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retvenkos · 4 years

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he smiles // mordred

Merlin (BBC) - Mordred x Fem!Reader, fluff

A/N: 8.1k words!!! i didn’t think it was in me, but i clearly love mordred more than i should...

Summary: There had been time for them to bask in each other’s presence, to feel their souls intertwine as their paths converged onto the same road. For, in those days, few as they were, Mordred and (Y/n) shared a common destination and their fates were one.

brother, you could never understand the beauty in his eyes and the pain reflected there. i have found legends of the most desolate of places with the most gruesome of histories and none of them compare to the look in his eyes. he has been rubbed raw of everything he’s loved and has been chipped away of everything he once was.

but he is beautiful, brother, when the stars are resting in the black night of his hair and when the ivy climbs his skin like a statue of marble.

and when he smiles…

is there beauty that could compare?

ii.

Laughter, warmth, and wine filled the Banquet Hall. Knights celebrated, feasting and drinking to good fortune, speaking with one another in their usual, rowdy tones. Music played and merriment filled the hearts of every soldier and guest in the room.

Instead of sitting at the high table where his father had sat before him, King Arthur was amongst his people, Guinevere at his side, speaking to the man that was cause for celebration; Mordred. An old acquaintance and new ally, this young man was knighted earlier that day and the newest recruit was being honored the only way Camelot knew how.

Mordred was smiling, disbelief clinging to the edges of his mouth, hope blooming roses on his cheeks, underneath his skin. His joy was more subdued than that of those who surrounded him, but it seemed as though the happiness that clung to him was the most pure and full joy he had ever experienced in all his years on Earth.

(Y/n) had yet to meet Modred when Gwaine grabbed her arm and took her over to where his fellow knights were huddled together, in the center of the hall.

“Gwaine,” (Y/n) huffed, following her older brother, despite her initial reaction of refusing, “what is it, this time?”

“You haven’t greeted the King and Queen! Guinevere was wondering if you had gotten holed up in the library again, archiving histories no one’s ever going to read.” Gwaine’s voice bubbled with glee, the mead he had drunk already taking effect on his mood, making him even more playful than usual.

“Are you sure it wasn’t because you didn’t want me talking to the ladies at court? I heard a pretty blonde knows you better than I.”

Gwaine grabbed another drink from a nearby servant and took a swig of it. “If she knew me better than you, she wouldn’t have talked to me the way she did.”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Apparently she spends quite a lot of time in your chambers, as well.” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow and stole her brother's mead, taking a drink of it herself.

“We’ve been getting better acquainted.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and Gwaine laughed, taking his drink back, only to find it empty. He nudged her in the ribs with a playful scowl before letting go of her arm and nodding to the Queen. He disappeared into the crowd after that, leaving his younger sister to bow and exchange formalities.

“My Lady.”

“(Y/n),” Guinevere smiled, laughing at the title she now wore. Her spirits, too, had been lifted by the contents of her goblet, and the candle-lit hall seemed to be painted in rosy hues. “You know you can call me Gwen.”

“But that isn’t nearly as fun.”

(Y/n) bowed once more, her eyebrows raised in jest and Guinevere shook her head. “Have you met Sir Mordred?”

“No, I’ve not.”

“Well, then,” Guinevere led (Y/n) a few paces deeper into the throng of knights and very quickly found who she was looking for. She smiled triumphantly when she did and put a hand on the shoulder of a man turned away from her. “Sir Mordred, this is Lady (Y/n).”

The knight turned around, (Y/n)’s gaze met his, and the world around them slowed. Her heartbeat quickened and her breath caught as his blue eyes shook her to her core, seemingly looking right into her soul, finding the pure gold that lay at the heart of her very being. In that moment, which stretched into infinity for them but never left the stream of time for others, (Y/n) could see the most beautiful sky form in his eyes.

And she knew the poets to be right in their rambles of beauty and desire and all that fell in between.

“Sir Mordred,” (Y/n) bowed low, long lashes kissing her cheeks and allowing her a second of relief from his intoxicating gaze.

He breathed her name and it sounded like a forgotten memory; like something that was all at once fondly missed and discovered anew.

“I see you’ve met my sister!” Gwaine’s strong voice shattered the still moment efficiently. The knight clapped Mordred on the shoulder with a strength that could have made mountains crumble, but Modred did not move. “She works with Geoffrey of Monmouth in the Royal Library.”

“She’s the brain to his brawn,” Guinevere supplied with a grin, a twinkle in her eye.

“And the beauty,” (Y/n) teased, earning a laugh from Guinevere and a protest from Gwaine. Through the laughing, (Y/n) caught Mordred’s keen eye as it lingered on her.

iii.

brother, i cannot describe it, but there is a kindness in his bones. it is so deeply rooted in the fabric of his being that it cannot be separated without destroying him - picking him apart piece by piece, excavating his soul until it becomes a cavern, stripped of it’s jewels and metals.

the heavens treat him as though he is a part of them. the sun haloes around his head like a crown, like he is an angel on earth.

and, brother, when he smiles…

the skies above clear just for him.

iv.

(Y/n) walked through the castle, purpose quickening her step, her mind stuck in days gone by, those scholars called the Great Purge. She had been translating history texts written in languages that had died with the Old Religion, and had come across a mention of a sorceress she had not heard of in her many years of learning. Geoffrey of Monmouth, the keeper of the library, had told her to take the name to Gaius in search of more information.

“If the sorceress does, indeed, exist,” Geoffrey had told her, “then there is great reason to believe she did not perish in the Great Purge and the king must be warned.”

(Y/n) understood the danger that a sorceress could present to the kingdom, which fueled her haste in going to Gaius’ chambers, but hesitation pricked at the back of her mind, making her avert her eyes from those around her.

Was a sorceress inherently evil? It went against all her beliefs to concede to that idea. She had always been taught that evil was a thing to be cultivated, it was not the natural state of mankind. Then how could it be justified, slaughtering her before she has committed a crime? All men face hardships that poison them with the potential for great evil, yet they are not senselessly killed. But with times being what they were - with Morgana threatening everything Camelot stood for…

The sound of swords clanging disrupted her thoughts, and (Y/n) stopped to calm her mind.

The world was a hard place to navigate through and come out unscathed. There were times when (Y/n) thought it just might be impossible. Sometimes, it seemed that humans were made to bleed. Skin was made fragile for a reason, after all.

Swords clashed together once more, and (Y/n) turned to the source of the noise. The knights (just as she has suspected) were honing their sword fighting skills, the men engaged in one on one combat. Her eyes immediately found Gwaine, who was sparring with Percival, both of them clearly taunting the other. (Y/n) rolled her eyes at their antics, chuckling when Percival was able to get the jump on Gwaine, delivering a harsh blow that her brother was only just able to block, stumbling backward.

Her eyes drifted, then, to Mordred, who was sparring with Elyan. As she gazed at the pair, (Y/n) found herself under his spell once more. His brow was furrowed in concentration and his jaw was set; he looked lethal, like a dangerous poison had been unleashed in his bloodstream and was ready to consume everything in its path. (Y/n) looked deeper into his eyes, expecting a hurricane to be raging within but found no animosity there.

Mordred; like all men; like the sorceress who’s name she had on a scrap of paper, tight in her fist; had the capability to be cruel in this harsh world, but it was not in his nature. She could see that in his soul, and the fact that she could see it from such a distance was a testament to that goodness and beauty she had seen in the Banquet Hall, only a day prior.

King Arthur called for his men to cease their training. Swords no longer clashed. Mordred’s eyes locked with (Y/n)’s.

She smiled politely and he nodded to her, his own mouth curling upward, slightly; a look that was meant for her, and no one else. (Y/n)’s breath caught in her chest. The ache that lingered there was pleasant and bearable, when she remembered who had left it.

Gwaine saw his sister and called to her. (Y/n) snapped her attention to him and waved.

Then, with one last glance at the knight who had caught her attention, she continued on her path to Gaius’ chambers, her thoughts straying from the sorceress at hand, her cheeks warm and heart hammering.

brother, there is a knowledge in his voice that could drown the world in sorrows. he speaks and his words are heavy enough to bury us all alive. but that is not who he is. for, brother, when he looks at me with eyes like diamonds forged far beneath the ground, i see a light that he has created within.

it is warm and kind and believes in the world this one could become. how has he fallen in love with this world when it has come to him broken, already in shambles?

i do not know, but when he smiles…

could the world really be this way?

vi.

The gossip ladies shared while dining was, for the most part, colorful but frivolous. Most of the time it was rumors about a prince who couldn’t banish his feelings for a commoner or a princess who couldn’t hold her tongue while in the presence of men. It was spoken of in tones that made it sound more interesting than it was, and it was passed through the table like another dish they were being served.

(Y/n) listened and engaged with it at yet another banquet, thrown in the aftermath of yet another victory over sorcery. The music played energetically, and as the wine flowed, the painted lips of women loosened and their words came freely.

“That Sir Mordred,”—(Y/n)’s ears perked at the sound of his name—“he’s grown awfully close to the King, hasn’t he?”

The lady who spoke tilted her head and her friends urged her to continue - to finish the thought that was stewing inside her head.

She smiled wickedly, lowering her voice and leaning in, “I’ve heard nasty whispers about where he’s from - no one really knows, but some think he’s a slave-trader, and others…” she paused for affect, and when the music played loudly again, she divulged, “others say he might be a Druid.”

The ladies gasped and (Y/n) felt bile rise in her throat. Suddenly, she wished the gossip to stop - for the music to become so loud that the lady who sat across from her wouldn’t be able to finish the vile thought that she was already speaking.

“If he hadn’t saved King Arthur’s life… Well, we know where he would be.”

(Y/n) stood up in a flash, her jaw set, her eyes angry and frightened, her nerves a mess. The ladies startled and turned to her, but the rest of the celebration carried on. The music still played, the instruments now shrill and jarring, the voices of men suddenly harsh and cruel. (Y/n) was suddenly overwhelmed by the crowd - their fanged grins and ravenous eyes, the hate and anger that lay in their hearts.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves.” (Y/n)’s lips quivered, but her words rang true. The women at the table looked at her, their mouths working soundlessly.

With no further ceremony, (Y/n) left, walking through the castle, letting the sounds of the Banquet Hall fade behind her. Unsure of where she could clear her racing mind, (Y/n) let her legs take her where they pleased.

She stopped in the middle of the balcony corridor, the gentle wind calming her mind, the moon above reflecting a soft, steady light that played against the stone beneath her. The only sound here was her skirts grazing the floor. The stillness calmed her. She sighed and leaned against the stone wall, turning her face to the inky night sky.

What had angered her? She looked at the stars scattered across the sky and wondered at her own actions. Had it been the ladies questioning who Mordred was? No, people were always questioning from where people hailed. It was a way to understand a person without ever knowing them - it was an easy way to allow comfort when in the presence of a stranger. Had it been them accusing him of being a Druid? Perhaps. But, then again, it was not the Druids that had angered her. What had brought her to stand was the implication of what could befall him if he were, indeed, a part of them.

It was dangerous to be something more than just flesh and blood. For there to be rumors, there had to be doubt - and if there was the smallest ounce of doubt in the hearts of those most adamant in the war against magic…

It was not fair - none of it: the rumors, the fear, the suspicion, the deaths of innocents. There was no crime in being born. There was no evil in having been created with skills that few understood. Nothing was inherently wicked, so then how could magic be persecuted as such?

(Y/n) sighed. Perhaps she cared too much. What good could she do, at the end of the day? Being a magic sympathizer only passed suspicion on those you cared for. Was it wise, then, to speak the way she did, to let her feelings be known?

“(Y/n),” a voice called from the shadows, disturbing the silence that had given the woman peace of mind, only moments before. (Y/n) spun around, feeling guilty, her heart beating louder.

It was Mordred, dressed in a knight’s finest, his expression impassive in the moonlight. (Y/n) calmed when she saw it was him who had called for her, but heat rushed to her face.

“Mordred,” she smiled, despite herself, and the dim light played against the curve of her mouth. “I didn’t hear you come. Is the celebration over, already?”

“No,” he answered, walking over to stand beside her, a respectful distance between the two, “I doubt it’s going to end anytime soon.” (Y/n)’s hands itched to be nearer to his, and she folded them together to occupy them. “But what brought you out here?”

“Some of the women I dined with are not as kind in their hearts as they should be.” (Y/n) gazed into the never ending sky, wondering how the stars burned so bright in such a dark expanse. Did their warmth, too, come from within? Did they see Mordred below and feel the same heat fill them so completely? She couldn’t imagine feeling any other way, in his presence. “They may be at court, but they are not nearly as deserving as others.”

Mordred’s eyes twinkled with mirth, like tiny stars igniting in blue skies, although (Y/n) did not seem to notice, her gaze still searching the night around them. He looked at her admiringly, his eyes tracing the curves and dips of her profile - that serene face that drew him out of himself and towards her.

“None of them have any idea of what it’s like to be an outsider, but their judgements of others are swift and cruel.” She turned to him, hesitant to see his reaction.

(Y/n)’s words, so sincere, so carefully chosen, turned Mordred’s face into something softer - something (Y/n) had only seen once before, but felt like she knew more deeply than anything else. “Nobility knows nothing of the suffering they can inflict.” He held her gaze when he spoke, and his words were a melodious lament - almost a siren’s call, pulling (Y/n) deeper into his depths. He sighed, his eyes averting from her own. “But everyone pays for their soul, in the end.”

“Then let ours be pure of heart while we’re still here.” (Y/n) leaned heavier against the stone before her, her shoulders falling deeper, her forearms bearing her weight. She tilted her head to look at Mordred beside her, and he relaxed in a similar manner.

“This world needs more people with your ideals.” Mordred complimented her and heat flooded (Y/n)’s cheeks. He regarded her with a smile - small and conspiratorial, like a soft embrace.

“You can thank my brother for any beliefs I hold. He was the only man to teach me how to rise above what I am.”

The wind visited them once more, weaving through their hair, twisting Mordred’s cape and twirling (Y/n)’s skirts. (Y/n) leaned into its caress, her eyes closing for a brief moment, her entire being becoming one with the heavens above.

“You’re lucky to have each other. Being alone isn’t easily shaken.” A shadow came over Mordred’s eyes, heavy and dark.

(Y/n) turned to the man beside her, her lips parting as she moved to say something.

She was untimely interrupted by Gwaine calling for her. She held Mordred’s gaze for a moment longer, as though debating whether or not to stay and say something more, but when her brother called again, she obeyed.

vii.

brother, he lives with such gravity. every breath is a gust of wind, every step is a tremor in the earth. he is so heavy on this earthly plane, the world presses down on him as though he were made to carry it upon his shoulders.

and yet, when he is still and the world stops around him, he looks weightless, as though he could fly. and brother, when he soars above me he is an angel out of reach, a dream beyond imagining.

and then he smiles…

is there freedom such as this?

viii.

(Y/n) held her skirts in her hands, running through the castle’s corridors, taking the familiar path to Gaius’ chambers. Weaving in and out of people who were in her way, her mind raced faster than her legs. It was only by luck that the gossip of the servants reached her, and she hadn’t a moment to lose.

The King had gone on a patrol to the Black Mountains that morning, and when they had come back…

The servant’s weren’t clear in what had happened, but Mordred was wounded - carried into Gaius’ chambers by Arthur and Merlin.

To be wounded was one thing; but to be carried into the castle by the King, himself? (Y/n) didn’t know what to think, but she feared the worst. Her heart was beating faster than ever, a drum to which her anxieties chanted inside her skull.

Still running, her feet slapping the stone incessantly, she turned a corner and stumbled headlong into someone walking the opposite way. (Y/n) muttered an apology as she started to dodge the obstacle, but whoever it was moved in her path once more, grabbing her shoulders with a tight grip.

“(Y/n), what’s the matter?”

It was Gwaine, his brows furrowed in worry.

“It’s not me you need to worry about,” she all but snapped, her tone clipped from worry. “Were you with Mordred?”

“He’s with Gaius, now.” Gwaine’s worry started to melt away, seeing his sister unharmed by the day’s events, but (Y/n) shared none of his relief. “He’ll be fine,” Gwaine repeated, trying to reassure her by catching her eye.

“What happened?” Her voice and lower lip shook, her nerves frayed and unable to settle. “I - I heard rumors, and—”

“—And you won’t settle down until you see for yourself. I know.” A smile slowly grew on Gwaine’s face, and he wrapped an arm around (Y/n)’s shoulder, walking with her to Gaius’ chambers. In all their years together he had become the father his younger sister never had, and learned her better than any lesson he had been given in his entire life. Gwaine knew his sister, and he knew she wouldn’t be able to still without absolute confirmation.

He slowed her eager pace, trying to soothe her before she saw what lay within the physician’s chambers.

“So,” he began, a grin already plastered onto his face, “you’re that worried about Mordred?”

(Y/n) felt herself burn from embarrassment.

“Not not, Gwaine. He could by dying!”

Her brother laughed and allowed her to see the knight she fretted over. She rushed to his side, and the pallor in his cheeks made her stomach twist in knots. She brushed his raven hair off of his forehead, feeling his fever. She looked to see if his eyes moved behind his lids or if his chest rose as he breathed inward, but he didn’t seem to respond to life at all. She whispered a prayer under her breath before turning to Gaius, already questioning what was wrong and what could be done.

“There is old sorcery at work - knowledge beyond my understanding.” Gaius’ words were uncertain and he shook his head just slightly, as though he had already concluded the worst. “The Disir were said to be a most sacred court with power unimaginable.”

The Disir. (Y/n) knew their name from stories she had translated from dead languages to that which was spoken, now. If Mordred had been stuck by a force so revered and entrenched in the Old Religion...

“But there could be a cure?” (Y/n)’s tone was adamant in their desperate hope - far more so than her thoughts. Gaius looked at her as though he saw something deep inside her gaze, and eventually conceded.

“Perhaps… in the texts of the Old Religion…”

(Y/n) was out of the physician’s chambers and racing down the hall before he could finish. She had no practical skills in medicine, but she was an archivist. She knew languages and history, and due to her position, she had unlimited access to the Royal Library. If there was an answer between the pages Camelot stored, she would find it and use it to save him.

The candles in the Royal Library burned brighter than usual, lighting the shelves that lay in dark, unused corners. (Y/n) situated herself amongst the shelves she knew had to keep the secrets she so desired, choosing books from the rows. She lost herself in piles of ancient texts, her hands careful and precise as they skimmed down page after page, searching for an answer. Volume after volume was pulled from its resting pace, meticulously scoured, and replaced once more.

Geoffrey of Monmouth allowed the candles to be burned all night long, eventually retiring for the evening and leaving (Y/n) to her search, giving her a fond, supportive squeeze on the shoulder before shuffling away. Servants still gossipped out in the corridors, their voices drifting like ghosts to where she sat. Gwaine came to her before his nightly rounds of the castle began, and found her sitting on the floor, her skirts pooled around her as she continued her search. She was desperate for some kind of news, but Gwaine had none; Mordred’s condition was unchanged and dire, still. Tears threatened her eyes and he had taken the time to embrace her, rubbing her back soothingly, promising her things would be alright.

(Y/n) clung to his faith, feeling the crushing weight of gravity bearing down on her. How could people live with such pain?

She felt herself grow tired. She opened more books. She felt herself grow tired. She flipped more pages. She felt herself grow tired. She sought more answers, feeling them slip through her fingertips - elusive and intangible. She felt herself grow tired.

The candle burned lower until she could no longer feel it’s warmth - until she could no longer see it in her mind’s eye.

In her dreams, she could see pages before her, with drawings of three women in robes of black, with writing that was slanted and almost unable to be read. (Y/n) reached out to grab the page, hold it in her grasp and learn it’s secrets, but her body was heavy like stone, unable to move - unable to save him.

“(Y/n)...” Mordred’s voice called out to her, so full of life, so full of love. She stirred. “(Y/n)...” She moved.

(Y/n)’s eyes opened, and she was lying against a shelf, a volume open on her lap. Light from the morning sun spilled from the nearby window, and when she looked up, she had to blink to believe it was real.

Mordred smiled down at her, his cheeks pink and flushed with beauty, his eyes bright. He was something out of a dream, in that moment, the sun’s rays casting the shadows away from him, bathing him in golden light.

His name slipped from her lips in wonder, and she repeated it once more, euphoria filling her tone with something akin to a song.

“I was told I could find you here.”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him long enough to hide it.

ix.

we could never see it, brother, with our lives painted in such rosy tones, but his world is drenched in stormy, blue waters. it is salt rubbed into wounds and waves battering stone until they erode away. it was not a crucible that forged him, but an ocean that drowned him and left him washed on shore, gasping for breath. brother, his story is one that we whisper at night, voices low in fear of giving those wayward souls power over us all. if he so desired, we could be crushed and left. the crows would pick us clean.

but he looks at me and his ocean eyes cradle me, rocking me back and forth with the tide. and i am safe, in his embrace. i am loved, wrapped in his arms.

and when he smiles…

our story has yet to unfold.

(Y/n) looked at the wares of different vendors, strolling through the streets with no real destination in mind. The day was beautiful, with the sun partially covered with thick clouds, the heat emanating from it just enough to be comfortable and without chill. The people around her were happy, for the most part, their worries few and their good fortune abundant.

There was peace in Camelot, and (Y/n) wished - foolishly, perhaps - that it would last.

Stopping to search for coins to buy a loaf of bread, (Y/n) readjusted the basket she held and a book she had been carrying fell out. Before she could lean down to grab it, the book was already in someone else’s hands, being wiped clean. “I’m sorry about that.” (Y/n) looked up to see who had helped her and found Mordred before her. He had a grin on his face, lopsided and pulled to the left, his teeth just visible beneath his lips.

His sharp eyes were on the small volume before him, reading the title with interest (Y/n) had not thought she would find.

Mordred shrugged off her apology, instead turning his interest to that which he had recovered. “Poetry?” (Y/n) shifted under his teasing gaze. “Is it for the King, perhaps?”

(Y/n) scoffed, well aware of the joke that had been floating through the palace - Merlin and King Arthur learning poetry by candlelight. Was the Queen impressed with her husband’s talents? Leon had been given extra training for two weeks when word of it reached Arthur.

“The King and I have very different tastes in poetry, I believe. He’s more of a romantic.”

Mordred snorted, flipping through the worn pages. “These poems…” Mordred’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, his tone still gentle when he spoke, but his countenance changed nonetheless. “They’re about magic.”

(Y/n) bowed her head, training her eyes at her skirts brushing the ground below.

She had been caught.

It was just literature, and she didn’t believe there was any harm in it. Poetry could not teach her sorcery. The knowledge that lay in those poems were not spells that she could wield against Camelot and those she loved, and yet, she knew, deep down, that such things would not matter to those who would wish to persecute her for harboring such knowledge and allowing it into her home.

“They’re just poems. Just stories written in beautiful languages. There’s no harm in it, only understanding.” (Y/n)’s words were low but spoken with conviction and heart. “I only wish to understand that which I am to fear.”

“And I admire you all the more for it.”

(Y/n) looked up into Mordred’s eyes where she held his tender gaze. Her worries were put to ease by his serenity, and she idly wondered why she has ever been nervous in the first place. Even now, she could look into his gaze and see the kindness that lay deep within his heart. Within those blue eyes, she could see his sympathy for magic, not dissimilar from her own, but more deeply sown. She could see, deep in his soul, that there was something he knew and had not shared.

She wished to tell him she wouldn’t tell a soul. (Y/n) wished to hold Mordred and whisper in his ear that he could bare his entire soul to her and she would regard him the same. She wished to let him know that she knew him deeply and irrevocably, that in those still moments when they walked with one another or locked eyes from across the room, she felt their souls were one and she could not distinguish where one began and the other ended.

“Would you like to hear some?” (Y/n) put her hand on the book lightly, her fingers brushing his, warmth igniting where they touched. “The old way of speaking… it’s beautiful.”

Mordred smiled and she slipped the book out of his hands, starting to leaf through the pages, searching for the right sentiment she was looking for.

He spoke, then, his words soft and with a lyrical lilt, whispered between the two of them. (Y/n) gazed up at him, and it took her a moment to realize that he was reciting a poem - a variation of one of the poems inside the book she had in her hands. She listened to him, allowing his language to captivate her senses and pluck at her heartstrings. The poetry spoke of magic - it’s ubiquitous power and intentionless existence - and how the world, whether it wanted to be or not, was gifted with it.

When he finished, (Y/n) realized that the warmth that had spread through her body had made her lips pull into an expression of awed wonder. She tried to regain control over her features, but Mordred had already seen her beauty and wouldn’t forget it for all his days.

Mordred took (Y/n)’s hands in his and closed the poetry book, placing it back in her basket. “Keep that safe,” he said. “It’s not wise to have poetry about magic in Camelot.”

(Y/n) started to grin, staring up at him challengingly. “And to have it committed to memory? Is that just as guilty?”

Mordred chuckled, but after a moment, his face turned grave. “In Camelot, I believe so.”

“Then Camelot is too harsh with matters of magic.”

Mordred did nothing but nod.

xi.

there is a ferocity deep within him, brother. it has the strength of a bear and the loyalty wolf; baring its teeth and tearing out throats. he keeps it deep within himself, burrowed beneath the ground, hidden amongst the trees.

it is strong, brother, but he is it’s master. he has run with the wolves and become one with the pack. he has faced the bear and made peace with its power. he has a strength inside of him that cannot be changed, and it protects this world from what he could be. and i stare at him, in awe of the power which he possesses within.

and when he smiles…

he is nothing i could not love.

xii.

The forest around them teemed with life - birds singing from the treetops, the undergrowth shaking from the movement of small animals, and the nearby brook babbling. (Y/n) breathed in deeply, the smell of the fresh air clearing her mind and filling her senses with a feeling of calm. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with the bad slung around her shoulder, the books inside of it slapping against her thighs as she rode her horse forward. Mordred, riding alongside her, looked at her from the corner of his eye, but she did not notice his gaze through her pleasant sigh.

They were riding to Carleon - Sir Mordred escorting the Royal Archivist - to meet with the genealogist that worked for Queen Annis. Geoffrey of Monmouth found a discrepancy in their bookkeeping of the old, noble families and needed to compare his records with the other kingdom, but at his age he was far too old to undertake such an adventure - especially at such a critical time in Camelot’s history. (Y/n) had been sent in his place, her expertise growing with every day that passed, the old librarian sharing his knowledge and legacy with the woman so that she might one day succeed him.

It was to be a fairly safe journey. Carleon was an ally of Camelot, and the two kingdoms were not far from one another. King Arthur had allowed Mordred to escort the woman, his warnings minimal - only that Mordred not forget his duty while protecting (Y/n).

Gwaine had been there to see the pair off, teasing (Y/n) of her feelings for the young knight.

“I believe your love life is the one we need to keep an eye on, Gwaine.” Her brother had laughed at that, and she told him to behave while she was gone. The last thing she needed was to worry about him while traveling to another kingdom.

Their journey so far had been a peaceful one. The two had time to talk about all that had happened in Camelot - from the gossip of what happened in the lower towns to the battles that the knights had waged in the name of the King. After that, there had been time to talk about the histories she had been translating and scribing; the worlds that she learned about on weathered pages were vibrant in their age and charming in their customs and habits - all of which had betweitched her, ensnaring her attention.

Mordred had deep interest in what had come before him - those millenia in which magic reigned, free - and (Y/n) was happy to share her passion with someone who listened and cared.

There had been time for them to bask in each other’s presence, to feel their souls intertwine as their paths converged onto the same road. For, in those days, few as they were, Mordred and (Y/n) shared a common destination and their fates were one.

Now, there was less than a two hour ride left, and with the end in sight, (Y/n)’s anxieties started to claw their way into her heart. She closed her eyes and focused on the world in front of her, this forest of bright yellows and deep greens, this sanctuary where she and Mordred were together, close enough to get lost in each other’s eyes for eternity.

“How much do you think Gwaine has worried while we’ve been gone?” (Y/n) smiled at the knight who rode beside her, her tone fighting to be as light and cheerful as the words she spoke. “I saw him talking to you before we left. What did he—”

A high-pitched scream that was not their own erupted into the sky. With a flash of metal, Mordred had unsheathed his sword and was riding for where the sound originated. (Y/n) followed, and when they burst into a clearing, they found it to be full of bandits surrounding an elderly man and his daughter. Without a second thought, Mordred sprung into action.

(Y/n) grabbed a sword from one of the bandits that Mordred felled and joined him in battle, her strikes proper and effective, although unceremonious and without the craft of a true swordsman. Mordred spared her an impressed glance before engaging with the rest of the marauders.

Surprise was their biggest advantage, and the two of them were able to dispose of four of the bandits quickly. The rest of the men ran, reasoning that the spoils weren’t worth the risk involved, now that a knight of Camelot was among them.

After the last of the men disappeared into the trees, (Y/n) dropped the sword she had been using, looking over the scrapes and minor flesh wounds she had received. Mordred walked over to her, his own eyes scanning her for injury, and she reassured him she was fine, her eyes moving to search him.

“Where did you learn to use a sword?”

(Y/n) scoffed, the adrenaline still buzzing through her veins. “Gwaine. Who else would arm a young girl against her will? He said I would need to one day.” A grin tugged at her lips. “I suppose he was right.”

Mordred smiled briefly and the two of them turned to the people who had cried out for help. The elderly man thanked them, taking their young hands in his own and blessing them good fortune for days to come.

“Such kindness is lacking in the world, today, when it is most needed.”

“We are just glad we could be of assistance to you and your daughter.” Mordred dipped his head low, and his voice echoed with past transgressions - moments of his past where he was a victim to circumstance, just as they were. “No one deserves such violence and pain.”

The old man peered at Mordred with years of wisdom, and he squeezed his shoulder like a father would. “You have such good souls”—he looked at (Y/n), as well, with a kind twinkle in his eye—“both of you.”

“Good souls are hard to come by.” (Y/n) agreed, gently. “They’re a rare treasure, indeed.”

Mordred looked at her, his eyes like the sky on a cloudless day. She regarded their bright brilliance with a warm glance and roses of the most vibrant pinks blossomed beneath his cheeks.

Later, after the travelers had gone on their way, and the two were riding for Carleon once more, (Y/n) found the courage to speak something that she had been thinking on for a while, but had only articulated just then.

“Mordred, when we were fighting those bandits…” her words trailed off, but Mordred was patient as he waited for them. “I know we’re only human - average and simple - but when I’m at your side, I feel stronger than that - better, even. It’s almost like…”

Silence didn’t stay between them, long.

“Like you have magic.”

xiii.

brother, we live such violent lives and meet such violent ends, but his life is precious in it’s softness and should never die on the end of a blade. this world has rubbed his edges with stone to sharpen them to fine points, but he wraps himself in soft down and refuses to be changed.

this life he lives deserves to be full, brother, with none of the emptiness that has surrounded him for so long. so much has been taken from him, so much of what he owns has been displaced. and so he holds me as though i am already gone.

but when i am resolute beside him, he smiles…

could the world bear to tear us apart?

xiv.

“All I’m saying is that Mordred is a lucky man to have caught my little sister’s eye.” Gwaine held up his hands in mock defeat as the two of you walked down the castle steps and into the Citadel. “How many people have you turned down over the years? I vividly remember at least three…”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes at her brother’s teasing, quickly shooting back, “And for every person I turn down, you lead another to your chambers.”

Gwaine feigned hurt, but a grin grew on his lips all the same. “I have more honor than that, (N/n).”

“More tact, you mean. If Arthur were to see you—” Gwaine nudged (Y/n) in the side and she laughed good-naturedly, elbowing him right back.

“But, truly, (Y/n). Mordred is a fine knight and if the two of you—”

“Gwaine...” (Y/n)’s face was hot with embarrassment and her brother smiled down at her, affection in his gaze.

“I would be happy, is all” —he tilted his head, then, his lips pulled into a thoughtful frown— “and a bit proud.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. “Exactly what I always wanted.” The two laughed, and once the moment sobered, (Y/n) turned to Gwaine, her expression genuine and earnest. “But really, thank you.”

Gwaine put a tender hand on her shoulder, squeezing it strongly. He opened his mouth to say something, but the clapping sound of horse hooves hitting stone caught his attention, and both siblings turned to see who was approaching.

An entire patrol of soldiers burst into the Citadel, many of them leaning over, their expressions drawn in pain and suffering. (Y/n)’s eyes searched frantically until they settled on Mordred, his expression grim and worried, but the rest of him seemingly okay. Gwaine walked over to him and he dismounted, both Knights meeting each other half-way.

“What happened?”

“We were attacked.” Mordred’s blue eyes flashed dangerously. “It was Morgana.”

“And you got away?” (Y/n) walked over to them, her eyes scanning over the injuries that the patrol had sustained. Almost all of them had a bruise or two, some of them with gashes on the head or sides. What had she done?

“It’s the King she wants,” Mordred sighed. “She’s just trying to draw him out.”

Gwaine nodded deftly, his brow furrowing as his entire disposition changed. “I’ll let Arthur know,” he assured Mordred, putting a hand on his arm before leaving.

(Y/n) watched as Mordred turned back to the men behind him, checking their wounds and sending them to Gaius if necessary. She watched his face contort with worry as he passed over each man, his eyes filled with care and legitimate attentiveness to each of their circumstances. The soldiers smiled gratefully at him, as though thanking Mordred for showing them that they were seen. In such a large military, it was easy to get lost in the sea of hundreds; people stopped becoming human and were just another sword in combat, just another body left on the battlefield. But here, under Mordred’s worried gaze, they were human. Bleeding, battered, and bruised people with hearts that were broken and minds that were screaming in the silence.

The love that resided within Mordred was quiet, but (Y/n) could see it from any distance and behind any facade.

When the last soldier was tended to, Mordred made his way over to (Y/n) and she looked at him deeply, with a soft care that made him feel entirely known and wholly loved. “Are you alright?” Her voice was low and pleading, careful but firm. “Morgana didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m alright.”

(Y/n) looked at him, her eyebrows still furrowed as she searched his expression for something to tell her the contrary. Finding nothing, she sighed and reached out to embrace him, holding Modred close to her beating chest.

He melted against her slowly, then all at once. His arms moved to wrap around her more securely and she responded to his touch, her hand getting lost in his hair. The pair stayed like that, enveloped in each other’s arms, until their hearts synced together and beat as one.

“Things happen so quickly Mordred,” she spoke without pulling away, her breath hot against his ear, “I don’t want you to be someone that passes by without me ever telling you how much you mean to me.”

Mordred hugged her tighter, until he felt he couldn’t breathe from her love. “Nothing can happen to me while I have you to live for.”

(Y/n) pulled away slowly, her eyes questioning whether or not he meant what he said. Mordred’s smile was in full bloom, adoration and love pouring out from him with no end in sight. She stared into his deep, blue eyes and her question died before ever making its way to her lips.

xv.

brother, you could never understand how the world has wronged us all and the poets exist only to make amends, but when i feel his heart against mine, i know it to be true. this existence is strife and heartache and nails tearing into flesh, but there is consolation in the arms of a lover and there is peace in their kiss.

and, brother, you may not understand his depths, but my lover is good. despite how he bleeds and breaks, he is whole when he lays beside me, his hands lacing with mine, his features carved by the artist we know as Time.

and when he smiles…

is there love that could rival mine?

xvi.

His lips were rough against her own, hot and wanting, pushing all thoughts that weren’t of him to the recesses of her mind. His arms were steady as he held her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other planted firmly on her waist, pressing her against him. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands trailing up his chest as they reached for his dark hair, thick and soft beneath her fingertips.

She kissed him deeply once more before parting to take a breath, her forehead resting on his, their noses bumping together, gently. Mordred’s eyes fluttered open and the world was extended to (Y/n), begging her to take it in her soft hands and make something beautiful from it’s fraying edges and tattered bits.

She didn’t know how to tell the world that it was already beautiful, when she looked through his eyes and saw its glory reflected there. If everything could be crafted in his mind’s eye this existence could be a much softer way of living.

“I love you,” she breathed the words, and even though they were her own, they made her heart race in her chest. She could feel his speed up as well, and placed a hand over his chainmail, where she knew his heart lay beneath.

Mordred sighed, “And I love you.” Their lips connected for one sweet, brief moment, and when their eyes met once more, he was smiling, his iris’ twinkling with the light of the sun. “I could love you for the rest of my days and it wouldn’t be enough.”

(Y/n) giggled at his charming words, unable to contain the love that filled her so completely. He kissed her again and it felt like a cloud - downy and warm, like what she imagined heaven to be like. For a fraction of a moment, his lips hovered over her own, and it was she who chased after them, her lips divine as they pressed against his.

A knock at the door pulled them apart, and Mordred looked at her with sympathy, unwilling to pull away from her embrace, not wanting to venture into the night when all of his world was right here, in front of him.

(Y/n) put a hand to his cheek, rubbing the smooth skin with her thumb. “Be careful out there, Mordred.” Her voice was still ragged, her breathing slowly finding its normal state, and the sound of it pushed on his resolve, begging him to stay.

“I promise.” He kissed her once more, and when he walked out the door, sword in hand and a smile on his face, she believed him.

xvii.

and when the sun has not yet come up and he is wrapped in my embrace, he is mine.

#merlin bbc #merlin #mordred #mordred merlin #bbc mordred #x reader #reader insert #imagine #one shot #fic #long fic #fem!reader #fluff

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doing-all-write · 4 years

Text

don’t be a baby

Pairing: Billy x Reader

Summary: Reader is a nurse who’s brother falls into the Sky Walker crowd. After he gets injured, Billy takes it upon himself to look after Reader’s brother and calm Reader’s nerves as they get ready for their next job. But when the job goes awry and Reader can’t keep Billy safe, how does she cope?

Word Count: 11K

Warnings: Smut (only 18+ interact please!), swearing, blood and softness bc we love two idiots pining over each other but refusing to acknowledge their feelings for each other!!

A/N: I wrote this in a caffeine fueled burst of inspiration after talking to @mrhoemazzello about how much of a baby Billy would be when he gets injured and you have to patch him up and it made me so soft and shoutout to @itsabenthing for helping me flesh out this idea and for always being such a great cheerleader 💖but this bad boy is DEFINITELY going to be a two parter so keep an eye out part two coming soon!

Also the first part of this story takes place before the events of 6Underground and the job they’re planning and go on is the one in the movie just to give everyone some context.

💖💖As always likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💖💖

There was a thump at the window.

She ignored it. It was close to midnight and the idea that someone could be knocking on her (three stories high) window at this time seemed ludicrous. She groaned, shifting in the chair she had curled up in hours ago, reaching out for the sweet release of unconsciousness to claim her before her anxiety kept her up.

She knew Billy was most likely gone. She didn't want to admit it to herself but the relentless loop in her head was a broken record of he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone.

There was still a part of her that hoped Billy had gotten away unscathed. She had seen him in action, she knew what he was capable of and she sent out a wish that Billy would come running into her apartment like the day he came running into the hospital.

~~~

She had been working in the Emergency Room, taking over a fellow nurses night rotations in exchange for a few extra days off, when a man had limped in, blue eyes frantic, blonde hair damp and smashed to his forehead, carrying what looked like a dummy in a hoodie, both of them covered in dried blood.

She raced around the desk to them, looping the arm of the prone man around her shoulders as she helped steer them to the nearest room. The blonde kept babbling on about how the man between them had hurt himself while they wrestled the man into a bed. Once the unconscious man was laying down, she pulled back the hood obscuring his face and felt her soul leave her body.

Her brother's face was the one staring back at her.

Now is not the time. Pull it together. You know what to do. Her Nurse Brain kicked in and she shoved the blonde to the side as she hastily started taking care of her brother. Once he had been stabilized and diagnosed with nothing more than a nasty bump on the head, a broken ankle and a badly bloodied nose, she had shoved the shadow who had been following her around into the hallway, crowding him into the supply closet and demanding answers.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Oh, careful there, love. You keep talking dirty to me like that and I'll fall in love with you."

"Why the fuck were you with my brother?"

"Taking him out on a date because he spoke to me with the same dirty mouth you both share apparently."

He was obstinate, shifting between smart ass answers and flirting as she tried to get any scrap of information from him. She finally hit her limit and spat out, "He's my fucking brother and if you don't tell me what happened, I'll assume it was you and have you thrown in jail. I don't give a fuck about you," She had jabbed a finger into his chest and he winced, "but I do give a fuck about my family."

Her Nurse Brain activated again when she saw him wince. Eyes zipping over him, assessing, she took in his bloodied face and hands. "Unzip your hoodie."

"Interesting. I'd always heard that angry sex was the best. Can't believe I'm gonna find out if that's true in this supply closet."

Rolling her eyes, she'd batted his hands away as he tried to prevent her from unzipping his hoodie. Fixing him with her if you don't let me do my fucking job I'll kill you and make it look like an accident stare, he had held his hands up in surrender.

Metallic ticks were the only noise as she pulled the zipper down, revealing the red tank top underneath.

"Wait, was this originally white?"

A huff of breath was the only answer she received before she pulled him back into the room with her brother, patching him up while she kept up a running commentary of grumbling about how he had endangered not only her own brother but also himself.

"I mean, what kind of stupid, reckless, idiot would do something like that! Jesus, you see one too many Marvel movies and think, 'hmm, that looks easy. I can do that too!' I mean honestly."

Her monologue was interrupted by the feel of a rough palm grasping her forearm. It seemed like trying to get the next words out were more painful than sustaining the injuries he had already taken that night, "I was protecting him. He works with our crew well and I told him not to come with us but he insisted. Said he needed these jobs so he could help his little sister pay off her student loans."

That had shut her up.

~~~

He didn't remember falling asleep but he stirred as he felt his arm being moved.

"It's okay, it's just me."

"I'm sorry, I don't know a 'me'. I only know the hard ass nurse who I had incredible sexual chemistry with." He heard her huff out a breath, could almost hear her eyes rolling as well. Her fingers were gentle as she made sure the IV drip in his arm was still firmly in place. She saw his lips quirk and rolled her eyes, again, "Go back to sleep. I like you more when you're unconscious."

"Great bedside manner you have there, sweetheart. You got a name?"

There was silence, then, "It's (Y/N)."

He sighed, "Well, (Y/N), it's nice to meet you. I'm Billy, and that guy in the opposite bed? That's Mark. Though I'm assuming you two already know each other since you're related and all."

"If you weren't in a hospital bed, I'd smack you."

"There's that bedside manner that keeps the patients coming back."

~~~

Billy didn't remember when he drifted off again but when he came to, the light on the other side of his eyelids was the dull yellow of the beginning rays of sunlight welcoming another morning. Eyelids fluttering open, Billy had seen her, curled up in a hospital chair right by Mark's bed, hand cupping her brother's as their chests rose and fell in tandem. Feeling like he was encroaching on a private moment, he closed his eyes again, praying that the tear he felt running down his cheek would dry before either of them would wake up.

~~~

"Hey. (Y/N). Wake up. C'mon. I've got him from here, go home and shower. Grab some food."

Her eyelids flickered open and a groan came flying out of her mouth as she slowly started rolling her neck around. As she did so, she couldn't help her eyes from straying to the bed across the room. But it was empty.

~~~

Her brother had been discharged the next day and she'd been keeping a close eye on him since. A few days later, she kicked open the door of his apartment, yelling out a greeting as she tried to balance the two large tote bags of food, games and movies she had brought over to help keep him entertained and fed as he healed up.

"I know you're a purist when it comes to Star Trek but I brought over the reboots because one, Chris Pine is very easy on the eyes and two, Star Trek is Star Trek I mean, as long as someone says 'live long and prosper' you're good, right?"

Her voice trailed off as she padded into his living room only to be met with four pairs of eyes staring back at her. Everyone, including her brother, was wearing black athletic clothes making them look a bit like a goth gymnastics team, she felt like a toddler amongst them in her over-sized sweater and leggings.

Her eyes sought out her brother's in hopes he would explain. Mark's eyes pleaded with her to be understanding and it wasn't until she heard someone clear their throat that she realized she recognized the blue eyes staring back at her,

"I'll, uh, I'll just come help you unpack those bags. Okay, love?" The steel cutting along the edge of his words gave her no time to argue as she felt Billy's large hand pressing into her lower back as he shoved her into the kitchen.

Tripping over her feet, she flung the Star Trek DVD back onto the counter as she rounded on Billy.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" the words were pulverized through her clenched teeth. Her hands curled into fists to prevent them from shaking. She was terrified that these people were back in her brother's life, and only a few days after he had left the hospital because of their recklessness.

"It's so lovely to see you too! I missed you and your warm bedside manner so much darling." He snarled back as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Now is not the time. Last time you showed up in my life you almost got my brother killed. You better explain yourself now or I'm grabbing the broom and beating everyone in that room out the door and then breaking the broom over your head personally."

Blue eyes widened till she could see the whites all the way around them, "How are you allowed to take care of people? You should be locked up by the pigs not me." He swiveled around, grabbing a beer from the fridge and popping the top off by putting the lid of the bottle against the rim of the counter and hitting it with the heel of his hand.

Peering out of the corner of his eye he saw her eyes widen, a flush building in her cheeks. She hated how that simple action had sent a flash of warmth through her.

Smirking, he turned back to her, bringing the bottle to his lips, taking a long sip as she shook herself from thinking about what other things Billy could do with his hands.

So maybe she had noticed how handsome he was after he had fallen asleep in the hospital. She was only human.

"While I'm so glad you're enjoying my brothers hospitality, maybe you could dignify me with an answer?" She knew the sarcasm dripping from every word was poisonous but she couldn't help herself. Just because she had seen dried tear tracks on Billy's face when she had woken up to check on him in the cool dawn morning and, alright, maybe she had checked the medical records in the hospital for information on him ("It's like Facebook stalking!" her voice rising as she quickly tried to close his records after her co-worker called her out on it.) and maybe her heart had twisted in on itself when she woke up the next morning and he was gone and maybe she had spent a few thousand hours thinking about him and wondering if she would ever see him again didn't mean she wanted him in her life.

Right?

Sighing, Billy leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms as the bottle dangled between two long fingers, "We're planning another job and we asked your brother to do surveillance. All he'll be doing is sitting on that couch," he closed one eye, pointing towards the sofa Mark was currently residing at, "watching security cameras and making sure none of us get caught and warning us of any potential baddies around the corner. It's easy, it's harmless and you could even be sitting next to him babysitting if you're really that concerned about my safety."

Rolling her eyes, she stepped forward to start unpacking the bags, needing something to do with her hands and eyes. Looking right at Billy was like staring at the sun. She feared looking at him for too long would result in permanent damage from his eyes boring into hers, or that the fluttering in her stomach would get stronger the more she talked to him.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't seen the group Billy ran with around the city. Walking along, earbuds in, minding her own business, she'd hear a thud, look up and instead of squirrels scampering along the telephone wires, it would be people. Executing flips, yelling, jeering, she'd watch in awe while Nurse Brain would be calculating what kind of injuries they'd sustain and how bad said injuries would be if they fell, but they never did.

They looked more comfortable walking in the sky than on the ground. They were flying. Confident. So sure that there would be something there to catch them. She had started calling them "Sky Walkers."

Every time she saw them from then on, she always had an ache in her heart for the rest of the day. She craved the security and confidence they had. She'd looked down at her feet encased in Nike's, cursing them for staying ground to the tiled floor of the hospital.

"All I know is, last time my brother got mixed up with you guys, he showed up at my hospital, bloody and unconscious." Her shoulders hunched forward as anger drained from her body thinking about how frightened she had been. "Can you blame me for being scared?"

This last sentence was almost missed by Billy. But seeing her look so defeated, Billy's heartstrings tugged. Mark talked about his sister a lot. It was clear they took care of each other. He had always wondered what it would have been like to have that consistency.

Placing Tupperware on the kitchen table, the silence stretched out as Billy sized her up. Finally, her eyes rose, meeting his underneath the harsh fluorescent light. The eyes staring into hers were calculating but not cold. They weren't the eyes of a doctor, sizing up a patient and only seeing a maze of veins, arteries and organs that with the right snip or stitch could be fixed. His was a gaze that peeled back the layers of skin and bone, seeing right into the most vulnerable parts of yourself.

"You've noticed that your loans are almost entirely paid off. Haven't you." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Billy had been the one to walk Mark through the steps to help pay off her loans without it being suspicious. He had heard her on the other end of the line when she called to tell Mark how much her loans had gone down. The voice on the other end high-pitched, tinny, but the love between them so palpable he had to leave the room.

Her eyes darted down as she busied herself carrying Tupperware over to the fridge, her hair a curtain over her profile as she leaned down to place it in the fridge. "He loves you, you know. A lot. That's the only reason he took the gig." He took a sip of beer, watching her frame, way too still to not be listening, peering into the fridge but not seeing anything. "He's friends with Jean, the mastermind, out there and when he complained about how unfair it was of you to have so many loans, Jean offered him a cut of the benefits if he helped us with the job."

She didn't feel the coolness of the fridge air wafting over her, she felt nothing but enormous guilt. She was the reason he had been injured. That he was mixed up in this crowd. She was the reason he was putting himself in harms way and if he died? It would be all her fault.

Billy, chuckled to himself as she was gripped in the throes of an existential crisis, "Jean's a good guy but I think he mainly knew having a nurse in our good graces would be immeasurably helpful."

His eyes widened as she turned to face him, flecks of mascara caught in the tears moving down her face but she didn't seem to notice them streaking down. It seemed like she barely noticed him, "You have to keep an eye on him. Please. If anything happens to him-because of me-I-I don't..." her voice trailed off.

Billy crouched down, cupping her shoulders as he pressed his forehead into hers, "Hey. Hey, love. Love? Look at me, focus on my voice, okay?" He pulled back so he could look into both of her eyes. With enormous effort she pulled herself back to this moment, in her brothers kitchen, crouched on the floor with a Sky Walker. "I'll keep an eye on him. He's one of us now. We look after our own, got it? We always do." She nodded, searching his eyes for any sign of lying but there was none. Just warm, blue skies, promising her that from then on out, everything would be fine.

After their rendezvous in the kitchen, Billy had gone back to the living room to plan while she had splashed cold water on her face and pulled herself together. By the time she slunk out of the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself, everyone was leaving and Billy had his arm around a brunette girl who reeked of sexual experience and danger.

She was pretty sure she reeked of "Christmas Cookie" hand sanitizer and sexual frustration.

Billy caught her eye as he strolled out of the room, winking at her as he walked past.

Her heart caught in her throat at the action but remembered how his girlfriend was someone who flew through the air with enormous ease and she was someone who was locked on the ground.

Patching her brother up came easy to her. She wished it had been the first time she had fixed him up but that would be a lie. She went over to his apartment a few times a week. Sometimes the other Sky Walker's would be there, sometimes not. Most of the time if they were over, they spent their time planning the next big heist. Maps and blueprints covered every available surface and surveillance footage became a comforting background noise as she would prep dinner or check Mark's ankle and help him do physical therapy.

Sometimes it would just be Jean hanging out, playing video games with Mark. The first dinner he joined them for, she found she could barely look at him. The resentment towards him still a solid rock in her stomach.

A few meals later, Jean gently tugged her into the living room after she had gotten Mark set up in bed, "Alright. I know why you won't look at me. Let me have it."

He had sat on the couch for over an hour, hands folded in his lap, nodding as she ripped him a new one, getting out all of her fear and anger. Once she had run out of steam and was standing in front of him, he had taken her hands in his, making the same promise Billy had. That Mark was one of their own now. He would do everything he could to take care of him. The eyes peering back up at her were full of nothing but sincerity.

Glancing down, she sniffled, peering at their hands intertwined, "You have questionable tattoos." Jean barked out a laugh, "You think mine are bad? You should see some of Billy's."

From then on, she looked forward to having the Sky Walker's around. Whenever she entered Mark's apartment in the weeks leading up to the mission, her heart would speed up in anticipation.

Sometimes it would come crashing to the ground when she saw no sign of Billy. Other times, she was positive individuals could see her heart beating through her shirt when her eyes caught his from across the room.

The only downer was, if Billy was there, that usually meant his girlfriend, Cassandra, was there as well.

She had tried, a valiant effort in her opinion, to make nice with her. Most of the time, they were the only girls around. Working to find common ground with Cassandra was proving to be a difficult task, mainly because Cassandra would fix her with a blank stare until she slunk back into the kitchen to restock Mark's fridge.

The last straw for her had been when she had walked into Mark's apartment, yelling hello only to look up and see Cassandra fixing her with a blank stare and sharpening a knife

She quickly found that anyone who carried their own knife sharpening kit was someone she didn't particularly trust. It made her nervous then, that Billy did so much.

But she didn't want to interfere. She didn't want to think about all the lethal ways Cassandra could injure her with that blade if she found out she had meddled in her relationship.

When Billy was there, she could hardly stop the grin that threatened to split her face as she busied herself in the kitchen making food for everyone, jumping every time someone came into the kitchen, waiting for Billy to come in under the guise of getting a beverage but always stopping to chat with her.

Those stolen minutes in the kitchen with Billy were quickly becoming her favorite times.

She hadn't meant to develop a crush on Billy, but, how could she not? Other than the physical reasons, (she had once seen him take his shirt off to try on a new one and she almost dropped a whole bowl of soup into Mark's lap) he was genuine. Ever since he had looked into her eyes and promised to take care of her brother, he had kept that promise.

When plans would change, he'd come into the kitchen and update her. He'd tell her all the different contingency plans they had. And while she knew her brother wasn't going on this mission, she still felt a sense of peace wash over her as he walked her through the plan.

There was one night she asked him, "How did you even get into the Sky Walker stuff?" Coughing on the sip of beer he'd just downed, he made a choking noise, "The what stuff?"

Blushing, she realized she had let slip the private name she had called them ever since she first saw them leaping through the sky, "Umm, Sky Walkers? It's dumb, I know, but I saw you guys months ago leaping over buildings and wires and to me, from the ground, it was like you were walking on the sky, like you had mastered the force and the elements and I've called you that ever since..." her voice trailed off as Billy sat down next to her.

Laying his arms on the table, a smirk played across his lips, "Well, now that I know you're a huge Star Wars nerd, you're even cuter." his eyes dancing with mirth.

Her heart sank at that. She knew Billy didn't feel the same way about her (why would he when he had Cassandra slinking around out there waiting out for him to join her in the sky) but her heart still leaped at the knowledge that he thought she was cute.

His eyes fixed on an unseen spot as he mulled the name over, "I gotta say, I like the name Sky Walkers. Might bring that up to the whole team. Give you full credit and trademark rights of course." He winked and she giggled as she pulled her mug of tea closer.

"Why don't you join us in the living room? You're always welcome. And I have insider intel that when Jean's over, you two hang out like you're best friends. So why don't you want to hang out with me?" He made an exaggerated pouty face at her as she struggled to not lean over and bite his exposed bottom lip.

"Because you annoy me" she said primly as she lifted her mug to her mouth, then before she could stop herself, "and I don't think your girlfriend likes me very much."

The tea was scalding but she forced herself to take a long sip so she wouldn't have to look at Billy's face.

Billy sat there, studying her, she seemed so out of place with the dark clothes that were rotating in and out of Mark's place. They'd all be caught up in planning, then she'd come bursting into the apartment and it was like she was bringing sunshine in with her.

She painted her nails with pink sparkles, she watched romantic comedies, she told him about the little kids she played with in the hospital on her rounds, she laughed easily, she engaged with the other members of the crew, pulling them into her warmth, her goodness. She had patched all of them up at one time or another. The more she got to know the whole crew, the more she relaxed and the more she relaxed, the more Billy found sunshine spilling through her cracks and coaxing him towards her warmth.

But then, Cassandra would lazily lift an eyebrow at him, nod her head and he'd leave with her. He'd known Cassandra since he joined the Sky Walkers. They'd just recently started...well...he wouldn't call it "dating" so much as he and Cassandra would do a job together and then have mind blowing sex after when adrenaline made them both want to explode out of their skins.

He was starting to realize though that he and Cassandra didn't...talk. Not like how Billy talked to (Y/N).

He laid out his hands on the table, looking at his fingers. They were calloused, rough, covered in tattoos. Her hands were soft despite having to wash them a million times a day. ("I use lotion every day, multiple times a day, how do you not own lotion Billy?" He had walked into Mark's apartment the next day only to be met with a bottle of Bath and Body Works hand lotion being thrown at him by Mark. His heart had squeezed in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe.) and her nails were adorned with pink sparkles. His own nails were busted and, he was pretty sure, had dried blood under them.

He had no business thinking the butterflies that erupted in his stomach every time she smiled at him meant anything more than she was cute and he liked cute women. Never mind that if she said Cassandra didn't like her he was on the verge of saying he'd dump her.

"Yeah, well. Cassandra doesn't like too many people. I wouldn't worry about it too much." He slapped his hands on the table pushing himself up. Lifting her eyes from her mug she watched him retreat back into the living room, the muscles of his back moving and shifting as he made his way back to the Sky Walkers, slipping easily onto the arm of the chair Cassandra was lazing in.

She really hated how good they looked next to each other.

She finished her tea, listening to them finalizing plans and making arrangements for the job, which would happen the day after next.

She had been hoping she'd have a shift scheduled at the hospital but no such luck.

Sighing, she stood up to rinse her mug out. In less than 48 hours she would be back here, sitting with Mark, trying to keep herself occupied and to not care too much that Billy was out there and she couldn't do anything to keep him safe.

~~~

The job went awry so quickly.

She didn't know what to make of it. One minute she had been sitting on Mark's sofa, curled up with a book as Mark sat at his desk, surrounded by monitors. Listening to him call out commands, chuckle softly at jokes, the sharp tap of keys as he disconnected security cameras or diverted them away from where the Sky Walkers were prowling.

For a while, she had been standing behind him, watching all of this happen as the group slipped through the halls of a lavish hotel. Tapping Mark's shoulder, in an over exaggerated whisper, she told him to tell the team that she said good luck and that if any of them got injured she "wouldn't patch them up because then they wouldn't learn anything."

Mark rolled his eyes and obliged, reaching a hand down to squeeze (Y/N)'s in a reassuring gesture.

Through Mark's headset, she heard the team giving their thanks, promising her that this job would do away with the rest of her loans and they'd be back to her before she knew it. Billy had looked dead set into the nearest security camera and winked as he promised he'd come back in one piece.

A gasp flew form her parted lips as her brother cleared his throat, reminding Billy to get his ass moving and to stop flirting with his sister.

Then, shit hit the fan.

It started with her hearing Billy's roughly accented voice piercing through Mark's headphones, yelling about the jewels being fakes.

Mark talked him through it, as Jean yelled back at Billy which is when Mark started yelling.

That's when she had heard gunshots.

Everything was a blur after that. She ran to the monitors and thought she was looking at a video game. There were so many men with guns running towards where the Sky Walkers were she assumed it was an army of some sort. She saw the flash of guns discharging and people she knew, people she had come to love, fall to the ground where she hoped like hell they would get back up again.

Part of her wanted to call her hospital, pull some strings and help as many of them as she could but Mark had pulled her into his chest, telling her it was no use.

In the confusion and mayhem she thought she had seen Billy, necklace clamped firmly between his teeth, jumping through a window but she couldn't be sure.

So, she and Mark had to sit and wait. Till Jean came back.

Just Jean.

He explained what had happened as he and Mark sat at the kitchen table, nursing a bottle of whiskey. She had stayed for one drink but the grief didn't feel like one she could share in.

She finally left, as she walked away, each step thudded to the ground while the only refrain that carried her home was billybillybillybillybillybillybilly. It wasn't until she found herself standing outside of her front door that she realized her body had carried her home while her thoughts had been in the sky.

Her body felt heavier, though she knew that a part of her heart had died in Mark's apartment that night and she wasn't sure if it would ever be whole again.

Her body was on autopilot as she stepped into the shower but each drop of water hitting her back felt like a knife.

She knew Cassandra and the rest of the team were there to help him. No matter how she felt about Cassandra personally, she knew she was part of the team. They were there for back up but so many people were in the fray.

So many people gone.

The water had gone cold by the time she stepped out of the shower. Not that she could feel it anyway.

Braiding her hair, she settled down on the chair by her window. It overlooked the fire escape she would lounge on with a glass of wine on nice summer nights.

Tonight it was empty, utilitarian. Only reminding her of how many Billy had fallen through as he tried to get away.

She leaned her head against the window, feeling the glass pushing back against her skull. Easing the dull ache that throbbed within as she closed her eyes.

~~~

That's where she had been when she heard the first thump.

Sleep had been within her grasp when she heard the second thump.

Groggily reaching into her sweatpants pocket, she pulled her phone out and saw it was 3:14 am.

There were no texts or calls from Mark.

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, wondering if it was her neighbors making that noise.

The third thump rattled her window causing her to jolt out of her chair.

Slowly, she reached her hand forward, nudging the blinds back, letting her eyes adjust to the nighttime as the lights from street lamps below worked to permeate the darkness that covered the world. That's when she saw the dark lump of something on her fire escape.

Squinting her eyes, her first thought was, why would someone throw their garbage bag onto my fire escape?

Flicking on the lamp she had by the window, it cast an uneven glow over the lump revealing dark clothes and athletics shoes spattered with blood.

The figure raised its head and time slowed down in those moments. The wan light drifting up from below barely illuminated the eyes staring back at her but she'd know the color anywhere. Those blue eyes, the color of her sky, was the only way she knew it was Billy.

The rest of him resembled a man who had scrabbled his way back from hell. His face was covered in scraps and tears. His visage and hands covered with dried blood. There was a wound on his neck that was slowly leaking blood but had started to congeal into a nasty mess.

His hair was matted to his head. His right eye was ringed in the blues and blacks of the beginnings of a nasty black eye. Sweat shined on his face as he blearily took in her face. He did his best to fight the smile breaking over his lips but he was so grateful to see her he barely noticed when his lips cracked even more.

As she opened the window she heard someone panting "thank god thank god thank god" and it took her a minute to realize that the prayer was falling from her lips. She bundled Billy into her apartment, setting him down on the chair by the window, still warm from her body.

She locked the window, drawing her curtains closed and rushed over to the front door, double checking it had been locked as well. For extra security she pushed one of her kitchen chairs underneath the door knob.

Hearing a snort she turned, "You watch too many bad gangster movies as a kid?"

Fighting against the lump in her throat, her voice came out thick as she tried to match his snark, "Yeah, well. You'll thank me later when the bad guys are stopped by my Ikea chair."

He heaved out a sigh that she supposed was as close as he could get to a laugh in his state. Sinking deeper into the chair, hissing as he finally allowed his body to relax. Nurse Brain kicked in as she took stock of his body, where he was holding tension, where he was avoiding putting pressure, assessing how old the cuts were. After a quick run down, she raced to her freezer.

Filling her arms with every bag of frozen veggies she had, she quickly wrapped them in paper towels, briskly walking back over to Billy's form. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, listened to the rattle of every intake, so grateful for each shuttery breath.

The grateful feeling was quickly overcome by anger. This asshole.

This was the second time he had shown up to throw himself at her mercy in a horrific state. She almost wished he were dead. She felt her knees shake, betraying how grateful she was that he was alive and in her apartment.

Instead of telling him all that though, she slapped a bag of frozen peas on his eye.

Yelping, his body curled inward as his hand reached up to catch the bag, pressing the peas back into place, "What the fuck? These are bloody freezing. I barely make it out alive and you're trying to kill me with frost bite from," he pulled the bag back squinting at it, "frozen peas?"

"Oh I'm so sorry that the frozen veggies I slapped on your busted face so you don't swell up like a fucking balloon aren't to your liking. My sincerest apologizes your majesty." She hissed out as she slapped another bag on his side as he let out a grunt.

He pressed a hand to the bag against his side as she mumbled, her fingers dancing over his form as she poked and prodded, trying to feel what the damage was, what she could do for him here and if he needed to get to a hospital.

"Couldn't make this experience a little more pleasant could ya?" He didn't mean to be a dick but in his defense, he had had a hell of a day. The job didn't go at all like they planned, he'd lost friends, Cassandra turned out to be a backstabbing thief, he didn't get the necklace, he'd fallen from the top of a building and then, to really just make the day fucking wild, when he'd come too, some weirdo had offered him the strangest proposition he'd ever heard after pretending he was going to kill Billy.

So, yeah. He was a little grumpy.

"You're lucky I even let your sorry ass into my apartment. How do you even know where I live anyway?"

"I've been having you followed by my top men."

"You asked Mark didn't you."

"Fuck."

Her lips quirked up for a second as she finished rotating his foot around checking for any swelling or broken bones. Standing up she declared, "You don't have anything seriously wrong or broken on you which is a fucking miracle. Just some bad scraps that I can take care of here." She made her way to the hall closet where she kept a first aid kit and other medical accessories. Ever since Mark sliced his hand open one Thanksgiving which had been dubbed the "Bloodiest Thanksgiving Since The Pilgrims Landed" she figured she'd better be stocked.

Billy sank lower into the chair. Leaning his head back he let out a sigh, hearing (Y/N) mumbling to herself, rattling around, he could almost pretend that he had come over under normal circumstances.

Hearing the soft thud of her footfalls, he cracked an eye open as she pulled a stool closer to his face. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she started pouring something on a cotton ball, "If you thought the frozen peas were bad you're really gonna hate this."

"What could be worse than-" his sentence was cut off by a strangled cry as she pressed the cotton ball onto the scrap by his eye. Slamming his fists on the arms of the chair, he felt his body seize up as he fought to keep control, "Fucking hell (Y/N). Seriously, they should revoke your nurses license."

"You keep disrespecting me like that and I'm just going to dump this whole bottle on you." She snapped at him. Billy pried his eyes open as he took deep breaths. He turned his head to face her, opening his mouth to fire off another comment when he glanced down at her hands and stopped.

She was getting more of the disinfectant on the floor and her legs than she was getting on the cotton ball held in her hand. Her voice managed to be strong and sure but her hands told a different story. One of anxiety, one of worry, one of relief.

"Were you worried about me baby?" His voice was so soft that for a second she wondered if someone else had entered her apartment. Locking eyes with him, she thought about how just hours before, she had been certain she would never see his face again.

Never joke with him again, talk to him, share a quiet moment with him, never learn everything about him, never sit with him at their own kitchen table one day.

She wanted that. She wanted hours and days and months and years of kitchen table talks with Billy. Feeling the relief at having him back with her, she didn't even think about her next actions.

She leaned forward and kissed him...only to pull back immediately, "Oh my god I'm such an idiot. Your lip is so busted, I'm so sorry I shouldn't have done that, that was so dumb and what if I had hurt you even more? That would have been terrible-"

Billy's hand reached up, cupping the back of her head and pulling her into him. Her lips were soft and he bet a hundred bucks that she used chapstick every day. He knew his lips were chapped, cracked and probably coated in dried blood but he didn't care. Feeling her pressed against him helped take away the fear he had been trying to tamp down ever since the maniac in the garage had pretended to kill him.

Finally pulling back he let out a shaky laugh, "Were you really that worried I wouldn't come back to you, love?"

"No, I was worried that you wouldn't help me pay off my loans. Fuck your safety, I needed money." She was trying to get them back to their usual banter but the big gulps of air she was taking betrayed how she was really feeling.

"You were worried about me. You wanted me to be safe and come back to you in one piece. Don't deny it." The smugness of his voice made her smile as she pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered in his ear, "You ever tell anyone I said this and I'll deny it but, yes."

She pulled away, placing the cotton balls and bottle on the floor, giving herself some time to collect herself as Billy reached his hands toward her, grabbing her own and rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her hands, sending sparks up her arms right into her heart.

Her heart ached for both of them. They both had lost so much today but they were lucky enough to be able to come back to each other. Billy heaved a sigh and looked up at her, "You were right."

"I usually am but what specifically was I right about in this instance?"

"You're a giant pain in my ass. About Cassandra. She wasn't trustworthy. Left me hanging off the edge of a building, stole the necklace and left the rest of the team behind," he brushed a piece of her hair out of the way, letting his fingers linger on her cheek, "should have listened to you."

Blushing, she leaned her cheek into Billy's palm, "Hmm, I could get used to hearing you tell me that." Billy chuckled as she straightened up and fixed him with a glare, "You just have to keep promising me you're going to come back to me in one piece."

Billy's eyes darkened, shifting in the chair as he remembered the deal the man in the room had proposed to him. Being able to go completely off the grid. Everything wiped clean. He would be a ghost.

But being in (Y/N)'s apartment, holding her hands in his, having her smile, kiss and hold him...he wondered if he had made the right decision.

"I'll do my best, darling." He muttered, purposefully not saying promise because he knew, some day soon, he would break that promise and he didn't know if he'd be able to live with himself knowing he had broken her trust.

Placing a soft kiss on his lips, she stroked the side of his face with her thumb. Sniffing she shook her head slightly, "Alright. Quit distracting me, I need to finish patching you up."

He chuckled, "Would it kill you to be nice to me? I mean, we just had an incredibly tender moment and I did have a pretty rough day..." his voice trailed off as he widened his eyes in an attempt to gain sympathy. She scoffed as she grabbed the cotton balls and disinfectant again.

"I suppose falling from the top of a building would kind of ruin your day. Now hold still. And don't be a baby." She dabbed the soaked cotton ball on the scrap on his neck, intertwining her fingers with his as he hissed out a breath. Squeezing his fingers, she murmured apologizes and encouragement, "I'm sorry my love, it's okay. Breathe. You're doing great."

After slapping some band-aids on the worst of the cuts ("What, no Spiderman Band-Aids?") she helped him to the shower, leaving him to wash off the day as she went to her room to find some sweats for him. Luckily, she had nicked plenty of Mark's sweatpants over the years so she laid those and a shirt out for Billy to find when he came into the room from his shower.

Hearing the door open, she looked up only to be met by a shirtless Billy, hair slicked back, chest damp, towel riding low on his hips. She didn't mean for the sharp intake of breath to be so audible but it was worth it when it earned her a smirk from Billy as he crossed over to her.

"Even beat up all to hell, still not a terrible sight, huh?"

Swallowing thickly she just nodded her head in agreement. Not trusting herself to speak she quickly turned and grabbed the clothes she laid out, shoved them into his arms and left, the sound of Billy chuckling following her out into the living room.

Settling onto her couch she fiddled with the end of her braid, contemplating why she had seen anguish flash through Billy's eyes when she made him promise to come back to her in one piece. She had definitely noticed the lack of the word "promise" when Billy answered her request.

The timeline of what happened since he fell didn't make much sense either. If Billy had fallen from the building, then where had he been for so long? There was no way somebody would have ignored a body laying unconscious in the street, especially with cops swarming the building.

"Baby? Hey. I can sleep on the couch. I don't mind."

Jolting out of her thoughts, she blinked as she came back to the present moment, Billy standing over her, "No! You shouldn't be sleeping on a couch. You can sleep in my bed."

"I've been waiting for an invitation to your bed for a long time baby." She flushed as she pushed herself off the couch. Grabbing Billy's hand, they walked back to her bedroom. Settling themselves under the covers she was gripped by a sudden wave of anxiety, should she try to cuddle with him? Would he want space now? Did she want to give him space? He was the one sharing her bed.

The anxiety melted away when she heard a voice in her ear, "Come here, love. I won't bite. Unless you're into that." She giggled she turned her body to face his, nuzzling her face into his chest, breathing in the smell of him as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head.

Stroking her back, they drifted off to sleep. Their breathe synching up as they finally felt safe from the world as they created their own little one in each others arms.

The light streaming into her apartment caused her to stir. Stretching her body out she almost forgot that she had shared a bed with Billy last night. When she remembered, she was gripped with panic when she realized he was no longer there. Leaping from the bed, she raced into her living room, making sure that the door hadn't been busted down and Billy had been taken while she'd been sleeping. She knew it was illogical or she'd have to be the most sound sleeper on the planet but she still exhaled a breath when she saw her door was still locked and the chair underneath it still in place.

"Gotta say, I did sleep better knowing that we were protected by your highly sophisticated security system." She turned at the sound of his deep voice, he was standing at her stove, cooking eggs as he smiled at her, "Did you really think I'd leave you like I did the first time we met?"

Shaking her head she went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, exhaling as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, using his other arm to keep stirring the eggs. "Don't scare me like that. I thought you got taken and I'm not Liam Neeson. I have no skills to use to find you." His chest rumbled with laughter, "Well, Liam Neeson isn't as pretty as you but you're crafty. I'd trust you to find me."

Placing a kiss onto his chest, she giggled, "Do you want coffee?" he nodded, "Also, how are you feeling today?"

"Sore. Like I fell from the top of a building and landed on concrete."

"Huh. Interesting. Did you do anything out of the ordinary yesterday?" Faux innocence lacing her voice as she measured out coffee grounds.

"Yeah. I fell from the top of a building and landed on concrete." Was Billy's deadpan response which had her cracking up which made Billy laugh at how hard she was laughing.

They finally pulled themselves together and stared at each other, him smiling, her hiccuping as she wiped at her eyes, "We're some pretty sick fucks for laughing at something like that, huh?"

He shrugged, "Probably. But it feels good to laugh. Especially with you."

After breakfast had been cleared away, Billy had stretched out on the couch, more bags of frozen peas on his various injuries. She came out of the kitchen, taking a moment to enjoy the peace before she broached the inevitable, "So, we should probably see Mark and Jean at some point. They're going to want to know you're okay."

Billy grunted in agreement, tipping his head back to look at her, "Yeah. That's not a bad idea. They're going to be pissed I came to you first before them though."

"I don't think so. I think they're just going to be relieved that you're alive. Plus, I am a nurse. It'd make sense to come to me and not those two chuckle fucks." She padded over to the couch, standing over him. "If you had gone to them first they would have just brought you to me anyway."

"That's true." He gazed up at her before grabbing her hands and tugging her down. Resisting, she giggled, "I don't want to fall on top of you and hurt you more, but I'll lie down next to you if you want."

He nodded eagerly, shifting his body over on the couch to make room for her, she curled up against him. Their legs intertwining as she splayed a hand over his chest, the rise and fall of his chest a balm to her anxiety and helping root her to him.

Inhaling deeply, then instantly regretting it at how it caused his ribcage to feel like it might crack, Billy felt more content here than he ever had in his entire life. He wanted to capture this feeling, bottle it, find a way to make it permanent. Make it stick so he wouldn't have to do what he knew was coming.

Sighing, (Y/N) snuggled closer, and his heart broke at how cruel he was being, how selfish. But he couldn't help it. He had asked for 24 hours and by god if he wouldn't make the most of them.

"Hey." he murmured into her hair, she made a noise in the back of her throat that made his heart skip a beat. He brought two fingers to her chin, tilting her head back so she'd be forced to look at him. A slow grin traveled across her lips as he drank in her face, memorizing every part of it so he'd never forget. He had done it so many times in Mark's apartment in shitty lighting that in good lighting, it was like seeing your favorite painting in person instead of through a computer screen.

Leaning down, he brought his lips to hers. Cupping his cheek with her hand, she kissed him back, relishing in how good it felt to be able to do this instead of just imagining it. Pulling back she smiled, resting her forehead against his.

"What is it, baby?"

"It just...you have no idea how long I've wanted this. And to finally be able to do it...I don't know. It feels really good to have you here, with me. Like this." Widening her eyes she pulled back, "Not like, you being injured but like being with you in this, way." Her voice trailing off when she became bashful at how vulnerable she had just been.

The wave of love, adoration and warmth he felt for her crested over him, causing his eyes to fall closed to keep the tears at bay. He didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve her. But, fuck, he would make the most of this time with her and make sure she knew how much he loved her.

Tilting his head back down, he locked their lips together. She moved her lips against his, memorizing their curves, their slopes, how they fit together. Her hand cupped his cheek, being mindful of his black eye and the various scraps covering the planes of it.

Feeling her hands caress his face with care, Billy became overcome. He was upset, guilt-ridden and worried he had made the wrong decision. Fighting to keep himself in the moment, he deepened the kiss, gripping her waist with an intensity that startled her. She jolted forward, causing Billy to groan when her heat made contact with the bulge that was growing larger by the second.

"Damn baby, we've only been kissing for a minute, quit trying to get into my pants already."

"You wish I was trying to get into your pants." her lips brushed against his with every other word and she could feel him smiling. He nipped at her bottom lip, causing her to gasp which allowed him ample time to connect their lips, exploring her mouth with his tongue. Their hands drifting up and down their sides, exploring as they got more comfortable with each others forms.

Dancing her fingers down his arms, she felt the muscles clenching and unclenching as his hand found her hip and squeezed causing her to moan involuntarily. Smirking, he ran his hand up and over the rise of her hip, trailing his fingers down into the dip of her waist. She snuggled closer to Billy, breathing in coffee, disinfectant and the unmistakable scent that was Billy.

Draping his arm over her waist, he pulled her even closer to him. Feeling his hardening length in his sweatpants she tested the waters by circling her hips against him. Causing a moan to erupt from his mouth and throw his head back in ecstasy.

"Baby, what's the professional nurses opinion of having sex when someone's injured? Asking for myself because if I don't have sex with you tonight I just may toss myself off another building."

Giggling, she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead so she could look in his eyes, "In a nurses opinion? Probably not. But in (Y/N)'s personal opinion? Who gives a shit I've wanted to fuck you since the first day I saw you."

Locking his eyes onto hers, her breath hitched in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. His normally sky blue eyes were the color before a storm and his hand was locked onto her hip with a strength that she couldn't wait to explore later.

"Then get up here, baby, and fuck me how you've always wanted to."

Swinging her leg over, she found herself straddling Billy, placing her hands on his chest, she felt the large planes of his chest expanding as he took a shaky breath in, his eyes glassy. Flicking her hair back she leaned forward to kiss him deeply, "What baby?"

Shaking his head he cleared his throat, "Nothing. Just, dammit baby. You look like a goddess."

Blushing she bent down to nip at his throat, causing him to buck his hips up, causing his hard length to rub against her clothed cunt causing them both to dissolve into moans. Pushing herself up, she started rocking her hips teasingly along his cock.

Whining in the back of his throat he begged, "Please, love, I don't care, just fuck me. Please."

Shocked at the control she had over this man, she ripped the t shirt she had been wearing over her head, exposing her tits and black underwear she had been wearing. Billy keened and grasped her tits, causing her to push her chest forward, the feel of his calloused palms teasing her nipples caused her eyes to roll into the back of her head.

Billy reached his hands down, shimmying his sweatpants and underwear down far enough so his cock sprang up between them, her mouth watering at how thick it was. Stroking her center through her panties with two fingers he cocked an eyebrow at her, "I can't exactly fuck you through these so they'll have to go. I don't care how sexy they are."

Laughing, she stood up on the couch, resting one hand on the wall as she shimmied the panties down her legs, kneeling back over Billy's exposed length when Billy stopped her, "Wait, hold on a second baby." He teased one finger, then another into her dripping core, pumping in and out slowly as she rocked her hips forward trying to get more of him into her.

Billy slowly dragged them out, popping his fingers into his mouth and holding eye contact with (Y/N) as he sucked his fingers clean, relishing the sweet taste of her, "Okay, baby. I think you're wet enough."

"Damn right I am." She murmured as she sank down onto his hard cock, taking his full length, resting her hands on Billy's strong chest pushing her tits together in the most delicious way Billy had ever seen. His hands found purchase on her hips as she started rocking back and forth, working his length. Feeling his cock stretching her walls in the most amazing way, she tilted her pelvis in that way she knew would have his cock nudging her g-spot, getting her closer to where she wanted to be, which was total ecstasy with Billy.

Billy's eyes screwed closed as she found her rhythm and worked his cock, trying to reach her orgasm. His whole body felt like an exposed fuse, bursting with energy and if she touched him in the right way he would combust.

"Billy, please, rub my clit..." she panted as she rocked her hips faster, Billy could feel her walls clenching as she went faster and he reached down, rubbing the sensitive nub with his calloused fingers, causing her eyes to roll into the back of her head as she chased her high, "Is that what you want baby? Yeah? You wanna come all over this cock?" Billy mumbled as she stared up at the angel fucking herself over on his cock. He almost came seeing how blissed out she was but then he rubbed a little harder on her clit and it pushed her right over the edge. She came with a strangled cry of "Billy!" and her walls clamped down as she fell forward into his chest.

"There's a girl, such a good girl. My best girl. My only girl. Oh my love, taking me so well..." Billy mumbled as he stroked her hair, "Now, let me take over." She nodded as Billy grasped her hips and started slamming his hips against hers, causing her to moan out, feeling her pussy tighten again as he brought a hand down to her ass, the sound of the sharp slap reverberating through her apartment.

Distantly, in the back of her mind, she wondered if this was good for him in his current injured state but being so close to a second orgasm left her with one thought but to cum around his cock again.

Finding a rhythm, their hips met as she pressed her lips to his, catching his moans and hoping to mute her own as they fucked each other into oblivion. All too soon, she felt the familiar catch in her stomach as her second orgasm came around, "Billy..I..I'm so close."

"I know darling, me too. Can you wait? Can you cum with me? Please baby." She nodded as Billy fucked her harder, she rocked her hips faster and then suddenly, Billy let loose a string of expletives and she chanted billy billy billy oh god over and over again like a prayer as she felt him fill her pussy with his warm cum.

After a few minutes, she pulled away from his sweaty chest, pushing her hair behind her ears as she grinned down at him. Grinning back up at her, he tickled her waist, "Normally I can last longer but that sex has been building up for several months."

Throwing her head back she let out a laugh, "Don't worry. I don't plan on stopping having sex with you anytime soon. We have all the time in the world to build up a tolerance to each other."

A dark look washed over Billy's face as he contemplated how little time they had but instead of answering, he pulled her down into another kiss, "Let's just focus on today, love."

~~~

They spent the rest of the day entwined on the couch, mixing it up between lazy make out sessions, sex and her standing up to get the door when the delivery person rang the door to drop off food and beer.

She had asked if Billy wanted her to text Mark and Jean but he just told her he would deal with it soon. So she didn't push it. She knew she was being selfish but she wanted to keep living in this world that consisted of her, Billy and the pizza they ordered alive for as long as she could.

Unfortunately, it ended all too soon as all good things are wont to do. Soon enough, Billy was pulling on his shoes, as it grew dark out, she had been getting comfortable when he knelt down next to the bed. "Listen, love. I need to drop off something to Mark and Jean. Don't wait up for me." He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead as she lifted her head up to meet him halfway.

"It's late babe, are you sure they'll still be up?" He fixed her with an incredulous look, "It's Mark and Jean. Of course they're still awake." She shrugged as she considered who they were talking about and conceded defeat. "Just come back to me in one piece okay? If you want," she hastily added as she realized he may want to go back to his own home "It's an open invitation. I'm sure you want to go home."

He smiled at her with melancholy in his eyes as he pressed a kiss to one cheek, "With you?" then a second kiss to her other cheek "I'm always home" Biting her lip to contain the smile threatening to break her face in two, Billy decided he had never seen a more beautiful woman and wanted to alway think of her like this.

~~~

She woke the next morning to 25 missed calls from Mark and 33 from Jean. Blearily, she called Mark. Once he picked up and started rambling, she hung up and stared straight up at the ceiling.

It wasn't until Mark came to get her after not hearing from her for hours did she register how damp her cheeks had become. She was numb. Time didn't mean anything, nothing meant anything anymore.

Billy was dead.

He had broken his promise.

~~~

Standing at the edge of a gaping hole in the world, she contemplated throwing herself into it along with the empty casket they'd be burying. She barely registered the low rumbles of a priest talking but not really hearing anything. Billy had gone to Mark and Jean, told them he needed to run a quick errand and gone back to the hotel they had just robbed from. He had been running along the roof, where it overlooked the rocky ledge of the ocean. He had jumped, thinking there was a platform there but there hadn't been. There was Billy, the air and the jagged rocks along the coast the only thing to greet him.

The coast guard searched for hours but had found no body. Just the black rubber bracelet he always wore around his wrist.

Twirling the bracelet between her fingers now, she decided that since the casket was empty, there was no point.

She had been numb since she got the news. Not moving from her couch unless Mark or Jean came to propel her into the shower, make her eat some food. but she really didn't see a point in doing anything anymore.

He had promised.

And now he was gone. So what did it matter what she did? People left, they broke promises, and words and promises didn't mean anything to anyone she guessed. She may as well do anything she wanted.

Lifting her head she saw Mark, Jean and two women who had introduced themselves as Billy's mother and sister. Mark had introduced her as Billy's girlfriend and they murmured how much Billy talked about her but it was all too little too late.

She didn't want to know anyone else other than Billy but that had been ripped from her. Standing at the edge of his grave she felt Mark and Jean grasping her shoulders, telling her they were going to give her some space. So it was just the three of them and as his sister looked at her, she smiled a thin smile, "You're just as pretty as he said you were."

She fell to her knees. It was all too much, She couldn't support herself without Billy. What did it matter? All her skills, all her knowledge about keeping people safe when she couldn't even save the person that mattered most.

~~~

"Oof, there are three certified hotties just weeping over your grave dude. How doe that feel?"

Billy's stomach clenched as he saw (Y/N) fall to her knees at his grave, watching his mother and sister race around to help her. It wasn't until One clapped a hand on his shoulder did he register that he had involuntarily moved forward to help her.

"Nuh-uh bro. Not anymore. Don't even think about doing a Christmas Carol Ghosts of Christmas Past bullshit. I spent way too much money for you to blow this whole operation."

Billy nodded mutely. Keeping an eye on the women around his grave he swallowed around the lump that had been stuck in his throat since he had left (Y/N)'s apartment.

What One had suggested to him had been too good to pass up. And when One had promised, in writing, that (Y/N) would always be kept safe and comfortable, it was a no brainer. And he knew, in his heart of hearts, that she deserved someone better, more stable than him. Not some Sky Walker who always had his head in the clouds.

Who one day may not come back to her.

Taking a deep breath he turned his back on the trio that were surrounding his grave. Sending up a prayer, he hoped she would be safe and would get over him soon. Because he knew he would never get over her for the rest of his short, harrowing life.

364 notes · View notes

mightydragoon · 4 years

Text

Prince Luke fanfic Recs

@silvereddaye you know the drill

For all your Prince Luke Skywalker/ Amidala/Organa etc needs. Also ft a lot of Leia Skywalker along with that.

1. The Prince and the Bodyguard Toomanyfandoms99

Bail is unsure why he’s being told this, but he is intrigued. “Where is the boy now?”

“Here,” Mon smiles, “on this base, being cared for by Shara Bey and Kes Dameron.”

Bail nods upon recognizing the names. Shara is their best pilot, and Kes is their best combat leader.

“However,” Mon states, “they cannot care for the boy full-time. There is something...unique about him. Something you are more equipped to handle.”

Bail narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Ezra Bridger is Force-sensitive,” Mon reveals.

Bail leans back in his chair and blinks once. “I see…”

“If your son is anything like his true parents,” Mon says, “he will soon require guidance. This boy also requires that guidance.”

“So,” Bail says, “you want me to shield them both from the Empire. Get them a...teacher.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22633573/chapters/54092221

2.First Impressions Idhren15

Mara Jade attended the rich party on Coruscant for one purpose: to kidnap the Alderaan heir, Prince Luke Organa.

She didn't expect any of these complications.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22740592

3. Crowned Usurper planningconquest

Princess Leia managed to capture the elusive rebel Jedi. She finds someone she never expected.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17663147/chapters/41657678

4. The kidnappings of a Sith Lord maedre13

How a certain Sith Lord may or may not kidnap his rebel son. One-shots. Strongly inspired by sparklight´s “Where Our Intrepid Hero Doesn´t Get Away”.

Current chapter: In which the prince of the Sith gets a new bodyguard (3/3)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606992/chapters/23453241

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606992/chapters/52681459 (Part 1)

(Note* Fic is episodic often not connecting, sometimes is, so there is a good variety of stories, some involving Prince Luke others not)

5. Sparks SpellCleaver

Vader had every intention of ignoring that petty—if notorious—burglar on Coruscant, until evidence suggested that this "Angel" had Rebel ties.

Meanwhile, Luke never expected his father to actively hunt him down, and he doesn't like it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031373/chapters/47433331

6. No Distance Far Enough KaelinaLovesLomaris

Imperial Prince Luke Skywalker is kidnapped by the Rebellion. His father is not happy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17549516

7. Hostage Slx99

AU in which Luke grows up as the Prince of Alderaan and Bail and Breha Organa’s son. When Luke is sixteen Bail becomes too outspoken against the Emperor, who sends Lord Vader to take the young prince as a hostage and cow his father into submission. Held captive aboard Vader’s ship, Luke is faced with the unpleasant reality of being the pawn in this power play under his captor’s watchful eyes; until they both realize a thing or two…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9707774/chapters/21902741

8. Hostage Interludes Slx99

Interlude pieces of the ‘Hostage’ universe from my ongoing long-fic that don't fit into the main story, but which I still wanted to share. Some will be more fun, others more serious. They have no influence on the main story.

Basic premise of the main story: Luke grew up with Bail and Breha Organa as the Prince of Alderaan. When Bail becomes too outspoken against Palpatine he orders Vader to take the young prince as a Hostage. Luke now lives aboard the Executor. He finds out rather soon that Vader is his father and the story goes from there.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148811/chapters/35129507

9. Hostage

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1063433

10. Runaway SilverDaye

Imperial Prince Luke runs away from home to escape his overprotective father Emperor Vader. Jumping from planet to planet he finds himself creditless on Tatooine. While working for more money to leave the planet, Luke meets an old man named Ben Kenobi. But Luke knows he can't stay in one place for long for surely his father is hunting him down.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14630196/chapters/33813027

11.A Song of Dragon's Fire & Slaves Blood Fan0fFIM17

A Slave is finally truly made Free.

Lost in a strange primitive Land, he takes advantage of his circumstances to rise to the position of King. A Slave, a Jedi Knight, a Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker, Father, Son, all this and more. Read as he Fights for the Iron-Throne!

Winter Is Coming!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15400920/chapters/35743227

12. My sister has it jedileia (cptnwintersoldier)

"You want me to fight my dad? Kill him? How could you think I would be capable on any of that, after what I just heard? Have I been training just so I could kill my father? Is that what this Jedi training was about? If so then i deeply regret the evening I went to look for parts for my speeder and ended up at Obi-Wan's yard."

Leia, a farm girl from Tatoiine, learns that she is force sensitive and the daughter of the evil Darth Vader, once known as Anakin Skywalker. She begins her Jedi training, meets her twin brother Luke Organa and confronts his father.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6537682/chapters/14957098

13. what is lost in the darkness.....hanorganaas

Starkiller is destroyed, the great Jedi Hero who saved the Galaxy Leia Skywalker Solo and her husband Han are presumed dead, and Luke mourns. But he isn't alone in his grief

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668604

14. our eyes; they were pointed at the sky (looking for answers) pieandsouffle

The last few weeks have been a nightmare: Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru are dead and gone, the farm is skeletal and dead, she found out her father was a Jedi, brutally murdered by a traitorous friend, and now she's going to die because Han Solo is an incompetent nerf-herder who is apparently completely incapable of opening a krething door.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159772/chapters/24904917

15. Possibilities of If May Be - Valerie_Vancollie

Co-authored by Selinthia Avenchesca.

What if two different Star Wars realities started to merge?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946578

16. Skywalker Swap - stitchy

https://archiveofourown.org/series/930435

(Note Series is a mixture of a fancomic and a fanfic and it is glorious)

17. There Is Another stitchy

A comicbook retelling of Episode IV in the spirit of the old Star Wars Infinities!

Luke and Leia are placed in opposite homes after the fall of the Republic. Young Leia Skywalker is called to adventure when she meets two droids that belong to the strange witch, Old Kah.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10597686/chapters/23428284

(Note* Seriously this comic retelling is fantastic )

18 Here Among The Clouds stitchy

In a universe where Leia Skywalker joins the Rebel Alliance of her long lost brother Prince Luke Organa, the Millenium Falcon and her crew arrive to Cloud City with a fully functioning hyperdrive. In the weeks following the Battle of Hoth, Lando Calrissian becomes entangled in their their quest to defeat the evil Empire.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507038

19. A Farm girl, a Twink, and an Uber driver- Daniellecluck

This is literally just a collection of drabbles of a New Hope rescue scene various original trilogy scenes but gayer and Luke and Leia swapped places.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13345347/chapters/30553272

20. The Adventures of Leia Skywalker, Episode One: The New Hope MaraWinchester

Nineteen-year-old Leia Skywalker lives with her Aunt and Uncle on the remote desert planet Tatooine, where there’s something ready to kill you behind every corner. Three moons make the nights bitterly cold, and the two suns makes the days unbearably hot. When a droid bought by her uncle contains a message by a prince, asking for help from a legendary Jedi Knight, Leia senses her ticket off world. Little does she know that her journey will take her right and center to a galaxy torn apart by war, involve smugglers of ill repute, and possibly shed more information on her father that she could possibly imagine...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8122483/chapters/18619693

21. Another Kind of Hope Skyrissian (ErinacchiLove)

In a period of a galactic civil war, the brave Rebel Alliance has won their first victory against the Galactic Empire and stolen the plans of the Empire's ultimate weapon, the Death Star.

When the starship of Prince Luke Organa, who is transporting the plans, falls under the Empire's attack, the future of the galaxy depends on two droids carrying the secret plans and their new owner, a farm girl named Leia Skywalker.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18705637

22 The Princess, the Smuggler and the Sith Lord's Son Sassaphrass

Han Solo was trying to rescue her Royal Annoyingness from the Death Star when he runs smack into Vader's kid. Naturally he does the logical thing and takes him hostage. This is where the story starts. OR

Luke just wanted to get some snacks when he ran into a Wookie, a Princess and a Space Pirate. The day's pretty much downhill from there.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751661/chapters/13252696

23. At Least the War is Over Sassaphrass

The only thing Luke and Leia have in common are those nine months they spent in the womb and that time they brought down the Empire.

It's hard to build a new family when the last one got blown to smithereens with the entire planet, but Leia's never thought anything worthwhile would be easy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663834

24. His Imperial Highness Luke Amidala - Sassaphrass

https://archiveofourown.org/series/744999

25. Chiaroscuro SpellCleaver

A series of oneshots focusing on Luke and Vader's relationship, with other characters occasionally thrown into the mix.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16363772/chapters/38293637

26. Prince Luke Organa: A New Hope -lightningbisexual

An AU where Leia was sent to Tatooine with Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru and Luke was sent to Alderaan as the prince. It begins from where Luke is captured by the Empire in A New Hope. I follow more his story than Leia's because we all know she's going to be a badass on her own and I really want to see Luke grow up and learn to face his fears.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024390/chapters/45181531

(Note* see sequel below Leia centric)

27. Leia Skywalker: The Empire Strikes Back lightningbisexual

A continuation of my twin swap fic. Leia Skywalker is being sought by the Dark Side and the Light, who both hope to use her power for their own agendas. However, her ferocity and anger make it difficult for her to train as a Jedi. Han Solo is also developing feelings for Prince Luke Organa and has no goddamn clue how to deal with it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533487/chapters/48737117

28. Between the Light and Shadows: Luke & Vader One-Shots SilverDaye

One-shot collection focused on Luke and Vader. All AU.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15128117/chapters/48583628

29. How the Other Half Lives -aradian_nights

(Note* How can I talk about Prince Luke fics without mentioning them cause WOW. 10/10. I highly recommend even if you aren’t a fan of the Prince Luke trope cause wow. It is something. Warning: Angst . )

https://archiveofourown.org/series/609151.

Trial and Error - https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417668

Layers of Dust - https://archiveofourown.org/works/8900971

For Love of a Queen - https://archiveofourown.org/works/9342596/chapters/21167591

Deep Doubt- https://archiveofourown.org/works/10361913

Vision Void- https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628475/chapters/23511120

Fate Defied- https://archiveofourown.org/works/10947714

When Destinies Split - https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017986/chapters/24552093

Risk and Chance - https://archiveofourown.org/works/11506092/chapters/25817655

A Shout in the Dark - https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699232/chapters/26341971

Walking the Line Between - https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172817/chapters/30129249

AO3 Tag

https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Prince%20Luke/works

#prince luke #luke skywalker #star wars #fanfic recs #fanfic reccomendation #list #sw #leia organa #long post #i am reccomending a lot of fics so hold on

175 notes · View notes

jakeh0wl · 4 years

Text

Star Wars Short Fiction - Week IV - A New Hope

“…We will then crush the Rebellion with one swift stroke.”

The Imperial officers gathered at the table nodded their agreement, murmuring declarations of concurrence. Even the arrogant Admiral Motti, seated to Tarkin’s right and still recovering from Vader’s choking display of power, dipped his head towards the Grand Moff.

Tarkin stood, eyeing the officers. “You may leave us,” he said, sweeping his hand towards the seated men. “I would speak with Lord Vader alone.”

The officers rose from their seats, each giving Tarkin respectful half-bows before filing from the room, several of them shuffling nervously beneath Vader’s black, eyeless gaze. Once he and Vader were alone, Tarkin waved to the Death Star Troopers flanking the entrance to the conference room, who sealed closed the doors.

Tarkin straightened, hands clasped behind his back, then turned to Lord Vader. As always, the six-foot, black-clad cyborg regarded Tarkin with that unreadable jet mask of a face, the eyes shimmering a dark red when the light caught them. The identity of who hid behind that visage was something Tarkin had guessed at, and was now fairly certain of.

Still, the regard of the Emperor’s Force-wielding pet remained unsettling, even after all these years. “You have still had no luck with the princess, Lord Vader,” Tarkin said. It was a statement, not a question.

“No,” Vader replied in a deep, dread-inducing voice. As always, Vader said little when he could help it, preferring to unbalance those he was addressing with the mere power of his presence.

Tarkin, however, was not so easily shaken. Whilst Vader still left Tarkin with a sense of unease, the Grand Moff had built an impressive immunity to Vader’s influence. This, coupled with Tarkin’s favour with the Emperor, guaranteed a certain level of mutuality between them. “Despite your assurances that we will soon have the Death Star plans returned to us,” Tarkin continued, “I remain uncertain of the probable success of your interrogation methods.”

“The princess has a fierce will,” Vader replied. “She bears an unexpected degree of resilience.”

“She’s the daughter of a politician,” Tarkin said, pacing across the reflective black floor of the conference room. “Such things are understandable from one of her upbringing.”

“We will retrieve those plans,” Vader said, watching Tarkin from across the room.

“Can you be sure, Vader?” Tarkin said, meeting the man’s – the machine’s – masked gaze.

Vader didn’t respond.

“I thought not,” He shook his head, running a hand through his thinning hair. A thought occurred to him then. “Whilst I cannot say I approve of you choking my officers, Lord Vader, and despite my lack of knowledge in the details of your powers, there is no denying that you are in possession of certain unique… assets. Assets that, concerning our present situation, could prove very useful indeed.”

“Dispense with the ambiguity, Governor,” Vader demanded. “You would have me refer to methods of interrogation utilising the Force?”

Tarkin raised an eyebrow. Something in Vader’s tone suggested he had already considered – or perhaps even tried – using the Force to manipulate the princess. “Could such a thing be done?”

“The Force is not a torture machine, Governor,” Vader growled. “To perceive it as such is to lay bare a gross ignorance of its nature.”

Tarkin mentally scoffed. It seemed that the Emperor’s most feared and deadliest servant was not above the occasional thinly veiled insult. There was something about that revelation that Tarkin found surprisingly amusing. “Very well,” Tarkin replied. “I have outlined a proposal of how to deal with this rebel problem of ours which I intend to present to the Emperor momentarily. He is awaiting my transmission. Would you care to join me, Lord Vader? I believe this proposal will be of interest to you as much as it will be to the Emperor.”

Vader said nothing, simply gazing across the circular table at Tarkin with those eyeless, black visors. Then he nodded, striding across the room to stand at Tarkin’s side, cape rippling slightly as he moved. Despite their occasional differences, Tarkin’s respect for Vader was rivalled by no other. Everything that Vader was emulated power and authority, and there were oft times when Tarkin found himself envious of the pure fear Vader struck into those beneath him.

Tarkin leaned forward, sliding back the black panel of the activation key for the holographic projector. Pressing the key, Tarkin took a step back as a great, shimmering projection of Emperor Sheev Palpatine, supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire, took shape above the table.

Tarkin gave a sweeping bow. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said.

Vader went one further, falling to a knee. “My Master.”

Not the first time, Vader’s unwavering loyalty and devotion to the Emperor reminded Tarkin of a muzzled akk hound. The most ferocious akk hound in the Galaxy, one who made entire systems tremble when the Emperor saw fit to let him off the leash.

The Emperor’s holographic eyes, shadowed beneath his ever-present hood, shifted between the forms of Tarkin and Vader. “Governor Tarkin, Lord Vader,” the Emperor addressed them. “You hinted at a proposal you had for me, Governor?”

“I did, my lord,” Tarkin replied, straightening in the Emperor’s presence. “It would appear that we are faced with a dilemma of a rather urgent nature. Despite Lord Vader’s best efforts, the troublesome Princess Leia has yet to inform us of either the location of the rebel’s hidden base or where the data tapes containing the plans for this space station are. Now, considering recent development concerning the Imperial Senate and the state of the Imperial Systems, I believe, my Lord, the time has come for more aggressive negotiations.”

“Speak on, Governor Tarkin,” the Emperor drawled.

Tarkin glanced at Vader, the black-clad cyborg expressionless as ever. “There exists a way to ensure the princess’s cooperation. Namely, her revelation of the rebel’s hidden base. We have yet to exercise the full destructive potential of this space station, and now we have been presented with the perfect opportunity, my Lord.” Tarkin reached down, activating a second hologram above the table. The form of the Emperor slid back to give way for the blue-green projection of a planet that now hovered before them, between Tarkin and the Emperor. “Alderaan, my Lord. The Princess’s home planet. It is a world of beauty and peace. The Alderaanians bear no love of weapons and claim passiveness. However, our intel holds that this traitorous planet was a core breeding ground for the Rebellion, offering the rebels both a hidden base of operations and support in the Imperial Senate. Now that the Imperial Senate is no longer an obstacle, I propose we test the true power of this space station’s superlaser. Jedha and Scarif were but… inklings of the Death Star’s capabilities, my Lord. Alderaan will provide the perfect test target to experience the obliteration that this station is prepared to unleash on the Galaxy. With Alderaan held as an example, no System would dare oppose you, my Lord, nor give the rebels any further support.”

The Emperor studied the holographic projection of Alderaan. “Wisely spoken, my friend,” the Emperor said. “I approve. As does, I sense, Lord Vader. However, what is to become of the princess and the rebels?”

Tarkin clasped his hands behind his back. “Herein lies the final stroke, my Lord. We will suspend the destruction of Alderaan before Princess Leia as a threat. With the Senate’s recent dissolution, the princess’s father, Bail Organa, will soon be returning to Alderaan. I believe it wise for us to wait until we have confirmation of his return before we initiate the test of the Death Star. Then, faced with not only the annihilation of her home planet, but the loss of her family, I believe the princess will be quite willing to give up her rebel friends. Alderaan will still be destroyed, of course. Then, once we have the location of the rebel base and Alderaan is but dust between the stars, the princess will be deposed of most adequately.”

“Excellent, Tarkin, excellent,” the Emperor said, cackling. “Have the princess brought to me on Coruscant once Alderaan and the rebels have been destroyed. We will make her execution most public.” The Emperor’s holographic shadow shifted towards Vader. “Lord Vader, I believe you may be of some use in that respect. I would have you execute the princess personally.”

Vader bowed. “As you wish, my Master.”

The Emperor turned back to Tarkin. “You’ve done well, Governor. I am most pleased.”

Tarkin felt a rare smile tugging at his lips. “I will have an order for the princess’s execution written up, my Lord.”

“Good. I will await news of Alderaan’s… eradication.” The Emperor’s figure blurred, then faded, the projection fuzzing out.

Tarkin subsequently disabled the hologram of Alderaan.

“You have garnered the Emperor’s approval,” Vader said.

“As I have yours, apparently,” Tarkin replied, turning to face him.

Vader pointedly ignored the statement. “Despite the advantageous effects its destruction offers, Alderaan will certainly be a loss to the Galaxy.”

Tarkin nodded. “A necessary one, however.”

Vader made for the doors of the conference room. “Perhaps if events in the last weeks had transpired differently, it would not be so.”

Tarkin sensed the implication. “It was not I who lost the data tapes to the rebels above Scarif, my friend,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “From your troopers’ reports, you practically had the plans within your grasp. Had you not been distracted by certain… unnecessary thrills, those plans would now be in our hands.”

Vader turned back to face him. “The rebels were far more prepared for our pursuit than anticipated,” he replied. “And perhaps if you had turned the Death Star’s weapon on the rebel fleet instead of firing on the planet, their escape would have been impossible.”

Tarkin smirked. “You saw what the Death Star did to Scarif,” he said. “There was no guarantee our own forces would not be decimated in the process. Including your own.”

Vader took a step forward, towering over Tarkin and raising one gloved hand towards him. “Galen Urso’s daughter was on Scarif, Governor, as was Director Krennic. Your frequent bouts of rivalry with the Director were well documented. So do not speak of unnecessary thrills to me, Tarkin.”

Tarkin swallowed, holding his composure. Likely only his imagination, but it had seemed for a moment that the softest touch of pressure had brushed his throat. He stepped back, carefully forcing an amiable smile across his lips. “Perhaps, my friend, it is best if we simply agree that the loss of the plans at Scarif was an unfortunate misstep on both our counts,” he said.

Vader studied him for several quiet seconds, then straightened. “Indeed,” he said eventually.

Tarkin moved made for the exit, the doors to the hallway beyond hissing open at his touch to the entrance panel. Vader strode past him, the Death Star Troopers standing outside the conference room wincing slightly at his shadow.

“I will set our coordinates for Alderaan. If you would be so kind as to retrieve the princess, Lord Vader,” Tarkin said, “I will have her execution order procured.”

Vader gave the slightest, towering nod, then turned away.

Tarkin watched, eyes narrowed to slits, as Vader walked down the hallway, black cape billowing with his stride. Tarkin would need to tread careful on this ice, fearsome things waited beneath.

Turning away from the conference room, Tarkin made for the command bridge.

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artemis-entreri · 4 years

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[[ This post contains Part 6 of my review/analysis of the Forgotten Realms/Drizzt novel, Boundless, by R. A. Salvatore. As such, the entirety of this post’s content is OOC. ]]

Genre: Fantasy

Series: Generations: Book 2 | Legend of Drizzt #35 (#32 if not counting The Sellswords)

Publisher: Harper Collins (September 10, 2019)

My Rating: 2 out of 5 stars

Additional Information: Artwork for the cover of Boundless and used above is originally done by Aleks Melnik. This post CONTAINS SPOILERS. Furthermore, this discussion concerns topics that I am very passionate about, and as such, at times I do use strong language. Read and expand the cut at your own discretion.

Contents:

Introduction

I. Positives I.1 Pure Positives I.2 Muddled Positives

II. Mediocre Writing Style II.1 Bad Descriptions II.2 Salvatorisms II.3 Laborious “Action”

III. Poor Characterization III.1 “Maestro” III.2 Lieutenant III.3 Barbarian III.4 “Hero” III.5 Mother

IV. World Breaks IV.1 Blinders Against the Greater World IV.2 Befuddlement of Earth and Toril IV.3 Self-Inconsistency IV.4 Dungeon Amateur IV.5 Utter Nonsense

V. Ego Stroking V.1 The Ineffable Companions of the Hall V.2 Me, Myself, and I

VI. Problematic Themes (you are here) VI.1 No Homo VI.2 Disrespect of Women VI.3 Social-normalization VI.4 Eugenics

VII. What’s Next VII.1 Drizzt Ascends to Godhood VII.2 Profane Redemption VII.3 Passing the Torch VII.4 Don’t Notice Me Senpai

Problematic Themes

No Homo

Boundless continues to perpetuate some long-standing regressive to outright harmful ideas, as well as introducing new ones. There are two that are the biggest. The first is something that's existed for over two decades in the Drizzt books, and something that I've criticized Salvatore for for a long time: the fetishization of sapphic relationships. While Boundless is an improvement (and a bit of an oddity for Salvatore) in that it doesn't include any gratuitous lesbian sex scenes or allusions, it still very much perpetuates an imbalanced representation, such that it wouldn't be fair to describe it as true representation. Yet again, despite it being canon that the default sexuality in the Realms is pansexuality as opposed to heterosexuality in our world, the only people that we see in Boundless that are capable of same sex attractions are female. Ever since the token gay guy Afrafrenfere's epiphany that everything else he'd been engaged in, which includes his deceased boyfriend, was a distraction from enlightenment, there hasn't been so much of an implication that men could be attracted to other men in Salvatore's Realms. There exists more chemistry between Harbonair and Zaknafein than between Zaknafein and Dab'nay, which is rather sad given that the latter pair are actively sexual with each other. There's of course the possibility that Salvatore just doesn't know how to write gay male chemistry, but to be fair, his heterosexual chemistry is pretty bad. Most of it is just sex or another physical act spontaneously happening that triggers a change in the nature of the relationship, for instance, the start of the relationship between Entreri and Calihye. There's so much background "everyone is heterosexual" stuff going on that to be inclusive, Salvatore just needs to mention that there's more than one man in an orgy rather than it always being one man to many women. Or, better yet, use an example directly from the world canon that other authors have used, namely, that the workers of a brothel or attendants in a temple of Sune are of more than one gender and that a male client is greeted by both male, female, and other gender-identifying attendants. Casual inclusion of this nature isn't difficult, and we see Salvatore do it with sapphic stuff enough that leads me to believe that it's a choice on his part not to be fully inclusive.

An example of when Salvatore could've gone for inclusion, but instead went for fetishization, is in the scene of Dahlia infiltrating a Waterdhavian nobles' ball:

This isn't much better than gratuitous lesbian sex scenes at the total exclusion of gay men. It's completely unnecessary for Salvatore to have specified that women also drooled after Dahlia; simply stating "people" would've been sufficient. It's not like Salvatore doesn't have many chances and setups where he can drop a hint that gay men exist in the Realms like he does so frequently for gay women. Oftentimes, Salvatore's writing feels very much like he realizes that there's "too much" chemistry between two male characters, such that he has to throw in a "NO HOMO" wrench. For instance:

While there isn't anything inherently gay in this passage, there isn't anything inherently gay in so many places where Salvatore artificially injected "these women are sapphic" indicators. Yet here, between two male characters, it's specifically clarified that it's brotherly love. Love is love, it shouldn't have to be clarified like this. Sure, some people might jump to romantic love, but so what? This was a good opportunity to at the very least, leave it vague, but apparently Salvatore can't stomach it enough that he has to cross the possibility out with a bold black marker (maybe its the same sharpie he uses on the tapestry of Faerûn). It's as though the possibility of romantic love between two men somehow taints the sacredness of their bond. Salvatore's writing style is very old-fashioned and set in its ways, but that's no excuse not to change. Despite his espoused views on social media, Salvatore's lack of representation in his writing suggests a discomfort that he doesn't want to address. This is increasingly problematic as we try to push to a better world with more acceptance and equality. Inclusion isn't truly inclusion if it's done with only a portion of the population.

Disrespect of Women

What Salvatore does with sapphic women is fetishization, which is additionally problematic because it's a short hop from objectification of women. This point is one that I haven't touched on much in the past, but it's glaring in Boundless because in this novel, Salvatore also tries to demonstrate respect of women. Salvatore has a long history of poorly-written female characters. In his books, a female character's most redeeming characteristics were that she was hot and young. For a while, I could tell which female characters were there to stay, which were doomed to die from the get-go, and which would suffer horribly as they met their inevitable end. It always had to do with how physically attractive the character was, and usually with respect to how she measured up to Catti-brie's beauty. Not counting female villains like Sheila Kree who were not coincidentally unattractive, protagonist characters weren't spared this treatment. For instance, Delly Curtie didn't hold a candle to Catti and could barely find happiness with Catti's rejected suitor. By the same token, Innovindil, who, despite being a full-blooded elf, wasn't as beautiful as Catti, and was subsequently very short-lived. Dahlia, another full-blooded elf who wasn't as beautiful as Catti, admittedly didn't die (yet), but what she went through is arguably worse. Dahlia is portrayed to be very much second best to Catti, from her looks to her rejection by Drizzt to Catti outright beating Dahlia in a fight. So, of course, Dahlia gets stuck with Entreri, who's frequently portrayed as second best to Drizzt. Salvatore does deserve credit for trying to break the mold with Penelope Harpell and Wulfgar, but Penelope's appearance doesn't leave much of an impression. We're reminded multiple times that she's an older woman, and the focus is on her personality, but with how often younger female characters' physical appearance is mentioned and re-mentioned, it gives the impression that Salvatore doesn't believe older women can be physically attractive. As always, Catti-brie was an exception to the rule, for even in her mid-forties, "her form, a bit thicker with age, perhaps, but still so beautiful and inviting to [Drizzt]", a characterization that follows another sentence describing how beautiful she was barely a page prior. But we don't hear such about Penelope, instead, we're told about the strengths of her personality, which are admirable, but only become the focus for her, rather than for a young-appearing strong female character like Yvonnel the Second. This is not to mention that someone's form probably shouldn't be characterized as inviting, as that is something the person should do, not something done by the person's looks. The objectification of women is problematic enough on its own, but instead of addressing the issue, Salvatore appears to consider it sufficient to put in a significant anecdote featuring a temporary character to prove that he is an ally to women. The mysterious "demon" possessing the little girl Sharon is painted as a moral adjudicator, entrapping the evil in its unbreakable cocoons filled with wasps that have human faces. Before this "demon" entraps Entreri, it ensnares an old man, whom we're simply told is an old lecher, with no insight about what makes him such and what wrongdoings he'd committed. All we know is that he and his wife attempted to kidnap Sharon and threatened to kill her if she resisted. It's not very clear what's going on in that scenario or what the couple's intentions were. The man's description shifts suddenly from nothing to "old lecher", and he is damned to an eternity of suffering. But how was he a lecher? Was Salvatore trying to imply that he intended to sexually assault Sharon? Or was human trafficking one of his many sins, with the "lecher" part referring to how he is towards women? While all of these crimes certainly warrant harsh punishment, the message that Salvatore's trying to convey isn't clear. Furthermore, the anecdote gives the reader zero satisfaction in the guy's punishment, because we're only marginally invested in what's happened. His anecdote is nothing more than a cheap and lazy setup to illustrate what the "demon" can do.

Social-normalization

The second of the two worst among Salvatore's long-standing problematic themes is the simplified and social-normative qualifications of what makes a person worthwhile. To put it simply, one is good and just if they are the Companions of the Hall and/or act like them, despite the many many ways that the Companions behave unheroically and hypocritically. On the flip side, one who doesn't subscribe to or follow the model of the Companions is evil, bad, or not worthy of existence unless they change to become like the Companions. Of the latter group, it isn't sufficient to change to become a different version of themselves. For instance, during the demonic assault, Zaknafein throws himself into the fray of battle, risking his life, yet again, for his ungrateful son. Yet, Drizzt's takeaway from watching his father do this is, "joy to see his father so willingly risking his life for the cause of the goodly folk of the Crags". There appears to be a subconscious inconsistency here on Salvatore's part, for he even writes that Zaknafein helps the dwarves because Zaknafein knows it's what his son wants him to do, so removing Drizzt from the picture, Zaknafein wouldn't be doing it solely on behalf of the dwarves. Zaknafein isn't Drizzt, and that's a good thing, for not everything needs to be a Drizzt clone, but Salvatore doesn't seem to agree with that assessment.

Salvatore doesn't seem to realize that Drizzt is the problematic one. Boundless represents a point in time in which it's been awhile since Zaknafein has returned. During this time, while Zaknafein has been trying to adapt and adjust his worldviews, Drizzt's perspective hasn't changed at all, despite Jarlaxle spending a great amount of time talking to him about Zaknafein and presumably helping Drizzt get past the initial emotional turmoil of the return of Zaknafein and his own struggles with reconciling the past and the present. There's also a double-standard here, for while Entreri is forced to change because enough time has gone by, Drizzt isn't.

It really seems to be the message that the only characters that are good and valid need to be as close to Drizzt as possible, and this belief applied to Entreri has been the cause of the assassin's increasingly poor characterization. Entreri has become a "better person" by the narrator's approximation, a quality that is, yet again, not coincidentally synonymous to being an ally to the Companions of the Hall. Artemis Entreri may very well have become a better version of himself, but that is not, and should not be, becoming more like the Companions of the Hall. By whose definition is "a better person" anyway? By Drizzt's? By the Companions'? It's often the case that those that believe that they are the definition of what's right and define others' morality relative to themselves are the least qualified to do so.

Eugenics

Although not as prominent as the two themes already mentioned, one final consistent problematic theme of Salvatore's in the Drizzt books that I'd like to discuss is the idea that mediocrity and excellence are inherited traits. Boundless reminds us yet again that all of the offspring of Rizzen are as unpromising as he is, and while it isn't specifically stated that all the offspring of Zaknafein is very much otherwise, we have over thirty books basically telling us that so it probably doesn't need to be repeated. While it is true that genetics do play a role in determining what makes up a person, genetics do not lock in guaranteed results. Yet, the undistinguished Rizzen sired "the mediocrity of Nalfein", and as though that insult wasn't bad enough, "His pants fell down, too. Again, and as expected, unimpressive." Dinin "would do Rizzen proud", but that's not saying a whole lot because it was in the context of the total failure of Nalfein. There's a further level of problematic theme here, for perpetuating the stereotype that a man's worth is at all related to the size of his genitalia. All of that aside, not everyone is privileged enough to be born to top specimens, and those that weren't inherently already have a struggle on their hands. They don't deserve to have the idea that they'll be mediocre no matter what perpetuated. Genetics might be what makes an individual, but what defines them is the actions that they take.

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carbonitekisses · 5 years

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IV: Trust and Promises

In which Jon and Sansa finally have a moment alone after his return to Winterfell. Also on AO3

Her hand trembles slightly but the key turns the lock and the door swings in.

No.

I can't do this. Sansa takes a step back into the hallway. Not right now.

"Stay," he asks of her. Loud enough that she hears him, quiet enough that she is sure Brienne knows nothing of his presence in her rooms. She could leave and none would be the wiser.

Sansa was a lady at the age of three. A lady's courtesy is the only reason she takes one last painful draw of free air, steps into her room, and seals the exit.

Discreetly, she tries to steady her breathing though her lungs beg her to gasp and heave. Jon is here and Sansa will not show herself as weak in front of him. She thought she knew him, at least a little. She knew him as a king, a partner, and family. But then he left for Dragonstone against all counsel, and came back changed. He's still Jon. She still trusts him. And yet, Sansa's heart stutters in her chest and there is so little room, so little air, He left and came back as someone who's actions I do not understand...perhaps someone I did not ever really know. Jon remains standing, waiting for her to make the first move. Caught unawares and unprepared, it is an ambush she has walked into. Sooner or later a confrontation between them had to pass. She had rhetorically hoped it would never come. Pretend, that is all I can do for now. Pretend I am everything I am not—calm and indifferent. Varys and his little birds will have to wait. First, this.

The lady of WInterfell confidently walks around Jon Snow and takes her place behind the great oak desk. I made the first move, let him be the first to break the silence and speak.

He hears her before he sees her.

“...only be a minute in my own rooms.”

Jon rises from the chair set before the desk just as she opens the door. He can tell she's been outside. The wind has played with her hair though the braids have done their duty in keeping it in place. Although she has been in the cold her cheeks lack the red that normally colors them after being in the winter wind. Jon would think her unwell but she shows no discomfort or uneasiness. Her left foot takes a backstep, ready to retreat into the hall. She can't leave. He can't let her.

“Stay,” he whispers.

And she does. Reluctantly, he knows, but she stays.

She calmly closes the door behind her. He thinks of what to say to break the silence but Sansa's gaze passes over him. If Jon hadn't spoken and witnessed her surprise at seeing him in her rooms, he would think himself invisible. He watches her as she strides to sit behind her desk. Sansa blankly looks at him as he remains standing. She will not speak, fine. Then he will.

"Are you well?"

"Yes."

"Any news of import?"

"A lot has happened since you left the North."

The window behind her does little in keeping out the gales that push back against the castle walls. He is glad for it. The wind makes the silence between words slightly more bearable.

"And will you not tell me of this news?"

"First: how did you get in? I'm assuming Arya was involved?"

“Aye.” It took her less than a minute to pick the lock.

"Thank you."

Arya shakes her head as she works the metal pick into the lock. "Don't thank me. I'm not doing this for you." A final twist and the door unlocks. "I have my own reasons."

His little sister is harsher and sharper-edged but the sweet girl he remembers is still there. He wonders what else besides lock-picking she's learned during her time away from home.

"I don't trust her."

"Arya, she's your sis—"

"Our sister." She pushes the door open and steps aside so he can go in. "And I wasn't talking about Sansa; I've played the game with her. I have yet to play it with Daenerys Targaryen. Or with you."

"What game?"

She gives him a smile instead of an answer, and leaves.

“Where is she?” Sansa asks him. “Arya? I need to speak with her.”

Arya had mentioned going to the forges. The blacksmiths are hard at work, laboring day and night to make dragonglass weapons. Something tells him that if he told Sansa where Arya is she would leave in search of her. “I don't know,” he lies.

She says nothing, her eyes flicking to the closed door behind him. Yes, she would have left him to search for Arya.

Jon had arrived at Winterfell yesterday but right now is the first time Sansa and him are truly alone. Their reunion had been confined to their embrace in the courtyard. From there onwards, aside from the assembly in the hall, they spent the rest of the day in different parts of the keep, with different people, and different tasks. He knows his own reasons for avoiding her...what he doesn't know is why she avoided him. Since Castle Black, Jon has come to understand a little of what makes the woman that stands before him. She's strong-willed, persuasive, and unafraid to speak her mind. Jon had expected her to hunt him down like a she-wolf and bring him to heel, demand answers to the questions he knows have been simmering ever since he signed as 'Warden of the North' on that damned scroll.

She never came.

“You've been avoiding me.” He knows she had avoided him. She must know he had avoided her.

“And you, me,” she confirms. “We've been avoiding each other. Now we're not. Is that all you came here for?”

Her lack of feeling or care needles him.

“No. It's not. We need to talk.”

Without warning or apparent cause, placidness seems to replace her discordance. "Very well, then. What news do you want to hear of first?" She leans back and lays her arms on the chair's armrests. He sits, cautious and wary of her change in tone. "The food shortage, the fickleness of the northern lords, the tension between the Free Folk and northmen, Arya and Bran? Or perhaps we should discuss the newer concerns that arrived with Daenerys Targaryen. Varys' little birds, the hatred the north holds against Targaryens and Lannisters, the wight dragon, and, again, the food shortage."

"Little birds?" It's a term he hasn't heard of and the first topic that tumbles out of his mouth.

"Varys is called Master of Whispers for a reason," she replies drily, "Little birds, he calls them. Spies. Eyes and ears that report back to him, and often spread secrets and lies of their own. No conversation, secret, plan, or information is safe with them here. There is a reason Varys has survived three regencies. He's a dangerous man."

And you brought him here, is left unsaid.

Jon swallows and tries to bring some moisture to his drying mouth. Spies in Winterfell that report to Varys and, by extension, to Daenerys. Daenerys who is quick to anger and impulsive. Northerners are not known for their tact or minding their tongues. If the assembly in the hall is anything to go by, Jon is sure these little birds will have an easy job of reporting how unwanted Daenerys is in the North. It is a problem he is not sure he can solve. It is a problem he didn't even know existed. How private is this conversation? Could there be a little bird in this very room? At least he knows Brienne is standing guard right outside.

Speaking of dangerous men, "What of Baelish? I have yet to see him following you around the halls." He tries for humor in order to not betray his preoccupation, "Did Ghost frighten him away?"

There is a shift in her demeanor. Minutely, her hands tighten around the armrests. Her nostrils flare while she takes in a drag of air. Something happened between Baelish and her. "I love Sansa, as I loved her mother," Baelish had said. Jon should have killed the beady-eyed man when he had the chance. Instead, Jon left Sansa unprotected and alone with a man whose hungry stare never wavered from her.

"Don't worry. He's no longer your concern. Or a threat. Arya, Bran and I saw to that."

Unbidden, his gloved hand tightens. Muscle memory. Tendons and muscle move as he tries to choke a neck that is no longer there. "What happened? He made his intentions towards you very clear to me before I left."

"I don't want to talk about Littlefinger right now."

"Sansa." He says her name like a challenge. He doesn't know why he is so intent on this. He feels almost childish, fixated on a topic he can see she holds no love for. However, it is the first time that she has shown any matter of feeling or investment in this...conversation. And there is something dark and viscid within him that needs to know—that wants to break the veil of ice she is wearing. "I need to know," Sansa stiffens. "Did he—did he cross any boundaries he shouldn't have?"

"You 'need to know'?" Her head lowers, shaking humorlessly, until he can only see the braided rose that crowns her hair. Words are slow and pointed in coming out of her mouth. Her tongue seems to savor each syllable. "Funny, that, how you demand answers and explanations from me. How, suddenly, 'we need to talk'. We needed to talk several moons past, what use is talking now? My counsel and opinion doesn’t matter to you."

You're wrong. There are few people he can and does trust. He left the North in her steady and capable hands. He entrusted the safety of their people to her. She...she came into his life unexpectedly but he now finds himself unable to fathom a future without her—and the rest of his family. How can you doubt your importance to me? Or believe that your counsel and opinion doesn't matter? “It does matter—”

Her chair scrapes against the floor as she abruptly stands, and her hands grip the edge of the desk. “No, it doesn’t." As if surprised by the vehemency that coats her words, she blinks rapidly, and twists her face away from him. "One raven, Jon. That is all you cared to send." Her voice is hoarse; he surmises it is probably from anger. "You left our home and a kingdom we just reclaimed, to leave on a mission everyone advised you against because we couldn’t risk losing you. Moons without a single word, or scroll to at least let me know you were alive and well." She lifts a hand to wipe away a strand of auburn that escaped her braid. "And then when I do receive a raven it’s to let me know—not confer with or discuss—but to let me know that you bent the knee. Brienne told me of how you publicly pledged yourself to Daenerys at the Dragon Pit. No one aside from you and the Targaryen queen, not even Ser Davos, your hand, knew."

He mimics her and stands just as harshly. Jon thought she trusted him. 'We need to trust each other'. They had promised atop Winterfell's battlements, hadn't they? "You weren't the one that had to negotiate with Daenerys. I was." Anger at her mistrust worms into his throat. Sansa wasn't kept prisoner with no access to her ship and weapons. She doesn't know of how tense the situation was. She doesn't know how volatile Daenerys' temper is. She criticizes him without knowing exactly what transpired on that thrice-damned island. "You have no idea what it was like, you only believe what you want to believe and accuse me of—of I don't know what."

"That's the problem! I have no idea because you refuse to confide in me!" Her gloveless hands release their grip on the desk. The lady of Winterfell draws her shoulders back and circles the desk to stand before him. The barrier between them is gone and at this close distance Jon can see a faint redness lining the white of her eyes. "You act like a lone wolf without thinking of the consequences. With the stroke of a quill, you sent a scroll renouncing a crown voluntarily given and voluntarily accepted," a breath shudders past the belt that tightly winds around her waist, "and it fell upon me to try and explain a situation I knew nothing of to the people that put their trust in the Stark name. Thrice now, a Stark king has lost the north. Did you believe the lords would accept a Targaryen queen as easily as you did? You know what the North has suffered at the hands of southern rulers—especially Targaryens. I'd almost wager many of them would rather die in the Long Night than submit once more to 'Fire and Blood'."

"Then they're fools," he says through clenched teeth. We're really all just Northern fools in the end. "Do you think the Night King cares about who holds what title? Titles don't matter—"

"Oh, yes they do," she cuts in, "What will happen after the war? After the Night King is defeated? You say you fight for the living but it seems you don't care or understand that life, the very thing you are fighting for, will continue on afterwards and the promises and pledges you have sworn will matter. Who rules over us, over the North, will matter. That you pledged northern men to fight for a bloody throne in the south will matter." Her volley of attacks leaves her winded and gasping. "You're a fool if you don't understand this."

"She has dragons, armies, and dragonglass. We need Daenerys, what don't you understand about that?" He isn't wearing the cloak Sansa made for him yet he feels himself warming underneath Sansa's clear disapproval. Sansa always gets under his skin. What does he have to do to gain her trust? "Without her we will not win this war. I've seen the Army of the Dead. I've fought them. Not even her dragons are safe. You heard Bran, the Night King now has a dragon of his own." Guilt at agreeing to go beyond the Wall for Daenerys' truce, the loss of Uncle Benjen, guides his eyes away from Sansa's penetrating gaze. "You have no idea what we're up against. If I hadn't gone to Dragonstone...there is no doubt in my mind the Night King would kill every single northern man, woman, and child before making his way south. You must know," he takes a single step forward, tries to make her understand. "All I care about is protecting the North. I promised to protect you, remember? I could never forgive myself if I hadn't done everything possible to protect you, Arya, and Bran."

The braziers and sconces mounted around the room crackle, and cast her face in orange light. He feels like she's ripped from him an unknown truth he himself is blind to. She looks at him, unblinking. He stares back, waiting. His eyes start to burn but he will not yield. Sansa's veneer of ice seems to thaw. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her thumb worry her palm. Quietly, she asks him a question that tears open the wounds on his chest, “Was it duty to the North or love for her that made you bend the knee?"

#in which Jon and Sansa finally have a moment alone #and many things are discussed but also left unsaid #unreliable narrator #jon x sansa #jonsa #jonsa fic #jonsaff #trust and promises #players & pieces

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saltnnectar · 5 years

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「 danielle campbell, 23, female + she/her 」 ☆ is that GENEVIEVE NOTT spotted in DIAGON ALLEY ?! as they walk along the cobblestone ground they seem to be quite INDEPENDENT, but also ASSERTIVE, it makes sense given they are a POLITICAL JOURNALIST and their patronus is a BLACK SWAN. An IV drip of black coffee, ink stained hands, a place for everything & everything in it's place, unfiltered opinions & casual judgement + SURPRISE YOURSELF by JACK GARRATT make me think of them. || meg, 25, pst, she/her. ||

→ Name: Genevieve Rose Nott

→ Face Claim: Danielle Campbell

→ Age: 23

→ Birthday: February 8

→ Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

→ Sexual Orientation: Bisexual

→ Blood Status: Pureblood

→ Height: 5'3"

→ Patronus: Black Swan

→ Wand: 12" Ash, Unicorn Hair

→ Amortentia: black coffee, spearmint, fresh ink, pear

→ Career: Political Journalist (The Daily Prophet)

→ School: Ilvermorny

→ House: Thunderbird

→ Positive Traits: Independent, Persistent, Intelligent

→ Negative Traits: Assertive, Stubborn, Opinionated

→ Aesthetic: an IV drip of black coffee, ink stained hands, a place for everything & everything in it’s place, unfiltered opinions & casual judgement

→ Song: Surprise Yourself by Jack Garratt

BIOGRAPHY

Genevieve was born on the Nott family estate and lived there until she was five. She has vague memories of the expansive gardens and long hallways that opened into large rooms. She remembers the pretty dresses her mother made her wear and the smiles her spinning around in them brought to the face of her usually reserved father. Her first signs of magic were also in the estate. A rather bad temper tantrum at dinner sent her plate of food flying across the room. It was also the birthplace of her younger brother. She wasn’t fond of the strange new wrinkly addition to the family at first, but soon grew to love him.

The bubble of her life couldn’t last forever. Her father still had the remnants of war stuck to him. The once respected Nott family was cast into the muck of society. She was mostly shielded from the influence of her grandfather’s actions, but it was only getting harder as she got older. The looks she never noticed as an infant, upset her as a toddler and young child who didn’t understand. People said such mean things about her father, the man she only knew for loving her and her mother and brother. It reached the point where she didn’t want to leave the house. She didn’t like strangers. Her parents could no longer let her be affected. They packed up their belongings and moved to the United States, her mother’s home, for a fresh start.

New York became her home. Genevieve thrived in the bustling city. She learned independence and the need to be assertive. She also learned the need for secrecy. The wizarding community was far more integrated with the muggle population, or no-maj population as she soon learned was the American term. All it took was another child laughing at her once over the term muggle for her to adopt it. The integration fueled her views of love and tolerance. Her father had kept his opinions neutral, allowing Genevieve to draw her own conclusions. Her friends were often a mix of both no-maj and wixen. It still took her family by surprise when her first boyfriend was a no-maj even if it only lasted a summer.

School was a mixed basket for Genevieve. She loved Ilvermorny, and the freedom to use magic, and learning everything she could. She didn’t like being away from her family, and the city, and her no-maj friends. It was a delicate and bittersweet balance. She excelled in academics, but struggled making friends. People often found her intimidating, and she never fully understood that. She had no problem speaking her mind, and was fiercely stubborn. It didn’t help that she had a knack for dueling magic. She had a few close friends, and learned to not care about being popular. School was also the time for experimenting, and she was known to go through boyfriends and girlfriends, refusing to settle with anyone for more than a couple of months at a time.

Genevieve discovered a love of politics when she was thirteen. She picked up interest in the world around her and it bled into an interest in the powers that governed it. She wanted to know all about the laws and lawmakers that dictated her life. It led her to activism, pushing to make a difference for the greater good, and inspired her to write. It wasn’t long before she turned the writing into a self-published blog and freelance journalism. She lived on her own after graduating and supported herself through her writing.

It was on a whim that she applied for the open position at The Daily Prophet. She had only been to England for a few holidays since the move when she five. Still, she had kept herself informed on English wizarding politics, and occasionally wrote about it. She was surprised when they asked her for an interview, and hired her on the spot. They had gained quite the reputation during the war, and her fresh, and progressive perspective was wanted to help the paper stay with the times.

The Nott estate once more became filled with life. She had originally wanted to rent a flat in the city, but her parents insisted she stay at the family home. It would be easy enough to apparate, or floo into the city. They saw no sense in her spending her money on a flat when she already had a home. Genevieve drew the line at them sending a house elf with her. She was perfectly capable of doing her own cleaning and cooking. The live-in caretaker that moved into the estate upon their departure could stay to continue with the upkeep of the grounds and estate. She wouldn’t be using the whole house after all. One wing was more than enough for the twenty-one year old.

She had to prove herself. Years of experience in the United States meant nothing to her advisor. He gave her puff pieces for months, much to her annoyance, before she convinced him that she could handle larger stories. She fought tooth and nail to be a correspondent at the Ministry, and to be allowed to do more research heavy pieces. It took a couple years, but she established herself. She earned a reputation for being direct in her questioning, and pulling no punches in her writing. She was thorough in her research, making her trustworthy. She also had the ability to explain even the most complex of issues in a way that anyone could understand. She was formidable, and she knew it. Nothing would hold her back.

FACTS

She is obsessed with coffee. Her day does not truly begin until she has had a cup of coffee. She usually has several throughout the day. She takes her coffee black. Despite her love of coffee, she does not like coffee flavored things.

Her accent is a mix. She spent the first five years picking up a British accent, but her time in the States got rid of most of it. Still, her father was a huge influence on her. She kept some of the accent because of hearing how he spoke, and she picked up plenty of his terms. Her accent was mostly American when she moved back five years ago, but it has been becoming more British over the years.

Genevieve loves to paint. She has a room dedicated to painting, filled with supplies and used to store all her paintings. She does often paint outside as well. It is her favorite hobby besides creative writing and reading

Potential connections can be found here. However, they are only a few suggestions and I am always open to other suggestions, or figuring out something new together through plotting. The best place to reach out to me for plotting is discord - Meg#4550 - since I prefer it on mobile. Of course, I am still available on this blog as well. I look forward to plotting and writing with everyone!

#da:intro #;you can never be overdressed or overeducated (( about ))

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trustonlylokiposts-blog · 5 years

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Diagnosis: Chapter 2

Stark Tower and Nailing an Interview: chapter two.

I said my goodbyes to Koda and summoned an Uber, they smelled better than Taxis and I wanted to impress my interviewer. My long brown hair was pulled back into a neat pony tail, I wore a black blouse and a black pencil skirt, a green silk shawl, a modest silver necklace. I opened my phone and checked my messages, a few friends from the clinic I used to work at had all spammed me with questions, apparently I should have elaborated on where I was going to interview, and who I was going to work for. And who I was going to be my patient, or patients. I was excited

Trust me, I’ve never felt this excited before. I mean, practicing medicine for the Avengers, that’s insane.

I also had a few concerned texts from my mom after I had told her what happened the night before. Coming from a small town in Utah meant that we never had to worry about cat calling, potential rapists. I reassured her I was fine, and that Koda does a fantastic job of keeping me safe. As we neared the tower the driver broke the silence, “Stark Industries? What kind of secretary are you going to be?” I snorted, “Actually I a medical doctor. I am applying to be the Avengers on staff physician.” After a moment of really awkward silence, “Oh, my apologies doctor..” We pulled into the entrance and I stepped out, waving goodbye and rating him at a salty 5 stars. I stepped inside and walked to the front desk and cleared my throat, a women with a tight platinum blonde bun looked up at me. She plastered a fake smile and asked how she could help me. I explained that I was here for an interview for The Avengers physician. I let her scan my ID and take my picture which she printed off and put inside a little clip labeled “visitor”

I made my way to an elevator and followed the directions on which floor to head to, as the elevator made it’s way up the tower I began to feel slightly nervous, this kind of job sounded amazing, what if a more competent physician applied? I knew I was brilliant and was known as a prodigy, (not to toot my own horn) But for an opportunity like this, there had to be all kinds of amazing doctors applying. The elevator opened and I stepped out, woah. I was greeted to something I would expect in a high end Penthouse. A large open room with tall windows that boasted an excellent New York view, near the windows were several luxurious couches and loves seats, to my left was a bar that had more high-end liquor than the entire state of Utah could ever allow in a single building. “Ah, look at that our young doctor appears!” I was fairly surprised to see that it was Tony Stark who greeted me, I stepped forward and shook his hand with a warm smile, “My name is Doctor Julie Stirling, it is my absolute pleasure to meet you, thank you for this incredible opportunity.” Stark grinned at me and lead me to the bar and pulled out a stool for me then sat down and gestured for me to follow suit, which I did while trying my best to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. “Can I offer you a drink? Water, tea, coffee, I wouldn’t recommend alcohol this early, but you do you.” I chuckled and declined his offer as I pulled out of resume, cover letter, and a list of my references and their recommendations and admirations. Tony skimmed through the information I handed him and let out a low whistle. “29 years old and already such an incredible physician, young, brilliant, capable, a genius among men! You remind me of myself” Stark added with a chuckle, “I did hear that you abruptly left your previous job while cursing your employer out. Care to elaborate on that?” I bit my lip and felt embarrassment rise through me, “I.. It’s not like me sir, he is a very disrespectful man and I had enough. I knew my skills and knowledge were going to waste and I couldn’t stand being belittled anymore. Trust me when I say I am very professional and my bedside manner is excellent I-“ Tony cut me off with a wave of his hand, “Trust me I know about Doctor Wallis, that creepy old man has brought nothing but complaints from the people I’ve asked. Plus hey, I need something with the backbone to stand up for themselves. You’ll be working with some thick headed assholes, myself included. I need to know you wont be pushed around when it’s unnecessary.”

Tony looked through my resume once more and added “You are young, and you don’t have as much experience under your belt as the other applicants but.. That might actually prove useful. I need a fresh mind, something who is willing to take a step into medicine that may be more complicated than what other doctors have studied and worked with. And reading about your incredible track record of absolutely blowing away the universities you studied under I am certain that you learn quickly, and you’re fast on your feet too.” We talked for a little longer, Tony explaining how things generally worked around the tower, “Most of your responsibilities are focused on the Avengers, however if needed I will have you tend to Stark employees as well. However they all have their own doctor they see when necessary. I guess you’re just a backup when needed. But I don’t think it would come to that, plus you will have enough on your plate anyway. With keeping up with the team and building your understanding of erm.. Otherworldly beings, Dr. Banner is also adapt in medicine and is incredible and will work along side you when it comes to finding things that can keep up with different physiologies and metabolisms.” Tony stood and motioned for me to follow, “I like you kid, come with me, I’m thinking I want to hire you. But I need you to meet someone first. He has been so gracious as to agree and let us heal him. He allows us the possibility to understand Asgardians and well.. He has no choice to be here and isn’t quite healthy enough to do much about it anyway.” I followed Stark through a set of doors and was led down a hallway and through another set of doors, I raised an eyebrow when I noticed what looked like two SHEILD agents guarding the entrance. Stark breezed past them and opened the doors and walked in, I followed closely but halted when I noticed a hospital bed, connected to a few IV’S and a heart monitor was the one and only Loki. He was propped up on the bed reading a book. He was pale, way paler than he was when he was last seen on TV. His hair was an absolute mess and while he seemed tired he also gave off the vibe that he was still not to be messed with. Stark cleared his throat and introduced me, “hey Prince of Jokes, we have someone who might possibly be tending to you. Say hello!” Loki looked at me and I felt myself tense, How in the actual hell am I suppose to take care of him?

“Hello, worry not mortal, I am under very direct orders not to cause chaos, else I am thrown back into my cells on Asgard which would not be pleasant due to my current condition. It appears that aiding Thor in stopping the Dark Elves from destroying everything and consequently being stabbed by a kursed blade only earns me a break from my imprisonment on Asgard, to one here. To be a test subject for idiot Midgardians to use their barbaric technology to learn how to heal their precious Avengers.”

Tony rolled his eyes and said “Don’t worry, Thor was able to get some direction to help heal him, under these special circumstances it would be difficult to keep him from dying without a little Asgardian aid, they have provided strong drugs to give his body the energy and… Cider?” “Seidr” Loki cut in, “Seidr, anyway, that is some of what we have running through his veins right now. His body heals at an incredible rate but what went through him on that strange elf planet puts up a lot of fight. Combining drugs that keep his energy from draining we can allow him to do most of the healing on his own. What you will be doing is keeping a stable eye on his vitals and pain. We do have very potent pain killers for when he needs them. Trust me you’ll know. You think he’s a prick now? Wait until his ouchie is hurting, he’ll bitch at you until you either decide to give him the precious drug or kill him.” Loki rolled his eyes, “I would hardly call it bitching, if you even could fathom the amount of pain I am forced to endure while under the mockery of mortals you would be irritable as well.”

I looked Loki over then looked back to Tony, “I think I can handle him, at least as long as he continues to be relatively harmless.” Loki sneered but said nothing, Tony clapped his hands together. “Yes! Okay, I am going to offer you this job. For the foreseeable future Loki is your main concern. Keeping his pain under control, his healing on track and making sure his bandages are changed and infection is avoided. He may be ‘godly’ but he still is vulnerable at the moment.” That earned an insulted scoff from Loki that Tony promptly ignored, “Thor was told that Loki’s estimated healing time should be a month if everything goes smoothly. After Loki is healed we will go from there. Oh, because you are our on sight physician I have provided a modest apartment here at the tower. Your home will be located on the same floor as the handful of Avengers who live here. Thor is off and on when it comes to being here on earth, but you’ll get to know Natasha Rominoff, Clint, Bruce, Steve, and of course myself.”

Over the next couple hours I was given a thick stack of nondisclosure forms, another thick stack of pretty much everything that Tony and I had discussed before, a bunch of notes on dealing with Asgardians, more specifically wounded Loki, an in-depth description of my salary, paid time off, and work related perks. I was given a set of keys and taken down to what was called “Avenger’s floor” I walked to the end of the hall with one of Stark’s employees, she was a bubbly redhead who seemed super pumped to be here at all times. “Here is your home!” She opened the door and waited for me to enter before following me. “You have two bedrooms and two bathrooms, a full bathroom with the master bedroom, and a half bathroom in the hallway.” Alex, as she had liked to be called stood in the center of the large room. To my right the apartment dipped down slightly into what would easily be a modest living room, tall windows that made me feel a little light-headed reminded me of how high up I was. Although you really did get a killer view from up here, and there were massive grey curtains that I could pull over if I needed to. To my left was a large dining and kitchen area, it was also very open, it already had a dining table that could gracefully seat six people. Behind the table was a rather cozy kitchen, I didn’t need anything fancy, in fact this really was more than I was expecting. Alex let me take it all in before leading me down the hall, the first door on the right she opened and gestured for me to follow. “This is the guest bedroom but could easily be a study, or anything you want really.” The room wasn’t small, but not overly huge either. I didn’t expect to have many guests so a study would be really nice. Alex made her way out of the room and guided me to the next door, “and here we will have the master bedroom.” I stepped in behind her and looked around. This room had to be about half the size of my old apartment. It had a nice window that let in sunlight and fresh air without making me feel like I was going to fall to my death. I walked to the end of the room and opened a door to find a master closet, “Huh, don’t think I have enough clothes to come even close to fitting in here.” I laughed to myself but Alex tilted her head, “aren’t doctors supposed to be rich?” I really laughed this time, “yeah, but not starting out. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs. My last apartment was pretty much a cement box.” My preppy tour guide shrugged and opened the door to reveal my bathroom. A freaking Jacuzzi tub sat at the far end of the room under a beautifully arched window, gorgeous white curtains were tucked back. I took in the sight, a large walk in shower, a complicated looking toilet.. A Bedit? And a marble sink blew me away.

Alex left me to explore the rest of the apartment on my own, there was really only the guest bathroom left anyway, and while it was a nice bathroom, it’s just a bathroom. Tony had given me a week to get myself moved and settled in, then it would be time to work. I was actually pretty proud of myself for convincing Tony to allow me to keep Koda, (it was less “convincing” and more me telling him that I am a package deal and Koda comes with me.) I had to show him every ribbon she’s earned, ever certificate and proof of vaccines. But he agreed and I was excited to bring Koda on this new adventure with me.

#Loki Loki fic Loki x Female OFC Avengers fic

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amercsmemoirs · 6 years

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The Handful and The Healer

Chapter 1: The Fateful Encounter

AO3

Anders checked the time. 5:03am. Time to check on his newest patient. His ID said Damien Amell, and he was rushed in with alcohol poisoning. Anders pumped his stomach and got him an IV and, after some pain killers, went to sleep. Anders hadn't had much time to talk to him, but on a Wednesday night, there weren't that many people who needed emergency care.

Anders picked up the clipboard on the end of Damien's bed and examined his sleeping patient. Damien's face scrunched and he groaned. He blinked, and his eyes opened and - wow. Grey eyes. Anders had never met anyone with grey eyes; the few born with it typically develop some pigment as a toddler.

Anders was snapped from his train of thought when Damien started coughing. Anders looked over and Damien was sitting upright, hand at his throat.

"Side effect of the stomach pumping, unfortunately," Anders explained. "It's going to be a little hard for you to talk for a while."

"Heh, no kidding," Damien said. His voice was raspy and hoarse, and it probably hurt to even say that, but he still had a weak smile.

"How are you feeling? One word answers are fine," Anders added quickly.

"Hm. Better than yesterday," Damien croaked. "You sure did look surprised when you saw me wake up, doc. Was I that bad?"

"No - And you can call me Anders. You’re just awake earlier than I expected you’d be."

Damien’s face broke out in a grin.

"Heh, thanks. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.” Then he coughed.

At that, Anders chuckled. His patient was resilient, he’ll give him that much.

"So, was last night a special occasion?" Anders asked.

Damien's head tilted in confusion. Anders's brows furrowed. Maybe he should rephrase the question?

"You know... the binge drinking?" Anders motioned to the hospital bed Damien was laying in.

Damien looked down at the bed and then realization struck.

"Oh! Hah, no, just a regular Wednesday night," Damien answered with a grin. "What, are you new here?"

Anders was completely baffled. How was he the one getting such a I-can't-believe-you-didn't-know-this look from someone binge drinking on a Wednesday night?

"I, uh ... I just transferred here last week from Fereldan. So yeah, I guess you can say I'm new."

Damien's face broke out in a grin. "Welcome to Kirkwall! You seem like a handsome, capable doctor. Why do you work at the smallest hospital in Low Town?"

Anders blinked. Was his patient ... hitting on him?

Damien's toothy grin really made Anders noticed his well-defined cheekbones, and his white teeth really shone next to his dark skin. Huh.

"Oh you know, the old story of med school debts, constant failure, and avoiding the problem. Kirkwall's Lowtown seemed a good place to start over."

Damien's expression darkened as he nodded solemnly. Like he understood where Anders was coming from.

"Where did you go to medical school?"

"Oh! Uh, I didn't. My older brother - he just graduated a few years ago."

"Does he work here?" Anders hadn't seen anyone who looked anything like Damien, but it's possible they just worked opposite shifts.

"Oh, no, he's one of those fancy doctors at that Amell Hospital in High Town," Damien responded casually. But also like he was surprised Anders didn't know that, either. "He's - oh, he's here."

Anders turned around and saw a tall man with shoulder length dreads making a beeline straight towards them. And he was tall. 6'4'' maybe? He probably towered over everyone. Broad shouldered, muscular - he was a doctor? That's insane -

Damien grunted as he threw his legs over the edge of his bed.

"Hey, you shouldn't be moving yet -"

"Damien!"

The man reached them and man, was he tall. And big. And looked incredibly haggard. Bags under his eyes, premature wrinkles. When was the last time this man slept?

The tired looking man pushed up the sleeves of his button up shirt as he pushed past Anders to examine his brother.

"Hey Zeke," Damien said as 'Zeke' turned his face back and forth.

"What's your temperature?," he asked, forgoing a greeting.

"Haven't had the chance to ask." Damien looked a little amused.

"Blood pressure? Last night's blood-alcohol content?"

"I'm pretty sure a doctor would know better than I would. Just ask Anders."

"Damien, please. At least call him 'Doctor'," 'Zeke' said, exasperated.

"Actually, I'm an EMT," Anders interrupted, finally finding his voice.

At that Zeke finally turned to him. It just dawned on him that he probably didn't even see him when he rushed to his brother. He looked him up and down, as if he was suddenly judging him.

"Hello Zeke," Anders began nervously. Damien's eyebrows raised. "I'm Anders. He doesn't have to call me 'doctor'," he added, hand stretched out. "Just my top notch, friendly bedside manner."

"He doesn't have to call you 'doctor'," Zeke agreed, rather coldly. "You aren't one. And it's Ezekiel."

Ouch. Anders lowered his hand.

"Hey, Zeke take it easy - " Damien hopped off the bed - well, less of a hop and more of a plop. He was almost as tall as his brother! And they both were taller than he was. Anders was already almost 6’ -

"We're leaving, Damien.”

As Ezekiel strided past Anders, Anders thought of saying a goodbye - but then thought better of it when he caught a glimpse of Ezekiel’s glower. Damien took two steps after Ezekiel and stopped in front of Anders.

“Yeah … He doesn’t really like it when people call him ‘Zeke’. Sibling privilege, unfair, I know,” Damien mused, patting Anders’s shoulder. This close, Anders could see small, silver lines on his face, marking old scars.

Then Damien winked. “Don’t worry, Anders, you’ll be seeing plenty of me. So you’ll be able to get to know Ezekiel better too! Works out for everyone.”

“Hah. Not too often, I hope?” Anders asked. He wouldn’t mind seeing those grey eyes outside the hospital.

Damien gasped, rather dramatically, and gripped his chest. “Anders! Don’t tell me you’re already tired of me!”

Anders laughed, but before he could get a response out, Ezekiel called for his brother from down the hallway. Damien said his goodbyes and followed his brother out of the hospital. The pair got stares from nurses, doctors, patients - literally everyone they passed on the way out. Ezekiel was cold, but he very clearly dropped everything as soon as he’d heard about his brother. And his brother, Damien … obviously a wild card. Anders felt like Damien walked away knowing more about him than the other way around. But, as extreme as he seemed, he still felt warm and friendly. What an interesting pair.

*~*~

A few hours later, Anders was finishing up his paperwork for the day in the hospital lab. He usually tried to stay out of the lab, but it was usually quieter there than anywhere else. And only doctors had offices. His eyes glanced over his patient list and his eyes caught the name Damien Amell. Why did ‘Amell’ sound so familiar?

“Hey, Bethany,” Anders started. Bethany Hawke was a new intern, fresh out of med school, aspiring to be a doctor. Apparently, she’d shown promise, as Chief of Medicine Orsino had pointed her out to Anders several times since he’s been at the hospital. Anders had to admit, Bethany was quick witted, completed all of her paperwork on time, and had excellent bedside manners. He hadn’t heard a single negative thing about her, and she’d been at this hospital for a few months now.

“Yeah, Anders?” Bethany’s voice rang up from the other side of the desk, behind a stack of papers. The lab wasn’t huge; relatively small for the amount of work they had to get done there, but they had as much equipment as they could fit there. Bethany learned to work around it all pretty quickly, and became pretty adept at stacking what she needed very high.

“What do you know about the ‘Amell’ family?”

“Amell?” She popped her head out from behind the stack and looked over at him. Her dark brown curls bounced as she got up and walked over to him.

“They’re my cousins,” she stated plainly.

“What?” Anders scanned her hazel eyes, trying to see if she was bluffing - but no, people as good as Bethany didn’t bluff.

“Yeah, my mom’s sister and her kids. Ezekiel, Damien, and Claire. Ooh, who did you meet?” She peeked over his shoulder at his paperwork.

“Damien Amell,” Anders answered for her. “And Ezekiel came to pick him up.”

“Oh you met Damien and Zeke!” Bethany exclaimed. Apparently, ‘Zeke’ was okay for siblings and cousins. Anders wondered if Damien knew. “Yeah, Damien is here a lot. It’s pretty much the only way to get Zeke to leave the hospital.”

“What hospital? Damien told me he was a doctor, but I don’t remember which one.”

“Are you kidding?” Bethany looked him up and down, an incredulous tone in her voice. Why did everyone in this family do that to him? “Ezekiel is the chief physician at the Amell Hospital. It’s the biggest and oldest hospital in Kirkwall.”

Now that was something Anders should have known. Maker, the Amell Hospital was huge. And cutthroat. Anders would be lucky to even get an interview. And yet, he did not envy Ezekiel. Even being born into the family, maybe even especially, getting the Chief of Medicine position was not going to be easy. And he still dropped everything to pick up his brother on the other side of town?

“That’s crazy,” Anders started, barely able to wrap his head around this new information. “Why is Damien so … out of control if he’s the son of the Revka Amell? How is he in and out of a rival hospital on a regular basis? Why is Ezekiel risking his position at the most prestigious hospital in the Free Marches to pick up his brother from a hospital? And why aren’t you working at your cousin’s hospital?”

Bethany laughed, her brown skin wrinkling at her eyes. Even her laugh was light and airy.

“Well, Damien has already established with Auntie Rev that he’s not going to be a doctor, and she’s already publicly disowned him. And I would barely call this place a ‘rival hospital.’ Ezekiel spends almost every day of the week in the hospital, doing Auntie Rev’s bidding so he can take over the hospital. So he can spare a day or two to spend with family. And me, I just like helping people. Amell Hospital doctors are a little too … ‘out for themselves’ for me. Except for Zeke, of course,” she added.

That gave Anders pause. That family was so complex, with so many different pieces to the puzzle. Oh, Maker. What had Anders learned?

“Why all the questions, hm? Interested in one of them?” Bethany teased. And she didn’t even sound malicious.

“Huh?” The question caught him off guard. Interested? In whom, exactly?

“Honestly, nearly everyone here wants to get Zeke, somehow.” Bethany seemed to shudder at the thought. “Don’t feel bad about it, but you’d have a long line of doctors and nurses to get through to get to him.” Another laugh.

“No, I’m not interested in Ezekiel, I was just - curious. There’s so much more going on than I’d thought.”

None of that was a lie, really. He just didn’t feel like it was the whole truth for some reason. Not that it mattered; the work he had was more important that this dysfunctional family.

“That’s fair. They are a bit of a mess.” She grinned a little sheepishly. “Well, I’m gonna finish my lab work, unless you had more questions about my cousins?”

Anders chuckled. “No, no. Sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

“No worries!”

She returned to her side of the desk and disappeared behind the stack of papers. He decided to return to his paperwork, as well. Damien Amell. Huh. Well, he’d rather not gonna worry about it right now. If he runs into him again, he’ll consider giving the Amells a second thought.

*~*~

Anders had about a week of normal, adrenaline rushing EMT work before Damien showed up again.

Over the weekend, the work picked up of course; bar fights, car accidents, self-repair mishaps. Nothing out of the ordinary for Kirkwall. He’d spent a few days recuperating at home with his new kitten, Ser-Pounce-A-Lot, and tending to the herb garden he’d set up in his kitchen. He was renting a small apartment in Lowtown, the most reasonable space he could think of given his workplace and his salary, and there wasn’t much room for greenery. However, modern inventions had created things like hanging pot racks and window sills, so Anders made do with what he had.

Then, Thursday night around 7:50pm, Anders was paged to go down to the ER to patch up a street market brawl patient. Apparently, the patient was jumped by four other men, all of whom were in surgery or getting stitches, but they just needed a few wounds sewed up. In hindsight, Anders felt like he really shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was to see Damien in the hospital bed. And to see that he was chatting with an elven nurse he seemed to know really well.

“You really didn’t need to involve yourself, you know,” she was saying as she wiped the blood off his face.

Damien winced. “They were giving Isabela a hard time! And they were drunk at like, 5 in the afternoon!”

The nurse - Anders recognized her as Velanna Ilshae - shook her head. “It was seven in the evening -” Damien protested. “And Isabela can handle herself. You and Carver got too involved.”

Damien looked fake appalled. “And what kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed a lady to be verbally accosted on my watch?”

Velanna stared at him for a few seconds and then smacked his nose.

“Hey!” Damien rubbed his nose and turned to see Anders at his bed. “Anders!” Damien grinned at him, then winced - Anders could tell that probably wasn’t the best idea. There were cuts on his cheeks, near his jawline - likely from multiple rings - and bruises up and down his arms. Whoever he’d fought against had to have been shorter than him. But realistically, who wasn’t? Anders wouldn’t be surprised if he had a fractured rib, honestly.

“Hello again, Damien.” Anders couldn’t help but smile just a little.

“Anders, please talk to Nurse Ilshae about her bedside manners. She just assaulted a bedridden patient!”

Velanna and Anders made eye contact and her expression completely gave off the idea that she would not care about what he had to say about that. Better to leave it alone.

“I can take it from here, Velanna,” he said instead.

She nodded and put the gauze down. Damien waved goodbye as she went to check on another patient.

“So is this a typical Thursday night?” Anders asked as he settled in Velanna’s spot. Those cuts were going to need cleaning and stitches.

“Hah!” Damien laughed, quite cheerfully actually, and then winced again. “Ow! Uh, no. While I do like to keep things interesting, this was more of a night out with friends after work.”

“That’s not very reassuring.” Anders finished cleaning Damien’s face and picked up the butterfly stitches.

Ander would have to get up close and personal to fix up Damien’s face. Time to put that top notch bedside manner to work.

“So, I met your cousin Bethany last week. Well, I’d met her before but I didn’t know she was your cousin. Your families are pretty well established here.”

Damien nodded instead of responding. He was either not good with needles or he knew the routine when someone is sticking his face back together. Probably both.

As Anders finished, he saw Damien’s hand reach up towards his face. Anders suddenly understood how Velanna got comfortable with smacking him.

“Don’t touch.”

Damien’s hand lowered quickly and Anders moved to stitch up the other side.

“But, you wouldn’t know how well established you and Bethany are just by looking at you. You’re both incredibly humble.”

Damien stifled a chuckle. Anders finished the other cheek and wiped the remaining blood off his patients face.

“So, where do you work?”

“The Bone Pit Construction Company,” Damien responded with a grin.

“The - The old mining facility?”

“Hah, yeah, crazy name right? Apparently, it decided to go into construction,” Damien explained. “The owner just didn’t feel like changing the name, I guess?”

“Huh. Well, I’m not too confident about you working in a construction zone with your injuries. I can write you a doctor’s note to get out of work for a few days.”

Damien shook his head. “No, don’t worry about it. I own the place, so I pretty much just bark orders.”

“Aren’t you a little young to own a construction company?”

Anders knew from his ID that he was only 24. Two years younger than Anders and yet so much taller.

“You’re telling me. But, you do a few favors for the owner, clean up some messes, uncover a few murder mysteries, and suddenly they just want nothing to do with the place. So it’s mine now, I guess.” Damien shrugged, then grabbed his side.

That didn’t sound right to Anders, but he didn’t know enough business ownership laws to argue.

“Sure. Alright take a deep breath for me.”

Anders put his stethoscope on and listened to Damien’s breathing. Nothing sounded out of the ordinary, though his heart rate was a little faster than normal.

“Are you feeling alright?” Anders asked.

“Yeah? I mean, relatively speaking. Could be better, could be worse.”

Damien sounded pretty calm.

“It’s just, your heartbeat is a little fast.”

“Oh! Uh, really? That’s, uh, strange, I feel fine. Hey, why were you using a needle earlier? You’re an EMT right? I thought they couldn’t do anything that breaks the skin.”

Was he changing the subject? Anders really didn’t know him well enough to tell if this was him being embarrassed or nervous or if he was just like that.

“Don’t tell me I make you nervous, Damien,” Anders teased. “This is a small hospital and since all of our doctors are taking care of their patients or the men you beat up, I can bend the rules a little.”

“Hm, you should have seen Carver,” Damien said. “He got away without a scratch. He’s Bethany’s twin, by the way.” Anders’s brows shot up. “Yeah, I figured you didn’t know.” Damien grinned yet again.

“Are there any other family members I should know about?” Anders couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice, but Maker, did Damien have a lot of relatives.

Damien laughed heartily - and then groaned in pain. Yeah, probably a bruised rib. “Uh, let’s see - Zeke, me, and Claire. And Bethany and Carver have two older sisters, Amber and Alexis. But uh, yeah, that’s it, I’m pretty sure. Do you not have siblings?”

Anders was taken aback by the question. It wasn’t out of line or anything, but Damien’s voice suddenly carried interest and concern. It was unexpected.

“No, I’m, uh, an only child. My parents passed away about a year ago. It’s actually why I was gone for a while.”

“Oh - And I kept making jokes. Sorry - well, sorry for your loss.”

Damien’s voice dropped a little and he looked so concerned and why was Anders even telling him this?

“Don’t worry about it. We weren’t that close. They weren’t too fond of me after I dropped out of med school.”

There was also the whole, preferred-sleeping-with-men thing, but Anders didn’t feel compelled to share that with this near stranger. But then Damien nodded like he understood.

“Yeah that’ll make someone’s parents disown them if they aren’t too careful.”

“Speaking from experience?” Anders asked.

“No, not uh, mine. Zeke went through a lot with Revka.”

“Revka.” Not “mom.”

“Well, I do not envy Ezekiel’s position.” Anders picked up Damien’s patient clipboard and started writing. “You seem fine, other than needing stitches, and your rib is likely just bruised. Nothing’s been punctured or broken, but you should still get some anti-inflammatory medication and keep your side iced for a few days. You should be fine. Also, here’s a doctor’s note anyway,” Anders added, handing him the paper. “You know, just in case you’d like to take a few days from your highly exciting lifestyle.”

Damien chuckled. “Thanks, Anders. I’ll definitely consider that.”

“So is your brother picking you up? I figured he’d show by now.”

If Anders didn’t know any better, he would have sworn Damien’s face fell for the briefest moment.

“Who knows. Maybe they told him it was just a fist fight and I wasn’t dying this time,” he responded casually.

“That would make sense -”

“Nevermind, there he is.”

Damien motioned behind Anders and there was Ezekiel, striding down the hallway to them. Again, Ezekiel pushed past Anders to get to Damien. Anders was convinced he was invisible or something.

“Hey, Zeke.” Damien wore a sheepish grin. “What took so long? We were scared you’d forgotten about me.”

Ezekiel frowned but didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Are you alright?” The older brother was eyeing the stitches on his brother’s cheeks. Maker, Anders didn’t want to know what he’d say if Ezekiel learned he did it and not a certified doctor.

“Yeah I’m fine. Carver is too,” Damien added.

Ezekiel’s teeth clenched. “Carver was with you? Is he here - Is he hurt?”

“No, no, bro, relax. Carver didn’t get a scratch on him. He dropped me off at the hospital and then took Isabela home.” Damien placed his hands on his brothers shoulders in an attempt to calm him down. It looked like that worked.

“Isabela was there too? What, did someone ‘verbally accost’ her again?”

Damien laughed and grabbed his side. “Aaah. Ow. Yeah. Those men are also here, if you were interested in knowing that.”

Ezekiel paused for a second. He seemed to be considering if he cared? Maybe? “I wasn’t. Who did your stitches?”

Damien pointed behind Ezekiel at Anders. “Anders the EMT.” Damien grinned.

Ezekiel turned and looked at Anders for the first time. Yeah, he was definitely invisible to this giant. Ezekiel looked almost the same as last week; bags under his eyes like he hadn’t had a good night’s rest in years, a few lines on his face, and - sunken cheeks? Was he getting enough to eat? The clothes were different, at least. White, purple, and grey plaid button up with black slacks.

“Anders.”

“Hello, Ezekiel.” Anders didn’t want to risk saying more than that after last week’s interaction.

Ezekiel and Damien exchanged a meaningful look and then Ezekiel sighed and turned back to Anders.

“The stitches look - good. Like they won’t get infected.”

Damien groaned loudly and Anders held back a laugh. He had to assume that was Ezekiel’s version of a compliment.

“Uh, thank you. I do my best with what we have. It’s not Amell quality resources, but we get by.” Anders smiled.

Ezekiel frowned and Damien grimaced and - Did Anders say something wrong?

“Right. We should get going, Damien.”

Ezekiel walked by Anders down the hallway.

Damien got off the bed with that same grimace and stood next to Anders.

“You weren’t wrong, but you shouldn’t have said it. Zeke’s actually convinced Revka to donate supplies to Kirkwall’s hospitals twice a year. So some of this stuff is Amell quality.”

Anders could have kicked himself. Of course that sounded bitter.

“Can you tell him -”

“You’re sorry you said something so hurtful in your ignorance and hope to make it up to him?”

Anders suppressed a frown. “The first bit is more accurate.”

“Heh, alright. I can pass that along. Take care, Anders.”

Damien patted Anders’s shoulder and caught up with his brother, saying something about grabbing dinner before going home.

Just like last time, heads turned as they made their way out the building. Anders was impressed, just like last time, but he was starting to understand why. Sure, Ezekiel was definitely a catch, but Damien had his own charms. He was quick witted and funny and could take a punch, apparently. Actually, a great deal of pain, as many times he’s been in the hospital.

Anders called a nurse to clean what was left of Damien’s blood and moved on to the next patient.

*~*~

Anders strode through the hallway to the break room as quickly as he could. Doctors and nurses flitted about, rushing from one room to another, administering flu shots and changing bandages. It was a Tuesday afternoon and there were a lot of people in the ER with flu symptoms. Some just had stab wounds (this was Lowtown) but more than the usual were sick. He’d already been working since 10am and it was already 3pm. And he was starving. If he could just make it to the break room he’d be in the clear -

“Anders!”

Maker’s balls.

Anders stopped and turned to see Velanna flagging him down.

“Hey, I need you to take over a patient in the clinic for me.”

“Why, Velanna?”

“Because it’s time for my shift to be over.” Velanna crossed her arms, daring him to challenge her.

“Velanna, I’ve been here since 10 and I haven’t eaten -”

“Anders, I’ve been here since last night and I was called in to help with the sudden wave of sick people and I had to cancel a date with a handsome man to stay here.”

Anders glared at her and her superior smirk and gave up. It wasn’t his first full shift without eating and probably wouldn’t be his last.

“Fine. Whatever.”

“Thank you so much, Anders,” Velanna said sarcastically. She patted his arm once as they passed each other. He groaned in response and headed to the clinic.

----

Anders grabbed the clipboard in front of the door and knocked. This patient was diagnosed with a bruised rib and needed a follow up, but they weren’t sick, at least. He heard a voice confirm his entry and opened the door.

“Hey Anders!”

Anders looked up at the cheerful voice and there was Damien, leaning back on his elbows in the bed. His red shirt was torn just above his bicep and was tucked into his black jeans. Damien sat up as Anders crossed the room to him.

“Of course it’s you.” Anders sighed.

“Oh - yeah, sorry, it’s just me,” Damien responded despondently. “Didn’t really mean to bug you again -”

“No, no. No. Sorry Damien,” Anders cut him off. “I’m glad to see you - especially since it’s not in the ER.”

“Yeah, just a follow up, doc.” Damien seemed to be proud of that.

“I’m just really tired and starving and Velanna fed me some story about having to cancel a date with some guy and I just realized it was all a ploy to get me here -”

“She told you she cancelled a date with a guy?” Damien asked, incredulous. “She has a girlfriend, Anders. They hang out with Bethany and Claire sometimes. I’ve even seen them go on double dates with Carver and Merrill. Her name is Sigrun, I think?”

Anders pinched the bridge of nose in frustration. Velanna lied to get him in room with Damien. Why?

“Right. Of course. Just to mess with me I’m sure.”

“No! No, that’s not why - uh, look Anders I don’t wanna impose but -”

“Yes, right, your ribcage. Let me check you out.” Anders approached Damien and poked Damien’s ribcage and he jumped a little, but no groaning, no wincing.

“Your ribs are okay?”

Damien nodded and Anders examined his face - thin, dark lines replaced the red ones from a week ago. Damien’s arms weren’t bruised anymore either.

“You’re all healed up. This is literally the first time I’ve seen you uninjured. Why are you here then?”

“Right, yeah, hang on.”

Anders took a step back as Damien got off the bed and picked up a bag from the floor. He pulled out a small container of pasta, a smaller container filled with - maybe meat? - and a third full of red sauce.

Damien couldn’t be doing what Anders thought he was doing…. Could he?

“I don’t want you to feel like this is a bribe, or anything - I just made dinner last night and I figured you would need something to eat or whatever. I wanted to give this to you whether or not you said yes - Also I wasn’t sure if you ate meat? And I didn’t want to assume, so there’s vegetarian red sauce and some chicken -”

Damien went on and on with increasing nervousness and Anders just couldn’t wrap his head around this. Damien asked Velanna to get Anders into the clinic so Damien could bring him food and - what else?

“Damien, Damien,” Anders interrupted him. Damien stopped talking almost immediately. “What are you trying to say?”

“That, uh, this is your lunch that I made whether or not you say ‘yes.’ I mean - if you want it.” Damien extended the containers to Anders.

“Okay. Thank you, Damien,” Anders started, as he took the containers. “Say yes to what?”

“I was hoping that, maybe on your next off day or something, maybe you and I can … you know … go out to dinner? Or, like, lunch or a movie or something.”

Anders blinked. He went through all of this to ask him out?

“And if you don’t want to it’s fine! I’ll leave and you won’t have to see me again.” Damien paused. “Well, you will see me again, ‘cause I’m here a lot, but not like, in a ‘potentially romantic’ situation -”

“Damien. You’re rambling.” Anders couldn’t hold back a grin. When was the last time he was asked out on a date? Couldn’t even remember the last time he asked someone else. Maker, was he being courted? He suddenly felt nervous.

“Mhm.” Damien stopped talking again.

“I’d be glad to go on a date with you. One thing though; it’ll just be you and me, right? No family members?”

Damien’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and then he laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Just you and me. No family.”

“Then I’ll let you know when I’m free.” Anders smiled up at Damien and might have even thought he was blushing. Maker, he was too old to blush.

“That’s - Awesome! Great! Can’t wait!” Damien leaned in towards Anders, like he was going for a hug but then decided not to. “I’ll, uh see you around!”

Damien grabbed the bag and his jacket and bounded out the door. Anders looked over the stack of containers he’d gotten. How could anyone be so sweet?

And then he realized he didn’t have Damien’s number. So sweet and so impulsive. Anders supposed he could get Damien’s number from Velanna or Bethany -

Then he saw black writing on the largest container:

My brother’s number: (xxx) xxx-xxxx -Ezekiel

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phantom-le6 · 3 years

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Episode Reviews - Star Trek: The Next Generation Season 3 (1 of 6)

Capitalising on my last day of a break from my novel-writing efforts, I’m getting a start on episode reviews for the third season for Star Trek: The Next Generation now, so as to tide you all over until next weekend.

Episode 1: Evolution

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

The Enterprise approaches the Kavis Alpha binary star system to perform an astrophysics experiment led by Dr Paul Stubbs, analysing the decay of neutronium as a result of a stellar explosion that occurs every 196 years and is due to occur in the next few hours. Stubbs plans to launch a probe, dubbed the Egg, to gather the data, a result of a lifetime's development. Meanwhile, Chief Medical Officer Dr Crusher has returned to her duties on the Enterprise after a tour of duty at Starfleet Medical.

As the expected time of the stellar explosion nears, the ship beings to malfunction, and the issue is traced to the computer core. Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher, who had been working on a project involving microscopic nanites, realizes that he may have inadvertently let two nanites from his experiments loose. The nanites were programmed to find ways to work together and may have evolved as a result. A scan of the computer core reveals that the nanites have replicated themselves and have taken up residence in the computer core. With the computer controls unreliable, the crew and Dr Stubbs attempt to see if they can remove the nanites from the core. However, Dr Stubbs shoots the core with a burst of gamma radiation, destroying a large number of the nanites. They retaliate by flooding the bridge with nitrogen dioxide, which the crew overrides.

Dr Stubbs is confined to quarters, but the nanites attempt further revenge by shocking him with electricity. Captain Picard prepares to flood the computer core with gamma radiation to remove the nanites completely, but the android Second Officer Lt. Commander Data establishes communication with the nanites and allows them to use his body to speak with Picard. Picard realizes that the nanites are self-aware and conscious and took Dr Stubbs' actions as hostile, but they want peace. Picard negotiates a deal to send the nanites to Kavis Alpha IV, designating it as their homeworld with Dr Stubbs’ assistance. The nanites agree and repair the damage to the computer core before they leave it. Dr Stubbs launches his probe on time and collects numerous volumes of data.

Review:

There are a few notable changes in the show’s line-up; Worf has gone up from a lower grade of lieutenant to a higher one while Geordi is now a Lieutenant Commander, putting him up to the same rank as Data. Gates McFadden is now back as Dr Beverley Crusher, and as a result the supposedly McCoy-esque Dr Poklaski character is gone, along with head writer Maurice Hurley, who is believed to have been behind Gates’ departure back at the end of season 1. Finally, the uniforms have undergone a change in design and material that was apparently requested by Patrick Stewart.

This episode is better than either of the previous two season openers TNG has offered up, though it’s not as good as it could be. Apparently when Michael Pillar took over as head writer early in this season, he insisted every episode focus primarily on one character and be about something. By that criteria, we get a focus of sorts in Wesley, and we get to see that not only is he struggling to measure up to all the demands placed on him as student and acting officer, but we also see something of what over-dedication could do to Wesley through the analogue of guest character Dr Stubbs. However, the nano-technology thread detracts from effective exploration of either issue.

To make this episode truly brilliant, I think they should have either built up to Wesley letting the nanites out in error more and focused on his struggling to juggle his responsibilities and his mother’s concerns about that, or they should have focused on creating more parallels between Wesley and Stubbs to be explored. In essence, this episode is evidence that Pillar’s approach was very much in its infancy at that point and was not well developed yet. However, it does improve down the line, and the closing scene in Ten-Forward between Beverley and Guinan is superb. Overall, I’d give this episode 8 out of 10.

Episode 2: The Ensigns of Commands

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

The Enterprise receives an automated message from the enigmatic Sheliak: Remove the humans on planet Tau Cygni V in four days. The Sheliak are a non-humanoid species with little regard for human life and would exterminate any humans found in their path. Their message is only due to their obligation under a treaty with the Federation to notify their intention to colonize before taking further action.

There is no record of a Federation colony ship being sent there as it contains levels of hyperonic radiation lethal to humans, which doesn't explain why the Sheliak indicate otherwise. The Enterprise arrives in the system to find what looks to be a small colony on the surface. The android Second Officer, Lt. Commander Data takes a shuttlecraft to the planet to coordinate the evacuation as he is the only crewmember unaffected by the radiation. Once he arrives, he finds that the sensor readings were incorrect. He is informed by locals Haritath and Kentor that it is a colony of 15,253 people, the descendants of the wayward colony ship Artemis launched 92 years prior. The colonists' ancestors found a means to survive within the radiation but initially suffered heavy loss of life before an effective defence was found.

Although it would normally be a simple matter of beaming the colonists off the planet, hyperonic radiation renders the transporters useless. Because of this, a complete evacuation of the planet would take an estimated three weeks as no dedicated transport ships are available until then, and the Sheliak are not willing to give the Federation any extra time beyond the three days required by the treaty.

After explaining the situation and being rebuffed by the colony's leader, Gosheven, Data is befriended by a sympathetic colonist named Ard'rian. She expresses interest in Data as an android and invites Data to her home, where they discuss ways to persuade the colonists to evacuate. To his puzzlement Ard'rian kisses Data. Data explains to the colonists that they should evacuate their world before its imminent destruction, pointing out by reverse psychology that the only result of their heroic hopeless last stand will be their total annihilation. Gosheven, however, refuses to leave and insists they will protect themselves by fighting, which many of the colonists agree with.

With time running out, Captain Picard and the Enterprise crew begin poring through the 500,000-word treaty in the hopes of finding something they can use to their advantage.

At a meeting at Ard'rian’s home, Data talks to several of the colonists who are thinking of leaving the doomed colony; Gosheven comes in and electrocutes Data. Data recovers and reasons that if persuasion cannot work, then intimidation through a show of force should be his next option. Modifying his phaser to work in the hyperonic atmosphere, he raids the colonists' aqueduct to prove they are helpless to defend their livelihood. When Data easily stuns the colonists guarding the aqueduct, he points out that if they can't defend against a single person with a phaser, then they aren't capable of fighting the hundreds of Sheliak, who would likely destroy them via orbital bombardment. Data then sends a phaser charge up the aqueduct system to vaporise the water that is vital to the colony's survival, convincing the colonists to evacuate the world. Gosheven reluctantly relents.

Back on the Enterprise, Picard exploits a loophole in the treaty. He invokes a section calling for third-party arbitration to resolve the dispute and names as arbitrators the Grizzelas, a species that is in its hibernation cycle for another six months. Picard offers the Sheliak a choice: wait six months for the Grizzelas to come out of hibernation, or give the Federation three weeks to evacuate the colony. Ultimately, the Sheliak give the Federation the three weeks.

Just as Data is about to leave the colony in his shuttle, Ard'rian comes to say goodbye. She asks Data if he has any feeling over what has just happened, and Data explains that he cannot experience feelings. To her surprise, He then kisses Ard'rian. She remarks that he "realized" she needed a kiss; Data leaves Ard'rian and returns to the Enterprise.

Aboard the Enterprise, Picard comments on Data's performance at a classical concert before his mission with the human colonists. Picard tells Data he performed with feeling, and Data reminds Picard that he has no feeling. Picard says that this is hard to believe, noting his fusion of two very different music styles in his performance suggests real creativity. At that, and in obvious reflection of his recent solution of the colony problem, Data concedes that he has become more creative when necessary.

Review:

It’s taken me reading through Memory Alpha’s notes on this episode to get any idea of what this episode’s title means. Apparently, it’s taken from a poem by John Quincey Adams and talks about ensigns as in flags or symbols rather than the officer rank used in TNG. However, this episode is focusing more on Data struggling with how to take command when his lack of emotion hinders him. That has nothing to do with flags or symbols, so for me the episode feels completely mis-labelled. I think the writers should have worked longer and harder to find a more literal title and not picked a random line from a bloody poem (I, for one, find poetry to be largely intolerable; just a bunch of bad song lyrics no one could be arsed to put to music in the vast majority of cases where I’m concerned).

That aside, this is a decent episode that does well to show Data having to cope in a situation a bit outside his comfort zone, while Picard and company do well to support the main story in their contributions to the episode. It’s also a good episode about not only the merits of playing on people’s emotions and actions often having more impact than words, not to mention the importance of putting lives above places and possessions in crisis situations. I also don’t much mind that Goshoven’s prejudice against Data isn’t better explored, since that would have just repeated ‘Measure of a Man’ from last season, and that wouldn’t add anything to the show as a whole, nor to this episode in particular. Overall, I give it 9 out of 10.

Episode 3: The Survivors

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

The Enterprise responds to a distress call from a Federation colony on Delta Rana IV and discovers the planet to be devastated and devoid of life, save for a patch of land containing a house and vegetation. Transporting to the surface, the away team meets the human occupants of the house, Kevin and Rishon Uxbridge, who claim to have witnessed the attack that destroyed the colony, but are unaware that they are the only survivors. The team, finding nothing of interest save for a small music box, insists that the Uxbridges return to the Enterprise for safety, but they refuse. Aboard the Enterprise, Counsellor Troi begins to hear the music from the music box in her mind constantly, each repetition slightly louder than the last, which eventually reduces her to screaming hysterics. Dr Crusher is forced to place her in an induced coma.

An unknown spacecraft appears and attacks the Enterprise, then flees. The Enterprise gives chase but is unable to overtake the spaceship; eventually Captain Picard orders the Enterprise to return to the planet. Picard transports to the surface personally; Kevin suggests they were spared because they are pacifists. Upon the away team's return, the spaceship appears in orbit again, this time delivering a far more powerful attack. Picard orders the Enterprise to leave the system first, but then begins to suspect that the crew is being toyed with.

Returning to the planet again, Picard transports to the surface to plead with the Uxbridges to leave with him. After being refused again, Picard tells them the Enterprise will remain to protect them as long as they live, and returns to the ship. The alien spaceship appears again and destroys the Uxbridges' home. Picard orders an attack on the craft, and unlike the previous encounters, easily destroys it. Playing on a suspicion, Picard has the Enterprise move to a higher orbit; after a short time, the Uxbridges' home reappears.

Picard orders the Uxbridges beamed up to the Enterprise and confronts Kevin with his suspicions: Kevin and Rishon's house was destroyed in the attack and Rishon was killed, but Kevin, who is not human, has recreated them both, and created the alien warship to dissuade the Enterprise from investigating. Kevin admits the truth, and the illusory Rishon disappears. He removes the torturous music that he had placed in Troi's mind to prevent her from telepathically identifying him.

Kevin reveals that he is a Douwd, an immortal energy being with vast powers, who fell in love with Rishon and settled with her on Rana IV. When the planet was attacked by an aggressive, destructive species called the Husnock, he refused to join the fight in accordance with his species' pacifism. Rishon, however, died defending the colony. Stricken with grief, Kevin lashed out with his vast powers and wiped out the entire Husnock species; over 50 billion. Horrified by his crime, he chose self-exile to the planet, creating the replicas of Rishon and their house to spend the rest of eternity. Picard states that they are not qualified to be his judges, having no laws to fit the magnitude of his crime. The Enterprise leaves Kevin and his illusion in peace, and Picard confirms he will issue a warning not to visit the planet. Picard later opines in his log that a being as powerful and conscientious as Kevin is best left alone.

Review:

This is an interesting mystery episode that seems to focus primarily on Picard, since he works out the mystery fairly quickly but then keeps the solution, or at least his part of it, unrevealed until much later. However, once again the idiocy of Roddenberry rears its head, as according to an episode commentary I watched on a later episode in this round, 24th century humans supposedly weren’t meant to get angry at anything in Roddenberry’s mind. This is a stupid idea that is totally unbelievable, and as a result no one objects to Picard’s apparent sacrifice of the Uxbridges. No one but Picard has apparently deduced they’re dealing with illusions of a kind, so surely someone should have questioned the captain’s actions.

This is a clear-cut example of why Roddenberry becoming less involved during this season and eventually leaving Trek was a fundamental necessity for the franchise’s long-term survival. To believe that humans, that any species, could ever lose such an integral and necessary emotion as anger, or that losing our anger is somehow a desirable evolutionary path, is simply idiotic. The fact that suppressing human emotion was the subject of a dystopian film like Equilibrium is also proof of this, as the dystopian emotion-suppressing regime is total collapse by that film’s end and rightly so.

However, there’s not much issue exploration in this episode. The mystery, when revealed, turns out to be Trek doing its own version of what Chris Claremont did in X-Men comics with the Dark Phoenix saga, but since the cosmically powered being going too far in moments of overwhelming need or emotion is just a guest character, it lacks the same sort of resonance. The bottom line is this episode shows that despite the quality of the season’s first two episodes, TNG had yet to fully abandon its errors of the first two seasons. I also absolutely loathed Troi’s hysteria performance and had to fast-forward it. On balance, I’d give this episode 5 out of 10.

Episode 4: Who Watches The Watchers

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

The Enterprise travels to the planet Mintaka III to resupply and repair a Federation outpost being used to monitor the Mintakan people, a proto-Vulcan race near a Bronze Age level of cultural development.

As the Enterprise nears the outpost, an accident causes the holographic rockface to disappear, exposing the outpost to Liko, a Mintakan. Liko attempts to approach and is hit with an electrical shock, which causes him to fall off the cliff and sustain critical injuries. When Chief Medical Officer Dr Crusher rushes to provide aid, she realizes the injuries are too severe to treat there and has him transported to the Enterprise for treatment despite the action violating the Prime Directive. Liko becomes conscious and witnesses everything occurring in Sick Bay, and focuses on Captain Picard giving instructions. Dr Crusher is able to heal Liko and attempts to wipe his memory of the incident before returning him to the planet. Commander Riker suggests that he and Counsellor Troi disguise themselves as Mintakans in order to search for Palmer, a missing member of the anthropological team, and to monitor Liko, to make sure the memory wipe worked. They discover to their horror that the mind wipe did not take, as Liko recalls an image of "the Picard", and has convinced other Mintakans that the Picard must be their god.

Troi and Riker subtly try to dispel the myth of the Picard, which gains traction until a hunting party arrives with a delirious Palmer in tow. While Troi provides a diversion, telling the clan that another "like Palmer" is heading for the caves, Riker ties up an elderly man who was left behind to keep an eye on Palmer, and Riker and Palmer run away, and narrowly escape back to the Enterprise. Unfortunately, Troi is captured and held captive for her hand in the escape, leaving Picard to take steps to rectify the situation without further violation of the Prime Directive.

Picard transports Nuria, the leader of the village where Troi is being held, to the Enterprise and attempts to show her that he and the rest of the crew are mortal, including having her witness the death of a member of the anthropological team in Sickbay. Picard returns with Nuria to the surface in the middle of a thunderstorm, which Liko has taken as a sign of the Picard's anger. Nuria attempts to rationalize with Liko, but Liko demands his own proof of Picard's mortality and aims an arrow at Picard. Picard insists that if that is the only proof that Liko will accept, then Liko should shoot. Liko does, but his daughter pushes him so that he only wounds Picard. Nuria shows Liko Picard's blood from the wound, and Liko and the others come to accept that Picard is not a god. Picard and Troi return to the Enterprise, and after he is treated, Picard returns to the surface one last time, and explains to the Mintakans that they will be removing the outpost and allowing them to develop on their own. Before Picard leaves, Nuria gives him a Mintakan tapestry as a gift.

Review:

This is our second Picard-centric episode on the run, and it’s much better in terms of both performance and issue exploration, not to mention emotional expression. Moreover, it’s another chance to explore and debate that classic Trek chestnut known as the Prime Directive, which this time is broken by accident when it would obviously have been better to avoid that situation, and thereafter the issue becomes how best to resolve it. As someone who thinks all religions are best treated as theories until proven or disproven by science (which in real life science cannot yet achieve), I enjoyed this because it honestly tries to look at the issue from both sides, albeit not for long.

The episode explores the idea of an advanced race appearing god-like to a less advanced civilisation, which in more recent times has been utilised to work Thor and the Asgardian race into Marvel’s film in a sci-fi way rather than as beings of mystic fantasy, and also points out the inherent flaw in all religions. Basically, once our guest aliens start believing in Picard as a god, they’re almost constantly trying to work out what do, and as Troi points out, “that’s the problem with believing in a supernatural being; trying to work out what he wants.” This is where all religions fall down, because by and large that supernatural being never appears, never communicates directly, so you have no reliable, impartial means by which to determine if what ‘God’, ‘Allah’, ‘Zeus’, ‘Odin’ or whoever wants you to do has or hasn’t been done.

The guest character of Dr Barron even suggests that to minimise the damage caused by the Prime Directive being violated, Picard actually step into that supernatural being role and impose commandments so that the potential religion goes in a positive direction, but Picard shoots the idea down. He sees the abandoning of religion as an achievement, and to a degree I see his point of view. A lot of our history’s worst moments have been born out of misinterpreting or misusing religion as an excuse for wars, bigotry, inquisitions, etc. and that’s even when there are commandments built into a religion. The reality is that while religion can have its positive elements, it is ultimately through secular morality that isn’t based on abstract that a society is more likely to progress and thrive.

For me, this is a great episode and another example of Trek at its finest. I give it top marks because it really doesn’t put a foot wrong; 10 out of 10.

Episode 5: The Bonding

Plot (as adapted from Wikipedia):

While investigating a planet once occupied by Koinonians, Lt. Worf and members of the Enterprise away team trigger an ancient mine. They are transported to Sickbay, but Lieutenant Marla Aster is dead. As Captain Picard delivers the news of Marla's death to her son Jeremy, Wesley Crusher talks with Commander Riker about how Picard had delivered the news of his father's death to his mother and himself. Worf expresses his desire to make R'uustai, a Klingon bonding ritual with Jeremy, as they are both orphans and he believes he can help the boy recover emotionally, but Counsellor Troi warns that Jeremy may react badly if Worf makes such an offer too soon.

The crew investigates the planet, discovering mines that were recently unearthed and exposed. They observe a beam of charged particles emanating from the surface headed towards the Enterprise, while Troi senses a new presence from the planet. In Jeremy's quarters, a physical manifestation of Marla appears, explaining that the crew mistakenly considered her dead and that she wants Jeremy to live on the planet. Worf and security officers follow the two, preventing "Marla" from using the transporter to return to the planet, and Troi and Picard also intervene. Troi and Jeremy return to the Aster family quarters, which has the appearance of the Asters' home on Earth. Chief Engineer La Forge tunes the shields to stop the particle beam, causing "Marla" to disappear and the room returns to normal.

A filament rises from the planet, striking the Enterprise and disrupting the shields; "Marla" appears and takes Jeremy, intent on going to the transporter room. Picard contains "Marla" with force fields and talks to her. "Marla" explains that she is one of two races that once lived on the planet; her species, made from energy, watched the other physical species wipe themselves out from wars and her people want to prevent more suffering caused by the remnants of the war, thus providing Jeremy with the illusion of his mother still being alive. Picard and Troi point out that dealing with death is part of the human condition. Wesley explains to Jeremy how he dealt with his father's death, explaining he was initially angry with Picard for living while his father died. Jeremy expresses his own anger at Worf, but Troi points out they are both orphans, while Worf notes that he was aided by humans after he lost his parents. Jeremy decides to go with Worf. Realizing that Jeremy will be all right, the illusion of Marla disappears and the alien presence is no more.

Sometime later, Worf and Jeremy undertake the R'uustai ritual.

Review:

This is the episode I was talking about earlier where I checked out the commentary and discovered yet more example of how idiotic some of Roddenberry’s idealism got. The episode is very much centred around the necessity of grieving for those we lose to death and how we go through that, and Roddenberry apparently didn’t want the affected child in this episode getting angry, part of which was down to this idea that 24th century humans just don’t get angry. The other part was that he thought the humans of this time period would be taught to accept death from an early age, and as such there would be no inter-personal conflict as a result of someone losing anyone close to them.

Frankly, that’s about the most inhuman concept I could imagine, because having experienced the loss of all my grandparents to various causes, most of which allowed for some preparation time, I can attest to this being the worst idea imaginable. Nothing is ever going to prepare you to lose someone close to you, and no amount of time or human advancement will ever make accepting death any easier. Luckily, the re-writes on the show’s original script nicely bypass Roddenberry’s filters and keep the natural emotions of grieving in there; they just lay beneath the surface of most of the affected characters because everyone’s basically repressing them, and there’s a kind of gentle catharsis for everyone in the final act.

It’s also an episode where I feel the intended and actual focus of the story are different. This was apparently meant to be a Worf story, but so much focus is put on the guest characters, not to mention Troi, Picard and Wesley, that it doesn’t really seem like Worf ends up really being the true focal point at all. However, it’s interesting to see how all these characters make worthwhile contributions to the subject at hand. Wesley and Worf have both been through the same kind of thing Jeremy has experienced, Troi is brilliant acting as counsellor and helping everyone out (this is how she should be in more of her own episodes), and then you’ve got Picard not only struggling with this terrible duty, but also with the question of ‘why do we let families on this ship?’

The last point is one that I think many people will find puzzling about TNG’s Enterprise; it’s a Federation ship, the Starfleet flagship at that, and we’ve seen by now how much danger it can encounter. As such, Picard has the right idea in noting how dubious a decision it is to have families, to have children and non-Starfleet adults, aboard a ship of exploration when it’s constantly risking the unknown and the potential perils that lurk therein. It’s notable that later shows, and even all TNG films after Generations, removed the family ship concept. We also get Data making some quite relevant queries and observations in a scene with Riker, so almost all the crew get their moment to comment, with only Geordi missing out from the main cast in terms of the focal issue.

However, overall, it’s a brilliant episode, and a great testament to the wisdom of Michael Piller. Another thing he did as head writer was to open the door to spec scripts, which were scripts submitted by the general public. This enabled Trek fans and unestablished writers to make contributions and, in some cases, to get on the Trek shows. Melissa Snodgrass’ script for ‘Measure of a Man’ was an early example of a spec script being used, and this one came courtesy of Ronald D. Moore, who ended up becoming a staff writer on the Trek shows for a decade after a few spec script successes. If you can get this quality of Trek by taking on unsolicited fan scripts rather than using established TV writers who have little understanding of the franchise, then I think a lot of other franchises need to tap their fan-base in the same way. All in all, I give this episode 10 out of 10.

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