#[ ◉¯] ✧˖° → Put on your red shoes and dance the blues; Let's dance! [ Lieutenant Uhura / Nyhura ]

[crisispider]

❛ i’m trying to fix your hair, so hold still. ❜ - nyhura! :'))

[ ◉¯] ✧˖° → @nyhura

"W-what? noooooo it's fiiiiine" He was fussing, NOTHING looked right on him and his hair was REFUSING to cooperate. This was EXACTLY why he didn't go on dates, but it wasn't like he could CHANGE his mind now! So of course he had asked Nyota to help him pick out clothes, and maybe see if there was anything she could do for his poor hair that was just ALL OVER the place.

"Okay maybe it isn't.. maybe this is just a LOST cause? I mean if I call him right now then maybe I can fake food poisoning??? I can make it up to him! Right?? OH GOD.." This has been his cycle for the last two hours, he would freak out and want to cancel, and then he would calm back down again and let Nyota go back to fixing his hair.

"S-sorry sorry.. I swear.. i'm breathing this time PROMISE.."

[pastelpaperplanes]

Calling in a Favor part 4

Ultra Magnus was not having the best of cycles.

The cycle had started with him waking up with a crick in the neck, and it had been joined by a headache caused by the presence of one Sentinel Prime.

He reminded himself that everyone grieves differently, but the ego of his second was honestly starting to grate on his patience. 

Half way through reading a report, he caught the sound of a commotion not far from his ground floor private office, taking a long suffering sigh, he got up, poured himself a cube of high grade, and stepped out to deal with whatever Sentinel was likely upset about this time.

Had some poor bot put the filter in upside down in the general energon dispenser again?

Was there a tiny crude drawing scratched into a surface he spotted?

Maybe his attempt to flirt with First Aid had backfired in his faceplates again and she was giving him the what for…

Or perhaps his second in command was having his faceplates smashed in by the business end of a wrench that a familiar pseudo retired medic was wielding. 

Ultra Magnus let the shock show on his features for a few moments before he schooled them and spoke up, using his ‘I’m in charge’ voice that he knew carried well enough to get everyone (hopefully Ratchet included) to stop what they were doing and shut up.

“What, in the infernal pits of Kaon, is going on here?!”

Everyone froze.

Except Ratchet who got one more good swing in past Sentinel’s feeble attempts to prevent it.

He looked between Sentinel and Ratchet, expression furrowed into a frown. “Ratchet, this is not like you, what has happened?”

Sentinel, who was pinned under the older, smaller, supposedly not as aged as he looked mech, growled. “What does it look like Sir?! This maniac attacked me!”

Ratchet got up, but kept a pede firmly planted on Sentinel’s chassis, likely leaving a dirty footprint on his shirt. “Oh, you don’t know, I’ll tell you, and every bot here what happened.” He paused, the dramatic effect was certainly felt. “This morning, I heard a ruckus above my clinic, I go to investigate, only to find one of the tenants, Bumblebee, in hysterics and screaming at his apartment mate Bulkhead, it took me getting two cubes down him and four trips to the can to purge before he spat out what happened.” 

Another pause for an effect, but this time it felt more like the medic was taking a moment to compose himself before trying to continue, the look in his optics suddenly becoming haunted. 

“Optimus is dead. The mob got him. Bee was a bartender at one of the clubs apparently, one of the goons told him why one of his best friends hadn’t shown up. They took him to the Docks last night and he never came back.”

The words hung in the air for a time no one present really thought to keep track of.

What broke the silence was the cube of high grade Ultra Magnus had been holding, the cube smashing on the ground just ahead of him, spilling its contents across the floor. 

The sound of the cube shattering snapped Magnus back to the present. “My upstairs office. Now. Sentinel, you too.”

Sentinel grumbled as he got himself upright and trunched after the two senior mechs, barely squeezing into the lift between Ratchet and Magnus before the doors closed, having chosen to turn around at face the doors along with the two so as to avoid optic contact with the medic who’d just been trying to rearrange his face with the wrench he was still holding, he could feel energon dribbling down his faceplates. 

Once they were all behind the soundproofed and locked door of Ultra Magnus’ entire upper floor spanning office, did he turn and address Ratchet. “Ratchet… I understand your distress, I was of the impression you had taken Optimus under your wing so to speak… But…  You are aware you just assaulted my second in command with a wrench, correct? I really should be arresting you for that, but I have a sneaking suspicion you had a rather good reason for targeting Sentinel, correct?”

Ratchet’s gaze locked on Sentinel and turned murderous. “Looks like you never told your boss, how about you tell Magnus now what you’d been holding over Optimus’ helm?”

Sentinel, with his now rather smashed in faceplates, still managed to look like a mechabuck caught in high beams. 

Magnus turned to look at Sentinel as well, an incy disposition falling over the head of the Elite Guard. 

“Sentinel Prime… What in the name of Primus… did you do.”

It was at that moment that Sentinel knew… he was slagged… and Optimus wasn’t alive anymore to take the fall for it… not again.

The Polaris

Optimus waved Shrike and her younglings goodbye, they’d been paged by Shrike’s lieutenant about a fight breaking out in the main engine room, not a joor after they’d finished touring that area. 

Apparently her way of dealing with such issues was to, and to quote Rumble, a youngling, directly ‘Bea’ tha bolts ou’ ah those slag suckers!’ 

He distinctly remembered that some of those slag suckers were the twins sparkling sitters when Dust managed to catch Shrike and attempt to put the femme back together. 

Optimus shook his helm at the whole thing, making a personal note not to take a trip to the engine rooms unannounced, as lovely as all those giant oil and grime caked mechs and femmes had been, they were all rather quick to brawl, and some of their fists he swore were bigger than his whole helm.

He turned to regard the door Shrike had left him standing outside, and after a moment, knocked, Shrike had said something about him finding his direct supervisor inside. 

The door swung open after a swift ‘Coming!’ and he was brought faceplates to faceplates with a pure white armoured femme who came up to about his chassis, who had a metric ton of vibrant organic plumage sticking out from one side of her helm, specifically around her audio. 

The femme looked up, took in the sight of him, and tutted. “Orion right?” He nodded. “Goodness Shrike took you to the engine rooms! You’re filthy!”

He jerked his helm down to look over his casual attire. “Oh! Oh no this was just the first stuff I grabbed out of my r-”

The femme didn’t let him finish, promptly dragging him by the collar into the room. “Everyone! Calipso! Get me a dressing gown! Eion put down the optic liner and help me get this mech to the showers!”

Mechs and Femmes alike, all of them arguably some of the most beautiful and gorgeous bots he’d ever seen all spun in their make up chairs to look him up and down, some of which still applying make up to their features as they did so. 

Two jumped up, a mech who was mostly soft greens with a red highlight colour that framed his lithe figure, and a femme of soft lilac and blue who looked half dressed if the fact she was only wearing a form fitting dress and nothing else was anythign to go by, she wasn’t even wearing shoes. 

All of this he was able to take in in the few short moments he had until the mech, he assumed to be Eion, pulled him into what he guessed was the mech shower room, and began setting up a stall for him. 

A dressing gown was tossed at him before the doors were shut to the shower area, leaving just him and Eion. 

The mech chuckled and offered a servo. “Eion, Orion right? Congrats on getting the spot.”

Optimus’ jaw was hanging a bit. “Um… what? I’m sorry I’ve been told… very… very little about what’s going on here… where am I?”

Eion laughed. “You’re on level four, and this chunk of the level is set aside for us Entertainers, the femme who dragged us in is our supervisor, Jadarite. The rest of us, you now included, all work in the main entertainment district of the Polaris. Dancers, wait staff, table jockeys, that kind of stuff… got any experience with dealing out tables?” Eion asked.

Optimus shook his helm. “Um no… I was just a waiter and danced back at the club… sometimes I also sang, sometimes.” He flushed the full way through the admission of his previous roles.

Eion smiled, hopped up and patted Optimus on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you get up to speed, but Jadarite was, well, right, you are filthy, c’mon, showers work like any other shower, but be careful, the max temp is only the max temp because we have some sadomasochists on board who get their jollies off going to Dust for scalded plating!” He grinned and giggled as his own apparent joke, whacking him on the shoulder quickly.

Optimus knew his jaw was hanging a bit, it felt like it was going to be a permanent expression on his features for quite a time to come. “Why do I feel like… at least half of this ship is on their way to going insane?”

Eion really laughed then, waving the mech off. “Comes with the territory! I’m assuming you’ve never been off the home world before?”

Optimus shook his helm. 

Eion grinned. “Then don’t worry, you’ll be one of us in no time in that department too! Now wash up! And dump those clothes in the hamper over there, they’ll be given a proper wash and sent to your new quarters long before we’ll be done with you for the cycle!”

And with that, the green and red mech slipped back out, closing the door behind him and leaving Optimus to stand alone in the mechs showers holding a dressing gown and wondering what fate Megatron had thrown him to.

Tentatively, Optimus got to undressing, spotting the hamper Eion had mentioned and dumping them all inside and silently hoping he didn’t loose them, he hadn’t had time to pack anything at all, not even a spare change of briefs. 

He didn’t bother to don the dressing gown just yet, putting it up on one of the hooks a safe distance away from the showers next to where a number of unbelievably plush towels were hung, they were so soft…

Before he even knew what he was doing, he had one of the towels and was just rubbing his face against it, it was so soft and fluffy he could just melt!

He supposed otherworldly soft towels was a good quality he could chalk up to working here.

Knowing he’d get to wrap himself up in at least two of those towels once he was washed, he moved over to the showers and inspected them, the controls looked simple enough, hot and cold were colour coded and he just needed to lift the lever like nob up to increase the pressure.

Picking a temp a bit below the ‘you sadomasochists’ engraved plaque that was over the dashed part of the red, Optimus braced himself and turned on the shower head he’d found himself under.

HOT.

He jumped back, luckily the tiled floor was dry so he didn’t slip, but Primus!

Oh right, he’d not had a hot shower since his cycles at the academy, wanted to avoid paying a high heating bill.

Steam was already starting to billow out from around the spray, bringing up the humidity of the area.

He reached past the spray and notched down the temperature and tested it again with two digits, still warm, not scalding. 

Bracing himself, he stepped back under, and got to work trying to get himself presentable, making use of a handy little solvent dispenser that was mounted on the wall in a little wire basket just to his left. 

Eventually the suds and solvent were all washed away, and the water running off his frame was just as clear as when it hit his helm and the broad span of his back. 

Turning off the faucet Optimus looked out at the steam filled room, and carefully, mindful of the now wet floor, stepped over to the towels and where he’d left the dressing gown.

The first one he used to rub down his frame to get the water that was taking it’s time vacating the panes of his frame, the second smaller one he used to rub his faceplates dry, as well as focus on the harder to reach spots. 

All done with drying off, he slipped the dressing gown on.

And oh he was never getting out of this, the inside lining was even more soft, and fluffy!

He gave himself a few kliks to just melt into the softness before he moved back to the door that led back out to where all the other bots were.

He cracked the door open, and found many of the bots from before were gone, Eion was still there, as well as Calipso and Jadarite, but only two others remained, and they seemed to be just finishing the last of their apparel.

Jadarite turned to regard him and smiled. “Much better darling, c’mon out, there’s no need to be shy.” She coaxed, she was an older femme who had apparently perfected the ‘soothing frightened bots’ voice, because the moment her servos took his, he was more than willing to step back out into the main area, despite only wearing a dressing gown, he should feel more… not ashamed, he’d done nothing wrong, embarrassed? No… considering how communal everything in this area was, he couldn’t imagine these bots around him being very prudish. 

Jadarite patted his shoulder once he was seated at a vanity that was much more barren than the rest of those in the room. “Alright dear, let’s see how we can gussy you up right pretty with what we’ve got here.”

He nodded, and just let them do what they wanted. 

Three joors, a number of rambles about Knockout’s skill of being better than him at this sort of thing, and a whole reel of measuring tape, and the, dress prep? Was complete. 

Jadarite clapped her servos together, and spun his chair to face the mirror. 

Okay, he’d bite, he looked good, the eyeliner in particular was really framing his optics well while also defying the laws of physics to a truly astonishing degree.

Calipso, who was a rather timid thing, gave him a small smile. “We’ll figure out stuff like what colours work best with you and if plumage works next cycle, do you wanna keep that stuff on and wash it off later or do you prefer us getting it all off now?”

He glanced to the three who’d laboured and experimented away at his features for the last three joors to get him looking this good. “Um, I’ll keep it on? So… what next?”

Jadarite beamed at him. “Now’s the fun part, the shows over for the night, so everybots gonna be coming back to finish up for the cycle, and from there, we’re all hitting our private bar here on deck four. If you want to come along, I’m sure Unverlo will be able to lend you something comfortable, he’s a bit bigger than you so you shouldn’t have any issue with fitting into something of his.”

“You’re sure he won’t mind?”

Apparently the mech in question didn’t mind at all, and had an apparently love for big, fluffy and baggy jumpers, which hung off one of his shoulders no matter how many times he tried to adjust it while he found himself sitting at the Entertainers private bar and had conversations struck up with him by basically everyone he was going to be working with.

The Bar was, Optimus couldn’t describe it in a single word, but everything seemed to of been designed for relaxation and winding down.

There was dim mood lighting that pulsed around the room, the only stron light coming from the vibrantly coloured tanks of energon that bubbled and churned behind the bar. 

The opposite side from the bar was where the tables were, built into the wall around circular tables, the padded seats had enough room for everyone.

Opposite from the entrance, and passed a small dance floor, with a familiar pole mounted in the centre, was a floor to ceiling window out into space, the stars beyond providing a stunning backdrop to the bots dancing.

Unverlo, the mech he was currently sitting next too at the bar was a soft spark with a love for neo-felines, he apparently had four in his own suite and he had maxed out three data-pads image storage with pictures and videos full of the brightly coloured, highly affectionate things.

Unverlo admitted he spoiled them all rotten with treats and affection.

Optimus had cooed over every picture and goofy video he’d seen, even asking at once point if he could be taken to see them one cycle.

Unverlo was more than happy to accept, setting a date and time right there and then before taking a cube of mid grade, he apparently wasn’t too fond of high grade, something about his tanks not agreeing with it, before he vacated the seat next to Optimus and let someone else quickly take it.

Which turned out to be Calipso, who struck up her own quiet conversation with him.

The rest of the night cycle continued like that until Jadarite announced it was time for everyone to retire, which many did without too much grumbling.

Some left in pairs, others in small groups, Eion offered to show him where his room was and he gladly accepted, Unverlo had already left so he assumed the soft baggy clothes would be returned to the mech the next cycle when clothes more suited for him were ready.

Admittedly he’d miss the jumper.

Eion led the way to his new room, providing some idle chatter about this and that as Optimus took the time to appreciate just how, luxurious everything was.

Him bumping into Eion’s back was what snapped him out of appreciating the decor. 

Eion held up a key, not a key card, but an actual key and passed it to him. “Don’t loose it, okay? The smith here on the ship doesn’t like it when bots loose his keys.” 

Optimus nodded in understanding. “I understand, thank you Eion… would you be willing to collect me tomorrow? I fear I may get lost a number of times before I get proper bearings of this place.”

Eion smiled up at him and nodded. “Sure thing! I’ll come pick you up before morning feuling, see you then Orion!” The mech waved goodby as he walked off, heading towards his own suite.

Optimus watched him go for a few moments, before turning his attention to the door and sliding the key into the keyhole.

A quick twist and the sound of a needlessly complicated locking mechanism coming undone later, and he was stepping into his suite.

The moment the room registered to him, he did a double take.

It was larger than his shared apartment back in Iacon!

His jaw was dropped once more as he took in the sprawling open plan suite.

A glance to his right revealed a modest kitchenette, fridge, oven, energon dispenser, sink, a number of sleek engraved cabinet doors…

A glance to the left revealed the open door to a lavish wash rack, there was even a bath large enough for him to submerge in completely!

He walked into the washrack and felt his lower jaw threaten to fall off, it wasn’t just a bath, it was a Primus be damned jacuzzi! 

He found four dressing gowns hanging by the door, and soon discovered his alias designation of ‘Orion’ had been stitched into each on the breast pocket in cursive text, in golden thread no less.

He found some make up wipes in a draw under the mirror in the washracks, and after a bit of hesitation, wiped off the makeup he’d been wearing, he was planning to locate the berth and pass out, and he didn’t want to make a mess of the pillows he had a hunch were going to be just as lavish as everything else. 

Finished with cleaning himself up, Optimus stepped back out into the open plan living area, there was a number of pieces of furniture dotted about with little tables and table lights next to them, perfect for some light reading under soft light. 

He’d have to see about acquiring some data pads from the Library Neolock had mentioned earlier, apparently it was two floors down nearby that floors branch medical bay.

Walking through the door into the berthroom, he had to do a double take.

That berth could fit four of him!

He was hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion, and suddenly he didn’t care that the berth was massive, wider than his old room in Iacon was, he reached the end, fell into a crowl, kicked off his shoes, and slid face down onto the covers and just took in the smell of freshly washed sheets.

Running his digits over it, he marveled at the texture, cool to the touch, but promising to trap heat…

A bit of fumbling later and he was under the covers, snuggled into one of the ludicrously plush pillows.

Recharge claimed him before he could even turn the rooms lights off.

A few moments later the lights flickered out, and an airy giggle came over the speaker nestled in the wall.

“Sleep well new crew.” An autotune voice whispered, as the lights in the rest of the room shut off, and the door left unlocked deadbolted itself shut.

[snowbellewells]

A Cottage by the Sea

Here we go!! My first @cssns entry of the summer. I hope that those who were expecting two simple one shots from me in the event this year, won’t be too upset that I ended up with a different fic than I intended to start out with - one that will probably have at least four more parts to it. My original idea just would not work, so I pulled out this headcanon that I’d been mulling over for some time...and it simply grew from there.  Here in the Prologue, it’s going to seem more straightforward Lieutenant Duckling, Enchanted Forest au, but the supernatural elements will come if you stick with me. My intention is to update every other Tuesday until this story is ended; meaning you should have Part One on June 23rd.

I hope you’ll enjoy - and I’d love to hear what you think of this first part...

***Immense thank yous to @searchingwardrobes for this cover art that I am absolutely in love with, and to @tornadoamy for looking this over and giving me early feedback as a beta. And to the @cssns event and mods for giving me the opportunity to flesh out this idea I’ve harbored for so long - and for so much fun and entertainment the previous two summers, and coming up in this one as well!***

Can also be found on AO3

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half.  But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…”

by: @snowbellewells

~~~prologue~~~

The land around her parents’ castle had always called to Princess Emma. The open spaces and craggy cliffs she could see in the distance as they plummeted into the churning sea, were windswept and wild much like herself. Though she had always been cared for and beloved, the sole heir to the kingdom of Queen Snow White, Emma also felt the desire to run free, as if she were destined for more than curtsies, crown fittings, and learning to smile demurely. Naturally, she adored her happily devoted, perfectly paired father and mother - just more so when they were teaching her to ride or aim a bow than when they were reminding her once again that she must exude patience and diplomacy at even the most interminable state dinners. She valued her kingdom and its people, understood the honor of her role in it, but that knowledge and affection failed to negate the fact that she often wished just as strongly to rip the fancy curled updos and jeweled tiaras from her head and run streaking like a loosed cannon along the wet sand at the ocean shore she could see from her chamber window, hair streaming behind her and cool, salty air on her face. All the proper princess etiquette and worries left behind.

The easiest - and her most favored - cure for that feeling of wanderlust and burning energy within was for either her mother or her father, or both whenever possible, to take her walking along the water’s edge in the evening. Emma would almost swear the Queen and King enjoyed the calming getaways almost as much as she did, both as a moment to be free of so many fussing, crowding, obsequious attendants and hangers-on, as well as to feel the open air of the world outside their palace cleansing them. She knew - though from nothing more than history and bedtime stories - that her parents had once lived and thrived out of doors, falling in love on the run as rebels before her mother regained the kingdom she had been born to lead. Both her mother, once a legendary bandit, and her father, who had started life as a humble shepherd, seemed to appreciate the chance to escape the castle walls of stone and venture out on their own with their adored and wild-hearted little girl. It concerned neither of them that Emma was bold and adventurous, bucking the traditional prim and dainty image of feminine royalty; in fact, they might have treasured those traits in her even more for how they harkened to what each loved most in the other.

One such evening, however, Queen Snow had been kept well into the twilight hour in a council meeting over trade routes and revenue, along with Emma’s father, and even Red, her godmother. Waiting impatiently, Emma fretted that she wouldn’t get outdoors and down to the shore at all, as she sat in the wide, cozy window seat of her tower room, looking out over the waves crashing up on the sands. She took in the lights of ships in their harbor, the mist and waves, and she longed to be closer - to be part of it all. In fact, she was mischievously contemplating whether or not she could scale down the outer walls in her nightdress and robe, and get to her usual walking course alone without being detected, when the door to her room opened behind her.

Snow White entered in a pleasantly flushed bluster of activity. Charming followed her with an indulgent smile, happily sweeping his daughter up into his arms as she ran to him in an excited blonde blur. She might be nearly 10-years-old, but he could still swing her up in his arms and twirl her through the air and all around the room as easily as he did when she was but a babe. Giggling happily, Emma threw her arms around her Papa’s neck and revelled in the exuberant joy of his affection.

When he put her down again, she immediately hopped around him excitedly tugging on his hand. “Can we go out for our walk now, please? Down by the shore… can we? Can we, pleeease?”

The King shook his head with a rueful chuckle, having known this would be her request the moment they set foot in their daughter’s room. She was made for the out-of-doors, an enchanting sprite of waves and sky, and he found it nigh as impossible as ever to disappoint her if her wish was within his power. “You’ll have to ask your mother this time, Sweetheart. I have more meetings, stores to check for the winter, applicants for aid to hear, a few more hours of work this evening yet.”

Snow smiled at him over Emma’s tousled blond head, nodded her agreement to a short jaunt while there was still light, Emma squealed with glee and danced an excited little jig before scampering toward the door, pulling at her mother’s hand impatiently, determined to hurry her along, Queen or no.

“You and Granny had better have cocoa and biscuits waiting for us when we return, Charming,” the dark-haired monarch grumbled, appearing stern, but the playful spark in her eyes told her husband she wasn’t really that upset. He was assuring they had what was needed for charitable giving to those less fortunate throughout the kingdom once harvests were over for the season; it would take but a moment to let the head palace cook know his wife’s wishes before continuing with his tasks.

“Anything for you, Dear,” he playfully mock-bowed before happily accepting a sweet kiss on the cheek and following his wife and daughter from the room. He was off in one direction; Marco and Jiminy both waiting down the hall to help him judge numbers, ask questions, and take notes, while Emma and Snow went in the other, headed down the stairs to the first floor side entrance and quickest path to the shore Emma was so anxious to reach. Charming supposed that many might think it strange he was not more troubled by letting his beloved and his only child wander outside the grounds alone, but his Queen could more than take care of herself. And if he knew Snow’s trusted bodyguard at all, the Huntsman they had long ago freed from Snow’s stepmother’s control, he would not be far if they had need of him when David could not accompany them - whether he was in view or not.

~~***~~

They were hand in hand, Emma’s shoes in her mother’s grip, as she skipped with exuberant satisfaction at her side, toes squidging with the exquisite feel of the wet grains of sand as she did. It was all Emma had wanted all day, from the moment she’d gotten dressed and shared breakfast with her parents and godmother, informal as they had no visitors in the warm, cozy castle kitchens. Throughout her interminable etiquette lessons with the Blue Fairy, and studying with her tutors, she had wanted nothing more than to be carefree by the water like this, and she was beside herself with excitement to be there at last.

Ruffling her daughter’s hair, Snow let the worries and concerns of meetings, treaties, budgets, and protocols slide from her shoulders while the evening breeze caressed her face. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes for a moment and laughed into the wind right along with her precious child. Perhaps she had needed the escape just as much.

Then, with a sharp jerk, Emma’s smaller hand tugged from hers with a cry of surprise. “Mama, look there!” she called, her fingers slipping from her mother’s grasp as she began to pelt across the sand in alarm. “A boy! A boy just came out of the water!  He’s hurt!”

Immediately, Snow White’s focus was sharp, snapping back into full awareness, scanning ahead of them to where she saw a dark, bedraggled shape, not much larger than Emma, lying on the lighter colored beach. Emma had run forward in such concern that she had already almost reached the small shape, and her mother quickly gathered up her skirts and jogged forward to catch her, not sure yet what to expect. “Emma! Wait! Be careful!” she warned, though she already knew the caution would fall on deaf ears. Emma was fearless for her own safety, and had a soft spot for any person or thing injured or in need; she wouldn’t be stopping if she thought she could help.

Nearing the indeed soaked, disheveled, and unconscious child, Emma had already fallen to her knees, trying to shake and urge the unknown person back to awareness. The queen’s concern for her daughter’s safety instantly melted into compassion for the waif who didn’t move, didn’t speak, and barely seemed to breathe. For a child of his seeming height, he was frighteningly thin, his clothing threadbare and torn, hair too long, nearly hiding his closed eyes as soaked to his skin as it was. The Queen’s maternal heart ached for him, wondering how he came to be in such a state, alone and washed up from the sea. Taking Emma’s hand to stop her jostling him, Queen Snow could only hope they weren’t too late to save this mere boy’s life. It was only just beginning.

She looked up, wondering how they could get him back to the castle and trying to gauge how far they had traveled from the gates. Just as she was vaguely considering whether or not she could call one of the birds she was able to use as messengers - a gift that had served her often throughout life - when a tall shadow materialized from the woods bordering the shore, before she even needed to call out. Her long time bodyguard, Graham, Snow realized with easy relief; she should have known he would not be far, and regardless of the necessity - or lack thereof - in this moment she was glad he was there. This child needed help, and they needed to get him to a physician as soon as possible.

The Huntsman scooped the still-motionless boy up easily and began to carry him back the way they had come. Snow and Emma hovered on either side in anxious worry. As soon as they got him home to safety, they would bring him around. They had to. They had to have found him for a reason.

~~***~~

Once the unknown boy had been carried back to the castle, his slight form hardly causing the Huntsman to strain himself, bundled down before the warm hearthfire of the kitchens, boneless still, but changed from his wet rags into a old castoff tunic of the King’s (long enough to be a nightshirt on the lanky youth) and covered in numerous blankets, it took little time for the youth to come back to himself. 

Emma hovered anxiously next to the little stranger she had found, feeling oddly protective of “her boy” as she was already thinking of him in her head. She only paused in her agitated fidgeting to briefly take a cup of cocoa for herself and return the supportive hand squeeze offered her by their friend Red, Granny’s actual granddaughter and Emma’s frequent babysitter and playmate as well as her godmother.

Of course, Doc, the castle’s rather unofficial physician, had been sent for upon their return, but as the child before them began to stir of his own accord, Emma let herself hope that it would prove a mere precaution and their charge would be just fine. Heavy-lidded eyes blinked open slowly, as if still weary and reluctant to revive. When finally the thick, dark lashes parted to reveal rather stunning, unbelievably sea-blue eyes, Emma gasped at the shock that ran through her. Even as the boy’s widened in equal surprise and alarm, his eyes fixed on her gaze for several endless moments before darting around his surroundings, clearly unsure where he was or what had happened.

“Shh…. sh… hush now…” Emma felt her own tense muscles loosen as her mother’s voice calmly bathed the scene in gentle comfort. The Queen, soft and careful, and looking for all the world in that moment just like any other mother hoping to reassure her frightened child, stooped down to eye level with the boy they had propped up in a heaping nest of pillows and quilts by the fire. She reached out to softly brush his dark hair off his forehead, but froze when the boy flinched back like a startled animal. Instead, she only added in the same low, sweet croon. “You’re safe here. No one is going to hurt you… It’s alright now.”

The youngster’s eyes continued to cast about him for several tense moments, but then he seemed to finally register the calm surrounding him and accept that he would be alright. The tentatively crooked smile he offered back to the Queen sparked a bit of hope in all who were gathered around him. And when a steaming cup of cocoa was pressed into his hands by Granny with a brusque but concerned admonishment to “drink up, it’ll warm your insides” before the cook bustled off again, he seemed to come back to himself even more at the scent which wafted up into his face of chocolate and their family’s customary hint of cinnamon.

Emma could practically see interest light up those expressive eyes, but the child hesitated rather than bringing the cup to his lips for a taste. Darting from Queen to Princess uncertainly, he seemed to be gauging whether or not it was truly acceptable for him to take a drink.

“Go ahead,” Emma urged, smiling in what she hoped was reassurance. She wasn’t known for her patience, and she couldn’t know that this youth had never experienced hot cocoa, nor many pleasant treats at all, in his young life. Hoping to encourage him, she lifted her own mug to drink and then smacked her lips at the delightful taste, making Ruby laugh and her mother shake her head at her dreadful table manners. The boy’s face, however, lit with a bit of humor and happiness that it had not yet held. “It’s good, I promise,” Emma added with a grin. “You’ll like it.”

Almost as if he could resist no longer, the boy tipped his cup and took a sip of the warm, rich beverage at last. Then, it seemed he discovered the powers of liquid chocolate that everyone else in the room well knew. His eyes widened in delight, and he tipped his head back to get every last drop as he quickly guzzled down the rest, making Emma giggle, and him startle guiltily as if he’d done something wrong.

“Don’t worry,” Emma assured, reaching out innocently to lay her hand on his, “You can have some more, right Mama?”

Queen Snow White’s eyes were a bit misty with unshed tears, having already met Granny’s gaze over Emma’s head and Ruby’s as well, the three women piecing together things Emma in her sheltered, loving world could not yet know about what this youngster must have gone through. His reactions and his guardedness spoke volumes, even in silence. Nodding simply, not sure at first that she could speak around the painful lump in her throat, Snow finally managed to agree, “Yes, for tonight at least, our new friend may have all the hot cocoa his heart desires.”

~~***~~

The boy’s name, it turned out, was Killian Jones. He did recall that much once he regained his bearings, as well as the fact that he had possessed a father, mother, and older brother in a happy little house before his mother had seemingly vanished from his young life, and they had sent sail on the boat he had been on before washing ashore. No matter how many questions they asked or how he tried to call more forth, he remembered little else of what happened to his mother or father. He knew he had been told she fell ill and died, but all he could bring forth in his mind’s eye was that one morning he had awakened and she had vanished from his life as if she never existed at all - just a pleasant dream. His elder brother Liam had been on the boat with him, and Killian had shed tears that broke all their hearts when he recalled the day his brother had been swept overboard and lost to him forever. But as to what had become of his father, and how he had been sentenced to the life of hard labor he had clearly endured afterward, there was nothing but a blank and questions.

 As days and weeks, then months, and finally years went by, he remained with them at Misthaven castle.  Though far from a young prince, Killian was raised as a member of the royal household, growing up side-by-side with Princess Emma. They appeared to be quite close in age, and joined by the fact that she had found him and seemed to take Killian on as her own, he and Emma were quite inseparable - the best of friends and as “thick as thieves” as Granny always lamented when they were underfoot or stealing berries meant for tarts and pies on the royal dinner table.

As they reached adolescence, the King and Queen began to wonder where Kilian would be happiest as he came of age. The young man they had come to adore almost as a son had several skills: he was invaluable in the stables, exuding a calming force over the horses and evincing a knack for their training and care; he was quite good as an extra hand in the kitchen when Granny was understaffed or had more visiting mouths than usual to feed (for all her tough talk the aging widow had a soft spot for the boy and would no doubt have mentored him as a cook). Killian was bright; genuine knowledge and curiosity made him a voracious reader and student, honestly gaining more from the princess’ many esteemed tutors than Emma ever had and enjoying the study much more. He would have been easy to train as a page or diplomat, but none of those options seemed quite right.

It was not until his fifteenth birthday that the way Killian hoped to take became clear. It might have seemed improbable to most, knowing that the sea had once nearly swallowed him whole and claimed his life, but to Emma who knew him better than anyone else, it made sense. Those restless, wandering waves held an appeal, a mystery and adventure, and perhaps even still some bit of himself that her friend needed to claim. He stated his intention to join her father’s Navy with a proud certainty. And Emma’s heart swelled with equal gratification, but also fear. The sea had given him to her, but it wanted to take him back again…

It had taken them all such a long time to show Killian that he was welcome there, truly a part of their loving extended family. At first, Killian had shrunk back - shoulders hunched, head bowed, breath coming quickly in frightened pants - any time he might accidentally drop and break a dish or he reached for a second roll at the table, making it clear was that he had been punished and berated, to the point that he cowered like a whipped dog whenever he feared he might have put even a toe out of line. Princess Emma knew that her parents suspected beatings and physical abuse; it was clear in the concerned way their eyes met in silent communication whenever Killian reacted with the intense fear and apology he often showed in his bearing; she sadly had to agree that they were quite probably correct. She shuddered to think of how he might still be suffering under some cruel captain’s mistreatment, miserable, stranded and helpless to change his situation if it had not been for the shipwreck which brought him to Misthaven instead. There had been no question for any of them that he must stay, when they had learned of his indenture and how he had been orphaned and abandoned. She couldn’t have been more glad that all in the castle were in agreement; Emma had already decided that “her boy” needed to stay there with them, where he was safe and she could be sure he was happy and free. Neither of them were small children anymore, but Emma’s care and affection for him had never changed.

For so long before Killian’s arrival, she had been the only child in a palace of grown-ups: rulers, dignitaries, staff - a whole caravan of people who doted and adored, but very few who could be peers, to play with, talk to, and simply understand her. As the days had flowed into one another, turning into months and years until most people could hardly remember when she and Killian were not linked, they  were practically siblings in every way that mattered. The princess knew that she didn’t intend to live - not could she imagine - her life without him ever again.

And then, seemingly in the mere blink of an eye, they were fifteen and moving from playing tag amongst the grape arbors and lilac bushes in her mother’s gardens and slipping out of the interminable poise and etiquette lessons which Emma detested yet was never allowed to miss, to the stage where Killian was serving as her partner while she learned the waltz and other ballroom dances she would need to master for formal balls and ceremonies. Not only that, but as they edged into adolescence, Emma’s heart thumped against her chest differently than it used to as Killian led her gracefully through the steps. Even as her heart seemed ready to ricochet from her body, the warmth of Killian’s skin where they touched and the utter safety she felt in his hold half intoxicated her. As awareness spun her head round, uncertain what to do with it or how to proceed with these strange new feelings suddenly flooding her, all Emma could be certain of was the pang of loss she felt at knowing that Killian’s desire was to soon join her father’s naval fleet. At fifteen, he was at last of age to sail as a cabin boy and begin to work his way up in a ship’s ranks. Though she knew that had long been her friend’s desired course, Emma’s heart still ached to see him go.

However, her parents could not deny him the chance to seek such a worthy ambition. Indeed, they were proud of Killian, happy to help him secure a place on one of their finest vessels and make certain he knew their confidence in him and their faith that he would succeed. All too soon, after years with him at her side, it was the day Emma’s confidant and companion was set to sail on his first voyage. Though she knew in her head that the kingdom was in a time of peace and that it was a mere routine mission, her heart could not ignore the fact that sea travel always came with risk. Not only that, but she would miss Killian terribly.

Still, goodbyes had been said, all was made ready, and she was left on the dock, waving goodbye as the best friend she had ever known met her eyes and waved back. His pretty blue eyes, that had long since begun to speak to her as ardently as his actual words, expressed a potent blend of pained anxiety at leaving his adopted family and the life he had known and excitement for the adventure ahead on the waves that stirred his blood. She stood there long after the rest of the crowd seeing him off had dispersed and gone back to the castle, watching as the naval ship bearing “her boy” (as she sometimes still in the deepest and most secret depths  of her heart thought of him) became a small dot on the horizon before fading from view entirely. 

And only then had the journey truly begun...

Tagging: @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @cssns @tiganasummertree @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @let-it-raines @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @mayquita @thisonesatellite @stahlop @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thislassishooked @drowned-dreamer @ineffablecolors @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @kday426 @lfh1226-linda @carpedzem 

[thenervousmedic]

A coffee a day... (Connor x Reader)

Note: I’m trying, I’m getting better! I think... This one hit 3k words ^.^ I hope it’s not too bad-

Summary: Several armed hostage situations happened almost simultaneously. After interrogating the shooter, Connor visits you in the hospital but struggles with your logic.

A coffee a day- Chapter 3: Questions and leads

Dark clouds gently enveloped the sky in slow dancing swirls, the distant wails of an ambulance trailing its way off into the distance.

“Connor.” An assertive tone jerked the zoned out investigator back to reality, the hazed over look in his optics fading away as Hank places a hand stiffly onto his jacket. He was so out of it right now, a strange problem to have with someone who normally never missed a single detail. He growled, unsure whether to be strict or sarcastic, waving a hand across the scene. “The assailant, think you can reactivate ‘em, get some answers?” With a swift scan, the LED on Connor’s temple blinking yellow as it refined the data, logging the Deviant’s model number and identity. “Maybe-” Registered name : Harvey. An AP700, a very recent model, currently at the front of every good Cyberlife store as the best household assistant available. He was only bought a little over a week ago. The shots you had fired into its chest region had hit his therium pump- effectively cutting off the circulation of the blueblood to the biomechanics within seconds. The holes were pristine, almost perfectly aimed to take out a dangerous target at close range. Had the bullet strayed inches to the left or right it would only have severed the main artery tubes- allowing time for the AP700 to retaliate or flee before deactivating. Though that didn't matter much now. The damage had already been done before you could properly secure the gun. Why would you do that, that was so stupid! It wasn’t fair that you got shot instead of him. He's easily repaired, replaced, he’s expendable. You are not. Connor should have foreseen those events, he should have been better, the thought was… It was exhausting. Red hues bled into his LED, sharp capital letters springing up across the room from his enhanced vision.

[SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^^^]

“Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor’s hands idly wrapped themselves under Harvey's arms, hauling him up off of the floor to be taken to the car- wanting to repair and speak to the android or if possible probe it’s memory. Though this wasn’t where his question to Hank question was headed- “Why would someone experiencing heightened fear do something with such a high probability of drastically increasing the risk to their well being?” the question was flat, curious almost, but not far off sounding vacant and hollow. “Fuck if I know.” Was his response, still crouched beside the poor limp body of a shot victim. “People do dumb things Connor.” Clarity was slow today, but Hank did eventually put two and two together. Why Connor had been acting to strangely, why he was asking this question, it was fairly obvious. Connors nonstop switching from convincing emotional behaviour to his classic rationality had thrown Hank off until now. “This is where you get the coffee…”

His tone was low as he took long strides over to the RK800. Connor looked at him blankly. “Yes. It is.” His voice was as monotone as the vacant look on his face. “Connor?” Something churned in the android's chest, like Hank had suddenly prodded a small locked box somewhere in his code. “Y/N was working here this morning, was she here during-?”

He frowned, adjusting his loose grip on Harvey as he set off for the front door, leaving hank in the Cafe behind him. “Yes, Y/N was the critically wounded hostage we called an ambulance for-” The corrupt tinge of hatred behind that sentence caught Lieutenant Anderson completely off guard, his mouth parting but no reply coming forth.

He shoved his hands into the dirty dark beige coat that sat slack on his frame; watching Connor drag his ‘evidence’ to the car and shove it in the back seat while other officers went about their business writing short reports or going back to their previous posts. This wasn’t the first time Hank had heard of you - quite the contrary. Every morning Connor got coffee for him, he’d mention your name. Something about the enthusiasm he gained on coffee-run mornings would make Hank enjoy the effect it had on Connor more than the drink itself.

So that was you, huh… the one that was shot. Hank let his face scrunch up slightly, huffing out a heavy sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Deviancy has characteristics of a virus, Hank.” Something Connor had told him a few nights before during their nightly review. “I self-test regularly”

..What are the results of those tests Connor. What are they…

--

Hank drive back to the office in silence, Connor sitting as stiff as a plank next to him with his LED a calm unmoving blue. His eyes were closed, which Hank found odd considering Androids don’t need sleep, but he didn’t question it. The office was buzzing, lively, the sound of hard soled shoes hitting a solid linoleum flooring. Unlike this morning when the atmosphere seemed calm and boring it now bustled with people doing their damndest to get things done. Hank and his plastic puppy among them. One call after another came in about rogue deviants at a rather alarming rate. Connor had not missed the correlation between each case- all the affected Deviants were either AP700’s or newer, the whole city was shaken by police sirens and ambulance calls.

“Hank.” Conner put a hand in front of the elder grumbling man’s face, waving it up and down to get his attention while he roared something to someone on the other end of his phone. “I will review the current cases with you later- I am going to go interrogate that Deviant from the coffee shop-” His voice cracked slightly, earning a quick throat-clearing cough from the android despite this being a purely aesthetic feature with no functionality other than helping appear more human.

Hank was too busy being angry at whichever poor soul decided to call him during this crisis to answer properly, just giving Connor an approving nod while just barely listening to their rambling on the other end.

Lights flickered on the containment room’s door lock, a hand shape pulsing in the middle, blue soothing colours along with yellows dotted along the top. As connor’s hand interfaced with it’s systems it let out short crispy beeps like a bird before a sliding glass door shifts open- Harvey's deactivated figure slumped against the seat on the right of the room.

Connor already had the foresight to gather the needed replacement part : luckily therium pumps didn't change very much throughout most models of android- not unless they were built specifically for heavy lifting or athletics work - which luckily the AP700 wasn’t. The slick and almost gelatinous congealed therium made sloppy noises as the investigator reached into replace the broken part, hesitating at the last second with the component barely a hairs length away from its destination. Glaring at Harvey’s frozen expression of surprise - a slight lingering spark of fear to his eyes, not nearly as angry as when he had Y/N locked tightly in his arm.

[SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^^^]

Harvey gasped for breath as the new therium pump slotted into place, thudding away at the previously dormant pipes of blue blood with staggering speed. His mouth choking up the remaining therium before spitting it out roughly- unable to stand due to a tall lanky figure looming over him. “Several stores were all held at gunpoint simultaneously following your attempt. Why?” He blinked, staring up at Connor is a state of mild panic while trying to look around, was he in… was he in a police station?

The RK800’s hand flew past his head, hitting the wall behind it with a loud boom, making the dazed android yelp and put his hands to his face. Something was… wrong. This couldn’t be the same android that had threatened your life. He was so meek, the green glow to his eyes was stuffed to the brim with terror and bewilderment.

Perhaps a calmer and more supportive questioning would yield better results, Harvey’s stress was far too high for Connor to glean anything important from his speech.

“I’m sorry-” He backed away, letting Harvey look around for a moment, the stopwatch Connor had set in his interface still had plenty of time left in it. “You are safe here, please, try to calm down. My name is Connor… you are Harvey, right?”

“Connor. Y-you know… my name?” He mumbled quietly. The bright whites of the room was painful to look at without squinting at least a little.

If this was an act it was being done very well. Connor couldn’t read anything off of the face of this android - it’s like he had been reset. “Harvey… you held a Cafe at gunpoint today-” He tone was gentle, but it still visibly shook the AP700 to hear those words, “-You Murdered a civilian and a fellow android…. Don’t you remember any of this?”

“N-no I… I wouldn’t-” The LED on Harvey’s head began spiralling out of control- glowing a bright red and blinking rapidly. “I just ran away- I didn’t hurt anyone!” He insisted, receiving a furrowed brow. “D-Dont send me back..  He’ll deactivate me-”

“It's ok.” He gently reassured, checking the remaining time diligently. “I understand that you're scared. I just want some answers, that's all.”

With the Bots stress successfully draining, Connor had too many questions to possibly ask them all in time. Priorities must be answered first.

“Who will deactivate you?”

“....”

--

You mumble incomprehensibly into the cold fabric bedcover. Much to your relief there wasn't anything long and tube-y sticking out of your arm today. Hospitals. You hate them. The unnatural medicinal smell, the murky but clean white walls, and the general sense of discomfort that they bring warded you away on most days.

Sure you would come here if you broke a bone or something; but unless it's serious you tried to avoid being even close to them. Everything about the atmosphere of this place sent something grossly crawling up your back and through your throat.

You had been given painkillers, but that didn't stop the slow burn that was a healing bullet wound in your gut. It had gone through your stomach and grazed the large intestine underneath, much to your luck this was a fairly easy surgery in comparison to other places it could have hit. A few stitches there and there, one removed bullet, and a whole punch of laying still in this bed doing absolutely nothing.

Time to reflect was nice but you’d been here for only a day and a half and it already felt like you’d never get to leave. You were fine, honestly, it was stitched up. You weren't allowed to leave until the end of the week- god that’s like a whole nother two days away. The room wasn’t silent yet no noise stuck out among the continual ‘hospital’ drone that meandered on and on was only interrupted by the occasional caretaker android going past your room.

“Gets kinda lonely in here, huh.” A gruff voice yanked your attention in it’s direction. A drooping strand of H/C hair flopping itself across your nose. It’s easy to get someone’s attention when their most stimulating activity is counting the time between hearing people walk by.

A tired looking man stood just in from the doorway, long scraggly grey hair and dark silvery-blue eyes to match. “L-lieutenant Hank Anderson?” Whoah, he was bigger than you thought- taller than you (Pff, who wasn’t), with heavy clothes that made him larger and slightly intimidating.

What was he doing here?

He nodded, dislodging something between his teeth with a gritted jaw, looking around the room. His hands on his hips and expression hard to read. “We’re questioning witnesses of the hostage situation at your Cafe, mind if I ask you some questions?”

He looked surprised to see you pushing yourself to sit upright, gritting your teeth as you did so, still hunched ever so slightly over as both hands rested daintily on your lap.

“Of course! Fire away.” you gave him a grin, amused by your own stupid pun while aiming a finger gun in his direction. He was obviously not expecting such a relaxed attitude from someone who had just been facing the possibility of their own death less than a day ago. Heh, really shows how little he know about you. “Right.” He didn't look displeased at the attempted humour, but it certainly didn't make him any happier about being here. Something about the way he eyed a turned off heart monitor gave you waves of sympathy. “The android that held up your workplace yesterday, his name was registered as Harvey, did you know him?” you lightly ‘hmm’ed; taking eyes eyes from the officer to look at where your knees were under the sheets and think.

The name wasn’t familiar, nor was his face or clothing- not that you got the best look at it past the tears and lack of focus. Y’know, the whole threat on your life thing. “No, no I don't think so.”

“Do you know anyone who has recently lost their android or seen any suspicious activity in the area?”

“I told you to wait outside, Connor.” A grin forced your head to look back up at Hank. Surely enough Connor stood beside him, a serious as ever, with his hands tightly locked behind his back. Hank, who moved away from his partner with rolling eyes, sat heavily down in a chair on the other side of the room. He was still observing you, just less blatantly than Connor who had his eyes secured on your face.

“No, i’m sorry fellas but It’s been a bit of a slow week.” The apologetic expression you directed at Hank made Connor squint slightly. Following your line of sight to the Lieutenant; who was displaying minute signs of discomfort.

“Lieutenant anderson-” his partners angry glare made Connor pause and retry the beginning of that request. “Hank. If you don't mind I would like to ask some questions alone with the victim.”

As you opened your mouth to protest, ensuring that you don't mind the officers presence in the room, Hank got up a little too quickly to leave. The aura of subdued distress and sorrow from him quietly stopped you, instead just mewling a quick “It was nice to meet you-” As he shut the door on his way out.

The room felt heavy with awkwardness but that didn’t seem to affect Connor. Who was still stood watching you with a curiously distant stare. The silence was thick and suffocating to a degree that made you nervous. Shuffling slightly while glancing around before abruptly turning back to him with your eyes set on checking his arm- The suit was fixed, so you could at the very least assume the damage underneath was gone too. “The damage wasn’t critical.” He interrupted your concerned glare like he had read your mind. “I was repaired shortly after interrogating the assailant.”

“Oh!” your face beamed brightly, like all the warmth from the sun could be seen in your cheeks. “That’s good, I’m sorry you got hurt-”

“-Y/N.” A stern callout quickly cut off your apology. His face was neutral but his eyes betrayed the confusion set behind them. “Androids don’t feel pain.” His words held an unnecessary sting to them. “The situation was well under control. You should not have compromised your safety further by attacking the deviant.”

Your face twitched. Tiny minute changes in the muscles that an everyday human would miss or ignore. It felt like you’d just been scolded by a parent, conflicting emotions arising through a slight power struggle in your head. “...I couldn’t stand still and watch him shoot you.” The broken inflection in your voice, the way your eyes avoided his to look across the room at the floor, it was hard to understand. Yes you could have, there was no logical reason to interfere. At least none that Connor could think of.

“I am a machine, on deactivation my memories are uploaded to cyberlife for a replacement Connor to download, this is not the case for you.” An invisible hand reached for your chest, taking your heart and tugging at its inner workings with malicious intent. Something about that sentence. The flatness to his tone when reiterating his own ability to be effectively killed and brought back to life again. “I would prefer not to delay my mission, Y/N.” The sadness that swam around your eyes made his lips part ever so slightly, as if he was going to speak but couldn’t process the right words.

“Y-yes… yes of course.” The change of subject was appreciated by both of you as Connor grabbed the chair from the wall and put it beside your bed. He sat with the chair itself facing the wrong way, straddling the chair from the front while crossing his arms and resting them atop the backrest. It was an oddly human action- but considering his time spent with Hank it didn’t surprise you too much.

“Does the sequence ‘B10C0D3’ Mean anything to you?” “Biocode?” You parroted back as soon as he had finished asking you. A twinge of disbelief to your faint smirk. “Yeah. Yeah I used to study with someone, he loved using that as his username. Jay, Jayden Summers.” Connor’s LED began to circle, going yellow, as he searched up the name. [Jayden Summers, A former Cyberlife employee fired for irrational behaviour and threats toward fellow personnel. Born 2008. D̛i̢e͝d 2̛0̧35͠.’ ]

Connor was looking straight through you - like you no longer existed in front of him. The light embedded into his head have a split-second flash of red before returning to its natural sky blue color as he blinked and shook his head. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Thank you for your time, Y/N, I should be getting back to the investigation-” He looked almost… alarmed. Standing abruptly as you reached out to grab his arm- only just managing to snag a sleeve. He hesitated. Looking back at you, a tiny smile stretched up his cheek. It was wonky, but sincere, giving warm fuzzy glow to his face. It seems Connor had already noticed the fact you weren't looking forward to being alone again. “Would you like me to come back tomorrow?”

“Yes, yeah, i’d like that.” You let go, covering the excitement in your voice with a quiet quip. “But I can’t have a coffee ready for you this time.”

[motiveandthemeans]

Laurelworth

Chapter I: Mrs. Holmes

Margaret Louise Holmes (nee Hooper), known as Mrs. Holmes, Mistress, Missus ‘olmes, Missus Molly, Doctor Holmes, Doctor Molly, or just Molly, woke to early spring mist clouding the large, frost-tinged window adjacent her bed in her room at Laurelworth Manor. The room was quite large and one of her favorite in the entire 13,000 square foot house. Complete with a lovely window seat overlooking an ancient oak tree and side yard, a large fireplace (currently nearing embers), an impressive closet for her everyday clothes and shoes, a wardrobe for her finer things and a vanity. Several book shelves lined the walls littered with books, pictures and knick-knacks, a sitting area and a beautiful marble tiled en suite; she really could not ask for more. Her large canopy bed served as the loveliest of escapes from real life and each night she looked forward to her feather mattress.

A little over a year ago, Molly had come to Laurelworth seeking refuge and had not returned to London since. The 23 room manor upon a 10,000 acre estate was a wedding gift from her brother-in-law, Lord Mycroft Holmes. The estate was a three hour carriage ride from London, it contained two lakes and a large pond, 16 orchards and grew (that they knew of) 59 varieties of plants. Surrounded by mountains, Laurelworth Manor itself was at an elevation of 1,400 meters. The sweeping landscape never ceased to take Molly’s breath away, no matter how many times she saw it.

Her husband, the infamously brilliant (and equaling infuriating) William Sherlock Scott Holmes, spent his days in London at 221 B Baker Street solving crimes and conducting experiments with his closest friend and confidant Dr. John H. Watson. Her father Sir Charles Barrett Hooper, a respected and knighted Colonel Physician in Her Majesty’s Royal Army, God rest his soul, had arranged for the marriage with the hearty consent of Lord and Lady Holmes. Her father had been a war hero and his living children were considered to be the most eligible bachelor and bachelorettes when they had been introduced to society.

Molly let out a sleepy chuckle, remembering the letter her father had sent while she was abroad in America at the Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania informing her of the engagement. She was stunned, she’d never met the man, only reading about his many cases and brilliance in newspaper articles. Begrudgingly, she left at the end of her spring semester and returned to England within a fortnight. Two months later they married, she twenty and Sherlock twenty-five, in a small ceremony, much to the displeasure of the paparazzi and gossips in London society.

With the apathetic blessing of her new husband, Molly returned to America five days after their wedding to complete her education. She attempted to keep in regular correspondence with the Consulting Detective, but found he only wrote short replies back to satiate her desire to know he was doing well and breathing. After two more years of continuous study, Molly returned to England a Doctor. However, she was only allowed to practice in obstetrics at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital as it was a “womanly profession”. She was grateful to be able to put her skill to use anywhere and enjoyed her career, but her heart had always been in the field of pathology.

In the fourteen months she’d been at Laurelworth, Molly had made a happy life for herself, free from the constraints of social niceties and peerage. She ran the estate like a well-oiled machine and was loved by all in its employ. Every third day she spent at the village surgery looking after the women of the surrounding areas and delivering their babies if on duty at the time.

 Molly’s gaze drifted to the pictures on her bedside table which contained four framed photographs close to her heart. The first in an old, simple frame was a picture of her family when they lived in India before her mother and younger brother Rupert had died of Malaria. In her mind’s eyes, she could still see the fiery red of their hair.

The second photo in a lovely painted frame was of Mrs. Hudson and their dearest friends John and Mary Watson (nee Morstan) on their wedding day. Mary was a nurse midwife she’d met during Molly’s time at St. Bart’s, the two had become instant friends. Sherlock and John had been on a case involving the murder of a heavily pregnant woman who had been under Molly’s care. Despite the rather gruesome circumstances, love had blossomed between John and Mary and within six months, the pair were married. The blonde beauty had visited her at least half a dozen times while their husbands had been out for days on end chasing a case. However, she’d not visited since entering her third trimester at the behest of both John and Molly, not wanting to risk her well-being during this delicate time. Mrs. Hudson, the beloved landlady -not housekeeper- of 221 B Baker Street had visited three times and would have come more often had it not been for her troubling hip.

The third photograph set in a gilded frame was of Molly and her two living siblings in the parlor of their London townhome 10 days prior to the announcement of her engagement to Sherlock was put in the papers.

Standing in proper English fashion behind his two seated sisters was her elder brother, Mr. David Charles Hooper, his cocoa-colored hair slicked back and mouth set in a firm line. He was an Oxford educated solicitor and now a founding partner in one of London’s top law firms.  At twenty two he married Sarah Jane Turner, the daughter of the Lieutenant Colonel in their father’s regimen. The pair were childhood sweethearts and would have married sooner if David hadn’t been so determined to make something of himself to support Sarah on his own without the financial aid of their parents. Molly loved her sister-in-law and their three children dearly. Their eldest Andrew David was 6 and a half, Margaret Jane (known as Maggie), four, and Eleanor Kaye was now 18 months old. The family had come to visit twice and only two weeks ago Sarah had written they were expecting their fourth in October!

Her younger sister, Viscountess Camilla Marie Poitier had visited for three months while her husband, the Viscount Raul Poitiers was in Parliament at Paris ardently fighting for the rights of the lowest class. Molly could only roll her eyes and smile indulgently, remembering how sixteen year old Camilla had begged David to let her marry the obscenely handsome, romantic, enlightened, artistic twenty-one year old aristocrat who was in England visiting his mother’s family. Raul had fallen hopelessly in love with her beautiful golden haired sister at first sight; they spent the evening dancing together as if they were the only two in the ballroom.

The older siblings, however, were not ignorant to the Frenchman’s reputation for being a serial philanderer. So it came as no surprise that when the offer of marriage was made two weeks later, Molly sought out Mycroft for his opinion on the Viscount’s character. She was disheartened to discover that even the British Government’s sources had reported that while he was a religious man and much loved by the people, fidelity was not in Raul’s nature. David had reluctantly given his consent (after many rounds of tears and threats of elopement) and the two were married within a fortnight in a grand ceremony. The pair had not yet been married a year and were already expecting their first child in August.

The last picture was of her and Sherlock on their wedding day. Molly’s chest constricted at the impassive expression juxtaposed with the earnest hope so evident on her face as she gazed up at him. Sherlock had only stayed at Laurelworth twice since she’d taken up residence there permanently, the first time was at Easter, the second at Christmas and neither were of his own volition. In the year she spent at Baker Street, the young obstetrician had fallen deeply in love with his genius and (under several layers of sarcasm, impatience and a surely disposition) kindness. The latter had never been directed towards her but she’d witnessed it on several occasions in his interactions with Dr. Watson, Mary (who he’d taken a genuine, friendly shine to), Mycroft’s wife Anthea, and even on occasion Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

Molly’s reminiscing was broken when a knock sounded at her door.

“Come-in!” She called, rising from the warmth of her sheets as her ladies maid, Anna, entered with a tea tray in hand.

“Good Morning, Mistress Holmes. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you. I dreamed of lemon cakes and swimming on the moon.” Molly laughed at the amused expression on Anna’s lovely face, her wheat colored hair in a tight bun, the standard black ladies maid dress she wore was adjusted to accommodate the slight swell of her belly. “What did you dream of, Anna?”

“Ducklings, ma’am. Odd, I know but I’m told it’s normal to have funny dreams when expecting.” She replied, setting the tray down on the coffee table and helping Molly into her berry colored dressing gown before scurrying off to replenish the fire.

“No stranger than swimming on the moon, I assure you.” Molly chuckled, settling down on the chair with her leather bound diary, sipping her tea. “Anna, if you so much as put a log on that fire I will force you to take an extra week’s leave fully paid when the baby arrives.”

“Mrs. Holmes, you know I’m perfectly well enough to lift a few logs.” Anna admonished. “I like to earn my keep, ma’am-“

“Anna, you do not have to prove your worth to me.” Molly said earnestly, rising to grasp her hands. “Your place at Laurelworth is set in stone, my dear. Having a baby will not prompt me to eject you from your positon, I assure you.”

Anna’s eyes shone with gratitude. “Yes, Mrs. Holmes…Thank you.”

Molly nodded with a smile. “I think the blue riding habit with the white linen blouse will do today, a bit dressy for me, I know, I’m scheduled to inspect the orchards and ensure none of those confounding beetles have eaten away the peaches, but I’m also to visit the estate’s accountant so I suppose some effort couldn’t hurt.”

“Yes ma’am.” The lady’s maid gave a rueful smile. “What would you like for breakfast this morning?”

“Scrambled eggs, sausage, tomatoes and porridge with cinnamon sugar. I’m positively famished this morning. In the sunroom as well, it’s too lovely a day not to look out at the view.”

“Right away ma’am. I’ll be back in a mo’ to help you dress.” Anna smiled once more and left the room.

Molly went to the washing bowl and splashed her face, cleaning herself with a soaped wash cloth. Anna returned just as she had finished, helping her into her petty coats, corset and blue riding habit. They had just finished brushing Molly’s thick, sandy auburn locks into a simple ponytail when a knock resounded followed by a series of barks.

“We’re decent Mrs. Lyle, you can come in!” Molly called.

First through the door were Molly’s three favorite companions, her beloved pets. Brutus, her 90 pound three year old Great Pyrenees-Shepherd who always wanted to play and somehow always managed to find mud puddles to jump into (frustrating Mrs. Lyle to no end). Freida, her 30 pound seven year old beagle mix that loved to cuddle and worm her way into places she had no business being in (much to the amusement of the groundskeepers). Third was Toby, her 10 year old tortoiseshell Calico cat that spent his days lazing in the sun, ignoring everyone (save for Molly, he always made a point to know her location if she was in the Manor) and chasing mice for cream.

“Good morning, my loves!” Molly greeted each with several loving belly rubs and affectionate kisses, laughing at their licks on her cheek. “Shall we go and see what wonders Mrs. Honeycutt has made of our breakfast?”

“Mrs. Holmes, I wanted to inform you that Mister H-“ Mrs. Lyle, the head housekeeper, started but Molly was already gone, racing the dogs down the main staircase, greeting various members of the household staff by name and with a warm smile. They in turn greeted her happily and chuckled watching their mistress race her beloved mutts, Toby - aloof as ever- maintained a decent pace behind. The glowing smile was still upon her face as the four rounded the corner to the sunroom; laughter echoing in the halls of the house, she entered to see a familiar, yet estranged figure seated at the head of the table. He looked just as he had the last time Molly had seen him, dressed in a finely tailored dark suit under a scarlet dressing gown, sipping coffee as his blue-green eyes looked up from his paper and locked with hers.

They never ceased to take her breath away.

“S-Sherlock!” She stuttered confusedly. “I-I mean, Mr. Holmes. Welcome back.”

He smirked, obviously satisfied with his surprise appearance. “Good Morning, Mrs. Holmes.”

[captainswansettingsail]

look into your eyes and the sky’s the limit

So it’s Lieutenant Duckling that is very Hamilton inspired and has been bugging me for like a week now. It also got to be way bigger than I intended but oh well. Hope you guys like it! (also unbeta-ed so sorry for any mistakes)

Another ball. That’s just what this land needed. Never mind that the Enchanted Forest was on the brink of war with the Evil Queen or that the Dark One has been wreaking havoc among the troops on the south border. Never mind that many peasants have been flooding to the citadel seeking refuge because of the onslaught of attacks from pirates and the Evil Queen’s henchmen. Never mind it all because the castle was being decorated floor to ceiling with daisies. The musicians were arriving and tuning their instruments. And Princess Emma was scowling at her reflection as her handmaiden fixed her hair.

She had tried in vain to get her parents to see reason. As Crown Princess, she had some say in the war strategies of the kingdom and throwing a ball to celebrate her thirtieth birthday hardly seemed appropriate given the circumstances. But her parents wouldn’t hear of it. Queen Mary Margaret looked at her daughter and insisted that the people needed this. The people needed hope and something to look forward to in these dark times and then her father, King David chimed in that there would always be wars, they had to enjoy the moments where they could.

Emma practically rolled her eyes at her parents’ optimism, but she had no choice to obey. So as the day of the ball arrived, Emma tried to hide her distaste as her handmaid laid out a beautiful blue dress and the jewelry she would be adorned with.

It was not that Emma disliked balls. Once upon a time, she rather enjoyed them. The music, the dancing, the sight of her people so happy, but that was before a particular duke had stolen her heart and run away with another woman. That was before Emma fully realized that being a princess and future Queen meant shielding herself from that kind of weakness ever again. That was before a war started to rage around her. Now, the subtle sound of music made her frown deepen, her dancing shoes felt tight on her feet, and in the face of her parents’ smiles she couldn’t help but feel her eyebrows continue to furrow.

As she clasped her necklace around her neck, a loud knock interrupted Emma’s brooding thoughts.

“Enter.” She called continually staring at her reflection.

“Emma! Happy birthday!”A flash of red and dark hair appeared in the princess’s vision before she was tackled in a hug by her dear friend, Duchess Lucas (or Ruby as she is more fondly called).

“Ruby!” Emma laughed at her friend’s eagerness and then felt her face relax. “How was your journey?”

Her friend pulled away and shrugged, “Granny assigned more men onto my journey on account of the bandits roaming freely in our particular area, but I didn’t mind. They absolutely make great company.”

Emma rolled her eyes at her friend, but continued to smile.

“Your parents really have the best tailors this side of the kingdom. This dress is magnificent.” Ruby noted as she looked over at the silk approvingly.

Emma sighed, “I wish it wasn’t so magnificent. We are in a war. This whole ball is ridiculous. We need to be saving our supplies or strategizing or-”

“Em, I love you, but please stop.” Ruby held her hand up, “This is probably why your parents insisted on having a ball in the first place. To get your mind off of this war for one night. The Evil Queen has yet to make another move. We will defeat her. But tonight is just about you.”

Emma shrugged, still not convinced of the reason, “That or they want me married off.”

With this a mischievous gleam entered her eye, “And that would be bad because?”

“Because if I haven’t found a husband by now then I probably never will. And if it’s all the same to you, I don’t need a man telling me how to rule a kingdom.”

“It’s more than that, Emma! Your parents’ love you and want to see you happy.”

“I’d be happier when I know that we’ve defeated the Evil Queen.” Emma retorted.

Her friend gave her a critical glance and understanding filled her eye, “It’s still about that duke isn’t it? That duke you were supposed to run away with?”

Emma felt her heart freeze at the memory, but tried to school her features. She had promised herself that cold winter night when she realized that Neal wasn’t coming that she would never let herself be the fool for someone else’s gain. She promised she’d never get hurt. For the sake of her kingdom. For the sake of herself.

Ruby sighed at Emma’s silence, “Not every man is going to be such a fool to leave you like that. Not every man is going to leave you out in the cold. Just open your heart a little bit tonight, Emma. I think you may be surprised.”

Emma refused to respond to Ruby’s claims and instead sat back in her vanity avoiding her own reflection. Ruby may be right about Neal and about opening her heart, but she couldn’t take the chance Ruby might be wrong.

/

“Elsa! I had no idea you’d be coming tonight!” Emma greeted happily at the sight of one of her closest friends.

“I wanted to surprise you! This is your birthday after all.” The beautiful blonde responded warmly. There were not many princesses Emma’s age so when that fateful day when the royalty of Arendelle arrived on official court business with King David and Queen Mary Margaret, Emma was more than a little excited to see a new playmate. The two have been like sisters ever since.

“Where is Anna?” Ruby asked as she finished greeting Elsa.

“She is on her honeymoon with her new husband. She wanted to attend, but Kristoff has managed to get them lost and off track for another couple of days. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him with the map.” Elsa smiled.

“We both know that Anna would have not been much better,” Emma teased. 

Elsa laughed in agreement.

“I realize that I am a bit late, my apologies. It’s rather unfortunate that I had missed the toast. And the cake!” Elsa amended as the strains of a waltz started up and the royal court surrounding them started to get tipsier and tipsier as the evening progressed.

“No worries,” Emma responded.

“There was really nothing to miss. His royal highness makes the same birthday toast as he always does and Emma blows a cake she never gets to eat. If I hadn’t known any better this could have been Emma’s 25th birthday.” Ruby supplied. “Although, it seems this year’s company is far more pleasing to the eye than in most years.”

Emma and Elsa laughed at their friend’s observation, but could not find any reason to disagree with her.

Emma’s eyes wandered around the many couples dancing and at the many navy men who have received favor from the king. Yes, there were indeed many more pleasing faces to glance at this year.

She was just about to turn to Elsa to whisper that a particular navy man has been eyeing her for some time when Emma caught the gaze of the ocean.

Well- not the literal ocean. 

But the eyes that have caught hers had the exact shade of the ocean after a storm has passed. A clear blue that Emma couldn’t help but marvel at. She refocused her vision and saw that the clear blue eyes were boldly contrasted with dark eyelashes and dark hair swept carelessly to the side. 

The handsome navy man that has caught Emma’s attention was not much older than her. And seemed to smirk in her direction as she realized she was staring. 

Emma felt her face heat up as she turned her back to the man.

“Emma are you alright? You seem flushed.” Ruby noted.

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s a little warm in here.” Emma responded trying to regain some composure. Emma grabbed Elsa’s arm and pulled her closer, “Elsa, that man who is he?”

Elsa turned around and Emma hoped she knew which man she was gesturing to.

“You mean the man who keeps stealing glances to you?” Elsa asked, unfortunately not quiet enough for Ruby to miss the words entirely.

At the mention of a man, Ruby eagerly looked to where Elsa was looking, “Oh! That’s Leftenant Killian Jones. He sails on the Jewel of the Realm with his brother as Captain Liam Jones.”

The two blondes stared at their friend with awe as she just chuckled, “Did I forget to mention that some of the men that escorted me here were on employ of your parents? And that they hired the best men in their navy?”

“N-no, you didn’t mention-”

“But of course,” Ruby continued on mischievously, “I was hoping to nab the younger Jones brother but by the looks of it I don’t hold a candle to you, Princess.”

Emma tried to protest at the use of her title, but she never got the chance to because as soon as Ruby was done with her monologue, she walked the length of the ballroom- straight to the man with the blue eyes.

“What is she doing?” Emma whispered vehemently to her friend who was watching the scene unfold with delight.

“What Ruby does best. Meddle.”

Emma watched as Ruby tap on the Leftanant’s broad shoulders. She shouldn’t be so interested at the simple and easy exchange that was happening before her. She shouldn’t notice how much more handsome he was when smiled or laughed. She shouldn’t wish that she was Ruby at this moment, because she wasn’t supposed to be wishing she was the one to make him laugh.

Not a moment after that thought came across her mind that Emma sees Ruby take Killian Jones’s arm and lead him toward her and Elsa.

“Oh my god, Elsa, she’s bringing her here. What do I do?” Emma panicked. She almost wanted to slap her own silliness but there was nothing to help that now.

“Act natural?” Elsa laughed at her friend’s panic.

Emma picked up an empty goblet and tried to busy herself with it as she heard the tail end of Ruby and Killian’s conversation.

“So where exactly are you taking me, lass?”

“I’m about to change your life.”

“Well, then by all means lead the way.” 

“Leftenant Killian Jones may I introduce the crown Princess Emma!” Ruby announced as Emma put down the cup she was holding and looked at Ruby and the man at her arms.

Killian bowed formally and captured Emma’s hand in his. He didn’t break eye contact with her as he brought his mouth onto her hand. Emma fought the shiver that was working through her body. Her hand has been kissed by many men, some higher ranked than the leftenant standing before her, but it felt like this was the first time she’s been touched in decades and she finds that she quite likes it.

“Highness,” He said as he straightened himself.

“Emma, please, Leftenant. I don’t fancy people calling me formally at my own party.”

“Then if it’s all the same to you, Emma, Killian will do just fine.” He said with a dazzling smile. 

Emma felt her face heat up as she felt her mouth lift ever slightly.

“Alright…Killian.” She said and with nothing else to say she added, “Thank you for all the service you have done for my kingdom during this war.”

Killian’s smile was almost a smirk as he leaned forward slightly, “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, Emma, it will have been worth it.”

There was a brief pause before Elsa had picked up Ruby’s arm and excused themselves. Leaving the pair alone.

“May I interest you in a dance, Emma?”

Emma shook her head noting the brief moment of disappointment flash in his blue eyes before she spoke up again hesitantly, “I have danced enough for tonight, I think. If you would like, we could take a walk through the gardens instead?”

A broad smile appeared on his immaculate features and Emma felt herself mirror his expression.

“I would very much like to, love.”

/

The pair spent the rest of the evening wandering the grounds talking about nothing and about everything. 

To Emma’s pleasant surprise, Killian Jones was more than a proper, obedient leftenant. It seems that in his youth he was quite rebellious. Always straying off course. Always wanting to go his own way on his own explorations. Always seeking for the next adventure. Emma felt herself laugh easily at his impressions of his brother and the antics they would get into. She felt herself share some of her own bouts of rebellion. Talking about running away every now and again through town to some tavern or by the pier. She would share some of the pranks her and Ruby would pull on the maids or the cooks. He laughed in response and Emma felt a warmth in her heart that she hasn’t felt in quite some time.

Then he would talk about some of the battles they’ve had and then the paralyzing fear he felt when he thought his brother had passed. He would allude to some of his nightmares and how his brother was the only family he had left. Emma reached out and took his hand saying she was sorry. Then she would share about her loneliness. About her lack of companions in the castle despite Ruby and Elsa by her side. She shared her dreams of traveling across the sea and seeing different lands. She alluded to the heartbreak she had experienced all those years ago and he felt his hand give hers a gentle squeeze in comfort.

As the moon rose higher and higher, the two were comfortably swinging their joined hands lightly as Emma realized that the ball may have ended for some time now and that she was expected back at any moment. 

They reached the side entrance to the palace and let go of his hand.

They stood for a moment in silence as they stared into each other’s eyes. Killian really did have the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. And after tonight she saw more than the ocean in them, she saw the sky. She saw how endless they were. How endless his hopes and dreams were. She saw that they held endless opportunities. And maybe that’s why she allowed herself the small luxury of leaning into him and placing her mouth on his. 

He kissed her back gently and reverently, savoring the small moment they had. 

They broke apart and she smiled widely just as he was.

“May I see you again before I leave, Emma?”

“You better.” Was all her reply as she brought her lips back to his.

[kegasyo-blog]

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[witsyo]

Flower Crown 2

Blue was woken by an incessant pounding on the door, worming its way into her dreams and making her groan as she clutched tighter to Razz. He sighed, kissed her softly, then another round of knocking had him swearing under his breath, getting up despite her wordless protests.

Blinking as he lit a lantern, she watched him cross the room. Her eyes hooded, and her chest swelled as she looked at him. His hair was mussed, and as he struggled into a pair of pants, she let her eyes linger on the curves of his shoulders. 

The person knocked again, and he called, “I’m coming, damn it! Give me a moment!” 

Blue laughed, snuggling deeper into the blankets. They really should have expected this. Razz was a captain, after all, and a well-loved one at that. It would have been almost more of a surprise for him to make it through a night without interruption. 

The door opened, and she shivered at the burst of cold that accompanied the guest. Timothy was shaking, saluted Razz quickly as he started to open his mouth, then did a double-take. Blue gave him a little wave, trying to hide her grin. They hadn’t told anyone about this, had actively hidden it during the weeks they were just lovers. She’d never admit it, but she’d been looking forward to this revelation. 

“I...Blue?” 

“Eyes on me,” Razz said bluntly, and Timothy snapped back to him. 

“Uh… the… the queen has summoned all of her captains for a meeting.” 

“Why?” 

Blue sat up, wrapping herself in one of the furs and watching the exchange with interest. 

“I’m… I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Timothy said to her, blinking awkwardly. “I’m only supposed to tell the captains and their families.”

“Timothy,” she said, fingering lightly at the wedding ribbon they had tied to the bedpost. They were a tradition unique to this kingdom, used in the ceremony of marriage, sure, but also unique in their construction. They could only be woven by one of the blessed seers of the royal court, and were made specifically for each couple that asked for them. The designs within were used for family crests, decorations in houses, the tattoos that spouses would get to fully solidify their marriage. They were easily recognizable, though, for the cloth they were woven from, and Timothy’s face cleared immediately. 

“ Oh .” A huge grin cropped across his face, and he crossed the room quickly, clasping her hand. “Married?! Why did you keep it from--” 

Razz was staring at Timothy incredulously, and Blue laughed, pulling her hand away and nodding down at herself. “It was only last evening, Timothy. We didn’t want any guests.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us that you--” 

“Timothy,” she stage-whispered. “I’m still naked.”

He flushed bright red, glancing at Razz's disbelieving expression and taking a step back but still unable to keep a grin off his face. “Ha! Halle owes me gold. I knew there was something going on between the two of you.” 

“Halle didn’t?” she asked, smiling softly. 

Timothy grinned, turning and gripping Razz’s bare shoulder. “She thought you had higher standards than this lout.” 

Razz shrugged him off, looking a little put out as Blue laughed. “Care to tell me why the queen demands I interrupt my wedding night?”

“The king’s wife of Holrfold,” Timothy said, still half-laughing, and Blue froze. “It’s been discovered that she wasn’t killed, and the king is on the edge of declaring war. Apparently, he believes we’ve taken her.” 

No. No, no, no. The greatest relief of Blue’s life had been the day she’d received that news. The king thought his queen was dead. She had died  years  ago, how could he possibly know--

“Our queen has no need of a wife,” Razz said, disbelievingly. “What reason would Ljosvollr have to take her? It’s been nearly five years, if it was for ransom--”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad she has hope,” Timothy said with passion. 

Ljosvollr and Holrfold had a long history of hate and war, each side committing their own grievous sins over the course of time. Blue had been raised to hate this country and its people. But she’d quickly noticed, upon escaping here, that they and she had one very big thing in common. They truly hated the king of Holrfold. 

Razz looked doubtful. “I had hoped she had found peace,” he said, reaching up to rub his face. Seeming to remember she was there, he looked back at Blue. “Have you heard the stories?” 

Unable to speak, she just shook her head. 

“She was a sad thing, the poor woman. The advisors and diplomats always used to say how small she was, too nervous to speak at times. She had scars and brands the likes of which they’d never seen on a person who was still sane, and they were always under the impression that the king had done it.” 

“Once,” Timothy said, “he apparently slapped her in a room full of our advisors. The queen! And she just took it, didn’t say a word.” 

Nodding slowly, Blue looked down at her lap. She could still feel the humiliation of it, the powerlessness of knowing he wasn’t even afraid to hurt her in front of strangers from another kingdom. The brands under her skin burned, healed away like a map of shame under her skin. “I hope she’s somewhere safe,” she said quietly.

“Did you ever meet her?” Timothy asked. “You worked in a lord’s house in Holrfold, didn’t you?” 

Razz smacked him, but Blue laughed shortly. “Once or twice.” 

“The queen is expecting me, yes? Do you need to deliver your message any further?” Razz went to the dresser, pulled on a shirt. Blue held out a beckoning hand, helping him button the front as he pulled on his shoes. 

“No,” Timothy said, averting his eyes as Blue’s blanket slipped a little. She pulled it back into place, pressed a kiss to Razz’s cheek as he started to stand. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll be back soon enough.” 

She knew he was right. The queen held power over time, such as she’d never seen before. When they had been equals, she’d experienced it for herself more than once. Entering a meeting with the sun high in the sky, spending the whole evening in her company and, impossibly, emerging within an hour. Without the limits of distance and number, it could have proved to be something truly terrifying in an enemy. 

Now that she was a lieutenant in the queen’s army, however she carried the same pride they all did in her power. 

Razz and Timothy left, leaving her in darkness as they took the lantern. She waited a few moments, then laid back down, propping her arm up against her pillow and staring at it for a long moment. Then, slowly, she let her magic run up her arm, dancing lights peeking through her skin and making their way like leaves in the wind up to the tips of her fingers. 

The king knew she was alive.

She had been a fool to hope. She’d known she had. It had just been so tiresome, always being worried, always looking over her shoulder with nothing to protect her. Ah, well, she thought, extinguishing the lights. 

Blue was more than prepared to protect herself, now.

~~~

When she woke again, she wasn’t totally sure why. The room was still quiet, and it took her a long moment to realize that something was lighting the room from the corner of her eye. She blinked, looked up to see Razz leaning back against the door with the lantern in his hand. He was watching her softly, the expression on his face inscrutable. 

She was afraid, for a moment, that he knew. 

Then his face cleared, and he smiled. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he crossed the room, set the lantern on the table as he leaned up to kiss her. “Did I wake you?” 

“I think so, but I don’t mind,” she replied. “Why were you just watching me?” 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, kissed her again and brushed her hair out of her face. “You looked so peaceful, and I must admit to enjoying the sight of you in my bed.” 

She took the kiss, returned it with her own, smiled as she felt his hand lighting under the blanket to spread his fingers over her stomach. They broke apart, and he grinned, asking quietly, “Do you think you should take those herbs?”

“I suppose,” she said, smiling. “I should be blessed to have a child with you, Razz.” 

“Today?” he asked, and she laughed. 

“Perhaps not today.” 

Laughing, he let himself fall heavily forward, trapping her sideways as he reached under the bed. She snorted, trying unsuccessfully to push him off until he sat up. There was a packet of dried herbs and seeds in his hand, one of a few that the priest who had married them had pressed into her hand. “If you aren’t already,” he’d quietly said. “Give it time.” 

Blue took the packet, peering inside and spotting a few plants she recognized. One of them peeked up at her like an old friend, and she smiled sadly. “Queen Anne’s Lace.” 

“You’re familiar?” Razz asked, finger coming up to light under her chin. She smiled at it, the hurt in her soul almost too well-known. 

“All too much.” 

Razz only knew that she came from a place of horrors, and that she didn’t want to tell him more. When he’d found her, on the side of the road wrapped in her dead servant’s coat, she’d claimed to be a maid fleeing her master. He’d never had reason to question it. 

Suddenly, she grinned, setting the packet on the bedside table and cupping his face. “There are still hours left in this night. Is there any reason I may want to wait a few of them before I take these?” 

It took him a moment, but he burst into laughter as he realized what she meant. He sat up, smiling at her. “We leave with the company tomorrow, my love. Perhaps we  should  make use of this time.” 

She took a deep breath, leaning up to unbutton his shirt. “So soon. Has the war started, then?” 

“No,” he murmured. “We’re to patrol the western shore for two weeks. The queen wants us to present a strong front, and to keep watch for the ships of Holrfold.” 

Her hands slipped beneath his open shirt, smoothing along the skin of his waist as she accepted a kiss. “May I come with you as your wife? Spend my time sewing on the back of a horse, demand your soldiers bend to my whims?” 

“Of course not,” he snorted. “Don’t think you’re getting out of your duties just because you’ve found your way into my bed, temptress.” 

“Ah, so you’ve caught me!” she exclaimed dramatically, and he chuckled, kissing her again and following her forward as she lay back. 

“I hope that you won’t cease trying to influence me.”

“You  are  very easy to influence,” she commented, and felt his mouth go to her neck. “Will I still have to sleep in the Lieutenant’s tent?” 

“Mmm…” he hesitated, pursed his lips in thought. “I don’t want to appear biased.” 

“You  are  biased.” 

“I suppose I could allow it, if it pleases my wife.” Blue grinned at him, watched as he moved the furs she was covered in to the side. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”