I actually have that [”May my success be the success of humanity”] tattooed on me as a reminder and as a responsibility for my life. I think that ties into “do what you can where you are.” I believe that if you can find a way that your success is the success for mankind… I just think that’s one of the most beautiful revelations.
“If we are to catch the next train, we must tear ourselves away. Captain
Hastings is going to treat me to dinner at the most excellent
restaurant he has discovered which serves the Indian food. It is to this
food that Captain Hastings attributes the improvements of his grey
A/N: I’m still unsure on if I want to put smut into this story. I mean, there will be smut in it at some point, but I’m not sure if I’m going to write it or just imply it. *shrugs*
The gentle roll of the ocean below was waking you peacefully from your slumber, your head burrowing deeper into the pillow. With eyes still closed, you stretched wide, each muscle gladly accepting the feel. At least until a large hand pulled you in closer to a warm body, a soft murmur groggily being spoken from Connor while still in a quiet rest. His words were inaudible as he shifted you against him, his other hand coming around to hold you. You wanted to melt, to wake him with a sweet kiss, but instead you inhaled sharply, the noise causing Connor’s grip to tighten. You couldn’t be doing this. No matter how good it felt, you couldn’t be doing this. Oh, but he smelled of nature and of the sea, of longing and of comfort. No, control.
“Connor.” You hissed, nudging his thigh with your knee.
He muttered something, his entire body turning so he could tuck his head into the crook of your neck. Despite your will to leave, you couldn’t help but react to the action, your body pushing itself ever closer to the heat of Connor. He sighed happily, the breath warm on your neck. You almost moaned, your teeth trapping your lip in between them to keep the noise from coming out.
“Connor.” You repeated, louder this time.
He stirred once more, lips moving against your skin as he spoke lowly, the words too quiet to hear. You couldn’t suppress the shiver that skittered down your spine, your hands fisting the material on his back.
Before you lost all semblance of control, you yelled, “Connor!”
That seemed to do it, his head moving away from your neck as two bleary, wide eyes looked to you, the normal chocolatey gaze darkened with exhaustion.
“(Y/N)?” His voice was husky and laced with sleep, his arms going limp around you.
Confusion followed by embarrassment flashed in his eyes, a red stain tinting his cheeks. Even with the look of mortification, he still didn’t move. You swallowed your pulse, watching the rise and fall of his chest for a moment before meeting his gaze. A flash of pink appeared as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, his hands momentarily strengthening their grip.
“Ratonhnhaké:ton,” you breathed, pulling yourself closer to him.
The hands that were looped around his neck were tugging lightly on the edge of his hair, eliciting a small groan from him. The seconds dragged on as you inched closer to his mouth, your body stopping its movements when you were only millimeters away. You really, really shouldn’t be doing this…
All caution was thrown in the wind as you pushed up, closing the gap between you. It was nothing more than a press of lips against lips, his chapped ones against you too frozen to move. You pulled away, releasing your worry with a breath.
One word from him broke your restraint, your hands bringing his head back down to you. You rolled his bottom lip between your teeth, urging him to part them. He obliged hesitantly, his mouth moving cautiously against yours like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. You took full control, leaving no inch of his mouth unexplored as you swirled your tongue around his, untangling your hands from his hair. Your newly freed limbs pushed on his shoulders, prompting him to lay back without disconnecting your lips. His low groan was lost in your mouth as you attempted to throw one leg over his hips, a hiss being soothed by his tongue at the sharp pain in your leg.
“Connor.” You pulled away, both of your hands now on his chest to restrain him. He paused immediately, waiting patiently for you to react.
“Is something wrong?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Am I… doing something wrong?”
You wanted to melt in his embrace, his unsurity the most adorable thing you’d ever heard. You didn’t think you could love him any more than you already did, but his need for assurance made you do just that.
“No, it’s,” you winced, shifting your weight back to one side, “my leg.”
You were torn between cursing your leg and thanking it. With each breath you took, control seemed to be coming back. But it didn’t stop the desire building in your core. You needed him. If your leg hadn’t caused you so much pain, you were more than sure that you would’ve kept him in this room for at least a day. The sympathy in his gaze was shining above the lust, his arms unwrapping themselves from you.
“I am sorry.” He said.
You sighed heavily, resting your head on his chest. His heart was beating rapidly beneath your ear, a hand coming up to tuck back some of your hair. Though he seemed unsure if his affection would be welcome, he did it as lovingly as possible.
“I can’t stop myself.” You admitted after a beat of silence, the tension overbearing.
There was no way you’d ever love anyone as much as you loved him. So why was it so hard for you to be selfish for one damn minute? Because you wouldn’t stop, your mind supplied. It had a point. You wouldn’t stop, you’d do everything to be with him. Hell, you already are.
“Why must you?” Connor’s voice held honest curiosity.
He didn’t understand the implications surrounding your predicament. If you were to mess up one thing, it could have apocalyptic effects. You had to be careful and he was making it way too hard.
“Because I l-” You stopped short, closing your eyes. You couldn’t tell him. You weren’t brave enough. Sighing, you continued. “I left my time behind. Everything that you’re living right now, it’s already happened for me. It’s been hundreds of years, Connor. If I mess with the past, I could change the future.”
Silence followed, the sound of Connor’s heart speeding up almost as if he was preparing to say something. You were readying yourself with a basic overview of the details of time travel when he asked his question, the inquiry taking you entirely by surprise.
“Because you what?”
Your body tensed, eyes opening to look up into his brown orbs. He was holding his breath, waiting for you to speak. The silence was deafening, a million excuses running through your head. You could lie, could tell him something else, could do anything. But instead of all of that, instead of getting out of it, instead of making it easier, you told him the truth.
“Isn’t it obvious?” You asked wryly, a bitter smile on your lips.
You wanted to run, the instincts you’d adopted long ago urging you to flee. You didn’t do emotions, you did action. Mustering up every bit of courage you could, you spoke again.
You were in Cambodia. What is the most significantly memorable moment there?
[Somaly Mam] was welcoming us to the shelter and telling us all the stories and she said, “Would anybody like to say something?” and this little six year old shot up her hand. And she told us her story of being trafficked, she told us the story about when she was younger how she was raped. How can a six year old tell you about when she was younger? She’s six. And I had an emotional moment where, you know, you can feel it. I started to cry and I didn’t want to cry in front of her, but I was so moved and so horrified, and I started looking around the room and every single girl that I saw was a victim in one way or another of trafficking or of rape. And it broke me, and I had to turn away and I had to walk to the back of the room because I didn’t want them to see me as I started to sob, and I felt this little arm on me. And I turned around and there was a girl who grabbed my face and she started wiping away my tears and she said, “Don’t cry, sister, don’t cry!” and gave me a big hug. This girl is being the strength for me. This girl, who’s been through so much, who I’m crying for, is wiping away my tears. My tears are for her, what’s happened to her, and she’s wiping them away. And within thirty seconds I had twenty five young girls all hugging me, all these trafficking survivors came up and they were hugging me. And we just held each other and we cried and I was so sorry for what humanity had done to them, and I just said “I’ll fight for you for the rest of my life.” And that’s what I plan on doing.
Summary: Instead of meeting Neal when she was seventeen, Emma meets a young man with an attractive accent, a prosthetic hand, and the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen (though she would never admit to such a thing).
He was going to do it. He was going to get out of Neverland and find his Crocodile - it was going to work, it had to.
The portal opened, but with it came a storm.
Killian was thrown from his ship.
He must have gotten knocked out, he was disoriented, he didn’t know what was going on, but this definitely wasn’t the Jolly Roger’s deck.
“What happened?” he asked himself groggily.
“We found you,” an unfamiliarly accented voice answered. “You were drifting, just off the northern Californian coast.”
Californian- what? What the bloody hell is-
Realization dawned on him. He was in another realm, that was sure. But it wasn’t the Enchanted Forest.
As he would later discover, this was a Land Without Magic.
2001, a little less than a year later.
Emma Swan stalked down the alley towards the yellow Volkswagen beetle with a manufactured sense of innocent purpose. To the passing eye, she looked every bit a young woman who was simply returning to her car. I’ve had too much practice with this, Emma thought to herself as she carefully worked the car door open. With one last glance to her surroundings, she heard that satisfying click and opened the door, her blonde ponytail flicking out behind her as she quickly got in the car and shut the door behind her. She dug in her purse for her ever so technologically advanced tools - a screwdriver and a rock - and set to work getting the car started.
It took a bit of effort but finally, finally, she felt the engine sputter to life and she breathed a sigh of relief. With a glance to the rear view mirror, Emma Swan switched off the parking brake, lowered her foot to the clutch pedal, and shifted gears, rolling out of the alley and into the street. She never did get to thank that Ingrid whackjob for teaching her how to drive stick.
"Very impressive, love,” came a voice from behind her.
Emma couldn’t keep in her gasp of utter and complete fear and surprise. Holy shit. Who the fuck - what is going on holy shit-
“But you could’ve just asked me for the keys, save yourself some trouble,” he continued, cutting off her thoughts and dangling said keys for her to see and fuck he was Irish and had an accent to boot.
Emma’s eyes widened. Shit. Shit shit shit. Her eyes traveled back an forth between this guy and the keys in his hand and dammit she needed to keep her eyes on the road. Calm down Swan. You got this. He’s just some deadbeat, you can handle this. She wanted to say something - something clever, some sort of warning to scare him off - but her mouth wouldn’t form words so she just focused on driving.
“Don’t worry about it, love, just keep driving,” he said in that damned accent of his.
“Keep driving?” Emma shot back, her mouth finally remembering how to speak. “I just stole your car, your life could be in danger.” She glanced at him in the rear view mirror and dammit he had a little grin on his face, like he thought she was funny.
“Do you think this is funny -” she started, trailing off when she realized she didn’t have a name to label him with.
“Not at all,” he said, “and the name’s Killian Jones, by the way. What might I call you?”
I know I said I wasn’t going to do smut for hate anymore, but I LIED. For seastarved – because unfortunately she was on the receiving end today and I’ve had it with people being rude to other people over fictional characters maybe or maybe not doing it. Which they totally will so just stfu and deal with it already.
Two birds with one stone – also the third drabble in the Wedding Date AU series because I am a weak, weak woman. (First one is here and the second one is here.)
She moans as he pushes her down into the mattress of the bed, cat pillows tumbling every which way, his fingers gripping her thigh tighter, pulling her leg higher against his hip – stretching and burning and fuck – he hits her just right and her fingers scrabble for purchase against his shoulders, a low whine caught in the back of her throat. His blue eyes search hers and he grins, slow and predatory.
“There’s a good girl. That’s what I want.” His head ducks down and his thick black hair brushes her chin as he closes his mouth around her nipple, running his tongue over it in a rough stripe before tugging it between his teeth. She arches her back and god – how did they even end up here?