything to it with my magic.”

Belle nods. “And what about this man? The one you healed? Are you also thinking that he's—"

"The one from the—"

"Yes."

"I'm almost sure of it."

“What about him?” Emma asks, having enough of their half-conversation.

“Did you try any other magic on him? Any other strange reactions?”

“What do you mean, strange reactions?”

Belle's response comes in a rush, more words than Emma is able to focus on as she thinks back to try to answer the questions: “How about when you tried to heal him, did anything else out of the ordinary happen? Any… energies that seemed off? Weird feelings from either of you, but especially you? Did anything work better than you expected, or seem to happen instantly when you know it’s taken more time in the past?”

The breath leaves Emma's lungs. She really wishes things would stop taking her breath away. Belle must sense something, must know that this has riled Emma's memory, and she watches her in anticipation across the desk.

"Well, yes," she says finally, once again able to regulate her breath. "Many of his wounds were less severe, just cuts and gashes on his chest, and many of them not only healed in response to my magic, but disappeared entirely. Not even a scar."

Belle's eyes go wide, even wider than they already were, and she turns back down to the book spread across the desk in front of her.

Silence overtakes the room, and Emma tries to decipher some of the writing that Belle is looking so intently at, only to find it written in a language that does not look familiar to her at all.

"Can somebody please tell me what's going on?" she asks, trying to keep her voice calm, but her heart is pounding wildly in her chest — another side effect from the events of the last two weeks that she wishes would just disappear.

Belle shuts the volume in front of her, folding her hands on top of it. With her head hung, she takes a breath, obvious in the rise and fall of her shoulders, before looking back at Emma.

"There's a prophecy," she says.

Emma scoffs, stopping her mid-sentence. "You're kidding, right?"

Belle shakes her head, but decides to tackle the subject from a different angle. "What do you know about your lineage?"

Emma scoffs again, this time rolling her eyes. "No, really, you've got to be kidding."

"I can assure you, this is no joke to me."

There's something in her voice, a hardness and a seriousness (and perhaps a dash of magic) that makes Emma suddenly very sure that the Magistra is telling the truth. "I'm — I'm an orphan. I know nothing of my parents, or of any part of my lineage. I was left on the steps of a university outside of the Gale when I was a few days old, raised by the Elders there for a while until I took to the streets."

Even after making Emma spill that, Belle says nothing for a moment, though her eyes search Emma's face for… something. Emma isn't sure what, and is even less sure whether she finds it or not.

"And they were the ones who helped you hone your abilities?"

Emma shakes her head again. "I'd left the university by the time my abilities started showing themselves, and it wasn't until David — until the Prince helped me find an apprenticeship with the palace healer that I started to focus on medicine."

"And you've never attempted any art other than the one that showed itself then? Terren, or dryad?"

The question catches Emma off guard. From everything she's heard about the Elders, and about the Magistra in particular, they are supposed to be able to sense these things about a person without having to ask.

"Well, actually, I've — I've never really been sure. Plants, sure, and I've never much tried with the wind or whatever, but I once saved David by using a large boulder to protect us, and I've calmed some waters, but I've mostly just harnessed my own energy for healing purposes."

"Plants, earth, water," Belle mumbles, turning her chair around to face the bookshelf once again, this time finding one of the more used volumes, with a cracked spine and unattached pages in every direction. She places it on top of the other on her desk, but does not open it. "Plants, earth, water… energy." With the last word, she meets Emma's eyes once more, her whole face seeming to light up. "Regina, I'm assuming you've come to the same conclusion I have?" she asks, not even looking over at Regina.

But Emma does, and the wide smile spread across her face just makes Emma more curious.

In the silence, Mary Margaret gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth. "Of course," she breathes.

“What?” Emma says, at the end of her patience. “What conclusion have all of you come to that I somehow still can’t see?”

“See,” Mary Margaret says, completely ignoring Emma’s question. “Emma didn’t have… formal education, really, so she was never fully introduced to all of the factions, and probably never really heard about all of it, so it makes sense that she never—”

“I am right here,” Emma practically yells, stopping Mary Margaret’s words in their tracks. “Now, what the hell are you talking about?”

“A Vis,” Belle says. “Emma, I think you have the Gift. I think you’re a Vis.”

A Vis. She’s — she’s heard of them, sure, maybe read about them once or twice, but…

A Vis. The rarest of all magic-wielders, with the ability to create their own energy instead of just using those around them.

“As rare as Vis are, it’s pretty common for some of those with the Gift to simply go through their lives thinking they are just a simple fae.”

Emma has so many questions. How, mostly. How has she gone her whole life without knowing this? 30 years, almost half of that time as a fae.

As a Vis.

She doesn't have enough time to process this. When Regina said they had to come to the Athenaeum, the last thing she expected was something like this. She assumed it was to find a way to save Killian.

Killian.

"What does this have to do with Killian?" she asks, the first words spoken for almost a minute.

Both Belle and Regina turn to her, wide-eyed, not understanding the question.

Mary Margaret does. "Yeah, you said he had something to do with this, right?"

"Oh," Belle says, closing the book in front of her again. "No, that's not related to the Vis thing. If you're… well, if you're the Savior that the prophecy foretold, then there's reason to believe he's your True Love."

"You can't be serious."

"Athenaeid do not joke about prophecies, Emma," Regina scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"But true love? Is that — you can't mean —"

Mary Margaret cuts in, stopping her sputtering. "Does that mean we can save him?"

Belle opens one of the books in front of her again, silent for a few moments before shaking her head. "I really can't say for sure. True Love is a fickle thing, and Dreamshade even more so."

"And True Love is the most powerful magic there is," Regina adds, a brightness in her eyes that Emma has never seen before.

(She's not too fond of it, either.)

"What the hell does this even mean? That I can—what—true love's kiss the poison away?"

Belle and Regina share a silent glance. Belle wets her lips. Regina raises her eyebrows.

"Well," the Magistra mumbles. "Yes, there's a chance of that."

A loud, gasping laugh escapes her chest, one she just couldn't keep down. "This is crazy. Absolutely insane."

"There's a chance it's much more complicated than that, too, though," Belle says quickly, trying to save Emma from spiraling too far. "In fact, it's much more likely to be more complicated. Something more along the lines of your being the only person who can save him."

It works. This is much easier for her to wrap her mind around, unlike the rest of the information Belle and Regina have sprung on her in just the last half-hour. This, at least, makes sense. More sense than her being one of the most powerful types of fae, or the fact that there's a prophecy. This, at least, she can deal with.

"So now, she needs to be trained, right?" Regina asks, and Emma feels her heart beat in her throat.

How long could that take?, she doesn't have the ability to ask. There's a time crunch, she has to save Killian, she can't—

"Well, if she wants to save this man from Dreamshade, she certainly doesn't have time to stick around here long enough to master anything," Belle says, once again saving Emma from the spiral she was threatening to get lost in. "Honestly, you should get back to the rest of your group and make way towards Neverland as soon as possible, in my opinion."

"What?" Emma blurts out, even though she agrees with everything the Magistra just said. "You're just going to drop this information on me and… send me away?"

Belle shakes her head. "Of course not," she says cheerily. "I have to come with you."

Killian’s heart is in his throat as David knocks on the door to the cabin. He thought he was going to be okay, back here where Smee was killed and he was kidnapped, but he’s thinking the worst: that no one will open the door. That all of his friends, practically everyone he has left, are gone, taken by the same for that he barely escaped from. For what feels like forever (but in reality can’t be more than a few seconds) no one answers the door.

And then there’s a thud on the inside, followed by the muffled “Bloody hell” that can only belong to Will Scarlett. Killian and David exchange a smile, an almost-literal weight lifted from Killian's shoulders, and the door opens.

At first, Will can’t believe his eyes, which are practically bugging out of his head (Killian’s pretty sure it’s the longest he’s ever seen Will not speak). He doesn't blame him, though, because he can only imagine the conclusions they drew about Killian when they returned that day to find him missing, with Phillip dead on the floor of the kitchen.

It's the first he's thought of this, really, since he has been spending so much time trying not to hype himself up with the thought of them surviving an attack from Pan and Baelfire, but now that he knows they did, he wonders. What did they think when they returned back that day? They all knew his history, knew that he spent the first years as a soldier working for Gold. Did they think him a traitor to his newest allegiance, think that he returned to the Nephilysis army that betrayed him all those years before?

He hopes not. The only thing he has ever wanted to be is a man of honor, and he hopes that the men he has spent the better part of the last ten years with understand that.

Killian is pulled from the worst-case scenario in his mind when, instead of saying anything, Will practically jumps through the door and wraps his arms around David, who, after a moment, hugs him back.

Killian smiles. Even if they believed the worst of him in the weeks he's been away, returning at the Prince's side is a sure sign his allegiance has not shifted.

"Holy shit," Will whispers, shifting his hug from David to Killian, then he says it again. “I saw someone coming up towards the cabin on the radar but I never expected—”

From behind him, Robin emerges from the kitchen, dish towel slung over his shoulder. "Will, who was at the—" And then he meets Killian's eyes over Will's shoulder, then David's. "Holy shit."

"That seems to be everyone's response here," David says, rushing through the doorway to embrace his oldest friend.

"Why didn't you say you were coming? You could have contacted one of us?"

"Honestly, mate," Killian says, taking his turn in giving Robin a hug. "We weren't sure if any of you would even be here, since I was kidnapped by Baelfire from here. If it was still safe, or if any of you were still alive."

"Who else is here?" David asks, closing the front door as he finds a way to ask the question that Killian was too afraid to: was anyone else killed when they came for me?

"Graham was out back somewhere, but I imagine he should be in any—"

Robin's words are cut off by the man in question coming through the back door and calling out: "Is someone here? I got a notification that someone drove through the sensor in the driveway and I—" He comes around the corner, holding his phone out in front of him, but when he sees Killian and David standing inside the door, his words stop. For a moment, the entire cabin is shrouded in silence, waiting for someone to break it.

“What are you doing here?” Robin asks, and David wraps his arm around his shoulder.

“I think we should all sit down,” David breathes. “This might take a while.”

“So, what, we just have to find this Merlin guy?” Will asks, his mouth still full from the last bite of his sandwich.

“Christ, Scarlett, don’t you listen?” Robin scoffs. “Finding Merlin is the first step.”

“And the easiest,” David mumbles.

Killian leans forward on his elbows, momentarily forgetting about the worst of his injuries, though he is painfully reminded almost immediately. “Once we find Merlin, hoping he still has my brother’s ship hidden away somewhere, then we have to fly to Neverland.”

“And what if — pardon me for asking, but what if he doesn’t have your brother’s ship?” Graham asks, always the most level-headed of them all.

All eyes turn to Killian, who turns his gaze down to the table.

But David speaks up with an answer: “Then we just have to find another way to get to Neverland.”

The room is silent for a minute, until:

“I thought you said this ship is the only way to get to Neverland?” Will asks, once again missing the feeling in the rest of the room.

Killian nods. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Another beat passes, all attention on Will, waiting for him to understand what Killian is trying to say.

“Oh.” He scrunches his face, a soft embarrassed red spreading across his already-red face. “So what’s our plan then?”

Killian turns to David, who gestures for him to take over. “Well, our only hope is Merlin, and I haven't been able to get a hold of him. There's rumor he's somewhere in the Northern Mountains, hopefully still with The Jewel of the Realm, and I have a pretty good idea as to where, so I suppose that's our next destination."

The room falls silent again, each of the men around the table trying to decide just how to feel about all of this — Killian’s torture, the need to travel to new lands, to fly. But David doesn’t let them ruminate for long.

"Pack your things, fellas. We probably have a few days still, but we leave as soon as the ladies meet us here."

TAGS: @shireness-says @cssns @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @cocohook38 @ultraluckycatnd @facesiousbutton82 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @tiguanasummertree @angellifedeath @pepperpottss @mariakov81 @scientificapricot @kday426 @xarandomdreamx @ohmightydevviepuu @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @carpedzem @superchocovian @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells @courtorderedcake @captain-emmajones @killian-whump @officerrogers – want to be added or removed? let me know!

#my writing #captain swan #cs fics #cs ff #cssns #cssns 2020 #wordsbymeganmichael #slow burn #world building #fantasy #dystopia #kind of?#original world au

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womenlovingworms · 4 years ago

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S1 E10,11,12,13 (The mirrorverse episodes)

E10 Despite Yourself

Mirrorverse baby!

I’m glad stamets is alive :-)

Lorca is manipulative and awful

I love the grabber arm on the shuttlepod

Brainwashing... huh

Ash Tyler being like “I’m fine” you are Not

CAPTAIN TILLY

Chief engineer must mean Scottish, right?

“Captain Killy? Not very clever...” thank you saru you are a delight

Tilly looking in the mirror... cinematography

Tyler???

CULBER???

I didn’t see that coming for One Second

Michael does a murder!

“I’m here to protect you, no matter what” I do not trust this declaration especially given the whole you just murdered culber thing

E11 The Wolf Inside

Not gonna lie I liked it when the mirrorverse was just slutty clothes and fun times

Ash & Michael’s relationship got codependent real quick!

Go tilly!!

Science nonsense :))

Sarek???? With an even worse beard???

WHY IS MIRROR SAREK NICER TO MICHAEL THAN NORMAL SAREK

Oh shits gonna go down

Well. Huh.

Stamets NOOO

Hey what the FUCK!

HEY WHAT THE FUCK???

Odds Tyler’s actually dead? Ah there he is

Oh that’s CLEVER

GeorGIOU

E12 Vaulting Ambition

Mindscape and mirror!stamets, a classic Star Trek

Are these guys all played by saru’s actor or am I just bad at faces

The whole clapping thing is creepy

Oh poor michael, this is gonna give her such a complex

DAMN that was a throw

I don’t think it’s even physically possible to throw a badge that hard.

The sound track is trying to tell me that this interrogation scene Dramatic but I’m not so sure it is

Don’t tell her about the ship that’s your one (1) bargaining tool

I’m not so fond of all the torture

I want culber back :-(

Foreshadowing Lorca going rogue... good stuff

Oh YIKES my feelings about him have been justified

What does it all mean what does it MEAN

HOLY FUCK

That wasn’t foreshadowing NEVERMIND

E13 What’s Past Is Prologue

Landry is back!

I HAVE REMEMBERED LORCA’S INTERACTIONS W THE ADMIRAL IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW

Minimal but important difference between the two worlds with the mycelial network... heavy handed global warming metaphor... that’s Star Trek BABY

And a heavy handed political allegory, but not done poorly!

“Pippa” gross

THAT’S WHY THEY DIDN’T JUST MAKE SEVERAL SMALL JUMPS

Why would they not simply release the bioweapon where Phillipa is

What is the other discovery doing in the normal universe??

Why would destroying the network kill every life everywhere

That wasn’t all that clever, Gabe

The message of personal need to do the right thing and there is no binding thread beyond our own choices... They’ve got Jews back in the writing room

He abused our idealism but it’s still worth having AAAAAAAHH

“We will not accept a no win scenario”

Tilly 💋

Technononsense my beloved

“I won’t kill you now” but I will mirrorverse comes in clutch!

Georgiou’s back :-)

Nine months?? No more time gaps allowed actually

#that was. an adventure.#head full many thoughts i will be revisiting these episodes at a later date #shout out to caroline for listening to me scream about this in real time #disco liveblog #dsc spoilers

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years ago

Text

Burn the Ships

Happy birthday, @bethacaciakay ! It is crazy to think about how long I have known you now. Have I really been writing fanfic that long? But yes, I have, because you were just a teenager when you first starting commenting on my fics over on Ao3. I pray you have an amazing day and an awesome year. Don’t let the world change you, my dear! (And that’s all the mothering you will get from me today, duckling.)

Speaking of ducklings, while I was thinking over what to write for your gift, I heard the song “Burn the Ships” by For King and Country for the first time while driving. When I got home, I immediately looked it up on YouTube, and guess what?!? The music video features the Lady Washington, aka The Jewel of the Realm, aka the Jolly Roger. Not only that, the Smallbone brothers give off serious Brothers Jones vibes in that music video. And apparently this video has been in existence for almost a year now - how did I not discover this sooner!?! Anyway, so here is an angsty Lieutenant Duckling fic for your birthday! (And anyone who is interested can check out the music video here.)

Summary: Emma Swan stood shivering on the beach, her entire body numb as she stared out at the smoldering remains of the Jewel of the Realm. She pressed her eyes shut and felt the sting from her constant crying. Her lieutenant had promised her he would always survive, always come home to her. Yet coming home sometimes isn't enough.

Rating: T

Words: 3,000 and some change

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @jennjenn615 @welllpthisishappening @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook @kmomof4 @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @xhookswenchx @shireness-says @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @wellhellotragic @branlovestowrite @cocohook38 @killian-whump

Don't let it arrest you

This fear is fear of fallin' again

And if you need a refuge

I will be right here until the end

The earth shook with the canon bombardment, and the sky flared with the fire of explosions. Emma huddled in the corner of the room, Henry clinging to her chest, tremors rippling through his small frame every time the castle shook. Emma rocked him, rubbed his hair, whispered assurances into his ear.

The door to their chambers burst open, and Emma jerked at the sound. Had King George’s men come ashore? Were they already storming the castle? She deflated when she saw her mother standing there, the light of her lone candle flickering over her features.

“Emma, come quickly.”

The urgency in Queen Snow’s voice brokered no argument, and Emma rose, adjusting her four year old son in her arms. They hurried down the corridors of the castle, Henry whimpering with each canon blast that shook the walls. Down, down, they raced to the armory where all the residents of the castle, from the cook to visiting dignitaries, huddled in fear.

Only now, as the Queen barred the heavy door, did Emma notice the bow and quiver of arrows slung over her mother’s back. Snow reached up to one of the high shelves for her husband’s sword and scabbard. Wordlessly, she strapped it around her daughter’s waist. Emma’s gaze latched onto her mother’s with barely concealed terror.

“He’ll come home, won’t he?”

Snow tried for a smile, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes, and she didn’t answer her daughter’s question.

“He promised,” Emma said with a tremor in her voice.

All her mother could do was embrace her, Henry sandwiched between them.

************************************************************

As the sun rose over Misthaven, King David’s company of knights could clearly see that their defenses were for naught. The Royal Navy had indeed been victorious, and King George’s ships had turned and fled.

Yet victory did not come without loss.

The people of Misthaven swarmed the docks and the rocky shores, some gaping at the fires and the debris, others tending to the wounded, still others fishing bodies from the sea. Mothers, sisters, lovers - their wails of grief and cries of joy filled the air. Emma shoved past them, shouting in irritation that the princess needed to get through. When she reached the very edge of the pier, where the Jewel of the Realm always swayed proudly in the water, the crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea of old, every face downcast and filled with pity. Emma knew before she even saw the derelict schooner in the distance, before she even smelled the smoke. She saw it in the eyes of everyone around her.

The Jewel was lost.

She fell to her knees with a loud cry. When she had found herself a widow at eighteen with a baby on the way, she had been numb and tears had alluded her. Yet now, her heart seemed to make up for lost time. She swayed with the weight of her grief, sobs wracking her body, pain ripping through her and tearing her to shreds. Her parents were there almost immediately, her mother calling her baby, her father cupping the back of her head with tenderness, both of them rocking her the way she had rocked Henry during the long, horrible night.

“Killian! Killian, no!”

The crowds upon the shores of Misthaven fell silent as their princess grieved.

Burn the ships, cut the ties

Send a flare into the night

Say a prayer, turn the tide

Dry your tears and wave goodbye

Liam Jones refused to succumb to the waves. Not because he feared drowning, not because he didn’t want to die, but because he had to save his little brother. He had promised their mother long ago that he would take care of Killian, and so far, he had kept it. He wasn’t about to break that promise now.

“Come on, little brother, help me out here,” he muttered as he struggled to keep Killian’s head above the water. He longed to hear him mutter it’s younger brother.

Liam almost wept when he felt the pebbly soil beneath his feet. He dragged himself up out of the waves on his knees with Killian slung over his shoulder. The water around them was stained red with blood. It could have belonged to either one of them, but he feared it was mostly his brother’s. He tried to lay Killian down gently upon the sand, but his head bounced anyway. Liam collapsed next to him, rolling over on his back, trying to catch his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut to gather his strength, then turned to look over his brother’s wounds.

“Oh Killy,” he whispered, swallowing back the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. The end of Killian’s left arm was nothing but mangled, bloody flesh. The right side of his face was so matted with blood, Liam wasn’t sure what injuries lay beneath, except where the bone showed through high on his cheek. Yet his chest still rose and fell the slightest bit, so he was alive. Liam hurriedly shed his linen shirt, ripping it into strips for bandages. A sound far down the beach caught his attention.

“Over here!” he yelled, waving his arms over his head once he recognized the colors of the Knights of Misthaven. He turned his attention back to Killian, binding his wounds as best he could. “Stay with me, brother, please. The princess will never forgive me if you don’t.”

How did we get here?

All castaway on a lonely shore

I can see in your eyes, dear

It's hard to take for a moment more

Emma stood shivering on the beach, her entire body numb as she stared out at the smoldering remains of the Jewel of the Realm. She pressed her eyes shut and felt the sting from her constant crying. She thought back to just yesterday evening when the navy had rushed for their ships at the approaching invasion. Emma had stubbornly yanked Killian to her, fists gripping the lapels of his naval coat until her knuckles turned white.

“I’m frightened, Killian.”

“Emma -”

“No! Don’t patronize me. Every man I’ve ever been with is dead!”

She choked on the admission, and Killian wrapped his arms around her.

“Graham when I was just a girl,” she muttered against his chest, “Prince Baelfire less than a year after our arranged marriage, and even that fool Walsh who courted me two years ago.”

Killian’s chest rumbled beneath hers as he chuckled. He’d never liked Walsh. Emma hadn’t been overly fond of him either, but when you’re heir to the throne with a two year old son . . .

“I’m serious!” she cried, shoving him in the chest.

Killian grinned that crooked smile of his and arched that infuriating brow. “You don’t have to worry about me, love. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.”

Emma bit her lip as tears welled in her eyes. “You promise? That you’ll come back to me?”

He tucked a strand of hair tenderly behind her ear. “I promise.”

A breeze blew from the wreckage, bringing a tinge of smoke with it. Emma put her fingers to her lips, remembering the searing kiss goodbye he had given her to seal his promise. A sob sent her doubling over once again at the memory. She blinked through her tears to see a flash of gold bobbing in the water. She bent over and picked it up. She held it in her hand, her thumb rubbing over the engraving of a swan. Tears blinded her vision. It was the compass she had given him the day he made Lieutenant.

“Emma! Emma, come quick!”

She spun around to see Ruby racing towards her, her cheeks bright red from her run and the wind of the sea. When she reached Emma, she was gasping for air. It was clear her mother’s best friend had run as fast as she could to fetch her.

“Come, Emma,” she gasped, “it’s Killian.”

“What?”

“He’s alive!”

**************************************************************

“He doesn’t want to see you, Emma.”

“What?” Emma shoved against Liam’s chest, but Captain Jones stood imobile in front of her. Of all the things she had worried over as she’d raced to Killian’s sick chamber, him refusing to see her wasn’t one of them. She was just about to either command in the name of the crown that Liam step aside or pummel him with her fists (or perhaps both) when Killian’s screams rent the air.

“Emma,” Liam said gently, taking her by both shoulders and physically moving her further down the corridor, “it’s bad.”

Killian’s cries of agony reached them again, and Emma’s knees almost buckled at the sound. Liam put his arm around her, and gently led her outside into the cool air.

“I - I have to see him,” she begged, “what if he doesn’t . . . if he doesn’t . . . “

“I think he’ll make it,” Liam assured her, “but his injuries are . . . life altering.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “You don’t mean . . . will he be able to walk?”

“Yes, of course, it’s not that.”

“Then what!”

Liam ran a hand wearily over his face. “They couldn’t save his left hand, and his face is badly scarred. What you heard just now was the navy doctor cauterizing the wound.”

Emma blanched at the thought. “I still don’t understand. Why can’t I see him?”

“When I told him we’d sent for you, he became extremely agitated. We had to hold him down as he begged me not to let you see him like this. He only calmed down when I promised that very thing.”

Emma wrapped her arms around herself as a chill skittered down her spine. All she longed to do was see him. She had spent the last few hours thinking he was dead, and now he was returned to her. How could she stay away?

“He loves you, Emma,” Liam said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder hesitantly.

“But he isn’t sure of my love.”

“Of course he is.”

Emma’s head snapped up to meet Liam’s gaze. “If that were true, he’d let me see him.”

Liam shook his head. “He’s still in shock, Emma, give him time.”

She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying, then gave a nod of consent. “Tell him that I love him?”

“Of course.”

“Tell him that I will always love him,” Emma clarified.

She was momentarily shocked when the stoic Captain Liam Jones grabbed her in a crushing hug. “Definitely,” he told her as he stepped back, “I have a feeling he’ll need to be reminded.”

********************************************************

“When can I see Killy?”

Emma set aside the book she was reading to Henry, and brushed the hair out of his eyes. “I’m not sure. He was very badly hurt, remember? We need to give him time to get better.”

Henry’s forehead scrunched up as he processed her words. “But I always feel better when I get hugs and kisses from you and grandma and grandpa. Maybe Killy needs some. I give good hugs.”

Emma grinned and pulled Henry close. “You give the best hugs, and I’m sure Killian will take as many as you can give when he’s ready to see us. But remember what I told you?”

“He won’t have two hands anymore,” Henry said in that simple, straightforward way of childhood.

“That’s right, and he has some scars on his face, too, so he’ll look different.”

“But I’m not scared of that, Mama, please can I see him tomorrow?”

Emma sighed and swallowed back her tears. She put on a brave smile for Henry, then kissed him on the forehead. “We’ll see.” What more could she say?

She tucked her son in, giving him one more kiss, before she slipped quietly out of his chamber. She was surprised that she was able to make it all the way to her own before the tears came. She’d just shut the door behind her when she slid to the floor, the sobs wracking her body.

Once every tear was spent, she rose and crossed the floor to her balcony. She stepped outside, letting the warm summer breeze caress her face. It had been four weeks since the battle that took Killian’s hand. She’d stayed away at Killian’s request, agreeing with Liam that he just needed time.

She was beginning to think time wasn’t what he needed, however. Emma had to prove just how much she loved her lieutenant.

Step into a new day

We can rise up from the dust and walk away

We can dance upon our heartache, yeah

So light a match, leave the past, burn the ships

And step into a new day

Killian sat in front of the only window in the quarters he shared with Liam. It was situated on the corner of the naval fort and was more like a small cabin built into the stone than the barracks that the rest of the men resided in . At the back of the two bedroom structure was a narrow stairway that led up to a look out turret. The entire domicile was perched upon the edge of the cliffs with a breathtaking view of the sea.

The sight outside his window today matched his mood : grey and turbulent. Misty rain sliced through the air, pushed along with the gusting wind. They were coming to remove his bandages today, and he would have to face his deformities daily from this moment onward. He was also well enough to stop hiding, Liam had bluntly pointed out. So the entire world would also see his hideousness.

Including his beautiful, perfect princess. She would try to be kind, he knew that, but he feared the disgust would be evident on her face nevertheless, and it would break him. Henry, being just a tiny lad, would most likely recoil in fear. He wouldn’t blame him. Yet the thought tore his heart in half nevertheless.

The door creaked open behind him, and Killian hung his head, pressed his unbandaged eye shut, and released a long sigh. “Let’s get this bloody over with,” he muttered.

Whichever orderly the doctor had sent to perform the unpleasant task said nothing, but Killian heard soft footfalls upon the stone floor. Of course they would send the lowest boy in the medical division for such a chore.

The orderly stopped right in front of Killian’s chair, and the hand that gently came to rest upon his shoulder was incredibly slight. Killian opened his eye, his gaze still trained on the floor. Wait - a skirt? Killian lifted his limited gaze and gaped to see Emma standing before him, a bowl and towels balanced on her hip. His heart pounded in his chest as shame crept through him, yet he couldn’t move. Emma set the supplies gently on the floor, then sank to her knees in front of him. Her lips curled up in a tender smile as tears tracked down her face.

“I’ve missed you,” she told him.

“Emma,” he breathed, his muscles trembling, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m exactly who should be here,” she corrected, a flash of that fire he knew so well in her eyes. She lifted her hand to cup his cheek, and he was too weak to resist pressing a kiss to her palm.

“I’ve missed you too,” he choked out.

Emma pulled over a stool, and organized her supplies. He was still in a bit of a daze that she was here. He had wanted to ease her into seeing his mutilated self, yet here she was, smiling up at him with a sparkle in her eyes. He hated that it would soon disappear.

She took his injured arm gently and rested it in her lap. Carefully, using the warm water in the bowl and the towels, she loosened the stiffened bandages before gently unwinding them.

“Doctor Whale told me exactly what to do,” Emma explained in a calm voice, “and there’s crushed yarrow in the water to cleanse and keep out infection.”

Whale had told him the exact same thing every time he had changed his bandages. Yet Emma’s voice was more soothing, her touch soft, her hair mesmerizing as she bent over him. At least the picture she made was distracting.

She peeled away the final bandage, and rather than looking at the stump where his hand used to be, he tortured himself by watching her face. Yet instead of tightening in disgust, her features softened and tears wet her eyes. She lifted his arm and pressed a kiss to the puckered flesh. His breath fled his body as she looked up into his eyes, love shining in her gaze as she pressed his stump to her breast.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Whatever for?” he rasped in awe.

“For surviving.”

She released his arm, gently resting it in his lap. Then she drew close, her fingers tracing his jaw, then sifting through his hair. His eyes fell shut as she pressed the wet cloth to the bandages on his face, then gently began to peel them away. In some ways, this reveal was worse. He wasn’t completely sure how bad the damage was to his face. Whale had kept saying only time would tell how bad the scarring would be. Only time would tell if his eye was saved. Killian had never realized how much he had always relied on his pretty face until faced with the reality that he might not have it at his disposal anymore. He was shallow in ways he hadn’t realized, and he began to wonder, had he merely charmed Emma? With that charm stripped away, would anything be left?

His breaths were ragged as the bandage fell away completely. His jaw clenched.

Emma pulled the final bandage away. Killian’s face was tight, his brow furrowed in what she knew was fear. She could feel him trembling. She cupped his face gently as she perused his face.

The deepest scar ran along his cheekbone, which wasn’t a surprise. Liam had told her his bone had shown beneath that cut. Another scar ran along his jawline from his ear to his mouth. The final one cut vertically from his hairline and down through his right eyebrow. Emma traced each scar gently with her fingers, a smile breaking her face. They were deep and puckered, and they would always remain, yet they didn’t detract from the handsome face of the man she loved. If anything, they added character and testament to his strength. She leaned closer and pressed light kisses to each scar, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. Killian’s breaths were ragged.

“Emma, please,” he begged, shame lacing his words.

“Killian,” she sassed back, her lips hovering over his, “open your damn eyes.”

He blinked as he opened them, the pupil of his right constricting at the sudden onslaught of light. Emma’s grin brightened. Whale had told her to look for that very thing to see if his eye was healthy. He hadn’t lost his eyesight, and the blue of his eyes were still bright. Yet even if he had been rendered blind, even if his eyes turned black and fell out, she would still love him.

“I can-” he squinted, “I can see!”

She grabbed his face then and kissed him with all the pent up relief, passion, and love of the last four weeks. His tears mingled with hers, and his right hand found its way into her hair. His left arm hovered uncertainly at her back. Some things would take time, and that was okay. As long as he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

Killian leaned back so he could really look at her. He traced her chin with his fingertips. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Emma pressed her forehead to his. “So are you. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

So long to shame, walk through the sorrow

Out of the fire into tomorrow

#cs ff #lieutenant duckling #angst #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort

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randomimperialcitizen · 5 years ago

Text

The Tool For The Job An Ork short story

A small piece I thought would be a humorous example of Ork antics.

The thumping of artillery could be heard clearly in the distance. The Ork camp was far enough away to be safe from the reach of the guns, but only just. The wily brutes unwilling to be far away from the action. The Ork camp, or what passes for one amongst their kind, was a shoddy thing. A loose collection of scrap sheds and wilting tents. Their pattern was ever shifting as they were erected one day and cannibalised the next. Dirt roads were busy with traffic as scrap engines hauled mobs of Orks towards the next battlefield. On the edge of this mess was a two story structure making its home on the edge of the dusty wasteland. It was little more than an overgrown shack. Its walls were strips of an old tanker hull patched together and a roof of corrugated steel. Despite its slap dash appearance and rickety engineering, it was one of the most permanent structures of the camp. The shack was the main dispensary for grog. The main source of drink amongst their kind. To call it potable is generous, but the greenskins thrive on the caustic alcohol. Most Orks were smart enough to know that you don’t mess with the grog. And those dumb enough to start tearing down the walls got a belly full of bullets.

The shack was a riot of activity. The noise was deafening as each ork struggled to shout over the others. It was crowded as well, with every available space filled with a mismatched collection of furniture. In one corner a mek slouched on a dilapidated sofa nearly flattened from use. On the second floor, a freeboota captain is passed out, a stack of chipped shot glasses balanced precariously on a dainty coffee table made of fine wood and silver gilding. Gretchin ducked and weaved between the jam-packed tables. Grog sloshed onto their shoulders as they hauled overlaiden trays over their heads. There was little time for specific orders. The grots simply threw down their load on the driest tables and scooped up any loose teeth left out. If an ork wanted something fancy they could fight their way to the bar and pester someone in charge.

One group was having a particularly interesting conversation. With a table made from a train axel by the window, it was a good place for lunchtime chatter. Today they were having a particularly deep and meaningful discussion of orkish philosophy.

An ork in the colours of the speed Freaks drops his weapon on the table. A good three feet of pipe with heavy cogs welded on for the head.

“Dis is da only choppa ya need.” The speed freak declared, tapping his knuckles against his prized weapon for emphasis. “Ya zoomin along yeah? All ya need do is give em’ a wallop and pop goes der ‘eadz! Noth’n feels betta dan getting dem just roight.” The chair creaks dangerously as the red ork leans back. “Made dis beauty meself. Didn’t cost a single toof. Dats da best part, ya just need a stick wiff somethin ‘eavy and ya good to go!”

“Bah!” another ork chimes in. This one was from the Snakebite clan judging from the tattoos and piercings. He leaned back in his chair with his arms folded, obviously unimpressed. “It doesn’t even chop,” he complains. He sticks his arm out, gesticulating with an upturned palm. “How can it be a choppa if it don’t chop?!” With this the snakebite leans forward and slams his own weapon on the table, spilling grog everywhere. It was the stereotypical axe of the orkish culture. A short steel haft with a brick of iron hammered out into the rough shape of an axe head. “Dis is a choppa, good an proppa. Any lad with some know-how can get ya one wiff just a pocket o’teef. Dis will kill anythin. And if it don’t, ya haven’t hit it enough! Every Ork should ‘ave one uv deez. If ya don’t, you’ze aint a proppa Ork!” He finishes his statement slapping the table.

Such a statement would typically end in a brawl to defend their Orkish pride. But the group had known each other for awhile now and were familiar with their friend’s puritanical rants. Now his inflammatory statement merely elicited a chorus of tired groans and a few eye rolls.

“Woah now, we all love somethin good an’ choppy.” The next ork in the circle chimes in, soothing the cantankerous Snakebite’s ire. This one was a Blood Axe kommando, his arms and face smeared with tiger stripes of blue and purple grease. “If you go at one o’ dem beakies or spiky ‘umies wiff dat, you gunna be hackin away for a day and a ‘alf,” the Blood Axe laments, waving at the axe at the table. He scoots forward on his improvised stool, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner. “What you need is wunna deez.” The bloodaxe slides a broad machete out of a leather scabbard. A simple piece of hardened steel hammered out into a straight backed blade. “Don’tcha worry, it’s good an choppy. But it’s stabby too. Real good when face’n dem ‘ard humies. Da pointy end is wutchya want for finaglin’ past all dem ‘ard bitz.” The kommando wiggles the blade around in the air, pantomiming the act of sliding the blade between his invisible quary’s ribs. “It’s everyfin an Ork needs.”

The circle of Orks hummed and hawed. None of them wanted to agree. It was a good weapon. Lethal and flexible in its uses. But a kommando’s recommendation to quietly go for a kidney? Quite un-orkish. But none of them could really come up with a decent argument. There is one member of the table who didn’t seem fazed. He was full of confidence with his toothy smirk. He was a big Ork. His bulk exaggerated by the gaudy, yellow amour he was wearing. He rattles like a sack of coins from the obscene volume of stolen medals tacked onto him. All the hallmarks of a member of the Bad Moons clan.

He wags his finger at the table.

“I got a treat for ya,” he offers.

He reaches down beside him, coming back up with a bulky chainsword. It was short and bulky, with a chunky engine block and a fat guide bar with a gap toothed chain wrapped around it. A strip of scrap was folded over as a back plate and a spiked guard added to the grip. It was an oversized and unwieldy deathtrap of a contraption, all painted in garish yellows.

“Now dis,” he says while he hefted the weapon. “Is da killiest choppa a lad can ‘ave. It slices, it dices and all dat good stuff!” The Ork was hitting his stride now. Speaking with jovial enthusiasm and becoming more animated in his sales pitch. “Dis bad boy will chop anyfin! Humies, beakies, creepy crawlies, whateva! And da best part? It’s flashy too and every Ork haz gots to be flashy.” He pats his prized weapon likes its a prized fighting squig. “Worth every toof,” he finishes.

“Oh, zog off,” the blood axe cries out. “Does it look like we’z made o’ teef?”

“Wut? Not my problem you ain’t got da teef,” the bad moons Ork deflects casually.

“He’s right,” the speed freak chimes in. “If I got dat much teef, I’m gettin sum snazz for me bike.”

“Or a new squig,” mumbles the snakebite.

The bad moons ork was losing his patience now.

“If ya don’t wonna spend da teef, why don’t ya get a stick like that git?!” The yellow clad points an accusatory finger at the speed freak.

Like all ork communications the polite conversation was quickly turning combative. The piece was quickly falling apart and devolving into a shouting match. Angry orks began pointing fingers and denigrating each other’s choices in weaponry. The snakebite accused the blood axe of being un-orkish and the bad moon called the snakebite a backwards simpleton. Amongst all this the evil suns ork was of the opinion that they were all self important snobs.

As their endless bickering dragged on a new ork entered the shack. A giant shadow filled the doorway. Too large for the crooked frame the colossal ork had to enter sideways, shuffling his bulk past the threshold. Once through the doorway one could truly appreciate his size. It was a monster of an ork, easily a head taller than any other ork in there and twice as wide. This was an ork nob, the biggest and meanest of the orks. The floorboards creaked and faintly trembled underneath the tread of his boots. With armour bedecked in chequered black it was plain to see that he was a member of the Goff clan.

Unfortunately for the squabbling orks the big goff heard their murderous debate. A discussion pertaining to combat? Of course a goff’s opinion was needed. He lumbered over to the table. Too busy arguing, the gang of ork didn’t noticed the mountain of muscle towering over them.

“You’z all wrong, ya gits,” the big ork growls.

The group all turn to look up at the giant brute. The black clad nob shouldered his way to the table. Leaning over, he drops his hand on the scuffed tabletop. More drinks are toppled over from the weight of the massive paw. It was a calloused mitt covered in a decades worth of scars, the smallest finger missing a joint.

"Dis. Is da killiest ting out dere." He spoke with a confidence born of experience. “Ya put anyfin’ in dis hand, it’s da killiest fing out dere’. No matter wot.” He looks around the table as his orkish pride infected the others. “It can be ‘ard. It can be choppy. It can be stabby or just proppa nasty! It’s all killy cuz you’z an Ork!”

The table cheered at the oratory skills of the orkish noble. He leans in, in a conspiratorial manner.

“Don’t you worry bout da teef. Cuz dis’ll get ya all da teef you need,” The Ork nob says while pointing at his fist. “Yeah just need a good buddy and…”

He whirls around and plants his meaty fist square in the bad moons’ face. Bits of ork ivory fly through the air as the yellow Ork tumbles to the ground. The big Goff scoops up the Ork teeth scattered across the table.

“Drinks for dese good lads. I’m payin!” He holds up the first full of teeth, yelling back to the bar. The tables cheers again, even the bad moons boy joins in groggily, raising a fist from the floor.

Another long night filled with grog.

#warhammer 40k #orks

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mustangshelby04 · 5 years ago

Text

Boston Boy - Chapter 6

A/N Ready to meet the Evans family?

Kate looked at herself in the mirror for the thousandth time. She was wearing a deep green, boat-neck, sweater dress that stopped just above her knees, grey leggings, and brown suede, knee high boots. She’d thrown the top half of her hair up and pinned it back in a messy, but classy style. Chris would be at her hotel room soon. He’d stayed at the hotel with her that night, but he’d gone home to change clothes. Kate had wanted to stay and get ready and prepare herself as best she could for meeting his mother.

Her phone started ringing and she grabbed it off the bed. It was her brother. “Hey Killi.”

“Hey Kat. How’s it going?”

“It’s going great.”

“Did you enjoy the game yesterday?”

“Yeah! We beat the Dolphins, I had great seats, I was surrounded by fellow fans, and I had a great date with my Boston boy.” “Yeah. I saw.”

“I’m sorry. You saw?”

“This Boston boy that you mentioned? Yeah, you forgot to mention it was Chris Evans.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because your picture is on the internet. You’re famous, kid.”

“What does it say?” She was already scrambling to open up her laptop.

“The one from Yahoo that I clicked on said ‘Chris Evans goes to Patriots game with mystery woman.’”

“That’s not terrible.”

“Then it says ‘the two were seen cuddling and kissing throughout the game.’”

“Oh dear.”

“Plus Facebook and Tumblr are covered with the pictures. So, is it serious?”

“Um….”

“You’ve only known him a few days.”

“I know!”

“How can it be serious?”

“I don’t know! He’s just…. He’s amazing.”

“Kid, you’ve been in love with Captain America since you were in college. You sure you don’t have rose colored glasses on?”

“Ok, one: He wasn’t Captain America when I first saw him. And two: no rose colored glasses. I’ve given him so many outs and he doesn’t take them.”

“Ok, so did you stalk him or….”

“No! God no! I was reading in the park and when I stood up, I wasn’t paying attention and I ran smack into him. I bounced off him so hard that I fell and it was straight down into dog poop.” She smiled to herself. “He gave me his jacket and walked me back to the hotel and the conversation was nice. He asked me out for dinner to apologize for the dog poop and we just…. Hit it off. I’m supposed to be meeting his mother today and he’s supposed to be coming to Richmond with me tomorrow.”

“That sounds serious if you’re meeting his mother.”

“He wants me to come visit him on set while he’s filming in Atlanta.”

“That definitely sounds serious. How do you feel about him? Really? Beyond the idolization?”

“Killi, he really is as wonderful as I thought. He listens to everything and he remembers. He makes me feel warm and cared for. I haven’t felt this way with any other guy. And he takes things slow so I never feel uncomfortable. It’s like he knows what pace I need to go at.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Why do I hear a ‘but’ in your voice?”

“Because there is one.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Well, what’s the ‘but’?”

“The ‘but’ is but do you feel you could handle the kind of relationship he has to offer? He’s going to be gone a lot. And then there’s the news stories. People are going to want to know about you. You’ve seen how the paparazzi have no boundaries. Do you think fame is something you’re ready for?”

“I don’t know. I guess that’s something I’ll have to find out.”

“But if you get in too deep with him and you’re miserable with the celebrity part of it, what will you do?”

“I don’t know. These are all what ifs that are in the future.”

“Not really. You made the Yahoo homepage, kid. It’s only a matter of time before they find out who you are.”

“Has mom seen this?”

“You know that mom is computer illiterate. She can barely use her phone, let alone the Yahoo homepage. I’m sure your phone would’ve been filled with texts and calls from her if she had. But you better tell her soon. Especially if he’s coming home with you.”

“I planned on it.”

“When?”

“When I walked through the door with him.” There was a knock on her door. “He’s here. I’ve got to go.” She made her way to the door.

“Good luck, kid.”

Kate smiled at Chris as she said, “Thanks, Killi. I’ll probably need it. Do me a favor?”

“Depends.”

“Dude, you owe me. I’ve babysat your kid for free.”

“That’s because she’s your niece and you love her.”

“I know that. Ok, do it because you’re my brother and you love me.”

“Fine. What’s the favor?”

“Call mom and see if you can head her off or something? Keep her away from computers and…. You know…. People.”

“Why don’t I just give you the moon? Would that suffice?”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Not enough time in the day.”

“Piss off.”

“Love you, too. I’ll see what I can do from Georgia.”

“Thanks. Bye Killi.” She hung up and rolled her eyes at the phone. “Brothers. Can’t live with em, can’t live without em.” Kate looked at Chris. “So, apparently we’re all over the internet.”

“Yeah.” Chris said. “I’m really sorry. My manager called this morning and had about two thousand questions. I was sure we had a lot more time before people noticed.”

“Killi saw it on Yahoo this morning.” She led Chris back into the bedroom and turned her laptop around. “You can’t see my face very good, so there’s that.”

Chris cringed. “I’m really sorry, Kat.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“No, but this isn’t fair to you. People are going to pry and the press can be kind of vicious. I really didn’t plan on the press finding out until we were both good and ready for that. I don’t want anyone to be mean to you.”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t have survived high school if I was worried about what other people think of me. Or college for that matter. Let them be mean. Negative things people say about others usually reflects insecurities about themselves. And besides,” She walked over to him and took his hands. “If this thing between us is something more…. Something that could last a long time, as you’ve put it…. The fame thing is just one part of you. It’s not the whole of you.”

“It’s a pretty big part right now.”

“Well, the good thing is that for right now, they don’t know who I am. That buys us some time, right? I’m not exactly a huge web presence. I barely use my Twitter account. I have my Facebook security settings so you can only be a friend of a friend to find me. My burlesque page is under a different name and I don’t look like myself with all that makeup on. So, I think we’re ok for a little while.”

“You’re very confident.”

“Roll with it.” He chuckled. “We’ll be at your mother’s today where no one will bother us and tomorrow we’re flying to Richmond. No one who might tip the press off knows that you’ll be there. My friends won’t rat us out once they find out. My family won’t rat us out. So this is not something we’ll have to deal with in the immediate future.”

He shook his head. “I just…. I know you don’t care what people think about you, but I don’t know if I would like it very much if people said mean things about you.”

“Would what anyone said make a difference in how you see me?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why worry about it?”

He looked uncertain still, but smiled at her. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“It’s a curse.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him. He smiled and kissed her gently. “Besides, there’s nothing they can say that I haven’t heard before. My ass is too big, my waist is too big, my thighs touch, my boobs are a little saggy, my arms jiggle when I wave….” Kate shrugged. “Nothing new. I discovered all of that on my own a long time ago.”

“Your ass isn’t too big.” His hands drifted down to the body part in question. “It fits great in my hands with some extra to play with.” He slid his hands up and settled on her waist. “Your waist isn’t too big. It’s firm and powerful and I think it goes along nicely with how you’re shaped.” One hand snuck down to her thigh and pulled it up against his hip. “As for your thighs, I read somewhere that women with thigh gaps aren’t as tight down there as women whose thighs touch. I like the way you feel on me.” He released her thigh and his hands moved up to her chest. “Your boobs aren’t saggy, they’re just heavy because they’re larger.” He reluctantly let her breasts go and took her hands again. “And my arm jiggles too when I wave.” He demonstrated for her and she laughed at the tiny jiggle that he was forcing to happen. She stopped his waving and kissed his large bicep.

“See? You found positives in all those negatives. I think if anyone says anything bad about me, you’re good.” She bumped her forehead against his chest playfully.

He wove his fingers into her hair and cupped the back of her skull with both hands. “You’re making it easy to be your boyfriend.”

“It won’t always be like that, sadly. I’ll have my moments.”

He shrugged. “So will I. It’s a natural thing.” His lips met hers and they both smiled. “Ok, let’s get this show on the road. You ready to meet the family?”

She straightened her back and took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Don’t be nervous. They’re going to love you.”

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Kate sat at the kitchen table while Lisa moved around the kitchen making dinner. Chris was in the living room with Scott playing with one of their nephews. Carly was out back with Shanna watching the other kids bounce on a trampoline. Kate had offered to help cook, but Lisa hadn’t heard of it.

“He never brings girls home. Usually he fights me when I ask to meet them. Makes up all kinds of excuses.” Lisa said, pausing in her stirring to look over at Kate. “The last one was…. Minka, I think. But that was a long time ago. It took him a while to actually bring her home. You’re something special.”

Kate blushed. “He certainly does his best to make me feel special.”

“Good. I’d have to beat him if he wasn’t.” Lisa grinned wickedly and went back to stirring.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can’t do, Mrs. Evans? I really don’t mind.”

“The only things I want you to do are to call me Lisa and for you to sit here and talk with me. Tell me about you.”

“Ok. I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”

“You said you’re from Virginia?”

“Well, I live in Virginia now. I’m from Kentucky.”

“Oh, that’s right, he did mention that. I’ve never been to Kentucky. I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”

“It really is.”

Lisa finished what she was doing and joined Kate at the table. “I’ve always wanted to go to the Kentucky Derby. That seems like a lot of fun. Have you ever been?”

“Yes, ma’am, I have. I’ve gone a couple of times. The best part isn’t the horse race because that lasts all of, like, two minutes. The best part is drinking mint juleps and checking out everyone’s hats.”

“Did you wear big crazy hats when you went?”

“I did. The first time I went, it wasn’t long after ‘Titanic’ had been released, so I got a hat that looked just like Rose’s big purple one when she gets out of the car. The second time I went, the hat wasn’t as crazy. It was just a big white sun hat that I attached some fake stargazer lilies to.”

“So, what brought you from Kentucky to Virginia?”

“Well, my mom wanted a change and she took a job in Omaha, Nebraska. We lived up there for a few years and then my parents got divorced and my mom moved my sister and I to Virginia so she could be closer to her brother that worked at Fort Lee.”

The sound of a herd of elephants could be heard running up the hallway before Scott, Chris, and the boys came running across the kitchen towards the back door. “Stop running!” Lisa called. They all instantly did as she asked, but as soon as the door opened, they resumed running. Chris held back and came over to stand next to Kate.

“Everything good in here?” He asked. “You’re not being too hard on her, ma, are you?”

“Of course I’m not! She’s a really lovely woman, Chris.”

Chris looked at Kate with a smirk. “She’s ok.” He said nonchalantly with a shrug, leaning down to kiss her cheek. Scott called for Chris from outside and Chris grinned, heading outside.

“He’s like a big kid.” Kate said, watching Chris climb on the trampoline.

“It’s something about being home with the kids that reverts him back to his childhood.” Lisa said.

“Oh, I understand that. My niece has the ability to make me play with Barbies and I never did that as a kid.”

“You didn’t play with Barbies? Why not?”

Kate shrugged. “I was surrounded by boys. I spent more time climbing trees and trying to keep up with them. I did have some Barbies. My granny used to buy the Holiday Barbies that come out every year for me. And I had some Disney princess Barbies. But I didn’t play with them.”

“Are you a Disney fan?”

“Oh my god, yes! I love all things Disney. One day I’ll get to Disneyworld. Maybe I should use my second plane ticket for that.”

“You’ve never been?” “Long story, but no, I’ve never been.”

“Oh, Kate, you should come with us in December. We go every year for Christmas.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose on your family vacation, Lisa.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing. I’m inviting you. We go for a few days in the first or second week of December. I would love it if you could come this year. I’m sure Chris would be excited too.”

“I’ll have to check my schedule at work, but I’ve still got another week of time off to take before the end of the year.”

Lisa smiled brightly. “I hope you can come. I’d love to spend more time with you.”

Chris came in just then, limping slightly. “What did you do?” Kate asked, getting up and helping him to her vacated seat.

“Fell off the trampoline.” Chris said, wincing as she moved a chair over, sat down in it, put his leg in her lap, and lifted the leg of his jeans.

“I’ll get the first aid kit.” Lisa said.

Chris watched her go for a moment before turning to Kate. “Am I going to live, doc?”

“I don’t know. This cut’s pretty deep. We may have to amputate.” Kate joked as she dabbed at his leg with a paper napkin from the table.

“I’ll have to get myself a parrot to go with my new peg leg.”

“As long as you wear one of those billowy pirate shirts, I won’t mind the bird.”

He reached over and cupped her face in one of his hands. “How is it going with ma, really?”

“It’s going great, honestly. She just invited me to Disneyworld for your annual Christmas visit.”

Chris’s eyes bugged. “Wow. She really likes you. She’s never invited any of my girlfriends to Disney.”

“I think she feels bad that I’ve never been. That’s all.”

“Trust me, babe, that’s not all.”

Lisa walked back in with the first aid kit. “Chris, you’re going to bleed all over her.”

“She’s got it under control. So, you invited her to Disney this year, huh?”

“Of course I did. You two won’t get to see each other much and I thought you might like it if we included her on the trip. Especially since she’s never been.”

“That was nice of you, ma. Really.”

Lisa looked between them and smiled. “Well, she makes my son happy. Happier than I’ve seen him in a while.”

“You can tell all of that from the two hours we’ve been here?”

“I’m your mother. I can tell a lot of things about my son and the woman he’s fallen for.”

Kate kept her head down, but her eyes widened in surprise. Chris coughed and she looked over at his bright red face. “Ma, seriously?”

“What?” Lisa asked innocently. “You can’t tell me it isn’t true.”

“It’s only been a few days.” Kate said, not looking up from Chris’s leg. “No one falls in love that quickly.”

“Oh?” Lisa grinned at the two.

Chris sighed as his mother walked out of the kitchen to join her daughters and other son outside. Kate glanced over and realized they were alone. “I’m sorry.” He said. “My mom she’s….”

“Wrong?” Kate looked up at Chris and shrugged. “It’s ok. Like I said, no one falls in love that quickly.”

“She’s not entirely wrong.” Kate dropped the bandage box she’d been holding and Band-Aids exploded all over the floor. He reached out and gently cupped her face with both his hands. “Hey, I’ve been telling you for days that I’ve never felt this comfortable around anyone before. I told you I want to spend as much time as possible with you and that included flying you down to Atlanta. You know all of this.”

“I know. I do. I just…. Well…. That word…. It’s such a big word.”

“That’s why neither of us should feel obligated to say it until we’re both ready. I know you’ve got trust issues and I’ve got a ways to go before I earn it completely.”

“You’re not doing terrible.”

Chris smiled brightly and leaned forward to kiss her.

“Ew!” Miles cried. He’d come in without them hearing. Chris burst out laughing and Kate giggled, blushing.

“Come here, Miles.” Chris took his leg off Kate’s lap, sliding the leg of his pants back down, and waved the four year old over. “You’re a mess.”

“Why were you biting her face?” Miles asked as Chris dusted his nephew off and tried to fix his hair before giving up and hauling him up on his lap.

Chris laughed again and Kate blushed again. “I wasn’t biting her face, kid. I was kissing her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s my girlfriend and that’s what good boyfriends do.”

“It looks gross.”

“Keep that opinion for a while. It’ll make your mom happy.”

“Are you going to come back out and play?”

“In a little while, bud. I hurt my leg and Kat is taking care of it.”

Miles looked at Kate and shrugged. “Ok.” He hopped down off Chris’ lap and ran back outside. Chris turned his attention back to Kate. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” She took his hand. “I’m great.”

“Hey, I never gave you the tour of the house. Ma’s kind of hoarded you all to herself since we got here.”

“I haven’t minded. She’s pretty great. Are you sure you can walk? We almost had to amputate, you know.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. You worked a real miracle. I’m really glad I’m not losing the leg” He stood up easily and tugged on her hand. “Come on.” He walked her around the house, showing her different rooms. The basement was really cool. It was a performer’s dream. She made the comment that she could easily put together burlesque routines down there. The tour ended in his bedroom. “It’s about the same as it used to be. Less dorky posters, but it’s the same furniture.” He said, closing the door.

“A double bed, huh?” Kate asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Well, I’m not exactly small. I outgrew the twin and mom bought the double my junior year of high school. I might say that I’ve since outgrown the double. Maybe I should buy a queen bed. I don’t think a king bed would fit in here.”

“It’s comfy.” She bounced on it slightly. “But still not as comfy as mine.”

“I look forward to testing that theory out.” He moved to stand in front of her and she looked up the length of his body to meet his sparkling blue eyes. “Right now, everyone’s outside. We’ve got some time to ourselves.”

“Chris….” She was silenced when his mouth met hers. He pressed her back into his bed, scooting her upwards as he crawled on top of her. She giggled as his beard tickled her collarbone, but it turned into a gasp when he bit down on her neck.

He rolled over and pulled her on top of him as he moved up to lean back against the headboard. “I want to watch you.” She blushed profusely and he chuckled. “Don’t be shy now.”

“Sorry. It’s just…. Why’d you have to go and say it out loud? I’m a self-conscious now.”

He chuckled again and rested his hands on her hips. “You have nothing to be self-conscious about. You’re beautiful.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss him. His hands snaked up her dress, leaving fire trails where his fingers touched her skin.

“This would be easier if you weren’t wearing these tights.” Chris growled into her mouth. She just chuckled, running her hands up his shirt and lightly raking her nails down his ribs.

“Are you sure they won’t come looking for us?” She asked as he slipped her dress over her head.

“Nope.”

She sat up suddenly. “Chris!”

“We better hurry.” He laughed and pulled her back down to him.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Kate and Chris sat next to each other at the dinner table. Scott was on Kate’s other side while Carly and Shanna sat across from them. Lisa was at the head of the table. Dinner had been over and they were all finishing up dessert. The kids were at their own table in the next room and Lisa and Carly took turns checking on them. Carly’s husband couldn’t make it to dinner.

“Kate, Chris says you’re a photographer.” Carly said.

“Oh, he exaggerates.” Kate said. “I take pictures, but I’m not a professional.”

“She’s being modest.” Chris insisted. “She takes amazing pictures. You should see them.”

“I’d love to.” Carly said.

“She has a website. I’ll text you the link later. Just remind me.”

“What kind of pictures do you take?”

“Oh,” Kate shrugged. “Anything that takes my fancy. My friends ask me to do pictures for them a lot, too. My friend Jessica’s parents’ anniversary is coming up and I’m taking pictures of her and her sister next week. She wants to make a photo album for them.”

“That’s a really good idea.” Shanna said. “We should do that for mom. Maybe for Christmas.”

“I would love that.” Lisa said. “Kat was telling me about Busch Gardens in Williamsburg doing this big Christmas thing that starts next month. That would be fun to take them there.” Chris said.

“Maybe we could check it out before we go to Disney.” Carly suggested.

“Did Chris tell you that mom invited Kat to Disney?” Scott asked.

“Oh that would be nice.” Shanna said.

“She’s never been.” Chris said. “It’ll be her first time.”

“Oh, a Disney virgin?” Carly asked. “That’ll be even more fun. Don’t worry, Kat. We’ll make sure you get to experience everything you want to see and then some.”

Kate smiled. “Thank you. I hope I can go. I’ve got to check with my boss, first.”

“If not, I’ll come kidnap you.” Scott said.

“Thanks.” She looked around the table. “You guys are just a great family.”

“You fit in beautifully.” Lisa said. “And anyone who makes my Christopher smile that way is welcome in my family. I haven’t seen him smile like that in a very, very long time.”

Chris looked over at Kate with the smile his mother was talking about and she smiled back. “She’s not so bad.” Chris said. “Yeah?” Kate joked. “You’re pretty ok, yourself.”

“So what all will you guys do in Virginia?” Shanna asked.

“Well, I do have to work next week, but I get off at four every day, so we’ll have plenty of time for stuff afterwards. I’ve been working on a list of things for Chris to do while I’m at work if he wants to check out Richmond.”

“Cool.” Chris smiled. “That’s so thoughtful, babe.”

Kate shrugged. “I didn’t want you to be bored out of your mind and regret coming down.”

“What all does Richmond have to offer?” Shanna asked.

“Lots of things.” Kate rattled off a few things that she loved in the city. “We’ll definitely have to go to Carytown.” “Oh yeah! Carytown did sound really cool.” Chris said.

“It’s a very artsy area. You’ll fit in great.”

“Can we go to that Renaissance house you were telling me about?”

“Agecroft? Of course! It’s right there by Carytown anyway.”

“Cool!” “What’s Agecroft?” Carly asked. Kate explained that it was a house built in England way back during the reign of Henry VI and in the 1920s, it has been dismantled and brought over by a rich family intending to start a small neighborhood of houses like it. The neighborhood hadn’t gotten very far, only Agecroft and the Virginia House had been built. And when the family had died off, they had the house turned into a museum.

“It’s like stepping back in time in England instead of Virginia. Even the hill where they built it looks just like where it originally sat over there.” Kate finished.

“It sounds beautiful.”

“It’s probably my favorite place in Richmond. I love to sit in the gardens and just read.”

“She’s been known to put on her Anne Boleyn costume and work as a reenactor for the house every now and then.” Chris said.

“Oh that sounds like so much fun!” Lisa said.

“It’s a legit costume, too. She showed me a picture and told me that she can’t get in it by herself.”

“Where did you get it?”

“A friend of mine is a really awesome historical seamstress. She’s done work for movie productions before. She made it for me right down to the corset. I paid her a ridiculous sum of money for it, but I love that costume.”

“It must be a sight to see you in it walking the halls of Agecroft.” Shanna said.

“It’s pretty surreal. I can’t help but wonder if Anne herself ever walked the same halls once. Or even her daughter because the owner of the house was in good standing with Elizabeth I.”

“Have you ever been to England?” Scott asked.

“Sadly, no. I almost went in high school, but my mom couldn’t make it work. It’s on my bucket list.”

“She’s got a great bucket list.” Chris said. “I should make you write it down, Kat.”

“I do have it written down somewhere. I used to call it my escape list.”

“Why your escape list?” Carly asked.

Kate glanced at Chris. She didn’t know how much he’d told his family. “Is it the reason I think it is?” He asked her.

Kate nodded. “I didn’t have figure skating anymore, so I made a list of everything I wanted to do to escape my world.”

Chris took her hand under the table and looked at Carly. “Kat’s father was abusive.”

“I’m sorry.” Carly said. “No child should ever experience that.”

“Thank you.” Kate said. “I’ve made some kind of peace with it.”

“I don’t know how anyone could make peace with it.” Lisa said. “It’s just…. It’s horrible.”

“Kat’s a strong and beautiful person. She’s conquered more horrible things in her life than anyone should ever have to. I don’t know how you found the courage to smile as brightly as you do after everything, but I’m happy you did.” Chris said. He looked over at her. “I really admire you.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Kate said quietly.

“Way to tank the mood.” Scott said playfully.

“Sorry!”

“It was very well said, though, Chris.” Lisa said. There was a slight lull in the conversation, but Lisa picked up a new topic. “What time is your flight tomorrow?”

“Uh, we’re leaving at ten in the morning.” Kate said. “I traded my ticket in for an earlier flight since the one I was originally on was all booked up.”

“And I upgraded it to first class.” Chris added.

“Chris!”

“What? You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

“You’ve got to stop being so damn nice. You’re setting the bar too high.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He squeezed her hand and she shook her head at him, smiling.

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#Chris Evans #Kate Allen O/C #Chris Evans/Kate Allen #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction

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banditthewriter · 5 years ago

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I went outside with Chaotic Neutral because the storm isn’t here yet and he needed to check something with his car. While we’re out there, this guy that I’d seen at the mailboxes a few times makes his way over. I don’t think anything about it, it’s a friendly neighborhood. But he immediately starts asking CN about the gang and “hey man, I’d love to get involved, you gotta let me join”

CN very politely says “that’s cool but as you can see, I’m with my girl, so if you want to talk shop, go to the post” and turns back away from him.

This guy starts cussing and laughing, talking a big game. Said something along the lines of “bet you’re just one of those people that hangs around, you’re nothing, I don’t need your weak ass support”. And CN isn’t a guy to throw his weight around but he is GRINNING. Like... full on terrifying grin... like this is the grin I picture when I write Billy giving a grin when he’s being Killy Russo.

He turned around and said “it’s probably not your best bet to insult one of the captains when you’re talking about getting affiliated” AND YOU CAN BET I’VE NEVER SEEN A GROWN MAN DO A 180 QUITE AS QUICK AS THAT. Dude was acting like CN was about to pull a gun on him right then and there, I’m pretty sure he put his hands together like he was pleading.

And CN just told him “you can try the post, but I doubt you’ll get through the door” and led me back into the apartment.

Is it wrong that I found it really hot?

#chaotic neutral #hes very proud of himself

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thelostgirlfindingneverland · 5 years ago

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Live and Learn: A tale of a girl going from pirate to lost girl. (Part 1)

I sit there taking in the sounds of the ship and smells of my surroundings as I lay in bed. Men yelling in the background, waves splashing the side of the ship, and that mix of salt water, cinnamon, and rum hung heavy in the air. This was the day, the day I would finally get some freedom from the confines of this ship. I was officially 16 and ready to start my life as a woman. I took a breath and rose from my bed reaching for the canteen of water at my bedside. I let out a yawn and contemplated getting ready as I took a sip. Any minute Killian would be in here yelling at me for sleeping in for the millionth time this week. Let me give you some background information. Killian Jones, Captain Hook as they call him, is my guardian. When I was 5 years old my parents died on a burning ship on their way to Southern France. I barely escaped the wreckage of the ship in a small paddleboat floating me out to sea. I was out there for 2 days before Killian found me floating about the ocean wailing for help. Killian saved me and raised me as his own. Teaching me the ways of a pirate and how to defend myself. You could say I was a little bit more than proficient with a dagger and cutlass. I was worth more than half of Kilian’s whole crew aboard the Jolly Roger. I smirked thinking about how the fight would go between myself and Smee, Killian’s right-hand man. Right on que Killian banged on the door, “Y/N, GET UP, THERE’S A LOT TO DO TODAY AND NO TIME TO WASTE!.”

“Ugh,” I replied, “I’ll be right out, getting changed now.” I stood up and went over to my wardrobe. “And there’s no reason to yell.”

Killian chuckled, “Alright, love, meet you out there.” “Okay,” I sassed, and I rolled my eyes.

Shuffling through my clothes I picked out the perfect outfit for the day. A short sleeved white blouse, a red corset with black fleur de ley details on it, black fitted trousers, tall black and red boots that went up to just below my knee, black armbands that hugged both of my wrists, and finally my belt that held my cutlass and daggers. I looked in the mirror and took my Y/H/C hair out of the long braid I had it in. Brushing it out I realized just how long my hair had gotten over the years. It was just passed the middle of my back reaching the top of the butt. Today it was extra wavy as it spilled down my back. I went over to my vanity and picked up my heart necklace. I’ve had it ever since my parents passed. It’s the only memory I really have of them anymore. It was pure silver and had a ruby in the middle of the heart. Next I put on my silver and red earrings Killian got me for my birthday; they matched my necklace perfectly. Ready to go I tossed on my wide-brimmed black hat and left my quarters.

It was another beautiful day out on the sea. The sun beat down on us and the clouds danced around the sky bringing the sun in and out of focus. I took a deep breath taking in the sea air and looked around. The crew was up to the usual routine. Killian was running the ship from the quarterdeck steering the Jolly Roger along the ocean. Smee was on the deck ordering the crew around. He turned around, “Ahoy lassie, good day isn’t it?” “Yes, it is indeed.” I replied as I hopped up the stairs. “Goodmornin’, Killian,” I said as I wrapped my arm around his back and leaned on his left shoulder giving him a side hug. “Ahoy Ash,” he replied. “So where are we headed today?” I questioned. “Neverland, got a trade deal I set up with Pan.” My eyes brightened, “Neverland?!” We have been there several times trading and Killian never, like not even once, ever let me leave the ship. “Will you finally let me join the crew for the deal?” I asked looking up at him with my big, Y/E/C eyes. He let out an annoyed breath. “Y/N, what have I told you. Pan is dangerous and those ruffians he runs around with are too. Neverland is a dangerous place. So no, you cannot.”

“Killian,” I whined. “Come on, they’re just a bunch of kids. Pleeeeeaaaaaassssseeee.”

“No,” he retorted, “And that’s my final answer. We will dock and I’ll leave Charlie and Davie here to watch you.”

I let out a loud huff as I crossed my arms. “Fine, I’ll be up in the crow’s nest,” I spat as walked away. “Hey there lassie, no need for the attitude. I still haven’t thought of the proper punishment for you getting squiffy last night. Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he said looking at me raising his brow. I turned around arms still crossed, “Oh come on Killi I just had a little and we were celebrating my birthday. I practically a woman you know?” At that he let out a chuckle, “Sure, whatever you say love.” I huffed and walked away. What, I was practically a woman and I needed freedom. Freedom from ship and freedom from his demands. I would find a way off this ship, one way or another when we arrived in Neverland.

#neverland #killian jones #peter pan #peter pan imagine #captain hook ouat

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shireness-says · 6 years ago

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CS JJ Day 22: The Queen’s Librarian

Summary: As the palace librarian under Queen Emma's rule, former Lieutenant Killian Jones gains a reputation for knowing not just what books his monarch wants, but those she needs. Perhaps when all is said and done, she'll need the man himself as well. ~ 11.6K. Rated M for smut-adjacent stuff and language. Also on AO3.

A/N: Here it is - my contribution to @csjanuaryjoy 2019! I had a lot of fun playing with this idea - librarian!Killian is a real weakness for me - so I hope you enjoy it too. Fun fact: Belle and Liam’s kids in this fic are named after children’s book characters, because that’s the kind of thing I think is funny.

Special thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta services. Thanks for brainstorming the last half of this with me, babe!

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

His nieces and nephew cry when they’re told Uncle Killy is going to work in the palace.

“But Uncle Killy, the Queen is mean!” his older niece, Sylvie, tries to tell him, like that explains everything. Killian understands where she’s coming from; Sylvie may not truly remember what life was like before young Queen Emma, but she’s heard tales of festivals and peace and a Queen and King who were regularly found mingling with their subjects. At only 2, 4 and a half, and 6, all the little ones know is that there’s a tension in their world now, a current of fear everyone is aware of even if they’re not yet acknowledging it. It doesn’t help that the new Queen is the reason their Papa is gone, off on his ship serving Misthaven in their war against King Arthur and Camelot.

Killian, however, is a quite a bit older than the kids, and can vividly remember the years in which Queen Emma’s parents ruled. Queen Snow and King David had been benevolent rulers, the kind of monarchs you felt cared deeply for each and every one of their subjects. The then-Princess Emma had never displayed the same optimistic exuberance her parents had - Killian always remembers her looking like she’d rather be anywhere else than waving in various public functions. Still, he had never gotten the impression she was unpleasant, but rather that she was impatient, anxious to be doing things instead of just acting as a pretty smiling face to be paraded about. Something about the crane of her neck, or the set of her shoulders. Killian could understand that, on a certain level, that desire to prove oneself. But now, with that opportunity placed firmly in Her Majesty’s hands, there’s no denying that the public persona she displays is of a stiff back and firm jaw, a woman focused on important matters with little time for frivolity.

Killian understands that too; there’s a war on, something her parents hadn’t had to deal with in many years. Sure, they’d maintained an army and navy, like any responsible country - Killian had served in the Royal Navy himself, alongside his brother, before a pirate attack and subsequent medical discharge had left him land-bound and minus his left hand. But they’d been a nation at peace for many years, ever since the ultimate defeat and banishment of the Evil Queen, respected and respectful in their dealings with their neighbors. Unfortunately, when the late Queen and King had died, their shared heart connecting them even in death, the proverbial wolves that had likely always been prowling at the door had pounced, taking advantage of the new Queen’s youth and inexperience as the ideal time to make their aggressive move. King Arthur of Camelot had always been power hungry, fancying himself far more important and deserving than he truly was, but it had still been a shock when mere weeks after Queen Emma had ascended to the throne of Misthaven, he had declared war over some supposed breach of trading agreements. More likely, that was a convenient front for his greedy desire to annex Misthaven’s lands as part of his own kingdom. And so, Misthaven had suddenly been thrown into a conflict it hadn’t anticipated and wasn’t fully ready for.

Killian’s brother had been called back to sea with the outbreak of conflict, leaving his little brother to look after his wife and their three children at the specialty bookshop Belle owned. Liam was a career military man, a Captain in the Royal Navy with his own ship and own command, but one who had scaled back considerably upon his marriage and fatherhood. During the peacetime, Liam had been able to ask for shorter assignments, trips where he could serve his monarchs while still being able to return to his family in a matter of a few short weeks - mostly diplomatic assignments, carrying envoys and messages between the nearby kingdoms. But Liam is gone on a semi-permanent basis now, called to defend his country from the sea, back every few months - if they’re lucky - for only a few days at a time for the past two and a half years.

Killian’s injury, that devastating loss of his hand, means he’s unable to serve his country in the traditional way like he might have if he had still been a full-bodied man. Perhaps that’s why he accepts when he’s offered the job as the new palace librarian after the position’s previous holder had retired; despite his inability to fight, Killian still wants to assist the cause, even if this is the only way. It’s not as if this will be a hardship, anyways; quite the contrary. He’d go so far as to call it an honor. He started his second career in bookselling just as a way to help out his sister-in-law and keep himself from going mad with boredom, but he’s found it suits him well. He’d always been a voracious learner, and working in the shop gives him an excuse to read anything that strikes his fancy on the pretense of needing to provide reviews to their customers. The exactitude of the work appeals to him as well, the strict system required to maintain an organized and functional bookseller’s playing well with the ship-shape mentality so fostered in the Navy. He’s even picked up some of the minor binding repairs, though Belle is still better at those; there are certain tasks you really do need two hands for.

Killian knows, in his heart of hearts, that they probably would have preferred Belle for the job; between her pair of hands and her lengthier experience, having grown up in that very shop and taken it over from her father, she’s the better choice. However, she also has her own business, three small children, and a husband away at sea, all things that keep her from being able to accept the job, even had she wanted to. Thus, Killian is the more practical choice, a bachelor more able to switch jobs at will. Belle can always hire more help, and besides, with the on-site housing the position provides, he’ll be able to send money back home to her and the children.

So he reassures his little gaggle that things will be fine, just fine, nothing to worry about, and packs his bags for this new opportunity.

As he approaches the gates, however, he thinks that the kids might have a point. There’s something about the towers and sturdy stonework that, while elegant from afar, seems so intimidating up close, more fortress than grand home. Killian tries to tell himself that he’s just being silly, but it kicks his nerves into high gear. Gods, what has he gotten himself into?

Courage, man, he scolds himself. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

It helps that there’s someone already waiting for him when he gets closer, an older gentleman with a serious face but smiling eyes. He holds his tall frame like a soldier, like someone always waiting for some threat to pop out from around the corner; Killian wonders which branch he’s served with, if he’s still serving or working at the palace in some other capacity.

“Lieutenant Jones?” the man asks, before Killian’s thoughts can run away any further. His voice matches his appearance, somehow; firm and sure, yet not particularly loud. It’s been a while since Killian was referred to by his rank, but there’s something almost comforting about the title. It’s able to snap him out of his nerves and back into the job at hand.

“Aye, sir, that’s me,” he replies smartly, barely resisting the urge to salute. It’d look silly anyways; he’s only got the one hand, and it’s filled with the little bag packed full of his clothes. It probably would have been more practical to wear his hook, at least for carrying his stuff, but he knows how the damn thing looks and had wanted to make a good first impression. The wooden hand is damn near useless, but it tends to set people more at ease.

“Captain Graham Humbert,” the other man introduces himself, wisely choosing to nod in Killian’s direction instead of the more common handshake. A perceptive man, too, Killian notes; though maybe it’s others who should feel embarrassed about trying to shake the hand of a one-handed man, he’s always the one who feels off-kilter as he’s forced to juggle around everything he’s carrying to appease other people. “I’m one of Her Majesty’s advisors, and have been tasked with getting you settled.”

“A pleasure,” Killian nods in return. It may be too early to make any real judgements, but so far, he likes Captain Humbert and his direct manner. He seems like a calm man who you always know where you stand with, and there’s a lot to be said for that.

“Now, if you’ll follow me?” Humbert gestures, opening the gate and sweeping an arm wide in invitation.

“I’ll show you to your room, and the library of course, as soon as possible,” the older man explains as they walk across the grounds, following the neat cobblestone path, “but there’s the formalities to take care of first. Namely, meeting the Queen. As for your room, it’s right next to the library itself where you’ll have a office as well —”

“Meet the Queen? Now?” Killian sputters out as his mind catches up with his companion’s words.

“Yes, meet the Queen,” Humbert repeats as if it’s obvious, raising his eyebrows. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no problem at all,” Killian rushes to cover. “I just… er…” There’s the strongest urge to scratch behind his ear, a nervous tic he’s never quite broken, but his hand’s not free for that particular maneuver. He can’t quite put into words why the idea of meeting his monarch makes him nervous, mostly because he can’t put his finger on it himself. Obviously, he’d known that he’d be interacting with officials in his new position, but this feels a little bit like tossing him to the wolves straight away to see what he’s made of. He shouldn’t be so nervous; it’s not the first time meeting his monarch, that occasion happening years and years ago in the ceremony when he was first promoted to Lieutenant, back when the late Queen Snow and King David were still alive and he’d had good reason to be nervous as a young and clueless lad.

Humbert is good enough to smile and clap him on the back reassuringly. Killian’s really warming up to that man. “It’s just a formality - nothing to worry about,” he reiterates. “She just likes to be kept up to date and meet the staff. Put a face to the new names, if you will. I promise, she’s not nearly as intimidating as you’d think.”

“Well that’s… good.” What else is he supposed to say?

Killian had expected to be led to the throne room for the introduction, much like he had all those years ago, but Captain Humbert leads them through a maze of hallways, deeper and deeper into the palace, before stopping to knock on one of the doors. It must be a private wing; the carpets and sconces are still elaborate and expensive, but he somehow feels like it’s seen by few.

“Come in,” a voice sounds, faintly. It’s a female voice, so Killian supposes it must belong to the Queen, but he didn’t expect Her Majesty to sound quite so… distracted. Maybe the voice is from some sort of secretary or assistant, instead? Regardless, Killian braces himself for the introduction to come, posture snapping to attention in a way he’d never quite forgotten even after his discharge from the Navy.

When Humbert opens the door, however, it’s not a harried assistant waiting for them, but the Queen herself, bent over a stack of papers at her desk and clearly paying more attention to the words on the page than anything else going on around her. Killian almost expects to see little spectacles perched on her nose to complete this picture of fierce concentration before remembering that the Queen is still just a young woman, a few years younger than himself, even. She likely has several more years yet before she’ll need reading glasses. The room itself is much less grand than he expected - filled with well-made and doubtless expensive furniture, he’s sure, but it doesn’t feel like some display piece on a grand scale. It feels used, lived in. You can’t fake that homey air or items set down absent-mindedly as new matters demanded attention.

She pops her head up quickly enough, eyes wide with surprise and anticipation, when the Captain clears his throat to get her attention. “I hope we’re not interrupting, Ma’am,” he cautions.

“No, of course not, it’s fine, Graham,” she excuses. “I needed to take a break from these reports anyways. Is this the new librarian?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the other man replies, surreptitiously nudging Killian to prompt him to respond on his own - a necessary measure, considering Killian would have been more than happy just to let the Queen’s advisor lead this conversation.

“Killian Jones, Your Majesty,” he introduces himself, stepping forward to sketch a little bow as well as he can with his bag still in hand. “It’s an honor.”

“You were in the Navy, were you not?” she asks. Killian tries not to be too flattered that she knows that; if the stack of reports on her desk is any indication, she must be briefed about everything, no doubt including changes in her staff. Still, it’s nice that she remembered.

“Aye - I mean, yes, Ma’am,” he hastens to correct. ‘Aye’ feels just a little too informal for an audience with his sovereign. “I was a Lieutenant on the Jewel of the Realm before my injury.”

“That’s what I thought.” The Queen smiles, but it seems more a perfunctory gesture. Then again, with the weight of this war no doubt hanging over her head, her ability to find joy in things must be hindered. “If you need anything as you assume your duties, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let either Captain Humbert or myself know. I’m sure you have quite the task on your hands - the previous holder of the position was… a little set in his ways.” Killian assumes she means old and eccentric. Gods willing, the task ahead of him will be a manageable challenge.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Queen Emma’s already turned her attention back to her paperwork, which Killian assumes is his cue to leave.

“Nothing to worry about,” Humbert smiles and says again once they’re back in the hallway and presumably moving towards the library and Killian’s chamber. “I’m afraid most of your interactions with Emma will be like that - she’s a bit too busy for much else these days,” he continues fondly.

The clear affection in the other man’s tone throws Killian off. There’s obviously some piece of Captain Humbert and the Queen’s relationship that he’s not quite grasping. “Pardon me, but you said you were one of Her Majesty’s advisors?” Killian cautiously asks.

“Yes, but I was her godfather first,” Humbert explains, correctly guessing where Killian’s question is leading. “Advisor sounds a bit better now though, considering she’s a grown woman in charge of a country.”

“Aye, I can see where that might be the case,” Killian chuckles.

They continue in silence only a few minutes longer down the corridors before stopping in front of a beautiful pair of glass-paned doors, the library just visible behind the decorative ironwork supporting each frame. Killian takes a moment just to marvel as his guide holds one of the doors open - it’s truly a wonder of a library that he’s faced with, and it’s about to all be his responsibility.

“Are you coming in?” Humbert asks, smiling at what must be an expression of childlike awe on Killian’s face. “I promise, you’ll get plenty of time to look your fill.”

“My sister-in-law would love this,” Killian explains as he finally crosses the threshold. “My nieces and nephew, too.”

“They’re welcome to visit. Perhaps once you’ve gotten a little more settled in?”

Killian grins at the thought. “They’d love that. I’d love that. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” the older man says. “Truly, we want you to be as comfortable here as can reasonably be arranged. Just say the word. Now, you’ve got an office through that door —” he gestures towards the right-hand side of the room, where another ornate door is nestled between arching staircases to a second balcony-level of shelving — “and the librarian’s quarters through the other.” The door on the left-hand side mirrors its pair in placement, but doesn’t feature the same glass and ironwork as the main doors and office door do - likely to provide greater privacy. “There’s a lower level too, down a short staircase in the office, where the older and more fragile documents are stored away from the light. Would you like to go straight to the catalog, or would you prefer to deposit your bag first?”

“The bag first, if you don’t mind.” At Humbert’s acquiescent and friendly nod, Killian quickly crosses to the door leading to his rooms, briefly switching his bag to hang from his prosthetic to open the door. The room inside is reasonably sized, containing both a small sitting area and a bed with a dresser, all in warm woods and soft green fabrics that make the whole space feel comfortable. The two windows overlook a lovely view of the gardens, and if he’s not mistaken, the room is positioned to catch the light for as late as possible in the evenings, with a view of some beautiful sunsets to boot. It’s easy for Killian to imagine himself spending time in these rooms, doing his own private reading and spending his off hours.

It’s easy to tell Captain Humbert as such when the other man asks how he found his accomodations once he emerges back into the library.

“Excellent,” Humbert beams. “Now, as for the catalog,” he segues as they move instead towards the office, “I’m told it’s a very thorough compendium. However, Mr. Bradford’s organization system is… truthfully, a bit hard to follow. It made sense to him, but not to most others. I’d call it archaic, but I really don’t have enough knowledge of any other library system to make that judgement. If you will?” He gestures again through the doorway. The office proves to be neat and organized as Killian walks in; a sturdy wooden desk occupies the center of the room, with storage cabinets, presumably containing item records, lining the walls, leaving only a gap for a downwards twisting staircase. Killian assumes that’s for the fragile storage his guide had earlier described.

“The item records are organized alphabetically by title, we’ve discovered,” Humbert continues, “but the shelving itself is a bit of a mystery. As far as we can tell, they’re organized alphabetically by author, but in several different sections that we haven’t been able to really deduce the method of. Personally, I think Bradford was trying to ensure his own job security by making us dependent on his knowledge,” he jokes.

Taking a quick look at one of the cards in the nearest cabinet, Killian is relieved to see that not only is each one neatly written, but he can readily discern what this system is. Humbert had hit the nail right on the head in calling it “archaic” - the previous librarian had evidently been ordering sections by who had printed each volume, an organizational system previously preferred almost a century ago before printing had become easier and more widespread. Belle’s father had actually been one of the devoted hangers-on to that system, before she had taken over the shop and reorganized by subject matter.

“I am familiar with this system,” he assures Captain Humbert, “though I do agree, it’s rather… unwieldy. Is there perhaps someone I can borrow to help reorganize? I think that will be the first priority here.”

“Yes, of course, I’m sure a couple of page boys could be spared. I’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow,” Humbert assures him, his friendly face visibly relieved. The old system must have been giving them quite a lot of problems to elicit that reaction. “Is there anything else you need?”

“I think that’s all. It’s a lovely library you all have here - I’m excited to start exploring it.”

“Then if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to get settled in - here are the keys. The larger one there,” he indicates on the ring as he passes them over, “is for your office and the archive downstairs, and the smaller for your room. There should be desk keys in one of the drawers as well. As Her Majesty said, if you need anything, just let me know and I’ll see if we can’t do something about it.” With that, Captain Humbert inclines his head in a little bow and leaves Killian to his own devices.

He could get used to this, Killian ponders as he wanders back out into the main library space. There’s obviously a gorgeous collection here, one he suspects covers an enormous breadth and no doubt countless rare volumes he’s only heard rumor of until now. There’s quite a lot to be done as well, of course - the current organizational system truly is a counterintuitive mess, one he plans on revising first thing - but he’s never been opposed to hard work, and with the promised help, the whole thing should go quicker than he expects.

With that in mind, he turns back to the office to buckle down and begin sorting through the existing card catalog.

———

A week and a half later, Killian’s pleased to note that progress is being made. True to his word, Captain Humbert had sent a bright young page by the name of Henry to help with the reorganization effort. Killian initially just had the lad clearing off shelves onto carts, but he’d attacked the task with an unexpected enthusiasm and finished with the prescribed section much sooner than Killian had anticipated. From there, after a morning teaching Henry how to navigate the current organizational system, he’d set the boy to work weeding out and reshelving fiction works, the easiest portion of their reorganization. The lad is happy and eager to help - Killian is seriously considering seeing if he can be made a permanent librarian’s assistant or something, even after they’re through with this project - and it leaves Killian with plenty of time to work his way through the extensive card catalog, sorting entries into their new categories and noting the change on the card. It’s repetitive work, to be sure, but there’s something rewarding about watching the crates he’s borrowed as a temporary catch-all fill up as he sorts each to his satisfaction. He’ll make a second pass through each category later, but for the moment, he’s pleased with the progress.

The thing about the task at hand is that it’s wholly engrossing when he’s in the midst of it; ten more minutes becomes one more drawer becomes half the night if he’s not careful, Henry long since sent away for the evening and Killian left with only the company of a few candles and the sandwich the kitchens sent up for him. That’s how he sees the Queen again, as it turns out - creeping into the library at an ungodly hour of the night.

She visibly startles when she spots him in the glowing candlelight emanating from his office. For good reason, too; when Killian glances at the clock in the corner, it reads a quarter past one in the morning, well past time for him to call it quits and get some rest. Still, it seems wrong to not at least check and make sure that Her Majesty doesn’t need something before he retires, so after standing and stretching out his hunched back, Killian moves to do just that.

“Is there anything you need, Your Majesty?” he calls as he crosses the room. She doesn’t appear to, settling elegantly on one of the soft green couches and reaching for a book on the end table, but he’d hate to be rude and just cross the room without any acknowledgement. Spotting that she appears to be dressed in her nightclothes and a dressing gown, Killian stops himself from approaching too closely; bad form. Still, he waits patiently at a slight distance for her response, if any.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” she dismisses. “Just a bit of late-night reading to lull me back to sleep.”

Killian can’t help but smile; he understands that urge well, having succumbed himself many an evening. “I’m about to retire, myself,” he offers, “but if you need anything at all, just knock on the door. We’re halfway through assembling a fiction section along that wall, if stories strike your fancy tonight.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

(He can’t help but notice that she doesn’t acknowledge his offer of assistance. Then again, that’s really none of his business.)

(Regardless, she doesn’t knock on his door that night, and he writes the incident off as an unexpected encounter with his Queen - and something he may have to get used to in the future, living under the same gilded roof.)

———

Item requests trickle in right from the beginning, but pick up over time. Though Killian expects to eventually be asked for specific government records, most of the requests are fairly trivial; one of the dwarves wants facts to back up his argument with a friend, the cook has a particular fondness for sickly-sweet romances.

The first official document request he gets is incredibly routine - the records of a particular land battle for the queen and her advisors to study. They’re easy enough to locate down in the archive, but on instinct, he grabs the official reports on four other battles and skirmishes that utilized a similar technique. They weren’t strictly requested, but it feels incomplete not to send the whole picture.

When Her Majesty shows up that night to peruse the library - not an uncommon occurrence, he’s learning - it’s with questions for him as well.

“Why did you send those extra reports today?” She asks, browsing the section he’s begun to devote to life sciences - botany, zoology, and anatomy. It isn’t phrased as an interrogation or a demand, just a question, but Killian still feels put on the spot.

“I didn’t mean to presume,” he replies, “but it seemed like the Council would benefit from the fullest picture available. That battle you requested may be most notable for a certain tactic, but I thought it might be prudent to send records of how that tactic could go wrong as well as its most famous success. Illustrate some of the factors that could affect a modern attempt, if you will.”

Queen Emma nods thoughtfully. The silence as he waits for her response is filled with a palpable anticipation. “Thank you,” she finally says. “You had the right instinct. We ultimately decided not to move in that direction after your very thorough offerings.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Killian replies quietly, modestly, but inside he feels a surge of relief, with no small amount of pride mixed in.

“If you can keep it up with that kind of instinct,” she replies, still looking at the shelves, “I think you’ll do very well here.”

———

Really, Killian should just stay out of it. Keep things professional, ignore the fact that the Queen spends half her nights in his library whiling away the hours during bouts of insomnia and just get his own sleep.

That’s not how it works, though. There’s a little niggling instinct that keeps him working until Her Majesty arrives each night, making sure she doesn’t need anything from him before turning into bed. And it’s that same gut instinct that tells him to leave out the adventure tale he runs across while shelving - a tale of pirates and dashing rescues and high-seas capers.

She seems so often to come in and read histories and dry manuals, he’s noticed. Not that there’s anything wrong with her choices; that’s some people’s preferred reading materials. Her Majesty doesn’t seem to take that same enjoyment, though, and he suspects she’s just reading as an extension of all the reports she absorbs over the course of the day. Regardless of her reasons, the frustrated expression on her face certainly suggests she’s not enjoying her reading. If there’s one thing he’s picked up from Belle, it’s that reading should be a happy pursuit, if not the outright passion she herself finds in it; Killian can’t help but want to bring that enjoyment back to the Queen’s face.

When she tiptoes back in the next night, Killian takes a deep breath to fortify himself before crossing to her customary spot on the couch with the slim red volume in hand. “Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty, but I thought you might enjoy this,” he tells her, thrusting the book in her direction, likely more rudely than he intended.

Carefully, she takes the book from him, a look of confusion gracing her lovely face. “Oh?”

“It’s an adventure tale,” he explains. “Pirates and princesses and daring escapes and True Love. It’s not a particularly serious book, but…” he trails off, suddenly feeling silly.

The Queen takes a careful look at the first page before nodding briskly. “Thank you for the recommendation, Lieutenant.”

Killian can’t tell what that tone means, but it’s not his place to press further. “Of course, Ma’am. As always, just knock if you need anything.” Maybe she thinks he’s being ridiculous, and maybe she won’t read it after all, but it’s gratifying to see Her Majesty paging through the novel with her feet tucked up underneath a couch cushion as he closes his door.

(It’s even more gratifying when a few days later, she asks where she can find other books by the same author. Maybe that gut instinct was right after all.)

———

He wasn’t watching, really, not on purpose. It’s not like he waits by the library windows, just hoping to catch a glimpse of Her Majesty in the gardens. Killian can’t help it, though, if he just happens to spot her as he crosses past the windows as he moves from shelf to shelf.

He can’t bring himself to regret it, though.

From where Killian stands, he can look down over the green lawns where the Queen is practicing archery, shooting arrows at flying targets tossed by an assistant with unerring, deadly accuracy. He didn’t know this was one of her many talents, but he supposes it makes sense; her mother, the late Queen Snow, was famously proficient with a bow. It stands to reason her daughter would inherit that talent.

Killian already knew from his interactions with Queen Emma that she’s a marvel of a woman - brilliant and strong, not to mention breathtakingly beautiful - but this demonstration of her fierce side is something else, something new that leaves him watching in awe. Watching her like this reminds Killian of the warrior queens of legend, women who led armies and charged headfirst into battle alongside their soldiers. With such a fragile line of succession in Misthaven, Killian knows Emma would never be allowed to do the same, but that picture is still in his head. He’s certain she’d make a glorious sight and be absolutely brilliant in that role.

Killian watches for a few minutes longer as Emma shoots down target after target before turning back to the library, this time with a specific quest in mind. If he remembers correctly, they’ve got a biography of Queen Elendrea around here somewhere - he’ll have to pull it and set it aside for the next time insomnia brings the Queen to his little corner of the world.

Sure enough, she’s down in the library the next night, 12:30am, right on time. When she sees the book, she smiles wryly, turning the leather-bound volume back and forth in her hands. Her Majesty isn’t much of a smiler, Killian’s noticed; she makes the motion just fine, but it rarely seems genuine, more just a reflex than anything else. He hopes that maybe, one day, he can coax a real one out of her - or at least that one of his books can.

“I suppose you saw that earlier then,” she comments. She doesn’t put the book down, though, he’s pleased to note, instead fiddling with the edges and running her thumb down the pages.

“Aye,” he replies, somewhat bashful. “I didn’t mean to, of course, I just looked out the windows —”

“It’s fine, Jones, no need for excuses.” That smile is almost real, even if it’s small - probably because he’s scratching at his ear like a dog, a nervous tic he’s never been able to shake. Damn thing.

“It was very impressive,” he offers in response. “Very… fierce. I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that.”

“Just working off some frustration,” she shrugs. “My mother used to bring me out when I was upset. It’s not the same without her, but I still enjoy it.”

“I was wondering,” Killian smiles back. “Is that your weapon of choice, then?” The words are teasing, but he’s genuinely curious as well; King David had been a legendary swordsman, and Killian had grown up on the legend of how he slayed a dragon.

“Just the bow, I’m afraid. My father tried to teach me to sword fight, but it turns out I’m not very good.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Killian smiles. “From what I’ve seen, you’re a very capable woman. I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to.”

“That’s very kind, but really, I’m not very good at it,” she assures him, looking amused that he’d even think otherwise. “There’s too much footwork, and I’ve never been very good at keeping track of my feet - especially not while having to focus on my arms at the same time. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to learn how to dance, and I’m still not very good,” she confides.

I’d love to dance with you, all the same, he wants to say. That’s crazy talk, though; he can’t say that to the Queen. Where did such a crazy thought even come from? He veers towards safer territory instead. “I haven’t picked up a sword, myself, since my injury,” he says, waving his stump as if in illustration, “but if you’d ever like to spar, I’d welcome the opportunity. Without a second hand, we might be evenly matched,” he jokes.

“What, in here?”

Killian shrugs, almost exaggerating the motion in an effort to seem casual. “Why not? There’s plenty of space in here, enough not to have to worry about injuring the books as long as we stay towards the center. And who knows, it might tire you out enough to sleep.” The Queen adopts a thoughtful expression at that point, but Killian is wise enough not to press it further. Bad form. “Just a thought.”

They retreat to their separate corners, as is customary, but Queen Emma does so with a pensive look on her face - and with the biography in her hand, Killian is pleased to note.

(He’s even more pleased when she returns the next night with a pair of blunted practice swords. As it turns out, she’s just as mediocre with a sword as promised, but he’s very out of practice himself. It’s worth it, anyways, to watch her work up a sweat bouncing across his stone floors.)

———

The moment Queen Emma walks through the doors one evening, maybe three months after their late-night sessions in the library began, Killian can tell something is wrong. Though glimpses of happiness on her face are nigh-on unheard of, that’s usually replaced instead by determination, the undeniable sense that though exhausted and often frustrated, she’s got a spine of the strongest steel underneath that pristine skin. Tonight, though, she just seems listless, a bit lost, picking up a stray book from the table but making no move to page through it. Not that he can blame her - it’s a very dry volume about agriculture techniques that he’d set aside for one of the advisor’s reference earlier. Still - he can’t help but be concerned.

“Pardon my presumption, Your Majesty,” he broaches cautiously, “but are you alright?”

“I don’t even know,” she mutters, seemingly to herself as she stares off into the middle distance. As she realizes her words were audible, she quickly snaps back to attention, shaking her head as if to dispel the thoughts. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to listen if you need an ear,” he offers in return. Personally, Killian thinks the Queen needs that; she seems to spend so much time performing for others, without taking any for herself. He won’t wheedle or force her to say anything - lord knows he doesn’t have that standing, even if he’s eager to help her in any way she’ll allow.

He doesn’t need to wheedle though, it turns out, as Queen Emma sighs heavily and turns to face him. “I just wonder what I’m doing some days is all. My parents prepared me as best they could, but there’s no way to really know what to expect until you’re sitting on that throne. Especially with a war. Men are dying every day on the borders, and the citizens are terrified, and maybe I try my best, but how good is that? Most days, I feel like I’m making this up as I go along,” she confides with a dark chuckle. “My parents… they were supposed to be here for so much longer. I crave their advice every day, while at the same time, I feel so bitter about the fact that they left me here without their counsel. I know they couldn’t help it, of course, but… they shared a heart. They made that decision, and they did it out of the truest love, but most days, as the one left behind, it feels like they chose each other over their only daughter. And it’s stupid, and irrational, but it hurts, especially when I still need them so badly. My mother was pregnant with me, you know, back when she gave half her heart to my father. And I’m so grateful every day that I got to grow up knowing him, and loving him, and being loved by him, but she didn’t know it would work. She didn’t know that the fairies could bring him back to life with half her heart after Regina crushed his. She could have died, attempting that, and me along with her, but she made that decision. And I’m grateful for it, but on days like today when I feel so lost and unsure what to do, it feels like they’d rather be together and dead than alive - without the other, but with me. Their daughter. Who needs them, so badly. Because I don’t know what to do.” By the time she finishes her speech, one he suspects has been bottled up for far too long, there’s tears trickling down her cheeks.

Maybe it’s overstepping, but Killian carefully reaches out a hand to brush the tears away. She needs that right now more than any propriety, he thinks. “You’re doing the best you can,” he assures her gently. “And maybe that doesn’t always feel like enough, but it’s the most anyone can ask of you. You are the fiercest, most brilliant woman I’ve had the honor of meeting, and I can’t tell you how much I admire what you’ve managed to do. It’s no small feat, leading a country through a war,” he reminds her gently with a smile.

“You really think so?” She asks in a small voice, looking up at him with those big, sad, scared eyes.

“I do. One hundred percent.” An idea strikes him suddenly. “I’ll be right back,” he assures the Queen as he moves to grab the volume he has in mind, one Henry had stumbled across earlier and spent half the afternoon entranced by. Returning to the couch, he carefully places the brown leather tome in Her Majesty’s lap.

She chuckles a little. “A book of fairytales?”

“A book of fairytales,” he echoes. “My sister always says that fairytales teach us to have hope, even in the darkest of times, and I think you could use a little of that right now. I have full faith you’ll find a way to bring us through this.”

“Thank you,” she smiles through the residual tears - the first real smile she’s directed just at him.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“You know, after all this tonight,” she laughs, “I think you could just call me Emma. I’d like it if you did.”

“As you wish, Your - Emma. As you wish, Emma.”

———

“I’ll be leaving for a few days,” she tells him one night, almost offhandedly, sitting on her favorite couch as Killian adjusts some of the shelving spacing. “Do you have any recommendations for me to take with?”

Killian’s heart lurches a little bit at that, but he tries to school himself and his traitor heart back into neutrality. The announcement shouldn’t mean anything to him; she’s his Queen, after all, and he’s got no right to harbor any fonder feelings than loyalty, maybe comradeship after all these nights amongst the stacks.

“Well, I suppose the materials I’d send with you to prepare would depend on what you hoped to achieve from this journey,” he replies carefully, making a point to keep his gaze focused on the shelves, lest his gaze give anything away. No doubt, if she looked closely, she could spot his very heart shining out through his eyes, and he’d prefer not to be that obvious, thank you very much.

“I can’t really tell you that,” she replies apologetically. “That doesn’t matter anyways, though. I meant something to read for myself. You know, one of your famous recommendations.”

Killian falls silent at her words, crossing over to peruse the fiction section. Something for her to take with her… the obvious choice would be an adventure story, something to while potential hours in a carriage and make whatever this journey is seem akin to whatever quest for glory she’s reading about. However, Killian’s mind keeps being drawn instead towards the poetry section. It’s riskier, for certain, but his instincts have served him well thus far, so he continues to go with his gut in selecting a collection of love poems. It’s a little too close to how he feels inside, but when has that ever stopped him?

Quickly, he finds a small box to put the volume in before moving to hand it off to the Queen. “Promise you won’t peek, not until you’re on your way,” he warns, smiling teasingly at her and holding the parcel just out of reach.

Queen Emma rolls her eyes, but she smiles too as she reaches for box. “I promise.”

(It’s a moment that could make or break his fledgling affections in her hands, but that’s a risk he’s chosen to take. After all, his intuition when it comes to books has served him well thus far.)

She’s gone for almost a week, and Killian feels like he spends half that time just watching his doors to see if she’s about to walk back through. Gods above, he’s pathetic, pining after a woman so wildly out of his reach. That awareness still doesn’t keep his heart from leaping with excitement when Emma walks back into his library, flopping dramatically - or maybe just exhaustedly - into a chair.

“It’s good to see you back,” he smiles. “Did your trip go well?”

The Queen - Emma raises a hand above the chair back to wiggle it in a so-so motion. “It was… eventful,” she finally settles on.

“Is that so?” He doesn’t want to push too hard, knowing she couldn’t tell him even her destination before her departure, but he’s curious, and a willing ear if she wants it.

“Yeah.” She pauses, leaving a stretched silence in her wake before she breaks it again. “What I’m about to say… it’s just between us, alright? Not that you’re a gossip or something, but really, this doesn’t leave here.”

“Of course.”

“I went to the border to meet with one of Camelot’s generals,” she confides. “Lancelot. Good man. There’s apparently a lot of anger and unrest in their country about this war as Arthur keeps conscripting men and diverting more resources than can be spared to the army. He wanted to speak with me about whether we’d back a new government if it came to power. That’s what’s been keeping me up a lot of nights lately - the messages we receive from him.”

“Understandable.”

“He wanted us to meet to talk about a potential successor. Some noblewoman, he said. He maybe forgot to mention that the noblewoman was Queen Guinevere.”

Killian snorts - with that tone of voice, he can’t help it.

“I know, right?” Emma smiles back. “That was a bit of a shock. Apparently, not only has her and Arthur’s marriage been rather on the rocks for a while, but she privately suspects that he’s gone mad and thinks a change in leadership is in order. She’d make a good Queen, I think - she seems genuinely concerned about their subjects.”

“So what did he want to talk to you about then?”

“Support, mostly. If they manage to replace Arthur will we support the new government in return for a mutual peace treaty, blah blah blah. I agreed, of course.”

“Sounds like a successful journey then,” Killian smiles.

“Tentatively, yes,” Emma agrees. Killian is about to turn back to his sorting when she broaches the silence again. “Thank you for the book recommendation. It was lovely.”

Ah yes. That. Killian’s been torn between anxiety about wanting to know what she thought and never wanting to hear about the love poems again, and now is the moment of truth. “I’ve always found those verses to be particularly moving,” he replies carefully.

“I agree. Completely.”

There’s probably more to unpack from that statement, but for the moment Killian lacks the courage to do so. Instead, he flashes a shy smile before turning back to his own distractions.

That’s more than enough to tide him over for tonight.

———

A visit from Belle and the children was probably overdue.

It’s not that he hasn’t seen them at all - he’s been home, of course, for dinners and Liam’s shore leaves and Max’s seventh birthday, but despite being assured from the very first moment by Graham that they’d be more than welcome to come see him, Killian’s just never arranged for it.

Belle’s been pestering him to see his library, though, and he does miss seeing the children, so he finally sets things up for them to come for a visit. It’s worth it just for the massive hug he gets from his little bookworms, but seeing the awe on his sister-in-law’s face is an enjoyable bonus.

“This is amazing, Killian,” she tells him, spinning around in a slow circle. The true testament to her awe is how she barely pays attention to how her three rascals dash off to explore. Not that there’s much they can really get into - the archives are locked up tight, and Killian keeps a tight ship he’s more than willing to adjust if anything is left out after little hands pull them off the shelves. Still, Belle’s always been concerned about maintaining a very precise shelving system, so her lack of concern about possible impending disarray is a real testament to her distraction.

“This is yours, Uncle Killy?” Sylvie yells from across the room, the excitement obvious on her face. Her mother’s daughter, that one.

“I’m taking care of it, little love,” he explains. “The library is the Queen’s, but I get to use it. And that means that all you ruffians get to use it too,” he smiles, bending down to bop Harriet gently on the nose - the only one who hadn’t gone running off immediately.

As if on cue, the doors to the library open, the one squeaking slightly on its hinges. “Jones, I’m looking for —” Emma begins before drawing up short. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” he smiles. He does remember her permission to call her by her given name, but it seems more appropriate to stick to formality with his family present. They’re actively trying to instill good manners and good form into the little ones, anyways. “Just taking a moment to show off the library to my brother’s wife and children.”

The aforementioned wife and children are clearly startled by the interruption, their expressions ranging from mild fear from the young ones to awed surprise from their mother. Quickly, Killian stoops to pick up Harriet from where she’s trying to hide behind his legs, gesturing to Belle to herd the other two closer for an introduction.

“Ma’am, may I introduce my sister, Belle —” she drops into a slight curtsey, likely straight out of some half-remembered etiquette book — “and her children, Max, Sylvie, and Harriet. And this, of course,” he gestures back at Emma, “is Her Majesty, the Queen.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Emma tells them. He can tell that she’s making a concerted effort to exude warmth, her smile one of the rare, genuinely happy ones he’s so rarely seen. She even makes a point to engage his nieces and nephew. “Thank you for letting your uncle come work for me. He’s very good at his job.”

Max and Sylvie still look wary, but little Harriet nods sagely in his arms, like that’s all she needs to hear to like the Queen. Who knows; she’s not yet three, maybe that’s true.

It doesn’t take much to sway the other two, though, especially when Emma leads their mother to her favorite couch to talk about Belle’s recommendations for stories of suspense. At some point, Harriet even ends up standing on the cushion next to the Queen with Emma’s arm bracing her upright as her little fingers play with the few golden tendrils escaping from Emma’s updo.

“See? Not so scary,” Killian murmurs into Sylvie’s ear where she’s curled against his side, paging through some zoology book with beautiful illustrations of fish.

“Of course she’s not scary, Uncle Killy,” Sylvie replies, her brow furrowed in stubborn insistence. “Don’t be silly.”

How easy it is for children to forget and change their minds.

———

“I’ll bet you never imagined this, the first time we met,” Emma pants after a round of sword fighting. She remains slightly terrible at the art, but had actually managed to put her sword to his throat tonight, so maybe there’s hope yet. “Can you believe that was only a few months ago?”

“I really can’t,” he assures her, and it’s true - their dynamic feels so natural that it feels like he and Emma must have been spending their nights together in the library for an eternity. “Granted, that wasn’t the first time we met,” he adds as an afterthought.

Emma frowns at that. “It wasn’t?”

“No. You remember how I was a Lieutenant in the Navy, of course?” he asks. Emma nods in return, though her brow is still furrowed in confusion. “And you remember how such a promotion usually warrants a ceremony here? Especially when one’s brother is made a Captain at the same time?”

“I suppose we would have met then, wouldn’t we?” Emma realizes. “I’m sorry that I didn’t remember.”

“It’s quite alright, love, you’ve doubtless had to do a good many of those ceremonies.”

“It sounds like you remember me, though,” she comments.

Killian bashfully reaches for his ear, only to realize that with the hook, that’d be a terrible idea likely ending in injury. “Aye, well, I was a 23 year old lad, still wet behind the ears, and quite smitten.”

“Oh really?” Emma laughs back, clearly amused by the idea.

“Oh, aye. Absolutely smitten. You were all lightness and smiles and grace, and I was lost. Liam gave me a good bit of grief about it, actually.”

Something about that makes Emma go quiet again. When she finally speaks, it damn near breaks Killian’s heart to hear. “I’m sorry I’m not that girl anymore,” she tells him.

“I’m not that man, either. It’s been eight years; we both grew and changed. I don’t think the younger Emma and I would get on well, not with the man I’ve become,” he replies. He should stop there, but dangerous words bubble on the back of his tongue, and he can’t help but let them spill out. Oh well; instinct has served him well thus far where Emma’s concerned, anyways. “Just because you’re not that innocent, lighthearted girl anymore doesn’t make you any less enchanting. You’ve become so much more in the ensuing years - a strong, capable woman who’s all the more beautiful for it. Any man who doesn’t prefer the woman you’ve become over the girl you were is a fool.”

“And are you a fool, Lieutenant Jones?” Emma asks, stepping into his space to rest her delicate hands on his chest.

Killian swallows, working up his courage again; this feels like a major moment. “Not in that regard.”

She smiles, one hand gently stroking over his heart. “Enchanting, huh?”

Killian finds himself moving once more on instinct - his stump to rest lightly on her hip, and his hand to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. “Utterly enchanting,” he whispers, before finally leaning down the last little distance required to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. Maybe it’s improper to be kissing his Queen, but in truth, Emma’s stopped being his Queen long ago to become just Emma, his love.

He’d be more than happy just to spend an eternity on those gentle brushes of their lips, but when Emma starts brushing at the seam of his lips with her tongue, seeking to deepen the exchange… well, he’d be a fool to deny her. And as he said before, Killian Jones is no fool.

The kiss is everything he could want, everything he’s dreamed of in weeks and months of pining. Emma’s hair is indescribably soft between his fingers where his hand has made its way into the strands, as is her hand where it grips at his neck. Her fingers playing with the ends of his hair are enough to make him shudder, ultimately breaking their back and forth of tongues and lips and teeth. That’s probably ultimately a good thing; he’s been told that breathing is important, though it’s never seemed more overrated than in this moment.

As Emma steps away, his stomach plummets - did she not enjoy that the way he did? Did he overstep? - but she just smiles, bending to pick up her discarded sword and twirling it around in an elaborate arc.

“What do you say, Lieutenant?” She smirks. “Up for another sparring session?”

(If that wink at the end is any indication, Killian doesn’t think she means swordplay - at least, not in the traditional sense.)

Laughing - laughing! Emma laughing! - she makes a dash for his private quarters, Killian eagerly giving chase and making sure to shut and bolt the door behind them. Even if no one usually comes to the library this time of night, he’s not taking any chances. Killian turns back around just in time to see Emma drop the sword and toss herself onto the bed in a fit of giggles, bouncing a little as she attempts to arrange herself. He’s only too happy to join her, tackling her back onto the pillows before bracing himself above her.

It’s been a while since he’s done this, the years since he lost his hand and spent living with his brother’s family not exactly conducive to an active sex life, but he remembers well enough to manage. It helps that Emma’s got her loose nightdress and underdrawers for him to deal with, having left her dressing gown outside. He draws the garments off her body in between hungry kisses and Emma seems only too happy to help him do the same, working on the laces of his pants as he tosses his hook Gods-only-know-where and whips his shirt over his head. Her fingers seem to trace over his erection more than they strictly need to as she loosens the laces, the devious little minx. Then again, once her self-assigned task is done, she does reach inside to grip and stroke him with one hand while the other works his pants down his thighs, so complaints seem a little ridiculous.

He has to pull away briefly to finish removing his pants, but that’s probably a blessing in disguise; not much longer and he would have lost all reason and control. As it is, when he returns, now able to lie flesh to flesh, he can return the favor.

Certain things, as it turns out, are still buried in his memory, like that thing with his tongue that always drove the ladies crazy back in the Navy. It has much the same effect on Emma, especially when paired with fingers plunging, stroking inside her as his tongue and lips go to work on her sensitive nub. In contrast, he thought he remembered exactly the way it felt when a woman clenched in climax around his fingers, that surge of masculine pride to match the cresting of her ardor, but with Emma it seems sweeter, better earned.

(That may just be the taste of her release on his lips, however. He’s more than satisfied, either way.)

The sex itself is, not to understate the matter, glorious. There’s always some adjustment with a new partner, learning a rhythm both can follow, but with Emma he falls into sync quickly in a perfect balance of her hips arching upwards and his driving forward on long, delicious thrusts. It’s probably a miracle he’s able to bring her to completion again along with him, the time it’s been since his last encounter bringing him close in an embarrassing amount of time, but he’s able to brace himself on his left arm and reach down to rub just above where they’re joined while mouthing at one of her breasts and somehow, some way, it’s just enough to get her there, the tight clasp of her flesh quickly pulling him after her.

It’s easy to pull her into his arms afterwards, tucking her lithe body against his side and letting their legs tangle together. Maybe there will be a second round later, but for the moment, sleep is calling. Anything else can wait.

“Those are some impressive sword skills you’ve got there, Lieutenant,” Emma mumbles, voice somewhat muffled by the way she buries her face in his still-naked chest. “I insist that we continue our dueling later.”

Killian chuckles tiredly, letting a content little smile appear on his face. “As you wish, milady.”

———

It’s hard to pull himself out of slumber’s grasp, but years in the Navy mean that Killian is dragged back to awareness by the distant sounds of shouting. There’s an urge to just ignore it, to not open his eyes, to let himself slip back into sleep; the events of the night prior were so wonderful he’s frankly afraid they were all a dream, and he’s not anxious to wake up and discover that for certain. Emma stirs a little in his arms, though, and it’s suddenly easier to open his eyes when faced with that proof. He’s eager to see what she looks like in the disarray of the morning anyways.

Beautiful, as it turns out - exquisitely rumpled, with her hair tumbling every which way on the pillow and a peaceful little smile on her face. Killian would be happy just to watch her all morning, but the shouting sounds again, and he’s on instant alert. Not a dream, then.

“Emma,” he hisses, shaking her by the shoulder. “Darling, wake up.”

“Don’ wanna,” she mumbles, trying to turn her face into the pillow.

“Emma, something’s wrong,” he insists. “You’ve got to get up.”

Just at that moment an almighty clatter sounds in the hallways, snapping her to awareness. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know. Let me find out.” Quickly, Killian grabs his trousers off the floor, quickly sliding into the legs and tying the laces in a sloppy knot. His first instinct is to walk out into the library, but instinct tells him to check first. Sure enough, as he peeps through the little peephole in his door, they’re not alone. Killian’s blood suddenly runs cold; standing in his library is a strange man holding a sword and wearing a cloak emblazoned with the emblem of Camelot.

“We’ve been infiltrated,” he calls back to Emma as quietly as he can. It’s unnecessary; she’s wiggled into his shirt and crept right up beside him. Killian would take more time to marvel at the sight of her lovely long legs poking out the bottom of his shirt if it wasn’t for the circumstances. As it is, she’s already pushing him aside to take her own peek, just as the man outside cackles with glee.

“I know you’re in here, Your Majesty!” he calls. Emma’s face blanches at the taunt, abruptly swinging away from the little peephole.

“Do you know him?” Killian asks urgently.

“It’s King Arthur,” she hisses back, “though Gods only know what the hell he’s doing here.”

“I know you’ve been speaking with my wife, corrupting my wife,” the intruder continues, conveniently answering Emma’s question. “I know you’ve been trying to steal my country out from under me, you and that traitor Lancelot. I know!” The more the enemy king speaks, the more manic his voice becomes. Killian is suddenly reminded of Emma’s summary of her meeting - that Queen Guinevere feared the King had gone mad. It certainly seems like that’s the case, if the ranting man in the other room is any indication.

“How does he know you’re here?” Killian whispers in question. Arthur shouldn’t have that information.

“My robe,” Emma explains. “It was a gift Guinevere gave me at the meeting, one of a collection of peace offerings. It’s made from very distinctive Camelot silk.”

That would explain it. The how is somewhat irrelevant though, as they’re forced to deal with Arthur’s presence regardless. Killian does his best to tune out the raving as he attempts to come up with a plan. No one knows Emma is here; realistically, no one is coming to save them. As it is, they’re two against one. He’s got his old officer’s sword in his wardrobe, and if worst comes to worst Emma’s blunted sword can be used as a distraction, maybe convince Arthur they’re better armed than they actually are. Play this right, and they might just survive.

“We’re going to have to take him,” Killian tells Emma, as seriously as he can manage.

“Why can’t we just stay here?” Emma hisses back.

“We can have the advantage right now - two against one. Eventually others are going to show up to help Arthur, or he’ll figure out how to swing around and through the bedroom window, and we don’t want either of those things to happen. It’s better for us to fight now, while we’ve still got the best chance to take him out.” As he talks, Killian searches for his hook, finally spotting it underneath his chair.

“What do you want me to do?” Emma asks as he clicks the instrument into his brace. Every weapon could prove a crucial advantage.

“Stay behind me, try to get to some other weapon. I think there’s some historic rapier down in the archive, if you can make it,” he instructs, tossing Emma the blunted sword and moving to retrieve his own weapon. He’s the better swordsman, but it’s better for her to have that than nothing at all. “Ready?”

Just then, Arthur pounds on the door. “Come out and face me, bitch!”

Emma nods in determination. “Ready.”

Killian counts down under his breath, before nodding at Emma to open the door. She shoves it back with force, managing to catch Arthur in the face; the idiot had still been standing right there. He reels back with a sudden gush of blood from his presumably broken nose. That’s good for them; he’s already at a disadvantage.

“You’ll pay for that,” he snarls, lunging forward towards Emma, but Killian blocks the way, raising his sword and forcing the other man to either engage or get slashed.

From there, it’s a furious battle. Killian knows he’s in a fight for both their lives, this spar more important than even any battle he was part of in the Navy, and pours every ounce of his energy into the duel. His arms ache and he’s drenched in sweat, but there’s no quitting, no resting, because Emma’s life is in his hand - his Queen, his love - and failure is not an option.

Killian’s got Arthur firmly on the defensive, but he’s tiring quickly, and the other man could certainly turn that into his advantage. He’s lost track of Emma, which scares him to pieces, but he’s got the madman in front of him on tenterhooks and he knows Arthur hasn’t been able to reach her. That’ll have to be enough.

It’s almost not, though, because Killian makes a stupid mistake, glances his hip off of one of the tables scattered around the room. He’s distracted only for a moment, trying to make sure he doesn’t trip over the table leg, but Arthur takes that advantage, pressing forward with a crazed look in his eyes. Suddenly his strikes are coming faster and faster and Killian feels the panic rise as he suddenly knows the tides have turned, and not in his favor -

And then, by some miracle, Arthur crumples. Casting darting eyes around him, Killian spots Emma, still poised with a heavy book held aloft where she struck their enemy into unconsciousness.

“Are you alright?” she asks urgently.

“Aye, love,” Killian wheezes back, “just a bit winded. Well done.”

“Thanks,” she replies, tossing the tome aside and making Killian wince. Luckily, when he catches a glimpse of the title, it’s an out-of-date atlas; that probably needs to be removed from the collection anyways. “Now, I don’t suppose you have any rope around?” Killian shakes his head, still too out of breath to speak more than strictly necessary. “That’s fine,” Emma replies. “I’ll just use the belt from that damn robe.”

Gods, he loves her. Killian silently blesses whatever actions of instinct have brought them here, because he’s never encountered any woman more fascinating and magnificent.

A couple of guardsmen, fresh off subduing Arthur’s soldiers, passes by soon enough and is happy to carry the disgraced King down to the dungeons. Thankfully, Emma finds a way to close her robe even without the belt; as keen as Killian is on her excellent arse, he’s not quite as fond of the idea of everyone else catching a glimpse. Graham still seems to know what’s going on anyways as he comes by to check on his goddaughter, rolling his eyes when he spots Killian’s stump arm draped around Emma’s waist, but that’s probably the best outcome they could hope for.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to stay here the rest of the night,” Killian murmurs in her ear as the mass of worried advisors and guardsmen and seemingly everyone else in the damn palace who needed to check on her begins to disperse. It’s obvious that she’s loved by everyone around her, but for the moment, Killian’s more interested in indulging the fledgling affection between just the two of them.

Luckily, Emma smiles back up at him through heavy-lidded, exhausted eyes. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Lieutenant.”

He’s the luckiest bastard alive.

———

Lancelot is more than happy to take Arthur off their hands, meeting the carriage at the Misthaven-Camelot border after freeing Queen Guinevere - soon to be Queen Regnant Guinevere - from the dungeon of Avalon Castle, where the deposed king will himself await trial. Liam and Graham are even happier to be relieved him, however, after being treated to several days of the king’s raving, the speech impediment caused by his broken nose doing nothing to rein him in.

(It probably doesn’t help either that Arthur keeps shouting about sees fugging da buhworm! Killian had tried to convince his brother that he didn’t need to be the one to volunteer to see this through, but Liam had some idea in his head that after Arthur endangered his younger brother, it’s his personal duty to see this through. So really, it’s his own fault that he’s forced to hear about Killian’s love life from a madman.)

(Killian does find himself wishing they had gagged the crazy bastard when Liam goes off on his own rant about bad form and defiling the Queen. Especially since if anyone’s doing the defiling, it’s Emma herself, at least if the nail marks down his back and the lovebite barely covered by his shirt are any indication.)

Killian’s tenure as the palace librarian ends up being a relatively short one, but he’s fine with that. He accomplished a lot while he was in the position, and he’s sure the next occupant will bring their own remarkable skills.

His own excellent instincts tell him he’d be an idiot to turn down the promotion anyways. Prince Consort really does have a nice ring to it.

#cs ff #cs january joy #csjj #captain swan #my writing #The Queen's Librarian #librarian!Killian #queen!Emma #lieutenant swan #is that a thing?#it is now

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