#stupid watery pirate men >=(

[littledigits]

stupid chibi doodles of Brynn and Niall ( @mmothmanners )

#art #doodles #ocs #brynn #friends ocs #niall #stupid watery pirate men >=( #HAVING COOL BEAUTIFUL OCEAN VIBES #what is a nature loving druid supposed to do jfc #brynn doesnt want his eyes to sparkle it totally ruins his brooding face

[georgiapeach30513]

Out of the Sea, Part 1

Summary: He needed your help, and you couldn't let him drown. Now that he's back he doesn't need your help, just you. Your body. Your everything. Both of you spent the years desiring and obsessing over the other. Now that you've reconnected you want to teach him the ways of the ocean, and he wants to teach you the ways of him. Will this be a matchmade in heaven or in sin?

Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader

Rating: mild

Warnings:  language, brief depictions of drowning, naïve reader, dirty thoughts, naked reader, mentions of claiming, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.6K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“Boy!” The young boy flinches back away from the edge of the boat, staring back at a sun worn old man. Boat life had aged him far older than the years would suggest. “Don’t step close to the edge. Don’t you know what’s down there?”

Taking a step closer to the edge again, he peers down into the blackened water. He couldn’t fathom what could be in the depths of the ocean, much less this odd little place the man called Emerald Cove. “Aye! I said don’t step close to the edge. Do you swim?”

“No, sir.”

“Stupid boy. Your father is a right old git for sending you out here. If you fell in that water, you’d be gone. There is no saving you. Many a man has sunk straight down to the bottom, but it wasn’t because they couldn’t swim. You know what it was?” The young lad shakes his head no, and an odd feeling to peer back into the water comes over him. “I see it on your face, you hear it don’t you?”

“Hear what?” He asks sheepishly. His skin crawls, and he takes one timid step to the edge. Hearing isn’t exactly how he would describe it. It is more of a longing. Something is calling him towards the water.

“You’ve got that look to you. That itch. Usually they don’t claim one so young. There’s mermaids in these parts. They’re not beautiful creatures. They’re demons. Luring men to their watery grave. All those men that have drowned in that very water. It’s because they were chasing tail they weren’t meant to have. They like it here because the water is too deep. It hides them,” he isn’t sure what chasing tell is, but he knows that something is needing him to look in the water.

The old man was crazy and had seen far too many movies. That much the boy knew. There is no such thing as mermaids. It is just a ploy to get him to step away from the edge. He knows he should, but still something is edging him closer. It isn’t a sound. It isn’t an itch. It’s a need to see. “Go on, and look. I’ll be right here to keep you from falling overboard,” the man cackles and it sounds like he swallowed more than alcohol, but the entire bottle. Letting each shard of glass create scars that make his voice so scratchy and raw.

“Go on,” he urges yet again, and the boy takes a careful step closer. Every inch he gets closer, it feels better. Like part of him is being complete as he peers over the edge of the boat. He’d got on this rickety ship and pretended it was a pirate ship and he was held captive. But now all he wants is the water. The ship led him to where he needs to be, and it’s job is done. The water is all that matters now, well, more what is in the water.

Now his imagination takes him to a place of being made to walk the plank. Gazing into the water in the distance and realizing where it got its name from. Such brilliant shades of blue and turquoise mixing and making it appear like emeralds, but the where the boat resides is a blue so dark it gave the impression of being black. Letting his eyes focus on the darkness just below him, and he stares. Stares too hard that his eyes play tricks on him.

Staring too long, and at nothing. The old man was crazy. There is nothing but fish down there, maybe some sharks or dolphins. But mermaids didn’t exist. It was an old seaman’s tale to keep their men from jumping off the ship in a fit of delirium. Living at sea could make the best fisherman crazy.

Others were too scared to venture out here, and the captain knows this is the best place to fish because it hadn’t been pillaged by other fishermen already. He sees a glint of something not quite right. The light must have reflected off a fish’s scale oddly, but he leans over the boat. Gazing even harder. The fish had to be massive, and a color he hadn’t seen. Reflecting different shades of green and purple.

“Aye!” A rough hand lands on his shoulder, and he’s pulled back roughly. “Do you realize what you were about to do, boy?”

“Grandpa, I was just looking in the water,” the boy argues. He was almost there. Almost to his destiny. He knows the water holds secrets, just not what.

“No, Ari. You were just leaning so far over the boat that you were about to fall in. Go help your uncle, and stay away from the edge. No matter what, don’t go near the edge, you understand?” Ari looks up at his grandpa with a mix of confusion and a frown on his face. He didn’t want to help his uncle. He wants to stay right here and try to get a glimpse of the fish.

“And for fucks sake, tell your mom I said you need to learn to swim before you come back on my fucking boat!”

A young Ari takes a look around the deck, thankfully seeing no one around. It has bothered him all day. This itch never stopped, and it was sinking down into his skin, caressing over his bones, and he had to look. There is no other explanation, he needs to know what lies beyond the darkness. He saw something.

Maybe it was an exact reflection of the sun in the right place, but he doesn’t care. He has to look. Taking a deep breath, he glances around again before his bright blue eyes find the still water. It’s blue black color is eerily still. Leaning over the boat as much as possible. A part of him feels goofy that if it was a fish it would have swam away already. Hours later it still wouldn’t be there.

But the need to see and know is too strong to ignore. He walked around feeling like something was missing. A part of his soul is hiding below the deep dark surface, and he needs it. Needs to grasp it in his hand because it belongs to him. Looking into the darkness more than the sun. A darkness that should swallow him whole.

Cold.

Too cold for swimming. And he couldn’t swim.

Suffocating.

Ari sits up in his bed in a cold sweat. Chest heaving with every labored breath he takes as his meaty hands run through his hair. Gulping air instead of the icy cold water he had inhaled all those years ago, but that dream always woke him up. And he could never remember anything past the suffocation and chill of the water.

Some would say it was an obsession, and it was. How else do you explain a small boy that couldn’t swim washed up on the shore of Emerald Cover, and no recollection of how he got there? The only evidence that someone had brought him to shore was an odd pearl necklace that he kept hidden that day. Now he never removes it.

He reaches his arms above his head as he gives a big stretch. Yawning while scooting himself to the edge of the bed. Wearing only that pearl necklace that lays in between the valley pecs. His constant reminder that he forgot something. Someone. Or it was all in his head. But someone had to have saved him.

“Ahh!” His cousin, Frank, screams before slamming the door. “I just saw your dick.”

“You jealous that your dick pales in comparison to mine?”

“Are you jealous that I woke up with a girl gagging on mine?” Ari rolls his as he reaches for a pair of pants. There was nobody in the bed with Frank, unless she snuck in before they set sail. Hiding until now. “You know, if you want to enjoy sea life you gotta get started early. Can you swim now, baby boy?”

“You know I’m bigger than you now, little bit?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t,” Ari slings the door open. Towering over Frank who smirks up at his younger, but larger cousin, “Well you did almost drown. You even got a little trinket to show for it,” he gives the necklace a little tap before his face falls immediately. “You know I’m just kidding.”

“You know that this isn’t a joke to me. Our grandpa is carrying on about mermaids, and I fall into the water, can’t swim, and manage to be washed up on the cove shore, can you make that make sense? Especially since I had this.”

“You really need to get out and smell the salt water. They don’t exist. Grandpa was an alcoholic loon.”

“He was babbling on about a fucking call, and hearing them. How many sailors have drowned in the cove?” Frank shrugs his shoulders, turning around to head up the stairs. “Frankie, I’m not crazy.”

“Then what or who did you see?”

“I don’t remember,” it’s the same answer he always has. Never can remember the moment from being in the water to being on the shoreline. “But she was real.”

“She?” His cousin looks over his shoulder at him. “You went from you don’t know to a she? Your mom is right, you’re a hopeless romantic, but you spent your entire life chasing after a woman you aren’t even sure is there. What color was her fin? How does one fuck a mermaid? And maybe if you got laid you wouldn’t be dreaming of a ghost,” Ari has fucked many times. Sex isn’t his issue. It’s the fact that those women were never his savior.

“When are we getting to the cove?” Ari asks, irritated that no one ever took him seriously. He only had a vague memory of that day. Cold darkness, and then warm scratchy sand, and…there was a woman, no, a girl. He’s sure of it.

“We’ll be there before lunch. Please, don’t lean into the water this time. You’re too big, and you will definitely sink to the bottom unless your titties can be used as a flotation device. Or maybe a pink mermaid will save you.”

“She wasn’t pink,” he blurts out without thinking. Gasping before he closes his eyes, and he gets a clear flash of a girl around his age grabbing hold of his arm, while pleading to someone that she couldn’t let him die.

“Daddy, please!”

“Stupid human, they deserve to die if they can’t leave us alone.”

“But he’s just a boy. What if I wasn’t released from the net?” Her violet eyes shine up at her father before he grabs Ari’s arm.

“Hey,” Frank snaps his fingers in his cousin’s face. “What happened?”

“She wasn’t pink, and I’m not crazy. I need to get to the cove immediately.”

You sit on the beach, staring out at the rising sun. A practice you have done every day for too many years. Sitting and waiting. Wasting your life away, so your father said. Most of your kind had migrated away, but you stayed. Dried yourself out every morning so you could sit and wait. Talking to rocks and the coconuts. Becoming worse than a hermit crab.

“Ugh,” you sigh, collapsing back onto the sand as you squint into the sky. You hoped that he would return, and now you feel you’re just wasting away on an island all alone. You don’t know how much longer you can possibly wait.

You wonder if he even grew up, or even if he likes the water. Does he think about you like you think about him every single day? Waiting in this stupid ass uncomfortable sand when you should have your fin, and enjoying the fucking water. Standing up, you stare at the horizon as you start to take slow calculated steps towards the water.

Today is the day. If he didn’t return, you couldn’t live in solitude like this anymore. You’d migrate to where your kind is. The moment the sun set you would be gone, and you’d wonder forever if that boy would ever return. Living in solitude isn’t the way you wanted to spend your life.

You’d become crazy thinking that this is all you were going to have. You wanted a life, and love, and seeing how he wasn’t coming back, you’d settle for just friendship, and maybe passion.

Looking out into the distance, you tilt your head as a mirage comes into view. You had finally cracked, and had begun to see things. Standing there for far too long before you yelp, and run off into the tree line, keeping your eyes trained on the ship, and the man.

He is beautiful. They didn’t make men like him, even in the ocean. Tall, thick, muscles so hard that his shirt seized, looking like it would pop off at any moment. Hair that you desire nothing more than to run your fingers through it. And your belly heats up, and these stupid things called legs start to clench together in an unfamiliar way.

He is too far away to know if that was your boy. But if that boy grew up to be this man…you didn’t know what you were going to do.

—

Ari sees a figure standing on the beach, and starts moving around quicker, “Frank, hurry your skinny little ass up!”

His cousin scowls, looking around his shoulders at his ass, “It’s not skinny. I have a nice ass, thank you very much.”

“Just hurry up, I see her,” Frank doesn’t want to give into his cousin’s incessant obsession with the girl he believes saved him twenty years ago. “Frank!” Ari screams again as her body runs into the tree line. “Fuck,” he grunts before diving into the water.

“I hope you can swim now,” Frank sighs before doing the job himself. “Chasing women from the water. Fucking nerd. I shouldn’t have even brought him with me.”

You look in horror as he jumps into water, and start to bolt out of the trees. If that was your boy then he couldn’t swim, and you wouldn’t allow him to die this time either. Stopping when you see him swimming perfectly before retreating back into hiding. Humans can learn to swim, and maybe your boy did. Maybe this isn’t your boy at all but this one in the water is making you feel even more.

Biting on your lip as he emerges from the ocean, he throws off his shirt, and you sigh. It looked perfectly fine clinging to his damp skin, but looks even better laying on the sand. His golden skin glistens with the salty water, and he shades his eyes, looking in your direction. And you zero in on his chest, it is your boy. Your necklace hands low on that glorious chest.

“I won’t hurt you,” he calls out into the trees, exactly where you are, and you shudder. His voice is deep. He’s no longer a boy. He might not hurt you, but the banging of your heart through your chest will. “My name is Ari,” that is a lovely name. You never got it before. You whisper it to see how it tastes on your tongue. It’s perfection.

“I was a young boy, and nearly drowned here, and…I’ve been trying to get back ever since,” it really is him. You aren’t crazy, and he did come back. Still carried your token that claimed him as yours. He thought about you just as much as you thought about him. “Please, you don’t have to be scared.”

Inhale. Slowly exhale.

Ari gazes at you as you slowly emerge. His cheeks become more rosy as you step out of the shadows. His eyes betray him, and he doesn’t want to look at your body, but it is on full display. Your tits pert and peeking through your hair, while your legs frame your core, and he feels the urge to drool. Struggling to not look to hard, but fearing to look away.

“Holy shit,” Ari remembers that he isn’t exactly alone when his cousin speaks, and you scurry off into the woods. Cursing under his breath when he turns to glare at Frank. “That was no mermaid. Why is there a naked woman on the beach?”

Ari doesn’t respond, only grabs his shirt from the ground, and starts to jog towards where you went. Moving aside branches, and getting smacked in the face by a few until he sees you cowering on the ground, but your eyes shine brightly up at him.

Squatting down, he holds out a hand to you. “I don’t want to hurt you? Can you speak?” In lieu of answering, you nod your head. “So you understand me?”

“Yes,” you choke out, covering your mouth quickly with your hand. You hadn’t heard the real sound of your voice in years.

“Do you know who I am?” You nod enthusiastically, and with a smile. “You grew up.”

“You, too,” your giggles make him smile. Genuinely smile. And then you get onto your knees, and your tits sway with every move you make. He strains, begging his body to remain calm as he watches you crawl on all fours. Getting right in front of him before standing to your feet, and your hand presses against his chest, over your necklace before your eyes roll up to meet his own, and his body trembles.

“Are you okay?” You ask, scared that he overexerted himself in the water. Grabbing his hand to place on your chest. “See, breathe like me.”

“I’m sorry,” his eyes fall to where his hand rests, but instead he is looking at the way your tits rise and fall with every breath. “It’s a shock to see a woman naked on the beach.”

“Naked?” You run that word over your tongue a moment before tilting your head to smile at him. “Are you naked?”

“Would you like me to be?” Damn, he knows he shouldn’t have said that considering you seem confused about the concept. “Your…well, tits are right there.”

“Tits?” You understand some things, and others not at all. “Show me my tits.”

“Fuck,” he groans, looking back at your chest. “You have no clothes.”

“Because I have none. Do I need them?” not to do the things he wants to do to you, you don’t. He can’t say that to you. There’s an odd innocence about you that makes him want to protect you. Frank wouldn’t be an issue, but he doesn’t want you corrupted by the world. The only corruption would come from him. “Ari?”

“Where did you come from?” His hand moves to your wrists as his fingers rub over the odd violet patches on your skin. Giggling again makes your tits wiggle too close to his face, and when he gives you a specific look, a hunger that food couldn’t fulfill rumbles in the pit of your being, and you feel so — empty. “Are you okay?”

“I feel tingly,” you whisper, and those blue eyes cast down your body, and your body clenches. “I don’t understand.”

“Does it hurt?” You shake your head no, because it doesn’t hurt, you just feel without. “Where…?” Grabbing his hand you pull it between your thighs, and your body hitches. A deep moan releases from his throat, and you mewl. Waiting on his sight to meet your own. “Do you have a name?”

“Adria,” good. He can’t be so close and personal to you if you didn’t have a name. He’s weak staring at you. Your body is on fire, and he feels you throbbing on his hand, but it all feels so wrong, but only because you didn’t understand. And still didn’t care that he is feeling you in such a private and vulnerable place. “Ari?”

“We should get you dressed,” he removes his hand from your body, and holds up his shirt he discarded earlier. “Here,” it’s a struggle to speak when he thinks of covering you up, but he slips his shirt over your head. The wet fabric clings to your body, and leaves little to the imagination. “Do you live here?”

“I do now. My family migrated away years ago. I’ve waited for you. You’ve waited on me, too,” you don’t form it as a question, just press your hand up against his rippling chest. “It was worth it.”

“Is this where you want to stay?”

“Are you staying?” You innocently ask. He smiles, shaking his head no. “Then no. I’ve waited many years for you, Ari,” it may take time, but soon you will claim him with more than just a piece of jewelry. He would be yours, you could feel it throughout your body, into your bones, and into the legs that still didn’t feel right. He needs to be yours in every sense of the word. You want to encapsulate his life. He belongs to you.

”How do I make you mine, Ari?”

“I’m sure we can come — up with some ideas. I guess you need to meet my adopted cousin, Frank. Come on,” he doesn’t know how Frank is going to react. “Can you swim?”

“I shouldn’t go into the ocean. You see…”

“I know. I think I’ve always known what you are.”

“I suppose it’s time for you to claim me,” Ari clears his throat, looking up at the sky. “In whatever way you deem best,” Ari stares after you as you walk away. What was once an innocent boy’s life being saved is now a horny man given an open door to claim you. Dangerous games. Even more dangerous is the fact that he and Frank have been left to their own devices for a few weeks just to get here.

This is either going to be the time of your life. Or the time of theirs.

Next

Masterlist

@tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @pandaxnienke @theinheriteddutchess @rogersbarber

#out of the sea #ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x fem!reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson x you #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson fanfic #ari levinson fic #ari levinson fics #mermaid #mermaid au #frank adler #chris evans #chris evans character

[sashi-ya]

Hi! Could I request a scenario with Izo and female reader, number 19, please?

Thank you for your amazing content and event!

Hi!! Of course! I've been in love with Izo since Marine ford. He is so pretty omg. I hope you enjoy this -not so little- scenario about steamy practices with Izo!! Thank u for reading, and waiting!! ♥ ~

NSFW ~ Izo x F! Reader ~ Shower Sex.

Kinks:

🌶 #19: Shower Sex

TW: Nsfw. A little of violence and blood. Izo pointing guns at random pirates. Oral sex, vaginal sex, shower sex -duh-.

WC: 1.8K

“Babe, stop…”. “No, Izo. I won’t stop. Those motherfuckers! Come here, fight me!!”, you shouted like a crazy bitch running towards three stupid assholes who dared to call names at your boyfriend. You hate basic men, those disgusting misogynist guys that dare to say something to your boyfriend. Sure he usually gets confused by a woman, but even if he was a girl, they have no fucking right to spit expletives at him or anybody for that matter.

You are a strong woman and will defend those who you love with burning passion. When you reached the group of smelly pirates who were laughing at your violent reaction, one of the guys walked towards you pushing you to the ground. You fell over a wet spot on the floor, and got your face completely stained with dirt and mud.

Izo who was trying to catch you coming running behind you, saw the whole image and he didn’t hesitate to pull off his Flintlock pistols and pointed both of them to the temples of two of the guys - the third one ran away, almost peeing his pants -. “If you want to fuck me and you want to express it openly, it’s completely ok. But you have hurt my girlfriend, and now you will have a whole on both of your heads”, said Izo firmly holding the firearms, already coating the bullets with Haki in case they were devil fruit users.

The disgusting men were shaking their legs, crying for their life, begging him to forgive them. “Kneel down”, he ordered. The poor victims did as tell, and his hands and legs got covered with mud. “There is where you belong, pigs!”, you shouted from behind Izo, holding onto his kimono. He couldn’t help but laugh at your insult and after he was completely satisfied by the horror on the men's faces, covered in mud, tears, and snot, after he fired one of his guns to the floor next to one of them, he let them go. He was sure they wouldn’t ever again say anything else to anybody for the rest of their life.

“Come here”, he said and brushed the remains of mud over your cheeks. “Are you hurt, dumbass?” Izo asked while kneeling in front of you, to see if your scraped knee was still bleeding. “You shouldn’t do this. You promised me you would ignore them. We were trying to keep a low profile here…”, Izo softly reprimanded you. You had agreed on staying calm during your stay on that island. Izo was a former commander of the Shirohige pirates, and even if Edward was long gone by now, the Marine -and several other pirates- have him on their list. You blushed at him treating you like a little girl, because you always wanted to be taken as a badass. But the truth is, that you really love how Izo treats and takes care of you…

“I’m ok”, you said sniffling still with watery eyes, because your leg really hurt. “Mh, I don’t think so. Come on, let’s go back to the ship so we can take care of that knee and then wash that mud off you”, he told you and started walking towards the little ship you two get on water 7 after the Shirohige pirates were kind of dissolved. You tried to walk as if nothing happened but the little wound on your leg won't let you. Izo looked at you and lifted you up so easily as he walked towards the port. To be honest, in other circumstances you wouldn’t allow him to carry you in his arms, but you let him, because you truly got scared this time and needed comfort and smooches.

You were nuzzled on his neck, enjoying the soft pale skin, softly brushing your lips over it. You were starting to get horny, not only by his badass moment a few moments before, but also because of his skin scent. Glorious smell that always seems to turn you on.

Izo left the paper bags over the little table of the kitchen of your ship and carried you to the bathroom. “Sit there”, he ordered you, and you were left over a little plastic stool you have. Izo firstly opened the faucet of the big tub to fill it up, and then walked ahead to the medicine cabinet. He grabbed a little bottle of disinfectant fluid.

The alcohol smelling liquid rained over your knee, and you of course wanted to shout because it burned like hell. But you endured through it with tears in the corners of your eyes, so you could show your beloved samurai you weren’t a burden, but someone strong like him. -You weren’t of course, but hey, at least you tried -.

“Ok, first clean the mud out”, he told you. Izo walked towards the shower and turned it on. Quickly the bathroom got full of steam, and he helped you undress. Of course he loves your body, and placed a few smooches there and there, but nothing sexual, at least for now.

You were helped into entering the shower and the perfect warm water felt over your skin. You rinsed, quickly, because you were expecting him to hop on at any moment, but he didn’t seem to be doing it. So, because you were so used to getting your ways, you decided to play a little dirty… “babe, babe, it hurts I’m gonna fall!!!” you shouted not feeling slightly guilty for lying to him.

Izo, who was preparing the bathtub as he knew how you liked it, ran towards the shower and without a doubt entered to hold you. He got completely damped in no time, as the lukewarm shower fall over him. His kimono was completely soaked, and his tied black hair, little by little falling over his shoulders as it got wet.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip at the image of your lover pressing your body against his by your waist. “You were lying, weren’t you?” he told you while a subtle smile drew on the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry, babe”, you told him and placed your hands over his muscular, white chest, as the water rained over both of you.

The samurai pulled you even closer, pinning your body against his with a strong hold. And pressed his lips over yours, while his tongue was violently making its way into your mouth. “Mhh…” you moaned and reached for his long black hair. You hand clenched on a few black strands of straight and soft hair, and his mouth biting then the flesh of your neck.

He stopped for a second to loosen his kimono, letting it slip slowly to the shower floor.

A lustful grin and his eyelids sloppy semi closed looked at you anticipating he was going to fuck you so hard, as hard as he wanted to. His eye makeup smudged on his cheeks, and that face that turned you on since the very first time you saw him. You licked your lips, waiting for him to come for you.

He pushed you against the cold tiles that covered the inside of the shower and attacked your neck once again. His hard member pressed over your sex, aching to penetrate you. Yet, he wanted to devour you completely before pounding deep into you...

Izo knelt in front of you, lifting one of your legs and let it fall over his shoulder, so your sex gets completely exposed to him. His whole tongue tasted your core, while he looked at you fighting to keep his eyes open as the water felt over his pale complexion.

His mouth kept playfully exploring your entrance, his tongue tracing circles over your clit, making you squirm and wriggle. Waves of pleasure stroke your lower stomach as his slender fingers slipped inside you. Up and down, divine beckoning motion mixed with a skilful tongue, made you grab his hair and pull against you while your hips imitate the motion of his mouth.

“Izo, babe… baby…”, you moan, and his soft voice in between your sex asked you “what babe?”. “Don’t…. don’t stop… please”, you begged him not to stop, because you were going to reach climax in a matter of seconds. Izo sped up the pace and he brutally kept fingering you until the knot on your lower stomach snapped. You came, arching your back, letting your eyes blank, and whining the samurai’s name.

The water was becoming cold, as the hot water was running low on the ship's heater system, so Izo kissed your lips, you tasted the salty remains of your arousal in his mouth, and he held you in his arms and brought you to the big tub on the middle of the bathroom.

He entered first, and then you. The akazaya sat on one of the spots of the tub, covered up to his well-defined waist with the warm water of the bath. The tub smelled like roses, as he had poured a little essential oil while you were showering. Your nose thrills full of the sweet scent of the flowers mixed with the sex smell of your bodies, delighted you.

Izo helped you straddle your hips over his lap. Your breasts at his face height and your hands slowly caressed the back of his neck in between his intense black straight locks of hair. His mouth reached for your nipples as you began grinding your sex against his. But you couldn’t resist anymore, you wanted his dick deep inside you, and so you quickly stood up, and guided his member to your entrance.

You sit back over it, so his sex entered deep inside. You started moving with a delectable motion back and forth, up, and down and around with your hips. Izo’s soft hands over the small of your back pressing your body against his shaft, accompanying your sweet dance over his hard cock.

The water around you splashing everywhere as he began to also move his hips, with thrusts that went along with your humps over his sex. His mouth sucking hard on your erected nipples, and climax getting closer to the both of you.

The ship seemed to rock even more, and you didn’t even know if it was because of the waves or your intense intercourse, but either way, somehow it helped even more.

Both of you came, you first, and then your brunette boyfriend. You were filled up with the sticky seed from his pulsating member. Your bodies pressed onto each other, feeling your wet skin, as your breath returned back to normal. You looked at him, rubbing off his smudged lipstick off his mouth with your thumb, while he did the same to you.

“I love you, babe”, he told you, smiling with an exhausted pale face.

“I love you too, my handsome Samurai” ♥ ~

#izo one piece #whitebeard #whitebeard crew #one piece izou #izou #shirohige #izo x reader #izo x y/n #izo x you #one piece fanfiction #one piece #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece x oc #zoro #sashi ya #spicy week event #izo fanfiction

[vera9]

Fic: Sirens

So I heavily, HEAVILY took inspiration from Dreamworks’ Sinbad for this one. If you haven’t seen it, at least watch the siren scene because it’s some of the sickest shit I’ve ever seen in animation.

Anyway: time for Izzy to save the others from certain doom!

AO3 link

At first, there were only a couple of rocks. Manoeuvring around them was an easy task for a seasoned sailor like Nathaniel Buttons. But then the fog set in, and the number of rocks increased. He could no longer veer recklessly to the side, for fear of sending the vessel into a dead end. He was forced to follow the path the rocks had laid out, and when the fog lifted, the crew of the Revenge found themselves in a gorge.

No one said a word. The air was cold as ice. Shipwrecks lined the cliffs as far as the eye could see. The shrieking of seagulls was gone. Even the ship itself seemed to be cutting through the eerily still water without a sound. They’d been separated from the world as they knew it. This place was dead.

“Edward,” Izzy cautioned.

“I know.” 

He and Blackbeard (and Bonnet, but Izzy preferred to ignore his existence) stood on the quarterdeck, eyes fixated on the cliff tops above them. They were in the perfect position for an ambush. Something must’ve littered the water with all these corpses.

But no arrows or other projectiles came. Suddenly, something broke through the silence, and it seemed to originate from below rather than above. Voices, Izzy realised–no, singing.

He clasped his hands against his ears in an instant. He’d never run into sirens before, but there was a first time for everything. His years as a pirate had taught him that much. He checked his surroundings, but saw nothing.

–wait. The water was rippling again. It moved unnaturally, as if it had a will of its own. The ripples rose above the surface and morphed into a human shape. Then another one–and another one. Their faces were blank, but there was no doubt in Izzy’s mind: they were responsible for the singing. Most of them danced around the ship, while others took position on a rock or wreck to play their watery harps.

Izzy’s hands were still on his ears, but it was no use. The angelic melody penetrated his brain. It was only a matter of time before it would consume him and send him–as well as the others–to their graves.

Except… it didn’t? 

The voices were loud and clear, but other than sounding pretty nice, they had no effect on Izzy’s mind. He carefully lowered his hands to find that nothing changed. There was obviously a supernatural force at play here. Was it something other than sirens…?

One look around the ship was enough to provide an answer. While Izzy appeared immune, no one else was that lucky. They were all enchanted by the singing, gazing longingly at the liquid creatures with stupid, lovestruck smiles on their face.

“Edward–” Izzy repeated, but he found–much to his horror–his captain was no different. He was now leaning on the balustrade, jaw in his hand, and staring at the water as if it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Likewise, Bonnet had moved to the side to get a better look. 

“Fuck,” Izzy muttered, and another curse followed when the saw the sirens ascend at the bow. They drifted across the deck, reaching out for their victims, and the crew responded in kind. They walked towards their doom like a bunch of mindless zombies.

The thought crossed Izzy’s mind that it would be so easy to let the sirens take them; see them killed like he originally intended. But even if he and Blackbeard somehow managed to make it out of this deathtrap, it would take a while to reunite with their men. Until that time, they were sitting ducks for any foe that realised no more than two occupied the ship. 

Like it or not, Izzy had to keep these morons alive.

He muttered a string of “fuck”s as he jumped off the stairs and drew his sword. He slashed right through the shapes, sending water all over the floor, but it didn’t stay there for long. The puddles easily rematerialised into something resembling people. Even up close, Izzy couldn’t find any distinguishing features, but he could’ve sworn some of the sirens glared at him for a split second.

Even if he wanted to glare back (and he definitely wanted to), Izzy didn’t get the chance. The ship tilted into a cliff on the port side and the shock was almost enough to throw him overboard. Izzy just barely managed to cling to the railing and pull himself back in. The sea was now wild, unpredictable, and unforgiving.

“Mr Buttons–” he yelled, but the helmsman had abandoned his post. The wheel was spinning uncontrollably to the left. As Izzy rushed back up to take control, he found Buttons at the edge of the deck, somehow naked and ready to realise his wish to make sweet love to the sea. His pet seagull was pecking frantically–but uselessly–at his head.

Not knowing what else to do, Izzy yanked him by the arm and out of the siren’s embrace. He inadvertently sent him into the mizzenmast, knocking him out. Oh well, at least he was safe.

Izzy grabbed the helm and steered right, before the current had another chance to lead them into an obstacle. Unfortunately, the sirens were making a second attempt to lure the crew off the ship. Izzy was starting to panic. Leaving the helm could easily result in a death sentence, and weapons were pointless against these monsters. Shouting wasn’t going to snap the others out of their trance. What was he supposed to–?

His eye fell on the seagull, which was screeching like crazy. It was just a bird, but he seemed to understand the situation perfectly. An idea popped up in Izzy’s head. He must be a fucking lunatic.

“Karl!” he called, and the seagull actually looked at him. Izzy threw him a rope, and he caught it in his beak.

“Fly around them,” Izzy pointed. Karl soared across the main deck and did exactly as instructed. He dropped his end of the rope in Izzy’s hand, and Izzy gave it a hard yank, drawing the members of the crew together. He risked abandoning the helm for just a moment so he could tie them up. Karl hadn’t managed to get all of them, but this was a good start.

Whether he was at the helm or not, few things could’ve prepared Izzy for the incoming cascade. The bow took a dip and he was again sent flying. This time he crashed into Lucius, shattering the siren he was making out with and replacing its lips with his own. They rolled across the floor until they hit the foremast. Much to Izzy’s dismay, Lucius ended on top. He tried to push him off, but the boy was fully immersed in the illusion, tightening his grip the more Izzy resisted.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Red-headed, Izzy curled his fingers and clocked Lucius in the jaw. That was enough to get him off and–thankfully–knock him unconscious.

Izzy got up and wiped his lips, shooting him a look. “Nasty little twat.”

But Lucius wasn’t the one he should be concerning himself with. Izzy had kept his eye off Blackbeard for too long. Like Buttons, he was already at the railing, ready to throw himself overboard. He smiled lovingly at the siren that had his cheeks cupped as it sang him to his death.

Izzy managed to pull him back just in time, but Ed needed more than that. Unhindered, he simply approached the siren again, even when Izzy stepped in front of him.

“Edward. Edward! It’s me!”

Of course that didn’t help. Ed didn’t even look at him. Something gnawed in Izzy’s chest and he promptly ignored it. He could try to push Ed back, but he knew he’d be overpowered. Once again, Izzy had to resort to violence. This was the first time he felt bad about it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he delivered his second punch today. Edward stumbled back for a bit, but that was all the assault amounted to. Izzy punched him again, and again, until he finally hit the boards. Predictably, Ed tried to get back up. As long as he was conscious, he’d respond to that damn singing.

“Stay down,” Izzy snapped, and he gave him a good kick to the head. He felt like shit, but at least that did the trick.

That seemed to be everyone. Izzy hastily returned to the upper deck to take the helm. Much to his relief, the exit to the gorge appeared in sight. Beyond the borders of this cursed place, he could see seagulls flying above a gentle sea.

Speaking of seagulls, Karl was screaming again.

“What is it?” Izzy snarled, and Karl flew to the very end of the stern. Izzy turned just in time to see Stede Bonnet throw himself overboard.

Time stood still in that moment. Izzy stared unmoving at the spot Bonnet had disappeared from. He was moments away from death. This was his chance. He needed the rest of the group to survive, but Bonnet? The sirens were actually doing him a favour by taking him out of the picture. All his problems would be solved in an instant.

… no. He knew he was the only one who saw things that way. Izzy could just claim he’d been too late to save him, but there wasn’t a soul aboard who’d believe that. There was a chance not even Edward would take his side. He’d made his animosity towards Bonnet very clear, and now it was coming back to bite him. If he let him die, he and Edward would really be over.

“... fuck… Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

Izzy ran towards the stern, grabbing another rope on the way. It was attached to a pulley and had a hook on the other end, which Izzy held ready. He jumped overboard and swung himself in Stede’s direction. The screaming colours of his stupid jacket were impossible to miss. Bonnet was surrounded by sirens and clearly drowning, but he still had a smile on his obnoxious face. Too bad Izzy couldn’t let him die–at least he’d have gone happily.

He jabbed the hook into Bonnet’s jacket and he was ripped out of the water, flying along with him back to safety. Izzy landed on his feet, gave the rope a sharp tug, and tied it to the rail. Bonnet was literally left hanging and incapable of responding to the sirens’ call.

That was everyone. Izzy was ready to guide them back to the real world, but the sirens weren’t done yet. They surrounded him and tried one last time to win him over with their song. Even the ones that had been providing musical accompaniment by the cliffs joined in.

It was no use. Izzy wasn’t going to fall under their spell. It didn’t matter how beautiful their voices were, or how his heart started to flutter, or how his feet were moving on their own. He reached out a hand to the siren in front of him, who had finally taken a clearer shape. Izzy recognised that face. It was–

“--GAH!”

With a roar, Izzy snapped out of the enchantment. He stepped back and covered his face, utterly horrified with himself. Those fucking bitches almost had him. His eyes burned into them from between his fingers as his sword was drawn once more. 

Izzy cut every single siren apart, and when they re-emerged, he simply cut them down again. He struck madly in every which direction until only the smallest of droplets remained. He knew it didn’t help in the long run, but beating the sirens wasn’t his main goal. Destroying his feelings was.

He took control of the helm one last time and evaded a final rock. Then the sun welcomed him back into normal waters, and the sirens that had been reforming splashed across the deck. It was fucking flooded at this point, but at least those freaks were as dead as they were going to get.

To Izzy’s surprise, Karl flew to him and perched on his head, like he always did with Buttons. While he cleaned his feathers, Izzy realised just how wonderful the sudden quiet was. All they heard was the lapping of the waves and the occasional squawk, and nothing sounded lovelier in this moment.

It wasn’t long, of course, before he also detected murmurs on the main deck. The crew released themselves from the rope in utter confusion. Buttons and Lucius were knocked out. Blackbeard was just getting up. Bonnet was dangling from a pulley and begging to be let down.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Last thing I remember is…”

“D’you think we heard sirens?”

“Sirens! That’s right!”

“We should probably get Captain down.”

While Roach lowered Bonnet to the floor, Izzy heard a groan behind him. Buttons was awake. He joined him next to the helm, observing the mess below. That was when Karl hopped over to him and uttered some noises only he could understand.

Buttons let out a laugh. “Is that so? Well, now I’ve heard everythin’!” He patted Izzy on the back and raised his voice: “Avast ye! ‘Tis true, we were set upon by wicked sirens! And the one who freed us from their curse is none other than Mr Hands!”

All eyes were suddenly on him. Izzy wanted to sink through the floor. He couldn’t exactly blame them for the scepticism on their faces. The idea of him saving them? Yeah, he couldn’t believe it either.

“Is that true, Iz?” Edward asked. His hand was on his head. Oops.

“... yes,” Izzy muttered, and he gave the wheel back to Buttons, who apparently didn’t deem it necessary to put his clothes back on.

All that followed was more silence. Izzy was no longer looking at the others, but he doubted his own admittance would change a thing. As he thought: it was him against them. Oh well, fuck it. He didn’t care if they bel–

They erupted into cheers, causing him to flinch. Before Izzy knew it, they stormed up the stairs and started tossing him in the air, bellowing a chant of their own.

“I-ZZY! I-ZZY! I-ZZY!”

Izzy was absolutely dumbstruck. Leave it to these dumbasses to react in the weirdest fucking way possible. He looked in Blackbeard’s direction, but he just smiled and shrugged. Bonnet joined him and Ed threw an arm around his shoulders. Like him, he wore a smile. That must be the nicest he’d ever been to Izzy.

The crew eventually let him down (because he told them to), but they didn’t leave him alone just yet. They thanked him and smacked his shoulder and shook his hand and asked about the details. Izzy’s face was once again bright red, and all he could do was aim it downward. He had no idea what to do with this absurd amount of positive attention.

“All right, all right, you lot,” Edward clapped. “Give ‘im some space. Let’s get this place cleaned up and see if he wants to share the story afterwards, all right?”

Some of them groaned, but complied. Thank god he had his personal space back. 

After everybody left, Edward approached him and gave a shoulder tap of his own. “Well done, Iz. You have to tell us what happened, yeah?”

In his particular case, Izzy’d rather not. Stroke of luck that the beard would cover most of the future bruises.

“... sure,” was all he managed, and Blackbeard returned to Bonnet for a chat. Unsurprisingly, the Gentleman Pirate was wondering how the hell he’d ended up halfway above the ship.

Izzy’s eyes shifted to the rest of the crew. They were cleaning up as per Blackbeard’s command, but still very much in a festive mood. He even thought he heard someone mention throwing a party–in his honour, of all people.

Izzy felt another little bounce in his chest, but there was no supernatural influence this time. This was the first time he actually felt welcomed into a group. No longer did Stede Bonnet’s bunch look at him and scoff or grin or whisper what was undoubtedly something insulting to a fellow mate. Whenever their eyes fell on him, they were nothing but smiles. Izzy couldn’t remember the last time that happened, if it happened at all.

It was… weird. Izzy had always considered these people beneath him: inept and weak and stupid. He thought he didn’t need their praise. He thought it wouldn’t make a difference if they died. But they were alive, and they were celebrating him, and Izzy felt… pleased. 

Maybe this abnormal environment where people treated each other with kindness wasn’t so worthless after all.

Maybe, eventually… he could get used to it.

#in which Izzy's repressed little heart actually saves the day #there's some Lucius/Izzy thrown in there because of course #but it's very brief and mostly Izzy-centered #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fanfiction #our flag means death fanfiction #my ofmd fics #ofmd izzy #izzy hands #izzy #my ofmd stuff

[captainkurosolaire]

Prompt #1 ~ Aftermath

Previous - ♫Something Better♫ - Mentions: (@lordshiroelune)

Bitter cold took presence as often they attend to go from a harrowing Summer, or within this situation; a treacherous battle. Rarely often the roguish in clad-black took dawn in a mournful suit. A makeshift headstone laid at his sole's wake. He was attending a funeral burial, to his worst prominent enemy. An opponent in which they catapulted a historical rivalry it felt they were Destined Forever to contest... However, you can never truly engage a character of a person often with the whole life they live, but often it's what they do at their final notes, that's what really spells out was colorfully represented. An ashamed head was tilted, this was unholy sight. His rival, slaughtered and massacred his first crew, dissected and single-handedly malfunctioned his second with their wit alone. The Noble of once, shattered dreams, crushed his livelihood. At worst, brought instilled doubt, to someone who was so once staggering confident in his abilities, as if untouchable in brash young. Those losses racked up, the death toll's grip of reality, was clenched around the Seeker like a noose. He loosened his buttoned shirt to expose his collar to expose a gnarly rapier scar and wound. Ashamed so hid it and confiscated it was better to ignore things, such effortlessness, easy. The token failure's could unrelentingly haunt by sight alone. Although caressing it purposefully trying to recall that wound's terrible story. Forth came his nerves finally conveying a solo-speech to his departed advisor. "Shiro... Shiro... Why'd ye have t' die?" He quaked and trembled, his worst hatred and self-loathing came from his compassion always ridiculed for, it was a distinct thing he rejected, because he was foretold it would be his demise, or it couldn't measure up to giant's he began mustering against. "I am surrounded in a realm, where everyone is better put together, or they just haven't gotten there yet, they're all beyond me... You were the only one, I felt, I could be equal or had. We were both atrocious, stupid, naive men, arrogant, prideful was our downfall. We did heinous thing's simplistically, to survive, or in fret, it was required. We came from diversity. Yet somehow, we were alike." It made no-sense to his intuit, he was spilling from guts. Dropping on his knees and quivering a scabbard rapier, infamously used to pierce through him. It cultivated this entire Tale. Where would he stand, if Shiro wasn't there as his obstacle, challenge? He surmised, buried underneath instead. You see failures, losses are necessities in ensuring that feeling doesn't reoccur, one with tenacity and a rebel-soul, thrives under this conditional warfare, although, at-first, vices were the only thing he tried to drown guilt, overtime... He began stepping more bravely. Molding from cruelty becoming larger than ever prelude to his rags.

"But... You defeated me royally for the last time. I cannot compete with you. Ye won. I thought you were the most vile, yer shade of dishonor, the fact you perceived yourself so above, but yet you were losing mental-games, dealing with even worse Father's, under all that ice, stooping to all time lows, just... to protect. You had something I never imagined a Noble to have, integrity. Th' evil man, who I wanted to mindlessly kill on vengeance soil, but was held back by a common star we shared, I spared. A man who I fought in a War of Depths with, who safeguarded my Crew to ensure the victory was met, in which, I thought, was doing only for their selfish-hide... You always did it for others, pushing away, preventing many to get through, you were authentic. I get it, that was your weakness, yer secret card, if showed that vulnerability you would've perished a lot sooner. I... am glad, I was wrong." Sighing allowing himself to spill it all out, gives clarity. The pain he felt was for the unexpected. This felt like watching a part of himself die. It hurt maybe even above putting rest of his own Founding Captain. Prying out a matched lighter and reaching in his tuxedo's folds he gathered out a dusty tome containing the memoirs of horrific secrets, the Noble was cautious to reveal, he hadn't even pried to read which often a pirate's behave would, but there wasn't any need after the battle they endured and shared, all was exposed. He gave aflame to the booklet and allowed it to be destroyed, within a final request before the departed fell. "I will b' who fosters yer cares now. Yer Estate will be under me with my remaining plunders. I hate this sappy-shite, I don't want ta' think ye perished on me but I saw what happened. Th' stages of denial never really fade. Mayhaps my estranged daughter is having an impact on me, she's shown me unmatched hope, even gives it to me as much I didn't want that either. As if adamantly showing I can do...become, better. Can't believe a bastard like me, could, but I feel it... emerging like a Sun trying t' rise within." Standing up and sweeping himself up and trying to recompose and whack his cheek to sting out the watery-urge his eye was trying to admit. "...I'll see you soon. My devil friend. Death only happens when we're forgotten, I assure ye, no one will not hear of this story ov' you, my matey bard is traveling sharing words that convey. Ye aspired, saved my entire current Crew, where you were th' worst, now you're seen as the hero basked in dark-light who hoisted them, to overcome the pasts. Especially me. I have a lot t' prove even more now. T' myself, I cannot let ye go in vain either, I'll confront my fears." He trailed strapping the rapier to him a treasure beyond all the relic's acquired of before, the grave held emptied no body to prove of demise, but symbolism was valued, it meant everything to embrace a moment's of life. It's how spirit's found rest with a double-edge slay. Walking with a new chapter to uncharted perils. Resolve, reawakened.

#FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #FFxiv #Tales of the Goldbrand #-Captain Kuro Solaire #Creative Writing #Prompt - Foster #This challenge is massive for me #In Tribute and Memory: WB #To try FFXIVWrite this year and Daily Practice and then some #Always with me. #Going to risk everything #I overcame a month of function #I will remain #I'll be utilizing every character #Every writing style #All forms to overcome #Lord Shiro Elune

[shireness-says]

A Drowning Soul Will Clutch at Any Straw

Summary: Though this is far from Killian Jones' first encounter with a mermaid, he's never met any quite like this blonde siren. Together, can they break a cruel curse? Rated T for language. ~13.3K. Also on AO3. 

~~~~~

A/N: It’s here - my entry for @cssns 2k19! Thanks to the mods for organizing this again, my beta @snidgetsafan, and ESPECIALLY to @hollyethecurious, who’s created this lovely photoset for the fic. It’s posted on her page as well - definitely go check it out and give her some love. 

Tagging my usuals and those who showed interest in the sneak peek: @kmomof4, @teamhook, @snowbellewells, @scientificapricot, @winterbaby89, @mythologicalmango

Enjoy!

~~~~~

It’s agreed upon on every shore of this realm’s oceans: Killian Jones is one hell of a captain.

He’s not just saying that either, as vain as it sounds - he’s proved it, many times over. After all, who else can boast of having not only evaded every nation’s navy for as long as he has, but outrun curses, cut through the most treacherous of waters, and even discovered every secret way in and out of Neverland? No, in this case, as in all others (a pirate he may be, but he still prides himself on being a true gentleman), his word is worth its weight in gold.

Yes, Killian Jones prides himself on being the best captain this realm has ever seen, able to handle everything fate and the sea has thrown his way for well over a century. This storm, however, is testing every moment of his vast experience and all the seafaring instincts he possesses.

It had arisen suddenly and without warning. This isn’t a corner of the world Killian or his crew have ever visited before, a remote island he’s never even seen on any of his maps. Smee had heard a rumor though, in a seedy tavern in a seedy town while the rest of them had been more concerned with finding spirits and female companionship, of a glorious treasure hidden on a secret island. In all his years, Killian has never been one to turn down treasure, and this rumor is no different. Sure, it might not lead anywhere, but at this point, what do any of them have to lose? With the Dark One long since disappeared and the king who killed Liam even longer since overthrown, they’re only in this now for the thrill of it all. Treasure hunting seems just as good a pastime as any.

The rumor had neglected to mention whatever magical enchantments are protecting the island, however - because mark his words, there’s something unusual about this storm, something otherworldly. Killian has been around for a long while, and has seen a lot of things, but a storm spontaneously forming in a matter of minutes from what was a cloudless sky and calm seas is not one of them. He’s been around long enough, too, to recognize magic, and the air here practically reeks with the stuff. Something more is a play here - something sinister. And until they can identify it and defeat it, he and his men are left clinging to drenched ropes as the Jolly tilts precariously from side to side.

“Turn us into the waves, Mr. Smee!” He yells over the crush of noise. “Let’s work with this storm instead of against it!”

“Aye aye, Captain!” The stout man yells back. His red hat is obviously drenched through, but for some unimaginable reason he still insists on wearing the stupid thing. Frivolities aside, he’s a good first mate, able to get the other men to follow orders quickly and efficiently, leaving Killian free to scan the waves for whatever might be causing this. He’s got his suspicions already, based off his long experience in Neverland, and if he can just spot something amongst the waves —

— There. A flash of silver, too bright to be just the light on the waves, and a lilting feminine voice he shouldn’t be able to hear over the storm around them.

“Prepare the nets, Mr. Smee!” He calls. “There’s a merbitch in the water, and I’ve got a mind to go fishing!”

With a target in mind, the men cheer before scurrying to man their stations, guiding the ship into position as Killian directs them to capture their quarry.

He’ll give the scaly cunt this much: she fights back. Hard. For the first time in decades, Killian is genuinely concerned that the Jolly Roger will capsize as the waves rise higher and higher all around them. It’s easy to miss the flash of her tail amongst the squall, but Killian and the crew do their best to keep her in sight, teams of men working with nets to trap and entangle her. And eventually, their efforts succeed.

Killian expects the mermaid to be spitting mad when they haul her aboard - he certainly would be, in her position - but he’s shocked by her… acceptance isn’t quite the word. There’s still too much defiance, too much fire in her eyes to truly call it that. But she doesn’t fight back either, or curse them all to a variety of watery hells even as lightning strikes dangerously close to the ship. Instead, she tilts her chin upwards as Killian approaches, his sword drawn and resting against his shoulder in a contradictory move between threat and casualness, making sure to meet his eyes. All the while, she continues singing, her words melodically wrapping around them both - and almost certainly controlling this storm, like the sirens of legend. She’s dooming them with her very voice.

“Anything to say for yourself, siren?” he sneers. He almost hopes she does - would welcome the chance to rid them of such a predator, even one wearing such a pretty face.

The singing doesn’t stop, though, even as she stares boldly into his face. With her arms still tangled in the net, it’s her only means of defense, and she seems intent on using it. If it wasn’t obvious how she was summoning the storm before, it is now as a bolt of lightning cracks down dangerously close to the ship as her singing crescendos. He may have the weapons, but in this fight for their lives, it’s obvious who’s winning.

It’d be so easy to just gut the fish-woman where she lies, dispatch her like the monster she’s currently behaving as, but something makes him look closer, push past the noise echoing in his ears to really examine the creature in front of him. Her expression is a careful blank mask, only the bold set of her chin betraying any emotion or personality, but her eyes… her eyes are brimming with emotion. Horrifically human. Confoundingly pleading.

End this, they beg. End me.

Killian raises his sword to strike.

———

He shouldn’t have done it - left her alive, that is.

He’d been fully prepared to end her, for the sake of his whole crew, but at the last moment he had knocked her out with the hilt of his sword instead. Something about those eyes… he couldn’t do it. They’d been a little too human, a little too female, and he’s always prided himself on being a gentleman.

(There’s also the fact that after decades, centuries, he’s bloody bored, and he can’t deny that there’s something intriguing about the mermaid who asks for death. She’s a mystery, a pleasant diversion, and he can’t bring himself to kill the first interesting thing to happen to him in ages.)

Regardless of method, the storm had abruptly stopped as soon as the mermaid had been knocked into unconsciousness, black skies giving way again to the rosy colors of a sunset at sea, which had been the goal all along. Killian had just taken a slightly different path to get there. After that, they had located the largest tub they could find and relocated it to the brig, where it had been filled with water behind the iron bars before their unexpected guest was deposited in it and locked up. It’s true that Killian Jones may be a pirate, but he’s not a cruel man, not without severe provocation, and it seems a bit much to beach the siren, so to speak, if she’ll be with them for any amount of time.

For now, she’s still unconscious, and Killian is left playing the waiting game. He’s got a fair few questions for their piscine guest, after all. He can’t help but examine her form in the meantime, driven both by boredom and the desire to be there the very moment she wakes up. There’s something more intimidating about waking up to find the captain present, after all, as if already waiting to dole out judgement and punishment. He could tell himself that his examination is just precautionary, sizing up the enemy, but the truth is that his appreciation is much more aesthetic. The mermaid is, in a word, striking - a little too dangerous to be pretty and a little too real to be otherworldly. She could be the very source of all the tales of sirens’ dangerous beauty. The lantern’s light reflects almost blindingly off her silver-scaled tail in the darkness of the brig, though with this closer proximity he can pick up glints of blue and green amongst the metallic sheen where it hangs lazily over the edge. Her hair is blonde and tousled by the waves, the wet locks drying before his eyes into a mess of curls. A smattering of small braids twines through the strands, though he can’t tell from here whether they’re simply intended for looks or as a small effort towards taming the way it must all billow around her head underwater. Her breasts are covered by some contraption made of seaweed and shells, which strikes Killian as a bit odd; he’s spent a good amount of time with mermaids during his many years in Neverland, and they’ve never been particularly known for their modesty. Her skin, apart from her shimmering tail, is pale - pale in a way that betrays how rarely she must seek out the surface. Again, odd - most mermaids sun themselves on the rocks like lazy cats and pick up quite the tan for their efforts. The paleness of her skin makes her seem more dangerous in a way he can’t quite put his finger on - the remoteness it suggests, perhaps, or the way it displays the scars collected on her torso and arms. Perhaps the business of turning ships into toothpicks is more dangerous than he gave her credit for.

Killian realizes he’s wandered closer than he intended at the same moment that he hears her breathing minutely change, and hurriedly takes a step back. Only moments later, her eyes flutter open, scanning her surroundings with brows furrowing in confusion before settling on where he leans faux-casually against a wall.

“It’s rude to stare, you know,” she quips, rolling her eyes - also unlike any other mermaid he’s had the questionable pleasure to meet, who were all vain creatures who revelled in any form of male attention. Sarcasm and cheek were not in their vocabulary - just jealousy, pettiness, and a simpering vanity he’d quickly tired of.

(He notes, too, that this mermaid’s voice is all gravelly, like she hasn’t spoken in a long while. And who knows - way out here in this forgotten corner of the world, that just might be true.)

“Can you blame a man?” he asks, pushing off the wall to saunter closer again. “It’s not often we have such lovely ladies on this ship. Or any ladies, really. And when I’ve got one so alluring in front of me… well. I’m only human, lass.”

She makes a noise that might almost be a laugh, something that might almost be a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth, before sobering again. Killian doesn’t like that nearly as well. “You should have killed me,” she states. Matter-of-fact. Looking right at Killian, as if to best drive her point home.

It doesn’t work.

“Ah, well, you see, about that. I didn’t.” It’s probably - definitely - too lighthearted for the subject at hand. “I am, however, quite intrigued as to why you’d want that in the first place. I’ve been sitting here asking myself, ‘What kind of mermaid creates the storm of the century, almost sinks our ship and kills the entire crew, only to ask for death when she’s caught instead of smiting us all to smithereens?’ Don’t think I didn’t notice that very impressive lightning, love, because it did not escape my notice that you could have doomed every last one of us in a second.”

“The cursed kind,” she fires back. “The kind that doesn’t want to kill anyone in the first place.”

“Seems a little far fetched,” he comments, because it does. Even in a land bursting with magic, it sounds like the plot of a tall tale. A mermaid - a woman? - cursed to do terrible things against her will. How ridiculous.

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“And how did you get cursed, pray tell?”

“The usual way,” she replies, smiling like she knows just how much this crypticness is irritating him. She probably does. Finally, some way she’s like every other mermaid of his experience.

“And for those of us less experienced with curses?” He almost certainly sounds exasperated, and couldn’t care less about it.

“There was a witch. I’m sure you can piece together the rest.”

“Gods, but you are maddening,” Killian mutters under his breath. It must not be that quiet, though, as he can spot the mermaid’s mouth twitching back towards a smile. “So let me get this straight. You were cursed by a witch for some reason - I assume you won’t be so courteous as to tell me why?” She shakes her head on a smirk. “Of course not. So you’re cursed by a witch, and spend the next gods know how long forced to sink any ship that comes into your territory. Is that about right?”

“That’s the gist of it,” she agrees. “I haven’t had legs since Stephen the Second of Misthaven, if that clears matters up at all.”

Killian does the math in his head - once, then again when his first result seems too absurd to be believed. “That’s over six hundred years!”

She shrugs. “I’ll trust you on that. There’s not much way to track time, down below the surface. I’m sure you can imagine, the years all start to blend together eventually.”

He does know - better than she could have guessed. After all, he’s an almost three hundred year old man who just met the only person in existence older than him. It takes a swig from his ever-present flask to really move past that.

“So you’ve been cursed for six centuries,” he reasons out, “and not once have you tried to do anything about it? There’s no way to break your curse? No mortality clause?”

“You think I haven’t tried?” she scoffs. “I know this curse better than anything else in this realm, or any other. I know exactly where the boundaries of my bay are, the markers I can’t cross without swimming face first into invisible walls. The singing is beyond my control. I don’t need food to survive, or air, or daylight. The only way out of this curse is death, and I can’t even manage that.”

It’s horrifying to hear her speak so callously of her search for a way out of her curse by any means, but Killian supposes he can almost understand it. She’s had her free will ripped away for hundreds of years; having lived through that particular nightmare himself as a slave in his youth, he can understand how it would drive a man, or woman, to madness. The longevity of this curse really is striking; Killian doesn’t consider himself an expert on magic by any means, but he does know that generally, curses don’t last past the death of the person who cast it. It suggests other, just as impossible things - namely, that this sorceress is still alive somewhere.

“What about the witch?” he asks. “Did you ever attempt to track her down again?”

“Did you miss the part where I couldn’t leave my territory?” she shoots back in her dry, sarcastic voice. “Doesn’t leave much opportunity for searching for witches, even if I wanted to. She used to come to the island, it felt like to taunt me, but even that stopped ages ago. Decades, perhaps even a century or two.”

She had mentioned her barriers before. Killian feels like a little bit of a numbskull for not retaining it, honestly. “Aye, well, consider this my cordial invitation to assist you in such a quest,” he declares pompously, sketching an elaborate bow towards the barrel. It’s only mostly an attempt to save face - he would have offered anyways. He’s always had a soft spot for damsels in distress, after all.

She doesn’t seem to take him at his word however, snorting and rolling her eyes at the offer. “Be serious, Captain. It’s not nice to tease.”

“I assure you, milady, I’m deadly serious,” he returns.

“It’s a terrible idea. You don’t even know my name, you just think you’ve heard some sob story and want to watch it play out,” she argues.

“Killian Jones,” he replies, introducing himself as a counterargument. “Feared pirate of the seven seas - though many are more familiar with my more colorful moniker. Hook. And you are…?”

“That still doesn’t answer what you expect to get out of this.” He’s not sure if it could be considered a true deflection, but it’s definitely a blatant avoidance of his question - whether to protect herself or leave him in the dark, he’s not sure. Maybe a bit of both. The mermaid certainly seems to enjoy annoying him.

More to the point, it’s a good question she poses, as Killian isn’t quite sure what he actually expects out of this. He’s not usually given towards such generosity - rather against the pirate code, and all that. He’s not operating a charity. The mermaid in front of him though… he couldn’t tell you why, but he keeps coming back to the word interesting. He’s never met anyone quite like her, on legs or fins - an intriguing mix of danger and allure and just a touch of tragedy. Killian has been a bit at loose ends ever since he discovered that his Dark One problem took care of itself, and like it or not, hearing about the problems of cursed mermaids is a welcome diversion, as ridiculous as that feels to admit. The truth is that he wants to help her if only to see all this play out, and maybe try to figure out the woman in front of him a little along the way.

(There’s also the fact that he dislikes witches even more than he mistrusts mermaids, but she definitely doesn’t need to know that.)

That honest reason is a little too personal, however, so Killian quickly spins a different excuse. “A clear path to whatever treasure is hidden on that island would be nice,” he offers, smirking in a way that he hopes will sell his facade of being just a greedy pirate. It’s a good enough excuse, and he’s not so intrigued by their finned guest that he’s already forgotten how he and the crew stumbled into this mess in the first place.

The snort is back. Again. It seems to be his guest’s default reaction - sarcasm and completely rejecting whatever he has to say. It’s a bit off-putting, but he supposes allowances have to be made for those who haven’t had proper human interaction in hundreds of years. “If you’re searching for treasure, you’re going to be disappointed,” she confides. “There’s nothing on that island. Never was. Ages ago, witches used to meet here for coven meetings or some shit - that’s why I’m here, to protect the island from any meddlers - but that dropped off ages ago. It’s just a bunch of rocks up there - no gold, no jewels, no buried treasure. Nothing. So if that’s your reason for offering to help me, it’s not worth your time. Kill me now, or toss me back into the sea, but I can’t give you what you seek.”

That’s not it, though, not really. Yes, treasure and riches beyond all their imaginings would be nice, but his desire to keep this woman on his ship for a little while longer has nothing to do with it. Instead, he settles on bluster. “Like I said, love, I’m a simple man, with simple pleasures, and one of those is having enchanting women aboard my ship.” It must not work, however, as she fixes him with an unimpressed look - or at least, as unimpressed a look as she can manage while in such an undignified position. Still, it’s enough for Killian to quickly cave. “And, maybe, your witch hunt is the most interesting thing I’ve come across in years.”

She fixes him with a searching look for a moment longer, before finally nodding. “Alright, then, you’ve got a deal.”

“That’s what did it?” Killian demands incredulously. “Everything else I’ve said, and it’s boredom that you buy, out of all that?”

“I understand boredom,” she replies simply. “After all this time, it’s an old friend.”

Kindred spirits. He supposes he can believe that.

“In that case, welcome aboard, Miss…?”

“Emma,” she finally smiles, trusting him with her name like it’s her greatest secret. “Emma Swan.”

———

The first order of business is setting the men to work building an even larger tub for their fish-tailed guest. The original had been fine for a prisoner, but her tail doesn’t fit all the way inside, the iridescent flipper at the end obviously hanging over the edge and losing its sheen as it dries out. An invited guest deserves a bit more comfort - or at least to be able to fully submerge her tail. They’d seriously debated just releasing her back into the ocean to swim alongside the Jolly, but there’d been some uncertainty about whether her curse would allow it. After her talk of invisible walls she can’t cross, it seems like that the only reason she’s been able to leave her cove is because they’d hauled her aboard and forcibly carried her away from the bounds of her prescribed territory. He and Emma are both a little concerned about what might happen if she were returned to the water. Magic is so intrinsically involved with all of this; would it transport her right back to where it’s deemed she belongs? The larger tub may still be uncomfortable, but at least they can be sure she’ll stay put.

Somewhat more uncomfortable is the fact that the finished container is installed in the captain’s quarters - Killian’s quarters. Though ruthlessly organized, the Jolly is a small ship, and each inch is precious for storage and housing the crew. Besides the brig, only Killian’s space offered enough room to hold the container Emma would be calling hers for the indeterminable future. Between that and the windowless cell, it hadn’t really been much of a choice. It’ll be more convenient as he and Emma attempt to chart a course anyways - or at least that’s how Killian tries to convince himself.

“It’ll still be close quarters, I’m afraid. Not much privacy,” he apologizes, reaching to scratch behind his ear in an expression of embarrassment that makes him feel like some bashful youth again.

“What, are you the only modest pirate in existence?” Emma asks, mouth twisted into a smirk at his expense. “I’m a big girl, Jones, I’ve been around men before. It’ll be fine. I’ll even cover my eyes while you undress, if it makes you feel better.”

“That’s not —” he tries to protest, before sighing. “Fine. Good. Let’s do this, then.”

He’d carried her before, from the deck down here to the brig while she was unconscious, but it’s a different thing now when Emma’s awake and an ally and someone he has to be careful with. The weight isn’t an issue - he’s carried rum barrels heavier than her, though the pure muscle that makes up her tail is rather heavier than he expected of someone who is otherwise so slight - but with the woman in question awake to wrap her arms around his neck in an attempt to make the maneuver easier, it seems very intimate. One breast presses softly against his chest through her bodice and his shirt, and he’s suddenly very aware of every inch of bare skin his hand is touching along her back. It was easier to ignore such things when she was a nameless enemy - now that he’s seen a little of the woman in his arms, it just feels like an invasion of her privacy and a step in whatever this alliance is that neither of them was ready to take, especially him. The whole thing does nothing to help the blush that’s already established residence across his cheekbones, and he can feel Emma quivering with suppressed laughter in his arms.

“Shut up and watch your head,” he mutters as they begin the trek up the rickety wooden stairs, finally working a full laugh out of Emma. It’s nice to hear, though rough around the edges in the same way her voice was at first. Killian supposes she hasn’t had much reason to laugh in a long while either.

“Aye aye, Captain,” she chuckles as he begins the ascent.

It’s more than a little cramped in his cabin, what with the tub competing for space with all his regular furniture. There’s not even that many pieces - just a table and chairs, the bed, a storage cabinet and a handful of trunks - but the Jolly isn’t a particularly large ship, and the Captain’s cabin is no different; space has always been more a dream than a reality.

“Sorry about the clutter,” he offers bashfully. Embarrassment isn’t a common feeling for Killian; the pirate’s life doesn’t lend itself well to shame. Something about having a lady in his quarters, however - particularly this lady, and particularly knowing she’ll be here for the foreseeable future - brings back that youthful kind of anxiety of wanting everything to be perfect. It almost makes him wonder if he’s been put under some spell, like in the mermaid tales of old, but dismisses it as ridiculous. There’s limits to what he’s willing to believe, especially where this particular mermaid is concerned.

“It’s fine, really,” Emma replies, reclining gracefully in her makeshift tank. “It’s a nice change to be surrounded by such… human things after so long under the sea. The view doesn’t hurt either,” she adds, gesturing widely towards the square paned windows lining one wall, displaying the sea in all her dangerous glory. It’s a favorite view of Killian’s as well, especially now when the sky is just starting to turn all the colors of the sunset, each one reflected between the peaks of the waves. It’s the only thing that really sets the captain’s cabin apart from any others, except for the extra privacy.

“Aye, it’s really something, isn’t it,” he murmurs softly, allowing himself to share a moment of reflection with his guest before snapping himself back to himself. “You said you were from Misthaven? If we’re going to do this, we should set a proper course.”

“Yes, Misthaven. It was just a little village, though, it didn’t even really have a name that I was aware of.”

“If I got out my maps, do you think you could recognize the area, at least?” As Killian asks, he’s already moving.

“I think so. Worth a shot, at least,” Emma agrees.

Grabbing the appropriate map, Killian tosses it on the table top before pushing the whole thing as close as he can to where Emma reclines. As soon as the surface gets close enough, Emma rearranges herself in the tub to prop her arms on the table, splashing a little as she turns in the tub. They’re going to need plenty of towels, Killian realizes suddenly. Oh, what logistical things you don’t consider when you agree to house a mermaid in your quarters.

Quickly, he unrolls the map and weighs it down with a handful of paperweights. “Do you remember anything else? Any starting point?”

“It was on the eastern coast,” Emma replies, tilting her head in thought and squinting into the distance. “There was a little island nearby in the sound, too, but I don’t think anyone lived there.”

They continue like that for the next hour, eventually narrowing it down to three possible sites - all once tiny fishing hamlets, all now sizable towns, and in one case a bustling city. A lot can happen in 600 years, as it turns out.

They’ve got a plan, now, but Killian is left with more questions - namely, the particulars of his companion’s curse.

“I don’t suppose you want to share why you were cursed?” he asks casually, leaning against the cabinet with a smirk.

“Not unless you want to explain how a nice Navy boy became a notorious pirate,” she smirks back.

It immediately throws Killian off whatever game he was playing - probably her intention all along. She shouldn’t know anything about that. “How do you know about that?” he demands, straightening to attention.

“I’ve got hundreds of years’ experience with ships. Of course I can recognize a Royal Naval vessel, even dressed as a pirate ship,” she declares loftily. It only lasts a moment though before she relaxes back into that smirk. “And I saw all the old Naval manuals on your shelf. I figured a pirate who took the ship would most likely just get rid of them, but someone who kept them probably had a sentimental reason to.”

“So a guess,” he concludes.

“Ah, but a good one,” she winks. “So, are you going to tell me?”

“Perhaps another day,” Killian smiles tightly. Truthfully, he doesn’t have any intention of telling her; his memories of the Navy are far too tied up with his memories of Liam, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to share them. “And you?”

“Perhaps another day,” she echoes.

They’ve done more than enough sharing for the day.

———

There’s unexpected things you learn when you’re living with a mermaid, as Killian comes to discover.

He learns within the first few days that she’s a voracious reader, whipping through the adventure novels he keeps beneath the window. It alleviates a lot of the guilt he feels about leaving her alone all day while he goes about the business of leading a crew above decks. She’s meticulously careful about it, too, making sure to never drip on the pages. Killian happily leaves her a stack of books in the morning, and usually she’s completed one by the end of the day - oftentimes more, especially if she picks a short volume or books of poetry. It’s one of the things he hadn’t really thought about - how she must not have heard any new stories in centuries. How lonely she must have been in her corner of the sea, he can’t help but think, starved both for companionship and any news of the outside world.

More surprising are her dining habits - or lack thereof, rather. He’d brought her dinner that first night - nothing fancy or unusual, just some fish they’d caught earlier in the day and a few hardtack biscuits to wash it down with - only for Emma to stare at the plated offerings with an odd look on her face. It’s not quite confusion, and stops shy of suspicion, but it’s definitely not enthusiasm either. As Killian really processes what he’s offered her, he flushes. Again. Gods, what is it about this woman that’s turned him back into some blushing youth?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about the fish thing,” he apologizes, moving to whisk the plate away again. “That would be rather macabre, wouldn’t it? Let me get you something else —”

She waves him off, though, pulling the plate back with her other hand. “Jones, it’s fine. You are aware of how many fish subsist on other fish, right? It’s not an issue.”

He furrows his brow in confusion. “What seems to be the problem, then? I don’t mean to pry, but you seem hesitant about this meal.”

“I don’t eat,” she explains simply. “Or at least I don’t need to. I can, but it’s not necessary for my survival.”

“That seems… odd.”

“It does, until you remember the curse. It’s very determined to keep me alive no matter what - not needing food is just another way to keep me from depriving myself of it.” Starve herself to death, she means, but they’re both tactful enough not to say it.

“So when you say you don’t eat…” he trails off in question.

“I mean that I haven’t in a very, very long time. Longer than I can remember. Kelp and seaweed and raw seafood don’t make for a very appetizing meal, as it turns out,” she teases lightly.

“Then allow me to present you with the feast of a lifetime,” Killian declares with a smile and a dramatic flourish. “The finest hardtack on the seven seas. By which I mean it will still break a tooth if you’re not careful. Shall I pour some wine with dinner?”

“By all means,” Emma smiles, gesturing with a regal air from her tub. Somehow, she still manages to look like a queen, even in such a ridiculous setting.

(It’s the best dinner he’s had in a long time, despite the simple menu, and he thinks it just might be due to his new companion.)

There’s a multitude of other little things he learns as the days pass - like the way that she softly snores if she’s not submerged completely underwater, or how she loves to debate any subject he brings up (and articulately, at that, though her sources sometimes need a little updating after centuries of isolation), or the way she rolls her eyes when he spouts off a particularly clever innuendo. Maybe it’s just his own years of loneliness talking, but it’s nice, having her companionship. Someone he doesn’t have to be the captain with, who he can talk to over books or dinner and who makes him smile. It’s something he could get used to over time, if allowed, even if the idea of that - of coming to depend on someone again - is a little bit terrifying.

As well as they get along, the fact is that Emma is still a full-sized mermaid residing in an oversized tub. It’s not a lot of space, and Killian’s impressed that she’s lasted as long as she has. In her proverbial shoes, he would have long since been driven mad by the close confines - probably have been constantly plagued by cramps as well. So he completely understands when she finally caves and asks to be returned to the open ocean, if only for a little exercise.

“Maybe I’ve been a mermaid for too long, but I’m antsy, knowing the ocean is right there and I’m still here in this stupid basin,” she explains. “I know we still don’t know what will happen, now that I’m so far from where I’m supposed to be, but… I need to try it. You can stay right there to try and pull me back if you like, just… Please. I need this.”

“Of course, love.” She needn’t ask twice.

In case some bizarre magic portal does open beneath where Emma enters the water, they do make the decision for Emma to be lowered to the water in a rowboat with Killian instead of just diving off the rail of the Jolly like he’s sure she could do easily. They almost certainly make quite the picture, the mermaid and the one-handed pirate together in the little craft being lowered to the water, but any absurdity is worth the look of excitement on Emma’s face.

As soon as she slips into the water, still grasping his hand and empty wrist (and that doesn’t send little quivers of some feeling quivering through his veins, not at all), it’s easy to hear her audible sigh of relief.

“Feels nice, does it?” he grins down to where Emma’s head is just peeking out of the water. If he thought her tail was beautiful in the dim light of the brig or in the cramped confines of her tub, it’s nothing to the way that the scales glisten here in the open water, their iridescence reflecting in every color of the rainbow as her tail sways gently back and forth beneath the surface, keeping her buoyant.

“I can’t even describe it,” she admits, smiling right back. “It feels wonderful.” She takes a deep breath before exhaling once again. “I’m going to try letting go,” she announces.

“Aye, alright,” Killian agrees. “Slowly? To be safe?”

Emma seems to be barely listening for the anticipation of it all, but still nods as she removes her hand from his left wrist. With a final exhalation and a nod of determination, she slowly releases his hand as well to float of her own accord, still within reach of Killian and the boat but entirely self-supported in the water.

“I think it’s alright,” she smiles brilliantly, quickly dunking herself under the surface so that her hair floats out in all directions, weightless against the flow of the water. “Better than.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Killian smiles back. “Enjoy your swim.”

He’s fully prepared to retrieve his book from the waterproof sack he’d stowed it in for the descent from the deck, but Emma interrupts him before he can reach underneath the seat. “Aren’t you coming in too?” she asks, face screwed up in confusion.

“Not today, lass,” he replies, forcing himself to chuckle in a manner that hopefully reads as lighthearted. There’s a multitude of reasons he won’t get in the water - most of them relating to the lash scars still on his back - but mostly it comes down to the fact that he doesn’t want to. Well, that and the scars and the elaborate straps of his brace.

(The wenches in the port bars never mind too much that their encounters aren’t anything more than a quick, mostly-clothed fuck, so no one has seen all the damage to his body in years - and in the case of his mangled wrist, no one ever has. It’s a lot of vulnerability to show to a person, and he just doesn’t think he can handle that yet.)

Quickly, he busies himself trying to locate the volume as slowly as possible in hopes that it’ll keep Emma from digging any further. It doesn’t work. Not that he’s surprised - he’s fielded more than a few questions from her in the past days. She’s certainly inquisitive, he’ll give her that - though it’s bordering on nosy at times. This is definitely one of those.

“What, don’t you know how to swim?” she asks, the teasing clearly evident in her tone.

“Of course I do,” he replies absently, still focusing on avoiding her gaze and fishing the bag out from where it’s gotten caught beneath the bench. “I’ve known how to swim since I was young. Liam taught me.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but tries not to tense up so much as to immediately give that away. It’d just been a slip of the tongue; he’d been so determined to not say anything about the physical scars he’d wanted to hide, he’d forgotten to guard against the emotional scars he’d already declared himself not ready to talk about. Maybe he’ll get lucky, maybe she’ll let it pass, maybe —

“Who’s Liam?” the silky voice cuts through. Of course she heard and wants to know more - she’s a clever one, Swan is, absorbing and processing everything around her at all times, including the things he’d rather she not examine.

It’s too late for that, though - the cat is already out of the bag, or whatever the proper oceanic comparison is. Sitting back upright, Killian takes a fortifying breath before replying. Perhaps if he answers her inquiries quickly and in a straightforward manner, it won’t hurt so badly. “Liam was my brother. Captain Liam Jones. He’s gone, now.”

Emma’s brows lower as she processes this, before something seems to click. “He was the one in the Navy.”

Killian nods. “Aye. To be fair, we both were. We were sent to find a medicinal plant, but when we discovered it… well. As it turns out, our king has more nefarious aims than we were aware of, and my brother died because of his faith in the bastard. Scratched himself with one of those damn thorns to prove to me that if was perfectly safe.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma murmurs. It almost looks like she wants to reach for him - in comfort, in companionship, in a pure human instinct that can’t be stifled even by a curse - but still doesn’t. It’s probably for the best; she is dripping wet, after all, and he doesn’t have any interest in her soaking him as well.

Killian jerks his head and shoulders into a little half-shrug, like it still doesn’t affect him in every corner of his soul. “What’s done is done,” he finally says. “But, needless to say, I wasn’t exactly eager to continue in the Navy after that, serving that evil son of a bitch. Drastic measures were taken, you might say, and I found myself the captain of a pirate ship. Spent the next several years crippling Navy ships until the king was deposed and replaced with a distant cousin.”

He expects that to be the end of it; he shares a painful memory, they both lapse into awkward silence, and eventually return to their solitary pursuits. Emma surprises him though, taking a deep breath as if to brace herself before making her own revelation.

“There was a man, once,” she tells him. “That’s what led to the curse.”

“You don’t have to —” Killian interrupts, trying to assure her that he doesn’t expect any reciprocity, but Emma shakes her head.

“It’s alright,” she tells him, “it’s only fair. Tit for tat, or something.” Another deep breath, and a smile that seems a little sad. “His name was Neal, he was a sailor, and I was… Gods, I was so in love. That all-consuming kind of love where they’re the light of your days and the center of your world. He was a crewman on a whaling ship, and I’d worry myself sick every time he left on a voyage. I was so convinced that one day, something would happen and he wouldn’t come back.

“But there was a witch in our village, too. Regina. She’d been there for longer than anyone could remember and never seemed to age a day; rumor had it that the apples on the tree in her garden granted her immortality, though I don’t know how true that was. She could do wonderful things, if you were willing to pay. I couldn’t pay, unfortunately, but I’d heard tell that she’d grant favors sometimes, if the cause was good enough. Or she’d find some other price for you to pay with. So I went to Regina and begged for a charm, a spell, something that would keep him safe. I swore up and down that we had true love, and that I couldn’t bear it if anything was to happen to him. And she agreed - with one condition. She’d grant me a little bit of enchanted cord he could wear to keep him from harm, if I granted her a strand of each of our hair so that she could bottle the essence of true love.

“And I agreed. I was so young, you know? And I believed, so much, that what we shared really was true love, the rarest and most precious magic of all. So I gave her a strand of my hair and found a strand of his and she gave me the cord in return.

“She was as good as her word, too; it worked. Not even six months later, his ship wrecked in a storm, leaving only a handful of survivors. Somehow, he was one of them. It was such a small price to pay for his safety, two strands of hair, especially since it worked.”

Killian won’t interrupt, not in the middle of something so important, but he has a terrible feeling about where this is going. It’s all a little too idyllic, a little too good to be true. Sure enough:

“I was so naive back then,” Emma continues with frustration seeping into her tone. “I thought that would be the end of the matter. I thought I was it for Neal, the same way he was for me. But only weeks after he returned, he met someone else. It wasn’t true love at all, and I suddenly hadn’t paid the price demanded. Maybe I had saved his life, but at the cost of my own. Regina turned me into this when she found out, trapped me in that cove, and I’ve been trying to find some way out of her curse ever since. You know the rest.”

“Aye, I do.” It’s an even sorrier tale than he imagined - a young woman, betrayed in love and forced to unimaginable sacrifice because of it. It makes him even more determined to find a way to free her from this, whatever it takes. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It was the right thing to do,” she says, shrugging. Killian thinks they might be alike in that way - two people just trying to rediscover that small bit of good form still left in the deepest corner of their souls, from back before time and circumstances turned them into the weathered creatures they are now. Neither one of them had particularly wanted to share the darkest moments in their long lives, but they’d unintentionally struck an agreement that first day - she’d share if he would - and Emma had stuck to that. Their alliance may have started tentatively, but it’s holding.

He’s more confident that ever that they’ll be able to break this thing.

———

Things shift, ever so slightly, in those days following their afternoon in the water. There’s a new trust between himself and Emma, born of those revelations and fostering a greater familiarity between the two. That’s something Killian hasn’t had in a long time. Sure, he has his crew, but he always has to wear the mask of “Captain” around them; when you’re supposed to be the man in charge, there’s no real room for emotional intimacy. Swan is different though - a guest, really, someone he doesn’t have any authority over and doesn’t need to. It’s refreshing, and offers him something he hasn’t had the opportunity for in years: friendship.

It’s the ease of their interactions that makes this so special, Killian realizes one night as he prepares for bed. Emma is settling down in her basin as well, setting whatever book she’s reading today aside and allowing herself to slide more completely beneath the water’s surface. He’s a little surprised that she’s so ready to go to sleep; she’d been unusually tired this afternoon, to the point that she’d napped in the cabin for several hours earlier. He’s surprised that she could still be tired after that, though he supposes if she’s that tired it would likely persist. Remembering how graceful and peaceful she’d looked that afternoon, one hand delicately draped over the edge of the tub as she emitted a soft whistle with every breath, Killian can’t help but smile - something she doesn’t miss, of course.

“What are you smirking at?” she demands, her own voice teasing.

“I think that seems a little harsh of a description,” he shoots back, sharpening what had actually been a relatively soft smile into a cocky grin. He likes this banter; they’re rather good at it, Killian thinks. “Personally, I think it was more of a dashing smile.”

“Fine then,” she huffs dramatically, even as a smile continues to pull at the corners of her mouth. “What are you ‘smiling dashingly’ about?”

“You, of course.” That part is the truth, even if he knows she won’t take it seriously.

Sure enough, she scoffs in response. “Please.”

“It’s true! What, I can’t smile about having a pretty lass in my cabin?”

“I bet you say that to all the women,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

“Only the ones I like,” he winks back.

It’s just a witty little thing to say, a spur of the moment comment, but it gets him thinking later, once all the lamps are extinguished and Emma has slipped below the water. It’s not possible that he fancies Emma Swan, is it? It shouldn’t be. They’ve known each other for such a short while, and even if he does feel a strong connection to the mermaid in his company, that’s probably just because she’s the closest human bond he’s had in ages. Killian doesn’t think that he’s ready for anything more serious, anyways, not when he still remembers all the pain of his Milah’s death. Emma will want to leave once her curse is broken; he can’t afford to get more attached to someone temporary.

Killian forces the matter from his mind. It can’t be anything deeper; that’s nonsense. If nothing else, it’s a matter for later.

With that, he rolls over to face the wall and drops into sleep.

———

In retrospect, they should have been more concerned about the water.

There hadn’t been any immediate, visible reaction when Emma had dived into the ocean, even if she was beyond her magically-imposed borders. All he could see was the relief as she stretched, executing lazy flips and twirls before surfacing again. After they’d moved past the downer of their mutual revelations, Emma had spent hours just swimming around, just because she could. She was beautiful like that, and free in a way Killian had never seen. The rest of the afternoon passed in a lazy haze with her in the water and he in the rowboat, no sign of danger to come on the horizon.

Even in the days immediately following, there’s no cause for concern. Sure, Emma is a little lethargic, but neither of them thinks anything of it; Killian is sure he’d be a little slow too if he was forced to sit in bed all day, every day for days on end.

Emma gets steadily worse as they get closer to port, however, until she’s a shivering, sweaty mess, as if struck by a fever. Her skin still holds that fish-like coldness, however, and she assures Killian that never once in her centuries of cursed life has she ever gotten sick. This is something else.

It’s easy connecting the dots after that. They’d been so foolish to underestimate her curse - after all, what else could this be? Maybe the curse didn’t have the power to magically transport her back to within the boundaries of her cove, but it turns out that it does have the power to slowly poison her should she enter unsanctioned waters, and that’s horrifically worse. Their mission had always been important - striving for someone’s freedom is the most noble cause, after all - but now it’s deadly crucial that they succeed, before the curse completes its own deadly aim.

“I’m alright,” Emma assures him once the Jolly makes landfall and he’s preparing to search out their witch. It’s a lie, and an obvious one at that; she’s sickly pale and trembling. Even an utter idiot could see that she’s far from fine. At least they know they’re in the right place; time is of the essence, but Emma had recognized the landscape and the curve of the coast beneath all the new population and its structure and monuments. “Go, find Regina. Her cottage was on the highest bluff, you should start looking there.”

When Killian reaches that bluff, however, there’s no cottage left to see. A tall stone fireplace still stands tall amongst the wild grasses and flowers, but that’s all that’s left to see. Nature has almost entirely reclaimed the site. Killian thinks he can spot the edges of bricks poking through the low mound that must cover the remains of the house, but even that seems a stretch.

Asking in the village-turned-city for the witch Regina doesn’t help either. No one has heard of a living person of that name and occupation, but they do all know of a legend, peculiar to this part of the world. In other circumstances, Killian might almost have enjoyed the tale: the story of a witch, alive for centuries, who fell in love with a common thief and ran off with him, taking nothing more than a sack full of the apples that had lengthened her life for so long before destroying the tree and letting her home crumble to rubble behind her. Unfortunately, he also knows that the best stories have their basis in truth, and there are just too many details that point to this fable chronicling what has happened to Regina, from the apples that kept her alive for hundreds of years to the house she supposedly lived in on that same bluff. A handful of old ladies even claim to remember her from their youth. It’s her, and it’s a dead end.

“She’s long gone, Swan,” he reports back to Emma, failing to hide the disappointment and sorrow and concern in his voice.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she murmurs, gazing blankly into the middle distance. Still, she tries to smile a weak smile as she turns to meet Killian’s eyes. “Thank you for trying.” Despite the smile, her voice is resigned. It’s obvious she thinks this is the end.

“I’m not giving up so easily,” Killian fires back. “There must be someone who can undo this.”

“Who?” Emma asks. Her voice is edged with desperation in a way that Killian doesn’t like at all. “Witches can’t alter each other’s curses. Hell, this should have ended when Regina died, but it somehow didn’t. We are out of options.” She slumps back into the water as she finishes, clearly exhausted.

“I won’t believe that,” he insists. “I know a fairy, one whose specialty is True Love. Maybe she can help. Isn’t it worth trying, at least?”

“Fine,” she agrees, “but if it doesn’t work… it’ll be okay, Killian. I’ve lived a long enough life, and if this is how it ends, then so be it.” It’s the first time she’s called him by his first name, and it kills him that it’s in the middle of such a bleak moment.

“I’m not giving up so easily,” he repeats for lack of anything better to say, before moving to order his crew to set a new course.

This has to work.

———

Even if Killian does know every back way into Neverland, all the little cracks between realms and waterways unknown even to Peter Pan himself, he never relishes having to make that trip. He’ll go to his grave believing that cursed island to be Purgatory itself made real in the world. However, the Jolly now makes the journey faster than he thinks it ever has, all for a chance to save Emma before it’s too late.

Talking to Tink is a longshot; she’s technically not even a fairy anymore, having long since lost her wings in an incident she doesn’t like to talk about. Something about trying to help the wrong person find their true love. There’s also the small fact that she’s probably also furious with him after Killian left Neverland for good without taking her with him. In his defense, he had to take advantage of a rare moment when Pan was absent from the island and time was of the essence to escape before he returned. Come to think of it, it will be dangerous for Killian to return to Neverland at all, lest the demon Pan trap and possibly torture or kill him for the transgression, but that’s a risk he’s going to have to take. Tinkerbell knows more about True Love than anyone else he’s aware of, and he’s willing to risk anything, from feminine rage to Pan himself, if it will break Emma’s curse and save her life.

Emma herself has taken a decided turn for the worse, her condition deteriorating with every day and every hour. She’s started slipping in and out of consciousness, her waking moments still dominated by the feverish shaking that first plagued her. On top of everything, she’s constantly parched when she’s awake and aware, and her very skin seems incapable of retaining moisture. A mermaid lives and dies submerged in water, or should; now, it seems to have no effect. He can practically see her shriveling before his eyes as her skin turns rough and tight across her bones, her tail like sandpaper to the touch in places.

Killian has found himself spending a lot of time reading to Emma in her sickness, something that seems to calm both of them. There’s no telling if she hears his voice while she’s unconscious, but their adventure tales are one of the only things that can make her smile even a little bit anymore, so Killian keeps on doing it regardless of her conscious or unconscious state. It calms him a bit, too; he’s frantically worried about Swan nearly every hour of the day, and the reading at least lets him feel like he’s doing something. The depth of his concern had surprised him - after all, he’s only known Emma for a matter of weeks. However, after all the time they’ve spent together, all their talks, the way they were able to reveal things about themselves - hell, he even told her about Milah, the loss of his hand, and all the subsequent years in Neverland after that magical-seeming day in the water - he feels like he knows her, in a way he hasn’t known another human being in a very long time. Time is no hindrance to true emotional closeness and trust, and he knows beyond a doubt: Emma Swan trusts him, the same way he trusts her right back. He never would have thought that would be true after such a rough start, but somehow, it is.

She hasn’t woken at all today, and it scares him half to death. She’s still alive - there’s still a pulse in her wrists and neck. Killian checks periodically, and holds himself back from doing so any more often because of the way she whimpers at even the most gentle touch to her skin. They don’t have much time.

“Captain?” Smee interrupts, poking his head around the doorway and into the cabin. “We need your assistance on deck, we’re about to slip into Neverland.”

“I’ll be there momentarily, Mr. Smee.” As the little man hurries away, Killian leans in to check Emma’s pulse one more time. Still there, and still fighting. “Hang in there, darling, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he murmurs, brushing a lank curl away from her face before heading on deck.

———

Sneaking into Neverland is the easy part; Killian knows how to navigate these waters better than anyone else, and could practically steer them along the hidden currents straight into a hidden bay with his eyes closed. That’s not hard, not anymore, not after hundreds of years. He can handle the wheel with a practiced hand, and the crew knows these routes just as well as he does, moving as one body in a synchronized effort.

No, the hard part is traversing through the dense tropical jungle that covers almost every inch of this accursed island. When Killian had been here and forced to traverse the island regularly, there’d been a set of paths that he made sure to keep cleared. However, even the foliage has a mind of its own in a place so steeped in magic as Neverland, and vines, flowers, and all manner of other flora would quickly overtake even the most established of trails if not regularly traversed and cleared. After an absence of several years, the trails have become nigh on impassable, and Killian is forced to hack his way through the greenery with his sword with every step he takes, doing his best to avoid vicious thorns and especially the variety of intoxicants that grow so prevalently. He knows what each of them induces - vivid hallucinations, unconsciousness, unbearably heightened libido and all manner of other things - and knows he doesn’t have time for any of their inconveniences. Time is of the essence, with Emma’s condition worsening by the minute.

Tinkerbell’s home should be just ahead, if he remembers right, and he’s spent far too much time trekking along this path through the years for him to remember incorrectly. Tink may have lost her wings, but she’s never stopped longing for the freedom she once found in the skies, and her abode reflects that: a series of platforms and reed walls nestled within the branches of the tallest tree for miles around, offering one of the best views of Neverland. It’s only topped by the cliffs of Deadman’s Peak, but Killian won’t go back there for anything - too many memories of Liam collapsing from the Dreamshade’s poison to make even the most beautiful view worse the effort to get up there and the pain, both emotional and physical, it evokes. Tink almost certainly knows he’s here already - Killian is quite familiar with the sightlines the treehouse offers, and there’s a clear view of the harbor where the Jolly has dropped anchor. Hell, she probably even saw him and Smee rowing over, maybe even can spot where the mousy little man waits with the rowboat on the sandy beach. Regardless, he’ll need to be on his guard; he can’t imagine he’ll be treated to a warm welcome from his former ally.

Sure enough, he’s barely stepped into the clearing she so carefully maintains around her tree before there’s the press of cold metal against his throat - a knife point, its wielder seemingly having materialized from the depths of the jungle. “You’ve got an awful lot of nerve coming back here after what you did to me, Hook,” she hisses, venom dripping from every syllable of her words. “Did Pan catch up to you after all? Or are you just back to make nice, because let me tell you, it won’t work. Save your pretty words.”

“Neither,” he croaks in response, doing his best not to move his throat too much. Already, there’s a trickle of blood creeping its way down his neck from where the point of her weapon had pricked him, and he doesn’t relish the thought of that little dagger digging any deeper. “I’m not here for me, or for you. I’m here on behalf of someone else.”

“And why should I believe you?” Tink demands, pressing in closer. “Everyone knows that Captain Hook only cares about his own interests.”

“Because it’s the truth!” He doesn’t have any better answer than that, but somehow, Killian knows it won’t be enough. “Because I’ve told you of my past, and you know I used to be a man of honor. Because I’ve never told you a lie. Because I wouldn’t come back to this hellhole without a damn good reason. Because a woman doesn’t deserve to die because you can’t bring yourself to believe me!” His voice rises with each excuse without his conscious decision until he’s yelling, and it’s only Tinkerbell’s slight step back that keeps him from being stuck like a pig.

“This woman,” she asks, finally sheathing the knife back at her waist, “you love her?”

“Most certainly not,” Killian huffs and crosses his arms into a defensive posture - as if the words of one petite blonde fairy could physically harm him. Fool. “But I do care for her. She deserves to live her life, and a good one at that. Isn’t that enough?”

“Sure it is,” Tink replies easily - though Killian does spot a knowing, almost mischievous twinkle in her eye. Bloody fairy probably didn’t believe a word he said. “Where do I come in, though? You haven’t been particularly… illuminating in this defensiveness.”

“As if I could get a word in edgewise with that damned knife to my throat,” he mutters.

“Like I’m the first one to try that. Now talk, pirate.”

And he does. He tells Tink all about Emma and her curse, True Love gone bad and their failed attempts to find the woman who could reverse the whole thing. He’s barely touched on the illness now causing Emma to waste away before his very eyes before Tink starts shaking her head.

“I can’t do anything for her, Hook,” she tells him, voice dripping with regret. “I’m sorry.”

“Why in the hell not?” Never mind the fact that her tone is honest, sympathetic even, offering no indication that she’s telling anything but the unfortunate truth. “You’re a fairy —”

“ — a former, disgraced fairy —”

“Semantics. This is a curse, brought on by True Love. You’re supposedly an expert in that very phenomenon. And you’re saying that you can’t do anything?”

“Curses aren’t like other magic,” Tink explains. “They’re very specific to the caster, and designed to last. Any meddling that I, or anyone else, would attempt would only make an already bad situation worse. As for True Love… it’s the most powerful magic of all, and any curse infused with it would be doubly strong. I can’t imagine what bottled love gone sour would do, but I can’t imagine anything good. The thing about True Love is that there’s nothing else like it - there’s no substitute and it can’t be replaced. I know you think that I know everything there is about True Love, but I can’t fix this.”

“Well what about fairy dust?” Killian demands, not even attempting to hide the desperation in his voice anymore. There has to be something, anything; he doesn’t want to admit that they’re staring down defeat.

“Fairy dust is… That’s not what it does. It’s a structural thing, a tool; it can enchant objects, or lend extra power to potions or enchantments, but that’s it. It’s useless for the kind of curse breaking that you want.” Despite all the threats that started their interaction, Tink’s voice is gentle as she reiterates her apology. “I’m sorry, Killian. I wish I could help her, but there’s just nothing I can do.”

Killian nods in response, his mind going numb as the reality of those words sinks in. This was already their last wild hope, and all for naught. It’s the end of the line. “Thank you for trying,” he hears himself say distantly. “I’ll, uh… I guess I’ll…”

“Go to her,” Tink finishes. He can’t quite read the odd, soft little smile on the fairy’s face, and frankly, he’s too exhausted to try - both physically and emotionally.

“Gather your things, if you like,” he offers before turning to leave. “We’ll be happy to take you away from here.”

As Tinkerbell bustles off to pack whatever odds and ends she wants to keep, Killian begins to make his way back through the woods along the newly remarked path. There’s half a temptation to move slowly and put off having to convey the full extent of his failure for as long as he can; Killian doesn’t relish the thought of having to crush Swan’s hopes yet again, if she’s even well enough to hear it. It’s a selfish thought, though, and he does his best to push it aside. It’s obvious that Emma doesn’t have much time left, and after all her years alone, if she’s going to die, she deserves someone holding her hand until the very end. With that in mind, Killian forces himself to hurry, rushing through the jungle as quickly as he can without tripping on any vines or stray roots.

As it is, he’s terrified that they’re too late when Starkey, one of his last sailors from the Navy days, meets the rowboat as soon as it’s hauled aboard.

“It’s not looking good, Captain,” he says. “We’ve got the cabin boy down there trying to keep her hydrated, but.. It’s not looking good, Captain.”

“I’ll make that judgement for myself,” he all but snaps. He’ll have to apologize to the man later, but panic and fear has a way of removing the niceties from one’s speech. What’s more important is getting down to his cabin and assessing the situation for himself.

It’s just as bad as he’d been warned, however. Emma looks almost grey in the skin and scales, and as much as young Hawkins is obviously trying to pour fresh water over her skin, it’s obvious that she’s absorbing none of it, every inch of her flesh dry, cracked and flaking. He’s terrified to check for a pulse, half convinced he won’t find anything. He supposes that the boy wouldn’t be trying his best to keep her comfortable if he didn’t still think she had life in her though. Speaking of which:

“Thank you, lad, that will be fine for now,” Killian says quietly, a little afraid to break the quiet that dominates the sickroom his cabin has become. “Close the door on your way out, please.”

“Aye, Captain,” young Hawkins replies, hopping into motion as soon as the cup he’d been using is replaced in the bucket of water next to the tub, but Killian barely hears him, not even processing when the heavy cabin door shuts with a soft thud.

Her breath is just a fluttery little thing now that he can barely feel on the back of his hand held close to her face. Killian is suddenly struck with the sudden urge to hold her close in these last minutes and hours, provide her with some of that deeply human comfort she’s been denied for so long. It’s obvious that the pool of water isn’t helping anyways; she’s dry as a bone, no matter how thoroughly she’s submerged or for how long. Knowing that, it’s easy to cave to the urge.

She’s so much lighter now than she was a mere month ago, the magic and the fever it’s caused eating away at her form. It barely takes any effort to pluck her from the tub and settle both of them on the edge of his bunk, her tail draped limply across his lap. No doubt they’re soaking the bed linens, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he murmurs, running his hand gently down her arm in what he hopes will register as a comforting touch. “I wanted so badly to help you, to help you live the life you deserve, but I failed you, and I only hope one day you can forgive me from wherever you end up. I wanted so much better for you.” His throat is becoming suspiciously tight. When did he become so attached to Swan? “I think that I might have come to love you, given the chance,” he admits, “but I guess we’ll never know. Whatever happens, I just want you to know that I’m here. I’ll be here until the very end. It’s alright, if you’re ready to rest.”

He holds her for a while longer, rocking her body back and forth and stroking her hair. When her pulse is so slow as to be almost indiscernible, Killian blinks back the tears to try and give her a proper goodbye.

“Thank you for everything, my Swan, all the trust you’ve placed in me. I’ll never forget you,” he murmurs. “Godspeed.” And in a final gesture, Killian leans down to place a soft kiss on her lips - a tender sealing of all the things that might have been.

That’s when it happens.

It starts as warmth, a gentle glow that seems like it’s suffusing every pore and fills him with a sense of peace that he never expected to feel in this moment. That warmth increases and expands, however, until it’s no longer contained just within his body and instead washes outwards over the whole room in a bright flash of rainbow light that he pulls away from Emma’s form just in time to see. Under other circumstances, Killian might take the time to investigate, to wonder exactly what just happened —

— but in that same moment, Emma stirs in his arms.

“Swan?” he queries softly, barely daring to hope.

Sure enough, though, her eyes flutter open, clearer than he’s seen in days and fully alert. “Jones?” She croaks. “What happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” he stammers back, stroking his hand along her cheek in wonder. What had only moments ago been sunken, dry, and grey is soft and warm again, healthily plump in the way that cheeks should be. “I thought you were doomed. I thought it was any moment now, and I —” he blushes, realizing how that kiss might sound now — “well, I moved to kiss you goodbye. But then there was this flood of warmth of light, and you woke up. I don’t know how.”

“You kissed me?” Emma doesn’t sound outraged, like he expected; rather, she just sounds curious. Maybe a little confused too.

“Yes, I kissed you - just a little kiss, mind you, nothing untoward - but then you woke up, and —”

It seems to strike them at the same time - the implications of what those two undeniable facts put together might mean. True Love’s Kiss. Emma’s eyes are blown wide with an emotion he can’t quite name - shock? Fear? Something else entirely? Whatever the case, Killian is certain that he must look much the same, as he knows that his thoughts are racing in a chaotic mess at the revelation. Emma scrambles to sit upright as it sinks in, bracing herself on his shoulders and scooting her bottom underneath her.

That’s when they notice the other revelation.

“Are those…” Killian murmurs in wonder before Emma completes his thought.

“Legs.” She pats frantically - nay, excitedly - at the limbs, beaming up at Killian with her own joy suffusing every bit of her countenance. “My legs. My… naked legs.” That’s another thing they both notice at the same time - her unclothed state. Both flush a furious red, and Killian hurriedly drags a blanket over her lower half.

“That’s better,” he mutters, trying to subdue the bright crimson staining his cheeks like some untried lad with his first paramour. Emma doesn’t even seem to hear him, though.

“I’m free,” she breathes, smiling a brilliant smile like he’s never seen before. It suits her, like a piece he didn’t know was missing in his perception of Emma Swan. “I can go anywhere.”

“Anywhere you want, and I’ll take you there,” Killian vows. Almost as soon as he says it, though, he’s struck with a spike of uncertainty. “That is, if you want me to.”

He almost expects her to say no. He’s a pirate, and he’s acting a bit presumptuously, and he’d understand entirely if she’d rather seek different company or even no company at all.

But Emma surprises him, shyly returning her hands to his chest. “I’d like that,” she declares softly.

With those words, Killian’s heart feels like it’s about to fly right out of his chest in fluttery, hesitant joy and optimism. “Then we’ll do exactly that.”

———

And they do.

There’s things to do, and stops to make, but now, almost a month after Emma’s miraculous cure, they’re finally faced with the open sea and no plans to speak of.

Killian can’t wait.

Things with Emma are… evolving. They’re both fully aware of the power of that kiss, and what exactly it means, but it’s still terrifying to admit that. They’ve both been hurt by love, scarred in physical and emotional ways that they carry with them to this day. This feels different, and Killian will be the first one to admit it - light and hopeful and genuine, all feelings that he’s all but forgotten in the past three hundred years - but he still carries that memory of how deeply love can hurt when it’s ripped away from you. It’s terrifying to commit to that - to hand over such a power to another person again.

Still, they’re evolving. They spend their nights telling stories and searching out different constellations before Emma retires to his bunk and Killian to the cot placed where her ridiculous tub had once sat, now just a bathing vessel again. They’d tried sleeping apart - the crew had gladly cleared out a cabin for Emma and Tinkerbell to share as they ventured back towards a town where Emma could procure new clothes - but had both discovered that they’d come to find a comfort in the other’s presence, even in the short amount of time they’d travelled together on their search for a cure. After that, they’d quickly agreed with barely any discussion to bring the cot in instead. Killian insists Emma take the bunk, even if it’s likely not any more comfortable. It’s the least he can do, especially since he’s trying to rediscover how to be a gentleman again.

(For her - all for her. It’s funny how, even at his most hesitant, Emma makes him want to be the kind of man she deserves again.)

As slowly as their relationship is developing, Killian like learning how to enjoy all the little gestures of blooming affection again. Every brief touch sends butterflies into flight in his stomach, every smile carefully catalogued to see how he can elicit it again. They’d had an almost perfect day when they’d stopped in a small village to restock supplies and procure Swan some clothes of her choice, as Killian was able to grasp her hand and twine their fingers together to lead her through the market. When he’d bought her a flower on a whim, a soft pink Middlemist rose, Emma had blushed prettily before taking it with a small smile and gentle fingers. In that moment, he’d finally started to embrace the hope that the two of them could truly become something together. He’d even given her a kiss on the cheek goodnight.

(Tink had teased them mercilessly after that, even more than she already had, but it had been easy enough to ignore her behind his haze of happiness. Still, it’d been a relief to leave the smug fairy at the port of her choice to try and find a way to earn her wings again. Killian wishes her the best of luck.)

With Tinkerbell gone and no more curse or impending death hanging over their heads, there’s a sense of peace about Killian that he thinks Emma feels too, especially now that they’ve reached open waters once again. Privately, he wonders if she’ll miss her tail one day - not the curse itself, but the ease in the water that her scales had brought. It’s far too soon to broach the topic though, and Killian has a plan anyways - he’s heard before of bracelets from Glowerhaven that can grant the wearer the tail and powers of a mermaid for as long as they wish, and he’ll be happy to buy them both such a bauble if that day ever comes.

Emma waits at the deck’s railing, surveying the waves as sunlight bounces off their peaks and glitters in the clear day. She looks so beautiful like this, so human and happy that Killian can’t help but stop for a moment just to watch. There’s still something of the siren in her, with her lovely blonde curls and long legs in soft breeches and boots calling to him, but he knows that now, that’s only because he’s utterly enchanted in the most mundane, non magical way. True Love - if he’s brave enough to grab it. With that thought bouncing around his head, he finally takes the finally steps forward to stand next to Emma, his hand and hook placed on the rail alongside Emma’s. She casually - a little too casually - twines her pinky finger around his, almost short circuiting his mind, especially with the small smile she offers him after he stares in awe at their entwined fingers a moment too long. That brings him back out of it.

“Do you know where you want to go, love?” he asks. That’s another thing to get used to - learning to mean every letter of those little nicknames he’s tossed around so casually with other women again.

“Everywhere,” she grins back, the note of teasing in her voice belied by the fact that he knows she really does want to explore the entire world and somehow try to make up for 600 years trapped in the same place. Maybe tonight he’ll test his luck and kiss her again - it’s hard not to want to when she says things like that.

“As you wish, love,” he replies, moving to squeeze her entire hand.

They’ve got an awful lot of world to see, and ocean to cover, and the rest of their forever to do it in.

#cssns #captain swan #cs ff #my writing #A Drowning Soul Will Clutch at Any Straw #mermaid!Emma

[kagehinataboke]

9. BAKUTODO, CAN BAKUGOU BE A PIRATE PLS!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU ARE AMAZING!!!

ahh i think you meant 8 dear, but absolutely!! uwu

tdbk: [8] pirate/navy captain

***

“A storm is coming.” Todoroki stands at the helm of his ship, squinting carefully at the eerily calm turquoise sea. The waters always calm like this right before a huge storm, and the clouds on the horizon are shifting into gray clumps.

“How can you tell, Captain?” one of the midshipmen, Kirishima, asks nervously. He’s one of Todoroki’s newest shipmates: The king decided he needed a bigger crew. It’s really just to try and slow him down—he keeps making all the other navy officers look bad by, you know, doing his job too well.

“It doesn’t matter how I know: just tell the men to lower the sails.” Todoroki pushes past Kirishima to reach the ratline leading to the crow’s nest. He’ll have to plot out a safer course. Last time a storm caught them unawares, the swells were so intense that the ship’s keel was nearly broken on an outcropping of sharp rocks. Not pretty.

It looks like it’s coming from the east. If he moves the ship west, they should avoid the worst of it. However, there’s an island between them and their destination in the northeast. Looping around it will add two days to the trip… Damn. Can they withstand the rough waters instead?

“Captain, there’s something fast approaching from the west!” a crewman calls from the deck.

“What now?” Todoroki murmurs, turning to face the newest problem. Oh boy, is it a problem. As if the storm isn’t bad enough, there’s another ship approaching from the starboard side—a ship Todoroki wishes he didn’t recognize. Ground Zero, captained by Bakugou Katsuki, the most feared pirate on the seven seas. They’ve run into each other more than enough times for the mere sight of the black sails to cause Todoroki incredible irritation.

“Hard to port!” he yells frantically. “We can’t let them get next to us!” He leaps to grab a rope and slide down to the deck, swearing under his breath. “How is it so fast—“

The pirate ship rams into them before he can finish his sentence, knocking Todoroki and the crew off their feet. Water rockets over the side, smacking him from every direction before the ship settles again. Todoroki coughs, unable to figure out why the world is spinning. Before he can piece it together, a boot hits the deck beside his head. Strong hands seize him by the wrists, easily flipping him onto his back. 

“Well, what do we have here? I didn’t expect to run into you.”

Todoroki sighs slowly. “Bakugou… I can’t exactly say it’s a pleasure.”

The smirking pirate captain leans closer, the brim of his hat offering a blissful curtain of shade over Todoroki’s eyes. “What? It’s definitely pleasurable for me.”

“Because you’re robbing my ship for the third time in two weeks?” Todoroki replies, stubbornly turning his head to avoid eye-contact. “Yes; I’m sure you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Obviously.” Bakugou flips Todoroki on his back to bind his wrists with a familiar, annoyingly-secure bowline knot. “I’m sorry we keep meeting like this,” he continues while hoisting him to his feet, not sounding sorry at all. “I do love tying you up, though.”

“You’re disgusting,” Todoroki mutters, flexing his wrists experimentally. There’s no leeway, but Bakugou didn’t tie them tight enough to hurt. His kindness is even more annoying than his shameless flirting. “Just do the deed and get the hell off my ship.”

“When you say it like that, it makes me want to fuck you even more,” Bakugou says conversationally, pushing Todoroki against the ship’s main mast with the rest of the crew. “Find anything?” he yells over to his men, who are busy raising the cabin. “Make it fast: bad weather’s on its way!”

Todoroki grits his teeth. “So you’re planning to rob us and leave us to die in this storm? Is that it?”

Bakugou crosses over to him with a sugary smile. “Not so, pretty boy: we’ll take you with us.” He waves his hand in a circular motion. “Hurry it up, men! We’re leaving now!”

“Wait,” Todoroki tries to protest, but Bakugou is stronger than him—especially when his hands are tied. “Hey, you can’t just… you can’t just leave my ship and crew here! Are you listening to me?”

“I am, and I really wish you’d talk less. Or maybe use your mouth for something else.” Bakugou crosses the gangplank connecting their vessels, pushing Todoroki along ahead of him. “It’s nothing personal: I need to kidnap you at some point. It’s high-seas protocol.” The captain grins. “Oh, but don’t worry: I’ll treat you gently the first time.”

“I’d rather swim with the sharks.”

“Well, that can be arranged.” Bakugou starts to tip him over the edge.

Todoroki grits his teeth, reluctantly leaning against the pirate’s annoyingly firm chest to keep from falling to a watery death. “Okay, fine! Just take me aboard your stupid ship already.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Now let’s get out of here.”

***

Todoroki has been on board Ground Zero for five days, and no one has come looking for him. He’d be angry if the king gave a damn about him or any other member of the royal navy—but he doesn’t, so Todoroki isn’t. He is, however, tired of the countless sexual advances. As one can likely imagine, they get tiring after the fiftieth time.

“It’s never going to happen, so stop asking.”

“You should be happy that I am asking. I’m a terrifying pirate, y’know: I could be much less considerate. Besides, I’ll wear you down eventually.”

“I don’t think so.” Todoroki wants to look away, but there’s nothing else to see in the small room Bakugou’s been keeping him in. With just a cot and a table, he feels like a princess in a tower. “Someone will come searching for me eventually. It would be wise to drop me off at the nearest port.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” Bakugou hums with an annoying smirk. “Those fucking royals could care less about you, no matter how pretty you are.”

Todoroki can’t argue, so he stares out the tiny porthole window instead. He supposes things could be a lot more insufferable: Bakugou is being as gentlemanly as a pirate can be, and living conditions could be much worse. Still, having his ego bruised is making him very sour about the whole thing.

“Still playing hard to get?” Bakugou sighs, tapping the edge of one boot against his chair leg. “That’s what I like about you, Shouto: stubborn to a fault.”

“That’s funny, because I despise everything about you.” Todoroki’s face goes red. “And don’t call me by my first name.”

“You’d like me if you got to know me.”

“Oh, so if I sleep with you, you’ll suddenly become much less of a terrible person?”

“I can absolutely guarantee it.”

Todoroki scowls and looks at Bakugou again, studying his face closely for the first time since their meeting. He’s good-looking: he can begrudgingly admit that much. Unlike most pirates, he’s clean and tidy around the edges—and aside from the swearing and anger issues, he’s polite enough to be a civilized person. Of course, his… appetite is still rather annoying.

“I can’t understand you,” Todoroki mutters eventually, turning his attention back to the window. “You’re weirdly considerate, and you have passable manners… Are you really a pirate?”

“I wasn’t always,” Bakugou replies, leaning back in his chair to cross one leg over the other. “That’s all I am now, though. Anything I was or wasn’t before is useless to discuss.”

“It’s not so bad,” Todoroki says after a moment of pause. “Being a pirate, that is. There’s no one to tell you what to do or where to go. It must be nice.”

“Yeah?” Bakugou scoffs. “You must think having the whole world as your enemy is great, too.”

There’s nothing to say to that, either. Dammit, why is he so relatable? Todoroki can feel his resolve thinning by the minute. He knows he should try to escape, but… where can he go? They’re on the open sea hundreds of miles from shore. He’s trapped.

Then again, this isn’t the worst place to be stuck—or, necessarily, the worst person to be stuck with.

“Three days,” Todoroki sighs eventually, looking at his captor again. He might as well do something while he’s stuck on this godforsaken ship.

“What was that?”

“I’ll give you three days to win me over. If you don’t, you’ll drop me off at the nearest port.” Todoroki holds out a steady hand. “Deal?”

Bakugou shakes his head with a widening grin. “You really are an interesting guy…” He reaches out and takes Todoroki’s hand. “You got a deal, pretty boy.”

“Okay, first tip to winning me over: don’t call me that.”

#this au is so #💯💯💯 #im dying #todobaku #tdbk #my writing #bnha #trope prompts #calla.txt #i could write 1047908 more words of this tbh #shit

[shytalia]

A Prince and a Pirate’s Fate - Chapter 3

Summary: When the future King and Queen of the Spade’s Kingdom come of age, a mark appears on their body. Alfred is the kind Prince of Spades, heir to the throne. Arthur is his fated husband, the future Queen. The only problem is, Arthur is one of the most infamous pirates to sail the seas, a wanted man in all four kingdoms, and he violently refuses his place in the castle.

No attempts at capturing him have been successful and he remains on the run, fulfilling his lust for defiance. Alfred, following his nineteenth birthday, decides to take the task of bringing Arthur home into his own hands.

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Also available on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytalia

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Chapter Three

Start at Chapter one here: https://shytalia.tumblr.com/post/611878754309079040/a-prince-and-a-pirates-fate-usuk-fanfic

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The following morning, Alfred woke up with a start. A loud noise aroused him from his slumber in a small inn room overlooking the sea. He was horrified to see the infamous ship beginning to sail away.

“No, no, no, shit!” He threw on some spare clothes and bolted out the door, running frantically to the shoreline where the ship had already left. “Fuck, fuck! What am I supposed to do now?” He yelled out to the sea, causing a few concerned looks from the locals. He looked frantically from side to side, only pausing when he saw a smaller boat not too far down the shore at a different pier. Even better, there was an old fisherman on it.

“Sir!” He waved his arms above his head at the man as he ran towards him, who in turn looked at him as if he were crazy. “Sir, I need to catch that ship there.” He pointed dramatically towards the fleeing vessel. But maybe it was going slow enough for them to catch. “I beg you, take me to it with your boat. I’ll even pay you for your trouble, look.” He dug out a thick bag from one of his pockets, opening it up to reveal shiny gold coins and offered them all to him. He had brought money with him for obvious reasons, but it would be useless to him if he lost Arthur now after he had just found him.

“W-What? I can’t accept this. Young man, this is too much for a simple ride--”

“No time! It’s yours, all I ask if you get me to that ship.” He begged again, urging the greying fisherman to accept his offer. After some thinking, the old man sighed and relented, allowing Alfred to hop onto his boat before preparing for a speedy chase. Thankfully Arthur’s ship hadn’t released their sails fully yet, so they were going at a leisurely pace propelled mostly only by the calm waves. That being the case, it was easy even for a small boat such as this one to catch up to them before they made it even farther out. Their small vessel rocked hurriedly against the current, coming up upon the massive, wooden form.

“Arthur! Arthur, come on! Stop! Arthur!” He yelled, but his voice was hardly audible over the thunder of the waves against the ship.

Their presence did not go unnoticed, however. As soon as Alfred was confident they could over pass the large ship and get in front of it, he was greeted by rifles being pointed directly at them from over the dock. The Fisherman gasped and in his panic turned the boat sharply, not taking into consideration his land-legged passenger.

“Whoa!” The young prince stumbled and fell, crashing into the cold waters below. He managed to resurface, taking a loud gasp of air only to see his only way out, the fisherman, was quickly driving away back towards the distant shore. Wow, did they really go that far out? He could hardly even see the land anymore as he peered into the distance.

A rush of panic pooled over him. He was stuck in the middle of the ocean! He could try to swim back but his heart was already beating hard from adrenaline and the water was cold on his skin, there was no way he was going to have the energy to swim that far without a rest.

What made it worse, he realized the ship he had been so fervently chasing after was now turning back towards him. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” He chanted, making his last dues with the gods because Captain Kirkland was going to absolutely crush him with that ship. But before he succumbed to the violent waves roaring off the wooden vessel, it slowed and turned slightly, until it came to a halt just a ways away.

Confused and scared, Alfred could feel himself growing tired already as he worked to keep himself afloat. He guessed the sadistic sea captain just wanted a front row seat to watch him die. He really was an idiot, now his kingdom would have no future queen or king.

Just when Alfred started to feel himself start to slip ever so slightly under the water, his energy draining out of him, he heard the distinct smack of something nearby hitting the water. Looking, he could see what looked like a large ring floating towards him. Desperate to find purchase on something solid, he used the last bit of his energy to make his way to it and grabbed it.

He sighed in relief and allowed the ring to pull him slowly closer to the ship and eventually even up towards the deck.

It wasn’t until he actually reached the top that his peculiar situation dawned on him. He was just pulled aboard an infamous pirate ship, one whose crew were guilty of all sorts of inexcusable acts, and now he was at their mercy. He was dragged onto the hard wood and breathed deeply, trying to catch his breath. He could feel the bodies surrounding him without even looking. He knew he had to meet his makers at some point, so he slowly stood up and glanced around at the people who circled him like vultures.

Just as he expected, he was met with various different faces, most of which looked like they wanted to rip him apart piece by piece. Others held expressions of curiosity and a few, much to his dismay, looked openly hungry as they glanced him up and down. He swallowed hard and stood his ground, wondering if he would have fared better in the ocean after all. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a different familiar voice.

“You bloody, absolute, incomprehensibly stupid git !” The voice yelled, a path between the rough men and women surrounding him parted to reveal the shaggy haired captain storming forth. Without hesitating, Arthur grabbed the prince by his soaked shirt and pushed him against the wooden frame behind him, the only thing separating Alfred from yet another watery struggle down below. “What the hell do you think you were doing? How stupid can you possibly be? Augh! I should have left you to die!” He was practically screaming in the young man’s face, and yet, Alfred only stared at him in awe.

“But...you didn’t.” It dawned on Alfred in a matter of moments. The horrible, vile, quick tempered villain of the seas had shown him some level of mercy. It was against everything Alfred had ever heard about Arthur. “Arthur, you saved my life.”

“Like hell I did, git. Consider yourself in debt.” The British captain grumbled in return, face twisting in disapproval at the accusation that he might have actually saved Alfred just out of kindness. “And it’s Captain Kirkland, to you.” He corrected, finally releasing the younger man with a rough push sideways, causing the boy to stumble away from him.

The blonde pirate took a few steps back from the confused prince, his eyes never leaving him. It was like a predator glaring down its next meal. “Take him to The Hole.”

“Huh?” Without hesitation, Alfred felt large hands grab his arms and start to pull him away. Much to his distress Arthur was not following after them and was fading into the distance as he was dragged away. “W-Wait! Hold on, just let me talk to you for a minute!” He struggled to get out of the iron grip that had him, only for it to tighten as a result and pull him faster.

Alfred found himself thrown into a cold cell deep below the ship’s surface and left to sulk there despite how he tried to convince the pirates to do otherwise. “Let me out! I want to talk to Arthur!” He yelled into the dark air, shaking the cell door with loud clunks. This did nothing to affect his captors and he was left alone to wait.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

It was hard to tell how much time had passed as he stayed there in the dim light. He sat on a small cot, hardly better than the damp floor itself but he supposed he should be thankful for it. For a time he waited and listened for any sign of life, but the only sound he could hear was his own breathing and the rumble of the waves outside.

Strangely, it was almost a soothing sound, considering they had nearly killed him not too long ago. The young prince closed his eyes and listened. The waters were powerful and threatening, easily they could grow at any moment and swallow the entire ship whole. Despite this, they rocked the vessel mercifully, and their cycle of kissing the wood helped lull him into a light slumber.

Why did he suddenly enjoy the sound of the waves so much?

They were nice, sure. He had visited beaches and sailed plenty of times to attend to royal duties in other lands, but all those times he had never simply sat and listened. It was like the waves themselves were sirens beckoning him to open his ears and jump in, not some mythical creature.

What was it that had him so unexpectedly fascinated, then?

Was it the ocean's ability to have ferocious, destructive power, only for some divine reason it chose not to use it and gave them compassionate seas instead?

Thump.

Perhaps it is its beauty, the way it shined and sparkled against the sun?

Thump thump.

Or even the way its salt littered the air, forcing him to breathe it in. A familiar scent, where was it from again?

Thump thump thump.

Alfred sighed softly, subconsciously aware of the noise that grew ever closer to his cell. His mind swirled in an attempt to place that taste of salt water dancing on his lips. Where had he tasted it before?

“Oi, are you asleep? Wake the hell up!”

A loud, unforgiving voice startled him from his sleep. He jostled awake, sitting up from his lazy position against the makeshift bed. He stared wide-eyed towards the caged door for the intruder, only to find the one person he actually wanted to see standing on the other side.

“Arthur!” Alfred didn’t try to hold back his obvious joy at seeing the older man, which only earned him another hard scowl.

“It’s Captain Kirkland, you capital tit.” The shorter man corrected quickly. He didn’t move as the prince stood up and practically ran towards the bars, merely inches away from the man he was supposed to marry, but unable to touch him.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to make you so upset.” The wheat blonde’s frown looked sincere, only because it truly was. An aspect Arthur silently thought was too rare in apologies these days.

Still, he didn’t understand why the boy was quite so apologetic about simply calling him by his first name. Of course it was disrespectful to Arthur, he had earned the title through years of work and terror, and did not appreciate some arrogant wannabe from the capital thinking he could address him otherwise. But, most would apologize from fear of punishment, not genuine sorrow. “You must know how important names are, being from the big city and all.” That must be it. There, a certain few names of the rich and powerful ruled everything. But here on the sea? His name nearly ruled it all.

“What? Oh, yeah, I mean, I’m sorry about that too. I’ll call you Cap if you want.” Alfred’s apologetic face quickly upturned with an almost amused smile, before he suddenly remembered something and it shot down again. “I meant I’m sorry for upsetting you last night, you know, at the bar? I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I really just wanted to understand you better. I didn’t know it was a sensitive subject for you and I didn’t mean to make you mad. Are you still upset?”

Of all the things Arthur thought the boy might say, it certainly wasn’t that. He gawked at him for a moment, unable to decide if he should be angry at him for bringing it up again or impressed with his honesty. Though really, what the hell did Alfred care about his feelings? He was a pirate! Not only that, he was one of the most feared captains in all four kingdoms. He wasn’t one to be coddled, but it made him realize, it had been quite a long time since he heard anyone ask him such a compassionate question.

“I...suppose not.” He settled finally, watching carefully as Alfred’s face shifted from worried to a large grin. It accentuated his nice face, really. He looked much better with a smile than that sour face from before. This ‘capital tit’, admittedly, had a nice, goofy smile to accompany his shining, blue eyes. It was like staring into the depths of the ocean itself. Arthur would know, he had done just that many times before, after all. The realization startled him a bit and he cursed himself for losing focus.

“So,” the grinning man beamed at him with a hopeful gaze. “Will you let me talk with you now that you aren’t mad? Just a little bit, so I can get to know you better.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to smile, though it wasn’t the optimistic, toothy grin Alfred had. No, his was much more sarcastic, and he smirked as if he had just been told a nasty joke.

“Idiot, are you really not understanding the situation you’re in right now?” He placed his rough, calloused hands on his hips as he stared at his hopeful prisoner.

“Huh?” Judging by Alfred’s response, he did not.

“Here you are, on my ship, in my cell, as my prisoner, and you want to talk as if we were just friends?” He said it as if it was obvious his request was insane, since for anyone else it would be! Anyone else in their right mind would be scared shitless being the infamous pirate’s captive. Maybe Alfred really was just plain stupid after all.

“Have you really not figured this out yet? I could kill you...I could torture you...I could make you my play thing then dump you into the sea when you start to bore me.” His face twisted sharply, his Cheshire grin roughening at the edges. “I thought about it, you know? It wouldn’t be hard, after all. I could make you do whatever I wanted and there would be nothing you could do to stop any of it.” It was a face of such sadistic pleasure that Alfred had never seen a human morph like that before. It sent a chill down his spine as his eyes unwillingly locked on it, unable to force them away.

Ah, there it finally was. The fear.

Alfred’s stance stiffened and his blue eyes watched the captain carefully, even when Arthur stepped closer. His gaze remained on the pale man before him, even as said man broke the distance between them, reaching through the bars and caressing his face. It stung a little, he could only guess there was a dark bruise left from when he had been punched the night before. The touch was so gentle though, Alfred swore it had to be someone else’s hand. But it wasn’t, it was Arthur’s, and he smelt like sea salt.

Alfred swallowed the lump forming in his throat, “But...you haven’t.” He stated simply.

The hand on his cheek paused suddenly.

“What?” Came the surprised reply. Even if it was hidden deep under a low, dark mumble, Alfred could hear the confusion.

Alfred grew bolder and was quick to reply. “You haven’t hurt me yet, but you’ve had more than enough chances to.” The prince reiterated. Without thinking, he reached up and grabbed onto Arthur’s cold hand that still lay dormant on his cheek, gripping it gently in his own warm one. “From the stories I’ve always heard about you, you’re ruthless. You’re violent and you won’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in your way. But I can tell that’s not all you are, I know it’s not. You saved my life, cage or not, I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. You even held a knife to my throat for gods sake, Arthur, but I’m still here. Anyone else would call you a monster for it but I don’t see you that way. I don’t think you’re as heartless as people say you are.”

It was Arthur’s turn to go wide-eyed. His emerald eyes sparkled with so many emotions that Alfred could hardly keep up with them all. There was confusion, first and foremost. Denial, skepticism, doubt, and if he was right, a hint of fear.

The Brit jerked his hand out of the prisoner’s soft grasp, somewhere between fuming and disbelief. “Do not doubt me, I will make your life hell on earth.” He spit. And with that, the captain stormed away and out of The Hole.

“Cap? Hold on, wait! Arthur!”

But his cries were ignored, heard only by unsympathetic walls and the pacing sea.

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#usuk #fanfic #usuk fanfic #hetalia #aph #aph america #aph england #usuccc reblogged my fic omfg #one of my favorite tumblr blogs #i feel so honored XD #and their tags were funny af lmao #fanfiction #america #england #cardverse #cardverse usuk #pirate england #yo ho ho arthur doesnt know what affection is #surprise bitch

[courtorderedcake]

Riptide 1/13

An Enchanted Forest AU where the dark one was never released into the world in a vessel, thus causing a massive shift in timelines. The ogre wars have ravaged kingdoms, untold destruction spanning continents, rulers displaced. Even as the wars sputter to ash, the safest place to be is at sea, and that's not very safe at all - as Emma and Killian find out, fates intertwined against all odds.

Rated: E/X - heavy content : warnings of assault, rape, noncon, just everything, I feel like the rating says enough. It's something.

@captxinswans did the beautiful artwork accompanying this story. I can't thank her enough!

@ultraluckycatnd you don't know how much of a pleasure it was to work with you. Your kindness, insight, talent for editing, and parsing out my brief scribbled notes has been my anchor in many dark times where I thought I was done for. You are a cheerleader, and the best beta I could have ever asked for.

@distant-rose your pirate doc was completely invaluable, even if I said to hell with 67% of it for story purposes. Forgive me one day.

@shireness-says and @wingedlioness for reading the original snippets and believing that it could be more. @artistic-writer, @hollyethecurious, @doodlelolly0910, and @resident-of-storybrooke for getting me through a really rough emotional patch. Thanks y’all. It’s not better, but it ain’t worse. 

Read on Ao3 HERE .

Chapter I : Driftwood Like a plank of driftwood Tossed on the watery main, Another plank encountered, Meets, touches, parts again; So tossed, and drifting ever, On life's unresting sea, Men meet, and greet, and sever, Parting eternally. -Edwin Arnold

Emma cried quietly into her brother’s coat as he carried her at a fast pace down the hill. She could see the flames from the forest rising, flames that had already claimed their mother and father. The air was thick, the taste of the smoke and the acrid burning making her feel nauseous. The pine wood had burnt easily; the farm they had been lovingly raised on now nothing more than ash.

James spoke quietly but harshly. “Tell her to shut up, or we’ll leave her.”

Emma whimpered into David’s neck, trying to suck up her tears.

“James, you’re just scaring her,” he said as he stroked Emma’s hair. “It’s alright. We’re going to be okay.” Emma nodded under his coat. She snuggled into his neck and stayed quiet. “See? No need to frighten her.”

James grunted. “We need to find a place to stay for the night. A tavern is too risky, too many slavers. We’ll have to try our luck on the street tonight.”

Emma felt them start moving again, her brothers’ feet quiet on the cobbled streets. David set her down on a pile of hay laid out near a closed off alley. He gathered some rags they’d taken, mostly coats, and laid her small frame down in the pile.

“Sleep well, Emma. We’ll watch over you. We’re going to be just fine,” he whispered. David had always been like a second father to her, someone she trusted more than anything. He protected her from James’s constant tormenting, and kept things from their mother like when she snuck off to play in the frog pond, or when she beat a boy twice her size bloody for tormenting a barn cat with a stick. Emma was a terror at five summers old, and David was her grounding force.

She tried to fall asleep on the hard ground, but James was talking in hushed tones to David. Keeping still, she angled her head to hear the conversation better.

“We should leave her. We can get jobs, but she’s just a mouth to feed and a crybaby that can’t do hard labor. She acts like a spoiled princess; she’ll slow us down and we’ll get caught.” Emma felt her chest constrict. She’d been the brunt of James’s rage before, but now his tone was cold and calculated. Emma wondered, not for the first time, how he could possibly be her flesh and blood.

“I’m not leaving our sister,” David growled. “We have to protect her. We’re all she has now.”

“We could sell her to the man Father sold eggs too. The slaver.” Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She tried to stay quiet and not audibly cry. “We could get away from here and get jobs on a ship with him or as blacksmith apprentices, maybe even as a page for a knight-”

“We are not selling our flesh and blood. What is wrong with you?” David sounded appalled. “You would give her over to a life of possible torture just to fill your purse with coin? Would Mother be proud of that? Or Father?”

“Mother and Father are dead, burnt to a crisp by a war that is now in our realm. They’re ash in the dirt; they don’t give a fuck about you, our stupid little bitch of a sister, or -” A crack rang out.

Emma opened one eye to see James on the ground holding a bloody nose as David stood above him, fists balled, nostrils flaring.

“Don’t ever speak of them like that,” he said lowly. “They gave us everything; they wanted us to have a better life, to grow into-”

“Grow into WHAT?” James hissed, wiping blood from his face. He chuckled darkly. “A lord? A king? You know as well as I do we would rot with them there on that farm forever in pig shit,” he spat. “We would waste away at the farm while Princess over there was shook in front of a lord until he gave her a title so she’d spread her legs. Then we’d all go live with Lord Rich and Lady Fuck Trophy Emma until they screwed enough to make some heir. I want more, and I’m not going to sit here while you baby our meal ticket.”

David grunted. “Then get moving. We don’t need you here to try and -” Emma couldn’t hear what he said, his voice lowering in pitch for a moment, spitting out something that made James eyes gleam with malice. David’s voice rose again. “Don’t think I don’t know why Mother asked me to keep an eye on her. I know why you were stuck on the farm more often than not.”

James laughed again darkly. “Fuck you. Remember this when you’re rotting somewhere. You chose her over your twin.” Emma heard his footfalls retreating.

“And I’d do it again.” David sat down, continuing his watch as Emma finally drifted to sleep.

Over the next few days, David and Emma tried to keep away from slavers and do some begging to keep their bellies full. They managed to find a decent piece of stale bread in the rubbish on the first day, and David charmed a tavern wench for some water and a hot pie to split on the second night. They didn’t talk about James.

On the third day, James came back, humbled. He had found a small safe spot to sleep down by the docks and begged David for forgiveness. Emma felt something pull in her stomach and pulled on David’s hand, shaking her head no. Something felt wrong. It pulled at the pit of her stomach like a rope pulling water from a well, something deep in her gut responding to his words.

“Let her stay here then, if she likes,” James snorted. “I’m just asking forgiveness.”

David looked at her pleadingly.

They went.

Every step closer, Emma felt her stomach tightening into knots. The docks were covered in fog and she felt eyes peering out that she couldn’t see. Rats scuttled across wood planks making strange scratching noises, and the sea waves made wet sounds against the creaking ships. She pulled tighter on David’s coat, hiding almost completely behind his form.

“James, are we almost there? I-” She felt David tense through the coat.

“Is this them?” a low, gravelly voice said. It sounded like someone who had chewed too much devil weed, their throat permanently changed from the chew.

“Yes. Ten summers, and five summers,” James said.

“Emma, Emma run!” David yelled, pushing her back. She tried to run through the fog, but huge hands lifted her easily as she kicked. She heard David’s knees hit the dock hard.

“Ah, now brother,” James dangled a purse of coins in front of his face as a huge man covered in tattoos held him by his hair. “You and Emma have me started on my journey into knighthood. Two hundred pieces for you two, although you were worth more than her. If only she was older, then I could have bought my own house!”

He kicked David roughly in the side, laughing as David fell over holding his abdomen.

“I told you you’d regret it.” He cast a glance at Emma. “Pity you didn’t listen.” He leveled one more hard kick to David’s ribs and spat. “Goodbye.”

Emma cried in the darkness as the men carried David and her onto a boat, throwing them into an awful smelling cell filled with other small bodies. Emma cried harder, crawling over to David, checking if he was ok. She sobbed into him when he tried to hug her.

“Shhhh!” said a voice next to her. She looked over and saw a boy with tangled black hair looking down at his feet. Even in the dim light, when he looked up, his eyes were unmistakable, a brilliant bright blue. “If you’re too loud, they’ll whip you.”

Emma tried to bite back another sob, but it ripped out before she could help it. Eyes around her began to stare, looking in fear toward the door where a shadow began to appear. Emma tried to stop, panicked and hiccuping.

She heard a low voice from a different cell hiss out. “Killian, don’t you dare-”

The man had descended the stairs and had a large whip in his hands, one with several heads coming out of the handle. Emma was going to throw up and be sick; she couldn’t stop the hiccups.

“Who’s it now, makin’ all ‘tat ruckus?” said the man, opening the cell door. “Ah, it be the pretty ‘lil missus cryin’. Well now, let’s givya somethin’ to wail about, shall we missy?” He raised his hand with the savage looking whip and Emma tensed, her body going rigid, hearing its crack but feeling nothing.

The boy had rushed in front, taking the lashes, and the man laughed. He pushed the boy aside, who was now bleeding from his back and shoulders. Grabbing her by her hair, he took a small pocket knife and ran it under her ear. She could smell his rancid breath, filled with onions and something bitter.

“Lucky yer ‘lil friend thar saved yer pretty skin. One day when yer sold fer whorin’, ye’ll not want ‘dem scars, missy.” He pressed the knife under her ear and she whimpered when she felt blood run down her neck. It bit into her skin and she shrieked, feeling the sharp burn as it peeled away skin. “Now, ma dear, best ‘member who gave ye yer first scar. Bradshaw the slaver.” He dropped her, and she crawled back to David, who grabbed her close.

Bradshaw laughed, his huge gut shaking, and closed the door. He stumbled back up the stairs and Emma looked at the boy. Hands were reaching through the cell, an older boy with the same blue eyes examining the bleeding lashes. Ripping off part of her well worn and burned skirt into a strip, she crawled over to them, pressing it into the older boy’s hand.

Touching gently on the younger boy’s uninjured shoulder, she hugged him carefully, much to his shock.

”Thank you. I’m sorry,” she whispered, and scampered back to David.

She fell asleep for what felt like only seconds, when she felt hands cutting her hair. David was shearing her hair short. When he finished, she heard him slide the knife away from them.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled sleepily.

“You’re now Eric. And will only answer to that, do you understand?” David said through gritted teeth. Emma nodded, afraid. He handed her a pair of dirty men’s breeches. “Put these on. One of the boys died last night. We’re going to say it was you.” Emma’s eyes widened in shock. She looked quickly over to where the blue eyed boy was. He was sleeping, but through the cell bars, another pair of eyes the same color acknowledged her with a nod. She put the pants on without hesitation.

David nodded at the older boy in the other cell, and he nodded back. They spread her skirts over the frail body, and waited in silence for their fates, David’s hands gripping Emma’s tightly.

“No matter what happens now, until I say so, we’re brothers. David and Eric. They’ll sell us together.” Emma looked up at him and nodded again. “Good. We’ll be okay Eric. We’ll be alright.”

She looked over to the blue eyed boy, who was awake now, as who she assumed to be his brother whispered in his ear. She wondered if he was saying the same things David had. He held her ripped skirt like a talisman, as if it was the only thing that could protect him. Closing her eyes and wishing with everything she had, she hoped it would.

It felt like they had waited years in the bottom of the ship, heat and the stench of rot, shit, and piss all around them. She didn’t see Bradshaw again until he took the bodies of the lost out of the cells a few days after giving Emma her scar. He gave the skirted body a kick, muttering to himself about “girlies never making it.” Emma kept her head down. The blue eyed boy coughed slightly, and when she looked up he kicked something towards her. Picking it up, she recognized it as a knotted piece of leather. Emma smiled at him as he shyly looked down at the floor. She placed it in her pocket as she fell asleep.

They docked and were pulled out roughly, tied together by feet and hands in strange, looping knots. The auction was led by two people: the auctioneer, a loud monstrous man called Hyde, and his timid companion that collected monies, Jekyll. She and David watched as in the sun, the dark haired boy and his brother were sold to a private vessel as hands. She caught his blue eyes once more, blinking a goodbye she hoped he could see as Jekyll let the coins jangle into his purse with a lopsided grin.

A stern gray haired woman appraised them, and checked David’s teeth before haggling down the price from Jekyll. They were roped together on a leash for eighty gold pieces as the gray haired woman led them to a long ship and a new future.

Granny ran a tight kitchen galley, and Emma was the perfect size to stay compactly out of her way while washing pots and pans or peeling potatoes. David, at ten, was quick footed and small enough to climb the rigging into the crow’s nest of the ship and call down. They fell into their roles quietly and the captain of The Lion’s Heart let them know everyday that their place was beneath free men.

The Lion’s Heart was a merchant longship, stocked with silks, furs, and jewels. They stayed close to the coast furthest from trouble in the calmer currents, cutting a quick path through the water to drop off goods. The crew were hearty men, cold and stern, who did not take kindly to frivolity. While other crews could be heard at port singing raucous and bawdy songs from the taverns, the men of The Lion’s Heart found sharpening their weapons and wrestling each other a far better use of their time.

Emma and David stayed together as much as they could, accepting as much knowledge as they were given. The captain, Richard Kingsley, took David under his wing after a few months at sea. He found that David could read, keep ledgers, and was keen to learn to navigate. Emma learned about dice, climbing the rigging, and how to throw knives, as well as several of Granny’s secret recipes. Years passed, and although they were still slaves, they found their bearings like a compass held in one’s palm.

When Emma turned twelve, they gave her a birthday cake, and she felt like she almost had a family again. The crew began teaching them songs of the countries from the far West, as well as sword fighting. They taught David the traditional Northern style of heavy blades, and the Western style of quick, forceful attacks. Emma learned about fluidity, using your opponent's strength against themselves, death blows with a staff, and how to move so quickly you could shave a man’s beard without him knowing you used a scythe to do it. The latter was taught by a quiet South Eastern man with an accent, who always offered her sugar dates and pistachios. He showed her how to fold paper in the shape of stars, how to braid rope, twine and leather while telling her stories of the creatures of his desert homeland. The knotted leather piece she cherished was turned into a bracelet, braided beautifully in intricate patterns, blue beads and shells through it.

Before her fifteenth birthday, Kingsley became gravely ill. David took over much of the paperwork and the first mate, Nottingham, tried to keep the crew together. He hired more sailors to pick up the slack and for once, Emma saw Granny bristle with apprehension. Emma felt it too. Nottingham spoke in a way that reminded her of her other brother, James. It pulled at her when he announced the new, “honorable” men, and again when he said he hoped the captain got better. He had the same look James would get when he stole her meager portion of bread, leaving her with crusts.

She talked to David and he dismissed her worries, caught up in ledger balances and accounting for stock.

They left port laden with rich velvets, linens, furs, and silks, heading off towards the kingdoms that were flecked with snow. There was no way to stay on the coastline here; they’d have to cross open waters. Some of the crew seemed actively anxious as if they could feel something in the air.

Kingsley died at sea as they were crossing an icy strait the crew actually had to break apart with heavy picks. Nottingham didn’t shed a tear for his captain as he slipped under the cold, dark waters. Instead, he picked a new first mate, one with beady eyes that seemed to always be darting to something shiny - Walsh. Emma disliked him, but not nearly as much as Granny, who believed he was stealing fruit from her pantry.

The years became harder for Emma, as Eric became harder to make convincing. She bound her breasts tight as they grew, and when she got her first sign of the woman’s curse blooming red in her breeches, she used ripped burlap from potato sacks to line her sensitive parts. David was getting nervous for her as well. He’d grown into a tall teenager, muscled and strong, inheriting Kingsley’s charm at haggling with merchants. Kingsley had taught David to, in his words, “Sell a Merman pearls at full coin”.

When he’d asked if their debt was paid, Nottingham was immune to his silver tongue. Money was drying up, the newer crew and Nottingham having spent much of it on ale and taverns. Stocked goods were not making it to their buyers; rolls of velvet or silk missing, or worse, jewels and priceless valuables. David had offered to help and was whipped for insolence against the captain. Long time crew members left to seek better fortunes on the breeze with more honorable men. David and Emma were bound, however, by a contract Nottingham pulled out, signed by Mr. Kingsley before his death. When a ship got a new owner, the indebted aboard owed the new captain what was due at the time they were first bought.

They were slaves all over again.

The crew of late was mostly new folk; greasy haired, worm faced men that smelt of drink and piss. The ship was falling into disrepair, and Nottingham was having trouble picking up work. David had secured a deal to deliver ale to the next town over. A small paying job, but a job nonetheless.

Emma kept herself in the galley with Granny, trying her best to hide herself, though her womanhood was now almost entirely impossible to hide. Granny figured it out shortly after her eighteenth birthday. She had gotten Emma a heavy coat made of stiff material and breeches to match, along with a strange cup device that allowed her to bleed without worry during her curse.

“You were always too pretty to be a boy. Should have just been out with it ages ago, so Kingsley and me could have had at it. I’d have sent you to work at the tavern my granddaughter works at.” She sighed, looking down at the soup she was stirring as Emma peeled potatoes. “But now we have Nottingham and that creepy, twitchy, monkey man.” She threw pepper in the pot with force. “Can’t reason with those idiots.” In fact, the entire crew were stupid and lecherous, which was a dangerous combination.

Emma became more concerned about Granny’s warnings when David could no longer reason with the captain and his first. Walsh in particular was unconvinced that the tavern wouldn’t notice a cask or two missing from delivery. David’s protests earned him a sound lashing tied to the mast, where he cooked under the sun for hours before being undone to work until past sundown. When he collapsed in his hammock that night, sweat soaked and still bleeding, Emma was enraged. The rest of the crew joined the captain on deck to drink the ale they had no intention now of delivering.

She tended to David’s wounds, carefully cleaning them with water and a small bit of rum Granny had let her have. He groaned in misery, eyes rolling back into his head. She heard the clatter of feet above her as someone played an out-of-tune accordion.

“Stupid fools,” she muttered, ripping more cloth to wrap the worst of the rips across his back. Their singing and drinking the cargo disgusted her.

There was no warning that anything was amiss until that first crash. It felt like it was right on top of her as the harpoon split the wood easily. She screamed, but it wasn’t heard over the yells of the men on deck, drunken and scared.

“PIRATES! PIRATES OFF -” Another crash had her head spinning. She pulled David up, placing him against the landing of the stairs where a cannonball or stray harpoon would not hit. She ran on deck as fast as she could, sword gripped in hand.

The ship attacking had a black sail up, and they were drawing in fast as to her shock, they threw roped hooks into the rigging of The Lion’s Heart. The pirates flew over her head like gulls, calling out cries of war. The men on deck scattered like roaches, a few even jumping overboard like cowardly fish bellies. She took a stance, preparing to take arms to guard her brother.

A pirate landed near her with a thump. He was tall, and wore a dusty olive green long coat and a olive green tricorne hat that burnt orange curls spilled from. His face was obscured with an emerald green bandana that menacing green eyes peered out of. He moved quickly, drawing a large cutlass and lunged towards Emma.

Emma was quicker, and her training paid off. She was able to parry and dodge several blows with her own long rapier, catching her opponent off guard. She heard men dying around her and footsteps start to approach; she knew this wouldn’t be a fair fight. She moved quickly again and the cutlass caught her rapier, but not quite in time to stop it from loosing the bandana. It fell to the floor slowly, exposing red lips that smiled back at her.

“Good show, but you’re sorely outnumbered now, boy.” The revealed woman before her smiled.

Emma only gritted her teeth as she heard someone approach her from behind. Throwing an elbow back with all her might, she heard a shriek of fury as the approaching person clutched their nose.

The woman in green sighed. “Don’t do that again.” She whistled and pointed to a small form with dark brown hair, squatting on some barrels and watching with her head cocked. “Snow, show the boy what will happen if he steps closer to me.”

The one the green woman called Snow moved like water, in an instant fluidly pulling out a bow and arrow from seemingly nowhere. The arrow flew through the air with a whistle, landing in the space between Emma and the captain. The captain stood and faced her attacker.

“Now, be a good boy, and throw that sword aside - Your captain’s dead, only two men still live of your crew, and you might make it home to a sweet lass like Miss Snow here if you stand down, my little monkey.”

Emma heard the person behind her get up, and felt a knife at her neck. The point pressed hard, pricking her skin. She dropped the sword, as a voice hissed in her ear, “Ye broke m’ fuckin’ nose. I should kill ye now, ye idjit boy. Slit yer throat like a pig if -”

”Meri.” The woman in green shook long red hair from her hat, smiling placidly. “That is not how we treat those who almost best the Captain.” She felt the knife’s point weaken its pressure as the girl behind her sighed. It was definitely a girl behind her; she could feel her breasts pushed into her back, and the wind pulled tightly wound red curls in front of her own gaze.

Snow approached quietly and Emma startled. Meri laughed. “This boy’s a chicken; scared of lovely ladies.”

“Hush, Meri. He’s terrified. Captain Zelena, permission to search below?” Snow acknowledged the woman in green. In fact, the entire crew were all women.

“Go ahead. I want to question the crew of… What’s this ruddy ship’s name anyway?”

Granny came up from the galley with Snow in tow. “That would be The Lion’s Heart. I assume you’d be Captain Zelena?” She smoothed her skirts as Snow balked at her for having no fear of the sword pointed at her.

“That I’d be.” The woman in green curtsied, laughing. “And you are?”

“I’m the galley cook, they call me Granny. If you’re going to kill me and the boy, and the boy’s brother, do it fast. I tell you this, though. They’re hard workers, that lot, and so am I. We deserve a fair chance at another ship.”

“Oh, and what about the other crew members?” She pointed to an older man they’d called Rot Mouth for the stench of his breath and rudeness to everyone, and to Walsh.

Granny shrugged. “Those two aren’t worth the piss you’d get out of them.”

“And what are you carrying. Anything worthwhile?”

“Ha.” Granny spat out of the side of her mouth. “I wish. Casks of ale for a tavern, and these idiots drank half without even a deposit.”

Zelena seemed to think on it a moment, a slight frown on her face, while Meri rifled through Emma’s pockets, patting her down.

“Snow, go check on this other boy. See why he’s not up here.” Zelena made a dismissive gesture, looking around at the casks of ale.

“Yes, Captain.” Snow nodded, heading below deck once more.

“OI! CAPTAIN!” Meri exclaimed, with a dark laugh. “This ‘uns a chit! She’s a girl!” Emma’s eyes widened with fear and she looked at Granny.

Zelena, however was delighted. “Well then. This is promising. A chit like that who can hold her own against me without training for weeks.” She shot Meri a look, and Emma felt the girl tense.

Walking over to Walsh and Rot Mouth, Zelena pulled them both up and examined them. Walsh trembled in fear, while Rot Mouth swayed slightly, still drunk. Zelena smiled her placid smile, and pulled their gags down.

“Hello, gentleman.”

Walsh looked as if he was about to pass out, and Rot Mouth glared, still swaying.

“We could use a few cleaning hands on my ship, what say you? Are you up to swab some decks in exchange for keeping your necks attached to your heads?”

For his response, Rot Mouth spat a wad of yellow spit. It had barely touched the ground as Zelena’s face contorted, and her sword was up in the air for a split second before it settled, slicing his neck. Rot Mouth clutched at his throat, dropping to his knees. His body finally reacted after seconds that felt like minutes, squirting blood all over the deck.

Zelena wiped blood from her face, flicking it off absentmindedly. She turned to Walsh, the placid smile returning and eyes glittering.

“How about you, my little monkey?”

“Yes, Gods, yes. I’ll do anything,” he trembled. “I pledge loyalty to you, Captain.”

“Good. We’ll discuss this further on my ship. Let’s see who else we can drag up here.” She glanced at Snow who was dragging a barely conscious David on deck. Emma blanched, yanking away from Meri, and helped to lay him down. Meri made no moves to stop her as Zelena came over.

“What happened to him?” she asked, nudging him with an olive colored boot. He groaned, blinking slightly, before looking at Snow.

“Are you an angel?” he said slowly, looking up at her with glazed eyes. Snow visibly flinched.

“He got flogged. He disrespected the old captain by suggesting the crew shouldn’t drink the haul,” Emma said dryly.

“Is he a hard worker like your Granny says?” Zelena asked, squatting to Emma’s level.

“Yes.”

“Will you and Granny join us if we don’t take him?” Zelena asked lowly, picking up his arm and letting it drop back onto the hardwood. Emma shook her head as a firm no. “What if we do take him? You’ll stay if he dies?”

“Yes.” Emma nodded. She looked back to David’s face, and Snow wiped sweat off his brow with her sleeve. “He’ll survive though. That’s what we do.”

Zelena’s ship, The Emerald Envy of Oz was beautiful. She was sleek, as fast as some naval runners, but her speed was balanced by a lack of firepower. At only twenty odd guns, they focused on bloody battles that left her crew always in need of new recruits.

Zelena cried out to her assembled hands, “HELL HATH NO FURY!”, listening to their cries of victory as they sped away from the burning hulk of the Lion’s Heart. David was taken away from Emma by Snow and a sandy brown haired man, disappearing below the deck. Emma felt the anxious pull in her chest watching him go.  

Zelena gave little thought to having few men aboard, Emma found with at first, a large bit of admiration. The crew was made up of almost entirely women to her shock. Since the beginning of the Ogre Wars, many felt it was safer to be on the seas than on land. What safe lands were left were constantly warring, leaving only minor claims for the thrones remaining. Allegiances born of gold and steel were far more lucrative in war time than those of blood and marriage.

Zelena wasn’t too proud to nod at the ex-royalty she’d collected. There was a brunette with huge doe eyes, reading in the crow’s nest. Once a princess in a long lost realm, they referred to her as Book & Belle, but mostly the latter. Snow, who at one point may have been heiress to the ruins of Misthaven, but now took refuge on this ship while her Step Mother tried to find safety on land. Rory, with Phillip and Fa, who had been a pedigreed princess before fleeing with her betrothed and his bodyguard during a brutal ogre siege razing their kingdom. Meri, who was from the lands to the far Northeast, where tribal law decreed she must vacate her throne to one of her three brothers. And now added to their motley crew were Granny, David and Walsh. Emma didn’t mention the contract, hoping it would be resigned to the past now that they were among free folk.

The few menfolk had a small bunk area in the bottom of the ship that used to be a holding cell, Meri had explained while showing Emma around. She seemed to hold no grudge for her nose, and had cracked it back into place as soon as they had made their way down the stairs below deck, relishing in the disgusted look Emma gave her. If anything, she seemed proud that Emma had practically knocked her nose into the backside of her skull.

“Aye, I love a tough lass, that I do.” She winked with total disregard at Emma’s confusion. Nodding her head, they walked through a doorway into the normal hammocked sleeping room for crews.

“Now ‘ere, let’s get that all off of ye.” She gestured at the menswear Emma had become accustomed to. Emma glanced at Meri’s choice of dress: some mixture of trousers and a cut off long shirt. Emma shook her head.

“I’ll wait until we get to shore. That doesn’t look comfortable.”

Meri shrugged. “Suit yerself. You can untie yerself at least, if it’s wot ya be wontin’.” She gestured at Emma’s chest, and left without saying anything more.

Emma let her breasts hang unrestrained, her shirt cut to allow air under her vest, and for the first time ever, joined the crew on the upper deck as her true self.

The work on Zelena’s ship was thankless and without end, even as part of the crew. Zelena, she found, was prone to moods of madness, where someone (usually male) would draw her ire and receive the full brunt of her rage. When it was a female member of the crew, it was usually and almost certainly due to Zelena perceiving a slight or one of her port side dandies favoring someone else heavy of the purse. She could come up with inventive and truly cruel tortures, and no one wanted to be the next singled out.

Emma had acclimated to being dressed as a woman for the most part. At port, she’d taken a small stipend and several of the female crew to help her pick out some clothes. There was, however, a vast difference in style preferences. Rory, Belle, and Zelena found form with flair to be their preferred choice. They wore cut skirts, draped cloaks, capes, dark brocade corsets, bejeweled pieces of fashion, and swirling silks in exotic patterns that could hide weapons or confuse their quarry. Snow and Fa liked function. They chose dark colors and sturdy fabrics, with light armored padding that allowed them to move with quick precision. Meri was a joyful and eclectic mix of both. Bright blue damask hid light armor, exotic pants that belled at the bottom, a corset made of soft cream satin, an unbuttoned men’s frilled shirt, and an armored coverlet were among her prized possessions. Emma joined her in her style, choosing a mixture of breeches, skirts, a loose hook and eye corset, and a silken blouse.

Her outfit drew attention she was not used to, which she discovered quickly. The women hadn’t warned her, so used to it themselves that it seemed second nature when a lout tried to cup their ass. Emma’s shock brought them peals of laughter and a long conversation on the best places to cut a man that would leave him in pain for the rest of his life. When Emma experienced this first hand in a port, she found that the fat older man was not prepared to lose the tool he claimed he could use so well.

David healed slowly as the months passed, but he was soon up on the deck cleaning with Emma and showing his aptitude for maintenance on the ship’s armament. Walsh began his campaign of finding how far his head could snugly fit up their new captain’s derriere, and found that even a woman captain had plenty of space he could weasel into. The crew was stunned to find him announced as her first mate, and Meri demoted after a particularly hard week of punishment on her. In their hammocks later, Meri had tried to hide her low rumbles of tears and anger, but come morning, had found extra sweets rationed to her by Granny.

Granny in turn had come to take an extreme dislike to Zelena, who had called her food ‘barely palatable’. She’d been struggling baking the pastries and fine cakes Zelena demanded on a whim after making ports, her hands beginning to tremble from age as much as she tried to hide it. Emma and David had both begged Zelena to let at least one of them help her in the galley, but she’d refused. Emma had taken to waking up earlier to cut, dice, knead, and peel so Granny needn’t do as much with her hands, while Granny sought out the newest recipe Zelena coveted from any bakery willing to offer it.

Emma was sneaking back into the bunks one morning when a hand caught her wrist and pulled her into the shadows of the small hallway leading above. A hand covered her mouth as she tried to protest. Hot breath huffed in her ear.

”Well, look at this.” Walsh whispered. She could feel her body stiffen. “Someone is up early. They say the early bird gets the worm, and the second mouse gets the cheese.” She felt his hand slip under her shirt, and tried to pull away from him. He held her tighter, hooking a leg around her ankle. “They don’t say what happens to the sneaking slave girl that looks like a sweet.” His tongue ran along her neck, and she shuddered, feeling like her skin was trying to crawl away from her bones.

“Here’s what I propose. You get to keep sneaking around on your little jaunts to help your dear sweet Gramma, and I get to take what I want in my quarters, after the ship’s asleep. No one needs to know a thing, and you and I both get what we want.” He pressed into her, and she could feel the imprint of him like so many men before who had tried to push their luck. She struggled again, and he hissed a whisper into her ear. “Do what I say, or I tell Zelena. Think on it. I’d hate to see what might happen to a feeble old woman who serves Zelena no use, but shares the spoils.” He released her, and she stumbled away up to the brightness of the deck.

She only made it a minute before vomiting over the side.

#csbb 2018 #csbb #courtorderedcake #riptide #cs au ff #cs ff #cs au #captain swan fanfiction

[my-dear-hammy]

The Ship Wars

Masterpost

Chapter Thirteen: Shipwrecked

AN

Okay, extra warning, this chapter is gruesome.

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Warnings: Blood, death, shipwreck, descriptions of screams for amputations, yeah

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Hamilton's body was completely worn out. One from the long swim he just took to the Adrienne and two from the thorough fucking he received. He had tried to tell Lafayette who exactly was standing there, he couldn't form the words as his senses were exploding. Damn him. And because of it, Hamilton was now standing on the floating debris off his ship as she went under, pulling his crewmen out of the water.

Where was John?

The Monticello sank beneath the depths as well, the sea swallowing up both their ships.

If Jefferson wasn't dead already, Hamilton was going to kill him. Lafayette's ship circled around and pulled up as close as possible to Hamilton's wrecked ship, nothing but floating debris now, and started tossing out ropes and lowering skiffs so his crew could bring the still alive aboard. So much for the Captain goes down with the ship.

Hamilton grabbed men and supplies alike and shoved them into the boats, wishing desperately that he could climb into one himself. Not until he found John. John was the most important thing in his life and he'd done a piss poor job of showing it.

Hamilton was the worst friend someone could ever ask for.

He did find John. His eyes slid to the limp body draped face down over a large chunk of wood. "John," Hamilton rasped, jumping into the water and swimming over to him. He rolled him over, searching for any sign of life. The blood seeping from a wound in his side was both a good and bad sign. Hamilton pressed his fingers to John's neck in search of a pulse. "Someone get a boat over here!" Hamilton shouted upon finding a faint heartbeat.

If they started immediately, there was a chance he'd live.

***

Jefferson laid on a piece of debris of his own ship, the red blood showing starkly against the white wood. Pain. Unbelievable pain. Why hasn't Jefferson passed out from it yet? He should be unconscious or dead.

Right now, all he could find in himself was the question of whether the Marquis would come search his ship for survivors. When another ship came around the distant island and Lafayette's ship set sail to avoid them, Jefferson knew all hope of any survivors being rescued disappeared.

Right up until the dark ship sailed right up to the wreckage of Jefferson's ship and commands were being shouted for boats and possible survivors. Jefferson's eyes distantly locked on the British flag flying proudly. Who could possibly be way out here? Sailing in French waters without an envoy? "Is there anyone alive?" voices started shouting.

"Here," Jefferson croaked, pushing himself up onto his elbow. A boat rowed over to him and he could see the sailors grimace at Jefferson's condition, he could almost feel the bets being placed on his survival. Fuck them. Jefferson didn't die easy.They hefted him into the boat and rowed him back to the ship. As soon as they placed him on the deck, he demanded to see their Captain.

"your leg needs to be treated and the only person that has the authority to demand anything is another Captain."

Jefferson scowled and spat, "I am the fucking Captain. Captain Thomas Jefferson of the Monticello and I order you to deliver your captain to me or God help me I'll have you hanged." The poor sailors, eye widen slightly, not from fear but from recognition. Jefferson and the Monticello were famous names after all.

"I would be the Captain," said an unimpressive looking man as he stepped forward, taking in Jefferson's appearance as his sailor worked on treating it.

"Listen, the Hurricane and the Marquis de Lafayette are on a damaged ship, sailing east, they must be chased and sunk," Jefferson said, grimacing in pain as the sailor worked.

"No."

"What?"

"I said no."

"Do you know who I am?" Jefferson seethed.

"Yes, and my answer is still no."

"Who do you think you are?"

"I am Captain Aaron Burr and I don't care in the slightest about who you are. You're on my ship because you were stupid enough to lose yours. You don't give commands here," Burr said before turning to the sailor, "Make sure he lives, Andre will have my head if he doesn't." Burr's gaze rested on Jefferson's leg and added, "Amputate if you have to," then turned on his heel and walked away while Jefferson shrieked insults at his back. "Set a course for New York!"

Burr walked down the row of surviving men. "Which one of you is the first mate, your captain is currently indisposed and I need a report." No one stepped forward. "Did the first mate survive?" Burr asked.

A voice that belonged to a bruised man that had himself propped up against the mast answered, "I don't see him here. His name was Francis Kinloch. I also don't see James Madison, the real first mate in all but title."

Burr strode forward, "Who are you?"

"James Monroe. Third in command, at your service."

"What happened?"

"We were searching for a girl named Elizabeth Schuyler when we came across the Hurricane and the Adrienne who teamed up and took us down. Not before we sent the Hurricane to the watery depths."

"At least you managed something," Burr said degradingly, "The ship Elizabeth Schuyler was on was a merchant ship that was sunk recently. I came across the wreckage a couple weeks ago. Elizabeth is either dead or suffering on a pirate ship. Either way. She's lost."

Monroe cursed under his breath as Burr walked away, hands folded behind his back and posture erect, going to see to his other duties. "Heartless bastard."

Monroe tried to block out Jefferson's shrieks as the crew pinned him down to remove his leg. They tried to give him brandy to dull the pain but Jefferson spat it back in their faces, struggling against the men holding him down and shrieking, "TOUCH ME AND I SWEAR I WILL SLAUGHTER EVERY MAN ON THIS SHIP. I WILL START WITH YOU, I'LL GUT YOU LIKE A PIG AND PULL OUT YOUR GUTS TO FEED TO THE FISH. I SWEAR TO GOD." Monroe had to get up and leave when words turned into screams.

They were sailing for New York, all their progress lost and at what price? Was Hamilton even dead? Did they accomplish anything at all?

[captainswanluver]

CS FF: Man Flu

Summary: It’s Killian and Emma’s first wedding anniversary, but Killian is sick and has no clue what day it is.  To make matters worse, he is driving Emma crazy as she takes care of him.

Rating: PG

Note: So many men are big babies when they get sick (apologies to any men who may be reading this), so I thought the same could be true for our former pirate.  This goes back and forth between Emma and Killian’s POV.  Hope you enjoy it!  ~Steph

...Man Flu: Part 1/1...

~Emma’s POV~

Today is our first wedding anniversary.  This first year of marriage to Killian has been the happiest of my life.  

Minus the last three days, that is.  When I said the vows in sickness and health, I never imagined this.  

I squeeze my eyes closed as the ringing once again fills my ears. Why did I give Killian that damn bell?!  He's been ringing it incessantly for the last two days.  I thought it would be an improvement over him bellowing my name every five minutes, but I was sorely mistaken.  

Three days ago, Killian came down with a cold. The usual: scratchy throat, cough, runny/stuffy nose.  But you would have thought the man had contracted the plague.  He hasn't left our bed and complains about every little symptom.  Here's a man who has lost his hand, been hit by a car, been stabbed, nearly drowned, been tortured, and actually died.  I'm sure in his more than 200 years he's endured even more than that.  But somehow the common cold brings him to his knees.  

There's a name for this.  Man flu.  Basically, men act like babies when they become even slightly sick.  Apparently, my brave, strong, resilient pirate isn't immune to such an affliction.  And now I must also suffer.

The bell rings again, followed by a pitiful moan of "Emma".

"Coming," I grumble, as I head up the stairs.

I find him in our bed, the comforter pulled up around his neck.  Tissues are strewn everywhere. His hair is sticking up in all directions and his nose is red.  His blue eyes are watery.

I come to stand before him, hands on my hips.  "You rang?"

"Love, do you think perhaps you could close the curtains?  I'm afraid the sunlight is hurting my sensitive eyes."

I bite my lip, but nod.  "Sure."

I walk over to the window and pull the curtains closed.

"Not quite that much.  I enjoy a bit of light."

I feel my fists clench as I pull the curtains open a little, nearly pulling them off the rod with my vice-like grip.  

"Better?" I ask.

"Perfect," he says, offering me a weak smile.  "Thank you."

"Can I get you anything else before I go?" I ask.

"You're leaving?" he croaks.  

I sigh. "Killian, I've been waiting on you for three days. I have a job, you know.  I'm surprised this town hasn't been destroyed by monsters yet."

"My apologies for being so much trouble," he mumbles.

I roll my eyes.  I know what he's doing and it won't work.  

"Look, you have your cell phone right there.  If you need me, just call and I'll be back in no time at all."

"I don't want to be a bother," he mutters. "I'm sure I can fend for myself in my weakened state. After all, I've cared for myself most of my life."

I roll my eyes again and walk over to him, placing a kiss on his lips against my better judgment.  I don’t really want to risk getting sick, but a kiss usually placates him for a bit.

"You'll be fine.  I told you.  It's just a cold."

"I beg to differ.  I feel as if I am on my deathbed.  It must be scurvy."

"For the thousandth time, it is not scurvy."

"With all due respect, love, you aren't a doctor."

"True, but I do know how to google."

"What?"

"Look stuff up on the, as you would say, computer box."

"Oh. Proceed."

"And you have none of the symptoms of scurvy.  It's also very rare in modern times, mostly occurring in poor countries due to malnutrition.  What you have is the common cold."

"There's hardly anything common about it.  I don't see why I can't be given some medicine to cure this infernal disease."

"Because there's no cure for the common cold, which, by the way, is not a disease.  You just have to ride it out.  You can relieve the symptoms like we have been doing with over-the-counter drugs, but there's not much else you can do."

"I suppose I'll just suffer then."

I wait for him to acknowledge our anniversary, but he's so delirious from the meds and distracted by his constant whining, that I am pretty sure he doesn't have any idea what day it is.  

I try to hide my disappointment, as I hook my thumb in the direction of the door.  "Ok, I'm going to go now.  Call me if you need me."

"Goodbye, love," he says as I exit the room.

…

~Killian’s POV~

I miss Emma the moment she leaves.  I always miss her, but I am especially missing the fact that there is no one to care for me now.  If I ring my bell, then no one will come.

I have decided the common cold is far worse than any other affliction I’ve ever faced.  Being tortured in the Underworld is starting to sound preferable right now.

I sigh.  I’m also going mad with boredom.  Being confined to this bed for three days is absolute hell.  

I look at the television box.  Perhaps there is something on to distract me from my suffering.  Where is the small television box that changes the channels?

I look on the bed, but don’t see it.  I need Emma.  I need my wife.

...

~Emma’s POV~

"Happy anniversary," my dad says the minute I walk into the station.

"At least someone remembered," I grumble.  

My father's eyes grow wide. "Hook forgot your first anniversary?"

"I wouldn't say so much forgot as has no clue what day it is.  He's still sick and the meds are making him delirious.  He's also being a huge baby."

Just then, my mother walks into the station carrying a paper bag.

"I can only assume you're talking about Hook."

I nod. "Yup."

"No surprise there.  Men are such wimps when they're sick."

"Hey!" my father objects.  

My mother chuckles. "Oh come on, David. You're the worst.  Remember when you had strep a few years ago?"

"I couldn't swallow."

"I found you lying in the fetal position on the bathroom floor."

He shrugged.  "It was painful."

Mom hands me the paper bag. "Chicken soup for Hook.  Hopefully, it will help him recover more quickly."

"I hope so.  I'm not sure how much more I can take."

Just then, my cell starts ringing and Killian's name pops up on the screen.

"Speak of the devil." I say, as I answer the phone. "Hi, Killian.  What do you need?"

"I can't find the television box."

“It’s that big black thing hanging on the wall in front of you.”

“No, the small one.  The one that changes the channels.”

"You mean the remote control?"

"Aye."

"Maybe it fell on the floor."

I hear him groan as he apparently peers over the edge of the bed.

"Ah, there it is."

"Good."

"But it's out of reach."

"So get out of bed and get it."

"I'm far too weak and I feel rather lightheaded."

"You're crazy if you think I'm coming home to pick up the remote for you."

"Please, Swan.  I'm going mad with boredom."

I sigh heavily. "Fine.  My mother made you some chicken soup so I guess I can bring that home for you too."

"Thank you, love."

I hang up the phone and face my parents.  My mother smiles.

"The things we do for the men we love."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, as I exit the station.  It only takes me five minutes to get home.  

I enter the bedroom and find the remote three feet from the bed.  I pick it up and hand it to him.

"Thank you, Swan," he replies, with a grin.

I place the bag on the nightstand. "Here's the soup for whenever you get hungry.  I've got to get back to work."

"You're not going to feed it to me?"

I raise my brows. "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm just so weak.  My arm feels as if it weighs as much as a hundred barrels of rum."

I let out a heavy sigh, as I remind myself that I love this man; that one year ago today I vowed to love him no matter what.  In sickness and health.  Stupid vow.

The worst part is I know he would gladly do it for me. Of course, I wouldn't be the huge baby that he's being.  Then again, I'm not a man.

But, in the end, I shake my head.  "Sorry, I have to get back to work.  I can't hang around here waiting for you to be ready to eat."

I place a kiss to his forehead.  

“Bye.”

"Swan!" he croaks as I exit the bedroom.

…

~Killian’s POV~

I eventually garner the strength to sit up in bed.  I open the bag and pull out the soup.  I peer inside.  No spoon.  I pick up my bell and automatically ring it.  I’m on the second ring before I remember Emma isn’t here.

I sigh.   I feel the container and the soup is lukewarm at best.  I stare at the door, the mere thought of having to go all the way down the stairs to warm up the soup and get a spoon too much to bear.  I am far too weak.  I need Emma.

...

~Emma’s POV~

I am back at work ten minutes later.  I had to stop to get a coffee or I didn’t think I’d make it through the day.  I groan as I look at the huge pile of paperwork that has accumulated on my desk over the last few days.  How can one tiny town generate so much paperwork?  We stopped documenting the evil doings of villains a long time ago.

I begrudgingly dive in.  I'm not working ten minutes before my phone starts ringing. I roll my eyes at my husband's name appearing on the screen again.  For a moment, I consider ignoring it.  But then I realize I'd welcome any excuse to avoid doing this awful paperwork.

"Yes, Killian?" I say by way of greeting.

"The soup is cold."

"What?"

"The soup your mother made me is cold.  And I don't have a spoon."

I rub at the bridge of my nose.  "I'm guessing there's no chance of you going downstairs to warm it up and get a spoon."

"I can’t even consider it in my weakened state and feeling so lightheaded.  Bloody hell, Emma, I'm likely to fall down the stairs if I attempt such a thing."

I rub at my temple.  You love him.  You love him.  He is not acting like himself.  In a few days, he will be the caring, charming, cocky former pirate you married.  I glance at the mountain of paperwork.   Maybe I could use a break.

"Fine. I'll be home soon."

I return home in record time.  Without a word, I enter our bedroom and retrieve the soup.  I warm it up and get him a spoon.  As I am now looking for any excuse to avoid the paperwork waiting for me at the station, I agree to feed him the soup.

He flips on the television as he eats.  I notice his arm seems to have gained a great deal of strength back as he flips through the channels at lightning speed. He finally settles on Maury Povich.  

I throw him a look. "Seriously?"

"What? This program looks rather interesting.  There seems to be a mystery afoot.  It says 'Who's the daddy?' in the corner of the screen.”

I roll my eyes as I slip a spoonful of soup between his lips. "It's pretty much the same episode every day.  Paternity test reveals. It's trash."

He simply shrugs.  This particular episode features identical twin sisters who both have babies they believe to be fathered by the same man.  The baby girls looked to be nearly the same age as they coo on the laps of their mothers.

Killian lifts his hook and gestures at the TV.  "There is no mystery here.  They are clearly his offspring. They have red hair just as he does."

"I can't believe you are getting sucked into this," I mutter.

Maury rips open the envelope.  "And the test shows that...."

He pauses dramatically for what seems like an eternity as he turns to the man.

"...you are...the father of...both babies!"

The crowd erupts, just as the man hangs his head.  The twin sisters jump out of their chairs, a string of curses aimed at him and then each other.  Then one twin slaps the other.  

"I told you to stay away from my man!" she screams.

"He ain't your man because you don't know how to satisfy him!" she yells and then tackles her twin to the floor.

"Bloody hell!" Killian says, as he stares at the television mesmerized.

I chuckle.  "I bet holiday dinners are going to be super awkward now."

He smiles at me and then drops the remote to link our hands together.   It's the most natural thing in the world for him and I can't help but smile back, even as I use my free hand to feed him more soup.

Maury finishes and a soap comes on.

"What the devil is this?"

"It's a soap."

"It doesn't look as if they are selling soap, love."

I shake my head. "No, it's a show.  It has lots of characters and continuing storylines.  Usually about romance and betrayal."

His eyes light up as he turns his attention to the screen.  

The female character on the screen slaps the male character across the face.  

Killian winces. "What the devil did he do to deserve that?"

"How could you sleep with my mother?!"  the actress screams at him.  "You're my husband!"

Killian's eyes grow wide and he shakes his head.  "This is quite salacious."

I point the spoon at the male character.  "Ten bucks she slept with one of his family members first."

Killian's eyebrows shoot up. "Now that would be very scandalous."

Her husband points a finger at her. "How dare you judge me after you slept with my son!"

Killian and I chuckle.  "Good call, Swan," he says.

I nod. "The relationships on soaps are almost as screwed up as the ones here in Storybrooke."  

"It certainly seems as if they do not value marriage."

I shake my head. "Most marriages don't even last a year on soaps."

Killian squeezes his hand in mine, his expression suddenly growing serious.  "Well, love, perhaps we could teach them a thing or two.  We will soon be celebrating one blissfully happy year of marriage and I am certain that it will be the first of many."

I drop my eyes.  He really has no clue what day it is.  He's completely lost track of time from being sick.

"Yeah, it will be a year very soon," I reply softly.

His eyes scan my face worriedly, sensing something is wrong. "Love, are you okay?"

I nod, as I place the empty bowl of soup back on the table. "Yeah, fine.  I just need to get back to work."

He bobs his head. "Okay," he says.  

I stand and I'm almost out the door when his hoarse voice stops me.

"Thank you for you taking care of me, Emma."

I smile and then turn around.  I return to the bed and place a kiss on his lips.  

"You're welcome.  I know you'd do the same for me."

"I'd do anything for you, Swan," he replies softly.

And I know it's true.  

...

~Killian’s POV~

The news comes on after the soaps.  

"Good afternoon.  Today is May 7th.  Thank you for joining us."

I stare at the television box.  May 7th.  No, it can't possibly be.  It's only May...Bloody hell, I haven't a clue what day it is!  How long have I been in this bed?  Can it really be May 7th?

I shake my head and reach for my talking phone.  I flip it open and look at the date.  My worst fears are confirmed.  Today is May 7th.  It is our first wedding anniversary.

How could I be such a self-absorbed fool?!  I have been married to the most amazing woman for one year, the happiest year of my very long life, and I forgot our first anniversary.  Well, not so much forgot, as much as had no clue what day it is because I've been so sick and delirious from the medicine.

But that is no excuse.  This incredible woman has cared for me for three bloody days.  She just fed me soup!  And she never once mentioned that I had forgotten our anniversary.  Any other woman would have probably thrown it in my face and refused to lift another finger for me.  But not my wife.  Not my Emma.  I am the luckiest man in all the realms.

I need to make this right.  I need Emma to know how sorry I am and how grateful I am to be her husband.  How fortunate I am to get to spend my life with her.  And how amazing this year has been.

I throw the covers back and, feeling a bit unsteady, force myself out of bed.

Two hours later, I finish setting the table.  I've prepared Emma's favorite: grilled cheese and onion rings.   I then set about lighting all of the candles that I have placed throughout the lower level of our home. Next, I scatter the dozens of Middlemist flowers on the floor.  I had to call in a special favor to acquire those.  

Once I finish, I go upstairs and shower. I dress in the tux I wore to our wedding exactly one year ago today.  With every motion, I feel myself gaining strength and energy.  I'm starting to feel much better.  I can do anything for my Swan.  

Just as I finish getting ready, I see Emma's car pull up outside.  I scramble down the stairs.  I stand in the foyer in front of the door.  I hear her walk up the porch and then see the doorknob turn. The door swing opens and there stands my beautiful wife.  

Her eyes widen and her mouth drops open at the sight before her.  She stands frozen to her spot.  

"Killian...I...what…you...why aren't you in bed?" she sputters.

"Happy First Anniversary, love," I say, closing the distance between us.  

Tears appear in her eyes, as I take her hand in mine.  

"I...I don't understand.  I thought you had forgotten."

"I could never forget the happiest day of my life, Emma."  I pause and shake my head. "I am so sorry, love.   I hadn't a clue what day it was until the news came on.  I didn't realize how long I had been in bed and the medicine and illness made me delirious. Please forgive me."

She smiles gently and then wraps her arms around my neck, placing a kiss on my lips.

"There's nothing to forgive," she says as she pulls back.  "Happy First Anniversary, Killian."

I bring my hand up to cup her cheek, my thumb caressing her soft skin, as I look into her gorgeous eyes.  

"You have cared for me for three days, Emma.  I know I am not the easiest patient.  But you took your vows in sickness and health seriously."

"You would do the same for me, Killian.  I mean, I wouldn't be as big of a baby," she says with a chuckle.

I laugh along with her.  Our laughter soon subsides, as my expression grows serious.

"I have lived a great many years, but I have never in all my years experienced one as happy as this. It is a privilege to be your husband. Getting to wake up next to my wife every morning and have you fall asleep in my arms every night is nothing short of amazing.  I never thought I would experience happiness like this.  I never thought I deserved it.  And perhaps I don't.  But I will never take it or you for granted.  I am the luckiest man in all the realms to get to call you my wife."

Tears are now streaming down her face as she kisses me again.

...

~Emma’s POV~

God, I love this man.  I love him with all of my heart and soul.  I love him with every fiber of my being.  

I pull back and he brings his thumb up to gently swipe at a tear on my cheek.  I meet his beautiful blue eyes.  The eyes I get to wake up to every morning.

"This year has been the best of my life, Killian.  I have never been happier.  Like you, I didn't think happiness like this was possible for me.  I didn't think I deserved it either.  But then we found each other and we put the broken pieces of our hearts back together.  And now everyday that I wake up next to you feels like a dream that I never want to wake up from."

"I assure you, it is very real."

I smile and nod.  I then watch as he reaches into his pocket and removes a small, rectangular wrapped box.

He holds it out to me.  "Happy Anniversary, Emma."

I shake my head. "When did you go shopping?  You've been sick."

He smiles. "Oh, I bought this months ago.  Any good pirate knows that the best treasure takes time and planning to acquire."

He hands it to me.   I unwrap it and open the box, gasping at what is inside. It's a white gold necklace.  The pendant is a Swan's head and neck and a hook put together to form a heart.

I meet his gaze. "It's beautiful, Killian.  Thank you."

"I searched the one jewelry store in Storybrooke, but they had no such necklace and no means to make it.  So Henry helped me find a place on the computer box that could custom make such a necklace."

My eyes grow wide. "You had my necklace custom made online?  You really are a modern man now."

He smiles and nods. "I am learning everyday."

I pull the necklace out of the box and place it around my neck.  "It is breathtaking."

"You are breathtaking, Swan," he whispers.  

I take a deep breath, nearly forgetting that I still have to give him my gift too.  I wasn't prepared to do this today.  Once I knew he didn't realize today was our anniversary, I figured I would just wait until he felt better and then we could celebrate properly.  But, as is his way, he never ceases to surprise and amaze me.

"I have to give you your gift now," I say.  

"Love, you're the only gift I need," he replies.  

I shake my head. "Oh no.  You're not the only one who has been planning a gift."

I walk over to a drawer in the living room and pull out the small, rectangular wrapped box.  I walk back to him and take a deep breath, as I hand it to him.  

He uses his hook to tear through the paper and then lifts the top.  His brow furrows at what is inside.

....

~Killian’s POV~

What is this white stick?  It looks familiar.  I think I've seen it on the television box.  Why does it have a pink cross on it?

I can feel Emma staring at me, waiting for a reaction.  I meet her eyes.

"Love, what is it?"

She chuckles and pulls the stick out of the box. She then takes my hand and places it on her stomach.  

"It's a pregnancy test, Killian.  We're having a baby," she says softly with a huge smile.

Now it's my turn for my mouth to drop open and my eyes to widen.

"A baby?  We're going to be parents?"

She nods and then I look down at her belly where our hands are joined.  A smile spreads across my lips.

"We're going to be parents!"

She laughs and nods, as I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her flush against my body.  I kiss her and then pull back, my forehead leaning against my wife's.

"I love you so much, Emma.  I can't wait to begin this new adventure with you."

"I love you too, Killian.  And I am looking so forward to our future together.”

...

~Emma's POV~

He takes my hand and walks me over to the kitchen table.  I smile.

"Grilled cheese and onion rings," I say. "You must be a mind reader because the baby and I have been craving these all day.”

"I know my wife," he says, then pauses, a grin spreading across his lips.  "And apparently our unborn child too."

"How did you do all of this if you were feeling so sick?"

"Apparently, love has incredible healing powers.  I am feeling much better."

I snake my arms around his neck.  "Is that right?  Are you feeling well enough to have dessert first?"

"Actually, the grilled cheese is getting cold.  I know you detest cold grilled cheese.  And the cake I made is still cooling so..."

I shake my head, as I lower my voice seductively and toy with the buttons on the front of his shirt. "Not that kind of dessert," I say.

I watch as he swallows hard and his eyes darken with desire.  Suddenly, he scoops me up into his arms and kisses me.

"Let the grilled cheese get cold," he mutters into my lips, as he carries me to the stairs.

I laugh all the way up as he peppers my neck with kisses.  He places me on the bed and hovers above me, his hand caressing my cheek lovingly as he stares into my eyes.  

"There’s the man I married.  I think someone has truly made a miraculous recovery," I say.  

"You, my love, are the best medicine."

"Just what the doctor ordered," I reply, as I yank him by the collar so his lips meet mine again.

And let's just say the day ends a thousand times better than it began.  I can't wait to celebrate many more anniversaries with this man and our new family.

...THE END...

Thanks for reading!  I hope you enjoyed it.  I’d appreciate hearing what you thought. ~Steph

#cs ff #CS fic #cs fanfics #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfics #captain swan ff #cs future fic #cs marriage #captain swan fanfiction

[robbyrobinson]

Mermaids. Ever since The Little Mermaid, many people have come under the assumption that mermaids are benevolent creatures. In the old myths...no, they were not. They drowned people, hunted sailors, lured people to their watery graves with their voices....Just, oh god. Pirates of the Caribbean was what really sell this for me. I do like the franchise, even though most of the movies recycle plots, but the one movie that I am absolutely terrified of was On Stranger Tides. In it, Jack Sparrow is forced to help the infamous Blackbeard search for the Fountain of Youth. Now Blackbeard himself is intimidating, what with him setting one of his crewmates on fire twice, and has no qualms with endangering his daughter's life as long as he benefits. But no; what did it for me was the mermaids. The scene starts out with a crew of pirates drifting in a life boat. You see a ripple in the water, and something slowly slither around the boat. Of course, it turns out to be a mermaid, but automatically I knew something was going to go down. At some points, you see that the mermaid's tail was underneath the boat, meaning that she could upturn it at any moment. I was in my seat quietly dreading the moment that she would do so...but it never happens. And then more mermaids come up to the surface, flirting with the men....and then the lead mermaid reveals that she is a bloodthirsty predator as she tries to pull one of the pirates into the water. Even till this day, I am still scared about watching that scene wherein the mermaid reveals her fangs. Oh, and there were also those mermaids from that mockumentary Mermaids: the Body Found by Animal Planet. Uncanny valley much?

I am a fan of Stephen King. Granted, I haven't read most of his books as they are hundreds to thousands of pages long, but I do respect the man. Heck, half of what I write was inspired by his style. The first movie I watched based on one of his books was 1990's It. You know, about an interdimensional demon that feeds on children? Nowadays, I find the movie hilariously bad, but back then, I would get terrified whenever my aunt would pop the movie into the VCR. And this is from someone who isn't afraid of clowns. The scene where blood rises up the sink drain as well as the photo album was enough to send a chill down my spine.

The Brave Little Toaster. Okay, I hadn't watched the film for myself, but I do know about it. Basically, you have these appliances - a toaster, electric blanket, radio, lamp, and vacuum cleaner - and their journey to find their master. A strange idea for a story, but it was entertaining. Despite being a children's film, there were several dark moments. There's the "It's a B Movie" section in which appliances are butchered for parts, or the flower that the Toaster encounters. The flower falls in love with the toaster when it sees its reflection, but when the toaster rejected it, it basically killed itself from a broken heart. What....Oh, and there's the air conditioner angrily blowing itself out. And who could forget the "Worthless" scene? After the appliances are taken to the junk yard, there is a musical sequence consisting of various cars singing about who they used to be, what they were made for, as they are being picked up and placed on a conveyor belt leading to a crusher. And then that magnet...god. If continually trying to crush the main characters wasn't enough, he places their owner on the conveyor belt as well. What kind of movie was this?

Princess Mombi. Hey, remember that happy 1939 movie the Wizard of Oz? You know, with the singing Munchkins and the like? Well, what if I told you that an unofficial sequel was made to the film, and what if it involves Dorothy getting electroshock therapy. Family movie, yay! After returning to Oz, Dorothy finds the Emerald City destroyed, her friends turned to stone, and freaky humanoids on wheels roam the streets. Anyway, here is Princess Mombi: Mombi is a witch who takes her vanity to the next level. She cuts the heads off of pretty girls, which are still conscious mind you, and she can change into a different head much like how someone would go through their wardrobe for new duds. Dorothy escapes her imprisonment in the search for the "Powder of Life" to bring a creature known as a Gump to life. Unfortunately, the powder is found in Mombi's cabinet, meaning that Dorothy needs to be especially quiet when retrieving the magical substance. But then she accidentally wakes up the main head, which proceeds to shout "Dorothy Gale" at the top of its (nonexistent) lungs, which alerts the other heads. And then Princess Mombi wakes up - headless - and she tries to make a grab at Dorothy.

While the Plague Dogs isn't a kids' movie, I still watched it. The movie begins at a research center where we see a dog being drowned...only to be revived, and we never get an explanation for it. That dog escapes with another dog, but they find themselves being hunted by the militarty who fear that they might be carrying some strands of the bubonic plague. The movie has many soul-crushing scenes, but one memorable scene involves a hunter calling one of the dogs over. This guy seemed like the best choice for a new owner after everything the two dogs have been through. And so, the dog runs to him...only to step on the trigger of the gun, which shoots the poor guy in the face. Worse is when a man assigned to assassinate the two dogs perishes from a fall off a cliff. As the dogs are starving, and this body just happened to be there....

I love Coraline, though I didn't get to see it in theaters when it first premired. Everything about this movie was terrifying to me. The thought that some evil witch was luring kids into another world, and giving the kids their heart's desires just disturbed me to no end. But then when the witch gives the kids the chance to stay with her forever, they must sew the buttons over their eyes...upon which, the witch (or Beldam) gets bored of them, drains them of their life sources, throws them out like a broken toy...and then begins to search for her next meal. Be careful what you wish for indeed.

The Nightmare Before Christmas: I loved this movie. I love the songs; heck,  I listen to "This is Halloween" whenever it's nearing Halloween, or I would sing the Oogie Boogie Song a few times. Now, I didn't have any nightmares about this movie. For the most part, the residents of Halloween Town were friendly, albeit in their own way. Not so with Oogie Boogie: he stands as the only truly evil character in the movie. He is a sadistic gambler who had killed people prior to the film, and is planning on eating Santa Claus. That, and the scene with Sally's leg....no thank you. What made me horrified however, was Oogie Boogie's death; his burlap sack acts as his skin, so Jack basically flayed him alive, and then you see all the bugs acting as his body before falling into the stew below. I could've sworn that he always said "My bones, my bones" when he was dying and his voice was getting more higher pitched.

The Leprechaun movies are terrible, but I liked them. One in particular was Leprechaun in Space. In it, a man gets transformed into a fleshy half-man, half-spider abomination with a demonic voice. And then when that liquid nitrogen was used on him, his voice was so squeaky, it made me nearly need a new pair of undies.

2 Stupid Dogs: The episode that freaked me out when I was younger was the one where the two dogs and Red come upon a witch's gingerbread house. The witch tricks the dogs into fattening Red up, and when the time came, she eats her. As she was steal hungry, well, she makes a meal out of the two dogs. It was scary to see these characters possibly get digested alive by this witch, but now it's morbidly fascinating to me.

Courage the Cowardly Dog: Yes, one of those messed up shows that made you wonder how it was for kids. I was never really afraid of this show, but one episode I watched was the final one named "Perfect." In it, Courage is saddened that he can' t do anything right, so he imagines a strict teacher to help him with his problem. The scene in question is when Courage was trying to sleep perfectly. You hear the music lull Courage to sleep, and then without warning, some freaky CGI-fetus looking monstrosity pops onto the screen telling Courage that he wasn't perfect. And then it's never mentioned again. It's low on the list because while creepy, I had seen the episode at around 13 or so. Had I been younger, this would've been more effective.

E. T. and The Iron Giant: A tie. It comes off as silly now, but when I was a kid, I used to be frightened by these two characters in different ways. For E. T., there was the fact that he was just ugly. He looked like a wrinkled raisin or something. Besides that, there was his raspy voice and the glowing finger. That finger freaked me out. I couldn't even watch the movie in one sitting until I was about 16 years old. As for the Iron Giant...he was a giant robot from space. What more do you need? Well, besides that, it also turns out that he was created to be a weapon of mass destruction - at least until he got amnesia. Which may or may not have been nullified when he was reassembling himself at the end.

#childhood #childhood trauma #trauma #scary #scarymoments #nightmare fuel #nightmarefuel #austindr #robbyrobinson #robby robinson

[silverlovesmadi]

Black Sails s4 ep9: Last scene, Madi's state of mind and parallels

What is that feeling called when different senses of your brain are being stimulated at the same time? At the end of this episode you’re are left with so many different and conflicting feelings and conclusions. But one thing is for sure: how depressing and heartbreaking it was. For one: In the last scene you see Silver, Flint and Hands gazing upon the utter distruction in front of them. They were unprepared for it, blind too it (Hands wasn’t obviously, always the very neccesary voice of reason), because their inside turmoil was to great. And so again, Billy proves he was right and he wins. Rogers wins too, since his entire purpose of being has become his dedication to the complete distruction of all high seas piracy. What are we to take from this as an audience watching this from the comfort of our 2017 homes? How senseless and stupid ALL of it is? That the times they lived in only warrented tragedy? The only choice of “true” freedom being piracy for so many men (and women)? Former slaves included. Now, like I’ve been saying week after week, am I surprised of this outcome? Of course not. It was more of a “brace yourself, because YOU know what’s coming.” Sadly, our main characters didn’t. Sidenote: To see Billy spare Ben Gunn was so poetic in the sense that if he didn’t had freed Billy, the distruction of the Walrus and the massacre of the Walrus crew wouldn’t even have happened. This entire mess is Flint digging his own grave, if he could’ve mustered to work together for once in his life, to care about the concept of friendship the same way Silver does, to be an empathic being, they could’ve been prepared for this assault, but again we all know Flint, Billy knows Flint and here we are. I personally don’t care much for the pirate cause, because of it’s toxic hypermasculine nature, but damned did all those men die for nothing.

Everything what Madi said to Rogers was in true Madi likeness. To hear her confront Eleanor of her hypocrisy in episode 6 was already incredibally satifying, but to hear her confront Rogers on his bullshit, you could tell he is not used to a Black woman defying him like that. I truly wonder what Madi used out of that book Rogers wrote about himself. Because she was fighting her damnedest to maintain her composure, her eyes were watery, her face evoking so much emotion and turmoil. Meaning not all of her words corresponded with her true thoughts. She doesn’t know anything about what has transpired between Silver and Flint since being captured in Nassau, she has no clue. She’s never had the chance to have a good conversation with a man like Julius, who could possibly be a father figure. As “badass” as her speech was, because truely what Black woman wouldn’t want to give a colonial sociopathic dipshit like Rogers her piece of mind, Madi is acting from what she believes to be the most selfless way to act. However scared she may be and fighting not to show that fear, she believes that to choose her own personal and individual desires (Silver) over a chance to fight for a free world for her people would be the most selfish thing she could ever do. And “It goes against everything she understands herself to be.” She’s at an impasse, a dilemma, the same place her mother was when Madi knew she wasn’t able to lead their men through the first battle with the British Navy. She refuses that deal because she holy believes it to be the most selfless and self sacrifing choice to make. She is in it, part of it, not on the outside like us, the audience, so her mind isn’t clear. She’s deciding FOR her people, not WITH. Her word is law, because before her it was decided that the Maroon community would not be a democracy. She was prepared for this role since she was a child, saw her people’s constant fear growing up and growing up in freedom herself, albeit isolated and hiding from the still existing threat, allowed her to form her current ideology. It’s a horrible and tragic place to be honestly, to finally have such a chance to give your people that freedom they so desperatelly seem to want and to have to contemplate giving it all up to make a deal with the devil were in you have to aid them in maintaining said threat that has caused all these years of intense hatred and anger against the powers purpetrating it in the first place. To be in a place where she can continue her fathers legacy who can not have died for nothing. To, with her own eyes, see the enslaved on the Plantations being brutalized and to not do anything about it. To live in freedom, to enjoy freedom, but see people who look just like you not have the same thing. To not want to disappoint anyone, betray anyone and want to save everyone all at the same time. What a mental hell, which she’s able to hide very well. But it’s easier for her to want this because she was born free. Her people, who still live in fear, would far likely take that deal, despite the fact it would mean that they would have to help the BE recapture escaped slaves. On the outside Madi seems to be a radical when it comes to her cause, someone who chooses idealism over realism, but what truely goes on inside of her head we do not know, because she does not allow us to see it, so we can only go of on body language. Either way, whatever she chooses, it will be a damned if you do, damned if you don’t type of situation. She knows it, so she’d rather choose martyrdom, then to choose to become a villain against the thing she’s been prepared to fight for her entire life. Despite the fact that choosing Rogers’ deal would allow her people and Julians people to live another day. They would rather choose fear over war. All those decisions to contemplate trusted upon so young a person. It’s a horrible tragedy to be in such a position in the first place and for that reason alone very diffult to watch. My heart breaks for her.

I don’t have to point out the very obvious difference between Madi and Flint nature and motives here, that’s why it really annoyed me to hear her speak of Flint the way she did. As if he deserved to be spoken of as such, while at that very moment he was betraying her very cause. His war will NEVER be the same as hers. Weeks ago I commented on somebody’s analysis about episode 5, wondering if Madi knew about Flint’s true motives, so I loved seeing the Madi x Silver flashback in which this was confirmed. He can not lie to her, keep things from her, that absolute trust between them is so important. A true tether moment. But she ended up working with Flint more closely anyway because, while Silver was missing, he convinced her that he wanted the same thing. Silver didn’t know about this, in the same way Billy didn’t know about Silver and Flint’s budding friendship in his absence. So, with that missing information and context, he panics and responds with a “Jesus, you sound just like him.”

I wonder, does Madi still believe this about Flint or is she willing herself to believe it like Silver has all this time, because admitting to yourself that your judgement was wrong, that you let yourself be pursuaded because you wanted it to be true so badly, is so much harder?

Special note: I personally loooved the flashback scenes between Silver and Flint, the in depth dialogue, the tranquility in and the length of the scenes, THE SWORD FIGHTING, Silver’s very apparent vulnerability and evasiveness, constantly struggling to talk about his past, like there is a deep sense of shame, like he truly believes it to be nothing, mean nothing compared to Flint’s story. I’m okay with that, he wants his present to be his origin story. It could also be that he instinctively didn’t trust Flint with that type of vulnerability, but didn’t realize it at that moment. We’ll see if he reveals it or not next episode. Only one episode left, so many loose eeeeends still, my God! How are they gonna do that in a consistent, clean and satisfying way? I hope the series finale is a hour and a half, because they have A LOT of ground to cover *laughs nervously*.

#i'm not good at getting to the point lol #my posts always end up longer then intended #black sails #john silver #captain flint #madi scott #billy bones #madi x silver #silver x madi #bsmadi #bssilver #bsflint #bsbones #black sails season 4 #black sails spoilers #my posts #meta analysis #narrative analysis #character analysis