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vodika-vibes · 7 months

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Pen-Pals

Summary: When you're assigned a pen-pal for one of your classes, you expect to make a friend, at best. You definitely don't expect Tup to become something more to you.

Pairing: Sailor! Tup x Reader

Word Count: 4569

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: I am, like, 85% done with my Prince!Boba fic and decided to write this instead. Whoops.

Tagging: @the-bad-batch-baroness

Divider by saradika

“Alright everyone,” Your gaze drifts from your notebook up to the front of the classroom, where your teacher is trying to gather the attention of her class, “As you all know,” The teacher continues as soon as she has everyone’s attention, “I have been working to set up this pen-pal program with men on the front lines, as well as men on the naval ships-”

The room dissolves into groans and you roll your eyes, “Miss,” One of your classmates calls from the back of the room, “You’re a Rune teacher! Not a language teacher!”

The teacher slams her hand on the table, and the room falls silent immediately, “I already have pairings made up for all of you,” She says through ground teeth, “And you are going to write at least one letter.” She falls silent as she glares around the room, and then she’s all smiles again, “Now when I call your name, come up and get your assignment-”

After class ends, you leave campus quickly. The worst thing to do would be to remain and listen to the rest of your classmates bitch about this, admittedly weird, assignment. Why a Master Level magic teacher, who’s students were all adults, is creating a pen-pal program is beyond you…but grades are grades.

Plus, she gave you a stack of these really neat envelopes that will teleport the letter to the recipient the same day it’s sealed, and you really want to take a look at the runes that allow that to happen.

You push open the door to the store your grandparents own, and walk through the shop, into the back, and up the stairs. “I’m home!” You call as you open the door that leads to the house proper.

Your grandfather doesn’t look up from where he’s burning something into a piece of wood, “Welcome back,” He says, “How was class?”

“The teacher finally managed to make her pen-pal dreams come true,” You reply as you place your bag on a chair and walk over to the table, “What are you working on?”

“You tell me,” Your grandfather replies as he pushes the schematics over to you.

You turn the paper so you’re able to read it properly, your fingers lightly tracing over the written runes, “It looks like…hm…a warmer of some kind?” You asked.

“Very well done,” Your grandfather praises as he glances at you, “It’s a commission that came into the shop, they want a clothing warmer.”

“And you’re making it out of wood?” You ask doubtfully.

“Just the frame, kiddo. It’s going to be cast in steel when I finish this bit.” Your grandfather rolls his eyes, “You know your grandmother, she’s already got the forge fired up.”

“At least she loves her job,” You counter as you turn the schematics back towards your grandfather.

“True enough, she does love metalworking.” He beams at you, “So, who’s your pen-pal?”

“Dunno, I haven’t opened the envelope yet.” You reply as you grab a cookie out of the jar, and take a bite, “Unless you need me in the shop, I’ll probably head to my room and get started on that.”

“Such a diligent student,” Your grandfather teases, “We’re all set in the shop, for now. Killian actually showed up for his shift today.”

“You know you should fire him, right?” You say as you break off a piece of your cookie and toss it into your mouth.

“Ahh. I can’t do that. He’s Bernie’s son!”

“I didn’t know that leeches could look human,” You mutter under your breath.

Your grandfather points at you, “Behave.”

You hold up your hands, “Okay, okay.” You finish your cookie, “Since you don’t need me, I’ll just go to my room.” You grab your back and head out of the room, though you turn and start walking backwards so you can still see your grandfather, “I’m just saying, if I didn’t show up for work three times a week, I’d get fired.”

He shoots you a disappointed look, and you muffle a laugh as you turn and head down the hallway to your room. Though you do take a moment to open the door to the basement, where grandma’s forge is located. You don’t hear her hammering anything yet, “I’m home, grandma!”

“Hi, baby! Don’t come down here, there’s dust and smoke everywhere!” She calls the warning up the stairs.

“I can see it, Grandma. Have fun!” You hear the sound of delighted giggling, and you’re pretty sure you hear her crowing something about copper, but you decide that you do not want to get involved.

You very carefully shut the door to the forge, and watch as the fire suppressants flare to life down the hall and across the floor, and you shake your head and walk down to the end of the hall.

The house you share with your grandparents is a decently sized place, all things considered, even if it is oddly shaped. The fact that the only way to get to the basement is from the second floor, rather than the first floor, is odd. Though you don’t put it past your grandparents to have designed the house that way intentionally.

Your room is the smallest room in the house.

It’s small enough that your grandfather had to make you a loft bed with a desk and a bookshelf built underneath, but you really don’t mind. The smaller room is easier to clean, and it means you never have to invite people over.

Useful, since you don’t actually have any friends.

You hang your bag on the hook on the bedroom door, and pull out your class books, the stack of envelopes your teacher gave you, and the simple envelope with your name on the front.

You sort everything, and then you sit at your desk and you slowly open the envelope.

The first thing that slides out is a picture. A young man with dark skin, curly black hair pulled into a bun, and brown eyes is showcased in the picture. He has a tattoo of a teardrop under one of his eyes.

You set the picture to the side and pull out the slip of paper inside the envelope. It’s not even a full sheet of paper, it’s just a ribbon of paper with a few words written on it. His name is Tup Fett, he’s a few years older than you, and he’s stationed on the Resolute, a naval ship.

Well, you suppose. It’s something at least.

You open your desk and dig around for a moment, before you pull out a picture album and flip to the very end. You grab one of the most recent pictures of yourself (a professional picture you got made for your grandmother’s birthday a couple of months ago) and you slide it in the envelope that your teacher supplied you with.

And then you grab a blank piece of paper, from the stack of specialty stationary that your aunt gave you several years ago and you’ve never had any use to use, and then you just…stare.

What does one write to a pen-pal anyway?

You tap your pen against the paper for a moment, and then, when nothing comes to you, to start doodling flowers across the top and around the edges of the paper.

And then, once the paper had over two dozen intricately drawn roses, you started to write.

Starting with an introduction and then an apology for all of the roses you drew on his letter. And once you started writing, you found that you couldn’t stop.

One page very quickly becomes three, and that’s when you decide to stop. You sign the letter, and then add a postscript saying that he doesn’t have to reply if he doesn’t want to.

And then you pull the picture back out of the envelope, and fold it in the letter, and, before you can start second guessing yourself, you shove the whole thing into the envelope, address the front, and seal it with a touch of magic.

Nothing happens for a moment, and then the envelope flashes twice, and vanishes.

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

When the men on the Resolute were told about the pen-pal program, Tup wasn’t convinced that it was a good idea. He’s still not convinced that it’s a good idea, but so many of his brothers are-

As a Private, Tup doesn’t expect to get a letter. Or to be lucky enough to get a pen-pal at all. After all, the Commanders and Captains and higher ranked brothers are sure to be chosen.

Which is totally fair. He does not begrudge his older brothers their ranks, he knows how hard they’ve worked to get to where they are, especially since some of the natborns they work with seem to think that there’s some favoritism going on.

Which is categorically ridiculous. Jango doesn’t play favorites. It’s why Cody works on a warship too. It’s why everyone except Fox works on a warship, and the only reason Fox doesn’t is because he’s in charge of the Mandalorian Guard. And the Police Force. And the Royal Guard.

Anyway, Tup is convinced that he’s not going to get a pen-pal, so he doesn’t even bother with considering it.

Which is why, when he steps into the room he shares with his batchmates, and he sees a letter on his bunk…he’s not really sure how to react.

He carefully picks it up and sees that it’s addressed to him, and so he just stares at it for almost 30 seconds. And then he lays down on his bunk and he slowly opens it.

Tup pulls out three sheets of paper, and his lips curl up into a smile, and that smile grows when the picture falls out of the letters. He picks it up and looks at it, at you, for a long moment. And then he turns the picture over and reads the information on the back.

Your name, the date it was taken, and a note in neat cursive, “I got professional pictures for Grandma for her birthday, but she only kept one, and gave the rest away. I did manage to save this one, though. So…here’s me.”

Tup flips the picture back over, and grins at the image of you. Cute. So very cute.

He sets the picture down on his chest, he’ll have to remember to beg Rex for some tape later so he can hang the picture on his bunk, and he opens the letter. Tup is more than a bit surprised when he sees all of the roses drawn on the first page.

And when the very first sentence is both an introduction and an apology for all of the flower doodles, he can’t help but release a quiet laugh, joy blossoming in his chest.

Tup reads his letter three times before his older brother bursts into the room. “Tup!” Hardcase says, “Why did you skip dinner?”

“I was busy,” Tup replies as he sits up, and then he grins and holds up the letter, “I have a pen-pal.”

Hardcase blinks at Tup, twice, and then he lunges at him, “I want to read it!”

Tup swears loudly and twists, his feet catching Hardcase’s chest plate and pushing him back, “It’s not yours, dikut!” Hardcase lands with a loud crash, and the door to the room opens again.

“Tup? Hardcase?” Rex looks between the pair of them, “What are you doing?”

“Tup got a pen-pal and he won’t share.” Hardcase says from the floor, “Tell him he has to share.”

“That’s not at all how that works, Hardcase, and you know it.” Rex replies flatly, and then he glances at Tup and flashes a small smile, “I’m happy for you, vod. I have the envelopes in my office, you can get one in the morning.”

“Thanks, Rex.” Tup replies with a relieved sigh.

Rex just grins at him, and then he bends over and picks up a small square of paper, and his grin grows, as he looks at it. “She’s cute, Tup.” He offers the picture back to Tup, “I’ll go get some tape so you can hang the picture.”

Tup takes the picture and mutters something in response, before he hides the picture in his pocket.

“You’re not going to be able to hide it for long, vod.” Rex warns, “But I’ll make sure that no one tries to read your letters.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Tup replies easily. “They can get their own pen-pals if they want to read letters.”

Rex laughs, and claps Tup on the shoulder, “I’ll be sure to mention that. Come on. Let’s get you your envelope and some tape.”

“I thought you said I had to wait until the morning?” Tup asks.

“You’re not going to sleep, Tup.” Rex counters with a roll of his eyes, “You’re far too wired. Letting you write the letter now will at least keep you occupied until you do fall asleep.”

“...thank Rex.”

“This is the only time I’ll allow it, Tup.” Rex warns as he points at Tup.

“Yes sir.”

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

When you wake the following morning, and carefully maneuver yourself down the ladder and onto the floor, you notice that there’s a letter sitting innocently on your desk.

You stare at the letter, pleasantly surprised.

You honestly didn’t expect a response at all, let alone one within 12 hours of the initial letter.

You yawn and sit down. You can hear your grandparents moving around down the hall, and you know that you really should save this to read later…but you have a few minutes, right?

You carefully open the envelope and settle back in your seat, and start to read.

Thank you for writing to me, sarad! I can honestly admit that I wasn’t expecting a pen-pal at all, especially not one who is so talented. I really liked the roses, so please don’t apologize for doodling!

It was also really interesting to hear about your class. I wasn’t aware that there were magic schools…but I suppose it does make sense. There’s not nearly enough wizards in the world for everyone to have an apprenticeship. I admit that I’m not sure what runes are used for, but you seem very passionate about them. Is that because of your grandparents? You mentioned them, and their shop, a lot.

I can’t tell you where I am right now, it’s not allowed, but I can tell you that we’re still several months away from returning to Mandalore. I miss solid ground…and my own room. More my own room than solid ground, if I’m going to be completely honest.

Sharing a room with 5 other men? Not fun. The fact that they’re my brothers somehow only makes it twice as bad and ten times more annoying.

Oh! The picture you sent me is currently hanging on the wall in my Berth. Not in my bunk, just…on the wall…next to the mirror. I’m so sorry, my brothers are idiots and they insisted. Hardcase made some paper flowers and taped them to the wall around your picture. I’m still not sure why.

It’s okay though, because Cap gave me permission to beat him around the training room in the morning.

I suppose I won’t be too hard on Hardcase. The splash of color is nice. If you wanted to send more pictures of anything, it would be nice. But please don’t feel like you have to.

Anyway, I have to wrap this up now. It’s late and I do have work I need to do in the morning.

Thank you again, Sarad, for writing to me. I hope you will again.

Yours,

Tup

P.S. Hardcase says hi.

P.P.S. Dogma also says hi.

P.P.P.S Hardcase says that if you want to send some candy, that would be nice. He wants fruit flavored hard candy, I’m partial to peppermint, personally.

P.P.P.P.S. This is the last one, I swear. Hardcase swears that fruit candy is better, he’s wrong. I’m pretty sure he was dropped on his head as an infant.

By the time you reach the end of the letter, you’re giggling. Tup sounds so fun, and Sarad is a very nice nickname.

More pictures is definitely do-able, you have an entire box filled with random pictures you’ve taken over the last few years, though you’re not sure how to get candy to them.

Maybe if you put the candy in a box and then tape the letter to the top? You’ll ask grandpa, he’ll know.

“Angel!” You hear your grandfather call from the hallway, “Breakfast!”

“Coming!” You shout back. You carefully lay the letter in an empty box, planning on collecting as many letters as Tup decides to send you, and then you hurry out of your room. “Hey, grandpa! I have a rune question-”

The letter you eventually send back to Tup at the end of the day is attached to a box full of candy, cookies, and various pictures of places and people. You also added some stationary for Tup, and you’re pretty sure your grandparents added a few more pictures of you.

You eye your grandmother suspiciously for a moment, “Are you planning on adopting Tup, Grandma?”

“Hm? Oh, no dear. I’m in the process of planning your wedding to him.”

“...Grandma!”

“What?”

********

Tup blinks at the box sitting on his bunk.

He’s fairly certain that the pen-pal thing isn’t supposed to be a daily thing, but he’s not complaining. At all.

He grabs the box and sits on the floor as he carefully opens it. And then his jaw drops.

There’s a bunch of different types of candies, a container full of cookies, a sweater, and a box that, when he opens it, reveals an entire stack of pictures. Tup absently flips through the pictures, most are of various places around Mandalore. Though some are pictures of his Sarad through the years.

Tup pops a peppermint into his mouth, and carefully peels the envelope off the front of the box, and opens it.

Hey Tup!

I have to admit, having a letter to read as soon as I woke up this morning was a surprise. Though it was a pleasant surprise! I didn’t think that you would want to write back to a babbling college student. I’m glad that I was wrong!

It would be nice to be an apprentice to a proper wizard, but, well, only the wealthy or the lucky actually have that chance. And I’ve never been either, so I made due with what the college can offer me. Not that I’m much of a magic user, honestly. You’ll never catch me running around throwing fireballs or summoning lightning. I’ll stick with my safe, clean, runes.

You said you don’t know much about runes, but to keep this from becoming a lecture-Runes can be used for a lot of things, but mostly they’re useful. Like…I have runes sown into my boots so that they don’t get dirty, even if I jump in a mud puddle. And I have a locket my grandparents made me that acts as a rudimentary tracking charm. (I really need to get them to remove that, I’m not five anymore after all.)

And I do lean more to runes because of my grandparents. They raised me since I was four. My parents and older siblings decided to take a world tour…and just never came back. It doesn’t bother me as much as it bothers my grandparents, though. They feel like I should miss them, and I really don’t. How do you miss something you never had?

Anway.

What’s it like living on a ship? I imagine it’s cramped and you don’t have much space. At least you’re with family, I suppose. Though if I had to be in close quarters with any member of my family for a long period of time, I would commit murder, so it’s best that I’m not.

I don’t mind that my picture is hung up, your picture is hung up over my desk after all. But I did send some more pictures so maybe you can reclaim the picture of me and replace it with something a bit less…embarrassing? Though I think grandma snuck some more pictures of me in your care box.

I hope you like the sweater I got you. I wasn’t sure as to your size, so I got a size up from what I thought you might wear. And I know the Resolute’s color is blue, so I just grabbed that color, so you can wear it on shift, maybe? If you don’t like the color you can send it back, and I’ll get you a different one. Promise.

Anyway, my lunch break is almost over, so I had better go. I have to go scream at one of my grandfather’s employees…he showed up five hours late for his shift. Who does that??

XOXO

Sarad

P.S say hi to Hardcase and Dogma for me

P.P.S There is enough candy in the box for you and Hardcase, but please don’t feel like you have to share with him.

P.P.P.S Also, you’re both wrong. Chocolate is the superior candy, and I will fight you on this.

Tup grins at the letter and immediately pulls the sweater on. It’s a bit too big on him, but it’s warm and he loves it. He opens the box of pictures and starts going through them. All of the pictures with his Sarad in them get put to the side to get hung up in his bunk, while he leaves the others on the desk so the Berth can get properly decorated.

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

It’s been almost a year since you first started writing to Tup, and you still hear from him almost daily. Of course, you’re just as guilty as he is of writing daily letters.

And sending gifts. So many gifts.

Though, in your defense, most of the things you’ve gifted him have been sketches and doodles. Though you did send him a new hair clip that your grandma made for his birthday.

He also got a cake, courtesy of your grandfather.

You spin your pen between your fingers as you stare at the almost finished letter.

Well, the letter is finished, technically you could send it as is, and it would be fine. After all, Tup would be docking soon…as in today, and you can finally see him face to face, but-

But.

You nervously gnaw on your lower lip and, before you can second guess yourself, you add a hastily scribbled postscript, and then you shove the letter into the envelope, and seal it.

The letter glows, and vanishes, and you stare at the spot for a moment.

Well. It’s out of your hands now. Now all you can do is wait.

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

Tup stares at the letter in his hands wide eyed. He wasn’t expecting another letter, not since he’s so close to returning home, to being able to see you in person.

But you sent a letter anyway, and while the majority of the letter is normal stuff, it’s the postscript that has him thrown for a loop.

I’m looking forward to meeting you in person. I’ll be there when the Resolute docks, Grandpa already said I can have the day off. So don’t worry about replying to this letter!

XOXO

Sarad

P.S. I love you

He reads the postscript over and over and over. There aren’t any more envelopes. He can’t reply to you, even though he wants nothing more than to send a reply, even if the reply is only four words.

He fights the urge to hunt Rex down and demand one more envelope, though he knows his older brother is absolutely not going to give him another envelope, even if there was another envelope. Which. There is not.

“You alright, vod?” Dogma asks, as he looks from Tup’s anxiously bouncing leg to the way he’s impatiently tapping a rhythm out on the paper in his hand.

“What? Yeah. Yes, everything’s fine. Great.”

“Right. You wanna try repeating that in a way that’s more believable?” Dogma asks dryly.

“...Sarad loves me.”

Dogma stares at him, silent, “Vod. You’ve been in love with her for six months. Why are you freaking out about this?”

“Because I want to tell her.”

“Great, you can tell her in person. In two hours.” Dogma replies.

“But-”

“No buts. Just relax, vod.”

The last two hours pass by in the blink of an eye, and Tup shifts nervously. This is the first time he's been able to meet you face to face, and he's nervous.

Only a little.

Because you're great! And you're so kind, and whenever he talks to you, or thinks about you, his stomach flips, and he feels like a cadet again.

But he's still nervous. He's not Rex or Jesse or Fives, all of whom ooze charm as easy as breathing. So there's always the chance that you'll see one of his brothers and choose one of them.

Regardless of what you had said in the letter.

And then the ship is docking, and he's disembarking and he sees you, and you're just as ethereal as your pictures showed-

And you see him, and your smile is blinding, and then you're in front of him, and your arms are around his neck, and he's stumbling backwards, and Rex has to catch him -

Tup can't help but laugh as he curls his arms around your waist, "Hi Sarad." He breathes out, and all of his nerves vanish as though they never existed to begin with.

“Hi,” You reply, your arms settling comfortably around his neck, “Did you get my letter?”

“I did,” Tup replies.

“And?” You ask, some anxiety passing through your gaze.

Tup grins at you and catches your lips with his own, one of his hands leaving your hip to cradle the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. He can hear his brothers wolf-whistling him, and he breaks the kiss, though he remains close enough to kiss you again, when he wants to, “Is that an answer?” He asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

And your face is red, and your eyes are bright, “I’d like to hear the words anyway.” You whisper, uncaring of the audience…and you do have an audience.

His grin is boyish, and both of his hands move to cradle your face between his hands, “I,” He kisses your forehead, “Love,” he peppers light kisses across your cheeks, and nose, “You.” His lips catch yours in an even deeper kiss. “How’s that?”

You giggle and tilt your head slightly, “I think it’s perfect. A perfect confession for a perfect Tup.” At this point, the audience has moved away, with other couples reuniting across the docks.

He kisses you again and again, before he finally pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, “Remind me to write a letter to your old teacher for introducing us.”

“She’ll be unbearable, Tup.” You whisper up to him.

“We can allow it, for a little bit.” Tup whispers back.

“Grandma and Grandpa are dying to meet you, can you leave?”

“My shore leave officially started the moment I stepped off the ship. I would love to meet your family.” He ghosts his lips against yours, one more time, “Lead the way, Sarad.”

#star wars #tcw #Star Wars AU #clone trooper tup x reader #tup x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction

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saptaincwan · 9 months

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mic in my hand. killian should've been harbormaster library assistant bartender sailor gardener seafood cook brewer theater performer literally anything but a co p.

#ouat #killian #anchor #killian jones #idk #once again i give my opinions and once again its me sobbing about stuff out of my control

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 7 months

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might i perhaps get #3 for captainswan? 🍂

Snuggle Weather

AO3

Summary: A ficlet about rain, tea, and cooler weather.

This prompt is from the Fall Drabble Prompts List.

Tagging others who might enjoy: @anmylica @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert

Emma could smell the cold in the air flowing through the open windows. An odd quirk she developed after she’d almost frozen to death all those years ago. She smiled as she thought about how far Elsa and her friendship had come since that unfortunate day. This year had passed far too quickly, and they hadn’t gotten to see much of one another. But the cooler air meant it was closer to the one visit that Elsa would never miss - Christmas Eve. They would get together to catch up over rich hot chocolate and the sugar cookies Killian insisted on baking each year. Before she left for Christmas at Anna’s, Elsa would leave the residents of Storybrooke a peaceful blanket of snow to greet them the next morning.

Emma breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with crisp air, even as the warmth of the cosy nights in her future spread through her.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into a form she knew as well as her own. She melted into the embrace, allowing the comfort he was offering to quiet her. He placed a quick kiss on her temple when she laid her head heavily on his shoulder.

“Hi there.” Her voice was hardly more than a sigh released as his presence soothed her.

“Hey, love.” Killian’s murmured response rumbled through him - a light vibration against her back. He held her close and absent-mindedly swayed to the low tune he hummed. She closed her eyes and let the moment wrap around them. The cooler weather had a way of turning her fierce pirate into something soft and warm. The human equivalent of a weighted blanket.

His words from their first winter came back to her: Neverland didn’t have autumn or winter. The cold reminds me. I am free. This is real. Not the dreams that haunt me and drag me into the past. This.

You.

She’d kissed him, then. She had been unable to find words that could tell him that she understood. And, he’d held her close soaking in the acceptance and relief that she offered him.

An odd chime went off, shattering the moment around them. Killian stopped his swaying, reached into his pocket, and shut off an alarm on his phone. “Tea’s done,” he explained.

Emma let out a mostly playful groan as he carefully pulled away from her to tend to the tea. She followed him to the kitchen, where the smell of cinnamon and clove warmed her even further. “Hmmm, that smells heavenly.”

“Something warm for the cold, rainy night ahead.” He removed the tea bag from her cup and poured a splash of milk into it before handing it to her.

“The weatherman just said it wouldn’t rain for a week,” she informed him with all the innocence she could muster. And she smiled into the steam rising from her cup as he told her exactly what he thought of the trickster who spouted such obvious lies about the weather every day. His accent grew thicker as he informed her of all the ways he knew with absolute certainty it was going to rain. She bit her lips closed, capturing her smile, but her eyes were dancing with humour when he finally looked up at her.

“Oh,” he stopped mid-sentence. “Funny, Swan.”

“Swan, is it?” Emma smiled wickedly at him.

“It is poor form, Swan, teasing a sailor about his knowledge of the weather.”

“I would never!”

He raised his eyebrow in response.

When she didn’t offer an apology or any additional response, he sighed wearily and shook his head. “To think, I had just made you tea.”

“Really good tea,” she answered and took a sip from the mug warming her hands. She leaned against him, her shoulder pressing into his chest, and smiled at how easily she’d gotten him that time. He ran his left arm up and down her back in a gentle motion and sipped from his own mug.

“I love you.” He offered the words up to her simply, a statement of fact. As though that silly exchange confirmed that truth for him again somehow. Emma looked up at him, trying to read in his impossibly blue eyes what he was thinking, trying to determine just how she’d captured and kept his wonderful heart hers for so long.

“I know,” she said because, despite the improbability of it all, she did know it. “I love you, too,” she continued, but her words were drowned out by the sound of heavy raindrops that were now pouring down outside.

“Emma, the windows!” He yelled over the noise filling the kitchen. He turned to close the one behind him, over the sink, and cold droplets hit her face, stirring her into action. She rushed to the other windows, cold water pelting her before she could close them.

They fell into a panting heap onto the couch before the crackling fire once they got every window closed.

“You were right.”

“I usually am.” He answered, raising his left up to offer her his side.

Rolling her eyes at him, she curled into the proffered side. He rested his arm on her and idly smoothed her hair with his right hand. Warmed by the fire and his embrace, Emma drifted to sleep.

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

@kazoosandfannypacks - I really, really hope you like it. I am not sure it is very autumn - it kind of got away from me... Anyway, I hope you it makes you smile.

#once upon a time #emma swan #captain swan #killian jones #captain hook #killian x emma #cs fanfic #cs ff #ouat #snuggle weather #fic by Jas #fluff #maybe the softest thing I've ever written?

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tallbluelady · 6 months

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10 Archetypes that I Made Up That Make Up My Blorbos

@sasslett tagged me with 10 Characters/Fandoms but my brain was getting mad at the restrictions so I made up my own thing.

Smart and Loyal Woody (Toy Story), Scarecrow (Wizard of Oz), Faramir (The Lord of the Rings), Aragorn (LOTR)

Cool Dad Dr. Henry Jones Jr. (Indiana Jones), Qui Gon Jin (Star Wars), Alan Grant (Jurassic Park), Auron (Final Fantasy X), Aragorn (LOTR)

Green Girl Buttercup (The Powerpuff Girls), Makoto Kino/Sailor Jupiter (Sailor Moon), Sam (Totally Spies!)

Relatable Scamp Simba (The Lion King), Sora (Kingdom Hearts), Tidus (FFX), Riku (FFX), Scout (To Kill A Mockingbird)

Adventure! Cloud Strife (Final Fantasy VII), Jack Skellington (The Nightmare Before Christmas), Miguel and Tulio (The Road to El Dorado), Dr. Henry Jones Jr. (Indiana Jones)

Sexy Supportive Boyfriend Captain Hook/Killian Jones (Once Upon a Time), Urianger Arugelt (Final Fantasy XIV), Will Turner (Pirates of the Carribean)

Sentient Animal Red XIII (Final Fantasy VII), Reepicheep (Chronicles of Narnia), Any Talking Animal Media, (Suspect for Freya (Final Fantasy IX))

Gender Urianger Arugelt (FFXIV), Cloud Strife (FFVII), Spike Spiegel (Cowboy Bebop), Jack Skellington (TNBC), Elizabeth Swan/Turner (PotC), Emma Swan (Once Upon a Time)

Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass Goku (Dragonball), Kenshin Himura (Ruruoni Kenshin), Spike Spiegel (Cowboy Bebop)

Shakespeare Urianger Arugelt (FFXIV), Didymis (Labyrinth), Shakespeare (Romeo x Juliet anime), Shakespeare (Fate Series)

Feel free to do w/e: @yloiseconeillants, @lilbittymonster, @hermits-hovel, @azure-dragonsinger, @mythandral, @abyssalmermaiden, @whatsthisascianbullshit, @sayonaramidnight, @tishinada, @janzoo

#smart and loyal is probably just my primordial self getting into media and picking favorites #cool dad is like characters who would normally get a regular ass crush but my asexual baby self just wanted a mentor #green girl is fairly self explanatory and part of why i have a hard time picking a mlp:fim blorbo #relatable scamp is also fairly self explanatory #adventure is basically dudes i daydreamed having adventures with #sexy supportive boyfriend is self explanatory #sentient animal is self explanatory #gender is self explanatory but each character has unique gender qualities #crouching moron hidden badass is a character who appears to be harmless but will prove otherwise #and shakespeare #well you know

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darerendevil · 4 months

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For archive purposes: October, 2012

A lean, slight, tousled figure in a sailor-striped T-shirt and buckle-back trousers, Cillian Murphy walks into an upscale Japanese restaurant in downtown Manhattan. As he says hello, sits down, and looks around the room with his extraordinary ultramarine blue eyes, I form my first impressions: kind, gentle, sensitive, good-humoured, with no visible traces of the villains, psychopaths and other tortured souls he has played so convincingly on stage and screen. He also looks a little weary, and there is good reason for this.

“I’ve had kind of a crazy week this week,” he says in a mellifluous Irish accent with a rich grainy timbre. “I was in the Ukraine for a film festival. I’ve been all over America promoting a film called Red Lights, which I’m in with Robert De Niro. Yesterday was The Dark Knight Rises premiere here in New York, and this afternoon we fly to London for the next premiere. It’s all part of the job, I suppose, but it’s certainly not the reason why you do it.”

The waiter arrives with water and menus, and after some study, Cillian (pronounced Killian) decides on a salad of shitakes and market greens, followed by the sashimi. “I’m a vegetarian who occasionally eats meat and fish,” he says. “I like a drink too, but I won’t just now. I’ll stick with water.” I order the Kobe beef and ask the waiter to bring out a glass of red wine with it.

Some actors enjoy talking about themselves and their films, and they do it well. Cillian does not count himself among them. “I’m getting less hung about it, but when I started, the whole promotion aspect was an ordeal to be endured,” he says. “I just don’t have a great facility for it. I try to be interesting and spontaneous but it’s so hard when you get asked the question fifty or a hundred times over. You hear your little anecdotes going stale. Yes, it was fantastic to work with Robert De Niro, but you can only say it so many times, you know? I’ve always thought, just judge me on the work. What else matters? I’m an actor and that’s what I do.”

There’s an assumption in the media that actors are all competing in the same horse race for A-list stardom, and that an actor like Cillian Murphy, who seems poised on the very brink of it, with the perfect combination of looks and talent, must surely be yearning to get there. Journalists find it hard to accept when he tells them that that the only thing he cares about is the work, and the rest of it is to be endured. But this is why he avoids celebrity parties and keeps himself out of the gossip pages. He attends his own premieres, because he has to, but he won’t go to anyone else’s and he dreads the four-minute television interview on the red carpet.

Off screen, he lives a quiet, normal life that he likes to keep as private as possible. He’s married to Yvonne McGuinness, a visual artist, and they’ve been together since he was 20. They have two sons, Malachy and Aran, and shuttle between their house in North West London and the ancestral sod of County Cork.

“I’ve always felt that the less the public knows about you, the more effective you can be when you go to portray someone else,” he says.“For actors to reveal so much about themselves, and allow their personal selves to be owned by the media and the public, I find at odds with trying to lose yourself in a character. And that’s the thing I’m after. That’s what drives me. I’m 36 now, and I still have a real hunger for it.”

He thinks the desire to perform for an audience is something genetic, a personality trait that lives in the DNA, and it first expressed itself in his youthful attempts to be a rock star.“Of all the arts, music is still the one that affects me on the deepest level,” he says. “My parents were teachers, not artistic types, but there was always music in the house, and all four of us kids learned to play music. I was in a few different bands, playing guitar, singing and songwriting.”

One of those bands was called The Sons of Mr Greengenes, after the Frank Zappa song. They were offered a five-album deal by Acid Jazz records, but turned it down, because the deal was a swindle and Cillian’s parents disapproved of the music business. At the same time, Cillian recognised that he’d reached the ceiling of his musical talent, and would never be as good as he wanted to be. He went to law school in Cork “for no good reason,” and then one day he wandered into a production of Clockwork Orange staged in local nightclub.

“If your first theatre experience is a bad one, it’s unlikely you’ll go back,” he says. “But my first theatre experience was an extraordinary one. It was dangerous and sexy and electric, and just astonishing. I’ll always love music, but here was another form of live performance, just as exciting.”He pestered the theatre company, and after some starter roles, he was cast in the lead of Disco Pigs, a strange and brilliant play by Enda Walsh about a sick, twisted, obsessive relationship between a deranged boy and a slightly less deranged girl next door. The play was a huge success, touring for several years, reaching as far afield as Toronto and Copenhagen, and in 2001 it was made into a film. Pale, beautiful and androgenous, with outsized lips and impossibly blue eyes, Cillian Murphy looks as though he drifted down to earth from some other galaxy, or floated up from a cave kingdom beneath the Irish Sea. This ethereal, otherworldly quality has been a great asset to him as an actor, and many of his films have taken place in imaginary realms or the future.

His big breakthrough came in 2002 when he was cast as the lead in Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later, and required to fight his way through a post-apocalyptic London full of zombies. He went to outer space in Boyle’s Sunshine, and Gotham City for Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, in which he plays the sinister psychologist Scarerow. Nolan cast him again in Inception, as the target man for Leonardo DiCaprio’s team of dream-jackers.He’s also played a transvestite for Neil Jordan in Breakfast On Pluto, a creepy villain for Wes Craven in Red Eye, and a reluctant freedom fighter turned zealot for Ken Loach in The Wind Shakes The Barley, an epic about the Irish war of independence set in his native Cork. In all, he’s done 26 feature films, and while some of them haven’t turned out as well as he hoped, there are no bad or stupid films in his biography.

“You have to go in with good faith, and believe that this is best performance you’re ever going to give,” he says. “I’ve never done a film I didn’t believe in. I’ve never done a film for the money. Fortunately, I’ve been in some big budget films that were smart, and the money has given me the freedom to do small budget films and theatre that I’ve felt passionately about. An example is this movie Broken, which is a kind of version of To Kill A Mockingbird transposed to contemporary London. It’s a tiny, tiny budget film, and I’m just so proud of it. It’s such an emotionally brave piece of film-making.”Another example is Misterman, a one-man play that he performed earlier this year in Ireland, Brooklyn and London. Written by Enda Walsh, who got him started in Disco Pigs, and has become a close friend, it required him to play seven different characters imagined by the main character, and earned him the best reviews of his entire career. “It was incredibly exhausting and incredibly satisfying. Sometimes I was doing two performances a day. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired, or so happy. It was very pure. It was all about the work. The commerce aspect was tiny, compared to when you make a film, and there was none of the waiting around.”

The waiter sets down two beautifully presented plates, one of sashimi and one of beef, and pours me a particularly delicious glass of Bordeaux. Seeing the expression of delight on my face when I taste the wine, Cillian says, “You know what? I’ll have a glass as well then. I do like my red wine.” Then the conversation collapses into silence, grunts,and occasional exclamations, as our chopsticks deliver one morsel of culinary artistry after another into our mouths. This restaurant, 15 East, was recently named one of the best in New York, and for both of us, it’s one of the best meals of our lives. “Absolutely sensational,” says Cillian, who is finding no problem at all drinking red wine with sushi.

When the plates are empty, I ask him what it feels like to become a character. Is it a genuine transformation, or it just a matter of dressing up and pretending to be someone else? “It’s not always the same,” he says. “Some characters are just a slight adjustment, and some are a great distance away from you. I like to do research. I was playing a professional debunker in this movie Red Lights about the supernatural, so I went and hung out with physicists and professional sceptics and magicians, to understand that community. Actors tend to know a lot superficially about a great deal of things.”

I press him again: what does it feel like when you’re in character? “It’s most satisfying on the stage,” he says. “If it reaches the point of being transcendent, where you’re not actually conscious of being on stage performing, because you’re only aware of the character and his world and his needs, well, that’s what you’re always aiming for, that’s the moment that theatre people are always chasing. It’s the ultimate rush, if you will, for an actor, when the self disappears completely.”

One glass of Bordeaux leads to another. The waiter asks if we want dessert, and Cillian says no thanks, and I order something called a Shiratama parfait of red beans, matcha jelly and green tea ice cream.When it arrives, it is multi-coloured and visually spectacular with many more ingredients, and Cillian says, “Wow, look at that. My goodness, I might have to get a spoon of that.”

We both dig in, exploring an extraordinary combination of flavours and textures, with gums, jellies, brioche, red bean paste and more. “Oh man, what’s that green stuff?” he says, mining the lower layers now. “I have no idea what that is. It’s got that gummy vibe going on again. Fecking amazing.”

With a drop more wine, Cillian gets talking with great enthusiasm about books and music. Have I read the Irish writer John Banville, one of his favourites? Do I know the seminal jazz album Bill Evans Live At the Village Vanguard? Cillian found it recently on vinyl, being a great admirer of Bill Evan’s understated piano playing, and firmly convinced that vinyl is still the best way to listen to music. He loves Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, Van Morrison, Jack White, and the Irish writers Pat McCabe, Sebastian Barry and the late, great, mindbending Flann O’Brien. Cillian is signed up for the film version of O’Brien’s satirical postmodern comedy At-Swim-Two-Birds, along with Gabriel Byrne, Colin Farrell and Michael Fassbender, and he hopes it will go into production soon.

“I’m also hoping to do some telly,” he says. “The smart mid-budget movie, which has been my bread and butter, has been squeezed out quite a bit. People are very reluctant to take a chance on a smart $17 million movie. They’d much rather throw everything into a dumb $250 million movie. But you don’t find that in TV where the writing just gets better and better, and you’ve the opportunity to develop a character over many hours.”

When you’re interviewing an actor, it’s always difficult to know if you’re witnessing a performance or the real person, but I get the distinct impression that Cillian Murphy is not only a nice guy, but maybe even happy and fulfilled. Is this true? “Well, the insecurity is always there,” he says. “It’s a necessary aspect of being an actor, or a writer for that matter. You have to have that insecurity. I used to feel like a failed musician pretending to be an actor, but that’s less of a worry now. I’ve found my form, I’ve found the right outlet for my impulse to create, and yes, I’m pretty happy. I don’t believe you have to be a tortured person in order to make great art. It needn’t always come from a place of pain, although there seems to be a romantic view of that.”

When he was a boy, all he wanted to do was hang around with artists and creative people, but he was stuck in a school in Cork where rugby and academia were the only things people seemed to care about. “Now, weirdly, I’ve found myself in a position where all my friends are artists. It’s a good place to be, I think, and that’s a real source of happiness, especially when we collaborate on stuff.”His ambitions for the future are very simple. In theatre, film or television, in collaboration with the best writers and directors, he wants to make great art, and keep on making it. “I can’t remember which director said it, but he said it takes 30 years to make a good actor,” he says.

“Longevity matters. I’m 16 years in, just over the hump, and when I’m 50 I should know if I’ve mastered my trade, or failed gloriously.”When the dessert and Bordeaux are finished, I ask for the bill, and the waiter brings it with two complementary glasses of dessert wine and a tray of petit fours. “I’m a big fan of your work,” he says to Cillian.

“I’m a big fan of your restaurant,” says Cillian. “How fantastic. What a meal. I wish all interviews could be like this.”As we walk out pleasantly buzzed into the bright furnace of a New York summer afternoon, I notice that Cillian doesn’t appear to have a mobile phone. “I left it in a taxi yesterday,” he says.

“Within half an hour, someone had called my wife and made arrangements to return it. I’m going to pick it up now before I go to the airport. It gives you faith, man. My publicist has lost two wallets and a phone here, and gotten them all back, with none of the money missing. It’s not something people expect from New York, but there you have it.”

Then I see the waiter from 15 East running down the street towards us, and I wonder if he’s going to ask Cillian for an autograph. But no, by odd coincidence, the waiter is holding my mobile phone, which I must have left in the restaurant. “You see what I mean?” says Cillian. “It gives you faith. Alright, best of luck, and I’ll be off now.”

#Cillian Murphy #Interview

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exhaustedpirate · 10 months

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only because I have an issue with Zeus in Once Upon a Time, I wanted Persephone instead ( I was trying to incorporate her with the Hades we were given - I love the Hades/Persephone ship but it wouldn't have worked out in the OUAT universe ) rated G | 1287 words also on AO3

The light was blinding. He welcomed it - he was moving on, no more fights, no more pain.

No more more.

"Welcome, Killian Jones."

A soft voice echoed through the empty white room. He thought it was all over, the light was supposed to be the end. Why was he facing a stranger? Why wasn’t it over?

"Who are you?"

"My name is Persephone, I'm here to guide you."

For all the stories he didn't hear of Hades, he knew of Persephone fairly well. Her name was whispered in prayers through the sailors when the weather roughened. She was said to be kind, to welcome them into a peaceful resting place.

Her long brown hair fell by her waist, a soft purple gown fell down to her feet, her dark skin contrasting the whiteness of the room. A kind smile, soft eyes - perhaps the sailors were right.

"Guide me?"

"It is my duty to welcome everyone who makes their way into the light, guide them on their way beyond. You, however, are headed somewhere different."

For a moment, he wondered if he was wrong. If he was in fact doomed to burn for eternity, his actions while living too vile for his redemption to matter. He wondered if, even after death, he wouldn't see Emma again.

A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his spinning thoughts. Her understanding smile welcomed him, reassurance in her eyes.

"Calm yourself, Killian Jones, the path ahead of you is bright." Her hand falls away from his shoulder, clasping both in front of her. "I am here to reward you for your heroic actions, in life and even in death."

He had done good deeds, he knew, - that was what heroes did, afterall - but there was clear surprise in his face at the idea that a goddess would think the same. She seemed aware of his shock and laughed, a musical laughter that brightened and lightened your heart even as he stuttered his protest.

"I am no hero, your Highness."

Persephone blushed at the title. She shook her head with a chuckle.

"If that were true, I would not be here." She held out her hand, willing him to take it. "Come."

How could he not? Killian held her hand, following as she pulled.

They could have been walking for hours, minutes, seconds, he wasn't sure. The room seemed to elongate, never ending, never starting, just light, white and bright.

"I have heard much about you, your Highness, but never about this occupation of yours."

If he hadn’t been looking at her, he wouldn’t have seen the flash of sadness in her eyes. He could hit himself for causing such a reaction. When her eyes found him, there was resignation, a soft smile on her lips.

"I loved a man, I believe I still do, despite it all. Hades had been much different than he turned out to be." Killian tried to control his surprise at hearing of her romance with the demon who tortured him for days on end. He focused on her words. "I tried to fight back, I tried to escape. When I did, he trapped me here, leading souls just as yours beyond while I stay here, forever." His hand tightened around hers and she smiled, sadness pushed back as a spark of determination filled her dark eyes. His heart stuttered - how many times had he seen the same happening on green eyes?

"Not to worry, Killian Jones, I am filled with happiness to be able to bring you and everyone before and after to where they belong."

Reassured, his mind flashes with images of his loved one, head jerking at attention.

"Does that mean… you've seen my brother? And my mother?"

Persephone smiles, a brilliant smile of memories, and nods.

"Yes and yes. They've both trekked this path before you. Your mother spoke very highly of you and your brother, telling me stories upon stories of your mischief and love."

Killian couldn't help but blush at the implications, knowing that he had been less than angelic in his youth. Persephone laughed.

"I'm sure she will be expecting you once you do reach her, and so will your brother."

That thought sobered him. He could see his family again, he could be a family again.

"And Milah?"

That thought brought a frown to the goddess' face and his heart stuttered.

"Unfortunately, the River of Lost Souls is not part of my dominion."

"So, she's gone?"

"I'm afraid so." Her other hand joins their locked hands in a reassuring gesture.

They stay in silence, walking in tandem, hands interlocked.

It seems like no time after that they find themselves face to face with a door. A dark door contrasting the room they're in. They stop.

"This is where you leave, Killian Jones. Once you walk through this door, you'll be taken to where you belong." Her smile is serene as they turn to each other.

"Will I be able to see my family again then?"

"That is up to you." Killian frowns, confused. "Listen to your heart." Her hand lays flat on his chest, right above his fast beating heart. “It will take you where you belong.”

"And you?"

His question seems to surprise her and her laughter shows it.

"There is no one more deserving than you, Killian Jones." She says with a bright smile as both her hands cup his cheeks, stopping him from looking away even as his cheeks tinge red. "Worry not, this is my duty, I will be alright."

Killian is ready to protest when the kiss the goddess lays on his forehead silences him. Even as a bitter taste coats his tongue, he nods.

"Go on, your happy ending awaits you." Persephone says as she nods and urges him towards the door.

"Thank you, your Highness."

With a bow and an answering smile, Killian turns the knob on the door and walks through.

Images of his childhood, of his mother's voice, of his brother's scolding when one of his pranks went wrong, of the smell of pastries and the laughter of three flour-covered people, flood his brain. How he misses them.

And then, green eyes, blonde hair, soft kisses and passionate kisses. He sees her smiles, so rarely given before, more and more constant as she let her walls down, as she let him bring her walls down. He sees the brown-haired boy's laughter, the boy who looks so much like the people he loved.

He will never watch him grow. He will never see her smile again. He will never embrace them. He will never kiss her. He will never watch them laugh. He will never feel their love again.

His nostalgia for a past gone by, a past he lived through, a past that he will always remember fondly, is nothing to the yearning of a future he will never see happen, a future he won't witness.

His heart calls for them, for the Swan and her boy.

Killian finds himself in a graveyard, confused as to how it would be possible. His name is etched in the stone. He looks around, looking for answers. How is it that the beyond looks so much like Storybrooke?

And then he sees her.

Walking slowly, head down, her blonde hair swaying limply - the vision of mourning. Could it be?

"Swan?" He calls out.

And then she turns. Any pain, any suffering, any heartbreak is worth it. To see her face, to see her smile of recognition, to watch her run to him. To embrace her tight in his arms, her heart beating in sync with his.

And all he can do is thank her. Thank her for taking him where he belongs.

#carolina writes #ouat fic #ouat ff #cs fic #cs ff #captain hook #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time #captainswan #persephone

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laylaswriting · 1 year

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Bloodstream Chapter IX. - Pirate

MASTERPOST | Ao3 | Wattpad Title: Bloodstream Chapter IX. - Pirate Pairing: Killian Jones x fem!reader Word count: 1.6k Warnings: none Tags: drama, angst, mutual pining/tension Synopsis: Hook confronts reader about last night's events. A/N: I'm sorry I made you guys wait for so long. I got very insecure about this story and was not sure if I'll even publish the updates. The story will follow reader's story more in the future episodes and will include more backstory, so I'm sorry if that's not your cup of tea. I hope you'll still enjoy ❤

The next morning, she woke up with a terrible headache, like thousands of hammers were banging on her brain at the same time. She slowly blinked her eyes open to see her crewmates still sound asleep. It was still fairly dark; the sun didn’t rise above the horizon yet.

She decided to take a breath of fresh air, hoping it would ease the unpleasant feeling of being hangover for the first time in her life. She slowly walked onto the deck where she could only see Mr. Smee at the wheel. She nodded his way and he mirrored the gesture but they didn’t speak a word.

The chilly morning breeze caused a shiver to run down her spine as she stepped to the railing of the Jolly Roger, looking out at the seemingly endless sea. The first rays of sunshine shimmered on the water’s surface, painting the dark blue ocean in all shades of red and orange.

She heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the deck, coming from the captain’s cabin. She didn’t turn for a second – her feelings were all so mixed in her head. She wanted to confront him, to ask him all the questions she had in her mind. She wanted to earn some kind of reaction out of him. But after a short while she turned towards the sound of the voice, straightening her back before she spoke.

“Good morning, Captain.”

“Morning sailor” he replied with no emotion on his face. She mirrored his expression. “Don’t you have tasks to take care of?”

She opened and closed her mouth before she replied with a nod, averting her gaze from him.

“Then I recommend you get to them if you want to stay on the ship.” Without anything else left to say, he headed towards the quarterdeck to take the wheel from Mr. Smee, who then started with his daily tasks. His words cut through her skin and straight to her heart.

She headed down to the small kitchen area and started to organize the things in there. She kept stock of all the food they had – therefore she knew they had to stop by somewhere to get more supplies soon. Their food wasn’t going to last much longer.

That knowledge and his words from this morning settled in her brain and the fear of being abandoned in a random town made her worry grow by the moment. Would he really do that?

That night on the quarterdeck he said he wouldn’t just toss her out from the crew. But what if he changed his mind? What if she really was more of a burden than a useful addition to the crew? The thoughts in her head were so loud she didn’t even notice that Ribs entered the small kitchen only when his huge hands landed on her back in a gentle pat. At least he meant it to be gentle.

“You’re early, little man! Couldn’t sleep again?”

“You know it” she replied with a sad smile. He smiled back at her and grabbed the biggest pot off the ground. They didn’t speak much after that, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was a comfortable, warm silence between friends where they felt good in each other’s company without the need to say anything.

The days went by mostly the same – she thought. It was strange, the thrill and excitement of life as a sailor - a pirate -, washed away by the monotone daily tasks on the ship. She didn’t mind it per se, it just felt odd to think about how “normal” as a concept can change for a person so fast.

Chatter and the sound of footsteps filled the air as everyone else was getting up after a long night out and started to perform their duties. She said hi to James who also was battling a violent headache after one too many sips of rum last night. She chuckled and helped her friend out. Mr. Smee and the Captain were barking orders left and right at the crew, they needed to change directions and align the sails.

As she was pulling on the rope, she suddenly felt a hand wrap around her own and pulled with her. For a second, she didn’t register who it belonged to but after she saw the rings on his finger and his black shirt, her heart skipped a beat.

“I want to talk to you” he said in a low voice. She only replied with a nod and after she fastened the rope to its spot she followed after him into his cabin. Her heart stammered against her ribcage as she sluggishly moved towards the cabin. She hasn’t stepped a foot in there since that night.

It looked and felt the same, the smell of old parchment, paper and leather filled her nose as she stood against the door. He was looking at a map on the table, but she knew he wasn’t really paying attention to that. Nobody said a word for what felt like eternity.

“Look, I-“ she started, not knowing exactly what to say but he interrupted her.

“That song. You said your mother taught it to you?” He looked up from the map and she felt his eyes pierce through her soul. Lately she didn’t afford the luxury to make long eye contact with him, because every time she did her heart dropped into her stomach and this time was no exception.

“Well, she didn’t teach me. She just sang it to me when I couldn’t fall asleep as a child. I was very small when she died” she said, making a pause and swallowing hard to keep her tears at bay. “It’s one of my only memories of her.” There was a moment of silence after her reply, Hook just stood next to the table and stared at it.

“How did she meet your father?”

“What’s going on?” She asked and crossed her arms. Hook mirrored the gesture as he looked at her without saying anything for a moment. This whole scene was so strange – she thought. What was going on with him?

“Your mother. Was she a sailor? Your grandfather maybe? Where did she learn this song?”

“What? No. My mother, she lived all her life in our town.” Her heartbeat fastened at the implications behind his question. She got more confused by the second and just wanted answers about all this. What was so special about this song? “She could’ve heard it from some travelers.”

“That’s very unlikely.” He shook his head. “Your father lived there all his life as well?”

“Yes.” Her patience was growing thinner by the second.

“Maybe he lied.”

“What are you implying?!” She snapped, putting her arms on her hips while her eyes were throwing daggers at Hook. “That my father is a liar? That my mother was a pirate?! Because of one song?” She almost spat the word pirate, which made him close the gap between them with huge leaps and the next thing she knew was his arm next to her head, his body almost flushed against hers.

“Now-now, is being a pirate so bad?” He sneered, raising his hook next to her head. She felt her hand tremble and she wasn’t sure if it was because she was scared or because his presence made her head spin. “The lady didn’t seem to mind all this time, freeloading on my ship, eating my food, sleeping in my bed!”

His voice was roaring and it echoed back from the walls. He put his hook under her chin and lifted her head to match his gaze. His eyes were piercing into hers and she wanted to avert her look but she couldn’t. She was so angry at him – but she was also scared. Scared of being alone, losing her family once again. Losing him forever. No matter how angry she was at him or how distant he was, in the back of her mind she knew she wanted him close.

“That is not what I meant” she breathed as her heartbeat rose to the skies above.

“I’m sure you didn’t, love. If it’s so awful for you here, feel free to hop off next town. Shouldn’t be more than a few days.” He stepped away from her and opened the door of his cabin, signaling for her to leave. She swallowed the lump in her throat and headed to the deck with quick steps. Some curious sets of eyes were glued to her, but she paid no attention to them. She felt nauseous from the events that just unfolded, tears prickling her eyes from being so overwhelmed with emotion.

She stood next to James and leaned against the railing, gripping it so hard her knuckles turned white.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he put one of his hands on her shoulder.

“Splendid” she replied when they heard a voice coming from the quarterdeck. It was Hook.

“Get to work lads, we are headed towards a port at full sails! If all goes well, we should arrive in a day or two!” He gestured at the crew with his good arm and put his hook on his belt. His eyes scanned the deck and they lingered on her, his gaze piercing through her skull. James squeezed her shoulder and she averted her gaze.

The captain then left the quarterdeck and went back to the cabin, slamming its door behind him. She let out a shaky breath then went back to her duties. She was preparing to say goodbye to her friends once they hit the shore.

#killian jones #captain hook #fanfiction #ff #series #killian jones x reader #captain hook x reader #killian x reader #hook x reader #angst #drama #mystery #romance #slow burn #x reader #imagine #fanfic

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pheita · 9 months

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Sea of Memories, Sea of Chances

So you wanna hear a story? Buy me a grog and listen, sailor. You wanna be a pirate, aye? Think it’s a big adventure? I tell you, it can be more than this. Ever heard of the Red Demon? Aye? The queen of the pirates. Feared by redskirts and our kind alike. Aye, that’s her. So come closer, and keep your mouth shut. I will tell you about how she met the Blue-Eyed Charmer and became what she is today. You wonder how I know this? Ah, mate, you are a smart kid, I see. I was her skipper. The Singing Siren was my baby. Nothing could beat her or our captain. Aye, that’s not completely true. One thing could beat her. Old Silver-Eye Will’s damned treasure. This old bastard really knew how to get her. Ah, you heard of his treasure. Of course, you did. Every damn pirate on the seven seas knew about it, but it is not what you think. It’s not gold and jewels. That’s what she and this damned charmer got. I admit he is good for her. Treats her better than any other man. Nah, don’t look at me like this. Look around, what do you see? That’s everything this damned charmer wasn’t. Sometimes I doubted he was even a pirate. His heart was too soft, but so was hers. You want to know what happened to the Siren? Oh, that’s easy, mate. Her daughter guides her now through the seas, defeating old Poseidon’s moods like no other. I tell you, mate, the biggest treasure is family. That’s what old Will left us. Aye, he did, this old bastard.

Genre: Historic Fantasy, Romance

Age-group: Adult Hookline: What is the biggest treasure of a pirate?

Warnings: alcohol, violence, mentions of slavery, consensual sex

Summary: Killian McInnis, a pirate captain with a certain reputation, sets his sails to find the treasure his old mentor Silver-Eye Will left behind when he died. But he isn’t the only one. Becca Darkwaters, a female pirate captain feared by marine and pirates alike, also sets her eyes on this treasure. They join forces after they realize both have only a half of the information and half a treasure is still better than no treasure, but a stubborn Commodore and the mutiny of Killian’s skipper forces them to work together for real. Time on the sea shines a light on their pasts and their future, along with some secrets. When they find the treasure, it is nothing they expected.

Themes: found family, loyalty, friendship, surviving

#writblr #writing #intro post #sea of memories sea of chances #somsoc #historical fiction #pirates #romance

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pirateswhore · 8 months

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Her White Wolf - Chapter II

With Rumple gone, Belle is left to pick up the pieces on her own. Could a certain wolf help mend her heart? Mid season 4 AU (aka giving Belle the brain cells she needs and resolving my first queer disappointment on the show).

thank you @xarandomdreamx for being a lovely beta !

for - @caliburn-the-sword

Chapter II published on ao3:

Chapter II - Somebody to Someone.

"Killian?" She called out into the library.

"Over here, Belle." His voice echoed from somewhere between the shelves, and she followed it the best she could. He was leaning over a desk in the back corner of the library, hook trailing the lines of text before him. They had made little progress in their research, but each dead end seemed to only spur him on.

She stood a few feet from him, twiddling her thumbs. "Can I ask you something?"

"You may, ask away." His eyes were still fixed on the book, and his voice sounded somewhat absent-minded.

"Let's go out tonight."

His eyebrows shot up and his pupils widened. He turned to her, confusion plastered on his face.

"Not on a date. Just for drinks. As friends. I could use a distraction."

He held her gaze for a moment, and it made her want to take it back, thinking she had misjudged their relationship. But then a wide smiled beamed across his features and his face lit up, eyes crinkling as he closed the book.

"I'd love to! Shall we lock up for tonight?"

She nodded and went through her usual routine for closing the library as Killian set their research away. After half an hour, they were walking down main street. They met with Emma momentarily, just so Killian could wish her goodnight, and as she got in her bug to drive away, he turned to Belle.

"So, Granny's?"

She shook her head. "No. Rabbit Hole, I want something harder than sodas." He chuckled and they made their way to the bar. Belle wasn't a regular patron of such establishments as she didn't really have friends, Rumple was not the type and she felt stupid going on her own. They sat down in a booth towards the back, close to the darts station. He ordered rum and she followed, unsure of what other drinks there were.

The conversations were light and comfortable at first, mostly chit-chat and the occasional comments about the weather and their work. Eventually, Killian took the drink from her - her 3rd for the night - and spoke.

"Belle, your drinking could rival the hardiest of sailors. What are you trying to drink away, love?"

There was an honest worry in his eyes that made her wince. She wasn't used to people being so in-tune with her feelings and caring. Rumple often came off as tone-deaf, not noticing a change in mood until she brought something up. Her head dropped to the side and she didn't know how to answer.

"Rumple, I guess." She finally said.

"Oh, Belle..." he reached out for her hand and squeezed it, encouraging her to open up.

"It's just. Now that he's gone, and I was forced to face the truth, I'm realising just how blind I was. Our relationship was horrible, and I should've left long ago."

"Love makes us see the best in people, and then amplifies it. It's an honourable thing, having faith in people."

"Yea, yea. Much good my faith brought me." She turned to him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her voice cracked. "I wish I could take it back. I wish I'd never been with him."

"But then you may not be the person you are today. Your love for him changed you, and helped get you here. Now, I understand your current standing may not be favourable, but there's no reason you can't move on, in whichever direction you want to go."

She nodded, trying her best not to fall apart completely. She still had some shred of dignity to her name. "I guess."

His thumb brushed over her knuckles and they fell silent. He didn't push the conversation, didn't coerce her to say more than she was willing to. She'd noticed he did that a lot, letting others take the lead. He respected their boundaries, offering his support from the side, never forcing it on anyone. She appreciated that, being given a choice.

"I'm jealous of you and Emma." She finally admitted. "Not because I want to be with you, but because I want what you have together."

He sat back, brows brought together. She shifted in her seat, trying to find the words for what she wanted to say. She took a deep breath and started.

"These past couple of weeks, I’ve had the chance to reflect on Rumple’s and my relationship. Simultaneously, I also had a look at your relationship with Emma. It made me realise how similar yet different they are, and how alike you and Rumple are." He opened his mouth in protest, most likely over being compared to his worst enemy, but Belle pushed forth. "You both have your demons. You've both lived long lives filled with darkness and misdeeds. And you both met women who were willing to help you change. Where you differ is that you actually changed, Killian. You took your life and future in your hands, er - hand and hook, and you pushed yourself to be better. You admitted to what you did, and you never tried to hide it. You let Emma help you, but you don't make her do all the work. She's simply there to remind you of what you're fighting for."

His shoulders relaxed and his mouth fell open as he struggled to reply. Still, she continued.

"Rumple never did any of that. He lied, he manipulated me and others, and he expected love and happiness to fall into his lap with no effort. You gave away your most prized possession for the chance of seeing Emma again. Rumple wouldn't let go of the magic even when I begged him to."

Her voice faltered at the last words and they came out as a whimper. Killian reached for her, but Belle shook her head and carried on.

"You love Emma more than anything, that much is clear. You would do anything for her, she's your whole world. I just wish someone would love me the same."

She couldn't stop the tears anymore, hot wet streams spilling down her cheeks.

"I just want to be somebody to someone." She sniffled. Killian sat silently for a couple of moments, letting her words settle for him. This must have been weighing heavily on her heart, and he knew he'd have to be careful with how he responded. He scooted over in the booth, so that he was sitting next to her. His arm came around her, the other's hand tilting her head up to him.

"For what it's worth, you're somebody to me. You're my friend. And you deserve to find someone who will love you as much as I love Emma. And you will, I'm certain of that."

She smiled and settled her head on his shoulder. A sigh escaped her chest - half hopeful, half sorrowful.

"What do you say we ditch the bar and their watered-down rum, and go somewhere better?"

"What do you have in mind?"

He opened up his jacket and tapped the flask tucked away in an inside pocket. A devious smirk flashed across his face. "The docks are always an option."

They gathered their stuff and made their leave. He handled the bill and held her coat for her, muttering "Always a gentleman," and winking at her.

The air outside was cold, biting at her skin. The alcohol buzzed through her veins and made her warm on the inside. The walk from the bar to the docks was short, and once there, they sat down on a bench overlooking the ocean. He handed her the flask and they took turns sipping from it, slipping back into pleasant conversations. After a while, she sighed, eyes fixated on the horizon.

"Do you miss it?" He turned to her, a quizzical look in his eyes. "The sea, travelling. Being able to go where you want and having the world laid out in front of you.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. "Aye, sometimes. But I'm more than happy to settle here, in town."

"With Emma?"

"Hopefully. If she'll have me."

Belle closed her eyes, letting the sea air breeze over her cheeks and cool her skin.

"I've always wanted to see the world. Visit the places I read about in my books." She said after a while.

"I'd gladly take you if I had my ship."

She turned to him, and saw sincerity in his eyes. "Killian? Whatever happened to the Jolly? Who did you trade with, where is she now?"

"Traded her for a magic bean. Some merchant in a market that dealt with magical artefacts. I don't know what he did to her. She's worth quite a lot as a ship, but the wood she's made of is Enchanted, and would fetch a fair sum if dismantled." The idea of his ship being sold in scraps twisted his face in a disgusted expression. Belle reached out and held his hand.

"Maybe, after we figure out how to open the hat, we could try and get her back? I know there are some retrieval spells."

A hopeful smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Aye?"

"Aye," she echoed.

"I'd be forever grateful for that, Belle. And then we could sail anywhere, with Emma and Henry." His eyebrows wiggled across his forehead. "And possibly a special someone of yours?"

She scoffed and leaned back into the bench. "As if. Finding someone in this town that doesn't see me as "The Dark One's ex-wife will be a challenge." Her head shook as she laughed, curls bouncing over her shoulders.

"What about that wolf-lass, Ruby?"

She stiffened at the mention of her. She tried her best to play dumb, and hoped the blush on her cheeks could be attributed to the rum. "What about Ruby?"

"I'm not dull, love. I've noticed you only order take-out when she's the only one delivering it; all the other times you pick it up in person. You've been a regular at Granny's, and I have a suspicion it's not for the donuts."

Belle couldn't deny it; she did try her best to visit Granny's as often as possible, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ruby. Ever since their conversation in the library, she found her thoughts flicking to Ruby repeatedly.

Killian poked her with his hook gently. "You've got a crush on her, don't you!" He laughed, and Belle did too.

"We have a history."

"Oh! Marvellous!"

"She helped me in the past, to get away from Rumple before. And then when the town hunted her down for something she didn't do, she came to me for refuge."

"Why don't you tell her? She's obviously fond of you. Don't think your sneaking glances went unnoticed, I'm quite the perceptive pirate."

"I can't. It's complicated."

"Love often is. Doesn't mean it's not worth the risk."

Belle shook her head, wincing. "It's not that, it's... What will people think?"

He blinked in confusion. "I don't think anyone would judge you for moving on so soon."

"Killian..." She gave him a pained look. "We're both women."

"I'm aware."

"Not everyone is supportive of that. I know my father isn't, and I don't know how Granny would feel."

His brows furrowed and his jaw clenched. "I was under the impression this realm was more progressive."

"For the most part, yes. But the people in this town are from the Enchanted Forest, and it was still looked down upon there. At least in my father's kingdom."

His fingers tapped the bench as he searched for a solution. "I'll stab whoever has an issue with it."

"Killian!" She jumped and smacked his shoulder, snickering playfully. He chuckled along but then turned to her again.

"Belle, listen to me. You spent your whole life worrying about other people. Don't you think it's high time you worry about yourself and your happiness?" He said earnestly, deep blue eyes boring into hers.

She thought about his words, eyes drifting back to the sea. "I don't even know if she feels the same way."

"That can be found out."

She shook her head and smiled. The thought of Ruby made her happy, and the thought of them together didn't scare her as much as she thought it would. Ruby did say she was there for her, and a small part of Belle hoped there was a chance for something more than friendship between them.

"We'll see. For now, pass the rum."

~~~~~~~

She felt herself being lowered into a bed, arms twisting from underneath her. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Killian stepping away.

"Hey."

"Hey. You fell asleep at the docks."

"I did?" she sat up slightly, rubbing her eyes.

"Aye. Didn't know you were a sleepy drunk." He chuckled. She was too sleepy and buzzed to fight him on it, and fell back onto the sheets.

"I took the liberty of taking you home. Can't leave a lady sleeping on a bench in my care. Hope you don't mind?"

"Uh-huh," she hummed, "Thanks." She reached down and undid the clasps on her high heels, and kicked them off. He picked them up and set them by the bedroom door.

"I bought you a mineral water for the hangover, it's on the nightstand. You’ve got a bucket on the left side. Call if you need anything."

"Bottah of wotah." She mocked in a fake accent and giggled. He rolled his eyes but chuckled along. "Thanks." She grumbled from beneath the sheets. "Nightie."

"Goodnight Belle."

He took his leave and she could hear her apartment door open and close before she slipped off to dreamland.

#chantecler writing #ouat fanfiction #red beauty #ruby x belle #ouat #ruby lucas #belle french

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n4kama · 5 months

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"Heave! Ho!. Til first light. She'll give a fight to all who try to claim The Shadow" Harry sang softly as he sat on the figurehead of the Going Merry, watching the darkness of the horizon as they sailed onwards to their next adventure "None can tame the one the sailors call The Shadow"

Gil frowned lightly from where he stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes focused on his best friend sadly but he could easily spot the green hair of the man Harry loved.

"A mighty tempest grew. The banshee cried 'Turn back!' but our resolve was true."

"I'm not sure if it'll be a good idea for you to go up there" Gil warned Zoro in an almost whisper, his eyes still not moving from Harry even when he spotted Luffy and Sanji inching closer to listen to Harry as he continued to sing softly. His friend was probably unaware of the fact that his voice was being carried along the winds so that they could hear him "This was his momma's song, as weird as it sounds, Uncle Killian says she would sing it while she was pregnant... he only ever sings this when something is wrong but no one can ever get him to open up... not even his Pa"

"We pointed bow ahead and shouted, 'We’ll break through!'. The jaws of hell can't hold us back" Luffy and Sanji shared a sad look when they caught Harry's voice breaking slightly when singing about hell not holding them back.

[ @3katanas hope it's okay that I give our boys some soft angst ]

#[harry hook]#to sail the blue [3katanas]#3katanas #[Gil LeGume]#The song won't leave me alone...#Harry was determined #but then it turned out to be more angsty than cute...

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piraterefrigerator · 10 months

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It lives absolutely rent free in my mind that Killian Jones, who has lived 200 years on a diet of sailor food and hardly anything else, thought baloney was disgusting and no other brig he'd been in throughout all of his pirate days was as barbaric as baloney

#killian jones

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 1 year

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In The Lonely Hour (1/10)

A03 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Summary: A collection of canon-compliant(ish) one-shots that provide glimpses of Killian's life based on the album "In the Lonely Hour" by Sam Smith.

Mind on My Money After turning his back on a corrupt king, Killian finds purpose in piracy.

“We'll sail under the crimson flag and give our enemies no quarter.”

Cheers rose from the men - there was far more money to be had in piracy and, apparently, more honour. Killian marched toward the helm, exuding confidence and daring any man to entertain a moment’s fantasy of mutinying against his command. It seemed the cheers were earnest in their support of his command and his newest career path for the former soldiers.

He expected some of the men to hesitate when he proclaimed that they fly the crimson flag rather than a black flag. But, it seemed the senseless loss of their beloved former captain had hardened their hearts as effectively as it had his. He felt the heavy, lifeless body of his brother in his arms, still warm even as his eyes dimmed without the presence of Liam behind them any longer. Anger filled him as he pushed away the intrusive memory, that had stolen his breath and made his hands sweat so that he had to tighten his hold on the ship’s wheel. He welcomed the anger, it made him feel stronger than the desolate despair that had previously encompassed him.

For months, the anger gave him purpose. It fuelled him, empowered him, and drove him in his tireless campaign against the King's navy. His reckless actions and calm leadership in battles painted a brutal reputation that his men boasted about at every port after they had a few too many, but well-earned, pints.

As he watched a heavily-burdened frigate on the horizon try to change course at the sight of his ship, Captain Jones smiled in anticipation of the chase and battle to come. Killian felt a glimmer of warmth - was that pride? - in his chest that his deeds had the best captains of the King’s armada fleeing whenever they caught a flicker of a crimson red flag or navy hull in their spy glasses.

“Raise the crimson, boys!” Killian’s smile was near feral, adrenaline blazing through his body as he steered the Jolly Roger to intercept the naval ship. The sharp clip of orders, the rumble of cannons being rolled into position, and the excited shouts of his crew as they caught up with the Anthem of the Realm rose from the deck and fed the fire in his veins. He never felt more alive than he did in these quiet moments right before…

BOOM!

The crack of wood splintering was met with cheers as the Jolly’s cannon hit her mark. Water splashed onto the deck as the Anthem’s answering cannon fire fell short. Killian gave the wheel to Mr Starkey and jumped down to join his men on the deck. As the sea began beating at the hull, the waters angry by the disturbance caused by the battling ships, he took his place to lead the boarding party as his first mate brought them closer to the pride of the royal navy.

The steady thud of heavy grappling hooks hitting and scraping along the deck made Killian smile. The navy was coming to them. It would be an easier fight if they didn’t have to traverse to the other ship. The Jolly groaned in protest as the boarding lines pulled her toward the larger ship, but her crew held off the sailors as they attempted to cross by cutlass and arrow.

The waters were as crimson as the flag he flew by the time he stood on the deck of the Anthem, her captain trembling at the end of his blade. The captain had been found locked in his quarters, tucked safely away, while his men died around him. His words were desperate words that Killian had heard countless times, “There are chests of gold below deck. I can lead you to them. Please, will you spare me?”

“We’ve relieved the ship of her burdens before finding you cowering beneath your bed, Captain.”

He returned to the Jolly Roger, her hull lower in the water with the pilfered jewels, gold, food, and barrels of fine rum. He cut the lines holding her to the Anthem. Starkey was already pulling the Jolly away from her latest victim. He watched with a satisfied smile as the finest ship in the King’s navy and the last stronghold the king held over these seas sank to the seafloor, taking her craven captain down with her.

The sunset filled the sky with brilliant oranges and reds, and the seas calmed once they claimed the Anthem. His crew celebrated their new fortunes and the lives they fought to keep that day. As they toasted their captain for claiming ownership and power of the seas of the realm, for bringing them wealth, for leading them to victories, for fighting the Kraken, for charming mermaids, and for even more ridiculous myths as the night grew older, he watched the stars.

The anger that had kept him such constant company had started to fade. As a star darted across the night sky, Killian found himself hoping that he could find something, anything to fill the void it was leaving in its stead.

#Killian Jones #Captain Swan #CS fanfic #Liam Jones #angst #lots of angst #i mean the source material is all angst #In the Lonely Hour #Sam Smith #it was going to be Lewis Capaldi but it was too devastating #the happy ending is in canon #because you won't find it here #fanfic by Jas #manip by Jas #it's me - I'm Jas

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iamstartraveller776 · 1 year

Note

Petrichor with Emma/Killian, please :)

Petrichor - The smell of dry rain on the ground.

A/N: Thank you for the prompt! I hope a little Lieutenant Duckling will suffice.

In the Quiet Moonlight

Killian stumbles across her late at night in a secluded glade. This is the place he escapes to on occasion when his ship is in port—when the past digs its claws too deeply in his thoughts. She’s like a specter, her pale, slender fingers hiking her skirts up to her knees as she picks her way through the damp grass on bare feet. Her long flaxen hair is wild, glowing in the moonlight, and he thinks she might have been out in the downpour that passed an hour ago.

When she settles on a large worn boulder in the center of the clearing, when her face tips up toward the glittering sky, recognition makes an uncomfortable knot in his throat. He remembers the day his brother received his naval commission years ago—and the adolescent girl who had made faces at him behind her father’s back during the stuffy ceremony. A teenage Killian got an elbow in the gut when he snorted at her crossed eyes and wagging tongue. Her triumphant grin, more teeth than lip, was endearing, and for a moment, he forgot the asperity that seemed to have been inked into his bones from birth.

Her delicate features, once rounder with youth, have been honed with time, but they’re no less familiar. No less beautiful. She lets out a forlorn sigh, and he wonders what woes could beset a princess who has everything. He’s heard the tales, of course, of her impetuous nature, of the wild antics that gave her parents their graying hair. A sailor regaled the crew with the story of her stowing away on another vessel, playing a cabin boy for half the voyage before she was discovered. Another swore that he’d once been served by her under the guise of common wench in a seedy seaside tavern. Each account was more outlandish than the last.

But the rumors stopped some months ago. He supposes she’s finally grown into her royal obligations.

He spares another breath as a voyeur before deciding to leave her to her ruminations. He’s hardly in the mood for company himself when he’s in such a state. Unfortunately, his quiet retreat is stymied by the crack of a twig under his boot, and he curses under his breath.

She jumps to her feet, dagger in hand. “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

Her mettle draws a smile from him. He rather likes that his sovereign isn’t easily cowed, unlike the simpering political figureheads he’s had the disagreeable opportunity to bow before during his quests for crown and country.

Schooling his face to proper deference, he steps into the glade and offers her the expected obeisance. “I apologize, your highness,” he says. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Her lips purse briefly at the title, but she lowers her blade. “Yes, well…” She pauses, eyes narrowing. “I know you. Captain Jones’s brother.”

He swallows down the turmoil this familiar honor-by-association drums up. Sometimes he dreams of breaking free of the oppressive weight of his brother’s shadow. But he loves Liam fiercely; he’s desperate to make him proud. Particularly when it was his own flaws that nearly cost them this life of military glory before it could begin.

“Aye,” he replies. “Killian Jones, at your service.” Another bow seems to be in order, so he ducks his head.

The princess studies him for a beat, then nods as if she’s made a decision. She squares her shoulders and, despite her unkempt appearance, seems to become the very image of regal heir as she returns her dagger to its hiding place. “You may stay.”

Stay? He raises his brows, but doesn’t voice his bewilderment. “Of course, your highness.”

She rolls her eyes, nose scrunching in a way that is reminiscent of the impish child he remembers. “If you’re going to keep that up, you might as well leave.” She climbs back onto the rock and crosses her legs beneath her skirts. When he stands in place, she gives him a pointed look. “Well? Are you staying or not?”

He ought to go if he wants to keep his head—the king is notoriously protective of his daughter—but curiosity is a siren song he can never deny. “If it pleases you, your—” He cuts off at her glower. “I mean to say, as you wish…Emma.”

“I do.” She pats the space next to her, flashes him a small smile, and it’s the sun peeking over the horizon after a stormy night.

Odd that. He’s never short of comely lasses tossing him a wink and grin. Yet it’s never been like this, though he can’t name what this is. He joins her, leaning against the stone rather than sitting lest he has to make a hasty getaway. No doubt a servant or guard will notice her absence and come searching for her.

Silence stretches between them, marred only by the distant crash of the tide against the pebbled shore. He’s not keen to broach the quiet with frivolous conversation, but he feels he ought to do something. So he pulls the flask out from inside his coat, unscrews the cap, and offers it to her.

She eyes the bottle with suspicion, but accepts it anyway. It only takes a sip before she’s coughing and sputtering, shoving the drink back toward him. “That’s foul,” she says, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth.

He makes a noise of agreement as he takes a pull from the flask. The sweet, smokey liquor is an old friend, though as a naval lieutenant, decorum keeps him from becoming a lush. “It does the job of drowning your cares well enough.”

“Oh?” She turns to face him. “And what kind of troubles does a hero of the Nine Seas have that need drowning?”

Plenty, he lets his wry look say for him. “A mite more than a princess, I imagine.” The words are out before he can think better of them.

She laughs, though there is a brittle edge to it. “You’d be surprised.”

“Indeed?”

He notices her gaze follow him as he takes another swig of rum. She nearly snatches the flask when he offers it again. This time she only coughs once after a generous gulp.

“I didn’t ask to be born a princess, you know,” she says.

That’s true enough, he supposes. He didn’t ask to be born a pauper. And yet, “You have more than a poor sod like me could ever dream of.”

She makes a derisive noise. “More rules. More expectations. More responsibilities.” She waves a hand in the direction of the capital. “All that luxury comes with a price. My life has never been my own and it never will be.”

The defeat in her tone is a prickly bur behind his sternum, and he frowns. “What would you do with it if you were free to choose?”

Her eyes gleam with fervor. “I’d burn every damnable gown I own and only wear trousers.”

“Trousers?” He grins at the image it conjures. She’d look fetching in them.

“Yes,” she says. “And I’d sail away to find adventure. I’d command my own crew, and we wouldn’t be beholden to any crown.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “A mercenary, then? Or pirate?”

“An explorer,” she counters, gesturing wildly. “One who also comes to the aid of others.”

He gently pries the flask from her hands before she can pour out the rest of his rum. “Worthy aspirations, princess. But pray tell, how will you feed your crew?”

Her enthusiasm dips as she seems to consider his question. “I suppose we can take on cargo and passengers or the occasional job—so long as it breaks no laws.”

“Of course,” he agrees with feigned somberness. Truthfully, there’s a certain appeal to her fantasy. Perhaps when he finally grows weary of his regimented existence in the navy, he might chase the vision she painted. The thought has a tang of betrayal to it, though, as if he hasn’t the right to savor that freedom if she can’t.

“I’d…” she begins, gaze dropping to her skirts as she picks at the fabric. “I’d marry for love. I’d choose who gets my first kiss and who…” Her cheeks color over what she leaves unspoken.

The bur in his chest becomes a spiky vine twisting through his ribs. “Would your parents truly deny you a love match?” After all, King David and Queen Snow were famous for their own enduring devotion to one another.

“Maybe not,” Emma says, resignation bowing her shoulders. “But if there is a man with an acceptable pedigree that I don’t find revolting, I haven’t met him—and I’m pretty sure I’ve met them all.”

Killian can’t hold back a soft laugh at her candor, but he quickly sobers at the melancholy in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says helplessly.

“Why?” she asks. “You’re not the cause of my suffering.”

“I’m sorry that I can’t save you from it,” he says with all sincerity. For a foolish moment, he entertains the idea of helping her run off. But they’d be chased until the end of time, his own brother likely leading the charge.

“No one can.” She stares out into the shadowed forest.

He wants to turn away from the ache drawn in her features, but he finds he can’t. Why had the fates seen fit to lock such a fierce, vibrant soul in a gilded prison? Will all that passion be smothered one day by the weight of her birthright? If so, it would be a travesty.

She glances at him with a guarded expression. “There is something I would ask of you.”

He can’t begin to guess what it might be. “Anything, lass.”

Without a word, she grasps the lapels of his coat and drags him to her. Her lips are suddenly on his, and he’s frozen from the shock of it. As quickly as she ambushed him, she pulls back with an embarrassed apology. No, no. That won’t do at all. This can’t be what she remembers as her first kiss.

He brushes back the veil of hair that had fallen across her brow, hooks it behind her ear and traces a line to the hollow of her neck. Her breath quivers to match the erratic cadence of his pulse. Slowly, so that she can refuse him if she wishes, he leans forward, pressing his mouth over hers in a tender caress. Her skin is soft beneath his palms where he cups her jaw, her lips supple against his. That indefinable something swells in his chest as she slides her fingers through his hair, as she relaxes into the kiss. He’s never had an interlude so full of desire and yet so innocent before, and he wishes they could dwell here indefinitely.

But the need for air eventually overcomes them. The need for reality too.

She rests her forehead against his. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Words tangle on his tongue. There are promises he wants to give her—of the independence and recklessness she craves. But he can’t give them any substance. “Aye,” is all he has left to say.

She doesn’t speak as she slides down from the rock. He doesn’t chase after her when she disappears among the trees, though he’s certain she’s taken something precious from him all the same.

The Jewel of the Realm takes to the sea once more, and he ignores Liam’s concern each time his gaze drifts in the direction of Misthaven. Because it isn’t gloom that darkens his thoughts when he recalls the scent of loamy earth mingled with the scent of her beneath the stars. No, it’s the seed of a treasonous story that’s taken root in his heart.

The tale of a navy deserter who steals away with a princess.

~FIN~

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