#i swear if i have to birth this ship and sail it all on my own i will

[agir1ukn0w]

Tamasin probably wrote in her diary the first time she met Jack Barak: “dear diary, just met the most pasty-looking motherfucker with the most devastatingly pathetic puppy dog eyes, floofy black hair, and surprisingly large codpiece I’ve ever seen in my life. I have to have him.

p.s. his friend’s kind of a jerk but I like him too💕”

[omgrachwrites]

Of Pirates and Princes - Chapter One

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Reader

Summary: You are merely a shop owner sharing a street with an insufferable mechanic. If that’s true, why do you keep dreaming of Princes and black sails? OUAT crossover

Warnings: enemies to lovers, fluff, swearing

A/N: First part wooo! Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know if you would like to be tagged! xxx

masterlist

Chapter I

The floor was hard and rocky beneath your fingers, as was the wall behind your head, you couldn’t dig your way out of this cell, that was clear enough. Boots crunched against the ground and you lifted your head, smirking when the tall man peered through the bars.

“Where’s your master, General? Was he too afraid to come and see me alone?” you snickered.

“Where are the jewels?”

You scoffed, “the lady Susan’s jewels? Why would I have them?”

“You were seen in the company of the men who did steal from the carriage down in port. They had the gold and silver but no jewels, and they let you get caught.”

Those men were idiots, your father would have skinned them alive if they weren’t bound to be executed by the Prince. They had failed to protect you.

“Hmm, what a conundrum.”

“Release her,” a different voice, a softer voice came from the shadows, the pale moonlight illuminating his handsome face.

“But, Your Highness,” the General started but he didn’t get a chance to finish as the Prince cut him off.

“We have searched her belongings and her person, we have not located the jewels or any other contraband. It is not a crime to choose poor drinking companions.”

The General muttered something as he walked off and you glanced over at the Prince, “I’ve been here for five days.”

The Prince smirked as his dark eyes beheld you from the other side of the bars, “have you? My apologies, I had no idea,” you scowled at him.

The Jolly Roger was still docked in the port and you smiled as you ran into the Captain’s open arms, “I was so worried about you, Y/N.”

“I’m fine, dad,” you smiled and he pulled out of the hug, holding you at arm’s length.

“How did you get away?”

With a smile, you pulled a dagger out of the wood of the ship and used it to cut a hole in the lining of your tunic, “either the Prince and his men are idiots, or you taught me very well,” you laughed as you pulled out the jewels you had stolen from Susan’s carriage.

-----

The bell to your jewellery shop opened, causing you to lose grip of the crystal that you were trying to set into the ring, “fuck!” you jumped and your friend laughed at you.

“Sorry, Y/N.”

You smiled and looked at the clock as you grabbed your jacket, “no, I’m sorry. I lost track of time, lunch at Granny’s?”

Regina nodded and the both of you left the shop, switching the sign to closed, “how’s Henry?” you asked.

Regina sighed, “he still thinks I’m the Evil Queen.”

“From Snow White?” Regina’s son, Henry held a strong belief that everyone in town was a fairytale character from his book, his relief was so strong that he had brought his birth mother to Storybrooke, all the way from Boston.

Regina nodded at your question causing you to laugh and quirk an eyebrow as you looked at your friend’s clothes, “well, you do have the look.”

Regina rolled her eyes, “don’t be ridiculous, Y/N.”

You laughed as you opened the door to Granny’s, your smile fell almost instantly as you quite literally ran into the man you wanted to see the least.

“Woah, I’m so sorry,” he laughed as his hands came up to steady you, as soon as he realised it was you, his smile dropped and he scowled at you, but his hands didn’t leave your waist.

You recoiled and Caspian rolled his eyes, “your hands are filthy.”

Caspian scowled, “I’m a mechanic, darlin’ kind of comes with the job.”

“Whatever,” you stormed right past him and into the diner.

Regina followed you as you sat down at your usual table, “that was the most ridiculous argument ever.”

You scoffed, “I hate him, I hate him so much and I don’t know why but there’s just something about him that irks me. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Regina spoke up and you glanced at her in surprise to find that she wasn’t looking at you. She was looking past you with a faraway look on her face as if her mind was elsewhere.

“What for?” you asked.

She didn’t say anything, she just smiled wanly and placed your usual order when Ruby came around to take the order.

“I keep on having the strangest dreams.”

Regina raised an eyebrow as she looked at you warily, “what about?”

You twisted your ring round on your finger as you recalled the dream from last night, “there was a pirate ship and a Prince. There was a jail cell in the depths of a great castle, it felt very much like a fever dream,” you laughed.

“Dr Hopper may have something for dreamless sleeps.”

You shook your head; the dreams may have been weird but they were not unwelcome. Lunch was nice, Regina seemed truly happy and you didn’t speak of your dreams or Henry again.

On your way out of Granny’s you grabbed two bear claws, one for you and one for your mom, that was your tradition, every Monday you would have lunch with Regina and then you would go for coffee and a catch up with your mom. You dropped Regina off at her office before driving to your mother’s cottage on the edge of town. As soon as you pulled up to the cottage you could sense that something was different but you didn’t know what until you rang the doorbell.

“Y/N,” your mother smiled with a questioning look on her face, “what are you doing here?”

You laughed as you held up the brown paper bags, “bear claws?”

She nodded with a smile, “sorry dear, it’s been a long day. Come in.”

You smiled as you stepped over the threshold and hugged your mom, kissing her cheek before you walked through to the kitchen, your blood running cold. Twice in one day? Someone really had it out for you. There he was, looking cleaner than he had from when you last saw him a couple of hours ago. He looked up from his phone and he dropped it on the kitchen counter, the clatter making you jump.

You scowled at him as you saw the remains of a bear claw on your mother’s floral plates and a coffee cup, “what’s he doing here?” you complained to your mom as she rolled her eyes and followed you into the kitchen.

“Y/N, don’t be rude, Caspian was kindly dropping off my car after he fixed it for me.”

Caspian shot a dazzling smile at your mother that you just wanted to slap off his face as he stood from the kitchen stool, “it really was no trouble, ma’am, after all I couldn’t have you traipsing all the way into town from here.”

Your mother grinned and handed him a tupperware container which made you glare at Caspian, “you’re a lifesaver, and you won’t have to eat greasy diner food tomorrow.”

“Thank you, ma’am, I’ll see you soon,” he glanced over at you with daggers in your dark eyes, “Y/N.”

You didn’t say anything but if looks could kill he would be six feet underground, your mom walked him out and when she came back into the kitchen she had a disappointed look on her face.

“Why can’t you just be nice to him, Y/N? He’s a lovely young man.”

“Oh come on mom, he’s rude and arrogant.”

Your mom sighed as she flicked the kettle on, “oh, Y/N, you really need to grow up.”

As you were getting ready to close the shop, the little bell tinkled and you looked up with a surprised smile when Henry walked through the door. Regina worked late every Monday so Henry always came by the shop to start on his homework until Regina picked him up. You would have thought that he would have been spending time with Emma.

“Good to see you Henry,” you smiled as the boy placed his backpack on one of the tables in the shop and began to get his things out.

“Hi, Y/N,” he smiled brightly as only a child could smile as he got out a heavy leather bound book and you knew that that must be it.

“So, that’s the famous book, huh? Kind of offended that I’m not in it,” you laughed as you tidied some things away, “want a sandwich and some juice? It’ll be a while before you’ll be having dinner.”

“That would be great, thanks Y/N,” he started to scribble in his notebook as you went through to the tiny little kitchen in the back. You poured Henry some orange juice and made him a sandwich, cutting off the crusts just like you knew he liked it and came back through into the shop and placed it in front of him.

“There you go,” you spoke cheerfully and Henry took one big swig of the drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Oh, I think you actually are in the book,” he grinned and started flipping through the pages.

You laughed as you quirked an eyebrow, “oh yeah? And who am I? A princess I hope,” you sat opposite Henry.

He shook his head as he pushed the book towards you, “no something much more cool.”

You looked down at the colourful artwork splashed across the page and saw the pirate standing at the bow of a ship. The drawing of the woman did kind of look like you, she had different hair but she had the scar through her eyebrow just as you did. As you looked down at the drawing you could almost hear the call of the birds and the ocean breeze.

It reminded you of your dreams.

“So, what’s this story about?” you tore your eyes away from the book and looked at the little boy sitting opposite you.

“It’s about that pirate and the Prince of the land, sworn enemies but they fall in love one day when the pirate saves his life.”

“Why would a pirate save a Prince?” you asked flipping through the book, your eyes coming to rest on a tall man with ink black hair and even darker eyes. You closed the book with a snap and pushed it back over to Henry.

“I don’t know,” Henry shook his head, “maybe she’s good, not everyone has to be a villain.”

“How does the book end?”

“Why don’t you keep it and find out?”

You laughed considering his offer, mentally deciding against it. Regina would never forgive you if you knew you were encouraging her son’s impossible belief.

------

taglist; @notan-applepielife @intothesoul

[finnickeys]

hi! do you think district court has any folklore or funeral rites? any superstitions?

oh tons and tons of superstitions and folklore based beliefs and customs. in my own personal writing of district four i look towards a lot of maritime culture, existing cultures around fishing communities and then the california coast since that’s where i put the district geographically. we’ve seen so much of our own cultures and history still alive and well in the time of panem and the main series through very small practices such as thanksgiving which katniss mentions so to me it just makes sense other things would’ve survived in some distant form or another.

some superstitions popular among district four people include sailing out on fridays — it’s considered bad luck and often a day of either land work or rest in the district. it comes from a lot of stories about lost sailors going out on fridays. a red sky in the morning often is a warning of danger too, and so sailors proceed with caution and prepare for the worst. some people won’t go out more than they have to. to whistle is kind of a mixed bag of things because some swear by whistling to the wind and others think it’s bad luck. mostly indoors it’s frowned upon.

sirens and sea creatures are well and alive in the stories from four and it’s believed they can coax people to jump into the seas and they’re often what people tell children might lie out past the coastal barrier (the distance the capitol sets as being the furthest out boats can go).

cats are seen as good luck, although some people in the district are mostly annoyed by the large population and the tendency of cats to steal any catch.

specifically related to death and birth, people in district four think naming people after others (alive and dead) is a sign of bad luck. there’s tons of kids with matching names, i’m not saying names are all super unique it’s just not something you do as a parent if you happen to have someone in your life with that name. you’re not respecting the living by giving away the name and you’re dooming someone to the same fate by giving them the name of the dead. this is why names that typically die out across the district tend to be those of victors or mayors. they’re big names that are very public and known.

a common funeral send off includes place stuff at the edge of the water, and watching the tide take it away such as flowers and arrangements with a possible belonging of the deceased’s. a song is usually hummed more than it is sang. a burial at sea isn’t unheard of but it’s surprisingly uncommon just because you risk it washing it up, being caught in nets, being disturbed by sea life, or even disturbing sea life. flags on ships fly half mast for the death of sailors.

some wedding rituals (straight from the text) include weaving a net that covers the couple while they exchange their vows, touching each other’s lips with salt water, and singing a song which likens marriage to a voyage out on the sea. dancing and singing is a large part of any gathering and party in four and it’s very customary of men to go around and ask older women in their families to dance so boys and grandmothers.

[theresawritesstuff]

“Don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t the one who got us in this mess.”

I kind of went off the rails with this one.

Contains season 5 spoilers and a lot of Joel but he's getting a talking to so hopefully you won't mind... I dunno I liked the idea. Hopefully you will too.

"Joel…"

A woman's voice called softly to him through the darkness of sleep.

"Joooooeeelll…"

A pillow hit him abruptly across the head. 

"Hey! Wake up dummy or I swear I'll smother you. See how you like it," the voice demanded much less sweetly.

Joel sat up with a start, batting the attack away. 

"What the fuck?!"

"There he is!" 

The unfamiliar woman the voice belonged to beamed brightly, sitting at the edge of his bed.

"Wha– who are you?" he asked, blinking at her bleary-eyed.

She rolled her eyes at the comment. "Oof. A little advice, that's not what a gal wants to hear, generally speaking."

She waved her hand around, loosely gesturing to his bedroom as she flopped back against his pillow.

Joel blinked at her dumbly, trying to make sense of it. 

He had had his share of drunken one night stands but this chick was not his type and they were both fully clothed.

He didn't even remember drinking anything…

"I'm sorry. Did I–did we…?"

"Ew, no," she responded instantly, making a face in disgust for good measure.

"Well excuse me, strange woman in my bedroom, for making assumptions," he spat back at the insult.

She exhaled a sigh, some of the impishness draining from her demeanor.

"Okay, you're right, that's on me. I just figured the twin thing would kick in and you'd catch on right away but I can see now you're a little slow on the uptake."

"What?"

 She stuck out a hand in introduction. "Josephine Maisel. We shared a womb briefly."

"Excuse me?" 

He stood from the bed, shocked by the claim.

"Or maybe would they have called me Jolene?" she mused to herself, paying him no attention. "Nah, that would have been a nightmare. We'd never know which of us was in trouble. Probably you."

She looked up at him with a smirk.

"I don't have a sister," Joel asserted.

"Well no, not technically, because you absorbed me in utero. Ya big jerk," she batted back lightly.

"What?"

She waved him off. "Oh, don't worry about it! We were just cell clusters when it happened. Water under the bridge."

"I need to sit down…"

He sank back down on the end of his bed, rubbing his temples.

"Ma doesn't know, so don't bring it up."

"Who are you really?" he demanded, glancing over his shoulder.

"I told you, I'm your sister. Josie Maisel. And you, baby bro, are in need of some serious sisterly guidance. So here I am!"

"I thought you said we were twins."

She shrugged. "Well, yeah, but we both know I would have come out first if you hadn't cheated before the starting shot on the race down the ol' birthing canal."

"Ew…" Joel grimaced at the imagery.

"How's this? I'm a manifestation of your psyche here to call you out and set you straight because apparently no one else is going to do it," Josie explained. "Better? Easier to wrap your head around?"

"So you're my conscience?" he wondered, looking over at her more fully.

She nodded her head noncommittally. "I was sort of getting attached to Josie but sure, if it makes it easier I can be your Jimminy Cricket."

"Fine…" he huffed, shaking his head. "So why are you here?"

"Because you fucked up big time, Joel. Or you're about to, rather."

"Look I know I screwed up with Midge before–"

Josie shook her head. "Oh Joely, you have got to let that woman go."

"What do you mean? We just kissed the other night after Zelda's wedding. We're, I dunno, we still could…"

"Yeah, I know all that," she informed him flatly. "And I don't care what you keep trying to tell yourself, that ship has sailed. Stop trying to retread those waters. You're only going to drown the both of you."

"She kissed me back," Joel insisted.

"Well, her brother should talk some sense into her too," she quipped.

He glared at her sourly, prompting another exhale from the figment of…whatever she was supposed to be.

"Look Joel, I know you care about her–"

"Of course I do! She was my wife! She's the mother of my children, she–"

"And because of that you'll always love her?" Josie finished.

"Exactly."

"But that's the thing Joel. You care about her. In some ways, because of who she's been as a figure in your life you love her. But you don't love her love her. You get what I'm saying?"

He exhaled, scrubbing at his face and flopping back against the bed to stare up at the ceiling.

"Yeah…"

"It's okay that you two aren't meant to be like you thought," she replied comfortingly.

"So what? You think I should just write her off?" Joel grouched.

"No."

"Ignore the fact Susie's got her tangled in mob contracts?"

"Joel."

"Because I can't do that! This isn't her fault and I'm not going to let it drag her down. I can't…"

He covered his face in his hands, getting choked up.

He couldn't let her down again…

"So you're just going to fall on your sword and take her place instead. Get your own hands dirty so that it's you that your kids have to see get dragged off by the feds, if not worse."

He shot her another tired glare.

Josie shrugged, “Hey man, don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t the one who got us in this mess.”

He heaved a tired sigh. "I don't know what else to do…"

"Have you forgotten about the very scary Chinese men in suits who hang out in your basement?"

"That's Mei's family. I'm pretty sure they hate me," he reminded her.

"Maybe. But they'd probably hate you more if you invited a different gang in on a cut of their turf," she conceded.

"So I'll sell the Button Club."

She let out an incredulous snort. "You love that club. And furthermore you loved Mei."

"Mei and I are done."

"Still wouldn't hurt to talk to her."

"Yes it would," he muttered.

"Joel..."

"I can't forgive her for what she did! If she was going to do that she shouldn't have said anything. She–"

"You fall in love with the ideas in your head so fast, you know."

Joel blinked at the statement, finally turning over to look at her. "What?"

"It makes you a great businessman," she replied gently. "But you can't try to make a person from an idea. You've already tried that."

"I–"

Josie held up a hand.

"Look. I know you're trying to be noble and your heart is actually in the right place for once. But you're being a real dumb dumb about this plan of yours and it's going to come back to bite you. Work smarter, baby bro."

"How do I do that?"

Josie moved herself over to lay down next to him."Stop trying to go it alone. Use your resources. You're good at that. You'll figure this out. Ask Pop for advice if you really get stuck."

She placed a kiss to his forehead, ruffling his hair.

"And call Mei when you wake up, if for nothing more than the closure."

"When I wake u–"

"Bye Joel," she said, giving him a shove.

He woke up as he fell off the bed onto the hard floor of his bedroom.

As if by fate, the scrap of paper with Mei's number on it stared back at him from the trash.

[spicyh0tramen]

And why was Drogo pillaging Mirri Maz Duur’s people in the first place? Because the Khalasar needed to sell more slaves to buy ships for Daenerys’ conquest of Westeros. All of Mirri’s suffering was in the pursuit of Daenerys’ goals.

“This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.”

Mirri Maz Duur and her people suffered the price of the Iron Throne.

"I've told the khal he ought to make for Meereen," Ser Jorah said. "They'll pay a better price than he'd get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them."

If Drogo has lived, the Khalasar would have traveled to Meereen and sold off their captured slaves to the Great Masters. They would have used these ships to begin Daenerys’ conquest. The fact that she conquered Meereen rather than selling slaves to them is simply a coincidence of Drogo’s death.

Her words were a knife through Dany's breast. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was finally going home. And now to lose it all . . . "No," she pleaded. "Save him, and I will free you, I swear it.”

Daenerys owns Mirri. This woman is her slave, and she holds the potential of freedom over her to get what she wants.

"There is a spell." Her voice was quiet, scarcely more than a whisper. "But it is hard, lady, and dark. Some would say that death is cleaner. I learned the way in Asshai, and paid dear for the lesson.

“Once I begin to sing, no one must enter this tent. My song will wake powers old and dark. The dead will dance here this night. No living man must look on them."

And the truly unfortunate thing is, Mirri really was trying her to do what was asked of her. She was a healer. She had no love for her slavers, but nor was she actively seeking vengeance.

1. Drogo ignored her instructions for caring for his wound. He tore off his poultice and continued to drink alcohol against her recommendation. His wound festered due to his own actions, and this led to his death. Why should Mirri care if this slaver dies as a fault of his own pride?

2. She told Daenerys using dark magics to preserve Drogo’s life would be a terrible and dark thing. She tried to convince her not to go through with it, offering a surprisingly considerate warning to the girl she knows as her slaver. And then Daenerys told her to do it anyway, holding her freedom over her.

3. Daenerys and Jorah ignored her clear instructions to stay out of the tent. The Khalasar, fearing the magic she had demand from Mirri, shatters apart. Violence erupts. Her water breaks under all the stress. No Dothraki birthing women will come to help her, they’ve already left the Khalasar. So Daenerys and Jorah enter the tent despite Mirri telling them no one must enter, and this leads to the death of Rhaego. Once again her slavers have gone against her guidance and once again they’ve suffered for it. 

And then she sees Daenerys’ rage, and she knows she’s going to die for their mistakes.

Mirri Maz Duur was healer from a peaceful people trying to serve the violent warlords who had captured her to the best of her ability. She was obedient to their every command. When those warlords fail to follow her instructions and  suffer the consequences for it, she shows no remorse, because there was nothing to be remorseful of. Their mistakes were their own, and Mirri was about to die for them, and so she justly expressed that it was a gift that Drogo the slaver and Rhaego the fetus hitler had died.

Daenerys is one of the most important characters in A Song of Ice and Fire, and her journey is one we can all connect with in different ways. But she did a horrible thing when she killed Mirri Maz Duur, and we’re not supposed to be cheering her on when she burns her slave to death.

Sometimes characters do bad things, sometimes their foolish actions lead to their own downfall. Taking away her flaws and making her the hero of every situation she finds herself in is a destruction of her character and the story she resides in.

“Saved me?” The Lhazareen woman spat. “Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me? I saw my god’s house burn, where I had healed good men beyond counting. My home they burned as well, and in the street I saw piles of heads. I saw the head of a baker who made my bread. I saw the head of a boy I had saved from deadeye fever, only three moons past. I heard children crying as the riders drove them off with their whips. Tell me again what you saved.”

This is a Mirri Maz Dur Stan account and THIS is the passage that made me give GOT a chance (I wanted to stop reading after the invasion of Lhazareen).

“Tell me again what you saved”. Chills, just chills.

[nicotinemaiden]

Die together

[Infinite Songs for her Smile - Ch.21]

Read on AO3 →

But if we die together now, we will always have each other, I won't lose you for another. And if we die together now, I would hold you 'til forever.

If we die together, die together now.

Take my heart and rip it out, bring it to the other side.

[  Amanda Tenfjord ]

She was looking at the endless sea, the moon vigilant of every one of her steps, her eyes a mirror to all the sadness and determination of the night.

It was almost time.

She carried a bow in her hand, a sack full of potions, bandages, bags of dust and everything else she could prepare on her waist, arrows at her back and the love for her people, her friends and her country - the one that accepted her with open arms when her birth country was yanked from her hands - as her best weapon.

Her free hand caressed the wood of the handrail. No one was prepared for this. Not the ship, not the crew, not the passengers and, most of all, not her. They were keeping course for the coast, just in case they could make it, but everyone knew it was impossible. The bird came too late, the warnings now looking more like an ill omen, a certainty that none of them could escape.

Another hand joined hers on the handrail and she wasted no time accommodating it on hers, linking their fingers together. This, this was all she had. Their life didn’t start together, even if her second chance at life did, but now it would end - together. Fighting together. Protecting that which they valued most: each other and their country. The country that set them free, shattering each of their chains, replacing them with bonds.

They’ve talked so much about this moment she felt there was little more to say. The reinforcements were coming, their only hope, the Great Naval Army of Wistal, sent by the kingdom itself. If she looked hard enough she could swear the sails were already showing themselves on the horizon. Only… she knew she was looking in the opposite direction. Their ship was small but the cargo was heavy. All the people - most of them civilians - were hidden in the hull, on the cabins, praying for their lives. She wished she could protect them. She would do her best to protect them. But even hope had a limit.

After three days of running to the meeting point, the closest port to them, she was starting to reach it. The storm that was slowly covering the night sky was a surprise but one they were prepared for. The sailors smelled it long before it was coming and the ship was ready. It was a problem, yes, and it scared her because it was her first real storm on a ship yet she could work with that. The real problem was the warships of Denim. Denim was a country across the sea, so, so far away she hadn’t heard talk of it until a week ago when the bird that sealed their fate found their ship in the middle of nothing.

The message was clear: A Naval Army was coming, searching for the conquest of the coastal cities of Wistal and Tanbarun. Their trajectory collided perfectly with that of their ship and, even if it didn’t, they were searching for every ship on this ocean. They sunken fishing ships, trading ships and passenger ships. They didn’t care about anyone or anything except the message they were sending to the kingdoms on the other side.

Her hand trembled for a second and her knight moved behind her, crossing his arms around her waist and nudging her neck with his nose. She closed her eyes, breathing his scent, moving her head slightly to be closer to him. Even in the high sea, even with the smell of salt on her nose, he still smelled of fresh grass and snow, exactly like the first day of spring in Lyrias. Her eyes stung, the tears screaming to come out, but she won’t let them. She had to be strong. For the people below this deck. For the people waiting for them. For him. For herself.

Her hand clutched the bow stronger for a moment before letting it fall to their feet in an unceremoniously way. She turned then, her arms reaching for the expanse of his back, her head seeking refuge on his chest. He kissed the top of her head and caressed every strand of red hair. The sails were close now, too close. The first tears of rain wettened the deck and the lighting struck first far away to the north. People were starting to move, to get to the small cannons, to their weapons of choice, to their loved ones.

She passed his knight one of her seeds, a red one, to remind him of her on the other side.

He left one of his knives in her care, as a lucky charm and as a last resource.

She thanked him for teaching her the way of the bow and the sword so many months ago, for being with her in these last moments as he was all those years before.

He thanked her for teaching him how to live, really live, and for being his guiding light in the dark even now.

He promised to protect her with all he had, his life included.

She promised she won’t let him fight alone, even if her life was on the line.

They promised that if they died, they would do it together - because they couldn’t think of it being any other way.

And then the explosions started.

[wistfulcynic]

The Thief of Time

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @optomisticgirl!! You are one of the loveliest and most supportive people in the fandom, a loving cat mom and brutal murderer who would die for a fictional plant and has the t-shirt to prove it. I am so, so honoured to have you as a friend ❤️❤️.

This fic came about because B sent me this post and I immediately said "Yep, Killian would be a wizard or an artificer." And B, unrepentant evildoer and witch!Emma's foremost fan, planted seeds in my head that would not stop growing. This is the result.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones, pirate-turned-artificer, has suffered blow after blow from life and all he wants is to go back to the past and make things right. If only he could get his bloody time machine to work.

Emma Swan, witch, has the ability to See through time and space and the responsibility to stand down any threats to either of them. When an artificer from 300 years ago in another realm devises a machine that could blow a hole straight through the multiverse, it’s her job to stop him.

What they find when they meet is an improbable connection, an understanding that bridges the distance between them. A distance that is in all practical ways insurmountable—by everything but love.

(And one very determined pirate-turned-artificer.)

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Words: <9k Rating: T Tags: magic au, witch!Emma, artificer!Killian, angst, Killian Jones is a sad boi, a dash of hurt/comfort, time travel, realm travel, HEA

AO3

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The Thief of Time:

Once upon a time there was an artificer.

He wasn’t much of an artificer, it must be said. Artificing, as everyone knows, requires patience, perseverance, and attention to detail, and while Killian Jones possessed a rock-solid stubbornness that stood in well for perseverance as well as a fine eye for detail, patience—at least when it came to tedious, laborious tasks—was not among his strengths.

This is perhaps why, on the particular bright morning when his life changed forever, Killian could be found in his workshop surrounded by shards of glass and a puddle of pale brown liquid oozing through his floorboards that until a moment before had been a bottle of rum. Until Killian, in a surge of frustration at yet another failure, had flung it furiously at the wall.

The rum bottle had been a more or less innocent bystander, a casualty of proximity, a stand-in for the machine that sat on a rickety table in the centre of the hut that served as Killian’s workshop—a machine that continued nonchalantly failing to function even after the rum bottle had met its tragic fate.

It was almost, thought Killian, as though the device didn’t care how many bottles came to an untimely end, it still had no intention of ever working.

He held out his hand with fingers curled like talons and let it hover menacingly over the machine before tightening it into a fist and shaking it. “I should bloody well smash you to bits,” he growled. “I should—”

He had no real idea of what he should do, beyond demolishing the bloody thing, heaving its carcass into the sea, and abandoning this foolhardy plan for good and all. It hardly mattered, though, as the machine made no reply—not so much as a tick of motion to indicate that it cared in the slightest about its own fate. Killian gritted his teeth and with effort reined in his temper. He reached for another rum bottle—there were always plenty standing by—and groped for a moment before he remembered he had the awl attachment connected to his brace and grabbed the bottle with his hand instead.

The bottle was stoppered with a tenuous scrap of cork; this Killian gripped between his teeth and dislodged with an expert twist of his neck, then spat it at the machine and watched as it struck the hammered copper facing with a satisfying thunk. He took the bottle to the porch of his hut—‘porch’ being the word with which he flattered the platform of weatherbeaten boards raised on hunks of driftwood—collapsed into the hammock strung across the corner of it and stared out to sea with the rum bottle cradled in his lap.

Tropical sun beat down on the shack and on the swaying palms that shaded it, and on the stretch of white beach that curved beyond it, and on the azure water glistening beneath the blazing sky. A tumbledown shack on a lonely atoll was not, so Killian had been given to understand, generally the sort of place in which most artificers chose to set up shop. They preferred tiny rooms atop winding staircases in tall university towers, so he was told, or for the more eccentric among them perhaps an derelict castle or even a dark forest hut. Somewhere close and damp and chill, where they could work by artful firelight draped in hooded cloaks and tuck the secrets of their craft safely away amongst the shadows.

Killian cared very little for such things, however, as he was not most artificers. He wasn’t, as has already been remarked, much of an artificer at all. A sailor by blood, a naval man by training, and a pirate by circumstance, this was Killian Jones. And now an artificer, by desperate last resort.

He took a long swig from his bottle and glared at the sea, at the ship that bobbed gently on the waves, anchored just to the left in the atoll’s curving bay. If he had any sense he’d end this foolishness, he thought with a bitter twist of his lip. He’d take his ship and find himself a crew, sail off and vent his frustrations on royal cargo vessels and navy frigates rather than haphazardly assembled collections of wood and scrap metal that would certainly never do more than than sit there smugly not working, taunting him, and—

Click.

Killian froze, with every muscle in his body. He waited. And waited. And—

Click.

Again. Killian exhaled slowly, cursing the faint vibrations of his breath in the air. He waited. And waited. And—

Click.

Click.

Click.

It was working.

—

A week later and Killian’s temper once again was hanging by the barest thread; the click of the device that had at first spurred him on now plucked at the frayed edges of his nerves and rattled inside his head each time he tried to focus. It was clicking, the mechanism was turning over, he had everything he’d thought he needed but still an element was missing, something vital that he couldn’t put his finger on, that hovered just at the edge of his perception like some fey spirit sent to taunt him.

Maybe you should just give up.

Killian spun around at the sound of the voice, a woman’s voice, with a wry tone and an unfamiliar accent. His eyes scanned the empty room. “Who’s there?” he called out, though it was plain to see no one was there. He was alone.

Quite alone.

He knew he was alone, of course, though the tingle between his shoulder blades did not concur, and remained even when he turned his attention back to his work. The sensation of being watched by unseen eyes is frequently a distracting one, but Killian stubbornly disregarded it and focused on his task. The sensation persisted.

He worked doggedly for several minutes, then set down his tools. “Lass,” he said to the room at large, “it’s bad form to stare.”

He swore he heard a chuckle.

“I do understand how it can be difficult for women to take their eyes off a devilishly handsome rapscallion such as myself,” Killian continued, “but I’m trying to work here so if you wouldn’t mind…”

He turned back to his workbench and as he did his elbow struck the edge of it, knocking over his latest rum bottle and sending a shooting pain up his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut and spat a stream of vicious curses and very nearly stabbed himself with the awl before recalling that he had no hand with which to cradle the afflicted elbow and rub away the pain. When it finally subsided and he opened his eyes once more, the sight that met them had him swearing a new and even bluer streak.

His device now sat bathed in a pool of rum, with sparks shooting from behind its copper face and very ominously not clicking. With a snarl Killian slammed his fist down on the table and ground it into the wood. He’d have to mop up the rum and wait at least a day or two to be certain whatever had seeped into the mechanism was completely dried before attempting to open it again to determine whether he could repair the damage. If he couldn’t he’d have to start over.

Or you could just give up.

“Are you responsible for this?” he demanded of the voice. “At long bloody last I was on the right track, and now—now—” He slammed his fist into his workbench again, sending rum droplets flying.

Look, don’t get cranky, mister. I’m just trying to stop you doing something stupid.

“Oh?” Killian snarled. “Is that what you’re doing? You’re a bit bloody late.”

What?

“I’ve done many a stupider thing than this, unhindered by any disembodied voices. You couldn’t have stopped me doing any of them?”

I—

“Where were you, for example, when I lost my brother in a cursed land, travelled back from that land, and then in a fit of rage burned the only method I had of returning there?” he demanded. “Where were you when I threw away my naval career, stole my brother’s ship, and led her crew into piracy? Where were you when I ravaged the land of my birth? Where were you when I fell in love with—” he broke off with a choking sound, then sat with his forearms resting on his knees, staring at his hand and at the leather brace where its twin should be. “I don’t know why I’m even saying this aloud,” he murmured, “you’re not truly here.” He ran his hand over his face then through his hair. “Perhaps I’m finally going mad. It’s an occupational hazard, or so I’ve been told.”

A breeze rustled through the shack, gentle and soothing. It whispered across his skin in what could only be called a caress. Despite himself, Killian felt comforted.

I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered. The voice’s compassion was undoubtedly genuine. But I couldn’t have prevented those things. They were not my business to See.

“And this is?” Killian demanded.

Yes.

He shook his head. “Who are you?”

There was no reply. The soothing breeze was gone, leaving the late afternoon air heavier and more still in its absence. His neck no longer tingled. He was alone. Again.

Always.

Killian pressed his fingers to his eyes and sighed, then grabbed a fresh bottle of rum—plus a second, upon further consideration—and headed out of the shack. Headed to the rowboat and the Jolly Roger, and, with any luck, a drunken stupor that would last until he could work on the device again.

“Hear this, lass,” he murmured as he paused in the doorway. “I will be back. I’m not giving up.”

We’ll see about that, whispered the voice, once he was gone.

—

Three days later and Killian’s hangover throbbed between his eyes, but his device was dry and in a less disastrous state than he’d feared. He tapped the magical stone that powered the mechanism until it sparked sharply in response, reconnected a few fine filaments of copper, snapped the gears back into place and held his breath.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Killian exhaled. It was still working.

Sort of.

He sat at his workbench and glared at the device, as though intensity alone could help him see what was missing in it. When it did not, he reached into his satchel with a long-suffering sigh, and withdrew a book.

He really should have gone to the books first. That’s what the other artificers had advised. Research before experimentation, a solid foundation of scholarship on which to build. In another life another Killian would have listened too, would have loved the prospect of hours, days, weeks spent in a library, absorbing the wondrous knowledge that it held. But that eager boy had long been lost, and the man who remained had spent too many years in wasted endeavours, hunting elusive magic beans and fairy wands, anything he heard of that he thought might aid his quest. When every lead he could scrounge all came to nothing he’d had no choice but to alter his course, and no bloody time to start from the beginning and do the thing properly. He’d already wasted so much time.

But perhaps, he conceded now, that had been a mistake.

The book had a weighty heft that testified its age, as did the brilliance of the jewelled ink on its vellum pages. Modern books with their rag-paper and plant inks were lighter, more fragile, less vibrant. Cheaper to produce of course, and more accessible, but the earnest, bespectacled scholar that still lived in Killian’s heart found them far more difficult to love. This book had been scribed centuries ago, by the hand of a monk whose name had long since vanished into time but whose skill was evident in the carefully crafted words and illustrations, the diagrams of fantastical devices that he had seen only with the eyes of his mind, never in reality.

Killian traced his finger over the lines of an engraving, squinting through his headache and the glaring sunshine to make out the tiny words that labelled it. With painstaking strokes he massaged his temples and let himself fall into the book, lost in study for the first time in many a year.

The hours sifted away like sand through his fingers, until a soft breeze ruffled through his hair and he became aware of that telltale tingle at the nape of his neck.

“Lass,” he said wryly, “has no one ever told you it’s rude to read over a person’s shoulder?”

It’s the only way I can find out what you’re up to.

“And just what prescisely makes that any of your concern?”

It just is. I can See it.

Though he could not have said how, Killian was certain she didn’t mean the sort of seeing one did with one’s eyes.

“So tell me then, what do you make of my choice of reading material?” he inquired.

Seems a bit dry.

He chuckled. “It is at that. But useful.”

You’re still planning to go ahead with it, then?

“I am. As I told you before, I don’t intend to give up.” A sharp smile flashed through his memory, the smell of sea salt on skin and in wind-whipped chestnut curls. His fist clenched. “I can’t.”

The breeze swirled up around him, wrapped itself about his shoulders in the gentlest embrace, and for a moment—just a moment—Killian let go. Let himself be comforted. Let himself relax. Tears prickled behind his eyes and his tired heart sighed. He swallowed hard.

You won’t find what you seek in this book, said the voice. Not what you really seek.

“Perhaps not. But it’s all I have left.”

Without warning the soft breeze stiffened, whipping up with force behind it and sending a half-full rum bottle teetering dangerously—but if Killian was prepared for anything these days it was betrayal. He caught the bottle before it could fall and set it safely aside, away from his device and his book and anything else that had the potential to be harmed by it.

“Nice try,” he sneered. The wind huffed a frustrated sigh.

This isn’t over.

“Why are you so determined to see me fail?” he demanded, but the words fell flat in the still and empty air—the absent prickle on the back of Killian’s neck informed him that she was gone again. “It’s not like I need any extra assistance in that area,” he grumbled. “I can fail perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

He bent to pick up the rum—a drink to soothe the ache in his heart—when his gaze caught on a diagram he hadn’t spotted before. He frowned and leaned closer, the rum forgotten, and began to read again. Soon he was absorbed once more, his eyes voracious as they scanned the pages. He made notes in the margins as he read, and tiny drawings and equations, and muttered half-formed thoughts to accompany the scratching of his pen. The clicks from his device soothed him now with their regular beat, and the tingle between his shoulder blades, when it returned, did not so much as register in his mind... though it lingered there as he worked, as the afternoon waned, until the sun began to sink below the horizon and Killian packed up his notes and his book and not his rum, and made his way back to his ship.

—

The next day found him in his workshop early, his mood uncharacteristically bright. He’d awoken that morning without a hangover for the first time in far longer than he cared to remember; the resulting clear head and sharp senses made the bright sunlight less oppressive in his perception, less like its exuberance was a judgement on his choices. Even his shack appeared cheerier than he recalled it, quaint rather than run-down, its slight slump to the left charming and not at all ominous. Killian was dangerously close to whistling a merry tune as he approached it, with his satchel slung over his shoulder and heavy with books.

He had brand new ideas to test.

His workshop itself consisted of the shack’s lone room and a single, long table that sat at the centre of it. On the table was his device, looking right at home there in the sense that it too was rickety, haphazardly constructed, and pitched to the left. Killian had told himself that the appearance of the thing didn’t matter so long as it functioned, but after it failed for so long to do even that he had begun to treat its exterior as a sort of whipping boy for his frustrations. The wooden casing bore deep gouges from his hook and other implements he’d attached to his brace; the copper facing was tarnished and dented. Hairline fractures criss-crossed the glass that covered the three small dials on the front and the long copper pole that was meant to be attached to the rear casing sat forlornly in a corner, looking as though it would dearly love the ability to rust, just as a way to express its feelings on the situation.

Looking at his device for the first time with clear eyes, Killian found that he felt rather bad. He really had made a dreadful hash of it. And although Killian Jones was frequently reckless, sometimes rash, and from time to time even a bit unhinged, he had never before been incompetent. Making a firm mental note to pick up some new materials the next time he made a supply run, he hefted the satchel onto his worktable, seated himself on the bench before it, and removed a book from the bag.

If he’d had two hands, he would have rubbed them together in glee.

Whatcha reading?

She appeared so suddenly that the prickle on his neck didn’t even have time to warn him. “I’m certain you can see the title for yourself, from wherever you are,” he replied.

Arithmetical Principles of the Mechanics of Time? Not very snappy.

“Never judge a book by its title, love.”

I thought that was by its cover.

“Title’s on the cover, isn’t it?”

So it is.

The voice sounded amused, and Killian chuckled to himself as he settled in to read. The tingle on the back of his neck remained as the unseen woman read along with him. He could feel her presence there, her eyes on him and on the book as he made his customary notes in the margins: quick diagrams and calculations and questions he would need to answer before he could proceed.

He was astonished to discover how engrossing the book was and how easy it was to lose himself in its pages, just as he had done the day before. How long had it been before then, since he’d allowed himself the luxury of a full day spent reading? Years, certainly. Time and tides, as the saying goes, wait for no man, and nor do rival pirate captains or deep-sea hellbeasts—they certainly do not wait for a man to finish his chapter before launching their attacks. Lazy days like this one took him back to his time in the naval academy, the long afternoons in the library there, the wonder he’d felt at all the knowledge contained in the books that surrounded him. An entire realm at his fingertips, just waiting for him to explore.

He had explored it in actuality years later on his ship, sailing her to the edge of the maps and beyond, but that first exposure to all the wonders the world held still shone as a jewel in his memory. For a young boy who until that moment had known only abandonment, drudgery, and abuse, the discovery that the world was far, far larger than he could ever have dreamt had been an invaluable treasure.

You love books.

Killian started; the voice sounded different now. It no longer echoed in his head, instead it seemed to come from somewhere to his right. He turned, and as he did perceived a shimmering in the hazy air, one that disappeared the moment he looked directly at it.

“I did,” he replied. “Once.” His mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Are you in my head, then, lass? Reading my thoughts?”

Of course not. It’s just obvious from your face.

“You’re familiar with the expression I’m wearing then, I take it? Perhaps because you’re inclined to wear it yourself?”

It was a shot in the dark, but it seemed to hit its mark. The shimmer grew more solid.

I—I’ve always loved to read. When I was a child it was all I had.

Something in the tone, a wistfulness perhaps, struck a chord in Killian. “You were alone, as child,” he said. “The books were your refuge.”

Yes.

Silence stretched for a moment, then he spoke again. “When I first arrived at the naval academy I could barely read,” he said slowly. “I was twelve years old. Where I come from literacy is a privilege of the wealthy, which my family was certainly not, but my mother’s father had been educated and he taught her to read and write. He was the younger son of a nobleman, disowned when he fell in love with a village girl. My mother in turn taught my father and also my elder brother. She had started to teach me as well but she grew ill and I was still so young, and then…” He trailed off, choked by the decades-old memory that still had the power to wound.

Then she died.

The voice was soft, so soft, and it settled around his shoulders like a blanket. He nodded. “Aye. She did.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes, just briefly, then continued. “After she passed, Liam, my brother, took over with my lessons, but there was never much time for such things. We were cabin boys on a large merchant ship by then, worked most days from dawn to dusk—but in what moments we had, we did try.” He shook his head. “Liam did the best he could, though our resources were so scarce his efforts produced little result. I was years behind the other lads my age at the academy at first, something they found highly entertaining.”

But you didn’t let that stop you.

“I did not,” he agreed. “Instead it spurred me on. In less than a year I had matched them, and in a year surpassed them. It was satisfying to make them eat their words, but in truth that was not my motivation.”

You wanted to know a world beyond the one you lived in.

“I wanted to know a world beyond the one I lived in.” He smiled at her, at the shimmering air in the corner of his eye that he almost fancied formed the shape of a woman. “As, I imagine, did you.”

Mmm.

Killian quirked an eyebrow at the shimmer. “Another orphan, I gather?” he pressed. “Alone in the world, unable to see a way out? Escaping into books for adventure, for a sense of the potential that lay beyond the narrow parameters of your life?”

You read me pretty well for someone who can’t even see me.

“You’re something of an open book, darling. If that metaphor isn’t too on the nose.” And perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t necessary to see someone to know them.

Faint laughter rang through the room. Open books read both ways, Killian Jones, her voice whispered, and then she was gone.

“Touché,” he muttered, as the tingle in his neck faded and a wave of magic pulsed in the air. A sharp snapping noise sounded from the device, followed by an echoing boingggg. Killian’s lips twitched. Softness followed by sabotage was becoming rather a thing with her.

He opened the casing and after a moment’s poking around in the mechanism identified the target of her attack—a small coupling in the box responsible for managing temporal currents. Killian felt himself grin. He was certain his unseen nemesis wouldn’t trouble herself to destroy anything that wasn’t crucial to the functioning of the device. He turned back to his book and flipped to the section on temporal flow.

“Thanks for the tip, love,” he murmured to the empty air.

—

Over the next month Killian worked doggedly on his research, leaving the device untouched and himself unhindered by tingles or voices or shimmery thickenings of the air. He read every book in his rather considerable collection, all the texts he’d… liberated from the universities and private collections of the realm’s best artificers then barely glanced into before he began constructing his device. He took a week off for a supply run, to collect the materials and bric-a-brac he’d need to construct the thing properly along with even more books, which he read eagerly at night on his ship, greedily absorbing the knowledge they contained as he lounged in his bunk.

Every day he thought about the voice, and about the very real woman he now felt certain was behind it. She wasn’t just a voice in his head, a symptom of madness or loneliness, or both. She existed, he had felt her, though he had never seen her face. He’d felt her presence and the connection between them—a peculiar sort of connection to be sure, but no less genuine for it.

The thought of speaking to her again helped spur him on.

Once he was back his workshop armed with resources in the form of both knowledge and supplies, he threw himself into a flurry of activity. He constructed shelves for his books, so he would not have to lug them to and from his ship every day. He built a sturdier workbench, with drawers to hold his tools, and a new, robust and polished casing and face for his device.

This was close work, requiring dexterity and concentration and the careful application of several magical items that had previously seemed to go out of their way to thwart him. As it turned out, Killian reflected wryly, he had simply been using them wrong. He still made mistakes, of course, and his lack of hand still proved a challenge. But gradually he found that he lost his temper less and less, that as he grew more knowledgeable and skilled he did not give in so easily or so frequently to despair.

He had almost entirely stopped drinking.

He spent a full week tweaking and refining the temporal current regulator in his device, until he was satisfied that not only near impervious to any further sabotage but also featured a clever adjustment of his own devising. Take that, Other Artificers.

He had done it. He knew he had. He had built his device and built it well. It would work now, and not because he threatened it or stumbled by happenstance upon the proper configuration. It would work because he knew what he was doing, and this time he’d done it right.

Killian Jones, artificer.

—

The stage was set.

The device was ready. More than ready. Its polished wood casing gleamed in the playful caress of the afternoon sunlight, which shimmered also off its copper facing and the smooth glass of its dials. The copper tube came up from where it was attached to the rear of the device and curved over the top of it, ending in a wide opening directly over Killian’s head. The rhythmic click of the mechanism was smooth and sonorous, each coupling attached and every gear well-oiled.

Click, went the device, tremulous and eager.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Every last thing was in readiness. Killian had only to flip the switch.

“You don’t want to do that.”

He paused with his finger poised above the small brass switch and smiled. “Back again, lass?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

The floorboards creaked, under boots that were not his. Leather rustled. Killian froze, then spun around. His jaw dropped.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped.

The woman stood in the centre of his workshop with her hands on her hips and lips curved in a wry smirk. Loose golden waves tumbled over her shoulders to frame an exquisite, fine-boned face and eyes that glinted green. She was dressed... well, she was dressed as no woman he’d ever seen before, in tall boots and tight-fitting trousers with no overskirt to cover them, and a leather jacket in the most outrageous shade of red. Killian blinked.

“You’re—I’m—what?” he choked.

“I said, you don’t want to do that,” she repeated. “If you do, you’ll blow a hole in the universe or—or something, I don’t exactly know. But it’s bad, and I can’t allow it to happen.”

Killian shook his head. He blinked again, harder this time, then rubbed his eyes. The woman was still there.

“What?” he shouted.

“Seriously?” snapped the woman. “You heard my voice in your head and didn’t even blink and I know you felt my presence. But now I’ve actually manifested and suddenly you’re at a loss for words? I thought at least I’d get some kind of smartass quip out of you. ‘At last a face to match the voice, lass’ or something.” She shrugged a single shoulder. “I don’t know. Something.”

“That’s—” Killian’s voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s your idea of a clever quip?”

She scowled. “Look, I said I don’t know. You’re the smartass.”

“Well you might at least give a man a minute to adjust his premises before you start demanding cleverness from him, when you appear from out of nowhere in his workshop,” retorted Killian. “There is in fact a world of difference between voices in the head and full fledged hallucinations, you know.”

“I’m not a hallucination,” she huffed.

Killian knew that of course, but he still felt on rather shaky ground, metaphysically speaking. “Well what are you then?” he demanded.

“I’m a manifestation,” she replied, as though it were obvious.

“Oh yes of course,” he shot back. “A manifestation, how foolish of me not to have known that.”

She rolled her eyes. He smirked.

“A manifestation of whom, precisely, if I might enquire?” he drawled.

“Emma Swan,” she proclaimed, in a tone one might use to announce the arrival of a queen. “Witch.”

Killian regarded her with his smirk firmly in place, to which he now added a raised eyebrow. “A witch, you say?”

“Yep.”

“Indeed.”

She sauntered over to his workbench, hips swaying in a manner that Killian told himself firmly he did not find enticing, and leaned over, peering at the device. “This looks a lot better than the last time I saw it,” she remarked.

“Yes, well, I’ve been working hard since then.”

“I can tell.” She flashed him a look that had his muscles tensing. “Too bad it’s all for nothing.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed—”

“Why do you want to travel in time anyway?” she interrupted, turning to face him and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a risky business, you know. Loads of people have tried and it never ends well for any of them.”

“That’s rather a bold statement from you, love, considering you are clearly not from this time,” he retorted.

“What makes you say that?”

Killian let his gaze sweep over her. “Red leather jackets aren’t exactly in vogue here,” he said loftily. “I’d be very surprised if they even exist. How did you get it to be that colour?”

“How the hell should I know, I didn’t make it!”

“Fair enough. Still stands out like a sore thumb, though.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not staying then.”

“Aren’t you?” Killian felt a twist in his gut at that; he was so enjoying sparring with her. “Shame. I suppose you ought to run along then, and let me get back to my work.”

“Ah, no. That I can’t do.”

“And might I enquire why not?”

Her expression, which had been sparking with the same joy of snarky battle that Killian felt himself, grew solemn. “If you’re successful then the repercussions of your work will echo all the way into my realm, in my time,” she said. “And I can’t allow that to happen.”

“Indeed?” he taunted, before he could prevent himself. “And just how do you propose to stop it?”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh you are so going to regret asking that.”

She raised her hand and twisted it, the merest flick of her wrist that sent a powerful pulse of energy through the room. He felt it throb through his body and he was rocked by its wave. What followed was silence.

Silence. No clicks. Not a one.

Killian spun round in fury and glowered down at Emma Swan, witch, who did not so much as flinch away from him. On the contrary, she appeared quite pleased with herself, and thoroughly unfazed by his very finest pirate snarl.

“I’ve never managed that so successfully cross-realms before,” she remarked.

Killian’s temper snapped. “What the bloody buggering fuck do you think you’re doing?” he roared. Her nonchalance was infuriating.

“I told you,” she reminded him coolly. “I can’t allow you to succeed.”

“I wasn’t succeeding, though, was I?” he hissed. “I’ve been not succeeding for the best part of a year now.”

“I know.” Her smug expression softened into an empathy that set his teeth on edge. “But that was about to change.”

“Oh was it?”

“Yep.”

He knew it was. But she... “And how the bloody hell could you possibly know that?”

“I told you, I’m a witch.”

He scoffed. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“Well... yeah, I guess it kind of is.” She frowned. “You know what a witch is, right?”

“Of course I do. A witch is a person, most commonly a female, who is possessed of magical or supernatural powers, typically focused on medicine, the body, nature, and the spirit,” Killian recited.

Emma blinked. “That’s… very precise.”

“I’m well versed in defining the various types and levels of magical practitioner,” he informed her. His surge of anger was draining away and he found he lacked both the energy and will to hold on to it. “The Guild is most insistent that registration be precise.”

“Guild?” Her frown deepened. “Registration?”

“Aye. To both.”

“You had to register? With a guild?”

“I did.”

“Register as what?”

“As an artificer, of course. Despite my lack of skill in the discipline, the Guild insisted. Firmly. Fists were involved.”

“I—see.” Her lips twitched. “That seems unethical.”

He barked a laugh. “Welcome to the Enchanted Forest, love.”

Emma’s eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. “Is that where this is?”

“Aye. Though strictly speaking this”—he gestured at the space around them—“is on an atoll in the Far Southern Sea. But the Artificers’ Guild is in the Enchanted Forest, and they care very little for such things as venue or jurisdiction.” He looked at her curiously. “Didn’t you know?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’m not really here, you see.”

Killian had been so caught up first in wonder then in fury that he hadn’t truly looked at her, at least not beyond what was required to note her striking beauty and odd attire. A manifestation, she had called herself, and once he knew what to look for it was plain to see—the faint translucence and hazy outline of her form. Cautiously, he reached out his hand. It went right through her shoulder, with no more resistance than water in a bathtub.

“Huh,” he said. “Curious. So where exactly are you then, Emma Swan, witch, if you’re not here?”

“I’m…” Emma’s brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled. Killian told himself sternly that it was unwise to find a nose adorable when it sat on the face of the corporeal manifestation of a witch from an unspecified realm. “Well, I don’t really know how to describe it,” she said. “I’m on Earth. About three hundred years in your future. Though I suppose this must be Earth too, really.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I think so? What do you call it? This… place. Bigger than the Enchanted Forest. You… you know there’s a place bigger, right? Beyond the, um, the forest?”

His lip quirked. Her stumbling attempts to explain were also not adorable. “That I do, lass,” he replied. “I spent years sailing the seas of this realm and have travelled to many a land.”

“You’ve travelled the Earth, then,” said Emma. “Or your equivalent of it. What would you call it?”

“Terra, I believe is what you mean.”

“Yes!” She snapped her fingers then pointed the index one at him. “That’s got to be it!”

“So if I understand you, you’re saying you come from Terra as well, but a different version of it, which you call Earth?”

She gave an eager nod. “Yeah, basically. My Earth was called Terra once too, by people who lived in my past, in a different country. But in my language and my time and my country we say Earth.”

“I... see,” said Killian.

“Yeah.” Emma looked a bit sheepish and waved her hand in a vague arc. “It’s a whole thing with multiverses I don’t really understand, if I’m honest. I’m not a wizard, you see.”

“No indeed. Nor I.”

“Well, I mean, you’re not even much of an artificer. Or at least not until recently.”

She was attempting to tease, he could tell. To keep the mood light between them. But all he could hear was the death knell of his last resort, the only hope he had left of honouring his vow. Without warning, the weight of everything he’d been through, a lifetime of struggle and defeat culminating in his attempt to build a time machine that would apparently destroy multiple realms were it allowed to succeed, settled on his shoulders. It was all he could do not to collapse beneath it. He sank down onto the bench and ran his hand down his face.

“No. That I certainly am not.”

He sensed rather than felt Emma sit down beside him—there was barely more than a shift in the air to mark her movement.

“I’m not an artificer, not even now,” he told her, staring at his hand and brace. “All I am is a desperate man looking to right a terrible wrong.”

“A wrong you need to go back in time to fix?” she asked gently.

“Aye.”

“What happened?”

Killian clenched his jaw. He did not wish to discuss Milah. He never actually had, though others besides Emma had tried to make him, insisting he would feel better if he spoke of it. If he gave vent to his anger and his grief. But he could not—the words caught in his throat each time he tried, stopped by the anger that sat hard and curdled in his chest.

“There was… a woman,” he ground out, faintly astonished to hear the words fall from his lips. “I loved her and she me, but she was married to another. A cringing coward of a man who valued his own comfort and meagre security above her happiness and her health.” He breathed slowly through the anger that still rose up at the thought of it. “She tried her best with him, for years she tried, but ultimately she came to realise that he would never change. She saw the remainder of her life stretched out before her, a grim slog through a grey world of misery, and she knew she had to do something, whatever was necessary to change it. For the sake of her own survival.” He risked a glance at Emma. “But she was a woman, thus her options were limited.”

“So she ran away with you,” said Emma. He searched her face for judgment, but there was none.

He nodded. “She ran away with me.”

“You saved her life,” she said harshly. “But you shouldn’t have had to.”

He blinked, startled at her tone, and watched as her face grew tight with anger. “In my land and my time, women have choices,” she hissed. “We have to fight for them every day, but we have them. We can leave marriages and we can have jobs and we can own our own houses and have our own lives. We don’t rely on men unless we choose to.” She looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m guessing that’s not the case here?”

“You guess correctly.” Killian’s voice was choked, his chest drawn tight by the depth of her compassion. Compassion for a woman she’d never met, who had died long before her time. He cleared his throat. “Milah had nowhere to go and no means to go there. I offered her an escape. It was all I could do.”

A moment passed before Emma spoke again.

“What went wrong?” she asked.

His lip curled. “I expect you can guess.”

He could sense the catch in her breath, though it made no sound in the quiet room. “Her husband found you?”

“Aye. Rather a predictable storyline, isn’t it? But there's an unpleasant twist to this tale, I fear.”

“What twist?” she demanded.

Killian swallowed. “Have you heard of the Dark One?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Well, yes. I’ve read the lore of course, but… are you saying the Dark One is real?”

“Very much so.”

He watched as comprehension dawned in her eyes. “And he—your—Milah’s husband—”

“Had become the Dark One, aye. At the cost of his soul, of course, but for some men that's a small price to pay to punish an errant wife.”

“Wow. I mean—wow.”

“I’m not familiar with that particular expression but it certainly seems to suit the case,” said Killian drily. “Wow indeed.”

“He murdered her, didn’t he?” Emma said, in a voice like the lash of a whip. It was not a question.

“On the deck of my ship,” Killian replied, “as I watched, helpless to prevent it. He tore her heart from her chest and he crushed it to dust.” He held up his brace, catching the sunlight on the curve of his hook. “And then he took my hand.”

Emma exhaled, long and slow. “So that’s why you want to go back. To stop her murder.”

This was also not a question, but he answered it nonetheless. “Aye. I promised to protect her and I failed. I have to make it right.”

“You know you can’t do that, Killian.”

The empathy in her voice, the understanding, the way she said his name… Killian’s anger rose again and he snapped at her. “Well not now that you’ve destroyed my bloody time machine!”

“You couldn’t have anyway.”

“And just how the devil—”

“Look, I told you, I’m not a wizard,” said Emma insistently. She shifted on the bench until she was facing him fully, one leg tucked beneath the other. “I don’t know all the ins and outs of how the universe works, or like, the multiverse or whatever. All I know is that if you turn on that machine it will blow a hole in all of it. Every realm and at every time would be destroyed. It would end the world.”

Killian scowled as his mind sought frantically for a loophole, a counterpoint, a way. His fist was tightly clenched and pressed hard against his thigh, his breathing shallow. “The books said—”

“The books don’t know,” she interrupted in that same insistent tone. “No one’s ever done this before. No one’s ever even come close.”

“And here I thought I wasn’t much of an artificer,” he sneered.

“Like I said before. You weren’t.”

Killian thought of all the reading he’d done, the careful cross-referencing of books that likely had never before been seen by the same pair of eyes. He thought of his temporal current regulator, the refinements he’d made to it. How certain he was that it would work.

He looked over at Emma to find her watching him, with gentle sympathy and not a hint of pity. “You can’t go back, Killian,” she said softly. “The past has already happened. All you can do is go forward.”

“So what you’re telling me is I need to move on,” he snarled. How he loathed that expression.

She nodded. “In more ways than one.”

Cautiously she reached out and placed her hand over his clenched fist, and though he could not feel her touch he felt it, the warmth of her compassion and her strength and her magic, drawn from another realm in another time. He let his hand relax and held it, palm up, beneath hers. He drew a deep, unsteady breath and then released it. Then he drew another.

They sat in silence for some time.

“I can’t recall the last time I considered what Milah would think if she could see what I was doing,” said Killian, finally, in a low voice. “I thought about her all the time, at first. But then… it got to the point where every time thoughts of her came into my head I would drink them straight out of it.”

“Because you knew that if she could see you she wouldn’t like what she saw.”

“Because I knew that if she could see me she wouldn’t like what she saw,” he echoed. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to lose myself in this—obsession. But then I have always been prone to obsession and she knew that better than anyone.”

“Obsession is just another word for intense dedication,” declared Emma, “once you add a bit of healthy perspective to it. It’s sincere devotion to what you value. Maybe all you need is just to shift your focus a bit. Find something new to work on, and another motivation to drive you.”

“Something new,” he repeated, then gave a hoarse, choking laugh. “I confess I’ve no idea what that could be.”

“You’ll find something.” The look in her eyes as she watched him was amused, wry, soft, and sad all at once. An odd sensation twisted in his chest. “I wish—” she began, then broke off with a shake of her head.

Killian realised their hands were still clasped. He wished he could close his fingers around hers, truly feel the touch of them against his skin. “What do you wish, love?” he pressed.

She shook her head again. “It’s just—after today I won’t be able to See you anymore. Once you’re no longer a threat you’ll stop appearing in my visions. I just wish I could watch what you do next, that’s all." She flashed him a grin. "I have a feeling it’ll be something epic.”

He laughed and after a moment she joined him, with a tinkling, joyous sound that made his heart feel lighter than perhaps it ever had. Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe he could do something different. Something not driven by loss or anger or greed. “I don’t know if I can promise epic,” he told her. “But I do promise I'll do something. Something important to me. I promise you, Emma Swan.”

She smiled, gorgeous and heartbreaking. “Good.”

Killian could swear he felt her hand tightening on his, felt it in the echoing squeeze in his chest. He heard her next words before she spoke them.

“I have to go.”

He forced himself to nod. “I know.”

She reached up with her free hand and traced her fingertips across his cheek. “Goodbye, Killian Jones,” she whispered… and then she was gone.

Killian sat alone in his workshop with an empty hand and a silent machine, and a brand new ache in his heart. And for the very first time in a life full of loss, he allowed himself to grieve.

—

Killian didn’t drink.

He wanted to. The rum called to him, a siren’s song of numb oblivion, but that was a pit into which he no longer wished to fall. He had things to do now, crucial things, and they required a clear head.

He took the Jolly Roger and he sailed away, far across the seas to a place he'd sworn he’d never go again. The small port village where Milah had lived, and where she’d died. Whose harbour he’d put at his bow for less than an hour before he’d tipped her body into the depths of the sea.

It was the nearest thing he had to a gravestone.

He stood on the deck with his hand on the railing, staring down into the choppy waves below. His throat ached and his chest felt tight.

“I’m so sorry, Milah,” he whispered. “Sorry that I failed in my promise to protect you. Sorry that when I lost you I lost myself as well. I let myself fall so deeply into despair that I lost sight of who I was—and in doing so I sacrificed the man you loved. I’m sorry I became something you’d have hated me to be.” His throat closed up and he swallowed through it, forced the next words out. “When you died I swore to avenge you, but my love, I think—” he exhaled slowly “—I think I have to let you go.”

A brisk wind swept in off the water and ruffled through his hair as Milah’s fingers used to do. It stroked his cheek with the touch of her lips and whispered with her voice in his ear.

I love you, it said. Go.

Killian let his eyes fall shut as he breathed in the scent of her skin, closed his fist in her curls one final time. When he opened them again he was alone.

Alone, but for the first time in many a year, hopeful.

The past is done, he thought, and can’t be changed. All you can do is move forward.

Somewhere, some time, there was a green-eyed witch with golden curls and a sharp tongue and the softest heart he’d ever known. One who could read him like a book and understand the story it told. And he was an artificer who knew how to build a bloody time machine.

It was time to move on.

—

The afternoon was warm and hazy as it often is in August on the coast of Maine. The air was heavy and humid and buzzing with the hum of bees and midges as they swarmed and bumbled their way through late-summer flowers. Flowers that bloomed in full riotous colour in the remarkable garden of a thoroughly unremarkable grey clapboard house.

A figure approached the garden gate, tall and oddly dressed for this realm. He wore a long and sweeping leather coat over an ornately embroidered waistcoat, tall leather boots and a matching heavy satchel slung across his back. He paused, and regarded the gate with a raised eyebrow and all the deference he could muster.

Killian Jones knew magic when he sensed it.

“May I come in, lass?” he inquired of the air and the gate and the bumblebees, and whomever else might happen to be listening.

The gate swung open.

Killian favoured it with a small bow then sauntered through it, through the bright and fragrant garden and up to the porch steps and the door atop them. It opened as he approached to reveal a woman with long curling hair, a tight white tank top and very short shorts. She placed a hand on her hip and smirked.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

Killian climbed the porch steps and dropped his satchel, hooked a thumb beneath his belt buckle and treated her to his flirtiest grin. “Time is relative, I think you’ll find,” he replied. “Also an illusion. And there are some philosophers who claim that—”

His words were cut off by Emma’s lips, her fingers tight on the lapels of his coat as she pulled him in close. She was solid and real against his chest, her mouth hot and her skin so soft. Killian groaned as he sank his fingers into her hair, as he kissed her back with everything he’d held in his heart since he saw her last.

The kiss was short but rich with feeling, with potential, with hope. When it ended they paused for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s breath.

Emma spoke first. “You came forward,” she said. “You actually did it.” She laughed, and thumped her fist lightly against his chest. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“Aye, well, as it turns out, I’m a hell of an artificer,” he replied, and she laughed again. He pulled her against him, wrapped his arms tight around her and sighed as she tucked her head beneath his chin.

“And the rest of it?” she inquired softly. “Milah, and the Dark One—”

He took a moment to consider how to answer. There were many things he could say, so much he wanted to tell her. But it would wait. They had time. In the end he said simply, “I’ve made my peace. It’s done.”

“Good.” She looked up at him with that glorious smile and his heart sang with happiness. “That’s good.”

—

@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @katie-dub @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @stahlop @spartanguard @killianjones-twopointoh @captain-emmajones

-

[writingwhimsey]

My Pirate Lord and Our Life Ch. 33

Chapter 33

It was a few days later that our plan was put into motion. The Oda forces had departed and we were now on the ship sailing out of Aki. I stood on deck, Misa beside me. We were both looking out over the ocean. "So, what are you thinking?" I asked her. I could tell by the look on her face that something was bothering her.

"Just thinking how strange all of this is." She answered.

"What exactly do you mean?" I asked.

Misa smiled at me. "Just that we are actually five hundred years in the past. I mean when you told me when we were back home...I believed you. I knew you wouldn't lie o me. And yet... it's just different actually being here and seeing it. Not to mention how well you fit in with all of these crazy warlords."

"You seemed to be fitting in rather well, too Misa." I teased her.

"Well, I mean...they honestly kinda reminded me of when we all used to get together with the guys from the boys home."

"A bit." I agreed.

"I'm also amazed at how well you've adapted to the life here." She said, her smile soft. "I mean, everyone here seems to adore you. Not that I can blame them really."

I shook my head. "I don't know if I'd say they all adore me."

"Please, Hideyoshi freaking calls you his little sister. Masamune can't stop himself from battling Motonari over your taste-buds. Nobunaga calls you his lucky charm. Keiji and Mitsuhide both seem to enjoy teasing you. "

"Alright, I get your point. I am well loved here by a very large family." I said blushing.

"Of course we can't forget the way Motonari's crew falls all over themselves to help take care of you." Misa added with a grin.

"That's probably just because they're afraid of Motonari." I replied.

"I can see him threatening them within an inch of their lives if something were to happen to you." Misa agreed.

"While he did threaten them, the crew does adore you, Lady Mouri. " Hiroyoshi said as he came to join us.

"Were you listening to us, Hiroyoshi" Misa asked, a teasing smile on her face.

" I would never, my Lady." He replied. "I just happened to be walking by."

"Please stop it with that my lady stuff. I do not have a title." Misa told him.

"You are my Lady's sister. It would be improper " He replied.

"This old geezer won't ever be informal with anyone." Motonari said, coming out of a meeting with his crew. He came up to me and placed another haori coat over my shoulders before wrapping his arms around me, from behind.

I turned my head and smiled up at him. "It's not that cold you know." I teased him.

"It's gettin' colder. And you know it only gets colder at sea." He replied. "Gotta make sure you stay warm." He then kissed the top of my head.

"I swear I'm going to throw up from listening to you two one of these days." Misa quipped with an eyeroll.

I reached over and playfully swatted at her. "Oh come on you know you're happy to see me happy."

"Doesn't mean your happiness isn't going to make me barf. "

"If ya do, just make sure ta get it over the ship. Yer cleaning up Yer own mess." Motonari replied.

"Don't worry, I would handle it, my lady." Hiroyoshi assured Misa.

"It's alright. A little puke never deterred me. It's my job to deal with a lot worse body fluids."

"What do ya mean by that? " Motonari asked.

"You'll find out when the baby is delivered." Misa answered.

"You plan on being in the room during the birth my lord?"Hiroyoshi asked, seeming surprised.

"He better be." I found myself saying. I honestly hadn't thought about the possibility of him not being in the room. Nor did I think I could do it without him there.

Motonari laughed. "You givin' me orders now, Flower Girl?"

"I mean... " I began flustered.

He laughed again as be reached a hand up to muss my hair. "Course, I'm gonna be there. I ain't missin' it fer nothin. " He assured me. "I'll always be there for Ya . "

I let out a relieved sigh and relaxed back against him and smiled. "Good."

"Hopefully, Kimi and Asuna will be here by then, too." Misa said. "Get the whole family together."

"Okay, but me giving birth doesn't really need to turn into a show." I said. I know that we had all been there for Kimi when she had Kotoro, but that's because she wouldn't have had anyone else otherwise. I kind of really only wanted Motonari there. Of course Misa would be there since she was my midwife.

"You act like we all haven't seen each other naked a million times." Misa teased me.

"What's this now?" Motonari asked. "Should I have been worried about that slumber party you girls had?"

I laughed. "We grew up together sharing a bedroom and bathroom. Privacy was really nonexistent."

"At least if we wanted to get to school on time." Misa agreed.

"And even though that is all true, you know...maybe I don't need the whole world witnessing me give birth." I replied.

"Whatever makes you comfortable." Misa replied. "Of course you may also not give two shits once you're in labor."

"Well, we're still months away." I said. "So, plenty of time to talk about all of that."

"True." Misa agreed.

"So, when should we reach our first port?" I asked Motonari.

"In just couple of days." He answered. "And don't you worry about a thing. When we get there, you just go enjoy yer shoppin' like ya always do. Six guards'll be with ya, while I go to my meetin's and make it easy fer Kicho ta find me."

"You know telling me not to worry isn't going to make me not worry." I remarked.

Motonari kissed the top of my head. "It's all gonna be just fine. Ya know the only plans I've ever had fail were because you started spreadin' yer flowers and makin' 'em grow in my head, too."

I laughed. "Hey, I know if anyone can pull this off, it's you. I don't doubt that...I just have a general nervous feeling about everything and you know worry for you."

"It'll all work out. I swear to ya." He told me.

"Is it bad that knowing the plan, I hope we don't find him in the first port?" I asked.

"Nah...it'll be just as hard fer me, flower girl." He assured me, gently squeezing me tighter.

"You know, I just thought of something I needed to do." Misa said. "Excuse me."

"I also have much to do. Pardon me, my lord, my lady." Hiroyoshi said, bowing before he and Misa both walked away.

I turned around in Motonari's arms to face him, placing my hands on his chest. "And you're sure there's no other way? No better plan?"

Motonari leaned his forehead down against mine. "I wish there were a better one." He said. "But I gotta find out that bastard's plan, make sure he hasn't already set things in motion."

"And you have to get him to trust you to do that." I said with a sigh.

"I'll take care of this as quickly as I can." He assured me, his blood red eyes meeting mine. "I got my you and this little one countin' on me."

I smiled up at him. "Pretty sure there are other people counting on you, too."

"That may be, but you two are the only ones that matter." He replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to my lips. "I swear to ya, I'll make sure plan goes off without a hitch and get it wrapped up quick."

"If anyone can do it, it's you." I agreed.

The next couple of days passed by too quickly and we were soon arriving at port. When we disembarked, Motonari walked with me so far into town, Misa and our six guards with us, though they were a respectable distance away. Misa was chatting with the guys. They'd all already taken a liking to her.

"Alright, here's where I gotta part with ya." Motonari said, as we stopped outside of a merchant house.

I nodded and did my best to keep the frown from my face. I wasn't sure why, but I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach that this was the day we were going to find Kicho.

Motonari removed both of his gloves and tucked them into a pocket before cupping my face between both of his hands. "Hey, don't look so worried. I told ya, I'd get this all taken care of. And I'll get it done quickly." He was then crushing his lips to mine.

I pressed myself closer to him and wrapped my arms around his neck. Though we had just spent last night and this morning making love, as if it were our last time, I still couldn't help but to want to keep him close. I wished we could just stay in a world just the two of us and not even have to worry about all of this...but considering what Kicho was up to, I knew what we had to do.

Motonari deepened this kiss, his tongue slipping past my lips, tracing the lines of my mouth, memorizing my taste. I tangled my tongue with us, savoring his taste as well. I wasn't sure how long the kiss lasted before we were parting, both of us panting.

"I love you, Ava." He told me.

"I love you, Motonari."

We kissed once more before finally parting and going our separate ways. It killed me knowing what was coming. I sensed it in every fiber of my being that it would be today. That it would be here that Kicho showed up. That this would be the last time I would get to see my beloved for a while.

Check out the drama and action in the next chapter below!

https://writingwhimsey.tumblr.com/post/671846698487791616/my-pirate-lord-and-our-life-ch-34

[joycob]

May I request an angst/fluff with Sunwoo where you're both friends and you have a crush on him but he's dating another girl, but then they like break up and everyone thinks he's sad about it but a few days later he confesses to you? Thank you~

Sunwoo | Honesty

word count : 1.2k { i got a lil carried away ehe }

idol! sunwoo x fan! female! reader

includes: angst, fluffy ending

a/n: sorry anon that this took so long but i hope you enjoy !!

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ keep reading below !

The school semester had just started back up after the long christmas holidays. The halls were filled with tired adolescents grogging and groaning about their overdue math projects. The crisp winter air bit at your cheeks leaving them a bright rosy red as you stood outside the corridors and waited for your, as expected, late best friend Kevin. You watched as he got out of the car and turned to face you with a semi-apologetic smile.

“Save the apologies Keb let’s just get inside it’s -15° out right now!” He nodded quickly and followed you inside the corridors. As soon as you both entered the building, an audible groan excited your lips at the sight infront of you, earning a playful smack from Kevin. “I swear if i see them one more time i’m going to get sick.” “Oh just face it Y/n you like him, and you’re jealous.” Kevin smirked and patted your shoulder. “Unfortunately sweetie, you don’t hide it well.” He gave you another sympathetic look.

“Oh look who’s coming right now! I think I hear my teacher calling me.. good luck loser.” Kevin shot you a wink before running down the busy hall. God only hoped Kevin would actually arrive to his class let alone on time. You laughed silently to yourself at your best friends goofy running style before you realized the situation ahead of you; Sunwoo and his new girlfriend e/n— walking towards you.

“Hey y/n! How was your holidays? You didn’t come over on Christmas, my family was a little worried.” As soon as Sunwoo said that you could tell his girlfriend had gotten upset. Clearly wanting to escape the situation and truth be told, you felt her pain. “Sunwoo we aren’t 10 years old anymore.. traditions are bound to be broken.” With that you left a dumbfounded sunwoo behind as you headed towards your classroom. The urge to blink back tears was real, but you couldn’t let him know now as your ship of chances had sailed long ago.

Sunwoo and you were really good friends. Since birth, both of your parents were divorced and worked together meaning you two were always left to play and keep each other company. You were just two neighbour kids having fun, until you realized you had feelings for him.. and truth be told you knew it was bound to happen at some point, there was not one thing to not love about that boy. But from then on you distanced yourself, you no longer wanted to hang out at the park with him and his friends, you declined all of his phone calls and ignored his texts. Highschool came and you had every class together but not one word was spoken, you still liked him.. but couldn’t bear to have your heart broken.

Your judgement was right, and soon rumours had surfaced that he was dating the one girl who you’d hope to see him never with, for his own sake. The girl that every guy got a chance with merely because she found it entertaining. Anything to protect her ego you supposed. However, you didn’t want to believe it was real until one day as you were finally about to confess to him he had walked out of the school doors holding hands with E/n. Your heart undoubtedly shattered but who were you to complain? You were the one who distanced away from him.

“Y/n? Y/n !” You snapped out of your daydream as your teacher snapped his fingers infront of your face. “Finally, your back to your senses, now, whats the answer to question 1a.” Your mind drew a blank and your cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment. “I..i’m not sure sir.” He flicked his tounge in disapproval, “and this is a perfect example of somebody who doesn’t want to get far in life.” Your not going to lie, that hurt a bit.. but was he wrong?

*dinngggggg* “thank the lord i’ve been saved by the bell.”

Exciting the classroom you happily made your way to the cafeteria eager to indulge in some warm food. Immediately after entering the caf you locked eyes with Kevin who gestured for you to come sit at his table. “Hey babes how has your day been?” he asked as he muched on his cheetos. “To be honest, it could be better but you know how it is.”

“I do.. all too well.” Kevin sent you another wink before both of you adverted your gaze to the shouting across the cafeteria much with the rest of the attending students.

“YOUR NOT LISTENING TO ME!”

“YEAH WELL YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME!”

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT FOOD YOU WANT? IM NOT JUST A BUILT IN MIND READER!”

“YOURE MY BOYFRIEND YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS STUFF!”

“WELL CLEARLY WE MIS CLICKED OR SOMETHING!”

“IM DONE. WE’RE DONE!”

You and Kevin watched with your mouths wide open at the sight of Sunwoo and his Girlfriend.. well ex girlfriend fighting publicly. “Did I just see and hear that correctly?” Kevin asked stunned. “Y/n?... Y/n!” You blinked a few times trying to register what just went on but after 2 minutes you were on solid ground. “Woah that was intense.” “You can say that again... I wonder whats going to happen now. This is unbelievable, look at all the boys and girls following e/n but are we realizing there is not ONE girl trying to go help Sunwoo?! disgusting.” Kevin picked up his lunch tray and walked away from the table leaving you rather confused. However, he was right, nobody was there to help Sunwoo.. and that only made you realize how selfish you had been. Simply only caring about your feelings instead of being a responsible and proper friend.

You watched as Sunwoo grabbed his bag and walked outside into the cold wintry temperature. Trying to be as nonchalant as possible you followed him out to were he was sitting, on a bench by the campus gates. “May I sit here?” you gave him an apologetic look but before you could sit down he stood up and gave you a great big hug. “You’re speaking to me again.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt him relax in your embrace, you had hurt the poor boy. “Sunwoo.. i’m sorry.” You pushed away— breaking the short lived hug. “It was my fault.” He looked at you with a confused expression, his eyes showing hurt mixed with a little bit of hope. Sunwoo was bracing for the worst, yet he wanted you to continue.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you Sunwoo. I was protecting myself.” you kicked a little clump of snow and watched it roll away from it’s comfortable spot. “Protect yourself from what Y/n?” you sighed at Sunwoo’s words. “From my feelings. From the fact that I was so in love with you it hurt to even look at you because I knew you only seen me as your best friend.” Actual tears began to fall from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks but Sunwoo was right there, catching them all before they could touch the ground. “So all this time, I thought you despised me.. but you actually, liked me?” his mouth formed a small smile and you let out a scoff. “Try more of the term, love.”

“Well.. Y/n what you didn’t know was that this entire time I was madly in love with you too. Next time, do me a favour hm?”

you looked up at him slightly confused.

“Be honest with me”

[bibbawrites]

Dinner of Disaster - a Single Dad!Charlie short story

THIS IS A PART OF THE SINGLE DAD!CHARLIE SERIES, YOU CAN FIND THE OTHER PARTS HERE

Summary: Set before Margaux was born, Charlie invites his pregnant girlfriend along to a dinner with his family, which ends in sparks flying (and not the good kind)

Warnings: arguments, reference to unsafe sex, one swear word

Tag List: @happinessinthedarkesttimes​ @littlemissaddict @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic​ @headheartbellarke​ @lovesanimals​ @bartok-the-magnificent​ @juliefromaustralia @multi-universe21 @rangerelik @kaitieskidmore1 @fandomxreaders​ @ifilwtmfc @yagorlemmalyn​

Charlie's 18th birthday was fast approaching, and it was time for him to let his family in on a decision he had been keeping to himself for a few weeks.

He organised a dinner, a few days before his 18th birthday, inviting along Jane as she was an important part of his news.

The meal began well, everyone too preoccupied with eating. It wasn't until everyone was finishing up their meal and the small talk started that an issue arose.

"How far along are you?" His mother had questioned Jane, eyeing her baby bump.

"27 weeks." Jane replied, resting a hand on the bump.

“And you’re still not finding out what you’re having?” His mother asked. Both Charlie and Jane shook their heads. 

“We want to be surprised.” Charlie told her. 

"Lovely." His mother said simply, the table falling into silence, and Charlie decided it was now or never.

"Jane and I are moving. To Vancouver." He said quickly, ignoring the looks of shock from his siblings as he focused on his parents.

"When?" His father was the first to speak.

"Next week." Charlie answered, biting his lip slightly.

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" His mother questioned, her voice low like it always got when she disapproved of a decision one of her children was making.

"Yes, I'm sure." Charlie said, trying his best to sound confident.

"Well, at least we know that you won't get pregnant." His father joked.

"That ship sailed long ago. Although I guess there's always a chance of a second." His mother added.

"One is enough. I'll go on birth control." Jane interjected. His mother scoffed.

"Isn't that what you claimed last time?" She questioned, and Jane's eyes narrowed.

"Are you implying the pregnancy is my fault? Because last time I checked I needed your son to help make a baby. He could have worn a condom but he didn't, so if it's anyone's fault, it's his." Her tone was spiteful, and Charlie sank down into his seat slightly. This was not going to end well.

"I'm not saying that, although you do have a reputation." His mother shrugged, sipping her wine.

"For what? Being a slut?" Jane spat. His mother raised an eyebrow.

"I never said that." She said calmly.

"But you implied it. Can't handle the fact that your precious baby boy might not be as sweet and innocent as you thought?" Jane had clearly struck a nerve with that comment, and Charlie watched as his mother lowered her wine slowly, fixing her glare on Jane.

"You slept with a seventeen year old." His mother exclaimed, and Jane rolled her eyes.

"He consented to it." She retaliated. Charlie's mother laughed in disbelief.

"That's not the point. Of course he consented to it, he's a seventeen year old boy! Do you think he's gonna turn down sex?" She questioned.

"If you'd raised him right he would." Jane said, and Charlie took that as his cue to step in.

"Alright that is enough. Both of you need to stop this, right now." He interrupted.

"She started it." Jane rolled her eyes, taking a sip of water.

"But you didn't have to continue it Jane." Charlie sighed, and she turned to him, her eyes narrowed.

"I see how it is. Taking your mother's side." She spat. Charlie's eyes widened.

"I'm not taking anyone's side! There is no sides." He exclaimed.

"Jeez, the dinner show is good tonight. The entertainment at this restaurant is top notch." Patrick muttered, just quiet enough for his other siblings to hear. Ryan stifled a giggle, Michael took a sip of water, and across the table Meghan coughed into her napkin to avoid laughing. Even their dad fought to hide a smile.

"Are you trying to make him feel bad?" Their mother asked, and Jane laughed.

"Oh my god! You act like he's a child. The things I could tell you about him, you'd probably drop dead on the spot." She said. Charlie glanced towards his mother, who scoffed.

"You'd like that." She replied.

"Don't tempt me." Jane muttered.

"Jane." Charlie warned, not wanting the argument to escalate again.

"What, Charlie, scared I'm gonna spill all of your secrets to your family?" Jane spat.

"No." Charlie sighed. Jane gave him a look.

"Oh, so you wouldn't mind then?" She questioned.

"Ooh it's getting juicy again." Ryan sung quietly, causing his siblings to hide their giggles all over again.

"I mean, I don't exactly want them knowing all about my sex life but if you want to go there that's on you." Charlie shrugged.

"You know what? I'm leaving. Thanks for the dinner, glad it wasn't poisoned." Jane stood up, heading towards the door. She paused in the doorway, turning back around to glare at Charlie before fixing her gaze on his mother.

"By the way, he likes being choked." She said firmly, before spinning on her heel and exiting the room as Charlie's brother's collapsed into a fit of laughter.

"Damn Charlie, you kinky little shit." Patrick teased, and Charlie flipped him off.

"Boys." Their mother warned, and the four of them settled instantly.

"Should I go after her?" Charlie asked once silence had fallen over the table. His mother reached out, taking his hand in a comforting fashion.

"It's up to you." She said softly. Charlie sighed.

"As much as you all hate her, I just need you all to be at least civil. That's my kid in her stomach, as much as it is hers. You're gonna have to live with that." He said, his voice raised slightly.

"Is that the only reason you're still with her?" Meghan spoke up, and Charlie hesitated.

"No?" He said, uncertainly, before clearing his throat and speaking more firmly. "No."

"Charlie..." His father started, but Charlie wasn't ready to listen.

"I'm going after her." He said quickly, rushing out of the kitchen and following his girlfriend, unable to see the identical looks of sympathy on the faces of his family.

He had no idea what he was getting into.

[archer12xx-main]

Since I'm still hungover from the dressrosa arc...

I'm going to list some of the unforgettable scenes/stuff that I saw throughout the arc. In no particular order...

Ah btw, Spoiler Alert!!! ✌️😁

Santoryu Secret Technique; Ichidai Sanzen Daisen Sekai 💚💚💚 (sugoiiiiiiii!!! Kakkoiiiiiiiiii!!!)

Fourth Gear

Everything about Sabo 😭😭😭😭 (I knew he was alive, I spoiled myself -wari, self- but damn, it still hurts... Knowing that he didn't remember Ace and Luffy then only remembering them when it was too late. 😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔)

Senor Pink's backstory (the baby ootd 😭)

Kyros and Rebecca's love story lol (I'm a sucker for love kkkkkkkkkk)

Law's backstory 😭💔

Cora-san taking Law at every hospital and wreaking havoc after doctors and people discriminate the poor kid. I love his love for little Law 🥺😭 Cora-san!! ❤️❤️😭

Cora-san saying "I love you" to Law and doing that big smile of his ✌️😁

Law's boyish laugh after that 🥰 (he's so cute 😍)

Cora-san holding out so that Law can escape without being heard 😭😭😭😭😭😭 srsly his love for Law 😭😭😭😭❤️❤️💔💔💔

Cora-san's death... 😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔

Usopp knocking Sugar down the first time 🤣🤣

Birth of god Usopp, the 500M man hehehehe

Wicca calling out Zoro for being bad at directions (it cracks me up all the time 😅🤣🤣)

Bartolomeo's fan boy moments hahahahahaha

Bartolomeo's efforts in making sure Robin (and the straw hats are safe)

The accidental allegiance formed between the Coliseum warriors and them ending up swearing loyalty to Luffy-senpai.

Mr. Soldier and Rebecca (all of it 🥺💖)

The almost-a-love-story of Sanji-kun and Violet 😍😅 I was so used to Sanji-kun getting in trouble bc of his love and respect for women but this is particularly unforgettable since his efforts somehow paid off. I like that little twist there. Oh and they freakin look good together. Well, Sanji-kun (if serious) looks good with anybody anyway (at least for me...). 🥰

The socio-political aspect of the whole arc. Sometimes it catches me off guard, the fact that one moment I'm only watching an anime and then then next thing I know it taught me sth about real life (fiction mirrors reality) which is so awesome for me.

Cavendish and Bartolomeo's quarrels. I particularly like that one part at the end where Cavendish is about to sleep then Bart suggested they tie him up with chains because... Hakuba. And then later on it was shown that, true enough, Hakuba took over (he was so funny, chained like that lol) and thank you so much Bart for saving everyone's lives. HAHAHAHA

Hakuba at the Coliseum

Zoro drinking the sake in the father cup instead of Luffy. 🤣🤣🤣😅

Luffy v Fujitora before they set sail.

I figured as much but it still made the cut, the kidnapping of Rebecca, and Mr. Soldier being Kyros.

Heitai-san song

Doflamingo's glasses (they broke, I wanted to see his eyes, but didn't lol 🤣 then when he's at the navy ship, he had them again... 🤔)

Sengoku's attachment to Cora-san (didn't expect there to be an emotional scene for the former fleet admiral 💔 and I love what he said about not looking for reasons for someone's love and remembering Cora-san forever 🥺🥰)

Zoro chuckling after Sabo said the same thing Ace did back at Alabasta. 💚💚 That's the first time in a long while, isn't it? (stifling a laugh after hearing Pica's voice not counted hahahaha)

Pica's voice and Luffy laughing at it. 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Zoro insulting Pica's laugh lol

Zoro's planning 101

Zoro's strategies (saving the King's Punch for later, using Orlumbus' killer bowling technic, pushing the birdcage to temporarily stop it to buy Luffy some time) which all worked fine. I'm so proud of my marimo hihihi 💚💚💚

Brook outsmarting Giolla by pretending to be into art hahahaha it was impressive

Usopp shooting the longest range (and actually being able to see his target clearly like some sort of an xray vision. I wonder if that is a haki...????)

Mouji having the same voice as Brook hahahah can't forget about this too 😅

I think I'll stop here...

This list might get longer lol I think I missed some stuff but the bottomline is... One Piece is awesome! 😍💚

Zou Saga, here I come!!! For real this time. Hahah ✌️😁

[omgrachwrites]

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter One

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, Spanish translated by using Google Translate :(

Words: 2395

Disclaimer(s): This gif does not belong to me and I’m so sorry if this Spanish is wrong.

Translation(s): Mantenerte fuerte - stay strong

A/N: Here we are, the first chapter! This is by no means historically accurate hahaha! Can you tell that I miss the Spanish Princess? :( Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think and let me know if you want to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter One - Oh, What a Circus

It was a beautiful awakening that you had on the day that your life and future changed, when you woke up from your siesta, your chambers were warm and the perfect Spanish sunlight was streaming through your sheer linen curtains. The room was cast in a holy yellow light like God himself was honouring you. You made the most of your siestas now because you had heard that the boring English people did not take them.

Smiling sadly, you plucked a sugared grape from the golden platter and you walked over to your window, relishing in the beauty of the Castile water gardens. You knew that you would never be coming back to this palace of such beauty and splendour again because you were to be the Queen of England. You were to live out the rest of your days in grey old England. It had been a betrothal since birth but you didn’t want it, you never had. Only your parents wanted it.

You felt your eyes fill up with tears – you didn’t want to be the Queen of England – and you prayed to God, telling him so and asking him for a miracle. It seemed like God had heard you and answered your prayer for a few moments later, your father was shouting outside of your rooms, his voice like rumbling thunder.

“How dare he insult us so? Bastardo!”

At the commotion you crept out of your rooms and into the hallway where your mother and father were talking, the hallway was hardly the place to be talking about this, “Madre, Padre,” you called out as you approached them.

Your father’s eyes softened as he looked at you but he still brandished the letter in front of your face, “that son of a whore King James has written to us apologising for he has taken a common woman to wife and made her Queen! We should ally with the French and invade England!”

A soft blossom of hope bloomed in your chest as you realised that you wouldn’t have to marry the King of England. But, you were also incredibly insulted, how dare he refuse you? You, who was the Princess of the Castile, was not to be refused

The Queen tutted as she snatched the letter from your father, “we need to be allied with the English, it’s been 16 years in the making, we cannot throw it all away. King James had been kind enough to propose an alternative match.”

Your father growled, alarming some passing servants, “he offers us the Duke of Bedford, a man who has bastards all over England no doubt. He’s not worthy of our greatest treasure,” your father smiled fondly at you as he cupped your cheek with a large hand and you smiled up at him.

You knew the Duke of Bedford – Sirius Black – by reputation; he held the French lands for the English. He was said to be handsome but had fathered many bastards. Your father was right, he wasn’t good enough for you, “Padre is right Madre. I am a princess and I should be marrying a future King, a Duke is below my station. I won’t marry him!”

Your mother’s eyes flashed with malice as you defied her, she had always hated the fact that you weren’t a boy; she had to pass on her crown to your older sister, “you will Y/N! The Duke of Bedford is the second most powerful man in England; the King heavily relies on his council. You will be a very powerful woman, also no one in Europe will take you now, you’ve been promised to England since birth and now they will get you. We will write of our confirmation and our thanks and you will set sail for England as soon as possible Y/N. the Queen wants to meet you before you go to the Duke’s lands in France,” she looked at you without warmth as she strode down the corridor. She was a ruthless leader but you almost looked up to her.

Your father smiled at you kindly as he kissed your forehead, “Mantenerte fuerte Y/N,” he whispered against your skin.

“Mantenerte fuerte Padre,” you repeated with a smile as you looked into his kindly, weathered face.

The day before you were due to set sail for England you were taking a walk around the Castile water gardens with your lady in waiting, Sofia. You feared that this was the last time you would see the radiant Spanish sunshine and Sofia must have sensed your fear because she took your hand in hers.

“We will see this land again Your Highness, with your children. England is but the next great adventure,” she told you wisely and you smiled at her, squeezing her hand gently as you sat on the stone benches.

“I really hope so Sofia.”

The crossing to England was slow and gentle but the rocking motion of the ship made you rather sick, so sick that you were sure that you would die. Sofia was at your side, sponging your forehead and the back of your neck as you sobbed, you wanted to go home. You missed your parents already. You even missed your mother with her cruel words and scathing retorts, she acted like she was the King herself but she was the strongest woman you knew. You hated leaving your father behind with her.

Finally, after what felt like years at sea, you saw land again and you could have wept with joy, even if it was dreary and dull, it was supposed to be springtime. You disembarked from the ship with shaky legs and you were met by the English army who all bowed low to you, “Your Highness,” they muttered as they sank into the sand. You made the most of the fact that they were using your proper title; you weren’t sure how long that would last.

You chose to ride alongside the army instead of residing in the lavish litter that the English had prepared for you. You wanted to see as much of this new country as you could. The first thing that you noticed about this land was that it was very green and you knew that England must get a lot of rain. That thought did nothing to cheer your dark mood.

Though, you missed Spain terribly, you saw the charm and the beauty of the English countryside and the villages you passed through, you smiled at the peasants as they called your name. You hoped that you would grow to love this new land because you would be coming to live at the English court after your wedding.

The English court – and London - was much more beautiful than you had anticipated even if it was a bit constricting. Nerves swarmed in your stomach as you were admitted into the magnificent Throne Room and you noticed that all the lords and ladies of court were looking at you like you were some sort of strange beast. It was in the Throne Room where you saw the most beautiful and dazzling woman.

Queen Lily had long curling tresses of flaming auburn hair and she had the most beautiful green eyes. You almost admired the King for defying everyone and marrying the woman that he loved. True love was all that you wanted but you were unsure whether you would ever have it, you had been unsure about that fact since you were a little girl. Queen Lily was smiling at you with beauty and kindness in her eyes while the King looked at you warily. He should look at you like that; he should have been ashamed of himself.

You sank into a low curtsey, “your Majesty’s,” you muttered.

“Princess Y/N, thank you so much for coming here and accepting our invitation please arise,” the Queen smiled, she had a melodic voice. You smiled back and stood up straight.

“I apologise for the insult that I must have extended to your family,” King James bowed his head mournfully and you had to admit that he did look very sorry.

You shook your head, if the King started to apologise to his subjects then he would seem weak to those who would want to take his throne, “you’re the King,” you said simply, “I am happy to marry the Duke of Bedford,” you lied.

King James chuckled as he ran a hand through his messy curls, “well, I’m sure that Sirius will be delighted to hear it,” he grinned and the court chuckled obediently.

Queen Lily giggled; it was a musical pretty sound, as she got up from her throne and walked towards you, taking your hand in her warm one as she looked at you with a kind smile. She was as warm as the Spanish sunshine, “I would be delighted if you and your lady would join my household when you return to court.”

For the first time that day you didn’t have to fake the smile, “we would be honoured,” you smiled at Sofia who nodded eagerly. You were touched by her kind words; she smiled and lowered her voice so only you could hear.

“We ladies must stick together; it’s a man’s world after all.”

You smiled as you shook your head, remembering what your mother had told you years ago, “no your Majesty, it’s a woman’s world, men just live in it. I know it’s hard to believe but in time you will see it.”

------------------------------------

Sirius’ springtime dream had come to a rude and final ending, he had spent his days among such beauty and pleasure that he never wanted to stray from it. No man would. However, duty – and his King – called him and he couldn’t refuse the call. He had to leave behind his life of pleasure for a life at court where friends would stab each other in the back. Sirius was getting married and he didn’t want to dishonour his future bride, even if he would resent her. So he had to say farewell to his mistresses. They were sad to see him go.

Sirius had been best friends with King James since they were boys and James had made him such a powerful man than Sirius was only second to the King. James had been betrothed since birth to Princess Y/N of the Castile. At first Sirius was jealous that James was to wed a Princess but then again, he was going to be the King, it was his birth right. Sirius was surprised when James had come to him about four weeks ago to tell him that he had secretly married Lily Evans, a very minor lady at his court.

James’ marriage meant that the contract with England was void unless there was another match for the Princess. At first Sirius had resisted the match, he fought and raged against the King before he stopped and really thought about it. He had to marry well and he couldn’t do any better than the Princess of the Castile, a young woman who had been promised to the King. Sirius knew that he wasn’t good enough for her but he was used to coming in second, to his younger brother Regulus, and to James.

It was a beautiful day in France the day he was to meet his future bride and hoped with all his heart that it was a good omen. He jumped as the door flew open and James strode in, grinning like a Cheshire cat, “come on Sirius! Y/N is here and she’s as fair as they all say,” James beamed, it seemed like he was really happy for Sirius.

However, that didn’t stop Sirius from grimacing, “then why didn’t you marry her?” Sirius mumbled, combing his fingers through his hair as they walked down the hallway.

James snickered as he slapped Sirius on the back, “because I fell in love,” he said it as if it was the answer to everything, “and I wish you and Y/N the same.”

“Not bloody likely,” Sirius muttered as they descended the stone steps and walked out into the glorious French sunlight.

Butterflies swarmed in Sirius’ stomach as he looked towards Lily and Remus – the Earl of Warwick – who both nodded at him encouragingly. Taking a deep breath, he looked towards his future bride and felt his heart jump up into his throat. Princess Y/N was beautiful; it was like she had just wandered from the pages of a fairy tale. She looked just like the Nymph that was featured in the tapestry that hung in the East Wing. Though, Sirius knew that beauty counted for nought if she had an ugly heart.

Y/N’s pretty eyes looked over the beautiful chateau appreciatively before she gained the courage to look at Sirius. Her eyelashes seemed to flutter of their own accord and her lips opened slightly as a pretty flush grew on her face and neck.

Y/N cleared her throat and curtseyed, her ladies following suit, “My Lord, I am pleased to meet you,” her voice had a wonderful little something to it due to her Spanish accent but it was still as pretty as a song.

Sirius smiled as he approached her and he noticed her eyes roam from his feet, stopping at his lips before looking into his eyes. Her eyes sparkled in the sunshine, like precious jewels. He bowed low to her and took her warm hand in his, pressing a feather light kiss to the top of it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness, you are most beautiful,” he said smoothly and her flush deepened, “in my household you will still be treated as a Princess, even after we are married,” he didn’t want to take that title away from her.

“Thank you, My Lord,” she smiled, looking pleasantly surprised, “your home is beautiful, I think that I will like it here.”

“Would you like for me to show you around?” he asked on a whim as he held out his hand.

She nodded, the sunlight rippling through her soft hair as she did so and she took his hand, allowing him to lead her inside. As soon as they got into the cool chateau Y/N let go of his hand. Sirius bit his lip as he rubbed the back of his neck as he nervously looked over at the beautiful princess, searching for the right words.

“I’m sorry Your Highness, you weren’t supposed to come here to be a Duchess, you were supposed to be Queen.”

Y/N looked at him and smiled wanly, in the depths of her eyes there was almost a look of understanding, “I don’t like being passed around England like a prized cow.”

Sirius nodded as Y/N stopped to marvel at a beautiful tapestry embroidered with a mermaid, “I understand, you won’t get passed around England. I promise.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” she smiled graciously as she bowed her head.

“Sirius, call me Sirius.”

------------------------------------ 

@smiithys​ @elayneblack​ @amelie-black​ @siriuslyjanhvi​ @pregnant-piggy​ @lindatreb​

[ghostxofxartemis]

Kiss asks: #29 a kiss on the inside of the wrist. for pairing of your choice

Thank you so much for this prompt! It definitely took me surprise where it went. But damn these two are adorable! Also, I apologize for the horrid grammar, bilingual problems. 

Available on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                                                         Enraptured

His omni-tool beeped, stirring him out of a deep sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he checked the time quickly. It was 3:00 am. Two more hours before Kaidan had to get up for work.

Kaidan. Axel felt him stir in bed next to him. He ghosted a kiss on Kaidan's shoulder just before he rolled out of bed and stood up. He quietly padded his way into the office adjacent to their master bedroom.

Groggily he answered the call, while trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Hello?"

"Commander. You're a hard man to reach.”

Although his vision was still blurry from sleep he easily recognized the familiar face on the video call. 

"For reasons, Bailey. What can I do for you?"

"Sorry to disturbed you this early in the morning. I do realize what time it is on Earth. But your name was listed as emergency contact-"

"Emergency contact for who?" Skepticism filled his tone. The only person he knew to have him listed as an emergency contact was Kaidan. He looked back behind him into the master bedroom to make sure he hadn't dreamt that Kaidan laid there next to him just seconds ago. Not even his mother had put him down as contact after he came back from the dead. Whether it was intentional or she merely forgot, he would never know. Since Kaidan slept in the room just across from him, he didn't understand who else would have put his name on the list. His father had long retired…

"Your daughter"

"My wh-?" If he hadn't been awake before, he sure fucking was now.

"We obtained birth records, blood type information, medical history… your name is listed on the birthday certificate as the father. Your name was provided as emergency contact by a Melanie? No last name indicated. This was…" Bailey looked up from the paperwork he had been reading from "given to us a couple days after the reapers were at our front door. Transportation will be arranged for her. Information will be sent in a few hours. I'll be in touch." Bailey ended the transmission and Axel stood dumbfounded.

"I want to adopt her." Axel turned around to see Kaidan standing at the door, rubbing his eyes, his sweatpants haphazardly put on showing the deep V going down his sweats. The bulge down below is just a little distracting for Axel that he had to force his eyes up to meet Kaidan's.

**Keep reading underline or go to AO3**

He knew his jaw was hanging open slightly. He briefly wondered exactly how in shock he most looked. Or was it confusion? Fear?. He couldn't tell himself if he were to be honest with himself. He’d figured that ship had sailed, but he’d been wrong. So many questions ran simultaneously in his mind and he couldn't seem to turn off the off switch this time.

But one question spoke the loudest to him; why didn’t she tell me?

“Come back to bed?" Kaidan offered a hand out and Axel accepted it, gratefully allowing himself to be guided back to their bedroom. He was truly in need of this comfort right now and Kaidan was graciously given it out to him. One of the reasons he loved the man so much, he always seemed to know what to do whenever Axel needed him the most.

Crawling back to bed, he pulled up the sheets on top of them both and wrapped his arm around Kaidan's waist. Kaidan turned to face him, intertwining his fingers with Axel's hand that laid between them, though said nothing. He didn't have to. Axel could read his eyes, and they spoke to him at a level that even words could not express. I'm here, and I'll be here when you're ready to talk. He didn't have to hear Kaidan speak to words aloud, because their connection ran deeper than just their love for one another. They understood each other in a way others couldn’t.

He kissed Kaidan on the forehead before closing his eyes and pretending to go back to sleep and he waited for the familiar steady breathing he knew meant his partner was in a deep sleep before pulling away and got dressed to head downstairs.  

~~~~~~~

The alarm clock blared and Kaidan turned to the otherside to turn it off. Facing back the way he came, he noticed the spot next to him where Axel usually laid was empty. He had grown accustomed to waking up and finding himself alone in bed. His husband had always been an early riser and that hadn’t changed since they defeated the reapers. 

Sliding to the edge of the bed, he swung his legs to the side, sitting up and stretched his arms high above him while yawning all at the same time. Quickly he activated his omni-tool to send off a message to his colleagues he wouldn’t be in the office and sent along the lesson plan for the day before grabbing his t-shirt from the foot of the bed and shrugging it on. 

Arriving into the kitchen, he found Axel hunched over a datapad, head resting in his hands and coffee mug in front him. But something struck out more than usual… his husband was dressed which was an unusual sight to see. Kaidan had always found it amusing and slightly distracting that his husband always seemed to like to strut around the house nude. Kaidan never complained about it, though. He poured himself a mug and topped off Axel’s before wrapping his arms around Axel’s shoulders and kissed him on the temple.

“Sorry. I didn’t-”

“It’s fine. What are you reading?” Kaidan, curious, asked him. 

“Alexandra Ashley Meagan Hawkings. Prefers to go by Ashley.” He inhaled deeply, letting himself sink against his husband. He distinctively noticed Kaidan’s biotic energy was much calmer than his right now and he tried to focus on that. He knew his energy was a hurricane next to Kaidan’s stillness of calm waters. 

“We could change it for her. Make Ashley her first name.” 

“I keep doing the math over and over again inside my head. Based on her birthday. Everytime I do, It keeps bringing me back to that night on Elysium.” Axel sighed, bringing down his arms to table and taking a tentative sip from his coffee.

“Melanie?”

“You heard that huh? My ex-fiancée.” Axel intertwined his fingers with Kaidan’s before continuing. “We were...hmm… two years together by then? Things were really good between us. We were both on leave on Elysium and I decided to finally pop the question. But then after Elysium, we were on medical leave for a while. She sustained a few injuries while leading a group to safety while I covered the rear. I got shot in the shoulder, and the leg, nothing major but enough to have to be off for a bit.  I received my N7 commendation. It’s what I had always wanted.” Axel exhaled loudly as he remembered the events that took place that evening. 

He continued. “Kaidan you should have seen the fear in her eyes. I swear, it’s like she was seeing a monster instead of me. I went out that night to have some drinks with some buddies of mine, when I got back to the apartment… she was just gone. No message, nothing. A few days later-”

“I moved in.” Kaidan finished his sentence for him.

“Yeah.” Axel trailed his fingertips of his free hand on Kaidan’s arm absentmindedly. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Kaidan tightened his hold on Axel and rubbed one hand against his bicep to comfort him. 

“I know.”

“Explains an awful lot, though.” Kaidan’s breathy laugh tickled Axel’s ear.

“Sorry. I was pretty moody. I tend to...er...rebound after break ups too. Though normally I was the dumper not the dumpee…. Hmm... Derrick was a real piece of ass.”  Axel glanced at Kaidan as he remembered one partner he brought back to the apartment to see his reaction only to find his husband in shock. He tried to bite his lips, but failed miserably and the corner of his lips twitched.

It took a moment for Kaidan to realize what Axel meant and when the realization hit him, they both burst into laughing.

“He did have a nice ass.” Kaidan admitted. 

Axel inhaled deeply before exhaling just as sharply. “I guess I’ll drive you to work this morning so I can go pick her up at the spaceport.”

Kaidan could feel the nervousness coming from Axel, his biotic energy felt more like a hurricane mirroring his internal emotions rather than the usual stillness of calm waters Kaidan grew to know so well. Kaidan let go of Axel and sat on the seat next to him, “no need. I really told them I won’t be in today. I figured I should be there as well to pick up our daughter.” He took his mug in both hands raising it to his lips but kept his gaze on Axel to watch for his reaction.

“Shit. I’m still wrapping my head around the fact I have a daughter and you’re already saying ‘ours’” Axel rubbed his hands over his face.

Kaidan glided the datapad close to him and opened a new tab on the extranet.

“What if she hates me? I missed her birth. Hell, I missed nine birthdays, Kaidan. Nine. And I didn’t even have a fucking choice in the matter.” Axel voice raised a couple octaves and he stood up abruptly stabbing a finger against his chest. Kaidan didn’t need to look at him to know his corona was flaring, the crackling electricity of the air as he manipulated the dark energy that surrounded them was indication enough. 

“There’ll be an adjustment period. But I don’t think she’ll hate you.” Kaidan kept his eyes focused on the datapad. His voice was steady and calm as always. 

“That’s a huge assumption.” Axel’s tone was a little more accusatory than he would have liked. 

“Gut instinct tells me she didn’t have a choice either and might be looking forward to meeting you.”

"You know... that means I can't be naked around the house anymore." Axel said matter of factly in a more calmer tone. 

"Moot point. I was wondering why you were dressed for once." 

“Better start getting used to it. What are you searching for anyway?” Curiosity picked, and Axel leaned over to looks as he picked up his coffee once again to drink.

“Adoption papers. They take awhile to go through. Figured I’d get a head start on it.” Kaidan remained hyper focused on the task at hand.

“You really meant it did you? Our daughter.”  Axel put down his mug and it was his turn to wrap his arms around Kaidan’s shoulders.

"Yeah. Our daughter." Kaidan was hung up on that word.

"Huh. I guess so… ours." Axel kissed Kaidan’s temple before exhaling slowly and laying his chin on his husband’s shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Axel paced along the aisle of chairs in the waiting room, wringing his fingers together.

“Are all vanguards so antsy?” Kaidan chuckled as he leaned back into his chair. 

Axel paused into his steps to turn a scowl in Kaidan’s direction. “You don’t survive CQC as a Vanguard if you don’t move.” He said a little snippy. 

“Fair point. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Why don’t you sit down before you pave a hole on the floor?” Kaidan patted the seat next to him. 

Sighing, Axel sat next to him, but it did nothing to calm his nerves, rather his left leg was restless and moved involuntarily. 

Kaidan placed a hand on Axel’s knee and squeezed. “Breathe. It’s going to be… it’s going to be what it is.” 

“Why do you always have to say that?” 

Kaidan chuckled, but otherwise remained silent. 

Restless, Axel stood up and immediately began to pace again. The butterflies in his stomach wouldn’t seize and he was sure his breakfast would come up if he didn’t keep his mind occupied with counting steps. One, two, three, four...eight rinse and repeat. Eight seats in a row, plenty of room for cover if need be. 

“Dad!” 

A voice broke him out of his thoughts and he sharply turned to the direction he heard it come from. 

Two things immediately stood out: the first was Kaidan was immediately at this side and reached for his left hand, second was a little girl with sharp bluish-hazel eyes framed with freckles ran in his direction. 

Kaidan pressed his wrists against his, he knew this was for comfort as much as it was a check in for his pulse. Once a medic, always a medic. 

Kaidan pressed his wrists against his, he knew this was for comfort as much as it was a check in for his pulse. Once a medic, always a medic. 

“See. I told you it would be fine.” Kaidan lowered his voice so only Axel could hear him.

Surprisingly strong arms wrap around Axel’s waist and he is taken slightly aback for a brief moment, he was sure his eyes would fall out of their socket before he returned the hug while keeping hold of Kaidan’s hand. 

Bluish-hazel eyes looked up into his, pleading. “I’m ready to come home.” 

“Home. Yeah. Let’s go home” Axel exhaled, his lips curved slightly upwards, and a smile spread onto her face, and her eyes twinkled before she broke away.

A small hand grabbed his free one and she started leading the way, following the exit signs.

“Home.” Kaidan repeated the words, a smile on his face. He brought Axel’s wrist to his lips and kissed it, feeling his pulse against his lips, life. It pulses life. Life that had been taken away from him for two years, but now they had a lifetime to be together. Kaidan wrapped both his hands around Axel’s. “A lifetime of memories.” He whispered.

“What’s that, handsome?” Axel planted his kiss on the crown of Kaidan’s head.

“It’s nothing.” Yet it’s everything.

[jarienn972]

La Sirena - Chapter Nine

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

We're nearly to the completion of this little @cssns tale but we’re not quite there yet. This chapter started to get really long so I decided to break it up and create a bonus epilogue chapter that will wrap everything up! Writing my first complete AU has been quite the challenge, as well as quite a learning experience. Thank you, @kmomof4 for all of your encouragement and beta assistance along the way! And thank you, @courtorderedcake for the beautiful artwork that has graced every chapter.

So here we are at huge turning point. Poseidon sided with Emma and intervened to stop Regina's evil "test" but is there a future for our heroes or did rescue come too late for Killian this time? Catch up from the beginning at AO3 or FF.net or on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight

*********

The immediate threats may have gone away, but Emma knew the ordeal was still far from over. Regina's menacing presence no longer lingered over the bay as a pleasant breeze ushered away the remaining dark clouds and the dulcet melodies of the songbirds returned to the trees, yet she couldn't relax. She scarcely noticed the school of colorful fish darting to and fro around her as she swam for the shore. Her attention was singularly focused.

Gentle waves lapped at Killian's motionless form as he lay prone in the damp sand. Morphing back to human legs, Emma clambered awkwardly out of the shallows, crawling her way up to the shore to reach the injured human. Her eyes were welling up with tears as she feared her efforts may have been for naught.

Please, let him be alive, was the only thought on her mind as she reached for his arm, tenderly caressing bare skin exposed beneath the torn black silk. Angry red welts covered his upper arm where the kraken's suckers had latched onto their victim, and while Emma was apprehensive about moving him, she also feared that if he were still breathing, he'd suffocate if she didn't turn him over.

She placed her right hand behind his head and gently cradled it against her palm as she used her left hand to lift his torso slightly and roll his limp body toward her, allowing his back to rest upon her knees. His eyes were closed and barely fluttered when she brushed away the sand that marred his face, noting quickly that the sand was covering up the bloody evidence of his reopened head wound.

"Stay with me," she pleaded. "Stay with me, Killian…"

A weak moan and a dribble of sea water escaped his throat, reviving her hopes as she lowered her head over Killian's and pressed her lips against his bloodstained cheek. Her golden tresses draped across his face as if to shield him from the world as she momentarily forgot that they were being watched by the god of the seas.

"Can you save him?" she implored the deity who'd remained offshore. "Please don't allow all of this to be in vain! Please don't allow Regina's hatred to win!"

"Emma, my realm is the sea, you know this," Poseidon reluctantly reminded her. "Nothing I do can save the life of a human if it is their time. Only my brothers, Hades, ruler of the underworld, and Zeus, supreme ruler of Olympus, could intervene, but I am fairly certain that neither is likely to be interested in the fate of a single human."

A despondent Emma wasn't about to take his deference as an answer.

"But it is not fair! If not for Regina's interference, Killian would have been fine. He would have survived and…"

"And?" Poseidon interrupted her. "He would have survived to be trapped here on this cove with you. How long before he longed for his own world again? Would he have felt imprisoned here with only an immortal siren for companionship? I'm not trying to be unkind, but truthfully, what is best for this young man?"

"Certainly not death," Emma rebutted angrily, her emerald eyes staring intently at Killian's unconscious visage as she challenged the deity. She didn't understand why this one human's fate was so important to her, why he held such a tight hold on her after so short a time… "Why would he be allowed to escape the sirens only to die from Regina's awful conduct?"

The god sighed and shook his head as he lowered his trident to his flank. "Ah, Emma… You remind me so much of my Ursula…" He tread a little further into the shallows before pushing himself up atop a large boulder, curling his glistening platinum tail around the rock and scratching at his beard as he formed his next words inside his head. "Like you, she possessed a compassion towards the human race that I failed to understand for many centuries. It wasn't until that fateful day that the first human sailed beyond the isle of the sirens that I ever had reason to converse with one. I confronted that man, trying to determine what ruse he'd employed to get past my protections and what I discovered was a young man who was simply trying to return home to his ailing mother.

"That man had fought through attacking enemy ships and fierce sea creatures until he was the sole survivor on his vessel. He'd tried in vain to return to his homeland, but he wasn't yet a skilled sailor and had navigated himself in circles before crossing into our realm. He knew who I was the moment I appeared before him, and I could sense his fear and reverence. He was a humble man with a good heart, and it was that humble, pure intentioned heart that my daughter sensed and eventually fell in love with. She urged me to aid the man's return to his land but after being gone so long, there was little left for him to return to. He banded with a few survivors and formed a new village on an island near our realm, eventually marrying my daughter.

"The reason I'm telling you all of this, Emma, is that you clearly felt that same compassion because, like Ursula, you sensed this man's good heart. I never believed it would be possible for a siren to sense such emotion, but from the day you separated yourself from the council, I have known that you were different. A creature birthed to enchant and entice humans to their death wasn't intended to possess compassion - let alone the emotion you're feeling right now."

"And what might that be?" she asked with a sniffle while shifting her position ever so slightly so that she could see Poseidon's face.

"You've fallen in love, Emma, and that is a most powerful emotion."

"Love?"

"It's what is driving you to want to protect him. It may perhaps be part of the instinct that compelled you to rescue him in the first place. But I say that with the warning that I can not promise whether the emotion is reciprocated. Only he can answer that question."

"Is that the reason for these tears? Are sirens even able to cry?"

"You may be the first."

"Is love the reason I feel like a piece of myself may die with him?" she questioned as her fingers unconsciously laced through the matted, scraggly dark hair at the nape of Killian's neck. "If Regina's treachery has taken him from me, I swear, I will find her and…"

Poseidon cut her off before her anger overshadowed her present dilemma. "I promise you, Regina will be dealt with, swiftly and surely. Once I determine my brother's role in this debacle, Regina will likely be stripped of her powers and if I see fit, banished to the Forbidden Isles."

"Banishment to the Forbidden Isles seems harsh, even for what Regina did…" Emma sighed, hugging Killian even closer to her breast until she recalled the damage the kraken had presumably inflicted upon the man she loved and loosened her embrace. "If I am to be truthful, all I really want is whatever is in Killian's best interest."

"If only all sirens were blessed with your wisdom," Poseidon smiled. "Perhaps it is time to grant all of your kind the full range of emotions?"

"Or perhaps it is simply time for us to mend our ways? All humans are not evil, and some of them out there are still your descendants - maybe even Killian here."

"It has been so many generations since I've kept track of my descendants," the deity lamented. "I'm afraid that there is so little trace of my lineage left that it would be nearly impossible to determine. Being a descendant of an Olympian god doesn't necessarily grant that good heart that makes a man immune to the siren song either. Many of my grandchildren's grandchildren succumbed to greed, avarice and other sins of humanity, but as you've said, there are many good ones out there. Perhaps you are right that it is time for the gods to amend our perception of humanity, but I fear the likelihood of that happening is negligible."

"I was afraid of that," Emma responded as her gaze cast downward.

"However," Poseidon continued, "while I cannot directly heal this human, I do have an idea that could expedite his return to his own ship, where he belongs."

"May I go with him?" Emma asked impulsively, her query catching the god off-guard as she raised expectant eyes to meet the god's gaze.

"Emma, are you certain?" the flabbergasted Poseidon inquired.

"I am quite certain. If there is a way to return Killian to his ship and to his family, I wish to go with him."

"To do so, you would have to give up your immortality and all of your magic," he explained.

"Lord Poseidon, I have spent centuries alone. I never desired any companionship until I spoke to Killian. If there is a way to save him and for me to accompany him, I will gladly surrender my immortality."

"I can arrange that, but I do remind you that I cannot guarantee that your emotions will be returned by him. There is no way to make someone love you…"

"It is a chance I will happily take, Your Majesty. My instincts are telling me that he shares my feelings and I can no longer imagine spending an eternity here without him. If he is to return to the land where he belongs, then I know I belong there at his side."

Poseidon nodded as he raised the trident, pointing it skyward. "Then so it shall be," he stated as clouds gathered once again above the bay, swirling into a mighty vortex before the god vanished in a blinding flash of lightning.

*********

A warm, tropical breeze tickled his cheek as Killian shifted his aching body. He could feel the sun on his back as he felt around, grasping and then releasing a fistful of sand. His memory was sketchy as he struggled to lift his head and force his eyes open, not yet certain if he was alive or dead. Maybe somewhere in between?

His head was throbbing too much to hold up so he slid his forearm beneath it and just let it rest there. The simple act of drawing breath was agonizing. Did the dead still experience pain in the afterlife or was this his purgatory? Left broken and abandoned on a deserted beach with the sea just beyond his reach?

Bits and pieces of memories (or maybe, hallucinations) came and went when his eyes would fall closed. Pirates and sinking ships. Palm trees and some subterranean lagoon. A mermaid with long, golden hair and a tail that shimmered like pearls in the sunlight. A huge sea beast with tentacles that were as long as the Jewel from bow to stern. He even pictured a gigantic trident reaching out of the waves.

How hard had he struck his head? he wondered as the fingers on his left hand gingerly touched the open laceration at his scalp, noting the crimson stains on his skin as his hand fell away. Sucking in a deep breath that he immediately regretted, he almost wanted to laugh at his unbelievable situation. What a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Killian Jones, he thought.

His gaze drifted back to the bay, staring out at the horizon as his vision began to blur and he found himself fighting to remain conscious. He squinted in an attempt to make out a faint blob off in the distance and assumed he was imagining the peal of a ship's bell and approaching voices when he succumbed to the pain-free peace of the darkness.

*********

The familiar bob and sway of the sea was a welcome sensation as Killian began to come around. Breathing was still a chore but even before his eyelids began to part, he knew something was different. The recognizable scents of musty books and linens filled his nostrils along with some sort of strong alcohol - although definitely not the drinking kind. The creaks and squeaks of wood battered by wind and waves was a familiar reverberation in his ear.

He threw his eyelids open and lurched upright, only to be halted and eased back onto the bunk by a large, calloused hand adorned with a single, hefty, carved silver ring.

A ring that even in his discombobulated state, he noticed and identified instantly.

"Liam?" he choked out, his throat dry and burning as though he'd swallowed much of the sand back on that beach.

"Aye, little brother," Liam smiled broadly as Killian's eyes finally focused on his elder brother's bearded and clearly anguished face. Liam's typically perfectly pressed uniform was rumpled, wrinkled and as deeply creased as his face, but Killian didn't yet know that it was the product of days searching for, and then worrying over his younger brother. "Now, will you please lie back down? Doc says you still need a lot of rest to recuperate."

"Liam, I can't believe it is really you. It has been an eternity, it seems… I thought I'd never see you again…," Killian excitedly babbled as clarity slowly returned. The comforting sight of his own first officer's cabin, paltry as it might be, helped him relax as he settled back into the pile of feather-stuffed pillows propped against the stateroom wall. Scratchy as it was, Killian didn't even protest as Liam draped the Royal Navy-issued charcoal grey, woolen blanket over top of his heavily bruised chest. "It is really you, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is really me, brother," Liam replied as he fretted with the bedding, trying to make the narrow bunk as comfortable as possible for his only sibling who had seemingly just returned from the dead. "I was warned you might be a little out of sorts for a couple of days from your injuries, but yes, I am really here and yes, I am beyond happy that we located you alive. It took us days to locate you on that tiny island. You were bloody lucky that the other survivor was one of the prisoners and not one of those pirates."

"Prisoner?" Killian repeated with his face scrunched in confusion and obvious discomfort.

"You really need your rest, Killian, and I need to go make my rounds. We can talk more later…"

"Brother, I don't understand… There was no survivor from that ship, save for myself." Killian became increasingly agitated and shook his head at the wrongness of it all. That motion, of course, only made his achy skull hurt more and loosened some of the bandages Doc had wrapped around his cranium to cover the jagged wound and the uneven stitches he'd used to hold it closed. "I was the only one who survived… I failed all of our men…" Killian squeezed his eyes closed as his wavering voice cracked with melancholy. "I'm so sorry, Liam, but I'm hardly fit to be your First Mate…"

"Brother, please just rest. You're spouting such nonsense. I'll send Doc right in to examine you. Your head injury must have been far worse than he thought to have affected your memory so severely."

"My memory is fine," Killian stated bluntly. "Far better than my performance as an officer…"

"For allowing yourself to be captured so your wounded crew could escape? That's hardly a failure, brother. I recommended you for a commendation for your bravery and I truly feared I would never have the opportunity to pin that medal on your uniform myself."

Liam's words made no sense. No one awards a commendation to a man who failed his mission and lost his entire landing team. He knew he must be dead and this purgatory was a cruel end to his fantastical journey.

"I'm sorry, I've been such a failure, Liam. You do not need to cover for my sins. I am only alive today through the mercy of the gods who sent down an angel to rescue me…"

"Bloody hell, Killian…," an exasperated Liam sighed. "Whatever are you rambling on about? I sincerely hope that either Doc or the lass can talk some sense into you…" Liam snatched up his plumed uniform hat from the writing table as he rose from his chair at his brother's bedside, doing his best to straighten his overcoat to look proper and authoritative, as a Captain should be.

"Lass?" Killian asked in bewilderment. What lass? He could only picture one lovely lass with flowing, blonde hair and emerald green eyes, but she could hardly have followed him here…

"The other former prisoner of those cowardly pirates that we rescued from the island with you, you git," Liam muttered, flopping his hat back atop his head as he shoved aside the heavy canvas curtain that provided Killian's quarters a semblance of privacy from the rest of the crew berths lining the narrow corridor that dissected this deck. It was far more crowded and noisy than his own quarters which were a deck above, spanning the width of the stern, not that he had occupied them for the past few days.

Liam's footsteps resounded heavily on the oak planks beneath his feet as he lumbered down the passageway and rapped on the wall outside of another curtained compartment. The ship's doctor, who's face looked nearly as haggard as the Captain's, drew the curtain open and immediately straightened his posture at the sight of his superior officer.

"At ease," Liam grumbled, letting the doctor know with a casual wave of his hand that military decorum wasn't necessary.

"Sorry, Cap'n. Taking a break from your vigil over the young Lieutenant Jones?"

"More like taking a break from Killian in general."

"Has he awakened?"

"A short time ago - yes. He isn't making a bloody lick of sense, babbling on about being a horrible officer who failed his crew and was saved by some mythical angel. How severe was the injury to his head?"

"How wonderful to hear that he's come around, but his head injury appeared largely superficial. I'll happily give him another once over now that he's awake. Maybe those pirates poisoned him or something that is affecting his mental state?"

"I hope it is something easily remedied or I fear his career may be in danger. I'm going to go fetch the lass we rescued along with him. Perhaps hearing her tale will help sort his head out…"

"Sounds like a very good idea, sir," the doctor responded as his troubled captain departed without another word, trudging tiredly towards the ladder to the upper deck.

*********

The visit by the ship's doctor only left Killian more irritable and baffled by their blatant dismissal of his miscarriage of his duties. They must all be daft, Killian thought. Or they think I am? Maybe he was merely imagining all of this?

Had any of this been real?

As the doctor had replaced bandages and prodded him in every tormenting and unpleasant place imaginable, Killian saw the very real evidence of his injuries. He was peppered with cuts, scrapes and contusions in various stages of healing. Some of the more painful ones were deep purplish while others had begun yellowing. There were red welts on his arms and across his torso that Doc couldn't identify, suggesting they might be burns or some manner of rash, but Killian's mind recalled a vastly different source. He'd been quickly shushed at the mere mention of encountering a kraken.

Doc offered him medicine to ease his discomfort which Killian knew meant the potion they'd sourced in the Far Eastern realm. He didn't know much about the substance, but he declined, preferring to keep what remained of his wits about him. The exasperated doctor muttered something unintelligible under his breath and shook his head at the young lieutenant's stubbornness, but Killian did overhear him mention that Liam had gone to fetch the supposed other prisoner from the pirate ship before departing Killian's quarters.

Killian knew with absolute certainty that no one else had escaped that ship with him, whatever had led to its sinking. Whomever this mysterious woman was that Liam had mentioned, she must be the key to unraveling this insanity. He was anxious to meet her, although he was also embarrassed to have a lady see him in such a disheveled state.

He also couldn't get the image of an ethereal presence to depart his head - one with flowing, pale blonde hair, porcelain skin that nearly glowed in her state of undress, and a supple, shimmery tail fin that playfully flicked water towards him.

No, he scolded himself. She didn't exist. Just a dreamy figment of his overactive imagination…

The sound of hushed voices in the corridor beyond the curtain snapped his attention back and Killian strained to hear what they were saying.

"Seems to be healing well, but his head's a bit out of sort…" Killian heard Doc telling someone that he soon realized was Liam when he heard his brother respond.

"It's unorthodox…," he heard Liam say, but he could only make out portions of the rest. "Doesn't remember… Miss Swan, we're hoping… We realize this is a highly unusual request, but given your time together…"

Miss Swan? Killian knew no one by such name, but why would Liam bring a stranger to visit him in his convalescence? Perhaps he should just pretend to be asleep and they'll go away, not that the ruse had ever worked to fool Liam. He closed his eyelids anyway as he heard the rattle and squeak of the curtain being drawn, determined to ignore his unwanted guests anyway.

"Should I return when he isn't asleep?" a feminine voice asked shyly.

"I swear, he was awake a moment ago, Capt'n," Doc said with an echo of concern in his voice, although Killian wasn't certain if it was directed toward him or if Doc feared the Captain's ire.

"I apologize, Miss Swan," Liam muttered with an audible sigh. "I thought it would do him good to see you - that it would aid his recollection, but he's a stubborn arse…"

"No apology necessary, Captain," the woman replied. Her voice was tantalizingly familiar to Killian, but he couldn't place why. He almost wanted to secret an eye open to catch a glimpse but he didn't dare. "Would it be alright if I sat with him for a spell?"

Oh, bloody hell, no! Killian screamed internally. Liam would never permit such a thing. Having a woman onboard was scandalous enough…

"I'm hesitant to allow that since this deck is less secure than my quarters, milady," Liam answered, only Killian could hear the but coming. "But since this is an unusual situation, I'll allow it. I'm sure I can find enough chores to keep my crew occupied for a bit and keep them away from this deck."

"Thank you, Captain," she responded and Killian could hear her smile in her voice. He was disappointed in his brother and was nearly betrayed by the frown he fought from forming on his own lips.

"I shall check back in a short time, lest my brother or any other sailor here attempt to take advantage of you."

"I am sure your brother will be a perfect gentleman, as he was while we were awaiting rescue. He could scarcely glance at me without blushing…"

Wait… What did she just say? Killian's brain was swirling with new questions as Liam bid the mystery woman farewell for the moment. He wanted so much to look upon her face, but he must wait until he heard Liam's heavy footsteps trailing away.

Could this really be…?

[ijustwant2write]

An Unforeseen Future-Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Reader (Part 5/?)

(GIF credit to @honestsycrets​)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Masterlist

Prompts

Tags: @littlemessyjessi @hains-j @cliffdidanelvis @satsuma-livewasp-nightmares @miss-artemis-wild @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly @millie67 @absolutelynoregretsonlychoices @the-loud-and-crazy-rabbit-pirate @mysticalfairytales @snowblazeblack @darkwolfpeanutskeleton @thatchampagnebitch @thiahilmarsdottir @mzliterarydreamer @newlifeforus​@x-valhalla​ @jazzycasino​ @blonddnamedhandz​ @enchantedbones​ @severewobblerlightdragon @sad-letter​

Summary: Reunited from afar with Bo and the rest of his crew, (Y/N) realises that she can’t rebel against Hvitserk like before. However, she won’t give in to him, she will continue to find the new life she is desperate for, even if it means making an unlikely alliance. 

Characters: Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Reader, Bo x Reader

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Swearing, violence, weapons, threats, arguing

                                    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Walking into the tavern, I saw how busy it was, spotting familiar faces within the crowd. A lot of people stared at me, watching as I sat alone on a table, ironically the only one available being in the centre of the room. A thrall immediately served me a cup of mead, scurrying away as soon as I took it from her. Everyone’s conversations got louder once again, though I could tell that their topic had changed. Peeking over my shoulder, I made eye contact with some of the crew members. I had to speak with them somehow, though I had already seen some of Hvitserk’s guards scattered around the place. Before I could think of a plan, someone sat down opposite me, and I couldn’t believe who it was. 

“You dare sit in front of me?” I hissed, my grip tightening around my cup.

Siv looked nervous, but sat up straight and tall. There was faint bruising on the left side of her forehead, as well as her left cheek, and I assumed it was what remained from when I attacked her. It was tempting to lunge over the table and do it all over again.

“Your highness, I-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Then...what shall I call you?”

I hesitated.“Actually, keep referring to me like that. It’s better than having my name in your mouth.”

“I am not here to argue with you. I’m here to apologise.”

I scoffed.

“No, really! You know deep down that I have regretted my decision ever since I realised Hvitserk had lied to me.”

“It seems he does that a lot now. Apparently he’s now manipulative.”

“He told me that you two were so desperate for children that you both agreed to look out for someone you could trust to birth them. At first, it had been some fun for us whilst on the raid, and even then I knew it was obviously wrong. But he charmed me, and I was excited to be with a prince.”

“You were stupid.”

“Let me right my wrong doings, I can help you.”

“And if I I let you, how would you do that exactly?”

“I can tell that you’re restricted to who you can talk to here.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You’re sat here alone, whilst the men and women you sailed with are sat in the same tavern. Where’s the happy reunion?”

I squinted my eyes at her.“I don’t trust you.”

She sighed, starting to stand.“Well, if you change your mind...”

“Wait.”

Siv sat back down straight away.

“Prove to me that you can help me.”

“How?”

“Pass on a message for me. Tell Bo that he has to ignore me from now on, leave me alone.”

“Bo? Is that the leader of the ship you were on?”

“Yes. Do you know what he looks like?”

“Yes. I saw the spectacle of him being dragged away from the docks.”

“Good.”

“Can I ask-”

“No.” I downed the rest of my drink, rising from my seat.“One more thing.”

Quickly pulling my fist back, I swung it straight for Siv’s face, pleased with the loud cry that came from her as she fell to the floor. The tavern went quiet again, apart from some men cheering, encourage us to fight each other. I knelt down next to her, whispering in her ear.

“Don’t let me down.”

As I walked away, I noticed two of Hvitserk’s guards follow me outside, and to of Harald’s guards were already waiting on the other side of the door. Glancing between them, I lazily held my hands up in surrender as if they were going to arrest me.

“Go on then, take me to my husband.”

Two of them walked in front whilst the other were behind me. I was being treated like a prisoner, going to meet my captor. I noticed we were moving away from the main part of the town, there were less houses and only one thin path winding up to a cabin, though not as big as Harald’s. One of the guards knocked on the door, hearing Hvitserk call them in before opening the door. Staring at the man as he held the door open, I slowly walked in, keeping eye contact until he felt too uncomfortable and had to look away. Smirking to myself, I waited for Hvitserk, who was sat in a large chair by the fire, to say something. He simply waved his hand, dismissing the guards. Once the door was shut, he started speaking.

“I was worried about you.”

“Were you?” I said, pouring myself a drink.

“I need to speak with you, about that man.”

“Bo?”

His jaw clenched as I mentioned him.“Yes.”

“What about him?”

“You can’t see him anymore.”

“I know.”

“What?”

Although I didn’t want to, I got closer to Hvitserk, standing in front of him, but not too close.“I knew you wouldn’t want me to see him. So, I told him to leave me alone.”

A small smile appeared on his face.“Did you really?”

“Yes. I don’t want anyone hurt, Hvitserk. Do you hear me? No bloodshed will come out of this.”

“I promise.” 

As he got out of his chair, stepping towards me, I created more space between us.“Not yet Hvitserk.”

“Can’t I just hold you?”

There was a tiny sign of the old Hvitserk, only for a second. It was sad really, my Hvitserk had been taken over by a jealous, cruel spirited man, he was unrecognisable. His arms were raised, expecting me to fall into them. Crossing my arms over my chest, I shook my head, the realisation of his wicked ways clicking in my head.

"(Y/N), I ask just one small thing of you."

"No Hvitserk. If you think all can be forgiven so quickly, you have grown stupid."

Letting his arms fall back down to his sides, he let out a small chuckle. I could tell he was frustrated, wanting things back to normal but having to deal with how stubborn I was. I stood my ground as he approached me, snatching my hand away as he tried to hold it, but he grabbed my forearms, not even struggling to hold me as I thrashed about.

He shook me.“I don’t understand you!”

My eyes widened.“You don’t understand me?”

“Yes! I love you, I want to be with my wife.” his voice was strong, but I could see the pain behind his eyes.

“You should have thought of that before you brought that whore back with you.”

“She’s gone, Siv means nothing to me now.” his grip loosened.“I realised the mistake I made, isn’t that enough?”

The door creaked open, grabbing our attention as it hit the wall. Standing in the doorway on his crutches was Ivar, an amused look on his face. He spoke as he dragged himself inside.

“I see the happy couple are getting along well.”

Hvitserk finally let go of me, I instinctively rubbed my arms, something he didn’t miss.“You never have been one to knock brother.”

“I have come to see if things are finally settling down between you.”

Hvitserk closed the door.“You could have asked tomorrow.”

“You might have been dead tomorrow.” Ivar stared at me. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Has she not told you about her little plot with the sailor?”

Hvitserk’s head whipped around to face me. If I wasn’t scared before, I was beginning to feel the fear now.

“Plot?” Hvitserk reiterated.

“There is no plot!” I defended myself.“I told you, he is leaving me alone now.”

“Was that before or after you sneaked away with him. It looked very cosy between you two.” Ivar smirked, loving the drama he was causing.

“Hvitserk, he is lying to you.”

“Why so defensive?” Hvitserk snapped back.

I was speechless. There was nothing I could say to change his mind. The softness that had appeared was long gone, and I had been counting on that to use to my advantage. 

“(Y/N), what exactly did you say to him?”

“I just told him to leave me alone. I did it out of sight because I didn’t want to be seen with him. I knew you would be angry, and I knew you had people watching-”

“I don’t believe you.”

I raised my voice.“What do you think happened then? Do you really think I’m that much of an idiot to do anything with him in public?”

“You’re going to stay in here until he set sail.”

“What? No!”

Ivar was grinning now, enjoying the show. It was extremely tempting to jump over that table and hurt him.

“You’ll be safe here, my men can guard you-”

Instead of arguing back, I sprinted towards the door, only to have Hvitserk grab me. With quick thinking, I stomped on his foot, managing to wriggle out of his arms. Spinning around to face him, I unsheathed my sword, growing worrisome when he did the same. 

“I don’t want to hurt you (Y/N).” he breathed out.

“You won’t.”

I swung down my sword in the first attack, knowing he would block it. His attacks were as strong as mine, and we went back and forth, knowing each others movements too well. Luckily for me, I was starting to gain ground, pushing him back towards the fire. He tripped backwards over the chair he was originally sat on. Instead of fighting him further, I turned around to flee, only to also fall flat on my face. Quickly looking behind me, I saw Ivar, who was now gripping onto my leg, somehow sneaking up on me, as if he were a snake. Kicking back, I missed his face, yelling out as he pulled himself higher up my leg, axe in his other hand. Just as I raised my sword, he did so with his axe, a manic look in his eyes until Hvitserk grabbed his wrist, preventing him from hurting me.

“Grab her legs.” he ordered.

I screamed as Hvitserk abandoned his brother, easily missing my swings. He pinned down my arm with the weapon, kneeling on it so that I would release it. I fought against the pain, but had to cave in when it became too much. Sliding it away from us, he produced rope that I hadn’t spotted, tightly bounding my hands together. 

“Don’t do this! Don’t tie me up like this!” I shouted.

“I need to know that you’re doing as I say. And if it means keeping you here, then I’ll do it.”

Glancing down at Ivar, who still had a hold of my legs, I spat at him. On instinct, he let go to wipe it away, giving me a chance to kick him in the face again. The pleasing sound of him in pain gave me brief happiness, but it went away when Hvitserk started dragging me along the floor. I made myself a dead weight, not having the desired effect. As we entered the bedroom, he hauled me to my feet, swiftly picking me up bridal style; this used to make me swoon, especially when he would throw me on the bed. Unusually, he laid me down gently, attaching the rope around something above me, something I couldn’t see. There was no use in moving, because I was tied up tightly.

“Hvitserk, please, this is the only thing I’ll ask of you, the last thing.” I pleaded.

He slowly turned away, and as he left, I heard him call out to his brother,“Ivar, come on. I need to track down this sailor.”

[mountainpoem]

Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman

1 Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, Strong and content I travel the open road. The earth, that is sufficient, I do not want the constellations any nearer, I know they are very well where they are, I know they suffice for those who belong to them. (Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.) 2 You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe that much unseen is also here. Here the profound lesson of reception, nor preference nor denial, The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas’d, the illiterate person, are not denied; The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar’s tramp, the drunkard’s stagger, the laughing party of mechanics, The escaped youth, the rich person’s carriage, the fop, the eloping couple, The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town, They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted, None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me. 3 You air that serves me with breath to speak! You objects that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape! You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers! You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides! I believe you are latent with unseen existences, you are so dear to me. You flagg’d walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges! You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships! You rows of houses! you window-pierc’d façades! you roofs! You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards! You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much! You doors and ascending steps! you arches! You gray stones of interminable pavements! you trodden crossings! From all that has touch’d you I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me, From the living and the dead you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me. 4 The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public road, the gay fresh sentiment of the road. O highway I travel, do you say to me Do not leave me? Do you say Venture not—if you leave me you are lost? Do you say I am already prepared, I am well-beaten and undenied, adhere to me? O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, You express me better than I can express myself, You shall be more to me than my poem. I think heroic deeds were all conceiv’d in the open air, and all free poems also, I think I could stop here myself and do miracles, I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me, I think whoever I see must be happy. 5 From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines, Going where I list, my own master total and absolute, Listening to others, considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently,but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. I inhale great draughts of space, The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine. I am larger, better than I thought, I did not know I held so much goodness. All seems beautiful to me, I can repeat over to men and women You have done such good to me I would do the same to you, I will recruit for myself and you as I go, I will scatter myself among men and women as I go, I will toss a new gladness and roughness among them, Whoever denies me it shall not trouble me, Whoever accepts me he or she shall be blessed and shall bless me. 6 Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear it would not amaze me, Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear’d it would not astonish me. Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow in the open air and to eat and sleep with the earth. Here a great personal deed has room, (Such a deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men, Its effusion of strength and will overwhelms law and mocks all authority and all argument against it.) Here is the test of wisdom, Wisdom is not finally tested in schools, Wisdom cannot be pass’d from one having it to another not having it, Wisdom is of the soul, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof, Applies to all stages and objects and qualities and is content, Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things; Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the soul. Now I re-examine philosophies and religions, They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds and along the landscape and flowing currents. Here is realization, Here is a man tallied—he realizes here what he has in him, The past, the future, majesty, love—if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them. Only the kernel of every object nourishes; Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me? Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me? Here is adhesiveness, it is not previously fashion’d, it is apropos; Do you know what it is as you pass to be loved by strangers? Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls? 7 Here is the efflux of the soul, The efflux of the soul comes from within through embower’d gates, ever provoking questions, These yearnings why are they? these thoughts in the darkness why are they? Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood? Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank? Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me? (I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees and always drop fruit as I pass;) What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers? What with some driver as I ride on the seat by his side? What with some fisherman drawing his seine by the shore as I walk by and pause? What gives me to be free to a woman’s and man’s good-will? what gives them to be free to mine? 8 The efflux of the soul is happiness, here is happiness, I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times, Now it flows unto us, we are rightly charged. Here rises the fluid and attaching character, The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman, (The herbs of the morning sprout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.) Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old, From it falls distill’d the charm that mocks beauty and attainments, Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact. 9 Allons! whoever you are come travel with me! Traveling with me you find what never tires. The earth never tires, The earth is rude, silent, incomprehensible at first, Nature is rude and incomprehensible at first, Be not discouraged, keep on, there are divine things well envelop’d, I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell. Allons! we must not stop here, However sweet these laid-up stores, however convenient this dwelling we cannot remain here, However shelter’d this port and however calm these waters we must not anchor here, However welcome the hospitality that surrounds us we are permitted to receive it but a little while. 10 Allons! the inducements shall be greater, We will sail pathless and wild seas, We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail. Allons! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements, Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity; Allons! from all formules! From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests. The stale cadaver blocks up the passage—the burial waits no longer. Allons! yet take warning! He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, endurance, None may come to the trial till he or she bring courage and health, Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself, Only those may come who come in sweet and determin’d bodies, No diseas’d person, no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here. (I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes, We convince by our presence.) 11 Listen! I will be honest with you, I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes, These are the days that must happen to you: You shall not heap up what is call’d riches, You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve, You but arrive at the city to which you were destin’d, you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you are call’d by an irresistible call to depart, You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings of those who remain behind you, What beckonings of love you receive you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting, You shall not allow the hold of those who spread their reach’d hands toward you. 12 Allons! after the great Companions, and to belong to them! They too are on the road—they are the swift and majestic men—they are the greatest women, Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas, Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land, Habituès of many distant countries, habituès of far-distant dwellings, Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary toilers, Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore, Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children, Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins, Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it, Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases, Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days, Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain’d manhood, Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass’d, content, Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood, Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death. 13 Allons! to that which is endless as it was beginningless, To undergo much, tramps of days, rests of nights, To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to, Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys, To see nothing anywhere but what you may reach it and pass it, To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it, To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you, however long but it stretches and waits for you, To see no being, not God’s or any, but you also go thither, To see no possession but you may possess it, enjoying all without labor or purchase, abstracting the feast yet not abstracting one particle of it, To take the best of the farmer’s farm and the rich man’s elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well-married couple, and the fruits of orchards and flowers of gardens, To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through, To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go, To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them, to gather the love out of their hearts, To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you, To know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls. All parts away for the progress of souls, All religion, all solid things, arts, governments—all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of souls along the grand roads of the universe. Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance. Forever alive, forever forward, Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied, Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men, They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where they go, But I know that they go toward the best—toward something great. Whoever you are, come forth! or man or woman come forth! You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you. Out of the dark confinement! out from behind the screen! It is useless to protest, I know all and expose it. Behold through you as bad as the rest, Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people, Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash’d and trimm’d faces, Behold a secret silent loathing and despair. No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession, Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes, Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors, In the cars of railroads, in steamboats, in the public assembly, Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, in the bedroom, everywhere, Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones, Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers, Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself, Speaking of any thing else but never of itself. 14 Allons! through struggles and wars! The goal that was named cannot be countermanded. Have the past struggles succeeded? What has succeeded? yourself? your nation? Nature? Now understand me well—it is provided in the essence of things that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary. My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion, He going with me must go well arm’d, He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions. 15 Allons! the road is before us! It is safe—I have tried it—my own feet have tried it well—be not detain’d! Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen’d! Let the tools remain in the workshop! let the money remain unearn’d! Let the school stand! mind not the cry of the teacher! Let the preacher preach in his pulpit! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge expound the law. Camerado, I give you my hand! I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?