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sesamestreep · 3 years

Text

if dreams were thunder, and lightning was desire

(read on AO3)

(read the whole series here)

SUMMARY: It's one thing to agree to get married for symbolic reasons in the name of political unity. It's another thing entirely to actually be married. [AKA - further adventures in that arranged marriage medieval fantasy AU of Rogue One]

A/N: Here I am, arriving three years late with proverbial Starbucks, to post my now once-yearly attempt at fic! I'm actually posting this as a birthday gift to my forever girl @firstelevens who is also responsible for helping me flesh out this idea in the first place.... [checks notes] uh, four years ago. Happy happy birthday and thank you for being the most supportive and wonderful friend in the multiverse, even though I’ve recently become terrible at replying to texts. Further notes are there if you want them if you follow the AO3 link above!

Cassian Andor wakes up to an empty bed, which is not, in and of itself, a startling thing. In fact, there was a time, only a few months ago, when it would have been a much greater surprise to find the other side of his bed occupied. Even now that he is married, waking to find his wife already up and gone is not an uncommon occurrence. The first few times he woke to find her gone, he had been confused, certainly, but he has adjusted to her habits and the sight of her side of the bed empty no longer inspires panic or concern as it had in the beginning.

However, this morning is different. Cassian’s wife is an early riser almost without exception, but she is not normally so far ahead of him that her side of the bed is as cold as it is now when Cassian runs his palm over the linens. Even more startling is the darkness that still lingers outside the window. It’s not yet dawn, then, and she is already awake and about the castle. That is highly unusual.

Perhaps, if Cassian had slept well, he might let these confusing details go. But he never sleeps well the night before he travels and tomorrow—or today, actually, given the hour—he leaves on a scouting mission to the southern provinces. He has slept fitfully most of the night and apparently only got enough actual sleep to let his wife slip out of their chambers unnoticed. He sighs and throws off the bedding, knowing he won’t get any more rest until he knows where Jyn has gone.

In little more than three months of marriage, Cassian cannot say he’s gotten to know his wife well. She is secretive and aloof, as a rule, and he has done all he can to give her the space she seems to yearn for, because he knows that, while she has accepted him as a husband, she did not choose him. Their union is a symbolic one, designed to mollify two disparate factions of the Rebellion as they struggle to rule together. He and Jyn are not royalty or even particularly important people, aside from that. No one is waiting on them for heirs or anything of that sort, and they can spend the rest of their lives as indifferent to each other as they please.

Still, Cassian cannot help that he has learned things about his wife, in spite of the careful distance that exists between them. He is a spy, after all. His job is to discover new information, even—or perhaps, especially—when the other party does not wish to give it to him. Jyn is adept at hiding things from others, but even she is not a complete mystery to him. No one is, for one thing, but she has the distinct disadvantage of sharing a bed with him.

What he knows does not amount to much, truly. Except that he had heard his wife complain more than once, in an undertone to her brother, of how restless and bored she feels cooped up in the stone walls of the castle. That, and the early hour where almost everyone else will still be in bed, suggests to Cassian that he would do well to get dressed and try to find his wife outside.

His instincts are correct in this case, as he finds her on the southern lawn outside the castle, standing alone and, he imagines, waiting for the sunrise that is beginning to tinge the sky with an orange glow just above the horizon. He takes the opportunity, before she hears him approach, to pause and take in the image of her, alone in the pretty half-light of the early morning.

She wears no overcoat, which irks him for reasons he does not fully understand. By midday, there is a good chance it will be a balmy spring day, but now, it is still chilly and damp without the sun to warm them. Jyn could catch a cold in this weather and Cassian has never known someone who can be so cautious and so careless at the same time.

On the other hand, she did go through the trouble of getting fully dressed before heading out, so perhaps Cassian should be thankful. He apparently also got more sleep than he realized, because he hadn’t heard any sound at all while she got her clothes on in the dark of their bedchamber. He half-expected her to still be in her dressing gown, given her lack of concern with convention.

He wishes he could say she looked tranquil as she surveys the forested land that borders the castle, but, for all he can only just make out her features in the minimal lighting, he can tell she is frowning. He thinks, absently, that she is beautiful nonetheless and then regrets it. He should not be distracted by her looks when he knows she is unhappy.

The distant call of a bird draws her attention in his direction and he sees the way her eyes widen in alarm when they land upon him before she thinks to hide her reaction. His opportunity to observe her unnoticed is gone, and he has no choice but to cross the distance between them, though he does try to appear unhurried.

“Good morning, Captain,” she greets him as he comes nearer and he almost stops short.

It always trips him up when she refers to him by his rank. It’s fine when others do so—that is protocol—but hearing it from his wife always strikes him as odd. He has told her as much, but there are moments when she defers to it still. He believes, though he has no proof of this, that she does it on purpose, that she only uses it when she is in a certain mood. Cassian has yet to ascertain what that mood is—if she is being sarcastic, if she is angry, if it might be her way of showing affection, even—but he knows there is some motive behind it that he does not understand. If he knew, he might be able to respond in some clever way, but as it is, he is at a loss for words.

“Good morning, my lady,” he says, and perhaps he is cleverer than he gives himself credit for, because Jyn’s frown deepens momentarily before she can stop herself. “You are up early today.”

“As are you,” she says, her tone suggesting that she heard the question hidden in his statement and she won’t be responding to it.

Cassian laughs, without meaning to. “I couldn’t find my wife this morning. It was an alarming way to wake up.”

He expects a terse response from her, saying that she is always awake before him. Instead, Jyn’s eyebrows raise in surprise and her frown eases, just a bit. “You were worried?” She asks, disbelieving.

“I—of course I was,” he replies. He is always worried, he doesn’t know how she hasn’t noticed yet.

“About me?”

“Yes,” he says, puzzled by her need for clarification. “We’re married. It is my duty to worry about you.”

Jyn tsks at that, whether in understanding or disappointment, he’s not sure. “And you are always dutiful,” she says, her tone unreadable still.

“I try to be,” Cassian says, feeling like he is stuck in a game of wits for which he is unprepared. He is capable and coherent around others, but his wife always has the upper hand on him. It never feels like he has the right answer for her. Even now, she nods before looking away, back at the horizon as it becomes rosier by the moment.

“Are you well?” He asks, when the silence starts to stretch out too long.

She blinks in confusion when she looks back at him, as if she had forgotten he was there. “I—yes, of course,” she says, and he realizes it was the question that confused her. “Do I not look well?”

Another question to which there is no right answer, he thinks. “It’s very early to be out of bed,” he says, instead of answering her question.

“I am always up early.”

“Not this early.”

“Have I done something wrong, Captain?”

“Jyn, I’m not chastising you,” he says, laughing. He’s not amused, not precisely, but if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll probably shout from frustration. This feels safer. “I’m asking if something is troubling you. I want to know that you are alright.”

His obvious frustration must outweigh her annoyance, because everything about her—her expression, her posture—immediately softens, the fight going out of her instantly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be defensive. I just couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you, not when you’re leaving this morning, but I see that I did anyway.”

“You didn’t. I...never sleep well before a journey.”

“Oh?”

He hesitates to say more, lest he seem like he sought her out just to drop his problems at her feet, but she is watching him with interest and, if he’s not mistaken, concern, so perhaps she would not mind. “All of the details, the logistics of the trip, I go over them, in my head, all night long. I’m practically frantic by morning, most of the time.”

“I—” Jyn cuts herself off, shaking her head, like she had something to say and thought the better of it. “I have a hard time imagining you in a frantic state,” she says, instead.

“Well, then,” he says, feeling some strange twinge of pride, “I suppose I am doing my job well.”

“As a spy, perhaps,” she replies, her tone unreadable.

“What other job do I have?” He asks, ignoring the fact that he’s not, officially speaking, a spy anymore. His actual title has something to do with “intelligence,” a distinction he’s meant to care about a lot more than he actually does. He’s not spying in the same way that he was during the war, but he’s not delusional enough to tell himself that those aren’t the skills the Republic has kept him around for.

Jyn gives him a long, searching look. “It hardly matters,” she says, finally, waving a hand and looking off at the horizon again. She’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “I’m a miserable excuse for a wife, though, not noticing that you couldn’t sleep.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Of course not,” she says, smiling, though the light of it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You are far too polite.”

“‘Polite’ is not the first word most people would use to describe me, my lady.”

“‘Careful,’ then,” she says, pointedly.

Cassian nods, feeling as if he has lost this round. “That is far more likely.” He pauses before he says anything more, weighing the risk of it, but ultimately decides it might be worth saying. “I did not want to trouble you. I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I often am, at odd hours,” she says, and there’s something light and teasing about it now. “And you could stand to trouble me more, Captain. I’ve never heard of such an undemanding husband before.”

Unable to parse what she means when she suggests he “trouble” her when he cannot sleep—and unwilling to use his imagination, knowing where it will lead him—he decides to address a less mystifying part of her comment. “I’ve told you that you needn’t call me that,” he says.

“‘Husband?’” She asks, innocently, though he sees a bit of performance in it.

“No. ‘Captain.’”

“Well, you still call me ‘my lady.’ Only one of those honorifics is still worth anything, and it surely isn’t mine.”

“I only call you ‘my lady’ when…”

“Yes?” Jyn’s features take on the expression of an animal that has backed its prey into a corner, leaving it no options of retreat.

Cassian thinks it unwise to point this out, though. He also thinks it unwise to finish what he was about to say, which is that he only calls her ‘my lady’ when he wants to call her ‘my dear’ or something equally sentimental that he’s sure she would not approve of. It feels disingenuous to him, as well. He simply finds his vocabulary for expressing the intimacy of living so closely with another person without encroaching upon the territory of affection rather wanting. He cares for her, of course—why else would he be out of bed and out of doors on a freezing morning if he didn’t?—but there is hardly a chance of love or even affection in a marriage as young and unfamiliar as theirs.

“When I do not know what else to call you,” he says, instead of the truth. It’s barely even a lie, but it nags at him like one regardless. He has been trying to lie less around his wife, but it’s a difficult habit to break.

“My name would work well enough,” Jyn replies, her tone caught somewhere between amused and suspicious.

“So would mine.”

She hesitates before responding, looking shy, although it is a rare thing from her. “I thought you might like it, being called by your rank.”

“Not from you,” he says, immediately. “I am called that by enough people. When I’m home, when I’m with you, I am just your husband.”

He doesn’t realize the way this sounds—sentimental, the very thing he was avoiding—until the words are out of his mouth and Jyn’s face goes blank with astonishment. She recovers quickly, though, looking down at her feet.

“As you wish, husband,” she says, quietly.

“Well, you know now why I could not sleep. What has kept you awake?”

“Bad dreams,” she says, matter-of-factly. “As always.”

“Always?” Cassian repeats, concerned. He didn’t know she had nightmares. She shifts in her sleep often, he has noticed, always twisting herself into shapes that cannot possibly be comfortable, but he’s never known her to cry or panic enough to wake herself, the way he associates with nightmares.

“Most nights,” she confirms, looking away to avoid his gaze.

She crosses her arms over her chest, although he cannot tell if it’s a defensive gesture or simply because she is cold. He decides to proceed as though it is the latter and begins to slip his arms out of his coat’s sleeves. The rustling of the fabric draws her gaze back to him and her eyes widen with alarm when she realizes what he means to do.

“Oh, no,” she says, waving a hand to ward him off. “Don’t bother. You will freeze without it.”

“Is that so?” Cassian asks, ignoring her protests and pulling his jacket off completely.

“I know how cold you get,” she says, archly. There are things she has learned from sharing a bed with him, too, it appears.

He doesn’t take the bait to argue with her and instead steps forward until he’s only a single pace away from her and sweeps the jacket over her shoulders. She stands stiffly as he does so, as if she cannot figure out her part in this scene. Or perhaps she worries the slightest gesture will upset the moment they are sharing, though this idea might be romantic nonsense on Cassian’s part.

He draws the coat tighter around her body by the lapels and he fidgets with the collar so it will stand up and block the cold wind, since she has no scarf. He wants nothing more in the world than to take her hair that has gotten trapped in the collar and draw it out for her, if only for the excuse it would give him to run his hands through it without the risk of giving himself away. All the while, Jyn watches him with her chin tipped up, her eyes narrowed in obvious but neutral interest. Perhaps he has already given himself away.

“Do not worry on my account,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. He has finished arranging the coat around her shoulders, but his hands still linger on the lapels, holding it together, not wanting to let go and give up his excuse to be close to her. “If I am any good at my job, I will convince you to come inside before I even feel the cold.”

“Your job?” Jyn asks, warily. “As a spy?”

“Yes, and as a husband.”

“It is your duty as my husband to ensure I do not freeze to death?”

“Amongst other things.” He means it plainly enough, but in this close proximity, he sees the way Jyn bites her lip and look away at the implication of his words and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He tries to steer the conversation elsewhere, no matter how artlessly. “I have nightmares too.”

Jyn’s head snaps up. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“About the war?”

Cassian swallows and words feel more difficult than he anticipated, so he simply nods. It’s probably important that his wife knows these things about him, especially if he wants her to tell him things too.

She watches him carefully, as if she’s waiting for a trap but Cassian just gazes steadily back at her, to see if she’ll trust him. After a moment, she sighs and says, more to his chest than to his face, “most of mine are from when I was young.”

“I have a few of those too.”

Jyn nods, closing her eyes. Cassian transfers the lapels of the coat into one hand, so that his other one is free to rub her shoulder. He wants her to say more, but he doesn’t want to pressure her. Without warning, she steps further into his embrace, close enough that she’s able to perch her chin on his shoulder. Though her face is turned away from him, the sweetness of the gesture nearly overwhelms him. He places his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, just so she doesn’t think to pull away.

“I think the trouble is not having much to occupy my time here,” she says, after a moment, and Cassian could collapse with relief at hearing her speak. “I’m not accustomed to idleness. And when I try to sleep, my mind is still awake and it gives me these vivid dreams.”

He can’t help himself any longer. He smooths a hand over the back of her head, brushing back some strands of hair that have come loose from where she’s tried to tie it at the nape of her neck. He thinks he feels her pull closer. “And what do you dream of?”

“My brother and I, when we were young, we were always out of doors. We’d have breakfast with my mother and then she’d send us away and we’d spend all day together, collecting rocks and shells from the beaches or scrambling over rocks. We never came home until dinner.”

“That doesn’t sound like a nightmare to me.”

“It was lovely,” she says, sounding pained, and he tightens his hold on her. “I had a very idyllic childhood, in most regards. Mostly because my parents didn’t tell me anything that was going on.”

Cassian laughs, lightly, at that. “That’s what parents are supposed to do.”

Jyn buries her face in his shoulder, hiding from his gaze. “A lot of good it did me,” she says, and even her tone sounds closed-off.

“What happens in your dreams?” He asks, quietly. He knows she probably wants to end this conversation and pretend it never happened, but he needs her to know that he’s here, that he’s willing to listen.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, as if to prepare herself. “It’s just me and Bodhi as children, running around wild like always. At first, it feels like a memory, but then it starts to feel…sinister. I don’t really know how to describe it, it’s just this inexplicable dread that washes over me. Sometimes, we can hear people coming, a great mass of them, and we get scared. Other times, there’s some terrible storm moving in, faster than we can run. But we try to get home, anyway. We’re always running to find my mother, to warn her. It always feels so important that we get to her. And the ground falls away beneath our feet. Sometimes, I lose Bodhi; he falls or gets hurt and he’s crying out for my help but I can’t stop, or sometimes, he just disappears and I can’t remember how to get home. And I’m completely alone.”

After a moment’s silence, Jyn pulls back in his embrace. He doesn’t let her go, but he does give her some space. “Foolish, isn’t it?” She asks, with a false smile. He can hear the unshed tears in her voice and knows she’s trying to make light of it so he doesn’t think her weak.

“No,” he says, firmly, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. “Not at all. But you and your brother survived the war, Jyn. And you’re together. It must be some comfort to you.”

“Yes, it is. Of course it is. But our parents didn’t survive. And that version of us, the children who used to play on the beach together, they didn’t survive the war, either. Our lives are so different now. I think that’s what the dream is about.”

“You wish to go home?”

“I wish to go back,” she says, bearing his personal question with grace. She thinks on it a moment, before sighing in frustration and shaking her head. “If only it was as simple as returning to Lah’mu. But I know that the place will not be the same now as it was then. And I am different too.”

“Perhaps that’s why something is always wrong in your dream,” Cassian muses. “You long to go back to that time in your life, but you know you don’t belong there anymore. Maybe that’s the source of the tension you feel in the dream.”

Jyn looks at him, appraisingly, and he worries that he overstepped somehow. However, when she finally speaks, she doesn’t seem offended. “What do you dream of, Captain?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You said you have nightmares too.”

“Oh, yes,” he replies, with considerable effort. He’d forgotten about that admission. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Of course,” Jyn says, and her expression shutters immediately. “You’re under no obligation to tell me.”

Cassian reaches for a stray piece of hair that’s brushing against her collarbone, twisting the errant strand around his finger loosely. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he says, quietly and more plaintively than he meant to. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried about offending her by accident. “I’m not equivocating. I really do not know how to describe them.”

“Do you even wish to?” She asks, with a sharpness he deserves but is still unprepared for.

“No,” he answers honestly, which makes her blink in surprise. “I do not wish to tell you anything that will make you think less of me.”

“You should not worry about that.”

“Is your opinion of me already so low?” He asks, with every intention of making light of it but the question comes out unfortunately earnest.

Jyn, for her part, looks bewildered. “No,” she says, immediately. “Quite the opposite. I have a hard time imagining anything you could say that would make me think less of you.”

He takes a deep breath, looking away from her face and focusing instead on the strand of hair he’s still toying with. “I always dream of people I’ve…lost. People I’ve hurt or abandoned,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “It’s much like what you’ve described, I think. They feel like memories but I know they’re not quite right. And I know there’s nothing I can do to change what happens. So I just have to live through it again. And again. Until I wake up.”

As he’s speaking, Jyn reaches for him, closing her hand around his wrist where it’s resting against her shoulder. When he feels the weight of her thumb pressing into the space between the bones of his forearm, he releases the lock of her hair, letting it unspool from around his finger. He’d pull his hand back completely, but her grip on him tightens like she’s read his mind. She brings his hand close enough that she can press her lips to the spot where his pulse is now racing wildly.

“You ought to have told me sooner,” she says, and she must be able to feel his heartbeat against her lips. The thought makes him warm with both embarrassment and anticipation.

He swallows with considerable effort. “To what end?”

“There are things,” she says, against the soft skin of his inner wrist, “that a wife can do. To help her husband sleep. To take his mind off his worries. I could do those things for you, if you wanted. You need only ask.”

She makes it sound so simple, as if they had the sort of marriage where they stated their desires plainly to each other, where they asked for what they wanted and then got it. But the asking is the most difficult part, in Cassian’s experience, or maybe the wanting is. They’ve been intimate together in the way Jyn is implying only once, on their wedding night, and, while enjoyable, it hardly left him with a strong sense of what his wife wants or expects from him.

Now, though, Jyn is offering that to him again. There was no mistaking it. His own need startles him, thrumming in his veins so loudly that he can hardly think. He has weeks of travel ahead of him, weeks of sleeping on the hard ground with only young, raucous soldiers for company. It will be cold and lonely and it will not even occur to him to complain, to dislike it, since it’s all he knows. Or, rather, it was all he knew before he was married. Before Jyn. He would be wise to avail himself of his wife’s offer while he can, enjoy the softness of her before he leaves and knows no softness of any kind for weeks.

He takes too long considering it, though, for Jyn’s face falls and she pulls back from him, only a little but it feels like a great distance, when they are this close. “Of course, you should feel no obligation to—”

“I don’t,” he replies, hastily. “I don’t feel any obligation.”

“I merely thought I should offer,” she says, and her eyes lower to avoid his gaze.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Cassian says, closing his eyes in embarrassment. “What I meant to say is…what I feel for you is not obligation.”

He can feel her looking at him now, the scrutiny in her gaze obvious even with his eyes still closed. “And what do you feel for me, Captain?” She asks, carefully.

An overwhelming and terrible want , he thinks. A desire so deep he has yet to discover the bottom of it. A dangerous kind of possessiveness, like they belong to one another, even though they’re not the sort of people who belong to anyone, or the sort to hold onto anything they’re given too tightly, because they know the pain of having it taken away.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he makes the mistake of opening his eyes and looking at her and the only logical conclusion to that action is to step forward and kiss her. His hand, the one she’s not still holding captive, curves around her cheek as his mouth covers hers. Her lips part for him without hesitation and their kiss deepens. It’s as good as their wedding night, but this time he’s sharp and clear headed, not hazy and tired from long hours of drinking and celebrating, and he intends to memorize every single detail. The way she wraps her arm around him and her fingers dig into his shoulder blade, desperate for purchase. The sound of surprise she made when their lips first met and how it mellows into a quiet hum of satisfaction, as if she’s been waiting for this.

When she pulls away from him after a few moments, it takes everything in his power not to whine in complaint. But they’re both breathing heavily and Jyn’s hair is even more disheveled than before, which might be his fault but could also be from the wind that’s doing its best to push them back to their warm bed. He’s beginning to think they should listen, and he’s about to say as much, when Jyn speaks first.

“You’re cold,” she says, and he’s about to take it the wrong way when she pulls his hand from her face and wraps it up in both of her own to warm it.

He laughs, more overwhelmed than anything else. “I don’t feel it,” he says, because he was too busy feeling everything else.

She levels an arch look at him, either because she’s not impressed with his effort to flatter her or because she’s actually worried he’s going to catch his death like this, kissing her on a hillside in the early morning. He’s going to die somehow, it might as well be like this, he thinks, but he doesn’t try to kiss her again. He has the sense that she has more to say.

“You can kiss me in our bedroom, you know,” she says, making it worth the wait.

His heartbeat races, caught somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. “I can?” He asks, stupidly.

Jyn searches his face, looking for something. Reassurance, perhaps, or sincerity. Whatever she’s looking for, she must find it, because she nods, slowly, and a smile overtakes her face. “You can kiss me anywhere you like,” she says, and it does his heart rate no favors.

Cassian steps back, grabbing her hand so he can pull her with him in the direction of the castle. She follows him and, as they walk, he pulls her into his side, burying his face in her neck and planting a kiss there. When she squirms slightly and elbows him in the ribs, he laughs against her skin.

“You said anywhere ,” he says, and she laughs too.

***

The next morning, the castle bustles with activity as Cassian leaves his briefing with Draven. Using the former seat of the emperor’s power as the headquarters of the government of the New Republic has always struck him as a smart choice on the part of the rebels, from a symbolic standpoint and in a practical sense of needing the actual work of governing the country to happen somewhere. By its very nature, a castle is almost comically oversized for one person’s needs, even a ruler’s, and so the former rebels had made a much better use of the space than the emperor ever had.

However, on this particular morning, with his mind already running through logistics of the mission ahead and planning what to say to the soldiers he’s bringing along, Cassian finds the crowded halls and corridors more grating than he normally does. It hadn’t seemed possible to feel this way during the war, when the emperor’s excesses had seemed so absurd and villainous, but Cassian is beginning to wonder if maybe the castle is too small for their purposes. The new government will loathe the idea of expanding, will object to spending money on something so frivolous, but it may be necessary, he thinks, as he bumps into yet another person in the crush of people moving about as he makes his way to the courtyard. The small party of soldiers accompanying him on this mission are gathering there now and they’re meant to depart in less than an hour. It will not set a good tone for the next few weeks if their captain keeps them waiting.

Much like in the old days—and it is staggering to think of the rebellion as something of the past, he realizes with a lurch—these missions are to gather information on activity across the Republic. However, unlike in the old days, he’s not trying to find the one piece of intelligence he’s certain will win the war for the rebels, which is a welcome change. He’s also, generally speaking, not in constant mortal danger anymore, though there are some areas of the country that the war ravaged worse than others, leaving desperation and crime in its wake. That’s why Draven still sends Cassian on these scouting missions, to see what corners of the nation still need aid or resources. Peacetime has been far from perfect for everyone, but even with the things he’s seen, Cassian can’t deny most people, himself included, are better off.

He’s so lost in his thoughts of the mission as he makes his way to the rendezvous point he arranged with the party that Bodhi must have had to call his name a half a dozen times before Cassian finally heard him. By the time he turns around, Bodhi is practically at his elbow, which is both impressive and guilt-inducing, from the way Cassian can see him leaning heavily on his cane. He does his best not to wince, because Bodhi doesn’t enjoy being fretted over, and slows down so his brother-in-law can more easily keep pace with him instead.

“Captain,” Bodhi exclaims, managing to only sound slightly out of breath, “I’m glad I caught you!”

“Coming to see me off, Captain Rook?” Cassian asks, pointedly.

Bodhi looks properly chastened. “Sorry, Cassian. I’m still not used to it.”

“Calling me by my first name or being a captain yourself?”

“Either,” he says, and Cassian understands. Bodhi was only promoted to Captain after his heroics in the Battle of Eadu and it was only a few months later that the treaty was signed. He’s only ever been a captain in peacetime. “I just don’t fully think of you as my sister’s husband yet.”

That does make Cassian wince and he isn’t quick enough to hide it from Bodhi, whose eyes immediately widen in alarm. “Not like that!” he practically shouts. “I mean, it’s nothing to do with you! I just can’t believe Jyn has a husband at all. In my head, she’s still six years old and telling me what to do all the time.”

“To be fair, she does still tell you what to do,” Cassian replies. “No change in your rank will ever change that.”

Bodhi laughs. “You’re certainly right about that.” After a brief pause, he adds, “Where is my sister, anyway? Isn’t she coming to see you off?”

“Oh, well, she’s—no.” He clears his throat. “We’ve already said our goodbyes.”

Bodhi nods absently, seemingly satisfied with this answer and mercifully doesn’t ask for any further details. Cassian is not sure his nonchalant facade would hold up under questioning and the exact nature of the goodbye he and his wife shared this morning would soon be extremely obvious to her brother. It’s better for everyone if they somehow avoid that outcome altogether.

His relief is short-lived, however, when Bodhi suddenly asks, “And did she…uh…did she get a chance to, well…?”

They arrive at the training yard before Bodhi arrives at his actual question. Cassian pauses in the archway that leads into the yard and turns to face him. “What is it?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, I was just wondering if my sister got a chance to speak with you?”

“Bodhi, your sister and I are married. We speak with one another quite often as a result. You will need to be more specific.”

Bodhi makes a face that suggests he would much rather do anything else. “I thought she might have mentioned the incident with Senator Jebel?” he says, voice stuck between a statement and a question.

Cassian blinks, searching his memory for anything relevant. “Incident?” He finally asks, when nothing comes to mind. He doesn’t like the sound of that.

“‘Incident’ might be too strong a word,” Bodhi admits apologetically.

“Here’s an idea: why don’t you tell me what happened and I’ll decide what the correct word for it is?”

“It’s just—if Jyn didn’t tell you about it, then it clearly didn’t bother her very much. I certainly don’t want to insert myself into the middle of your marriage!”

Cassian doesn’t point out that it’s a little late for that sentiment and instead asks, as calmly as he can manage, “What happened, Bodhi?”

“Well, it was just—” He pauses as a few people pass between them to exit into the yard, shifting his weight uncomfortably while trying to maintain his grip on his cane. When they’re gone, he continues, “Jyn and I were walking together the other day when we came across Lieutenant Tuesso walking with Senator Jebel. And, well, Kay was saying something to her about passing along some information for your upcoming scouting mission and—actually, Jyn told him to tell it to you himself because she’s not your secretary—”

Cassian smiles at that, able to picture it so clearly. Kay is perhaps his oldest friend and the person he trusts most in the field, but he and Jyn get along like oil and water. Still, if Kay had truly objected to Cassian’s marriage, he would have done everything in his power to stop it, but he’d only asked if Cassian was sure before giving his blessing. Well, it was more like his resignation, but coming from Kay, they’re basically the same thing. Cassian likes to imagine that Jyn’s fiery temper and sharp wit secretly amuse Kay but he’s simply too stubborn to admit it.

“But that’s not the point,” Bodhi says, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “The point is: Kay was talking about your trip and Senator Jebel asked why you were being sent off on a mission so close to your wedding, to which Jyn replied that it had been three months and that it wasn't terribly close. And then the Senator said she must have been very confident in…well, winning you over, if she was comfortable sending you off on your own so soon.”

“‘Winning me over’? What does that even mean?”

Bodhi looks uncomfortable. “You know, as a wife?” He says, sounding pained. When Cassian just stares at him blankly, he sighs and adds, begrudgingly, “Senator Jebel may have implied that a man of your rank might use a mission like this to…avail themselves of the sexual talents of women other than their wives, you know, during their travels. Unless, of course, the wife in question had already proved herself irreplaceable in that regard.”

Cassian knows that Bodhi has expressed himself clearly and put all of his words in the right order, and yet he still cannot comprehend a single thing he’s just heard. They stare at each other in silence—his baffled, Bodhi’s embarrassed—for a long time before anything clicks into place in Cassian’s mind.

“He said this to Jyn?” He asks, finally. It’s hard to speak around all of the dread pooling at the base of this throat.

Bodhi cringes. “Well, he really said it to me and Kay. He was talking over Jyn’s head, which sounds better but, as you can imagine, made it much worse.”

“And what did she have to say to all this?”

“I made sure to drag her away as quickly as possible and Kay distracted the Senator with just as much haste!”

“Bodhi,” Cassian says on an exhale. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling the early signs of a headache coming on. “What did Jyn say?”

His shoulders sag in defeat. “She only said that she had no concerns on that front,” Bodhi says, plainly unsure if he’s helping or hurting at this point. “And then I made our excuses and got her away from him as soon as I could, I promise!”

“I believe you,” Cassian replies, holding up a hand in acknowledgement. “And I appreciate your efforts to take care of your sister.”

“I thought perhaps her feelings had been hurt by Senator Jebel’s comments, but since she has not mentioned the incident to you, perhaps she dismissed them as quickly as they deserved.”

“Perhaps,” Cassian says, for Bodhi’s benefit, but his mind is on his wife’s behavior this morning; all of her talk of the ways a wife could comfort her husband, how solicitous of his troubles she’d been, how vulnerable she’d seemed herself, even the kisses they’d shared and the way she’d allowed him to take her to bed. How different it all looked in this new light. Of course she wouldn’t mention the conversation with the Senator to him—to do so would be, in Jyn’s mind, to admit to a weakness, that she cared at all what others thought of their marriage or, worse, that she cared what Cassian thought of her as a wife—but it wouldn’t stop her from taking it as advice.

So she’d seduced him, and quite adeptly at that. He hadn’t even realized it was happening. He might have known better, under other circumstances, but he’d naively thought that being married to someone meant that you didn’t have to concern yourself with seduction. If his wife wanted to sleep with him, it seemed to him that all she had to do was show interest in such a thing or, heaven forbid, simply say so, and she could have her way. To play such games about it seems counterproductive to him, but given how easily he was manipulated on this occasion, Cassian might not be the person to ask.

“I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,” Bodhi says, anxiously, at which point Cassian realizes he has been staring off into space for a long moment.

“Of course not,” he says immediately. “I appreciate your telling me.”

“You won’t tell Jyn I mentioned it, will you?”

“No. Like you said, if it had bothered her, she would have told me herself.” It isn’t true, not in the slightest, but Cassian can see that Bodhi needs to hear it. “Besides, now I can use my spare time on this trip to plan my revenge on Senator Jebel.”

“Revenge?” Bodhi asks, wide-eyed with concern. It’s sometimes hard to believe someone as tenderhearted as he is fought in the war, let alone survived it.

Cassian waves a hand dismissively. “I’m not thinking of challenging him to a duel, Bodhi. Relax. But there are a great many ways a man of my position can make his life…uncomfortable and I shall enjoy thinking of as many of them as possible.”

“I am once again reminded how glad I am to be on your good side, Cassian,” Bodhi says, faintly. “And that you’re looking out for my sister.”

Cassian has never felt less capable of doing any such thing, not when Jyn is still keeping secrets from him and treating him as an opponent, but he nods anyway. His wife would likely roll her eyes at the sentiment, but he cannot stand by knowing that someone made her feel small even for a moment. He gets a savage sort of thrill out of the idea that she shall have his protection, whether she wants it or not.

“I am glad to be of service,” he says, vaguely. “But I’m afraid I must give the soldiers their orders now if we’re to be off on time.”

“Of course. Safe travels.” Bodhi offers his hand for Cassian to shake and then claps him on the shoulder as he takes his leave.

Cassian is certain that he relays Draven’s orders to the soldiers assembled in the yard as soon as he’s done speaking with Bodhi but he can’t actually remember a single thing he said by the time he’s securing the saddle on his own horse. His only excuse is that his mind is obviously elsewhere. Even though he knows he should focus on the mission ahead, he can’t stop thinking about Jyn.

As though he’s conjured her, she suddenly appears in the courtyard, with Kay and Senator Mothma in tow. The latter two are deep in conversation about something, while his wife doesn’t seem to be participating at all if the mild, far-off look on her face is any indication. It’s not surprising to see them all together; he’s sure that the Senator is the one who approved their scouting mission for General Draven and that he asked Kay to appraise her of the mission’s status because he’d rather not do it himself. And Jyn and Senator Mothma are often in each other’s company. Jyn often jokes that the Senator has claimed her as an unofficial assistant but Cassian suspects it’s just because she doesn’t want to admit that they are friends.

Before he can think better of it, Cassian calls out to Jyn, despite the fact that she’s on the other side of the courtyard still. It doesn’t occur to him until afterwards that shouting to get someone’s attention in a crowded area is probably bad manners, especially if that person is a lady. She looks startled to hear her name and the soldiers scattered throughout the area look up in shock at hearing him raise his voice at all. When her eyes meet his across the yard, Jyn’s neutral, distant expression shutters, turning into something more wary and focused. Cassian tilts his chin very slightly to beckon her over, not risking a bigger gesture lest the assembled soldiers think they’re about to witness something salacious. He’s determined they won’t, and Jyn catches his meaning anyway, even from a distance, and begins to make her way over.

He means to use the long moment it will take her to reach him to plan what he will say, how he will broach this delicate subject with her without implicating her brother in divulging the information to him, but he’s too distracted by the sight of her. She’s dressed plainly enough, not being one for embellishment, but her dress is a deep burgundy that suits and fits her well and she’s gingerly holding the skirt to keep the hem from dragging along the dirty ground. He only has to think on her clothing for a moment before his mind supplies the image of her this morning, as he was preparing to leave, just in her nightshirt, only deigning to get out of their bed to give him one last kiss goodbye. It was the only time he can remember being tempted to stay in bed rather than get on with his work. By the time she arrives, his face is warm with the sort of embarrassment he thought he’d grow out of once he was married.

“Yes, my lord?” She asks, and he’d tell her again to do away with such pointless formality if he couldn’t see the bright glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She’s trying to be funny.

He still has no idea what to say to her. His mind remains a complete blank, while his pulse is running wild. There is no way to tell her she should have trusted him enough to tell him about the incident with Senator Jebel, or that he knows the intimate moment they shared this morning was more inspired by that than by any genuine passion on her part, without giving away that he’s been listening to gossip. To admit that would only succeed in raising her defenses and causing an argument.

She didn’t trust him. That’s the heart of the matter and what is bothering him the most. Or perhaps it is that, for once in his life, he acted without suspicion or subterfuge and now he looks like a fool. Without realizing it, he’d begun to trust her but apparently the feeling is not mutual. It is only once this thought articulates itself in his mind that he catches himself; he’s embarrassed. She’s injured nothing but his sense of pride—that he always knows when someone is lying to him, that he’s always the man in the room with the most information.

But what, really, is the cost? So what if she outsmarted him? It’s not life or death, this. He wishes she had felt safe enough to be honest with him, but he can hardly blame her that she didn’t. In the grand scheme of things, they hardly know each other and three months is not long enough to change a lifetime of mistrust in others, especially if one is accustomed to it as a means of survival. He still doesn’t know much about her past before they met, but if it was anything like his, he understands why opening up to him might prove difficult.

And maybe some of it was real—the dream she told him about, the reasons she has difficulty sleeping. Maybe she needed the ulterior motive of seducing him to make sure he doesn’t stray as an excuse to tell him the truth. And what does it tell her if he gets angry? How does it look if he holds it against her for being as secretive and wary as he always is himself? How can he ever expect her to trust him with anything if he lets his ego get in the way now? And perhaps more importantly, what does it really cost him to let her be right?

If she did what he thinks she did, it was an act of desperation, to ensure that she had some control over the life she was unceremoniously shoved into three months ago. She was afraid of the idea of him leaving on this trip and forgetting the vows he’d made as soon as she was out of sight. He can see now all the ways that her own ego is tied up in this—not wanting to be seen as an inadequate wife, wanting to prove Jebel wrong after he’d been so crass and unkind to her, and perhaps even worrying that Cassian felt the same way, that he had any complaints of their marriage—but he can also see further, to the core of the matter, where it’s just Jyn being afraid and alone. How can he punish her for that, when all he wants is for her to feel safe with him?

It costs him nothing to let her be right, then; to let her believe that he’s blissfully unaware of any hidden reason for her behavior or any conflict and just play the role of the devoted, smitten husband. It’s not as if he planned to be unfaithful to her while he was away, and giving her some assurance on that matter without revealing what he knows should be easy enough. Let her believe that her machinations paid off and she’s won her husband over with her feminine wiles. There’s no harm in that. When he thinks of it that way, it’s barely even a lie.

“Cassian,” she says now, eyes full of concern at his silently staring at her. “Is everything alright?”

He comes back to the present moment when her hand comes to rest on his arm. “Yes, everything is fine,” he says, weakly. “I apologize. There were probably less dramatic ways to get your attention.”

“No matter. I appreciate the efficiency of your method, I must say.”

“Still, I do not wish to embarrass you.” When he sees she means to shrug at that, he adds, “under any circumstances.”

She blinks at him, surprised, so some of his implied meaning must come through. “You do not embarrass me,” she replies, warily.

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Is that why you called me over?” She asks.

“No, I was—well, I realized I had forgotten to ask you if…well, if there was anything you needed.”

“Me?”

He nods, probably a touch too emphatically. He’s normally better at this, but Jyn has always caught him off guard. “Yes, I’m going to be traveling for the next few weeks and you can get almost anything from the markets in the southern provinces, so if there was anything you needed, I could bring it back for you.”

She stares at him as though he’s spoken in a language she’s never heard before. “I don’t believe I need anything at the present,” she says, finally, after considering her words for a long time.

“It doesn’t have to be something you need,” he says. “Something you want would suffice. Didn’t you lose your gloves recently?”

“No, I found them. I had left them in Senator Mothma’s chambers after she and I returned from a walk.”

“Still, I could get you nicer gloves.”

“It wouldn’t make much difference. I’d still forget them everywhere.”

“I could get you several pairs of gloves.”

“Cassian, what is this about?”

He covers her hand, still lingering on his arm, with his own, chafing her knuckles with his thumb. “Keeping your hands warm,” he says innocently.

She laughs incredulously. “You are not going away for the sole purpose of buying me presents. You will be busy with work. I imagine you will hardly have time to even think of me.”

“No, I’m afraid the real difficulty will be thinking of anything else,” Cassian says, his own pulse thundering behind his ears. It’s not the nerves of telling a lie and fearing getting caught, he realizes, but the panic of finally telling someone the long-guarded truth.

Jyn looks down at her feet, scuffing the toe of her shoe back and forth in the gravel. “You don’t need to say such things. I do not require flattery to sustain me.”

“Well, whether you’re flattered or not is incidental. What matters is that it’s true.”

“Is that why you said it?”

“Yes. I know the truth and I have a complicated relationship, sometimes by necessity, but I try to be honest with you, as much as I can be. And I can only hope that I get a little better at it with each try. It’s not much, I know, but—”

“It’s worth more than you think,” she says carefully.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He doesn’t say the rest of what he’s thinking— you can be honest with me too or I wish we could know each other better —because it feels like asking too much or risking betraying Bodhi’s confidence, so he leaves it at that.

Behind him, one of the lieutenants whistles for everyone’s attention. “Everyone is here and accounted for, Captain,” he adds, to Cassian. “We’re ready when you are.”

Cassian nods to him before looking back at Jyn just at the moment the wind picks up and loosens several strands of her hair from where it’s pulled back. He attempts to brush them back into place, while she watches him with amusement.

“It seems I must be going,” he says.

“So it does,” she replies. She appears to struggle with something, turning it over in her mind for a moment before she leans in and kisses him. His hand is still buried in her hair, trying to keep it from blowing about in the breeze again, and it helps him to keep her close. He’d normally be reticent to have such a display in front of his fellow soldiers—he doesn’t want to give them inspiration for gossip or a reason to tease him mercilessly if he has to spend the next several weeks in their company—but he’ll have to make an exception this time. It feels like a coded message from Jyn, that she trusts him, that he’s done well as her husband, at least in this moment. She’s not one to say so directly, and that’s fine. He’s willing to learn to speak her language, especially if it means kissing her like this more often.

However, common sense prevails eventually and he’s forced to pull back from her before they embarrass themselves in front of all the gathered soldiers. He runs his thumb over her cheek just once, feeling the chill of the morning there more than in his own body. “Goodbye, Jyn,” he says, quietly so only she can hear, and kisses her knuckles lightly for good measure.

“Take care of yourself,” she says, in a rush. Like she’s tried to keep it to herself but couldn’t manage it. “I expect you home in one piece or there will be hell to pay.”

“Of course, my dear,” he says as he steps up into the saddle.

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” the lieutenant beside Cassian chimes in, looking amused. “We will make sure nothing happens to your husband. You have my word.”

Cassian shakes his head at the young man, who looks even more shamelessly delighted, but Jyn is pleased by this, he can tell.

“Good,” she replies, nodding at him. “You don’t know me very well, sir, but I will tell you this: you would not like to be on my bad side.”

The lieutenant laughs. “No, ma’am, I would not. I’ll lead the party out, if you’d like, sir,” he adds to Cassian.

“Thank you,” Cassian replies. When the group has started to move out from the courtyard, he turns his attention back to Jyn and reaches his hand out to her.

She takes it, and plants a kiss on his knuckles. “My thoughts go with you,” she says.

“And mine stay here with you.”

The answering smile he receives stays with him as he follows the rest of the party out of the courtyard, as he lies on the cold ground of their camp that night, even as the mission turns long and tedious. It lasts until he can replace it in his memory with the smile he gets when he returns home again and sweeps her into his arms once more.

#rogue one #rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #bodhi rook #au #vaguely medieval fantasy au #my writing #my fic #one day i will title one of the fics in this series with actual graceland lyrics but today is not that day #i've been staring at this fic for three years basically just take it away from me please #anyway here's wonderwall #otp: built on hope #otp: your mother and i have been together ever since #HBD Zainab you elegant and industrious capybara

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ouyangzizhensdad · 3 years

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what’s the line between a good adaptation and a bad adaptation? I’ve been running circles in my head thinking about where cql stands these past few days. Because i was also thinking about other adaptations like the pjo films and howl’s moving castle, like one of these is hated and the other is very much loved but both of them change so much from the original source material that it cannot be considered the same, movie howl and book howl are completely different characters and the plot for pjo was messed w so much in the films. So I was thinking about how much an adaptation can change before it’s considered a bad adaptation? or if changes really even matter if the adaptation achieves what it set out to achieve regardless of how different it is to source material? For the record I think cql is a bad adaptation but I’m unsure how to word it because the line seems kinda blurry

Hi anon,

As much fun as it would be to be the final arbiter on what constitutes a good or bad adaptation, it is a question to which there are unfortunately no definitive answers. But I am of course happy to share my opinion and thoughts on the topic!

I think a good adaptation needs first to meet a crucial condition, which is that it must be, on its own, a good work of fiction. That means on the one hand that it should not rely on the source material to be thematically or narratively cohesive--if prior knowledge of the source material is necessary to understand fully the adaption, I personally consider it a failure. On the other hand, this also simply means that the work of fiction must be competently-made, coherent, enjoyable, etc. on its own merits. However, some adaptations that are well-made and generally self-contained works of fiction remain bad adaptations. There is obviously more to the process than just producing a strong work of fiction based on elements of another work.

It’s good to keep in mind that changes are not inherently a bad thing since the process of adaptation requires change. Generally an adaptation aims to tell a story through a different medium, which requires changes even when the creative(s) in charge of the adaptation want(s) to remain as faithful as possible to the original. Telling a story through a visual medium vs the written form demands a different approach! And technical limitations might end up having a huge sway in the process: do you have the budget or the technology to execute everything described in a fantasy novel, for instance? how much time or locations do you need to tell the same story? As well, since adaptations are generally spear-headed by different creatives, changes to the source material are part of the creative process, by adding another perspective and by being forced, in a sense, to choose a specific interpretation of the source material. And that’s not even covering how adapting something from a different era or from a different cultural moment will require a form of “translation” to make it both intelligible and relevant to contemporary audiences.

In addition to these sort of “unavoidable” changes, there are many other factors that may enter into question. With CQL and MDZS, we have a salient example of how censorship might influence the process of adapting a property. The people who have a veto, in some shape or form, over the project may also pursue their own agendas. Matters of marketability and of targeting a specific market will also influence the direction an adaptation takes, especially when an adaption is done in a medium that requires large initial financial investments.

Personally, I believe that the way to make a good adaptation is to go either of these three ways: 1) take a source material that contains obvious weaknesses and improve upon them; 2) figure out exactly what is the appeal of the source material and what makes it original, and make sure that these elements are kept in the adaptation; or 3) reinvent the source material. In the first scenario, it is a case of stronger story-teller being handed a property that has a lot of flaws, and either doing away with them or filling up the gaps in the original narrative--thereby allowing the good in it to finally shine. A good example of that, imo, is The Old Guard movie, a tight narrative that excised a lot of the less savoury elements of the graphic novels and included a lot more emotional depth and pay offs.

In the second scenario, the most important factor is that the creative (or creatives) in charge of the adaptation really understand not only the source material but also why it became loved enough to be picked up for an adaptation--why it appeals to people, what makes it unique, what stands out. What I mean is that creative liberty and changes to the source material are totally fine so long as they do not lose the identity or appeal of the source material and do not present an interpretation that is not actually rooted in the original text. For instance, I personally hate the Anne with an E adaptation of Anne of Green Gables because to me it fundamentally misunderstands the point of the novels and why they became a phenomenon. Making a story that was written to be an uplifting fantasy about an abused orphan who still managed to find beauty in the world and to find love and acceptance in it into a grim “realistic” drama to try to “appeal to modern audiences” is fundamentally stupid and, honestly, offensive. As well, while I enjoy Pride and Prejudice 2005 as a film, I think it is an horrid adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, mainly due to the fact the director Joe Right clearly did not understand the novel. As a result the film is a representation of what he projects unto the narrative (something that is very clear when he talked about the novel in interviews or in the bts), and not what is actually in the text.

In the third scenario, what would be a loose adaptation is a situation where perhaps very little of the source material may remain. It might only be the premise, or some plot points, or some character relationships that are ultimately kept. These also include for me the “what if X narrative but Y set-up”, which can be awful (the Pride and Prejudice and Zombies movie is so shockingly bad when it could have been a fun, campy romp) but also a way to explore a source material in new ways or underlining certain themes that might have been not given as much light in the source material. In this case, I guess that what really makes it a good “adaptation” is whether it has something new or interesting to add to the source material through this loose adaptation, or whether it is just a gimmick.

To me, CQL fails as an adaptation both on its own merits (due to plot holes, on-the-nose and clumsy storytelling, inconsistent characterisation, technical failings, etc.) but also as it does not retain, for a number of reasons, what makes MDZS appealing imo (WWX’s characterisation, Wangxian’s journey, its heavy reliance on mystery, intrigue and themes, its willingness to show characters do cruel and violent things, etc.), all the while making the cardinal sin of being a weaker story than the source material (when the source material already provided them with all the material they would have needed to tell a story of at least equal complexity and competency).

#anon ask #long post

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clockworkgraystairs · 4 years

Text

Beg for me || Jurdan Dom-Sub One Shot

Jurdan Smut Week 2020 • DAY 1

@jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Rating: M

Summary: “I need you.”

“Then say it. Beg for me.”

Masterlist • AO3

Thank you so much @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 for helping me betaing this, even when you’re sleep deprived, I have no words! 🧡

“Look at me, love”

Kneeled before him, Jude lifted her head slowly, her breath coming out in faltering huffs. A prickling sensation ran over her swollen lips. Surely a reaction to the punishing kisses he’d given her just seconds before. The moment their eyes connected, the intensity she saw there sent an anticipatory pulse down to her stomach.

“Do you know why I am doing this?” He said, cocking his head to the side and arms crossed over his chest. His words were low and honeyed.

Oh she definitely did. Yet, she tugged her lip between her teeth.

Arching an eyebrow he hauled the little chain that connected with the leather band around her neck, his movement soft but firm. Answer me, it said.

The corner of her lips quirked up a bit. The only sign of defiance she’d allow her body to show, or at least that’s what she tried. “Because I misbehaved… sir.” She quickly added at the change in his gaze.

He chuckled. “I might not be your boss at this moment, but I would appreciate it if you still minded your manners.” With another tug to the chain he signaled her to stand. “On the bed, dear.”

Heat creeped up her cheeks at the appreciative hum that left his mouth at the full sight of her. Black lace that barely covered part of her body, combined with high stockings framing her long legs. She’d bought it knowing he’d like it, but couldn’t get used to how much skin it showed.

It was almost unfair that he could keep his clothes on. However, she couldn’t really decide if she liked her boss better when he was completely naked, or just like he looked in that moment: bare feet, black trousers and loose white shirt, sleeves rolled up his arms. More than ready to play with her for hours.

The soft mattress sunk under her. Jude lay down, her pulse rose as he walked towards her.

“Hands up.” He commanded. A familiar clang reached her ears from the drawer he was rummaging in, sending a shiver down her back.

She swallowed before obeying. He had plenty of punishments in his repertoire, but only few include that artifact in particular. That narrowed the options.

Cold metal kissed her wrists and Jude gasped. With a small movement she felt the chain of the handcuffs firmly secured to the bed’s headboard. Her chest rose and fell with elaborated breaths.

She was officially at his mercy.

Turning her head back, she watched him loosen his tie and take it off. Popping the first buttons from his shirt open. His carefree movements, along with those mischievous eyes of his always took Jude off guard.

“Enjoying the view?” He asked.

“You know I do, sir.”

“Hmm.” Her boss purred. “Too bad it has to end.” At that he gently coiled his tie around her head, covering her eyes. He tied it tightly to keep it from falling but not enough for it to hurt.

Pulling away, he left her there, aroused and disoriented. Jude tried to sense where he’d gone. Focusing all she could on-

Jude yelped when something soft caressed her torso. A low chuckle came from the left.

The thing about being sight-deprived was that her other senses intensified in a terrible yet exhilarating way. And he knew it very damn well.

Whatever object it was, probably a feather, he used it to roam over every piece of uncovered skin. He trailed it down her arms, her neck, between her shuddering breasts. Dropped kisses here and there, nibbling at her sensitive spots. The sensation was too much and yet not enough, Jude was quickly losing all coherent thoughts. Every time he sucked low moans escaped from her throat.

She breathed his name as his mouth moved down to her hips. He continued his ministrations, carefully avoiding that hot and needy spot between her legs.

“Are you going to defy my decisions in front of my coworkers again?”

Of course she would, they were both aware of that. Especially if it lent to more sessions of this. It was all part of their game. She was brilliant at work, with her intelligence and sharp temper she had everyone around her finger in no time. And he, a promising talent on the rise, did everything on his power to conquer her. Even when it implied hiding it from the whole company.

It felt so good to quarrel in meetings. But it was better when he gave her that look, the one that signaled he would use that same argument against her later. Alone, and naked.

Jude opened her mouth to answer but felt as if her mind had forgotten how to form words. Fuck, she should be doing better than this, she scolded herself. Focus.

He sucked down on her inner thigh, really close to where she desperately wanted him and she cried out, arching her back. The handcuffs rattled against the board. That damned sound always remained to haunt her in her deepest dreams.

Hot breath caressed her core as he spoke again. “I asked you a question.”

She licked her lips. “No sir, I won’t.” He hummed, using his thumb to play with the lace of her panties and pulled them down just a fraction. Then he seemed to change his mind and dragged his hands up her sides earning a protest from her.

Jude felt the mattress shift under his weight, then hot bare skin pressed flush against her as he stretched on top of her. He still wore his pants and even with them, his hardness was evident. She tilted her hips up seeking some friction, but a strong hand held her hips still. She whined one more time and his fingers now grabbed her with enough force to leave bruises.

“What was that again?” His gruff voice was now against her ear.

She moved to put her arms around his neck but a metallic sound and a yank to her wrists reminded Jude of her position. She almost said the word she knew he wanted. But held back, huffing in frustration. “I need you.”

“Then say it.” He groaned, nipping her earlobe. The hand holding her down moved once more, soft fingers positioning on the edge of her underwear. Please, the word was there on the tip of her tongue. With a torturing pace, he slid them under the thin fabric. “Beg for me, Ember.”

“CUT! Excellent, I think we got it. Good work everyone!”

Voices burst around them.

Jude sighed, the air wavering. Seconds later cold air hit her skin as he moved away from her.

The tie was taken from her eyes and the bright light blinded her a moment. The handcuffs shackled again and were off a heartbeat later.

“Hey.” She turned to find Cardan, stripped down to only his trousers, with the offending artifact on his hand. “Are you okay?”

She blinked and sat up, taking in her surroundings. Filming set, not suite room. And Cardan, her co-star, not her boss. Sometimes she really envied Ember, her character. Getting the chance to live the excitement of a forbidden romance. A hot, forbidden romance.

At her lack of answer, he sat next to her and cupped her face. Worry filled his voice. “Jude? Did I overstep?”

“No, no.” Shaking her head, Jude grinned. “You were perfect, I’m just recovering my breath. I tried to put myself more into it this time.”

“I noticed,” Cardan chuckled. “If I’m honest, for a moment I almost forgot we were acting.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. Me too, she almost said. Instead she just looked at him. Even out of character there was something in his eyes that captured her in a way she didn’t believe was possible. He was kind, funny and incredibly respectful on and off of the set.

Jude couldn’t help the real fluttering in her stomach in every scene they shot together.

She knew romances weren’t unusual in their line of work, but since she was relatively new, this tv series her first leading role, she was still terrified to ruin it. Most of all, to ruin the friendship she’d built with Cardan in all those months.

Coats were given to them, observations from the director and the screenwriters too and at last, they could leave for the day.

Cardan walked her to her trailer, telling another of his weird experiences he’d had while filming. Tears fell from her eyes from all the laughing.

“I trust you’re laughing at the situation and not actually at me.” He teased.

“Oh I’m definitely laughing at you, no need to ask.”

Making an offended sound he ruffled her hair, Jude shrieking and pulling away.

“Jude,” He said, his tone more serious than before made her stop her mocking too. “Are you sure everything was okay with the scene?”

A blush covered her cheeks. “It was. You know I’m relatively new to this. I guess I’m just getting used to all of it.”

He nodded.

“But, thank you.” She added. “For making sure I’m ok, and...for all of your fun stories that make me relax after. It is...really nice from you.”

Cardan’s wide smile almost left her breathless again.

“It’s nothing.” He hesitated for a second. “I have more stories though… We could... go buy some coffee and I could tell you all of it. If you want to, of course.”

She stared at him, not quite believing his words.

He bit her lip and gave her an apologetic smile. “Think about it, will you? I’d really like to...go out with you someday.”

Jude smiled gradually, feeling her heart nearly jumping out from her chest. “I’ll think about it.” She said softly.

“Let me know.” He walked backwards and winked at her. “And Jude… just for the record, I enjoy being tied up too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @sweetlyvillainous @aesthetics-11 @thesirenwashere @jurdanhell @nightbringer @b00kworm @mysweetvillain @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @vanessa172003 @tessas-herondales

If you wish to be tagged/untagged (or if I forgot to tag you) please let me know!

#jurdan smut week 2020 #jurdan smut week #jurdannet #jurdan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #holly black #tcp #twk #tqon #qon #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #judecardan #jude x cardan #tess writes

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crazybagelbitch · 3 years

Note

Can I prompt you? With your last post...

Like... chimney is lost and searching for maddie, someone calls 911 and maddie answers?

(If you want, obviously)

Oh, Maddie picking up is an evil twist... I love it. :)

He’s dizzy and it’s cold; that’s all he knows.

His feet are bare and their soles are raw against the sidewalk and he can’t remember if he kicked them off during his escape or if he had his shoes taken earlier. His whole body hurts, it doesn’t matter.

Everything is blurry and he keeps nearly falling but he makes out a blob that he’s almost certain is a human and tries to flag them down. The voice from the blob sounds panicked but they’re not close enough for him to make sense of their words yet, and then there’s a second blob and a second voice and they’re both close enough for him to be sure they’re humans and to be able to speak to them.

“I... d-don’t know where I am,” he says, stumbling through the words that feel unnaturally heavy on his tongue and his mouth feels like it’s melting but apparently his speech is intelligible to the two women in front of him.

“Mom, call 9-1-1, he’s bleeding.”

He’s bleeding and he hadn’t put two and two together until he hears someone else say it, he had just thought that there was a wet warmth clinging to some parts of his shirt, maybe it was sweat.

“Maddie,” he manages to squeak out, “I-I want Maddie...”

“Who’s Maddie?” Person #1 asks, and somehow he ends up going from standing to sitting without registering his legs actually moving.

“Maddie....” is all he can say, in a lone whine and his eyelids are feeling heavier and heavier and his stomach is feeling sicker and sicker.

“Holy crap,” Person #2 suddenly gasps, “his shirt... it says LAFD and his face is bruised but--- Victoria, doesn’t he look like that missing firefighter on the news?”

“I don’t know, maybe? I didn’t see his picture but please, mom, call for help.”

“Maddie.... Hen.”

“Hen? He’s not making any sense, tell the operator he’s either drunk or on something... maybe drugged against his will? He’s so confused...”

“Hi, yes, uh-- kind of a hard emergency to describe. I think my daughter and I found the missing firefighter but he’s in rough shape,” Victoria’s mom says with a trembling voice and he doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand who she’s talking to until he makes out the object in her hand is a phone.

“118.”

“What was that?” Victoria asks kindly, lightly tapping on his cheek, “what did--”

“Wait,” the mom interjects, “you’re Maddie? The Maddie he keeps asking for? He keeps saying your name and something about a hen and some numbers... yes, 118, how did you know? Put you on speaker? I don’t understand-- okay, okay, one second.”

His head is so heavy and his neck hurts until one of the women, he can’t tell which, puts their hand under his chin and lifts gently to hold his head up. And then he hears it. Muffled and far away but he hears her and it can’t all be a dream, right?

“Chim? Chimney? Are you there?” she asks frantically, “is he there? I thought you said--”

“He’s there, he’s there,” Victoria cuts her off, “he said yes it was just too quiet; here, let me move the phone closer.

“Maddie?” he asks groggily, feeling the urge to just let his body fall over and into sleep.

“Chimney,” she sobs, and she’s crying, and he doesn’t like that she’s crying and everything hurts or feels sick and he starts crying right along with her, “I-I’m so glad you’re okay, I m-mean not okay but... Hen and Buck are coming, okay? So are Bobby and Eddie-- I dispatched the 118 a-and Athena... it’s going t-to be okay. They’ll tell me which h-hospital you’re going to a-and I’ll be there right away.”

“Maddie... coming?” he asks, feeling like he’s drowning in his own throat from the effort to force the words out.

“I’m coming, y-yes. I love you, I-I’m coming. Your friends w-will be there any minute. I love you-- where are y-you hurt?”

“Hurts,” is all he can whimper and luckily Victoria’s mom takes over for him.

“His face is bruised like he’s been punched, maybe?” she offers, “and he’s bleeding... it looks like glass cuts? I think whoever took him drugged him, he’s not very coherent and he can hardly keep his eyes open.”

“Chim? D-Do you remember if someone injected y-you with someone or if you maybe drank---”

“Don’t know what’s going on,” he cries, wondering why there are so many questions and why he can’t remember the answers. His head is somehow spinning even more than before and someone’s hands are shifting him to lay down but he can hear sirens, and didn’t Maddie say...?

“That’s them,” Maddie sighs in relief, “that’s Hen and Bobby and e-everyone. Just hand in there a little longer, o-okay?”

“Little l-longer,” he whispers, forcing his eyes open and hoping he can keep his word.

#i'm probably going to get 18 part 2 requests for this aren't it #hehe thanks for the prompt!

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once-upon-a-pirate-ship · 3 years

Text

How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam 3/?

Chapter 3: Moments Long Remembered

read it on AO3 here | from the beginning

chapter 1 | chapter 2

story summary: Princess Emma isn't the princess of much anymore. It's been months since her parents and brother were taken, and she's been on the run with her godmother Red. When Emma and Red board a merchant vessel to sail to Arendelle, Emma quickly finds that the captain is not to be trusted. After helping two slave brothers, Emma takes over the ship and begins her journey to save and rebuild her kingdom.

what's in store for chapter three? New characters (not new new, but new to this particular world)! Some background! Pining & tension!

thank you all for reading and staying with me even when I am too busy (just for this one week and a half time period) to post on schedule

Moments Long Remembered

On the worst day of her life, Princess Emma rode out far beyond the castle walls. She was alone, as she preferred solitary rides on her trusted horse, and the cold air was nothing to her as she raced through the snow covered forest. For a few hours each day, she got to feel entirely free. All responsibilities could wait, every forced smile was just a distant memory. She had no one to try to impress, no one who expected anything from her, no one who needed her to be someone she was not.

It wasn’t the excursion, nor the weather, nor the steed that made this day so horrible. Rather, it was the enemy who had breached the castle walls in her absence.

The most poignant part of this particular memory, for her, were the moments directly before she was made aware of the events inside the castle. She was at ease, content, blissfully happy and oblivious to the screams that tore through the halls she called home. She wasn’t worrying about her parents when they were stolen and taken far out of her reach. She didn’t consider her brother, her little lion cub, as he was yanked from the joy he knew and shown the truths of the world she’d wished he’d never have to learn.

Her happiness was shattered when the Evil Queen appeared before her, the black gown cutting across the crisp white snow in her path. Terror as she’d never known it dropped into her stomach as her hands gripped the reins and her horse skidded to a stop, and the fear that sliced down her spine was colder than the shards of ice that hung from each tree branch.

The Evil Queen’s mouth was curled into a wicked smile, white teeth framed by the wine color of her lips as she moved them to speak.

“Emma.”

But it was not the Evil Queen who stood in front of her now and called her name. It was her most trusted friend, her ally, her godmother, Red. The memory, as vivid as if it had only just happened, dissolved into nothing, sizzling in the early summer air as Emma blinked it away.

“Yes?”

“Liam and I are leaving,” Red told her, “I doubt we’ll be gone more than a few hours.”

Emma could’ve counted on one hand the number of times that she’d been separated from Red in the last months, and no matter how irrational it was, she couldn’t stop her muscles from tensing as if bracing for pain. But they needed some new crew, and Red was more than capable of the job.

“Good, good,” Emma said absently. She wished she had something more intelligent to say, but her mind was still fixated on moments long gone. “I’ll be here,” she added.

“Yes,” Red grinned, “you and Killian.” She didn’t give Emma time to inquire after the tone she’d used before Red turned and called, “Liam!”

Liam stood across the deck in conference with John Terry, but at the call of his name, he excused himself from his fellow sailor and joined Red and Emma where they waited by the gangplank.

“We shall return shortly,” Liam promised his captain. “I hope Killian won’t give you too much trouble,” he added in good humor.

“We’ll be just fine,” Emma told him. The trouble Killian Jones gave her was of a different nature, and she wasn’t about to disclose those particulars to his older brother.

Emma watched Liam and Red until they disappeared into the crowd past the docks, forcing her thoughts from straying to the fear that was an ever-present buzz in her blood. Instead, she planted herself on the steps leading up to the quarterdeck, her mind occupying itself with whatever it could latch onto.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, Killian appeared from below, offering Terry a few words as he passed on his way towards her.

“Swan!” he called, and her eyes immediately met his. He’d called her that three times that morning, and it hadn’t seemed unusual once. But perhaps that had less to do with the moniker and more to do with who had said it.

Killian dropped onto a step below hers, a gentle and genuine smile spreading across his lips. “Terry’s gathering his group and then they’ll be off,” he told her. “I double checked the list with the storeroom, and it seems that everything’s in order.”

“Perfect,” she replied, willing a coherent sentence to present itself as she looked away from his striking eyes.

“Tell me, Swan,” he began, his voice low, “do you always dress in a layer of knives, or do you save that for special occasions?”

She laughed, and it made her realize how long it had been since that had happened. Her head thrown back like that, the bounding joy in her chest—weeks, at least. Probably months, probably before that morning ride that featured the Evil Queen.

Emma leaned back a little, her hand going to the edge of the vest to pull out a blade and pass it to him. “Eight in total, four on each side,” she explained. “And yes, I’ve fixed every garment I have with some sort of weapons holder.”

Killian’s eyebrows shot up, glancing up at her from the knife he had been examining. “Isn’t that dangerous? How have you not injured yourself?”

“Not any more dangerous than being unarmed and running into some Black Knights,” she said with a shrug, glancing away to avoid his concerned gaze. “But each blade has a metal casing. That’s what keeps it from hurting me or tearing the fabric, and it snaps into place to stop it from falling out.”

His dark brows furrowed, his eyes flitting from the knife to where she’d pulled it from. “The casing, is it tricky?” he wondered. “Does it get stuck?”

“Only when I forget to clean them,” she replied. Without pausing to consider what she was doing, she reached for his free hand. “Here, try it,” she said, guiding his fingers to the spot on the other side of her vest.

Killian moved slowly, hesitantly, but he allowed her to line his fingertips against the hidden pocket. His eyes locked with hers, and that familiar tug and snapping of electricity surged between them.

“Just, um, push up a little until you feel a click, and then it’ll slide out,” she explained, slightly breathless despite the fact that she’d been sitting for several minutes.

His gaze didn’t stray from hers as he followed her directions, the thin handle of the blade dropping into his hand. She could feel his body heat like this, his hand against her waist, and it seemed like he was both too close and not close enough.

“Captain?”

Emma and Killian broke apart at the sound of Terry’s voice. She stood, brushing back some of the hair that had fallen out of place. “Yes?” she asked, glancing quickly at Killian who had returned to an upright position and was currently examining the two blades closely. The tips of his ears were red.

Terry smiled, and Emma pretended not to notice anything but politeness in it. “With your leave, Captain, we’re off.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she replied, looking between him and the several crew members gathered a few feet behind. “I look forward to receiving your report upon your return.” It was best that she maintained the pretense of captain with the crew, according to Red. Something about safety or respect or concealing her identity from newcomers. She could hardly remember now.

Emma waited until they were out of sight before returning to her previous position, and Killian had recovered enough that the blush had even faded from his cheeks when he looked at her. He passed her the knives without a word.

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes back to hers rather than where her fingers secured the blades. “You mentioned Black Knights,” he said, “have you fought many of them?”

It wasn’t that surprising of a question, honestly, given that she’d mentioned them off-handedly before. She just couldn’t figure out why she had mentioned it in the first place. Perhaps it was the same reason she showed him how her vest worked.

“Can you define ‘many’?” she asked, her voice calm and soft and not at all befitting the subject.

Killian’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening to restrain some emotion she couldn’t place. “It’s been…months,” he murmured. “You’ve been fighting them all this time?”

“Fighting them, running from them, gathering information from them,” Emma answered. “Until I figured out that she was tracking me with magic, at least.”

“What did you do?”

“Red got her hands on some potion,” she said, trying for a smile that ended up a little sad. “So that’s why we’re here now. And that’s why there’s not a single Black Knight searching this port.”

Killian was quiet for a moment, and it wasn’t until his jaw released its tension that he spoke. “What information?”

“At first, we tried to get them to tell us where my family was, but they’re not particularly talkative,” she explained, hoping she sounded more unaffected than she felt. “Eventually, we started following them, finding their camps. We spent weeks combing the forest, tracking their movements, and making maps of their locations.”

“Did you find them?”

The ghost of a smile on her lips was revealing. “We discovered where she’s holding my father. It’s remote, not to mention protected by battalions of Black Knights. Red and I are good, but we’re not that good.”

“That’s where Arendelle comes in,” he concluded. “You’re hoping they’ll help you to free him with magic.”

She sighed, her eyes trailing away from him and fixing themselves on the gangplank. “That’s our hope,” she said. “If I can get to my father, he’ll be able to find my mother. And I have no doubt they’ll make quick work of locating Leo.”

“You and your brother,” Killian continued after a moment, “are you close?”

The question was enough to bring happier, lighter memories to the forefront of her mind. “Very,” Emma replied. “He’s like light personified. Always overly enthusiastic, always making me laugh. But he’s driven, too. Spends all day in the practice yard unless I convince him to do something else.”

“He’s probably just trying to keep up with his sister,” Killian said, the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

“Maybe,” she allowed. But thinking about her brother fighting made her think about her brother losing, and then the guilt that had lived in her chest since that day slammed against her heart. “I wish I’d been there to protect him when he really needed me,” she confessed, and the words were almost shocking for her to hear. She’d thought about it again and again, but never had she voiced it, as if keeping it to herself made it less real.

“What happened, exactly?” Killian asked. “If you don’t mind sharing,” he added quickly.

“I used to go for a ride every morning,” she began, “and that morning was no different. Until the Evil Queen showed up and outlined her perfect plan to destroy my family one curse at a time.”

“She cursed all of you?”

“No,” Emma replied, a bitter laugh on her lips, “not me. Because the knowledge that my family is slowly dying while I am powerless to stop it…that’s a curse in its own right.”

“Swan,” Killian breathed, and the emotion in his voice was overwhelming. “I don’t pretend to know the specifics of the Evil Queen’s magic, but you must know that it wasn’t your fault. If your parents, your brother, your numerous castle guards couldn’t stop her, why do you think you’re to blame?”

He paused, shaking his head as he gathered his thoughts. “I have no doubt that you will defeat her, love, but it’s not only your combat skills that are going to take her down.”

Killian believed in her. She’d known it since the very beginning, but her doubt had been strong enough to convince her it was a misled belief. But now, with his head bent in reverence and his startling eyes that wouldn’t waver from hers, she had no choice but to accept his words as truth.

The guilt and the doubt didn’t evaporate into nothing, but their power over her waned.

Emma nodded—acknowledgement, gratitude, something else, she wasn’t sure—and they ventured into safer, less dramatic topics that allowed for a lighter atmosphere to settle over them.

Watching the ship, as it turned out, was not the most interesting job. There was very little for them to do except wait for the others to return, though Emma was relieved for something unexciting for a change. She needed the respite much more than she’d realized, and though the absence of constant panic was almost jarring enough to cause panic itself, she convinced herself that she was secure for the afternoon.

The first interruption to her temporary peace came when a figure appeared on the dock a few steps from the gangplank. Killian and Emma stood, their hands reaching for their swords in a synchronized motion that made the stranger chuckle softly.

“Exactly as Red described,” the woman said, pushing her hood back to reveal a heart-shaped face and blonde hair that was piled atop her head. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?” she asked, looking expectantly at Emma.

Emma relaxed at the mention of her godmother, but she did not alter her posture to show it. She nodded sharply, and Killian stepped forward to put himself between her and the stranger. The action wasn’t shocking or offensive to Emma’s pride; instead, it asserted the rank she held and the loyalty of those who followed her.

The woman was petite, but she moved with the surety of someone who had seen hardship and battle. “They call me Tink,” she informed them once she’d boarded. “I was told I could find you here.”

It took everything in Emma’s power not to revert to her diplomatic training. She could not smile politely, could not offer refreshments or entertainment. Here, she had to appear coarse and immoveable like the captain she was supposed to be, at least until they knew Tink could be trusted.

Killian, following her lead as always, did not falter to play his part. “What is your business here?”

“Friends of yours—Red and Liam—told me you’re looking for a few additions to your crew. I’d like to offer my services,” Tink said, unshaken by their front.

“Why?” Emma asked, and her gut pinched at the rude tone in her voice.

A smile spread across Tink’s face as she paused before speaking. “Well, they’d hardly tell me, would they?” She laughed at her own joke, and then continued, “But they seemed significantly more interested once they learned about my dislike for the Evil Queen, so I suspect that’s got something to do with it.”

“You have a personal vendetta?” Killian asked, though it didn’t quite seem like that much of a question.

Tink’s arms folded across her chest, the smile disappearing from her lips. “I’m an ex-fairy,” she replied, “and let’s just say that before I met Regina, I was not an ex-fairy.”

“And now you’re looking for revenge,” Killian offered.

“Justice,” Tink corrected. “But yes, I’d like to help in the fight against her.”

Emma glanced at Killian just as he was turning back to her, and their eyes locked for a moment. Had Red and Liam been there to witness the silent conversation that passed, there would have been a hushed discussion between them later. Without them there, the only acknowledgement of the event was Tink who smiled to herself.

“Joining this crew would guarantee a death at her hand if we’re caught,” Emma warned, her demeanor nearly returning to normal with Tink’s objective revealed.

Tink cocked her head slightly, her wide eyes studying Emma with a level of perception neither she nor Killian could comprehend. “You’re not just a captain, are you?”

“No.”

“You’re someone special,” Tink added, “I may not be a fairy anymore, but I can still feel it. Who are you?”

At this question, Killian tensed, his eyes scanning their surroundings. Once he’d determined that there was no one close enough to become a threat, he looked back at Emma, another silent inquiry.

Emma moved, a hand on his shoulder to calm him as she passed, and when she stood directly in front of Tink, she almost felt like the princess she hadn’t been in months.

“My name is Emma, and I am the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming.”

The shock on Tink’s face was less than Emma had anticipated, but the grin that replaced it eased her worries. “I knew you weren’t just running,” she said, “and I would be honored to join you in saving your kingdom and your family. Beating Regina is simply a bonus.”

Emma offered her hand to shake, and Tink accepted both the gesture and the wordless accord that came with it. “Welcome aboard,” Emma said.

Emma returned above deck from checking the storeroom with Terry, finding Killian speaking with Tink and the other sailor who had been sent by Red and Liam before the suppliers had made their way back.

August Booth was a man who could be charming when he wished to be, but the scowl that had overtaken his expression upon the mention of the Evil Queen left Emma with no doubt of his loyalty. He asked fewer questions than Tink, but his curious eyes were revealing to anyone who cared to look.

To any passing observer, Killian looked relaxed as he stood before the two crew members. His shoulders were back, his left hand resting casually against the hilt of his sword. But Emma could tell by the angle of his neck that he was watching the pier for unexpected visitors, and the set of his feet prepared him for a fight.

“It’s definitely a step up from the last ship I sailed on,” Tink said, her nose wrinkling at a distasteful memory.

“I’m afraid my sailing experience is limited to what I’ve learned in the last few months,” August said with a glance towards Killian, “but I’ve been told that I’m a fast learner, so I hope the captain won’t throw me off at the next port.”

Killian chuckled, “So long as you follow orders, you’ll be fine.”

Emma was pleased to find that Killian had warmed somewhat to August, as he’d been uncharacteristically sharp upon meeting him. While Emma had eased into the topic of the Evil Queen, Killian had been skeptical and quick to determine August’s exact beliefs regarding Emma’s family. August’s father had been murdered when Regina had torn apart the village outside the castle, and though Emma read his grief and anger as nothing threatening to her, Killian had bluntly asked if August found the former king and queen at fault in the tragedy.

Now she leaned casually against the mainmast, neither announcing herself nor bothering to hide to effectively eavesdrop as she watched the group while they talked.

“I’ve heard that the princess is quite the fighter,” August added, studying Killian carefully as he spoke.

It was not the sun that brought red to Killian’s cheeks and to the tips of his ears. “Aye, I have yet to see her equal,” he admitted, making no attempt to mask the pride in his voice.

“Do you suppose she’d agree to a demonstration later?” Tink wondered.

“We could prove our worth with a sword,” August offered, grinning at the prospect.

“You’d have to ask her yourself,” Killian replied. “I’d be happy to spar with you both if you’d like. I don’t pretend to be as skilled as the princess, but I can manage well enough.”

Before Emma could interrupt to agree to the demonstration, a creak of the wood and a flash of movement from the corner of her eye brought her attention away from them. Her defensive instincts sputtered when she recognized Red and Liam, though the third person to step onto the gangplank was a stranger to her.

Killian reacted as she’d expected him to, turning away from Tink and August to meet his brother. They exchanged a nod that held unspoken words, and when Killian stood before the potential crew member, his body language conveyed his reserve. Tink and August fell back, acknowledging Red and Liam without moving towards the man.

“This is Will Scarlet,” Red announced, not meeting Emma’s gaze though she was aware of her presence.

Will Scarlet had no scabbard to hold his sword, but rather a knife that was secured in a leather casing along his belt. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his gaze traveling from each person until it settled on Emma, and she had a feeling that he knew more than he should’ve with a single glance. It was the kind of thing that one learned when forced to, the ability to read a person’s intentions by their movements and everything they did not say.

“I suppose you’re the captain,” he said, causing every eye to shoot towards her. His tone was casual, unaffected, but there was a gravity in his posture that revealed something much more intense.

Emma nodded slowly, but she didn’t move from her position as she leaned against the mast. Her gaze drifted from Will to Killian in a flicker, but she focused back on the stranger before a second had passed.

“I hope our choices have been acceptable thus far, Captain,” Liam said, more a question than a statement. The tone was unfitting of the camaraderie they’d achieved, maintaining the pretense of rank in front of Will.

“Indeed,” Emma replied. She paused, testing the bounds of their attentiveness and therefore respect. No one moved, no one breathed, all waiting for her to speak as they knew she would. There were many differences between acting as a captain and acting as a princess, but commanding the attention of a room, or a deck, was a similarity.

“I was about to consent to a sparring exercise—a demonstration, if you will—for our new recruits when you arrived,” she continued. When her eyes landed on Will, she made a show of studying him. “I assume that you carry no sword because you have no need of one,” she added.

The corners of his lips twitched, his hand patting the leather case that held his knife. “They’re a waste of metal, if you ask me,” he told her, “I prefer to keep things simple.”

She hummed, gauging his expression to determine if he boasted a skill level that he did not possess. “And you believe that you deserve a place on this ship?” she asked, pushing his temper, his pride, to see if she could find a weak spot.

“What I do or do not deserve isn’t important, is it?” he replied, a grumbling sound that came from his throat that revealed either a mild irritation or anger directed towards a third party. “The way I see it, it’s what the Evil Queen deserves that really matters,” he nearly spat, though there was no lack of control in his voice.

Emma, though she couldn’t admit it without first determining Will’s loyalty, was impressed. His eyes burned with a familiar enduring rage that she had seen each time she’d looked in the mirror.

“I’m guessing you’re aware of the risks you’d be taking should you join us?” Emma asked, measuring each shift in his expression for anything alarming.

“I’d hardly be here if I couldn’t face the consequences,” Will said. “And you’re not the first crusade against the Evil Queen that I’ve joined, although Red seems to think you’d give me a better chance than that lot ever did.”

“We beat her or we die trying,” Emma told him as she pushed herself off the mast and moved a few steps towards him, all the ferocity she’d been attempting to hide away behind the sadness and the guilt leaking out in her voice. “Are you ready for that?”

Will grinned, his eyes darkening. “You can count on it, Captain.”

Emma didn’t wait more than a moment before she turned to face the others. “Red, fill him in. Liam, make sure Terry’s ready to set sail and get us going. I want us in the wind before sunset, and we’ve got a prisoner to hand over before we can leave,” she ordered, though her tone had dropped the unforgiving command as she surrendered her facade. “Killian, show our newest allies to their quarters once Scarlet has been briefed, and then I’d like you and your brother to join me in escorting Silver off this ship.”

No one hesitated to obey the second she finished speaking, and though Killian lingered to hold her gaze for a long moment, he said nothing. Emma could not regret this, because there was no lack of communication in his sparkling eyes.

Violence had always been a part of her life. It was a byproduct of her existence, a necessity, a simple truth. But before her last ride from the castle, she had never considered herself a violent person. True violence was always accompanied with a driving force beyond rationality, perhaps a hatred, a passionate fury, or bloodlust. Those particular feelings did not promote impartiality or decorum, and they had certainly never been a part of her training. But as Emma walked behind the Jones brothers, watching Silver stumble and fight against his restraints and the firm hands of Killian and Liam, she felt at least two of those three feelings.

He hadn’t come quietly, neither physically nor verbally passive, and the bit of cloth preventing him from speaking had been a necessary addition. He had swung at her and at the brothers, he had tried to kick and scratch at them before the rope had limited his movements, but none of that had affected her the way his words had.

It was not his insults towards her that had stirred the violent feelings she felt now, but rather it was his cutting remarks aimed at Liam and Killian that had led to the swelling cheek he now brandished.

She had known cruelty—hell, she had looked it in the eye and watched its wine-colored lips smile at her—but she had never known it quite like this. Because Silver held no power. He would hang, he would die, he would never be seen by any of them again, and yet he still attempted to slice at the brothers and prod every wound he believed they had. He was a desperate man, she knew. He was a coward. He was a fool.

Silver was defenseless, hopeless, powerless, and yet Emma still wished to draw her sword and cut him the way he’d tried to cut the Jones brothers.

Her hand curled around the hilt of her sword, her grip so tight that it nearly hurt her to hold it. She focused on her steps rather than the anger that swirled in her chest, the hatred that shuddered in her stomach and traveled up to her shoulders and made them tremble as she restrained herself.

Liam spoke quickly and efficiently with the jailor when they arrived, and Emma kept herself three paces behind them to prevent her violence from pushing her to interfere. There were a few formalities that took some time to sort out, some documents to sign verifying witnesses, and the only thing that held Emma back was the look on Killian’s face.

It didn’t lack the anger she felt, but his was the expression of a man resolved. He accepted Silver’s fate and wished for nothing more. His fists did not clench in preparation of beating him, his lips did not part to issue his sentence or even a parting taunt that bragged of flipped roles or lost and gained freedom. If Killian could watch the man who had carved lines into his back with near equanimity, what right did she have to act on her desires?

She signed her name Emma Swan, gave Silver one last pointed glare, and then she led the brothers back towards their ship, eager to put as much distance as possible between them and this port.

#How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #once upon a time #ouat #ouat fanfic #cs fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #chapter 3 #cs ff

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

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Hewwo I really love your writing and I want to improve my own to a form similar to yours. If it's okay, can I ask what your writing process is or if you have any writing tips? Sorry if you already answered questions like this. I am not a native speaker by the way, can i also ask about how you built your vocabulary as well? Thank you very much in advance and I hope you're having a great day/night! Drink lots of water and don't forget to eat three meals a day.~

hello, anon! you’re actually the first to ask about something like this and i’m honored you think my writing is good enough for me to give advice on (and honored that you think it’s good enough to take inspiration from!).

i have two different writing methods, which are as follows:

long fics (10k+ words)

i write an outline and have my friends look over it to make sure that the scenes are both impactful and enjoyable, along with being organized. the most important part of writing a long story is making sure the timeline is coherent and that you have proper buildup to the climax of the story.

before i write a scene that contains foreshadowing to a future event, i write down what themes i wish to convey with this scene, along with any future information that will be relevant later in the story. this is helpful because you never write something all at once if it’s this long! you might forget important details, so having notes is always nice.

if i’m hesitant on writing a scene, i’ll talk it out with some of my friends and see if i’m still comfortable with writing it.

one of the biggest things i can recommend is being adaptable! being willing to change your story plans is crucial, because (typically) the first idea you think of isn’t always the best one. in my own experience, i change my ideas a lot as i write something. this is because i will get bored writing otherwise.

this is from my own experience, other writers may disagree, but i NEVER set word count goals for myself. i write when i want to write, otherwise i will get discouraged when i do not meet said goals.

take breaks or you will hit burnout fast!

have a glass of water and set a timer every 15 minutes to relax your eyes from your screen and drink some of it. it gives your mind a chance to soothe itself from the bright lights of a screen and also gives you a short break. and you stay hydrated!

short fics (<10k words)

when i write short fics, i typically don’t have an outline (unless if it’s a series) and i just go with my gut

if i don’t really like where a story’s going and i know it’s short, i finish it anyways because a finished product is better than giving up in my eyes? at least i know what not to do next time!

sorry a lot of these tips don’t pertain to actual writing! they relate more to planning. :( i’ve been writing stories for fun since i was 6 or 7 (i have journals upon journals of my first stories in my basement!) so most of what i do is just... gut instinct at this point? i apologize if that’s not very helpful of me to say. ;.; i don’t think of myself as very talented but like... i wish to say this in case it happens: please don’t compare your writing to mine! i’m sure your writing is lovely in its own right.

now that that’s said, here’s some stuff i can actually help with, which is under the cut because this is getting long:

word choice / vocabulary

first off, the best thing you can do for yourself is read something complex. like... the type of book where you have to pull out your phone and look up what words mean. if you’re not exposing yourself to new words, even if it is annoying to have to pause, you won’t learn new words.

this typically means ditching the fanfics and looking for actual published novels, typically older ones. i love fanfics (i write them lol), but the word choice in fanfics is typically limited to casual conversational language as they are written for fun, not necessarily to challenge the mind.

next, the best thing you can do is use a thesaurus. i personally use thesaurus.com but it’s different for everyone! but this is dangerous. using a thesaurus can be one of the worst things you can do for your writing if you don’t use it properly. you use a thesaurus to get synonyms for words that are commonly used, but may have a lot of other alternatives (i.e. happy, sad, etc.) and NOT super specific words.

ONLY use words listed as synonyms in a thesaurus if you know them and it’s safe to assume your readers likely know them as well! for example, i used the word ‘insouciant’ as a joke in my last fic. however, if i used that seriously, that probably would’ve been bad as it’s a SUPER rare word. nothing will ruin a reader’s experience faster than a story that blatantly uses too many words from a thesaurus and, worst of all, uses them improperly.

let me give an example:

starting text: “she was happy to see that he had returned safely. she could see relief in his eyes that she was safe as well. he smiled happily at her as she ran into his arms.” this is good enough, but it’s rather plain. it’s an easy read, but nothing about it is super engrossing.

good thesaurus example: “she was overjoyed to see that he had returned without harm. she identified relief in his eyes that she had stayed out of harm’s way as well. he smiled enthusiastically at her as she sprinted into his embrace.” it sounds a lot nicer before and definitely more polished, but nothing about this requires someone to whip out their phone in frustration to google a word. the point of typical writing is not to challenge your reader’s intelligence but to entertain them.

bad thesaurus example: “she was jocular to perceive that he had reappeared in an unharmed manner. she prognosticated solace in his blue orbs that she was guarded as well. he smiled jovially at her as she charged into his forelimbs.” this is a bit of an exaggerated example, but this is actually how i feel some authors tend to write. it’s very blatantly using a thesaurus, it uses words incorrectly, and it overcomplicated things to where it feels like the reader has to do a mental exercise to read it.

tl;dr for this section: if you don’t know a word, do not use it. if you are familiar with a word, it’s probably good to use as long as your writing still seems natural. thesauruses are your friend but can be your enemy.

i would like to clarify that i am a native speaker and it’s not necessary to read books forever in order to keep your grammar and word choice up to date. i have not picked up an actual published book within the last 4 years (don’t laugh at me i know this is bad). however, in learning to expand your grammar, reading books is essential.

some miscellaneous writing tips i have include:

you don’t have to take every request that comes within your inbox if you do decide to do tumblr writing. i probably, much to the behest of the people that submit, throw a good chunk of my requests out. write what you’re passionate about and your writing will improve and your followers will be happier.

if someone criticizes your writing, this does not mean they’re trying to criticize you (usually. don’t go on twitter if you want this to remain true). they are providing something most people don’t want to offer: advice. many times you will find yourself surrounded by people who will applaud you for writing nearly anything. this is not good. living in an echo chamber will ensure that your writing never improves. you want to ask people for advice and find those who will give you genuine advice, even if it may hurt to hear.

try to discern what authors you like do with their writing versus authors you don’t like. consciously making these comparisons will allow you to directly apply them to your own writing and help you emulate someone’s style as well.

please don’t write meme references into your work. it will get outdated fast. try to write something you can look back on within a few years and not cringe at. :) this is just my personal opinion lol, someone might disagree.

i do not proofread my writing. it makes me second guess everything. everything on my blog, as you see it, lacks proofreading, aside from inheritance, in which i had a beta reader glance over it. for beginner writers, this is probably shit advice if you’re not used to grammar BUT that’s just how i roll and i wished to share that.

the most important thing i do for my writing is have a good music playlist in the background. NOTHING will make you write better than listening to music that fits the mood of what you’re writing. find a premade youtube playlist or slap together a spotify playlist of songs you think fit the mood and get grooving to it. you’ll find that you’ll write better and you’ll enjoy the process of writing much more with the mental stimulus.

don’t write jokes in which you have to overexplain them. if you have to explain to the reader what the joke is, it won’t be funny. humor is difficult to write, but no jokes involved are better than a bunch of failed ones.

don’t worry about pinpointing fanfic characterization of a specific character perfectly. i get praises for my characterization of diluc and kaeya within inheritance a lot, even though i specifically altered them from canon (??????? this confuses me a lot that i get praised for this but anyways) and haven’t even read the webtoon. as long as it’s within reasonable expectation, you should be fine. zhongli shouldn’t be written as going off the walls crazy with excitement just like venti shouldn’t be written as super serious about frivolous matters. as long as you get the general gist of a character, people will enjoy it.

try to find some writer friends. they don’t necessarily have to be in the fandom, but being able to shoot off ideas with other people is amazing at improving both your plot and your writing overall. (shoutout to @shannara because for as much as i annoy him, he’s always willing to listen to me blab about any story and any idea, even though he doesn’t read reader-inserts nor should he care about my dumb OCs, but he cares about mine because he’s a cool dude)

don’t get discouraged if a fic doesn’t get good reception. in fact, it’s probably better if your first few fics don’t blow up in popularity if you do post them because it’s humbling and you can decide if you’re actually writing because you enjoy it or if you’re just doing it for clout.

i hope this made sense and if you (or any other people reading this!) need any more writing advice, my ask box and DMs are always open. if you ever want me to beta read something, please send a DM and i’ll see if i can as long as it’s like... not super long and i have spare time.

sorry this turned out to be so long but it turns out i had far more to say than i thought! good luck writing and i believe in you!

#long post #mail #advice #i hope this helped? i'm not very good at this sort of thing.#Anonymous

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anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya · 3 years

Text

Pride and prejudice - Vasiliy Alexandrovich Podkolzin

AN: There is way too little content for this Russian boy. Enjoy. (:

Word count: 5 023

A day like any other. Boredom, annoying questions by teachers, who think we have actually studied for their classes. The classes, which are according to my humble opinion, completely useless. Don’t let me forget to mention the stupid jokes during breaks and also classes. Hyperactive freaks, who had way too many cokes or cups of coffee for breakfast are dashing around bored students, who are dragging their feet behind them as if they were useless pylons in the narrow halls. Professors, who strode along the hallways give off the feeling of having all the time in the world. You know, the school classic.

I’ve just changed after my PE class and am currently waiting for my classmate Terka. There are two Tereza’s in our class so she’s Terka and I am Tete. But we both turn around when someone calls Terka, anyway.

I am leaning on the wall with my arms crossed, waiting for her to pick up her belongings. When she’s done we leave the locker room. I tap my pocket and realize that, in fact what I am looking for is not there. “Give me a second, I left my phone in there,” I say and jog back in to the locker room.

“Psh,” she sighs with a smile. At first I was the one waiting and now the tables have turned.

I find it in the same spot where I’ve left it. On a bench in the corner of the locker room. I grasp it a little bit more swiftly than I intended to. I shake my head at myself when I almost drop it. The second I exit the locker room I am met with a not so pleasant sight.

Standing right across from Terka is a tall brown-haired imbecile.

He has clearly said something that made her uncomfortable. I figure that out by her defensive posture and desperate glance in my direction. Her action alerts the idiot and his gaze falls upon me.

“Ah, there she is,” he turns towards me with his smirk and accent, which is much more beautiful than he actually deserves. He’s probably the most egoistic and annoying hockey player I know (and I know quite a few). Vasiliy Podkolzin. Never have I minded his existence. Well, until he decided to annoy me with it. I don’t get what is his deal, but not once in his life did he say a nice word about me. Since the beginning of school he’s had some kind of a problem with me, but to this day I have no idea what it is. To hell with that! But he is not going to jibe at my friend.

“Leave her alone,” I furrow my eyebrows at him and slide my phone in the pocket of my jeans. Exactly where it should’ve been before.

He snorts and slides his hands in the pockets of his grey sweatpants. Wow. Sweatpants in the school. Nice. A hockey player no doubt. I roll my eyes at the choice of his attire. “What exactly have I done?” he raises his eyebrow challengingly and tilts his head.

“I get that you have nothing better to do and are desperately trying to attract some kind of attention,” I start to which he merely raises his eyebrows again. “But leave her,” I gesture towards Terka, “alone.” I cross my arms over my chest. She just keeps switching her look between the two of us. Slight panic growing in her eyes. Poor thing, she is an introvert.

“Or what?” he shrugs and leans on a wall with a smirk I would more than like to wipe of his face with a hard slap.

I roll my eyes again. Seems it is a frequent reaction of mine to his presence. “Because by a conversation with intelligent people you could actually learn something,” I sass him and a smirk finds its way on my lips.

“Lucky me for talking to you then,” his smirk grows even wider and he acts like he’s the absolute winner.

And he is, I have no reply to that. Unless.. “Shouldn’t you be watching the game clips and learning that one does not deke on the blue line?” I smile kindly. I attend the U20 games regularly and unfortunately for him I remember his mistake in the weekend game very well. Which led to the odd man rush and a goal afterwards

I am pretty sure my remark hit a nerve. His smirk falters and he presses his pink lips to a thin line. No one enjoys getting their mistake rubbed in their face. Especially if it’s something you more than care about. “You won,” he rises his hands in surrender.

What? I recoil. I don’t remember this happening before. I look at him dumbfounded, but he just shrugs and seems genuine. I raise my brows and turn towards Terka. She is just as confused as I am. I tip my head in the direction of the classrooms. She nods and heads that direction. I follow her suit. While I am passing him he grabs my wrist and says quietly: “by the way. Nice article.”

I turn to look at him and see the vicious grimace on his face again. I scowl and try to look as disgusted as possible. I free myself from his grip on my wrist and say smugly: “so it actually can read.” How on Earth did he get to that?

His smirk grows even wider, content with my reaction to his comment. “But I am glad you can appreciate my individual puck handling skills marked by Russian school,” he mocks the exact words from my article. I swallow the lump in my throat. How did he know I wrote that? And why the hell could he quote my article!

“Play well or don’t play at all,” I put together a coherent sentence and say it in the most convincing tone I can muster at the moment. “Alexandrovich,” I add with disgust lacing my tone and resist the urge to spit in his face. I bump his shoulder instead. Which I actually fail and hurt myself rather than intimidating him.

“Can’t wait to read another article,” he states from behind me. I just throw him a stern look and flip him off. When we get out of his line of sight I rub my shoulder with a painful grimace and walk eagerly towards my homeroom.

▪

I place my belongings in my homeroom and mumble about using the restroom to Terka. I don’t miss the strange looks sent my way by my classmates, who have probably overheard the bickering with the stupid Russian in the hall. I walk over to the other side of the school, because almost no one uses these bathrooms.

With quick strides I make my way through the almost empty hall with my gaze fixed on the ground. I successfully manage to dodge the little to no students shuffling outside of their homerooms. Just before I reach the staircase I lift my gaze. Mistake. My eyes meet the stupid stare of the narcissist. He looks at me with that cocky smirk of his and continues an undoubtedly life-changing conversation with one of his classmates. I startle and flinch slightly, for not more than a millisecond and then I take off down the stairs.

I burst the bathroom door open and let them close with a loud bang. I lean on a wall and look up at the ceiling, his words playing over and over in my mind. That was a cheap shot. I shake my head and push myself of the wall. I walk in one of the stalls and take out my headphones and phone. I start the music and breathe out with my eyes closed.

That was shitty. I know it wasn’t fair throwing at him his Sunday’s mistake. But I didn’t expect that. How the hell did he know? How did he get to the article? No one was supposed to know it was me writing them. I know he’s noticed me at his games, but there’s no way he could’ve gotten to that. No one knows! Well, at least I thought so.

I emerge from the stall and lean on the sink. I wash my hands and splash my face with water. I take a look at my reflection in the mirror. Is seriously some hockey player full of himself going to throw you off? Absolutely not. I dry myself off and head back to the classroom.

„You okay? “ Terka asks.

„Of course, “I reply and take stuff for my next class out of my bag. „Listen, “I grab her attention after a moment of silence. „Does anyone know about my articles? “I ask with a small voice.

„I don’t think so. Why? “

„Just asking. “

▪

One week later.

Pushing your way through a bus in the morning is pretty interesting. Pushing your way through a bus with crutches and a backpack on your back is pretty funny. Please note the sarcasm, thank you. I almost fell flat on my face while exiting the bus. Keyword: almost.

What happened to me? I’ll answer this question with a different question. What is the probability of one falling on the ice and breaking their leg? Big enough to have a cast on mine.

I wait until most of the people pass and at an agonizingly slow pace I make my way to the school entrance. I have a bit of trouble with opening the sturdy door, but with the help of a couple of passing students I make my way inside. The bigger problem is the staircase leading to the second floor, where my classroom is located. I sigh and reach the first step. With one hand I grab the crutches and with the other I grip the railing. I walk three steps and come to a stop.

God this is torment. Well whatever. I hop to the next step. My small fingers barely get a grip on the crutches and I struggle to keep a hold on them. Just don’t drop them. Just don’t drop them. That’s the last thing I need right now.

„Need a hand with that? “A familiar voice tinted with Russian accent asks above me. I mentally curse and reluctantly look up.

Of course there’s standing Vasiliy. So it really can get worse? I ask myself. I look around. The poor amount of people present would rather get the ground to swallow them than help someone. Yes, it can. I sigh and nod.

He descends the stairs and takes the crutches out of my hands and carefully slides the bag of my shoulders. He dashes up, sets my belongings on the landing and comes back. I place my hand on his shoulder and give my things and then him a skeptical look. He doesn’t seem like he’s up to some dirty shit, but one does never know.

He adjusts my hand so it’s around his neck and wraps his big fingers around my slim wrist. He wraps his other hand around my waist and looks at me with the question written all over his (unfortunately handsome) face.

„If you take me up two steps, then walk away and leave my stuff there,“ I tilt my head in the direction of the landing, „I swear I’ll kick your ass.“ Slowly we start to take up the stairs and I am trying to keep my balance so both of us don’t roll down to the entrance.

He laughs and shakes his head: „I am not that big of an asshole. “

„I wouldn’t be too sure about that, “I point out honestly and glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He presses his (for a guy too red) lips in a firm line.

„What even happened to you? “He changes the topic and his grip on my wrist tightens slightly.

„Broken leg, “by a dumb answer I try to avoid the explanation.

„I can see that, “he roll his eyes.

„I fell on the ice, “I answer shortly. „I played hockey, “I add quietly after a while and wait for his witless remark or an insult.

„The shin? “He asks instead of mockery. Surprised I raise my eyebrows, but nod nevertheless.

We reach the upper floor and I lean on a wall by my arm. He jogs down to gather my stuff and hands me the crutches. „Thanks, “I smile weakly. He throws my bag over his shoulder and I look at him confused. „I can possibly manage the couple of meters there. “

„Are you implying that I can’t, “and the smirk is back. I’d rather take that than a kind smile. His friendliness frightens me. I mean, when it’s aimed at me. You get the point.

I roll my eyes, but against my better judgement a small smile finds its way onto my lips. He won’t give me the bag any time soon. Hence I follow him towards, the classroom.

„Where’s your spot? “ He asks when he walks into the classroom. I point at the desk right next to the door and he sets down my backpack on the desk. I don’t miss the weird looks of some of my classmates. The two of us fighting or not talking at all is the general knowledge. To be honest I am just as confused as they are. For the first time in three years we’re not getting at each other’s throat. What a rare moment.

„Bye, “he turns around and walks away.

„Hey Vasya, “he turns around with eyebrows raised in obvious surprise at the nickname. „Спасибо (Spasiba),“ I lift the corner of my lips. He nods and leaves quickly.

„What was that Tete? “One of my classmates asks.

„I have no idea, “I shake my head.

▪

Finally Friday. With my leg propped on a huge couch a game of hockey playing on the TV and a can of beer in my hand. Really an amazing Friday. Would be better without the cast, but I cannot change certain things.

Since I’ve been hobbling with the crutches it is as if I started to exist for the others. It attracts attention and I am not the ghost of our school anymore. People notice me and get out of my way in the halls. I wouldn’t complain if they weren’t looking at me as if I had the plague. But what’s weird is that Vasya is being nice to me. The worst thing is, that I absolutely don’t understand why.

After a while my phone lights up with a new message and I reluctantly reach for it. Right after I take a sip from my beer and criticise the hockey players on the TV for a mistake in the defensive zone. Dumbasses.

Василий(Vasiliy)

>Hi

I furrow my brows surprised, but reply nevertheless.

>Hi?

Василий

>You won’t be writing articles much now huh?

I roll my eyes at the question. Since when do I even have him on snap? Better question. Why do I even have him on snap?

>Eh, well I won’t be going to the games now.. Why are you interested?

Василий

>Aha

>Won’t you lose the readers?

And what is this question supposed to mean now? I frown.

>Vasya what is your point?

Василий

>Come to the game

>Do you even know how many steps are in the arena?

Василий

>I’ll help you

>You are beginning to scare me.

>What is up with you?

>Why am I supposed to go there?

Isn’t he supposed to be happy to get rid of me at least in the arena?

Василий

>I want to talk to you but not on the phone

>Ok?

Although, I have no idea what he wants from me, but the worst case scenario is me going for a walk and punching him in the face tomorrow.

Василий

>Are you coming?

>Yeah.

May I add that in the past three years he has texted me three times, at most? And I am pretty sure I didn’t add him on snapchat. If him helping me with my broken leg in the past week wasn’t weird, then this definitely is. What is going on here? At first he is helping me and now he is texting me to come to his game? If I recall correctly at his latest game he fought with me and tried to embarrass me in front of his teammates. What a douchebag.

▪

When I get to the arena guys are already warming up outside. I sigh and head for the entrance. The moment I get closer they notice me. Vasiliy runs up to me with a surprising smile on his features.

I let my gaze wander over his figure. Muscular tights poking out of dark shorts, a black t-shirt covering a toned chest and abdomen. Can’t miss the – probably – team cap worn backwards. He might be a narcissistic idiot, but he looks good. You have to give him that. When I look him up and down I clear my throat and wait for what he has to say.

“You came,” he says as if I weren’t standing right in front of him.

“Yeah. I said I would,” I shrug.

“Yeah,” he nods and throws his hand in the direction of the entrance. “Um, you can go and take a seat, but won’t you be cold?” he looks at me sceptical.

I am currently wearing black jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt decorated with a huge team logo. “Will you hold this for a second?” I hand him the crutches and he takes them with no hesitation. I lift my brow, but choose to not comment on it. I take the drawstring bag of my shoulders and pull out a dark hoodie. I show it to him with a smirk on my face and he looks at me impressed.

“You are going to be cold anyway if you’re going to sit there for two hours,” he points out.

I roll my eyes. “What do you even want from me?”

“Come inside, I’ll get you something,” he takes the hoodie out of my hands and hands me back the crutches, absolutely ignoring my previous question.

“Vasya stop.” He turns back around. “What is going on? Why am I here?” I ask exasperated.

He takes off his cap, runs his fingers over his hair and puts it back. An incredibly inappropriate comment and thought, but that was hot. “Can we talk after the game?”

“No,” I shake my head. You’re not getting out of this that easily. “We have been fighting since the first grade and you’ve never said a nice thing about me. I break my leg and you are a different person. You’re helping me and inviting me to your game. The least I deserve is an explanation,” I breathe out, desperate for an answer. “By the way, guys are missing you,” I tip my head in the direction of a circle of boys kicking a ball. A couple of them is looking in our direction.

He glances at them with a raised middle finger of his hand and trains his attention at me again. “Since the first moment I met you – three years ago – I have hated you,” he starts with a heavy sight.

“That is one way how to start a story,” I point out sarcastically and roll my eyes.

“Shut up,” he says and quickly continues and doesn’t give me the chance to add anything. “But when I saw you helplessly climbing up the stairs,” after his words I furrow my brows, “It was as if something flipped in me.”

“You mean someone flipped you off,” I correct him with a satisfied smirk.

“This is exactly why I hate you,” he looks at me with his characteristic stern look and I roll my eyes once again.

“Then why are you talking to me?”

He ignores my question – again – and continues. “I knew about you only the things I’d heard from someone and I assumed the rest. Call it prejudice if you want to,” he waves his hand, which is holding my hoodie.

I adjust my crutches and tilt my head to the side. I am listening to him with interest and amazement, that his chicken brain can produce so complicated sentences. “The problem is that the more I learned about you the more my illusion about you crumbled,” I look him up and down again and try to process what he is so determinedly explaining. Prejudice and a spoiled illusion? “I am trying to say that I’ve been an asshole and for absolutely no reason, it wasn’t fair. I am sorry Tete.”

Did he just call me Tete? Not once in my life did he call me that. It was whether Tereza or my last name. I look at him intensely for a second and wonder if he is saying the truth. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he nods.

“Okay,” I nod. “Apology accepted,” it is only fair to accept it. I’ve done exactly the same what he did.

“You addressed me as Tete. You’ve never done that before,” I point out after a while and he laughs. I swear his cheeks just got red!

“Yeah. And you called me Vasya,” he rubs the nape of his neck. “Almost no one calls me that here in Slovakia. Well, besides them,” he jabs his thumb in the direction of his teammates. That is probably true. Not many people know nicknames of Russian names. When I realize that my cheeks get pink and I train my gaze on his blue sneakers.

“Go out with me,” he throws in as if he wasn’t talking to a person, he just told that he hates them in their eyes.

“What?” my head snaps up and my eyes go wide.

He sighs and waves his hands dramatically. “Tete I like you if you didn’t get it already.”

I open my mouth to say something, but I can’t get out a single sound. I just stare at him dumbfounded. Suddenly I recover and shake my head. “You act like the biggest asshole around and just because you assumed?” I almost yell at him. He flinches and looks unhappy. “Do you realize how stupid you sound right now?”

“I am quite aware,” he nods. He is unbelievable! “Look. I get that you are angry, but give me a chance to fix it,” he looks at me hopeful. “Please.”

“Would you hold this please?” I hand him my crutch. He takes it willingly and I – with now a free hand – slap him with as much strength I can muster. My hand stings from the contact. But it was worth it! A strangled laugh comes from his teammates. I look over at the idiots.

“Shut the fuck up,” one smacks the head of the other one.

“Ouch! Are you fucking nuts? Why did you do that?” with every cell in my body I try not to laugh when the two of them start to bicker.

I look back at the Russian in front of me and furrow my brows. I snatch the crutch out of his hand and lean on it. He turns to look at me and rubs his reddening cheek.

“I admit,” he holds his hand to his cheek. “I deserved that.”

“Damn, you did,” I snarl. I turn around and head to the bus stop.

“Tete wait!” he runs up in front of me and tries to stop me with his raised hands.

I snatch the hoodie out of his hands and side-step him. I hear him sigh and out of the corner of my eye I see his defeated posture. I stop and train my attention at the sky. Please don’t make me regret this. I close my eyes and sigh heavily. “Fine,” I turn to look at him. He looks at me like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I also hated you only because of prejudice and stereotypes. To be honest you didn’t help it much,” I admit and he nods. “The stupidest out of all of this mess is that I like you too,” I roll my eyes, but can’t help the slight blush on my cheeks.

“Excuse me?” his eyes go wide.

“And what did you think? I don’t believe a guy with your ego hasn’t taken the notice of his looks. If only for a second you didn’t have your head up your ass, you would notice that we have a lot more in common than I am comfortable with.” He opens his mouth to protest, but he immediately closes them. He is probably thinking over my words.

“Apparently the both of us have made a mistake,” I state loudly. “Let’s try to bury the war axe,” I raise my eyebrows and outstretch my right hand.

He looks at my hand and then at me. Eventually he puts his large hand in mine and shakes it.

“So…” he starts and I raise my eyebrows expectantly. “Ah, сука(suka),” he says and grabs my small face in his hands. My eyes go wide and my heart starts to pound as if I just ran a mile. “Actually I’ve liked you for a long time,” he whispers. “I refused to admit it myself. It was easier to keep the hatred rather than try to make you mine,” he shakes his head. “The pride made me hate you,” he snorts at his own words.

I place my hand on his wrist and offer him a weak smile trying to slow down my heartrate again. “I think I know what you are talking about.” His proximity and touch is not helping my nervousness at all.

“Dear Lord, how much longer will I be there for?” comes from behind him.

“Kiss her already!” one of his teammates yells at him.

That finally sets him in motion and he presses his lips to mine. Not before he sends the finger his way. I hear clapping, shouting and wolf-whistling. Hockey players. He places his hand – the one used to respond to his teammate in sign language – on my waist and brings me closer. The action makes my crutch fall and it lands on the ground with a loud bang. He pulls back all smiley like a kid in a candy store.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago,” he moves the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.

“Don’t be so full of yourself and go get ready for the game,” I roll my eyes, but with a smile on my face, which I am not trying to hide – this time.

“I’ll score for you,” he smirks with a wink.

“What if you don’t?” I tease and slip my hand down on his strong forearm.

“Are you doubting me?” he raises his eyebrows.

Instead of a verbal response I just shrug with a not interested purse of my lips.

He leans in and whispers to my ear. “Watch and learn.” I get goose bumps from his voice being so close.

He picks up the crutch from the ground and hands it to me with a quick wink. He takes off towards his teammates, all smiles. They greet him with an applause and couple of slaps on the back. I laugh and shake my head. Hockey players.

▪

In reality, he scored just like he had said he would.

A pass in front of the net and a he tipped it in. Right after the goal he looked at me and pointed in my direction. I couldn’t, but laugh at his childish romance.

“A goal scored by number 11. Vasiliy Podkolzin,” echoed in the almost empty arena. Let’s face it. A ridiculously small amount of people attends the junior games.

Vasya took the puck and set it aside. I didn’t get it. It wasn’t his milestone goal or anything. Or was it?

▪

“I told you,” is the first thing he says, the moment he emerges from the locker room.

I roll my eyes at his words.

“Not even a hug?” he looks at me offended with a pout. Like a kid.

I laugh and motion for him to come closer. My leg didn’t heal magically. I lean the crutches on the wall and wrap my arms around him, when he gets closer.

“It’s hard to believe that I hated you just a couple of hours ago,” I state and wrap my hands around his neck. “But now that I think about it. Shut up, don’t say whatever you wanted to say,” I silence him before he has the chance to doubt my ability to think. He just rolls his eyes, but lets me continue nonetheless. “One would expect, that people like us are best friends or something. We have in common quite a lot,” I shrug.

He laughs and brushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. “It was mutual,” he shrugs. I want to scold him, but I don’t have the chance because he kisses me. If we hadn’t been fighting we could’ve spent the past three years kissing. Why are people so stupid? “I’ve got you something,” he mumbles against my lips.

“And what is it?” I raise my brows and pull back.

He pulls a puck out of the pocket of his trademark sweatpants and places it in my hand. I look at him expectantly, but he doesn’t say anything. He just smiles. I examine the black piece of rubber in my small hand and break into the laughter. I look at him and hug him tightly.

“Are you going to write another article about me?” he couldn’t help himself, but chirp me.

“Shut up you idiot,” I mumble against his chest.

“And we are back to the insults,” he shakes his head. “But I am your idiot from now on,” he presses a kiss to my hair and brings me closer, if that is even possible.

On a white tape stuck around the puck is next to today’s date with a black sharpie written – probably by the coach – in a nasty handwriting “1ST GOAL IN RELATIONSHIP”.

#hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #vancouver canucks imagine #vasiliy podkolzin imagine #vasili podkolzin imagine #vasili podkolzin #vasiliy podkolzin #slovakia #hockey #nhl #vanocuver canucks

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jarienn972 · 4 years

Text

La Sirena - Chapter Five

Captain Swan Supernatural Summer

Apologies for the delay in getting out the latest chapter of my @cssns story. With my kids back to school, I'm finding a bit less time to write so updates are running a little behind. I am still working diligently to keep the updates coming though! Thank you @kmomof4 for helping me fix a couple of minor roadblocks that I had with this chapter! And thanks again to @courtorderedcake for her incredible artwork!

After leaving off with the major turning point of Killian learning the secret that Emma had been concealing, this chapter will pick up in the aftermath. Will cooler heads prevail once Killian awakens or will their budding relationship be tarnished? And of course, there's still no where else for him to go...

Read from the beginning: One Two Three Four Also on AO3 and FF.net

Putting the Pieces Back Together

A faint tickle of a breeze caught the torch flame behind Emma's back casting uneven shadows across the cavern walls and sending delicate tendrils of smoke into the already heavy air. She was kneeling in the sand with Killian's head resting atop her thighs, not daring to stray from his side as her slender fingers combed idly through his tousled dark hair. She watched the rise and fall of his chest as she patiently awaited his awakening.

She'd frightened him. That hadn't been her intent but that damage was done and she was dealing with a relatively new emotion: guilt. Perhaps she truly was little more than a monster at her core. All of these decades of trying to suppress her innate urges and desires may have been for naught. All of her years of self-isolation hadn't changed who - or what - she was. She was still a siren. Still a threat to mankind.

Perhaps Regina was right. She'd never be able to change her nature.

But if she really was nothing more than a coquettish, evil siren, why did she have such a strong desire to protect this human? It went against every element of her being, every native instinct she'd trained and developed before turning her back on her kind. She scarcely comprehended these feelings.

Siren emotions were already complicated enough. She knew anger and indignation. She also knew emptiness. She'd been living here in solitude for nearly two centuries, give or take a decade, yet she'd never really experienced loneliness. She'd just felt that something was missing from her meager existence. She'd just never allowed herself time to think about what that void might entail.

All of that had changed the moment she confessed her true nature to Killian and he'd rejected her. Now she was overwhelmed with a barrage of new emotions - guilt, fear and something else that she couldn't yet name. For a nanosecond, she contemplated leaving him there in the subterranean cavern, doubting that he'd ever be able to accept what she was. But then she heard it again - the same tiny voice inside her head that had compelled her to save him from drowning now also compelled her to stay.

He was an intelligent being. Her revelation had been too much of a shock for someone recovering from the trauma he'd suffered. When he'd had time to process the news, he would hear her out, wouldn't he? She took a glance back over her bare shoulder at the beam of light streaming through the crack in the earth above the spring. The midday sun would soon be directly overhead and the ambient light would fade quickly within the lava tube once the sun's rays crested over the ridge.

Regina's arrival had backed her into a corner. She didn't feel as though she could adequately protect him if he wasn't aware of the scope of the threat, but now she worried he wouldn't trust her. In hindsight, she knew she hadn't handled her reveal well. Even though he didn't really have anywhere to go, she feared he'd run and the thought of that stung worse than even the most toxic jellyfish she'd ever encountered.

When at last he stirred, her siren heart nearly leapt with anticipation - another entirely new sensation for her. With a deep inhale, he raised his right hand to massage his aching skull, making incidental contact with her knee in the process. He yanked his hand away as if he'd touched a flame, his eyelids popping open in surprise as he struggled to regain coherency.

At first, he saw nothing more than darting shadows cast by the flickering torches but as his sight adjusted to the relative darkness, images gradually came into focus, becoming clearer and familiar. And then his peripheral vision captured the contour of a woman's soft, rounded ivory-skinned thigh and instantly, he was fully awake, recoiling in terror as he pushed away from the woman he no longer believed was real.

"What manner of demon are you?" he demanded, his voice pitching higher as he scrambled to take cover behind one of the aging sea chests, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment as he dared not stare at this unknown creature's naked, feminine form. "Are you some malevolent trick of my mind? Here to drag me to the depths of hell?" He couldn't fight this monster if he couldn't see her though so he reluctantly opened his eyes, focusing intently on her lovely beguiling face. Was this how a siren killed a man?

"Killian, please… Do not be afraid. I have no intent to harm you." She made an attempt to shift closer to him, to try to assure him that she wasn't a threat, but she feared she may have already done too much damage. The terror and betrayal she saw reflected in his eyes cut straight to whatever soul she had left as he continued to shy away from her.

"Don't come near me, demon!" he cried as he fumbled for the sword at his hip, sliding the blade free of the scabbard and brandishing it with an instinctive flick of his wrist. "Stay back… or I'll…" Both his voice and hand trembled at the same timbre while he held the weapon directed at her throat.

This scared human wasn't even the slightest threat to her. She could overpower him barely lifting a pinky finger, yet she was awash with that lonely emotion and it took control, leading to an unplanned action.

"Do it," she dared him, leaning into the blade. "I am a monster. End me!"

A glint of torchlight flashed off of the polished steel, illuminating her face which was etched with determination and his resolve began to waver.

"Wait… What…?" He shook his head in disbelief at her unexpected demand. His gaze locked with hers as she pleaded for death and his tenuous grip on the cutlass' pommel loosened. "No… no…" He may have been bewildered and perhaps a tad angered, but he couldn't take her life. She'd saved him.

"I am a siren, Killian. I have lured countless men like you to their demise, but while this is what I was created to be, it is not what I desire to be. I deserve to die for what I have done in my past…"

"But you saved me…," he stated as he allowed the sword to slip from his hand onto the dark, sandy cavern floor. His tone was softer as he relaxed and exhaled a deep sigh. "Whatever you are, I owe you my life…" He plopped his weary body down to the ground and drew his knees to his chest while lowering his chin in defeat. "I've no expectation of what will become of me, but I'll not harm you. If you intend to leave me here to perish, then that shall be my fate…"

"I don't wish for anyone to perish," she replied. "That is what brought me here all those ages ago. I had no desire to harm those seafarers any longer."

"But if you are a siren as you say, are the myths not true? Does your song not lure men like me to certain death? How did I arrive here still breathing?"

"At one time, I did use my voice in that way. I watched many a human plunge into the sea, transfixed and bewitched by the hypnotic spell of my siren song, at least until I could bear it no longer. Until you arrived, I'd not even used my voice in eons."

"So a siren can have a conscience?" he asked quizzically, raising one eyebrow as he awaited her answer.

"Apparently some can - at least this one, as I've been told," she said with a faint smile curling the corners of her lips, although it didn't last long as she switched the direction of their exchange. "But Killian, if we are to survive, there is much you need to know. You need to hear more of my story just as I must learn more of yours."

"How so?" His eyes narrowed as he sought to make sense of the statement. Part of his brain still questioned the veracity of any of this nonsense, but the adventurer within him remained intrigued.

"Do you recall, before you struck your head, how I had mentioned that my sister came here because I had used magic?" The memory was vague and somewhat clouded by his own skepticism but he nodded anyway and allowed her to continue. "In using my powers, I unwittingly drew the scrutiny of the council, the governing band of the most powerful sirens - of which I used to be a part. I hadn't used magic in quite a long time so I never imagined that something so innocent would have far-reaching consequences."

"What magic do you possess?"

"Aside from the ability to change form, I have other powers. Those chests you're sitting amongst, they didn't wash up on these shores as I told you. I conjured them and their contents so that you would have the objects you desired. I wanted to give you those things that the cove could not provide. I had seen many similar chests float in and out with the tides over the years, but I never kept them. I used magic to create them and I didn't think about the potential ramifications."

Killian's jaw fell agape as he listened to her confession. No one - not even Liam - had ever offered such a generous gesture meant for him alone and he was at a loss for how to respond.

"Emma… you didn't need to do such a thing…"

"I wanted to," she grinned. "I had been alone for so long and after these past few days with you, I found myself desiring to do something good with my magic. I wanted to provide for you and now, that act of goodness has put you in far greater danger…" He quickly averted his sight as she pushed herself back to stand up before starting to pace nervously along the precipice of the hot spring. "I must ask this - when I found you, you were clinging to a slab of splintered timber. Were you in a shipwreck?"

Still concentrating on focusing his gaze on the bounce of her golden locks rather than her feminine physique, Killian was taken aback. Of course, he'd been in a shipwreck…

"Aye," he replied. "Not my own ship though. I'd been taken prisoner aboard a pirated vessel that inexplicably ran aground. By the time I was able to crawl out of the flooding brig and reach the safety of the top deck, those rapscallions had all debarked, likely to an island off the distant horizon. No one was left in sight and I scarcely escaped with my life as the vessel broke apart and sank into the depths."

"You saw no one at all? Was the vessel sinking that slowly?" Emma asked curiously, pausing her pacing as she awaited his answer.

"It seemed to be taking on water quite rapidly to me so I assumed they'd taken off in the skiffs, but to answer your question - no. I saw no other men, not even my fellow crew who'd also been imprisoned, although if I'm to be honest with myself, they were likely already dead by the time the ship went down. I was the ranking officer, thereby the most valuable prisoner."

"So that's it…," she mumbled as she hovered to his right, fixated on the sparkling surface of the spring. "That's how Regina knew they may have left a survivor… Killian, don't you see? You didn't see any others aboard the ship because they'd already succumbed to the song of the sirens. The ship ran aground because no one was helming it."

"How is that possible?" he queried as he raised his head in renewed curiosity. "I heard no singing, only the cracking of aging wood and the slap of the waves on the hull."

"You heard nothing? No song?" She spun around to face him, bewildered by his statement. "If the sirens attacked the ship, you would have heard their song."

"I swear to you, I heard nothing out of the ordinary, at least not until the vessel struck the rocks and began her unraveling. Are you certain that your kind assailed that vessel? It's highly likely that the pirates merely strayed off-course."

"No," she insisted, shaking her head. "Regina specifically mentioned that a ship had sailed into siren waters… In the condition I found you in, you could not have traveled far from the wreck so it must be the same vessel she spoke of. None of the sirens would have waited around to watch the vessel disintegrate but some of our ne'er do well fellow sea-dwellers reported rumors of a survivor in the wreck and those rumors reached the council. That's the reason they became suspicious of me when I utilized my magic… You must be that survivor."

Killian's head was suddenly spinning again and this time, it wasn't from the concussion. Sirens were a part of maritime history and mythology that he'd been educated in. He'd entertained countless yarns about ships that strayed into uncharted waters, never to be seen again. All manner of sea monsters had been attributed to these vanishing vessels but tales of sirens had always been particularly beguiling. Demons taking the form of beautiful women were said to lure unsuspecting sailors into the sea where they'd devour their unfaithful hearts.

But they were all only mythical… Until now…

"According to the legends I grew up hearing, sirens preyed upon lonely sailors far from home and family. The siren song was said to enchant the unfaithful amongst them, luring them into the depths of the sea where they'd be devoured. Is that how it really happens?"

"That isn't entirely true, but it is very close," Emma explained. "The song does lure the unsuspecting sailors, but only those deemed unworthy of passage through our realm by the gods. The unworthy are not allowed to travel through our seas and the song puts them into a trance. The men will then leap from their ships into the sea and sink to Triton's lair. I honestly do not know what becomes of them after they drown, what Triton desires of them. It never mattered to me, not then and I certainly did not dwell upon it after I departed the council."

"Until you found me?" he offered, shivering at the fate he'd narrowly avoided. "This may be a pointless query, but has any man ever been found worthy?"

"Well, long before my creation, there was a single human whom Poseidon deemed to be worthy to pass. That man went on to become a great leader of his land and for a while, there was peace between the realm of man and that of the gods. Unfortunately, that man's successors were nothing like him and the years of peace ended. Triton ordered all of the creatures in his command to defend our realm from the evil of mankind. Poseidon unleashed innumerable monsters including dozens more sirens, including myself and for many years, I followed the orders of the gods…"

"I've heard many tales of these legendary gods of the sea. Never in all my dreams did I imagine they were real and that they alone determined the worth of a man."

"I broke away from the council when I began to suspect that the gods harbored more of a vindictive grudge against these men of the sea. I could no longer be convinced that there weren't good men among those we had deceived. Not every man could be so evil."

"Indeed, there are men with good hearts out there but I shan't deny that there is evil in the world. I've encountered those who might barely be described as human, yet most folk are just going about their lives and wish no harm. It would seem that the same might be said of the legendary siren as there is at least one who possesses a good heart… But if we are to circle back to the pirate ship I escaped from, how did I come to survive? Was it because I was secreted away in a cranny of the cargo hold? Was I too far below deck to hear the songs?"

"No, it doesn't work like that. The siren song resonates through every inch of a vessel and carries for several leagues out to sea. It is intended to be heard by every human ear that ventures into our realm."

"That makes little sense to me then," Killian countered. "Why didn't I hear the siren voices? I hear you speaking to me just fine as I am not deaf and despite my injury when you rescued me from the water, I had been fully conscious just prior to the ship's grounding."

"I… I do not know," she stammered. This was another first for her and she had no response. She honestly did not have any inkling as to how he'd resisted.

"Do you still possess the ability to sing?" he asked her bluntly and she found herself ill-prepared to answer.

"I am not entirely certain…," she told him, her voice trembling at the possible implications of the question. "It has been centuries… I believe I am still able to sing, but I cannot predict the outcome. There may be ramifications that you aren't ready for and it may hasten Regina and the council's return…"

He tried to avoid the darkening of her olivine eyes as she pleaded wordlessly for him to reconsider, but it was the only way he might discover how he'd managed to remain alive.

"Emma, you must," he pressed. "It's the only way I'll know… That we'll know. You would be able to tell right away if the song has the desired effect, correct?"

"Of course, I would know. I just cannot promise that I can stop it as I've never tried…"

"Then consider this your chance to find out," Killian stated bravely, although inside, his stomach was churning at the huge risk he was taking. "I must learn why I was spared, Love. Please, indulge my curiosity and desire to solve this one mystery…"

"Killian…" She didn't want to do this. She'd vowed to never sing again and she certainly didn't want to endanger this man she'd become so fond of. Could she deny him the answers he so desperately wanted? She'd know within a few notes but even if the song ended abruptly, would she be able to reverse its effects if he wasn't immune?

#cssns #cssns20 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs au ff #siren emma #la sirena #buckle up now #there's a lot hanging on a song

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