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ordinaryschmuck · 3 years ago

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What I Thought About "Through The Looking Glass Ruins" from The Owl House

Salutations, random people on the internet who most certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck! I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons!

When Disney announced episode titles/synopsis for the new season (On a day that left my head SPINNING!), there was one episode that I knew deep down that would cause controversy and discourse amongst the fandom. And that episode was "Through the Looking Glass Ruins." Not because it would be bad, far from it. Instead, because the episode was a Gus episode with a Lumity subplot, that meant that discourse would start as fans decide which story they prefer more. A situation that, might I add, would result in no winners.

Do you prefer the Lumity plotline? Well, guess what! You're a racist who chose to talk about an overrated ship rather than a heavily underrated character who just so happens to be a person of color.

Do you prefer Gus' plotline? Well, guess what! You're a homophobe who decided to shine a light on a character who's underrated for a reason instead of praising a ship that just so happens to involve two girls.

Either side you pick is going to result in making people mad. The only way to avoid that is by explaining in heavy detail that you still enjoyed one side despite preferring the other. Even if you loved both, you'll most certainly have to explain to everyone that you mean it and that you're neither racist nor homophobic. And all I have to say is this: F that.

F that S in the A right now.

Because I, or anybody else for that matter, shouldn't have to explain myself when it comes to saying why I prefer one plot line or the other. I shouldn't have to prevent getting ripped apart by some bulls**t, black and white mentality of people who can't accept that others like a show for different reasons than they do.

You wanna know what I think about "Through the Looking Glass Ruins?" Well, continue reading to find out. You'll have to make your way through spoilers, but it's the only way for you to learn why I consider this episode not worth any discourse that I'm already certain is cropping up.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

The Opening Scene: I'm kind of digging how snappy and to the point these opening scenes are getting. In the span of what has to be less than a minute, we're given all the information we need to know: Gus is insecure about his illusion magic because he accidentally got Willow injured. It's a great way of setting up why Gus wants to prove himself to the Glandus students and a great way of showing how much Willow's friendship means to him. Look at how he's reacting a few days after the incident. He's still mopey and guilty about it, and I feel bad for the little guy.

Gus in General: And while we're already talking about him, let's give this episode a round of applause for giving Gus the spotlight without having him screw over his friends...except for Willow.

"Through the Looking Glass Ruins" really fleshes Gus out much more so than past episodes. As I said, it plays heavily into his own insecurities while proving how he's capable as an illusionist. He's also the best possible outlet to explore more about what illusionist magic can really do. It can't hurt anybody or work well in a fight. Instead, its strengths lie in the act of convincingly tricking others into thinking that something that should be fake is actually real. And Gus got to prove he really is a super witch because of his illusions through a jaw-dropping scene that's as dark as it was enthralling. The fact that he did it all by himself, without the help of an illusion elder who was right there, is honestly even more impressive. A lot of people aren't that interested in Gus as a character, but I feel like, after this episode, he certainly won a few more fans over.

Willow Getting Injured and Missing the Episode: This is a smart move, in my opinion. Willow acts as the voice of reason in the friend group, so if she tagged along with Luz and Gus right away, she would have easily talked Gus out of joining the Glandus kids on a dangerous quest. I love Willow, she's a solid character, but writing her out is really the only way the plot could have progressed.

(I also love that she wasn't mad in the slightest over Gus getting her hurt. She has every right to be, but she also understands that it was an accident, and Gus wouldn't do anything to purposefully hurt her. And that's sweet!)

King’s Prerecorded Message for Gus: That's just adorable. We need more cute friendship moments between these two, DAMN IT!

Gus Being Sick of Luz’s S**t: Of all the characters I expected to get sick of the whole Lumity situation, Gus wasn't really one of them. I'd always thought it'd be Willow, primarily because the rest of the fandom latched onto that idea, but for Gus, I'd figured he'd be more supportive rather than annoyed. That being said, seeing him call Luz out for borrowing his library card to see Amity (Not ask her out. Just to see her) is not only a hilarious moment for Gus but also an adorable moment for Luz. It's something I would never have seen coming, but now that I have it, I want more. GIVE ME MORE!

(Sorry if I'm being a little intense)

Luz Trying to Cheer Up Gus: It's moments like this that prove why Luz is my favorite character.

Willow might have the most common sense out of the group, but it's Luz who still has the biggest heart. She knows her friend is down in the dumps, so Luz pulls out all the stops in cheering him up. Whether it's researching the first-ever human (really surprised he wasn't the tiniest bit excited about that, by the way) and lending him glyphs for his mission to help show up Mattholomule. She may be slow in the romantic relationship department, but episodes like this prove that she excels with a platonic friendship.

Bria: I consider Amar adorably optimistic, and I have no strong feelings for Gavin, one or the other. But with Bria? Holy hell, did the writers do everything they should with her!

At first, it seems like she'll be a generic nice girl for Gus to have a crush on. Only for that writing to be a perfect twist into how she's kind of the worst. You see hints of her true personality in the overly sweet way she threatens to force Amar to eat a bug he gets distracted by. A viewer's initial reaction to that would be to think that while she's sweet, she still means business. But no, it's actually a perfect way to reveal her true intentions while hiding them at the same time. Bria may be rotten to the core, but with how perfectly executed this twist was, I can't help but adore her contribution.

Mattholomule: ...I would sooner expect to have gone insane before believing that this little s**t weasel would make his way onto my good side. Despite that, here we are in episode five of the new season, and I like Mattholomule now.

The reveal that Glandus High forces students to believe that the strong survive and the weak are inferior explains so much for Mattholomule's thirst for power in "Something Ventured, Someone Framed." It doesn't excuse his actions, not by a long shot, but it definitely paints a clearer picture. It also explains his treatment of Gus, as well as Mattholomule's reasoning to help him. Because of Glandus High inserting a "the strong survive" mentality into Mattholomule, he belittles Gus due to thinking that illusion magic makes Gus weak. But after seeing how they're both stooges to Bria's mistreatment, he's quick to apologize and willingly helps Gus out. In the process, the two of them create a believable and cute friendship...a friendship that is absolutely going to be interpreted as something else by the fandom...which is something that I'm more than supportive of--HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! I WENT FROM ONE OF THE BIGGEST GUSTOLOMULE DENIERS TO ONE OF ITS SUPPORTERS IN LESS THAN A DAY! HOW DO THESE WRITERS MANAGE TO TAKE ELEMENTS THAT WERE ONCE ON MY S**T LIST TO THEN MAKING ME MORE THAN OK WITH THEM!

IT'S INSANE!

Mostly impressive.

BUT ALSO INSANE!

Edric and Emira: More so than ever, I am so happy that the writers took their course correction with Edric and Emira. These two work so much better as supporting characters rather than minor antagonists like several fans thought they would be after their treatment of Amity in "Lost in Language." They're quick to pick up on Luz and Amity's mutual affections for one another and do their part to help their friend and baby sister out. It's wholesome to watch, and, you know what, I'm gonna go ahead and say it: Edric and Emira Blight are much better mischievous twin characters than Fred and George Weasley. As much as I adore Fred and George, there is an issue how they're always referred to as Fred and George, not Fred or George. It's because their personalities are as identical as they are, so separating them is pointless. With Edric and Emira, they have enough individuality that you could enjoy them separately as much as you could seeing them together. Emira is more emotionally supportive in how she listens to Amity vent her frustrations about her feelings, while Edric is more of a doofus who can't take a hint to save his life. It creates a great set of characters who can potentially work well on their own. I hope they get explored more at some point, but for now, I'm happy with the cute moments these two offered already.

Lumity Moments: BUUUUUUUUUUUUT, nothing compares to the cuteness of these two.

I don't care if I'll be called a racist for it because these! Moments! These moments are the highlights of "Through the Looking Glass Ruins" for me! Seeing these two interact in this episode, now that the pining is mutual, was everything I could have ever hoped for, and so much more. Seriously, how can you complain about anything about all of this when you get cute bits like:

Luz getting flustered of seeing Amity with her hair down

Amity risking her job to help Luz

Amity being motivated to find the diary due to the possibility of a date with Luz in the human realm

Luz going through hell and back to get Amity her job back

All of the blushing

And that F**KING KISS AT THE END HOLY SH--Don't you dare think I'm not going to further discuss that. DON'T YOU DARE!

Gus' story was entertaining with how it surprised me in all the right ways, don't get me wrong. But seeing Luz and Amity's relationship develop more and more always fills my heart with glee that, believe it or not, I'm always going to remember it more. I love you, Gus, but I love Lumity more.

Philip Whittabeen: So we finally have a name to the alleged human who was here years ago, and we get properly introduced to him through a really visually appealing animation change. I'm personally curious to see where the writers go with him, but it's too early to say if his inclusion will be worth something. But I will say one thing, though. One thing, and then I'm going to move on.

Here it is:

Philip sounds eerily similar to Emperor Belos to me.

That is all I'm going to say about that.

Luz’s Sentences in Spanish: I want to give a personal shout-out to mi buen amigo @l-egionaire for pointing this out because there are some things to analyze in what Luz says in Spanish in this episode. Knowing what she means, it's clear that they are ideals that Camila instilled into Luz. Ideals that possibly show a lot about Camila's personality on top of revealing where Luz got her hopeful optimism and sense of determination. It's the second sentence that Luz says later on that I really want to delve deep into:

"Nada funcionará a menos que lo haga funcionar."

Translated, that means "Nothing will work unless you make it work." Again, this proves the dedication that Luz has filled into her soul, but to me, it says a lot about Luz's dedication to Amity. She wants to make this relationship work but fully understands that it won't unless she puts in the effort. It's a sweet sentiment that says so much about how Luz feels about Amity that some fans might not be able to pick up on if they don't speak Spanish. Or, in my case, have a good friend who finds the translation for you (thanks again @l-egionaire).

The Galderstones: Pretty interesting concept, I'm not going to lie. It's also interesting that of all the types of witches in the Boiling Isles, it was illusionists who were the ones that guard over the Galderstones. Because illusion magic can't really harm anyone, it makes a weird type of sense that they would be the ones to keep the Galderstones out of the wrong hands. And, even better, it showcases Gus' strength as an illusionist when he was able to take down Bria, who was hopped up on Galderstone power, through that same "harmless" magic. It just goes to show that if you have a big enough brain, you don't need to overpower somebody. You need to outthink them.

Malphus Being a Surprisingly Cool Dude: What can I say? I'm a sucker for expectation subversion.

Luz and Amity Crying: First of all, a HUGE round of applause to VAs Sarah-Nicole Robles and Mae Whitman through their vocal performances in this scene! They really sold how upset and broken apart Luz and Amity were due to their feelings for each other messing things up. More so with Sarah-Nicole.

Second, this might be the closest these two have gotten to a confession so far ("so far" being the keyword). I specifically latch onto Amity's expression after hearing Luz agree that she's always weird around Amity. In one way, it looks like Amity is surprised to see she made Luz cry, but in another, it could be that she realizes that perhaps that Luz has feelings for her as well. Or, at least, that's how I interpreted things. The thing about art is that there's no one interpretation to agree on. And that's what this scene is: Art. It's performed, written, and animated well, that no matter how you look at it, it's a masterpiece.

“I’ll call the hounds”: One line. One line was all it took for me to love the Keeper of the Looking Glass Graveyard.

Amity Dyes her Hair: I always assumed that Amity would let her original hair color grow out as defiance to Odalia. But dying it lavender? Thus crafting her own identity without having her be compared to either Odalia or Alador?

...yeah, that's brilliant. Whoever thought of that, you are a genius and deserve all of the credit that comes from it.

ALL of the credit.

Amity Kisses Luz on the Cheek!: I'll save my "Wha-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo" for an actual kiss, but for now, THIS IS AWESOME!

This moment, much like other Lumity moments, was everything I could have ever expected and so much more:

Amity's instant panic after realizing she seriously just did that

Ed and Em looking fondly at their sister taking such a big step

The look on Luz's face, which may or may not hint that she realizes that the feelings are more than mutual

And the fact that Luz's legs give out soon after Amity leaves

It was adorable as all forms of hell, and it was a perfect way to end such a perfect episode...or, at least, an almost perfect episode. I do have some issues.

WHAT I DISLIKED

Mattholomule Helping Gus too Easily: The Glandus kids were right there, in-ear and eye-shot, yet did nothing as Mattholomule effortlessly helped Gus and the Keeper escape...how?

Gavin falling for Gus’ Illusion: I want to laugh at how stupidly easy that was...but it's too stupidly easy for me to forgive.

And that’s about it. Just two nitpicks that don’t really take away that much enjoyment from the episode

IN CONCLUSION

"Through the Looking Glass Ruins" keeps Season Two's winning streak going by being another solid A. It fleshes out characters, develops cute relationships, and keeps the story going despite being so character-driven. It's easily more than worth the time...but it's not worth any discourse that comes from some fans preferring one plot over the other.

I highly doubt that some people are racist for loving the Lumity plotline or homophobic for loving Gus'. Maybe some people are, but also consider that maybe, just maybe, a person loves a ship because it's their favorite, or a person likes a character cause he's their favorite.

Which.

Is.

Fine.

There's no definitive way to like a series, and demanding that people like it for the same reasons you do is not worth anything. Because, believe it or not, even Dana Terrace doesn't care how people love her show. In the AMA she did, when a fan asked if she's upset about fans obsessing over Amity's crush on Luz, this is her word for word reaction:

"Not at all! No, the main focus of the series will never be on any romantic thread but that doesn't mean those threads aren't important. And I'm thrilled that people connect to our characters!"

THERE YOU HAVE IT! The creator herself fully admits that she doesn't care what fans latch onto. She's just glad to have people who like the show in the first place! So don't create discourse just because some people enjoy a part of an episode more than others. The second you get that through your heads, the sooner we can all move on with our lives.

(Also, that's five episodes in a row that are hits. And, man, is that stinker going to hit harder because of it.)

#the owl house #the owl house season two #the owl house reviews #gus porter #mattolomule #luz noceda #amity blight #lumity #edric and emira #edric blight #emira blight #what i thought about

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vanilladyfics · 4 years ago

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Fighting Fate - Ch 1

Read Chapter Two

Ship: Sir Nighteye x GN!Reader

Genre: Angst with a happy ending, Mutual Pining, Office Romance

Warnings: Suicide Themes, Slight Sexuality, Yandere if you squint

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Note: I needed to get this out of my head so I can focus on other projects. This story takes place after Eri’s rescue where nothing bad happened.

Summary: Nighteye’s quirk predicts his assistant will die before the night’s end, but he’s not about to accept fate this time around.

Do not repost.

-----

Mirai Sasaki was a hero first, man second. His greatest strength as a hero came not from his precognition, but his control. A control that, lately, has been slipping. As a general rule, Sasaki only used his quirk for his hero work. He only had one shot at it a day, so to waste it on something personal would not only be unprofessional, but could put himself and the people he had sworn to protect at risk should an emergency arise. And yet, he wanted to use it on you.

Sasaki had no problem with you when you first started as his assistant. Sure, there were times you needed to be reminded to smile, and his jokes didn't always land with you (which was on you-- his delivery was flawless), but everyone had those days. Midnight was partially to blame. Her recent jokes about his tickle torture machine being used for foreplay had been fresh in his mind the first time you needed it to be reminded to smile. Sasaki had dismissed her comments easily enough. There was nothing inherently sexual about tickling someone into submission with their hands bound above their head, helpless and vulnerable. Their hysterical laughter turning into gasps and pants as they struggled for air. Thighs clamped tightly together as they desperately tried to avoid wetting themselves, begging for release.

Then he put you in those cuffs, saw you writhe against the machine, and he understood. Seeing you thrash about, pulling against your restraints, your shirt coming untucked from your waistband as you struggled, Sasaki felt... something. He turned the machine off in a panic the moment he diagnosed what he was feeling. Kayama was right, and he was a fool.

He hadn't put anyone in the machine since. He considered taking it down and retiring it all together, but it served as an effective warning that his office would be full of smiles. Still, he couldn't look at it the same way-- couldn't look at you the same way. He barely looked at you at all, actually. Each time he did, his mind went to unprofessional places. He made a point not to treat you any differently from his other employees. He bought flowers. Not for you. For the office. It just happened that the logical place for them was on the front desk-- your desk. The treats in the break room you liked weren't for you, but for the team.

Technically, Sasaki never instated a rule against dating subordinates. He managed all of his employees directly, and never thought about any of them romantically, so the thought never occurred to him to implement one. Asking out his assistant might be legal, but he morally couldn't put you in a position where you might fear for your livelihood. The right thing to do would have been to get you a job somewhere else, wait until you were settled, and then make a move... but then you'd be so far away.

Sasaki couldn't stay in this limbo between courting and ignoring you forever. He had a few options. He could ignore the feelings, keeping you at arms length just to keep in his life. He could throw all sense of propriety aside and ask you directly, risk losing you completely and forcing him to find a new assistant. So he decided. If four-o-clock hit and he hadn't used his quirk for the day, he'd use it on you. If he saw your future together, it was fate, morality and propriety be damned. If you ended up with someone else, he would be a man step aside.

You winced at the pounding in your head, forcing yourself to smile despite the pain. You couldn't let anyone see you frown in Sir Nighteye's Hero Agency. The last time you did, you were stuck in that HR nightmare of a contraption until you nearly wet yourself in front of Sir Nighteye himself. You flushed at the memory. You needed to get out, and this new influx of emails only confirmed it: Job applications, for your position. He had caught you looking down once and had been acting strangely ever since. Now you know it's because he had been sneaking around trying to replace you. You double checked Mr. Sasaki's schedule before confirming the interview times for this first batch of applicants. You should have seen it coming, but it still hurt to have to help pick out your own replacement. You saw their resumes. Many of them had a better education and more experience than you. They'd be a much better fit at the agency. They probably wouldn't have to pretend to be happy.

You checked the time. Four-o-clock. One more hour and you'd be free to go home and cry yourself to sleep. You paused. No. You still had to pick up groceries, reach out to your doctor about these headaches and starting your medication again, and figure out how to respectfully decline this last arranged marriage meeting. Somehow, you doubted “Sorry, I but I still have a thing for my boss even though he wants to fire me” was going to cut it. You added 'apply for jobs' to your mental to-do list.

Mr. Sasaki walked in. You plastered your best smile on your face to greet him. “Good evening, sir!” You would play ignorant. If he wanted to be sneaky, so could you.

“Good evening, [Y/N]. How are you?”

“I'm doing well... Sir?” He was looking you in the eye for the first time since the tickle incident. It felt strange somehow. Serious.

He cleared his throat, pulling a business card from the inner pocket of his blazer. “Make sure to update Edgeshot's contact information before you leave.”

Your fingers brushed against his as you accepted the card. “Right away, sir.”

He looked in your eyes, and your future played out in his mind like a strip of film: The stranger harassing you on the train ride home, stepping over the candidacy pictures of potential suitors someone slipped under your door, answering a phone call and arguing until you hung up and threw the phone against the wall. The tears. The bathtub. And then...

Nothing.

“My office. Now.”

Icy dread washed over you as he closed the door behind you. Just how much had he seen? You stood at attention under his unnerving gaze. The man was as handsome as he was intimidating.

“Tell me what's going on.”

You floundered for an answer. “Just... work.” His grip on your arm tightened. You winced. He had to know you were lying-- he clearly saw something in your future he didn't like. You had to give him something. “I went ahead and scheduled the interviews for the assistant position next week. Thank you for my time here. I'm sorry we weren't a better fit.”

Oh.

He let go of your arm. He only put out that help wanted ad to be prepared in case you left the agency. He should have considered your reaction when you found out. Stupid. So incredibly stupid. He was usually so thorough. Sasaki sat at his desk. He needed to think, and he couldn't do that standing right next to you. When he saw your timeline cut short, he never thought he might have contributed to it. He could change the future. Fix it. He'd seen it done before.

“I'm not firing you.”

“It's okay. I didn't take it personally,” you lied, reminding yourself to smile. Always smile.

You clearly didn't believe him, but he couldn't bring himself to tell you why he was looking for a new assistant. Now wasn't the time for a love confession. How could today have gone so wrong? He needed a plan.

“What are your plans for this evening?”

Was he asking you to stay late? You shrugged. ��Running errands. Groceries. Dinner.” File for unemployment. “Normal stuff.”

He nodded, threading his fingers together. It didn't sound like you were planning on ending things tonight, but he wasn't an expert. His hero work centered on fighting external threats, like villains or natural disasters, not civilians who were a danger to themselves. He should let an expert take over, but could he really entrust you to a stranger? Could he convince you to talk to a crisis center when you couldn't admit anything was wrong? Would the shame push you over that edge? And why were you still smiling?

He needed to buy time, and for that, you wouldn't be leaving his sight. He looked into your future again, but it remained unchanged. The last push seemed to be that phone call, but he couldn't make out who it was from. It didn't matter. “Give me your phone.”

His tone brokered no argument, and you handed it over without hesitation. His thumb brushed over the screen. It was cracked. Surely he was paying you enough to have it repaired or replaced outright. Sasaki frowned, considering. No phone meant no phone call. No phone call meant no tears.

He snapped it in half.

“What the hell!?” You rushed to take the broken pieces from him, but he held them tighter.

“I'll buy you a new one.”

“That's not the point! It wasn't yours!”

“I need you to work overtime tonight. You are not to leave this building, is that understood?”

Fate could be rewritten. Sasaki would ensure you made it through tonight, even if you ended up hating him for it.

#trigger warning #suicide mention #sir nighteye x reader #GN!reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfic #Fighting Fate #This is my first explicitly gender neutral fic #and my first time using a banner like the big kids #Sir Nighteye #Mirai Sasaki x Reader #Mirai Sasaki

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bitch-in-a-bag · 3 years ago

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can we talk about how the LGBT movement has changed in the past 15 years?

in the light of the events surrounding Chris chan, and people prioritizing pronouns over the rape of a woman with dementia, I think it displays just how... different things are.

i personally feel like it's been co-opted by the more loud and entitled mtfs/ males/penis-havers/whatever pc term exists for the XY chromosome'd, who go too far and aren't reasonably kept in check. I think terf no longer has meaning anymore because it's just become a word we use to silence anyone that disagrees with a trans woman. immediately you're going to call me a terf, I accept that, but please continue reading. I may suprise you. calling someone who's transgender a terf is kinda messed up anyway, and that's exactly why im writing this.

I also think that everyone else (allies, ftms, etc) have followed suit because they've written this messed up narrative that EvErYoNe iS VaLiD. except for trans penis-havers, bc they're the most oppressed and the most valid, actually, regardless of their experiences.

I never used to believe the above because it was always written off as terf shit, and ignoring it kinda benefitted me, but between seeing ftms getting bashed for refusing to follow new "TME" rules as if they aren't trans too, and seeing outrage around Chris chans pronouns, I think it's time to start saying things that may make people uncomfortable. innocent people are already getting hurt by this, and we need to do better. it's time to get uncomfortable.

I want to remind you that perception is both the relying factor, and also the downfall of newer lgbt theory. if my profile were mtf coded, maybe it currently is, you'd call me a self hating trans and I wouldn't be that big of a deal. terfs would probably target me.

if my profile was ftm coded, I would be absolutely skewered for daring to speak out about these issues, even though they do actually affect ftms disproportionately. terfs would try to convince me that being trans is a plague and a mental illness, and to just ~be a cis woman~!

and if assumed cis, I would 100% be assumed radfem terf, and everything I say would immediately be dismissed because of the genuine damage terfs have done. but terfs would still probably flock to this post and berate me for daring to validate trans people At All, because to them, being transgender is a mental illness akin to an eating disorder, and "giving in" to it is "self harm". clearly I don't believe that, so hopefully you'll give me at least some benefit of the doubt.

so, does my identity matter? i have a feeling you'll say yes, because it gives us a good idea of experiences I do and don't have expertise in, and thus room to talk about. but I refuse to directly identify what I actually am because I want the focus of any resulting conversation to be my message and not my self identification. if you read between the lines and figure it out that's just fine, but I would like to be heard first and foremost.

my profile is thus an attempt at being cis female coded, somewhat out of comfort, and that is likely what I'll be assumed to be due to the beliefs I am expressing, even though there is a substantial risk of getting misgendered and dismissed, no matter what my birth sex may actually be. i will give you a hint about my identity: I am transgender, on HRT and everything, and I have been personally affected by all of this. rest assured, this is well within my lane to speak about, and it does matter if you misgender me.

I want you to really think about that. before you respond, really think about if someone saying words on tumblr, talking about their OWN experiences and their take on recent history that applies to themself, really more worthy of being misgendered and harassed than... someone who said they transitioned so they could date lesbians, and then raped their own mother with dementia.

is that fair or just? or is this just a new way of letting people with penises do whatever they want? I personally think it's the latter. we need to hold people like Chris chan accountable without getting caught up on something as minor **in comparison** as misgendering and self identification. Is it sad and confusing that someone who self IDs as transgender became 1:1 with the most dangerous stereotypes that exist for trans women? Of course it is. But it doesn't mean that self identification is suddenly more important than a literal crime being committed.

I would normally dismiss it as a fluke or outright trolling if the evidence weren't so damning that this is in fact a real event that happened. If I hadn't seen this happen to other people, and if I didn't literally know another mtf person who used their dysphoria as an excuse for date rape on multiple occasions and never got any consequences for it.

It's not a one time thing, it's a developing problem that we need to stop before more people have their lives ruined. I can't even imagine how traumatizing and messed up it is for an FTM person to be date raped, by another transgender person no less. When I, an abuse survivor, told people of this MTFs red flags, people violently silenced me. People who didn't know I was trans called me a terf and transphobic. We, as a community, could've protected someone from getting date raped, and we didn't. Trans women can be awful, horrible fucking people, because they are people. Protecting them at all costs is wrong. Protecting them from transphobia is what we should be doing.

That being said, misgendering is still skeevy, and I haven't done anything like raped a disabled woman who is no longer able to consent, or date raped my own partner. if you give a shit about respecting my identity, please use they/them for me. if not, use visual perception and make assumptions that will most likely be incorrect, skew your own argument, and put me on the same level as a rapist, and arguably a fetishist. And I do need to remind you that calling someone transgender a rapist and a fetishist without evidence is still definitely classic transphobia, to the letter, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that.

as someone who is same sex attracted, I also want to bring this up as well.

in the US in the past 15 years, the movement as a whole pretty much went "YEAH BORN THIS WAY" with Lady Gaga, and then jumped ship to prioritize mostly mtfs at every angle. do mtfs need support? absolutely. but they don't need misguided toxic positivity, and that's what it's turned into.

it's gotten genuinely homophobic to the point where actually homosexual people are constantly being erased and demonized via "genital preferences are a fetish uwu", and vulva havers, especially the trans ones, are constantly being told to shut up about their experiences.

as much as you want to deny bioessentialism, its still very much well and alive with newer trans movement sentiments when we classify ftms as not worthy of speaking about their own issues with terms like "TME". it's also incredibly ignorant towards FTMs who pass, but dress feminine for comfort, and get mistaken for MTF, and treated like garbage because of it. They are not remotely exempt from misogyny, transphobia, or the intersection of the two, and it is not anyone's job to tell them they don't ever experience that when they do. Turning ftms and biological homosexuals into our enemies-- especially when the actual cause is transphobia and harmful gender stereotypes-- does nothing good or healthy for our movement.

Dont be mistaken, though, passing isn't the focus or end all be all here, it's the perception of others that ends up drastically effecting your experiences. There are words like misogyny that imply treatment via birth sex, however this too can be reliant on external perception. If an MTF individual either transitions very young, has an abundance of resources to transition, or just gets lucky and passes well, chances are she will experience a lot more misogyny than people may give credit to. inversely, someone who just started questioning yesterday, but lived as a male their whole life up until then, they genuinely cannot speak about misogyny with that much room because they simply haven't experienced it at an accurate enough angle or for enough time to understand it as a repeated and sociological force.

It works the other way as well, though; someone who's known that they're trans for a long time and haven't had the resources to transition, or do not or cannot pass in the eyes of society; these people suffer pain that we don't neccesarily have a word for yet, imo. It makes dysphoria worse and it makes living seem hopeless. And as a community, we deal with this is in a really messed up way by over-validating them instead of solving the core issue at hand. and people who suffer from this, but also acknowledge they can't claim what they haven't experienced, are left with nowhere to go.

And its important to acknowledge these things because they're integral to the over-encompassing trans experience. Instead of lying to everyone and telling everyone they pass/giving out unconditional positive regard, our focus should be making it so that it **doesn't matter if you pass**. that you're still worth respect and dignity if you're transgender, no matter what passing is or what it means to you, and no matter how you present. But also, if you do something awful, you still need to be held accountable, especially if you use yourself, your body, or your trans status to contribute to other axi of oppression.

Transphobia is a word that encompasses and addresses all of that, regardless of birth sex. "TME" shuts that down in favor of only letting MTF's speak. Which is still very bio-essentialist, and I can't help but feel like we've gone full circle.

Once upon a time you couldn't even get married if your partner had the same genitals as you. in the US, this was less than 7 years ago. and if you care about human rights activism, you know damn well that legal modification is not the end all be all. people who are genuinely homosexual are still oppressed, but the trans movement has started stepping on them to make ground we don't deserve. homosexuals are ok and valid. it's not a genital preference, and the prescence of trans people doesn't make conversion therapy sentiments ok, ever.

we've gone full circle, and it's not right.

#trans rights #homosexuality #human rights #lgbt #lgbt community #trans #tw: rape #transphobia

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estoniacobaltpayne · 4 years ago

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Judgement Day

Chapter 3: Temptation

Summary: Desperate, a force user bargains for her freedom; if she acquires the ‘asset’ deemed top priority, she would be free from the life that has enslaved her. Years of training has prepared her, but she’s stubborn and unlucky and more often than not she’s biting off more than she can chew. Maybe pulling the long con is the only path to freedom, but if it is, there’s a Mandalorian blocking it.

Warnings: language, sexual themes

Parirings: Din Djarin X Reader

Prologue: Here!

Chapter 1: Here!

Chapter 2: Here!

The air filling the cockpit of the ship is somehow both hotter than Arvala-7, and stuffier than Sorgan. The only sounds were the faint beeping from the dashboard, and the child’s playful cooing. Ragna sat in the copilot’s seat behind Mando’s left, and mulled over why she would bother to save him from the AT-ST walker back on Sorgan. What was the point? She just hindered her own damn plan! What the fuck is wrong with me? She thought hopelessly to herself.

Mando, in the pilot’s chair, was mulling over similar thoughts, and was just as confused. If Ragna was plotting against him, why would she bother saving him when she could have just as easily let him die? He wanted so badly to ask her why she helped him; to talk about the last few weeks and the child and her father and everything in between. He had to, really. He was going to. Yeah, he was going to.

“(Y/N)-“

But that’s as far as he got, because all of a sudden, another ship jumped out of hyperspace behind them and immediately got to work on shooting them down. Mando was quick to engage and fight back, but the abruptness of the engaging fighter caused all three of the them to be lurched from their seats. As Mando warded off the aggressor, Ragna leaped up to strap the child into the other copilot’s seat. She could hear an incoming message claiming that Mando’s insubordination to the Bounty Hunter’s Guild was to soon be his demise, but she paid little attention. The two hunters continued to converse, and after Ragna strapped in the child, she turned to help Mando. As much as she wanted to see him dead, if she didn’t help him take this other bounty hunter out, they’d both be nothing more than a waste of and in space. And then where would she be? She did her best to hold their opponent still using her abilities, but he was a slippery little bastard.

“I have an idea,” Mando declared. “I’m going to break. When I do, he’ll jut in front of us. You hold him still, and I’ll shoot. Brace yourself.”

And he did just that. (Y/N) braced herself on the dashboard, but the force of the manoeuvre was so strong, it threw her back onto the Mandalorian’s lap; she had no time to pay it any mind, because all conscious thought went into using the force to hold the other bounty hunter’s ship still. Once she knew their attacker had been terminated though, she began lamenting the fact that it was a random bounty hunter that was vaporised out of existence and not her.

Because being strewn across this man’s lap was bad enough, but looking up and meeting his visor’s gaze was worse. Instinctively, he had wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, and his legs had been spread further apart to make more room for her form. The two were unable to look away from each other- all reasonable thought had been thrown out the window, and they were stuck in time, once again. It wasn’t until the warning sirens blared out in panicked shrills that they pulled out of their trance. (Y/N) quickly stood up and moved back to the vacant copilot’s seat.

Not another word was said until they reached Tatooine.

Mando landed and exchanged quick words with the owner of the hanger before making to exit, off to find work. Ragna rushed out of the ship.

“Shouldn’t I come with you? You might need my help?” Ragna stated, realising that the Tatooinian dunes would be the perfect place to leave a Mandalorian corpse.

If that’s even what I want now. She was quick to push that thought aside.

“No, stay here and make sure nothing happens to the child,” came the Mandalorian’s response.

She tried not to let her face drop in earnest annoyance. “Yeah, I suppose that’s my job anyways!” she responded, trying to appear lighthearted.

Well, she could make that work too, she supposed. As soon as the ship was stable enough to fly, she’d take the child and leave. It didn’t matter if the bounty hunter was left dead or alive after his excursion. She’d be gone, ship controls in one hand, and child in the other.

Gods, please let this work this round, she thought. She was starting to get the feeling that if she didn’t end this soon, she’d never gain her freedom from the Empire. Or worse- she wouldn’t want to gain it if it meant bringing harm to the Mandalorian and the child. Whatever happens to the Mandalorian and the child is not my damn problem! she kept reassuring herself. But the repeated mantra was quickly beginning to lose its effect.

——

Mando had found that his guard was slipping throughout this whole ordeal in bringing in Fennec Shand. Catching her shouldn’t have been so hard, and he knew for damned sure he shouldn’t have entrusted Toro Calican with jack shit. And yet here he was, moping on the back of a damned dewback. But it wasn’t even that which contributed the most to his mood.

It was (Y/N).

The sight of her strewn across his lap had been nearly too much. It had been a while since he’d been able to… take care of himself in any way, and an even longer time since he’d been able to do so with someone he cared about in any capacity. He tried to reason with himself that he didn’t hold a single iota of deeper feelings for (Y/N), but he was beginning to realise that he couldn’t keep pushing these feelings back, no matter how terribly they were conflicting with the logic that he usually kept on autopilot. And, oh, was the ingrained image of her looking up at him from his lap interfering with that autopilot. She was becoming a problem.

More than anything, she perplexed Mando to no end. She had had several chances to slip behind his back and betray him in any number of ways, and yet, she hadn’t. But then why had both Cara and Omera been unable to trust her? Sure she had been caught in the middle of some weird situations that she had been able to explain away as mere extenuating circumstances, but if she had been attempting to betray him this whole time, why did she bother to save him not once, not twice, but three times now?

And why did he like it so damn much when she feel into his lap earlier? Oh, man. That was going to a persistent little reoccurring thought, wasn’t it?

——

Meanwhile, Ragna was beginning to realise that enacting any part of her grander scheme was going to be easier in theory. While conning the Mandalorian was proving to be easier that she originally anticipated (or so she liked to think), it was the detail in the plan of finding a moment of solitude that was really bearing problems.

The mechanic who owned the hangar, Peli Motto, was yet another of such obstacles in her plot. She was always around; always shouting at her droids, insisting that Ragna help her with the ship, and then there was the incessant talking. Oh, the talking. Ragna’s patience was beginning to wear thin. If she spent half as much time focusing on fixing the ship as she did talking at me, I could have left already! Ragna found herself thinking more often than not.

It wasn’t until Ragna was reporting back to her father the next evening where she began to grow restlessly desperate. His words had been particularly harsh that night, more so than usual, and it caused an untameable panic to rise in her throat, and her mind recalled the fear she felt when she was taken as a child, and paralleled it to her hunt for freedom in the present. Ragna could do nothing but helplessly watch the images flash by in her head.

A younger, though still just as terrifying version of Ragna’s Imperial father dragged away from a burning city. Though just a child, the severity of the situation had visibly wised her up instantly.

“I don’t want to go! Leave me be!” the young girl shouted.

“Quiet, girl! You’d do well to learn your place!” the man spit back.

“No! I won’t go with you! I won’t!” she pleaded, tears running down her round, adolescent face.

The older man sneered and let out a cynical laugh. “Oh? And what, pray tell, do you intend to do to stop me?”

“I’ll fight! I’ll never be one of you! I swear it!” she thrashed in the man’s arms as he led her away from her burning home. She thrashed and thrashed until she tired herself out.

She remembers being awake as he carted her away. Across the galaxy. To the Imperial Cruiser she would be forced to know as home. She was awake to witness this, but she was numb.

She was numb when her new ‘father’ laid her down in her new bed and told her this was her home now.

She was numb when he took her to a wrinkly old man who had the same powers as her. The same powers that her family had died trying to shelter her from.

She was numb when the wrinkly old man told her he was the Emperor, and, lord, was she thankful she was numb when he tortured her into using the force that her family had kept her from using.

The memories faded with dark echoes of, “you must embrace your potential,” and, “we are the only ones who want you.” Years of this brainwashing had been lost on her; trying to make her believe her family- her real family- didn’t want her. But she knew they had broken her in so many other ways; she knew when they sent her out on her first mission. She was not even eighteen years of age, and yet, she had killed so many so easily. This, of course, was not the first circumstance where she had been made to take another’s life, but this was the first time she had actually enjoyed it to some extent. She liked to tell herself that it was just the thrill of being let out on her own for the first time, but deep down, she knew that that was not the case.

She couldn’t settle after her reverie; her anxiety was pumping her blood through her head too hard. She needed to go. Immediately. The ship, whatever state it was in, would have to do.

She desperately clambered out of the ship to fetch the child, who had been playing with Peli’s droids in the shipyard. But, oh, so conveniently, he was no longer there.

“Kid? Kid where are you!” she whispered around the shipyard, doing her best to not be noticed by Peli or one of her many droids.

She was not expecting another, unknown person to catch her, though.

“The kid’s stayin’ right here.”

So close. She was so damn close to obtaining her freedom. If it wasn’t for this new asshole, Toro-fucking-Calican and his damned existence, she’d have already been out of here. He knocked her unconscious with one of Peli’s wrenches before she even had a chance to turn around and stare him in the eyes.

——

When she came to a few hours later, Calican had Peli Motto held hostage at gunpoint. The child was held in his arms, close enough to gunpoint to be a problem. She reckoned that her best bet was to try and manipulate him into doing what she wanted, but either Calican was smarter than he looked, or his head was too thick to penetrate, because nothing she said was having an effect on him. Eventually, she realised manipulating his mind wasn’t going to work, either.

So, out of options, she pulled out one of her oldest tricks. She hated using it, really, and had only used it a handful of times. It left a sour taste in her mouth, as she was made to use it for the first time at only the age of ten to force a prisoner of war into giving information. When he didn’t… Ragna didn’t like to think about that.

And she didn’t like to think about the world tuning out around her; she didn’t like thinking about how, even though her hand was at least twelve feet away from his neck, she could feel the blood clogging on either end of where the force was cutting off his air. She absolutely didn’t want to think about the panic that was flowing through the areas in his veins that his blood no longer could. She didn’t want to think about the child that was calling to her through the force to stop. She couldn’t stop. This was what she was supposed to do. Designed to do.

Ragna didn’t hear the Mandalorian arrive in the hangar. Neither did she hear him calling out to her. She didn’t hear him the second time, or the third. She couldn’t hear anything outside her head and Calican’s; only his pleading in his head, his screaming, and the screams of her past drilling holes in her sanity.

She was violently ripped from her spiralling when Mando laid a gentle hand on her upper arm and whispered her name, her real name, into her ear. Calican doubled over and sucked in gulps of air. (Y/N) could only spin around and stare into the dark visor. Ironically, it was the lightest thing in her line of sight, the rest of the world still dark around her. He gripped her arm tighter and leaned in, whispering her name again as she began to come back into the real world.

“Your girlfriend’s a psycho, Mando!” Calican exclaimed, regaining his breath. He was quick to aim his blaster again, his aim trying to decide between Mando, Ragna, and Peli Motto.

Mando only shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly, his aim at Calican’s head not once faltering. “Yeah? That’s not sayin’ much coming from you.” Mando’s words were pointed, calculated; their intended effect to sway Calican punctual and precise.

But what Ragna couldn’t stop focusing on was that Mando didn’t deny Calican’s statement about her being his girlfriend. The logical side of her knew that Mando wasn’t going to go into details with this man; he’d be dead within moments anyways, so why bother prolonging the conversation? But another part of her, a part buried deep down, liked that he hadn’t denied it. Which was dangerous, Ragna concluded, and something that should not, under any circumstance, be further considered or dwelled upon.

Mando and Calican only bickered for another second or two before things got messy. Blasters started firing, and Calican dropped the child in favour of an extra appendage. Ragna knew this was her last chance to bolt; with the Mandalorian still preoccupied with a shootout with Calican, she scooped up the child, dashed up the ramp of the ship and ascended in to the cockpit, closing the doors behind her. She had to get this ship in the air. It was cutting it close- too close- with the Mandalorian still in the hangar, but it was what it was.

The blood pumping through her ears muffled the sounds of gunfire outside, which was to her detriment, because just as she was about to finish firing up the ship, the Mandalorian entered the cockpit.

“What are you doing?” he said, pulling her out of her trance-like focus.

Ragna jumped; how did he crawl himself out of that so quickly? Actually, she thought, I really shouldn’t be so fucking surprised, at this point.

She knew she had to get herself out of this one on the spot. She pulled a pleasantly surprised face and turned to face him. “Oh thank the maker it’s you, Mando!” She let out a fake breath she wasn’t really holding. Or at least, not for the reason she wanted Mando to think.

He just continued to stare at her inquisitively. “Yes, but… what were you doing, Ragna?”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times while she thought up a quick lie. “It… it was purely instinctual! I couldn’t let Calican get the child! I…” she called upon every acting skill she could muster to look truly defeated in the chair. “So I ran up here. If I locked us in the cockpit, he wouldn’t be able to get in! I thought that by starting up the ship, I’d have time to get away should he get the upper hand!”

The Mandalorian tilted his head in a patronising manor. “Really? You think Calican would be able to out-gun me?”

“Well, you were the one who got himself out-witted by the novice in the middle of the desert!” Ragna gave him a teasing look. “Perhaps your reputation no longer precedes you. Maybe you’re really just the ‘okayest’ bounty hunter in the parsec.”

Mando only shrugged his shoulders and dismissed her teasing, before ushering her up and out of the pilot’s chair. She was heading out of the cockpit when Mando let out a final, “good job.”

Her head spun around faster than the rest of her body could, leaving her in an awkward, disjointed position. It reflected her shattered inner thoughts quite fittingly, she supposed.

“What did you say?” she inquired. She had heard him just fine, but she was having a hard time believing that he had said it at all. It knocked the air out of her, and it showed in her words.

“You… you did the right thing. If Calican had gotten the upper hand, I would have wanted you to have taken the kid and bailed. And that goes for any situation in the future, too. So… good job.”

Ragna could only let out a pathetic ‘thank you’ as she exited the cockpit. How could he thank her? How dare he thank her after what she had just attempted, and then lied about? How dare he make her feel welcomed, something she hadn’t felt in such a long time, when she was doing everything in her power to double cross him? How dare he make her question every moral, or lack thereof, she was trained to push aside in favour of the advancement of the Empire?

How dare he tempt her out of the darkness she had shrouded herself in for personal security?

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #mando x y/n #mando fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfiction #sw #sw fanfic #baby yoda

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calliecat93 · 3 years ago

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ST: TNG S4 Watchthrough Episodes 6-9

Legacy: We have ended up on the home planet of Tasha Yar… and wow it’s not a nice place. We also find out that she has a sister, welp. So… it was alright. Ishara is very similar to Tasha in demeanor, but also very different. I tilt my head at the crew being so willing to trust and accept Ishara into their midst when they know nothing about this woman. I could see the ‘she’s using them’ plot a mile away. But to be fair, the episode addresses it. They wanted to see Tasha. They wanted to see the brave, loyal, strong-willed Security Chief that they lost so callously in her sister… and in the end, that took over. While I can see why Ishara acted as she did, she didn’t know these people and hasn’t seen Tasha in years so she’s under no obligation to care about them, it really has to hurt that she used them and almost committed mass murder and make them take the lame. Her world is a hellhole so her actions make sense, but that doens’t change the betrayal. Especially for Data. Riker sums it up well, with trust comes betrayal… but without trust, there is no friendship. That’s just the cruel truth. Anyways, it was a fine episode. I like that we have a pot-mortem for Tasha even if late… but it just makes me wish that tasha herself didn’t get killed sos he could have had her own plot and feeligns focused on. It still pisse sme off and is just a reminder of so much wasted potential. But ah well, for what they had to work with, they did it welll. 3/5.

Reunion: K’Ehleyr is back… and with a child. Worf’s child, to be exact. Huh. have been waiting very patiently for a follow-up to Sins of the Father and this was an excellent one! Back in K’Ehleyr’s first episode, she was unwilling to take the Oath and Worf wanted to so much and follow the Klingon traditions. Here? K’Ehleyr is ready and doens’t care that he was discommendated… but now Worf can’t. he’s been dishonored and even if it means nothing to K’Ehleyr, it means a great deal to him. He can’t let her or his son bear that shame. It’s so hard to watch him here. How anguished he feels, the way the other Klingons treat him despite it being their damn fault that he accepted it, to begin with, just knowing that he did nothing wrong… but for the greater good, he has to bear it. He doesn’t even want Alexander to be known as his son not because he’s unwilling to accept parental responsibility but to spare him of the dishonor. Just… freakin’ ouch. I was so happy to see K’Ehleyr back and her character is just so freakin’ good and her wanting to allow Alexander to find his life path? Excellent parenting. So… needless to say, her being killed off pisses me off. They at least allowed her character to shine, but… it feels like they only did it to make Worf suffer more. It was well-executed, I was about ready to tear up and Worf being driven to kill Duras for all the suffering that he put him through and now killing the woman he loved (which btw the romantic chemistry was MUCH better here than last time)? I can’t blame him at all. I get why he got reprimanded since Duras was a political figure and this can cause a whole host of problems and clearly Picard was sympathetic… but I just felt so bad for Worf. At least he admitted that he was Aexander’s father and hopefully the poor kid will have a good life with Worf’s parents, bu… yeah. K’Ehleyr’s death stops me form giving this a perfect score, very least I wish we had gotten to see her fight instead of goign to commerical and them walking in on her bloody corpse… but at least they got the tone down. I just hope that one day, Worf and his brother can truly expose the conspiracy because Worf deserves a Hell of a lot better. 4.5/5.

Future Imperfect: Let’s perform a thought experiment, shall we? Imagine going on assignment on your birthday, business as usual… then some kind of mishap happens. You wake up… and discover that you have lost sixteen years' worth of your memory. You can’t remember significant life changes, special moments for yourself and your loved ones, or even your spouse and child. Then just as you begin getting used to things and accepting this new life… you find out that it was all a lie and you were in an illusion all along. You were captured and tricked… and then you find out that was also a lie and it was all due to a lonely alien child left on a barren planet/within a highly advanced Holodeck system that can give him anything that he wants, everyone he knew had died and he did all of this just to have a friend. Congratulations folks, you have now experienced what Riker went through this episode! Yeah, this episode was crazy. I feel bad for the poor kid, while he shouldn’t have done what he did we’re talking about a lonely child essentially forced to live in a Holodeck and just wanted to interact with someone real. Also, I loved how Riker got clued in on how the future word was fake, excellent call-back to Season One! Not much else to say, but good episode! It was wild, that’s for sure~ 3.5/5.

Final Mission: Well folks, this is the curtain call for Wesley Crusher. I know that he pops back up once or twice, but this will be his final episode as a main character as he finally enters the Academy. We’ll get to my final thoughts on Wesley here in a bit, but l focus on the episode itself first. And… it was fine. We have Picard, Wesley, and some third guy crash land on a desert planet, the Enterprise unaware of if they’re alive or not. Thus the three struggle to survive which not only is the third guy essentially a paranoid asshole… but a cave-in seriosuly injures Picard. Thus Wesley is more or less on his own and has to keep Picard alive. Thankfully we avoid killing him off, and thus they make sure to give Wesley a proper send-off. They let him showcase his strengths with his intellegence, fast thinking, and compared to in the beginning he’s much more mature and capable of handling an Away Mission. This convinced me that yes, Wesley is ready for the Academy and that he will be a great Starfleet Officer someday. Meanwhile the Enterprise are dealing with their own issues because of course they are. Nothing can ever just go easy for these people. can it? It’s fine. The Enterprise plot didn’t have me invested aside form worrying about Dr. Crusher. The poor woman just burris herself in her work to deal with her worry about Wesley and evades Troi when she tries to assure her Otherwise the plot is there sot hat it can be a solo Picard and Wesley adventure without hem interfering. Which while I havn’t been the biggest fan of their dynamic, it’s clear how much Welsey admires Picard such as recounting their Samaritan Snare adventure, and Picard admititng that he brought him along because he was going to miss the kid. It’s a nice moment between the characters and allows Wesley to truly open up… though I wish it focused more on him and his mother since that’s been seriously lacking, but ah well. It was still a good send-off episode for Wesley and that’s how you want to treat your characters, whether they stay ont he show or not. 3/5.

As for Wesley himself… it’s been a bumpy road. Do I agree with the consensus that Wesley is an annoying child character that even his actor agrees with (albeit I think jokingly but still)? No. Wesley isn't a bad character. He’s a smart young kid, tries his best, makes mistakes but tries to do his best, and he grew. He’s a perfectly likable kid and this episode especially shows the best of him. Do I agree that the character's role and execution were annoying and contributed to his reputation? Yes. That is ultimately what it boils down to decent character, poor execution. In S1 Wesley was elevated far more than he needed to be. He was given privileges that no other character his age would have been granted no matter the competency level that borders on blatant favoritism. Whenever he made a serious error, he got praise for fixing it, never scolded for his actions with The Naked Now being the worst example. He still had good episodes like Coming of Age, but alas. I think having a kid character who aspires to be in Starfleet, has a parent who is a prominent crew member, and being able to use his skills to help was a perfectly fine idea… but there were just issues with how they did it. S2 and 3 were. While I disliked him at the end of The Dauphin and he still got showed some blatant favoritism, it was better balanced. I didn't feel he earned to be an Ensign until this episode… y’know, the one that shipped him off to The Academy. Crusher being written out in S2 and then brought back in S3 also really killed any and all potential that their dynamic could have truly brought which also hurt. It really feels like by S3 they just didn’t know what to do with the character anymore, limiting him to mainly Helmsman duty. He wasn't being elevated anymore… but he wasn't adding anything anymore either. Maybe promoting him was to help give him something… but Wil Wheaton decided to go, and that ended that. I can’t say I’m sad to see Wesley go because his potential just got squandered to the point that keeping him just felt pointless, and having him go to the Academy feels like the best natural end-point for him, so might as well be now. Nevertheless, Wesley was still part of the crew and for all that I criticized, he certainly didn’t deserve the hate that he got. If people like or even relate to the character, that’s great! He just didn’t work for me unfortunateley. Wil Wheaton obviously moved on to bigger, better things and is well-liked in the fandom, so that’s good cause he certainly did the best that he could. He just wasn’t given a lot of good material. Hopefully Welsey’s later guest appearances will give him somethingg ood and heck maybe they’ll convince Wheaton to come back in Picard one day, but for now… farewell Wesley. Can’t say I’ll miss you, but it wasn’t the worst ride either.

#st watchthrough

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cosmiciaria · 5 years ago

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In defense of Final Fantasy XIII-2 (long post - mild spoilers ahead!)

Disclaimer: Sorry for the pics bad quality. I don't own a ps3, my friend lent me one, and I don't really know how to take screenshots, so I did my best to make my photos look visible. Just don't mind them much.

SO, I'll start by saying that this game IS BAD and it's part of a badly executed and hated trilogy. To be honest, I don't appreciate Final Fantasy XIII much: the first time I played it I was blinded by (light – sorry pun) the visuals and the crystals and everything was shining and whatever. But then I replayed it, and started seeing all the things people were complaining about. As I skipped some scenes to make my second playthrough smoother and faster, I noticed one thing: I was bored. I wasn't enjoying the gameplay, I didn't understand the story in its entirety even if it was my second time playing it. It was one of the first videogames I played in English (hello from Argentina) so I thought that maybe my limitations with the language were dampening my experience, but I asked a friend about the plot and she told me she didn't understand it either.

At any rate, I only played FFXIII because I wanted to play FFXIII-2. I didn't know why, or what, but something in the sequel (cof cof Noel cof) gave me the urge to try and see it for myself. Like I mentioned before, I don't own a ps3, so I had to wait until in 2015 they released the PC ports. I was so happy with this, that I decided to complete the game 100% and see everything it had to offer.

And it has so much to offer! Yes, I won't deny it, the plot is all over the place, and this is where the trilogy goes to hell with its story. But, let's just say we are all aboard the suspension of disbelief train – if we do it, we'll find there's a great story behind all the time gates.

What I enjoyed the most about this sequel was the characters. In XIII I spent HOURS complaining about how annoying everyone was (except for Fang, she's perfect). I couldn't relate to or stand anyone: Lightning became obnoxious with her monotone, Hope was a crybaby with a pretentious revenge plot that didn't work out well, Sahz is just kinda there not contributing anything to the plot, Vanille just has that oh-please-kill-me squeaky voice and Snow is… I hate Snow. I just hate him. The little fondness I have for him stems from my love for Troy Baker's performances, but oh my Etro, Snow is just like a shonen hero in the body of a 21-year-old man. It's just not right, it defies the laws of anime and videogames. Please eradicate him. I hate Square Enix for creating a character like him and forcing me to play as him and use him as a Sentinel because he's just that good in that role, damn him!

But in FFXIII-2? Suddenly, I found myself rooting for Noel and Serah. We get to learn about Noel's backstory, his sad present, his depressing lifestyle. The inexorability of his tale, the imminence of his decaying world. And he becomes such an endearing partner! He's always there to catch Serah if she falls, he's always asking her if she's feeling well. He's proficient, he's efficient, and he's not complaining about stupid stuff. He even doesn't want to talk about his past because he doesn't want to bother Serah – PLEASE Hope just learn something from this man!

And what about Serah? She's not the best character, I give it to you, but she goes from damsel in distress to a badass time traveler in a blink of an eye, and I can certainly get behind that! She's selfless, she faces everything head on, even though she's scared. Her journey began with the search of her sister, but slowly she found herself surrounded by things she couldn't quite comprehend, only to learn that she was more entangled with the fate of the world than she'd anticipated.

And if you do some optional stuff, you can learn things about Mog as well – not only his features are useful (and funny), but he's also the comic relief, adding extra spice to some of the conversations. His exaggerated expressions and his cute voice make up for a good companion.

And I cannot NOT mention Caius (Liam O'Brien I stan). Say whatever about him, but I love his characterization. He's well made. Yes, he wants the same as countless others villains from the FF franchise, but this time I can understand his motives. I feel pity for him. I want to help him. He's cursed beyond redemption. And he's got the best theme song ever.

I can understand these characters. The game spends enough time on everyone so we can learn to care for them, they show us how their relationship nurtures, their dynamics. And I care! This is something XIII-2 made right and XIII did not: I don't care about Lightning, or Hope, or Snow, but I do care that Noel and Serah succeed in their task. I don't care about Barthandelus or the Pulse Fal'Cie, but I do care about Caius getting what he wants. XIII had so many characters but spent too little time in developing (properly, at least) their strengths and weaknesses, but most of all, their relationships. The only real relationship that feels genuine is the one between Fang and Vanille, but that's because they know each other from before the events of the game; whereas the rest of the team feels like… badly placed pieces of puzzle trying to fit.

I know you're gonna say, hey, other FF put together characters that had nothing to do and it worked (yeah, I can mention FFXII and to a certain extent, because Penelo and Vaan were just there for the lulz I guess). In XIII it just didn't work for me: I couldn't root for any of them, and when the game was finished, I was kinda relieved.

That doesn't happen in XIII-2. Maybe they got it, maybe it was out of luck, I don't know, but characters here are better fleshed out, and we can learn to care and root for them, so we want to see it through to the end by their side.

That's just one thing that XIII-2 did better.

Gameplay was enhanced: now it's faster, more strategic, it doesn't bullshit you like when the leader died in XIII. I'm not going to delve deeper into the Pokémon thing, but yes, you can catch them all, and it adds a lot to the stakes because there's one more thing to gain besides the battle: the monster you're fighting. The game added so many features, it blows me away: the time travelling, opening new paths, closing some; the fragments, which give you experience points and insights in some of the lore; the fragment skills, additional things you can earn or do if certain requirements are met; the f*cking casino that has chocobo races, something that was lacking in the previous game; you can add ADORNMENTS to the monsters you tame to get the ultimate fashion experience. I don't know, there's so much to do, too many timelines to visit. There are too many sidequests, but all of them are linked to the main plot, so you feel like you're still learning things from the main story. Yes, I know, they reuse the same map over and over (Yaschas Massif and Oerba, I'm looking at you), but they compensate with some brand new maps, like Academia 4XX AF which must be my favorite location, so full of life and futuristic style, and the Archylte Steppe, with its weather changing feature.

Sometimes the lack of gameplay slaps you in the face but in the good sense, for instance in Academia 400 AF, where you have a forced battle every two seconds. The sense of urgency and danger is well conveyed through the use of random encounters with enemies. Or when you visit the Void Beyond with Serah, that you're alone, and you have a ghastly Mog following you around, with some of his features blocked. They used everything they had at their disposal, and they used it well. Gone are the days with the endless hallway that we complained so much about in XIII (as if FFX wasn't linear as hell too, but we don't complain about that one – don't dare because it's my favorite FF I warn you): now you can choose how to play, when to play, face that monster or go for an alternative ending. They listened to our whining and gave us this sequel, yes, that nobody asked for, but yet, they did.

There's a huge world-building surrounding all the time travelling thing: in the future, time travel becomes something of an everyday topic, so when you walk around in Academia 4XX you can hear kids playing "let's go and destroy those evil paradox monsters". They built a world around the idea that you can time travel, and that's how Hope gets to live and see every era, monitoring his work that will take centuries to be fulfilled. This is how we should take the time travel in this game, not as doomsday-serious as in Terminator or Back to the Future, but with a more light-hearted approach. I think that's what they tried to do, and it works well that way.

However light-hearted this game tries to be, it has some sad and depressing bits, mostly around Noel and his way of life. Whenever his theme song kicks-in, you can understand all his character without a word. And that takes me to another thing this game excels at: soundtrack. Now, I won't say it's better than XIII, because the first game has some awesome music as well, but I'll be damned if I don't give enough credit to this game's songs. Yeul's Theme, Noel's Theme, Wishes – you learn everything of these characters by just listening to these beautiful vocals. And I also love that the music took risks, like the Crazy Chocobo theme – I swear that thing is both the best and worst thing out of this game.

Confession time: I can't stop shipping Serah and Noel. I'm just so angry that Snow exists because it forbids this ship in the canon. I have one major complain about it, though: I can't help but notice that both Caius and Noel are infatuated by a fifteen-year-old. I can't discern how much of it is "loyalty beyond boundaries" or "I love her, I truly love her, like I'm in love with her" kind of love, but still, it bugs me a bit. Caius and Yeul's relationship feels more natural, given that he's her guardian, and he acts upon this role the whole game, until the end, where Noel clearly states that Yeul always came back because she wanted to stay by Caius's side. So it leaves me wondering. And Lightning Returns pretty much confirmed to us that Noel was in love with Yeul, which of COURSE I don't LIKE at ALL but I'll roll with it. I'm just glad that we got XIII-2 ending where Jason Marsden's voice breaks when he yells Serah's name. They gave me enough content for a thousand fics. Let's pretend that Noel's attitude in LR doesn't happen, ok?

You can hate this game. I can't blame you for it. Nobody wanted it, it doesn't connect well to its predecessor unless you read two novellas, and it forcefully leads us to Lightning Returns where, I can safely say, the plot goes to hell, almost literally. But this game exists, and it doesn't deserve half the hate it receives. If you play it it's because you enjoyed XIII (I highly doubt that you'll make yourself go through this suffering if you didn't like the first one – if you do, I just don't know why you hate yourself so much), and if you did, there's no way you're not going to see all the good things they added in this one. Enjoy it for what it is, and not for what it's not, or for what it could've been.

I sometimes wonder what could've happened if this game didn't have "Final Fantasy" on its cover. Because the time travel is intelligent and fun to play, the world-building around the Farseers and this bleak future is interesting and well made – the problem with this game is that it's a Final Fantasy and that it's a sequel to an already quite finished story. It feels like they forced a sequel, and maybe they did. But I, for once, am glad they did.

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shinneth · 4 years ago

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What was ‘that scene’ for Gem Ascension?

You sure you don’t know this one already? :P

Okay, really it was a little earlier than this point. Also, GA spoilers for anyone who’s still not read this giant-ass series but still might one day.

I’m sure I mentioned this a few times before, but this is something I’ll gladly talk about as many times as anyone asks. :D

So! Depending on which version you read, that scene for GA is the climax of Act II (vanilla Gem Ascension)/the climax of Act I, Chapter 8 (Gem re:Ascension).

Namely, the part where Peridot very nearly succeeds to pull off a “fuck you, destiny!”, only for her clumsiness (largely absent for this entire mission up till this point) to fuck her over at the worst possible time, which leads to Peridot getting separated from the Crystal Gems and abandoned on Homeworld, where White Diamond apprehends her shortly after and we don’t hear from her for a while.

Gem Ascension, besides being inspired by other great Stevidot works, first came to life in a dream I had one night. Change Your Mind hadn’t aired yet, so my imagination cooked up a bit of the above scene as a possible “what might the finale bring us/what I want the finale to bring me”, only with a lot less context and detailing.

Basically, I just dreamed up the Crystal Gems in an escape sequence where they had rescued Steven and Connie and the OG-CGs, and they were all fleeing down a tunnel (I was imagining a super-elaborate airline-like tunnel); White Diamond was giving chase some great distance away, but she’d catch up soon.

Peridot was bringing up the rear, and just as she was about to reach the jump-off point/safe zone, she tripped and fell super-hard. Poor Steven saw the whole thing, but he (nor anyone else) had the time/opportunity to help her out, so she ended up getting forcibly separated from the CGs. Peridot, knowing she’s well and truly fucked, just smiles at her friends and tries to shrug off her fate to make sure they all escape rather than be dumbasses trying to save a lost cause.

Next thing Peri sees is White Diamond’s face in a Slenderman-style static-filled close-up before everything fades to black.

...

Yeah, that alone is what drove me to write Gem Ascension. Well, beyond wanting to contribute for Stevidot and all that, this dream just kept persisting in my head while gradually becoming more coherent and detailed and I decided to just bite the damn bullet and write a whole story around it.

You might (not) be shocked to learn that in order to get to that scene I dreamed up, I’d have to write over 70,000 words of set-up.

Mind you, the entire GA trilogy is collectively around 190,000 words.

Yep! A solid 70k later, I finally got to write the scene I dreamed about: the one that actually started it all. And thanks to said set-up, the scenario was much more dramatic and fleshed out compared to the original dream version. With the 70k setup, I structured this around Peridot stepping up to become a legit leader figure and learning what that truly meant. I added the element of Peridot’s misfortune being the result of a very stubborn future foreseen by Sapphire: one that technically had many varying outcomes, but the only variation was in which singular Crystal Gem got left behind. The cause was never determined, but apparently fate was hellbent on making sure someone didn’t finish the mission.

Peri nominated herself, as this was her rescue mission she was heading, and she couldn’t tolerate letting anyone getting left behind on Homeworld. She’d only compromise with her own life, but being her stubborn and logical-minded self, Peri also refused to give in to fate and vowed to fight it as best she could.

And she came close. Damn close.

Got to add some cool stuff like the cruelest Hope Spot I ever created, shattering Peridot’s visor to reveal her heterochromia (something that became its own major plot point in later acts), circumstances not allowing Peridot to properly speak to Steven or Garnet (the only two witnesses to the in-story version of the scene) and only communicate her farewells with gestures (including the forced smiling, as well as laughing), and... the pose in her pic here? This is after she manages to get Steven and Garnet to leave without her, but their ship ends up unable to escape and White Diamond’s almost right on top of them.

Peridot, fighting a goddamned concussion, uses the last of her strength to free the CGs’ ship using her metal powers.

So yeah. The definitive that scene of GA will always be Peridot’s botched escape/heroic sacrifice.

And it’s since become my measuring stick for my effectiveness as an author. If I don’t make you feel like utter dog shit after reading it, then I’ll consider myself a failure. Because I put my heart and soul into making that entire climax hurt like a bitch. Just like it first hurt me to dream about it. :D

#answered asks #pikablob #gem ascension #gem re:ascension #peridot #su peridot #that scene

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bluerosesburnblue · 5 years ago

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Hi blue! ❤️ I've been in a lot of discords where alot of the KH fandom confirms their belief in the SRT. I have a pretty decent understanding of lore so far. I got into some nice debates where fans defended the SRT soley off an existence of a different wordline. I'd ask "So if Sora was able to pull all the guardians into a different worldline... Xehanort could've just targeted the princesses of heart - why would he follow them.. if this theory was Canon??" And I'd just watch then hit silence.

To add context to my previous, I don’t understand how Riku being Sora’s light has any reason to even be included in this theory. To me, this theory should’ve had the focal point only on the idea of multiple world-lines, but having looked at all your blogging in that regard, the clear and excessive inconsistencies in their theory shows that the sleeping realm wasn’t the focal point. I follow some of the writers of the theory… And after sharing the doc they only celebrated Riku and nothing else

Honestly, thank you for your effort in breaking it down. I knew I wasn’t crazy when I thought that something didn’t really seem right with the theory. I watch a lot of KH theory videos on YouTube from small creators with no shipping bias and they’re honestly very creative and genuine with their work. I understand how they feel about their ship, I love Kairi so much and would cry if she got her own game. I just think they should’ve left the Riku thing on its own and kept it away from this theory.

Hey there! And thank you! I’m gonna talk a lot so to keep this from clogging up everyone’s dashboard, it’s going under the cut

I think I may have touched on it a little bit when I was explaining why even if the writers say this isn’t an “it’s all a dream” theory, I still feel like it has enough similarities to be considered one and… you’re absolutely correct. There is no reason for Xehanort to follow the Guardians into a new worldline. We don’t even know if he’s capable of it. We also don’t know if his planned universal reset just works in the worldline he’s in, or if it would erase all of them. We don’t know anything about worldlines other than that it’s a term Luxu used, like, twice

If Sora and Co. hopped worldlines, Xehanort would just grab the Princesses and win. If Sora and Co. hopped into the Sleeping Worlds… then Xehanort would also just grab the Princesses because the heroes still aren’t around to stop him if they’re in the Sleeping Worlds. It might take a little extra time, especially if we go on their assumption that Kairi is dead since now he’s gotta go find Princess #7 again. Because let’s not forget that this theory also claims that Kairi did not hop worldlines and that the Kairi we see is a Chirithy she’s piloting from the other world. That she died in

(Personally, I think there’s a fundamental misunderstanding of Xehanort’s character throughout the whole theory. He’s not a master planner. If he was, none of his plans would have ever failed, and he makes very clear in DDD that the plan to use TAV was intended to succeed. He is a master opportunist who’s excellent at making sure he has just enough irons in the fire that if one plan fails, another’s already going. The issue is most prevalent in the part of the theory where they try to claim that he planned the paopu scene. And uhh… any part where they make it sound like Xehanort has big plans involving Sora. He doesn’t.

His plan in DDD was opportunistic. He never planned for Sora. Sora was this thorn in his side who was constantly messing up his plans. If you know that no matter what you do this boy is going to mess you up, then how do you remove that threat? Either kill him, which is unlikely as Sora also makes for a decent Light if need be, or bring that power onto your side. He also didn’t like… give YMX time travel powers just to get Sora. That was another opportunistic iron to add to the fire. Like, if I knew that I was going to do something that would give me time travel powers and that I could pass that on to other versions of myself, why the hell wouldn’t I go back to the earliest version of me that could make use of that? That way I have the power… literally from a very young age and continue to have it my entire life. It’s a paradox, sure, but a damn effective one. He would’ve had Ansem go back to give YMX the power regardless. Knowing where Sora was at the time was just a byproduct, and one that he later found a use for

But after the plan to force Sora to join the Darknesses fails… Xehanort doesn’t really have to do anything. He knows that Sora’s a meddler who will fight for the light and is easy to goad into emotional actions. That’s one less Light that you have to worry about getting to the battlefield, because the kid will do it himself. There’s no need to have Kairi involved at all in terms of the paopu fruit thing? There’s no need to plan literally since flinging child Kairi into the abyss out of curiosity for her to make Sora fall in love with her. Like, again... he doesn’t really have a grand plan that he’s been implementing from the start so much as he has several plans that all require roughly the same or similar pieces. Xehanort only makes extra effort for himself if he feels like it could serve multiple purposes. He doesn’t see Sora as worthy, so he’s going to expend the most minimal effort on him. That’s one of the things that I think this theory fails to understand most; Xehanort doesn’t really care about or have grand plans for Sora. So long as the boy fights for one side or another, Xehanort’s already got what he wants

So with Xehanort being such an opportunist with so many contingencies... why would he pass up the chance to do things the easy, if more time-consuming, way by just... staying in the world without the heroes and succeeding with Plan B while knowing that there’s no one around to stop you?)

But, rambling about Xehanort’s characterization aside, you bring up something that I was planning to talk about once I finished going through the theory. My plan at the end was to go over what I felt that it did right or wrong writing-wise. And one of the things it does wrong is that it’s actually several mini-theories very loosely tied together that don’t prove each other

Making a theory about what you think a worldline is is its own thing. Making a theory on KH3′s connection to the Sleeping World lore is its own thing. Making a theory that Riku is really Sora’s light is its own thing. Making a theory that Kairi’s been controlled by Xehanort this whole time is its own thing. None of them correlate

The only reason to include all of them together, and this is going to sound really jaded, is if you intend to trick people into believing that your interpretation of Riku’s and Kairi’s contributions is canon. Because if they’re presented together, then it comes with the implication that if you accept that part of their theory is true (the definition of worldlines, the connection to Sleeping Worlds), then you have to accept that all of it is (Riku is the one whose act of true love saved Sora, Kairi’s contributions were all planned by someone else and therefore less legitimate than Riku’s, etc.).

And I don’t think I’m wrong to read that intent into it. From what I’ve read of the theory so far, they’ve made their shipping bias outright clear (calling the video files soriku_sleuthers as though they’re looking for evidence supporting their ship, spending an entire section on proving that Riku’s “most important person” is Sora and that the feelings are romantic...). Spending about .2 seconds on any of the creators’ Twitter accounts also makes the fact that really all they care about KH-wise is Riku’s part in the SoRiku ship (not even Riku as a character, because they get his character so totally wrong in the theory, but just what Riku contributes to the ship)

I don’t know if it was intentionally done by them or not. It’s possible that the natural ship bias clouded how they interpreted events in the game, too, to the point where they legitimately think that their interpretation is just obviously correct because the content that they interact with most and longest leads to that idea. I’ve already talked about how confirmation bias clouds the entire theory so thickly that they unintentionally discredited everything in it by that alone. But the point remains that the only reason that I can see for having an entire section on how perfect Riku is and how pure his love for Sora is, and another on how Kairi is Xehanort’s pawn trapped in another worldline, is because the easiest way to legitimize those as “canon�� is to attach them to something that you think you can prove is canon

Except there’s so many holes, so much misinterpretation, and so much... I almost want to say forged evidence because that’s the only way I can describe what they did to Xigbar’s speech on Olympus, that there’s a mountain of things that can be logically and soundly proved to be incorrect and absolutely no decisive evidence so far proving that any part of what they’re saying is true

I’ll give them some credit, though. The SoRiku stuff doesn’t take up the bulk of the theory and is apparently subtle enough that even quite a few SoRiku shippers don’t think it’s even really a part of the theory. But that ignores the fact that while they have a ton of “evidence” unrelated to the ship, the inciting incident that the whole theory revolves around is the idea that Riku’s act of true love in sacrificing himself to save Sora (attributing Kairi’s sole salvation of Sora to both Riku and all of the other Princesses of Heart) allowed Sora to transfer everyone (except Kairi) over to a new worldline and also the Sleeping Worlds. It may not harp on it, but the theory absolutely pushes SoRiku as the canon ship if you want to believe that the theory is canon because they wrote it so that the events they’re describing cannot happen if it isn’t

It’s why they couldn’t keep the Riku stuff out of this theory even if they wanted to. Even if it would’ve made for a more believable theory. He’s the only part of this damn thing that they really care about

Again, I’m going to go into everything I think this theory does wrong at some point. And I’m sorry that this got so long and ranty! Seeing old followers go in and reblog the debunk stuff right now, which is attracting new followers like you is actually really fun and heartening to watch and I’m so glad that you liked the content enough to tell me! I wish the theory hadn’t become what it is. I wish this debunk wasn’t something that was even necessary. But I am grateful that it’s given me the opportunity to chat with a lot of people, yourself included, about this fandom! Up until I started this project I was relatively unknown in the KH fandom. I really hope that the upcoming debunk stuff meets everyone’s expectations!

#kxiridreams #liz answers #liz debunks the sr theory #i don't know why i started rambling about xehanort's character but that's a mini essay in this reply #honestly keep shutting supporters down by bringing up xehanort's lack of motivation to do what the theory claims he does #i love that and it's a really fresh angle on this mess #bless small theorists on youtube though #they're doing their best out there

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shireness-says · 6 years ago

Text

CS JJ Day 22: The Queen’s Librarian

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

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

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

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, in here?”

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

“Understandable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I agree. Completely.”

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

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

———

A visit from Belle and the children was probably overdue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

Emma frowns at that. “It wasn’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know him?” Killian asks urgently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emma nods in determination. “Ready.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you alright?” she asks urgently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s the luckiest bastard alive.

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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slow-smiles · 6 years ago

Text

Killian sneaks out of the castle before he’s caught and waits for Emma to join him on his ship. Captain Duckling. A followup to My Princess, My Pirate. My first contribution to @cscocktoberfest (only like a week late, it’s fine.) ~3.9k words. No major trigger warnings apply.

Read on AO3.

almost six.

When Emma leaves him in her room, Killian briefly entertains the idea of laying out on her bed naked and waiting for her to return. Realistically, however, he knows this would only lead to disaster; despite it being her private chambers, it would hardly stay empty for the duration of the ball. There were always preparations to be made for the princess, preparing her bedclothes, turning down her bed, cleaning, and other such manner of domestic tasks done by hired help that Killian had never been privy to.

His usual entrance and exit routes had not been usable (Emma had given him a key to enter the servant passages, the ones she herself used to sneak in and out of the castle, but with a royal ball in full swing, they would hardly be a discreet way to travel this evening.)

He certainly didn’t fancy himself much of a climber, but the rough stone and thick vines across Emma’s wing of the palace certainly lent themselves well enough for the task.

(He makes a note to mention to her that they should do something about the vines--and really, about the castle protection in general. It would be entirely too easy for someone with nefarious intentions to sneak in.)

He makes his way carefully back to his ship. It’s still relatively early, the sun having not yet fully set, but towards the harbor district the sounds of revelry are already rising. He imagines his crew must already be among those out and about. He’d given them several days of shore leave, and they’d had some excellent hauls in the last few months, so their pockets were heavy and their spirits high.

The only man left aboard the Jolly is Smee, unsurprisingly. Never been a traditional pirate, Smee. Is always one to volunteer to stay with the ship when others want to go out and spend their winnings on wine and bed partners, and no one really knows what he does with his shore leave when Killian forces him off the ship.

“Captain!” his first mate calls out. “I didn’t expect you back so early.”

Killian says, “I already got exactly what I needed. The rest of the evening is entirely yours, Mr. Smee.”

“Are you sure? Do you need anything else?”

“I’m quite certain I’ll be able to handle my own ship by meself.”

“If--if you insist, Captain.”

Killian gives him a look. “I do. At least go get yourself some hot food and a bed at an inn.”

Nodding sharply, Smee doesn’t take long to vacate the ship, leaving Killian on his own in the blessed silence. Being alone has always been his natural state, and the quiet is a welcome part of that trait.

However, he would not complain if there was a certain raucous blonde stirring up trouble with him at the moment, silence be damned.

He tried to not think about all the probably handsome, witty, rich eligible bachelors that would be presented to her on a silver platter over the course of the evening.

It isn’t that Killian doubts Emma’s feelings for him. On the contrary, he knows exactly how selectively Emma gives her love, and he is a damned grateful recipient. The only thing Killian has doubts about is his worthiness of her, and that’s a subject he’d rather not dwell on when he’s alone with rum in easy reaching distance.

Instead, he retires to his cabin and undresses for the evening, removing his long coat and vest, shucking the pants and finally making his way through the series of buckles that secure his hook to his arm. The contraption runs up his arm and over his shoulder, making an X across his back and looping around his right shoulder. There are calloused lines left behind on his skin as he removes the hook and all its trappings, two-hundred something years in the making.

He intends to read and update his logs, perhaps knock out a few navigational equations he’d hit snags with earlier in the day, but not long after he settles back in his bunk with a logbook in hand, the pull of sleep becomes too much to resist.

Killian is a naturally light sleeper, but the sound of Emma’s loud swearing could’ve awoken even the dead. He sits up immediately and sees her bent over just at the base of the ladder.

“Son of a fucking bastard. Gods bloody damnation--”

“Emma?”

“I stubbed my toe,” she grinds out between clenched teeth. “Fucking hell, that hurt. I should’ve worn shoes, gods damn it.”

His drowsiness begins to wane as he smiles at her. “If only the common people could hear their great and powerful sovereign now.”

Emma finally stands fully, wiggling her foot around a bit. She’s clearly disguised, with an overcoat thrown over her nightgown and her hair hidden under one of those ridiculous bonnets she hates wearing. Even with the sour expression because of her toe and the outfit, she’s still the most beautiful woman in all the realms, and he tells her so.

She smiles softly in response. “It’s nice to hear someone genuinely say that to me.” She begins to undress herself, shrugging out of her overcoat with a slowness that looks more born of exhaustion than seduction.

“I don’t think anyone could say that to you and not be genuine about it, darling, because it’s more of a fact than an opinion.”

She laughs softly. “I know what you think,” she says, basically tearing the bonnet off her head and letting her hair spill free. “Ugh, burn this,” she says under her breath before throwing it on the floor. She then reaches down for the hem of her gown. “I just had to hear a lot of people say it without really meaning it tonight.”

No matter how many times he’s seen her without clothing over the years of their relationship, the sight of Emma’s naked body will always be at least a little arresting. The soft, pale skin so often hidden under gowns finally free to the air, the pink nipples stiffening in the slight chill of his cabin, the way her long hair brushes over her breasts and obscuring them like the mermaids of legend, the thatch of dark blonde curls between her legs where she was wet and wanting him mere hours ago.

“I know I promised you a dance,” she says, “but can it wait until morning? I’m exhausted and my brain is absolutely fried, and I just want to hold you for a while.”

He holds out a hand in invitation, nudging over on the narrow bed so that she has room to fit next to him. “I’d wait forever for you,” he says, purposefully dramatic to put another smile on her lips.

She crawls in next to him, and the feel of her skin against his is as reassuring as it is intoxicating; but Emma’s not the only one who’s knackered. She wordlessly nudges at his shoulder, encouraging him to turn his back to her. He follows her gentle, tired instruction, and her arm wraps around his waist under his arm. He takes her hand in his and brings it up to his lips for a kiss before letting himself relax.

He feels her breath at the base of his neck, and she presses a small kiss there. “I love you,” she says softly.

“And I, you.”

With Emma surrounding him, it’s a simple matter to fall back into sleep.

He awakens with the feeling of a hand on his cock. The light through the windows is soft, grey with the promise of dawn, and it’s just light enough for him to turn his head to look at Emma, still behind him. She’s risen up on one elbow, propping her up so that she has a better angle to stroke him and can look down on him. The blankets have been since kicked down to the end of the bed, but he doesn’t feel the chill with the heat of arousal skittering over his body.

“Morning,” she says casually.

“Morning,” he responds, not as casually.

He turns slightly so that he can more easily look up at her and reaches up to pull her down for a kiss. She obliges, running her tongue boldly along the seam of his lips before he opens for her.

Her strokes on his cock become more impatient, quicker and firmer, and he’s nearly rock hard already.

“How much time do we have?” he gasps out, starting to work his hips with the timing of her hand.

“I’m not needed at all this morning, and I gave instructions to not disturb me. One of my ladies’ maids is sleeping in my bed as a stand in just in case.” She twists her hand over the head of his cock just so, and his breath catches in his throat, and he lets it out a moment later through gritted teeth. “I have time to do whatever I want to you.”

He moans softly again. “To me?” He turned fully so that he lay on his back. “What about what I want to do to you?”

Emma quirks a brow before, quicker than a blink, she swoops down and settles herself between his legs. Both of her hands run up his thighs and she leans down, her mouth just above his cock. “You can wait your turn.”

With that she runs her tongue from base to tip, pulling an ungodly groan from his lips. “Emma,” he breathes, and he runs his hand through her hair before resting at the back of her head. She moans around him in response.

She takes him as deep as she can, the warm wet of her mouth moving up and down his shaft, and her hand comes up to stroke what she can’t fit in.

Pleasure sings across his skin and up his spine, and senseless words of praise tumble from his mouth. To have the Crown Princess of Misthaven with her hand and mouth on him is something truly bewildering and wonderful to behold, but it’s also Emma. It’s the witty, stunning, clever, stubborn woman who trusts him enough to do this with him, trusts him enough to let him into this intimacy, and wants him enough that she’ll do this for him. The idea that she could want and love him enough to devote herself to the task of pleasuring him is mind-boggling and more of a turn on than anything he’d experienced previous.

“Love you so much,” he stutters out, trying in vain to keep his hips still. He has enough control to prevent him from thrusting down her throat, but his hips still twitch upwards on each of her downstrokes.

He can’t take his eyes off her, and every so often she’ll look up and meet his gaze.

She’s perfection personified and he still doesn’t know how he got so lucky. How that night at the tavern when he simply wanted to make sure a woman was safe from drunken louts had turned into this. Had turned into one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

Emma pulls off of him, sitting up and shifting so that her sex is directly over his. Before he has a chance to say anything, she sinks down on him and sighs.

“Let me just--” she says and leans forward, resting her body against his. “Let me just enjoy this for a second.” She nuzzles her face into the side of his neck, arms coming under his shoulders to embrace him as much as she can whilst he’s on his back.

He shifts to return the favor, surprised but not disappointed at the sudden change in pace. With the way she woke him up, he’d imagined something quick and dirty; perhaps she’d have sucked him off to completion, swallowed his release down. He’d have returned the favor, tasting her exquisite cunt until she’d come so hard she couldn’t walk straight.

“Are you all right?” he whispers.

She shifts a little, but doesn’t lift her head. “Yeah.” She sighs. “No.”

He’d had a feeling there was something amiss. After he’d left her the night before, she’d been playful, joking. Light. When she came to bed later that evening, the earlier lightness was gone, replaced by something more somber.

“Did something else happen at the ball?”

Emma straightens so that she can rest her hands on his chest. “Are you really trying to have a serious conversation while you’re inside me?”

Killian runs his hand along her hip and down her flank. “I can tell something is bothering you, and it’s bothering you enough that you don’t want to tell me about it.”

Emma moves her hips a little bit, a gentle rocking motion that’s a tease of what’s to come. Her breath comes a little quicker, her eyes sliding shut a moment before opening again.

She seems to try to find a good start to a sentence, and frankly he’s proud that she can think at all when the little motions of her hips are making it hard for him to concentrate on anything except her.

“Before I tell you,” she says, seeming to come to a decision, “I want you to fuck me really, really hard, okay?”

His brow furrows, confusion clouding his arousal somewhat. “Emma--”

She seals off his lips with a deep kiss; he returns it, but it doesn’t erase his concern.

“I promise I’ll tell you,” she says a breath away from his mouth, “but I want to forget for a while.”

He searches her eyes, nothing but honesty burning there. So he obliges and grasps the back of her head and pulls her mouth down to his. Their kiss can’t be described as anything but aggressive, wide mouths and sweeping tongues, teeth clicking inelegantly but neither of them seem to care.

If she wants fast and hard, he can deliver.

He sits up against her, holding her backside in his hand. It’s a bit of a hassle to switch positions in the narrow bunk, but he manages it. He pushes his hips up, and leverages himself on his wrist and twists them. Emma lands on her back with a short huff of a laugh, and he regretfully slips out of her. He settles back between her thighs, reared back on his knees so he can look down at her. His eyes travel from her face down to her core, swollen, pink, and wet.

His fingers run through her folds, and she moans softly and further parts her legs for him. He focuses on her clit without much teasing, rubbing across it in short, quick motions that have her getting louder in moments.

He dips down further, feeling the moisture gathering at her entrance, spreading it up and back to her clit.

“Fuck,” she whispers, “Killian.”

“If you want it fast and hard,” he growls, “then we need to get you ready for me first.”

She groans deeply at that, a drawn out please escaping her, back arching upwards and pushing her breasts towards him. He continues swiping over her clit with his thumb and presses two fingers inside her.

He doesn’t give her much time to adjust, her wetness making it easy to begin thrusting with his hand in earnest. The slick sound of her pussy wrapped around his fingers makes him absolutely ache with the desire to be inside of her. He adds a third finger then, gets as deep as he can get them, and begins to move his hand up and down, pressing towards that one spot deep inside her that makes her scream.

Only a few pumps of his hand and he can tell he’s found it; her eyes snap open, her thighs tense, and her sounds become louder, more drawn out. “Gods, there,” she gasps.

His balls tighten at her words, his cock so hard it fucking hurts to not be inside of her.

She presses closer to him, and he bears down, moving his hand up and down as fast as he can muster. It’s hard to maintain pressure on her clit with his thumb when he fucks her like this, so he reaches underneath her undulating hips with his left arm, pulling her hips off the bed far enough so that he can bend down and take her clit in his mouth.

He doesn’t bother with licking and teasing, but fastens his lips to her like a man starved and sucks as hard as he can.

Emma’s orgasms are always a sight to behold. She doesn’t quite scream, but her cry is loud and hoarse, and her core clenches around his fingers like a vise. “That’s it love,” he praises against her core, “come all over my fingers.”

He lets her hips fall back to the bed, still working his fingers at a steady pace inside her, and realizes in that moment exactly how he wants to fuck her.

He withdraws his hand with a sound of protest from Emma, and steps off to the side of the bunk. (They’d learned early in their courtship that it was the exact right height for him to fuck her on.) He hooks an elbow around her knee, repositioning her so that her ass nearly hangs off the side, putting her in perfect position for him to sink into her.

He can barely hold back his groan at how wet and warm she is, how perfect and beautiful. “Gods, Emma. Nothing in this world compares to being inside you.”

“I love you,” she replies, and Killian is hit once more with how lucky he is.

Before he begins, he lifts one of her knees over his shoulder, spreading her wide open for him.

Then he goes. She’s so wet and relaxed from her orgasm that there’s no resistance as he pounds into her at a pace that would certainly leave bruises on both of them. The sounds of their coupling echo in his cabin, the slapping of skin and the wet suck of her welcoming him into her body again and again and their combined moans creating a lewd symphony.

“Fuck,” Emma cries, “don’t stop.”

“Not on your life, princess.”

He’s on the edge faster than he’d like, but he can tell Emma is too. She clenches sporadically around him, one of her hands grips the sheets in a white-knuckled grip, and the other has settled on his arm, her nails pressing none-too-gently into his skin.

“Are you close, love?” he still asks.

“Yes.”

“Touch yourself.”

Her hand that was fisted in the sheet immediately darts to her core; he can’t help but watch her fingers as they seek out her clit and rub quick, tight circles over it. He can feel her clamp down on him as she pleasures herself, and he was hoping to make sure she’d come again before he did, but he’s a hapless victim to her siren song.

His hips stutter, his hard rhythm faltering. “Fuck, love, I’m--” He comes inside her, pressing deep a handful more times before he comes back down. Emma drops her leg from his shoulder, boneless.

“Did you peak again?” he asks.

She nods. “Your face is gorgeous when you come,” she explains.

He pulls out of her with a slight wince and walks over on unsteady legs to the small pail of water and grabs a washcloth from the cabinet. He cleans himself briskly, and moves to do the same for Emma.

When they’re both as clean as they can be after vigorous lovemaking, they lie back down on the bunk, curled under the previously abandoned covers.

“What happened last night, Emma?”

Her head is resting on his chest, and she tilts her gaze up to look him in the eye. “It was…” She sighs and removes herself from his embrace, sitting up and leaning her back against the pillows, and Killian follows suit.

“I received no less than three marriage proposals and seven courtship proposals,” she says, and even though he knows she loves him, he knows exactly how painstaking it was for her to get to this point in their relationship, it still makes his breath catch, a brief flare of panic rise in his chest. “Hardly uncommon but… I don’t know. It was just different, yesterday.

“My parents are starting to push harder about me finding someone. And it’s not like they’re cruel about it. They want me to marry for love just as they did.”

“I gathered as much from what your father said last night,” Killian says.

Emma nods. “It’s not like I have difficulty rebuffing them. It was just something my mom said to me.

“I’d just turned down the last courtship proposal of the evening, and she pulled me off to the side and said something like love isn’t weakness, it’s strength, and wanting to be loved isn’t bad, opening myself up to the possibility is brave and so on and so forth. And I don’t know what it was about last night, because she’s given me that same talk dozens of times over my adult life, but I suddenly just wanted to scream at her I know! I’ve known for years how it feels to love and be loved because I’ve had you.”

Warmth flares in his heart.

Emma takes a breath. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of you being a secret. I don’t know how we’ll make it work, I don’t know what my parents will say when they find out I’ve been consorting with a pirate for the last five years--”

“Almost six,” he corrects, mostly absent-mindedly because his mind is now spinning.

She grins and rolls her eyes. “Almost six,” she agrees. “But I know I’m asking a lot. I’ve thought about getting you on contract as a privateer for the crown, and then delivering a naval commission so that our match would be less objectionable for the court, but--” she takes his hand in hers, staring into his eyes with as much seriousness as he’s ever seen on her. “I don’t want to push you into anything and honestly, I’d give up my status as heir and take up a life of piracy if it meant having you by my side.”

It isn’t easy to render Killian Jones speechless, but Emma’s managed to do just that.

“You want to tell your parents about us?” he finally manages.

“Yes. I don’t have a single clue what they’ll say or do, but I’m tired of living my life like I don’t love you with everything I have in me.”

He leans in and kisses her, trying to gather his thoughts. When he pulls away, he asks, “So we probably don’t tell them we’ve already consummated our relationship, correct?”

Emma snorts and flicks his ear. “Remember how I said last night there was a chance you get executed if you were caught?”

“You’d protect me,” he answers.

“Of course I would, but I get my stubbornness from somewhere and believe me, my father doesn’t take kindly to people he feels have taken advantage of me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh, taken advantage of the princess, have I?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“I’d say not, because as I recall, it’s been you taking advantage of me all these years.”

“I’m about to rescind my offer,” Emma says, tauntingly moving as though she’ll get out of bed.

“No need,” Killian says. “I’ll be on my absolute best behavior. And no matter what happens,” he tugs at her hand, “I’ll be right there with you.”

#cs ff #cscocktoberfest #cs cocktober #captain swan #cs smut #my fic

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