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karlyfr13s · 3 years

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Oathkeeper Chapter 2

It was supposed to be a CS one-shot, but then the CSMM crew got ahold of me and now we’re in multi-chapter mode. Thanks to the ladies for their inspiration, enabling, and cheering me on. Looking at you @teamhook, @caught-in-the-filter, @hollyethecurious, @gingerpolyglot (tell me if you want added, and coach the newbie in where these actually belong).

A HUGE thank you to @veryverynotgood who is the most radiant beta and gives me flails that keep me going through the self-doubt.

Links in case you missed Chapter 1 or prefer to read on ao3

Note: the rating is now M due to violent imagery.

Killian’s first week in Storybrooke was unconventional and more than a little confusing. Everyone in the whole bloody town seemed related, or at least so interconnected there may as well be blood involved; it drew attention to him and he spent most days certain he was being watched.

Certainly there were fewer eyes on him than on the young Lost Boy, Felix, and for that Killian was grateful. He observed the woman everyone called Granny as she put the lad to work with a nearly endless list of chores, always under her watchful, scrutinizing eye. In want of conversation one evening, he’d inquired about the choice to take on someone such as Felix. That had earned him a derisive snort and an eye-roll that rivaled Emma Swan’s when Granny explained in no uncertain terms that she was well-equipped for the job.

“Listen, Captain,” she leaned on the bar as he sipped a rum, “if I can raise Ruby through puberty as a damn wolf, I can handle one scrappy Lost Boy. What he needs is a strong guiding hand, and a good dose of responsibility--that Pan let those kids run wild.” Killian tipped his glass to her at that assessment, knowing all too clearly how the lads were deceived and used throughout their time in Neverland. “Structure, Hoo--it’s Killian, right?” she amended quickly. “Kids need structure and routine. You’d do well to remember that.”

Not for the first time, Killian wondered exactly how much Granny overheard and knew as she watched her patrons come and go. In fact, she was the only one in town who referred to him by his given name, most simply opting for Hook or Captain if they were being pleasant. Or ‘the pirate’ if they happen to be Emma’s father, he added. His ponderance was abruptly interrupted when the door crashed open and an exasperated looking Emma quickly crossed to the bar and sank down one stool from his own.

“This one calls for a whisky on the rocks, Granny,” she huffed, casting a sidelong glance at Killian’s own glass. “You too, huh? Must be going around today.” He watched as she shucked her red leather jacket, tossing it aside on the barstool between them and he gave her a moment, offering a quick clink of his glass once her own libation arrived.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Killian kept his voice light, noting the tension in the set of her shoulders and jaw.

She heaved a sigh and he made a valiant effort to focus on her stunning green eyes rather than the assets her movements showcased in that moment. “The short version? I’m sick of my mother,” she tripped on the word, “trying to be my life coach. I’m tired of inane ‘loitering’ reports from the surliest dwarf, and I cannot seem to get--” her momentum was immediately interrupted by the door and a sudden call across the diner.

“Ems, there you are!”

“--a single minute of quiet,” Emma finished lowly while Neal sauntered over and leaned against the counter, placing himself between Killian and her.

“So, I was thinking we could grab dinner. You know, you, me and Henry? Or maybe just you and me if Regina has--”

“Neal, I’ve had a long day. I am going to enjoy this drink, maybe a second, and then I am eating whatever I rummage out of the pantry at Mary Margaret’s since she and David are out on a date.”

“So you have the place to yourself?”

Killian understood the insinuation and clenched his jaw. He started counting backward from ten while he listened to Emma try to redirect Neal’s plans, and when he heard the other man’s second attempt to garner an invitation he reset the clock and started the count at twenty. Perhaps she cares for him, he reminded himself. She is tired and had a difficult day, but that does not mean she has chosen not to be with--

Her voice was suddenly raised and Killian felt like he was about four steps behind the conversation as he snapped to attention on the words she spat at the man across from her.

“Just go-- go, Neal. This isn’t happening. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. It is not happening .” Whatever expression she held in that moment must have been truly glorious to earn Neal’s melodramatic scoff as he stormed out the diner and slammed the door behind him.

Granny simply poured a healthy splash of whisky in Emma’s glass in reply before shuffling back to the kitchen as she had witnessed the whole interaction mere steps from Killian, who just now was actively working to control both his expression and the thoughts wheeling through his mind at her parting shot. What exactly was not happening between them? Where did that leave him?

Killian glanced over at Emma, her eyes ablaze as if challenging him to comment on the interaction. “Darts are quiet,” he offered congenially, smiling what he considered his most winning grin.

That earned him a quick bark of laughter. “And a little violent,” she smirked.

“Aye, that too, Swan.”

She held up her glass and they shared their second silent toast of the evening. “I could use a little of both,” she added as she got up, glass in hand and the beginnings of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“I hear rumor they even sell food at this establishment,” Killian pressed his luck a bit as they collected the two sets of darts and set up.

“You don’t say?” She shook her head at him and he watched her consider the offer. “Loser buys?”

“Of course, love.” He sketched her a bow, flourishing his hand and making a show of it to cover up his surprise.

“Not your love,” she retorted, sinking a bullseye on her first try while Killian considered how grateful he was that Granny accepted doubloons. Where had she learned to play like this?

...

Granny hollered last call only moments after Emma bid Killian goodnight, a lightness to her steps as he watched her go. “Looks like that went well,” Granny called over as she wiped down the last table.

“Aye,” he tossed Granny a wink, “and she stayed for three games. And dessert.”

For the life of him, Killian couldn’t decipher Granny’s laugh at this simple observation until the double-entendre dawned on him at last. He was tired and perhaps he’d imbibed one too many glasses if he was the one missing the joke...it was then he noticed Emma’s jacket still laying across the barstool where she’d first dropped it.

“Seven hells,” he took off to the sound of Granny’s whooping call as she warned him the sheriff walked fast and he’d better work for it. Work for what exactly? Killian mused as he jogged out into the night, no easy feat in full leathers with more than a bit of drink in him. He spotted her golden hair in the lamplight down the street and called out, thinking it the better option than startling her.

She spun on her heel, wobbled slightly, and burst into laughter as she leaned against the lamppost for support--clearly he wasn’t the only to enjoy one too many this evening. Ever the gentleman, Killian held her jacket out and ignored her comment about being chased down Main Street by a pirate.

“Princess,” he began, calling far too loudly given the hour, “chivalry demands I return your cloak, lest you catch a chill on this dark night.” She shushed him less than successfully as she giggled and fell into step beside him-- Emma Swan can giggle, he mused. “As well,” he continued, voice full volume and bordering on a bellow, “I must see you safely to your door. No doubt there are ruffians about, and all manor of unsavory ne’er-do-wells, all seeking mischief against such an elegant,” he chuckled as she staggered slightly, “and graceful lady as thee.”

“You’re such an idiot, shut up! Do you want the whole neighborhood awake?” Her scolding was half-hearted at best considering her idea of a whisper could likely be heard across the street.

“Do you think they’ll call the sheriff, love” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she swatted his chest. “Surely you wouldn’t throw a man in the brig for an act of noblest courtesy,” at that he draped her jacket over her shoulders while she led the way and proceeded to spin a tale of his own unimpeachable valor as a young sailor. When they reached her dwelling, she turned to face him before heading up.

“Why do you always get it? Nobody gets it.” He raised a brow at her question. “Gets me. Like Neal,” she slurred the name and rolled her eyes. “I have a shitty day at work and he decides to make some weird pass at me through the kid ? But you,” she leaned in and poked Killian in the chest, keeping her index finger pressed against his sternum. “You’re the...the flirty pirate king and you just...throw sharp shit at a wall with me and buy me drinks. You didn’t even check out my ass more than once.”

He absolutely had, but far be it for Killian to correct the lady when this seemed to be going somewhere rather interesting.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she slurred.

Before he could suggest this was likely a bad idea as she would potentially regret whatever her next words were to be, she pulled him down by one of his coat lapels and whispered loudly, “My mom is Snow White, right? So she’s all about ‘true love’ and ‘happily ever after’,” her whisper became what he thought was an imitation of her mother, though he doubted that Snow White had ever been six whiskies and two rums deep.

“So she thinks that Neal is like...my Prince Charming, but here’s the secret: he’s not a prince! He’s a con-man, and he sure as hell isn’t charming. So whoops, Mom! Wrong bet!” She laughed and let go of his coat, poking the end of his nose and whispering something that sounded like the noise boop in the most infuriatingly impossible-to-understand gesture he’s witnessed yet. She gave him a glassy-eyed smile, and in a parting shot that left him speechless, she cupped his cheek and in a much softer tone murmured, “Goodnight, Killian.”

---

The morning arrived after less rest than he’d like, but Killian snapped awake as the sky first began to turn a dusty rose on the horizon. This was very likely the best mood he’d found himself in for quite some time, and he mused on the past twelve hours as he fiddled with the magic hot-water dispenser until he got the temperature just right. Unlike the Jolly , Granny’s provisions in terms of hygiene were lavish and he assumed they cost her a small fortune if Ruby and the guests enjoyed them as much as he did, but Granny assured him the soaps and amenities were provided, so he took great joy in letting the warm water run over him as he lathered up, breathing in the herbal and lemon scent so unlike the harsh lye soap he was accustomed to. This world without magic had its charms, and hot water on demand was his latest favorite.

He arrived downstairs for his other new-world favorite - coffee - and Killian was pleased to see Emma already at the counter, though she looked a great deal less chipper than he felt. “Good morning, Swan,” he sauntered up to take a seat at her left. “Beautiful morning, don’t you think?”

She grumbled something about a headache and before Killian could reply, Granny swooped in and all but insisted she sit and have breakfast. Despite her protests, Emma wound up delayed in her arrival to her post that morning as she was cajoled into a substantial pile of eggs, bacon, and toast. “Complain all you want, Sheriff,” Granny eyed her as she set a matching plate before Killian, “but you two need to soak up some of last night’s fun. Now, eat.” After obligingly refilling their mugs with steaming hot coffee, to which Emma added more than a bit of cream and sugar, Granny retreated to another table as the morning rush filled in around them.

They ate in companionable silence until Emma glanced over and opened with, “I beat you at darts, didn’t I?”

“Aye, two wins to my paltry one, Swan. I’m only grateful we chose not to wager more than dinner and drinks on the game, or my pockets would be a great deal more empty.” She smirked at his comment, and the two chatted as they worked through their breakfasts, both seeming to come alive as Granny had predicted.

He should have known it was all going far too well.

The bell above the door chimed, and the bustle of the patrons picking up coffee and pastries on their way to work or leisurely enjoying their breakfasts fell to a whisper. Killian stayed perfectly still as he heard the man limp toward the counter, the gentle thud of his cane giving him away. From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma roll her eyes at his clipped “Miss Swan,” and Killian stayed frozen to the spot, not trusting his reaction in front of the woman who not only was increasingly important in his life--a thought he’d sort out, or studiously avoid, later--but also represented the local law enforcement.

He heard few of the words exchanged between the Crocodile and Granny, though neither appeared pleased to be having the conversation. Instead, his pulse pounded in his head and his vision clouded as he clutched the edge of the counter. Killian had the distinct image of grabbing that gold-topped cane and flipping it, beating the man about the head until nothing recognizable remained. Until the gold handle dripped red. He could leave him on the floor of this place, twitching as the last impulses of his brain forced him to dance to a soundless tune; Killian could simply walk to the Jolly and set sail, free of the memory of this vile excuse for a man.

Except that he could do no such thing. He sat next to the sheriff in a small town diner surrounded by people who already distrusted him to varying degrees. He was trapped in a land that was not his own and had no way-- nor will --to return to his own. He was a captain without a crew, and as his mind raced through the numerous ways he could rid himself of this loathsome creature he knew now was not the time and certainly not the place. Simply put, Killian refused to put Emma in a position where she would be forced to see the darkness that lurked within him. So he let it pass, and let the Crocodile go for today.

It wasn’t long after the disruption that Emma took her leave, and Killian lingered at the counter as he mulled over what to do with his day. Most days he helped Granny with the more physically demanding repairs around the place, but he felt caged and in need of something more challenging.

“Appreciate you not taking his head off in my diner,” Granny remarked banally once the place emptied. “You have any idea what it takes to get blood out of white grout? Oh, don’t look so surprised; nothing smells quite like fear and rage rolled up in one, and I could smell yours from across the damn room.” She waved dismissively and filled two mugs, sliding one to him and keeping the other for herself. “It’s hot chocolate, and you need it. Little liquid comfort never hurt anyone, so drink up and tell me about it.”

He sipped hesitantly, but the woman was certainly right about the comforting power of the elixir before him. Killian thought about his next words as he breathed in the sweet steam from his mug, letting the cup warm his hand as he held it. “You could...smell my emotions?” He felt it best to begin with the obvious inquiry and prolong the tale of his darkest day.

“I could also hear your heart-rate skyrocket the second you knew who came through that door, so I’m guessing there’s some history there. You don’t have to tell me everything, Killian, but I need to know if I can trust you when you’re in here. Gold comes in to collect rent monthly, and every now and again he has lunch as well. I need to know you’re not going to take a kitchen knife to the bastard while I’m serving sandwiches.” She levelled a scrutinizing gaze at him and waited.

Killian set down his mug and scrubbed his hand over his face, realizing he was in need of a shave, then realizing he was further delaying the conversation. He sighed, knowing there was only one right way forward. “I will not spill his blood on your grounds, Granny, not unless he spills mine first. You have my word.” She nodded once, waiting for him to continue. And so he spent the sunny morning explaining how he lost his hand to the Dark One. While Killian left out much of the story of Milah, he could not entirely avoid her role in the tale, explaining simply that the man she knew as Gold had killed the woman Killian loved right in front of his eyes. Granny was sympathetic and asked few questions, letting him choose how much to reveal. It was cathartic, in a way - a chance to tell someone this piece of truth. A chance to be heard.

When they were finished, Granny spoke briefly of her wolfish nature, a truth which Killian enjoyed as it made her acute hearing and perceptiveness make far more sense. “I know your heart-rate also picks up around a certain sheriff,” she added as Killian slipped on his greatcoat, readying himself to find busywork on the Jolly . “And I know hers does around you.” She eyed him closely then, searching for he knew not what. “Be careful with her, Killian. I don’t know everything--I’m not sure anyone does--but I can see enough to know she’s been hurt, and that hurt hasn’t fully healed. In fact, I’m damn sure the source of it just waltzed back into her life.”

He nodded his understanding and left her to her work. Given the woman’s preternatural understanding of her patrons, he was not about to argue. He chewed her words over in his mind repeatedly as he spent the rest of the day checking that everything aboard his beloved Jolly was in tip-top shape. While his life may be constant chaos in this world, at least he could be assured his ship was as perfect as ever.

#cs au #captain swan #cs ff #csmm #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan au #karly tries her hand at writing

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navigatrixnarrations · 4 years

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Sometimes Always, Chapter 1: Thieves Alley

The first chapter of a canon divergent kind-of fix-it set after Season 3 as encouraged by @whenimaunicorn. The beginning looks familiar because I posted it as a WIP, but it continues.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and profanity

Words: 2034

Charles Vane once heard that a man can only truly possess that which he cannot lose in a shipwreck. For all the times he’s had to run with nothing but his life in his hands, and those times are many, this most recent is the hardest to bear.

The late autumn sleet beats against the drafty window of his rented room by the wharves. Nor'easters, he learned these storms are called, blowing in off the Atlantic, bringing traffic in the harbor to a standstill and turning the muddy streets into debris-strewn rivers.

Until recently, he spent his entire life in the heat of the West Indies. New York City is cold and unceasingly raw. Its damp chill seeps into his bones and makes old injuries ache damnably. Vane finds himself taking a liking to these storms anyway; they match his mood.

Perhaps he should head to the tavern where he works instead of huddling by the small fire trying to ignore the past. The tavern owner is a freedman, known to give a hand to other former slaves. All Vane had to do was show the brand on his chest and scowl a little, and he was given a job as a bouncer. The irony of it: Charles Vane, notorious scourge of the seas, reduced to breaking up drunken brawls and preventing grown men from pissing on the floor under an assumed name. Still, he’s alive and free, right under the noses of the fucking English…

He’s definitely being followed. He dislikes being followed. He turns to see that several of the tavern-goers are coming toward him, an assortment of weapons in hand. He dryly thinks that times must be hard indeed if they intend to rob him of his pay; split several ways it wouldn’t even be enough for a mug of ale each. A pistol goes off, grazing a leg just barely recovered from the last time he was shot, and Vane staggers. His attackers are nearly upon him when a slightly-built figure leaps between them. A low-pitched female voice, an oddly familiar voice, calls out something in what Vane recognizes as Dutch. There is laughter from the others, and they withdraw.

The woman approaches, her hands empty, reaching down to assist him. He gets the impression of large eyes in an angular face, a dark coat wrapped tight against the mist. Is it? Can it be?

She looks at him as if seeing a ghost, albeit a ghost with whom she is slightly cross. Then she remembers herself. “Charles.” Her expression turns wry. “Did I hear them refer to you as ‘Mr. Thatch’ back there at the tavern?”

He checks her face for any sign of fury, and sees none. “I can’t very well go by my own name now, can I, Miss Teach.”

“It’s Mrs. Sullivan now. And no, I suppose you can’t. I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind you using one of his last names; you’re more his child than I ever was.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, without bitterness.

He forces a levity to his voice that he does not feel. “So you married Sully? How is he, anyway?” At least she wedded a brave man and a kind one.

She shuts her eyes slowly, shakes her head, then reopens them. “He’s been dead three years. Took a bullet to the head in a raid.”

“Margaret, I’m…”

“Save the platitudes, Charles. They don’t suit you.” She looks tired, her eyes far away. “He was right beside me when it happened. He died free and he didn’t suffer.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he possibly say to that. Memories of the three of them as teenagers, skylarking in the rigging of the Revenge. Vane was the strongest, Margaret was the fastest, and Sully, well, Sully was acrobatic and fearless. And Sully made her laugh, something she did far too seldom. Vane envied him that ability.

She turns her sharp gaze back to him. "If you’re wondering what I said to your new friends back there, I told them that while it is clear that the only thing you use your head for is growing hair, entering Thieves Alley alone as you did with a pocket full of coin, it would be cruel to deprive you of it."

In spite of himself, he huffs out a short laugh. She’s studying him, and he thinks she sees the question that he cannot bring himself to ask aloud. I missed you. Did you miss me?

“My last words to you were cruel.” She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “I regret them. I’m glad I have the opportunity to tell you so.” Why did I get you out of there if you’re going to go do her bidding, be her attack dog? She doesn’t love you, Charles, she’s incapable of loving anyone. And now you’re walking right back into another kind of slavery and it was all for nothing. If I never see you again, it will be too soon. She jumped into one of the longboats and never once looked back at him as the men rowed it out to the ship. He wanted to call out to her to stay, that he changed his mind, but youthful stupid pride made the words stick in his throat. In the end he watched her climb the rope ladder to the Revenge, watched her sail out of Nassau Harbor, watched her disappear over the horizon...

Vane holds her gaze because he’s certain that she would not welcome him holding her body. “Everything you said to me was true, though I couldn’t see that at the time. You had every reason to hate me.”

Margaret tilts her head to one side. “I never hated you, though I tried. Never even resented you, really.” She sighs. “I resented my father for wanting a son so badly that he all but ignored me once you arrived, and I resented the hell out of myself for trying so hard to win his approval.” She pauses. “You’re shivering.”

He starts to deny it but Margaret rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, I know, you’re tougher than the rain and wind and you’re made out of pain and hunger, but you’re not dressed for this climate. Let’s get you in front of a fire. I didn’t come to your aid yet again for you to catch consumption in fucking stinking Thieves Alley.” Vane knows better than to argue with her when she takes that tone.

He falls into step beside her and follows her through a series of alleyways, up some back stairs to a garret. It’s two rooms, sparse but clean, a fire burned down to embers in the small hearth. She drags two chairs and a small table closer to the fireplace and gestures for him to sit while she sets about stoking the fire. He finds himself admiring the quiet confidence with which she moves, the deft precision of her hands. That hasn’t changed. The wooden chair feels like heaven after a night on his feet, and the fire quickly warms the small room. He slouches back and stares into the flames while Margaret bustles around, hanging her coat on a peg, boiling the kettle. Unconsciously, the fingers of one hand worry at the scar on his neck left by the hangman’s noose. It’s slight, but it’s there. In most ways he’s recovered from his brief hempen jig. He can sometimes go hours without thinking of it, but there will always be reminders. Much, Vane muses, like his years sailing with Edward Teach and daughter.

Everything hurt. The latest flogging from the taskmaster tore his back open from shoulder to waist, and he could barely stand. His whole body was wracked with fever. He heard a girl’s voice, and a man’s voice, both unfamiliar, distorted-sounding, and then he was being carried. He must have lost consciousness; when he came to, the whole world was swaying and he heard the creaking of boards, waves lapping against the...hull? Why was he on a ship? Had he been sold again? And then a girl about his own age was looking down at him with a grave expression, her hair in a braid and her big eyes curious. “Where am I?” he asked her. “You’re on the Revenge,“ she said, and, seeming to intuit his next question, she added “you’re free now. We’re all free here. We’re pirates.” There was pride in her voice and her posture at that last. He later learned he was free because Margaret Teach talked her father into taking him with them.

In the silence that has fallen between them, his stomach growls. He tries to ignore it, but she’s heard. She fetches bread and cheese from a box on the windowsill, a bottle of rum, and a pair of dented tin mugs into which she pours tea, putting it all on the table between them.

That’s what seemed off. She’s wearing a dress, and it’s all wrong. It flatters her well, but it’s all wrong. A proper pirate like her, dressed like a merchant’s wife.

Margaret raises an eyebrow at the look on his face. “It isn't poisoned, Charles” she says dryly as she pours rum into her tea. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now. I wouldn’t waste good rum.”

He takes the offered bottle and adds a heavy pour to his own tea, then takes a sip and lets it burn all the way down to his belly. “Thrown your lot in with civilization, have you?”

“No.” Her knuckles whiten on the edge of the table and she scowls. “I fucking hate it here.”

He reaches over and places a hand on hers, and is gratified when she doesn’t pull it away. “You’re like me, Magpie. We belong at sea.”

“We do.” Her voice is quiet, wistful. “Nobody’s called me that since Sully died.”

Sully grinned at the way Margaret's eyes tracked the doubloon that Vane set dancing back and forth across his knuckles. “You’re a magpie, that’s what you are.”

“ What’s a magpie?” she asked.

“Very clever little bird, a bit like a crow. They’ll steal anything that catches their eye, especially if it’s shiny, and they’ll have a go at birds of prey many times their size. They live in England.”

Margaret curled her lip. “Fuck England.”

“Fuck England,” Sully agreed. “Rest of it suits you, though.”

Vane thought it was apt for the clever dark-haired pirate girl. His fierce little Magpie.

She turns her hand over in his and gives it a brief squeeze. “I don’t mind you calling me that.” They finish their meal in silence, but it almost feels like the silence of old times. As in old times, it’s easy to fall back into task organizing without needing to discuss it much; he clears up the remnants of their meal while she makes up a cot for him near the hearth.

He hadn’t expected her to invite him to her bed, not really; she never did in the past, and the disastrous choices he made when he was a young man likely destroyed any chance of that in the future. They’re no longer children with a habit of falling asleep in a pile among coils of rope like a litter of alley cats between their watches. But now, all these years later, they’re reunited. It will have to be enough.

From the other room, he hears a sob, quickly stifled. Vane knows Margaret doesn’t want him to know she’s crying, perhaps wants it less even than he wants her to cry, yet how can he ignore the pain she’s in? He tries her door, only to find she’s bolted it from within. He returns to his cot. Eventually sleep takes him, and by some mercy, he does not dream.

#black sails fic #charles vane x ofc #charles vane x oc #sometimes always fic #charles vane fic

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sketch--booked · 4 years

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i think you’ve seen s6 right? could i get a rant (or just ur thoughts) abt the misfortune’s keep crew? they don’t get much love but i wanted to know what you thought of them

My guy,, I’ve made a whole AU where these guys are a main focus, you think I don’t love the Misfortunes Keep crew??

(And yes, I’ve seen every season at least twice now haha,, I’ve probably watched season 6 now like--three timesghjgh)

The misfortunes keep crew, MKC because I’m lazy, were wooonderful. I love each of them and their personalities and how they bounce off of each other.

(First, I wanna say that I loved how they all, mostly, came to rise against Nadakhan after he didn’t need them anymore, and how they all chose to fight for what’s right.... THIS GOT ERASED THANKS TO J A Y,,, My children had such lovely arcs and that just whoop gone,,,)

Now onto my opinions on the actual crew.

Clancee is just an absolute baby and I think he has some confidence issues of self-confidence problems. He’s jittery but generally nice. He really only joined the MKC because he felt like he didn’t belong to the serpentine, which is something that really hits to home. I’m sure a lot of people have felt that way in their lives at least once and it was really nice to see that, although his position wasn’t the best, he still felt needed on the crew. He enjoyed being there even if he was just the around cleanin’ the place. It’s what made him happy.

He was also the nicest (most of the time) to Jay when he was captured, because they were actually vary similar. And he was also one of the first to see that maaayybe Nadakhan aint so great after all.

Doubloon was fun because we hadn’t really had many enemies that knew spinjitzu at the time S6 came out, and it was nice to think about how he came to learn it. I also like how it shows another side to Nadakhan kinda. Since yes, Doubloon was trying to steal from him, but Nadakhan was still impressed by his ability and took him on board.

Which either makes me think that Nadakhan did genuinely have a soft spot for em and his crew, or he was truly using them all as a means to an end, even before they were known pirates. He’s the mute, freakin cool, badass mo fo of the crew and I like em.

Dogshank is wonderful all across the board. I found it so funny that she’s freakin huge and could easily whip yo ass faster the the weekend---Her interactions with Nya always made me laugh because I feel like, under different circumstances, Dogshank would easily be able to fit in the “girls club” with like--Skylor, Pixal. She always wanted to be the best at whatever she did, and stand out in a crowd.

So Nadakhan took that literally of course and she got turned into the ninjago kulk. I do like though, how she embraced it and straight up enjoys throwing people across roomsjghgj. She’s a true role model ✊😔

Monkey Wretch I often forget about, but I love how sassy he iskhjgkjh. the knowledge he wasn’t always a monkey though makes me kinda sad. He’s a genius, and a primate,, But he’s damn good at what he does. There isn’t much I can say on em, Since he doesn’t speak and he’s pretty much the animal sidekick of the crew, but I don’t doubt that he probably wishes he could be human again, and holds some resentment against Nadakhan. But considering he made the Misfortunes Keep, he stays.

(fun fact, at this point, i accidentally closed the tab and nearly lost literally all of thisjjjgj)

And last, but not least (the OG crew, considering), good ol’ Flinty, or Flintlocke. God I can’t express how much I love Flinty. He went from being Nadakhan’s trusted second in command, to being thrown off the backseat and betraying him. How you could slowly see him beginning to believe Jay, and that spark of hope you have when you think he’s going to help Jay escape. Then when he looses his ability to shoot, it all comes crashing down.

He was defined, in the MKC, as the long-shot-shooter with impeccable aim. But when that’s gone, what is he? Is he really useful to Nadakhan now? What if Jay was right, and Nadakhan doesn’t need him anymore?

Flinty had made himself into his own weapon, and lost his confidence because of a seed of doubt. So the moment he gains that confidence back, not from Nadakhan, but from the people he thought were his enemies, he has a new reason to trust again and helps them. I just feel bad though, because although he hit Nadakhan with the poison, he also hit Nya. And because of that, all his development was wiped away.

I like the MKC, they were entertaining, they were scary when they needed to be, and the were ruthless. But what I find the saddest thing, is that after they had all been brought together again, they had all expected to go back to the old days. Sailing as one big family with Nadakhan leading them through storms, and stealing whatever they wanted. They all had reasons to put trust into each other and when Nadakhan was imprisoned in the teapot, and they were all lost from each other. They just lost their family.

Which is why I lead onto Nadakhan. He always wanted more and had no restraint when it came to having the biggest loot pile, but he had his crew. And he had Delara. Nadakhan likely did reciprocate that familial feeling and Delara’s affections, and probably did tricked them in the beginning, but they were generally happy anyways. Which makes his betrayal so painful. They joined him because of what he promised them, they got all that they wanted because of Nadakhan.

He left his home and his father for adventure and love, so when he returned only to see it crumbling. That was his breaking point. He had gained so much in Ninjago but lost his home and everything he held dear. And that’s when he decided to rebuild his home and he would do anything to achieve that. Nadakhan didn’t see that all that he wanted was not what he needed. He lost something equally as great as infinite wishes. He lost the people that put their trust in him.

But through grief, not only over his realm, but of his love, couldn’t see that. Which resulted in his downfall.

Like a lot of the villains in Ninjago, sometimes it’s circumstance, luck, or bad timing. The Serpentine, the Nindroids, Morro, Harumi, even Zane falls under this category now (ouch).

He’s a good villain because under the manipulation, under the lack of fear or consequence, he’s just angry. That is not saying, that it isn’t his fault. A lot of the things he did before were bad and his whole crew knew this, but because of bad timing and luck, it all came crashing down.

So in short, the MKC are pretty neat 👌👌

(If you can’t tell, I like making people see the sad parts of the villains--)

#ninjago #ninjago season 6 #ninjago s6 #ninjago nadakhan #ninjago flintlocke #ninjago doubloon #ninjago dogshank #ninjago clancee #uhhhhh is that everyone?#ninjago monkey wretch #i told you i forget about the monkey

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rottmntquotes · 4 years

Text

Okay, But... Is No One Going To Talk About The Fact That Leo Was Technically BOUGHT BY A PIRATE For One Measly Doubloon? Imagine How His Older Brothers Reacted To This Information

Leo: Oh yeah! I legally belong to a pirate now by the way.

Raph: I’m sorry, what?

Leo: Yep! He bought me at an auction for one doubloon!

Donnie: Honestly, I don’t know if I want to laugh at the fact that you were sold for so little, or try to track down and murder the pirate who decided that it would be appropriate to buy the brother of two very aggressive older siblings.

#RotTMNT #Rise of the TMNT #Calm Down Donnie!#Let Leon Explain The Rest!#He Was A Statue For a Good Two Minutes #Geeze #You Don't Have To Be So Passive Aggressive

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aurora-australis-tumbles · 4 years

Note

I absolutely loved your Phrack short fics, especially the last one with the wedding au! You have a magic touch for modern AUs ;) and reading them brought me a lot of joy!!! If you still take prompts, would you do number 11 for Phrack? :D

Awww, you’re too kind! ❤️Happy to oblige - hope you enjoy it!!

partners in crime au

---

The party was exclusive, extravagant, and already in full swing, with lights, sounds, and the occasional party guest spilling out onto the sidewalk of the sprawling downtown estate.

Across the street, sat in an innocuous and unmarked van, Jack watched and waited for her signal.

It didn’t take long.

A moment later, his comm crackled to life and he sat up a little straighter in front of his monitors at the sound of her voice in his ear.

She was in.

“Excellent work, Jack, not one active alarm along my route.”

“No names over comms,” he reminded her.

“Yes, yes,” she sighed. “Code names only, ludicrously formal though they may be. This isn’t my first rodeo.” Jack rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable follow up meant to fluster him. “That was with Ronaldo.”

And there it was.

“Yes, thank you, Miss Fisher. Are you past the guard yet?”

“Not yet. Hold please.”

Jack tapped his fingers on his knee. She was fine, would be fine, was always fine. But he couldn’t help being a little nervous every time anyway.

The sound of her giggles filled his ears. Oh, so she was going for drunk and lost. A classic.

“Excuse me, I seem to have gotten turned around. Is this the ladies’ room?”

“This floor is off limits, ma'am, please return to the party.”

“I just need it for a — oh, that’s all muscle there, isn’t it?” Phryne giggled again, then her voice turned breathy. “Are you sure the party can’t be right here?”

The guard’s voice remained surprisingly flat. “Ma'am, I’m really going to have to ask — ”

WHACK

Jack jumped in his seat at the sound of Phryne’s knee colliding with the man’s groin.

From seduction to judo in three seconds flat; if THAT didn’t sum her up he didn’t know what did.

Jack heard a few more hits, followed by silence.

“Past the guard,” she informed him cheerfully.

“Yes, I heard,” he replied. “Poor fellow. I didn’t realize anyone was immune to your charms. We should have him studied for science.”

“It happens.” He could almost hear her elegant shrug. “Brain injuries are common with hired goons. Plus, he had it coming — he called me ma'am. Twice!”

Jack bit back a laugh and carried on as professionally as he could. “First lock?” he asked.

“Electronic keypad. I’m holding the reader up to it now — do your magic, Jack.”

“No names over comms,” he reminded her, fingers flying across the keys as he broke the lock from across the street.

“Thank you, darling. Laser grid off?”

“Lasers off, camera looped,” he confirmed. “You’re all clear to the last door.”

“How’s our party crasher?” she asked conversationally as she made her way down the hall and to their prize.

“Still on my scope. I cleared her route as well, obvious though it was: she came in through the window while you were tangoing with security.”

“In through the window? That sounds exhausting.”

“Rookies,” he lamented mildly. “I have her on the monitor now. She’s wearing some kind of extravagant polka dot dress, no doubt to blend in with the party for her escape, and trying to figure out how to dismantle the display case the coins are kept in without setting off the alarm.”

“Polka dots? With this crowd? Rookie indeed,” Phryne tsked sympathetically.

“How did you find out about her anyway?”

“She went to the Red Raggers for equipment and they told me. Said it seemed like a job right up our alley. Oh! Perhaps we should have asked them along.”

“Uh, no thanks. This job hardly required a small and unbearably surly army, Miss Fisher.”

“They’re never surly with me,” she teased him.

“Yes, I am aware it’s personal, thank you. Are you at the door yet?”

“Just arrived, Jack.”

“No names over — ”

“Yes, yes, I know. Picking the lock now.” He heard her expertly moving her tools in the tumbler, a reassuringly familiar sound by now. “You know, I was just thinking...”

“Well that never bodes well for me.”

“Don’t be like that, darling; this is personal, not professional.”

“Equally dangerous.”

“Mmmmm,” she agreed with a smile he could hear in her voice. “Anyway, I was wondering… do we really need to return the Columbian emeralds right away?”

“They belong in a museum, Miss Fisher.”

“Of course. And we’ll return them, absolutely. It’s just… I was thinking I might model them for you first.”

“Were you then?” With no one else in the van, Jack didn’t even try to hide his smile at the idea.

“Oh yes. And do you know what they go best with?”

“Justice?”

“My green Jimmy Choos and a smile.”

The image was too much, and Jack groaned.

“Phryne….”

“No names over comms, Inspector,” she whispered gleefully just as the last tumbler slid into place. “And I’m in.”

Jack bit back a curse at being played so thoroughly and checked his monitors instead. The security feed from the mansion was hardly HD quality, but he could plainly see the young woman who was already in the residence’s antiquities room jump when Phryne entered.

“Hello!” Phryne greeted brightly.

“Stand back!” the young woman cried. “I have a weapon!”

“You have a spanner, dear. Which could be a weapon, but you’re holding it all wrong to do any real damage to anything except a lug nut.”

The woman took a step away from the display case and swiveled her head nervously between the open door and the window she’d come in through. Finally she turned back to Phryne, shoulders set firmly.

“Before you take another step, you should know — Gerald McNaster stole this Spanish doubloon from the people of Peru!”

“Of course he did. That’s why we’re here to help you get it back to them.”

“You’re… I’m sorry, I’m confused. Who are you?”

“Darling... we’re the calvary.”

“We?”

“My partner and I. He’s in the van.”

“Oh. I… I’m confused.”

“That’s understandable, but we’re a bit pressed for time so why don’t I explain on the way?”

“Oh. Ok. My name is — ”

“Only code names over comms, dear, the Inspector is ever so strict about that, provided he’s not incredibly turned on.”

“Miss Fisher!”

Phryne winked and blew a kiss to the security camera before turning back to the woman. “Anyway, I love your dress. Let’s call you Dottie.”

“... ok.”

“Excellent! Inspector, fire up the van, we’ll be coming in hot.”

“As you wish, Miss Fisher. Be careful.”

“I always am.”

Dottie looked confused. Jack didn’t blame her.

“How are we leaving?” she asked.

Phryne took the spanner out of Dottie’s hand and gestured with it to the outer wall. “Out the window. Terrible way in, wonderful way out. I assume your rigging is still attached?”

The woman nodded.

“Perfect.”

“But the rope’s too short for both of us,” Dottie noted. “What will we land on?”

“The van of course. Shall we?”

Jack heard the sound of breaking glass, followed by sirens — so much for disengaging the display case’s alarm — and started the engine, already moving into place under the window.

A soft thud a moment later was followed by her head poking into the driver’s side window.

“Hello Jack!” she grinned at him.

“Hello Phryne,” he replied, stealing a quick kiss as he did — he was a thief after all.

The two women climbed down and into the van, and Jack sped off into the night, his mind on Columbian emeralds, Jimmy Choos and smiles.

| Short Fic Ask |

#mfmm fanfic drabble #mfmm fanfic #phrack #au #ask meme #prompt

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harveywritings92 · 5 years

Text

Soulmate AU: DK! Arno Dorian x Reader 3/4

Y/n was woken up by someone gently running their hand along her head. Her e/c eyed opened adjusted to find the culprit was Arno, she hissed when his fingers grazed along the bump causing her yelp her bodyguard muttered an apology,

And without warning the french man pulled her against him, Y/n’s face felt hot wondering why Arno was hugging her so suddenly? then she felt his other hand firmly grasped her right shoulder..She looked down noticed it was slightly dislodged and realized what Arno was intending to do…“Hey wai-ngh!” she started to protest only to yelp when he popped the dislocated limb back into place, the french man hissed feeling her pain and her nails dig into his shoulder.

He apologized again and after making sure she wasn’t sick or dizzy he let loose on her. “I told you to stay put!” he growled harshly pointing his finger at Y/n who was examining her hook blade making sure it didn’t break.

“And I did, unfortunately some guards recognized me!” she said calmly before telling him what was she supposed to do, stand in the street like idiot let them kill her? fuck that!

"You weren’t there to help, So I ran!“ she exclaimed throwing her good arm up exasperation, Arno was about to argue but bit his tongue she was right, even if she had the means to fight back, it would’ve alerted the others and Y/n would’ve been in even more trouble.

"Did you get the manuscript?"

"No, but I did find a list, it said we find someone named Leon at an old red house.”

“I know where that is, C'mon I’m parked outside of it.”

“Parked?”

“Extended Inn stays are expensive, So, I have a Vardo."

Arno gave her look he didn’t know what that was, "I’s kind of like a wagon mix with a cottage?” she tried to describe what a Vardo was the french man was having a rough time imagining it, They began to climb down the roof via ladder and wandered the streets avoiding Rose’s men.

She then explained that one of her excavations crossed paths with a Romani caravan traveling to Britain but, they noticed that one of the girl’s had disappeared, her Vardo was abandoned and all her belongings were gone!

They feared she was kidnapped or dead somewhere…The authorities wouldn’t help as they outsiders and were contently under scrutiny by the upper class and the church; Y/n never fancied herself a detective but, she was the closest thing they had to one. So, she put her job aside to help the gypsies, It was strenuous task whenever Y/n found a lead, a new mystery would pop up but that didn’t stop her,

The y/hc woman eventually came to the conclusion that the girl was taken by someone…And that someone had a lot influence and friends, who were loyal and weren’t talking. So, the archaeologist used a fake doubloon she had whipped up to bribe one of her suspects…he pointed her to a little hamlet near the border, and got the hell outta of there before the man realized it just a tampered copper coin.

Y/n finally found the girl alive,married and pregnant, turns out she and a wealthy family’s son were soulmates, Both knew their families would never allow it, So She packed up and sold all of her belongings and they eloped, then settled into a simple farm life, It was obvious neither of them were planning on leaving their new home. So Y/n comprised with the couple, in the end Y/n returned to the camp with a letter addressed to her family and a necklace to be used as proof that she found the girl.

And though the family was happy the girl was alive they were upset that she wasn’t coming home, also there was the issue regarding Y/n’s payment at first the y/ht woman refused it was obvious the camp didn’t have much; so it felt wrong to take their money! Turns out they weren’t talking about money, the now not missing girl knew her camp wouldn’t have the funds to pay Y/n, So she offered her Vardo up as accommodation.

“And here she is.” Y/n mused mused towards a colorful wagon parked across the road of a red building, Arno cocked a brow as the h/c climbed up the mini porch and unlocked the small door he glanced inside, it was cozy? if he was using the word right the was a loft bed over the desk, a fireplace and pictures and research notes scattered around the small space and Y/n scurried around the place checking compartments and books, Arno’s brow furrowed when he found a framed scorched parchment with schematics written in Italian for some sort of gun? maybe.

The paper was too burnt to read.“Uh, please be careful with that, I found it in Monteriggioni and it’s very fragile!" Y/n stated warily as the french man put the frame back. "What exactly are you looking for?” He asked watch her scuttle through the small space. “Just some precautions should we ever get separated during our excursion…” She hummed before telling him to go check the orphanage she’ll join him in a moment. Arno complied and knocked on the red house door a small hatch slip open and a man glared at Arno.

“Bonjour Is Leon here?”

“He ain’t here.”

“*knocks again*”

“He ain’t here we haven’t see him for days..”

The man went to close the hatch "Has he been arrested again?“a stern voice chimed in from behind Arno the assassin looked behind him to see an older woman holding a candle looking at the man warily as Y/n exited her locked up her Vardo and approached them. "Not that we know of.” He said incredulously as the woman turn to Y/n and regard the sharply the h/c shifted uncomfortably before turning back to Arno.

"A lot of people would like to see his hands cut off..He’s a vicious thief..“ she muttered the last part somewhat proud as the two kept their eyes on her. "We need his help.” Arno insisted as the woman went to light her porch lantern up. “He went out the window yesterday, I haven’t seen him since.” She frowned and closed the lantern. “Give him my name. Madam Margot…” Aron thanked her and he and Y/n went to search as Margot spoke"And please tell him to come home.“ she begged as the archaeologist silently nodded and followed after her bodyguard.

[Timeskip.]

"Of course it’s him…” Y/n whispered in annoyed while rubbing her temples, she should’ve known Leon was the boy who kept following her like a lost puppy. “I take it you know him? Arno sighed tiredly as he crossed his arms, they watched the scene down below, "Long story, I saved his life and he won’t leave me alone…I think he has a crush on me.” She grumbled then her eyes widened stunned, Arno cocked a brow and looked to see what caught her eye and was equally shocked to see Napoleon Bonaparte enter the cavern.

the statesman regarded the child with mild interest before taking out a glowing key from his pocket and comparing it to the carving. as Leon on struggled and demanded to know what was behind the door, Commandant silenced the boy and left Rose to bring him back topside, Rose waited till after Napoleon was gone from sight did Rose order his men kill Leon!

Y/n stood up from her hiding spot she may find the boy a bit vexing, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see him dead! She was about to climb down Arno for to pull her back he didn’t even have to tell her stay as he hop down intending to surprise the men only for Leon to give away his presence, the men were swiftly taken care of by Arno again setting off alarms in Y/n’s head something about his ruthlessness…She subconsciously brought her left hand over her right shoulder, as images of her murder attempt flashed in her mind bit her lip hard causing it to bleed.

Arno felt his lip sting and called out to the archaeologist to come down, she didn’t answer; the first time he thought she run off again, he growled and climb back up instead she found her staring off into space looking wrong. “Y/n?” he said cautiously she didn’t answer and when he went to touch her the y/wt girl suddenly jumped and slap his hand away from her looked at him terrified…like caged animal about be killed.

Unlike in Paris… Arno was sober and coherent, his face felt hot as his heart pounded against his chest; his stomach was in a twist as Shame, anger and disgust towards himself washed over the assassin like cold bucket of water, the two looked at each other incredulously before Y/n seem to snap out of her trance; looked around like she’d woke up from a nap…

“A-Arno..” She stammered as he noticed him watching her warily his hands were shaking, why was he so jittery? she tasted iron…was her lip bleeding? she wipe her mouth saw red on her sleeve why was she bleeding… then she remembered; Leon! “The boy-” she went to see but was cut by her bodyguard.

“He’s fine.."Arno said trying to keep his voice even, as He silently helped her down Leon looked very happy to see her! nearly drag the y/hc woman down the corridor, He led them through the catacombs and would switch between the two adults asking Arno where he learned to fight and Y/n if she travel a lot what it’s like living in her wagon?

Their answers weren’t as glamorous as the boy pictured, Arno’s answers were curt and short, and although Y/n humored him a bit, letting him look through one of her journals, let him know yes it’s exciting, but it can be very exhausting working alone and dangerous…She’s made quite a few enemies on the road and tries not to stay long.

She had a feeling Leon wasn’t listening; he seemed engrossed in her sketches, even Arno found himself curiously glancing over the boy’s shoulder to see a sketch of a what appeared to be man with no head riding a black horse while holding a flaming pumpkin in the air. [Un canular évident] was crossed out, Je ne comprends pas! sloppily written in it’s place.

Leon gave the journal back looking a looking a bit unnerved by it. Y/n stored it back in her bag as the boy lead them to a small crypt and moved a rotted corpse fro a small in the wall and pulled out this huge gun. Surprising the hell out of Arno and Y/n "Where did you get that?” the assassin said stunned as he took it from the boy the archaeologist moved out of the way as Arno looked down the sights. “I stole it from some raiders, yesterday… hid it here.” Leon boasted as the man admired the feel and size of the gun…

Y/n thought something funny about men and gun size in her head causing her to giggle out loud "Something you’d like to share?…“ Arno asked cocking a brow, Y/n’s cheeks heated up as looked Leon then at Arno. "Oh, Just a little…Pistol humor.” She chortled it took a moment for the assassin to catch on and tried to be offended. “Oh, really now! We’re in a crypt woman!” he chided with a slight snort trying not to laugh, confusing Leon who was wondering what had gotten into the two adults?

Seriously what was the joke? "…and it’s a good size!“ Arno hissed lowly so the boy couldn’t hear. "The fact that you have to tell me about your pistol size means it’s not up to scale.~” She whispered teasingly causing him blush and glower at her about to snap that his pistol size was none of her business! before remembering Leon was still watching, immediately composed himself and instead flicked her in the forehead.

Then turned their attention back to the boy and Y/n had to ask what exactly he was doing with that gun? Which Leon happily declared he was saving France! Y/n and Arno locked eyes for a brief second. Needless the y/ht girl didn’t like how a light went off in the french man’s head as he followed after the excitable child.

He again asked for the manuscript and lied telling Leon it was for the fight against the enemies of France and the boy ate it up, her stomach twisted as the boy looked at the y/st woman for confirmation she hesitantly nodded and with that Leon told them it was in his fortress and that they had to escape the catacombs first.

While they followed after Leon who decided to act as a distraction so Arno could get the jump on the guards; he went to give Y/n his gun but the archaeologist said she’ll be fine, while they were making they’re way to Leon’s location Arno sighed looked back at her. “What was that back there, It was like you weren’t here?” he asked Y/n sighed “Sorry I didn’t tell you everything about my murder attempt…” she swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat.

“That day …I was saved by my soulmate, but it wasn’t fairytale like situation…he was a monster,” Y/n lips twitched trying not to cry. "Rejecting me the first time wasn’t enough, he had to humiliate and traumatize me.“ She croaked Arno heart sank into his feet, she went explain how she was accused of killing the men who tried to murder her.

The day before her execution someone paid her fines and had her arm tended to; though it was very obvious there was no fixing it was too damaged, that's how Y/n and the Marque became… Acquainted.

He freed her and said he’ll expect her lend him her skills services should the time come. "And here I am…” After that she started noticing she would kind of faded in and out from time to time reliving her encounter in the alley,she went to a doctor to try figure what these “Daymares were?

They concluded they she may have some form of hysteria, but she was deemed too cognitive and alert to be admitted to an asylum; considering she went there to get assessed at her own free will, She had to push it aside focused on her work, the episodes became less Y/n assumed she was back to normal. "Je suis disole…” Arno said hoarsely Y/n just looked at him bemused. “Don’t be be it’s not like you had anything to do with it.” Arno’s jaw tighten under his scarf as the two went o find Leon…

_______________________________________

Arno drunkenly described his soulmate to the Marque de sade before he fled Paris, so the sadist noble got to asking his informants to keep an eye out for woman matching her description, found out she was in prison for a crime she never committed and was set for execution, luckily he had ties on the inside so it was easy to pay off Y/n's fines and free the girl... though he expected a debt in return.

—————————————————————

Notes: Un canular évident = An obvious hoax.

Je ne comprends pas! = I don’t understand!

[I’d know know because I am french! francophone Canadian but still…]

#assassin's creed unity #assassin's creed x reader #arno dorian x reader #soulmate au #dead kings #leon assassin's creed #arno dorian

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pkmncoordinatorkenny-archived · 6 years

Text

Wallace Cup 2018 Appeal

Coordinator: Kenny Lecavalier

Category: Cute

Pokémon: Alakazam + Machoke

Moves:

Alakazam: Psychic, Shadow Ball, Teleport, Psybeam

Machoke: Cross Chop, Bulk Up, Strength, Vital Throw

Music:

The Great Sea (the first 1:18)

Cursed Sea (the first 1:09)

Aquatic Ambience (1:20-1:55)

Mother Sea (the first 1:07)

To the Grand Line (0:28-1:51)

Irate Eight (0:55-1:46)

Departure (All of it).

Outfit:

Kenny is wearing a black pirate captain hat with blue aesthetic outline with a white quill sticking out to the side. He sports a long coat that matches the color to his standard contest outfit that go all the way to the back of his knees. His outfit also came with a red sash across his waist, along with a black vest with a long white lace jabot. The rest of his outfit consisted of long black pants and black boots.

Props:

A treasure chest

Machoke’s snorkeling mask with a built in camera

A plastic cutlass

Stage set-up: The stage is raised a few feet above sea-level, but low enough for everyone in attendance to be looking down at the stage.

Word count:

(Including intro/outro): 2126

(Appeal only): 1563

Read below for Kenny’s appeal.

Kenny’s name had finally been officially called for his turn to participate in the 2018 Wallace Cup and present his appeal. Before the categories were drawn out, Kenny had been hoping Prinplup would be of use with the favorable water stage, but that didn’t come to be. He had to come up with a way to use Machoke and Alakazam in the cute category which will be especially difficult because neither of those two have cute moves.

Challenging through adversity was nothing new to being a coordinator, however and within a few days he had come up with a plan for his appeal. He just hoped it would be enough to get him through to the battle rounds.

Upon climbing up to the stage off the coast to the beach, the Sinnoh coordinator turned to address the crowd before unveiling his Pokémon.

(Great Sea starts)

“Ahoy, me hearties, ti’s I, Captain Kenny of the Twinleaf Pirates!” Kenny introduced himself while whipping out the plastic cutlass that was strapped into his sash around his waist.

“As you landlubbers know, 500 years ago in the golden days of piracy, Captain Emma and her Espurr Pirates from the Kalos region, sailed the Alola seas and buried their treasure on the Beach of Akala Island. But, as sea levels rose, the treasure we seek to plunder is now underwater.”

Kenny put his sword back into his sash and now reached into his pocket and took out a Pokéball.

“Arg, now, to help us all find the treasure, all hands hoay! Machoke!” Kenny tossed the Pokéball into the air and out came Machoke, Kenny’s big fighting Pokémon.

“Machoke,” Machoke said as he was released from his Pokéball. Kenny walked up to his fighting Pokémon with snorkeling gear in hand.

“Here, Machoke,” Kenny handed Machoke the snorkeling gear. “Better put this on if we’re going to find that treasure. It’s got landlubber technology so they’ll be able to see what you see underwater on those moving picture squares.”

“Machoke,” Machoke repeated his name as he put on the gear. Meanwhile, Kenny reached back into his pocket to grab his second Pokéball.

“Uh oh!” Kenny yelled as he started to juke his arm left and right. “Who’s coming?” A pop sound came from the Pokéball, releasing Kenny’s second Pokémon, Alakazam.

“Alakazam,” Alakazam said as he was introduced to the stage, sporting an angry demeanor.

(Great Sea fades out and transitions into Cursed Sea)

“It’s Alakazam, captain of the Spoon Pirates! He’s after our treasure too!” Kenny cried. “I think he’s gearing up for an attack!”

Alakazam clashed his spoons together and a beam of multi-colored lights shot out towards Kenny and Machoke. Thankfully, Kenny was able to jump away from the psybeam just in time. Meanwhile, Machoke avoided the attack by diving into the water.

“Nice try Alakazam,” Kenny said as he got back to his feet. He walked to the end of the performance stage on the farthest end from the beach and pointed out. “As you can see, Machoke is out there right now looking for the treasure, and there’s nothing you can do about it on this ship.”

“Ala,”Alakazam retorted.

Alakazam clashed his spoons once again. This time, however a dark black and purple ball formed. The psychic Pokémon then launched his attack in the direction of where Machoke was swimming.

“Machoke!” Kenny shouted toward his Pokémon. “Watch out for those cannonballs!”

One shadow ball crashed into the ocean. Then a second. A third. Fourth. And fifth. Machoke had to swim around each and every one to avoid damage.

“Machoke! Those cannonballs won’t hurt you underwater!”

“Machoke.” Machoke nodded and submerged underwater.

(Cursed sea ends)

With his camera-equipped snorkeling mask, the monitors were now showing what Machoke could see: the calm, flat ocean floor.

(Aquatic Ambience starts)

As to not waste the audience, or more importantly, judge’s time, Kenny made sure to have that chest place close by to where the shadow ball attacks were.

Within seconds, Machoke found the treasure chest stuck between two rocks.

“Yo ho ho!” Kenny cheered. “There’s the booty!”

Machoke, however was struggling to pull the chest out of the rocks and swam back up to the surface empty handed. As soon as the Pokémon emerged from the sea, the monitors were back to focus on stage.

(Aquatic Ambience ends).

Climbing back aboard the stage, he had a sad look on his face.

(Mother Sea plays)

“Machoke,” the fighting type moaned with his head hung low. Alakazam started to laugh.

“Hey, what’s the matter, Machoke?” Kenny went up to his strong Pokémon. “You can’t just give up! Arg, ye just got to believe in yourself, matey. I believe in ye. These landlubbers in the audience believes in ye.” The pep talk was having little effect, as Machoke no longer had his head hung low, but he wasn’t showing enough confidence for Kenny. “Hey, you want to know who believes in ye the most besides me?” Kenny made a point up to the judge’s box, taking a bit of pause to keep the soundtrack going to just the perfect time. “Up there. Judge Wallace!” This got Machoke to mood swing and now sported a big grin on his face and began to flex. “Judge Wallace believes in ye!”

(Mother Sea ends)

“MACHOKE!” Machoke yelled in enthusiasm. The fighting type Pokémon began to glow a red aura around his body, ready to bulk up and try digging at the treasure out again.

“So are you ready to try again, ya seadog?” Kenny asked giving Machoke a jab to the ribs with his elbow. “For Judge Wallace”

“Choke,” Machoke nodded.

Heading back into the water once more, Machoke goes back to the location of the chest and submerges.

(Aquatic Ambience repeats)

The monitors for the crowd once again show Machoke’s point-of-view. Looking at the calm ocean floor until it shows the treasure chest once more stuck between two rocks.

This time, with his new confidence and the ability to now lift three times his own body-weight, with Machoke’s glowing white arms and hands, those rocks were easily tossed aside by Machoke’s newfound strength.

Machoke then picked up the treasure chest and begun and emerged from the ocean once more.

Again, the monitors now focus on the stage.

(Aquatic Ambience ends)

A problem has emerged for Machoke as he begun to swim his way towards the stage.

“Arg, Machoke will need both of his hands to climb back up onto the ship. If he lets go of that booty then our booty is lost forever!” Kenny groaned, but then the pirate captain had an idea. “Wait! Alakazam! You can help us out! C’mon, help us and we’ll split the doubloons.”

“Kazam, ala,” Alakazam shook his head.

“You’re such a scallywag!” Kenny grumbled.

“Machoke!” Machoke cried from the ocean.

“You want to do what? But we’ve never tried it before! It be too risky. We can lose all our booty!” Kenny showed concern about Machoke’s plan.

(To the Grand Line starts)

“Mach-machoke. Choke. Machoke.” Machoke replied, keeping a confident look on his face.

“You’re right, Machoke.” Kenny turned to face the crowd. “With everyone believing in you, and even our very own Judge Wallace’s unbreakable belief in you, you can do this.” Kenny turned back to face his Pokémon. “Alright, let’s get this treasure up here!”

“Machoke!” Machoke swam out into the ocean a bit and placed the treasure chest on his left bicep, flexing it between his left arm. While Machoke was setting this up, Kenny once again took his plastic cutlass out from his sash.

“Ready,” Kenny lifted his sword above his head. “Aim,” Kenny leaned his sword back. “FIRE!” Kenny shouted while he swiped his sword downward.

Machoke hauled the chest all the way back to the stage and landed perfectly in the middle. Had he missed his target, the treasure would’ve been lost forever. Talk about a vital throw.

“Yo ho! The treasure is ours!” Kenny got between Alakazam and the treasure. “And so, Alakazam, the treasure belongs to the Twinleaf Pirates, and you get nothing.” As Kenny was taunting the psychic Pokémon, Machoke had reemerged on stage.

“Machoke!” Machoke grinned as he stood next to his ‘captain’.

(To the Grand Line ends)

“Alakazam!” Alakazam cried in vain and disappeared.

“Great work, Machoke.” Kenny complimented his Pokémon while putting the cutlass away again. “Alakazam was so embarrassed! We won’t be seeing him anymore.”

Suddenly, Machoke’s face changed to concern as he pointed toward the beach. Kenny turned around and saw that Alakazam had simply used teleport to attack from somewhere else.

“What’s he doing?” Kenny asked in horror as he watched Alakazam once again cross his spoons. There was no purple-black ball coming out. No multi-colored beam either. So, what was Alakazam up to? Kenny pondered while still staring at the enemy Pokémon when suddenly.

“Machoke!”Machoke yelled in horror which caused Kenny to turn around, causing the pirate captain to yell as well.

(Irate Eight starts)

A giant ocean wave was on course to crash the stage. Among the outline of the wave was a glowing blue line that was influenced by Alakazam’s psychic attack.

“Shiver me timbers!” Kenny shouted. Running around all four corners of the stage, Kenny shook Machoke by the shoulders. “What are we going to do?” A brief pause as they look back up to the judge’s table.

“Judge Wallace. That’s right. He believes in us! He’ll never stop believing in us! So, we shouldn’t let him down and lose hope in ourselves right?” Kenny started to calm down as the wave approached closer. “There’s got to be something you can do.”

Machoke looked at Alakazam, and decided to copy what he was doing. Instead of spoons, he crossed his arms as they begun to glow white. As the wave approached the stage, Machoke leaped out, cross chopped the wave, breaking it out just enough to avoid collision with the stage.

“Blimey! It worked!” Kenny chirped.

The wave was now heading toward the beach. Still under the influence of Alakazam’s psychic attack, the wave did an immediate nosedive to where he was standing.

“Alaaaaakaazzaaaam!” Alakazam cried out as he met his demise.

(Irate Eight ends)

Of course as this was all done under psychic the wave crash didn’t have the full effect a real 30 foot tidal wave would’ve caused, but even that couldn’t fully negate Newton’s third law of physics as the wave’s crash managed to splash some of the audience members in the first dozen or so rows.

As the wave retreated, Alakazam was washed out on the beach. He sat up to make it clear to everyone watching that this was all still just pretend, and then continuing to play around, fainted out on the beach. Instead of the usual swirly eyes knocked out from battle Pokémon have, Alakazam had shut his eyelids.

(Departure starts)

“Now to open up this treasure chest, arg,” Kenny said as he bent down to open the chest. Inside the chest were poker chips filled to the brim, painted yellow to resemble doubloons. “Tis enough treasure to keep us rich for a lifetime!” Taking a handful, Kenny showed it off to the crowd.

“And since all you landlubbers never lost hope in us, some of this treasure will be yours!” Kenny took one ‘doubloon’ and flipped it into the ocean with the tide pulling it to the beach. “There ya go. Share it amongst yourselves. What did you expect? I’m a pirate! Har har har. C’mon Machoke. Raise the Jolly Roger and set sail.”

“Machoke!” Machoke raised his fist.

(Departure ends)

“And end!” Kenny declared before letting out a deep breath.

Taking out Machoke’s Pokéball, the fighting type was returned. Upon returning to the beach, Kenny also returned Alakazam. Holding both the Pokeballs, he complimented them both on a job well done.

“Thank you Machoke and Alakazam, you were both fantastic.” Both Pokeballs were placed into his pocket as he walked to the backstage area while giving one final wave to the crowd.

Immediately after being out of sight of the crowd, he let out another sigh.

“What made me think it was a good idea to wear a long pirate coat on the beach?” He took off his coat before returning to the locker room with the rest of the participants. Taking the first seat he found, he removed his hat as he started to feel the sweat drip down his forehead.

Now racing through his mind: was that enough to qualify as a cute appeal? Was it enough to move on?

All he can do now is wait for Wallace to be done judging his appeal and post his score and see if he’ll be entering the battle rounds.

#wallace2k18 #wallace2k18appeals #ky don't look #hydrophobia tw #just being very cautious

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hunchbearing · 7 years

Text

Yar (Something I Wrote in High School)

Looking forward, I see a giant mouth; a top blue lip of sky and a bottom blue lip of water.

Looking starboard, I see a giant mouth; a top blue lip of sky and a bottom blue lip of water.

Looking port, I see a giant mouth; a top blue lip of sky and a bottom blue lip of water.

Looking sternwise, there’s a large ship with light gray flapping sails and dark gray paint on the hull.

Oozing around the deck is a gaggle of limping, sunburned fools.

My name is Tony, and I’m a pirate.

My crew is the craftiest group of sour, salty worms to ever drift around this big blue bowl called the Atlantic. Cap’n Mutt’s crew, I should say. I am no poop deck scrubber, however. I’m the first mate. Well, the first mate when the other fifteen first mates die, anyway.

Our vessel is called the Dynamite Explosive Awesome Thrashing Hellforged Rascally Atrocious Bloody Bane of the Indian Trader. The acronym that comes to mind, DEATHRABBIT, is never used, because it was completely unintentional, not that Mutt would ever admit it. For the sake of saving time, however, I’ll use it.

The DEATHRABBIT’s crew is what makes the British navy shiver while it sips its tea, and with very good reason. This old floating wasps’ nest has turned fifteen of those lily baskets into floating piles of lit matches just this week. Oddly enough, though, a lot of people claim to pray for us! They pray for us to sink back to hell where we belong. I know because King George left us a lovely letter on one of his many ill fated ships.

People I meet constantly ask why I do what I do. Truthfully, I ask myself the same thing in the mirror every morning. Then I see something shine in the corner of the mirror. It’s a five foot heap of doubloons on a Persian carpet with naked women laughing and playing in it. It doesn’t take long to remember at that point.

Of course, I wasn’t always in this line of work. I was just a simple, normal butcher working my way through the Meatman’s Academy.

Then one day, the pirates came to town.

They hurled small bombs and shot bulletholes into the buildings like freckles. While dazedly running in circles in almost total blindness, I saw through the smoke. I saw the silhouette of a man. He was like a statue of a god, just standing with his fists on his hips. A slumped, grunting chap ran up to him and dropped a jingling bag into his hand. Under the hat-man’s other arm came the gorgeous figure of a female, a woman from my own bloody town. The guy never even turned his head! My mouth was agape until the smoke cleared and I saw that the man in the hat was looking at me. Captain Mutt himself. His scarred, pocked face may as well have been a beacon of light. He nodded at me, and I followed without a thought. I left my stupid normal wife, my stupid normal house, and my stupid normal taxes behind forever, never shedding a tear over it. I was born for this stuff.

Anyway, the action started on a typical calm morning at sea.

I had lookout duty that day. Cap’n Mutt expects us to diligently sit with the muscles of one eye socket clamped around the narrow end of an 8-foot spyglass for six consecutive hours or more. That’s rarely what occurs. One would think that pirates leap at the chance to do the ship’s one sit-down job, and one is wrong. It’s boring. Such work makes a man’s mind softer and eyes duller than a barrel o’grog. To help pass the time, us lackeys have conjured up a few games.

One is called Butt Crack Countin’, which is self-explanatory. Another is called Hawkey, where you try to spit all the way across a side of the ship. I was playing the latter when a cliche peg-leg pirate yelled from below that white sails seemed to be coming from the starboard horizon. Grimacing as I swallowed my aborted projectile, I snapped to the eyehole of the looking glass. A smile split my face when I saw the old fart was right.

Now, an enemy ship is nothing to celebrate about for anyone, but for the man in the nest, it means you get to use the Bell. The big black, loud bell that makes the ringer feel like a bear standing over an anthill. I reached straight up into the Bell’s rusty black depths and eagerly slammed the brass ball into the side like a mountain man with a deer’s skull. Every man on deck aside from the wheel warmer (Mutt only likes to steer when ladies are watching) ran below deck to prepare the cannons.

These battles with the Brits are always the same. It’s almost sad, really. The British are an ever-gentlemanly group. They insist on taking turns, then they make the most baffled faces when we unload a dozen cannons on them at once. It’s hilarious. Of course, it’s easy to imagine that the battles can get boring, and they do. Like in the crows’ nest, we get creative.

One popular game is White Flag Pop. We withdraw our cannons, stick our white underwear out of the holes, and when they parallel their ship to ours to walk their plank over here, we bring the cannons through the deck and shoot at close range to blow their vessel into hamster cage chips.

My personal favorite game is Copycat. We put up a British flag in lieu of our own, dress in some of their long-since fallen comrades’ uniforms, and when they start asking us questions, we repeat what they say word for word, and as soon as they get angry, we throw bags of excrement at them, then shoot them and raid their jewelry boxes.

This time, however, we decided to wing it.

The flags drew closer and we were still out of ideas. All the men were pitching their two farthings, saying we should throw our rotten apples at them, wear masks, give them the finger, and one guy even suggested shooting our livestock out of our cannons. Annabel and Eliza, my two girlfriends, both joined in to scold me for leaving the privy lid up, and I remarked that we should launch them to a land where someone cared about their lady times. While everyone laughed (except for the women, who stomped off after slapping me), I had not realized I’d just sealed my doom.

Us boys finally reached a consensus about the attack plan, and not a moment too soon. We decided to wait until they approached, put a crucifix flag up, dress in black, and pretend to be stranded ministers. The men with big beards were okay, but those of us with stubble had to shave, and we rushed to do it before they arrived. Some of us had to use swords, since straight razors weren’t often used on the ship. Indeed, we were committed to our hijinks.

By the time I was shaven, I went back on deck in my black suit to see most of the other men with their game faces on, in costume and frantically waving to our “rescuers”. Shortly, the British ship floated parallel to our starboard side.

“Ello, ‘oly men!” The captain of the Brit vessel greeted from his deck. Lanky with a huge goofy grin, a huge goofy nose, and skin that refused to tan despite the ruthless sun.

“And hello to you, my son.” Cap’n Mutt said in a subtle, accent-less voice with his hands dramatically clasped behind his rear. “We seem to be in some trouble.”

“We can see that, sir! Looks like a bit of a sticky wicket! What seems to be the dilemma?”

“Oh, it’s silly. I’m rather embarrassed, but...” Mutt sighed with a half-smile. “We whipped all our slaves to death.”

“Oh my! Gee, sir! I hate when that happens, so I do! Them things ain’t cheap! But you can’t exactly ask them to not do something again, now can you? Ha! Ye can’t feed ‘em salt water, either! Well, we have plenty of slaves to go ‘round! You can borrow then while we escort your holinesses back home, how’d that be?”

Ted, Frank, and Joey, our three black pirates who naturally had to sit this prank out, were cursing under their breaths below deck with their fists clenched.

“My son, that would be divine. Get it? Divine? Because I worship a deity?” The entire crews of both ships heaved with laughter in a beautiful moment of unity before the Brits boarded the DEATHRABBIT.

Each of us had our rapiers hidden down a leg of our loose pants. Soon every Brit was aboard with ten slaves coming along. Before they got the slaves acquainted with their new quarters, we made small talk for a little while, having no idea that two women were sneaking from the DEATHRABBIT onto the white-sailed Brit ship, the Gaylord Butterworthy.

We were supposed to stall the pale officers, so we started singing hymns (in low voices so they would mistake our gibberish for Latin). Meanwhile, Eliza and Annabel let the remaining slaves on the Gaylord know they were the new commanders of the vessel, using two of my guns to enunciate their points.

After singing the sixteenth chorus of “Jesus Gmlsi Dffftrd God Lfdces,” a familiar voice came from the deck of the Gaylord.

“Hello, you sorry blisters of the Atlantic! This is Captain Eliza Ruth Covington! I’m here to tell you that this ship is going with me and my first mate! And as for the ‘holy men’ among you, they are nothing but filthy pirates! They have swords in their pants and they have a drape over the ship’s label! You may have heard of it! The Dynamite Explosive Awesome Thrashing Hellforged Rascally Atrocious Bloody Bane of the Indian Trader! Toodles, boys! We now have our own bathroom for our “lady times!” Oh, and I hope you can swim!”

A cannon protruded from the Gaylord’s hull and fired a massive hole into the DEATHRABBIT’s belly before the women released their sails and drifted off.

We were silent enough to hear their laughter even when they were a hundred yards away. Finally, we all looked at our foes and destroyed the ship as well as each other in the ensuing gory battle. In the end, only Cap’n Mutt and I survived, floating on a desk.

“Well, today was bad, eh?” I at last spoke.

“Quite,” Mutt answered. “If I die trying, if I have to paddle a thousand miles, which is very likey, I will kill Eliza and Annabel. Are you with me, boy?”

“Actually,” I said as I drew my cutlass, “It’s captain now.”

In one swing, I sliced off Mutt’s head and placed his hat on my head. I smiled, enjoying the feel. “Captain Tony Baloney. Has a nice ring to it,” I mused as I began to paddle west.

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not-talking-about-pancakes · 7 years

Text

A Pirate’s Treasure

This was my contribution to the Captain Swan Storybook, Part 2 which can be found here. I am just finally getting around to posting it in full here and on A03. I hope you read it and enjoy this little deleted/cannon divergent scene from 6x4-”Strange Case” of Killian moving in and Emma going through his box of memories, kind of like the way he went through her’s in season 3. Enjoy! Art work is by @jemmingart

Find it HERE on A03!

“Well, this was definitely not how I’d imagined today going,” Emma said with a sigh as she unlocked her front door and walked inside, Killian following behind her.

“Aye, love,” he agreed, shutting the door behind them, “though we ought to have learned by now that plans never work out well in this town.”

Today had definitely not gone as planned, though it had started out nice. Her parents had come over with her baby brother to make breakfast for her and Henry under the guise of celebrating her mom going back to teaching. But Emma was pretty sure this had more to do with her father trying to hide the fact he was a little upset his (not so) baby girl was having her pirate boyfriend move in with her. David had come around quite a bit on his feelings towards Killian, but he seemed to be harboring some reservations about something. And she didn’t think it was just a fear of fewer family get togethers at Granny’s like he claimed. (Killian would have teased him about being old fashioned and not wanting his daughter to shack up with a man before she was married. Only Killian would have said it with more fancy words.)

Things had quickly gone down hill from breakfast however when first, Regina and Jekyll showed up at the house to tell them that Hyde had broken out of his cell. While she and David went off to find him, Killian called to say that Gold had showed up and in an effort to protect Belle from Mr. Hyde, had placed a protective spell on the Jolly Roger, effectively trapping Belle on board. He didn’t want to leave her if she was in danger, so had agreed to stay a while.

But naturally, all hell had broken loose when the good guy turned out to be the bad guy, a fight took place and Jekyll and Hyde had both ended up dead. Which of course left Regina believing that the only way to stop her evil half was for both of them to die. Emma wasn’t so convinced, and as the Savior she was determined to find a way to stop the Queen and not harm Regina. But right now, she just wanted to curl up on the couch with her boyfriend, order some take out, and maybe watch a movie before bed.

“I know,” Emma replied as she toed off her boots, letting them fall where they did. “I just wish there’d been another way to stop Jekyll and Hyde.” She shrugged out of her jacket which she tossed towards the coat rack next to the door but didn’t much care whether it actually landed there or not. When she looked back up at Killian he had an eyebrow raised and a crooked smile on his face.

“What?” she asked

“Nothing,” he answered, shaking his head and still smiling at her. “I just fancy observing you in your natural habitat.”

Emma gave him an indignant look. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Not at all, darling,” he assured her, his grin widening. “In fact, I find your untidiness charming.”

Emma’s face softened and she moved to stand closer to him. “I’ll pick them up in the morning, alright,” she promised with a slightly whine in her voice, “It’s been a long day and I’m tired.”

“It’s your house, Swan,” Killian replied, “who am I to judge?”

“Hey,” Emma said, taking his hook in her hand tugging him towards the living room, “this is our house now, and I want you to be happy here.”

She lead him over to the couch and he set the small chest he’d brought with him on the coffee table as they sat down. “You certainly pack light,” she teased. “Is that everything you have?”

“When you live on ship, that doesn’t leave much room for possessions,” he answered with a smile. “Even if you are the Captain and have the largest quarters on board. However, the things in this box are the ones most important to me, and I like to have them close.”

Emma slid closer to him and reached out to run her hand along the top of the box, taking in the carvings and dents worn into wood that had clearly seen better days. She looked from the box to Killian, smiling softly. “May I have the honor?” She asked, repeating the question he’d asked her about her own box of belongs.

“Of course, love,” he nodded.

Emma tenderly opened the box, and was greeted by quite an assortment of objects. Some of them she recognized for what they were, others she wasn’t sure about. But it was clear, even just looking at the items, that they had been around for centuries and she hoped someday he’d tell her the stories on how he had acquired all of them. The first item she picked up was a shark tooth, and she held it up to show Killian.

“So, did you wrestle a great white using only your hook?” She teased.

Killian chuckled. “Nothing of the sort,” he told her. “It was merely a trinket from a sailor I met in a port as a boy. He said it would bring me good luck, and us pirates are a rather superstitious lot, so I’ve held on to it. Just in case,” he said, giving her a wink.

Emma smiled and put the tooth back in the box. Next she pulled out a rather old and weathered piece of paper that was rolled and tied with a ribbon. She opened it up to reveal a charcoal sketch of a woman she recognized as Milah. Emma had only seen her in Underworld, where she had looked a bit tired and worn from years of serving her penance for having turned her back on her son. But this drawing was clearly a younger Milah, who looked quite happy.

She looked from the sketch to Killian, and saw him looking at the drawing his jaw a bit tight and that slightly twitch he got in his cheek when she knew he was holding back a bit of tension. Emma placed her hand over his brace, which drew his gaze to her. “Hey, it’s okay,” she assured him. “I know she meant a lot to you.”

“Thank you, love,” he said, giving her a small smile, and placed his hand over hers. “I only wish I’d a chance to see her one last time before Hades decided to push her into the River of Souls.”

“I know,” Emma nodded. “She wanted to see you, too. And I really wanted you both to have a chance to make amends. I feel terrible.”

Killian sighed and nodded. “Perhaps we still will someday.”

Emma leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek before putting the drawing back, and pulling out a few of the coins from the bottom. “I thought pirates buried their treasure,” she teased. “What are these, your ‘seven pieces of eight’?”

“I’ve no idea what that is,” Killian said, giving her a confused look. “How can you have seven pieces of eight?”

“Never mind,” Emma shook her head. “It’s just a silly thing from a movie. So, are they doubloons or what?”

“Actually,” he replied, taking one gold coin and one silver from her hand, “they, like the shark tooth are a bit of a sailor's good luck charm. Before leaving port for a journey, you would throw a few coins into the ocean as an offering to Neptune, God of the Sea, in hopes of a safe voyage. Then, you’d take a gold coin,” he held one up, “and placed in the keep of the ship for good luck. The silver,” he held up the other coin, “was placed below the mast to ward off storms and keep your crew safe.”

Emma took the coins, turning the over in her hands. “Wow, you pirates are a superstitious bunch,” she said. “Though, I suppose when one is sailing in a realm after The Dark One, you need all the good luck charms you can get.”

“Aye,” Killian smiled. “Not that they were any match for him really.”

Emma put the coins back, and reached for another item, one that was more familiar. “Alright, I definitely know what this is,” she said, holding up a compass. “But I’m betting you didn’t have to fight Cora to get this one.”

“No,” he chuckled. “Actually, it was a gift from Liam. He bought it for me when we were still rather young lads, just before he joined the navy,” he explained. “I begged him to let me come with him, but I was still two years too young.” He took the compass from her, turning it over in his hand. “It’s broken though, I er...might have thrown against the wall of the captain’s quarters one night in a drunken rage. It wasn’t one of my best moments.”

“Well all have those,” Emma told him. “But you aren’t that man anymore, and you know your brother is in a better place. Even if I still don’t think he was a big a fan of me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Killian scoffed. “He was just protecting me, like he always did. Given time you would have grown on him. Just as you grew on me,” he winked.

“I don’t know,” Emma took the compass from him and placed it back in the box. “But I’m glad you made peace with him and he’s in a better place.”

“As am I,” he agreed. “But I know he’d happy and, despite what you think, I know he’d want us to be happy.”

Emma smiled softly and turned to the box, closing the lid. All the objects tucked safely back in place, Emma closed the lid of the trunk, her hand lingering on the lid. The more she’d gotten to know Killian over the years, she realized how much they really had in common. It was no wonder she’d felt drawn to him almost from the beginning, which is what initially made her pull away. She hadn’t wanted someone getting too close, because she was certain it would only end in heartache when he figured out how broken she was and, sooner or later, he’d leave because he didn’t want to deal with the broken lost girl.

But he hadn’t gone away, even when she’d tried to push him. Instead he broke down her walls, helped her to heal, and had taught her how to open her heart again. He made her feel vulnerable, yet safe enough to tell him her deepest secrets and know he wasn’t going to use them against her. Rather, he comforted her and slowly but surely, she had begun to heal. She trusted him more than anyone.

It was that trust and love that had brought them to this next stage of their relationship. Killian moving in. Yes, Emma was nervous she was going to do something to screw it up, but more than anything she was happy. Happy and excited to start this new chapter of their story, where she got to wake up beside him every morning, and kiss him every night before they went to sleep.

She felt his hand come to rest over hers and realized she must have been lingering too long in her thoughts. She turned to look at him with a soft smile.

“Everything alright, love?” He asked, looking at her with a bit of concern in his eyes.

Emma leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. “Everything is perfect,” she assured him. “Thank you for letting me rummage through your box.”

“Any time, love,” he smiled warmly at her. “But, something is clearly on your mind. Care to share, Swan?” He asked, raising those eyebrows and giving her a look that he knew she was having deep thoughts. She always was an open book to him.

Emma sighed. “I was just thinking about far we’ve come to get to this step,” she answered truthfully. “But, I’m nervous I’m going to screw something up, or you’re going to get tired of me being a slob, or hogging the bed and decide it’s too much and you want to move back onto your ship.”

Killian just laughed softly and used his hook to reach up and brush a stray strand of hair behind her hear. “Emma, you’re not going screw anything up,” he assured her. “ I enjoy your...what did Henry call it? Ah, yes, your ‘quirks,’ at least those I’m aware of so far. I look forward to learning more of them, and I hope you’ll learn to love mine. As for hogging the bed,” Killian slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, “you’re welcome to hog the bed any time. It simply means we get to be closer.”

“Okay, Romeo,” Emma laughed, “I got it. What say we order some takeout and then see just how much you enjoy me hogging the bed? I’m exhausted.”

“I think that sounds lovely,” he smiled and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Good, I’ll order the food, you get the wine out of the fridge.”

It might not have been their most romantic night, but they enjoyed it nevertheless, and there would be plenty of nights in their future for romance, once Emma figured out this vision of her dying, stopping it, and enjoying her life with the man she loved and her family by her side.

#cs storybook #captain swan fic #cs fic #a pirate's tale #julie writes #captain swan #once upon a time #deleted scenes #cannon divergent

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hardcorealbacore · 5 years

Text

Parsley Review: MTGA! Tuna Requires Dissent You Plebeian Scum!

http://parsleyandbailey.com/index.html

Denver, CO

Score: 4.8

Parsley is a small deli & casual eatery located near the Denver Art Museum area. Now, let it be known. THE ONLY thing that governs US, is the wind, stars, tides, and sea by the MF’n TRIDENT of POSEIDEN HIM/HER SELF! We don’t know what in J.H Christ your land-loving politics consist of?! And we laugh - HAR, YEE DEE, YAR, YAR (HYDYY)!!! At your what you candy-ass land dwellers think is “politics”.

YOU WANT POLITICS? Try walking into the cove of NEPTUNE himself, with a sea-cucumber under one arm, and Ariel (yes, THE ARIEL) under the other, with 1.5MM DOUBLOONS in your pocket, all while being 3-sheets to the wind after drinking a liter of TUNATO (more on this libation later) - And somehow convincing the GOD, that SKIP JACK, does not belong in the upper caste of sea-depth society, saving the world a huge, heap of trouble. YOU’RE WELCOME - VIVA MTGA! (MAKE TUNA GREAT AGAIN!)

NOW. THAT. IS POLITICS. YOU SIMPLETONS!

ANYWAYYYYYY! This place has a GAWD DAMN good Tuna Sandwich that scored a 4.8 - if you can get past the weird politics. It is called the TEXTURE TUNA, and is a unique, tasty, and well-made sandwich.

YES: You will be greeted with signs saying AMEX is a greedy, and expected NOT to pay with American Express (Visa/MC/Disco accepted though?), instead opting to help you cut it up right there on the spot. SURE: You will dine with signs stating things like: No Fracking! Tax the Corporations, and No Comcast! (I am in the process of a change.org campaign to have them also add “DESTROY ALL THE BLOOD SUCKING SKIP JACK” - Stay ‘TUN’ed).

You can tell, their angry little balled-up fists channeled some damn fine sandwich making. Luckily my AMEX was made of ADAMANTIUM SEA STEEL, and survived the revolution - checkout the TUNA BREAKDOWN:

Bread Choice: 5

Home made Ciabatta. Served tepid and firm. It was not THICK, like most Ciabatta, taking on a thin, almost wrap-like appearance, which indicates a unique homemade bread approach - and quite good!

Tuna Quality: 5

HARD CORE ALBACORE! White Chunk MOFOS.

Mix: 5

BRAH - this is where it gets interesting: MISO. Thats’ right folks. The salty-Japanese inspired soup base - found its way to a Tuna Sandwich Mix. It is not a topical dressing! But, appears to be mixed in with the actual “mix”. This right here is unique and yummy. But there is more... NO MAYO. This bad-boy is held together with RICE OIL and CANOLA OIL (alongside the Miso). I LOVE THIS. Not inherently a fan of mayo - it is a staple in most sandwiches. Few are successful with replacing it, and this weirdo place NAILED IT!

Originality: 5

BLACK SESAME SEEDS (giving it the texture) & GINGER + ALL THE ABOVE MENTIONS! None of this was a GIMMICK. Trust me folks, I have seen some stupid shit. This....This was well done, not over-done. If ya know... YA KNOW.

Ambience: 3

WTF: Everything in here cost some pretty steep Doubloons if ya know what I’m sayin. To the TUN’ of $11 per sandwich alone, if you get the chips, or drink (or juice), it adds up to near $15 per person+. It caters to the boot-strapped progressive, yet sets a price for the much wealthier sandwich goer: Its clearly not for everyone despite the conflicting messaging around you. Its in a nice cute building, neighborhood - yet when you walk-in, it feels like they try to bring back my crust-punk train hopping dreams pulled from a suburban teenage boy who listens to Fall Out Boy and took his first Community College Poli Sci Course. I DUNNO! Feels passively...just... weird.

Overall: 4.5

GREAT SANDWICH! Best I have had in a LONG time. Fantastic, and probably sustainably sourced ingredients from the TEET OF MOTHER EARTH HERSELF, it is in a nice, clean, casual space - just a bit, weird? YAR!

SCORE: 4.8

WHAT EV! Back to the ship Matey’s!

MTGA! (MAKE TUNA GREAT AGAIN!)

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bananachickens · 7 years

Text

The Brothers Jones's Marvellous (yet common) Adventures

This is my first EVER fanfic and it’s unbeta-ed. Please let me know what you thought of it and what you think I could/should improve.

There will be mentions of Emma and other characters ultimately but this won’t be a Captain swan fic.

———

After earning their commission, Liam and Killian Jones, respectively 20 and 17 years old, set foot in an educational institution for the first time, the Royal Naval College. Although they were both literate ( thanks to their father who was suspiciously well-learned for a supposedly common thief), and were exceptionnaly good sailors (thanks to their first captain), they knew almost nothing of the world that surrounded them. Needless to say, they were ostracised and mocked upon entering the Navy, but not for long …

( FF.net, AO3 )

Chapter 1 : Their first day at the Royal Naval College

Apprehension could be read on their faces as they approached the big building. It’s Greek inspired architecture with Corinthian columns was not only breathtaking but imposing and intimidating. Liam couldn’t be more proud of himself and his brother.

After offering them a commission on his ship, the Captain of the Jewel of the Realm had rewarded them by paying for their meals and lodgings until their official submission in the Naval college which was to take place on that precise day. Unfortunately, his generosity did not extend to their attires, which is why most of the hall was now staring at them in disdain.

As the eldest, Liam has always felt the need to protect his brother by all means necessary, not only from the outside world but also from himself. He knew his brother’s strengths and weaknesses and has tried as much as he could to prevent the crew from influencing him. That’s why this next step in their lives meant a lot to him. They finally had a shot at being more than what they were and have been since their childhood, be what Liam believed they were destined to be, great heroes, captains in the Royal Navy. That’s why he’s always believed in good form and put it upon himself and his brother to do what’s right and convenient at all time. We need to act like gentlemen little brother, stay away from those beasts and their dishonorable ways to have a chance to be more than just deckhands on a lowly merchant’s ship.

Killian couldn’t be more thankful to his brother for getting them where they were, even though he believed all Liam had done to get them a commission was due to luck. His brother had raised him like a father, he put him to bed and told him stories of princes and heroes when he couldn’t sleep, protecting him from the vile crew and taught him to act and talk like more than just a loathsome sailor. He had to make his brother proud of him and show him that all the effort he has made and trouble he has gone through for him weren’t for nothing.

As they further ventured in the building, they both felt a change of pressure on their chests. For the older Jones, the pressure to make sure his little brother was fine started to alleviate since he could finally see a bright future ahead of them, it was no longer hazy and abstract but within reach. However, Killian felt a heaviness and fear settle on his chest, he couldn’t disappoint his brother, from now on, he will have to be responsible and studious in order to one day become captain as he wants.

“I can’t believe we finally made it little brother” Liam looked around him in awe. He had never seen such grandeur and luxury in one room. Marbled floor and rich mahogany walls adorned a very large room with many doors and an imposing staircase. They both looked around, unable to decide where to go or who to ask for directions yet aware of the lingering stares on them. Navy sailors in all sizes, shapes and ages moving around and about the hall. They stood there a couple of minutes until three officers decided to approach them.

“May I help you ?” One of them said scornfully.

“Good morning sir, we are looking for the admissions’ office, would you be so kind as to direct us ?” Liam asked nicely. Punch them with your kindness if you can’t hit them with your fist he thought.

The three officers laughed condescendingly at that, “ I think you must be mistaken sir, this is a reputable institution that only accepts upon commission, and you certainly do not look like you can afford one. I do however feel charitable today and will give you a coin for entertaining us” the same officer replied, still laughing while looking for his purse and the doubloons he kept in it.

Feeling humiliated and provoked, Killian almost lost his temper, when luckily another officer joined them with a smile before saying “ You must be the brothers Jones who brought the eye of the storm to the king !” They stared at him askance. “ News spread fast in here” he added matter-of-factly.

“My name is Marcus Parr, I too am assigned on the Jewel” he said as he shook their hands. “Don’t pay attention to them, they’re jealous, we have all heard of the famous eye of the storm and none ever dreamed venturing near it. Please let me lead you to the admission office, I believe Captain Howard has already made the arrangement for you, all you’ll need to do is present yourself there ”

Turning to the other officers Killian put on his biggest smiled “Good day to you”, before accepting his offer.

After formerly presenting themselves, Liam and Killian followed their new crewmate through long corridors and impressive staircases. The building seemed so big and neither of them could believe they’d be one day able to know there way through it.

“Amazing isn’t it ? I’ve been here for 2 years now and I am still astonished by the beauty of this building” Marcus smiled at them understandingly, “ And don’t worry, you’ll learn how to navigate in this maze, if I could then anyone can”.

“And here is the admissions office. I’ll be waiting for you outside, I believe you’re going to need a guide to show you your “Houses” and introduce you to the other officers of the Jewel”

“That’s very kind of you, we wouldn’t want to impose” Liam answered.

“No please, allow me ! It will be my pleasure, you need to meet the other officers and lieutenants of the ship ! We like to consider ourselves as a big family, and family doesn’t let any of its members get teased without helping them”

The brothers stared at him, overwhelmed by their emotions. “ Well then M. Parr, we shall be as prompt as is expected” Liam said managing to maintain an impassive stance through the conversation.

“Please Liam, Killian, Call me Marcus”

Liam nodded at him before dragging his clearly overwhelmed brother inside the office.

Captain Howard had not only provided them with a commission on his ship, but also paid for all their fees and lodgings on campus. As students, they were to spend most of the year at the college especially during times of peace in the Kingdom.

The admission officer had informed them the Captain had also managed to secure them monthly allowances from the King himself as well as a derogation that enabled them to skip sailing classes if they successfully proved their value aboard of his ship next week. If they pass that test, they would only have to take theoretical classes such as languages, law and mathematics.

Apparently the captain was persuaded providence wasn’t the only thing that protected the Jones Brothers and that they had a bright and promising future ahead.

The officer then handed them some letters, some books and uniform that they would have to get fitted as soon as possible at the local tailor’s.

Leaving the office with their hands full, They found Marcus waiting on the other side of the corridor speaking to another officer. Shaking the other officer’s hand, Marcus left him to join Liam and Killian at the door.

“ So how did everything go ? I am sure it went well, you’ve left quite the impression on the captain, apparently he wouldn’t stop talking about you and your incredible story” He babbled without leaving them any time to answer, then continued “ You will have to tell me someday, but for now, let’s get you to your houses, I am sure you want to put all of those heavy thing of yours somewhere” He said staring at their new belonging.

“That would be much appreciated we have yet to try our uniforms to get them tailored” Liam said joining Marcus, followed by Killian

“You might as well buy new civilian clothes while you’re there, the laws of this kingdom forbids all men to wear their uniform outside their their duties, the King said it prevents social interaction by putting barriers between the citizens. Our king is a good man, very wise, yet very old and many say he won’t last the year, but they’ve been saying that for the last 5 years”

Liam nodded in understanding, he had heard of king Gregory’s legendary humility and generosity and knew he was loved by his people. Their father would always tell them stories of his valor in battle when they were little. Those memories where the only good ones Liam kept of his father, they always inspired him and made him wish to be more than just a lowlife seaman, a hero. Turning around to check on his brother, Liam was surprised to see Killian was no longer following them.

#killian jones #killian jones fanfic #young killian jones #liam jones #the jones brothers ff #killian jones ff #my writings #TBJMYCA

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stubblesandwich · 8 years

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A Reprise In Brotherly Love

When Liam the second shows up unannounced on the Jolly Roger, Killian finds an unexpected ear to listen to his doubts of earning Prince Charming’s forgiveness. Set after “Murder Most Foul”.

Words: 4.5K

Rated: G

Author Note: This was born of the swirling vortex of Captain Charming feels that is my heart these days, as well as rumors of Liam II and Nemo returning to guest-star in an upcoming episode. Special thanks to my pal @welllpthisishappening for listening to me gush about the Jones brothers and for looking this over for me.

Find on A03 here. —— Killian hadn’t seen his half brother since their shaky reconciliation and Liam’s reunion with Nemo, but he had seen to it, with a copious amount of gold doubloons, that their stay at Granny’s was covered indefinitely. It was the least he could do.

The wind seemed to come and go in spurts, at times nipping through Killian’s leather jacket before dying back down to a light caress across his cheek. Whenever he could spare a moment in the day, he came to check on his ship. These days, those free moments were fewer and farther between. Even so, he managed to make it over to her at least once a week.

It was odd, forging time in his days to check in briefly on a ship that had been his home for centuries. Once in a while, he would linger, take up his old place at her helm and grasp the spokes of her wheel in his hand, or take his time swabbing the deck alone. It was cathartic work, despite the strain it earned his back, and he enjoyed caring for his ship with his own touch. Still, easier were the days when he had a whole crew at his disposal to take care of the more mundane chores. Henry was the only one who offered to help, or agreed to help when asked. Most of the time, the old pirate took care of it all, himself.

Today was one such day where he had come to spend some extra time alone on the Jolly Roger. When sailing regularly, deck swabbing was a daily occurrence. These days, with the ship sitting idly in the harbor, it was really only necessary after a storm, or a particularly choppy day when the waves could reach high enough to leave salt residue on the main deck. If he didn’t get to it in time, within a day or so at most, the old wood would start to show extra wear, in spite of its enchanted state. This was not something Killian would allow.

As he strode across the docks, his ship looming before him, his mind was elsewhere, untethered and darting between memories. Dark circles stubbornly took up residence under his eyes, betraying to anyone who looked at him how little sleep he had been getting lately. Rest eluded him, and when it came, it was fitful. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see that face staring back at him. “I swear on my son’s life. I just want to get home to my family.” There was a familiar twist in his gut.

Abruptly, a male voice called down from the Jolly Roger’s deck, “I asked the harbor master which ship belonged to the infamous Captain Hook.”

Killian tensed, not recognizing the voice at first. He paused at the ship’s loading ramp, raising his hand to shield his eyes as he squinted against the sun. Liam the second’s smiling face came into view, and Killian relaxed visibly.

Liam’s hair was tousled, the longer strands of it whipping into his face as the wind picked up, and he raised a hand and ran his fingers through it. He was leaning on the wooden rails of the ship facing the docks and offered his half-brother a small smile.

"He told me it was the ‘old wooden one that looks like it’s up to no good,’” Liam continued, still smirking. “Figured it was this one. Although, I was expecting darker sails."

Killian scaled the ship’s boarding ramp in a few long, well-practiced strides. "Aye, you found her,” he said. “Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, mate."

Liam chuckled appreciatively at the name, as if he hadn’t been expecting the ship to be christened anything else. "A pirate through and through."

Killian gave a half shrug. "It was fitting at the time. Now I can’t imagine her called anything else."

Liam nodded, letting his gaze drift back to the sea. He was still leaning on the railing, looking perfectly at ease, as if he had been there all afternoon. Which, Killian thought, was perfectly plausible. He wouldn’t have put it past Liam to have investigated the entire ship from top to bottom already.

"Did you inspect her, then?” Killian asked. “Everything ready to sail?"

Liam gave a half smile, as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I found where you stash your mountain of rum barrels, if that’s what you’re wondering."

Killian laughed freely, shaking his head. "Not what I meant at all, mate. But, you’re welcome to crack open a barrel anytime you see fit. What’s mine is yours."

A thought hung in the air, unspoken by either of them. Killian’s mind drifted immediately to their shared father and the fate that had befallen him, and Liam’s jaw clenched just a fraction. He cleared his throat once and offered Killian a short, "Thanks."

They were silent for a minute, each staring out at the tranquil water of the Maine port. It was a calm day, with a brilliant, unobscured sun and only a whisper from the wind every now and again. It was a perfect day, it seemed, to investigate your long-lost half-brother’s antique pirate ship.

After a while, Liam cleared his throat. They certainly hadn’t fallen into the easy banter Killian and David now shared, but the fact that Liam had sought him out meant something. In a town as small as Storybrooke, it was virtually impossible to avoid someone forever, especially someone who attracted as much trouble as Killian seemed to. He knew they would run into each other eventually, but he was hardly expecting Liam to be the one to seek him out first, let alone appear unannounced on his ship. It was a pleasant surprise.

"So, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here,” Liam started.

“You’re welcome here anytime,” Killian said promptly, without a trace of false hospitality. He met Liam’s gaze for a moment, the younger man’s eyes searching his, before Liam offered a small smile and a nod.

“Thanks,” Liam said, shifting a bit against the ship’s rail. “I just thought I’d come by and thank you properly for taking care of our rooms, at the inn. Nemo and I… really appreciate it."

"It’s the least I can do,” Killian said. “I may not have held the knife, but Nemo was only injured because of me.” His gaze flit to sea, scanning the horizon briefly before meeting his brother’s eyes again. “Besides, I recall all too well being an outsider in this town. I’m still not fully acclimated to its many quirks, but at least I had my ship."

Liam turned, resting his back on the rail, and took a moment to survey the Jolly Roger’s deck. "She really is something,” he murmured. “They certainly don’t make them like this anymore."

"Aye,” Killian says, with more than a hint of pride.

The two brothers stood in silence again, and it seemed to be getting easier to do so. For his part, Killian had been thinking of Liam the second nearly as much as he thought of Liam the first.

Despite the looming threat of death that seemed to follow his true love like a shadow, and all the insanity that was Storybrooke on a weekly basis, his mind had been coming back to his younger brother nearly every day. Often, he wondered how he and Nemo were assimilating, how Nemo was healing. He assumed this was why he had yet to see either of them around town, with Liam surely taking care of Nemo at the inn.

After a minute, Killian felt Liam watching him. He shifted on the balls of his feet, not quite sure of what to say. This was the most time they had ever spent together alone without one of them throwing a punch or whipping out a knife. Perhaps they weren’t ready for normal conversations, or standing in the same vicinity, for that matter.

His mind grasped for something else to say, returning empty-handed. Even innocuous comments on the weather evaded him. The sleepless nights were beginning to weigh on him, and his mind felt fogged, bogged down by the thoughts–memories–he couldn’t seem to hold at bay, guilt contorting his stomach in constant knots.

“Are you okay?”

Killian jumped, jerked out of his wayward thoughts. Liam was staring at him, looking concerned.

Killian forced a smile. “Of course, mate. Why?”

Liam frowned. “You look…” he started, lips pursing as he paused to think of the right word. “Well, you look terrible.”

Killian’s mouth parted just slightly in surprise. “Terrible?”

Liam offered a somewhat sympathetic look. “Kind of, sorry. What I mean is, you look like you haven’t slept… ever.”

Killian’s mouth twitched up in a small smile before he looked away. “Aye, mate, I get it. Truth be told, I haven’t been sleeping well the past few nights.”

Liam nodded in understanding. He stayed quiet, eyes still trained on his brother, and the expression he wore made it clear he was expecting more information.

Killian paused, faltering as he tried to think of a casual way to explain his situation to this particular person standing before him. Clearing his throat, he began, “I… recently discovered something I did long ago came to greatly affect a close friend of mine.” It came out monotone and wooden, devoid of any real details, but it was all he could bring himself to say.

Liam chose that moment to make a most unfortunate attempt at a joke.

“Well,” he said, “It’s not like you killed his father or anything, right?”

Killian’s stomach seized. He had wondered if the subject would ever be broached again between them, and if it was, how it would be handled. Liam, to his credit, was clearly trying to make light of the subject of Killian hurting his friend, suggesting it couldn’t be as bad as some of the other sins of the pirate’s past.

But, however difficult and admirable it might have been for Liam to gloss over his own pain to make Killian feel better about his current situation, he was wrong. Desperately, horrifyingly wrong.

Something about the devastated look that crossed onto Killian’s features made Liam immediately apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “I was just trying to… I shouldn’t have brought it up. I wasn’t…” He paused as Killian dipped his head forward just enough to pinch the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

Killian let out a shaky breath. The meager hours of sleep he had been able to steal over the past few nights could have been counted on his one hand, and it was beginning to catch up to him. He leaned back against the rail of the ship, abruptly needing the support as his knees went numb.

Liam watched him nervously, hesitant to say anything else. When Killian finally looked back up at him, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“That’s exactly what I did, Liam.”

Liam’s mouth dropped open and he stilled, gaping openly at his brother. “You… you what?”

Killian held his gaze as he ground out the words, “I killed David’s father. Nearly sixty years ago, if memory serves.”

Unable to stop himself, Liam took an automatic step back. “But how…?”

“He was tied to a cart, about to be executed by the king’s men,” Killlian started. “I intervened, intent on stealing their gold. It’s what pirates do, after all.” He gave a coarse, humorless laugh and went on. “And despite how he begged me to let him live so he could go home to his boy, I ran my sword through his chest and killed him. Couldn’t leave any loose ends to trace back to Pan.”

The bitterness in his tone was palpable, and Killian let out another measured, shaky breath to try to calm himself. His hand was shaking now as it too started to grow numb, and he clenched it into a fist at his side.

Horror seeped onto Liam’s face, raw and unmasked.

Killian pushed off the rail abruptly and began to pace the length of the deck, trying to regain the feeling in his legs. Liam continued to stare, his eyes following him.

After a moment, Liam cleared his throat and asked, “And David is…?”

Killian paused and held up his hook, as one might hold up a hand to tell someone to wait. “That’s the best bloody part, isn’t it?” He said. “Of course, this man was the grandfather of the woman I love. The woman I wish to make my wife. Because no matter how hard I try, no matter what I do to try to redeem myself, it seems I’ll never quite live down the exploits of Captain bloody Hook.” His eyes had a wild edge to them, and the dark circles cradling them made him look more than a little crazed.

Liam, possibly fearing his brother was seconds away from throwing himself off the side of the ship to drown, stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Killian’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, “Slow down, okay?”

Killian grunted softly.

“Come on,” Liam said, “Let’s talk some more over a drink, all right? I know where the captain keeps the rum.”

Killian laughed at that. Despite how appreciative he was of his brother’s attempt to help, he knew he sounded maniacal, and he desperately needed to relax before he lost it completely.

With a nod, he strode over to the hatch and dipped below deck. Liam hesitated, unsure if he should follow, but Killian was surprisingly quick, and when he returned after a few minutes, it was with two full flasks in hand.

Liam grasped one and immediately took a swig of the rum. It burned his throat, and he sputtered. “Sorry,” he breathed, laughing a bit at his own intolerance for the drink. “Nemo always preferred to stock wine.”

Killian had cut his flask’s content in half by the time Liam finished speaking. “I’m sorry,” Killian said quietly. “You’re the last person I wanted to know about this.” Liam kept watching him, unsure of what to say.

“The fact that you’re standing here, on my ship, is more than I ever could have hoped for from you,” Killian admitted.

They stood there in silence again, each taking the occasional sip from his flask.

“I came here to swab the deck,” Killian said dully, squinting up at the sky.

“I’ll help you,” Liam offered without hesitation.

Killian shook his head. “Not necessary, mate.”

“Two are faster than one,” Liam reminded.

“Aye,” Killian conceded with a sigh. “That they are.”

+++ They worked in silence, each having started at the opposite end of the ship, aiming to meet in the middle. While he was begrudging to accept, Killian was grateful for the help. His movements were slow, exhaustion weighing him down like an anchor, and he took the occasional break to stretch out his shoulders. Along the way, he made mental notes of the areas that needed more attentive cleaning. He and Liam each held mops, ideal for swabbing the majority of the deck. The nooks and crannies he would attend to himself, later.

Eventually, the two brothers neared each other again. Liam reached the center first and paused, leaning on his mop, watching Killian.

“Why did you do it?”

Killian stopped, looking up at his brother. Neither of them had spoken in near an hour, and it took him a moment to register Liam’s question.

“Why’d I do what, mate?”

“Kill our father.”

The breath shot out of his lungs as if he had been punched. Liam’s gaze was unwavering as he watched him, awaiting a response. Killian reached for his flask and took a swig, reveling in the burn for a moment.

“Are you sure you want to have this conversation?” Killian asked, his voice rough.

Liam shrugged, his eyes narrowing. “Humor me.”

Killian fell silent. He had shared his sordid tale before; most of his family knew the details by now. Regina, of course, had known he had killed his father. He had confessed to Emma and Henry, adding in the details about his brother after the events on the Nautilus. It wasn’t an easy subject, to be sure, but he had spoken of it before. Just not to Liam.

“You need to understand,” he began slowly, searching carefully for his next words, “That my relationship with our father was very different than the one you had with him.”

Liam scoffed quietly, almost inaudibly. “Yeah,” he said sardonically, “I figured as much when I found out you killed him.”

Killian gave a short nod. Words escaped him once again. He grappled with the events in his mind, struggling to find a proper explanation to fit them. How was he supposed to tell his younger brother—a man whose devotion to his lost father had driven him within an inch of murder—that Brennan Jones had sold his two sons into a life of slavery to save his own hide?

Killian was silent for too long and Liam cleared his throat expectantly, growing impatient.

“Brennan needed to escape the law,” Killian started, “And so he left us behind.”

“Us?” Liam interjected.

Killian cleared his throat, feeling awkward. “Yes, my brother and I. My older brother, then my only brother, Liam.”

Killian looked up at him then, and their eyes met. Confusion flooded Liam’s face.

“Our father named you after his eldest son, Liam the first,” Killian supplied helpfully.

Liam was quiet for a moment before he murmured, “Liam… is he…?”

Killian nodded. “Dead, yes. For a long time now.” A mournful silence fell over him, as often happened when he spoke of his older brother. His gaze drifted out to the ocean.

“So, he just left you, then?”

Killian glanced back to his brother. “Aye,” he said carefully.

“The man I knew would never do that.”

Killian ground his teeth together, his jaw flexing. “Perhaps,” he said without conviction.

“Then what happened?”

“We grew up on slaves ships,” Killian said bluntly. He had been trying to avoid painting their father as a villain, but with Liam’s pressing questions, there was only so much he could dance around and avoid.

Liam’s jaw dropped open. “He sold you into servitude?”

“Aye,” Killian said, and his eyes flit back to the sea. “Liam looked after me, practically raised me. We joined the royal navy, acquiring the very ship you’re standing on.”

Liam’s brows raised at that, and he glanced around the ship again, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Liam was killed in Neverland,” Killian said with unbridled bitterness, “On a fool’s errand from a king I vowed to issue justice to. And so the Jewel of the Realm became the Jolly Roger.”

Liam’s gaze fell back to Killian, and there was something new held in his blue eyes. Not quite pity, but something close. The hardness in his expression had softened somewhat.

Killian swallowed uncomfortably and continued. “When I met our father again, I was working for the Evil Queen. Killing our father was a test, to see if I had the mettle for what she had in mind.”

“I don’t understand,” Liam said, befuddled. “My father wasn’t old enough to–”

Killian intervened, sensing where he was going, “Sleeping curse, apparently right after he left my brother and I. As I was told, he was awoken by his nurse, your mother.”

It clicked, and Liam nodded. “Right. I’ve heard the story. Many times. It was his favorite to tell.”

Killian wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he simply continued. “I met him in a pub where he worked, as arranged for by the queen. I waited until closing, till I was the only one left in the bar.” Liam tensed at this, as if he expected this to be the moment his father had been killed. Killian watched him for a moment before he went on.

“I couldn’t do it. Not then. He told me how much he had regretted what he’d done to us, how he was a changed man.” His tone had dipped low, and it was clear even then he didn’t believe a word of it. “I decided to let him go, offered him passage on my ship. Then he told me of you.” Killian’s eyes shot up to Liam’s.

“That night, I came to your home, waited outside while he tucked you into bed. You looked like my older brother,” he said, and a small, fond smile upturned his mouth. “Even then, I could tell you were my brother.”

A gull called overhead, squawking down at them from its perch on the crow’s nest of the ship. Liam turned his head to look at it as Killian reached for his flask again. They both knew what was coming next. Finding his father dead in their yard was a sight branded onto Liam’s memory forever, and he shifted in his stance uncomfortably as Killian continued.

“I overheard him tucking you into bed,” Killian went on, and a crack in his voice betrayed him halfway through. He looked away, clearing his throat. “It was… strikingly similar to the last words he said to me, as a boy.”

“Before he left,” Liam said, understanding dawning.

“Aye,” Killian sighed. “It was then I heard your name for the first time.” He looked up, hesitantly meeting his eyes. “That was just too much for me.”

Liam swallowed against the lump rising in his throat. “I didn’t know.”

Killian gave a half-shrug. “I don’t expect pity. The events of the past have haunted me for decades, and our father is no exception.” He grew quiet as he took a moment to cap his flask and slipped it inside the inner pocket of his jacket. “I don’t deserve sympathy and I certainly don’t deserve forgiveness for the things I’ve put you through, Liam.”

“When I found out,” Liam said slowly, “I wanted to run you through with my knife… with our father’s knife, actually. It was his. I kept it. I thought that would be just, you know? Fair retribution.” He shook his head and stepped over to a cargo box on the side of the deck, leaning his mop against it. Killian watched him.

“It’s not right, what you did,” Liam said bluntly. “And you can’t make up for it.”

“I know.”

“But you didn’t ruin my life,” Liam added. Killian quirked a brow, and he continued. “If I hadn’t lost my father, I wouldn’t have joined the crew of the Nautilus. I never would have met Nemo. He’s been a father to me, too. It’s hard to imagine my life without him.”

Killian gave a small, understanding smile. “Aye,” he said. “I know the feeling.”

A thoughtful look crossed onto Liam’s features, and he sized Killian up for a moment. “You’re not the same man, you know.”

Killian looked at him curiously.

Liam shrugged. “I can tell that much. You’re not the same pirate we took on board the Nautilus all those years ago.”

Killian smiled at this, letting the words sink in. He had heard them before, of course, in some manner or another, and he liked to believe they were true, but they felt unique coming from this particular man.

“He’ll forgive you.”

Killian looked up sharply. “What?”

“David,” Liam continued, “David is going to forgive you.”

Despite himself, tears pricked his eyes, and Killian blinked to keep them at bay. He wanted to protest, claim his insecurities, but the words didn’t come, obstructed as his throat grew tight.

“You may not deserve it,” Liam added, “But then again, that really isn’t up to you, is it?”

Killian exhaled, slow and controlled, through his nose. I don’t deserve it, he thought desperately, and while the words wouldn’t come, the thought was as plain on his face as if he’d written it there in ink.

“Nemo forgave me,” Liam murmured, just loud enough for Killian to hear. “And I know it’s different,” he added before Killian could say anything, “But his forgiveness, it… it’s changed me. For good.”

That was a sentiment Killian agreed with wholeheartedly. It took him few minutes to compose himself. While the tears never dropped from his eyes, they were stubborn, his vision blurred as he finished swabbing his half of the deck. Liam took a seat on one of the larger cargo boxes, watching him and taking small, hesitant sips from his flask every now and again.

When he finished, Killian took both their mops, wrung them out over the bucket, and stowed them away.

“Maybe next time you could have some wine on hand,” Liam said when he returned. “Or champagne.”

Killian’s heart swelled at the words “next time” and he stood a little straighter as he shot Liam a grin. “Deal. Although, we have plenty at the house, if you and Captain Nemo are ever available for dinner.”

Liam paused, his eyes trained on something in the distance, and Killian was just about to brush the offer aside when Liam turned and offered a genuine, albeit small, smile. “I’d like that,” he said. “I know Nemo would, too.”

“It would be a welcome reprieve from Granny’s lasagna, I’m sure,” Killian said, shooting him a wink.

Liam didn’t stay much longer, and Killian had the feeling he was still processing all he had learned about their father. It didn’t make Brennan’s death easier, but something between the brothers had shifted.

Liam asked about Henry, and Killian was quick to regale him with the latest adventure in Henry starting driver’s training. “Will he be there?” Liam asked. “If I came for dinner?”

“Aye,” Killian said fondly. “He stays with Emma and I about every other week, to include weekends.”

Liam nodded. “I’d like to come a night he’s there, if that’s all right. The last time he saw me, I was about to slit your throat, so…”

Killian chuckled lowly. “Aye, perhaps a make up meeting is in order.”

“I think so,” Liam agreed with a wry smile. They looked at each other, each feeling slightly awkward as they thought of the best way to say goodbye. Liam eventually extended his hand, shaking Killian’s firmly, and the pirate’s heart bloomed with joy in his chest.

Killian watched him leave, and once Liam was out of sight, he pulled the ring box out of his jacket pocket. He popped it open with his hook, and the two-karat diamond gleamed brilliantly as the sunlight hit it. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, mulling over everything his half-brother had told him. If forgiveness was attainable, despite his doubts, he had to begin somewhere.

The truth seemed a good place to start.

—–

Tagging a few who might not hate this.

@lenfaz @bleebug @galadriel26 @thegladelf @ripplestitchskein @spartanguard @cherrywolf713 @sheriffchiselchin

#ouat ff #killian jones #liam jones #captain charming #the jones brothers #the brothers jones #liam 2.0 #captain swan mention #captain charming feels

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