#like partway through i wondered if i should put it on ao3 long post

[transingthoseformers]

I am vividly reminded that as of the current timeline, around nearly years have passed since the unicron arc up until let's say the start of the Tarn and Fallen fiasko. This got much longer than expected, and i admit this isn't new information but a collection of previously established information organized into a timeline because uwu time periods. I will heavily rely on @ivycorp 's contributions, as I'm gonna be real they're the reason the TFP au exists, are very great at writing, and pretty much the coowner of this au.

(Technically, I wasn't going to include this, but Hazard arrived very shortly after the cosmic rust plague episode and a little bit after when Megatron woke up. This is because they are a fucking bloodhound when it comes to plagues and chemical weaponry.)

Orion was on the Nemesis in the Orion arc for, let's say three at minimum five maximum? months. [Remembering our forgotten games happens at some point in here, happens at some point around here, and I'm betting this becomes a whole hidden thing for a lot of the Orion arc— this will have consequences] About halfway through this the Elite triad arrives and there's a whole emotional thing once Optimus regains his memories and comes back.

Their little extra spicy dance lasted a While before Soundwave's revenge began, before that the Decepticons got more attached to earth culture, I would also say that lasted around six months enough for the 'cons to get used to Megatron's flustered and horny antics. So that places us at around eleven months max?

At the beginning of Optimus's emotional renaissance and increasingly awkward battles is when Dreadwing arrives and almost immediately fucks off into the woods. Soundwave bridges Arachnid into the Atlantic ocean to rust at the bottom of the sea, she survives on the Harbinger for a while, finds the Insecticons as she has a bridge key, and fucks off into the middle of Australia to set up the hive (which becomes very energon lucrative) Wheeljack arrived with Dreadwing, and stays around a little longer with Boyfriend Bulkhead than canon.

More towards the mid mark, Shockwave is revealed to be very alive and comes down on Earth. He drags a half baked Predaking with him, to nobody's knowledge just yet. [About when Colleagues with very enjoyable benefits is set] Juncee begins here with Sweet and Tenative Hope and it's so goddamn sweet. Pharma (and very quickly Tarn and the DJD) around the mid mark finds his way onto Earth on an escape pod actually. [This is when Rival Exes who at least pretend not to have feelings with each other happens uwu] He's very stern on Not leaving the base, and eventually everyone picks up the vibe that he's got unpleasant history with Tarn. Nobody questions this just yet, and we focus more on the Breakout, Megop, and continuing Ratchma antics. [Permanent honeymoon is placed in this section] This is around when the vehicon couple who had ran during season one and lived on the downed Eros get caught and offlined.

Closer to the end of the spicy battlefield dance arc, Everyone's starting to get very tired of the exponentially increasing Battlefield Megop. This is actually the first time the humans witness Megatron with a visor and when ge finally gets to pin Optimus— and then proceeds to get struck by lightning. They do not see Megs with a visor again for quite a while, because he's a stubborn asshole and forgets them more often then not. [And they were exes at war (oh my god they were exes at war!) Is placed here]. Exactly pretty much immediately after that are the events of [Megatron & his servo], which begins the glorious Soundwave's revenge arc!

[This is when I mention that Following the pull that bound us together (I will not let go) by far spans the most time, starting somewhat before Orion first heard of Megatronus alllllllll the way until the night after the fateful comm call that lead to the Soundwave's revenge arc lol]

The whole Tarn fanfiction ordeal likely started around when the guy first arrived and decided to turn in fics instead of reports. The domino effect of Soundwave and Starscream saying nothing of this for a while, KO and Breakdown learning through a loopy seeker and sharing unofficial information on the GC, Tarn turning in more fics, and eventually Star being allowed onto the GC and he comes bestowing an absolute archive of Megatarnma fics— of which Fowler immediately sees and that's hilarious. Quickly at the start of Soundwave's revenge arc, Megatron (who is distinctly not in the GC) has so many backlogged reports to do under Soundwave's supervision and this is when he learns of the fanfiction. Tarn, who is also not in the GC, spends quite a while longer completely ignorant of anyone knowing of his secret fantasy love triangle. [Detailed in the events of Tarn's imaginary love life - and the repercussions of his self-insert fanfiction] Let's be real this is another reason nobody on the Nemesis likes Tarn.

The Soundwave's revenge arc lasted a good four weeks. The Soundwave's revenge arc (calling it this is more if a misnomer by the end, as the revenge part fades quite a lot once they learn how much of a disaster Megatrons's internals are) is around when Miko started making a game of Houdiniing her way onto the Nemesis, naturally. Megatron is pretty much confined to the medbay for a nice while. At thr beginning of this Soundwave decides it's time to involve Swindle into this, and he arrives pretty soon as his one man ship The Hustle which is specifically customized his small stature and being fast arrives. [Quickly after this arrival I'm betting the events of Of holograms, galas, and unexpected guests happen] [This is also around when the powerpoint in Life on the Nemesis for the majority of its crew is shown, with the one vehicon that gets mentioned likely having been assigned to Hazard duty (mind the pun) in the mid to end spicy battlefield dance arc] Also among events is Dreadwing's rather gory death via the DJD, with bits of him being left across multiple countries.

At the three week mark Megatron gets his quarters back, and this only lasts three days. Then which Starscream half blows herself up live on stream thanks to Megatron's little problem distracting her. Megatron's newly returned private Quarters privileges get revoked, again. Rather quickly after this, Optimus's surprise visit happens. The toys get burned (by Primus not the toys!), the absolutely dope and iconic 2 v 1 fight occurs, annnd that ends in the charred remains of Orion and 'Tronus's collection are left on the battlefield. [As the events of When your nemesis is no longer coming to fight you in the field]

[ Megatron as a patient, or how Soundwave tries to not go insane with his leader’s unfortunate addiction to a certain Prime spans all the way from the start of Soundwave's revenge to the tail end of it]

But, eventually the autobots do learn, giving us another stretch of time as Silverlight's existence prompts a very important treaty and negotiations and "how much do you want me involved with childcare" conversations that need to happen. I'm gonna say this lasts a good three four months? Putting us at 18 to 19 months, around a year and three quarters. During quite an amount of this there's the whole extra protective Megatron stuff and the medics' antics to get checkups on both of them (... and hell, once they do that it's Optimus's turn) Tarn's starting to get super agitated and asks a lot of questions that nobody gives him a straight answer for, the rest of the DJD can kind of sense this and it blows up in everyone's face soon.

At some point, Megatron regains his quarters, and no more incidents seem to have occured or he was just quiet enough about it these times.

This is actually likely when the Grabbening occured, and honestly this is something I've been really itching to talk about more because it's a whole situation. I can see this being an ambush (that on the Decepticons' part is on accident, they did nOT know that there would be autobots out here) with Jazz and Elita, also naturally including Arcee and Bumblebee. It's the first time anyone besides Optimus has seen Megatron, and there's a serious initial fear of "oh FUCK, Megatron is not only here but we don't have Megatron aaaaand the kids and Fowler came with us frag frag frag—", at least until they notice how he isn't on his game. Like, time to start cracking half serious terrorcon and zombie jokes time. Hazard is also here, a rare sight on the battlefield, and absolutely terrorizes the hell out of the humans. The autobots immediately call for a groundbridge,, Soundwave tracks Megatron who's most definitely not supposed to be out of the medbay who the fuck let him outside for a flight, and sends out a bridge as well (don't worry this one isn't very close to the autobots' bridge, no shadowzone adventures for today). Everyone hears thunder, and as is Cybertronian policy to immediately GTFO and there's convenient bridges right there (Megatron, who's already certainly feeling like a terrorcon, actuallyis avoiding being struck by lightning! What an occurrence!). The catch being at least a few Decepticons having bluescreen moments and grabbing all four humans and booking it back to the Nemesis. Because naturally Knockout, Starscream, and Soundwave own the functioning processor components right now. There's a whole discussion about this the moment they get back, with so much arguing in Neocybex that the humans at this point have only vaguely learned some of. The humans are only on the ship for a good twelve hours because certainly the autobots are afraid as hell. Miko isn't because Miko is bold as hell, and at this point has somewhat desensitized Soundwave to her presence. Hazard drags Fowler to their lab with the intent to run experiments onto him and the kids are just kinda vaguely near the commanders. More terrorcon Megatron jokes ensue, because all he wants to do right now is make the most of his re reinstated quarters privileges. Fowler discovers the lost vehicon, (who i now dub Sidewinder because ykw ykw we've mentioned this guy enough that he deserves a two part name) which is a whole thing because he's gotten attached to them. Soundwave, who upon learning that Hazard has gotten the vehicons' favorite human and those guys are making a convincing case. Soundwave comes to the rescue for Fowler and Sidewinder, most certainly scruffs Hazard because of the rules violations he sees immediately upon entering the lab. The other vehicons actually nab both Sidewinder and Fowler, and it's a whole thing about rushing the mech to quarantine and frantically thanking both Soundwave and Fowler for rescuing him. Eventually, the autobots find their way onto the Nemesis and boy do the humans have a story to tell. This would also explain why in the sparkling fic Soundwave would've been pretty concerned about Megatron getting off the ship (btw he bribed Breakdown with string lights, the really good multicolored ones, and by pleading him to let him fly. Megan had no intention to give him the lights but Soundwave much exactly went in and got them for Breaky)

The surprise child is revealed after some missed appointments (likely merely a week). Around this point the neutral hired theraputic medic Rung arrives in the Chance, and upon the first visit he's pretty surprised at the emotional support sparkling. Also around this point, Tarn's presence is being slowly less and less tolerated on the Nemesis but let's be real that's also because of his one sided and slightly scary rivalry with the beep beep jeep, and the knowledge that he's most definitely still writing Megatarnma fics. At some point in what I'm now dubbing the beginning of the Oh Shit A Child arc, Swindle cut a deal with the Autobots with trading earth based luxury goods for Cybertronian luxury goods he has obtained. Surprisingly this does actually go fairly well for both parties, and neither betrays the other.

I'm betting the autobots didn't learn about the sparkling for hear this yet for another threeish months because wow they didn't want to deal with the awkwardness of telling them. I haven't quite decided how, exactly, but dear Primus it is juicy. At some point, Megatron is allowed back on the bridge and is a little less obsessively territorial with his sparkling. Which leads to so many cute interactions where he's holding Silverlight and mecha try to hide their gawking at a respectable distance. So 13-14 months? Tarn, at this point, is just... not allowed on the Nemesis. He's too dangerous and unpredictable to be around something so vulnerable and way important to their leader who already has notorious murderous leanings. Swindle is pretty relieved at this because i mean he definitely doesn't like being grabbed, and Knockout is glad because it means he doesn't have to treat another one of Tarn's stab wounds from said picking up.

Inevitably, Tarn learns of Silverlight and is very not happy that it threatens his fantasy. The Fallen sees this and thinks "okay finally we can get all of this moving a little faster" ... this may also be because I'm thinking thoughts about how Tarn's Voice has an impact on the Fallen even through the dimensional barrier. Sure, not Nearly as strong as it would be on a complete mortal, but it's somewhat an influence. He may be manipulating Tarn much easier than he did in canon with Steeljaw, but he cannot deny that this Tarn has more power than previously thought. The demigod is not used to being dare I say scared after millennia of being trapped. This is when Tarn's darkness in this au starts to really become apparent.

In this short time period in the first month or so after his discovery, Tarn's scorn is limited to quite a few savior fics fics involving Optimus and the sparkling. But eventually there is a public outburst where he sees Pharma for the first time in ages, and Pharma outright states that nobody loves Tarn, especially not Megatron nor himself, and that he honestly couldn't see why anyone could love Tarn. Which, might've been a shitty thing to say but this is when the events of Delphi get revealed so. Aaaand this is when Tarn, before openly threatens Megatron, Optimus, Pharma, Ratchet, and the sparkling (because let's be real Tarn has really and truly snapped at this point, and is willing to do just about anything to get what he wants.)

This will not end well for him.

So... that totals up (using the maximum ranges of the numbers i stated up above, naturally this will not be exact, and since this au is absolutely open to you guys' input as well, I'm fully willing to hear any of y'all's thoughts on the timeline and what you think should be changed to make more sense) bringing us to roughly a little over a year and a half 😁

Originally I was going to include all the way until the end of the Tarn and fallen fiasko, but it got so damn long i didn't have the energy to elaborate on that. But, for context, there's that, there's the events between it and the war over party, what happens beyond that and before the insecticons come up (which i imagine smack dab in the middle of that time period is the discovery about the true nature of the additive), the insecticon stuff, a lil gap between that, a relatively short ordeal with MECH and after that... afterward is pretty much the happy ending

[calligraphist-artemisia]

The Butterfly Dome

Written for Kidgeweek 2021!

I won’t be doing all of Kidgeweek this year (though I am writing something for each day of the Kidge Spring Event), but I do have three one-shots written, including this one. (The others will be on the 19th and 22nd.)

This one is the prompt for April 17 - Botanical Gardens/Lake Time. I chose to go with Botanical Gardens.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

The Butterfly Dome

As part of a deal with her mom, Pidge agreed to work at the Plaht Botanical Garden for one month in their volunteer program. In return, she would be allowed to spend her final month before college on a lengthy road trip with her friends. She thought it was a pretty great deal.

Pidge would be primarily working in the greenhouse to help care for seedlings and saplings alike, as well as to help quarantine everything new that came in until they were sure they weren't carrying unwanted pests or disease. It was hot and humid and Pidge didn't really care for that, but she didn't hate working in the greenhouse and that was all that mattered.

At the end of her first week, she was given a new task: deliver flowering plants to the caretakers of the Butterfly Dome, which was basically an even bigger greenhouse meant to do exactly as it sounded.

“Ask for Keith,” her mother advised as she finished loading up the cart. “He's in charge of accepting new arrivals. And also make sure he reads this-” (Colleen held up a folded letter) “-and don't go anywhere until he does.”

Pidge took the letter and stuck it into the pocket of her apron. “Is it a list of all the plants?”

Colleen shook her head. “No, it's instructions to take you under his wing for the day. We don't have much going on in here this weekend, but the Dome could use the extra hand and I promised them one of our volunteers.”

“Does this happen a lot? Just moving people around without asking if they're okay with it?” Pidge asked, disgruntled by the sudden shift in her routine.

“On occasion,” Colleen replied. “Most of our volunteers are here because they want to do a little bit of everything. I wouldn't send you to the Dome if I thought you would hate it. And just think of how good your experiences will look on your resume!”

“Yeah, I'm sure tech companies will be super impressed with my knowledge of flowers and butterflies,” Pidge said dryly.

Colleen gave her daughter a look. “You know what I mean, Katie.”

She did but she wasn't about to get into that conversation with her mom again. Instead, Pidge just sort of shrugged and grabbed onto the handle of the cart, waiting for the go-ahead to leave. She took it easy as she pushed the cart out of the greenhouse. It seemed pretty sturdy, but she didn't want to go too fast and end up with all of the plants on the floor.

Pidge passed a few people in the halls and offered up simple greetings to most of them until she finally arrived at the Dome. She carefully rolled the cart into the entry chamber and had to wait until the door shut behind her before she was able to enter the main room. Standing near that entrance was the Head of the Department, Takashi Shirogane. He had been a friend of the family for many years and was affectionately nicknamed “Shiro” because of all of the times he started to introduce himself by his surname first, only to correct himself partway through.

“Ah, those are the flowers Colleen was telling me about!” he said, smiling at her.

“I'm supposed to take them to Keith,” Pidge said. “Except, uh, who's Keith?”

Shiro gestured farther into the Dome at another man with black hair who was crouched over one of the flower beds with a hand pruner, carefully removing dead branches or flowers. “My Assistant Head, over there. I'm surprised the two of you haven't met yet. Do you want me to introduce you?”

Pidge shrugged. “Mom sent me with a note. And I'm a big girl, Shiro. I can handle talking to strangers.”

Shiro looked amused by that for some reason, but he nodded and told her that he'd be around if she needed anything before moving aside so she could roll the cart along the path. She made enough noise as she approached for Keith to hear and he stood up when he noticed her coming his way.

And it was then that Pidge wondered if she was in trouble.

Keith was far younger than she expected. She imagined someone a little older – closer to Shiro's age. (Not that Shiro was old.) If she had to guess, Keith was near her own age and also happened to be rather attractive.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I'm Pidge from the Greenhouse,” she said, startled into an introduction. “I, um, have your plants? And a note from Director Holt.”

Keith held out his hand and Pidge placed the note into it. She continued to stand by the cart while he read the message just like her mother instructed, waiting for him to finish and tell her what she would be doing to help out. (And if she happened to take a moment to check him out, then that was her little secret.)

“Looks like you'll be with me for the day,” he said, tucking the note into his back pocket. “I assume you already know the rules around here, but I'll remind you anyway: watch your step and don't touch the butterflies. They'll probably come pretty close to us while we're doing our planting, so keep that in mind.”

Pidge nodded.

Keith regarded her for a moment, his intense blue-gray eyes meeting her own. “We're replanting the Main Feature bed today. The pipes sprang a leak and ruined everything last month before we could get in and replace them, but that's all fixed now and we just got in the new soil. The locations for the plants have been marked with stakes, however, we will consult the planner before we do any digging. Sound simple enough?”

“So, basically don't do anything until you tell me to,” Pidge summarized, earning herself what was likely a rare smile. It was gone quickly as Keith nodded and gestured for her to follow. She pushed the cart along behind him and, as she promised, kept an eye out for any errant butterflies in her path.

It wasn't hard to tell when they arrived at the Main Feature bed. Not only was the soil smoothed out on top and staked with plant labels, but there was also a magnificent metal butterfly sculpture in the very center. A closer look showed that there were also tiny hoses winding their way throughout the bed, which she assumed was the sprinkler system. Pidge parked her cart where Keith indicated and then walked over to his side to view the planner he picked up from a nearby portable work table. She listened intently as he explained that they would start in the center near the sculpture and work their way out, carefully measuring the width and depth of each hole before placing any plants.

“All of the tools you need are here,” Keith said, gesturing to the top of the table, where there were several trowels, gloves, and measuring devices. “I recommend picking an apron so you can keep everything together. If you want a kneeling pad, we have those too.”

Pidge picked one of the green aprons and slid it over her head before tying it around her waist. She quickly grabbed a pair of matching green gloves and put those on, before sticking one of the trowels and two of the rulers (one wooden and one flexible) into the pockets on the apron. She didn't figure she needed a kneeling pad, though it was nice to know they had them on hand.

Keith briefly quizzed her on everything he'd just said and then they got to work.

It was pleasant to work alongside Keith. He didn't feel the need to constantly talk about whatever came to mind, saving his words for checking in on how her digging was coming along. It allowed plenty of time for Pidge's mind to wander without interruption.

All things considered, she enjoyed her time in the Dome and found herself disappointed when they finished planting everything on the cart.

“Not bad,” Keith remarked as he checked the time. “Really good, actually. We're ahead of schedule for once.” He lifted his gaze to eye her for a long moment. “Director Holt should have the next batch loaded up for us by now.”

“There's more?” Pidge blurted out.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “We'll keep going until the bed is full. Unless you hate being here that much.”

Pidge quickly shook her head. “No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I've only been here for a week but it seems like everyone else tries to take things slow, so I was surprised that we're going to keep going.”

“Ah,” was all Keith said as he turned his back to her and began removing his apron and tools, setting them all back onto the counter.

Pidge followed suit, hoping he wasn't disappointed in her. Neither of them spoke as Keith grabbed the cart and began to wheel it back to the Greenhouse and it was only when she heard her mother's voice that Pidge realized she'd let her slip into despairing thoughts.

“You're back sooner than I thought,” laughed Colleen, a pleased smile gracing her lips. “I have your next two carts loaded up and ready if you want to take them. At the pace you two are going, we'll have it all cleared out by the end of the day.”

“That's my hope,” Keith said, turning the empty cart over to her. “Thanks for sending Pidge to help, Director Holt. It would take me more than double the amount of time on my own.”

Pidge couldn't stop herself from jerking her head to look at him in surprise.

And there it was again – that soft, fleeting smile, and it was directed towards her. She could feel her cheeks heating up, but she didn't, couldn't, look away. Instead, she offered a small smile of her own and allowed herself to hope that once her weekend in the Dome was over, she would still get to spend time with him.

[malmuses]

Hello Mal, how are you doing? I hope things have gotten better for you on the real life side of things. I'm going through some rough times too, so at least the company is good! I wanted to start by saying that your fics have single handedly gotten me through the most turbulent transition period of my life. I'm almost completely finished with your works on AO3 and your storytelling... *many many many chef kisses*. You are easily one of my favorite writers. I love your writing style, ...1/2

...2/2 your characterization, and how well thought out each story is. Each fic is like a decadent treat for my brain. I was curious, as a fellow writer, what your writing process is like. I've tried a few different methods but was wondering what works best for you! I hope the rest of your 2020 is full of peace and love. Also, I apologize in advance for the spam of comments you are about to receive on AO3. I finally have enough spoons for it!

I’m pasting these into one so I can put the answer in one place! (Tumblr is so awkward sometimes.) Sorry to hear you’ve been going through rough times too! There’s a lot of it going around this year, so I think we have plenty of company. In fact, I think the whole world just needs to lower its expectations and standards this year. Woke up? There’s the first gold star of the day. It's only up from here. I’m so glad that you’ve been enjoying my stories and so flattered that you say they’ve helped you so much...*insert feelings gif* I always tell myself when I write something: It’s okay if not everyone likes it. It’s okay if some people hate it. Nothing is for everyone. I just want one person to *love it*. Then I’m totally at peace. Now, if that person is just me? If I’m the only one that loves it? That’s also cool. Each story comes from a different place. My long-winded point, though, was that you basically just validated the existence of my entire catalog of fics so far, so thank you xD Your question about my writing process though - I’m happy to answer. But of course, first, I have to insert the usual disclaimer that as with most creative endeavors, there is no ‘right’ way to do it. I’m sure you know that, but sometimes I think people underestimate the depth of that truth. Each person has their own unique way of doing things. The struggle is sometimes finding the particular way, or combination of ways, that work for you. There’s definitely no harm in sharing what works for me though, in case anyone else can take anything from it. I’m someone who writes multiple things at once. Some people can’t do this or don’t want to, which I totally understand. For me, this is how I (mostly) avoid any kind of writers' block. If I’m stuck somewhere, I switch projects for a day or two. I do usually still have one main project I’m working on, but I usually have at least three others, often at various stages of the writing process. This keeps me in more of a flow state so I keep going with things, and allows me to write every day. It’s a habit. Now, I’m not saying breaks are bad, and everyone should write every day. I just find that for me, breaks should be deliberate. They should be true, chosen breaks, not because I just...drifted into one.

As you can probably tell from all that, I’m very much a planner and outliner. I outline...a lot. I’d be happy to talk more about my particular outlining process on Tumblr someday if anyone wanted. But, basically, I start with a general idea, then break it down into different story beats, so I can see if there’s something missing or too much of one thing. Then I fill in the gaps, then start breaking each overall ‘part’ of the plot into scenes, etc. Chapters come last. In terms of numbers (I get asked this one a lot), it does not matter how long your chapters are. What matters is that the chapter length feels right for the pacing of the fic, in my opinion, and I really think that is something that just comes with practice and knowing your own writing. Shitty advice maybe, but just the truth as I see it. A lot of it comes down to practice and finding what works for you.

Once I have an outline, I generally write linearly. Some people can jump around a lot. That’s a bit of a last resort for me if I’m stuck on something, or alternately if a scene steams into my head fully formed I will write it...with the understanding that I will probably have to change chunks of it when I reach it. It’s just the way it goes.

Now, when I say I outline in detail (there are literal spreadsheets)  that doesn’t mean that I magically only write exactly what’s in the outline and I stick to it. An outline can be a guide, not a rule. Sometimes stories take you places, and generally, I find it's better to listen to what the story wants. If my story starts going somewhere else or introduces something I don’t expect, I often revisit my outline and think, “Okay, how can I work in this new thing so that it follows the plotlines and arcs I already have? Am I adding to what I have or just distracting from it?” Most often those answers are obvious to me, but sometimes it’s good to ask someone else. A friend, a trusted beta. (I could talk a whole lot about betas and how that works for me, too, in addition to outlining).

I pretty much zero draft my fics. By that, I mean that I will start writing, and I won’t go back and do very much editing until the end. I will, each writing session, go back and read what I wrote the day before. Get into the zone. And sure, I’ll fix something if it jumps out at me - but that isn’t the purpose at that point, and most things won’t jump out, because it's too fresh. My brain knows what I meant, so it autocorrects for me. 

Leading into editing, it’s a two-step process for me. Once my zero draft is finished, I go back to the beginning and go through. This is where most of my developmental editing happens. (Another thing that probably needs more detail...different types of editing.) Once I’ve done that (usually during that pass, I’ve added words) I then put the fic aside. For as long as possible. At least a month, if I can swing that. (Bang deadlines sometimes cause issues if it's a fic for a bang, but I try). 

Once that time has passed, I can come back to it with fresh eyes. I’ll see the mistakes much more easily, then. This is where more intensive line edits happen, where SPAG happens, where I insert anything I made note of during my first pass if I needed to foreshadow anything more, that kind of thing. 

For a WIP, I do these edits chapter by chapter as it posts. For a Bang fic, obvious I have to do it all in one go. Due to the way I write, if you see me start posting a fic -- that fic is already finished, or in rarer instances (for work that was more time-sensitive) partway through the second draft or so. Oneshots are a little different (and I’ve had some oneshots that turned into chaptered fics of their own accord) in that they are just shorter and less intensive and often only have one main plot thread, so they’re a lot easier to do. I can get one drafted, edited and posted within a few days usually, depending on length.

How much do I write? Depends on the day. I have a high-stress finance job, two kids, and write a mixture of original fiction and fanfic stuff. So sometimes it's more than others. Bad day? Maybe 1,000 words. Good, average day? 3-6k. High pressure? Well, last year's DCBB I wrote in just under three days. It was 25k at that point. I have no tips for speed beyond learning to type fast, LOL!

Okay. I’ve probably bored you, and anyone else who had to scroll past all this, to tears. This is way too long. But even so, more specific questions, I’m happy to answer.

Good luck! Best advice? Just write. Write. Write. "Write a million words, then throw them away” is a changeable quote attributed to several authors but all it comes down to is...practice. Find your own vice and way of doing it. In a million words time, you will be a different writer than you are now, guaranteed.

Mal <3

[psychopersonified]

Three Little Words

Post Are we ever going to talk about this? and Where was the wooing? (AO3)

Highly recommended to read the series first to get emotionally invested in their story arc. This short piece will feel a lot more satisfying once you know their backstory. But you can still read this as a stand alone. 

Mallory cottons on and worries, Bond tries bubble tea (sorry, I couldn't resist), very important words that haven't been said are said...

Tags: Sharing food, some groping, newly established relationship, humour, fluff with feeling, tiny mention of PTSD, minor hurt/comfort.

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

London, Air Street - Hawksmoor

They arrived together, Mallory was sure of it. He knows because he saw them leave their Vauxhall HQ together. What was even more unexpected was that 007 was in the passenger seat of Q’s red Hyundai at the time. Rumours abound about those two; but M had chosen to ignore them up to now for the sake of his own sanity. Sorting fact from fiction would take up all his time. Even Q’s new car was subject to gossip - some preposterous story about it being a gift from 007. 

However, now partway through the evening of Agent 008’s retirement party at a seafood and steak restaurant on Air Street - Mallory can’t ignore the rumours any longer.

Moneypenny had organised the event, booking out the entire floor of the glamorous art deco restaurant. Dark wood panelling matched with emerald green upholstery and decorated with gold accents, it oozed perfectly understated style. 150 or so people were invited, all part of the MI6 community with more or less direct involvement in the Double-0 Program. So practically everyone knows everyone, making it a safe and comfortable setting to let loose a little. Which might be why M is noticing behaviours that were not usually on display within the SIS building among general population. 

Which brings M back to his observation. The pair is ensconced in one of the semi circle booths with Eve, Jenny, Mark and Dr Chen. Bond is seated on the outer edge, an arm slung casually over the back of the booth with the Quartermaster sitting much close than propriety would deem necessary -  practically nestled in the crook of the agent’s arm. They are laughing along and joining in free flowing conversation with the other occupants of their table and generally having a good time. 

No one on the table appears to find the unusually close proximity odd. In fact no one in the entire party seems to have given their behaviour a second glance except for Mallory.

As the evening progressed, M sees more and more that worries him. He’d caught them sharing food, eating right off each other’s plates. Bond cutting bits off his steak and setting the pieces aside for Q to pick off. Even offering Q his red wine, chosen specially to pair with the steak, holding it up to his nose for a sniff. Then instead of getting the server to pour a new glass, he just lets Q drink from his, keeping the glass between them throughout the main course. 

Then there was the seafood pasta, and the utter ridiculousness of it. Q eats half of it and hands it over, cutlery and all for Bond to finish. The agent obliges without hesitation, and couldn’t be bothered to get a fresh set of cutlery.

At one point the young quartermaster places a hand on 007’s thigh to draw his attention. Bond is immediately attentive, pausing to lean close so Q can whisper something privately. Whatever Q says makes him nod and smile. 

M panics internally, perhaps he’s been ignoring the rumours for too long and wonders if it might be too late to do something about it now. Alec making his way round a willing secretarial pool is one thing, but this does not look ‘no strings attached’. However on the plus side, 007 has been a lot more manageable lately. 

Sure, he still had problems with authority and argues incessantly about his orders, then goes off improvising his missions and continues to destroy things that he shouldn’t have… BUT he hasn’t gone dark for a while now - regularly checking in with HQ before he decides to execute a high risk strategy. Not for approval mind you, just to let them know where they might recover his body… which is a step up considering his track record. And he hasn’t absconded in a while, always returning to London immediately once the job is done, without MI6 needing to use the threat of arrest as motivation.

If whatever this is between them is the root of the behavioural change in 007, then taking it away is a sure way of inciting rebellion. Considering their combined skillsets, it would be impudent to underestimate them. However, should the relationship sour, it would cause a whole set of other problems. It puts M in quite a bit of a conundrum. How long has this been going on and why hasn’t Psych highlighted this. 

—

“How are you with driving?” Q asks as he holds up the coat for Bond after retrieving it from the coat check

“Still good,” the agent answers as he slips his arms into the coat. 

“Excellent, because I’m decidedly not.” Q declares, emphasis on the T in the ‘not’. Bond can tell, Q’s a little giggly and handsier than usual. And he’s had to help Q down the stairs from the first floor restaurant. 

“Keys?” Bond asks as he turns around to return the favour, helping Q into his jacket and scarf. 

“Left poc— *yawn*—ket” Q yawns midway though his answer, using his hands to cover his mouth as Bond dips a hand into his trouser pocket from behind to fish for the car keys. 

Once they dispense with the goodbyes to those lingering in the lobby, they head out. Q’s car is parked in an hourly garage a short walk away. 

—

Unknown to the pair, their little interaction was overheard by Mallory and Tanner. 

M turns to Tanner, levelling him with a serious look, “Those two, I want to know what’s going on. How serious is it?”

“Sir?” Tanner hesitates, then smiles tightly, unsure if the next thing he says will get the pair in trouble, “Fairly serious…”

“Why wasn’t I told?” M huffs annoyed, though more at himself than anyone. 

Tanner looks genuinely perplexed, “Sir?… I believe there was a general assumption that you knew? And because you haven’t reprimanded them that you were willing to… look the other way?”

Mallory sighs, “So the rumour about the car is true then?”

“Ah... yes. They’ve also been seen coming and going from HQ together whenever Bond is in London.” 

“Ahh… shit.” M sounds resigned. 

“What are you going to do sir? You’re not going to stop them are you?” Tanner’s looks like someone just kicked his puppy. He wants to add -that would be beyond cruel-. 

“I can’t very well do that anymore can I? Not if it’s that serious. Not if 007 has found his reason to keep himself alive.” Mallory knows first hand what that psychological incentive can do for men and women in their line of work. 

“I want to talk to Dr Epstein next week. If I’m going to allow this, I want to know what I’m getting into and how we can make sure this stays to our advantage.” 

“Yes sir.”  

——————————-

London, Knightsbridge - Saturday 

The garishly colourful interior is the first thing that strikes him as they enter. Pastel primary colours splashed everywhere. Next is the crowd; they are both much older than the average customer with Bond likely being 20yrs senior than most everyone including the staff. 

The menu is a cheery if confusing list of options. The drinks equally colourful, befitting the kindergarten decor. He lets Q place an order on his behalf, because otherwise he wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“What is this place?” Bond asks when Q is done placing their needlessly complicated order. 

“It’s called bubble tea, because of the toppings you can have them add to your drink. I’m told it’s a cultural phenomenon sweeping the student scene.” Q explains.  

“How do you even know about this?”

“Marcus introduced us to it. He has the whole of Q-Branch hooked on this. It’s become a Friday night Cyberwar games staple. Bubble tea, fried chicken and curry,” he updates Bond.

“I see Agent Park has been busy giving all of you diabetes.” Bond remarks rather unkindly.

Agent Marcus Park is the new 008, the latest recruit and by that token the youngest in the current lineup of Double-0s. Dripping with cool, savvy with social media current affairs - he’d quickly ingratiated himself with the boffins in Q-Branch who were mostly around the his age.

In the short time since he’s arrived, Marcus has managed to affect the culture and language in Q-Branch. He’s even developed some idiotic ‘special’ handshake that everyone was keen to get in on - officially making him the coolest agent and everyone’s new favourite. So if Agent Park says bubble tea is cool, then officially, it’s cool. 

All this annoyed Bond more than he cared to admit because it meant Marcus spent more time in Q-Branch than any of the other agents save himself. Aside from his early faux pas of mistakenly using Q’s mug (which 008 has since learned NOT to because no one in Q-Branch liked that), what Bond particularly disliked was Park taking up -his- sofa in the lounge. He can tolerate 008 swanning about the place, but draws the line at the sofa. Every time he sees the upstart stretched across it, he gets an irrational flare of temper.

Q smiles indulgently at him, aware of the minor quarel between the two agents, “Oh don’t be jealous James. Besides, it’s better than the horrid energy drinks.” Their order comes up then and Q goes to collect it. 

When Q gets back, Bond is presented with a monstrously large Roasted Oolong Milk Tea with tapioca pearl toppings, half sugar and one-third ice. The drink comes with a supersized straw whereby he is expected to siphon out the dubiously coloured pearls resting at the bottom of the cup (why they are called toppings when they sink is question for another time). Bond isn’t a particularly picky eater, he can’t be for survival - so he’s open to trying anything. He’s not impressed, still a too sweet and far too milky for his liking, and he could have done without the weirdly chewy pearls that had a tendency to get stuck in his teeth.

“How’s your tea? Feeling hip with the crowd yet?” Q pokes, waiting for his response.

Bond gives his verdict on the tea then the establishment, “…. but these stools are incredibly uncomfortable. And the height of these tables; ridiculous.  My hip joints are aching.” Bond grouses. Also the excited high pitched chatter of the other patrons, is starting to give him a headache. 

Halfway through, Bond switches drinks - curious about Q’s pale green Honeydew Melon Tea with black herbal jelly, three-quarter sugar and half ice. The drink is interesting, lighter than the tea, but the texture and taste of the soft slightly medicinal jelly takes some getting used to. 

Inexplicably, Bond feels his mood start to slip, “What are they nattering on about?” Bond pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head in the direction of the largest and noisiest group. 

Every so often, one of them would explode with shrill laughter that was closer to a hysterical scream than anything resembling normal mirth. It was grating on his nerves in more was than one. God, when did children get so annoying? 

Q shrugs, looking up from an incoming notification on his phone.  He’s not really caught up on pop culture himself. What a pair they made - the basement geek and his curmudgeon. Q returns to his phone and the unusual forwarded notification from the Smart Blood implant. One of the agents is experiencing a spike in heart rate not associated with any physical activity ::Agent 007::.

Bond takes sip of his drink, expression still pinched. Another teen suddenly wails like a banshee about to be murdered before peeling off into laughter. Q is about to show him the readout from the app when in a surprise move, Bond reaches out to take Q’s hands in his. 

The agent shifts seats to sit alongside Q. He then gathers him close, the entire length of their sides, from shoulder to knee pressed together - before burying his nose in Q’s temple and taking a deep breath. Despite Bond’s penchant for peacocking himself, as a couple they’re not one for flagrant public displays of affection, so the unusual move sends Q’s mind ticking with concern.

There is a slight tremor that runs through Bond, muscles twitching, not quite relaxed as it should - a precursor to fight or flight perhaps. It triggers Q’s memory, something in 007’s  psych file as with most of the Double-0s; a mention about higher risk of experiencing PTSD - and it clicks. The screaming teens were enough to send a fright through normal people, how must it feel like for a veteran of violence like Bond.  

Q squeezes back in understanding, “Let’s get out of here shall we? These kids are giving me a headache.” 

“Excellent suggestion,” Bond agrees without hesitation, pulling Q along as he gets up. They retrieve their shopping and drinks, and head out into the open air. 

Once outside, Bond starts to cheer up significantly but nevertheless, he clings to Q with a tight arm around the shoulder. Q reciprocates with an arm around Bond’s waist; letting him know that he’s there and he understands; without coddling the agent or challenging his ego.

Occasionally Bond would slow their pace, the hand clutching Q’s shoulder would shift to stroke the back of his head, pulling Q close to nuzzle his hair - always taking deep slow breaths. They meander around Knightsbridge before Q suggests taking a turn inside The Natural History Museum. By the time their walk takes them there, Bond is for the most part back to normal. 

Q had always loved the natural history museum. The large echoey stone galleries, the ornate architecture and of course the prehistoric displays in their modern glass cases. The hushed space provides Bond with some respite to recover as well. 

They wander around aimlessly for the first twenty minutes - Q steering them down one gallery after another, providing soothing commentary about one display or another and Bond was happy just to tag along stuck to his side. 

But at the first deserted corner they find, Bond unexpectedly jerks him close - sending Q colliding into a wall of muscle. The kiss that follows is deep, emotionally brimming with gratitude and affection. The hand that’s buried in his hair and roaming his back is not salacious but reverential. The kiss lasts an eternity. When they part, they are both breathless - noses and mouths rubbed pink. 

Bond steals several more brief kisses after that before looking Q right in the eye. What he says next, floors Q. In a venerated whisper, James declares with every fibre of his being, “I love you.”

It’s the first time either of them has said it. They’ve made it this far into their dizzying convoluted dance, circling one another with playful oblique references to their relationship without ever once saying these words. They’re living together now for christssake!

Q reaches up to cradle Bond’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking the craggy cheeks and worn crows feet around the eyes. “Likewise…,” Q thinks to leave it at that, but it feels like he’d be shortchanging something so significant. So he pulls Bond in for another deep kiss and mumbles against his mouth, ”I love you, I love you, I love you”. 

Simple. Uncomplicated. Love. 

When they part again, the gallery isn’t deserted anymore. An elderly couple had wandered in and was nearby, viewing the exhibit they were standing adjacent to. Bond bends down to collect their shopping bags. Q smiles apologetically at the couple as he tries to make himself presentable again. 

“No worries dear. I remember how it was like on our honeymoon,” the lady tells him with a wink. 

Honey-what-now?! That catches Q completely off guard. Did  he just miss another milestone? Q nods awkwardly just as Bond tugs on his hand, “Uh… Please excuse us.” 

—

Outside again and the street is awash with light as the sun peeks out from behind a bank of clouds. Bond is back to normal, without a trace of his earlier vulnerability. But he does continue to rest an arm on Q’s shoulder. 

They decide to walk home. Unhurried, just enjoying each other, not a care in the world, even if it was just for the afternoon. Strolling along the streets, window shopping until dinnertime, before popping into a restaurant close to home. 

Bond spies a discarded bubble tea cup as they pass by a street bin and is reminded of Marcus. 

“Do me a favour? Could you kick Park out of the lab once in a while?” 

That earns him a sarcastic reply, “Oh yes, because I’ve been highly successful at kicking agents out so far. Besides, on what grounds?” 

“He’s taking up my sofa,” Bond grumbles petulantly.

“Hardly grounds for expulsion. And it’s not your sofa. If anyone has the right to be upset, it should be me. That was my kip out sofa before the two of you decided to install your arses on it.”

“Ahh… so its -our- sofa then. He has no business being there.” Bond looks for a loophole he can exploit, “Surely sleeping with the Quartermaster has its perks?”

“You’re a right bastard you know that?” Q admonishes. “Besides, you sleeping with the quartermaster is precisely why I can’t kick him out.”

Bond still doesn’t get it so Q has to spell it out for him, “Haven’t you noticed that Marcus is sweet on Jenny? I can’t kick him out or I’ll be accused of double-standards.”

“Huh… Is he now?” Blonde eyebrows climb to the hairline in surprise, “And how does she feel about him?“ 

“We’re not sure yet. She went out with him a couple of times. But then just this Friday, she threw a half drunk cup of bubble tea in his face. At the moment she thinks he’s a bit of a prick… I can understand exactly how she feels,” Q looks over at Bond pointedly. 

James grins unashamed, “M is really going to love this development.”

Q hums in agreement, “Hmm… if she files a complaint against him, I suspect M will put a moratorium on Double-0s dating Q-Branch techs.” 

A thoughtful smile spreads across James’s face, “Well then, I suppose we’d better set a good example.” 

——FIN——

Notes: If you liked this story, there’s more on the blog or AO3. Please like, reblog, comment etc. Enjoy!

[i-am-snowils-admiral]

Assigned Dad in the Teachers’ Lounge

Eri has a question. Aizawa is not prepared.

Shameless Dadzawa fluff. 1300 words. Posted on Ao3

The teachers’ lounge was, for once, peaceful. Midterms had ended and there were no frantic students asking for help, or frantic teachers writing last-minute exam questions. Grades had been finalized, and the room was filled with the soft scratching of a few remaining teachers filling out overdue paperwork.

Shouta, of course, didn’t have any overdue paperwork. He turned all his paperwork in on time, and was now working on lesson plans for the coming weeks, adjusting the work to accommodate all the improvements he saw as necessary to the students. All Might, who was still filling out sheet after sheet of feedback after watching all the first years’ practical exams, was a different matter entirely. Those feedback sheets were due over a week ago. What had he been doing? Talking to Midoriya, probably. Maybe Bakugou as well, seeing as he had somehow joined their little trysts shortly after the kids had moved into the dorms.

Present Mic, who contrary to popular belief was capable of working quietly, sat in his corner of the lounge poring over Power Loader’s suggestions for improvements on both Jirou and Koda’s hero costumes. The Voice hero had been thrilled when the support expert had asked for his input on the new designs.

Shouta had gone over Shinsou’s voice modulator himself. It needed to be compatible with the capture weapon, and he was an expert on that, at least.

In the long beam of sunshine coming through the window lay Eri, surrounded by half-colored pieces of paper and a veritable mound of crayons. She muttered to herself under her breath. A quick stretch revealed to Shouta a picture of Eri next to Midoriya and Mirio. She seemed to be attempting to add All Might behind Midoriya, but was having trouble deciding between his hero and skeletal forms.

He watched her mumble over the drawing for a bit, a habit she’d apparently picked up from the resident problem child, before she stood up abruptly, taking several drawings with her.

He put down his pen as she approached, seeing in her expression that she had something more important than All Might’s design to talk about.

“Aizawa-san,” she started, then stopped and stared down at the drawings. One of them, he saw with some concern, seemed to be of Chisaki, the large plague mask over his face looking almost comical in the childish drawing.

“Did you need something?” he asked, a little softer than he usually allowed himself to be with the students. Eri was not a hero in training, and she wasn’t ignorant of the darker parts of the world. No need to play his usual mind games.

“Overhaul said he was my dad when I met Deku” she settled on saying.

“He did say that,” Shouta agreed hesitantly, unsure where she was going with this.

“But he’s not my dad,” she seemed to conclude.

“No, he isn’t.”

Eri stared intensely down at the picture with All Might half-drawn behind Midoriya.

“Yagi-san isn’t Deku’s dad, either,” she stated confidently.

Yamada, the traitor, let out a single muffled snort and mumbled something under his breath. Shouta sent him a glare.

“That’s right,” he said.

“But Deku says that he thinks about Yagi-san like his dad sometimes because he doesn’t really know his actual dad.”

Yagi definitely coughed up some blood at that, right onto his nearly finalized feedback papers, unfortunately. Shouta sent him a blank look that could either be consoling him for the lost work or judging him for having the work remaining in the first place. He preferred to keep things ambiguous that way.

“I don’t know my dad,” Eri continues, “so does that mean Overhaul has to be my dad?”

Ah, so that was what this was about. Shouta had worried quite a bit about the effect of Eri’s years as Chisaki’s lab rat, but he hadn’t quite considered that she might feel connected in such a way to the man who had been her personal tormentor. The child therapist she’d been seeing had done wonders for her opinions about her quirk, but they hadn’t quite tackled the topic of Chisaki yet. Had she felt this way the whole time?

He rested a hand on her head, the way he had seen first Midoriya and then Mirio do when they wanted to make her feel safe.

“Overhaul does not have to be your dad,” he assured her. “A dad is someone who protects you and takes care of you. Deku thinks of Yagi-san as his dad because Yagi-san cares for him, and because Deku chose to think of him that way.”

He should bring this up with her therapist. It was the first time she’d brought Chisaki up independently.

Eri broke out into an enormous smile, and his heart jerked uncomfortably. Midoriya probably would have started crying. Mirio certainly did when she smiled at the culture festival.

“So I get to choose my own dad?” she asked with wonder.

That didn’t seem quite right, but Shouta nodded at her anyway. A small misconception couldn’t hurt. That seemed the natural end to the conversation, so he turned away with a final ruffle of her hair and picked up his pen again. Should he have Kaminari work on his quirk stamina in the coming months, or on his precision?

Eri threw herself at him, pulling herself partway onto his lap and grinning up at him with unrestrained joy. “I’m gonna choose you to be my dad, then!”

All background noise of scratching pens and quiet mumbling ceased instantly, and Shouta felt many pairs of eyes focus on him. His own heart skipped a beat, and for a moment he was at an absolute loss for words. He stared down at the girl who was now perched on his knees, small enough to curl up between his arms without obstructing his view of the desk in front of him. Her smile faded slightly as his silence continued, and he had a moment of straight-faced panic.

“That’s alright, then,” he finally managed to say, which was entirely inadequate and really didn’t communicate what he was feeling at all and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how he hadn’t considered that this may have been the outcome she had been hoping for.

Eri’s smile returned full force, though, seemingly satisfied with his answer. She turned her head to the side, noticing someone in the corner of her eye.

“Hi Bakugou!” she shouted, shuffling off Shouta’s lap and running to the explosive teen. Despite his antics and her general distrust of strangers, she had never been afraid of him. Perhaps her time with the Yakuza had trained her to recognize an empty threat.

“Hey,” he said simply. “Some of the idiots made apple pie. Figured you’d want some.”

Eri squealed in excitement, running off ahead of him down the hall.

Shouta, who had been staring at the doorway having seemingly lost the ability to form thoughts, raised his eyes to make eye contact with Bakugou.

The teen was grinning at him, expression absolutely vicious with how smug it was.

“Hey Eri,” he called down the hall without breaking eye contact with his teacher. “When we get to the dorms, let’s tell everyone about your new dad.”

And with that, he shut to the door to the lounge, leaving absolute silence in his wake.

The silence lasted approximately five seconds, before Yamada let out an ear-splitting cackle. The rest of the staff soon joined him, even All Might smothering a chuckle under a skeletal hand.

“Do you want me to get you some adoption papers?” Nemuri asked through tears, gasping for breath as she fought the laughter.

Shouta glared at her with as much venom as he could dredge up, which wasn’t much. He pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk with a bit more force than necessary and pulled out a thin folder, slapping it on the desk with a bit of petulance.

“I already have them,” he said briefly, sending the room into another round of hysterics.

He left them to their laughter, hiding a smile in his capture weapon. He had some paperwork that was overdue.

[goonlalagoon]

Dust, like golden ash - pt 5|| Leagues & Legends!HDM AU

And this is the last of this I had written before I stopped posting when RtD came out...so now I actuallly do need to figure out where I was going with it!

Read on Ao3: From the start | this chapter

Read on Tumblr: part 0 | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | [part 5]

Laney knows she should be talking, acting - something, anything, to get them out of the literal line of fire, but she’s frozen. Idly, she wonders if everyone who stares down the barrel of a gun as she holds it in a steady grip feels this way, or if she’s simply frozen by her brother’s long-missed presence. Rupert is the one who talks, voice even and measured and polite. She hadn’t noticed it before the mountains, but now that she knows what it is Laney can hear the calm in it. It isn’t magi, it’s simply that Rupert wants things to be fair and safe so strongly that it carries into everything he does.

They hold still while a suspicious Liam carefully relieves them of their weapons - Laney’s guns, which no-one at the Bureau was ever foolish enough to ever attempt to get her to leave in her room, and the small knife tucked into her boot. He checks Rupert over twice, apparently in disbelief that the boy isn’t carrying a single thing he could fight with.

“He’s been a prisoner for months, where do you think he’d get a weapon from?” It’s the first thing she’s said, and her voice doesn’t shake at all. Anger is helping - she can see the tightness in Rupert’s shoulders, the determinedly restrained way Seba is sitting with her tail wrapped around her forepaws, and knows all he wants is to curl up and sleep somewhere safe, to breathe deep and finally realise he’s free.

Once, Liam had known her well enough to read all of that in the set of her jaw. But that was a lifetime ago, and now concern hides in the tilt of her chin instead, protectiveness in the way her daemon curls his own tail rather than bares his teeth. She watches the little whistling bird fan its wings and wonders if here that still means that her brother is amused.

Other-Laney circles her, curious. A sand viper winds its way down her arm, and Laney’s chameleon slinks to the tip of her finger to enter a staring match. Laney wants to examine her counterpart, to find the patchwork places where they differ, but her eyes are dragged back to Liam every time she tries. It’s George who eventually breaks the silence.

“Look, lets get them sat down. This one looks like he’s about to collapse.” Rupert smiles faintly.

“It’s been…a long few months. A long, very dull few months.” He shoots Laney an amused look, a question hiding in the slight lift of one dark eyebrow. Are you okay? “Though I think boredom may now be a thing of the past.” She grins back, squaring her shoulders a little more. No, but let’s get on with it.

Bea looks from one to the other of them when they’re escorted into the bakery, Other-Laney still holding a pistol in a loose, ready grip. The baker sighs, resting floury hands on her hips.

“I don’t care what nonsense you’ve gotten into, if there’s a fight in my bakery you’re all sleeping in the barn.” Liam laughs and kisses her on the cheek. Laney tries to pretend she isn’t watching hungrily, isn’t tracing Bea’s face for lines of grief that aren’t there. The familiar mountain cat daemon pads over sedately to pace a careful circle precisely a foot away from touching around both Laney and Rupert. Laney crouches automatically to set Jabari down so the daemons can greet each other. They’ve been through this before, in the mountains. This time, Mineko’s ears flick back in surprise before she deposits a genteel lick to the very top of Jabari’s head. Laney feels rather than sees everyone but Rupert’s eyebrows rise.

 It’s a signal for everyone to relax a little. Other-Laney (reluctantly) puts her pistols away, and warm mugs are pressed into their hands. Liam lounges in a seat, watching Laney curiously while his sister (both of them) sits with a straight spine and carefully relaxed hands. Rupert loses his framework of formality as soon as he’s seated, the bakery and half the people there too familiar for his usual unconscious masks, and leans on one arm, exhausted with relief and stunned into silence. Liam breaks the silence.

“So, you reckon you come from some kind of…what, world one over?” Laney nods, and can’t help but notice that none of the half-strangers seem too surprised by this. Other-Laney notices her noticing, and grins sharply.

“We’ve seen stranger things than you can imagine.” Laney blinks slowly as she thinks about the creature of fire in Rivertown, Grey with mage fire dripping into being over his shoulders from Kin’s feathers unbidden and Rupert talking a vacant mage back into life, the daemon forms outlined in the Elsewhere fires, and grins back, not hiding any of her edges either.

“Oh, I’ve got a pretty good imagination.”

Hours later, it’s Rupert who leans forwards to nudge Laney and jerk his head at the gloom outside the window. She realises with an internal wince that she’s been gone for hours. Jack is probably quietly panicked. Thorne…Thorne will know Rupert is gone by now. She has to get back. Bea catches her eye, and nods firmly.

“Well, we haven’t covered half of anyone’s story, but it seems to me this lad needs to stay here for a bit - and you need to go find out a few things.” Liam stirs, and Bea brushes a hand over his. Other-Laney leans into his side, and he nods agreement after a moment. Laney hesitates herself.

“I’ve never done the walking between worlds intentionally. What if I can’t…” Rupert shrugs.

“You’ll find a way, Miss Jones. You always do.” She laughs, and ruffles his overgrown hair.

“Stay hydrated, alright?” He smiles softly, and she ignores George’s puzzled look.

Laney is opening a sliver of a window to check if the red squirrel she’s located is her red squirrel before she realises that there had been no sign of other-Jack in the bakery. He looks around as she enters, partway through pacing around the room, and the sheer relief on his face throws her.

“Lane! What’s going on?”

“I - Liam.” Jack flinches and freezes, staring at her wide-eyed. Her brother is a topic they carefully avoid. Laney knows one day she’ll ask him for stories, but for now the wound is too fresh. Some days she feels like she’s fitting the mourning she should have done for the months before she knew into her days. Some days it’s just the hurt that he didn’t tell her. She understands why - at least, she tries to understand - but he didn’t tell her, even a hint, and she suspects that will never quite cease to sting. Laney clears her throat. “I found Rupe, and we ended up in a different world again. A world almost exactly like ours. One where Liam -”

She wonders if she looked the way Jack does now, when she saw him in the doorway. Hope and pain, grief and guilt - no, she probably didn’t look guilty. Liam’s death was nowhere near her hands, out of her reach to affect or prevent. She had no cloak of golden luck to blame for a near miss and an unlucky ricochet. Jack slumps onto his chair, Sayda curling into his collar, both pairs of eyes fixed on Laney. They're both trembling, she realises, and ploughs on with her explanation as though it will make it any easier to deal with.

"Rupe was here, Jack." The instant anger helps; her brother alive in some neighbouring universe is one thing, Thorne laying hands on Rupert is another. "Thorne took him. He’s been in the damned basement the whole time."

“Why?”

“We’re not certain yet. Rupert reckons he got wind of the - you know.” Jack nods. He remembers Rupert talking a mage back to life as well as she does. He’d been quietly jealous, memories of too many vacant people stumbling along as he drags them by the hand out of the cells, too many ghosts who’d been beyond his help. Neither of them speaks of it aloud. In the Bureau, you only spoke aloud of things you didn’t mind people overhearing, even in a closed private room.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Jack gets to his feet. He hauls two packs from under the bed. Laney grins, swift and sharp. Who needs to speak aloud when you know the plan already?

It’s time to go consult their Sage.

[elfnerdherder]

Ill Intentions: Chapter 22

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A special thanks to my patrons: @sylarana @evertonem @jenacar @frostylicker @starlit-catastrophe @kenobi-is-king Mendacious Bean, Duhaunt6, Superlurk, and Cecily!

I don't have my computer with me, so this sadly won't have the cover art done by kenobi-is-king! Thank you all for your support in my writing, and I can't wait to pick up The Unquiet Grave after this!!

Also, due to this being posted on a Tumblr app on a chromebook whose internet won't load due to bad connection, it won't allow me to add the entire chapter. It ends about partway through, but until I'm back on the west coast I won't be able to load the rest of the chapter onto Tumblr! Sorry for the inconvenience!

Chapter 22: End Scene

When Tattler News released the ‘Special Edition’ of ‘Will Intentions’, Nicole pinned her copy to a corkboard much like Will’s. She’d already snuck into his apartment, taken photos, and recreated something of his workspace within her own office, to better step into the shoes of what his fans were calling ‘a vigilante move’. 

To partner with the Tattler News release, she’d also released a special post on her blog with a ‘tell all’ interview courtesy of Freddie Lounds, coworker and ‘close friend’ of Graham. She’d already received four more subscriptions, as well as twenty new messages in her inbox, thanking her for her hard work. 

I saved an image of the handkerchief! someone had commented. I’ll try to find one like it at the store. Maybe I’ll cosplay it. 

Lounds had asked to see the handkerchief Nicole had mentioned, but it was never revealed in person. The look on Lounds’ face when she was told ‘no’ made Nicole more than grateful she’d put a lock on her jewelry box before the reporter had shown up. 

As for her end of the bargain, she’d passed his manuscript along to her agent. Anything more, and she’d have her own story about uneasy trips to the FBI to tell her readers. 

- 

Abigail didn’t speak to Will until they were somewhere in Vancouver, BC. She spent most of the trip with her earphones in her ears and her head towards the window. Given the time, Will didn’t press her. It seemed she’d been playing a game with him for almost as long as he’d been playing a game with Hannibal. 

And yet, no; what game do you think you’re all playing? 

The border situation had been tricky, but the homeless man –Mike, Will kept having to remind himself –was more than true to his word at getting them across. Once across, it was the sort of drive done by someone who had a very important place to go with little time to get there. They stopped for gas and nothing else. The next couple of days was nothing but yoo-hoo’s and donuts, Will’s dreams bleeding into the waking hours of watching hill after hill of white pass by. Blankets of it draped along the interstate, but the plows had done their job. If their car appeared suspicious, no one stopped them. The more they kept to normal hours of traffic where it was difficult for cops to keep an eye out, the better. Hannibal remained in the backseat and only got out when absolutely necessary. 

“I’m not sorry for not telling you,” Abigail said by way of greeting. Will stood beside the passenger door, a cup of shitty gas station coffee in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. His watch had died somewhere just before the border. Since ditching his phone, he hadn’t felt the need to dig through his bag in order to charge the thing, seeing as how one without the other was somewhat of a moot point. 

He glanced to the black, blank screen, and he wondered why he was even still wearing it. He hadn’t thought about his steps since Hannibal’s office. Streak broken. He wasn’t sure if that meant something, and if it did mean something, he wasn’t ready to unbox it yet, much the same way he wasn’t quite ready to unbox that there was another person inside of his head that killed people so that he didn’t have to. 

“I didn’t tell you a lot of things,” he replied. 

“You didn’t call, either,” she said, and it took him probably longer than it should have for Will to realize she sounded almost hurt by it. He wasn’t quite focused; maybe the watch having a blank face was more of a problem to him than he thought. 

“If I’d known Hannibal had gotten to you first, I would have been…more forthcoming,” he admitted. When she didn’t speak, he took a drag from his cigarette and continued, “hell, when he was breaking into my apartment, you could have just let him in. I asked Beverly to house you because I didn’t want to make you a target of yet another serial killer.” 

“I didn’t actually get fired from Subway. I quit.” 

Will hummed in agreement. “Figured that an hour into the drive.” 

“I followed Beverly following you sometimes, too.” 

“We could have all carpooled if you two communicated better.” 

“You first,” Abigail shot back. 

That was fair. Will’s cheeks ballooned, and he blew air out slowly, counting back from ten. 

“Abigail,” he said, and the look she gave him made this so much harder. “You’re…not guilty of anything, really.” 

“Says the guy that called me ‘the knowing bait,’” she retorted. 

“No, I mean it…” he sighed and looked around the decrepit gas station pointedly. “I’m abetting a murderer.” Silence. He scowled and continued, “right now, you could walk away and not face any legal persecution should you go back to the states, whereas I would go to jail. That guy in there –” 

“The one you stabbed –” 

“I don’t remember stabbing –look, him too. The three of us would go to jail, but you wouldn’t.” 

His cigarette had burned too low; he let out a hiss when it singed his fingers, and he stubbed it out on the tire before tossing the butt of it in the trashcan by the pump. Too late, he saw the warning on the pump that said not to smoke while gassing up. Will glanced about, but there was no one to scold him on the dangers of such endeavors. There was only him and Abigail at the moment, and he’d have almost welcomed Hannibal coming to interrupt them. He could imagine how a psychiatrist would be a much better option for giving advice than he would. 

Abigail looked out past the cars parked just at the treeline, the expanse beyond it. Her expression was difficult to read, a mix of something pained and something hopeful. 

“I don’t have anything else,” she said, and when she looked back to him, she smiled. In that moment, he’d have called it genuine. “I told you before, I’m looking for closure. Since that’s all that seems to matter to me at this point, I’ll stick around until I find it.” 

Will sucked air in sharply, frowning. “The consequences –” 

“I know how to juggle consequences. I can weigh the risk of pros and cons.” 

Given how long she lived under the roof of the Minnesota Shrike, he believed her. When it was time to go, they climbed back into a beat-up Tahoe they’d swapped somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and she made a point to lay her head in Will’s lap, much like she had back at the apartment.  

Much later, Will would find a polaroid of the scene tucked into his jacket pocket, the colors washed out and faded but still good. He tucked it into his shirt pocket, to preserve the color. 

- 

“I’m just outside of Tattler News, Jerry, and here we’ve got not only fans of the paper demanding answers, we’ve got some of Will Graham’s ‘avid fans’ here with signs! Just this past evening, as we know, Will Graham’s apartment was invaded by the FBI, boxes upon boxes removed from the scene as they attempt to glean over anything they can in order to find both him, as well as the Chesapeake Ripper. So far, there is no information revealed as to whether or not they have any solid leads to their whereabouts.” 

“Now, I know we’re dealing with the Chesapeake Ripper, Chet, but I think what’s interesting are the avid fans of Graham’s you’ve got gathered around you!” 

“Yes, these people aren’t here for news on the Ripper, they’re actually here for Will Graham. You can hear some of them in the back, chanting –you can hear it, can’t you?” 

“Yes, of course!” 

“They’re upset that the suspect in the disappearance of Hannibal Lecter –” 

[Continue on Ao3]

[pocket-anon]

The Long Way Home (9/10)

A fic update at a decent hour? *gasp* Amazing how much more you can accomplish when you're not working 12 hours a day, isn't it? This chapter got a bit away from me in terms of length, but I hope you all like it. You guys have been amazing and said the most wonderful, effusive things about this story, and I really can't thank you enough for all your continuing support. Your words have been a gift. Enjoy!

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback.  Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic!  Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3.  Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter?  Get caught up here.

Summary:  After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves.  When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet.  But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels.  A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of.  (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU.  Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut.  Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

When Emma finally emerges from below deck, refreshed and tidied up a bit, a great shout arises, with Smee roaring to the rest of the men, “Three cheers for the Lady!  Hip-hip!”

“Hurray!”

“Hip-hip!

“Hurray!”

“Hip-hip!”

“Hurray!”

Killian sets his sextant on the sideboard and comes to meet her, beaming as the Princess, glowing with joy and embarrassment, is swarmed by his rough-and-tumble crew.  They descend upon her to bestow hugs and kisses as if she were a beloved sister, and her exhilarated laughter can be heard in the ensuing commotion.  

“Alright, alright, mates,” he barks, waving his hook hand in feigned annoyance as Martin rounds out the pack by giving Emma a hug that lifts her boots right off the boards.  “Give the Lady some space.”

Martin sets Emma back on her feet, and the men back up a little, the cheerful din dying down.

“We have news,” Killian announces.  “Some of you are aware that our lovely Swan had lost all memories of her life prior to arriving in Vicarstown.  But the curse that was responsible has been broken, and I’m in a position now to introduce you all to Her Royal Highness, Emma,” he turns his head and favors her with a proud smile, “Princess of Misthaven.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, and the men gape, a few of them removing their headwear and giving Emma deferential bobs of their heads.

“The plan remains the same,” he continues, his tone taking on a stern edge, “We get her safely home. But there is some urgency to the matter now, so we must make haste.  Am I understood?”  He nods at the scattered calls of acknowledgement, and the tiniest of grins tugs at his mouth. “Extra drink tonight to celebrate the Princess’ recovery, but none for those I catch idling.  Back to work!”

At his command, the crew disperses in good spirits, and Killian turns to see Emma’s knowing smirk. He smiles, puzzled.  “What?”

“You’re in a good mood.”

He lifts her hand into the crook of his arm and leads her on a stroll astern.  “Can you blame me?” he asks quietly in her ear.

Emma ducks her head as though to hide the flush in her cheeks and the way she bites her lip.  “I guess not.”  They arrive at the aft rail, and she releases his arm, turning to squint up at him in the sunlight.  “Time for morning inspection?”

“Aye,” he agrees with a rueful grin.

“Want to spar this afternoon?”

Killian allows himself to grin like a cad, and he leans down so his breath warms her cheek.  “With swords or below deck?” he teases. “Because my answer is yes.”

“Hmm.”  She colors again, rolling her eyes even as she tries to suppress her smile.  “Maybe I should magic your sword away in the middle of practice today.”

“That’s hardly fighting fair, darling.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, and her green eyes glint impishly, “maybe there is a little pirate in me.”

His mouth falls open in a thrilled smile, and he revels in the innuendo, whether she intends it or not. “If you’re trying to tempt me to drag you back to bed,” he mutters in her ear, “it’s working.”  

Emma chuckles.  “To your post, Captain,” she says, gracefully slipping out of his reach.  “I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  He watches her walk away, admiring the subtle sway of her hips and trying not to focus on the memory of how he gripped those hips between his hand and stump as he knelt atop his berth and took her from behind scarcely an hour before.  He groans inwardly.  Gods, but he’s a lucky bastard.

Roberts approaches and follows his gaze.  “She seems to have come through the storm well enough,” he remarks, throwing Killian an astute sideways glance.

Killian quickly puts his prurient thoughts aside and arcs an eyebrow at his quartermaster.  “Say what you mean, Old Man.”

Roberts is no fool, and he chooses his words carefully.  “It looks as though you two have reached a new understanding,” he observes.  “She looks… very happy.”

Killian allows himself one more muted but self-satisfied smile as his eyes continue to follow the Princess across the deck.  “Aye,” he answers softly.

“Well, forgive me for sayin’ it’s about bloody time.”  Killian turns his head to fix him with an incredulous grin, and Roberts shrugs. “What?  We aren’t blind.”  He rubs the back of his head.  “And she really is the Princess.”

“You doubted me?”

The quartermaster snorts. “Like I don’t know better.”  He shuffles his feet a bit.  “What becomes of you when we return ‘er to ‘er kingdom?”

Killian’s smile fades, and he looks away, his throat tightening.  “That remains to be seen,” he admits at last.

Roberts hesitates, as though weighing the risk of asking another question.  “Would you let ‘er go?”

“Back to work, Mr. Roberts,” Killian orders quietly.  He rotates away to face the rail and directs his eyes blankly out over the water.

He can all but hear the other man’s sigh of resignation.  “Aye, sir.” The boards creak beneath his feet as he retreats.

Killian stares out over their wake, miles upon miles of traversed ocean stretching out behind them. They’ve come so far, he thinks somberly. The thought of sailing away from Emma, of saying goodbye and choosing the sea over a life with her, causes his stomach to clench.  Never.  But what will that mean for the crew?  For the Jolly?  His hand drifts absently over the painted yellow rail.  This ship has been his home for over a century, his most constant and enduring companion, and as much a part of him as anything in his life.  A captain’s heart belongs to his ship, Liam had been fond of boasting.

The sound of Emma’s enthusiastic call causes Killian to look over his shoulder, and he turns partway round to watch her join a few of the men in trimming the sails.  The corner of his mouth quirks fondly, and there’s a sad smile in his eyes as they flit about the ship.  Sorry, Old Girl, he thinks with a resigned sigh, his gaze returning to the Emma’s shining face.  My heart belongs to another now.

The morning passes swiftly, what with there being three days’ worth of issues – issues Smee had wisely determined could wait until the Captain was fully available – to deal with. Most have to do with the blessedly limited damage they sustained in the storm and the loss of supplies that had washed overboard.  Thankfully, none of the concerns prove to be truly serious or difficult to address, though Killian is still vastly grateful at midday when the audible gurgle of Smee’s stomach causes his first mate to stuff the dog-eared list of items back into his pocket and decide the remaining entries can be dealt with later.

Sword fighting practice with Emma is enjoyable and satisfying as always.  The Princess’ skills continue to progress nicely, and he allows her to try disarming him today, crowing triumphantly when she finally succeeds in loosening his grip and forcing his blade out of his hand.  It clatters to the raised platform housing the mid-deck hatch.

“Very good!” he commends her, holding his arms up in mock surrender.

“Is this the part where you beg for mercy?” she teases, advancing on him with an irresistible smile on her lips and the tip of her cutlass aimed at his throat.

He grins and surprises her by stepping on the tip of his sword and flipping it over the edge of the platform.  The grip lands back in his hand, and steel clangs again as he catches her blade effortlessly.  “Pirates don’t beg.”  Killian savors the breathless admiration on her face with a chuckle and pulls his cutlass back in order to assume another fighting stance.  “But you’re welcome to keep trying.  Again!”

 *             *             *

As promised, they enjoy a night of celebration out on deck, with the crew milling about and Thomas handing out portions of the evening meal from a makeshift station he sets up on a couple large crates.  When everyone is outfitted with food and grog, he leaves to fetch more water and rum for the second round of drink.  He returns to find Emma using what remains of the near-empty water cask to mix a few more cups of grog for the men.

She meets his stunned stare with a knowing smile as she hands a cup over to Roberts.  “Hope you don’t mind me standing in for a minute,” she says cheerfully, holding the next cup out to him.  “I do have some serving experience, you know.”

Thomas sets the new cask and bottles he’s carrying down and accepts the cup with a little laugh.  “Yes, mil—Your Highness.”  He raises it to her and then sips, his eyes lighting with pleasant surprise.

Emma smirks.  “Taste alright?”

He nods enthusiastically, drinking again and swishing the watered-down spirits around in his mouth. “For a princess, you make a pretty good pirate,” he comments shyly.  “Never knew that day you asked to climb the mast how well you’d take to…” he waves his hand around the ship, “all of this.”

Emma chuckles, handing a cup to Martin and grinning as the carpenter accepts it with a comical little bow and moves off.  “I have my parents to thank for that, I guess.”

He cocks his head quizzically and sits down next to her to open the new cask.  “I thought you didn’t have much experience on ships.”

“I don’t.”  She grins, pouring fresh rum into the now-empty grog pitcher and squeezing in the juice of two lime halves before passing it off to him and wiping her hands on a rag.  “But my mother taught me to climb trees and throw knives and shoot with a bow when I was just a girl.  After years on the run from the Evil Queen, she decided survival skills were kind of essential.”

"Oh." Thomas looks impressed.  “Makes sense, I guess.”  He begins cutting the rum with water.  “And your father taught you to fight with a sword?”

Emma nods, looking nostalgic.  “Well, he and my godfather, Lancelot.  Lance brought me my first toy sword when I was three.  Mother says the head groom was a little horrified when I started chasing imaginary dragons around the gardens with it, but Papa and Lance were so proud.”

Thomas shares her little laugh.  His sets the cask aside and gives the pitcher a good swirl, falling quiet for a moment. “You must miss ‘em.”

Her smile turns a bit sad. “I do, but I’ll see them soon.” She studies him.  “Do you have any family?”

The young man shakes his head.  “Never knew my father, and my mother died a few years back.  My older brother and I survived doing odd jobs at the docks until he was killed in an accident,” he reveals, looking blue.  “Wasn’t long after that that I met the Cap’n and he offered me a position on Jolly.”  He darts a glance around them at the other crewmen.  “This is as close to a family as most of us have now.”

Emma feels a twinge in her chest, and she flashes him a heartfelt smile.  “Well, thank you for letting me be part of your family for a little while,” she says gently.

Thomas blushes and rubs the back of his neck.  “The debt’s still ours to pay, ma’am.”

When dinner is over and the music commences, Smee comes over to where Killian and Emma are seated against the gunwhale, his hat humbly in his hands and a hopeful grin on his face. “Captain?  Permission to ask the Princess for a dance?”

Pure intrigue crosses Killian’s dark features as he peers up at his nervous first mate, but one glance at the sparkle in Emma’s eyes causes him to nod, an amused grin tugging at this mouth.  “Granted.”

Smee makes a slightly clumsy bow and extends his hand, the apples of his cheeks glowing red.  “Your Highness?”

Emma flashes Killian a brilliant smile as she lays her fingers in Smee’s plump palm and climbs to her feet with a chuckle.  “Of course.”

The crew roars at the sight of one of their own escorting the Princess to the center of the deck, and it emboldens a handful more to step forward.  Emma laughs and shrieks with delight as Martin, Thomas, Alec, and a few others each take a turn, whirling her around the boards and then handing her off to the next man.  At last there comes a rowdy cheer, and she finds herself being spun into a familiar pair of waiting arms as Killian, having left his heavy coat aside, finally claims the rest of the dance for himself.  Roberts switches the tune on his shrill little pipe, and the crew begins to clap and chant:

The maiden, oh, the maiden, oh, The sailor loves the maiden, oh! So early in the morning, The sailor loves the maiden, oh! A maid that is young, A maid that is fair, A maid that is kind and pleasant, oh, So early in the morning, The sailor loves the maiden, oh!**

 Killian reaches down and wraps his arm around her hips, his face jubilant in the lantern light as he lifts her off her feet and spins them around.  Emma gasps in surprise, bracing her arm across the back of his shoulders and beaming down into his shining eyes.  Her hero.  Her sailor. Her love.  

He sets her down at the song’s end, and she wraps both arms around his neck to steady herself, her heart thrumming in her chest and her lips parting in awe as she realizes that, for the first time in all their nights on deck, he’s singing too, directing his smooth baritone down to her while he draws close and bumps his forehead affectionately into hers.  

“The sailor loves the maiden, oh!”

 *             *             *

 It’s late in the evening by the time they slip below, the muffled sounds of the crew’s merrymaking still audible above their heads.  Killian sets their lantern on the table as Emma presses the cabin door shut behind them and hangs up his coat.  He comes up behind her and runs his hand down her arm, nuzzling the side of her face and placing a soft kiss on her cheek.  “Tired, love?”  

He smiles at her throaty little chuckle.  “Only a little.”  She spins and lays her hands on his chest, and desire rolls into the pit of his belly when her lips find his.  Her kiss is gentle at first, tender and slow, but she mewls when he emits a quiet growl and tugs her hips flush with his, her hands winding up and over his shoulders and her mouth opening wider to allow his questing tongue better access.  

His trousers grow tighter as the heat between them flares, and he pulls away a moment, panting, the tip of his nose drifting across her cheek.  “Would you like to...”

“Yeah.”

An idiotic grin spreads across his face as she presses forward and kisses him again, and they stagger backward toward his berth in a progressively mad fumble.  Her slender fingers work at the clasps of his waistcoat until she can slide her hands beneath the soft leather and push it free. Killian chuckles into her mouth at the hunger in her kisses and the efficiency of her movements as she strips him, a little groan tearing from his throat when she manages to undo his shirt buttons and her hands alight on his bare chest, her fingers smoothing upward through the soft dark hair atop his skin and skimming laterally along his collarbones until she shoves the fabric up off his shoulders.  He struggles to detach his hook in time so he can finish shedding the shirt without tearing the cotton, opening his eyes long enough to toss the brace and hook haphazardly onto the shelf behind the bed with a clatter. His lips are still upturned and his voice gravelly as his shirt hits the floor and he reaches for her jerkin.  “My turn.”

In a few minutes more, he has Emma naked and on his bed, and she barely has time to pull her hair down before he sheds his boots and trousers and chains and crawls up over her to resume his assault on her mouth while his fingers traverse the miles of creamy skin beneath them, caressing the globes of her breasts and then running south to skim her damp folds.  Her breath catches at the latter, and he smiles and fingers her sex again.  “So perfect.”

Her hands flail between them, tickling down across his stomach, but his involuntary laugh turns into a sharp intake of breath when she finds his swollen member and her fingertips drift down the shaft.  Emma looks up at him with uncertainty.  “Is this…?”

His hair hangs in his eyes as he nods vigorously, groaning again when her hand tentatively closes around him and begins to pump slowly.  “Bloody hell,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and letting himself savor the tantalizing sensation that washes over him in waves.  She begins to twist a little with every stroke, growing bolder and picking up speed, and he falters, rolling to one side and pulling her with him.  They wiggle about on the narrow mattress until he’s under her, and he gazes up at her spellbound as she straddles his thighs and reaches for his erection again. Her continued attention makes Killian throw his head back against the pillow, chest heaving and eyelids heavy. Pleasure surges through his veins, building by the second, and he begins to sense that familiar tingle at the base of his spine.  “Swan…” he grunts, face contorting with need.  “Please…”

He hears her quiet giggle, and her hand slows.  “I thought pirates didn’t beg.”

Her cheek causes a faint smile to ghost across his face while he does his best to retain his self-control. “I stand corrected,” he manages. “There’s not a man alive who wouldn’t be asking for mercy right now.”  He gestures. “Come here.”

She obliges, rising up a little and shifting forward, and he brings his knees up and plants his feet, guiding her hips until she’s lowering herself onto him.  Emma tosses her head and bites her lip, whimpering as he fills her, and she sinks down until she’s fully seated, her backside resting against the slope of his thighs.

The sight of her like this – bare, magnificent, and mounted, with her head thrown back, hair cascading over her shoulder and throat exposed in a graceful line – it’d be enough to make him weep if the sensation of her wet heat around him didn’t reduce Killian’s coherent thoughts to a mere memory.  His hand and stump remain on her waist when she leans forward on his chest and begins rocking, grinding against him and whining as she seeks her climax.  They establish a rhythm, with her pushing and him pulling in tandem, and her breathy little moans only serve to drive him closer and closer to the brink as she rides him with increasing fervor until at last she cries out and buries her face in his neck.  Her entire body shudders, her muscles pulsing tight around him, and he finally lets go, his eyes clamped shut and his jaw slack as ecstasy overtakes him.

Emma rolls her hips against him a few more times before giving into exhaustion and falling still at last.  Her body continues to tremble, and he smoothes her hair back and turns his head to press his lips to her forehead before rolling them back over.  

“Emma,” he murmurs, cupping her cheek in his hand and trailing soft kisses down across her face.  “My Emma.”

She chuckles with breathless satisfaction.

He drifts back to her mouth, pulling at her lips with his.  “For the record,” he says between kisses, “you’re welcome to make me beg like that anytime.”

Emma laughs beneath him. “Noted.”

 *             *             *

 The rest of the week flies by like a wonderful dream, their usual daytime activities now punctuated with shared looks and a habit of easy, casual affection on deck – a hand around her hip, a touch on his arm, the diminishing space between them when they stand together with his hand on her back or her fingers around his hook.

She asks Killian to show her more of the stars, so they take the night watch one evening when the wind dies down and the seas are calm, bundling up together beneath a blanket on the top with the sails above them furled in order to give them a better view of the northern sky.  He points out the constellations one by one, his voice growing melodious in her ear as he waxes poetic about the legends surrounding each cluster of stars until well past midnight. From there they turn to other topics, and under the cover of darkness they share warm, lazy kisses and stories of their past adventures until Emma doses off, snuggled in his arms and reclined against his chest.  

He watches her sleep as he keeps an eye out for anything unexpected ahead, reflecting with a private grin that the soft, even cadence of her breathing may have surpassed a tranquil ocean horizon as the greatest calming force in his life.  A deep sigh escapes him as he listens to the hushed lap of the water and familiar groan of the timbers and the occasional squeak of a rusty hinge on the solitary lamp that hangs off the bow to light their way. It’s perfection, this moment, he thinks. Up here on the mast with Emma in his arms, the stars overhead, and the ship below – it’s as though everything he needs is here in this one place.  Peace. Home.  Love.  He wonders whether he’ll ever be afforded another moment as perfect as this.  He’s long been used to uncertainty about his future, long appreciated the potential for each day to bring something new, but now that he’s found Emma, he finds himself feeling anxious about the unknowns that await them in Misthaven.  How will he keep her safe from the Dark One?  What will her parents think of their precious daughter taking up with a pirate?  Will they try to drive him off, or worse, try to send him and his crew to the gallows? Out here on the ocean, there’s nothing to come between him and Emma, but when they reach land, aye, that’s a different tale.  Killian sighs again and tightens his arm around her shoulders, touching a worried kiss to the top of her head.  One moment at a time, he thinks, focusing on her breathing and trying to silence the fears niggling at his heart. One moment at a time.

The sky lightens over the next few hours, transforming from black to navy as the golden penumbra of the rising sun peeks over the lip of the visible world off to their right.  As the light grows brighter, pinks and oranges bleed into the sky and cause the low clouds that hang just above their heads to glow with the same warm shades.  

Emma stirs, shifting against him groggily and shivering a little as she reaches up to rub her eyes. “What time is it?”

He buries his nose in her hair.  “Just about six, I imagine,” he says with a little smile.  “Cold?”

“I’m okay.”  She tugs the blanket tighter around them.  “Though I wouldn’t mind a warm little nap in your cabin this morning.”

He chuckles and hugs her tighter to him.  “Agreed. Would you like to head down now? I can join you when Alec comes to take over as lookout in a bit,” he offers.  His smile widens when she shakes her head.

“I’ll stay with you.”

Killian leans forward and kisses the cold shell of her ear.  “Good.”

Her lashes flutter as she rolls a bit in his embrace and stares upward, and he admires the gleam of her green eyes in the morning light before following her dreamy gaze to the tip of the fore-mast as it skims the rosy clouds above their heads.

A glint in the distance draws his attention back to the sea, and he blinks, wondering if it’s a trick of the light until he sees the little flash again.  

Emma senses his distraction, and she cranes her neck back toward the horizon.  “What?”

Killian squints, reluctantly releasing her so she can sit up and he can reach for his spyglass. “There’s something out there,” he says with a frown.  “Something small.”

Emma shades her eyes as she peers into the glare of the rising sun.  “Bird?”

He shakes his head, extending the barrel and raising the glass to get a better look.  “No.  It looks like it’s… floating.”  His brow furrows as he considers the options and sees the sunlight reflect brilliantly off the little object again.  “It looks like gold.”  He hands the spyglass to Emma.  “A magical talisman?”

Emma raises the eyepiece, looking perplexed.  She’s silent for a long moment before she suddenly bursts out laughing.

Killian straightens. “What?  What is it, love?”

She hands the spyglass back to him with a sly smile and flips her palm upward.  In the distance, the object disappears in a poof and reappears in her hand, and Killian gapes down at a jeweled hair comb, the gold intricately molded to look like a spray of tiny flowers.  

Emma grins at him, her cheeks pink with amusement.  “It’s the comb Blue enchanted to find me,” she says.  She dries the water droplets that still dot the precious metal with her shirt sleeve.  “It must have been in the ocean this whole time.”

“Huh.”  Killian’s forehead wrinkles.  “At that speed, it would have taken a year to find you in Vicarstown,” he points wryly.

She chuckles and shrugs. “Admittedly, most people don’t disappear to the other side of the world.”  She runs a thumb over the flowers affectionately.  “I’m glad I got it back.  It was a gift from the dwarves. Buttercups are my favorite.”

He nods, suddenly feeling another pang of melancholy at this reminder of her impending return to her other life.  He bows his head and forces a smile.  “It’s lovely, Swan.”

“Mm.”  Emma tucks the comb into her jerkin and snuggles close to him again with a contented sigh, her eyes returning to the multicolored sky and the radiance of the rising sun.  “I could stay here forever,” she hums.

The warmth of a tear presses its way to the corner of his eye, and he turns his head to plant a fierce kiss on her cheek, closing his eyes against the ugly fears begin to claw at his heart once again.

She rubs the angle of his jaw without taking her gaze off the light dancing on the ocean.  “Have you ever done this before?” she asks. “Watched the sunrise up here, I mean.”

He thinks, frowning as the answer occurs to him.  “I haven’t.”

“Ever?” She chuckles incredulously.  “In over a hundred years?”  She fixes him with a curious look.  “Why not?”

“Well,” he shifts, tightening his arm around her torso, “Milah never cared for heights.  And since then, there’s been no one to share the stars with.” A sad little smile twitches at the side of his mouth.  “I might never have done this, had it not been for you.”

Emma lays her hand on his chest and closes the distance between them for a slow, ardent kiss, her cold lips somehow managing to warm something deep within him.  The corners of her eyes crinkle when she pulls back. “Well, I’m glad we did,” she murmurs.

“As am I.”  Killian looks down and reaches for her other hand, lacing his fingers between hers.  “But it’s not watching the sunrise that’s special, you know,” he adds quietly, leaning his forehead against hers.  “It’s having you here with me.”

Moisture gathers on her lashes as she blinks rapidly up at him, his own happiness reflected in her huge eyes, and she seems at a loss to do anything but press forward and draw him into another excruciatingly gentle kiss.  Their lips are unrushed as they move together, every shared breath deliberate and saturated with emotion and promise, and he hears her sniffle just as a solitary tear leaves a cold trail down his cheek.

She’s changed everything for him, he realizes.  It doesn’t matter what awaits them in Misthaven.  He’d abandoned the hope of finding a happy ending long ago, but he understands now that he was wrong.  It’s here.  It’s her.  And now that he’s tasted heaven, he’ll walk through hell if that’s what it takes to keep it.

 *             *             *

 Well, isn’t this interesting?

The Dark One stares with fascination at the image of the pirate kissing the Princess that fills his crystal ball, and his blackened heart swims with a myriad of emotions – ages-old bitterness, hate, disgust, curiosity, and even perverse amusement at the idea that the he’s about to have the opportunity to get Excalibur back and kill the arrogant bastard, Hook, once and for all.

He supposes he couldn’t have planned it any better, really.

With a wave of his hand, the crystal goes blank, and he rises and heads for his spinning wheel. He always does his best plotting while at the wheel, and between planning a welcome home of his own for the Princess, a suitably painful execution for the pirate, and the assassinations of a veritable rainbow of fairies, there’s much to think over.

 *             *             *

 “Land, ho!” Alec’s voice booms triumphantly overhead.

His call brings Emma and Killian’s latest sparring session to a halt, with the pair of them whirling to look fore.  Killian stows his cutlass and reaches for his spyglass, waiting until Emma’s hands are free to hand it over with an encouraging smile.  “Go on, Swan.  Set your sights upon home.”

She grins weakly and makes haste for the nearest shroud, shimmying up onto the rigging in a flash.

Killian comes to stand below, fixing his eyes on the dark green shoreline in the distance.  “How far is it to the castle?” he asks as she drops back down to the deck.

Emma clears her throat and hands back his glass.  “Not far. Less than a day’s ride.”

He frowns at her pensive expression.  “What’s wrong?”

“I just…”  She gnaws on her lip, her eyes faraway.  “Maybe you should stay here with the ship.”

“What?”  He frowns sharply.  “Why?”

Poorly-suppressed emotions cross her face, her eyelashes fluttering with uncertainty.  “Just until we deal with the Dark One,” she explains, trying to sound firm.  “I’ll send word when it’s done.”

Killian straightens, cocking his head back with indignation.  “All due respect, darling, but that’s a load of bloody nonsense,” he grinds out.  “I go where you go, and I’m sure as hell not letting you face the Demon alone.”

Her green eyes shimmer, and she shakes her head with increasing frustration.  “It’s too dangerous.  Even if he didn’t already hate you, it’d be dangerous.”

“Aye, he hates me,” Killian nods, “but you’re the one he’s coming after.  And it is dangerous.  That’s why our best choice is to face it together.”

“I…”  She turns away, her voice cracking.

He rolls his eyes and reaches out to rotate her back toward him.  “Swan—”

“I can’t lose you!” she explodes.  She glances around self-consciously at the surprised looks from a few nearby crewmen, her cheeks growing hot.  Her gaze falls to the toes of her boots, and she sniffs.  “I just… I can’t.”

Killian stares, his features softening as he reads the resolve in her face and wonders yet again what he’s done to deserve a woman like this.  He shoots his men a look that sends them scuttling off before turning back to her and wrapping his hand reassuring around her arm.  “Love, you don’t have to worry about me,” he replies gently.  

Emma blinks up at his soft grin, her wide eyes searching his face expectantly.

“One thing I’m good at,” he reminds her, stepping closer and tipping his head forward, “is surviving.” He grins as some of the anxiety fades from her expression and she manages a weak smile, and he closes the remaining inches between them and captures her lips with his.

She melts in his arms, her whine soft as he draws her up against his chest and continues to kiss her soundly, and when they finally pause for air, she blushes an even deeper shade of pink. “The men are watching.”

“Let them,” he rumbles, pressing forward to kiss her again.

The Jolly makes port at the seaside town of Jennings Harbor by midday, and though it takes the harbor master a few long minutes to recognize Emma standing at the gunwhale, excited calls suddenly erupt along the wharf.

“It’s the Princess!”

“The Princess has returned!”

The ship is moored and the boarding plank lowered, and Killian is the first off, stepping out on to the plank and turning to offer Emma his hand and a sober grin.  “Welcome home, Swan.”

She squeezes his fingers gratefully as they descend, her face a mixture of relief and apprehension.

Having bustled out on to the dock, the harbor master doffs his hat and greets them with a low bow that belies the man’s portly frame.  “Welcome home, Your Highness.  Are you alright?”  He eyes Killian and the crew beyond with a nervous smile.

Emma gives him a gracious nod.  “I’m fine, Mr…?”

“Rosen, ma’am,” he supplies, setting his hat back atop his head.

“Mr. Rosen.”  She smiles.  “May I present Captain Killian Jones of the Jolly Roger?”

Rosen’s jowls pale a bit at confirmation of the ship’s identity.  He bows his head hastily in Killian’s direction, his brown eyes widening at the sight of Killian’s hook.  “S-sir.”  He darts Emma a questioning glance.  “Your Highness?”

“These men are my friends, and I owe them a debt,” she tells him firmly.  “They’ve sailed halfway across the world to bring me home, and they’re to remain in port for the time being.  Please look after them for me?”

He gulps at her request. “Y-yes, Princess.”

“We need a horse,” Killian tells him.  “We ride for the castle immediately.”

Rosen gives a hasty bob of his head.  “Of-of course.  We’ll send word to the Royal Guard in town,” he says, looking to Emma for approval.  

News of the Princess’ return seems to spread across the town in mere minutes, and the guardsmen are quick to arrive even without a summons.  They ride up in a party of four bearing silver armor and shields emblazoned with what Killian supposes is her parents’ crest.

“May we escort you, Your Highness?” the middle-aged captain asks, aiming a wary look at Killian as Emma selects one of their mares and swings expertly up into the saddle.  

She beckons Killian to climb up, and he happily follows, hoisting himself into place behind her, her back warm against his chest.  It’s not lost on the Guard when she twists a little and gestures for him to take the reins for a moment, but if she notices the disapproving stares that come when he softly slips his arm around her waist to grab them, she pays them no mind. “That’s not necessary, Captain,” Emma replies with a little smile, tilting her head sideways and tugging her hair down to hurriedly plait it over one shoulder, “but you’re welcome if you can keep up.”

Killian smirks.

The guards swap bewildered looks before the captain signals gruffly for two of his three men to accompany them.

“My thanks for your help, Sirs.”  Emma’s hand drifts over Killian’s as she reassumes the reins and catches his eye over her shoulder.  “Ready?”

He flashes her a grin and nods.  “Aye, love. Let’s go.”

 *             *             *

 It feels a bit surreal to be home and flying along familiar forest roads with Killian at her back and her world so changed since she was last here, Emma thinks as she drives the horse west at an aggressive pace, hooves going thubuddy, thubuddy against the packed dirt.  Killian’s hand is solid against her belly, and the way they rise and fall together with each extension of the mare’s legs makes her mind drift to more pleasurable activities – thoughts that make her skin tingle even as her stomach clenches with anxiety at her parent’s reaction to her choice to be with him.  The guards’ reaction to seeing her physical ease with Killian was not subtle, and she bristles inwardly at the thought of having to endure the same looks from virtually everyone they encounter.  As it does around the world, Killian’s reputation precedes him here.  She remembers the stories she heard growing up in Court of a dashing and treacherous pirate with a hook for a hand, and though she now knows those tales mix truth and exaggeration and do not accurately portray the complicated man she loves, the problem of how to get her parents and the rest of the kingdom to see what she sees gnaws achingly at her.

They ride hard for several hours with the guardsmen in tow before electing to stop at a noisy brook to stretch and rest the horses for a short while.

Emma kneels by the water to scoop a few handfuls up to her mouth and then splatter some on her face, the ice cold splash the perfect relief for her sun-warmed skin.  She catches Killian grinning at her as she dabs at her jaw with her forearm.  “What?”

He shrugs.  “Nothing, love.  You just seem at home here.”

She gives a dry chuckle. “I had an early education when it comes to the forest.  My mother knows this land better than even our most experienced huntsmen.”  She spies a berry bush a dozen steps upstream and wanders over to pick a few of the small, dark fruits that hang heavy among the prickly leaves.  The sweet and slightly tart taste is as well-known to her as her favorite songs and her most cherished childhood memories, and her fingers work absently, her restless thoughts continuing to simmer.

Killian’s footsteps approach from behind.  “What’s wrong?”

She turns her head a bit as he draws near, a half-hearted dimple appearing at how unnecessarily close he pulls up next to her.  “Hmm? Oh.  Nothing.”  Her voice is soft.

Killian’s hand brushes soothingly across the small of her back.  “I’ve heard that one before.”

Emma glances at him, both annoyed and touched that he knows her so well.  "How do you know?"

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” he informs her cheerfully, "but you’re something of an open book, Swan.”

His continued use of her nickname makes her smile, wistful as she is now for that time when she was a simple barmaid with no worries about royal obligations, political affairs, or some impending battle with the Dark One.  She arcs an eyebrow at him and holds out a handful of berries.  “Am I?”

“Mm-hmm.”  His hum generates a pleasant shiver between her shoulder blades, and she watches him slip the fruit into his mouth and consider the taste. “Worried about introducing me to your parents?”

“I…”  She rolls her eyes at how spot-on he is.  “Maybe a little.”

He falls silent for a moment, though she can virtually hear the wheels in his head turning as he catches his hook on the bramble to hold a branch steady while his fingers pluck off a few more berries.  “I can’t ask anyone to turn a blind eye to what I’ve done in the past, love,” he says soberly, “but I’ll do what it takes to be with you.”

“And what if my father just wants to have you thrown you in the lake?” she asks, her face glum.

Killian smiles.  “Then I should be happy to oblige him.  I’m an excellent swimmer, you know,” he quips, popping a few more berries into his mouth and brushing his hand on his shirt.

Emma chuckles in spite of herself.  “Pirate.”

“Naturally.”  He reaches up to finger a stray lock of hair over her ear, his expression turning solemn.  “I’ll figure something out.”  He thumbs at a bit of juice at the corner of her lips.  “I always do.”

The sun is beginning to set as their destination finally rises into view, the golden rays shining from behind the looming stone towers and buttresses in a brilliant halo and shimmering across the waters of the surrounding lake.  The royal palace looks at it always has, with a dozen spires of various heights reaching for the sky and flags waving proudly in the spring breeze, and despite all her uncertainties, the sight of it fills Emma with an enormous measure of relief.  

“That’s it!” she calls excitedly.  “Home!” A elated laugh breaks from her chest, and she sniffles.

Killian’s arm hugs her closer, and he presses his face close to her ear.  “Is that it?  I was expecting something… grander.”

She giggles and elbows him lightly in the ribs.

A heavy gate flanked by stone guardhouses stands at the beginning of the great bridge that spans the divide between the mainland and the rocky island on which the castle is built. Emma’s homecoming causes more shouts to ring out as she’s immediately recognized by the soldiers standing watch, and there’s a great scramble to swing the wrought iron out of the way in time.

They thunder by, the loud clip of the horses’ hooves across the bridge’s gray pavers announcing their arrival, and mere moments later they pass through the even larger, more imposing gate leading to the castle grounds.

Emma draws them to a halt in the main courtyard, the mare blowing and knackering while Killian leaps off and takes the horse’s head to steady her.

“Princess!”

A familiar voice cuts through the air, and Emma’s face lights up.  She jumps down and greets the white-haired head groom with a hug.  “Marcus!”

“Thank goodness you’ve returned!  We’ve been so worried.”  The uniformed gentleman holds her out at arm’s length, his brow wrinkling in confusion as he studies her rumpled clothes and appearance.  “What on earth are you wearing?”

Emma rolls her eyes at the fastidious old man.  “The appropriate clothes for a long voyage at sea,” she explains patiently.  “It’s been quite a journey.”

He seems unconvinced. “Ah.”  He glances fleetingly at her attire again, a distressed grimace hinting at the corner of his mouth.  “Well, I shall have a bath set up in your chambers straight away.”

“Later,” she says with a shake of her head.  “Where are my parents?”

“The King and Queen are in the Council Room, last I knew.”

“Good.”  Emma turns and gives the weary guardsmen a quick smile. “Thank you for the escort,” she says, grabbing Killian’s hand and summoning her magic.  “Excuse us.”  

Smoke surrounds them, and when it dissipates, they’re standing in the wide hallway just outside the heavy wooden doors to the chamber in question.  Her heart races with anticipation and nervousness, and she pauses to take a deep breath, turning to Killian and squeezing his fingers.  “Ready?”  

There’s matching anxiety in the brief way he licks his lips, but he puts on a smile.  “After you, Swan.”

Emma studies his brave face and pulls him into an impulsive hug, cradling his jaw and kissing him deeply, unsure when she'll have the chance again.  She looks back up at him, her thumb brushing across his scruff as she tries to memorize the weight of his arms around her.  “I love you.”

The heart-wrenching devotion in his blue eyes is something else to savor.  “And I you,” he murmurs.  He gives her another peck.  “Go on.”

She gives him one more shaky smile and lets him go, taking a massive door handle in each hand. “Mother?  Papa?” she calls, “Are you here?”  With a shove, the doors swing open.

 *             *             *

 Emma’s parents are indeed in the Council Room, and a bit of excited chaos ensues when she pushes her way in.

The King and Queen are standing on the far side of the room next to a great crackling fireplace that sits beyond an enormous rounded table.  Their heads are bowed together as they confer about something, but Emma’s voice causes them to both look up in astonishment.

“Emma?”

“Emma!”

Their voices echo in the cavernous room, and Emma scurries across the polished stone floor, threading a neat path around the table and the wide red-and-gold trimmed stone pillars that bear up the ceiling.  She grunts happily as her father catches her in his arms, and the trio locks into a tight embrace.  Light from the hearth dances over the emotion that wells up on the King's face.  He cups the back of Emma’s head while her mother bursts into relieved sobs, and the sight of the triumphant reunion causes Killian’s chest to swell as he wanders in and positions himself unobtrusively next to a nearby pillar.

“Thank the gods you’re alright!” Emma’s father mutters.  “Are you alright?”

Emma nods against his chest and shudders, her voice muffled in his tunic.  “I’m fine.  I missed you.”

“We missed you too. We were so worried, honey,” the Queen sighs.  “We were so happy when Blue told us she’d seen you.”  She opens her eyes and spies Killian, her lips parting in surprise. “Oh!  You brought a guest.”  She pulls away from her husband and daughter and hurriedly dabs at her tears with the end of her sleeve.

The King looks up as well, creases forming on his forehead and his eyes narrowing in suspicion as he takes in Killian’s appearance.  He straightens and squares his shoulders.  “Hello.”

Emma steps away from her parents and motions toward him.  “This, um, this is the man who brought me home,” she explains, sounding nervous.  “Captain Killian Jones.”  

Killian gives her a soft smile as he takes her hand and lets her draw him forward.  “Your Majesties,” he says, dipping into his best formal bow. “A pleasure.”

The King glances with a frown at the way their hands linger together for a second too long. “Captain.”  He bobs his head stiffly, meeting Killian’s eye before allowing his stare to fall to the hook.  “The Blue Fairy told us you were involved.  Thank you for returning our daughter to us.”

“Yes, thank you,” Emma’s mother echoes more effusively.  “We owe you a great debt.”  She finishes composing herself with one last sniffle.  “We will gladly compensate you for your efforts.”

Killian gives her a warm smile and bows again.  “I’m sure my crew will appreciate it.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence.

“Um, where are they now?” the Queen asks politely.

“My ship is at Jennings Harbor.  The men stay with her pending further orders.”

“Right.”  The King clears his throat.  “Well, we won’t keep you from them long.  We can outfit you with your reward and have you on your way tomorrow morning.”

Killian and Emma share an uneasy look.  “Actually, I was planning to stay close by,” he says carefully.  “Emma may be home, but she’s still in danger of attack by the Dark One, as I’m sure the Fairy also told you.”  His eyes flit back to Emma, and the corner of his lips tugs upward solemnly.  “I don’t intend to leave her in a time of need.”  Or ever, he thinks.

The Queen looks genuinely moved, but her husband shakes his head with a chuckle.  “Well, that’s very noble of you,” he says with a smile that comes just short of genuine, “but we don’t need you to stay.”

Killian tips his head back, surveying Emma’s father coolly.  “It’s not open for debate, I’m afraid.”

The King blinks, his incredulous grin widening.  “No. It’s not.  We don’t need help from a pirate.  We’ve already got a plan.”

“And what’s that?”  

“That’s none of your concern,” the King shoots back, his voice now bordering on testy.

Killian snorts.  “The bloody hell it isn’t.”  He feels Emma's fingers intertwine with his, and his thumb sweeps across her knuckles restlessly in reply.

The King looks affronted and the Queen curves a brow as they note this action with a mix of interest and alarm.

Emma layers her other hand over the back of his, and Killian glances up to see a silent plea for patience in her large eyes.  He folds his lips, trying to suppress his look of irritation, and she turns to her parents.  

“What’s the plan?” she asks.

“Emma, are you two—”

“What’s the plan, Mother?”

“Squid ink.”  All attention turns to the King, who impatiently pulls a small vial out of the chest pocket of his dark red velvet tunic. “It stops any magical creature in its tracks.  We’ll use it to disable the Dark One and capture him.”

“It was Blue’s idea,” the Queen explains.  “Our friend Ariel helped procure it.”

“See?” the King says pointedly, glowering at Killian, “We’re perfectly capable of protecting our daughter.”

“Oh, are you now?”

They whirl in the direction of the open door, and Killian’s sword is out of its sheath at the first sound of that sinister, sing-song voice he knows all too well from his nightmares. Bloody fucking hell.  The Queen gasps as a spritely man with a gold sheen to his leathery skin and a coat made of crocodile hide steps into view, and even though he’s across the room, they all back instinctively toward the fireplace.

“Shame that you’re the ones that need protecting,” he cackles, the light from the overhead chandelier glimmering off his unnatural complexion.  He passes over the threshold, waving one hand in that peculiar, dramatic way of his, and the squid ink flies out of the King’s grasp and plummets to the hearth with the sound of smashing glass.

** So Early in the Morning (a.k.a. The Sailor's Loves) is an real traditional sea shanty. You can read more about it and listen to the tune here, though I imagine Roberts' version to be much more upbeat. :)

Thanks for reading!  Ready for the next chapter?  Click here!

[jamespottervevo]

The One With The Party

St. Albus’s Series / Modern Muggle AU

This is the fourth installment of the St. Albus’s series. The series is made up of snippets and may not be posted in chronological order because I am garbage. Eventually I’ll get around to numbering them as I post more. (events directly predate “the one with the phone call,” and follow those of “the one with the new school” and “the one with the crushing.” also tagging @snapslikethis because linds once talked to me about this verse and I am desperate for attention)

tw for homophobic slur and canon compliant racism

3.4k | ffnet | ao3 | installments 1, 2, 3 |

Lily presses a cold rag against Sev’s swollen eye, brows furrowed. He won’t tell her why he was in a fight, only that it was Potter and his gang. She doesn’t know them too well, only Remus, who she can’t possibly imagine doing this, and Peter, who is too mousy to even raise his hand in class.

He’s got a nasty scratch on his cheek and his sallow, olive skin is mottled purple around his already dark eye and so she just tries to get some of the swelling to go down, apologizing each time she presses the rag too hard and feels him flinch.

She wants to believe Sev, in nearly the year they’ve been friends, he’s not lied to her, not that she knows of, at least. But she’s still having trouble wrapping her head around his flimsy story. At least until she sees the four boys the next day.

Potter’s sporting a black eye to mirror Sev’s, and his nose is swollen as if it were punched, hard. Remus’s lower lip looks swollen and she sees a bruise peeking out from under his collar. Pettigrew seems to have escaped with the least amount of injuries, only a small bruise on his temple, but Black is another story. A black eye, a cut lip, and marks ringing his neck that look all too much like fingers. Sev couldn’t have possibly done all that…

And maybe she could have let herself believe his story, but she sees a few boys from Stevens, Sev’s house, all a year older, bearing similar marks of a scuffle. And when all nine boys are called down to McGonagall’s office, she tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.

As soon as Lily sinks down at the table, setting down her tray, Mary’s off like a shot. Elbows on the table, head tipped forward, hair tucked behind her ears. The gossip pose. “So, have you heard about what happened?” She asks, conspiratorial. Dorcas slides in next to Lily and quirks a brow.

“Gossip? This early in the afternoon?”

Mary flicks a pea at her from across the table. “Come on, don’t tell me you don’t know what happened. A bunch of blokes from Stevens got into it with James’s lot out behind the building yesterday.” Dorcas’s eyes widen and Mary nods and Lily scowls, stabbing violently at her chicken breast.

“Sev told me about it yesterday,” she begins, though as soon as his name passes her lips her mates faces’ darken, “said that Potter’s groupies ganged up on him.” She knows, of course she knows, that it sounds like a lie. And maybe it is. But Sev isn’t a bad person. He wouldn’t lie to her, would he? After all, she’s seen the way Potter acts.

Dorcas frowns, leaning back. “Lils, sweetheart.” She reaches out to pat her arm, as if offering her condolences. But they don’t know Sev. He’s not a bad person.

Mary’s already steamrolling forward, eyes lit up. “I heard it was about the convocation. Black’s got a brother, you know. He goes to Riddle, least he did. Maybe he’ll get pulled out and sent here after what happened.”

Dorcas shifts on the bench, cocking her head to the side, her hand still on Lily’s arm. “Black’s got a brother? Wonder why they went to separate schools. Sirius and I aren’t, like, friends, but friendly enough to know he’s got a brother,” she says, her lips pursing as Mary continues to nod, bobble headed and eager.

The conversation grates at Lily, all but in one ear and out the other. She loves her girls, really, she does, but sitting there, listening to them go on and on about the fight and Sirius’s brother- Reggie or something awful- it’s a reminder of Sev and the fact that he… well, she isn’t quite sure what he had done, but he had done something. Lied, maybe. Gotten into a fight, definitely.

She doesn’t want to dwell on it much at all.

“I’ve got to go. Slughorn asked if I’d grade a few papers for him and I-” Lily falters, just for a moment, Dorcas and Mary looking up at her, matching frowns working onto their faces.

“Lils, don’t go. We believe you believe that Snape isn’t lying-” Mary begins.

"No, it’s cool, really it’s cool, I just have to go,’ she says, fumbling over her words as she quickly stands, sliding her bag back up onto her shoulder, hands gripping the plastic of the lunch tray. Hard. “I’ll see you guys later. I’m fine, really. Everything’s fine.”

It would be great, Lily thinks, if I believed what I said. But recently, Sev’s been so distant. It isn’t like they were ever chatty. That’s not the type of friends they were. The type of friends they are. She isn’t really sure, anymore.

He’s been spending so much time with Mulciber’s crew, ditching their afterschool study sessions to work on assignments with Avery and Rosier. Or at least, that’s what he’s been telling her. Lily isn’t sure what she should be bothered to believe anymore.

She tucks her hair back behind her ear as she walks, the missing eight inches still a shock. But, a good shock, Lily’s decided. A good sort of change. Her flats clack against the ground as she makes her way towards Stevens. She really does have papers to grade for Slughorn. (She’d just been hoping to put them off until he delegated them off to another member of the Slug Club.)

She’s halfway across the courtyard when she hears the it, the shuffling and scuffling and huffy breathing before the shout of her name. “Evans!” She doesn’t have to turn to know its Potter.

Lily doesn’t quite stop walking, but, she’ll admit that she slows down, just a bit, as a rather sweaty looking Potter appears at her side. His tie is undone, his shirt partway unbuttoned, and there are what look like grass stains on his elbows. All of this comes in second to the massive bruise blooming just under his eye, his glasses bent around his very angry looking nose.

“Potter,” is all she says.

He pushes a hand up through his hair, takes a gulping breath. “Look, I know that you probably think that I went out of my way to attack Sni- Snape. That I went out of my way to attack Snape, but I promise I-” Lily holds up her hand.

“I don’t care, Potter. Please, just leave me alone.” It’s a lie, a dirty, blatant, lie. And she knows it, and maybe she isn’t exactly fond of the way that Potter looks like a kicked puppy as she speaks, but she’s seen him tearing down Severus enough to know a lie when she hears one.

“Right, yeah. Uh, sorry, then,” Potter mumbles, eyes falling down to the ground as he falls out of step with her until he’s just standing there in the courtyard. She pretends not to feel his eyes on her until she disappears into Stevens.

             -

           If she was a worse friend, she would have just said “no” when Mary showed up on her doorstep, waggling her eyebrows and announcing that they would be going out. But, Lily flinches as Mary plucks out an apparently stubborn hair from between her eyebrows, she’s not a bad enough friend.

“I know what you’re thinking already, Lils, but this will be fun, I promise,” Mary murmurs, her brow knit in concentration as she continued to pluck at her brows, all but sitting in her lap to do so. It would be much easier to believe her, Lily decides, if she wasn’t currently yanking out her hair. “Cardoc throws, like, the best parties. And I know you’ve been all messed up about what went on with Snape lately and this has to help.”

Mary isn’t really the sort of girl anyone says “no” to, and so, Lily rolls her eyes and gently pushes her off her lap. “I’m fine, Mary. But,” she pauses and offers a slight smile, moving over to her closet, “a party does sound like fun.” She tugs open her closet and fights back the unwelcome thought of Petunia. She would have loved to help her get ready, back then. Before. And it still stings to think about.

So, Lily tugs down a tank top and holds it up appraisingly, looking over at Mary with a quirked brow. Mary- who has sprawled out across her bed in a far too easy manner- nods, her fingers steepled in front of her face. “Yeah, definitely. Show off those sexy shoulders is what I always say.” Which, Lily knows for a fact, Mary has never once said. “Pair it with those cute flats, the ones with the laces.”

The next two hours pass like this, with Lily holding up tops or jeans or skirts or jewelry or shoes, and Mary trying to mix and match for the cutest possible outfit for Cardoc’s party. It’s fun, having Mary there. It’s been… too long, Lily thinks, since she’s had this sort of fun. She can’t even remember the last time she’d been to a party.

But as Mary pulls into an empty bit of space around the curb in a glaringly posh neighborhood, Lily’s painfully aware that she’s never been to a party like this.

She doesn’t recognize half the people stumbling up the sloped lawn, can’t name half the models of cars that are wrapping around the street, but at least she can halfway hum along to the song pouring from the open windows of the house.

This.

This is what being a teenager is supposed to be.

“Dorcas said she’d be here, but god only knows where. I haven’t been here in ages, I forgot how fucking massive Cardoc’s place is.” Mary is yelling over the thumping of the bass while their shoes slip against the damp grass of the Dearborns’ overly manicured lawn. The door to the bloody mansion is wide open and inside, Lily can see her classmates dancing. Or grinding rather. Like the queen that she is, Mary pushes inside, her hand slipping into Lily’s, her long legs clearing a path.

“Oi, Mac wasn’t sure if you’d make it!” “Mary! I fucking love that top, where did you get it?”  “Lily, ohmygosh, I’ve, like, never seen you at a party before, you look so cute-”

She can’t hear anything really, not over all the voices, or the music, or the sounds of bottles clinking. Lily is certain that someone had been trying to talk to her, but by the time she’d managed to glance around, Mary’s already dragging her through the crowded foyer.

It’s not the first time she’s been in a nice house before. Mary’s house is nice, with its high ceilings and white tile, and vaguely geometric looking furniture. But Cardoc’s house is some strange combination of old money, midlife crisis, and way too much mahogany. She should feel small and out of place and poor, but- Lily steps quickly to the side to avoid being tripped over by Benjy something-or-other- it’s rather hard to feel out of place when everyone is on such an equal playing field.

The lights in the living room are dimmed and she can just barely see all the furniture pushed up against the walls under the shoddily hung blacklight and strobes. Lily can see a bit of light pouring out from a room just off all the madness- a kitchen or dining room, she’s guessing, where it looks like a group are playing some sort of drinking game.

The entire house reeks of expensive cologne, expensive alcohol, expensive weed. Mary leans in close to her, lips almost brushing against her ear as she all but shouts. “Would’ya mind if I went to find Becks? I’ve been meaning to talk to her for like, the past month, about what she saw going down in Hufton the other day,” she yells. Though, at least she has the decency to look rather apologetic. “I can wait though, until we find Dorcas, I don’t want to leave you alone or anything-”

“It’s cool, Mar. I want to look around anyway,” Lily says, well, shouts, waving her hand. Mary bites her lip and watches her for a moment, before Lily rolls her eyes and gives her a gentle shove so she can go find someone named Becks, apparently. Whoever the hell that is.

“You’re a peach,” Mary pauses as she smacks a lipgloss sticky kiss to her cheek, “keep your phone on you, I’ll text every half hour,” she adds, before quickly disappearing into the mess of people, looking right at home in the throng of writhing hormones.

And then, she’s alone, standing just at the edge of the dancing. She takes a breath before slipping into the crowd herself, rolling her hips along with the music. She isn’t sure when she starts singing along, shouting the lyrics as a very pretty girl she doesn’t quite recognize starts to dance with her.

It’s fun, and exhilarating, and freeing, and Lily’s laughing, and jumping and waving her arms to music she’s blasted on the radio. This is what she’s missed. For the time, it’s easy to forget about Sev and Petunia and the way Potter looked when she’d walked away and her dad and who her mum was becoming and grades and everything bad.

It’s every terrible teen movie wrapped up into an indistinguishable amount of time. When she finally breaks free from the crowd, squeezing her way toward the kitchen to try and find something to drink, her phone vibrates in her back pocket. A text from Mary. Rather, a lot of texts from Mary.

lil my car got fucking towed holy shit what do i do

come find me i gotta go like, bail my car out of car jail

did u see the fuckin hydrant bc i didnt see a hydrant

lily lily lily lily where tf are u

Shit. Lily pushes past a couple making out and slips into an empty hallway, pressing the “dial” button by Mary’s name.

“Lily, where are you? I am so sorry, I feel like we just got here and now I have to bail and I feel, like, so terrible-” Mary is rambling, her words coming out almost too quickly to comprehend.

“Mary, it’s okay, really. Just go get your car-”

“Are you sure? Like, I cannot leave you alone here. I am not a terrible friend-”

“You aren’t a terrible friend. I can catch a ride with Dorcas, okay? Really-”

“You gotta text me when you get home, okay? I am so, so sorry but-” Wherever Mary is, Lily can’t hear what she’s saying anymore, and so after a bit more warbled yelling, she hangs up, slips her phone back into her pocket.

She leans up against the wall of the hallway, just off from the kitchen, she thinks. The music is still thumping through the walls, but there aren’t any strobe lights or any people, and so Lily takes a moment to catch her breath, pushing a hand through her hair, shaking it off the back of her sweat slick neck. A part of her wishes she’d put on a headband before she’d left the house, but according to Mary, it hadn’t fit the “aesthetic.”

Lily pushes herself off the wall, rolls her shoulders, and sets herself to go and find Dorcas- she doubts she’d be able to hear her phone in that mess out there- but-

“Lily?” Her stomach drops. Because why would he be here? He doesn’t even know Cardoc- well, not that she really knows Cardoc much either, just, the idea of Sev, there, at a party thrown by the type of person he said he hates. She turns, just slightly, hoping that she imagined it, imagined his voice. She hadn’t.

Because Sev is standing there in the hallway, a glassy sort of look to him in a pair of ill-fitting jeans and a worn-out t-shirt with a stain near the hem. It’s strange, to see him out of his uniform. She hadn’t even thought he owned anything casual. She can still see his black eye, even in the dark.

“What are you doing here?” He takes a few steps closer to her, and as mad as she is at him, it’s stupidly comforting to have someone else there with her, someone she knows.

“I came with Mary. I’m allowed to have fun, Severus,” she says, a bit pointedly. His eyes aren’t quite focused and it’s apparent he’s been doing something. She can smell whatever it is he’s been drinking on his breath.

“You don’t like parties,” he says. It annoys her, for some reason, that he says that, that he says it like that. She folds her arms over her chest, frowns, just slightly.

“I do, actually. You don’t like parties. I never went to anything because you never wanted to go.” He’d always found some way to get out of everything like this, out of everything that reeked of money and their richer classmates.

“Came with Avery and Mulciber. I’m having fun, too. This is fun.” His words are strung together in a way that doesn’t come naturally. He’s close enough that Lily can see how glossed over his eyes are. Of course he’s here with them, his new friends.

“Why are you hanging out with them? They aren’t good people, Sev, you know that. I know you know that. They're racists, you know.” She doesn’t know why she says it, especially why she says it there, in Cardoc’s hallway during a rager, but.

He laughs at her and it sounds sick. It’s wet and heavy and drunk, his palm hitting the wall too close to her head as he tries to support himself and she hates that she flinches. He should have hated that, that he’d made her flinch. It doesn’t look like he notices.

“What do you know? You don’t know them, Lil, they're fun. They like me. They don’t take any shit from dirty fuckers like Potter. We don’t need his kind here. Not him, or… or fucking fags like Black or all those fuckin’ immigrants,” he slurs, gesturing with one hand. Lily hardens.

“No, don’t you say anything like that. You’re not like this. You’re just…you’re drunk and saying what they’ve been telling you and-”

“He likes you, fucking Potter, always fucking staring at you. Thinks he’s so much better than everybody else ‘spite being one of those.”

“Severus,” Lily snaps, her palms damp with sweat, shaking. No, no, no. She thinks about what Potter had said to her- tried to say to her, earlier in the courtyard. “I’ve defended you to him. You aren’t like this. This isn’t you. I’ve stood up for you.” Even she knows how desperate she sounds. How pathetic she sounds.

“I don’t fucking need that, not from some immigrant cunt-”

And it’s like shattering glass. “Goodbye, Sev- Snivellus.” She uses the name like a slap, hoping it hides the quiver in her lip because he is supposed to be her best friend. He’s had lunch with her, with her Polish mum, in their house. He’s supposed to have been her best friend.

“Lily, no, wait, I didn’t-” Snape stumbles toward her and over his words as she pushes him away, his hand on his shoulder, tugging and tearing at the strap of her top. It snaps as she pushes him again.

“Leave me alone. I never want to fucking speak to you again.” And she’s pushing him again and moving faster than she thought she could down the hall. Someone presses a full, sloshing, cup into her hand and she drinks it, quick and thoughtless and stupid. She can hear him behind her still, trying to catch up, yelling her name.

not from some immigrant cunt-

not from some immigrant cunt-

not from some immigrant cunt-

There’s another cup in her hand and she doesn’t know who put it there. Most of it spills down the front of her ruined blouse.

She isn’t sure exactly when she started crying, but her head is swimming and she can’t breathe, and it feels like the world is getting too close too quickly by the time she breaks out into the open night air.

Lily doesn’t look, not as she clumsily unlocks her phone, not as she scrolls, not as she hits call.

“Potter,” she hiccups, “ca-can you come get me?”