#I’m not tagging this as ship it would just give soot what he wants

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: The Law of Surprise (1/3)

Summary: The Law of Surprise: a custom as old as humanity itself. The Law dictates that a man saved by another is expected to offer to his savior a boon whose nature is unknown to one or both parties. In most cases, the boon takes the form of the saved man's firstborn child, conceived or born without the father's knowledge.

A/N: This is NOT a Witcher AU. Want to make that clear from the get go. The idea for this fic WAS inspired by the show, however. I’m not sure if the Law of Surprise was a show/game creation or if it existed before. Regardless, this fic is my spin on the concept and will be posted in three parts.

Much love and thanks to the @cssns mods for keeping this event going year after year! A HUGE shout out to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the AMAZING pieces she made to accompany my fic. Go give her ALL the flails! Finally, all the hot chocolate, rum, and grilled cheese sandwiches for my amazing betas @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4. LOVE YOU LADIES TO BITS!

Rated T (for now) / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

Part One

Smoke billowed from the hull, choking the air as steel clanged around them. Shouts and screams echoed across the deck that was coming apart beneath their feet.

“The King! We must save the King!” Liam bellowed over the melee, dispatching a man who, up until a few days ago, had been one of their brothers-at-arms. No sooner had the man’s body hit the boards than another rushed forward to take his place, challenging the traitorous sea captain whom they had expected to aid them in their mission, not take up arms against them.

“Brother!” Killian cried out, moving through the throng towards Liam with slashes of his cutlass clearing the way.

“The King!” Liam commanded once more. “Get to the King! That’s an order!”

Killian’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword and he swallowed past the instinct to ignore such an order. Notes of black powder, brine, and blood filled his sinuses as he took in a fortifying breath and turned away from his captain in search of His Majesty King David. Through the soot laced plumes, the dying breaths of a ship that would soon find itself on the bottom of the sea, Killian could see King David fending off multiple assailants with sword skills that had become legend. Movement through the swirls of ash caught Killian’s attention and his stomach dropped. Lurking behind the King was an unseen assassin, and Killian had but a few seconds to launch himself between his would-be sovereign and certain death.

The force of their meeting blades jarred Killian, but he held firm. Applying a few less than savory tactics to give him the upper hand, he made quick work of the assassin then threw himself into the fray, defending the King as they fought side by side until the remaining adversaries lay dead.

“Y-You,” King David panted, his chest and shoulders heaving from his exertions as he tried to catch his breath. “You serve my… my father, King George.”

“Not any longer, Your Majesty,” Killian told him. “Once we learned of George’s treachery against Queen Snow, we could not stand idly by and accept such orders.”

“We?”

“My brother, Captain Liam Jones, and those of us who chose to follow good form rather than betray a treaty made in good faith.”

“Lieutenant!” one of their men shouted. “Captain says we must abandon ship at once!”

“Too right!” Killian called out, grasping the King by the arm. “Time to go, Your Majesty.”

The planks they’d used to board the crippled vessel were just coming into view when the ship lurched and began to list violently. Grabbing onto the rigging, Killian prompted King David to hoist himself up onto the gunwale.

“Here!” Killian shouted, forcing a length of rope into the King’s hands. “Take this and swing over. Our men will catch you!”

“What about you?”

“There’s no time! You must go, Your Majesty. Now!”

When the King attempted to voice his protest once more, Killian gave him a firm shove, forcing him to cling tightly to the rope as his feet lost purchase with the side of the ship. The sight of the King being hauled to safety was the last thing Killian saw before the deck beneath him gave way. Agony ripped through his wrist where the rigging was still wrapped around it. The weight of his body and the vicious twisting of the rope as it held to the cleats it was knotted upon effectively severed his hand, dropping it into the flood waters below with a sickening splash that preceded the rest of Killian’s body as he desperately tried, and failed, to grab onto the railing with his remaining hand.

Sea water filled his mouth, still open from his screams of pain, and forced its way down his throat. Panicked, he reached out, hoping against hope to make his way out of the collapsing hull, determined it would not become his tomb. Through the vanishing streaks of sunlight, Killian watched in horror as crimson began to surround him. His own blood, freely flowing from the shredded remains of his wrist, colored the frigid waters as his consciousness started to wane and black threatened to overtake red. Something brushed his side, and with the last vestiges of his strength and wits, Killian noted it was a barrel, still sealed and buoyant, making its way back towards the surface with the line and hook that had once secured it within the hold still attached. Scrambling, he secured the hook to the straps crisscrossing the front of his uniform and prayed the sea would not yet claim him, giving into the oblivion that was proving too much to overcome.

~/~

The room was still. Too still. And bright with sunlight. The serenade of cooing songbirds, the swishing of skirts, and the flutter of wings too big to belong to the nesting swallows were within earshot.

Killian groaned and willed his eyes to open, though he had to squint past the assault of the sunbeams streaking in from the windows. Just as he’d deduced while coming out of his stupor, he was no longer on a ship, but in a stone room with many windows and a number of cots filled with others who, like him, were suffering from a variety of injuries. Killian had almost gotten up the courage to inspect his own grave wound when a shifting presence seated at his bedside snapped his attention to the person keeping vigil.

“Y-Your Majesty?” Killian croaked, stunned by the fact Queen Snow would be the one in attendance at his sick bed. “What? How?”

“Shh,” Her Majesty soothed, waving one of the healers over. “You have been unconscious for some time.”

“Surely you have not been at my side this entire time.”

The Queen chuckled. “No. Your brother and I have been taking it in turns.”

“Why on earth would you--”

“You saved my husband’s life. Ensuring you survived your injury seemed like the least I could do.”

His injury. His hand. Killian clenched his eyes tightly and swallowed back the bile his anxiety was threatening to send up his throat. The Queen took his remaining hand and leaned in to softly murmur words of comfort into his ear.

“The fairies did all they could, but with your hand lost to the sea they could not…” She paused, her voice strained and filled with compassion as he finally opened his eyes and lifted his head so he could take in the bandage wrapped remnants of his left arm. “You had already succumbed to fever by the time the ship returned, and while their magic was able to tend to the wound, the trauma you sustained made it difficult for them to apply the full measure of their powers. Now that you are awake, you can begin to…” Again, her voice trailed off, most likely distressed by the tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. “Lieutenant, look at me,” she insisted, squeezing his hand a bit tighter until he complied. “You will survive this. Your brother tells me there is none as resourceful or as a stubborn as his little brother, so I know you will manage to adjust in time, and with the fairies aiding you in your convalescence--”

“Younger,” Killian choked out, a sob catching in the back of his throat. When the Queen’s brow pinched together, her head tilting in perplexity to his response, he clarified, “Liam knows I abhor being referred to as his little brother. I prefer younger.”

A smile twitched at the corner of her lips - lips as red as roses, or so it had been said in the tales chronicling her and the King’s storied love - and the corners of her eyes crinkled affectionately as she yielded, “Younger.”

“Your Majesty,” the young fairy she had waved over when he’d first awakened timidly interjected. “I should tend to Lieutenant Jones now. Would you also like me to send word to Captain Jones--”

“No, I shall inform him,” the Queen replied. With a sigh she stood from her seat and allowed the fairy nurse to take her place. “See that you comply with everything they request of you,” she commanded Killian, her gaze turning regal and unrelenting until he nodded his agreement. “Good,” she said with a warm smile, one that tilted further upwards into a teasing smirk as she vowed, “I promise to look back in after Captain Jones has had his chance to fuss over you.”

“Perhaps your fairies ought to put me out of my misery now,” Killian groaned, the prospect of Liam hovering by his bedside, relentlessly questioning the fairies’ work while issuing his own commands of healing and restoration upon his little brother making him wish for the sweet abyss of sleep once more.

~/~

It had been the rumors of poisoning that had first started the brothers Jones to question their allegiance to King George. Whispers of a treachery that would ensure Queen Snow’s line ended with her had begun to spread and with it, the suspicion of their King’s true character. Killian had suggested King George might not be the noble and just ruler they had first thought when signing on with His Majesty’s Navy after being freed from indenture when the ship they served sank in a storm, but Liam would not hear such slander. It was not until the rumor had been confirmed by Lancelot, a soldier turned traitor they had been tasked with capturing, that Liam finally accepted that which Killian had tried to convince him.

King George had poisoned Snow White. Cursed her during his toast at the wedding that was supposed to unite their two kingdoms - an added benefit to the true love she’d found with George’s son, Prince David. It was not love, either for his son or new daughter-in-law, that filled the King’s heart that day, though. George had wanted revenge, he wanted to punish them both for going against his wishes, for robbing him of a union with a more prosperous kingdom, so he had Snow’s goblet dosed with a potion that rendered her barren and unable to produce an heir, a fact he revealed to them after he’d returned to his own kingdom, thereby nullifying the treaty they’d made in good faith before the wedding.

Lancelot had not only provided them with the truth about their King, but confided in them his knowledge of a plot the sovereign had conspired against his own son. The newly crowned Misthavian King’s life was in danger. Before George had dispatched Liam’s crew to go after Lancelot, he’d commissioned another ship to lay in wait, sure that King David would sail to confront his father about what he had done. Their orders were to waylay King David’s vessel and see to it the ship went down… with no survivors.

Without a moment to spare, the brothers Jones had rallied their men, calling upon them to reject the traitorous King and instead take up arms in the service of the noble King David, and set a course towards the location an ambush would most likely take place. Luck had been on their side, arriving just as King David’s ship had begun taking on water.

During his many weeks of convalescence, Killian learned that upon returning to Misthaven, King David had accepted the allegiance and oaths of fealty from those who had defected. In addition to new loyalties was the boon of acquiring George’s most prized ship, the Jewel of the Realm, of which he had insisted Liam remain captain once the damage she’d sustained in battle had been seen to.

Both Liam and Queen Snow kept Killian apprised of the war that was now in full swing, and the lieutenant would be lying if he said he was not eager to join his brother in the fray once more. His injury (and his own stubbornness), however, was delaying such a desire from becoming reality. Though healed to the best of the fairies abilities, it was Killian’s determination to rehabilitate and acclimate to his new reality without any magical assistance that slowed his progress. All that changed, however, when he heard the news that repairs had been completed to the Jewel, and Captain Jones was being called forth for his first mission under their new sovereign.

“Are you sure?” Tink asked, again. “You’ve been doing so well without it.”

“I will not let my brother sail into dangers unknown without me to watch his back,” Killian growled. “You’re the one who kept insisting I was making things too difficult for myself, so just perform the bloody magic so I can present myself to Their Majesties at my brother’s side!”

Tink gave him one last assessing look, then sighed. Holding out her wand, she sent a cascade of magic over him, altering the dominance of his muscle memory from his left side to his right.

“There,” she said. “All you were able to do with your left hand before, you will now naturally experience with your right.”

Killian clenched and released his right hand, then wrapped it around the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip. Drawing it, he cut the air around him with metallic swishes, marveling at the ease with which he instinctively maneuvered it with his previously weaker hand.

“We still need to determine the attachment you wish to have fashioned for your brace,” Tink reminded him, but Killian waved her off.

“Later.”

Returning the sword to its scabbard, Killian straightened his appearance. “Have they assembled?”

Tink peered over the gallery’s balcony wall that overlooked the throne room. “The King and Queen are just now being seated. They’ll be calling for your brother momentarily.”

“Then I’d better hurry,” Killian quipped, shooting Tink a quick wink. After a few steps, he stopped and turned back, grasping the fairy by her shoulders and pulling her in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he murmured before pulling back and placing a quick peck on her cheek.

Tink rolled her eyes. “Go,” she said with half a laugh, and Killian did not have to be told twice.

“What do you think you’re doing out of the infirmary?” Liam questioned when Killian made it down to the hall outside the throne room just as the Royal Usher appeared to announce their entrance.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you go on this fool’s errand without me, did you?” Killian needled with a hint of cheek.

“It only becomes a fool’s errand when a fool joins it,” Liam shot back, stifling the smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“Precisely,” Killian agreed, waggling his brows in Liam’s direction. “Your involvement alone has seen to it.”

A chuckle rumbled through Liam’s chest and he slapped his brother good-naturedly on the back. “We’ll see what His Majesty has to say about it. I suppose you’ve earned at least that.” Turning to the usher, Liam requested, “Please announce our arrival to Their Majesties.”

Nodding, the usher signaled the guards who pulled open the large wooden doors.

“Captain Liam Jones and Lieutenant Killian Jones of Their Majesties’ Royal Navy!”

Killian kept stride a step behind his captain, focusing on his breathing and the rampant beat of his heart the closer they got to the dais. Though he’d had the pleasure of becoming acquainted enough with Queen Snow to no longer be nervous in her presence, this was the first time since shoving the King off the gunwale of his ship that Killian had been in the imposing man’s presence. Following Liam’s lead, he bent low at the waist when presented and awaited acknowledgement from his sovereigns before straightening to attention.

“Lieutenant Jones, how wonderful to see you,” Queen Snow greeted with a warm smile. “Though, I confess, we had not expected you.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Killian offered. “I hope you forgive my impudence, but once I learned of the commission placed upon the Jewel, I could not, in good faith, sit idly by whilst my captain and fellow sailors answered the call of duty.”

“And do you feel as though you are fit for duty, Lieutenant?” the King inquired, assessing him with a stern glance that flicked to the brace that covered his blunted wrist. “We’ve been kept apprised of your progress, and it was my understanding you had refused magical assistance.”

“It’s true, Your Majesty,” Killian replied. “I was resistant to it, but I have since relented.”

In his periphery, he saw Liam’s head jerk slightly towards him, his eyes darting to the side as he remained at attention in the presence of their commander and king.

“I see,” the King said, his expression growing pensive as he shared a look with his wife. “And you are adamant in your request to join your captain?”

“I am, Your Majesty.”

“And you, Captain? What have you to say about your Lieutenant’s request?”

“I leave such matters in Your Majesties’ hands,” Liam responded with the diplomacy he’d been taught, until a flicker of something passed over his features and he dared to add, “but there is no other I would rather have by my side whilst completing this mission than my lieutenant.”

Killian fought against the proud grin pulling at his lips and lifted his chin a bit higher as he awaited the King’s response.

King David cast his eyes towards his wife who gave a demure nod before he turned back and stood, surprising the assembled court.

“Then I suppose we have no objection,” he commented. “However, there is something that must be done first…” He held his hand towards a squire stationed next to the platform. The lad approached, a broad sword laying flat across his palms, and presented the weapon to the King who grasped the hilt as he motioned for Killian to step forward.

“Kneel,” King David commanded, and Killian, knowing he was the final deserter of King George’s service who had not undertaken a new oath of fealty, did as he was commanded. The weight of King David’s sword rested against Killian’s shoulder and his eyes never wavered from his sovereigns as he was asked, “Do you, Killian Jones, in good faith and without deceit, pledge your fealty to this kingdom and to the Sovereign Family who governs it? Will you, to the best of your ability, faithfully serve those who may call upon your duty as well as those who are in need of your charity? Do you vow to never cause harm to those to whom you have sworn your allegiance and that you will honor your accords so long as they are honored in kind?”

“I do,” Killian answered tightly, his throat constricted from the swell of emotion rising up within him.

King David lifted his sword and repositioned it to Killian’s other shoulder. “Then in addition to accepting your allegiance, and in accordance with the practices and traditions of this land, I not only recognize your selfless bravery in saving my life, but offer you a boon in addition to my gratitude.”

Killian’s brows pinched together and he felt the tips of ears go red. Other than the Queen’s remarks after he’d regained consciousness, nothing more had ever been mentioned regarding his actions that day in battle. He had simply been doing his duty; never would he have imagined a public ceremony, much less a boon.

“It gives me great pleasure to bestow upon you…” the King continued, his Adam’s apple jumping as he swallowed hard, “The Law of Surprise.”

A flurry of murmurs erupted throughout the throne room. Killian’s lips parted in shock and his brother had to assist him back to standing.

The Law of Surprise. A windfall whose nature is unknown to the parties involved. Whatever treasure or lands or blessing the King had yet to become aware of, but destiny had already designed for him, would actually be Killian’s to claim, the value of which could be innumerable.

Vaguely, Killian was aware of the order that the hall be cleared as the King offered the lieutenant his hand. Accepting the gesture, he managed to croak out a quiet ‘thank you’.

“No. Thank you,” Queen Snow replied warmly, having joined the men from the dais. “Both of you. This Kingdom is forever in your debt.”

“And I am in yours,” King David declared, releasing Killian hands. “Until the Law of Surprise is fulfilled. So…” Reaching into his robes, the King produced a scroll, sealed with the Sovereign stamp. Handing it over to Liam, he continued, “Take all precautions to keep yourselves safe during this mission the Queen and I am tasking you with. These orders are to be kept under seal until you are ready to depart from our shores. We cannot risk anyone finding out.”

“I understand, Your Majesty,” Laim replied, taking the scroll and giving a reverential bow of his head. “Come, little brother,” Liam prompted, slapping Killian on the back. “We have our orders and must ready the Jewel.”

Killian stumbled, his body slow to obey, still too overcome by what had transpired. Bowing to their Majesties, Killian was about to follow his brother out of the hall when the Queen surprised him once again by throwing her arms around him and giving him a tight hug. Words seemed to get caught in her throat for a moment, and Killian sensed there was something she wished to say, but then thought better of it.

When she finally pulled away, she took his hand in hers and imparted, “Take care of one another and return home as quickly as you can.”

“Aye,” Killian answered with one last nod of his head. “Until we meet again, Your Majesty.”

~/~

Awaiting them on the deck of the Jewel was a large trunk with a smaller satchel set atop. Liam gave the order to prepare to set sail, and the crew busied themselves with their tasks, ignoring the parcels as best they could.

Liam motioned Killian towards the captain’s cabin, and once they were below they began to inspect the King’s orders together. Having grabbed the satchel on his way down, Killian opened the latch as his captain broke the sovereign seal on the scrolls.

“Star charts?” Liam murmured, inspecting the first parchment closely. “I've never seen these constellations before.”

“And I’ve never seen markings like this,” Killian added, showing his brother the golden sextant that had been hidden away in the satchel. “To what strange land are we headed?”

Liam set aside the star chart and began to read the official missive. “We're going to a new land, brother,” he said excitedly. “One that requires… a pegasus sail in order to reach it!”

“A Pegasus sail?” Killian replied, incredulously. “Is that what the trunk aboard deck contains?”

“Aye!” Liam answered, his eyes continuing to scan their orders. “A sail woven from the feathers of one of the last remaining pegasus.”

“Legend has it that horse could fly.”

“Indeed.” Liam looked up from the scroll, his eyes as big as saucers. “So can we. Our orders are to fly to this new land and stop King George’s men from obtaining a weapon.”

“What sort of weapon?” Killian snatched the parchent from Liam’s hand and began reading the orders for himself, even as his captain continued to relay them.

“A plant.”

“A plant?” Killian parroted, snidely. “His Majesty wishes us to cross realms for a plant?”

“All King David knows is that George also has a pegasus sail, and plans to use it to send men to obtain that plant, which, according to the fairies, can be used as a weapon capable of terrible destruction.”

“So, what? Does he wish for us to capture the plant for ourselves?” Killian did not much like that plan. He would gladly fight his enemies, but his code demanded he fight fair. The only weapon he knew of that came from plants was poison, and the idea of using such a tactic was underhanded and loathsome. Was it not George’s use of poison against Queen Snow that had caused them to defect from the kingdom of their birth in the first place?

“No,” Liam assured him. “We are to stop George’s men from retrieving it, burn their sail, and once we’ve returned, burn ours as well, so no one can ever venture there again.”

Killian relaxed his posture, relief flooding him, along with a measure of guilt that he’d ever doubted King David and Queen Snow's intentions.

Doubts that were further laid to rest when one of the men called down from the hatch, “Lieutenant! A parcel has arrived for you. From Her Majesty the Queen!”

Both men made their way back up, and Killian took the parcel from the sailor’s hand. It was heavy and odd-shaped, with a letter attached. Handing off the parcel to Liam, so he could open the note, Killian shook out the page and read:

Dear Lieutenant,

Tinkerbelle informed me you had yet to choose an attachment for your brace. I hope you will forgive my presumption, but I thought this might be a suitable option.

The wrapping crinkled as Liam opened the parcel, exposing a shiny, silver hook, the base of which had been refashioned to fit the mechanism within his brace.

It is the very hook you used to strap yourself to that barrel, which ultimately saved your life that day. It is my hope that this hook will bring you the same favor each and every day you wear it, as it did the day you brought favor back into my own life when you first employed it.

Yours,

Queen Snow

The entire ship had gone silent, with only the snapping of the sails and splash of waves against the hull daring to compete with the Queen’s words. Sun gleamed off the surface of the hook, still held in Liam’s hand, and Killian swallowed tightly as he took it in his own. Holding it up, he considered how this seemingly inconsequential piece of equipment had changed the course of his life, and with the Law of Surprise still owed to him by the King, the greatest of those changes were as yet unknown to him. Queen Snow was right. He could think of no other attachment that would be more fitting for whatever the fates might have in store for him.

Positioning the hook into the end of the brace, he gave it a firm turn until it clicked into place, restoring a piece of himself he never thought he’d get back. Clearing his throat, Killian shifted his posture, bringing himself to full height, faced his brother, and asked, “What are your orders, Captain?”

Liam’s eyes filled with pride, but he maintained his composure in the face of their crew. “Deploy the Pegasus sail and begin charting our course, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye,” Killian acknowledged before addressing the crew. “Get ready to set sail, mates! Make speed!”

~/~

Killian’s boots sank into the damp sand as he followed Liam up a small hill, heading away from shore. Behind him, the rest of the scouting party fanned out, their eyes cutting through the vegetation ahead for any sign of inhabitants. Dense jungle crept towards them with towering trees and lush ferns obscuring any view they might have into the island's heart. Once they made it to the top of the berm, Liam turned to instruct his men and Killian followed suit. No sooner had Liam opened his mouth than a voice spoke up from right behind them.

“Are you two lost?”

Whirling back around with his sword drawn, Killian was astounded to find an adolescent youth staring at them curiously. Where the devil did he come from?

“You look lost to me,” the boy said with a smirk as he lazily perused the men before him, seemingly undeterred by the many swords pointed his way.

“Identify yourself, boy,” Liam commanded.

“I'm Peter Pan,” the boy stated. With a sweeping hand, he gestured towards the island and added, “I live here. Who are you?

Liam studied the boy for a moment more before sheathing his sword and signaling the rest of the men to do the same. “Captain Jones,” he replied before gesturing towards Killian. “And this is my lieutenant. We're here by order of the king.”

Killian secured his own sword, unnerved by the way the boy’s eyes lingered upon him, especially his hook, before responding to Liam’s statement.

“The king, huh? We don't have any kings in Neverland,” he informed them, then smugly added, “just me.”

“That's funny,” Liam deadpanned whilst pulling a folded piece of parchment from his vest pocket. Shaking it open, he held it up in front of the boy. “We seek this plant.” He gave the boy a moment to look at the drawing. “Now tell us, boy, where can we find it?”

Ignoring Liam’s demand, the boy plucked the parchment from Liam’s hand and inquired, “Your king sent you for this plant?”

“You know it?”

“Dreamshade?” the boy replied, his brows high upon his forehead with a glimmer Killian did not much care for sparking in his eyes. “It's the deadliest plant on the island. Your king is really ruthless.”

“It’s not like that,” Killian countered. “King David sent us here in order to prevent that plant from falling into the ruthless hands of King George. We’re here to safeguard it, not exploit it.”

The boy flicked his eyes up from beneath his brows, and the sinister smile pulling at the corners of his mouth made Killian’s blood run cold.

“Funny,” the boy drawled. “They said the same thing.”

A battle cry rang out from the treeline, followed by the sounds of foliage being snapped and trampled by a dozen or more men rushing from the brush. King George’s men descended without warning, having clearly arrived at the island before them with enough time to set up an ambush. Killian drew his cutlass and threw himself into the fray, clashing swords with an enemy whose blade was smeared with a black, sticky substance he did not recognize.

Though outnumbered, King David’s men were able to make short work of George’s. Killian surmised they must have made land on the opposite side of the island and were therefore already fatigued from their trek through the jungle, giving King David’s men the upper hand. When Killian managed to disarm the opposing captain, his hook pressed against the man’s throat as he gave the order of surrender, George’s remaining men all threw down their weapons and sank to their knees.

“Tie them up,” Killian ordered as he scanned the beach for the treacherous boy who had clearly aided in the ambush. He did not find the little miscreant, but did see his brother wincing at the water line, his hand clamped over his arm as blood oozed from beneath his fingers.

“Liam!” Killian cried, rushing to his brother’s side. “You are wounded!”

“It’s nothing,” Liam said, attempting to wave him off. “Merely a flesh wound.”

Unable to keep his balance, Liam practically fell into Killian, who wasted no time in tucking himself under his captain's arm.

“Starkey!” Killian called out, gaining their bosun’s attention. “See that the prisoners are transported back to the ship in the other dinghy. I’m taking the captain back to tend to his wound.”

“Aye, aye!” Starkey replied, ordering two of their men to accompany the captain and lieutenant back to the Jewel.

By the time Killian managed to get his brother back on board and safely within the captain’s quarters, Liam’s complexion had become sickly pale and his skin clammy. When Killian insisted on seeing the wound, Liam muttered something about Killian fussing like an old woman.

“Let me see!” Killian barked in command, taking his brother aback enough that he complied.

Rolling up his sleeve revealed a nasty gash on his forearm, but more alarming than the blood were the black streaks running along his veins beneath his skin.

“What the devil?” Killian muttered, examining the pattern branching up Liam’s arm.

“I think it was… whatever they had… coated on their… blades,” Liam said, his breathing clearly labored. “Some sort of… poison, perhaps?”

Poison.

“Dreamshade,” Killian exhaled on a panicked breath before launching himself towards the cabinets at the far end of Liam’s cabin. “There must be a cure,” he said, rifling through the bottles of potions and elixirs the fairies had supplied them with. “An antidote or magical healing potion that can--”

“Oh, you won’t find a cure in there,” a voice quipped from behind him.

Spinning around, Killian found himself face to face with the demon boy they’d met on shore. Pan.

“He'll die as soon as the poison reaches his heart.”

His callous tone had Killian seeing red. Grabbing the boy by his tunic, Killian slammed him against the steps that led up to the helm, hook at his throat as he demanded, “Tell me how to save him!”

Pan appeared more amused, excited even, than terrified, and merely hummed before confessing, “There is a way to stop him from dying.”

“Tell me,” Killian snarled, releasing Pan and taking a step back so the boy could procure something from his belt.

“Pixie dust,” Pan stated, holding up a pouch that somehow shimmered despite its dark leather exterior. “Powerful stuff, and easily capable of curing any ill. Even dreamshade.”

Killian reached out to take the pouch, but Pan toyingly pulled it away. “I must warn you,” he said in a tone of mock seriousness. “All magic comes with a price, and this dust is no exception. Don't use it unless you're willing to pay.”

“Whatever the cost. Whatever you want. It's yours,” Killian agreed.

Pan held his gaze for a second more then handed the pouch over. Killian wasted no time. After righting his brother, who was nearly slumped off his chair and unconscious, he pulled the pouch open with his teeth then poured the contents on the festering wound that was nearly black as pitch. The glittering substance shone brightly as it reacted with the poison, forcing Killian to shield his eyes.

“Brother!” Killian shouted, shaking Liam’s shoulders and willing him to wake up. “Brother!”

Jolting awake, Liam sucked in a deep breath and swallowed thickly, his eyes casting about as he got his bearings. “That's captain to you,” he croaked out cheekily when his eyes landed on Killian, attempting to assuage his brother’s concerns. Getting to his feet, he let Killian help stabilize him as he asked, “What happened?”

Relieved to see the ruddy vitality return to his brother’s cheeks and no remnant of the vile dreamshade clogging his veins, Killian chortled, “It doesn't matter. Let's pay the boy and be on our way.”

“What boy?” Liam inquired, prompting Killian to turn circles within the cabin.

“Boy!” he called out, unnerved by the way the brat seemed to appear and disappear into thin air. “What do you want?” he called out again, when suddenly, from overhead, shouts began to bellow on deck.

“Is that…”

The acrid scent hit Killian at the same time as his brother and their heads snapped towards each other as they exclaimed, “Fire!”

Scrambling up the hatch steps, they were met with chaos as the crew floundered helplessly under the flying embers of the pegasus sail, its golden plumage being consumed by flames.

“What is the meaning of this!” Liam shouted. “Who is responsible for--”

“I decided what I wanted,” a now familiar voice stated from behind. “I want this ship and a crew to serve it… and me. That’s my price.”

Dread laced with fury washed over Killian. Stepping forward he towered over the demon boy and through clenched teeth declared, “No. I never agreed to--”

“Whatever the cost. Whatever you want. It's yours,” Pan parroted his own words back to him, a self-satisfied smirk twitching at his lips that made Killian’s blood boil.

“I cannot pay you with something that is not mine to give.” Sweeping his arm out towards the men, he said, “These men’s lives are not mine to barter, and are therefore exempt from having to pay the debt I alone owe.” Casting a glance towards his brother, Killian swallowed hard before turning back to the boy. “It was my brother’s life you spared, so it is my life… my service alone that--”

“No!” Liam shouted. “Killian, don’t be a fool. None of us shall pay such a price.” It was now Liam who loomed over the boy, who appeared as bored as ever. Drawing himself up to full height, Liam commanded, “You may have taken our sail, but that does not leave us without means to leave this place.” Calling out over his shoulder, Liam bellowed, “Lieutenant! Take a contingent of men and retrieve George’s sail. Starkey! Take this miscreant to the brig.”

Killian wanted to argue, unable to shake the feeling of dread the boy’s presence wrought over him, but before he could voice his concerns Pan issued his own warning.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Captain. Your brother made a deal for the island’s magic, and all magic comes with a price. You would be wise to honor the cost.”

“Your cost is too high,” Liam sneered. “I won’t see any of my men forced into your servitude, especially my brother, simply for my sake.”

“Very well, then,” Pan quipped with a shrug. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Liam scoffed and turned his back on the boy. Setting his sights on Killian, who still had not made a move to carry out his earlier order, Liam opened his mouth to issue it again when his face purpled and a choking sound emitted from the back of his throat. Killian watched in horror as his brother collapsed, the sprawling blackness of the dreamshade once again snaking its way up the veins of his neck.

“Liam!” Killian rushed to his brother's side and gathered him in his arms. “No! No, no, no, please!”

“I did warn him,” Pan drawled in a taunting tone. “He should have paid up when he had the chance.”

“Let me pay,” Killian begged. “The deal was struck between us. You and me. I’ll stay in exchange for my brother’s life and our men’s freedom. Save him, return them all to our kingdom, and I’ll remain here. In your service. For as long as you wish.”

“And the ship?”

Killian hesitated. The Jewel wasn’t truly his to give, but surely their Majesties would value the lives of their subjects over a vessel they’d only acquired in battle.

“Aye. The ship as well.”

Crouching down in front of the brothers, Pan’s indifference to the gurgles and gasps of dying breath from the elder sprawled prone in the younger’s embrace only heightened Killian’s terror as the boy stated, “Ten years.”

“What?”

“I want to make sure the terms are clear this time,” Pan clarified. “Ten years of service from you and this ship, with no interference from your brother or your kingdom.” His cold eyes shifted down to Liam’s, which were wide and bloodshot with panic. “If you make any attempt to rescue your brother or take back this vessel, I’ll consider the deal forfeit… as well as your lives. Yours, your brothers, and anyone else who mettles. Deal?”

“Yes,” Killian agreed, desperately. “We have a deal.”

“Captain?” Pan inquired of Liam, who could only nod his consent, though reluctantly. “Excellent.”

With a wave of his hand Liam’s malady was lifted, but before Killian could assist his brother back on his feet, Pan flicked his wrist again and Liam, along with the rest of the crew, disappeared before his very eyes.

“What have you done with them?” Shooting to his feet, Killian grabbed the brat by his tunic and began shaking him violently. “Where have they gone? Tell me!”

“Relax,” Pan replied. “I’m keeping up my end of the bargain.” Turning his head, he nodded towards the far end of the coastline. “There. Your brother, fellow crewmen, and captives are there.”

Killian’s head snapped in the direction of Pan’s gaze, and he loosened his grip on the boy as a ship, King George’s ship, came into view as it rounded the coast. The main sail was not the golden color he’d expected, knowing George’s men had also used a pegasus sail to reach the island. Instead, a sail blacker than night whipped briefly until it caught the winds, billowing out towards the sea.

“What sort of dark magic…” Killian murmured beneath his breath, but the question was cut short when he witnessed the vessel begin to lift out of the waters. Scrambling to get a better view, Killian pulled his spyglass from where it was usually stowed at the helm and peered through the lens. Across the expanse he caught sight of his brother, peering back at him through his own glass. Killian’s heart constricted in his chest. He had not even the chance to say good-bye. Had not been given the opportunity to set his affairs in order. There was so much he'd wished to say, so much he’d wanted his brother to know and to impart upon others who had become important in his life.

Tinkerbelle, the other fairies, Queen Snow, King David. What would they think about the deal he’d struck? What would become of his brother and the other men when they returned without the fleet’s prized vessel? Would they be punished? Demoted? Would his actions become a millstone around their necks for the next ten years?

As the levitated vessel grew smaller and smaller, making its way through the skies, Killian could only pray that the fact that they’d been successful in thwarting George from obtaining dreamshade would be enough to satisfy the king. When at last he lost sight of the ship within the clouds, Killian lowered the spyglass and heaved a despondent sigh while choking back tears. Though he may not know the plight Pan’s service might bring him, nor the response of the king when Liam returned, one thing he did know was Misthaven’s war with King George was far from over, and he would not be there to protect his brother, fight for his sovereigns, or prove he was worthy of the boon the king had already gifted him. A boon that would go unclaimed and unfulfilled.

He supposed he ought to be grateful the Law of Surprise did not work in reverse. He would not wish this misfortune on anyone.

“There, there,” the voice he’d already come to hate patronized. Killian stiffened when the bastard approached, standing beside him and gazing out upon the Neverland waters. “Is it really so bad?”

Killian did not respond. His years of indenture taught him to hold his tongue, and though he was loath to be back in a position of servitude he would shoulder the burden and play the part of compliance, unwilling to give the demon any recourse that might alter their deal and prolong his sentence.

Wiping away the vestiges of the emotional farewell to his former life, Killian straightened his posture and faced his new master. “The ship and I are at your command. What are your orders?”

Pan smiled, a sickening expression that made Killian’s stomach churn, and circled his quarry. “I do have an errand for you, but I’m afraid it must wait until my shadow returns.”

Killian’s brows scrunched in confusion, but he said nothing.

“Until then…” Pan halted his steps and squared himself off with Killian, his hands clasped behind his back as he rolled onto his heels. “I think a makeover is in order. For you and the ship.”

“A makeover?”

“Indeed.” Snapping his fingers, Pan’s smile grew broader as Killian was knocked off kilter. Steading himself, he realized his entire wardrobe had changed. Gone were the crisp white linens and gold embroidered navy wool of his uniform. In their place was a pair of buttery soft black leather pants, a billowing, smoke-hued blouse beneath a silver garnished, corseted leather waistcoat, and an adornment of rings and pendants.

“What the devil?” Flicking his bewildered eyes to Pan, he balked when the boy extended a can of paint and brush towards him.

“Here,” he said. “I’ve seen to your makeover, you can see to the ship’s.”

“And what, exactly, am I to make over?” Killian asked through the tick in his jaw.

“Her name,” Pan declared, as though the answer were obvious. “You no longer sail the Jewel of the Realm,” he informed Killian. “From now until your service has ended, she’ll be known as… The Jolly Roger.”

Killian swallowed the bile creeping up his throat, his fist clenching at his side. “So you mean to make me a pirate.”

Pan’s gaze flicked down to the hook braced at the end of Killian’s left arm, then slowly scanned its way back up. “Oh, I think you and I both know there’s a part of you that’s always been a pirate. Now the exterior and occupation will match the man beneath.”

Anger sparked within him. How dare the little devil associate his hook, gifted to him by the Queen for what it represented to them both, with something as vile and villainous as piracy. “You know nothing about me,” Killian seethed.

“Perhaps not,” Pan shrugged. “But we’ve ten long years together. I imagine we’ll come to know one another quite well by the end of this… arrangement.” Setting the paint at Killian’s feet, Pan’s tone hardened. “Ready your ship, Captain. It’s a pirate’s life for you. For the next ten years at least.”

Killian balked at the boy’s sudden disappearance, then gave himself a moment to come to terms with all the demon had said. He was right. For better or worse, this is the deal he had struck. Picking up the can and brush, Killian made his way to the bow and with a heavy heart, rechristened the Jewel.

Later that evening, with the ship’s main sail infused by a spectre Pan referred to as his shadow, it was not the Jewel of the Realm that departed Neverland. No. The Jolly Roger set sail to complete her first mission. A mission to transport orphaned, abandoned, and truant boys from a lawless place called Pleasure Island back to Neverland. A mission carried out not by Lieutenant Killian Jones of Their Majesties’ Royal Navy of Misthaven, but by the blackguard who would come to be known as the scourge of the seas, a villain whose soul would be described as being as black and depraved as the sail he hoisted. The fearsome and reviled pirate, Captain Hook.

Part Two 

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.) @paradiselady19 @aprilqueen84 @kmomof4 @mie779 @donteattheappleshook @stahlop @anmylica @undercaffinatednightmare @zaharadessert @karl0ta @booksteaandtoomuchtv @courtorderedcake @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @the-darkdragonfly @jonesfandomfanatic @wyntereyez @xarandomdreamx @teamhook @winterbaby89 @justanother-unluckysoul @whimsicallyenchantedrose @badwolfreturns @deckerstarblanche @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @resident-of-storybrooke @motherkatereloyshipper @lfh1226-linda @youherotype @kday426 @snowbellewells @alexa-fangirl-forever @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @unworried-corsair @justanotherflailgirl @sals86 @natascha-ronin @livykatelin00-blog @jackieorioncat @annep1 @ilovemesomekillianjones @soniccat @youplaylikeagirl @th3capta1n @cocohook38 @zippoluv @killian-whump​

#csff #cs ff #csfic #cs fic #cs au #cssns23 #captain swan #enchanted forest au #neverland au #captain duckling #the law of surprise #words by hollye

[beckyblah]

Fellas is it gay to feel horrified when your rival says he doesn’t think about you?

#tshsjjsjdjdhd WHY was this story so homoerotic and romantically charged #I’m not tagging this as ship it would just give soot what he wants #wilbur soot #quackity #c!wilbur #c!quackity #dream smp #dsmp #dreamsmp #dream smp fanart #dsmp fanart #my art #tntduo #hitting on sixteen #hitting on 16 #mcyt fanart

[emo-and-confused]

Headcannons based on @cb28 ‘s “ceo of many hotels tommy and hotel receptionist tubbo” au art (includes dysfunctional sleepy bois) (awesamdad)

-techno, wilbur, and tommy are phil’s kids

-(the three kids are adopted, techno was adopted when he was five, wilbur was adopted when he was four, and tommy was adopted when he was seven)

-techno is older than wilbur by two years and wilbur is older than tommy by eight years

-phil is this rich businessman. techno is some powerful leader. wilbur is a famous songwriter.

-then tommy owns a hotel

-he's still like 16/17 but he owns and manages it

-techno is the oldest therefore favorite and heir to whatever money and property phil owns

-tommy is least favorite. phil ignored him.

-then one day phil just gave him money and said "stop being a disappointment" so he started his hotel at 15

tommy: i’m going to build a hotel in rage

-then best friend tubbo who works there and is nice to tommy

phil: oh, theseus, my son. come, i was just telling my companions about your ho- who is that?

tommy: this is tubbo.

tubbo: hello :)

-wilbur being the normal brother and treating him like a normal person and taking him and tubbo to hang out and be kids

wilbur: tommy, let’s go get ice cream

tommy: wilbur, ive got things to do, paper work and, and shippments and-

wilbur: tommy.

tommy:

wilbur: let’s go. bring tubbo.

-tommy feels like he has to prove something to phil

-he also feels like he might be able to earn attention from him. that if he works hard enough phil will be proud of him

-wilbur’s music is what makes phil pay attention to him, but when he was a kid phil said his music was never going to be a stable source of income and actively encouraged other future job choices. this only made wilbur more focused on his music

-both tommy and wilbur feel the need to prove themselves

-tommy meets sam when starting up his hotel, and immediately gets attached

-sam is basically his guide, even after building the hotel. sam saw the child and went “yeah he needs parental guidance” and continued to stay in contact with tommy

-tommy is the one who gives sam the creeper mask. because sam is always working on construction and stuff and he's always inhaling debris and tommy likes minecraft so he gives it to him. sam adores it and wears it all the time.

-tommy totally calls him sam nook

sam: hey tommy! just building your hotel. i do need some more things for construction though... could you ship them over to me?

tommy: y'know this reminds me of a game my brother made me play over the holidays...

sam: ... uh,,,, what?

tommy: animal crossing! that's it. you're totally tom nook.

sam: alright, tommy.

-[over emails]

]Mr. Danger Careful Innit,

Could you supply more building materials?

Sincerely, Sam Nook

]Mr. Samuel Nook,

sure.

Sincerely, Tommy

-sam gets a very official hand written contract (the same one as the lore)

-he gets it and just goes with it (there’s a more real contract but tommy values his handwritten one more)

-sam signing it and tommy cheering and immediately going to text phil

sam: and... there you go! signed. :)

tommy: really??? ... YES!!! LETS GO!!! (calls phil and tells him)

-then tommy hanging up and smiling, then looking back over to sam.

tommmy: (clears his throat) um. my apologies. that was very unprofessional. thank you very much, sam.

-tubbo is the receptionist for the main hotel in the chain, (the one tommy is constantly at) but he basically becomes sort of a manager

-tommy sends him off to do multiple jobs throughout the day, and tubbo does them with only little complaint

tubbo: you know i’m not room service right?

tommy: i don’t remember asking

tubbo, already holding the room order: this isn’t my job tho-

tommy: and yet here you are, doing the job

-tommy pays him more than everyone else though, but tubbo doesn’t know that because tommy won’t let him see the usual staff paycheck

-tubbo is half a year older but his parents are constantly away on buisness trips so he is often home alone and has to take care of himself

-tommy is not good with showing his affection, the only one in his family to do so was wilbur. phil just kind of threw money at him on holidays and ignored him the rest of the time, and while techno was a lot more attentive to him, he wasn’t the best at affection either

-when tommy started making money with the hotel, (how very successful hotel chain), to show tubbo he cared he just started offering to buy him things

tommy, upon finding out tubbo likes bees: you know i could buy you a bee sanctuary if you’d like?

tubbo: tommy no-

-tubbo teaches him that money isn’t the only form of showing you care. it’s a long process

tommy: so you’re saying i shouldn’t buy sam a private engineering lab for his birthday?

tubbo: i know for a fact sam wouldn’t know how to accept such a gift and that he’d rather you close the hotel for a day and take him to play laser tag

tommy: ...okay but what if i do that and buy him a private engineering lab?

tubbo:

-the dream team are bell hoppers.

-tommy gets hate for being that young and successful

-the dream team are like “stfu i'm proud to be working for a very successful 16 yo how dare you" and go off on every rich person who says something about tommy’s age

they're still streamers. they just don't tell tommy. (tommy totally knows tho, he’s a 16 year old kid who plays minecraft and animal crossing, ofc he knows they’re video game streamers)

dream: hey tommy-

tommy: yes? is there a reason you're barging into my office?

dream: .. is that... animal crossing music? are you playing on a switch?

tommy: no!! i'm signing very important and legal documents!!! if you have nothing to say, get out!!

dream, to sapnap and george: he’s totally playing animal crossing.

-tommy makes them greet people at the doors and carry peoples bags purely because they’re famous. they don’t know this though

-they don't think tommy knows. tommy and tubbo think it’s hilarious. tommy hints it all the time that he knows but they just think he's being a kid

-quackity is on sam’s building/contracting team

-even after the hotel is built, q comes in to "check up" on the building with sam. and they "make sure nothing is going wrong with the building"

-they really just want to make sure tommy is okay under so much pressure

-wilbur totally has tubbo’s schedule and knows when tubbo’s on break, he can usually be found with tommy in tommy’s office

-wilbur will just barge in and be like “okay let’s go, you need a break��

-one time wilbur came in while sam and quackity were there

wilbur, barging in: kay, tommy, tubbo, let’s-

sam, mid lecture with tommy: you can’t keep doing this!

quackity, also scolding: you need to take a break, man.

tubbo, who noticed wilbur come in: wil! tell tommy he needs to go to bed and sleep! he hasn’t slept in twenty seven hours!

tommy, from his desk, with his head in his hands and leaning over paper work: i’m being ganged up on.

-wilbur instantly likes sam and quackity, because they care for his little brother (he totally has a rivalry with them though, he was there first, and tommy’s actual brother)

-the main hotel in the chain is sometimes used as an international meeting place for big companies and politicians

-more than once has phil or techno needed to stay for a few nights due to major meetings with powerful people

-it’s kind of awkward sometimes because tommy’s the hotel chain owner and since he’s based at the main hotel, he sometimes needs to greet the people going in for meetings

tommy: good afternoon, madam secretary

tommy: good afternoon, mister minister

tommy: good afternoon... *awkward cough* ...technoblade.

-or since he’s the ceo of a big name company, he sometimes has to attend big rich people galas that he hates

tommy: tubbo i literally hate these types of places, when can i leave, when am i allowed to to leave

tubbo, who is tommy’s plus one and moral support: dude i don’t know, i didn’t grow up rich

tommy, who grew up talking care of himself when wilbur wasn’t there: yeah well technically neither did i!

-and his father is a business man..

tommy, faking confidence and striding across the room: tubbo, i have no idea what i’m doing-

phil, from a table a few feet away, calling him over: theseus!

tommy, slowly turning around to see phil with a bunch of other rich people: fuckkkk-

-tommy makes sure everyone calls him tommy and not theseus

[in an interview]

interviewer: so theseus-

tommy: it's tommy.

interviewer: ... alright, tommy. would you like to address the rumors going around of your boyfriend?

tommy: huh??? oh, you mean tubbo? no, we're just best friends. and that's weird. i'm a minor.

interviewer: are you gay, though? we've never seen you date any women.

tommy: no, i do date women! all the time!!

-tommy being legally named "theseus watson" but calling himself "tommy innit"

-wilbur is legally “wilbur watson” but only ever goes by his stage name “wilbur soot”

-they both totally end up changing their names. legally.

-tommy saying i hate men because he just hates his father

-tommy getting scandals and controversies all the time but just by the upper class

-everyone else loves and adores him and knows he's literally just a 16 yo kid so that kind of stuff is a joke and he can say that without getting in trouble

-tommy will be in his office and tubbo will be at the front desk and sometimes tommy will just yell “TUBBOOOOO HELP MEEEEE” if his laptop crashes because Tubbo Tech

tommy: [during a meeting] oh, tubbo's clocked in for work.... TUBBOOO!

tommy: he's gonna come in here. surely. he'll go "hellœ?" surely. he'll walk in here...

tubbo: [walks in the room] hellœ?

-phil still has no idea who tubbo is

wilbur: yeah, i’m going to go check on tommy and tubbo

phil: ..the receptionist?

wilbur: ...

wilbur, internally: also your sons best friend but yeah sure, the receptionist.

-techno is lowkey fond of tubbo

-techno notices how tommy is clinging to tubbo at parties and galas all the time so he tries to get tommy to talk about him

-he likes that tubbo is there for tommy and totally resonates with the chaotic energy the two create

-sometimes when tommy can’t get tubbo in to the parties/galas, and techno is there, tommy will hang around him and steal his things

-like taking his wallet so techno will have to go back to the hotel afterwards and visit tommy

-he does it for attention. 

-tommy lives at the hotel. it’s not technically legal cause he wasn’t emancipated from his family and he’s only 16 but they’re rich so people don’t really say anything

-technically he still has a room at phil’s place, but he stays in a room at the hotel. when designing the place, he made sure to map out an area for his living space

-tubbo takes naps in his room

tubbo: i'm gonna go take a nap in the break room

quackity: there is no break room??

tubbo: yea there is. on the top floor. with the giant door.

quackity:... isn't that tommy's room???

-tubbo sometimes stays the night with tommy, when his parents have been on a business trip for over two weeks. he still goes to in-person school so he usually only stays on weekends during the school year

-tommy does online school, and forces himself to get his schoolwork for the week done over the weekend so he can focus on the hotel and other responsibilities

-he fakes having the “lmao i'm better and have more money also you don't play minecraft" mentality towards other kids and claims that’s why he does online

-it’s actually because he doesn’t have time to balance everything and he was bullied in the past so he switched to online school as soon as he started his hotel

-sometimes tubbo helps him with his classes tommy is overworked. like, in his off time. he has the passwords to tommy's computer so he just goes on it and does some of his school work

-tommy ranting to tubbo about how he hates his dad and how he said phil was gonna visit him the next day

-phil arriving and asking tubbo (because he's the receptionist) where tommy is. tubbo saying he doesn't know and that he left. even though tommy is literally in his room

-phil tries. he just doesn’t know how to parent. techno was 17 and wilbur was 15 when he adopted tommy, and he just got busy enough and forgot how to take care of a child

-tommy knows if he talks to phil, it’ll be awkward and phil will just try and buy him off (not intentionally, it’s just how business men be working, yknow)

-tommy just wants to prove himself, to both himself and phil. and hes using his hotel to do that

———————

fanart that was posted with @cb28 ‘s work

(i got permission to post this)

#tommyinnit #tommyinnit headcanon #tommyinnit headcannon #clingy duo #mcyt au #hotel au #sleepy bois #dysfunctional sleepy bois #mcytblr

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 1

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Summary: Alexys is a doctor living a life of exclusivity on Raxus, hoping to survive through a peaceful existence, concealing herself from those she believes would use her, or kill her. When fate intervenes and instigates a perilous journey she'd been desperately trying to avoid, Alex finds herself caught in the middle of two sides in both war and love.

Preface: Let me say, I am immensely nervous about this. After months of back and forth inside my mind, I’ve decided to go for it and begin the long process of moving my long running series to Tumblr, along with changing the name (something I’ve wanted to do for a long time). I hit a big emotional road block after over a year of writing and posting, so I’m hoping this move will eventually get me back into the swing. But for now, I’m looking forward to revisiting the beginning of this space love triangle.

If you’ve already read the saga, absolutely NO pressure to read again. Each chapter will be edited a little, but no major plot points will change. To any newcomers who find themselves interested, the story is already posted on AO3 if you are desperate to continue. Otherwise if you prefer reading on Tumblr, or simply like the forced breaks between chapters, I’ll be posting a new chapter every couple of days. I know it’s not written as reader insert, but I just couldn’t make the story work out in any other fashion. I poured a lot of love and heart into Alexys so I hope you’ll give her a chance.

Chapter 1 - Crash Landing

Words: 3.4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: descriptions of severe injury including blood and bone, medical procedures 

Read on AO3

~

I felt it before I heard it.

A booming crash of metal and glass, sending a shattering vibration through the walls and furniture around me. After the years of mostly silence I’d become accustomed to, the noise that came pummelling into my ears almost made me shriek in surprise. It was short lived, coming and going in a flicker so quick I had to wonder if it was real at all.

Lights began to flash, blinking rapidly in uneven time. The mixture of harsh beeps indicated something was faulting my electricity circuits, plunging me into the darkness of night over and over.

I could only question myself again at the plausibility of this being a dream, but the slow, increasing creak emanating from beyond the walls of this building brought me to a certainty.

Something had crashed outside.

Fear radiated through my limbs, leaving me stuck where I was standing for a few moments, before an uncontrollable urge of selflessness and honestly, curiosity, forced me to move and exit the safety of my clinic.

There wasn’t really a way to prepare for what I saw not metres away from my front entrance. A ship, an X-wing of some variety, was wrecked into itself, varying metals twisted and curled over each other, flames beginning to billow out from the creases. I could feel the heat of them rise as I cautiously stepped forward, taking in the scene with wide eyes. Only seconds had passed when I saw it – the movement of something – no, a person, demanding my attention. The pilot of this battered machine had been thrown just beyond the edge of its hull, broken transparisteel smattering the ground around them.

Hm, the Resistance should probably investigate their flight safety measures.

That thought quickly flittered away when the pilot moved again, this time with a painful moan echoing into the atmosphere. The switch inside quickly flipped, and an all too familiar feeling of conviction flooded through.

This is your cue Alexys.

I raced quickly to the pilot and knelt on the ground before them, fingers carefully removing the black and red helmet with both urgency and restraint as to not cause any more possible damage to their head or neck. The moan I'd heard just moments before let me know this person had some kind of airway, but it was pertinent I assess further. With the helmet gone I noticed the short, lightly waved black hair of a man, his eyes pulled closed, a few bruises and smudges of grey soot smattered over his face. His chest was moving, laboured breathing with the occasional heave on inhale.

At least he’s breathing.

“It’s alright,” I insisted. “I’m here to help you.”

There wasn’t any discernible response from the pilot other than a groan that withered away slowly, and that in itself was worrying. Kneeling over his body, I placed two fingers under the line of his jaw, halfway down, trying to feel for a pulse. I could sense the thump of blood under my fingertips, but it was too slow, too faint, too uneven.

Not great, but it was enough for now.

I began to scan over his body, knowing it was time to assess what was giving him reason to cry out in pain. There were severe burns on his left arm which had caused some of his flight suit to stick to the skin, with more scalds reaching down to his torso and abdomen. His right arm was almost definitely broken with the limb morphed into an irregular angle almost halfway along.

Without being able to look at them directly to ascertain whether I was going to be able to move him, I pressed on his hips gently, silently praying he hadn’t broken his pelvis. He muffled softly, but anyone who had actually shattered the bone would have screamed. As my eyes continued to scan down, it became obvious all too suddenly the shattered edge of his right femur bone poking out of the orange flight suit.

Kriff, this is not ideal.

I wanted to kick myself for not noticing it before, but there was no time, not with the very real possibility of him bleeding out in front of my eyes. My feet moved under me, racing back to the clinic room, knowing where the bandage and splint lay waiting, along with the anaesthetic injections I had stocked in the pharmacy cupboard.

He was certainly going to need them.

Within minutes I was back to the ground with the pilot, clicking together the injector handle and vial, piercing the needle straight into his thigh above the fracture site. I wouldn’t be able to wait for it to dull most of the pain, so internally, I braced myself for the scream I was about to elicit from this poor human's chest. The second I started to wrap the bandage around the splint, a piercing wail echoed through the air, almost causing me to hesitate. Still, my hands continued to haphazardly wrap the white material around his leg, pushing through the guilt it ignited. 

Suddenly, the noise stopped.

My eyes darted to his face as his head slumped over on its side. “Hey!” I shouted into his face as I scrambled back to the top end of his limp body. “Hey can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me!”

There was no response.

I pinched at the muscle on his shoulder, harder and harder to elicit any kind of reaction. Nothing. My hand pulled into a closed fist and grinded against his sternum. “Come on, open those eyes if you can feel this!”

Still nothing.

Again I took check of his breathing, chest still rising and falling, yet shallow and with little power. His heartbeat had begun to race, but through my fingertips I could feel the strain in the muscle. Something was seriously wrong, even more so than his other injuries. Something internally. If I didn’t get him into the clinic, he was going to die.

In a snap decision, I chose to forgo an attempt to run back and locate the hover-stretcher. It would take too much time to set up and power on, time this man didn’t have. I would have to move him myself.

How the hell am I going to do this?

With my arms hooked and locked under his armpits I began to drag the pilots hefty body backwards towards the clinic behind me, thankfully only a few meters away, barely making it past the entryway when a roar of flames overtook the X-wing. I looked up to see the blaze almost completely engulfing the ship, a ferocious heat searing into my eyes and face. With even more urgency I heaved the body into the large clinic room, getting up and slamming the door just in time. Just before a house rattling explosion sent shockwaves into the atmosphere.

Lucky didn’t seem to be an appropriate feeling considering the situation I was in, but at least no one had died. Yet. With my last bit of brute strength, I hoisted the pilots limp body onto the closest hospital bed, noticing then the trail of red liquid I’d brought along with me.

Oh no no no.

With him still lifeless, I tugged at his body and limbs to lie flat on the bed, scurrying to my medical trolley and hauling it back to where the pilot laid, ragged breaths still thankfully escaping into the air. Snatching the heavy shears from the top drawer, I began to tear through the thick fabric of the flight suit, unclipping and removing as much of the life support vest and belt as I could. I had to be careful not to rip away the fabric that melted into the burns scattered all over his body, the number of them increasing as I peeled away the suit, starting from his legs, up to his abdomen and chest over to his upper arms. His torso was in full view now, a smattering of dark hair over his pectorals, underneath which showed the bruises of his crash’s impact.

Oh he’s definitely got some broken ribs.

As my gaze scanned over his skin, I could finally isolate where all that blood had escaped from. A deep penetrating wound just below the last rib on his left flank. As I registered his quick shallow breaths and the uneven rise in his chest, it became obvious.

Collapsed lung.

Whatever had pierced through his chest had poked an extremely damaging hole in his lung, the pleural space now filling with air, leaving no room for his lung to expand. My following movements were swift and calculated, almost automatic. A pointed scalpel was soon in my hand, poised to cut. But I couldn’t help but hesitate. It had been so long since I’d had to do this. And yet, somehow, concern for this stranger’s life was quick to weave it’s way through, dissolving my fear into pure resolve.

I made my incision in between the 4th and 5th ribs, using a clamp to push into the underlying tissue and past the pleural cavity, a gloved hand then entering to check I’d made it through. With an instinctive confidence, I guided the chest tube between the layers of tissue, undoing the ratchet of the clamp to an immediate rush of air. The pilot’s chest heaved in relief, along with my own.

One crisis averted.

But there was more to do. Connecting a drain to the tube, I haphazardly sutured it in place, before flying to the pharmacy cupboard. My stock of bacta was limited, returning with an already prepared vial into the pressurised injector, reminding myself I would need to use it sparingly if this stranger was going to make it through the full extend of his injuries. I had cursed at myself only a few times in the years past at being so far removed from a higher level medical centre that would be overflowing with bacta and medical droids that could help in exactly this kind of situation, but the thought had never burned me so badly. There was no way to know if I could keep this man alive with the resources that yesterday I had been more than comfortable with. I would just have to try.

I injected some of the bacta solution throughout the surrounding area of the wound and covered it with heavy dressing, knowing the bleeding would quickly be curbed. Unfortunately, the wound itself would take a few days to fully close, only ever being able to afford lower quality bacta. Before moving on to the burns, I placed some basic monitoring, lines extending from electrical dots over his chest, wrist and neck to the data monitor above the bed. As the numbers lit up on the holo screen, I felt myself breathe a small sigh of relief, having prepared for a much worse result. His heart rate was better, oxygen levels returning to normal, blood pressure not optimal by any means but high enough to sustain his life, for now.

After securing an oxygen filter over his battered face, I continued to inspect and clean as many of the small and more sizeable burns dotting his body. Even with the many I had uncovered, the one extending from his shoulder past his elbow was the one of most concern. Third degree and extremely unhappy looking. If I wasn’t quick to treat this, it could leak even more fluid from his already compromised circulatory system. I was thankful he still remained unconscious when I began to slowly shed the charred material melted into the skin layer. I couldn’t help but shudder as I remembered the initial scream this man had let out, knowing I would be hearing it now if not for his comatose state.

Covering the immense scald in as much salve as I could spare, I began to wrap it in protective antibacterial bandage, soon moving on to protect his many blisters and deeper burns with dressings. Glancing at the monitor screen, he was still stable, and swallowed hard. Now it was time to attempt possibly the most daunting part of this patient’s treatment.

His femur was still sticking through the tissue of his thigh, slightly dried dark red blood creating lightning strike looking lines extending from the wound.

I need to get some blood into him before moving this.

I quickly got to work on an IV cannula, his poor blood pressure making it significantly more difficult than it should have been. Two bags of O- blood were all I had, and a wave of dread coursed through me with the thought of that not being enough if this all went wrong. My fist squeezed the fast flow pump of the IV line, pushing fresh blood urgently into his system, making his blood pressure rise only slightly. With the last of the red liquid trickling through the line I wheeled over the portable X-Ray. It was so old the mechanical arm screeched at me as I positioned it into place over the pilot’s leg. The bone had to be at least somewhat in place before getting the bacta to work its magic or this guy might walk with two uneven legs for the rest of his life.

If he actually made it through the rest of his injuries, that is.

Shaking my arms out at my side, I sucked in a few deep breaths to build my stamina. Unfortunately, this stranger was stuck with a small framed female to attempt reducing his severe fracture. With one last inhale, I drew the courage to pull as hard as I could horizontally at the knee joint, digging my fingers into a vice grip around the limb and yanking it towards me. To my relief, the fractured edge of the femur to slipped back into the hole it was peeking out from, settling back under the skin.

Thank all the stars in the galaxy he’s not awake for this.

I quickly pressed the image button on the X-ray to assess the progress I’d made. The faint white lines of bone edges were stark enough on the grey background of the image. The fracture wasn’t reduced even nearly enough. I prepared myself again, with another deep breath I pulled hard. This time my efforts were forced into angling the lower portion of bone to try and lock it back into place. The grinding of bone edges could be felt through my fingers, pushing myself to pull even harder, creating more space between the fracture in the hope of giving a fighting chance of lining up the splintered edges. My muscles were whining, begging for this to be over, tears of exhaustion soon stinging at the edges of my eyes.

With one final twisting motion there was a sudden click.

Finally.

My relief was short lived.

It was slow at first, before racing faster. A stream of dark red blood pooling at the wound the broken bone had made.

Oh maker no.

Within moments the pace of the blood quickened. I shot my hands to the open flesh site, pressing down hard in an attempt to disturb the flow. The liquid quickly covered my gloved hands, already sure I’d sliced into the femoral artery. The pressure of my hands into the area made the blood spurt out onto my arms, my clothes, my face, everywhere. The monitor was screaming, blood pressure falling quickly. Wiping some of the hot coppery fluid away from my left eye, I slid my fingers back into the gash, moving desperately to stop the overflow before the man lying in front of me bled out, knowing it would all be my fault.  

You have to do it Alexys. He will die if you don’t.

The voice nagged at me, pleading to do what it wanted.

He’s with the Resistance! If he survives, if he contacts them, they’ll find me. And they’ll know.

It is time to decide. His life. Or yours.

Seconds ticked by fleetingly, numbers flashing on the monitor trickling down, the speed of blood flow from the pilot’s leg stubbornly keeping it’s intensity.

Everything I’d done to get here, to isolate myself so no one could find me. It would all amount to nothing. My easy, albeit lonely life, would be gone. All because of this stranger.

But I couldn’t let him die. Not like this.

In one flash, I removed my hands from inside the wound, ripping off my gloves and placing two palms at either side of the leg. With closed eyes, I willed the energy out of the depths of its slumber. From the darkened corner of my mind I pulled it back into existence, opening the gate I’d locked it inside for so long, letting it finally burst through and fill up my brain. From there it down through my neck, through my chest and down my arms, right to the end of my fingertips. Its warming glow was almost comforting, friendly. I would have basked in it for a while if not for the life that hung in the balance before me.

Through the pads of my fingerprints I pushed the stream outwards, connecting past the skin of this innocent human being, and felt the overwhelming heat of pain and dimming of energy.

Hurry, he’s dying.

I began to map out the tissue of his leg, frustratingly slowly, starting at the smallest of capillaries, weaving and winding through the flesh, connecting them through the maze of fat and muscle. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, my breathing forced and harsh. The vessels grew bigger as I pushed the energy through, skipping past broken points of other smaller injuries. I could fix them later.

Finally, I felt a molten warmth radiating close to where the maze had guided me. Racing to it, I sensed something pushing me back, the pressure of escaping fluid holding my efforts. I’d found the cut, but now I had to somehow knit it back together.

You’re taking too long.

The alarms of the monitor started to echo with a hollow ring inside my ear, fading until I could hear almost nothing. The world around me was blurry, only the image of vessel tissue and all-consuming redness visible in my minds eye. The energy I was expending began to burn me - I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. I reached out with it, what felt like many hands grasping desperately at the severed edge of the vessel, frantic yet delicate, pulling whatever tissue I could hold back into place.

Several fringes connected, the pressure pushing forcefully against me, making it harder to hold. I couldn’t help but begin to shake at the strain, the sound of my own heart pounding over the slowing heartbeat of the pilot. My grip was already beginning to fade before I started to sew the pieces of artery back together, an ache growing behind my eyes as I pierced an invisible needle through the tissue, over and over, still clawing at the unsewn edges as I made my way around the tube.

I was so close, the tension of the fluid still being driven out of the broken seal almost overcoming me. The unseen thread had almost made its way full circle. I was almost there.

My entire body rattled with exhaustion and pain. One final thread wove itself around the artery, its abrupt closure alleviating the strain on invisible fingers that had been clutching it all together.

You did it.

The energy dissipated quickly in a rolling wave, letting it retreat back into my mind, scampering to the secluded area of my brain, hidden once more. I felt light suddenly, dizzy, the world coming back into focus, screaming alarms growing louder. It was too much, all at once.

A sharp pang of fatigue enveloped every part of my senses and I faltered back, knees giving way, slumping to the floor.

Then, there was only darkness.

~

Next Chapter

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[swaps55]

This Hole You Left (Anderson)

Pairing: mShenko | Tags: Canonical Character Death, Grief

Post-Alchera. 

This is a stand-alone scene from a larger work, but I’m very fond of it, so I’m posting it on its own. 

~

Captain David Anderson stares out at the repair crews moving around the Presidium. Here, from the safe retreat of his office, it doesn’t look so bad. Scaffolding covers the damaged bridge. Debris still floats in the lake, turning the serene blue water a murky brown. The air circulators have almost cycled out the smell of soot and burnt alloy, but a trace of it still lingers. If he leans out far enough, the tip of the relay Shepard had barreled through using nothing but an M-35 Mako just four weeks ago is barely visible on his right periphery.

He doesn’t lean. Just as he doesn’t look at the datapad in his hand. Hearing the words come out of Joker’s mouth was enough. Seeing the helmsman’s face was enough. Anderson had remarked once to Shepard that he’d like to be there the day someone wiped the smartass off Joker’s face.

Shepard had snorted. Not me, sir, he’d said. If he gives up the smartass that probably means I’m fucked. I’d prefer my pilot remain an asshole at all times.

Shepard had been right, of course.

Anderson wipes a thumb across the corner of his eye. It’s all right. No one here to see.

They came back around for another pass, Joker had said, in a voice that was dull, dead, about as far a cry as you could get from the insubordinate ass who’d gone off on the stand in Vancouver just two weeks ago. Shepard had to be to blame for that display. Politics had never been his game.

We lost gravity right as he shoved me in the pod. Momentum from the blast…kicked him the wrong way. I didn’t see what happened after the door closed, but I didn’t need to. Drive core implosion doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

Anderson’s fingers grip the datapad harder. No. It doesn’t. That doesn’t stop his mind from filling in the blanks anyway.

All Shepard’s training. All the hell he’d put himself through to earn that N7 designation. There couldn’t have been a person more prepared to live through the Normandy’s destruction. And in the end, the realities of space had still won.

At least it had probably been quick. Probably.

The door to his office hisses open. For a moment, Anderson expects it to be Shepard. It should be Shepard. That son of a bitch has been putting Anderson’s heart in his throat since he was fourteen years old, but he’s never had the audacity to actually die. Hell, the kid had taken a reaper to the face and shrugged it off.

Kid. Shepard hasn’t been a kid in a long time, maybe never really was to begin with. But to Anderson, some part of Shepard would always be that fourteen-year-old with the thousand-watt grin and a glimmer in his eye that usually meant Anderson’s heart was about to leap into his throat. The smile had faded over time, but not that damned glimmer. He’d last seen it right here on the Citadel, when he’d stood up from the table at Flux Casino with plans to steal the Normandy right out from under the Council’s nose. And Anderson had helped him do it.

This can’t be how it ends. It can’t.

A voice speaks up behind him, crisp, formal. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

His expression tightens, but he smooths it out before he turns around. Lieutenant Alenko stands just inside the door to his office, shoulders straight, hands clasped behind his back, chin in the air. Anderson can’t shake the feeling there’s an empty space next to him.

Probably because he’s never seen Alenko without Shepard.

Kaidan Alenko. Damndest thing.

Who do you want on your marine detail? Anderson had asked, after informing Shepard he was being transferred off the Myeongnyang and onto the Normandy.

You’re asking me?

I’m naming you XO. If there’s someone you want, just say the word.

Alenko.

Anderson hadn’t had a chance to blink before the name was out of Shepard’s mouth. Not another N. Not someone from the special ops teams Shepard had run when Anderson could pry him out of Captain Oseguera’s hands. He wanted the biotic from the ‘Yang.

Hackett was the one who’d argued for assigning Alenko to Shepard’s detail five years ago, when the dust from Torfan had finally settled. Anderson had thought it would be a mistake. Alenko’s file showed he could keep up with Shepard, sure. But Alenko embodied the kind of idealism Shepard would chew up and spit out.

If we’re going to put his mind right to get back on the front lines, he needs an anchor, Hackett had replied, with that calm, ice cold demeanor that has won him nearly every argument he’s ever been involved in. Alenko will do the job.

The old man had been right. Shepard didn’t get close to people, and that was before Torfan. But he’d gotten close to Alenko. Hell, Alenko probably deserves most of the credit for bringing Shepard back from the brink. Because after Torfan, Shepard had indeed been on the brink.

Alenko might be the one on the brink, now. There’s a look in his eye that Anderson recognizes, and it isn’t a good one.

“Sit down.”

Alenko shifts his weight. Not the sitting kind, then. Not today. Anderson’s going to take a wild guess that Alenko hasn’t stopped moving since the Marrakesh picked him up.

He sighs and remains standing, giving the lieutenant silent permission to do the same. “I thought you’d like to know we’re working with the elcor to get a salvage team to Alchera. We’re hoping they find the Normandy’s black box data. Be nice to get some clues on what the hell happened out there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hm. Brick wall is not Alenko’s usual MO, but that’s sure as hell what he’s talking to right now.

“Joker finished his debrief an hour ago,” Anderson goes on. “I assume you’ve heard his version of what happened.”

More shifting. The uncomfortable kind. Shepard’s done it more than a few times in Anderson’s various offices over the years.

“I haven’t, sir.”

Anderson takes a good, long look at him. He’s spent fifteen years worrying about Shepard. It’s never occurred to him to worry about Alenko.

“I see.” He exhales through his nostrils. “The Normandy was attacked by an unknown vessel. Whoever they were, Joker says they came out of nowhere. Shepard got him into the escape pod, but the ship lost gravity. He…well.”

Alenko stares straight ahead, silent. Anderson looks for a tell, but he only knows Shepard’s.

Alenko isn’t Shepard.

If this conversation is going to be one sided, Anderson needs backup. He moves to his desk, fishes a bottle out of a drawer that’s already half empty after being new just yesterday, and pours two glasses. He pushes one of them across the desk. Doesn’t occur to him until after the fact he has no idea if Alenko drinks scotch. It’s just one of the things Anderson and Shepard always agreed on.

“Have it if you want it,” he says, not up for bullying the lieutenant into a drink. “This is off the record.” He swallows half of his in one go, then heads back for the balcony. A few moments later, Alenko joins him, hands empty, still avoiding his gaze. There’s a chip in the brickwork, though. Not much, but something in his eyes wavers.

Yeah. It might be time to worry about Alenko. Losing two ships in the span of four weeks would do a number on anyone.

Except he doesn’t think it’s about either the Myeongnyang or the Normandy.

Anderson leans on the railing, gazing out at the wreckage of the Presidium. He takes another sip from his glass. “I’m sorry. I know he meant a lot to you.”

It takes Alenko so long to answer Anderson thinks he isn’t going to. But then some of the starch fades from his shoulders.

“He did.”

Anderson side eyes him. Had it been Shepard standing next to him, he might press. He could get Shepard to open up if he was careful enough. Sometimes.

But this isn’t Anderson’s business. And his own grief certainly isn’t Alenko’s business. But while most of the galaxy is preparing to mourn Commander Shepard, the soldier standing next to him might be the only person he knows who’s grieving for Sam. He swirls the remaining liquid in his glass.

“He was the most reckless SOB I’ve ever met,” Anderson says, watching a hanar drift along one of the intact pathways below them. “I’m pretty sure half the shit he pulled over the years was just to piss me off.”

Alenko raises an eyebrow ever so slightly in surprise, but doesn’t turn his head. “He’s always at his best when the plan goes to hell.”

“Since he was a kid,” Anderson agrees, not missing the fact that Alenko had referred to him in the present tense. “First time I ever laid eyes on him he was four. He’d wandered away from Daniel on Arcturus and he called in the cavalry to look for him. You know where I found him?”

Alenko shakes his head.

“In a fountain, playing with a model ship. I asked him what the hell his spaceship was doing in the water. He said, ‘I’m about to find out.’”

Alenko’s mouth curves in a brittle smile. “I didn’t know you knew him that young.”

“I doubt he remembered,” Anderson says. “His father and I were good friends. I dropped in on occasion while he was growing up.” 

Before Shepard was a soldier. Before he was the Butcher of Torfan or the Savior of the Citadel. Back when he was still Sam, all knees and elbows, so desperate to please he couldn’t sit still.

Anderson still misses that kid.

“He said you kept an eye on him when they shipped him to Ares Station.”

Anderson huffs. “Told you about that, did he.”

Alenko nods, resting his hands on the balcony railing.

Then Shepard had indeed trusted Alenko. Only a handful of people knew about Ares Station and Guthra Tulak. Shepard had been one of five kids sent to biotically train with the krogan, and the only one to realize any potential.

Leave it to the Alliance to come up with a program even riskier than BAaT. Leave it to Hannah Shepard to volunteer her own kid to be part of it. Anderson always wondered if Sam knew about Hannah’s role in Ares, and how hard Daniel fought to keep it from happening.

To Hannah, Sam was a legacy. To the Alliance, he’d been a tool with astronomical potential. Someone had needed to look out for the actual kid. Daniel had tried, but.

Losing Daniel still stings. What would he have thought about his Spectre son?

Hell, Anderson knows exactly what he’d have thought. He would have feared this day, this ending, with every breath he took. He’d wanted anything else for Sam. Anything but this.

And Anderson had helped him become everything Daniel was afraid of. Hell, what choice did he have? You couldn’t dissuade Sam from anything. Once he was target locked on something there was nothing you could do but get as many obstacles out of his way as possible and hope for the best. So that’s what Anderson had done. Mentored him, advocated for him, taken a few hits behind the scenes on his behalf and cleared the path as best he could. Maybe you couldn’t take the target out of Sam’s sights, but you could guide his aim to make sure he hit it dead to rights.

“He’s come a long way since then,” Anderson says, wincing when he realizes now it’s him who can’t let go of the present tense. “I wish I’d been at the inquest. From the secure feed it looked like he put an entire roomful of admirals on their asses. Would love to have seen it in person.”

Alenko stills, expression frozen in place like a mask. Whatever nerve Anderson just touched is a big one, so he steers the conversation in a new direction.

“Though what I really wish I could have seen is what he found to gripe about being stuck in atmosphere. The entire time he was in Rio for ICT, he never once complained about the work. Wouldn’t shut up about how much he hated humidity.”

The fragile smile returns. “He hated going down a well without a hardsuit.”

“Know what almost kept him from qualifying for N1?”

Alenko shakes his head.

“Bugs,” Anderson tells him. “Not twenty-hour days, not hostile terrain, not crawling around in the mud without food or sleep. It was the bugs that damn near washed him out.”

A laugh escapes the lieutenant. It’s a rusty sound. “That…doesn’t surprise me.”

Anderson smiles at the memory. “He got over it. Made it through, like he always did. Wish I’d told him more how…proud I was.”

“You meant a lot to him,” Alenko says, so quietly Anderson almost doesn’t hear him.

The lump that forms in Anderson’s throat takes him off guard. “He had a way of affecting everyone he ever met. I forget sometimes it could go the other way. He made it so easy to think he was fine on his own.”

“He wasn’t.”

Alenko’s stare remains fixed on the view from the balcony. Not many people saw the side of Shepard that needed anyone. Even Anderson only saw it on occasion. Alenko was so far from the kind of person Shepard would let his guard down in front of, but clearly he had.

If we’re going to put his mind right to get back on the front lines, he needs an anchor, Hackett had said. Alenko had done the job, all right.

Problem was, it looks like that had gone both ways.

Anderson draws in a breath. Might as well get this over with. “I called you here to ask if you would speak at the memorial.”

It’s going to be a spectacle, the likes of which Sam would have hated, but the Alliance sure as hell isn’t going to be denied their PR opportunity.

Alenko shifts his weight. He’s so damn still. Shepard would be pacing the room until Anderson wanted to strangle him.

“Is that an order, sir?”

“A request.”

“Then I respectfully decline.”

Anderson finishes his drink. “Can I ask why?”

Alenko’s grip on the railing tightens. “The Alliance cares about the symbol. I cared about the person. I can’t give them what they want.”

Anderson can’t help but wonder what the lieutenant would have to say. Shepard was so many different things to so many different people. What, exactly, was he to Kaidan Alenko?

Why Alenko? Anderson had asked Shepard back on Arcturus, the Normandy’s hull gleaming and new out the shutters.

Shepard had thought a long time before answering, like there was too much to say and not enough words to say it.

Because he grounds me.

The older Shepard had gotten, the rarer it was to get glimpses of Sam. Sometimes Anderson wondered if Sam still existed, or if he’d been swallowed up by the mantle everyone demanded he carry. But that answer had come from Sam.

“Ok,” Anderson tells Alenko. “I’ll hand it off to Hackett.”

“Why not you?” Alenko asks, looking in his direction for the first time.

Anderson gazes down at his empty glass. Twenty years ago he might have thrown it against the wall just to watch it shatter. Nowadays he thinks too hard about the mess it would make, and being the one who has to clean it up. “Because I cared about the person.”

Heavy silence settles between them.

“You should take some leave,” Anderson says. “You’ve more than earned it.”

“I’m fine,” Alenko replies, but that haunted look is back.

Soon enough you’re going to have to stop moving, son, Anderson thinks. After Torfan, Shepard had hit the same wall Alenko is cruising right towards. But Alenko isn’t Shepard, and he isn’t under his command anymore. All he can do is give him a hand if he asks for it, and from the looks of it he isn’t going to ask.

Not that it would matter. Anderson’s got no anchor to give him that could replace the one he lost.

“Just think about it. And get some sleep.” He gestures towards the door, freeing the lieutenant from further torture. While Alenko makes for the exit, Anderson heads for his desk and the untouched glass. No sense in letting it go to waste.

Alenko pauses at the doorway and looks back over his shoulder. “Rain.”

“I’m sorry?” Anderson asks with a frown.

“You wanted to know what he found to gripe about on Earth. It was the rain.” He looks away without waiting for a response and walks away.

That empty space Anderson thought he’d been imagining when Alenko walked in feels even larger, now. Yeah. Shepard sure knows how to leave a hole in people.

#mshenko #kaidan alenko #mass effect #david anderson #trilogyappreciationweek #me legendary countdown #my fic

[myownworstenemyyy]

Congrats on your milestone!!!🎉🎉🎉I really have loved getting to see your blog grow! Since this is a celebration, the only thing I can offer is an idea that has been swimming in my head since forever. AND I know if you do it you will do it justice and make it amazing with your lovely brain. So with that being said: 🎶 + Din + Wicked Game (I've been obsessed with James Vincent McMorrow's version, but all of them are *chef's kiss*) Love you, your face, and your writing😘💖 CONGRATS AGAIN!!! 🎉✨😊

thanks so much, doll! and omg this SONG 😩👌 i never knew how badly i needed it in my life lol i hope you like the fic it inspired me to write (i apologize for any pain this one may cause 😅). thanks for requesting! 💜 

warnings: mentions of blood/injury ; death (descriptions of dying) ; Angst™; back at it again with a cliché last line ; idk how to refer to Greef Karga so I call him Greef here, please don’t @/ me

ship: Din Djarin x Reader

masterlist | tag lists

Wicked Game

Din always knew his life would be a short one—that Mandalorians don’t exactly have the luxury of growing old and living a full life. He accepted the fate his creed bestowed upon him long ago, but he never realized how painful it would be.

Not physically—in fact, he can hardly feel anything as he lies against the giant slab of duracrete in what’s left of the cantina. Right now, his pain cuts far deeper than physical. He feels it in his very bones, this soulful ache for something that he knows will never be. 

Among the fallen rubble and blaster fire, he barely registers a light pressure on his hand, his fingers beginning to go numb. Your face—stained with soot and dried blood—comes into view and it takes everything in him not to sob out your name, knowing it may be the last time he has the honor of voicing such a sweet sound. 

“I’m here, Din. I’m not gonna leave you. I...I know you’re in pain, but do you think you have the strength to move?” you ask in a desperate voice, your eyes wide and glossy—either from the smoke in the air or from your own emotions getting the best of you, he’s not sure.

“C-cyar’ika,” he whispers, but a thick warmth gets caught in his throat and he falls into a coughing fit, the sharp taste of iron confirming what he already knew to be true. 

Blood is filling his lungs and he knows he doesn’t have much time left. 

“Don’t try to speak. Save your energy,” you rush out, swallowing hard and nodding your head as if you’re answering for him. You look over to Cara and Greef as they watch your exchange with matching, sorrowful expressions. 

“We have to carry him out, he can’t move,” you reach for the child standing at Din’s feet, the little one completely focused on the man who’s cared for and protected him with his own life. Din’s fingers twitch with a longing to comfort the little one, but it’s no use, the remnants of his strength waning by the second. 

Cara hesitates before moving forward, presumably to help lift Din to his feet and drag him to safety within the tunnels beneath them. But Din finds the will to subtly shake his head, signaling her to stop. It’s too late, he thinks to himself. Too much time has passed since Moff Gideon’s last assault and Din knows that it won’t be long before they’re under fire again. 

You look down at Din, your brows knitted together in confusion and anxiety, the child reaching out to him. “Y-you have to...go on without me. P-protect the child,” he croaks out, his breaths shallow and lungs burning with every intake of air. 

“No. I told you, I’m not leav–” you start to protest, hugging the child close to your chest when it makes a loud whimpering sound. Your bottom lip trembles and you pull it between your teeth. 

“The IG unit can stay with him, but we need to get the child out of here now,” Greef places a hand on your shoulder, but his eyes remain on the T of Din’s visor as he seems to say, I’ll make sure they’re safe.

The aforementioned droid comes into view and Din’s vision starts to blur, his ears ringing with a deafening pitch. The following moments of your exchange with Greef and Cara are difficult to comprehend as Din starts to pass out, but then he feels your hand in his again and he forces himself to stay awake. 

You don’t say anything as you lift his gloved hand to your cheek, tears streaming down your face. Oh, how he longs to feel your soft skin against his calloused hands. And though you can’t see his face because of the helmet covering his features, Din still tries to give you a reassuring smile.

“I’ll be r-right...behind you,” he lies through his teeth, a chill wracking his body. It won’t be much longer before he meets his Maker, but he doesn’t want you to have to witness his end.

He regrets a lot of things he’s done in his, what one might consider, wicked life—the lives he’s taken and the people he couldn’t save remaining at the forefront of his mind. But if he can spare you this...this trauma of watching him take his final breath, then he’ll do everything in his power to protect you from it.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his helmet, right where his forehead would be, before resting your own against the cool metal. A Keldabe kiss. His chest aches beyond any physical means and it’s only then that he notices the moisture on his cheeks, spilling from his eyes. 

I’m so sorry, cyar’ika, if only we had more time, he wishes he could say, but he can barely hold his head up, let alone speak. The high pitch of the child’s cry reaches his ears and Din opens his eyes to find the little one touching the side of his helmet. Goodbye, my child, Din thinks as he finds the strength to reach up and lightly stroke behind the child’s ear one last time.

He hears you sniffle before whispering, “I love you,” your voice breaking. He can only just make out the gentle squeeze of your hand around his before you reluctantly let go as Cara ushers you away. 

Everything in existence seems to fade away after that, like you were his life force and now that you’re gone, he can’t hang on any longer. His breaths become uneven as fluid fills his lungs. At his side, IG-11 injects something into Din’s arm, but he doesn’t understand what the droid is saying—something along the lines of help with the pain and deep sleep.   

And as he becomes void of all senses but the memory of your hand in his, he embraces Death like an old friend.

Permanent tag list: @bestintheparsec @haildoodles @mandoandyodito @javier-djarin @readsalot73 @agentpike @aeryntheofficial @wickedfrsgrl @mrsparknuts @scarlettwitcher @buckysalefty @rosamedina92 @maxiarapamaya @promiscuoussatan @ah-callie @bluemoon-glen @pablopascal @littlemissthistle @waywardodysseys @thick-dick-din-daddy-djarin @thewaythisis @phoenixhalliwell @lovingtheway @petertingless @hiscyarika @pascalisthepunkest @mrpascals @sergeantbannerbarnes @mrschiltoncat @cyaredindjarin @destucky45 @getinthepoolkeanu @petrelliforcongress @gooddaykate @mistermiraclee @roxypeanut @watsonwise @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @tiffdawg @floweronthegrave @cryptkeepersoul @soldade @jaime1110 @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @themandjalorian @longitud-de-onda @walkerchick007 @shinyfranci @arrowswithwifi @24kgolden @triggerhappyflyboyy @blushingwueen @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thinemineours @and-i-swear-we-are-infinte @ham4arrow @thisainttheway @katialvi @kristalhi @kimljn @mabelleen @auty-ren @frietiemelon @fanfiction-trashpile @sinnamon-bun @larakasser @miraelles @lackofhonor @jerusomeeno @liadamerondjarin @engineeredfuture @engineeredfiction @pascalesque @carringtonhill @mstgsmy @hayley-the-comet @the-wishmonger @clydesducktape @autumnleaves1991-blog

Character tag: @maxlorrd @no-droids-allowed @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @opheliaelysia @starlight-starwrites @lellaren-uodo-rian @anomiatartle @nerd-without-a-cause

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #999 words #my writing #my posts #requests #celebration time #drabbles #tw: death #tw: blood #oneshot #star wars #star wars fic #cara dune #greef karga #gender neutral reader #gender neutral imagine

[a-singleboat]

Virtual Reality

Word Count: 2.4k

Request: hi! if your taking requests, i was wondering if you could write a damien x reader, where they meet through Twitch? add anything else you want i always love everything you write, thanks so much!! - anon

Warning(s): like, one swear

It was a Thursday night when you first met him, or rather, heard of him. You had been streaming for five hours heading into your sixth when you decided it might be time for you to log off for the night. As per usual, you took at least thirty minutes at the end of your stream just to talk with your viewers, usually about how their lives were going in exchange for a story from your own day. 

Tonight, however, there was an influx of people asking if you’d ever heard of a streamer by the name of Damien Haas, which you hadn’t, and if you would do a collaboration with the man anytime soon. Apparently, your content was eerily similar and you were, and I quote, “Practically the female version of him, looks aside.” 

“Damien Haas…” you rolled yourself back closer to your desk, hands settled on your keyboard. You typed his name into the search bar, patiently waiting for Twitch to pull up his account. You clicked into the first one, making an impressed face at the purple checkmark next to his name. You squinted at the screen. “Is this him? In the profile picture with the LEDs in the background?” 

You glanced at your chat, chuckling as the viewers started spamming ‘yes’ and ‘oh my god it’s happening,’ and your personal favorite, ‘mom come pick me up the best crossover of 2020 is happening and im SCARED.’

“He plays a lot of Animal Crossing,” you observed, clicking on one of his videos and dragging the tab onto your main monitor so the stream could see it. You skipped through the beginning part, biting into a pretzel as you watched. 

“He’s kinda cute,” you commented, laughing as your stream freaked out once more. There were a few people commenting what looked like it could be a ship name though you ignored it. “Shame I’d never meet him, though.”

You paused his video, taking note of the time, before rolling out your shoulders. “I think it’s time for me to head out so I’m gonna end this stream with a huge thank you to you all for sticking with me through this entire stream and if you didn’t stay the entire time, I’m glad you decided to join in on the ride even halfway through. I’ll see you guys next time.”

You ended the stream, waving goodbye to your viewers before the light went out and you could relax the smile off your face. Don’t get it twisted, you loved streaming and you loved your viewers but just like any other job, it could get exhausting at times. You shut down your monitors, the screens turning blue before fading to black. You stretched, taking your phone up from its charger and launching yourself into bed, opening your phone and clicking on Twitter. 

Much like staying thirty minutes after you were done streaming to talk to viewers, you usually went on Twitter right after to answer questions and respond to DMs. This time, however, instead of opening the app to see a bunch of post-stream questions, your mentions were filled with the video clip of you saying, “He’s kinda cute,” as well as maybe a million people tagging both you and Damien in them. 

Well, shit. 

Soon enough, that was all that filled your timeline. You couldn’t move in one direction without running into another screencap of you admiring the man. God, you knew the consequences but something in the back of your mind was urging you to reach out to him.

After a few moments of contemplation, the lonely side of you won out, forcing you to message him against your better judgment. Without even thinking about it, you found his Twitter and sent this message:

Hey, I’m sorry about your mentions blowing up because of me tonight. My viewers recommended your Twitch to me and I spoke without thinking about it on Live. 

And with no expectation of his response, you fell asleep right there with your phone on your chest and the DM still open. 

You woke up the next morning with a sore neck and a dead phone, which was a terrible way to start your day. You rolled over, plugging your device into an outlet before crawling out of bed to start your day. When you weren’t streaming, you worked as a freelance editor for different YouTubers, helping their editors with their workload or even staying on as a Temp for different companies. Occasionally you edited the odd commercial here and there, but those gigs were rare. 

Most recently, you had received some material from a group of YouTubers, Smosh. This job was different, however, because if you did well on this you could be looking at a permanent place of employment through their parent company, Mythical Entertainment. 

You knew Mythical Entertainment, it was hard not to, especially since your aunt was one of the producers within the company, but tended to ignore everything the company did. The last you’d heard, they’d onboarded another YouTube group (which you did later find out to be Smosh, the same YouTubers whose video you were hired to edit). 

 After a quick shower and a half-assed attempt at a proper breakfast, you were ready to start your day. You situated yourself behind your monitors, opening the video clips that had been sent to you. The first was a sample video, something that gave you insight on what their editing style was actually like. 

But imagine your surprise when you’re staring down the same man you have called cute the night before, his approximately five-eleven stance taking up one-sixth of the space. He was standing next to a blond, who had been marked as “Shayne Topp.”

Despite there being five other people in frame, your eyes kept moving back to Damien’s figure, watching his mannerisms through the screen and laughing along to his jokes when they fell upon deaf ears. 

Your eyes slid over to your phone, now decently charged after sitting for so long. On your screen were dozens of notifications. There were maybe two from your mom, asking if you’d be coming home for dinner sometime that week but the majority came from Twitter. You picked up the device, unlocking and responding to your mom with a, “yes,” before opening Twitter. 

Nothing much had changed from the night prior. Your mentions were still being flooded with the video from last night but newer content had been ushered in, namely fan edits using footage from your streams and, you assumed, his. 

The only major difference, however, was the fact that Damien had responded to your DM from the night prior. The first message read: 

It’s really no problem! My stream had mentioned your name before, too.

Followed by the second:

P.S. I think you’re cute, too.

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Mr. Damien Haas, the man that you had made a thoughtless comment on stream about, also thought that you were cute. Suddenly, the fact that you had been staring at him for the past hour seemed less stalkerish and more like a blooming crush. You wrote back:

Aw, thanks! Have you seen the newer fan edits? They’re all so talented.

You cringed at yourself. A cute boy started talking to you and you’ve suddenly forgotten how to be suave, not that you really were in the first place. But still, you liked to think you had some tact when talking to people that you found attractive. 

Not even a moment later, there came a response. 

Yes, I have, he responded. And I agree! They are all very talented individuals. 

You looked from the monitor in front of you. You had about a quarter of the footage left to go through before you could start editing but this technically wasn’t due until the following night. Feeling emboldened by the fact that he had actually responded, you replied:

Are you going to TwitchCon on Friday? We should meet up or something. 

Anxiously you awaited his response, taking his silence as an opportunity to watch a bit more of the footage and take down notes according to the sample they’d given you. Roughly thirty minutes later is when the next response came in, reading as an affirmative to both questions. 

You didn’t respond, choosing to leave your social media for after you’d finished editing the video. Your heart still pounded, however. Just the thought that there was a possibility for the two of you to meet was, simply put, insane. You’d just heard of the guy the night before and decided that he was going to be your latest hyperfixation. 

But who could blame you? He was a nice, funny guy that showed the slightest bit of attraction towards you. It didn’t help that you were a sucker for guys that were nice to you. 

Fast forward to the Friday of TwitchCon, also known as the first day of TwitchCon. You and Damien had been talking steadily over Twitter DMs and just last night you had gained his phone number, giving you even more access to the man than you had before. But of course, who were you if you didn’t tease your fans with the prospect of you meeting. 

The night before, at the end of your stream, you’d given your fans the little tidbit of information that you and Damien were, in fact, planning on meeting up sometime during TwitchCon and would be greeting fans together for an hour at your booth. 

That sent Twitter into a frenzy, both of your combined fans getting your ship name to trend within the hour, which confused the hell out of a bunch of locals. 

It was nearing the time you and Damien had set to meet up. The plan was you’d meet around twelve for lunch, take an hour for yourselves, before going back to your booth and meeting with fans for an hour or so as promised. 

You had never been more nervous than you were in that moment. Not only were you about to meet your three-day-old crush but apparently a very popular YouTuber. You tried not to let the thought mess with your head. One of your friends, Wilbur Soot (who you played Minecraft with from time to time) was poking fun at you for being nervous about meeting a popular YouTuber. 

After three years of streaming and gaining a solid following, you’d think you’d be used to meeting other popular content creators. But because it was him, you found yourself unable to think straight. 

“What if I fuck up?” you asked Wilbur anxiously. He’d flown in from London for this event at your insistence and because you’d offered to pay half his airfare to get there and back. He didn’t have his own booth as his arrival was very last minute, but he didn’t mind. He signed the occasional poster though his main purpose was to provide you mental and emotional support. 

“You won’t fuck up,” he comforted, leafing through one of the comics a fan had given you. The entire thing was hand-drawn, which was an insane fact in itself. It looked professional, which was what blew you away when you’d received it. “Well, you won’t fuck up as badly as you did when you first met Schlatt.”

You groaned in embarrassment. “Don’t remind me.”

Long story short, you’d dumped a red in color slushy on the man accidentally after tripping over an unmarked cable. It really wasn’t your fault but the boys hadn’t let you live it down since then. 

Half a moment later, Wilbur was poking your side. “Is that him?” he asked, jabbing his pointer finger into your side while looking in the opposite direction. He was looking at a familiar figure walking down the hallway toward your booth. He stopped for a moment to take a photo with a fan, talking to them about something, before continuing on his way toward you. 

Your eyes locked and you gave him a smile while trying to beat Wilbur into no longer poking you. He stopped when you slapped his arm the first time, sticking his tongue at you before going on his phone. You rolled your eyes at his half-assed attempt of pretending he wasn’t about to start listening in on your conversation. 

“Hey, Y/n, right?” Damien asked as he approached. You nodded, reaching out for a handshake but becoming pleasantly surprised when he instead pulled you in for a hug. 

“You ready for lunch?” you asked glaring slightly at Wilbur as he made kissy faces over Damien’s shoulder. Luckily, Damien hadn’t noticed your moron of a best friend. 

“Yeah, I saw this sushi place on the way in if you wanted to try that?”

“I’d be down,” you agreed, reaching behind your table to grab your bag. Wilbur was set to meet with a few other Minecraft streamers, meaning you didn’t have to worry about him while you had lunch. You looked over your shoulder, making sure everything was set for you to leave before saying goodbye to Wilbur. 

Over the course of lunch, you and Damien had gotten to know each other pretty well. Once the conversation moved away from your fans and, well, work, and more into personal details, you found that you actually weren’t all that similar. For starters, Damien loved watching anime while your guilty pleasure was Gilmore Girls. The one show you both had a love for, however, was Avatar the Last Airbender, which made sense. 

Another thing was that he actually enjoyed being in front of the camera while you tolerated it on most days, really only putting on your face cam for the last thirty minutes on most days. Despite that, he still classified himself as an introvert. 

You returned back to your booth much later than you anticipated, thoroughly shocked at the line that had formed with Wilbur at the front of it, entertaining the fans that had shown up early to meet both you and Damien. 

“Y/n!” one fan called, pointing in your direction. Immediately, the entire line turned and gaped at the sight of you and Damien walking together. You greeted them happily, stopping for pictures and verbally promising that you’d stay until you got to meet everyone personally. 

“You really love your fans,” Damien observed as you put your things back down behind the table. Wilbur had set up shop on your right side, chatting with a few people at the front of the line. 

“I wouldn’t be anywhere without them,” you admitted, pulling a silver sharpie from your bag. You handed a gold one to Damien. “I also wouldn’t have gotten to meet you without them, which I’m still sorry about, by the way. Your feed must have been chaotic.”

“You have no idea,” he chuckled. “But everything happens for a reason.”

You nodded, grinning up at him. “Yes, they do.” 

Permanent

@beautiful-holland @toms-order @starlightfound @grandmascottlang @positiveparker @bippity-boppity-boopa @caswinchester2000 @andreasworlsboring101 @imladylunaticbitch​

#damien haas #damien haas imagine #damien haas x reader #damien haas x fem!reader #damien haas x you #you #reader #readerinsert #fem!reader #smosh #twitch #shayne topp #wilbur soot #minecraft #gaming #smosh games #mythical entertainment #reader-insert #twitter #y/n

[demivampirew]

I would give up everything for you.

A Charles Brandon x Mary Tudor (written as reader) (Henry’s sister) one shot

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist

Warnings: Death, heartbreak, crying, unwanted arranged marriage (and talking about being consummated).

Summary: Shortly after becoming a widow, Henry summons you back to England for he has arranged a new marriage for you.

A/N (Important to understand the story): For those who don’t know, in the show they’d merged both Henry’s sisters into one: Margaret. In reality, he had two sisters, the one mentioned who ended up marrying the King of Scotland, James IV, becoming the Queen consort of said country (and after the death of her husband, Queen regent in name of her son for two years). Mary, the other sister, was married to the King of France, Louis XII for a few months, until his death and soon he was succeeded by his son-in-law Francis I -the King of France from the show, and his daughter Claude as Queen Consort- she couldn’t reign for the law forbid a woman to rule the country back at that time. Shortly after the death of the King, Charles was in charge of bringing Mary safe back to England, but in reality that was a secret plan for them to marry in secret in France, as Mary confessed to King Francis. It isn’t known when and how exactly they fell in love but it surely was before her marriage to the late King of France. They married in secret but then they had a public wedding because they suspected Mary to be pregnant and they wanted their kid to be legitimate.

For my story, I mixed a bit of the show’s plot with actual events. The main characters are the same from the show, except from Mary, written from a perspective of reader, who wasn’t on the show (Margaret’s story in this one-shot is the same from history and not the one from the series). I used the arranged marriage with the King of Portugal’s plot from drama purposes (this never happened in reality, because like I’ve said, Mary married Charles before going back to London, and she had married the King of France with the promise that she would marry who she wanted after that or she would become a nun - which Henry did not want because he would lose the Dowager’s money if she did that. -although in this story she doesn’t threaten him with becoming a nun.)

Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language and write in another period of time can be a bit difficult. I tried my best, so I apologize if I made mistakes.

Tag list: @lunedelorient @henrythickcavill @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @mary-ann84 @desperate-and-broken @peakygroupie @summersong69 @ivvitm1109 @madbaddic7ed @iloveyouyen @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog @whyyoudothistomecavill @thetaoofzoe @thereisa8ella​

"The Queen of France, Your Majesty" announced one of the guards as you enter the room. Henry was sitting on the throne. There were a few guards there as well as Charles and William Compton, who were standing next to the door. - Dear sister! - your brother exclaimed as he stood up and approached you, grabbing your arms and placing a kiss on your cheek. - My poor sister, I'm terribly sorry for the lost of your dear husband.- "dear husband"? It felt as if he was mocking you, after all the only reason you married the late King of France, Louis XII was because he forced you to for that marriage forced an alliance between the two countries.

Being married to an old man was not a pretty thing. Being forced to consummate that marriage and with a crowd of people to witness it. Luckily, it didn't last for long because not long after your coronation as the new Queen, on Christmas' eve your husband died for an illness. After his death, his son-in-law, Francis I, inherit the throne with his daughter, Claude as Queen Consort. Even though your marriage was short, you were a loved Queen and you could have stayed in France if you desire it, but your brother had other plans for you. For you to agree to marry the late French King, he promised you that you were going to be able to marry whom you choose after his death, but sadly for you, he had no plans to keep his word. He ordered the Duke of Suffolk to escort you safely back to England. Charles was a loyal friend to Henry, but you succeeded to confess your brother's intentions for your return to England - you knew that if he wanted you back so quickly was not because he missed his beloved sister, but because there was something he needed from you. "He wants you to marry the King of Portugal" he confessed finally succumbing to pressure. After finding out that your worse nightmare was a reality, you ordered everyone on the ship to leave you alone and you cried on the way back.

- As sorry as I am for your loss, I must admit sister that I would need you to put aside your grief and take the King of Portugal as your new husband. With the rise of power of the Holy Roman Emperor, we need new alliances and he is more than pleased to become out ally if you marry him. He's seen your portrait and is enchanted by your beauty.- he informed you with a smirk. You remained silent and made no gestures. - So, my dear sister, would you consent to marry the King? - My consent is not needed, Your Majesty, for the King always does what he wants.- you finally said, your voice emotionless. There he was, your older brother. He could be charming for a moment and a second later be the devil himself if you crossed him. He didn't like when anyone defied him, especially women. His face showed no signs of rejoicing anymore, just contained anger. - We are at war, my dear sister.- he explained angrily. - We could face an invasion from Spain and if that would happen, we will need soldiers and money and he could provide that to us. - You are at war, brother. This is all because of you. If the Holy Roman Emperor is planning to attack England, it is because you broke your promise, like you always do, and set aside his aunt, humiliating her all. And that's because you had fallen in love with another woman. In your eyes, dear brother, you are the only one allowed to marry for love and you do not care who has to pay for your desires.- you replied bitterly. -If you want me to marry that old man, breaking the promise you once made me, at least you could have avoided me the displeasure of seeing your face and should have asked the Duke of Suffolk to escort me directly to Portugal since you know that no matter what are my choices, at the end I must be a loyal subject and obey you or I'll suffer the traitor's faith.

His hands were closed forming fists; he was containing his rage. If there was something Henry hated more than anything else was being defied. If it was not for the fact that he needed your Queen Dowager's money and the perks that your new marriage would bring to him, he would have you banned from court.

- Charles, take her to her chambers immediately.- he ordered and walked away, returning to his throne.

You bowed to him and allowed Charles to escort you back to your bedchambers. Once in the room, he closed the door to be sure no one would hear you speak.

- The Queen would be wise not to cross her brother.- he advised you. He spoke softly, surely it was because he did not want to be heard, but there was another thing in his voice: worry. - Why not?- you asked; it was a sarcastic question, you knew exactly why you should no speak to Henry that way for he was a King before your blood. - He could vanish you from court or worse.- he explained. - Great! I would rather be banned from court or dying to have to marry another old King.- you admitted, sighing bitterly. - You should not say that Your Majesty.- he pleaded. - Charles, would you stop calling me Your Majesty? I have known you my entire life. I'm still the same Mary I have always been, just less trusting and much more unhappy.- you confessed. - But now you are the King of France, Your Majesty. I should treat you with nothing but the proper respect. - I am Queen Dowager, I don't have the same importance that an actual queen has. - You are soon to be Queen again.- he reminded you and a tear fell from your eye; you wiped it away quickly. He stared at you with sadness on his eyes. He was probably hurt that you had to go through that again. - I rather die.- you repeated and look to the floor -You are lucky Charles, you could marry whom you choose.- you sighed. - I cannot.- he said with sadness. - Who is that you want and can't have, Charles? -you asked sarcastically.

The Duke of Suffolk looked you directly into your eyes, giving you the answer to your question without even saying a word.

Before leaving England, the two of you were close. He was this ladies' man and you were the King's little sister, but you started to see him differently in the year previous to your marriage. He was sweet, funny and protective. It was clear that you were not a just his friend's sister anymore, but a smart, funny and delightful woman. You had long talks while you played with carts and spent a lot of time together before your departure.

Charles excused himself and was about to leave. You called his name and when he turned to face you, you ran into his arms and kissed him. He pulled you closer to him as he stopped fighting his conscience. He probably felt that it was wrong, but he couldn't keep denying his feelings. After the long and awaited kiss, he pressed his forehead against yours and sighed.

- Escape with me.- you pleaded. - What? -he asked confused. - We could go to France. Francis is not a fan of my brother and he had nothing but sweet thoughts about me. He will be delighted to have me back there and surely he will support us and protect us if Henry decides to seek vengeance. - you assured him.- Please, Charles. - I... I cannot do that, I am sorry.- he said avoiding to look at you. - I will not betray my King. - Is it because he is your childhood friend or because you do not want to lose your lands and titles, Duke of Suffolk? - you questioned bitterly. He did not say a word, but it was not necessary; his shameful look said it all. Your poor heart broke into a million pieces. Not only you would have to marry an old man once more, but the man you loved preferred his nobility and money over you and your happiness. No matter what the future had set for you, it surely would not be a happy one.

A month passed before you were set to leave for Portugal. As you demanded, Charles stood away from you. The days passed and all you could do was crying about your cruel destiny. If at least you could have the luck that your sister Margaret had of marrying a young King whom she fell in love with, but no, that was not your fate. You were meant to be unhappy for the rest of your days.

Charles' eyes met yours. You could feel his pain but you could not be sorry for him, after all, he could have had you if he would have been brave enough to fight for you and, surely soon he would forget all about you and find solace in another woman's arms while you had to be with a man much older than you whom you didn't know. You quickly look to other side making sure he noticed that you were ignoring him and stood there, waiting in the room full of people for your brother to show up to say goodbye.

Henry appeared shortly with Cardinal Wolsey by his side. He approached you a kissed you " My dear sister. Fare you well on your journey. Remember the King of Portugal, your future husband, loves you and respects you. You must love him in return." - he said faking affection when in reality it was a command and a warning. He looked into your shiny, watery eyes but that didn't seem to have any effects on him. After crossing him the day of your return to England, he must be more than happy to see you gone.

The King was about to leave the place when the Duke of Suffolk called his attention.

- Your Majesty, I would like to have a word" - Charles pleaded. Henry looked at him with confusion but gestured him to speak. He walked a few steps forward and got on his knee in front of his best friend. - My heart forces me to beg you to save your sister from this marriage for that would make her unhappy.- he said firmly. There were gasps among the people present. You were breathless and your heart was beating an at exhilarating speed. Henry stared at him, his eyes showed both shock and anger. - As a sign of gratitude for your kindness towards the Queen of France, I will resign to my title, renounced to my lands and accept to be banned from court and any other punishment Your Grace sees suitable for my outrageous request.

For the first time since your mother's death, you saw tears fell from your brother's eyes. It didn't come as such as a surprise to you, you might be his sister by blood, but Charles was his brother by choice; they grew up together and he was his most faithful companion and now he put him in a position Henry must have surely hated. If he agreed to let you escape from this marriage, he would have to punish Charles from defying him in front of people from court. If he rejected his plead, people would know that he forced you into a marriage you didn't want to and he would further loss the affection of his subjects, who were already unhappy about his decision of leaving the beloved Queen Catherine for Anne Boleyn. Whatever decision Harry took, surely it would not have a happy ending for Charles. You knew you were right at the moment your brother stormed out of the room without saying a word.

Anthony Knivert, one of your brother's closest friends, walked you back to your chambers after Cardinal Wolsey ordered him to do so. The trip to Portugal has been postponed until after the King came with a resolution about the matter. As impossible as it seemed, you were even more heartbroken than before. There was no way Charles could cross your brother like that and no get punished and all because of your fault. If you just accepted your destiny quietly and had not made him feel guilty for choosing lands and his noble title over you, this would not have happened. Now, because of your stubbornness, he could face death.

It was around midnight when you heard someone knocking at your door. After permitting to enter your bedchambers, Charles walked in. You got up quickly from your bed and ran into him. He hugged you tightly for a moment and then softly pressed his head against yours. You could feel his warm breath. His hands grabbing your face provoked you chills. - Charles, you should not have done that.- you regretted. - I should have done it before, but it is ok. I would do it again if necessary.- he assured you and tears rolled down your cheeks. His thumbs clean the tears and then he kissed you. - You are not only the Queen Dowager of France but also the Queen of my heart, Mary.- he confessed. You smiled at him and your lips met his again.

After a knock, the door opened and Will Compton warned Charles to hurry for someone was coming. He kissed you once more and disappeared.

The King summoned you a few days after. There were some noble people present, Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk among others. Charles was already there waiting. About half an hour later Henry appeared with Wolsey and sat on the throne. He remained silent for a moment, as he inspected you. He knew; he knew his friend loved you and his love was reciprocated.

- Dear sister, I would like to apologize to you, for I did not know you were unhappy with the marriage proposal.- he said with conviction as if that would make it true- I desire nothing more than happiness for you, my beloved Mary. So I have decided that it should be you the one to decide who your future husband will be. You have my word and my blessing. Of course, he would make it seem as if you pact before marrying King Louis XII was his idea, but you did not care, as long as he granted you that you were not mad about him credit it to himself. - As for Your Grace.- he said looking at Charles- Your title and lands were given to you as a reward for bravely fighting by my side to defend your country and should remain at your disposal. Furthermore, as a sign of gratitude for enlightened me about my sister's displeasure for her now announced marriage, I would like to grant you my blessing to marry her, if that is her heart's desire and I hope you live the happy quiet life you desire away from court.

There it was, your punishment was being banned from court, but it was a slight price to pay for all the great things you had achieved. You were now allowed to marry Charles and live happily with him.

Maybe it was the fear that Henry would change his mind that made you marry that same day. In a private ceremony, with a few maids and his friends Will and Anthony to witness it, you promised to love each other forever.

You had the opportunity to have another wedding since you have not bled and you were sure with child, you had a public wedding to show the legitimacy of your future child. This time, you had it at court. Henry was a proud man, but even if Charles did what no other man would have dared unless they wanted to lose their heads, your brother loved him too much and trust no other like he trusted your husband.

Henry Brandon. That's the name Charles choose for your newborn. He was the living image of his father.

Not everything in your remaining life was happiness. Even though you had been blessed with another two children, Frances and Eleanor, by God's will your little Henry died when he was six years old. A year after that, another baby joined your family, honouring his late brother by carrying his name.

Charles was nothing but a loving husband to you. He stood by your side when tragedy hit your family and later when you got ill. You survived the sweating sickness but never fully recovered from it, and five years later you meet again with your loving son. It must have hurt your love, who never left your side until your heart stopped beating. He loved you much and would be sad for losing you, but you were glad he had your loving daughters and son to keep him company and help him move on.

#charles brandon #charles brandon fanfic #charles brandon fanfiction #charles brandon one shot #the tudors #the tudors fanfiction #henry tudor #henry VIII #mary tudor #mary queen of france #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #charles brandon x reader #charles brandon x mary tudor #demivampirew

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Under My Skin (Ethan x MC)

Warning: 18+, NSFW

Summary: Set in the middle of chapter 6, Ethan and Naomi have it out over the current state of the diagnostics team.

Tags: @colourmeshy @virtualrain202 @fanmantrashcan @writinghereandthere @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune ~v~

Naomi stares at the textbook in front of her, eyes tired and blurry. She checks the time on her cell phone and 3:22 AM stares back in bold, white letters. Craning her head slightly, she spots Ethan standing at his kitchen island, looking at something on his laptop. 

She never thought she’d be back in his apartment, but he invited the entire diagnostics team over so they could get some research done on Leland Bloom’s case. Ethan wants it to be solved as quickly as possible, and he wants to be rid of the tech billionaire, so after work they all congregated in his apartment, eating Chinese food, drinking wine, passing around textbooks and throwing out theories. 

They’ve been at it for almost 6 hours now. 

The energy in the room is off. Ethan’s been pissed ever since the board told him they’d need to be for-profit and start accepting wealthy clients and potential donors, and everyone feels it. June, Baz, and Naomi have been walking on eggshells around him, but aside from occasional snark from Naomi, they’ve been extremely curt.

Jenner likes her though. The golden retriever took a shine to her the moment she crossed the threshold to Ethan’s condo, sniffing at her feet and attaching himself to her hip. He’s now lounging with her, head in her lap and she pours over this book, and she’s glad. The friendly dog provides an excellent distraction and Naomi is thankful, because his owner currently sucks.

Naomi has dealt with a lot of Ethan’s moods before: upset, defeated, angry, happy, the works. But she’s never had his ire directed at her before. They’re in this mess because of her, and it’s a tricky space to occupy. It’s not fun.

“As much as I love reading, if I look at another word, I think my brain might melt,” June says, breaking the tense silence. She stifles a yawn.

“I’ve tapped out for the night as well,” Baz adds. “I’ve looked up every possible kidney and bladder disease and disorder known to mankind. I’m on sensory overload. I think it’s time I go home.”

Ethan looks up from his laptop. He knows his team is probably exhausted. He can’t believe they’ve actually stayed over this long. “Well, thank you for staying. Go home, get some rest, I’ll see you at the hospital.”

June and Baz gather their belongings and all of the study material they brought along with them, returning Ethan’s living room to its original tidy state. Muttering goodbyes, the two of them exit the apartment. 

And then there were two. Naomi ignores the tension, ignoring the fact that they haven’t been alone together in over a week. Instead, she buries her face in her book, trying to focus on the words.

Ethan doesn’t bother sparing Naomi another glance before asking, “You didn’t want to leave with them?”

“Why, are you about to go to bed?”

“No.”

“Then, no.” She’s not going to stop now, and give him the satisfaction of thinking she’s given up for the night. Her stubbornness won’t allow it. “I don’t want to disrupt the process. I want this guy diagnosed and treated as badly as you do.”

Ethan scoffs. “I doubt it.”

Naomi has been giving as good as she gets when it comes to the passive aggressive snark, but it’s just exhausting at this point. She refuses to be his emotional punching bag any longer. She whips around in her seat. “God, is being a petulant little crybaby a second full-time job for you?”

That manages to get Ethan’s full attention. He levels a cool glare at the young resident, eyebrow raised in challenge. “You’ve gotten real comfortable calling me out of my name recently. Care to repeat that, Valentine?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Ramsey. You’re being a petulant little crybaby. You’ve been trying to pick a fight with me for the past 2 weeks. Look, I apologized, multiple times, for going behind your back or over your head, but I will not apologize for doing what I believe is right, not just for the team, but the hospital.”

“And you’re an insubordinate know-it-all!” Ethan shoots back. “You’re the type to touch the hot stove despite being repeatedly told not to because you think you’re a special snowflake who’s above getting burned. You lack foresight and analytical thought and self-preservation.”

Naomi recoils, having not expected Ethan to snap at her like that. “Excuse me?”

Jenner recognizes the change in tone between both adults. Not wanting to be caught in the crossfire, he moves from his spot on the couch and trots out of the living room, disappearing into the hallway.

“You thought this was going to be easy, that patients would just come flocking to us, but look at us, and everything would be perfect. We’re part of some social media...something or another’s video diary, we’re competing with a subpar hospital for patients despite being better than them, wasting time and resources because he wants to treat this like a reality show contest, and who knows what’s next, because you’ve opened Pandora’s box. We’re whoring ourselves out to the highest bidder, and the integrity and core foundation of this team has been compromised. So please spare me the martyr act, Naomi, and while you’re at it, please remember that I’m still your boss the next time you want to spout off at the mouth.”

Naomi’s hands are shaking, and she can practically feel the anger boiling in her blood. The nerve of this man. She stands up, ignoring the heavy book that fall out of her lap and onto the floor as she does so. She charges over to him, and sizes him up. Ethan’s almost a foot taller than her, but Naomi doesn’t care about the height disparity. She tilts her head back so she can look him in the eye.

“I’m not a martyr, but you’re a self righteous hypocrite. You’ve been pouting and waxing poetic about Naveen’s mission when you were the first one to mess with his legacy.”

Ethan’s nostrils flare at the accusation. “Excuse me?”

“Last year, you got into bed with Declan Nash and big pharma, compromising your own shaky moral code in order to save the life of one person. I’m trying to keep the team around in order to save a lot more people than just Naveen!”

“That was different!” Ethan argues. It doesn’t even feel right coming out of his mouth, but they’re far too deep in the argument for him to do anything besides dig his toes in.

“The only difference is you were the one in control then. But because it is my idea, you’re rejecting it. You’re being completely unreasonable here, Ethan. We’re standing in the middle of a sinking ship. Edenbrook is in trouble. My friends and I didn’t get our new salaries upon becoming residents, there’s talk of them shutting down the free clinic, and they’ll be coming after our team next. Who knows, maybe they’ll decide that mental health isn’t important and the entire psychiatric department should go. And then the nurses. And then they’ll start ordering less and less supplies, just to stay above water. And maybe you don’t care, because you’re Ethan Ramsey, you’re so wealthy that you only get a one dollar salary from the hospital, you’re established, your livelihood isn’t on the line, and I’m sure any hospital in the world would kill to employ you, but the rest of us? The little guys? We don’t have that option, so again, if you’re looking for me to kiss your ass and grovel because I made an executive decision, you’re going to be looking for a mighty long time.”

Ethan studies her, his gaze coolly fixated on her as she rants because he’s waiting for the second she stops talking, so he can jump back into his own argument. He realizes that it’s not an effective way to debate, and he falters slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Naomi goads, her voice taking on a singsong tone. She’s embroiled in the fight now. “Cat got your tongue?”

In his 37 years of living, Ethan can confidently say Naomi Valentine is the most infuriating woman he’s ever met. A stubborn, impulsive, hot-head with a smart mouth. 

And fuck, he’s made a mistake.

Her mouth. Now his gaze is fixated on it, her full lips that she’s repeatedly bitten down on during this argument, the tackiness of her lip gloss, the way her tongue darts in and out.

Their argument is now the furthest thing from his mind, and he’s actually annoyed by it. What is it about this…woman that completely bewitches him? He wants to argue, not be transfixed on how pretty she is. She doesn’t even have to do anything and he’s under her spell again. 

A sharp jab in the middle of his chest pulls Ethan back to reality. He looks down and realizes that Naomi poked him in the chest, out of anger or to get his attention, he’s not sure.

“Hey!” The fact that he’s ignoring her only makes her more incensed. He started this fight, he doesn’t get the right to dissociate and shut down in the middle of it. “Have you listened to a word I just said?”

“No,” Ethan answers honestly. Naomi’s eyes darken at the response. He didn’t say that to piss her off further, but he won’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight.

He can tell she’s going to launch into another tirade, one that’s completely separate from their original issue, because that’s just how things are between them; they spiral before either of them knows what’s happening.

Before she can even fix her mouth to call him another name, his hand cups her jaw, tilting her head back, and he slants his mouth over hers, kissing her fiercely.

She gasps. This is the first time he’s ever caught her off guard and initiated a kiss. She’s usually the one to be in control.

All too quickly, Ethan pulls back, locking eyes with the young woman in front of him. She’s dazed, chest heaving and eyes glazed over.

“Did you do that to get me to stop talking?”

“No, I kissed you because I wanted to. But the fact that it got you to stop running your mouth is a personal bonus.”

Naomi huffs, but doesn’t say anything else. God, he could be such an asshole at times.

“I want to do it again,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His blue eyes pierce into her own, and it suddenly becomes hard to focus on anything other than him. “Can I?”

She doesn’t know why it’s so sexy, him asking for permission, but she feels the butterflies in her stomach rumble at the question. She’s barely able to nod her head before Ethan launches himself at her, sending her flying back into the kitchen counter.

It’s so different from any other kisses they’ve shared. This one she can feel all the way down in her toes. His tongue darts out, gliding against her bottom lip and demanding access to her mouth, which she eagerly grants him.

Everything about him invades her senses: the feel of his calloused hands touching her jaw, the scratch of his beard against her face, the smell of his cologne (something by Gucci that she’s been yet to narrow down), his taste (she can still taste the wine on him, even though he drank it earlier), his sounds (the little groans that only she’s privy to, always gravelly and smooth, that make her knees buckle). It all culminates into this one man that is so all-consuming, it makes her lose her mind.

The kisses become shorter, more teasing, allowing Naomi the opportunity to actually breathe. He leaves kisses along her jaw and neck, making her whimper.

Ethan wraps an arm around Naomi’s waist and spins them, pushing her against the wall. She winces upon contact. “Warn a girl next time.”

“You want to know what’s been on my mind recently?” Ethan asks, nipping at Naomi’s earlobe.

“W-What?”

His hands find purchase underneath the grey Henley she’s wearing and he lifts it up. Her stomach clenches under his touch and it’s maddening just how responsive she is to him. “I haven’t been able to get the sight of you out of my mind since I came to pick you up from your apartment the other day.” With trembling fingers, Naomi helps him remove the shirt, and it’s tossed somewhere behind them.

She’s not wearing the grey bra he saw the other day, this one is a soft pink, and he groans at how it contrasts against her skin. There isn’t a color that doesn’t look good on her. “I stood there…” he only pauses to place opened mouthed kisses on her collarbone. “...like a floundering idiot…” this time he kisses slightly lower, earning a sharp inhale from Naomi. The noise does nothing to soothe the erection straining in his jeans. “...while you decided to tease me.”

“You’re the one who decided to stay,” Naomi shoots back with a shrug. “So I had to put on a little show.” He hums in agreement. His tongue darts out, flattening over her lace covered nipple. “Fuck, just take it off!”

“You still have no patience,” Ethan observes. He yanks at the material, until he hears a loud tear.

“That’s La Perla!”

Ethan blinks, struggling to find the significance in that statement. Was it supposed to mean something to him? “Okay?”

“It was expensive, you jerk!”

“I’ll buy you 10 more,” he replies with a shrug before resuming his previous activity, pulling one of her nipples between his lips, sucking lightly. Naomi’s breath comes out in quick bursts, and it’s becoming harder for her to stay grounded to reality. She reaches out, wanting to touch him, but he intercepts, catching her wrist. “Hands to yourself, Valentine.”

Ethan’s fingers make work of the button holding her jeans together, and he drags down the zipper. He yanks at her jeans with the same care he afforded her shirt and bra, tugging them down until they pool at her feet. Naomi does the rest of the work, hopping around until the pants are fully off.

“You and the thin scraps you call underwear, have been driving me insane all week,” Ethan confesses. “The other day when I came to pick you up, part of me was so mad at you because of your blatant defiance, but the other part of me wanted to push you onto that bed, and do very, very inappropriate things to you.”

The wetness that floods her panties is overwhelming. She clenches her thighs together in hopes of alleviating some of the tension, but it doesn’t help. Figuring out a new strategy, she wraps a leg around his waist, pulling him flush to her. She rolls her hips, grinding into him. The growl that escapes his lips only fuels her and strokes her ego. “You should’ve.”

Ethan kisses her again, reveling in the needy way Naomi claws at him. Her fingers are desperate, fingering into his t-shirt, twisting at the fabric. He’s unsure if she wants to take it off, or if she’s impatient enough to say ‘fuck it,’ and just rip it.

Whatever the case, he doesn’t let her continue. Grabbing both of her hands, he forces them on either side of her. “You really do have a problem with listening. No. Touching.”

The gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down her spine, but whatever rebellious side of her that wants to challenge the command is squelched with one look into his eyes. She can tell he means business and now isn’t the time to challenge his authority.

With restraint she didn’t know she had, Naomi places her palms on the hall behind her, and she stays as still as she can.

“Good girl.” Ethan smirks and drops her hands. He untangles himself from her and steps back an inch to admire his work. “You followed directions for once.”

Whatever smart aleck reply that was about to fly from her mouth is stifled by Ethan pulling her soaked underwear down and slipping two digits past her folds. The noise she lets out is a mixture of a high pitched yelp and a strangled moan, something that threatens to choke her.

The pace he sets is random and uneven, never giving Naomi a chance to settle into a rhythm, and she wonders if this is his way of punishing her, keeping her keyed up and writhing on him for what feels like eternity, trapped in her own form of purgatory.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and bucks her hips wildly into his hand, trying to keep pace with him.

“Stop doing that,” Ethan demands, using his free hand to pull her lip out of her mouth. “I want to hear you, Rookie.”

Something about the use of her former nickname makes her moan, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Ethan.

“You like the nickname,” he states. “It’s funny, you know.  You take every opportunity to defy me, argue with me, and push my buttons, yet you get off on me controlling you.”

She can’t focus. He’s too close, it feels too good, and her brain can’t function properly under these conditions. He presses forward, the heel of his palm pressing into her clit, earning a hiss.

“Admit it.”

At this point Naomi would admit to committing armed robbery if it meant he’d keep doing this. She nods frantically. “Yes, Doctor.” He groans at the use of his title, and he pumps harder, curling his fingers inside of her. 

Naomi stands on tiptoes and desperately claws at the wall behind her. “Fuck Ethan, please!”

“Please, what? What do you want?” His lips find her neck again, and he sucks on her pulse point, only making things more hazy. “Use your words, Rookie.”

She wants a lot of things. She wants to cry out, she wants to dig her nails into his back until she draws blood, she wants him to keep talking her through this, his gruff voice in her ear as she shatters around him.

Unfortunately, Naomi cannot form a coherent sentence to save her life. She just rolls her hips, shamelessly grinding herself into his hand. “I...I…” The pleasure mounts, building in the pit of her stomach, spreading out. She’s so close, she can almost taste it. 

“Do you want to cum for me?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I want–” Ethan rewards her for her honesty and his thumb drags into her clit and he rubs the sensitive nub in tight, quick circles. That’s all it takes, and she orgasms with a strangled cry and she’s thankful Ethan is right here because he holds her upright as her legs momentarily give out.

When Naomi regains the ability to stand on her own, Ethan lets go and slowly removes his fingers. Moving fast, Naomi grabs his hand, and without breaking eye contact with him, she slides the two digits into her mouth, licking them clean.

Ethan’s next breath is a shaky gasp that leaves his lung far too quickly. “Fuck, Rookie.”

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?” Naomi suggests, releasing his fingers with a loud pop.

Ethan shakes his head. “No.”

He registers the confusion on her face, but Ethan doesn’t give her a chance to respond. He grabs her by the waist and kisses her again, walking them towards the living room. He only breaks the kiss to pull his t-shirt over his head, and it joins the growing pile of discarded clothing scattered around. Naomi helps him speed the process along, getting rid of his belt and popping the button on his jeans. Her fingers hook into the belt loops of the pants and she pulls them down.

Before she can do anything else, Ethan stops her wandering hands. “Wait, wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Ethan knocks his forehead against hers and he sighs deeply. “Naomi, if you don’t want to do this, please stop me now.”

She thinks it’s cute that he’s giving her an out, but she doesn’t need it. Her fingers slip past the waistband of his soft cotton boxers, a warm dainty hand wrapping around him.

Ethan shudders as a warmth spreads through him at the touch of her hand, and he mentally curses himself. He pushes her hand away.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not cumming into your hand.” Ethan spins Naomi around and bends her over the arm of his couch. 

While it’s not the desk in his office, Naomi won’t complain. She feels one of his calloused hands trace the length of her spine and her eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

No patience left, Ethan tugs down his underwear, letting the material pool at his ankles. Without another word, he lines herself up at Naomi’s entrance and thrusts into her all at once. He groans at the sensation.

Naomi has never been more thankful for couch cushions, as they muffle the scream that escapes her.

“Fuck, Naomi.” He digs his fingers into her hips before pulling out and slamming back into her. He doesn’t give her any time to adjust, but she doesn’t mind. They both know patience isn’t her forte. “You’re...so...tight.” His words are punctuated by sharp thrusts that threaten to steal the air straight from her lungs.

He leans forward slacking against her, but Naomi welcomes the weight. His beard scrapes against her shoulder blade, his breath warm against her ear, his fingers which are no doubt going to leave a bruise, all of it makes her dizzy, and god, this isn’t going to last much longer.

His thrusts become sloppier, more frenzied as the pleasure mounts, his blood boiling in his veins like molten lava. The only thing he can hear is the sound of the skin slapping, and his ragged breaths.

“Are you close?” He asks. But Naomi can’t think, let alone actually speak words, even if something monosyllabic would suffice. Why does he keep trying to make her speak? Her head drops with a thud and she mumbles something incoherent.

“For someone who had so much shit to talk earlier, you’re mighty silent.” Letting go of her hip, Ethan tangles a hand in her hair, yanking it back so she can’t hide her face in the cushions anymore. His other hand reaches around and he rolls her clit with his middle finger. Still way too sensitive from her last orgasm, she thrusts back, clawing at the couch with her nails, but he holds her in place, refusing to let her move.

“Ethan, fuck, don’t stop!” The words fly out all at once, shaky, fast and jumbled, but it’s all Ethan needs. 

With a burst of energy he didn't know he possessed, he drives into her, plunging deeper. “Cum for me, Rookie.”

Naomi screams. Loudly, and she’s sure his neighbors might be very annoyed, but she doesn’t care. Everything goes white behind her eyes as he all but pushes her over the edge. She clenches around him and Ethan hisses as she’s holding him in a vice-like grip. A few quick thrusts later, and he’s joining her in ecstasy, spilling inside of her. The hand holding her hair tightens for a second, then relaxes.

She’s pretty sure she blacked out for some period of time because when Naomi is finally able to focus, they’re no longer obscenely bent over the arm of Ethan’s couch. They’re on the floor, in the cramped space between the couch and the coffee table. 

She’s hot and sticky and absolutely exhausted. She places her hand over her heart, willing it to stop beating so erratically. Stealing a glance, Naomi peers up and looks at Ethan. He looks as disheveled as she feels, his hair tousled, lips swollen, chest and neck flushed red.

Her voice is horse and completely shot to hell when she finally speaks, “If that’s how our fights are going to play out from now on, I’ll let you pick more fights with you. And I’m a Cancer, we’re stubborn people.”

“I think we can find a happy medium somewhere.”

Naomi rolls over, until she’s nestled into his side and her head is on his chest. She can feel his heart beating rhythmically under her cheek. “Are we still fighting?”

“No.”

“Are you still mad at me?” He doesn’t answer the question right away, and a sense of dread fills her.

“I was never really mad at you,” Ethan admits after a long bout of silence. “I’m just mad at the entire situation. I’m mad at the budget cuts, I’m mad at our country’s healthcare system, I’m annoyed with your inability to listen to me. I’m mad at Leland Bloom’s obscene wealth and the fact that he gets to dangle his money in our faces like we’re horses waiting for carrots.”

“You made the right call, Naomi,” he continues. “But it’s a call you shouldn’t have been forced to make in the first place. I’m sorry for making you carry the brunt of my misplaced anger.”

“Apology accepted. And since we’re apologizing, I’m sorry for calling you a petulant little crybaby.”

Ethan chuckles. “Do you apologize for calling me a goddamn diva, as well? Don’t forget ‘entitled jackass’ and ‘spoiled child’.”

“You co-signed ‘spoiled child’ so I am not apologizing for it.”

“Fair point,” Ethan concedes.

Blindly searching with an outstretched hand, Naomi finds her cell phone and checks the time. She has to be at work in 2 hours, though she’d much rather get into Ethan’s bed and go to sleep.

“That happy medium that you mentioned? I think I have it figured out.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh, yeah?”

“First and foremost, I promise to never go over your head again, if you agree to do a trial run on whatever ideas I may come up with. You can’t shoot me down immediately.”

“I’m...willing to agree to that.”

“And once this all settles down and the hospital isn’t on the verge of complete financial collapse, maybe we can convince the board to only take on one or two billable patients a quarter.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” 

“Yeah, I tend to have those every once in a while,” Naomi teases.

Ethan stares at Naomi as she laughs at her own poor joke. Everything about her is an anomaly to him. She blew into his life a little over a year ago and here he is, willing to adapt his entire ethical code for her. And here they are, entangled together as if he didn’t spend 2 months on a different continent in order to get her out of his head. What is it about her that he can’t shake?

He gently cups her jaw and kisses her as if she’s a precious gem, like he didn’t just try to devour her. “What are you doing to me?”

Naomi smirks, recalling that it’s the same question he asked her in Miami. “Hopefully something good.”

He kisses her again. “Better than good actually.”

Realization washes over her that once she leaves this apartment, things are going to go back to being the way they were. He’ll go back to pushing her away. “So does this mean you want to have another reset?”

The question throws him off, but he soon understands what she means. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Ethan repeats. If there’s a happy medium to be found between his team and the board, maybe there’s one for him and Naomi.

She doesn’t allow herself to get swept up by his words, but instead she braces herself for the chance that he pulls the rug from under her feet. “Well, what does that mean?”

“It means you and I are going to take a shower together, go to work, and we deal with our obnoxious patient. And after work, you’re going to put on something fancy because I’m taking you out to dinner. How does that sound, Dr. Valentine?”

Naomi can’t stop an annoying grin from spreading across her face. “I think it sounds pretty damn good, Dr. Ramsey.”

#playchoices #open heart #dr ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ns*fw

[viking-raider]

Of Truth and Justice - Part III

Summary: Calea learns what she can from the Para-Demon’s blood and wakes where Clark has taken her.

Pairing: Clark Kent/Superman x OFC

Word Count: 8,787

Parts: I II

Rating: PG-13 - Justice League!AU, Language, Fluff, Angst, Flashbacks, Minor Character Death

Inspiration: Something that’s been on my Muse’s brain after watching Justice League a couple of times.

Author’s Note: TY to the amazing @wondersofdreaming​​ for being a stellar Beta! Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart​, @peakygroupie​, @jessevans​, @rosie-loves-things​, @ohjules​, @mary-ann84​, @omgkatinka​, @the-freak-cassie-131​, @wardl0w​​, @agniavateira​, @cap-barnes​, @romyr4​, @michelehansel​, @kaatelyyynn​, @badassbaker​, @mrsaugustwalker​, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe​, @severuined​, @supernaturalvikingwhore​, @bellastellaluna​, @wondersofdreaming​, @thisisntmyrightera​, @michelle-1185​, @winchwm​, @royallylazy​, @sofiebstar​, @worldicreate​, @agniavateira​, @fantasygirlsuniverse​, @witches-of-discovery-a​, @xuxszx​, @ayamenimthiriel​, @keiva1000​, @fantasygirlsuniverse​, @itsreigns​, @constip8merm8​, @scorpionchild81​, @mylifefallingupthestairs​, @onlyhenrys​, @luclittlepond​, @ellixthea​, @lebguardians​, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn​, @p3nny4urth0ught5​, @iloveyouyen​, @hollydaisy23​, @mcuimagination​, @psychosupernatural​, @sweetlybigdragonn​, @whitewolfandthefox​, @moviemonzy​, @the-soot-sprite​, @hell1129-blog​, @trippedmetaldetector​, @captaingothgirl1996​, @dont8mind8me8eue​, @peaky-marvel​, @desperate-and-broken21​, @monstersnmoney​, @dancingwendigo​, @redhot-mystacism​, @thereisa8ella​, @black-ninja-blade​, @oddduckthatgirl​, @rosewinx​, @henrythickcavill​, @tinabean37​, @hnryycvll​, @msblkfire84​, @romangenesius​, @emelinelovesjc​, @strangerliaa​, @lovieebby​, @pinksdaydream​, @fanfictionaddiction99​, @seb-owns-these-tatas​, @oh-for-fic-sake​, @sauvage-et-libre​, @mis-lil-red​, @angreav​, @crazyandanonymous4u​, @the-mighty-jellybean​ @henrycavell​, @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair​, @iam-laiya​, @worshipping-skarsgard​, @thetruthandotherstories​, @ruthoakenshield​, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​, @theonetheycallhannah​, @nina-skyee​, @thatgirly81​, @inanna999​, @suueeeeeee​, @spideysimpossiblegirl​, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8​, @beckster07890​, @daddys-littlewhitegirl​, @magic-and-the-macabre​, @stxphmxlls​, @radaofrivia​, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​, @starstruckkittyangel​​, @heartfelt-pen​​

Clark carefully set up the Sol-Gel Chamber inside the Fortress of Solitude.

He stood over Calea in the Gel, the beat of her heart had grown stronger as time progressed, giving him hope that she was going to recover. Running his hands through his hair, Clark had one of the Kryptonian Bots watch over her, while he went to secure the rest of the Fortress.

He wasn't gone long, when Calea thrashed in the Gel and sat up, ripping the mask off her face and looking at the bot, startled. Climbing out of the Chamber, Calea pressed her back against the wall and glanced around her foreign surroundings. The Bot made a beeping whirl sound and the door of the room opened, revealing a startled and excited Clark.

“Calea!”

“Clark!” She relaxed seeing him. “Where the hell am I?” She asked, eyeing the Bot.

“The Fortress of Solitude.” He replied, dismissing the Bot out of the room.

“Why?” Calea asked, eyes panning around.

“Well, I just felt it would be safer for you.” He admitted, his face slightly warm. “So, I brought you and the Sol-Gel Chamber here.”

“Where's Ryder?”

“I don't know.” He frowned, then rushed forward, grabbing her as her knees gave out. “You're still weak.” He whispered, picking her up in his arms. “What were you thinking, drinking that Para-Demon's blood, Calea?” He asked, carrying her out of the Chamber he set the Sol-Gel up in.

“I was thinking, I wanted to find out what he was looking for.” Calea replied, resting her cheek against his shoulder, exhausted. “Ryder's going to kill you, when he finds us.”

Clark chuckled. “I doubt that.” He smiled, carrying her down a long hallway. “Unless he has Kryptonite, which I highly doubt, since there isn't any more, and I'm the only one that knows where we are.” He explained to her, stepping in front of another door before it opened. “This is the only bedroom I have, but I don't have to sleep, unless I want to or my brain is exhausted, so you can have it.” He told her, setting her down on his bed.

“There's a bathroom right there.” He motioned to a secondary door. “I'm sure you'll want to wash the Gel off. Um..” Clark frowned, seeing her soiled clothing and stepped into the space he used as a closet and pulled a shirt and pair of pajama bottoms off the hangers. “You can wear these, until we can get your clothes clean.” He offered, setting the shirt and bottoms on the bed beside her.

“Thank you.” Calea replied, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

Nodding, Clark stepped out to give her privacy to fix herself up. Calea stood up and glanced around his room, before going into the bathroom. The water was cold as she stepped under the spray of the shower head, shivering. But, she didn't mind, she just wanted to wash up and get her mind straight. The Para-Demon, Kulas's blood had shown her what had happened to her people, the death of her father, the apparent fact that Steppenwolf was looking for more than just the Mother Boxes; the League was correct in that assumption. Calea knew what it was Steppenwolf was looking for, but had no clue where they were hidden. She leaned her forehead against the shower wall, water cascading down her shivering back as tears mixed with the water droplets dripping from her hair, turning cold as they fell from her cheeks and down the spiraling drain.

Sniffling and turning off the tap, Calea pulled a towel off a rack built into the wall and dried off. Slipping on the clothing Clark so generously provided for her and stepped up to the door, glancing around it for a moment before it opened. Peeking down both sides of the hallway, Calea picked a direction and followed it around a bend and down a corridor with three displays on either side that held an outfit, Superman's outfits. One looked like a set of armor, another was the normal Superman outfit Clark wore and the other was black and silver.

“It's my regeneration suit.” Clark's voice echoed to her. “It helps me recover, when I've been injured.”

“Or come back from the dead.” She smiled at him.

“That too.” He smiled back, then held up a bag that was in his hand. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

Smiling more, Clark took Calea down to the foyer area of the Fortress, the windows there open and looking out over the frozen tundra of the Antarctic. There was a modest table there, as well as the statues of Clark's birth parents, Jor-El and Lara. Calea studied them, while Clark pulled the take-away boxes out of the bag, she could see Clark in both of them, his father's nose and jawline, his mother's eyes and cheekbones, both of them looked beautiful, even carved out of stone, she could sense they had been good people.

“So, there's Chinese take-out in the Antarctic, I'll have to give them one hell of a Yelp review.” She giggled, sitting down at the table with him.

“Ah, well.” Clark chuckled, grinning like mad. “I don't have a kitchen here. So, I just popped over to New Zealand to get something.” He explained to her, picking up his chopsticks. “Do you need to eat?” He asked, popping a snow pea in his mouth.

“What do you mean?” Calea replied, helping herself to the chicken dumplings.

“Well, I don't technically need to eat, or sleep.” He explained, after swallowing. “I get my energy from the Sun. Though, I do sometimes get mentally tired and a good nap does the trick.”

Calea rested back against her chair, pondering his question as she chewed her dumpling. “I don't, can't, eat, while in the Sol-Gel, but it still gives me the type of nourishment I need to survive. I've never tried not eating, while I was out of it. We can go without sleep, if we want too. But, I rather enjoy sleeping, the days don't seem so long, when you sleep.”

“That's true.” he agreed, nodding. “I like doing both, food tastes a lot better than the Sun.” He joked, making Calea roar with laughter. “I haven't been sleeping much though, I don't even know why I keep doing it, knowing I don't have to and I'll just end up having nightmares.”

“When you make a habit of something, they tend to be hard to break.” She sighed, glancing out the windows. “What is this place?” She asked.

“My Fortress of Solitude.” He replied, looking out at the snow and ice swept landscape. “It was a Kryptonian Scouting Ship my father, Jor-El, sent a long time ago to find out if they could use it as an outpost and a place of refuge.” He explained to her. “The Humans found it in the Arctic a few years ago. When I heard about it, I found a way into the group that was studying it and checked it out.”

“That's when I learned who I really was, where I came from and how I got here. So, I took it and brought it here to the Antarctic, away from everyone and everything.”

“Well, even Superman needs a vacation from the world every once in a while.” She assured him with a sweet smile. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I don't know.” He answered. “I was just going to let you be back at your place, but I-” He shook his head, he'd been trying to rationalize his choice in taking Calea to the Fortress since the compulsive idea came over him. “I just didn't feel like you were safe there, even with my being with you.”

“That place has been a safe haven for me for a very long time. No one has ever found it, without being told here it is.”

“I know.” He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “It just felt safer with you here.”

“With you.” She teased him, nudging her knee against his.

“Maybe.” Clark rubbed at his neck and didn't meet her eye.

“Where in Romania was that swarm of Para-Demons?” She asked, after a short silence.

“North of a mine called Rosia Poieni.” He replied, finishing off his egg rolls.

“Would you show me?” She asked, lifting a brow at him.

“Um..” Clark frowned, wiping his mouth and getting up. “Follow me.”

Clark led the way to a study-like room and up to a console whose monitor was made of Liquid Geo. Typing on the console, the Geo changed and solidified into an Earth shaped orb. The Geo trembled for a moment, then changed shape again, this time showing the country of Romania.

“The Mine is here.” Clark said, pointing to the west of Romania. “And the sight of Steppenwolf's Para-Demons was here.”

“Seems terribly random.” Calea frowned, shaking her head. “What is it?” She frowned, seeing the change in Clark's expression.

“There's trouble.” He said, striding out of the room. “Stay here, I'll be back as quickly as I can.”

“Well, being Superman, that should be faster than I can blink.” Calea deadpanned, smirking at him.

Calea made sure Clark was well and gone, before taking one final look at the map, going back to his room and changing into her now dry clothing. With a deep breath, picturing the place in her mind, and with a crackle of energy, Calea was gone.

It was dark, when Calea suddenly appeared in the forest to the north of the Rosia Poieni mine. There were still rotting Para-Demon bodies littering the ground, the smell, even in the chilly night air, was like an overripe garbage dump in hundred degree heat, it made Calea's nose wrinkle and her face twist. She picked her way through their bodies, pushing some aside, looking for any clues to their reason for being here, but had no more luck than the others. Sighing, she moved through the treeline, towards the edge of the mining pit. The old copper mine was almost a mile wide and half a mile deep, before it started branching out into mine shafts.

“What are you doing, Steppenwolf.” She muttered to herself, scanning the deep crater and leaned forward as she saw a twinkle of light for a moment, in the deepest part of the pit.

“Hm.”

Narrowing her eyes, Calea hopped down several of the rows leading down into the pit, jumping down two and three at time, before skirting around until she was closer to the source. Her ears picked up the sound of movement further below, and knew it couldn't be Humans, it was too dark for them to be mining this late at night. Tipping her head back and sniffing at the air, Calea still smelled the stench of dead Para-Demons, but also caught the scent of living Para-Demons. Growling, she descended the rest of the way, making sure to be quiet and keep down wind so they didn't scent her out.

Coming around and crouching down, Calea saw three Para-Demons standing around the opening to one of the mine shafts, guarding it and whatever was inside of it. Glancing upward, Calea noticed that the shaft lined up with where the League battled the swarm of Para-Demons earlier.

“They were standing on it.” She whispered, shocked.

Biting her lip, Calea slowly eased into the direction of the Para-Demons, wanting to get as close to them as possible before attacking, so any other Para-Demons in the area wouldn't be fully alerted to her presence until it was too late. She was only a few yards from them, when the wind shifted directions, blowing against her back and towards the Para-Demons, warning them instantly to Calea's vicinity. Making the most of it, Calea zoomed forward, her powers already reaching their peak, as she grabbed the closest Para-Demon to her.

Electricity crackled down Calea's arms and flowed into the Para-Demon's body as she gripped it by the arm and throat. It trembled and twitched as the high voltage electricity coursed through it, before she tossed it aside and took on the remaining two. She hissed as one of them swiped at her, claws catching her cheek as she tried to duck out of the way. Dropping to a squat and twisting, Calea kicked the Para-Demon's legs out from under it and smashed her fist through its skull.

“Killing your own kind, youngling?” A raspy voice asked as Calea killed the last Para-Demon.

“Steppenwolf.”

She hissed, dripping the creature's body and turning around to face him. “They're not my kind, not any longer. You and Darkseid saw to that.” She growled at him, shaking, as all her pent up power reached a fevered pitch.

“They should have given me what I wanted, I would have let them live.” Steppenwolf replied, smirking.

“That's a damned lie and you know it.”

Steppenwolf shrugged, the smug smile on his lips never faltering. “Perhaps you'll be more intelligent than the rest of your Race and tell me where what I seek has been hidden.”

“How am I supposed to know where they've been hidden? I was a baby, when my People took them from you and Darkseid.” Calea spat venomously. “Even if I did know where they were, I sure as hell wouldn't tell the likes of you.”

“Stubborn, just like your father.” He laughed at her. “But, no matter. Soon, I will find where you Selians have hidden them on this pitiful rock and with Mother's help, it will be glorious.” He smirked as a beam of light came down over him and teleported him away.

The bright light left spots in Calea's eyes as the dark night filled the mining pit again, but she didn't let it deter her. Turning on her heels, she stepped over the dead Para-Demons and into the mine they were guarding, doubting there were anymore inside, knowing they would have come out already if there were.

Eyes glowing that electric blue and aiding Calea to see in the pitch black shaft, she glanced around and saw nothing out of the ordinary for a mine; scraped and rough walls and ceiling, the dirt floor strewn with bits of rock, metal rails to carry out loads of rock and cooper, and bits of scrap from blasting deeper into the Earth. It smelled of damp gravel and Earth, musty, with the metallic ting of copper, the lingering scent of sweaty bodies and petrol, from the generators powering the string of lights along the hewn walls and sump-pumps, to clear out the patches of stagnant water. There was also the lingering, but noticeable scent of Para-Demons, they had been down here at some point recently, telling Calea that she was heading in the right direction.

She stopped, coming to a Y-shaped fork in the shaft and sighed, one of the shafts was blocked off with a barricade. So, taking a couple steps into the shaft to the left and taking a couple of whiffs, she turned around and went back to the blocked off shaft. Leaning over the barricade and picking up the Para-Demon scent again, she pushed the barricade aside and started in, she could feel the shaft start to angle more sharply downward, the air around her growing chilly and thick. Something about this shaft felt drastically different from the others, and not just in temperature and atmosphere, it made Calea's skin ripple with goosebumps and a shiver raced down her spine, it felt foreboding and somehow older than the surrounding area.

The deeper Calea went the rougher the shaft became, like they started to mine it, but gave up for some reason, blocking it off to prevent anyone from going down it again. The walls and ceiling looked safe and stable enough, there were clear lines of copper in the walls, so it wasn't lacking valuable resources that would prevent them from wanting to continue on with it, confusing Calea to why they would stop and hole it up.

It wasn't until she hit the dead end of the shaft that she saw what it was that possibly stopped their continued excavation.

Where the rough shaft ended, a small chamber opened up. It was wide enough for her fingertips to touch the walls with her outstretched arms and tall enough for her to fully stand up. The walls and ceiling were perfectly squared and smooth, or at first glance, they looked smooth. A closer look revealed there were markings on the walls, nothing Human either.

“Holy fuck.” She gasped, recognizing them.

“Calea, I'm back.”

Clark called, entering the Fortress after saving a large group of people from an apartment fire in London. “Calea?” He called out again, when he didn't get an answer. “Shit.” He snapped, seeing the Liquid Geo still up in the shape of Romania.

Keeping his black and silver suit on, in case there was a need to get in a fight, Clark made his way over to the mine. Searching around, he spotted the dead Para-Demons at the entrance of a shaft and took the clue. Clark caught the scent of his body wash Calea used to get clean and her own unique smell, and picked his way through the mine until he came to the fork and the shoved aside barricade. He heard the quick pounding of her heart and breathing at the end of the shaft and wasted no time getting to the end of it.

“Calea?” He called out to her, his voice echoing back.

“Clark?” Her voice echoed in reply.

“What are you doing down here?” He asked, looking around the strange room.

“Looking for answers.” She replied, fingers tracing the symbols on the wall in front of her.

Clark frowned and stepped up behind her. “What are these?” He asked, looking at the symbols over her head.

“Original Solean.” She replied and leaned closer to one of the symbols, so worn, it was almost unrecognizable.

“What?” He snapped, looking down at her.

“You heard me.” She snorted, sliding over to the next column of symbols. “Steppenwolf is looking for two things that go with the Mother Boxes. Well, one thing that goes with the Mother Boxes and another that can destroy the Mother Boxes.” She explained to him.

“My People took the two objects not long after Darkseid had them made, hoping they would weaken him, then hid them somewhere here on Earth. But, obviously, that didn't work because he had the Mother Boxes made.”

“What are the two objects?” Clark asked, a crease between his brows.

“One is a Key that's supposed to unlock the full power of the Unity and the second is another Box, of some sort.” She answered, then growled. “I can hear my mother yelling at me for not paying closer attention to my tutor, on early Selian history.” She huffed, arms dropping to her sides in defeat.

“That Para-Demon's blood told you this?”

“Not exactly.” She told him, rubbing her face. “It showed me the day Steppenwolf invaded Selion and killed everyone, my parents included. He killed my father, who killed someone else about to tell Steppenwolf where these objects were. In full retaliation of what my Father did, Steppenwolf had the entirety of Selion turned into Para-Demons, and after he left, my mother told one of her Servants what it was he was looking for, but not where to find them.”

“But, you're sure they're here on Earth?”

“If Steppenwolf is searching Earth for them, they have to be here and this room is proof of that much.” She replied, motioning around the room.

“What is it?” Clark frowned, watching a light bulb turn on in her eyes.

“Lore.” She said softly, eyes panning around the room. “That's what this room is telling. The Lore of Selians colonizing Earth, seven thousand years ago.” Her head and eyes snapped up to Clark. “The Key and Box aren't in this room, but it tells the Lore of how Selians started living on Earth. That's what he's doing, why it's taking him so long to start the Unity.”

“He's scouring the Lore of the Selian-Humans, hoping to find a mention of the Key and Box in one of the stories.”

“Then, we have to beat him to it.” Clark said, sharing her frenzy.

“I have to get to the Heart.” She said, antsy.

“The what?”

“I'll explain it, when we get there.” Calea replied, holding out her hand. “Take my hand.”

Without hesitation, Clark took Calea's hand and felt the pop of electricity at their touch, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end and in a flash, they blinked out of the mine and appeared inside a rather large space ship.

“The Heart.” Calea smiled, motioning to the space around them. “This is the ship Ryder and I arrived on Earth in.” She explained and let out a low whistle, making lights around the craft slowly turn on, showing off the hanger they were standing in.

“Where is this hidden?” Clark asked, looking around.

“Somewhere under Manhattan, I think.” She replied, frowning. “It's been a very long time since I've visited here without teleporting, and so much has changed since we hid it. It was the Heart of the Selian Eternal Fleet.” She elaborated. “I.E the name for it.”

Pressing her hand to a panel beside a door and opening it, Calea quickly walked down a corridor, the sole of her boots clinking as she went. Clark followed after her, still checking the ship out as they went and entered a second room.

“Your bedroom?” He smirked, it still smelled like her, even after all the time being left dormant.

“Yep.” She smiled back at him, fingertips lighting on the spines of books on a shelf by her bed. “There you are.” She chimed, pulling a thick book off the shelf and walking backwards until she could sit down on her bed.

“The Lore of Selians and Earth.”

Clark sat down beside her, tilting his head at the book as she flipped it open. “Do you have any idea where to look?”

“Not even the slightest.” She laughed, scanning the index. “Hm.” She frowned and got up again, pulling another book off the shelf.

“The battle of Apokolips.” Clark read out loud. “The third war?” He frowned at Calea.

“Selians and Apokoliptians have been battling each other ever since they believed we were abandoning our birthright as Rulers of the Universe, being the first Race. It was the third war, the War of Power, that my Grandfather died and my Father became King. Then, a few years later, the War for Earth took place.” She told him, opening the book.

“Ah, here we go.” She said, finding the chapter she was looking for and started reading it to Clark. “It was the third war that the Apokoliptians created a Key and Box, in an attempt to defeat the Selians once and for all. But, King Gretan—my Grandfather—sent his best men to Apokolips to stop them before they could prevail, and hoped to use it against the Apokoliptians themselves.”

“Mikel and Tristan,” Gretan said as the two men approached his throne. “Thank you for coming, on such short notice.”

“Of course, my liege.” Mikel replied as they both bowed to him. “How can we be of service?”

“It has been brought to the attention of our spies and scouts, that the Apokoliptians have created two objects that could bring about our destruction. We must get our hands on these objects, so we can prevent them from being used.” Gretan explained to them.

“I'm sending you both to Apokolips, to steal these devices and bring them back here for safe-keeping.”

“We will get ready right away, my liege.” Tristan assured him.

“Excellent.” Gretan replied and nodding his head, dismissed them.

Tristan and Mikel left as soon as they were able, not wishing to lose any time, knowing that the Apokoliptians weren't wasting time either. Arriving at a safe zone in Apokolips and meeting up with a spy and scout, Mikel and Tristan learned where to find the objects they were tasked with obtaining.

“I must warn you.” The scout said, being frank with them. “One of our scouts has already tried infiltrating the lab they are located in. He was captured, interrogated and killed.” He told them, bluntly.

Mikel and Tristan exchanged expressions, but steeled themselves. They couldn't, and wouldn't, let their King and People down. Getting the rest of the report, a layout of the lab, surrounding areas and whatever else the scout and spy had to tell them, Tristan and Mikel made their way towards their destination. They stayed low and skirted around buildings, narrowly escaping notice a few times as they made it inside the perimeter of the city outside the safe zone. Finding an empty building to hide in, Mikel pulled out the map provided for them and found where they were in relation to it and where the laboratory was in relation to them.

“We're two klicks away from the lab.” Mikel said, pointing to the red dot that marked the lab they were making their way towards. “There's two security checks between us and it, not to count the tight security they have around the lab, especially after the first attempt to steal what's inside said lab.”

“Do we know what we're looking for, exactly?” Tristan asked, studying the map.

“According to our intelligence, they're the only things in the lab.” Mikel answered, rubbing at his tired face. “So, they shouldn't be that hard to spot.”

“Or carry, all we need is something to slow us down.”

The knob to the room they were crouched in started to rattle. Quickly hiding the map and melding into the dark shadows of the room as the door opened, Mikel and Tristan watched the Apokoliptian enter the room, the door swinging shut behind him. Holding their breaths and waiting for the opportune moment, Tristan took a silent step out of the shadows and up behind him, swiftly wrapping his arm around the Apokoliptian's neck and slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle any sounds he might make, and snapped his neck. Gently easing him to the floor, Mikel searched his pockets and found a passkey, smiling at Tristan as he held it up.

“That solves some of our access problems.” Tristan chuckled, making sure the Apokoliptian didn't have anything else of interest on his body.

“Come on.” He whispered, moving to the door.

Listening through the door for a few moments, then slowly opening it, Tristan and Mikel carefully sneaked down along the wall of the building, checking the walkway around the corner and continued on. They made their way to a wall between them and the middle area of the city. While Tristan worked on getting them through the wall, Mikel kept watch for any Apokoliptians that might catch them. Tristan removed a black kit from his pocket and pulled out a pen-like object, pressing the tip of it to the wall and turned it on. He moved the pen in an arch, just wide and tall enough for them both to squeeze through, the tip of the pen cutting through the thick wall like butter. Putting the pen and kit back in his pocket and kicking the cut out free, Tristan motioned for Mikel to go first, watching his back as he did, then followed after him.

Mikel motioned to the left of them and led the way to their next checkpoint, narrowly getting caught in the process. Tristan gave him a frustrated look and Mikel rolled his eyes, then continued on their way. Taking back ways, deserted streets and hiding in hidden nooks and deep doorways as their enemies passed by. Making it to the last wall in their way to the direct center of the city, that contained all the important and top secret dealings of Apokolips, they pulled out of their map for one more check of the lab's location and readied themselves for whatever they might encountered in the extraction of their mission.

“May Primian protect us.” Mikel whispered, touching the pad of his first two fingers to the space between his eyebrows.

“Who's Primian?” Clark asked, interrupting her reading.

“Primian was the first Selian to become a Prime.” Calea replied, looking up from the page. “That's why we're called Primes; it's a play on his name. He became a bit of a God to us.”

“Ah.” He nodded, understanding.

Prepared, Mikel and Tristan breached the last wall and felt the air around them change, thickening with the very real danger they were now in, that they were in the last and most critical stage of their mission. Picking their way through the buildings and walkways towards the laboratory, they used the passkey and found it gave them access to the lab.

The lab was like any lab, bright and clean smelling, but the instruments in it weren't anything you would find in an ordinary lab. Mikel and Tristan split up, looking for what they had come for, checking everything in the room, before Tristan found a door to a side room and went inside.

“Mik.” He called over his shoulder, his eyes glued to what was in the room with him.

“What?” Mikel answered, popping up behind him and looking over his shoulder. “That has to be them.” He said, eye catching what Tristan had found.

“A Box and what the hell is that with it?” Tristan echoed, stepping closer.

It was a circular three inch long by an inch thick, solid bar of silver-like metal with a strange symbol at the top of it. Tristan reached out and picked it up off the stand it was resting on, inspecting it closer, while Mikel looked over the box that sat beside it. He turned it around, checking all of the side and noticed a hole at the top of the box that was the exact size and shape of the bar Tristan was holding in his hand.

“It's a Key of some sort.” Mikel said, showing Tristan the hole in the Box.

“Does it open the Box?” Tristan asked, frowning.

“Don't.” Mikel hissed as Tristan tried inserting the Key. “We don't know what this thing does, and I'd rather not find out in a confined space.”

Tristan nodded and opened a satchel he had been carrying and slipped the key into the inside pocket. “Quickly, let's get going before anyone comes.”

Holding the satchel open, Mikel slipped the Box in and fastened the flap closed. Making a sweep of the room to ensure they didn't miss anything important, Mikel and Tristan left the lab and started retracing their steps back out of the city and to their ship off the planet. They weren't halfway to the wall, when a series of alarms went off.

“Well, that's our cue!” Mikel snapped and started running.

Running with him, Tristan caught the glimpse of Apokoliptians running back and forth in a frenzy, trying to figure out what the alerts were for. They were mere feet from the opening in the wall they made, when one Apokoliptian guard noticed them and shouted to his fellows. Pulling off the satchel, Tristan tossed it to Mikel, who sent it sliding through the hole in the wall and dove after it, sliding through the hole like a player to home base. Turning on his hands and knees, Mikel looked back at Tristan, waiting for him to come through next.

Tristan ducked down to dive through the opening, as a shot rang out, the air stilled after the reverberation wore off. Time slowed to a stop, while Mikel watched a burst of blood spray out from Tristan's side, his pained cry breaking the silence and stillness, a cloud of black dust rising around him as he fell to the ground.

“Tris!”

Scrambling back through, Mikel grabbed Tristan's hand and dragged him through the wall opening, pushing him over onto his back and pressed his hands to the gaping wound on Tristan's right side. Tristan coughed, spots of blood covering his ashen face, he looked up at Mikel. His breathing slowed, his heart pounding, his skin cooled under the press of Mikel's hands and sweat broke out on his forehead.

“You have to go, Mikel.” Tristan coughed again.

“No, not without you.” He shook his head.

“Yes.” Tristan replied, raising a heavy arm and touched cold fingertips to Mikel's cheek. “Do you remember, when I hit you over the head with my sword?” He asked, his pale green eyes glassy.

“I tried to kiss you.” Mikel nodded, looking behind at the scrape of metal as the gateway in the wall creaked slowly open. “But, I only ended up with a lump on my head, for a week.”

Tristan cupped Mikel's cheek in his shaking hand. “You can kiss me now, then you must leave.” He told him, gently. “Please, Mikel.” He begged him, gripping his shoulder.

Shoulders slumping, Mikel removed his hands from the wound and cupped his face, smearing blood all over him, and leaned in. His trembling lips met Tristan's pale cold ones, tears dripping onto him as they kissed. When Mikel pulled away he saw the glassy vacancy in Tristan's eyes and let out a heart breaking wail as he dragged himself to his feet, picking up the bag with the Box and Key, slinging it over his body and stumbled forward, willing himself not to look back to Tristan, knowing he would never make it, if he did.

“Mikel was able to make it back to Selion with the Key and Box.” Calea read, fingertips following the sentences on the page. “King Gretan had a mighty room to contain the Key and Box, but at King Gretan's death, Crown Prince Calien feared, with the creation of the Mother Boxes and Steppenwolf traversing through the Universe with them on a rampage, that they would no longer be safe in the chamber. So, he hid them elsewhere.”

“That's when he must have sent them to Earth.” Clark said, turning his head to look at her.

“It must be.” Calea replied, turning her head and gasped as their lips accidentally brushed. “I'm so-”

Clark cupped Calea's neck and pressed his lips to hers, his body leaning into hers. Calea paused, the press of Clark's warm lips against hers was confusing for a moment, it had been a long time since she had been kissed. The charge they always generated surged down their spines and Calea kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressed in closer to him, allowing him to deepen their kiss. She moaned at the feel of his tongue running along her bottom lip, before slowly slipping into her mouth, mingling their tastes, rolling her tongue against his, pushing it back for access to his mouth.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, Clark pulled her into his lap, needing her closeness. Calea ran her hands through his curls, smirking at how soft they were, shifting she straddled his lap and pressed their chests together. Clark frowned, hearing the tone of her moan change and pulled back, searching her face.

“What's wrong, Calea?” He whispered, watching her heart start to pound in her chest.

“My head hurts.” She sighed, the edge of her vision swam and pulsed, a high frequency hum in her ears. “A lot.”

“Cause we kissed.” He gulped, licking his lips.

“No, this is something else.” She groaned, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

“Tell me what to do?” He begged her, rubbing her back.

“It'll pass.” She said softly, already feeling it start too.

“Has that ever happened before?” Clark asked, relaxing as he heard her heart calm.

“Once or twice in my life.” She replied, relaxing against his solid body. “It passes as quickly as it happens.”

“Maybe, you should rest.” He suggested, twisting to the side and laid her down, carefully covering her up. “You're probably still weak.”

Calea caught his hand as he stood up. “Stay with me?”

“I'm not going anywhere.” He smiled at her, gently squeezing her hand, then waved his hand in front of the sensor by the door, like Calea had when they walked in, turning the lights off.

Spotting a chair, Clark pulled it up beside Calea's bed and picked up The Lore of Selians and Earth that still sat on the edge of her bed, flipping open its cover. His fingertips ghosting over the table of contents, then flipped several chapters in, stopping at a chapter titled: the Creation of Man.

It started seven thousand years ago, it stated, when a group of Selians arrived on what would later be named Earth, three men and three women. They found the planet purely by accident, but finding the water, land and atmosphere habitable and yielding, they decided to stay. Each of the couples went their separate ways, knowing in order to forge new lives on Earth, they would need to separate and sow their oats from different corners. At first, they would return to their landing area and reunite, sharing their growths and changes, their strives and failures. But, the more their societies grew the harder the pilgrimage became, more and more time came between the meetings until the meeting point was forgotten, as well as the reason for the meeting.

Selians had forgotten who they had once been to each other, family and friends. As time progressed they lost all memory of their home world and their abilities as Selians, they became the first Humans. When their paths crossed they would bicker and war, claiming their beliefs and lands were better than the others, forming the Tribes of Men.

A thousand years later, a ship arrived to these Tribes, demanding the objects their ancestors brought with them upon their arrival to Earth. But, none of the Tribes could tell these strange beings where these objects were, let alone what they were.

“You have forgotten your History, your People.”

“No, we made our own History and People.” One of the Humans spat at their feet. “If your People are so advanced why do you not know where they've hidden these things?”

“Because, you were tasked with protecting them and you failed.” the Selian hissed back.

“Not any longer.”

Enraged, the Selians washed their hands of the Humans and went on their way to try and find the ship the original Selians came to Earth in and should have the objects they seek hidden at. They sought out any clues they could find, leading them all over the lands the Tribes of Men occupied. They would find clues here and there to the possible origin of the craft. An old legend spoke of a place that homed large populations of vicious dogs and giant brown furred creatures, leading them to the Carpathian Mountains. Another legend told of a country surrounded by mountains with none of its own and numerous bodies of water. But, the Tribes of Men never found out if the Selians found what they sought, for Steppenwolf arrived on Earth and all efforts were turned in stopping his rampage.

An alarm started screaming through the ship, startling Calea upright and out of bed. Stumbling through the door of her bedroom and through the winding halls, Clark followed after her.

“Sec, shut off the alarms!” She yelled out in Solean and growled when the noise kept sounding. “Sec, for fuck sake!” She huffed, waving her hand in front of a sensor and stepping into the control room of the ship.

“Sec?” Clark frowned, glancing around. “You named the ship, Sec.”

“Selian Eternal Craft, Sec.” Calea replied, dropping into a seat and working various things on the console until the alarm turned off. “Sec?”

“My Lady?” The Craft replied.

“What's with all the noise?” She asked, leaning back in her seat.

“Alien life detected.”

Calea snorted and rolled her eyes. “Which Alien life, Sec? Mine, his or everything Human on this planet?”

“Six kilometres above our current location.” Sec replied.

Clark and Calea exchanged looks. “Show me.”

A light at the top of the console came on and a wide screen was projected from it, showing where the ship was, the surface and a blinking red dot that was steadily getting closer.

“Identify.” She said, swiveling in her chair to reach another console.

“Scanning.”

“What can I do?” Clark asked, watching her get up and go out of the room for a moment.

“Currently?” Calea's voice echoed to him. “Nothing, unless you can tell me what the fucking is digging through almost four miles of bedrock to a craft no one, but me, Ryder and now you should know about.”

“Couldn't it just be Ryder?”

“If it was, Sec would have told me it was Ryder, he's designed to identify us. So, if it says 'alien life form' it's assuredly not Ryder.” She replied, coming back into the room.

“Scan complete.”

“Spit it out then.”

“Semi-organic life form.”

“Semi?” Calea frowned, lifting a quizzical brow. “What's the non-organic part?”

“Technological.” Sec replied with a beep.

Calea frowned at Clark, head tilting to the side. “Victor?”

“He is half Human and half Cyborg.” Clark nodded, frowning at the rapidly approaching dot.

“Sec, full security measures until I say otherwise.” Calea said, getting up. “Stay here.” She tossed over her shoulder, going back down to her room.

Going into her closet, Calea pulled out several articles of clothing and stripped out of the clothes she had been wearing. Sighing, she slipped on the clothing she pulled out, securing a set of buckles at her thighs, waist and torso, before going back to join Clark, seeing the object was almost on them. Clark looked Calea over in her new outfit and got a Cyberpunk vibe from her, smirking.

“What?” She frowned, catching him out the corner of her eye.

“Nothing.” He grinned, guilty. “You look good.”

“Thanks.” She blushed, shaking her head at him.

“Object arrival, one minute.” Sec chimed.

Drumming her fingers against the console and biting her lip, Calea shook her head. “Remove the security measures and open the hatch.” She ordered, pushing off the console and going to the back of the ship.

“What if it isn't Victor?” Clark asked, keeping in stride with her.

“Then, we kill it.” She snorted, smirking at him as the hatch opened, revealing the massive cavern the ship was housed in, stepping off the ramp.

Clark tensed as he stepped off the ramp after her, readying himself for anything that was about to happen. The minute ticked by and the rumble through the cavern echoed off its stone walls, rock falling and breaking apart on the roof of the ship, before whoever it was finally broke through. Clark relaxed, vision honing in.

“It is Victor.”

“How did he find us.” Calea frowned, shaking her head.

“Clark?” Victor's voice echoed out to them. “Calea?”

“What are you doing here?” Clark asked, looking him over.

“I could ask you the same.” Victor replied.

“We asked first.” Calea answered, lifting a brow at him.

“I received a reading here, about an hour ago.” Victor explained to them. “I thought it was something to do with the Mother Boxes.”

“Nothing here, but us and the ship.” Calea replied, glancing around. “There's nothing that should give off a reading like that, unless Steppenwolf has brought the Boxes into the city above.”

“I've already checked that, there's nothing, that's why I came down here.”

“Has there been any other sign of Steppenwolf and the Para-Demons?” Clark asked.

“None, so far.” Victor shook his head. “What are you guys doing down here?”

“This is a Selian ship.” Calea told him, motioning to it. “The one Ryder and I arrived on Earth in. We came here looking for answers.”

“Answers to what?”

Calea looked up at Clark, who nodded at her. “We should return to the Hall, I'll explain it to everyone there.” She told him with a sigh. “And Victor?”

“Yeah?” He lifted his only brow at her.

“Please, cover up the hole you made.” She smirked at him.

He smirked back and nodded his head. “Will do.”

“Go, I'll meet you there.” Calea told Clark, touching his wrist.

“Bu-”

“I have to secure the ship, I'll be fine.” She assured him, pushing up on her toes and kissed his cheek, a lopsided smirk on her face at Victor's shocked expression. “Off you go, Superman. You don't have to worry about this Damsel always being in distress.” She teased him.

“The world out there needs you too.”

“If you're sure.” Clark sighed, tilting his face down closer to hers.

“I'm positive.” She assured him, squeezing his arm and heading back inside the ship. “Sec, close the hatch.” She said, not looking back over her shoulder to Clark.

“Where have the two of you been?” Victor asked as Clark met up with him.

“Around.” Clark answered, looking through the pinprick of light in the ceiling above them.

“Ryder is pissed with you, by the way.” He told him. “So, expect an earful when we get back to the Hall.”

Clark frowned back at the ship, biting the inside of his lip, then shook his head and took off through the opening Victor had made. Calea paced the control area of the ship and ran her hands through her hair, mind racing. How was a Mother Box signal produced in the same area as the ship? There shouldn't be any type of that technology on the ship.

“Sec, full scan the ship. Inform me of any abnormalities.”

“Right away, my Lady.” Sec replied and started the scan. “Scan complete.”

“Well?” Calea sighed, leaning against the console.

“No abnormalities found.”

“What the fuck!�� Calea roared, slamming her hand down on the console. “Why can't anything ever make sense.” She mumbled, dropping limply into the command chair behind her, rubbing at her temples. “Sec, maintain all security measures.”

“Security on full.”

“Good, thank you.” She sighed, rubbing her face and pushing up out of the chair.

“Where did you take her?” Ryder demanded as Clark entered the Hall of Justice. “And where is she now?”

“Where I took her, is my private business.” Clark replied, undaunted by him. “And where she is, is where she wants to be. She'll be here, momentarily.”

“She better be.”

“You know, I'm a grown ass woman.” Calea's voice echoed through the main hall.

“A grown woman, who downed Para-Demon blood and almost got herself killed because of it.” Ryder hissed, turning towards her. “Then, kidnapped.”

“He didn't kidnap me, you drama queen.” She barked, shaking her head at him. “He saved my life.”

“Then, where did he take you.”

“That's none of your business, and it doesn't fucking mean he kidnapped me, Ryder.” Calea sighed, temples throbbing. “Why are you always like this?”

“I was tasked to protect you.”

“And all you're doing is suffocating me!” She screamed, at her wit's end.

“Let's just calm down.” Diana said, stepping between them. “She's all right and that's all that matters.”

“Did you learn anything?” Bruce asked, looking between Clark and Calea.

“Several things.” Calea replied, eyeballing Ryder.

“Then, let's go discuss them.” Bruce said, motion towards the round table.

The group sat around the table, Alfred brought out various drinks and Calea started to lay out everything that happened since she drank the Para-Demon's blood, while sipping a cup of tea. Clark sat beside her, putting himself between her and Ryder.

“I learned that Steppenwolf is looking for another Box and a Key that goes, not only, with that Box, but also the Mother Boxes.”

“What does the Key do to the Boxes?” Bruce asked, frowning at her.

“I believe the Key makes whatever Box it is in, stronger.” Calea replied with a sigh. “But, this fourth Box, can destroy the Mother Boxes.”

“Well, if it destroys the Mother Boxes, why would Steppenwolf want it?” Diana asked, tilting her head.

“To destroy it?” Calea shrugged. “If he took it out of our hands, we would have one less thing to stop him from using the Mother Boxes. It could also do something even worse than the Mother Boxes, for all we know.”

“Have you had any luck in finding the Key and Box?” Bruce inquired, troubled.

“We, well, Calea, discovered why the Para-Demons were in Romania.” Clark chimed in. “In a mine shaft, directly under where we fought them, was a strange room.” He explained.

“What was in the room?”

“Ancient Solean writings.” Calea picked up. “Part of the Lore of how Selians became Humans and colonized Earth all those years ago.” She took another sip of her tea. “It was then I got the idea that Steppenwolf must be picking through Human-Selian History and Lore, looking for any reference to the Box and Key. Since, when the two were made my Grandfather, Gretan, had them stolen and sealed into a special room.”

“Then, wouldn't they still be on your home planet?”

“Yes, if my Father didn't have them sent here, when Steppenwolf started his rampage through the Universe with the Mother Boxes, fearing that he would come for them next to make himself even more powerful.”

“We were combing through the Lore at the spaceship that Calea and Ryder arrived in, when Victor showed up.” Clark added, glancing at Victory across the table.

“You were at the ship?” Ryder asked, shocked. “You took him to the ship?”

“Victor said, he found a signal that came from the same area, which is how the three of us met up.” Calea continued, ignoring Ryder.

“It was a signal almost similar to the Mother Boxes, but I only found Clark and Calea there.” Victor added, awkwardly glancing at Ryder, whose face was beet red.

“I scanned the ship after they left to return here, but it didn't find anything out of the ordinary.”

Bruce sat back in his chair, rubbing the tips of his fingers into his graying temples. “Is there anything from the Lore you learned to tell us where Steppenwolf could be looking next?”

“Well,” Clark cleared his throat. “I read in one of the books, that a group of Selians arrived here on Earth not long after Humans forgot who they truly were, looking for where their ancestors, the Selians that colonized the planet, had first landed on their arrival, believing that's where this Box and Key were located.” He paraphrased. “I didn't get to finish it, but one of the places they were searching was 'surrounded by mountains, with none of its own, and several bodies of water.' I don't think it said exactly where that is. But, at least it's semi-identifying.”

“Victor, do you think you could find such a place?” Diana asked.

“It would have to be a place no less than six thousand years old.” Calea told him, building on the information. “That's about how long ago it was, when Selians arrived here.”

“I can do some looking around for a place that matches that general description. It might take a hot second.”

“Well, until Steppenwolf makes the next move, we have nothing else we can do.” Bruce groaned, rubbing his scruffy face.

-- Part IV --

#Of Truth and Justice *fic* #Of Truth and Justice #Viking-Raider Fics #Clark Kent #Clark Kent/OFC #Kal-El #Kal-El/OFC #Superman #Superman/OFC #Justice League #Justice League AU #Calea #Calea Stormborn #Parademons #Steppenwolf #Apokolips #Apokoliptian #fortress of solitude #Antarctic #Romania #Rating: PG #HenryCavill #Henry Cavill #victor Stone #Cyborg #Diana Prince #wonder woman #Bruce Wayne #batman #ray fisher

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Marco’s Home for Lost Boys

GleefullyCaptainSwan

Read on AO3 - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 (Or on FF if that’s your thing)

Tagging:

@kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda

Chapter 11: Reckoning

Killian was staring out at the ocean for what felt like hours. He had become so distracted that he hadn’t even lifted the anchor. He feared sailing out to sea in his condition.

He stepped into the bowels of his ship, looking at all the crates that Neal had him storing in his hold and his anger began to rise again. This needed to stop.

He took the photo out of his jacket and his resolve grew. He wasn’t going to let Neal get to Emma. He didn’t care if that meant everyone hated him or that he had to grovel with Graham in order to expose Gold’s secrets.

His entire life he had protected Emma and he wasn’t going to stop now just because he was ashamed of who he had become.

He ran down the plank and made the walk across the parking lot to the police station.

“I’m here to see Sheriff Graham.”

“One moment, let me see if he’s available.”

He nodded and took a seat next to the window. He hated the police station. Just sitting here made him feel like he was already guilty.

He was.

“I must say, I didn’t think you would show.” He looked up to see Graham’s smug face staring at him with apprehension.

“That makes two of us.”

“Let’s talk.” He sighed in annoyance and walked to the back of the station; Killian reluctantly followed him.

Of course, Graham would put him in one of the interrogation rooms. He knew that the man wanted to give the appearance of having the upper hand over him.

“Have a seat.” He gestured for him to sit in the chair.

“I’ll stand.”

“Of course, you will.” He says with annoyance. “So, Emma says you wanted to share some information.”

“Perhaps.”

“Either you do, or you don’t. I’m a busy man so don’t waste my time.”

Killian looked around the station. No one else was there except the man at the front desk. Raising his eyebrow, he chuckled. “Yes, things look so out of hand here.”

“Look, I’m only doing this because Emma asked me to. It’s no secret I don’t exactly like you.”

“Well, the feelings mutual then, Mate.” He plops down in the chair.

“Do you have information or not?”

“I happen to have lots of information, so really it just depends on what kind information it is you are interested in.”

“Gold. Stick to the damn information about Gold. What’s your job?”

“You are already aware that I play pirate on the Jolly Roger.”

He slams his hand on the table. “For Gold. What do you do for Gold?!”

Killian sighed. “Fine. You know, just for the record, I had no idea what he did when he hired me. I didn’t go looking for trouble.”

“Yeah, but it always finds you doesn’t it, Jones.”

“I suppose that’s a fair assessment.” He conceded.

“So, when did you realize it wasn’t on the up and up?”

“After a month I suppose. I was curious about what was in the envelopes I was gathering for Gold.”

“Cash?”

“Aye. A shit lot of it.”

“So, what was the money for?”

“At the time I wasn’t sure. I only picked up the envelopes. I didn’t ask questions. People who ask questions don’t usually show up for their next job.”

He growled, his annoyance obviously hitting his max. “Do you know anything? Because so far, you sure seem to know nothing.”

“Do you want my fucking help or…”

Suddenly the entire police station shook. They both looked at each other. “What the hell was that?”

“Sir, there was an explosion at the dock.” The man from the front desk stuck his head into the room.

Killian got up and followed Graham to the front of the station and that’s when he saw it.

Emma’s yellow bug idling next to his motorcycle.

He shoved Graham out of the way and ran toward the docks. Her car was still running with the door wide open. He looked down toward the pier. From what he could see, the spot his ship used to be sitting had been completely destroyed, fire was burning on the wreckage of what was left of her that was still floating.

He stopped thinking. His feet were numb.

“Emma.” He screamed as he pounded down the ramp to the bottom of the pier. “EMMA!”

No No No!

“Killian, isn’t that your ship?” Graham yelled from the top of the ramps to the docks.

He was looking around frantically. “Emma.” He yelled again.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw red under a large piece of wreckage on the dock.

Emma’s jacket.

His feet carried him as fast as they could run and he dropped to his knees, ripping up pieces of broken wood and throwing them behind him.

Oh God, please be alright.

He yanked the last plank from her body and cradled her into his arms, protecting her head in the base of his hands.

“Emma, please.” He begged, peppering her hair with soft kisses.

“Oh my God, is that Emma?” Graham ran up behind him, “I’ll call an ambulance.” He opened his cell phone and dialed. “What the hell happened here?”

Killian shook his head. His ship was gone, Emma was hurt. He had no idea what happened.

Why was she on the docks?

He rocked her back and forth in his arms. “Please wake up, Love. Please, I can’t do this without you.”

Her pulse was weak. Her hair was covered in soot. She had scrapes on her face and her hands. There was blood on her shirt. He had searched beneath the clothing trying to find the source. As far as he could see it was small cuts here and there. His biggest concern was the gash in the base of her skull. She must have hit her head during the blast.

If not for the destruction around them, he would have thought she was merely sleeping. She was peaceful curled around him, cradled against his chest.

He would give anything to go back to that night where she slept in his bed. He remembered her looking angelic in the hours he stayed up watching her toss in her sleep. If only he could go back and wake her with a kiss and tell her he never wanted her to leave.

“Killian, you have to let go of her.” He felt someone pulling on his arm. “Jones. They need to take her.” He looked up to see Graham staring at him. It was only then that he noticed the paramedics trying to assist Emma. “She won’t wake up.” He mumbled.

“It’s ok, we’ve got her. But we need you to let go.”

He nodded and released her to the man in uniform. He fell back against the crate and watched them put her onto the stretcher. He couldn’t feel anything. He stared blankly ahead.

Suddenly strong hands were pulling him to his feet. “Come on Jones, I’ll drive. David is going to meet us at the hospital.”

He stumbled forward and followed Graham to his cruiser, barely registering the fact that his soot covered cheeks were soaked with tears that continued to fall.

~

An hour later, Killian was sitting next to Emma’s bed, lazily rubbing circles on Emma’s hand. The constant beeps that annoyed him when they first arrived in the room were now serving as a sort of reassurance. She still hadn’t woken up but as long as those beeps continued, he convinced himself that she was going to be alright.

“I’m going to make some calls and see if they have found out anything about the explosion.”

Killian glanced toward Graham who stood from his chair against the wall and walked out of the room. He realized he didn’t even know the man had been in the room.

“I know you’re in there, Emma.” He whispered against her ear. “I wish I knew why you were on the pier or what happened down there. You gotta wake up and talk to me.”

He let his lips lightly graze hers, a tear sliding onto his cheek. “You have no idea what you mean to me.”

He let his forehead rest against hers. “I love you. Please wake up.”

Beep…Beep…Beep

“I came as soon as I could, what the hell happened?” David burst through the door and rushed to Emma’s other side.

Killian stood up quickly. “I don’t know. I was talking to Graham when we heard an explosion on the docks. I found her down there.” His voice was shaky.

“Yeah, that’s the story Graham told me, I was hoping you would know why the hell your ship exploded and why Emma was next to it when it did.” He eyed him for a moment. “And why were you talking to Graham anyway?”

Killian swallowed, trying to stay calm. “We have much to talk about, but right now is not the time. I can’t answer what she was doing there or what happened to my ship. I fear I have just as much information as you do.”

Beep…Beep…Beep

David looked down at Emma. “Have the doctors said anything?”

He shook his head sadly. “Nothing, just that they expect her to wake up at some point. She hit her head pretty hard. I suspect it was the railing based on where I found her.”

“I got ahold of Robin and Will earlier. They should be on their way.”

“Ah thanks, I guess I haven’t been in the right frame of mind.”

“It’s understandable, I’m just glad you were here for Emma.”

“Aye.”

The entire room erupted in noise as Will and Robin sprang into the room.

“Where is she? Is she alright?”

There were many questions and expressions of concern and worry and yet Emma remained stoically quiet, her eyes still closed.

Beep…Beep…Beep

~

“You have no idea what you mean to me. I love you. Please wake up.”

Emma felt like someone was playing the drums in her ears. Each loud thump caused her head to hurt more.

Beep…Beep…Beep

She tried to remember why her head hurt.

She was talking to Neal. He was being a jerk.

That was no surprise.

She slapped him. She definitely remembered how good it felt to do that.

But then she had left Neal. She was driving somewhere.

Where was she going?

The ship. She was headed to Killian’s ship.

Why was she looking for Killian?

And then she remembered. She was on the docks. There was an Explosion. Killian’s ship exploded in front of her. She didn’t get to him in time.

She lost Killian.

She felt the tears welling inside of her and she wanted to scream in sadness. Nothing was coming out of her mouth.

Why couldn’t she scream?

She heard a groan. It was coming from her. She needed to open her eyes. She blinked; streams of light brought on intense pain. She squeezed them closed again.

“Killian.” She felt like she had eaten an entire bag of cotton balls as she tried to use her vocal cords.

Her eyes blinked slowly again, lightness flooding her.

“Emma.”

She turned her head, her eyes fluttering, trying to focus on anything in the room.

And then she saw blue. He was there. He was alive.

“Are you real?” Her voice was hoarse and deep.

“Of course, I am Love.” He held her hand in his, her fingers pressed against his mouth as he peppered kisses to her knuckles.

“But you were…” She coughed and her throat hurt.

“Shh, don’t try and talk.”

“Sh..Ship.” She groaned. “Your ship. Explosion.”

“Yes, Emma my ship exploded. I don’t know what happened. I don’t even know why you were there.”

“Neal.” She swallowed hard, hoping to coat her throat with enough saliva so that she could speak easier.

“What about Neal, Love?”

She coughed and tried to sit up, but his hands kept her against her pillow. She needed to tell him before something else happened to him.

“Emma, you can’t get up.”

“No, Neal, he did this. The crates on your ship. He told me.”

“Wait, Neal told you what? When were you with Neal?”

“He said you were going to see your brother again. I went straight to the docks; he knew you were sailing, I tried to stop you. I saw the ship explode, I thought you were on it, I thought I lost you.” She was sobbing and shaking.

“Emma, please stop.” He was hugging her tightly. “You need to relax. I’m fine. I left the ship earlier to talk to Graham.”

She lay back on her pillow and pushed the tears out of her eyes. She looked up at Killian who was a million miles away in thought. She reached out and pressed her palm to his cheek and he blinked.

“I’m so sorry, he was trying to hurt me.” He whispered. “Either way, he succeeded because he hurt you.”

“I’m ok Killian.” She smiled.

“What about next time?” His voice raised to a yell and then quickly calmed.

She gulped.

“Get some sleep. There’s something I have to do.”

Emma tried to sit up again. “Killian, no, he’s not worth it.”

He kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry Love, I’m not going to see Neal. I’m doing this your way. I need to see Graham.”

~

A day of Reckoning was coming.

He shoved the door to the police station open, the small bell ringing over the door. It was past midnight, but he knew Graham was working the overnight shift. There was no one at the front desk at this hour so he pushed through the small door and headed to the back offices.

Graham stepped into his line of sight. “Jones, is everything alright? Is it Emma?” He seemed less hostile than he was earlier, yet there was something off about Graham. He seemed almost reserved toward Killian. Perhaps it was his concern for Emma.

He waved him off, “She’s alright. She woke up an hour ago.”

The tension in his shoulders relaxed. “Oh, thank God. So, what are you doing here?” He asked cautiously.

Killian squared his shoulders. “I’ll help you take down the Gold Empire.” His jaw clenched. “On one condition.”

Graham shook his head. “I’m not a judge, Jones, I can’t promise that you won’t do jail time.”

“I don’t care what happens to me. And you can do whatever you want to Gold.”

“So, what’s your condition?”

“Neal Cassidy is mine.”

He laughed. “Ok Jones, maybe it’s time you and I have a real chat.”

~

It took hours to walk through everything with Graham. He couldn’t tell if the man was feeling vindicated for having a hunch that turned out to be correct or overwhelmed by the fact that the revelations were much worse than he imagined.

“So, what is he trading then? In the ships that move inventory every night?”

“Mostly drugs, but I’ve seen guns occasionally. Felix controls the docks. So, he keeps the inventory log.”

“How did we not catch this after all these years?”

“Well to be fair, he owns a lot of people in this town. It’s easy to cover something up when so many have their hands in it and are making money off it.”

“And Neal seems to be taking on a bigger role?”

He shrugs, “Neal has become a bigger dick if that’s what you mean, but I fear that has more to do with Emma. However, the older he gets the more Gold entrusts him with.”

“Did Emma know that Neal was involved in this the whole time?”

He paused. “That’s not my story to tell. What I will say is that Emma is a smart girl, and she knew enough to remain away from him.”

“So why didn’t you get out? Why keep working for Gold.”

“I had my reasons. None of them will matter to you. I tried to get out. The ship was part of that plan. But things did not work out the way I had hoped.”

“This have anything to do with Milah and how suddenly I don’t see the two of you meeting up at the park at 9pm anymore.”

Killian’s brow raised. “Cheeky bastard.”

“Sorry, but I am a cop, I’ve had you on my radar for a while. I stopped following you when I realized the intent of the meeting had nothing to do with business or Gold.”

“Oh, how I wish that was true.” He said sadly.

Graham seemed surprised. “Milah works for Gold?”

Killian stared at his hands resting on the table in front of him. “Yes.” He said softly.

“I always thought the two of you were thick as thieves back in high school, even when you tried to hide it. I guess you could say I was partly right.”

Bastard.

“My relationship with Milah is not part of this discussion. I will tell you however that she is with Gold in more ways than one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s just say their relationship is both professional and carnal.”

Graham’s face scrunched in disgust. “Ewww.”

Killian chuckled. “Not quite the reaction I had when I found out.”

Graham continued taking notes in his book and then paused and looked up at him. “We’re going to have to bring David in on this.”

Killian tensed. “I feared that would be the case.”

“I can give you til tomorrow evening to tell him yourself, but after that I’m afraid it’s going to come from me.”

“Thank you, Mate, I appreciate that.”

He looked like he was contemplating his next thought before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you’ve been doing for the last 3 hours.” He chuckled.

“Why are you coming in now?”

Killian met his eyes. He reached into his jacket pocked and found the photo he had been debating on providing and tossed it on the table.

Graham took it apprehensively and then his eyes widened.

“What the hell is this, Jones?”

“I found it on my ship. Before it went Kaboom.” He shrugged.

“And you’re just giving the damn thing to me now?”

A man walked in the room and looked between Graham and Killian before speaking. “Boss I need to speak to you.” He looked at Killian and then continued in a whisper. “In private.”

Graham walked out of the room closing the door behind him leaving Killian with his anxious thoughts of how he was going to tell David everything that was going on and the decisions he had made.

He was never going to hear the end of the lecture once he had the full story. David had the purest heart of anyone he had known and behaving in any way that was less than honorary was a huge disappointment to him.

The door opened and Graham was holding a folder in his hand. “I need you to look at something.”

Killian sat up in his chair as the folder was tossed across the table to him.

“Do you recognize this man?”

He flipped open the manila paper and stared at the photo of a mangled and bleeding man.

He turned the photo over to face right side up and his eyes went wide. “That’s Felix.”

“Well, it was Felix.” Graham corrected. “They just found him in the wreckage on the docks.”

~

“Would you stop fussing, I’m fine.”

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” Will yanks her pillow and pushes it around her back.

“I can still smack the shit out of you! Stop doing that!” She reaches out and smacks his arm away from her bed sheets.

“Bloody hell. That hurt!”

“Will, would you just go out on your date with Belle, please?”

“Oh, I’m gonna cancel with Belle. I want to make sure you are taken care of now that you’re home.”

“That’s not going to happen unless you leave.” She groaned loudly as he continued to fuss back and forth in her room.

“I swear if the two of you don’t stop fighting, I’m going to ground you both.”

They both look up to see David leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed and a look of amusement on his face.

“Please tell him I don’t need a babysitter. I’m fine.”

David laughed. “Will, it’s good. Go. I’m not leaving for a few hours and Killian just got home.”

Emma felt a flutter in her heart at the mention that Killian was there. She hadn’t seen him since he left the hospital last night. He did not return when she was released from the hospital either. She needed to know what happened with Graham.

If she was being honest, she just needed to see his face. She longed to feel his touch again. She was so relieved to know he was alive. That she hadn’t lost him.

“See, I have enough babysitters. Go on your date. You waited 21 years for Belle, please don’t waste another day.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Fine, but you’re a right pain in the arse, you know, that right?”

She winked at him. “Only for you dear.”

“You alright, Emma? Need anything?”

“I’m good David, I’m just need some rest.”

“Take all the time you need.” David switched off her light and pulled the door partially closed behind him.

~

Emma woke with a start in a darkened room, voices being raised somewhere in the house.

She sat up, wincing at the stabbing pain she felt from head to toe.

“What in the hell were you thinking?”

“Not everyone can be you, mate!”

Emma grasped the door and used the structure to keep her standing upright then took a small step into the hallway.

“All these years you’ve been lying to us!”

“I’m trying to make things right.”

“It’s a little late for that don’t you think?”

Emma followed the sound of the raised voices and turned the corner to see David and Killian locked in a shouting match in the living room.

“I get it, you’re disappointed, but I’m trying to do the right thing here.” Killian yelled.

“You almost got Emma killed!” Killian flinched and David took a step toward him. “This is your fault.”

“Stop shouting at each other.”

Both men’s eyes snapped toward her. David moved quickly to her side.

“Emma why are you out of bed. Sit down.” He grabbed her by the arm and Emma yanked it away from him.

“I can take care of my damn self.” She looked up to see Killian masking a slight grin.

David sighed. “Let me get you back to bed. Killian and I were just talking about something.”

“It sounded more to me like you were blaming him for my being hurt, and that is really unfair of you David.”

“Emma, you don’t understand what is going on here.”

“If you’re talking about Gold, I already know.”

David’s mouth parted and he looked between her and Killian.

“Emma.” Killian finally spoke.

“No, you will not protect me either.” She turned back to David. “He’s trying to do the right thing, David.”

“How could you know about this and not tell me?” He argued.

“It was not my secret to tell, David.”

“This is different.” He scowled.

“Marco always told us that it didn’t matter what wrong we had done in our past as long as we allowed the future to lead us to the right path.”

David’s head dropped. “Emma, this is serious. What he’s doing with Gold could have gotten you killed.”

“Neal caused this. Not Killian. Neal. I was the one involved with Neal. That’s on me.” She yelled.

“His ship exploded!” He shouted.

“And thank God he wasn’t on it. Did you think about that? Did you think about the fact that maybe Killian could be dead right now? Because I do. I watched that ship explode in front of my eyes and I thought he was on it. So, I think I’ll take a few scratches over the alternative.”

Her eyes met Killian’s across the room, and he lowered his head sadly, his eyes glossed over.

“So, what the hell do you want me to do now?” David sighed. “All is just forgiven?”

“No, I get that you are upset and I’m not telling you that we just let it go. But right now, we need to help Killian make this right. Because ridding this town of Gold isn’t going to be easy. Hell, just a few months ago you thought all this was a conspiracy that Graham made up in his head. It’s been going down right in front of your face for years, David.”

“And that makes it ok, because I didn’t see it?”

“No, but we’re family. And that means we stand by each other.”

“Thank you, Swan.” Killian said weakly. “David, I want to fix this. Things are getting out of hand.”

David laughed. “You’re telling me!”

“People are getting hurt, killed. They found one of Gold’s men on the pier when they were cleaning up the wreckage. Things are escalating, David.”

David hung his head and sighed loudly. “Ok. Let’s just deal with the problem at hand first, then we will all sit down, as a family, and work through this.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, Mate.”

There was a loud knock on the door and David and Killian exchanged glances.

David walked to the door with his hand on his hip, cautiously touching the pistol that was attached there.

He opened the door slightly before standing down. “Hey Graham, what’s going on?”

Graham stepped into the house with a serious look on his face.

“I fear I’m not here for a social visit.” He frowned and then stepped toward Killian.

“What’s happened?” Killian asked.

“Jones, I’m afraid I need to take you in to the station, I have an arrest warrant.”

Emma stepped forward between the two men. “What the hell for?”

“Emma please, we can talk about this at the station.” Graham pulled his handcuffs off his belt as Emma stared in horror.

“Mate, can you at least tell me what I’m being arrested for?”

“Killian Jones, you are under arrest for the murder of Felix Hernandez.”

Notes:

Not sure how many chapters are left. I had originally planned to go to 15 but I just wrote what I thought was going to be Chapter 13 and only used the first 3 notes from my plan so this might go a bit past 15 but not too many past :) Thanks again for sticking around.

#Marco's home for lost boys #stacy's fics #my fic #emma x killian #killian jones #emma x hook #emma swan #captainswan #captain swan #captain swan au #captain swan fics #captain swan modern au

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (5)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: I’m so sorry it took way longer than it should :((( Work got me close to a burnout and my laptop’s sometimes a lil bitch ;-; I should pick up the pick soon, but thank you for still reading this fic! I really appreciate it ❤

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions | Trigger warning: Graphic bodily descriptions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 | Previous: Part 4 | Next: Part 6 | Masterlist

5 of ?

Cal reluctantly left the structure with his companions. Throughout the entire exit, the Jedi never spoke a word, Larki and Morzen could do nothing but glance at him every once in a while until they mounted their speeders again.

Not even BD-1 himself could get a response from his owner.

Throughout their exit from the structure, Cal spoke nothing. Larki and Morzen could only catch a glimpse of the Jedi, neither of them can say something of value to him—perhaps nothing at all. The three of them mounted their speeders and without even waiting for the two, Cal revs up the engine of his bike and sped out. Fortunately, Larki was able to catch up as soon as his own speeder sputtered to life.

The small search party returned to the temple ruins, as they were told by Cere via comlink in the middle of their drive. Cal’s entrance rattled some of the rebels loitering within the ruins’ vicinity, Cere included; when she saw that the headcount remained the same as they left, her heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

“Cal, where is [Y/N]?”

Silence. Cal’s eyes drooped, avoiding eye contact with Cere.

“Cal, where is [Y/N]?” Cere spoke through her clenched teeth while her fists shook with a confusion of anger, worry, and fear.

“T-This…” Cal stammered, unfolding his fingers to show the bracelet to Cere, which she instantly recognizes to be yours.

“That’s all they found?” the woman’s voice cracked.

Cere covered her gaping mouth with trembling hands, in full shock of the discovery, and her breathing became shaky. Her hands fell to her chest, as if her heart’s about to burst through her ribcage. Eventually, Merrin and Greez were drawn to the scene, quickly, the Nightsister spotted the trinket in Cal’s hand; she held her gasp and her eyebrows furrowed, she brought her hands to her mouth but they stopped at her chest.

Greez worriedly uttered your name.

Cal was given time to be alone. He stayed in one of the chambers of the temple that served as a sleeping quarters. For the rest of the day, Cal was exempted from strategy conferences by the grace of the empathetic Jax. The grief-stricken Jedi never let go of your bracelet, however, he was unresponsive even to the little boy staring at him as he sits on the floor in the far corner of the room.

BD-1 chirps and beeps from time to time, trying to fish a word out of Cal, but he would speak very little.

“She’s not gone, BD… I know it. So, why don’t they believe me? They look like they don’t,” Cal’s eyes trailed, aligning it with BD who’s nestled on the space between his crossed legs. “I’m not crazy, aren’t I?”

The little droid shook its head in reply, BD-1 nudged your bracelet with his head’s visor, followed by a sad, long beep that faded out. The hours felt like only minutes to the boy, he leaned his head against the cold, cobblestone wall and eventually dozed off.

That night, Cere personally went to the Cal’s room with a tray of food. Cal has lost track of the time that he didn’t wake in time for dinner. It was BD-1 who sensed Cere coming into the room, a quiet chirp emitted from the droid, and the woman carefully walked into his bedroom to set the tray down on a podium. Even upon her presence, Cal didn’t wake up; Cere’s eyes wandered to his open hand, one cord of the bracelet dangles out of his palm. She took a deep sigh and didn’t bother waking up to remind him to eat.

“Keep an eye out for him, BD, please…” she softly pleaded and then left. “And tell him to eat when he wakes.”

A good chunk of minutes passed after she left the room and Cal finally wakes. He blinks several times until his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room in the moonless night; the first thing he notices is the power lamp sitting next to his futon built from straw, animal hide, and mismatched pieces of cloth sewn together.

“Hey, BD… dozed for a long time, haven’t I?”

“Boo!” BD nodded and then gestured to the tray that Cere had left.

Cal’s stomach ferociously growled when his nostrils flared upon picking up the scent of the food—albeit having gone cold for a time. The rations weren’t exactly a culinary art, neither was it a cuisine, but it was enough to sate an empty stomach—the adrenaline from earlier had dulled Cal of his senses and awareness of the goings-on in his body, only then was he starting to realize just how hungry he is.

Cere had sneakily doubled the servings for each food type she’s prepared for Cal: three scoops of Lemus corn, a bowl of bone broth nearly filled to the brim, and two turkey drumsticks—instead of one as imposed by Jax to conserve rations per headcount.

“Looks like the fighters must’ve looted the Imps’ storehouse, huh?”

“Woo!”

The Jedi scrambled towards the food and helped himself, however, he didn’t exactly scarf down whatever’s on the platter. He only ate what he wanted and had some leftovers. He dismissed it and returned the tray on the podium.

—–

The Inquisitors, Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, charted a course to one of the Imperial medical outposts and also their satellite fortress—a smaller likeness of their stronghold like that of the one in Nur—in Mons Golotha, a moon situated in the Outer Rim.

“We are bound to Mons Golotha in T-Minus 35 minutes, Seventh Sister,” reported the command ship’s admiral.

“Good, have them prepare a medical capsule for the bodies we’ve recovered—for immediate transfer.”

The admiral bowed in compliance and returned to overseeing the cadets on their computers.

The pair strode in exit of the bridge and to the command ship’s cramped medical bay. The Fifth Brother sensed the Mirialan’s thoughts dwelling on you.

“What’s on your mind, Sister?”

“The girl’s an intriguing subject. She’s going to be very busy in her interrogation when she wakes,”

“If she wakes,” reiterated the Fifth Brother.

There was silence between them as they marched through the corridors. Crew members avoid eye contact as much as possible from the Inquisitors in any way doable—tipping the rims of their uniform caps downwards so their eyes are obscured, others would maintain eye contact while speaking even though they caught the Seventh Sister giving them a passing glance when she entered their periphery.

The pair didn’t mind their fear of them, it was insignificant of them to pick up every single thought and feeling flooding this corridor.

Upon their arrival to the moon, Mons Golotha, they were instantly given confirmation to land and instructed whoever’s capable to transfer the patients from the medical bay to the shuttle for their descent to the surface. A couple of medical specialists assigned in the medbay helped in settling both you and the Second Brother in your own medical capsules, the 2-1B medical droid meticulously configured the control panels of both pods to the optimum setting for each one’s survival from the descent until the complete transfer.

From one medical specialist to another, you and the Second Brother were handed over. While being escorted to your rooms, the doctors and nurses were performing their SOPs in bringing in emergency patients.

“Both of them are in a vegetative state, but he’s in a more critical state. I want an operating table prepped for him and a Bacta tank filled to the brim—infused with antibiotics for his second to third degree burns. This surgery is strongly required pre-Bacta treatment.” Barked one of the doctors who led the way while the Inquisitor pair flanked them.

“The girl’s vitals are stable. I have a heartbeat! Blood pressure is low though, she’s suffering from minor concussions and burns,” diagnosed a second doctor who stood close to your own gurney. “Prepare a Bacta tank for her as well, infuse it with a mild painkiller and antibiotics for her burns so they won’t infect and blister.”

The nurses rushed to comply with the doctors’ orders. Your doctor was astounded with your body’s physical resilience, he wagered it was your fight-or-flight response or your self-preservation instincts despite lying down on the brink of unconsciousness—seconds before the Fifth Brother picked you up and spotted you. He may have not seen what happened to you, but he was sure that you were a fighter—perhaps even more of a fighter than the Second Brother, dare he thinks!

“Alright now, you little darling, let’s get you patched up.”

The female nurses strip you off of your soiled and scorched clothes, washed off the grime and soot that stuck to your skin and face, and attached the apparatus necessary for your body before submerging you to the vat of Bacta.

“How long will they be submerged?” asked the Fifth Brother to the Second Brother’s attending physician.

“That depends on their case, really. In his case, since he’s the most severely injured, it may take him weeks to recover fully—better if he regains consciousness in the middle of his treatment,”

“And…” the gray humanoids jerks his head to you in the tank. “What of her?”

“Well, evidently, her wounds are less fatal compared to the other patient. However, we are detecting some signs of internal bleeding. Recovery may take weeks as well, but perhaps it’ll be shorter for her.”

“Will she have regained her strength when she wakes up?” the Mirialan interjected.

“All of that will be determined on the amount of time she’ll use for rest and recovery,”

The Mirialan hummed and dismissed herself to the doctors. She contacted the Grand Inquisitors in private, reporting the diagnoses of the doctors for both you and the Second Brother, and your involvement with the rebel cell that they’ve encountered in Pevera.

“We found one of the Jedi helping the rebels, m’lord,” reported the Seventh Sister. “But she’s still being taken care of here.”

“Good, let her body relish the remainder of her days where she will not yet feel any pain and anguish,” the Grand Inquisitor snarled through the small hologram projection on the Seventh Sister’s holodisk. “She will answer to us the moment she opens her eyes.”

“The girl is a survivor—a better one than the Second Brother, he didn’t have it easy. I sense something in her, something familiar,”

“Oh? How intriguing,” the Grand Inquisitor took the bait. “I should like to hear what you have to say about this girl, Seventh Sister.”

“Yes, m’lord,”

“See to it that she recovers in her treatment, she has a lot to answer for us,” the Grand Inquisitor added before his hologram fizzled out.

The doctors and their companion medical droids worked on the Second Brother’s surgery meticulously and tirelessly. They picked up a pulse from him and then began their procedure. It was a gruesome image, even for the droids.

For one, a large patch of burnt flesh stands out from the Second Brother’s scarred, olive skin. It covered his left shoulder down to the left half of his torso. Shards and portions of his clothing—both the undershirt and the armor plates—have melted and stuck to his skin, tools were required to separate debris from the flesh. A string of viscous pus connected the removed shrapnel and his blistering, black and red skin. Bodily fluids oozed out from every orifice conceivable on his wounds—throughout the operation, he’s partially conscious, flinching on particular moments where the droids would prod their syringes and quite-delicate mandibles on his skin.

“I sense his hate, even in his dormant state,” the Fifth Brother commented as they watch the operation.

“Likewise. Last I heard, these two were fighting. I’m certain he’ll be most hostile towards her,”

“I checked the database,” the Fifth Brother huffed, and a curious Seventh Sister craned her head to face him. “I found her in the records: [Y/N] [L/N]. Another Jedi survivor, in hiding until she apparently joined the rebels with the other Jedi—Cere Junda and Cal Kestis—and then the Second Brother engaged her while trying to infiltrate the stronghold with the rebels.”

“They’re all the same,” the Mirialan scoffed.

The Inquisitors watched the doctors do their work until the surgeons have finished their job on the Second Brothers and then he was dropped into the tank. The two of you were being observed by the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, she watched the two of you bobbing in the liquid substance like apples in a bucket.

“Doctor, do whatever it takes to speed up the girl’s recovery period. We want her conscious as soon as possible,”

“B-But… Seventh Sister, we haven’t even carefully observed her wounds and their fatalities on her body!”

“Unless you want to be the one strapped to the Imperial torture chair, I suggest you do your job faster,”

“Y-Yes… m-madam.”

The Fifth Brother has gotten the hint of the Seventh Sister’s other plans for you. He’s been sensing it running in her mind ever since.

“Do you think she’ll get the Grand Inquisitor’s attention—even Lord Vader?”

The Mirialan girl turned to the gray humanoid, having to tilt her head back to emphasize their height difference, she smirked.

“I don’t doubt it,”

“And if she refuses?”

The smirked retained. Seventh Sister seemed to be amused to answer his question.

“Well, I think we can persuade her,” she pans her head to your tank: sections of hair floating about like soft tendrils, closed eyes yet bursting with life the open they shoot open, and a weakened spirit that she perceives as a blank slate. “One way or another.”

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis fic #cal kestis x reader fic #force-sensitive! reader #inquisitor! reader #jedi! reader #fake death #jedi turned inquisitor #seduction to the dark side #turn to the dark side #the dark side of the force #aftermath of torture #torture #psychological torture #redemption arc! reader #possible redemption #premonitions #anon #anon ask #anon prompt #anon request #fic #fic request #angst #angst fic #star wars #star wars jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order #swjfo

[cavalierious-whim]

Parlay (FE3H)

FE3h | Sylvix | High-Seas AU | Teen | Complete

This time Sylvain's more than doubled his money, he's doubled his life.

####

A/N: Another one from last year! CW for a vague depiction of stitching up a wound. It's very minor. Read here on AO3 for better quality!

####

“You don’t seem the type to dabble with our kind of lot.”

Sylvain turns to the voice, meeting the youthful face of the captain. He’s younger than expected, but severe-looking with a narrow and angular face and circles cut so deep underneath his eyes that Sylvain wonders exactly what it was that put them there.

“Yeah,” says Sylvain, a signature smirk spreading wide across his face, channeling his well-practiced façade, “Pi--”

“Smugglers,” says the captain, interrupting.

“Smugglers,” repeats Sylvain. He’s not sure why the man cares because everyone already knows what they actually are. Pirates. A dubious lot known for bloodshed and riots, and rum and indulgence. Looking around the ship though, it looks more like a tightly run and well-oiled machine, than a drunken schooner.

The captain watches him for a long moment, midnight hair ruffling in the soft sea breeze. He looks mean, but not mean enough to be in this line of work. Then again, Sylvain’s new to all of this, so it’s not like he knows what to expect.

He’s only heard the wild stories of Felix the Blood Red and his rag-tag group of misfits.

“You’re a little green,” says Felix.

“Oh, I’m used to the sea--”

“I didn’t mean ill.” Felix has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches Sylvain with a critical eye. “I meant new to smuggling.” Nothing seems to escape the man. Sylvain will have to tread lightly.

“Well, I used to run my goods legitimately,” says Sylvain, rubbing at his neck. “My father trusted me to overlook his operations.”

“Should he have?” asks Felix.

“Should he have what?” asks Sylvain.

“Trusted you,” says Felix, impatience creeping into his tone.

“Yes,” says Sylvain. Then he pauses. “At least, until he dealt with the kinds of goods that I don’t like.”

“Drugs?” asks Felix.

“Worse,” says Sylvain. He doesn’t need to elaborate for the both of them to glean his meaning. They both fall silent, Felix’s mouth twitching with slight annoyance and Sylvain feels a little bit guilty. “Oh don’t give me that look, I haven’t brought anything illegal aboard. You can check the crates.”

“Then why hire us?” asks Felix, nosier than Sylvain would like. But where he in his position, Sylvain might be just as nosey, if not more. Mostly because Felix is a cunning and interesting man at first glance. And he bets that the mystery only gets better the more he learns.

“I’m not taking them to where they are supposed to go,” Sylvain says simply. “My father wants things shipped south to the Empire.”

“We’re going north to Sreng,” Felix deadpans.

“Might I remind you that I am Sylvain Gautier.” The Gautier family, also known as the ginger scourge of the north, also known as super doesn’t trade with the Srengese. For reasons.

Felix looks at him differently now that he knows Sylvain’s funneling his father’s goods to the people that his family has all but destroyed over the centuries, lips tugged into a small little frown. And for a moment, Sylvain is worried that Felix will call off the job and dump his shipment into the sea. Sylvain would. He’s inviting more trouble than his coin is probably worth, and that’s not just him talking about his mission.

But then Felix drops his arms and sighs. “It’s none of my business,” says Felix.

“Felix--”

“That’s Captain to you,” Felix cuts in, leveling Sylvain with a solid glare. Then he turns away without another word. Sylvain watches him retreat with a rare smile, truly interested in the man.

Captain, it is.

#

It becomes Felix’s business months later after a high seas firefight with one of Sylvain’s father’s ships. It’s the third run that they’ve done together after the first proved to be successful.

“Shit,” Sylvain groans, arching up from the cot he’s spread out on. Mercedes hushes him but doesn’t let up, pressing the disinfectant against him with more force. “Merce, that burns--”

“Surely not as bad as my ship does,” says Felix from the doorway.

Sylvain’s mouth dries up at the sight of him because Felix is beautiful when he’s on edge and wired red-hot, face smudged with sweat and soot. He scowls at the sight of Sylvain, softens slightly at the sight of Mercedes, and then acerbically asks for the room to be cleared. His crew does as he asks, leaving the two of them alone.

“For the record,” starts Sylvain, “I thought it’d take longer for him to come after his shit.”

“After you, you mean,” says Felix.

“I meant what I said,” says Sylvain. A pregnant silence stretches between them before Felix lets out an annoyed grunt, crossing the room and dropping into the chair beside where Sylvain’s laying. He jerks Sylvain’s shirt up with none of the tenderness that Mercedes is known for and Sylvain hisses at the touch.

“You’ll live,” says Felix once he gets a good look.

“So I’ll make it?” says Sylvain in jest.

“Unfortunately,” says Felix with a little bite to his tone. But then his tone softens a little. “As long as it’s stitched up right and you don’t pull at it.”

“You told Merce to leave.”

“She taught me how to sew,” says Felix, pulling open her medical kit.

“The holes in your clothes!” Sylvain’s seen Felix mend clothes on slow afternoons, laying out below the noon sun and enjoying the ocean breeze. It’s a nice sight, one that he’s come to like, even if it has to be observed from afar. Felix is so rarely relaxed and never so much around him.

“The concept is the same,” says Felix. Then he sighs. “Look, I know how to stitch up a wound. I’ve done it plenty.”

The War, Sylvain assumes then, where Faerghus lost their King to the Empire and the nobility left sold their souls to the enemy for a small chance at survival. Gautier’s done relatively well in the aftermath and reconstruction because brownnosing is what his father is best at. Felix had seemed more like a soldier than a pirate, something Sylvain noticed after just a week on board.

Sylvain doesn’t ask for an explanation and Felix doesn’t give one. Instead, he threads a needle with thick, coarse thread. He disinfects the gash in Sylvain’s side once more for good measure and then jabs the needle through his skin with little ceremony.

“Warn a man!” Sylvain shouts, trying his best to not jerk.

Felix’s mouth twitches into a smirk. “First time getting stitches, then.”

“No,” says Sylvain, but then a small whine bubbles up through his lips. “Yes.”

Sylvain’s seen battle like anyone else in his station, but as the former heir to the Gautier fortune, it’d been a figurehead title more than anything. He’d spent most of his wartime in tents on the backlines, moving figures around, and wooing bedmates to just feel a little bit of something in his pathetic misery.

“My ship will be fine,” says Felix, tugging at the gash to properly close it. “There’s more damage to the sails, but nothing that can’t be fixed.”

Sylvain is quiet for a moment. “I really am sorry.”

Felix is quiet for a moment too, and then he says, “It’s the job. Sometimes it goes well, sometimes it doesn’t. We’ve pulled through worse.”

“My only goal is to get food and clothing to the people who need it,” says Sylvain.

“I know. It’s the only reason that I haven’t thrown you overboard yet.” Felix pulls the thread tight and knots it, before cutting the excess. “For the record, we sunk their ship.”

“Good riddance,” says Sylvain.

Felix watches him as he wipes his hands off on a rag. “You hate him. Your father, I mean.”

“Hate’s a strong word.” But when he meets Felix’s gaze, Sylvain’s eyes are a testy sea storm, and he’s practically frothing at the mouth in barely contained rage. “Okay, hate’s not a strong enough word.”

“I understand,” says Felix in a rare moment of personal expression. He runs his fingers over Sylvain’s ribs under the pretense of checking the wound one last time, but to Sylvain, it feels like an entirely different sort of touch. Especially because it lingers for just a little bit too long to be merely friendly.

“Captain,” starts Sylvain, reaching out to grasp at his hand. Felix doesn’t pull away, allowing the touch.

“Felix,” says Felix. “You can-- Look, Felix is fine.”

“It’s fine,” murmurs Sylvain, his free hand snaking up to brush Felix’s sweaty bangs back. “Are you sure that my highly moral do-gooding is the only reason you haven’t thrown me overboard?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” says Felix, but it lacks bite as he leans into the touch.

“I’m glad I won’t die,” says Sylvain, “and I’m glad we’ll do more runs together.” A pause. “We will continue our business, right?”

“Fool,” says Felix.

“Your fool?” asks Sylvain hopefully.

“You’re pushing your luck.”

“Is it working?”

They look at each other for a moment before Felix swoops down, pressing a kiss against Sylvain’s lips. It’s a sweet thing, far sweeter than Sylvain expects Felix to be. It’s all softness, lacking his carefully honed sharp edges, warm and kind, and genuine.

“So it worked,” says Sylvain against his lips, unable to stop himself from slipping into his teasing mask. Felix pulls away, a soft scowl on his lips. He lets go and stands. “I was joking,” says Sylvain. “Joking!”

“I can still make you walk the plank,” says Felix coolly.

“But you won’t,” says Sylvain.

There’s a beat and then Felix smiles actually smiles, and it’s weirdly radiant and Sylvain never wants to stop seeing it. “No, I won’t,” says Felix quietly. “But I can make you suffer in the meantime.” Then he turns to leave the small room.

“Come back,” says Sylvain as pathetically as he can. “I’m sorry!”

But then he hears the soft murmurs of the crew outside and then a short laugh that is distinctly Felix’s. Sylvain smiles. He’s injured, they’ve lost their sails and his father has put a number on his head. But Sylvain does good; he funnels his father’s goods to the people who actually need them.

And he’s got Felix. He doesn’t really know how or why, but he’s somehow managed, and he has no intention of ever letting go. Sylvain’s placed a lot of bets in his life, but rarely pan out the way that he wants them too. But this time? He’s more than doubled his money, he’s doubled his entire life.

So when Sylvain smiles it’s the first time in a long time that it actually means something.

#sylvix #sylvain/felix #felix x sylvain #felix hugo fraldarius #sylvain jose gautier #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fanfiction

[whirlybirdwhat]

East Sea of Monsters - Chapter 19

Thatch loves his new brothers, but something is stalking him in the dark and its not friendly. Also ft. the spade pirates

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Read the entire series on Ao3 for better quality and author’s notes, especially warnings for content within the fic!! Tag “Ficart” on my blog should also show some fanart and podfics for this fic, as well as the link to translations! give them some love! 

- 

Thatch - Paranoia

There is something on the ship. Thatch doesn’t know what it is or what it looks like, or even if it's corporeal, but he knows one thing.

One.

Thing.

And that is that this creature is trying to eat through all of the Moby’s food stores, one meat slice at a time.

He laments such claims to Marco and Ace, who are training on deck.

“It’s horrible! Absolutely horrendous! I woke up this morning to three – three, Ace, three! – carvings of that sea king from yesterday gone! Gone! And I have no idea what’s causing it, and I’m 99% sure it’s stalking me!” He flails dramatically out, but dead serious in his words. There’s been something in the shadows of late, something he can’t sense with his haki, and little (and not so little) scratches outside his door at night. He’s not the sort to be serious about personal danger, so he explains it as best he can.

Through jokes.

Ace laughs at him, throwing his head back and mirth clear in his eye.

Thatch is proud of him, their newest brother of only two months. He’s going to be second division commander in a week, not that he knows it yet, and Thatch is just so, so proud of him.

He’s so far from the angry creature that stalked around deck and threw himself, with the intent to kill, at Whitebeard every day.

In the sunlight, without the shadows of his usual hiding places, Ace looks even happier than before.

(Thatch could give a description of him, talk about his freckles or the way he smiles, but feels like anything he could say could never truly describe, well, Ace. His eyes are never truly the color Thatch think’s they are and his smile is just so pointy in certain lights, that Thatch often jokes about his feral nature.  But, more than these oddities is the way Ace looks ashy and cracked when he suddenly pops into view and his smile too wide and skin covered in darkness and his fingers tipped in sharp edged claws.

It’s nothing, supposedly, just figures of the mind but Thatch wonders when it seems like Ace is burning from the inside out and not because of his fruit.)

Marco swipes at Ace for getting distracted and then gives Thatch a look. “Have you tried trapping it? Stalking it back?”

He doesn’t ask are you sure it’s even there because Thatch knows it has been clawing at Marco’s door as well.

(Deeper gouges, the scent of ash at sunrise, different from the cooling unburning flames of the phoenix.

And Marco hadn’t noticed it with Haki either)

Thatch huffs, flopping further on the crate he’s using as a table. “Yep. Pulled three all-nighters and tried three different types of traps in the galley, and only wound up with paranoia and giving Jim from Third Division a broken toe.”

Marco winces at that, because getting that means you go down to the infirmary, where their medical staff’s age is ten times worse than any injury.

(They seem to have a soft spot for Ace – Thatch doesn’t know if it’s because Ace is stupidly polite to them, or just makes this confused look when they imply they should be the ones to help his injuries.

Ace tends to go to Deuce more often, (something about fire proof bandages?) but still, the soft spot is there. Thatch has used Ace to get out of trouble for kitchen injuries once or twice.)

“Have you tried bait?”

“Yeah.”

“Ambush?”

“That’s what the all-nighters were for.”

“Asking for help?”

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

“How about- “

Before Marco can give another useless bit of information, Ace cuts in. “Have you tried just, hunting it?”

“Observation Haki isn’t working on the thing.” Thatch explains, casting aside the idea.

Ace’s brow furrows, as if Thatch is an idiot. “I never hunted with haki, you don’t need it.” There’s something more to his frown, something sharp peeking out, but Thatch dismisses it.

“Yeah? You want to try then?” Thatch challenges him.

“Sure, it’s been a while.”

And that’s the start of it.

-

Thatch leaves Ace to his hunting, trusting that he’ll get the work done or give up trying, but that doesn’t stop him from curiously observing his new brother.

“Doesn’t that hinder your grip?” Thatch asks, referring to Ace’s right hand.

“Hm?” Ace says from his position at the top of their storage hold’s rafters.

“Your right hand.”

“Oh! Nah, I’m used to it. Say, pass me the turkey?”

“To eat or for bait?”

“Uh. Both?”

Thatch laughs and almost misses the way a part of Ace’s body seems to sink into the rafters. He tries to ignore it, he really does, but he can’t even tell if he saw it in the first place.

What.

Ace notices his stares. “Thatch?” He asks in that concerned voice of his, which sends all sorts of guilt up Thatch’s spine.

“Uh, nothing!” He searches for a new topic. “How’d you lose it, anyway?”

Shit! Not like that! Could be sensitive you dolt!

The ever present watching invisible creature seems to agree in Thatch’s mind.

Ace’s body (which gets all fuzzy, save for the tattoos, when Thatch stares to long, which he associates with the flame-flame fruit) is missing a crucial part.

“My pinky?”

His right pinky is a stub, stretched with scratched scars, like teeth dragging over skin that didn’t sink in on the hand until the base.

(Thatch is growing increasingly concerned as he swears he saw those marks glowing, he did, he did but he can’t say anything, can he? He can’t mention how the pinky stub itself has something dark around it, like a promise, like a curse, can he, without seeming insane and untrusting?)

“Yeah.” Doesn’t seem to be a sensitive subject, because Ace looks down at his missing finger with a grin.

“Just something that happened when I was a kid. Accidents happen when you live where I lived.”

“And where did you live?”

“A bandit den, for a while.”

“What.”

“Then a trash heap, just for a bit. Place was fun, lots of fights.”

“What.”

“Built a treehouse too though we grew out of it.”

“Oh my god.”

“What?” Ace looks confused and it would be funny if it didn’t…

“This explains so much, oh hell.” Thatch rubs a hand over his face. No wonder Ace is half feral, it’s a miracle he learned manners at all. He ignores Ace’s face and changes the subject. He’ll wait till Ace brings it up with the others, then he’ll tease him about it mercilessly.  “You done?”

“Yep! If your little thief is who I think it is this should catch ‘em.” Ace looks proudly at his contraption in the rafters – a bed of blankets with a few slices of meat in a bowl.  “Can’t believe I didn’t know he crept on here the bastard. Should have known anyway.”

“Wait, you know who-” Thatch is interrupted by a deep mrrowh? Coming from his left. He turns, catches a glimpse of Ace smiling, and is greet with the vision of an absolutely monstrous cat.

It looks like a lynx with simply monstrous fangs – but that’s the thing. It only looks like it and the way its eyes are wide and unseeing… well…

“What.” Thatch says as Ace makes a delighted noise.

“Kotatsu you little bastard! There you are! C’mere.” The lynx flies into open arms and suddenly Ace is holding a cat almost twice his size. That’s wearing pants. “Have you been stealing from Thatch?” Kotatsu, as Ace calls him, swipes at Ace’s face, smushing it to the side. A faint burning smell fills the air but Ace appears unconcerned, so Thatch lets it slide in favor of staring at the cat.

Upon noticing, Ace smiles at Thatch and tells him “This is Kotatsu! The Spades’ Cat. I thought he was with Skulls and Banshee on Moby Four, but no, you like stealing my food, don’t you? Bastard.”

Ace shoves his face into Kotatsu’s fur and is almost consumed by the fur that… that doesn’t really look like fur.

In fact, a lot of things don’t look like they are when dealing with the Spades.

“I’ll take care of him, making sure he doesn’t steal anything else.” Ace’s voice is strangely unmuffled as he walks away, Kotatsu in his arms and trap untouched.

Thatch stares dumbly and feels the sense of oddness washing away.

What?

God, he sounds like a broken record.

But now that the mystery of the stolen meat is gone…

A new mystery arises.

How the hell did that cat hide itself?

-

Thatch can’t sleep at night, now that he knows the watching feeling is Ace’s giant pet cat, which is too large to fit in any shadow yet still stalks him.

Something is up with the Spades pirates. All of them.

(It’s in the way Ace laughs or fights or exists on deck. His eyes are never the same color, his teeth a tad too sharp in certain lights, and his tattoos, emblazoned on his shoulder and back by Deuce’s skillful hand, have an unworldly shine to them

It’s in the way there is ash left in his footsteps soot where his fingers grip a tad too tight. Looking at him, directly, it’s like there’s a burning sense to eyes, like Thatch is looking directly at a blinding fire.

It’s in the way Deuce never takes off his mask but his entire face reacts a little too late to what he is saying, like he’s a second behind himself, like he’s a fault mask at work. It’s in the way Banshee lives up to her name and Skull’s skulls are always different but look a little too real for the odd horned shapes they have. It’s in the way everyone gives Finamore a wide berth but he’s less than five feet and the way Saber’s hat has five holes on either side, same as Ace. It’s in the way they all grow blurry when the sun goes down but no one mentions it, and the way Ducky Bree’s eyes aren’t ever exactly eyes.

The crew loves Ace, loves the Spades, for they are brothers and they won’t ever not love them, but they shy off, sometimes, when the dark is a bit too dark for anything normal.)

Thatch is going to find out what, because while the rest of the crew may chalk it up to Grand Line madness (a crew of misfits, the newspapers said) Thatch, and the other commanders, and some of the old hands of the crew who were around in Roger’s reign, know better.

What are you, Ace, really? What’s going on here?

He starts talking to the other Spades more often, trying to find out what’s going on, only to be met with laughter.

(Deuce’s mask shifts when he laughs, as if it’s not used to making that expression. He turns his head to fix it and Thatch swears his face slides forward just a bit, like it’s not even his. Its dark, under there, and it's gone for a second, but Thatch can’t stop staring.

He doesn’t talk to Deuce for a while after that.)

“Thatch,” Mihar says, tipping his hat up. “Be careful, won’t you? There are things you do not want to learn.”

Thatch doesn’t heed the warnings and backs off from Mihar too. But the rest of the Spades? Thatch is going insane.

He can’t explain it, he really can’t, he tries to tell Marco and Izo and everyone but he can’t explain anything beyond “It’s off.” His throat locks up when he tries to speak about Deuce’s face or Finamore’s presence or the way Banshee walks through counters in the kitchen and he thinks he’s going insane.

Kotatsu waits outside his door in the morning, and Thatch see’s agonized faces in his fur.

(Save us, they seem to scream voicelessly in inky black non fur (wasn’t Kotatsu brown?) Save us from this -)

He shuts the door before they can finish, and doesn’t come out till Ace starts making noises at Kotatsu to move.

-

He keeps quiet about it to others aft that, but now Ace seems to have caught on. He smiles at Thatch, baring sharp teeth and pricking him with too sharp fingers. When they slump together at drunken parties Thatch feels the point of something poking into his cheek.  

Ace is Thatch’s beloved little brother but he can be a little shit sometimes. Especially when he takes his giant cat around (which Marco avoids like hell and is the source of Thatch’s amusement if not for the fact that Kotatsu keeps stalking him.) and rides the thing, leaving sharp gouges (in the Adam Wood deck) everywhere he goes like a king on a carriage.

(Thatch is sure the beast grown and shrunk twenty different time since it showed up. He doesn’t know how big it is, truly, only that Ace can ride it and carry it.)

He’s no closer to figuring it out than when he started, just more horrified.

-

As always, Pops has the answer, if in an unconventional way this time.

The sky is dark as the Moby battles in the midst of a hurricane. Some upstart pirate, strangely strong, had taken to attacking the ship.

Pops was impressed at his tenacity at first, then caught him throwing crewmates who objected over board. Then that impressment quickly turned to anger.

Now, in the middle of the storm, Pops was taking no chances to prolong the battle especially with the predictableness of a Grand Line’s storm.

Conqueror’s Haki cut through the air like an executioner’s sword, dropping everyone on the opposing ship dead. Thatch didn’t particularly care what happened to them.

But, for a second, Thatch’s eyes were opened.

(The Veil was gone, raging at a King’s force in which it could not fight.)

There was Ace, fire and volcanic ash in the rain, horned and glowing and made up skin just barely holding together some force. His eyes shone as did his tattoos, red in the light but shifting to blue as he watched. The necklace around his neck was floating wrapping around him with soft power as Ace raged with a sharp tooth grin across the deck.

Next to him, Deuce stood, if that was the word, tall, limbs bent and strange and his face…

Deuce didn’t have a face. Only a smile made of knives.

Hot breath went down Thatch’s neck.

Kotatsu, Thatch knew without seeing, K’oltqevo.

(The name comes in whispers)

He doesn’t look back. Ever.

(The Veil hides what should not be seen and not a soul knows why.

But, occasionally, it is so the world doesn’t fall for what it doesn’t know.)

Lightning strikes and Ace is ‘human’ again but Thatch knows what he saw.

-

He can’t come up with an explanation. He can’t. Thatch tries summoning stuff in the basement only to have Kotatsu land on him, maps out conspiracies, places where the Spades might have turned into this, this whatever it is.

Kotatsu laughs at him in that cat way of his, and Thatch is suddenly very afraid of how often Ace insults the lynx looking thing to his face.

(Little bastard, Ace affectionately says, coaxing Kotatsu to leap at Marco, who is more skittish now because he too saw the truth in that storm, Come on, get em.)

Thatch has gone insane.

-

Whitebeard laughs when Thatch tells him his theories.

“You’re brother,” Whitebeard says, “Is a true son of the sea. Tell me, what sea does your newest brother hail from?”

“The East- Oh.” Thatch remembers now.

His father, the one he was born to, had toured the world with him, but never went to the East.

“Son,” He had said, “The devil lives in that Sea.”

Guess it was literal.

(The whispers now, of Garp and Roger and Ace and Dragon, seem a bit more literal now, a bit more terrifying. Monsters, they were called, demons.

But who could have guessed it went beyond mere power?)

“Could’ve explained that from the start.” Thatch grumbles, though he knows no more now other than that the East Blue is a demon sea.

Whitebeard has a twinkle in his eye, and thinking back to the battle he had with Ace, Thatch wonders if he knew it from the start.

(After all, wouldn’t Whitebeard know better than anyone? Demons attacking you in the night (Ace, tenacious bastard, had attacked at all times) would alert anyone to the truth.)

“Where’s the fun in that?” Whitebeard rumbles. “Treat him kindly. This is his home.”

Thatch squawks. “Of course! He’s my brother!” Pops knows that, he knows, he’s just teasing.

He waves goodnight to his father and avoids Kotatsu’s giant tail in the hallway.

Brothers, we are brothers.

Ace smiles, the world darkens, and Thatch wonders what else he can’t see in the dark.

#SPADES SPADES SPADES DEMON SPADES #they are getting their own chapter mark my words #op #one piece #thatch #ace #portgas d. ace #masked deuce #deuce #skull #mihar #finamore #banshee #spades pirates #saber #Whitebeard #edward newgate #opfic #whirlywhat #whirlywrites #East Sea of Monsters #esom #opau #monster au #demon au #:))

[watchathon]

Book 1, Chapter 19: The Siege of the North Part 1

In case you’re finding this post just by browsing the tags I’ve used for this post, this is the Watch-a-Thon, a blog where I’m hoping to watch an episode of a show every one-to-two days, with a short blog post where I give my thoughts on what I’ve just seen. Each new point starts with a hyphen and a bolded first word.

- Like so. Now that the introductions are over with, here’s my thoughts on part 1 of The Siege of the North.

- I like that Sokka and Yue are still friends. Even if they can’t be a couple, they still enjoy each other’s company.

- A subtle kind of nightmare fuel is how everybody is going about their day as normal, but then they realize the Fire Nation is coming. Not because they see the ships approaching, but because soot starts raining from the sky. And to Sokka and Katara, it’s like history repeating; they’ve seen this before, when the Southern Water Tribe got attacked.

- Iroh’s warning that just because Zhao will be remembered, it doesn’t mean he will be remembered kindly, makes me wonder if Iroh already suspects that the end of the war is near, and the Fire Nation may well not be the winners.

- The music as Sokka glances back at Yue really sells how sad both of them are.

- Aang’s fight against the Firebenders is cool, but what gets me is that after a whole fight scene of him taking down one ship, he flies Appa into the sky, only to find that there’s dozens more (at least). It really shows how big this battle will be.

- I like that the Gaang’s fights against the Fire Nation come in useful when the North Pole is preparing for the Fire Navy’s attack. Sokka knows that Fire Nation uniforms don’t look like the ones the Tribe obtained nearly a hundred years ago, and he knows who their commanding officer is.

- It’s easy to forget, but as Aang himself says, he’s “just one kid”. And he may be good enough to take out a dozen ships, but the idea that he’ll be the one to take down that whole fleet would be overwhelming for any one person, let alone a twelve-year-old boy.

- It brings me to tears when Iroh shows how much he loves Zuko. He thinks of Zuko as his own son, and that means he’ll give wisdom to help Zuko, and he’ll worry like any parent would when Zuko is going into a dangerous situation all on his own. Frankly, if Zuko did capture the Avatar, I can only imagine he would realize that Iroh was better to him than Ozai will ever be.

- ...Did Hahn just pronounce Sokka’s name as Sohka? And more than that, if he was in the live-action movie, would he pronounce it as Socka?

- Sokka’s anger at Hahn’s bragging about the “perks” of marrying Yue shows that Sokka values Yue as more than just a pretty face or a princess. Bad enough that Yue doesn’t so much as like the man she’s to marry, but with how selfish and petty Hahn is (not caring at all for Yue beyond her looks and her title), Sokka can’t help but see red.

- D’aww, the turtle seals are so cute!

- And the turtle seals are polite too. Zuko wants them to be quiet? They quiet down.

- The visuals of Aang crossing into the Spirit World are so surreal.

- Now this is a cliffhanger. Zuko’s captured Aang and is carrying him into the snowy tundra while the Gaang can only wonder where they’ve gone to. I guess I’m happy that I’m watching this daily (allegedly) instead of weekly. 

But if I had been keeping up with this show when it came out, I can only imagine that I would be wondering how Aang’ll get out of this situation. Because this is one of those cliffhangers where even though you know the protagonist will make it out okay, you’re still stuck on the question of “how?”

#Avatar The Last Airbender #ATLA #Book 1: Water #The Siege of the North #Sokka #Yue #Iroh #Zuko #Hahn #turtle seals #TV

[perriewinklenerdie]

Convincing enough (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

Author’s note: Hello, hello, hello! Angst yesterday was a result of my fool mood. It's back to fluff, cause I can't stay away from it for too long :D This idea was in my head for a solid four months and I decided to finally give it a shot

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21151565

Enjoy! <3

---------------

„Hey... you can do this” his voice is soft, as is his touch, fingers grazing her palm, calming her down. She nodded, focusing on the scalpel and scalpel only. Tuning out everything except for the touch and sound of his voice, she positioned the blade. “There you go. Nice and easy.” Seconds later the cut is made, perfectly in between the ribs. “Now the tube.”

His fingers brush against hers as they insert the chest tube. Blood begins flowing through it, spilling onto the floor as the woman takes a deep breath. The young doctor sits back on her feet, staring at the fallen patient incredulously.

“We… we did it!” she exclaimed, looking to the older man for confirmation.

“She’s stable. Get her into surgery… She’s gonna make it.” he called out to the nurses, taking a few steps away to allow them to do their work. His arm brushed against her arm and sparks shot through her body, endorphins coursing in her bloodstream.

“Doctor… that was… absolutely amazing!”

“You’re right. It’s pretty amazing you didn’t get her killed.”  He replied, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone flat.

“Wait, what?” her tone fell as she felt like she just slammed into the wall at full force.

“Your examination was slow and superficial. Your scalpel technique, amateur at best…” he trailed off, his attention seemingly at everything but her.

“Amateur? Maybe you can give me private lessons.” She smirked slightly, her eyes sparkling in the bright light of the hospital hall.

“Ha! I just might, Doctor… Herondale. But I sincerely doubt you could afford my salary.” Throwing back her ID card, he turned around and went away without so much as looking at her again.

“What an asshole…” Claire muttered under her breath before conversing with nurses briefly and running to orientation.

---- ---- ----

Next time she ran into Dr. Ramsey she made sure to talk to him like a normal human being. He actually seemed less annoyed this time round. He even smiled at her, his words lingering on the edge of being flirty.

Third time was horrific. If she had to choose the worst moment of her day, that would be it. Misdiagnosing a patient is one thing. Being dragged through the mud because of it, by her attending, a man she admired since she was in high school, was another. And that was almost worse. It gave her a lot to think about, pushed her into the closet and made tears fall from her eyes. Bryce tried cheering her up, but that was something she had to overcome by herself.

And she did, figuring out the cause of Annie’s illness and managing to right her ship in Ethan’s eyes. At the end of the day, she was dragged away by her new friends to the bar with celebration in mind. Ethan was there too, sitting by the bar, swirling the last drops of his drink in the glass. His gaze shifted to her, meeting her green eyes, staring at her for a long moment. Almost as though he was calling her over with his blue irises. So that’s exactly what she did. She sat down next to him, feeling and seeing him watching her.

“Something wrong, Dr. Ramsey?”

“Just noticing how… different you look out in the real world.” He responded, allowing his eyes to run over her body, not as briefly as one would think be appropriate. The bartender approached them, asking what her order was. Eyeing his glass, she asked for two scotches, neat, sliding one of them to him once they were ready. He smirked as he lifted the glass to his lips, asking why not on the rocks.

“The ice changes the flavor.” She grinned, looking at him boldly. He nodded, agreeing with her.

“You know I can’t be bribed into favoring you, right?”

“I think you already favor me” Claire blinked once, smiling so widely her cheeks would probably start hurting soon. The corners of his lips lifted, replying before downing his drink in one long gulp.

“You keep believing that.”

After that, he requested two special drinks, which prompted the conversation about leaving work where work belongs. He seemed pensive when he talked, but there was something in his eye that had her wondering if he was telling the whole story. By the time they changed the subject, their drinks were ready. She found it delicious, expressing her feelings.

“You’re either sucking up to me, or you’ve got surprisingly refined taste for an intern.” He pointed out, observing her with curious eyes.

“I’m surprising in a lot of ways.” She shrugged, grinning widely. Ethan leaned in a little, his voice dropping a few octaves, low and warm.

“You’ll have to prove it.”

---- ---- ----

Two hours later, Claire walked out of the bar with her friends, looking at the hospital building wistfully. The thought of going back there in just a few short hours made her feel even more tired than she already was. Sienna came up with the idea of all of them getting a place together, and everyone agreed. Everyone except for Claire.

“Sorry guys, I’m going to have to pass. I like my place, I can’t exactly move out. I’d love to spend more time with all of you, I just can’t do that with you.” she spoke quietly, not wanting to offend any of them. Sienna wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shaking her head.

“Don’t worry about it, Claire. Just know that we are definitely visiting you sometime soon. That apartment of yours must be amazing, there’s no way we’re going to miss it!”

“Yeah…” she laughed nervously, trailing off.

Her taxi ride was long as the traffic got worse. How was that possible that even in the middle of the night, the streets were full and packed with cars and people. Her phone lit up with a text message that made her grin, her hand flying to the chain around her neck for a long moment.

At long last, she found herself at home, locking the front door behind her and leaning against it with a heavy sigh. She felt a pair of eyes on her, heard the sound of the book being put down on the table and soft footsteps approaching her.

“Tough first day?” he asked, opening up his arms for her. She fell into them, burying her face in his chest, taking a deep breath, his scent calming her senses.

“You have no idea. There was this asshole that made me question myself at least three separate times. Incredibly handsome but insists on testing me, making me prove myself.” She whined, her forehead pressed against his collarbone.

“A handsome asshole has been bothering you? Maybe I should do something about it. Talk to him or something.”

“I don’t think he likes being told what to do by other people. He did mention that I may have a refined taste, but didn’t say in what. If I had to guess, I’d say…” she leaned back, trailing her hands up his neck and into his hair, pulling him closer, their lips brushing against each other as she spoke. “… that I have an excellent taste in men.”

“And in choosing husbands. I would be so lost without you.” he murmured before kissing her softly, their eyes fluttering shut.

“I agree. And I would be lost without you too.”

They went about their evening, eating and talking about her day, him listening about her patients and their diagnosis, her new friends and colleagues. When night got dark, they retired to bed, lying in each other’s arms, his hand running up and down her back soothingly.

“Do you think we were convincing enough today?” he asked, turning his head to kiss her forehead as he grinned.

“Oh, I think you did just right. The way you ripped me to shreds?” she leaned on her elbow as she looked at him with a smirk. “There is no way anyone is even thinking about us knowing each other, let alone being married, Ethan.”

He took her hand in his, their wedding bands sparkling in the dim light. Raising her palm, he pressed his lips to the warm metal ring, closing his eyes for a short moment. He then looked up at her, all the love he had for her pooling in there. Claire wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him on top of her and into the kiss. They remained tangled with each other for a long while, time barely an inconvenience, not concerning them. Tiredness took over them slowly, their kisses getting lazier and sloppier. At long last, they separated, beginning to fall asleep. Ethan wrapped his arms around Claire again, tight and warm embrace bringing the sense of peacefulness, comfort and safety to both of them.

“It’s going to be a challenge, isn’t it.” she asked, her lips brushing against the skin of his chest.

“I think we’ll do just fine. And if you ever feel the need to have your way with me, you know where to find me.” His tone revealed how smug he was with the whole situation. Her shoulders shook as she laughed softly.

“It’s a good thing one of us has an office. And a desk. I’m going to make good use of that desk of yours. And that tie…” she teased, deeply satisfied and proud of herself as she heard him groaning deeply before sleep took them both.

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#ethan ramsey #fic #fluff #open heart #choices #ethan ramsey x mc #dr ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #mc x ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #choices stories you play