#stuff I wouldn’t do otherwise: learn sign language’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scripttorture · 3 years

Note

Hello! I have a few questions related to your most recent post and the definition of torture. You said:

"A trained person who was never tortured will always out perform someone whose training involved torture."

According to everything else I have seen on your blog, this makes sense - the mental and physical trauma from being tortured have lasting effects which make certain tasks more difficult.

However, this seems to juxtapose certain tropes I've seen in US military training advertisements. For example, "Hell Week" in the Navy SEAL training seems like it would be torture if it was forced upon someone (like if the soldiers didn't sign up for it and didn't have the option to quit.). *Hell Week is when soldiers are training continuously for 5 days in freezing, wet conditions, with little more than 4 hours of sleep for the entire week, under insane amounts of physical and mental stress.

- If someone chose to be tested both mentally and physically, I feel like it wouldn't be torture. However, if the same exact conditions were forced upon someone else (testing their mental and physical limits without their consent or understanding), does your quote above mean that the person who did not have a choice would not reap the benefits of the training/testing? Or would the Navy SEALs be better soldiers if they didn't have to go through 'torturous conditions' during Hell Week, regardless of their choice to do so?

(I used Hell Week as an example, but I meant this question generally. I'm trying to figure out how to best train an elite soldier and avoid any harmful torture apologia tropes, while also making sure that they are able to handle insanely challenging situations)

- My other question has more to do with the definition of torture that you quoted from the UN in one of your master posts. If someone is being seriously injured (pulled fingernails, whipping, starvation etc), but not for the purposes of interrogation, punishment, or intimidation, is that still torture, or is that just abuse? And, regardless of what we call it, would the effects be the same as if it were torture for any of the three motives above?

Sorry if this is long and hard to understand, I can clarify if needed!

It’s not the longest I’ve gotten and it’s perfectly clear, duck*. :) Honestly this is a difficult topic with a lot of nuance, it’s better to take a longer and more thoughtful approach.

From the stand point of the legal definition and what we study/understand as torture any consensual activity, however extreme, is not torture.

But here’s where it gets interesting: consent and our attitude to an activity actually changes our response to pain. It may even change how much pain we feel.

I’m going to take a slightly different example to yours. There are a lot of cultures globally that have practiced scarification, ritual cutting to deliberately form scars. And this can be done for a lot of reasons: membership of a family or clan, coming of age, traditional medicine, religion, you get the idea.

A lot of people in these cultures describe their scars as incredibly important and the process of getting them as a moving, deep and positive process.

This does not mean they wouldn’t be traumatised if they were attacked by someone with a knife.

Being able to approach something painful and see it as positive really changes our perspective. It makes trauma and mental illness a lot less likely. And being able to back out, even if it’s just for a little while to take a breather, seems to make us able to withstand more pain then we would have otherwise.

The simplest and most famous experiment that dealt with this relationship between our mindset and pain asked people to keep their hands in ice cold water. They timed how long people could do it when they were told to stay silent and how long they could do it when they were allowed to swear. If they swore they could hold their hands under for longer. An average of forty seconds longer.

Looking back over O’Mara (Why Torture Doesn’t Work, a very good intro to how pain works and what it does to the brain) the way he describes it as by thinking of the experience of pain as a collection of three things. There’s the physical sensation itself, the nerves firing. But there’s also an affective component, how we feel emotionally about the experience and a cognitive component, how we think about it.

Did you ever play that game as a kid where you stuff as many chilis as possible in your mouth to see who would spit them out first? I… might have done. And from what I remember it hurts an awful lot. But those memories to me are mostly about messing about with my friends, I remember trying to be stubborn about it and I remember us laughing at each other.

This is a completely different experience to someone being held down and having chili stuff up their nose. But the difference isn’t necessarily in the physical damage done or the physical sensation of pain. It’s in the other components, the emotional response and the rationalisation.

I also had a filling drilled in my tooth without painkillers as a kid. I don’t know how common this is in the West? It happened in Saudi. Honestly my biggest memory of it is the language barrier between myself and the dentist.

These are anecdotes obviously but I’m trying to show that you probably also have experiences in your own life that back up the experiments too. The way we think about a painful experience really does make a huge amount of difference. And that means consent matters enormously.

These soldiers are going into this experience knowing what to expect, how long it will last and that they can stop at any time. That makes a huge amount of difference. Those same factors have drastically increased the time volunteers will spend in solitary confinement for research. I’m pretty sure if I dug even a little I’d find pain studies with similar findings.

Here’s the flip side: the physical factors are still in play.

Sleep is an important physiological process that’s essential to normal functioning. Studies on consensual sleep deprivation have shown massive negative impacts on memory along with a host of other things that you can read about here.

Let’s take a non torture example. A student who stays up all night cramming for an exam is not going to develop the symptoms of trauma that a torture survivors who was sleep deprived would. But the effect sleep deprivation has on memory is due to sleep playing an essential role in preserving memory (and learning more generally.) So they’re both likely to have difficulty remembering things in days just before and just after sleep deprivation. They’re also both more likely to have false memories and catch a bad cold.

As a result of this memory impairment I question the educational value of anything involving sleep deprivation: you can’t learn while messing up the processes that let your brain remember things.

There have been cases in the UK of people dying during training for the armed forces. Because while consent makes a huge difference, mindset makes a huge difference- our bodies still have limits. We can choose to push ourselves past those limits and, whatever our motivation or feelings, it can do real harm.

Personally? I’m unsure of the benefit of these kinds of exercises. As in I’m unsure there is a benefit. Learning is going to be shot, chances of injury are going to be a lot higher- I don’t see anything that could be improved by these sorts of exercises.

Anecdotally people do report feeling like a closer unit after going through these sorts of routines. That might be the benefit: moral and unit cohesion, possibly self-esteem too.

If you’re making up something for your story I think it’d be helpful for me to mention a little statistical effect that gets used to justify punishment pretty regularly. Get some dice out if you’ve got them and roll one. Let’s say the number represents performance in some kind of test (because effort and learning matter but our performance also varies because of things we can’t control.) A roll of 1 gets punished, a roll of 6 gets praised.

Now after you roll that first 1 statistically speaking the chances are your next roll will be better. And if you roll a 6 then statistically speaking the chances are your next roll will be worse. People observe this effect in real life and they often conclude that there’s no point in praising someone but that punishment leads to improvement. Really it’s just a statistical effect, after a particularly, noticeably bad day the chances are things will be better next and vice versa.

This effect can make it difficult for people to recognise overall, long term progress. Which is the kind of progress you should be paying attention to when designing a training program.

If you want good performance from people, whatever the metric, the most efficient thing to do is ensure that those people are; well fed, have access to clean water, get plenty of sleep, have breaks and have access to medical treatment when they need it.

I’d say the main things to keep in mind when designing this fictional training regime are:

Being honest about the effects you describe, ie if they’re spending long periods without shelter are they at risk from exposure? If they’re standing in cold water are they going to get hypothermia?

Remember that even if something is damaging or causes lasting trauma it would not necessarily prevent someone from doing their job. Torture survivors have serious, lasting symptoms but many of them still work.

I think I’m going to leave that there because I’m not an expert in militaries or training people. And keep in mind that I am a pacifist, read this with my biases in mind.

Getting to the second question, there is a little more to the UN definition then that. The primary factor is still who the abuser is. For it to be torture (legally speaking) the abuser has to be (or be ordered by) an on-duty government employee, part of a group that controls territory (ie an occupying force). Some countries also count international organised criminal gangs in this definition.

It’s also important to note that torture can be targetted at someone other then the victim. So if the police arrest the brother of a political opponent and beat him in order to intimidate the politician, that is still torture.

Basically there are a lot of factors in the legal definition of torture and it’s that way by design. The hope is that you end up with a framework that captures as much government abuse as possible.

But it also means that there’s a pretty high barrier when it comes to proving torture. Which means that things which are legally torture can be prosecuted as assault, bodily harm or equivalents to these, because it’s easier to get a conviction for those charges.

Technically you are correct: if abuse done by a government official doesn’t have one of the four motivations in the legal definition (attempts to obtain information, forcing a confession, intimidation or punishment) then it doesn’t meet the definition.

However in practice I’ve not heard of a case failing because of the motive.

I’m not a lawyer and I’m not an expert in international law. I won’t say it’s never happened. But it’s much more common for cases to fail for other reasons. Off the top of my head I’d say the most common reason is difficulty proving the abuse took place.

The most common types of torture today are ‘clean’, a term we use to indicate that they don’t leave obvious marks. If someone turns up with fingernails torn out or the skin of their back lacerated by a whip that is clear physical evidence of abuse. Nothing else causes similar injuries. But if someone turns up at a doctor’s with swollen feet or reddened skin, if they’ve lost a lot of weight or they’re so tired they’re struggling to stand… Well all of those things can be caused by common tortures. But they can also be caused by common illnesses.

A lot of the deaths from torture today are similarly hard to prove. Beatings and stress positions ultimately cause death by kidney failure. Which can mean that prosecutors are asked to prove a victim didn’t have an underlying health condition. Or take drugs.

Honestly my instinct is that the motive is the easiest thing to prove. It’s often harder to bring charges against people in positions of authority, regardless of the country we’re talking about. Bringing those charges, proving abuse took place and proving it was done by the person in question, those are usually the tricky parts.

The difference between torture and abuse is scale. Torture is industrial scale abuse.

The law doesn’t define that scale but that’s what we’re talking about when we talk about abuse from organised authority. Abusers might have dozens of victims. Torturers have thousands, tens of thousands.

If you want to explore a different motivation in your story, something outside the legal framework, consider the scale at which this abuse is taking place. Consider how organised it is. If it’s organised and large scale, with multiple abusers, with no prior relationship between the abuser and victims then torture will probably be a better model then abuse. If it’s smaller scale with a more personal relationship and if it isn’t supported by a legal framework/organisation then abuse might be a better model.

For victims and survivors the difference isn’t so much about the symptoms they personally experience as the… side effect of that scale. Abuse victims are often very isolated and may not know anyone who has had a similar experience. Torture implies a community of survivors and possibly generational trauma. There are also effects to do with access to support, access to medical care and how likely it is that someone will be believed.

Torture survivors are often systematically disenfranchised in a way that abuse victims are not. Torture survivors are often forced to leave their home country. Anecdotally, based on what I’ve seen globally over the last few years, I think that struggling to get citizenship is increasingly an issue for torture survivors. And without citizenship there’s difficulty finding legal work, getting accommodation, accessing medical care, accessing the legal system etc.

I do not know whether torture survivors are more or less likely to be believed by their community compared to survivors of abuse. I do not think any one has attempted a comparative study. I do know that the prevalence of clean torture means that many torture survivors are not believed and this puts up a further barrier, making it harder to access medical treatment and bring charges.

Rejali’s book was published in 2009, so things may have changed a tad. At the time he was writing the average wait for a torture survivor to see a specialist doctor was about 10 years.

Abuse is to torture what murder is to genocide. And there are difference on a wider social scale as a result.

I mention all that because I feel it’s relevant but the impression I get is you’re mostly interested in the long term symptoms? In which case, yes the legal definition makes very little difference. The physical injuries caused by particular kinds of abuse don’t change depending on whether it’s a private individual or a police officer holding the Taser.

The lasting psychological symptoms are not particular to torture; they’re what the human brain does when traumatised. The same symptoms can manifest in people who witness traumatic events but weren’t actually hurt themselves. They can manifest in people who were injured in accidents and they manifest in people who were neglected or abused. Hell, I have a couple of them, though no where near the severity a torture survivors would experience. A sufficient amount of stress is enough for these symptoms to start developing in anybody.

You can find the general list of symptoms here. There’s also a post specifically about memory problems over here.

The pattern I describe; that these symptoms are a list of possibilities not ‘every torture victim will get all of these’ holds true for trauma survivors generally. Anecdotally there is some variability with chronic pain being reported more often with some kinds of abuse. That might be because it can have physical causes, psychological causes or a mix of the two.

Whether it’s torture or abuse there isn’t any way to predict a survivor’s symptoms in advance. Much of the advice I have about writing torture survivors and their symptoms holds true for trauma survivors generally. Which is why I’ll still take a crack at some questions that aren’t about torture.

Pick the symptoms that you feel fit the character and serve the story. We can’t predict symptoms and that means that there’s no reason why you shouldn’t pick the things that appeal to you.

And I think I’m going to leave it there. I hope that helps :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*This is a weird English endearment. I had someone ask if this was me trying not to swear.

#orphicphosphenes #writing advice #tw torture #torture as training #legal definition of torture #clean torture #military abuse #trauma #trauma and consent #pain #pain and memory #sleep deprivation #attitudes towards clean tortures #writing survivors #abuse within the military

82 notes · View notes

schleierkauz · 3 years

Text

Q&A with Cornelia Funke - 05.07.2021

You guys probably know the drill by now. I’ve sorted it into topics to make it easier to read, have fun!

Mirrorworld

Q: What happened during Will’s and Nerron’s travels between the 3rd and 4th book?

A: Cornelia could spend hours thinking about that, figuring out the things they tell her and the things they don’t. She’ll keep the question in mind because she would also like to know the answer.

Bookstore Guy: “Maybe whatever they did is too... private to tell you?” (... 👀) Cornelia: “Very possible.” (....... 👀) “Dustfinger is like that, too, he barely ever wants to talk to me.”

Q: Do the residents of Ink-/Mirrorworld have a name for their world, like how we call our planet “Earth”?

A: Cornelia thinks that’s an excellent question and since their world is very similar to ours, the name would probably be similar as well. Gaia, maybe?

Inkworld

Q: Will we learn more about the Black Prince’s younger sisters in the new book?

A: Cornelia says “Ooohhhh!” and writes it down. She just started working on TCoR chapters again, so she’s been collecting ideas and thanks us for all the suggestions.

Q: Are there any magical items in the Inkworld that no one has found yet?

A: The Inkworld and the Mirrorworld are the same, so yes, there are. Inkheart (the book) itself is magical and so is the fire. Fenoglio has only seen a very small part of the Inkworld and he thinks that’s all there is but in TCoR we will discover new places that will make the connection very clear.

Q: What would Rosanna’s path have been like, had she lived? Perhaps she would have taken after her father?

A: Cornelia loves the idea and agrees that Rosanna probably would have shared many traits with Dustfinger. But, hers was a life unlived... Perhaps she will still take after Dustfinger in her next life?

Q: Could the Black Prince and Robin Hood be the same person?

A: No, definitely not. Robin Hood has a very anglo-saxon, white background; the Prince is black and from Africa. He is very different from Robin Hood as a person. He didn't used to be royalty or anything like that, he grew up in poverty... But they do share similar goals!

Q: Has Brianna shared what happened to her after the events of Inkdeath?

A: Not really, not yet. Cornelia is starting to discover some things but it takes a lot of time. Brianna is a character who likes to hide.

- Cornelia is realising that there is a lot of interest from readers regarding the story about Dustfinger’s and the Black Prince’s childhood/youth and she made a note to work on that asap

Other Books

Q: How long did it take to finish the new Dragon Rider book, Curse of Aurelia?

A: Cornelia started in winter 2018 while she was evacuated due to the fires. She’s been working on it on and off ever since and estimates it’s been 14 months of pure research and writing.

Because she wrote it in English but the publishing date for Germany was rescheduled to be earlier than originally planned, there’s been a lot of very complicated translation work. Right now she’s waiting for feedback from the Chumash tribe because she used elements and characters from some of their stories and they’re making sure she didn’t mess anything up.

Q: Why are Frieda and Fred a couple now, it’s heartbreaking!

A (and I’m just gonna quote Cornelia directly here): “No no no. Listen. There’s no need for broken hearts. It’s been 12 years and Sprotte and Fred split up pretty peacefully at some point in the past. Part of the reason for that was that Sprotte went to New Zealand and Fred wanted to stay in Germany.

Things like that happen all the time, despite all the love in the world. Take it from someone who’s 62 years old by now and who has lived many different forms of love. Also, Sprotte is not upset at all and she’s fallen in love with someone else- you’ll see. You already know the person. It’s a beautiful and passionate lovestory.

Fred and Frieda meanwhile are happy that Sprotte is there because she knows Fred so well that she can give them good advice. And I think it’s a beautiful thing when people who were once in love with each other can still be friends afterwards, even though the romance may not work out anymore. No need for broken hearts, really.”

Q: Does Cornelia come up with titles for her books at the beginning of the writing process or does it take more time? A: Depends on the book and the language she’s writing in

- Cornelia’s new book about letters and herbs is almost finished. She’s still unsure about the title - she’d like to include the word “kingdom” but that same word in german (”Königreich”) carries a lot of male energy which doesn’t fit the story

Q: What’s the biggest difference between Pan’s Labyrinth the film and Cornelia’s book?

A: Cornelia hopes there is no “biggest difference” because she tried to keep things canon compliant. But he did add short stories to give some characters a background story. Otherwise, she didn’t feel it was her place to mess with a perfect story.

Misc.

- The stream started with a ten minute tour of the bookstore and the bridge it stands on while Cornelia just silently sat there

...and I thought that was pretty funny. My favorite quote: “This house was build in 1567, so... it’s pretty new.”

- They are going to give away signed bookmarks and stuff again once Cornelia is settled in Italy

Q: Does Cornelia bind her own notebooks?

A: No, but she would like to. The botebook she uses for TCoR was made by a bookbinder in Scotland, usually she just uses moleskin hardcovers.

Q: Is Cornelia always satisfied with translations of her work?

A: Absolutely not, but she thinks a perfect translation is impossible. You always have to make compromises.

- Cornelia was recently invited to a village that belongs to the Chumash tribe and got to feed their sacred fire, a deeply touching experience she struggles to put into words

Q: What’s Cornelia’s favorite language to write in?

A: She can’t answer that because it depends on the book. For example, she couldn’t write about the Inkworld or the Mirrorworld in English, it wouldn’t fit. Writing Dragon Rider in English was fun, though, because the English language often feels “lighter” than German.

- Cornelia has no idea which language she dreams in

- Any time Cornelia reads that men and women can’t be friends she wants to slap the person who wrote it because it’s such annoying nonsense

- Minors will be able to stay at the farm in Italy as long as they’re self-reliant because Cornelia doesn’t have time to be anyone’s mom. There’s also always the Spiegelhof in Germany, which would be an easier option.

- Cornelia wants to invite environmental activist to her farm as well as artists

- Cornelia thinks parents should have more time to get to know their children before deciding on a name for them

- Cornelia firmly believes in reincarnation but isn’t sure why

...Aaand that’s it for now! Right now it’s uncertain when the next stream will happen, maybe in August, maybe September or maybe even October. We’ll see. I hope you enjoyed! :)

#inkheart #reckless #inkworld #cornelia funke #yall.... if the princes sisters end up in the new book bc i asked that question... i will literally never shut up about it #like apologies in advance but holy shit. finally. FINALLY.#i also asked the rosanna question and cornelias answer straight up made me cry #they didn't answer that many questions this time #because of the bridge tour and many conversations inbetween #but i love these streams #they're so cozy #i hope you guys are all doing okay #i'm working on some stuff but i can't focus on anything lately #things just feel weird #i think it's the weather #oh well! good night for now! <3 #info

52 notes · View notes

magma-cjay · 3 years

Text

I made some La Squadra headcanons... hope you enjoy :^)

Risotto Nero

Age: 28

Ethnicity: Sicilian/Egyptian (born in Sicily)

Sexuality: Gay (more closeted/probably doesn't realise)

General headcanons:

- He has Autism, fidgets with smaller objects he keeps in his pockets like pens or keys to help calm him down. When fidgeting with a pen on his desk he can take it apart and put it back together again.

- Social interaction? How do you do that? (Is mostly more talkative around the people he's close to, aka his team. Though usually performs better when it's only atleast 3 or less of them in the same room with him).

- Him and Formaggio are the closest in the group. BFF's! They'd go out and try and find some cats in the alley ways. Ghiaccio is his second closest next to Melone

- He likes animals, alot. Will protect or rescue one if he sees them around or on a mission

- The father figure for La Squadra, and if he sees one of his members in distress he'll do anything he can to help calm them down/soothe them.

- Doesn't get drunk. Period. I think we know why.

- Enjoys the sun, is able to stand in it longer than Illuso or Ghiaccio due to him more able to tan than get sunburnt.

- When he isn't showing off his torso, he prefers warm snuggly jumpers or hoodies. Makes him feel safe and has the same affect as receiving a hug for him.

- Has a few plushies, small bean filled cats and probably a moderately huggable sized bear. Holds it at night while he sleeps

- He'd eat spicy stuff without a blink of an eye. His mama used to make him alot of Mediterranean/Eastern foods like Indian and Egyptian. So he has a hefty tolerance to spice

- Will bite into a lemon. With 0 hesitation. And just eat it as if it were a regular not acidy fruit.

- Doesn't cry much, but when he does he's an ugly crier. Snot and tears running down that man's face, probably clenches his fist or punches something to. Depends on the situation of course.

- Enjoys the bitter taste of Dark chocolate, will eat a whole block of the kitchen made stuff with ease.

- Can lift everyone but Pesci and Illuso as if they were as light as a feather. Pesci and Illuso are a tad more heavier.

- His linguistic skills outside of Sicilian and mainland Italian suck. He's got horrendous English compared to the rest of the group. Relies on Ghiaccio to translate whatever they are saying.

Ghiaccio

Age: 20

Ethnicity: Venezian

Sexuality: Gay/Ace

General headcanons:

- Has ADHD. No doubt.

- Sees Risotto as a father figure, looks up to him for guidance and listens to him the most.

- Got his curly blue hair from his stand awakening! It was a slow process. Risotto checks on it every so often because the more blue and curly it gets, the more powerful his stand becomes.

- Other than Risotto, the closest member in his squad is Melone! They get along the best in the group. They have similar intellect and both like to learn about eachothers passions! (Without it getting sexual of course)

- His insults? No rapper could ever compare to the zany things this gremlin comes up with! He'll slaughter you with his words and his stand!

- Can speak multiple languages! The best at English other than Melone, Formaggio and Pesci in the group! Hates it when people pronounce things wrong (wow, that was obvious) and also hates slang. It gets on his gears when Formaggio uses it.

- Loves cats! They calm him down! He doesn't want to hurt the little critters! Unfortunetly too shy to go out and actively find them, but will promptly beat the ever loving fuck out of you if you hurt a cat in his vision.

- Doesn't let anyone but Melone, Pesci and Risotto touch his curls. You will be frozen if you aren't them.

- Enjoys crunching on Ice cubes, the sound is satisfying and he finds the taste nice.

- Hates asparagus and avoids it like the plague, same with Coriander. It tastes like soap! Ew!

- Has warm showers to balance out his stand that makes him colder than the average person. Won't turn it up too high otherwise he burns.

- Burns easy in the sun, wears alot of sunscreen.

- The lightest member of La Squadra after Melone! Will scream if you pick him up.

- He has muscular thighs and has a light 4 pack! Skating does alot for you!

Melone

Age: 26

Ethnicity: Naples

Sexuality: Pansexual

General headcanons:

- Has sleep paralysis.

- Got a degree in human genetics & Biology!

- Is a maternal figure to his Juniors and would definetly be capable of caring for a baby.

- Will drape himself over Risotto, the man doesn't care how. As long as he isn't doing any weird shit. And Melone will gladly go with those terms.

- Calls Risotto "Rizzy babe/baby" and it drives Ghiaccio and Prosciutto into the wall. Be professional damnit Mel!

- Him and Prosciutto are fairly close, they get along well with only a few minor differences in views. He and Illuso have a stronger bond however.

- Isn't as sexually driven as he seems. Tells Ghiaccio alot of 'apparently' devious things he's done but in all honesty? He isn't that bad. The only thing that's relatively "disgusting" is him being into legs and feet. Other than that? He just knows too much and puts on a persona to see how creeped out other people get.

- Knows everyone's star signs, blood types, DNA and allergies! Puts all the information down on BabyFace.

- BabyFace is basically his own personal laptop, he can play games and hack into servers when he pleases!

- Created most of La Squadra's furniture... with BabyFace. Risotto, Ghiaccio and Illuso are the only three that know that he created it with BabyFace. Ris and Mel are the only ones who knows what people are what furniture. Melone occasionally says hi to them when the others aren't around.

- Melone also has a weird amount of knowledge on dogs. He'll tell you almost everything about a breeds behaviours and traits, to even what is best to give them from toys to food!

- Likes eating Formaggios bags of chips when he isn't looking. He just finds those fatty crispy potatoes in a bag so utterly irresistible!

Prosciutto

Age: 35

Ethnicity: Milan

Sexuality: Bisexual

General headcanons;

- Trans! F-M

- Him and his mother look very similar to eachother. Even more when he was pre transition!

- Smokes cigars.

- Takes like 20 minutes doing up his hair.

- Buys fine wine, won't take the cheap shit.

- He spends daddy's money. But the team doesn't have to know that.

- Enjoys sitting in the sun with a nice glass of wine with olives, hates it when he's disturbed.

- Has some toxic masculinity, doesn't want to look 'weak' infront of the team, or at all.

- Nutures Pesci, the two are very very close. Not brothers, but close. You will not enjoy the wrath of Prosciutto if Pesci is hurt.

- Does the face rubbing with everyone. Wants to make sure everyone can succeed at their task!

- Him and Illuso are, close? They tease eachother in a friendly way, love finding ways to make the other flustered or embarresed. It's a very fun game to them.

- Is probably the 2nd best at using a gun. No one can top the sniper that is Gelato however. But he is learning from him.

- Do not. Mess with his suits. The minute he finds out someone has wrinkled or spilled his suits you will be turned into an old hag. Most of the team knows this. But there's still the oddballs who don't learn...

- Reacts like a normal person to unusual bizarre situations. Who put this inflatable pool into the base? GET IT OUT! STOP SWIMMING IN IT!

- Doesn't like cats, they get hair all over his clothes and vomits up cat treats on his bed. But Illuso and Melone can tell that he himself acts somewhat similar to a cat. Just exclude the puking.

Pesci

Age: 20

Ethnicity: Sardegna

Sexuality: Straight

General Headcanons;

- Him, Gelato and Sorbet? Good friends. BFF's even.

- Is shy, doesn't do well in social situations. But you can tell alot more easier than you could with Risotto

- Enjoys fishing in the coastal waters. Will occasionally go out with Formaggio and Illuso to fish with them.

- The others have tried to show him new drinks, but he'll always stick to milk. It's what his momma gave him when he was younger, a habit he has yet to break.

- His momma was very over protective, unfortunetly causing him to be very anxious and paranoid about many things. It's a surprise he even managed to join the Mafia.

- Likes dogs! Him and Mel can talk about dogs for hours! Even visit some at shelters. Only wishing they could adopt only to remember they're professions..

- Does pedicures with Sorbet and Gelato every weekend. He makes sure to keep his nails in good condition for them! And they do the same! Sometimes they do makeovers with eachother, he likes looking fabulous on the next mission!

- Likes kids but is terrified to go up to them. But whenever it's him and Risotto, he has a little more confidence. The two wouldn't mind ever giving the homeless children some food or a piggy back ride.

- Is allergic to walnuts. He found that out from a pie Melone made him. Thankfully he came out okay thanks to BabyFace.

- He does indeed hide behind the couch whenever they watch a horror movie. Thankfully Risotto is there with him whenever they do watch them, the man apparently doesn't really enjoy them either. He isn't scared, but he just prefers other genres.

- Is only good at some English due to all the tourists! He felt like he had to learn some so he'd be able to talk to them or help them out with directions.

Illuso

Age: 26

Ethnicity: Spainish

Sexuality: Bisexual

General Headcanons;

- Pillow princess!

- Don't disturb him when he's in the tub, just don't.

- He can sing! He's very loud! But usually sings when no one Is home. Prosciutto and Melone are the only two that have heard his singing voice.

- Teases members of the team constantly, he's just alot meaner with Formaggio.

- Made his outfit! Formaggio and Sorbet absolutely hate it! But he doesn't care about the haters

- He has full control of his pigtails, no one knows how he is able to make them magically float. But that makes it even more fun! They usually start to squirm when he's excited, flustered or scared.

- Is always in his mirrors. Likes the quiet inside, but sometimes he'll get lonely and pop out or ask some of the others to join him inside.

- He's relatively good at cooking, mainly Spanish cuisine. But is learning with Melone how to make baked goods!

- Him and Mel watch TV together, they love making fun of the characters and getting deeply invested into the plot. They binge alot.

- Isn't a snacker, he will only eat snacks if he's watching TV or if he's in the tub. Those are usually grapes.

- He doesn't hate Formaggio. They are quite close! Just thinks some of the things he does and says are absolutely stupid.

- Knows almost everything history wise with his teammates. But still can't find much on Risotto.. one day he will... one day... only knows some of his info from Melones BabyFace. But that's not enough!

- Invades his teammates privacy, he'll pop through the mirrors in they're rooms. No he doesn't care (atleast most of the time)

Formaggio

Age: 27

Ethnicity: Boston

Sexuality: Bicurious

General Headcanons;

- He has a pet name for everyone, most of them don't mind. Gelato and Ghiaccio absolutely hate theirs however.

- Of course as we know in canon, he's the brother of the group. Tries to cheer them up after a particularly glum mission, or if they are just having a bad day.

- Loves cats. Ain't good at taking care of them. Risotto gets annoyed whenever he leaves cats in containers.

- He snacks, alot. Like alot alot. Thankfully he exercises with Sorbet so he maintains his frame.

- Loves pissing off Illuso with the way he eats Spanish food. A disgrace for eating Doritos with Guacamole! But man it's fun to see his face go red! And it tastes good.

- Has the strangest ideas for how to defeat targets. Goes into Risotto's office constantly and babbles on about ideas. Most of the time they are surprisingly accepted. And they work!

- Happily drinks cheap booze, it disgusts Prosciutto. But he doesn't care. Unfortunetly gets drunk after 5 bottles. Doesn't drink infront of Risotto though (atleast not on purpose).

- He loves the beach! Hot babes (and bros?) walking around, it's a paradise for this cheese man! Has to be taken away from the beach by force when they have to go home though.

- Usually wears very loose clothing. He gets too hot easy! Gotta wear something he can breathe in.

- Likes orange chocolate, some of the others judge him for it. But him and Sorbet can snack on that stuff for hours.

- Likes listening to the game on the radio in Ghiaccios car since Illuso and Melone take up the tv too often.

- Is from Boston, so of course he knows English. Sometimes swears in it, but he mainly speaks in Italian now. Knows some Sicilian thanks to Risotto!

#jjba #jjba part 5 #la squadra #headcanons #long #i think about them alot

55 notes · View notes

chronicbatfictioner · 3 years

Text

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 18

With Alfred in the mix, it was fairly easy for them to acquire the serum Bane seemed to have injected into him diligently every morning. The Drake Industries' laboratory quickly dissected the remnant within the syringe and discerned its contents.

And make an antidote.

"It's called Venom," Tim reported to Barbara, "a synthetic steroid that is... worse than steroid, I'd say. It doesn't make you dumb, unfortunately. But it also increased the user's strength by tenfold - not just the size of the muscles - with every use."

"I thought Bane seemed to have gotten taller since three months ago..." Barbara muttered. "So you're going through with the plan?"

"I... can't think of a better, non-lethal plan. Alfred said that the supply of syringes is depleting, and he would have a new one delivered from Santa Prisca by the end of the month - which will be in a week." Tim replied. "Plus, I have no idea of the dosage if I were to administer the Venom antidote. Still, I've heard of the rumors of the Al Ghuls using food as untraceable poisons or something like truth serum. But I'm kind of scared to think that it's actually true."

"Me, I'm not surprised. I've sent Dinah and Helena to Santa Prisca, where Bane said to have come from - to find the source and destroy it. Tim, if this thing hits the street..." she sighed.

"We're screwed nine ways to Sunday. I know. But here's the thing, Babs... you see the footage of him tampering the guys' car?"

"Yes, what about it?" Barbara asked.

"His mouth was moving. I'm not that good of a lip-reader, yet, I don't know what he's saying. But it looked to me as if he was talking on the phone or something, and I didn't see him carry a phone." Tim explained.

Barbara's expression - not Oracle, because they were in a secure channel, after all - showed that she just had the same eureka moment. "Tim, if you're right..."

"I'm sure I'm right. Everything I've read about Bane showed that he was mostly the muscle. He broke out of Peña Duro prison - which is where aunt Dinah and Helena should focus their attention - because somebody supplied him with steroids, so the reports said. I think somebody gave him venom, and he escaped. He came back like, a month later and killed all guards and throw out their bodies into the ocean. He came back, Babs. This is someone who was raised in the prison with virtually no known family outside. Where did he come back from?" Tim explained.

"That's logical... he would have to have someone to take care of him outside. Someone who has enough money to get in and out of Peña Duro, or to produce this Venom thingy, and then get Bane to trust him?" Barbara pointed out.

"Babs, trust me. When you're used to be alone, the first act of kindness shown to you would have earned the giver your trust until proven otherwise." Tim blurted out and cringed. The first person ever to show him an act of kindness was Selina, and then Barbara.

"Projecting, much?" Barbara smiled good-naturedly. "I get your point, though. Unfortunately, we haven't got any cellphone bugs in the Wayne Manor to figure out who Bane was talking to. But... I can probably help with the lip-reading part..."

"Yeah?"

"There's this kid at the library who's really good with lip-reading and body language reading. Her name is Cassandra. She isn't deaf, though, just can't talk much. I guessed that she was abused and raised in seclusion without being taught spoken language, to the point where she could understand body language better than normal language. I've been talking to her using signs and pictograms, but she's learning the language quickly. I'll see if I can get her to figure out what was said."

"Okay... is she living alone?"

"I've set her up with a friend of Harper's, Stephanie Brown. They seemed to get along alright," she smirked. "Stephanie is... kind of a talker."

"Cute, a girl who can't talk with a girl who can't stop talking." Tim deadpanned. "But let me know if it works, yeah? I'm a little more anxious with Jason's cooking than the poisoning stuff. They invited me, by the way."

"I'm sure he would," Barbara smirked again.

"What's the smirk about?" Tim demanded half-heartedly. "You, Selina, Dinah... what is it that you ladies talked about behind my back, anyway?"

"Oooh... let's just say the mamas and big sis of the crew is worried that their little kitten is growing up too fast," Barbara replied blithely.

"Baaaabs!" Tim bleated exasperatedly. "What even! We're in a mission here that is of the long-term persuasion and against someone so vile it's not even funny!"

"Tiiim...!" Barbara replied in the same tone mockingly. "I don't mind! None of us do! I mean, hey, if he swings this way, I'm sure a number of us girls would've loved to get his numbers, too! But anyway," she inhaled sharply, indicating her wanting to get back to the matter at hand. "I have no idea whatsoever of what kind of... concoction Jason is planning to use. Or what he's going to do after he arrived at his objective. But everyone's safety is our objective, yeah? And by everyone, I mean all humans there including Bane. If he seemed to be dying..."

"I'll call paramedics right away. And there's Dr Wayne, anyway." Tim reminded her.

"I've got to tell you, Tim, Dr Wayne doesn't look too good..." Barbara warned. "He looked like he's aged by twenty years in the past few months alone."

"Yeah, I've noticed. Alfred is sure that within the house, his diet is fine. But he'd often go out or overseas with Bane..." Tim agreed. "I hope it's just stress..."

"Same here. So far, though, from what I've seen, nothing in Jason's list of ingredients seemed... illegal..." Barbara commented.

"This is coming from someone who once told her dad not to mix hypertension meds with grapefruit." Tim deadpanned.

"Well that one is tried and true, and not a simple old wives' tale. I am aware that some food has an adverse reaction to medications. But really, these ingredients looked... well, like a restaurant's. Like a whole Asian region's worth of restaurants being imported directly from places through the entire continent. And we're literally dealing with someone who was taught to make candies poisonous..."

"'Not poisonous, just lethal' - so Damian told me."

"Comforting," Barbara remarked dryly. "You sure Jason said it wouldn't be harmful to others?"

"Yes, that's what he said. But he won't elaborate. Believe me, Babs, I've tried."

"Maybe it's an aphrodisiac?" Barbara suggested. Tim rolled his eyes.

"Really."

"Selina isn't invited, though. Or Vicky..." she corrected herself.

"Ew, seriously."

#Batless!AU #Tim Drake #Barbara Gordon #oracle!barbara #stray!tim #JayTim #Jason Todd #Alfred Pennyworth #Damian Wayne #Birds of Prey

14 notes · View notes

lovelivingmydreams · 3 years

Text

@Meowthefluffy Zombie au au chapter 2

A happy belated birthday to you @meowthefluffy hope you enjoy it.

They had found themselves a safe space in the library. There was an underground parking to hide the car, the windows were high up so while it was well lit no one on the outside would spot movement and they could collect some books to help them survive. Knowledge and skill was crucial. Languages, knots, engineering… Anything that could help them out later. Virgil knew sign language, Janus knew French and Roman knew Spanish. They decided that to be safe they should each learn one additional language. Janus picked mandarin, Virgil Russian and Roman took Arabic. Roman had been very timid ever since they lost the horde. And Virgil hadn’t been exactly eager to talk to him. “V- Virgil? Can we talk?” Roman whispered. Virgil didn’t answer, nor did he look up from under the hood. He was checking over their car to see how long it would last them and what parts would need replacing soon. He wondered if they could make it to the shop to gather supplies for maintenance. “Listen… I understand that you are angry with me…” “Do you?” Virgil snapped as he finally got up, oil smeared over his cheeks, cleaning off his hands with a cloth he shoves in his pocket. He crosses his arms over his chest staring down at Roman. He’s definitely mad. “Because I don’t think you do. We’ve talked about how I feel about consent. But you go ahead and kiss me without so much as a warning! And then you plan to just go off so I can feel guilty and like a crappy person for the rest of my life? Are you that selfish?” Virgil seethed. Roman cringed. He did know. They’d talked about it plenty of times while watching movies. Virgil was not a fan of the ‘confess your love by kissing them without warning’ trope. “I was a coward, I know. It shouldn’t have taken the end of civilization and certain death for me to confess to you. But… I knew you’d be disgusted by me and I just…” “There’s another thing. We’ve been friends since before I can remember. You really think that little off me that I’d feel different about you just because of that?” Virgil growled. Roman looked up surprised. “But… You always laugh when people make those jokes… And…” “And that was wrong of me. I can own up to that. But you never said anything to imply you found them anything other than funny yourself. Has it occurred to you that I might do that for the same reason?” That… Roman hadn’t thought of that. “And didn’t I always come to your defense when people thought you were to girly? What did I say about that?” Virgil pointed out. “That… That I’m a different kind of manly. Like a prince…” Roman recalled. “Hence me calling you princey since kindergarten!” Virgil huffed. Roman’s head was spinning. Trying to make sense of everything he was hearing. “But you’re… You mean you’re…” Virgil was straight right? He did everything right. He rode a motorcycle, wore leather, worked on cars, liked aggressive music and guns… Sure he also wore make up but in a cool way.

Virgil shrugged. “I’ve been questioning myself for a while, I’m not sure. I don’t know how I feel about a lot of stuff right now. At this point I wanna see if either of our families are still around and make it so that we all live.” He stared Roman down again. “All of us. You are not allowed to die on me Roman. Understood? I’m pissed as hell. But that doesn’t change that I’ll keep you safe. Got it?” Roman’s heart went a thousand miles a minute. Virgil was right. With the end of the world hanging over their heads, this wasn’t the time to sort out this mess he’d gotten them in. But one thing was sure. Virgil didn’t hate him because of how he felt. He was mad about what he did and almost did though. And that was fair. If the roles were reversed he probably wouldn’t have been very happy about it either. But things could still be fixed. Maybe. “Yes… I’ll… See if I can put something together for us to eat,” he muttered softly. “There’s some supplies in the trunk. Use the perishables first,” Virgil instructed. Roman nodded. “Right… Good idea,” he said softly as he moved to the trunk and gathered some things to cook a decent meal for three. “I’m really sorry for hurting you Virgil… I just wanted to protect you for once,” he told him before disappearing back inside. Days turned into weeks and Roman had a hard time. Virgil’s anger at him subsided. Roman even woke up a few times finding that Virgil had moved closer to him either in his sleep or due to waking up from a nightmare. And when they were awake he slowly started to relax around him again. Roman wasn’t sure if he was waiting for him to make another move on him or to pull another heroic stunt, but he was slowly trusting that he wouldn’t. Janus was… He was clever. A master strategist, if Roman was completely honest. And he was handsome. And charming. And flirty. Towards both of them. But mostly Virgil. And that made Roman nervous. Because what if it wasn’t him but Janus who’d made Virgil question whether he was entirely, strictly into girls? Roman is too insecure to ask. They didn’t find their families. They decided to assume that they got out and were somewhere safe until proven otherwise. If only for their own piece of mind. Virgil recovered his tools from the shop, as well as some extra weapons and ammunition. They managed to raid a few homes and even an apothecary for first aid kits and medicines. Roman held a meticulous catalogue of all their perishable supplies. When Janus hinted at Virgil that he could give him CPR anytime, Virgil calmly deflected him and said that Roman would be the one playing nurse if any of them wanted to survive. “Though you might need to teach me some of the basics soon. I don’t want you to die cause I don’t know how to save you,” he’d added softly. Roman had blushed and nodded. Feeling hopeful that he was getting close to being forgiven. Then one night he woke up and found Virgil sitting at the window of the abandoned classroom they were hiding in for the night. Janus was sleeping. They must’ve switched watch recently. “V?” Roman whispered. They had to talk again. He needed to know where they stood. “You should be asleep Ro. You have three more hours until your shift,” Virgil said softly. Virgil always took the middle watch. Never allowing himself 8 consecutive hours. Roman and Janus both had tried to convince him to switch it up. But Virgil was adamant. Janus took first, Virgil second and Roman third. Virgil claimed that that way they’d all have breakfast waiting when they woke up. But Roman suspected Virgil didn’t want to disrupt his sleeping schedule if he didn’t want to. Ever since they were little, Roman had more trouble staying up late than getting up early. He’d loved getting up early actually. Sunrise was his favorite. Virgil and him had slept under the stars a few times. The only times Roman had managed to stay awake and alert for most of the night. It was almost sunrise when they finally went to bed. “I can’t… We need to talk,” Roman insisted. Virgil looked back. “I guess we do,” he sighed reluctantly. Roman went to sit with Virgil and looked out over the playground. “Are you still angry?” he asked. “… I’m still scared Roman,” Virgil answered finally. “I haven’t been angry with you for weeks. But I’m scared you will do something stupid and I won’t be able to protect you. I was… I froze last time. What if I freeze again and lose you without even trying to stop you?” Roman was shocked to find that Virgil’s eyes were filling with tears. “How do I live with myself if I lose the most important person in my life like that?” he asked. It was hard, trying not to be happy that Virgil said that. But the love of his life was in pain and Roman would be damned if he didn’t take that pain away. “Virgil, I did what I did because I knew you’d freeze up. You always do when you get dropped in unexpected situations. I knew that… That would shake you up enough to let me go. I used my feelings for you and what I knew about you to do what I thought was right. I regret doing that… I’m sorry Virgil. I…” Before Roman could continue he was pulled into a tight hug. “Promise me we’ll stick together from now on. Ok? No matter what you think is best for me. We’re a team alright?” Roman let himself melt into the embrace and nodded into Virgil’s chest. “Ok,” he said softly. The next month things seemed to go back to what would be normal for them under the circumstances if they’d never had a fight. They joked and teased and Virgil was comfortable with showing physical affection again. Roman was even warming up to Janus, who told him that while he enjoyed flirting and everything, he wasn’t very interested in dating of any kind. “Virgil and I have this game we’re playing, but I don’t care much about winning. He’s all yours your highness.” Being friends was much easier after that. There were scary moments. Stray zombies in what they thought was a clear building. Sometimes they found people who’d been infected and locked themselves away to give their family time to escape. But those situations were easily dealt with. The hordes were harder. Luckily they were rare. Only loud noises and bright lights attracted them and they tried their best to avoid both. But sometimes an engine would backfire or an animal would get spooked and make a ruckus escaping.

They didn’t encounter other survivors often. Usually at a distance and it seemed an unspoken agreement to not approach each other. It was the best way to avoid misunderstanding. It was Virgil’s birthday. Roman had done his best to keep track of time and been counting the days to do something nice for him. So he gathered the right ingredients and made the closest approximation to Virgil’s favorite pasta he could. They found themselves in a restaurant, as if the universe agreed to cut them a break and so Roman found the right spices and some unopened tubes of tomato concentrate. They obviously didn’t have ground beef but Janus had gotten good at providing them with fresh meat. Virgil nearly strangled the both of them when he realized what that smell was. The dinner was interrupted by a knocking at the door. It was soft, and rhythmic. Nothing like the way a zombie would sound. Virgil, naturally, took point and stalked towards the door. They all got ready to react if their visitor was hostile. “Good evening… Say, I haven’t smelled anything that good in ages. Mind if I join?”

#sanders sides #ts sides #roman sanders #Virgil sanders #janus sanders #zombie au #prinxiety

18 notes · View notes

raindropsbarzy · 4 years

Text

gotta have you

summary: you’re older than him and he gets all blushy every time you’re around because he likes you. a lot (you’re 28 in this case)

word count: 2005

warnings: use of weed, fluff shit, strong language

Mat was immediately drawn into you the first time you have met through mutual friends. Anders was taking the team out for drinks after another win to a local bar in New York that he had never been to. Crazy to think that, considering NY is like his home now but there’s one specific bar he had yet to discover.

It was a small cozy bar called ‘LOLA’ written in red neon lights. The building was painted in all black, nothing exciting about it but it was completely different soon as he stepped inside.

“One of my friends owns this place, sings sometimes here too. Her name’s Y/N. she’s a pretty cool chick.” Anders informed the team as soon as they found a table to sit.

Mat had to hear the countless compliments Anders was giving about you almost throughout the night, or perhaps more like showing off his best friend's success and everything. Not that he had any problem with that, it’s just Anders could be a real blabbermouth when he already had some drinks in him.

“Sounds like you got a crush on the girl” Tito piped, smirking as he took a swig of his beer, hearing the others snicker. Including Mat.

Anders was quick to shake his head. “Not possible. The girl’s got standards. We’re just buds anyways” He said defensively.

What Anders failed to mention was how fucking gorgeous you were of a person,

When the captain pointed at a certain dark haired woman going up on stage, along with the lines of ‘that’s her’, he nearly choked on his drink.

You had your hair up in a high top bun, a few messy curls falling over your forehead. Deep red lipstick painted over your lips. An outline of a dragon tattoo decorating your wrist and all the way up to your arm but it didn’t go over your elbows. The ink looked perfect on you. Few piercings perched on your ears and if he wasn’t mistaken, he caught a glimpse of a tongue and nipple studs when he squinted his eyes.

The short black dress you were wearing was hugging your figure the right way. Especially with the strappy heels you were wearing, you looked sophisticated under the dimmed lights.

“Hello beautiful people, how are you enjoying this beautiful evening?” You asked, a smile on your lips.

When you spoke, he was about to fall onto his knees right there. You had the softest voice he has ever heard. With your hand gently grasping the microphone and eyes slowly scanning across the room. He was entranced by you.

And when you began to sing--to a song he had never heard before-- he was for sure in love with the voice that was carried by a gorgeous woman who was standing a few feet away from their table. The way you tilted your head to the side and closed your eyes as you feel in the music. It was something so sexy yet attractive to him. He had his eyes running to your face and down to your body over and over. Shamelessly staring at you with his chin resting on his knuckles.

He had to thank Anders for taking him out here.

The crowd erupted into a small cheer soon as you did your number, which made your lips carved into a grin and nodded your head as a form of ‘thank you’ before walking off stage. He was a bit disappointed to know that you were only singing one song because he wanted to hear your beautiful, dolvett voice at least three more times.

But that feeling didn’t last long, you were walking over to his table with a smile that seemed couldn’t be wiped off your face and he could sense the butterflies in his stomach. Because, fuck.

You looked much prettier up close.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming with your team Lee, otherwise i would’ve put the velvet booth under your name.” You approached Anders before wrapping your hands around him and so did he,

“Nah. that’s okay. We’re good with the table, anyway.” Anders responded, letting go of his grasp around your waist and turn around to look at his friends. “Oh yeah, guys. This is Y/N. Been a friend of mine since we were... kids.. i think?”

“Afraid so” You teased, making him nudge your stomach with his elbow.

“You were amazing up there. Pretty as hell too. Loved your voice.” One spoke out, he had a messy blonde hair tucked underneath a navy snapback.

“That’s Sebastian.” Lee introduced with a grin, shaking his head lightly at his friend who went straight ahead with the words he had chosen.

Giggling, you nod your head. Shooting him a smile. “I’m glad you did. Gotta entertain a few people here.”

One by one, Anders introduced his teammates to you. Who had no shame calling you pretty and a sultry voice to hear which made you blush a few times because you weren’t used to people giving you many compliments at once.

Then your eyes stopped at Mat. Who had his knees bouncing up and down when he got nervous. Staring at your gorgeous brown eyes.

“And you are...” You trail off, raising your eyebrow at him.

“Mat. Mat Barzal” He stuck his hand out for you to shake, which you gladly took.

‘Fuck her hands are soft’

“Mat Barzal” you repeated, humming slightly. Deciding that you liked how the name rolled off your tongue. Plus he was really handsome and adorable as hell. “You’re pretty cute” With that, you retreated your hand back. Seeing his cheeks reddened as he tried to hide it by looking down at the table.

You bit on your lip softly, silently squealing at how cute this boy was acting like that in front of you. “Well, i’ve got a job to do. See you guys later” You waved bye at the boys, not forgetting to send Mat a playful wink when he looked back up.

and that brings you both here. six months later after becoming close friends with each other. The two of you exchanged numbers that night. When the team was mostly drunk off their asses, you sat down next to him and began a conversation in which he had shy away at first. Then starting to become more comfortable with your personality and found talking with you was just as easy as breathing.

He had learned many interesting facts about you. Your hometown, your college major, your favorite artists and crazy ex boyfriend that you had to put a restraining order on. He was truly captivated by the way you talk about something so small yet you made it sound so beautiful. Never in his life, he had ever been this star-struck about someone. And that feeling he had to bottled up for half a year.

right now, he’s coming over to your apartment because Anders is throwing a BBQ at his place and you asked him earlier if he wanted to go together and of course, Mat couldn’t say no to that.

He's wearing a plain black tee and dark jeans with a chain around his neck. Figuring that the fit was good enough for just a BBQ at his friend’s place.

seconds after he knocks on your door, he hears you shout ‘coming!’ along with loud thumping on the floor.

he smiles at the sound of your voice and grows wider when you open the door,

“hi, barzy” you smile softly at him, panting lightly as you open the door wider for him to come in.

“hi, y/n/n” he leans down giving you a kiss on the cheek before entering your place. observing your choice of attire. a white tank top and pink cotton shorts, he notices you have no bra on so your breasts are practically falling over the top. “you’re not wearing that to Lee’s are you? Not that i mind though” he playfully points, gesturing to the clothes.

rolling your eyes, you smack his arm but smile anyway. “Of course not, you pervert. Even if I was, I wouldn't let you see me like that.”

The flirty banter has become a thing between the two of you. Yeah, you’re friends or whatever but both of you still like to flirt with each other, even go as far as being touchy which you have no problem at all. Whenever you go out he has his firm grip around your waist or when you have a sleepover at his house, you like to lay down on his chest and your arm drapes over his toned stomach.

he chuckles at your attempt of hurting him but he begins to frown when he sees a smoke coming from your kitchen. “Did you burn your food or something?”

“What? Oh no it’s not from food. I was smoking a blunt while I was waiting for you here. Just freshly rolled a backwood. Want some?” You offer, taking his hand as you lead him to the kitchen.

He snorts, shaking his head as he sits on one of the barstool. “No thanks, babe. I hate that stuff.”

“You said that because you haven’t even tried it yet” You say, pouring yourself a glass of water and taking a bite of plain bread, helping you to sober up a little.

“Still a no.” He defends.

“Lame” you sign out dramatically, reaching over the counter to turn on the volume on the speaker

“Who’s that?” He asks quickly, finding the song quite catchy. Trying to get a look on your phone.

“Teyana Taylor, ‘How You Want It’. I fucking love her voice. Might sing it next week.” You shrug, chewing on the bread as you sit across him.

He hums, turning the tune a bit louder. “I like it.”

You look at him like he’s got five heads. “Since when did you like RnB?”

“Since that time you sent me three playlists consists of 50 songs each. Had most of them saved on my Spotify.” He answers, grabbing your glass of water to take a sip.

You freeze for a second, smiling fondly at him and trying so hard to ignore the heebie-jeebies in your stomach when he confesses as if it was nothing.

You cannot believe he actually listened to them.

“Really? You really listened to all of them?”

He nods right away, shoving a few Doritos into his mouth. “Yeah. You got me hooked with Jhene Aiko, BJ The Chicago Kid and Summer Walker here not gonna lie.”

There’s no use in holding back the smile now. Your grin gets wider and the faint blush on your cheeks are visible, making Mat smirks cheekily at you with his eyebrows raise.

“Are you blushing right now?” He jokes,

“Well how could I not?” You exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air as you giggle at him. “Especially when I didn't order you to actually listen to every song in there. You’re making my heart flutter, Maty.” You pout and stare at him with your hooded eyes

He grins softly at the nickname. Glancing at your cute pout and he has to resist the urge to lean over and give you a soft kiss on your lips--like he had been waiting for what it seems to be forever--. His hazel eyes staring back at yours as your hands clasp together and head tilting to the side. Long and messy black hair that you haven’t gotten the time to brush it evenly. your fresh face that hasn’t been covered in makeup yet and a sweet rose scented body lotion on your soft skin. Watermelon lip balm coating your lips.

After months seeing you countless times being dolled up and bare faced with vintage/old shirts and shorts, he decides he likes seeing you like this. Home Y/N is what he loves now.

And he is completely fucked. Because he is in love with you.

And there’s no going back from that.

hii!! do yall like that? because this one is going to be a mini series! this could be one of my favorite writings of Barzy. Let me know if you guys love it and want more! :D

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal x reader #mathew barzal #mathew barzal imagine #nhl imagine #nhl #hockey #ny islanders #new york islanders imagine #new york islanders

166 notes · View notes

alygatorwrites · 3 years

Note

congrats again on 2k aly!! you deserve this and so much more <3 but anywho, now onto my very awkward ✨soulmate application✨ (sfw or nsfw headcanons are okay with me btw!!)

so my name is salem (as you know ofc), my pronouns are she/her n i'm a bisexual taurus who's pretty stubborn, loves cuddles, loves to sleep n generally speaking is just a sensitive ol' homebody! i'm pretty midsized-chubby, 163cm (so...5ft3?) n i have shaggy black hair, brown eyes and super soft hands which are available for holding whenever and wherever! which ties into my love languages which are physical touch n acts of service <3 as for my hobbies, i guess this is obvious but i like to write 😭 n i also really love to cook as well (i'm a great chef, trust me)

okay that should be enough i think?? it's maybe a little too much now that i'm looking at it but hey at least i'm thorough!

♡ 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐨

→ your stubbornness is what would make you stand out to porco. in fact, it's the first thing he notices about you! this man is headstrong with a great deal of iron-will, and meeting someone who is similar in that aspect catches his attention. while this could cause some passionate disagreements, porco respects how loyal you are to your beliefs. he even looks forward to see how long you stick to them. the way you refuse to change an opinion or course of action just because someone says so .... that's what porco loves. it shows that you have an intense passion for things just like he does, and your obstinate determination is actually a turn on sometimes. this would send him through a loop, making that internal monologue go from, "damn, she's annoying," to "it probably wouldn't be bad to know her," and then "yea, i gotta fuck her"

→ physical attraction galore. between your dark hair, brown eyes, and your body, porco thinks you're the sexiest person in the world. you'd be an absolute dream; a perfect a feast for his hands. he's a sucker for chub, and loves how pliant and silky the skin is under every touch. porco has no qualms telling you about how hot you are either. and the way you'd look at him? porco is instantly down bad. the depth your eyes hold is all-consuming, and he'd always be searching for that certain spark in them. if you really want to see his resolve physically crumble, give him 'puppy-dog' eyes. every single time, porco has to turn away and stuff both hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. he'd probably end up giving you whatever you wanted if he didn't.

→ porco is a scorpio, and you're a taurus — two opposing signs! in the astrological world, this means that you can complement each other perfectly. the complex bond between these zodiacs is full of excitement, snarky fun, and challenge; this leads to an intense emotional connection. because scorpio and taurus have venus as a ruler on one hand, and the passionate element of water on the other, an eternal love is bound to be formed quite easily. it's also known that these signs have high sexual energy. this would make you and porco take part in various sexual encounters and many experiences of physical pleasure to bring you together.

→ porco has a need for security. the good thing is, your sensitivity would allow you to provide that for him!

→ the love language of physical touch would draw porco away from his comfort zone, leading to some amazing character development! you'd really bring the best out of him. it's only natural that his closed-off attitude leaves him touch-starved, which makes you a great fit; once porco indulges himself in gestures that may have otherwise been shrugged off, he'd be hooked. the bastard isn't good with sappy words, so showing it would become a top priority too. his favorite ways to touch you is to run a hand down your arm as you speak, draping an arm behind your head on the couch, or kissing you deeply while cuddling. holding hands is also a must for porco — not just because he enjoys the softness of your fingers — but also because he's very protective. this makes him seek out your affection a lot, whether he realizes it or not (don't bring it up though or he'll get embarrassed!)

→ he’d come to learn the other portion of your love language as well! though he may look disgruntled about it at first, porco will perform little acts of service for you <3 seeing your face light up is worth the knowing looks the others give him. eventually he just starts flicking them off because “fuck them and their stupid faces, i love you, so what? assholes”

→ porco has no problem with curling up on the sofa or on the mattress at any point: as long as it shuts everyone up, he doesn't care. frankly, porco would like your affinity for sleep! he's very adamant on you both sharing a bed together, as being able to wallow in the soft haze of dawn with someone is special to him. listening to your slowed breathing, watching the flutter of your lashes, and cradling you tight is what makes porco's mornings. ask for him to be there while you take a nap, and the man is already on the way.

→ he'd act nonchalant whenever you walked in the room, but don't be fooled. there's a very well-known fact about this man; when his big mouth doesn't say something, his face definitely will. with the way porco's brows raise slightly, and how his frown softens for a second as his gaze settles on you — it's obvious that he's very pleased to be in your presence, no matter how much he tries to keep it a secret.

♡ 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

→ porco views sex as three things: a task to pass the time, something to blow off steam, and a way to get you to shut up whenever you piss him off.

→ your bisexuality is fine with porco, and honestly? as long as he still gets to play with you, he wouldn’t mind bringing someone else into the bedroom. pieck, hitch, reiner, zeke — it doesn’t matter. his jealousy would act up, but it would only translate into him fucking you relentlessly once everyone’s gone. porco just needs you to remember that you’re his whore and no one else’s.

→ wanna get him riled up? say you thought he could make you cum better, but make sure to have a wheelchair in transit.

→ porco is a confident, arrogant person, and this definitely shows in the bedroom. he always calls the shots with a wicked smirk on his face. be prepared, because whatever action gets you a writhing mess will become a recurring thing.

→ that black hair of yours is fucking gorgeous to him — especially when it swirls so perfectly around your face — but he wants it out of the way to see the expressions you’re making. expect to have the strands wrestled into porco’s hands and harshly tugged back!!

→ a fast learner, he memorizes your sexual desires and prioritizes them!! he’s still gonna expect some shit in return though. especially blowjobs.

→ with an extremely high libido, porco could pounce on you any time of the day and anywhere. it doesn't matter if the others are planning on coming over; if it were up to him, he'd fuck you on the couch so they'd walk in on it. a meeting? he'd just lean you over the desk. at a party? get ready to have your back blown out in a stall. there's nothing can satisfy porco's constant hunger for you.

→ morning hook ups are a fave!!

→ if he can’t get alone with you because of work, porco becomes all pissy and acts like a dick. he just can’t help it, yknow? when there’s finally an opening in both schedules, he teases you about how much you’ve probably missed his cock and all that. ask him if he’s thought about you in return, and the man denies it on the spot ... but the way you caught him secretly jacking off in the bathroom just moments before speaks VOLUMES!!! 🙄

→ porco always wants your attention on him as he plows into you. close your eyes or don't listen to be stubborn, and he's already forcing you to look at him once more. "what a fuckin joke. you're doing it again," porco usually sneers in these moments, grabbing you by the chin. "babe, hey — salem — look at me." the use of your name works most of the time, and it honestly sets him off; you're just so pliant on his cock <3

#SALEM THANK YOU FOR JOINING 🥺#ilysm 💗💗💞💞 my fave whore!!!!#aly hits a milestone #porco galliard #attack on titan matchup #aot matchup

12 notes · View notes

once-upon-a-scenario · 4 years

Text

Kamaboko Trio as First Loves/highschool(?) sweethearts: Modern AU HCs

Will probably do these for Kanao and Genya too at some point! :D I’m working on Part 3 of the Icarus series right now and the plot I have planned for it is so firmly angsty that I decided I need to write some fluff to balance things out lol

______

Tanjiro:

-he’s the epitome of Childhood Sweetheart

-the small town boy from a big family who you’ve known since grade school, with his big, bright eyes and sunny smile

-the moment you first meet him, you know: you’re going to be such good friends.

-(is there any way not to be friends with a kid so utterly, purely nice?)

-your relationship is composed of a thousand different inside jokes, avoiding Tomioka-sensei’s keen eyes, warm summer days at the old playground, one of you falling over and scraping a knee before the other pulls them up and both come up laughing, in the end -you remember the gruesome story behind every one of his scars (and this is when he got overenthusiastic while during parkour and literally charged into a wall...we thought he was dying!) and he probably has a record of every embarrasing thing you ever did as a kid (remember when you called Shinazugawa-sensei ‘‘dad’‘? Remember when you got dared to eat a worm and Kocho-sensei saw you?) -(though Tanjiro is too sweet to do anything mean about it; rather, he just pokes your cheek and laughs delightedly about what a cute kid you were)

-and you hang out with him for so long and so often that it takes you, perhaps, a ridiculously long time to realize:

-you like hanging out with him

-you really like hanging out with him

-and you both dance around each other about it, impossibly shy, a little scared

-(you’re supposed to be friends, right? Not…whatever this is.)

-but when you’re walking back home together under the golden glow of the afternoon sun and you screw your courage up to the breaking point

-(hey, does he want to hang out with you? As, well. Your boyfriend?)

-he flushes and laughs in a way that sounds more pleased than amused and he says, to your great relief,

-he’d love to!

-and things don’t really change, not quite. You still run from Tomioka-sensei together and you still have your inside jokes. You still visit the old playground.

-but nowadays you hold hands, shyly brushing fingers at first until you catch each other’s eyes and just laugh sheepishly, faces warm

-how long have you known each other, anyway?

-things are clumsy and slow going, but Tanjiro is sweet and he offers you homemade bread from his family’s bakery and if anything is ever awkward, it’s only in that deliciously new way that you know just means that you’re learning -sometimes you visit your old haunts together, like the clubhouse you built in the woods as children and kept secret from everybody except Tanjiro’s little sister, Nezuko. Other times you go for long walks around the neighborhood, pointing out things that are changing, things that look exactly the same as they did when you were little, things that are brand new

-friends who have known both of you since you were little tend to tease you, and you wonder if you’ll ever stop hearing the I told you so! I told you they were going to get together at some point! -even your teachers seem to smile indulgently when they spot you walking around hand in hand. You ask Tanjiro if he thinks they’ve always known, too, and he grins, cheeks tinged pink -he always thought he was being kind of obvious about it, you know? -(as he bumps his forehead playfully against yours, you hope you’ll always get to hang out with him.)

Zenitsu:

-he’s the kid you don’t really know all that well, yet know all too much about

-the loud, kinda wimpy kid who’s always in your class, one way or another

-the biggest reason you remember him is simply because of how loud he is, and also because of that one incident when he had a fit of terror at the local haunted house and proceeded to charge straight through a wall, taking most of the props with him (you don’t think anybody ever really forgot that incident.)

-and you keep having trivial clashes over trivial things; whether or not a popular kid is going to notice you, whether or not a girl is going to give him the time of day, whether or not the current blockbuster film is worth watching or not, team Iron Man vs. team Captain America...until you actually know him better than you ever exactly wanted to. He probably feels the same. -it gets to the point where it’s almost comfortable to grouse at each other about things

-and right on the heels of this, you catch yourself having a strange sort of thought:

-huh. Never noticed he was cute before.

-which is a disgusting idea that you immediately banish from your mind (really? Agatsuma Zenitsu, of all people? Your first actual crush?)

-but then, he stumbles up to you after school one day with the look of a person who’s fully prepared to die with no regrets

-and begins a long, rambling, mildly frustrated speech

-about how much he actually likes you and do you know how inconvenient and embarrassing that is but nOT that you’re embarrassing, just that he’s;;

-but ugh this entire conversation is just very weird and will you or will you not go grab ice cream with him this Sunday that’s all he wanted to know

-and just so you’re sure it’s NOT platonic ice cream

-(...perhaps against your better judgement, you feel ridiculously happy and say yes.)

-dating Zenitsu is supremely awkward; for all his boasting, he’s just as inexperienced as you are. He spills ice cream on you on your first ‘’’date’’ and proceeds to have a meltdown until you convince (with equal awkwardness) that no, it’s not the apocalypse and you don’t hate him

-holding hands is an Experience. Both parties get incredibly embarrassed. Neither can admit that they are. Zenitsu blames you for...making it impossible for him to fall out love, which is ridiculous but also makes your face very hot -you get caught in the rain on one date and he panicks, offering to dry you off with his equally soaked jacket until both of you stare at each other for a solid ten seconds and then burst out laughing, realizing how silly you must look

-this relationship is a lesson, of sorts, and you never stop bickering, not really; it’s just that you learn to smooth out the creases, to fight and make up and apologize and compromise, and Zenitsu can be a fool and you can be just as stupid sometimes. But that’s part of the charm of it, too. You learn to be partners, and you learn to laugh about things in a way that makes the entire world a lot less menacing when you’re together.

Inosuke: -he appears very randomly in your life as a teenager and...sticks.

-he’s a weird sort of kid, honestly. Very loud, very brash, not the best at academics but superhuman in P.E, though Tomioka-sensei looks twice as tired as he usually does whenever Inosuke barges into the gym

-and he owns a motorcycle, you’re pretty sure. One with a huge boar scrawled on the side of it (or at least, you think it’s a boar)

-personally, you’re kind of curious. He might be loud in school, but he always walks home alone

-and hey; he could probably use a friend, if he wants one -so you sit yourself down next to him one day, in the empty seat that usually isn’t occupied, and introduce yourself. He looks taken aback and a little irritated at first, but then demands that you stay when you ask if you should sit somewhere else

-ultimately, he seems strangely pleased to have someone listening when he rants about being the Strongest and You Weaklings Can’t Take Me

-he later shows you his motorcycle with the air of a five year old kid showing off a picture for the fridge, and makes you hold tight while he takes you for rides around town, asking you about everything he sees; oi, what’s that sign over there mean? What about that big red building? Where’s your house? Is it that one? Looks weird.

-you help him with studying, sometimes, though he’s more prone to throwing potato chips at your head than actually reading his textbooks

-and honestly he’s still really really weird

-but you like him, you decide. He’s incredibly hotheaded and doesn’t have much restraint, but otherwise, he’s not bad. He can even be nice when he puts his mind to it

-and he’s very strange about it, but you think he likes you too, in his own way. He still doesn’t seem to mind that you sit next to him in class, and he’s recently begun to remember your name

-one day, on another cruise on the back of his bike, you decide to take the plunge; if only because you think things are never going to move forward otherwise

-do you have a crush on anyone?

-don’t know what the hell that is, he tells you. ‘s kinda weird. Isn’t it the thing where you hold hands and kiss and stuff? Monitsu always wants to do stuff like that. Gross.

-he guesses he wouldn’t mind holding your hand, though, even if it’s still kind of stupid. And he likes riding his bike with you. Actually, come to think of it, you should go eat tempura together tomorrow. He could totally eat ten times more tempura than you. You’ve got no chance of winning! So you gotta come and see how great he is and how he’s going to beat you, ok?

-and that is, you realize, about as close to a confession in Inosuke-language as you are ever going to get. As you laugh and promise you will, you decide you don’t mind.

#kimetsu no yaiba #Kamado Tanjiro #Kamado Tanjiro x reader #Tanjiro x reader #Agatsuma Zenitsu #Agatsuma Zenitsu x reader #Zenitsu x reader #Hashibira Inosuke #Hashibira Inosuke x reader #Inosuke x reader #reader insert #headcanons #Kamaboko trio #Mod Eve

251 notes · View notes

gallivantingheart · 4 years

Photo

Me, a Princess? Shut Up!

masterlist | previous | next

⏮️ chapter 5: anneliese ⏭️

who?: jihoon/woozi x (f)reader

word count: 2800

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: mild coarse language

synopsis: Life’s pretty good for y/n. Easy, even. Until someone claiming to be her grandmother says she is the queen of a small island country - and y/n, a princess.

a/n: this one’s kinda super long-ish than usual. and a bit of a filler/character chapter, but I still hope you like it 😊

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

TAGLIST: @strykiss, @karrotkarrotkarrot, @3sriracha, @minkwans,

don’t hesitate to send an ask or dm to be added!

Soonyoung doesn’t dare kick his feet up onto the antique coffee table now that your grandmother is in the building, despite how much more comfortable it would be to. The way he reclines so deeply gives away his bad habits as he clears his throat and sits up a little better. You’re glad that Soonhee has tasked the ambassador with your princess lessons for a while. Maybe a more relaxed approach might jog your memory.

“So, where did Her Majesty get to last you did this?” He says, flipping open the photo album.

You lean forward, holding your sandwich up and away from the pages. “Uh, great grandparents. So...sixth generation.”

His brows raise. “Only sixth?”

You whine, slumping as he laughs kindly at you, empty of any maliciousness. Since the security breach, you’ve really warmed up to Soonyoung, glad to have someone closer to your age to relate to and learn from. And he’s a great teacher. Patient but firm, not to mention relentless. He told you about his travels across the country and secret stories about Amaide. They gave you a better idea of the kingdom you may end up leading.

You groan loudly - bordering a roar - after mixing up your great, great grandmother with your great grandaunt (once removed) and snap the album shut.

“Soon, spare me. My brain is seizing up.”

He laughs louder this time, eyes vanishing into his round cheeks. “Okay, okay. You’re probably right. Class dismissed.”

You get up and check your phone, noting the time. Maybe you would have enough time to catch the start of Jihoon’s radio show, if you left now. Jihoon did say he wouldn’t mind if you dropped by - inviting you even before you needed places to hide. Tonight might be a good time to? You slide your kitten heels back on, pulling out your earphones. Only now do you realise that there is a constant, soft pattering from the roof - rain. At least Junwoo was driving you everywhere now, so no risk of getting too wet. Your footsteps echo through the embassy, killing the quiet you’d become familiar with in the old building.

“So where are you headed now?” Soonyoung asks, tipping his head at the attendant who hands him his coat.

You shrug your own on, as well as a felted plaid scarf. “Uh, back to campus? I’ve got a friend I wanna visit.”

The blonde checks his watch, eyebrows shooting up into his feathery fringe. “At this time? There are still people at your college?”

“Hmmm. They have a community radio station. Jihoon has a show on Thursday nights.”

“Oh, do you want a lift?”

You slant your head at him as he detours past the front desk down a short and fairly dim hallway, elaborate alcoves set into either side of the wall.

“Sure? Only if you’re going out? Otherwise Junwoo is at my disposal, so to say.” You wave your hand in a dramatic version of your grandmother’s wave.

Soonyoung nods eagerly. “Yeah! I’m meeting up with some friends in Hongdae later on tonight, so leaving a little earlier won’t hurt. Like I told you, I’ve got nothing to do now Soonhee is catching up.”

You grin, jumping for the passenger seat of the dark car Soonyoung indicates to. Darkly tinted windows, an expectation of most cars you get in nowadays.

“So, who is Jihoon? Is he the one you posted about the other day?”

You nod, carefully not looking at him as you gesture to turn right out of the gates. “Y-yeah. Ah, he’s Mingyu’s cousin.”

You flinch at your voice, stuttered and shy. You didn’t need someone else giving you crap over Jihoon. Soon’s eyebrows raise as he purses his lips, humming in thought.

“Huh. Alright.” Okay, he so doesn’t believe you, but whatever. “That’s nice that you have such a close group of friends. They obviously know about the whole princess thing.”

“Yeah. Can’t really hide something this big from people who have known you most of your life, y’know? Grandmother doesn’t know they know though.” You insist, bouncing a little in your seat.

The rain has died down into a drizzle, almost spitting, so Soonyoung turns the heater and the wipers down. But you can already imagine the cold wet seeping into your shoes, tucking them closer to yourself.

“Of course not. Her Majesty would lose it if she knew you’d broken protocol so early on. Secret’s safe with me, I swear.”

His eyes are wide and he’s quite serious about it, a little bit more desperate than you expected him to be. You don’t dwell on it as you tell him to turn again into the east entrance, past a familiar cluster of restaurants.

When he gets to a set of bollards, you sling the door open, fashioning your scarf over your head. “This is me. Thanks Soonie!”

He grins, waving. “No worries! See you next week! Be safe!”

“You too! Night.”

Shutting the door, you dash for the first spot of dry you see, turning to wave him off.

You navigate the dark campus and get out of the lift five minutes before the start of the show. It’s only then that you question whether or not Jihoon would really want you there. You’re just his cousin’s best friend he’s really nice to, maybe a friend of his yourself. You hesitate at studio 2, shifting from foot to foot as you overthink.

“You’re more than welcome to come by and watch one of the shows if you want. Mingyu and Minghao have even been in an episode or two.” Jihoon looks up briefly to smile small.

Quickly, you open the door and claim a seat next to Bumzu, Jihoon’s director and producer for the radio show. He’s quite well known in most circles, being everyone’s music and tech go-to. You put your finger to your lips, unwrapping your scarf from your head. Somehow, Jihoon is too absorbed in prep to notice you come in.

“Ji said I could come by. I hope I’m not in the way.” You whisper, unsure of the standards in the studio.

Bumzu smiles, his rougher edges softening. He passes you another set of headphones, plugging them in. The on air sign isn’t on yet, luckily.

“Not at all. We’re just about to start. Make yourself comfortable.” he murmurs. “Jihoon, we’re good to go. Cameras are rolling.”

You look over to see Jihoon settling in in his classic sweats and slides, despite being filmed. The host’s eyes slide to you, widening in shock. He motions to you with a wave, brows quirked. You wave shyly, smiling tentatively. The on air light above you buzzes to life and you settle, fond smile pressing at your lips. A subdued but chill jingle plays, male vocals playing to introduce the show.

“Hey everyone, it’s Woozi and welcome to tonight’s Woozi Tunes, your thursday night music fix. We’ve got new stuff from Justin Bieber and our on campus artist, Bumzu.” Jihoon says into the mic, giving a short wave to a camera.

As he chatters about this and that, his eyes slide your way, holding for prolonged amounts of time. Even Bumzu smiles, waving him off subtly. You’ve probably put him off, poor thing.

“So, first up we have Golden by Harry Styles. All thanks to his new mv, which I really recommend watching. Hope you like it.” He turns a few dials and nudges his headphones off an ear.

Jihoon looks straight at you, squinting a little as he smiles. You mirror his actions, shuffling closer while carefully staying out of the various camera shots.

“Bumzu, we’ve got four in the queue, right?”

The producer next to you nods. “Yeah, an ad segment then I’ll open the request lines. So, ten, maybe fifteen minutes till live. Studio audio has been muted.”

You don’t understand any of the small terms being thrown out around you. But you don’t care too much, bundling your scarf closer to your neck in the enclosed room for something to do.

“Y/n, I didn’t know you were coming.” Jihoon says, empty of malice.

You smile but shrug. “Yeah, I ended up finishing pr- uh, study group earlier than I expected and thought I’d drop by. I hope that’s not too much trouble.”

He shakes his head, shuffling his slides back and forth over the tightly woven grey carpet. Beats and patterns wave behind his head, turning the fluorescent halo around his hair neon.

“Not at all. I’m glad you decided to come. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I always enjoy your radio shows, Ji.” You blurt out.

Your jaw drops at your lack of filter, promptly shutting your mouth as your stomach drops and flutters. Wow, maybe Minghao is a bit right - too obvious. His brows quirk, resting his elbow on his knee.

“You listen to it?” He asks.

“Of course I do! I like you-your music taste.” You clench your teeth through your grin.

Wow, you really needed to learn how to filter your brain better. At least you don’t blush easily. You chatter back and forth about the playlist for tonight and his upcoming guests - he has Seokmin and Jeonghan, a mutual friend of Joshua’s, next week to talk musicals and teaching (how they relate, you’re not really sure). You forget Bumzu is even in the room until he gently clears his throat.

“Jihoon, you’re back on in 60.” He calls quietly.

“Oh! Oh right. Thanks, Bumzu.” Jihoon glances back to you, the tips of his ears a fairy floss pink. He’s grinning though. “Psst, do you want to talk more after the show?”

You nod, shooting a thumbs up, casting a glance back up to the time, hearing the end of a Pink Sweat$ song fade out.

He’s more charismatic over radio than you realise, leaning back in his chair and chatting briefly to one of the callers requesting. Still subdued but open, cracking a grin here and there. You check the radio show’s page to see if anyone is commenting on the show tonight - you’re a frequent snooper. Jihoon has quite a few fans, not just on campus. You bop your head along to his rhythmic playlist and listen intently to his callers. Before you know it, Jihoon is hunched near the controls and ending the show.

“Thanks for tuning into another Woozi Tunes on 97.6 fm. Remember, if you want to listen to this episode or any others, podcast recordings and playlists will be available on Spotify. To play us out, a song for, well a friend. An oldie but a good one - Bruno Mars, Finesse. Woozi, signing off.”

You bite your lip to stifle laughter. His favourite artist, your favourite song. You let him murder it the summer of 2018, long after it had come out, just to annoy Mingyu.

“And… cut. Cameras and audio are off. Another week down.” Bumzu announces, pulling off his headset.

You pull off your own, delicately setting it aside. You give a lone round of applause. “Well done everyone.”

The radio host looks to you, quietly preening as he stands to tug his jacket off the back of his chair. You stay seated out the way as they clear everything away, slotting equipment into draws and wiping down surfaces. There isn’t even any idle chatter between them, but rather than being awkward it’s a moment of peace you didn’t know you wanted. Working, content peace away from everything as of late.

“Jihoon, don’t worry. I’ll finish up.”

Jihoon’s dark brows shoot up. “No no, hyung. We’re almost done.”

“Exactly. There’s not much left and I lock up anyway. You’ve got an early seminar tomorrow. And a guest. You can head off.” The older man insists, his soft edges turning to a stubborn frown.

The younger of the two rolls pretty quick, pushing the keyboard away and nodding. Jihoon’s dark eyes flick to you hopefully as he grabs his keys and wallet from an open draw.

“Alright. Talk tomorrow. Night, hyung.”

You give the older man a wave, bundling yourself up again now that you’re leaving the enclosed space. “Thank you, Bumzu! Good night.”

You head out into the hallway, meandering down to the lift and then the small set of stairs to the entry of the arts building. The rain is heavier as you drift awkwardly, checking your phone and contemplating your journey home.

“How - how are you getting home?” Jihoon asks, flipping his hood up over his dark hair.

You shrug. “Bus. Soonyoung dropped me off, not Junwoo.”

His lips press together as he shows a prolonged nod, kicking at the lino in his slides. You click through for the bus timetable, patting your pockets for your purse. You wonder what he’s waiting for, seeing as he drove here and the carpark for this side of the campus is underground and less than five minutes. He probably had staff parking too because of the radio show.

“Are you busy?” Jihoon asks suddenly, a little sharper than you’re used to.

You shoot him some side eye, tucking your phone away. “What...when?”

“Uh, now?”

You smile, shaking your head and stuffing your hands in your deep coat pockets. “Nope, I’m free.”

His shoulders perk up and he pulls his hood back down. Jihoon’s ears are going a little pink again as he turns back for the stairs further into the building. You feel the tentative excitement rolling off him, rubbing off on you so that you mirror his frame, your own shoulders tucking up around your ears. Every shuffle of your feet echo and the light sensor above you flashes red.

“Do you want to see my new song? I know you haven’t had the chance to see much of them.”

You’d mentioned - gently hounded, you hoped would be the best alternative term - before that you would be excited to hear some of his stuff. You’re already on your way back to the lifts.

“Absolutely! Lead the way.”

You lean over the soundboard, listening intently to the demo track. His voice is distinct, so unlike what you thought it might be. Still, it's versatile and powerful when combined with the lyrics. The beat is steady and you bounce your head along.

You glance to him, leant back in his seat watching you. "You wrote this? Like, all of this?"

He hums. "Yeah. It’s the track I got an HD for.”

Jihoon's arms are crossed and you feel bad that he has to feel defensive with you. You smile then gasp when the pretty singing becomes fluid rapping. His gaze turns with your reactions, concerned. Finally, you pull off the headphones as the minute and a half closes.

"I - singing, rapping! Composing? This is amazing, Ji! I'm so glad your major is music, otherwise your talent would be wasted for sure." You proclaim.

He ducks his head and fluffs at his hair with a smile. Jihoon seems unable to look at you and you let the bashfulness slide - not. You nudge at his chair so it spins.

"Wah, you act like no one has ever said that before!"

"I - it sounds a little different coming from you." he shrugs, still not looking. "Most of them are a little amazed or they're assessors with a job of picking it apart."

You nod and sigh. "Makes sense. Still. I hope you keep that track. I'd listen to it."

Jihoon beams before his sight slides to the digital clock sitting on a shelf - how very retro and efficient - eyes widening as he sits up straight.

“I - It’s almost midnight. We better head out.”

You can’t help but pout, standing up to push your chair in. “Yeah I’ve, of course, got princess things to attend to. Bumzu said you have class, don’t you?”

His slim fingers peek out of his navy sleeves, flying across the keyboard to turn everything off. “Uh-huh. I’m supposed to be doing the readings on it now, but It’s a pretty lax class so I should be able to get away with it.”

Your mouth is flapping silently like a fish, unable to form any coherent speech to reply with. Something not scolding, nor a joke, seeing as he’d just sacrificed his valuable study time to entertain you. Then he’s in the doorway, hand hovering over the light switch.

“Are you coming, Princess? Or am I leaving you in the dark?” Jihoon looks at you expectantly.

You gasp - mostly at the teasing name - and scuttle after him, breaking out into the dingy hall, yellowing walls and all. “I - yeah, sorry! Let’s go.”

(If Jihoon sings along to the radio on the way to yours, you don’t say anything. You’re grateful that he does the same for you when the Top 40 segment comes up in the thirty-five minute trip.)

#caratwritersclub #seventeen au #seventeen fic #seventeen social media au #seventeen scenario #seventeen imagine #jihoon fic #jihoon imagine #jihoon scenario #seventeen smau #woozi fic #woozi imagine #woozi scenario #woozi x reader #jihoon x reader #mapsu fic #written

52 notes · View notes

poetic-emptiness-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Livin’ La Vida Loca (Echoes of the Past 15: Freebie!)

Finally it is finished! I had an irritating writing block, but I’m happy it’s over now. This fic sets during the plague, when Hande is apprenticing with Julian.

The name of this fic is from a song Livin’ La Vida Loca by Ricky Martin

Characters: Hande Kuura & Julian Devorak

Content warning: some profanities

Words: ~3 250

@arcana-echoes

It has been a long day at the clinic – lots of patients and lots of research. Julian is tired and he can see that his apprentice is as well. She tries to put on a brave face, but he can see that she's very tense – has she had any chance to relax? They have been working together for five months, but Julian has only seen Hande at work. He has learned that Hande is extremely conscientious, fast learner and she really cares for the patients. He has also found out, that like him, Hande loves reading and it is fun to discuss about different books during their lunch breaks. Julian has grown to like her, and even see her as his friend – the busy days feel less tiring with her around.

After locking the door behind the last patient, Julian turns to Hande and smiles at her, ”Well, that was a busy one. Great work – I can't even realise how I did manage before you tagged along!” Hande chuckles to Julian's praises and shrugs, ”Thanks, but it's not just me – you really are a spectacular doctor, believe it or not.” Julian blushes by the compliment, but Hande is too polite to point it out. She just pats her teacher's hardel and goes to change to her everyday clothes. While Julian is in the other room changing himself he ponders if he should ask Hande out. They are practically colleagues and they're also friends, so it wouldn't be inappropriate. He also has a feeling that Hande is quite lonely, with her family and friends in Karnassos.

”Hey, Hande?” Julian shouts to his apprentice so she could hear her, ”Would you mind if I took you somewhere? Erm, to let our hair down, so to speak?” The doctor hears only silence for a moment, before Hande's voice echoes from another room, ”No, I wouldn't mind, that sounds nice.” Julian lets out a relieved sigh and his lips twitch into a small smile, ”Great! I can offer you something to eat as a thank you, if you wish?” He hears Hande coming back to the office while she hums in affirmative. After Julian's done, he goes to the office and sees Hande opening her hair which is tied into a French twist. Her hair is pretty long, he notes, settling to the level of her waist. Stop gawking! That's inappropriate!

Hande turns to look at Julian, looking a little embarrassed, ”I don't want to keep the same hairstyle during my free time, otherwise I'd never let go of the work stuff. It probably sounds silly...” Julian gives Hande a friendly smile and shakes his head, ”No, it doesn't sound silly at all. It's good you have ways to avoid thinking about work during your free time.” Hande smiles back, separates her hair in two parts and starts to braid the other half. Julian is looking at her procedure and his curiosity takes over, ”Uhm, may I ask what are you going to do?” Hande glances at Julian before she turns back and continues braiding, ”I'm going to make two braids and pull them over my head, like a headband. Then no one gets the opportunity to try and pull my hair.” Julian seems to think for a moment and before he can reconsider he asks, ”Do you... Do you want me to braid the other half? It'd be faster that way.” Hande turns to face Julian, looking surprised, but also a little amused, her eyebrows raising. Before Hande can say anything Julian blurts, ”Uhm, I can braid... I have a little sister... I used to braid her hair sometimes.”

Hande's eyes widen for a little moment – she didn't expect to hear something like that. She recovers from her shock quickly and beckons Julian to come closer. Julian understands that Hande has accepted his offer and tentatively starts to braid her hair. It feels slippery and soft in his hands – completely different than Pasha's hair. ”Tell me about her. Your sister, I mean,” Hande asks silently after a moment of silence. Julian chuckles and starts to tell while braiding, ”Her name is Pasha. She's three years older than you and we grew up in Nevivon together...” He continues telling about his sister while they are working on Hande's hairstyle. Hande looks satisfied and compliments Julian's work which causes the poor doctor to blush again. When the duo is ready Julian dramatically offers his arm to Hande, who laughs and with an exaggerated curtsey takes it. ”Well, Doctor Devorak, show me the way!”

***

Hande looks curiously at the sign above her head: The Rowdy Raven. She has never been here before and she's curious to see it. The place seems to be a tavern, but it looks rather cozy when she peeks through the window. Still, she can't help feeling a little nervous – what if she ends up being too obviously out of place? Well, fortune favors the brave, as they say... Hande lets Julian lead her into the tavern. They're welcomed with loud laughter and music playing in the background – there's a band playing in a corner. That makes Hande feel herself more at home, if you could call a tavern a home.

The young woman looks around her. There are locals and people from abroad, all of them having a good time chatting or playing cards with each other. People who notice her and Julian entering turn to greet her teacher with joy on their faces. Hande tenses a little, because it is clear, that Julian is very popular person in here, and Hande is... Well, she's here for the first time in her life, although she's lived in Vesuvia for almost a year. Julian squeezes Hande with his arm reassuringly, ”I'd get us some food and drinks. Do you have any wishes?” Hande looks a little pensive, but she decides it's better to speak than stay silent. ”Uhm... Are there... Are there any non-alcoholic drinks? I'm a teetotaler...” she whispers uncertainly.

Julian freezes on the spot. Shit. Congratulations, you've fucked up and brought a teetotaler to a tavern.. You idiot... His faces turns red again and he sputters, ”I-I'm sorry! I didn't know that...” Hande notices Julian's panicking and hurries to assuring him, ”No, no, it's fine! I don't mind others drinking, well at least if they're not steaming... I've just never amused to drink alcohol myself... It isn't because of any belief, if that's any comfort...” Julian is surprised, how Hande is nervous about his reaction, and can't help but smile to her, ”No, you don't need to worry! I don't mind at all, and you're not obliged to explain your reasons, if you don't want to. There should be also some non-alcoholic drinks, so no harm done.” Hande smiles to him thankfully which makes Julian a little giddy. No, concentrate. Go and order your food and drinks!

Hande waits by a table when Julian gives their orders to a barkeeper. The young woman glances around, observing other patrons curiously, wondering where some of them might come from. Soon Julian comes back with their drinks. ”Barth said he'll bring the food soon,” he says, handing her a glass with lime green liquid in it. ”I hope you like this one, I wasn't quite sure what to get,” Julian says, looking a little embarrassed. Hande smiles at him reassuringly and takes a little sip from her drink. It's suitably sweet with citrus aroma – probably lemon and lime combined. ”This is so good! Dr. Devorak, how did you manage to choose a drink I like so much?” Hande asks sounding impressed, which makes the poor Julian to blush again. ”Well, erm... I wish I could say it was intuition, but... uhm... I remember how you once told me you like lemons so...” the man stammers. Now it's Hande's turn to get embarrassed; she doesn't blush visibly, but she can feel her cheeks burn. Julian remembers random things I've mentioned to him? ”You're way too good friend for me... I really am flattered, that you remember my ramblings.”

A little later Barth, the barkeeper, brings their meals in front of them and they eat in comfortable silence, sometimes asking or commenting something. Hande finds the tavern's atmosphere a little rowdy, but not hostile, and she feels more at ease. It's nice to spend time with Julian and see him outside of their work. Suddenly Hande's concentration turns to a discussion a few tables away. There are four men discussing in a foreign language which Hande recognises as Hjallean. She gets excited – she hasn't met any people from her mother's hometown for a long time. She apologises Julian and turns to face the men, ”Förlåt mig. Är ni från Hjalle?¹” The men turn to face Hande, looking positively surprised, ”Ja. Hur kan du tala hjalska, är du från där också?²” Hande smiles and answers, ”Jag föddes i Karnassos. Min mamma är från Hjalle, men hon tillhör Skogsfolket.³” The quintet continues their excited conversation. Julian smiles and watches how Hande speaks fluently in Hjallean, and listens when she finds out that the men are sailors and actually know her grandfather. Hande seems so happy to hear from her family that Julian can feel it, too. He also can't help, but to miss his own family a little.

A little later Julian also joins the conversation which causes the men and Hande to cheer in surprise. The group has a friendly conversation and orders drinks to each other, until the band starts to play a Hjallean folk song which causes the sailors and Hande to sing along. Julian can't help but notice how Hande's voice is clear and beautiful, echoing above hollering of the sailors. To be entirely honest, Julian is mesmerized my her voice – she sounds like a siren, without ill intent, of course. After the song had ended, the sailors cheer to Hande, who looks a little humbled after getting that much attention, but still has a small smile on her face. The band's leader shouts to their table, ”Since the miss sang so beautifully, you can decide our next song!” Hande glances at Julian with a confused expression on her face. Julian just smiles to her encouragingly and winks. Hande smirks and states, ”I will decide, but on one condition: I get to play it, too.”

The band leader looks curious, ”Can the miss play, as well?” Hande nods and answers, ”Yes, I can play the fiddle. I've had lessons since I was a little girl.” The other band members grin and the fiddler steps up, handing their instrument to Hande. She stands up and walks to the corner, inspecting the fiddle for a moment. After she's satisfied, she tunes the instrument and asks, ”Do you know this song?” Hande plays a little part as a sample and the band leader chuckles and agrees. The leader gives a mark about starting the song and Hande joins the band. Julian is awed: this woman doesn't have a single drop of alcohol in her, and she still is having the time of her life. Joyful, wonderful singer and player even – and she's never mentioned any of that to him. This fascinating combination of humbleness and showmanship. Julian watches how Hande's fingers move on the fiddle, how concentrated she is. The song is a little melancholic, but still eventful and fast. The world seems to disappear: there's only music and Hande.

The enchantment is broken when the song ends. Hande remembers where she is and is a little flabbergasted by her courage, but is happy that she played. She doesn't remember when was the last time she had this much fun – in Julian's company she feels at ease, like her old self is coming back to life after so many years. Hande turns to see Julian who is cheering and applauding to them with the others at the tavern. The band leader thanks her when she gives the fiddle back to its owner and returns to her companion. ”Wow... I didn't know you could sing or play!” Julian compliments when she sits down. Hande lowers her gaze for a moment, but soon looks up and shrugs, ”Well... You don't need singing or playing when you're trying to be a doctor's apprentice. To be honest, complimenting myself is really hard for me, and I got this temporary moment of courage. I haven't played in front of an audience for years.” Julian smiles to Hande and feels warmth inside of him – he isn't sure if it's because of alcohol or his company. Concentrate. She's your apprentice. Julian clears his throat and speaks again, ”Did you like it? Playing in front of an audience, I mean.” Hande seems pensive before she gives a hesitant answer, ”Yes.”

Before Julian can say or do anything else, one of the sailors cut in. ”You should be proud of yourself, you really did great back there! Was that a Forestian song? I recognised it, but I'm not sure.” Hande turns to face the sailors and nods, ”Yes. I was surprised the band knew it, but it was fun. Karnassian music is much more popular, so it's nice to hear Hjallean ones for a change.” The group continues their conversation, but Julian is mostly concentrated on Hande. When they are telling about their work to the sailors, Julian, now a little tipsy, tells in surprising excitement, ”Yes... But you know what? Hande here, she... She can do MAGIC!” Hande doesn't have time to react before the sailors gasp in excitement and plead her to show them. Julian now realises he might have screwed up and tries to come to her rescue, but Hande speaks after a little silence, ”Would you like to hear a story? I can illustrate it with magic.” The sailors and even Julian show their enthusiasm for the idea. One of the sailors suggest a scary story and Hande proceeds, telling a Karnassian story about a jinn who fell in love with a human, but in time the human went mad for being so close to the jinn.

Probably for the first time in his life, Julian is awed by seeing magic. The light figures dancing in the air while Hande tells the story such a fascinating way make Julian feel giddy, almost like a child again. Being with Hande here and how... radiant she is, it's nearly overwhelming. The story is indeed scary, but he can't help but smile at her, and his heart jumps when Hande gives him a little smile back with her sparkling eyes. Other patrons have also gathered around watching the spectacle and shower Hande with compliments after the story is over. The sailors try to ask her to tell another, but Hande chuckles, ”I'm sorry, guys, but magic can be very taxing and I don't want to exhaust myself after a long day.” The sailors groan in disappointment, but still pat Hande on her shoulders, buying her one more drink. Julian hasn't bought any more drinks, because he tries not to get steaming, like Hande had expressed earlier – he doesn't want to make Hande feel uncomfortable. The music is compelling and he'd like to ask Hande to dance, but isn't sure if it's appropriate.

After a short internal debate, his reason seems to leave him, when Hande turns to look at him. Julian hasn't noticed it before, but now Hande's eyes look so beautiful, almost like the deep, blue water. His body starts to move on its own: he reaches his hand towards Hande, palm up and his mouth opens before he can think of it, ”Oh, miss Kuura... Would you like to have a dance with me?” Hande watches Julian's hand and laughs goodheartedly to his dramatic request. Julian is pretty sure Hande's thinking is pretending, but he still feels a little nervous. Finally Hande decides to save her teacher, ”Yes, I'd like that. Though, I must warn you, I haven't danced for a long time. I might be quite rusty.” Julian just chuckles and reassures his apprentice by saying that she'll be fine. Hande smiles to Julian again and gives her hand to him.

Julian places his hand on Hande's waist chastely and leads her to dance. His apprentice is a little tense at first, probably because they're first time this close to each other and because she is nervous about her dancing skills. ”Just relax, I got you,” Julian whispers to Hande, smiling to her reassuringly. Hande takes a deep breath and nods, trying to smile back, although the final result is a little lopsided. The current song is quite fast, just perfect for Julian. He guides Hande who seems to trust him enough and let the music, rhythm and Julian lead her. After a moment she relaxes and the dance feels more natural. Julian enjoys being this close to Hande, seeing her feeling comfortable in his arms. She's so vibrant, so beautiful... I haven't noticed it before. Julian tries to shake off his thoughts and have a little conversation with his apprentice, complimenting her dancing and telling how nice the evening has been. Hande smiles to him which makes him feel weak in his knees. She enjoys my company, her laughter, so full of joy. It almost makes me forget the current situation...

The dance is enchanting and Julian wants the moment to never end. The band starts to play a different song, much more speedy than the last one. This causes Julian to get an idea. He faces Hande with a little smirk on his face. ”Hande, do you trust me?” he asks. Hande looks at Julian a little hesitant, but then lets out a little laugh, ”Yes, I do trust you, Julian. But please, don't kill me.” Hande's last remark causes Julian to bark a laughter and whisper into her ear, ”I wouldn't dream of it.” He tightens his grip of Hande and leads her to the outskirts of the dance floor. Hande only gets a little warning to brace herself, before Julian lifts her, so she's now standing on a chair, and he soon follows suit. Then he rises on a longer table, taking Hande with her. She lets out a surprised yelp, but recovers soon. ”Why, Julian, are you suggesting, that we'd dance on the table?” Hande whispers her question, and Julian can hear her mischievous tone. Oh gods, she's a treasure.

Julian's smirk gets wider and he twirls Hande around before starting to dance properly. The band speeds up and patrons cheer to the duo while some of them try to save their pints. None of the things on the table gets knocked – Hande lets Julian lead her and he's done this before so he is very confident with his partner. The Rowdy Raven is filled with music, cheering and Hande's and Julian's laughter. Suddenly Hande takes the charge and dips Julian in the middle of the table, making him grab Hande for his life. Now it's Hande's turn to smirk and she leans in to whisper to Julian, ”Thank you, Julian. I didn't realise I needed this.” Julian blushes, but manages to give Hande a bashful smile, when Hande lifts him up and they continue their dance. Julian forgets everyone else and just gaze at Hande mesmerized, feeling happy for the first time for gods know how long. This intelligent, warm-hearted and beautiful person is dancing with him, smiling at him.

Oh shit. I think I have a crush.

TRANSLATIONS:

¹ ”Excuse me. Are you from Hjalle?

² ”Yes. How can you talk Hjallean, are you from there, too?”

³ ”I was born in Karnassos. My mom is from Hjalle, but she belongs to Forest people.”

My AO3

#The Arcana #Julian Devorak #fan apprentice #Hande the Apprentice #fanfic #my writing #my work #arcana eotp #Hanian

19 notes · View notes

shireness-says · 4 years

Text

coming ashore (to my lover’s arms)

Summary: For three years, Captain Killian Jones has been seeing Princess Emma of Misthaven in secret. When the Evil Queen kidnaps Emma's father, however, secrecy is set aside. Can they save the king and find their own happily ever after? ~10.5k. Rated T for language and fighting. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: Back in March, I ran a giveaway after I published my 50th fic on Ao3, which was won by the lovely @ouatxxxxx. She requested Princess Emma and Pirate Killian, and an established relationship. Being me, I threw a little adventure in and some cute Captain Cobra moments. I don't think anyone is complaining. Sorry this took so long to finish - thanks for your patience!

Big thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta-ing, as well as the whole host of people who listened to me spitball ideas.

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @profdanglaisstuff, @welllpthisishappening, @optomisticgirl, @scientificapricot, @let-it-raines, @thejollyroger-writer, @kmomof4, @teamhook, @winterbaby89, @spartanguard, @searchingwardrobes

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

He used to love the sight of the open sea, stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction like a vast unknown full of every possibility. The sea used to be home - the place in this world where he felt most like himself.

But times change, and people do too - even stubborn, 300 year old pirate captains. And these days, Killian finds himself much more drawn to land and one particular port.

Or rather, one particular lady in one particular port.

He hadn’t gone looking for love, of course; quite the opposite. He’d come looking for treasure, and met a different jewel altogether along the way.

Killian smiles at the memory. He’d had half a plan, a bit too much confidence, and rather more drink than anyone about to try and rob the royal palace ought to consume. The trail of ivy winding up to a non-descript third floor window had seemed like a stroke of luck; the real stroke of luck, he’d realize later, was reaching the top only to find himself face to face with a princess and her sword.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she’d demanded - in a tone rather less regal than he expected, he might add - and he’d had no choice but to surrender as her blade trained with deadly precision on his throat.

(He’d surrendered his heart at the same time, but that was yet another realization for later.)

“Well, I had planned on a bit of casual larceny, lass,” he’d said as nonchalantly as he could muster, “but I rather think that may not be in the cards tonight after all.”

“You think?”

“I’m smarter than I look, love,” he’d assured her with a smirk. “Now, the way I see it, we’ve got three options. First, you let me make my way back down the vine. Second, you lower your sword and we continue this lovely banter in a more civilized fashion - perhaps in those chairs — ” he’d nodded towards a pair of armchairs facing a cozy fire to demonstrate — “and with a bit of rum.”

“And the third option?” She’d sounded amused, at least, which Killian had thought at the time was a good sign.

“Ah. You run me through with this sword you apparently and inexplicably keep in your chambers, and that’s that. I’m admittedly rather less fond of the third option, I will say, but it seemed foolish not to point out the obvious.”

The lady had held her stance for a moment longer, staring down her steady blade with a confidence he wouldn’t have expected from a princess. Then again, nothing about this little excursion had gone the way he’d expected. Somehow, he’d felt as if she was evaluating him; holding a man at swordpoint certainly had given her one hell of an opportunity to do so. Finally, her blade had lowered, leaving Killian to breathe easy once again.

“You mentioned something about rum?” she’d asked, nodding towards the armchairs in invitation.

“What kind of pirate would I be otherwise?” Killian had smirked in return, sauntering over to drape himself over the flimsy seating. These chairs were clearly meant for little more than decoration.

“Can’t say I’ve met any pirates, so I couldn’t possibly say. A poor one, I take it.”

“You said it, not I.” After taking a hearty swig, Killian had passed the flask across to his unexpected companion. She’d taken to the liquor like a champ, just another unexpected thing about her. He’d started to realize that the lovely blonde in front of him was no ordinary princess. “As an aside, have you considered trimming the ivy outside your window? All manner of unsavory creatures might climb up - less chivalrous ones than I, who might wish to do harm to your lovely self.”

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t be able to climb down,” she’d retorted with a sly smile. “I’ll take my chances.”

Not an ordinary princess at all.

They had only talked that night - two strangers, who never should have met, in an odd situation and bonding over the flask of rum. He’d learned about her parents who want to keep her safe at all costs, practically trapping her inside the walls of the castle except when she manages to sneak out down to the town and whatever darkened tavern she can pass unnoticed in, and about the magic she’s still learning how to use. She’d told him about her dead husband and the young son she loves more than anything in the world, and in turn he’d told her about his dearly departed brother and the way that he can’t help but feel these days that he’s on the wrong path, that Liam would be disappointed in him.

And it should just have been a one time thing - two ships passing in the night who were never meant to meet. She’s a princess, after all, and he’s nothing but a pirate. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind, and the next time he’d found himself in that port again, he’d dropped by the tavern she’d mentioned as her usual haunt on the off chance he might see her.

He had thanked every god that had long since abandoned him when he did.

“I’ve heard a rumor,” he had said in lieu of greeting, reveling in the smile that had inched its way across Emma’s lovely face, “about a princess in these parts sneaking down the vine outside her window. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“Maybe,” she had smirked back. “Buy me a drink, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

One drink became two; one night became many; and three years later, Killian finds himself the only captain in the seven seas who longs for land.

(For Emma; for home.)

This is the way things have to be, he knows - she’s a princess, after all, and he’s a pirate, and there’s no reality he can imagine where her parents readily accept him as a suitor for her hand. Hell, they’re more likely to throw him in the dungeon, maybe hang him, maybe give him to another country who will do the same. Still, Killian can’t help but want - want to wake up by Emma’s side every morning, want to meet and come to know her brilliant son, want to be her partner in a permanent way. Want to be the kind of man who would deserve that.

For now, though, that’s all a dream - just hopes and wishes that float away like a feather on the wind, perpetually out of grasp. This whole romance has been the stuff of fairy tales, Killian thinks sometimes, and not in the good way - rather, it’s been two lovers always separated by circumstance. Their current situation isn’t perfect, by any means, but it just might be the most they can hope for when they both are who they are.

(The fact of the matter, Killian has long since learned, is that he’ll do anything to be with Emma, anything to make her happy.)

This port is familiar now, Killian docking here every other month now in order to spend a few days with his princess. They have a routine; he docks the Jolly and makes sure to raise a flag up the mast for Emma to see from her balcony, then meet that night in the same tavern by the docks. It’s well practiced, reliable. Most importantly, it allows them to see each other without fear of her parents finding out. He’s still a pirate, after all, even if he limits his attacks to ships of other countries, even if he loves Emma more than he ever believed possible. He’s still not a suitable beau for the woman who will one day be queen.

That’s why it shocks him to finally dock only to find Emma already pacing along the boards. He can only imagine how she knew they were coming; she must have been watching for him. That doesn’t solve the mystery of why she’s here in the first place.

The gangplank barely hits the worn wood of the docks before Emma rushes to meet him. “Oh thank the gods you’re here,” she exhales as she throws her arms around his neck. Killian clasps her to him in turn, revelling in the feeling of her body close to his even as concern courses through his veins.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, resisting the urge to brush a stray hair behind her ear. It’s obvious the comfort of his embrace is more important right now.

“Something terrible has happened,” she tells him with tears starting to glisten in her eyes. “My father has been kidnapped.”

———

He can’t say he expected the day to end like this - with Emma and her mother and son all on his ship, sailing into almost certain danger. It’s not how he pictured meeting her parents, either, but he supposes that it’s better than the alternative, where he assumed he would be thrown straight into the dungeons for besmirching their beloved daughter and heir. It’s probably something to do with the fact that he’d immediately offered Emma his ship and crew to help get her father back. It doesn’t hurt either that the Queen clearly has other matters on her mind.

Emma’s mother is a petite woman whose hair is still dark, if streaked with silver in places all the way through its neat coil at the back of her head. Killian sees a lot of Emma in her mother, actually; something about the set of their identical chins and their effortlessly graceful way of moving. The bow and arrows strapped to her back are certainly reminiscent of his and Emma’s first meeting, at least. Where Emma has proved to be all fiery determination after her little momentary breakdown at the docks, laying out a plan like a seasoned general with a spine of steel, her mother seems a little at odds - distracted, almost unable to truly focus on anything. Killian can understand that; after all, it’s the love of her life that’s missing, her true love, the man she’s spent every day with for decades. His absence must be jarring. Killian can’t even begin to imagine what he’d do if Emma were the one taken.

(That’s probably another reason Emma’s mother doesn’t put up a big fuss about the fact that she’s been seeing a pirate in secret - she just doesn’t have the energy or the attention for it.)

Emma’s lad, on the other hand, seems blissfully oblivious to the circumstances at hand, gleefully running up and down the Jolly’s deck with all the energy a five-year-old can muster. Killian would say this isn’t how he anticipated meeting Henry either, but truthfully, he’d never anticipated being allowed to meet the lad. Pirates don’t exactly make for the best role models, after all, the same way that small children don’t make the best secret-keepers. As much as Killian has secretly yearned for some kind of committed family life with Emma and her boy, he’s long since resigned himself to the fact that it’s unlikely due to his past and her future. Getting to meet the boy, see him and his mother on the Jolly, feels like a dream Killian never dared entertain.

“I’m going to have a ship like this one day,” Henry tells him very seriously.

The lad is a prince, one day heir to his mother’s throne; his words aren’t necessarily just youthful fancy, if he keeps that desire as he grows older. “I think that’s a fine idea, mate,” he smiles down. “A pretty navy clipper, maybe, or even the flagship?”

“Not a navy ship,” Henry tells him with a tone that communicates that Killian is clearly being ridiculous, even obtuse. “I’m going to have a pirate ship one day.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…”

“How do you get a pirate ship?”

Killian flounders - that’s the only word for it. He can’t exactly tell a child who seems determined to acquire a pirate ship about how he stole his, betraying king and country. Emma watches nearby, but she clearly doesn’t intend to help him out of this mess; indeed, she looks rather closer to laughter. Then again, she knows the whole story, knows exactly what he doesn’t want to explain. “They, uh… well, they… save up for a long while,” he finally finishes in the lamest fashion imaginable. What an impression he’s likely made.

Emma finally swoops in to save him - though he rather thinks it’s too little, too late. “Did you get a chance to look below the decks, baby?” she asks Henry, brushing his hair back out of his face as she speaks. “I hear that Killian set aside a cabin, just for us.”

That bit is true; in fact, the royals have rather sent his crew’s usual bunking arrangements into upheaval. Queen Snow has been moved into the former first lieutenant’s cabin - once his own, now usually occupied by his first mate Smee and hastily scrubbed down - and Emma and Henry have been moved into one of the former officers’ cabins, those rooms’ usual occupants being assigned hammock space in the hold for the time being. Killian feels some residual guilt about not offering his own quarters for Emma or the Queen’s use, but his maps and weapons are all in there, and he’s a mite too selfish to willingly give up his own space, even if the former lieutenant within him knows that he should. But he is a pirate, after all.

(If he has secret, unspoken hopes that maybe Emma will sneak into his cabin the same way he’s snuck into her rooms so many times, well, a man can’t be blamed for dreaming.)

“I have indeed,” Killian finally replies with a smile for the boy.

Henry gasps in response, with all the dramatics of a child his age. “Is there a hammock?”

“No, there isn’t, lad,” Killian chuckles. “But there are bunks - one each for you and your mother. I know it’s not the same, but is it an acceptable substitute?”

Henry nods decisively in response. “That’s okay too. Bunks can be fun. Pirates sleep in bunks too.”

“That they do, lad.”

(Just as he’d hoped, Emma sneaks into his cabin that night, climbing into his own narrow bunk to press herself against his side. He doesn’t dare take this any further, not when Emma’s so emotionally compromised and her mother and son sleep just a few thin walls away; it would feel wrong, anyways, when Emma’s only here because her father has been kidnapped. Besides, he’s more than content just to exist like this, holding his love within his arms.

“Thank you for this,” she whispers into the dark. “I know this is asking a lot, and you didn’t have to do this —”

“Your heart’s desire, love,” he interrupts, unwilling to hear one more unnecessary apology. “I swear, that’s all I want for you.”

He’d do anything to make her happy, and when he knows that, this is the smallest ask.)

(His dreams that night are filled with visions of Emma in his arms every night, just like this.)

———

The situation as Emma and her mother describe it is this: the former “Evil Queen”, Snow’s stepmother Regina, had appeared in a dramatic cloud of purple smoke as the family had sat down to dinner, immobilizing everyone and snatching King David before dematerializing in the same fashion. Killian knows the story, at least to a certain extent; Regina had been banished to a far-off land nearly twenty years before after a decade of turmoil when Emma had been but a child, her magic bound by the fairies to protect them all. Regina had seized the throne after the death of Snow’s father and the young princess had been forced into hiding, the older woman swearing vengeance on the younger for the loss of a love she would never name. Even after Snow and David had regained the throne of Misthaven, driving Regina out, the sorceress had persisted, leaving the country to hover at the edge as an unseen danger for years until she was finally captured, her magic bound and her self banished to another realm. They’d foolishly assumed that would be the end of the matter.

They’d been wrong.

For Regina, as it turned out, had a long memory and a dangerous list of allies, and as soon as a corrupted fairy managed to lift the binding, she had resumed her plotting. Kidnapping the King was her revenge on Snow White, for condemning Regina’s own love so many years ago. The trade, Regina had cackled, was simple: if Snow relinquished the kingdom once again, then Regina would release David and maybe - just maybe - the Good Queen would be allowed to keep her own life in return. She’d given them ten days’ time to make the arrangements; it was obvious to all that she expected Snow to willingly sacrifice her kingdom for her true love.

The one thing Regina hadn’t anticipated, as Emma pointed out, was that the Royal Family of Misthaven - or at least the Crown Princess of Misthaven - had connections capable of getting things done through much less legal or expected means - namely, himself. And that just might include the ability to pull off a rescue mission, if they play their cards right.

Their advantages are limited - a pouch of fairy dust capable of transporting them between realms, a vial of squid ink, a singular magic bean, and Emma’s magic (“Whatever good that will do.”). Killian’s crew can fight, with the benefit of mostly acting unpredictably, unlike the disciplined armies Regina is doubtless used to facing, but their numbers are pitifully small. If Regina has amassed a force of Black Knights again - something Killian wouldn’t put past her, if she’s regained her magic and retained her taste for ripping out hearts - then they may be horribly outnumbered.

Still, Killian, Emma, and the Queen concoct a plan as best as they can. It’s far from perfect - Killian in particular doesn’t like that they’ve essentially got one chance to get this right - but it’s the best they’ve got. Emma’s mother is able to muster more energy and focus when she has something to direct it towards. Finally, he’s getting to see a little bit of the strong, determined woman Emma has told him about. That’s dangerous in its own way, though - after all, Emma still spends her nights in his bunk. They’ve made no secret of what they are to each other in daylight hours, either; Killian’s eyes and hands gravitate towards Emma at every opportunity, revelling in just the tamest affectionate touches, and Emma has absentmindedly kissed him - on the cheek, even the lips - when he knows they were in sight of the Queen. If they ever intended to continue keeping this under wraps, that proverbial ship has long since sailed, and Killian couldn’t be happier. Still, he doesn’t relish facing a mother that finally has the presence of mind to object.

It was inevitable, though. He and Emma stand at the ships’ wheel that night, watching the sun set over the waves. This will be the last time they do so, possibly ever if things go poorly; now that they’ve got a plan, they’ll be using the magic bean tomorrow morning to transport themselves to the realm where they hope Regina is still holed up, moving as fast as they safely can in order to rescue King David. Killian tries to savor the simple comfort of this moment; Emma’s head rests on his shoulder, and his arm rests gently around her waist, his fingers stroking along her hipbone almost without conscious thought. Emma had abandoned her skirts for breeches just as soon as they had gotten underway, and Killian must say, this new look suits her. With her blue vest and her hair pulled back, she looks like some kind of lady knight, or a fierce pirate queen - perfect for the helpless pirate captain she holds within her thrall.

(The breeches also afford him an excellent view of her perfectly formed arse and legs, but that’s a whole different story that he can’t admit to in public.)

“You’ll come to bed soon?” she murmurs into his neck once the sun finally slips below the waves.

“Aye, love,” he replies with a kiss to the crown of her hair, just where the golden strands are trying to pull loose from their leather strap. Emma likes to try and run her hand through her hair when she’s stressed, and there’s certainly been plenty of that lately.

As one lady walks away, however, Emma retreating below decks to his cabin, another one approaches - her mother. Maybe he won’t be coming to bed so soon after all.

“Your Majesty,” he acknowledges with a deferential nod of his head. It’s been a while, but Killian does still remember the little courtesy gestures, and is willing to use them to deflect whatever is about to befall him.

“Captain.” Snow White joins him beside the ship’s wheels with a grace that even Emma can’t imitate, the illusion that she perfectly belongs in any situation. He envies her that.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“It’s less about what you can do, and more about what you’ve already done,” she tells him with a wry smile that almost looks out of place on her face.

This conversation, then. Killian lets his head bob downwards again, this time in resignation. “Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.” The silence sits heavy between them, both waiting for the other to speak. Surprisingly, it’s the Queen who caves first - though that’s likely only because Killian finds himself too nervous to speak. Not a position he ever expected to find himself in again as a pirate captain. “So how long have you and my daughter been…” The Queen trails off, clearly at a loss for the appropriate words. Their secret assignations certainly don’t qualify as courting, but they certainly go beyond friendship or fucking. He can’t imagine this woman saying the latter word in any case.

He ultimately takes pity on the queen. “Been me and your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“About three years.” Even if this conversation scares him half to death, Killian still can’t help but smile at the words. That’s the first time he’s had cause to say such a thing; it feels lovely, in a way, each one of those three words imbued with countless memories.

“Three years…” the Queen echoes on a murmur. It’s impossible to miss the guilt and mild melancholy in her tone. “I had no idea. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

Killian glances around his ship in confusion. They’ve made no secret of the fact that he’s a pirate; it should be pretty obvious why he and Emma had kept their relationship a secret. “I’m not exactly a proper suitor, so to speak,” he tells her. “At first, we didn’t know where this was going, or if it’d be more than a fleeting thing, but then once it became more serious… we hadn’t figured out how to broach it.” Without me being thrown into the dungeon and executed, he doesn’t add, but that should be obvious.

“And now?”

“Pardon?” The question feels like it comes out of nowhere, leaving Killian unprepared to answer.

“We’re here talking,” the Queen points out. “I’m all too aware that my daughter spends her nights in your cabin instead of her own. What’s changed, that you’re willing to be open about your relationship after three years of hiding?”

“Some things are more important,” he explains. “The life of your husband - Emma’s father - is more important. Supporting Emma when the rest of the world is falling down around her ears is more important. I hope that after all this, you won’t order my head on a pike,” Killian concedes, “but Emma needs me right now. That’s more important than… anything else.”

“You love her.” It’s not a question, or a realization - just a statement of fact, of the one truth that’s settled deep into Killian’s bones.

“I do. More than anything else in this realm, or any other.”

“Good.” After years of worry, the simple word is shocking to hear. This whole episode has cast things in a different light, though. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted for her, you know. Someone to love her the way she deserves. Do you think you can be that someone?”

“I hope so. I want to be. Emma is… more than I’ll ever deserve. I just want to make her happy, in whatever way I can.”

“Good. Make sure you do.” And then, wonder of all wonders, Her Majesty actually smiles at him, a soft and maternal thing he never expected to see directed at him. “I think you ought to call me Snow, once all this is over.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Get some rest, Captain,” she tells him - a clear dismissal, her tone imbued with something regal he doesn’t dare question. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

(“What took you so long?” Emma mumbles as he crawls into the bunk behind her, already half asleep.

“Just a little chat with your mother,” he tells her before pressing a kiss to her shoulder where her shift is just starting to slip down. “Nothing to worry about.”

Emma hums in response - about all the response he expected from her in this state. “Love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Sleep well.”)

———

Morning inevitably dawns, bright and clear, perfect for their purposes. Maybe that’s why the dread in Killian’s stomach only deepens.

Traveling by portal is a dangerous business; Killian only had occasion to experience it a handful of times, back when he was still back in Glowerhaven’s navy, but he enjoyed exactly none of it. There’s something particularly unsettling about purposefully steering your vessel into a swirling void into the sea, whipped around in every direction before being spat back out again in another land, another realm. Time is of the essence here, though, and they don’t know exactly where Emma’s father is being kept. Travelling by portal is the fastest, best way to rescue him - unsettling as the journey may be.

He tries to enjoy these little moments while he can, watching Emma still in his bunk as he slips on a linen shirt and laces his pants up. His love is less delicate in sleep, those porcelain limbs sprawled across every inch of his mattress like she has a right to it all with her hair all in tangles. She’s just as lovely like this, in some kind of everyday, domestic way - unpolished, unpracticed. No trace of the princess here - just the amazing woman she is. They’re all about to dash into danger within the next hour or two, but this is worth remembering in the moment, a little vision to remember later when the going gets rough.

On the bed, Emma peels an eye open as Killian shrugs his leather vest back on. “That time already?” she mumbles in a voice still muddled with sleep.

“Aye, love, time to turn the plan into action.” He leans down to press a kiss to her forehead practically without thought, the most comforting kind of instinct. Emma hums, whether in appreciation or acknowledgement or expression of her own half asleep state. “Sleep a few minutes longer. I’m just going to check everything over again.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, though it’s obvious she doesn’t need to be told twice. Killian can see the muscles of her face relax as she falls back into a doze.

(Maybe, after all this is over, he’ll be treated to a lifetime of moments like this. That’s his dream, after all - and maybe, just maybe, helping rescue a captured King will earn him something close to redemption.)

With a last look at the lovely tableau Emma makes, Killian turns towards his safe. With a few flicks of his wrist, the lockbox opens, allowing him to pluck the little bag containing the single magic bean from within. No use beating around the bush, now.

When Killian ascends the ladder to the deck, he’s surprised to find the Queen - Snow already waiting on the sun-bleached planks.

“Couldn’t sleep, milady?” he calls gently as he gets closer, causing Snow to spin around to face him.

“Anxious,” she explains. “I caught a few hours, not to worry. But I’m ready to go find Charming.”

The nickname strikes a particular chord in his heart; as much as Killian may have heard about it from Emma, heard the whole story of her parents’ famous romance a million times over as a favorite local legend, it’s something else to hear it from Snow’s lips. It’s never been just a fanciful tale, even if that’s the way he’s always heard it told; it’s their life, for better or worse. “We’ll get him back, ma’am,” Killian assures her - a promise he can’t actually make, not that it’s stopped him.

She knows it, too, if that particular smile is anything to go off of - a little sad, a little knowing, a little pitying. “I hope so, Captain. Now, is there anything I can do before we travel?”

“You can check that everything is secured in your cabin and Henry’s,” Killian offers. It’s obvious that Snow needs something to do in this in-between time; he’s seen that already. He’s more than happy to pawn off one of his own checks to Emma’s mother. “You can check the hold too, for that matter, make sure everything’s tied down and stowed away.”

It’s crucial that everything be secured before they open the portal; in Kililan’s experience, realm travel tends to jostle things around. He’s just finishing his own checks up on deck, directing the crew and securing various lines and sails, when Emma makes her appearance at his side.

“You should be below decks with the lad, love,” he tells her gently. “It might be a rough ride.”

“I know,” she shrugs. “But maybe I want to be up here with you. Mom can more than handle Henry. Is that so wrong?”

“Not in the least, darling,” he smiles back. “But can you blame a man for wanting to make sure his lady love is safe?”

“Not when you phrase it like that.” He even gets a little laugh out of her; that’s good, at least. “But I want to be here, you know. With you. It’s… into the great unknown, right?” Killian nods. “Then I want to do that with you.”

He’s always been a sucker for that kind of sentiment.

That’s how Emma ends up the one to toss the magic bean into the calm sea an hour later, her mother and son and as much crew as they can spare stashed below decks to protect them all. As the waters open to a swirling vortex, Killian wraps his arm securely around her waist, the other on the ship’s wheel to steer them straight into danger. Ropes are tied around both their waists for an extra level of security - something Killian had insisted on - but Emma’s face is curiously unafraid.

(That’s the faith she has in you, a little voice in his head whispers. Gods, he hopes what they’re about to do doesn’t betray that.)

“Hold tight to me, love,” he murmurs, before turning his attention back to the few crew members left on deck. “Buckle down, lads,” he yells, just as the bow of the Jolly catches the swirling waters of the portal. “It’s rough seas ahead!”

Rough seas is rather an understatement. Once the ship fully enters the expanding mouth of the portal, control is wrenched from his hands, the waters spiralling them down and down and down. There’s no telling which way is up and which way is down, magic ruling over physics, with water seemingly all around them but never swallowing them. The wheel of the Jolly spins wild, forcing Killian to let go before the rudder snaps and cripples the vessel. He’s left with nothing else to do but clutch Emma close with both his arms, curl his body around hers, shut his eyes and try to block out the roar all around them and hope and hope and hope —

— and just as suddenly as this all commenced, the world rights itself again, the hull of the Jolly gliding through calm seas under a pink-tinted sky. They’re just offshore of their destination, where Killian can barely make out fantastically twisting trees and grotesque shrubberies and enormous mushrooms. Wonderland - a realm steeped in magic itself, where Regina’s mother had once seized power and she must have now have done the same. Arguably, one of the worst places they could face her. There’s no other option, however - not when King David’s life is on the line.

“We’re not doing that again, are we?” Emma mumbles against his neck, barely peeking out to see this realm they’ve found themselves in. “Because let me tell you, I’ve had smoother rides.”

With a final squeeze and a chuckle, Killian unwraps his arms from around her body where they’d been sheltering Emma from the worst of the journey. “Aye, I can promise that, love. Only one bean. We’ll have to resort to more mundane methods on our way back.”

“Good.” Emma brushes down her vest, as if any bit of it would dare be out of place. “Now, let’s go catch ourselves a witch.”

Most preparations had been made last night, anticipating the need for immediate action today. Basic supplies have been packed, blades sharpened, and the Queen’s arrows neatly aligned in their quiver with their tips dipped in squid ink. All Snow has to do is graze Regina with an arrow and it’s over; she’ll be frozen, absolutely immobile. The hardest thing left to do, now that the hour is nigh, is explain to little Henry why he can’t come with them. Emma had insisted; Queen Snow had insisted; Killian had concurred; there’s quite a difference between taking him this far for his own safety when there’s an evil witch on the loose, and taking him right into the heart of danger.

“But I want to come with you!” Henry whines with tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want to stay behind!”

“Henry, it’s for your own good.” Killian can tell Emma is trying to explain this as best as she can to her son, but her voice has started to betray a hint of begging. “We’ll be back before you know it. We just have to go save Grampa.”

“You don’t know that though!” Henry wails. “Something could happen and I don’t want to be by myself and—” Emma gathers the little boy into her arms as he dissolves into tears, the display cutting right into Killian’s heart.

Once Henry’s tears start to abate a few minutes later, Killian strokes a bit of his hair back to catch the lad’s attention. “You’re right,” he tells Henry. “This is really scary for your mother and I too. But I promise - I promise - that I’m going to do everything in my power to protect your mum, alright? I’ll make sure that she comes back to you. And in the meantime, Mr. Smee is going to be here to look after you. You won’t be alone.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart,” Killian swears solemnly. “I’ll have your mum and your grandpa and your grandma back to you before you know it.”

He would have made sure, anyways - Emma is the most important thing in his life, and he’d do anything to keep her and her family safe - but his promise to Henry only strengthens that. He’ll lay down his life, if he has to, if only to keep that promise to the little lad. After all, he knows all too well the pain of losing his family.

When they finally set out for the shore in rowboats, Henry bravely waves them off from the railing of the Jolly, though Killian can see tears glistening at the corners of the boy’s eyes. For that matter, Emma’s eyes are moist too.

“We’ll be back before you know it, love,” he assures her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “I promise.”

“I know.” Emma’s smile may be watery, but it’s there. “I trust you to make that happen.”

(And imagine that - a princess trusting an old pirate like him.)

Killian expects they’ll be dodging obstacles from Regina the whole time as they cautiously pick their way towards the ostentatious palace they spot from the beach; after all, it’s well known that Regina’s mother, in her time ruling Wonderland, had amassed an enormous army from those whose hearts she’d ripped out and held captive in her vaults. Her daughter doubtlessly controls the same. However, they meet no one more than Wonderland’s absurd wildlife - a fact that somehow feels even more concerning, under the circumstances. It likely means that Regina knows they’re coming, and has already centralized her forces to create a stronghold of that pretty palace estate. And that means they’re walking right into a death trap, fully aware of that very fact.

They’re all a bit jittery at this turn of events; Killian can tell that his crew is on edge, and he can’t keep his own fingers from drumming impatiently on the hilt of his sword, anxious for some kind of action, expecting danger around every corner all while knowing that the true danger is still ahead of them. Emma works out her own impatience by practicing her magic, blasting the enormous insects indigenous to this realm in some kind of bizarre target practice. It’s as good an outlet as any, and she’ll need every ounce of practice to take on the Evil Queen. Even after twenty years of having her magic suppressed, Killian knows Regina will be a formidable foe; she’d terrorized Misthaven for years under her tyranny and dark magic, and he somehow doubts 20 years wiped those skills from her memory.

“Bravo,” Killian tells Emma with a smile and a little nudge after she blasts a particularly large rendition of a hornet. To their left, a hookah-smoking caterpillar nods approvingly from an enormous mushroom at the side of this forgotten, multi-colored cobblestone path. Truly, this land seems crafted straight out of a fever dream.

“Thanks.” Emma twines her arm through his own, grounding them both in the process. It’s a lot harder to fidget with his love on his arm, and a great comfort at that. “I kind of need all the practice I can get.”

“It can’t hurt,” Killian agrees mildly. “Though I must say, darling, I’m certainly impressed.”

Emma’s sigh sounds like it carries the weight of all their worries; Killian isn’t entirely sure she isn’t trying to do exactly that. “Is it enough, though? Sure, you’re impressed, but… this is Regina. An ultra-powerful sorceress. And here I am, just taking pot-shots at bugs.”

“Big bugs.”

“Bugs,” she repeats with disgust. “All I’m saying is… is that enough? When it comes down to it, can we really go toe-to-toe with the Evil Queen?”

“Hey,” Killian draws them up short, grasping Emma by both arms to face him. “I have to believe we can, that you can. I believe that this is going to work. And you know why?” Emma just stares at him with wide eyes. “Because I believe in you, love. I think you can do anything you want to. And we’ll be here to back you up, to help you, every step of the way.”

“You really believe that?”

“I really do.” Gently, with the greatest comfort and reassurance he can muster, Killian presses a brief kiss to her lips. “Now, let’s go catch an Evil Queen, love. Together, you and I.”

As is the way of such things, just when Killian begins to relax into the comfort of Emma’s arm entwined through his own, their party reaches the outskirts of the Queen’s estate. The palace is an ornate affair, in marble and gilt with elaborate gardens and hedge mazes. It’s more than just a building or a dwelling - it’s a centerpiece, an architectural representation of Cora, and now Regina’s power. It’s perfect and picturesque and somehow all the more intimidating and imposing for it.

Killian does his best to nod reassuringly when Emma turns to meet his eyes, standing here at the gilded gates and about to walk into the heart of danger. It must work, thankfully; Emma smiles in response before turning to face her mother instead.

“You ready for this?” Emma asks, drawing her sword.

Snow takes a deep, steadying breath, but eventually nods, simultaneously reaching for an arrow from her quiver. “I’m ready. Let’s go save your father.”

They don’t have to search hard to find Regina; it seems like now that she’s lured them into her web, the Evil Queen is ready to set the proverbial ball rolling. As they approach the enormous iron-wrought doors to the palace proper, they swing open without any obvious human intervention to reveal a grand entrance hall paved in black and white marble tiles. Killian directs a weighted look and nod to his crew to be on their guard. Most of his men have long since unsheathed their swords and knives, but those few who haven’t take out their weapons now. Emma and her mother wear identical hard, determined looks on their face as their party creeps down the hall. What feels like an eternity later, another set of doors swings open at their approach, all to reveal the Evil Queen herself, perched on a gilded throne upon a dais with apparently every bit of drama she could muster.

“I was wondering when you’d bother to show up,” she comments with a devious little smirk. “I guess heroes just aren’t what they used to be.”

“Regina.” Snow practically growls the word - a tone of voice Killian hadn’t been aware the famously mild-mannered queen was capable of.

“I suppose you lot are rather out of practice, though,” Regina continues as if her rival never spoke, languidly pushing herself up out of the throne to slither and stalk in their direction. She looks good for a woman doubtless approaching sixty, regal with her straight back and raised chin and silver liberally streaked through her dark hair. Killian wonders how much of the display is natural, and how much is thanks to magic. “There never was anyone else who posed anything resembling a real threat.”

“Weird thing to brag about,” Emma comments dryly, catching Regina’s attention. In a dramatic swish of skirts, their foe turns to face her with a feral smile stretching slowly across her face.

“I don’t expect you to understand power, Princess, and how far it can take you,” she replies - smoothly, dangerously - “but I do expect you to recognize it when it stands in front of you. Even your naive parents aren’t that foolish.”

“Enough of the fronting,” Killian cuts in. “Where’s the king?”

“And they brought a little eye candy, too,” Regina smirks. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that. Goody-two-shoes Snow White and her precious, perfect daughter consorting with pirates.”

“Well, desperate times call for unusual measures,” Killian replies with a casual wave of his hand. “Never let it be said I’m not willing to help a lovely lady or a worthy cause.”

“Is that all it is?” Regina’s head cocks in a way that makes Killian think she’s analyzing the situation, trying to pick up on any weaknesses. “Because I must say, Captain —”

“Stop stalling!” Snow barks out. “Where is Charming? What have you done with him?”

“Interrupting - tsk tsk, such impropriety. Whatever would your dearly departed father say?” Snow flushes red with rage - obviously exactly what Regina hoped for, if that smirk is anything to go off of. “If you must know, your precious prince is a little… shall we say, indisposed for the moment.”

“If you’ve hurt him —”

“Now what fun would that be?” Regina laughs. “No, I’ve arranged something much more entertaining - I’ve cursed him.”

And with a dramatic wave of her hand, the Evil Queen reveals her handiwork. Before them suddenly stands an enormous mirror - and just behind the glass, Emma’s father, pounding frantically at the surface.

Emma jolts beside him, clearly pulled towards her father. It’s undoubtedly exactly what Regina wants - perhaps their strongest weapon, distracted and out of commission. “Steady on, love,” Killian murmurs, just loud enough for Emma to hear. “Don’t give in to her, that’s what she wants.”

Emma nods imperceptibly, her sword arm strengthening as her other hand starts to twist and turn by her side - summoning her magic from deep within, he knows. “Let him go,” she commands.

The Evil Queen just laughs in response. “No, I don’t think I will. What are you going to do about it, princess?” As she speaks, Regina summons her own powers, lighting a ball of flame in her hand, primed and ready to attack. Simultaneously, the doors on each wall of the throne room open for a crush of Black Knights to pour through, surrounding their own party.

They’re outnumbered - but they’ve got the benefit of passion, of rage, of the willingness to do anything. And Killian has always liked those particular odds.

It seems Emma is much of the same mind as she throws herself into action, lunging at Regina with her sword arm while the other crackles with magic. A good thing, too - Regina easily bats the sword out of her way with a quick flick of her wrist and hurls her fireball for Emma to bat away in turn. There’s a savage beauty to their dueling, both women lobbing magical weapons at one another with deadly intent. If it was just the two of them, Killian might take another minute to marvel; unfortunately, there is still a force of Black Knights and red-festooned guards to deal with. Emma is the only one who can fight on equal footing with Regina; it’s up to Killian, Snow, and his crew to keep the rest of the combatants away from Emma for long enough for her to defeat the Evil Queen.

Killian falls into a dance of his own, aiming to knock the Knights out where he can instead of killing them outright; it’s well known that Regina, and her mother before her, is an expert at controlling people, ripping out their hearts and whispering commands like a demonic puppetmaster. It’s not always possible, though, and Emma’s safety is more important than anything when she has to channel all her focus into battling Regina; his blade has tasted blood several times over, now, more than he wants to think about. The dance of combat is complicated by curses flying all over the place, doubtless intended for Emma or their little party even if they occasionally strike one of Regina’s own forces.

It finally seems like they’re starting to have things in hand. For all their numbers, the Black Knights and Red Guards are poorly trained, a collection of poor souls used to doing Regina’s bidding by intimidation and by superior numbers. Snow, instead, is a deadly aim - presumably from her outlaw days - and Killian and his crew are used to fighting for their dinner and their salary and their lives, playing dirty if they need to in order to get the upper hand. King David doesn’t look particularly pleased with the way Killian keeps using the mirror as a shield or an obstacle or a hard surface to knock heads against, but that’s his problem; Killian is doing his best to save his holier-than-thou arse, after all. Foes still remain, but it feels like a manageable low tide now instead of breaking wave after breaking wave.

And maybe that’s what hurts them. Maybe, Killian lets his guard down more than he should have, surveying the room after dispatching another Red Guard. He doesn’t see Regina cast the curse, doesn’t see it head directly at him, doesn’t know what’s happening at all until he hears Emma shout. Killian whirls around, but it’s too late - only just in time to see Regina’s curse hit her squarely in the chest.

“Emma!” he yells, dashing to catch his love as she crumples towards the ground. Somewhere, he hears Regina cackle in triumph, but he can’t worry about that now, not when Emma —

But he doesn’t need to worry about it, as Snow takes advantage of Regina’s distraction to let loose an arrow, deadly and true, to pierce her long-time enemy’s heart.

Somewhere, Killian hears the clatter of metal as the Queen’s soldiers are released from her power. Somewhere, he hears glass shatter as David is finally freed from the mirror. Those things don’t matter, though, when Emma lies in his arms, eyes closed, pulse barely detectable.

“C’mon, love, open those pretty eyes,” he murmurs, but to no avail. His words fall only on deaf ears. He can feel her parents on either side, reaching for Emma, and he should give her to them. Snow strokes along her hair and face, trying to rouse her daughter, and David just behind at his wife’s shoulder, anxiously peering down with tears starting to glisten in his eyes. Killian should let go of Emma, give her to her parents. A less selfish man might. But he can’t, not when he’s only just started to dream of a happy ending, only to see it - her fall in front of him.

And it’s a long shot. There’s no promises here, but Emma is his joy, is every dream he never dared to dream, and it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? After growing up hearing about true love, maybe they share that too.

(If nothing else, it’s less heartbreaking to think of this as an attempt at true love’s kiss than as a kiss goodbye.)

“Come back to me, Emma,” he whispers, leaning down as he does so to press his lips to hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.

There’s a split second where nothing happens, where Killian is sure it didn’t work. But then what feels like a wave of energy bursts from where their lips are joined, spreading through the room and causing even her parents to gasp.

Emma’s eyes flutter open slowly, but she smiles to see Killian still bending over her. “Did we win?” she mumbles, a tired sort of slur to her words.

Killian can’t help but laugh, even as happy and relieved tears start to gather at the corner of his eyes; it’s so like his Emma, so fierce, so determined. “Aye, love, we did. You did. Regina’s dead, and your father’s right here.”

Emma cranes her head with a wince to meet her father’s gaze. “I’m ok, sweetheart,” he assures her. “I’m proud of you.”

She nods tiredly before turning her attention back to Killian. “Can we go home now?”

“Anything you want, darling,” he chuckles. “Anything you want.”

———

Henry, as expected, is thrilled when they return with his grandfather now amongst their number. “I knew they’d save you,” he grins, arms wrapped tightly around David’s waist. “That’s what heroes do.”

“Hey now, lad, I’m a pirate, not some hero,” Killian can’t help but cut in with a smile and a teasing note in his voice.

“I don’t know, I think you could be both,” Emma adds with a smug little smile. As if it’s thanks to her that he’s anything resembling a hero.

(That might be a little true, actually. After all, she’s the reason he’s wanted to try.)

“Yeah!” Henry agrees readily. “You helped bring Gramps back! And you made sure Mom was safe, just like you promised!”

“Well, I couldn’t disappoint my best mate, could I? A promise is a promise.”

“I see you’ve swayed my grandson, too,” David interjects drolly. Killian isn’t sure the man will ever fully be a fan of his - Killian supposes he’d be the same way with a daughter of his own - but they’re mostly civil, at least. It’s more than he could have expected a week ago, at least.

“More like he swayed me.”

“I like Killian,” Henry proclaims, and, well, that’s that.

(“Killian says if I save up a lot, I can have my own pirate ship,” Killian hears Henry tell Charming later. “Do you know how much I have to save?”

Killian will probably be paying for that in other ways later.)

Suspicious fathers aside, the return trip is much less eventful. Applying fairy dust to his sails so they can fly between realms may make for a slower journey, but a calmer one; the necessary rush of their original travel to find David is no longer in play, anyways, and they can spare the time. It’s a good time for Emma’s family to get used to his presence in her life under more normal circumstances. There’s no putting the cat that is their relationship back in the metaphorical bag after this, not that Killian would ever want to. He’s loved Emma for a long, long time, and he’s just glad to finally now admit it in public.

By the time they dock back in Misthaven’s port, there’s something of an understanding. Snow openly likes him, as does Henry, and even David has reached a grudging acceptance after much discussion with his wife and daughter. It probably doesn’t hurt that Killian played an instrumental role in his rescue. There’s still the matter of public perception, however. There’s no hiding the fact that he was - is? - a pirate. What will the populace think of their beloved princess consorting with someone like him? How are they supposed to prove that he’s one of their fold, now, no longer a threat in the eyes of the royal family?

The answer, as it turns out, is a grand ball. It’s the Misthaven way, after all.

Killian can’t say that it’s his idea of a good time by any stretch of the imagination - a little too stifling for his taste - but there’s no real way to weasel out of it, not when he’s the guest of honor. Especially not when it means that the Queen and King see in him a man of honor, maybe even a man worthy of their daughter. He’d be a fool to spit in the face of such gestures.

Still, he doesn’t have to be entirely thrilled about it. There’s far too many diplomats to play nice with and not nearly enough time with Emma and the collar of his coat itches, dammit. The quilted bronze fabric is certainly striking, drawing more than his fair share of appreciative looks, but the folded black collar whacks at the bottom of his chin with every move, driving him mad. If these soirees are going to become a regular thing in his life - and by all appearances, they will be - he’ll have to speak with the palace seamstresses about making something less prominent.

(What an idea, that is - getting the chance to be around openly enough and long enough to need to speak with palace staff about his preferences.)

Emma, on the other hand, looks absolutely stunning. Beautiful. Ravishing. A whole host of other descriptors that never fully encompass the way she looks tonight, never quite do her justice. Her dress is red, with long sleeves and a full skirt and beading along her scooped neckline that highlights the peeking swells of her lovely breasts, all topped with a floral tiara. It’s by far the most traditionally princess-y that Killian has ever seen her look; it feels like his heart skips several beats as she makes her way into the crowded ballroom, skirt swishing about her just a split second after every move she makes.

(He may be the guest of honor, but she’s the star of this particular show, every eye drawn towards her grace and beauty like moths to a flame. Truthfully, he can’t blame them one bit.)

As much as Killian has enjoyed watching his princess in her element - something he never thought he’d be fortunate enough to see - he’s been sadly limited to only looking, not touching. Emma is a dance partner in much demand, between visiting royalty and Misthaven’s own nobility and what he’s been told are friends of her parents and their children, and somehow, Killian can never find a moment to steal her away into his arms and make it obvious to anyone that Emma is his partner, and his alone.

(This is all part and parcel of being the future monarch, he knows, but Killian has always been a selfish bastard at heart, a pirate not skilled at sharing with others. Besides, they’ve only just been allowed to show their love openly; he can’t help but want to revel in that for all to see.)

He puts on as good a show as he can, smiling at the countless faces he’s introduced to and gritting his teeth against all the little snide, uppity comments he gets to hear in return. He dances, too - with Snow’s old friend Ruby and with Emma’s friend, the Queen of Arendelle (who is kind enough not to mention the piracy he’s doubtless committed against their ships in the past years) and even, eventually, with Queen Snow herself, twirling each across the marble floors in moves his body remembers from his Naval Academy days much better than his brain does.

“How are you holding up, Captain?” Emma’s mother asks once he pulls her back in from a particularly dramatic turn. Killian chooses to hum instead of answering, making the Queen laugh. “That well, huh?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” Killian suggests. “Distance may make the memory fonder.”

“I strongly doubt that, but I’ll be sure to ask.”

Inevitably, Killian’s eye drifts back to Emma again, where she now dances with her father. He means no offense to his current partner, and he surely hopes Snow doesn’t take it as a slight; he just can’t help but seek for his love’s face and smile and self no matter what else is going on around him.

“You haven’t had much chance to be in each other’s company tonight, have you?” Snow comments wisely, drawing Killian’s attention back to his partner with a guilty little start that makes her chuckle again. “No, it’s quite alright,” she assures him. “I do remember young love, you know.”

“I’d never think to suggest otherwise,” he winks back. They’ve reached some kind of understanding, him and the queen; the kind of adventure they’ve shared will do that, he supposes.

“Wise man.” Once again, Killian turns the Queen beneath his arm. When she comes back to their proper waltz position, there’s an extra little twinkle in her eye. “Now, I know you’ll be terribly sorry to see me go,” she tells him, voice bubbling with mirth, “but I have the sudden desire to dance with my husband. If we switch partners, do you think you could possibly bear the terrible burden of dancing with my daughter?”

“I think I’ll manage somehow.”

Emma breaks into a smile as they approach, her entire visage brightening with the gesture and somehow rendering her even more stunning. At his side, the Queen is saying something doubtlessly witty or romantic to her own husband to orchestrate this partner switch; truthfully, Killian doesn’t hear a word. Watching Emma is a delightful tunnel vision, only heightened as her delicate hand brushes against his arm.

“I was wondering where you had gotten to,” she teases with a smile. “Having fun yet?”

“More with you here.” It’s all the truth he’s willing to admit to in this crush of other people; doubtless, Emma knows what he means anyways.

Sure enough: “I’ve got a feeling that wouldn’t take much.” Though she shakes her head, the smile still lingers on her lips. Killian knows this isn’t her idea of a good time, either, but she’s much more practiced in hiding it than he is.

(That’s a thing he’ll have to learn over time, he supposes; after all, where Emma is concerned, he’s in this for the long haul. Horrible state functions and all.)

“Guilty as charged,” he smiles back. “What do you say, love? Care to take a turn about the floor with this old pirate?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“That’s not for lack of wanting, you know,” Killian assures her as they sort themselves into a proper waltz position and begin to move. “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night. This is… stunning, love. Gods above, you look like a vision.”

Emma preens a bit at the compliment, a smug little smile and shake of her shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Captain,” she replies, nodding towards his jacket. “I might even say you clean up well.”

“I couldn’t exactly show up in my duster, you know. What a look that’d be. The entire idea has been not to look too much of an embarrassment, especially as an already… shall we say, unconventional suitor for the princess.”

“You never could, but I appreciate the thought.” The smile slides off her face then, only to be replaced by a hint of anxiety. “I didn’t want to leave you alone tonight, Killian - I really didn’t, I promise. I just… there’s so many people here and I had to greet everyone, and then there were so many people I needed to pay a little extra attention to, pay my respects or whatever, and —”

“Don’t worry about it, love,” Killian cuts her off, accentuating the sentiment with a little squeeze of her hand. “I know these are things you have to do as the princess. It’s quite alright.”

“I never want you to think I’m abandoning you for some duty.” Killian wonders, briefly, if that’s something she’s experienced or been accused of before; in that moment, Killian swears never to make her feel that way again if he can help it.

“I promise, darling, I won’t. This is who you are, who you’re meant to be; I’ll just be privileged to watch you work.” If it weren’t for the crowded room, filled with people and expectations of how to behave, he’d kiss her right here. After all the scandal they’ve already made, though - the princess and the pirate, quite the pairing by anyone’s standards - he refrains, contenting himself for the moment just to hold his princess in his arms for this dance. That doesn’t mean he can’t do a little bit of plotting, though. “That being said…”

“Yes?”

“What do you say we sneak out of here early, darling?” Killian murmurs in Emma’s ear. His love has an excellent poker face; even as he whispers indecorous ideas in her ear, her face betrays only the slightest hint of a smile, visible only because Killian was watching for it.

“We’ll have to be sneaky about it,” she replies. “My father will never let you stay the night in my chambers.”

“Hmm. Well, you know, I was just thinking…”

“Yes?”

“What do you think about the ivy, for old times’ sake?”

The smile blooms over Emma’s face slowly, slowly enough for Killian to read every ounce of mischief and lascivious promise contained within, before she finally leans forward to whisper back in his own ear.

“I’ll bring the rum.”

Not your typical princess at all - but she’s his princess, and Killian finds that that makes all the difference.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain duckling #my writing #coming ashore (to my lover's arms)#princess emma #pirate killian #captain cobra

109 notes · View notes