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aquaquadrant · 2 years

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nature’s productions - chapter seven

Rated T for: Strong language, ableism, violence, implied/referenced torture, blood/injury, death

Summary: Three years after the disaster at Jurassic World, Claire Dearing and Owen Grady are contracted for a mission to save as many dinosaurs as possible from the impending eruption on Isla Nublar. But when they arrive, they experience an unexpected complication; six teenagers who were left stranded on the island when the park closed.

Surviving has left the campers scarred in more ways than one, and they’re pretty sure that their would-be rescuers have less than good intentions. But with a volcanic eruption at their heels, they’ll do whatever it takes to get a ride home- and save the dinosaurs while they’re at it, because that’s kind of their thing.

A/N: OK so obviously s5 is out, if you wanna know my thoughts on it then read this post here. As for the fic, we’re still chugging along and getting into the thick of it! Hope you enjoy, please reblog/comment if you do! And as always, read on A03 for full tags and previous chapters. - Aqua

~*~

chapter seven - hybridism

~*~

Brooklynn listens for another few seconds before changing her hand signal from ‘Wait’ to ‘All clear.’

Kenji and Yaz are right behind her as she finally rounds the corner, darting down the hallway on quick but quiet feet. Dim fluorescent lighting flickers above them, throwing their shadows into disarray against the narrow metal walls.

In Brooklynn’s (admittedly brief) experience, a ship’s engine room is located towards the back, on the bottom level. That bodes well for them, because they can avoid the upper levels of the ship that are- according to Darius- more populated than the hold. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t being cautious.

It’s stranger than she thought it’d be, not having Ben beside her. And it’s not that she doesn’t trust Kenji or Yaz to look after her, not at all. She trusts her entire herd with her life. But after working so closely with Ben for so long, she feels his absence like she’s missing a limb.

Or rather, it’s like those first few weeks after she lost her eye. All of a sudden, she’s clumsy and uncertain again. Yaz’s presence in her blind spot is the only thing keeping her from bumping into the wall at this point. She’s navigating solely by her faint knowledge of boats and the hum of the engines, so most of her focus is going towards her hearing, listening for the subtle changes in volume that can lead them towards the engine room.

If she hadn’t spent the last few years of her life relying on her hearing so much, this would be an impossible task. In a way, it’s almost as if she’s been preparing for this moment all along. Like there might’ve been some sort of meaning behind the loss of her eye.

… well, it’s a nice thought, at least.

Brooklynn leads them around another turn and down a short flight of stairs- and then a sound pricks her ears. Eyes widening, she holds up her hand for them to stop, glancing around for an escape route or hiding place.

But there’s nothing. No side doors for them to duck into, no convenient piles of cargo for them to hide behind. Just a tight, empty hallway between them and the approaching footsteps.

‘Ready,’ Brooklynn signs, nodding at Kenji.

Kenji’s expression hardens and he nods, creeping forward a couple steps. His machete stays sheathed along his back because, much like Brooklynn’s baseball bat, it’s a bit too long to use efficiently in such tight quarters. Yaz, however, has drawn her knife- just in case she has to intervene.

They’re all hoping she won’t have to.

Their intruder comes around the corner. Brooklynn’s hunch was right; it’s another man, and as such, Kenji is the one best equipped for this fight.

He moves fast, before the man can even process what’s happening. A swift punch to the stomach knocks the man off balance with an aborted shout, allowing Kenji to slip behind him and wrap his arms around his throat- something he can only do because of his height.

The man chokes for a few moments, his eyes bugging out before slipping closed.

Once the man goes limp, Kenji releases him immediately. He slumps to the floor, and Kenji kneels beside him to check that he’s started breathing again because- well. He’s still a human being, isn’t he? They don’t want to kill anyone unless they absolutely have to. Even if he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them.

Kenji straightens up and signs, ‘Okay.’ Brooklynn nods, and they move on.

Under different circumstances, they might’ve taken the time to try and hide the man. But their cover is about to be blown, anyways, and all that matters right now is stopping the boat in a timely manner. The rest of the herd is counting on them to do their part, and Brooklynn won’t let them down.

Around the corner and at the end of the hall, they pass through a doorway that opens up into a massive room. The engine itself is enormous, taking up most of the floorspace and almost standing taller than two grown men. Even so, she knows most of it lies beneath their feet; this is only the topmost access deck of the several floors that the engine pokes through.

Brooklynn quickly studies the engine, her mind racing. There are two main ways to stop a diesel engine; cut off the fuel supply, or cut off the air supply. Air is the safer option- less chance of highly flammable oil spilling everywhere. They don’t have any special tools at their disposal, just a couple of sharp blades, but it’ll have to do.

Brooklynn signs for Kenji and Yaz to follow her towards the engine. A row of six tall cylinders stretches before them, with several pipes and tubes jutting out and diving beneath the floor. Brooklynn examines them carefully, tracing the faint mental blueprint she has in her memories. There’s a lot riding on this; one wrong move could spell disaster.

She steps up to the nearest cylinder and grabs the thinner of the two pipes feeding into it. It’s not a traditional pipe made of solid metal or PVC, but rather a braided mesh wrapped around thick rubber. Sort of like those flexible tubes used in plumbing, but much bigger. She takes a second to feel the vibrations running through the pipe and put her ear to it, until she’s reasonably certain that it’s air- and not oil- running through it.

“These tubes are how the air gets delivered into the cylinders for combustion,” she says quietly, just in case anyone’s lingering near the service decks below them. “Cut through these, and we cut off the air supply. No combustion, no power.”

“And you’re sure nothing’s gonna explode?” Yaz asks, her tone apprehensive.

Brooklynn makes a noncommittal noise. “Pretty sure.”

Kenji shrugs, drawing his machete. “Good enough for me.”

A machete isn’t the best tool for the job, and it takes a bit of effort for him to saw through the steel mesh. As soon as his blade punctures the rubber hosing underneath, air starts to whistle through the cut. Brooklynn breathes a sigh of relief; she’d chosen correctly, after all.

Reassured, she stands guard while the two of them set to their task. It’s slow going, especially after their blades start to get dulled against the metal. But soon enough, all six tubes have been cut completely through- which means a quick repair will be almost impossible. Before anyone has a chance to fix it, Darius and Sammy should have taken control of the bridge and will be able to stop the engines from there.

Yaz sheathes her knife, glancing around tersely. “I don’t think we’ve stopped moving,” she murmurs.

Brooklynn shakes her head. “Inertia will carry the ship forward for a bit longer,” she explains. Beneath the sound of air whooshing through the severed tubes, she can tell the engine’s stopped firing. “We should go now.”

“Lead the way,” Kenji says with a grin, sheathing his machete. “We’ve got a mutiny to attend.”

Brooklynn cracks a smile at that as she turns back towards the hallway. “Definitely don’t wanna be late for that.”

But even though her tone is light, she’s sending up a silent prayer that their sabotage will work. It’d be terribly awkward if the boat never stopped, and others were stuck waiting for a signal that never arrived. For the first time in a long time, Brooklynn wishes they had phones, so they could communicate with each other more directly. Though of course, if they had phones, they wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.

She supposes she’ll just have to have faith.

They’ve made it this far, haven’t they?

~*~

Darius listens for a few more seconds, his ear pressed to the door.

He’s nowhere near as good at this as Brooklynn is, but he’s relatively confident there’s no one nearby. Sitting back, he turns to Sammy and signs, ‘All clear.’

After doing a quick sweep of the upper levels, they’ve found a small utility closet down the hall from the bridge that has vent access. Fortunately, they managed not to cross paths with any of the crew members. They probably would’ve been able to avoid raising suspicion, but he doesn’t want to risk them losing the element of surprise.

Sammy’s discarded her tree bark armor and is wearing Darius’s borrowed jacket, which helps her blend in a little more. It’s not the best disguise, especially since Darius has yet to see a single woman on this mission besides Claire and Zia. But all it has to do is get the captain to open the door for Sammy, and she’s tall enough that she could be mistaken for an adult at a glance.

They’ve salvaged the vines from Sammy’s armor to use as rope, currently looped around Darius’s shoulder so he can keep his hands free. Which he’s definitely going to need, since his route of entry into the bridge will be the ventilation shaft.

‘Plan?’ Darius prompts, wanting to make sure Sammy is clear on the details they discussed earlier in the truck.

“I’m gonna hide in here ‘til I hear Wheatley leave the bridge,” Sammy recites quietly. “Then I’ll wait thirty seconds before knockin’ on the door. The captain will open up, then you’ll drop down from the vent and we’ll take him out. Tie him up with the vines, take control of the ship, and use the radio to call for help.” She breaks into a grin. “And just like that, the day is saved, thanks to the MVC!”

Though her voice is scarcely above a whisper, it’s full of nervous excitement. Due to the enclosed space, she’s unable to be as physically expressive as she normally is, nearly trembling with restrained energy.

Darius can feel it, too. That anticipation before a dangerous mission. He gives her an amused, but fond, smile and puts a hand on her shoulder.

‘Careful,’ he signs with his other hand. ‘Fast, quiet.’

Sammy nods emphatically. “You too,” she whispers.

Reassured, Darius straightens up and starts prying the vent off the wall. He makes sure to set it down gently, so as not to make a racket and get them caught. Any little sound will echo greatly through the ventilation system, and could alert the entire ship to their presence.

Darius takes a moment to visualize his path to the bridge- it should be two right turns, not very far- before Sammy helps him climb in.

She doesn’t say anything out of an abundance of caution, but Darius can tell that the look she gives him means, ‘Good luck.’ He gives her a two-fingered salute before heading on his way.

Crawling through the shaft at a snail’s pace, Darius has never moved quite so slowly and silently before. He’s careful to raise his limbs in a way that doesn’t result in scuffing, and place them down so gingerly that he doesn’t thud or echo. The feat isn’t made any easier by the ship’s constant rocking; by the time Darius reaches the vent, every muscle in his body is screaming from the effort of holding himself so still, his forehead beaded with sweat.

Absently, he realizes this would have been impossible if he hadn’t spent the last three years learning how to be stealthy to avoid dinosaurs. Small blessings, he supposes.

Carefully, carefully, Darius lowers himself enough to peer through the slats in the vent.

His navigation was correct; the bridge lies below him.

Oh, thank god. With a nearly non-existent breath of relief, Darius lowers himself onto his stomach and settles in to wait. It seems like their luck is holding out a bit longer- the bridge is still occupied solely by Wheatley and the captain. So, once they draw Wheatley away, there’ll be just one man standing between them and the end of this nightmare.

Darius uses this time to properly examine the captain, something he hadn’t been able to do during his earlier visit. The captain seems a bit older than Wheatley, with a grizzled white beard, and speaks some kind of European accent that Darius can’t place.

“- gonna do with the raptor?” he’s asking Wheatley, though he remains facing the stretch of ocean visible through the front windows.

Wheatley snorts. “Why, interested in taking it home? Bit out of your price range, I’m afraid.”

“Not after this job,” the captain chuckles. “But no, you couldn’t pay me enough to keep one of those monsters. I just wonder if it’s worth all this trouble, with the angry vet and the strange little boy.”

The captain’s talking about him, Darius realizes. He’s not quite sure how to feel about that description. Strange, he can admit, but little? He’s barely shorter than Ben! And he has a sort-of-mustache now, doesn’t that count for anything?

“Oh, don’t you worry about them,” Wheatley says dismissively. “They’ll be dealt with soon enough.”

Well, that’d be a lot more ominous if Darius hadn’t already known Wheatley’s intentions from the start. It really is a reflection of Wheatley’s overconfidence, for him to be so certain that he’s successfully playing Darius for a fool when in reality, the opposite is occuring. Darius gives him points for effort, though.

The two lapse into silence, nothing but the ambient sounds of the ship to fill the air. Darius’s thoughts stray inevitably to the rest of the herd, trying to figure out what stage of the plan they might be in. Brooklynn and the A-List have a farther distance to travel, and the sabotage itself could take some time. But Ben won’t have to go far to find Bumpy; it’s just a matter of locating the right transport. He should be ready to go once the boat stops-

“Hey, sir?”

The silence is abruptly interrupted by a voice from Wheatley’s radio, sounding breathless and concerned. Alarm shoots through Darius- from what he can tell, the ship is still moving. Something must be wrong.

Wheatley unclips his radio from his belt. “Go ahead.”

“There’s a weird fucking kid here, trying to get into one of the containers.”

Darius’s stomach drops.

They caught Ben. He knows it with sudden certainty, dread settling over him like a fog. It had to have just been the worst timing, for someone to come across Ben right as he attempted to free Bumpy. Darius knows Ben was careful- he promised he would be- so they must’ve snuck up on him.

The thought makes Darius’s heart ache; he can’t imagine how guilty Ben must be feeling. Ever since he started losing his hearing, he’s been terrified of something exactly like this happening. Darius knows how important it is for Ben to feel capable and independent, so a setback like this must be devastating.

Wheatley exhales heavily through his nose. “Let me guess,” he says, sounding tired. “The blue Ankylosaurus?”

The response sounds taken aback. “Uh, yeah.”

“Bring him to me,” Wheatley orders, before clipping the radio back on his belt. He folds his arms with a sigh, shaking his head. “Don’t know how many times I have to tell that boy to stay put. They weren’t kidding when they said he had brain damage.”

Then it hits Darius; Wheatley thinks it was him trying to break Bumpy out.

And why wouldn’t he? Of course Wheatley wouldn’t automatically assume that the other kids he met on the island had somehow miraculously survived the eruption and stowed away. Of course he wouldn’t assume there was a plot against him- nothing more than one of the aforementioned kids getting into trouble. Of course he’d have them just bring the kid to him; it’s not something that would require his immediate presence, not like an escaped dinosaur would.

Oh, this is bad.

The captain clicks his tongue. “Should’ve thrown him overboard.”

“After this, I just might,” Wheatley huffs.

Darius’s mind races. Their plan has taken a complete one-eighty. Wheatley isn’t leaving the bridge; instead, Ben is being brought here. And for Ben to get captured in the first place, there must be two mercenaries at the very least. Likely three. So once they arrive, there will still be more bad guys than campers.

Darius didn’t want to take over the bridge with an outright brawl, but it’s looking more and more likely. If a fight breaks out when Ben arrives, will Sammy come help or stay hidden? Would it be better if she stays hidden, and they try to stick to the original plan? Is that even an option anymore? What’ll Wheatley do after he sees it’s Ben who tried to free Bumpy, and not Darius? Is there any scenario in which he still sees a reason to leave the bridge? And how is Ben going to get free? What if he’s injured?

There are so many variables, Darius has no idea how this is going to play out. This is his fault, he never should’ve let Ben go alone-

“Wonder what he was tryin’ to do,” Wheatley muses. “That Ankylosaurus of theirs was pretty tame, like they could control it. But it’s not like he’s got anywhere to run.”

The captain makes a noncommittal noise. “Who knows why kids do what they do, eh?”

Wheatley tsks and starts to pace the room impatiently- a sentiment that Darius shares. His stomach is in knots as worst case scenarios flash through his mind, unbidden. The next couple minutes pass in nerve-wracking silence until there’s a sudden pounding on the door.

“Hey sir,” a lofty voice calls, “got someone here to see you.”

Wheatley sighs, moving towards the door. “Right, let’s get this over with…”

Darius’s heart starts to pound. He peers through the vent slats as closely as he dares, wanting to be ready to move if needed.

The door swings open to reveal three mercenaries, two of whom are restraining Ben by the arms. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to have sustained any injuries and is standing on his own two feet, his body rife with tension.

“What the- it’s you!” From this angle, Darius can’t see Wheately’s expression, but he can hear the pure shock in his voice. “I thought you stayed on the island!”

Ben glares up at him and says nothing.

“How did you get on this ship?” Wheatley demands, his shock quickly giving way to indignation.

Still, Ben says nothing.

“He hasn’t been very cooperative,” one of the mercenaries pipes up. It’s hard to tell from Darius’s vantage point, but it looks like his sleeve is stained with blood. Pride flickers in his chest; he hopes Ben gave them hell.

Wheatley scratches his chin, humming thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah?”

But before he can say anything else, the ship lurches beneath them. Darius braces himself against the walls of the shaft, but any noise from him is masked by the captain letting out a loud and surprised curse.

“What’s going on?” Wheatley shouts.

“We’ve stopped moving,” the captain reports, sounding suitably alarmed.

Darius could weep; Brooklynn and the A-List came through. He never doubted they would, but it’s a relief all the same.

“What?” Wheatley stalks over to the control panel, looming over the captain. “Why?”

“I’m not sure,” the captain says frantically, “it’s nothing on my end.”

Wheatley whirls back around and points at the mercenary who isn’t holding Ben. “You, get to the engine room pronto. Keep your radio hot.”

The mercenary nods and takes off, his footsteps quickly fading.

Darius is disappointed, but not surprised, that Wheatley isn’t going to go investigate this himself. Maybe he would’ve, if Ben hadn’t been caught. But if Ben hadn’t been caught, Wheatley would probably be out dealing with him and Bumpy at this very moment, so it’s a moot point.

One of the remaining mercenaries clears his throat. “What should we do with him?” he asks, jerking his head at Ben.

Wheatley considers Ben for a moment. “I’ve got questions for this one,” he says lowly. “Go find an empty room and tie him up, I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, sir,” the mercenaries reply, and then they’re dragging Ben out of the bridge and out of view.

Darius swallows the lump in his throat. Alright, so silver lining; Ben has successfully drawn Wheatley away from the bridge. Once he leaves, Darius and Sammy can carry out their plan and take control. But that still leaves Ben in a precarious situation. They’ll have to figure out a way to help him- because escaping from three armed men is a tall order, even if it’s Ben.

Wheatley exhales heavily, running a hand over his head before grabbing his radio. “Are you at the engine room yet?” he demands.

“No, sir. I found a man down. He doesn’t seem injured, but he’s unconscious.”

The herd’s doing, Darius presumes.

Wheatley swears under his breath. “Alright, get him to the medbay-”

“Sir,” a new voice suddenly calls through the radio, “this is Patrol 5 reporting from the engine room. It’s the air intake pipes, they’ve been cut clean through!”

Wheatley is silent for a moment, as if stunned, before he marches over to the control panel. Slamming his hand down, he leans forward and announces, “I need all maintenance crew to report to the engine room immediately.”

His voice echoes through the intercom system, making Darius wince. But even so, he’s in higher spirits than before. This act of sabotage will take considerable attention away from other parts of the ship, just as intended. They might just pull this off, after all.

Wheatley turns to the captain. “If that other kid, Darius, shows up while I’m gone, don’t let him in. Radio me, got it?” At the captain’s nod, he turns away. “Got a feeling there’s something big going on here…”

The captain locks the door after Wheatley leaves before returning to the control panel.

Darius starts counting in his head. At the same time, he’s thinking about what he’ll do if Sammy doesn’t show, and how long he should wait. With so many people coming and going, she might’ve gotten confused about the status of the plan. Maybe he should backtrack and meet up with her to discuss these recent developments and come up with a new plan-

There’s a knock at the door, right when Darius reaches thirty. Adrenaline shoots through him as he steels himself for what’s to come; it looks like they’re sticking to the original plan, after all.

“Yeah?” the captain calls over his shoulder.

“Maintenance,” Sammy calls from outside. It’s muffled, but she seems to be making an effort to deepen her voice and sound older. “I’m comin’ from the engine room, got to troubleshoot a few things.”

The captain pauses. Darius holds his breath.

“Hang on,” the captain says, moving to the door. He peers through the window and, seemingly satisfied that it’s not Darius, steps back to undo the lock.

As he unlocks and swings open the heavy metal door, Darius pries the vent out of its frame. By the time the sound reaches the captain’s ears, Darius has dropped down onto the floor, landing in a crouch.

The captain whirls around in surprise, and Sammy takes the opportunity to shove him, hard. He hits the ground at Darius’s feet with a pained grunt. Sammy quickly slips into the room and slams the door shut behind her, locking it.

In the meantime, Darius has tackled the captain in an effort to keep him on the floor.

“Help!” the captain hollers, trying in vain to swing a fist at Darius’s face. It’s clear that he’s well past his prime, so although Darius is smaller, he’s stronger by far. “Mutiny!”

Sammy races over and dives onto the captain’s legs, helping Darius hold him down. Between the two of them, they manage to tie the vines around his hands and feet- aided by Sammy’s experience with wrangling rodeo calves, no doubt. The last length of vine is tied around his mouth to gag him, though it’s only somewhat successful in muffling his furious cries. It doesn’t matter much, in any case; their mutiny is bound to be discovered soon.

Darius double checks that both doors are locked while Sammy drags the captain over to a corner, out of the way. “Sorry ‘bout this,” she says with a rueful smile. “We don’t wanna hurt anyone if we can help it, so just sit tight, an’ we’ll get along just fine.” She punctuates her sentence by pulling back her jacket to reveal the knife strapped to her hip.

The captain falls silent at that. It’s kinder on their ears, at the very least.

Sammy straightens up, glancing over at Darius. “What’re we gonna do about Ben?” she asks anxiously.

“I’m g- g- going aft- ter him,” Darius tells her decisively, nodding back up at the vent. “St- stay here. R- radio for uh, h- help.”

As nice as it would be to have backup, they really need someone to stay and keep control over the ship. If the crew actually manages to fix the engine and take back the bridge, then there’s a chance that they’d be able to escape even after the authorities are called. Plus, this is the herd’s rendezvous point, and the safest place on the ship to hole up in.

Above all else, Darius needs them to be safe.

Sammy puts a hand on his shoulder, giving him a searching look. “Are you sure?”

“Promise,” Darius says. “J- just keep th- the uh, the doors l- locked, a- and don’t t- turn your b- back on… on the c- captain. I’ll t- t- take care of… of Ben.”

All Darius has to do is crawl in the direction they dragged Ben off in, and he’s bound to find a vent that connects. Of course, he has to do this while going insanely slow, so as not to get caught by anyone or alert them of his approach. And also hope that they didn’t go very far or take many turns, or else he might have to explore the entire system to find them. Assuming that there actually is vent access to whatever room they’re in.

… hold on, Ben.

“Alright,” Sammy relents, giving him a quick hug. “Be careful, you hear?”

Darius nods, giving her a smile with confidence he doesn’t feel. If she stays locked inside the bridge, then at least one of them might make it home safely.

Sammy drops into a crouch and locks her fingers together to form a sling. Putting a hand on her shoulder for balance, Darius places his foot into her cupped hands, and she boosts him up enough for him to grab the lip of the vent.

Darius pulls himself up and climbs in. He takes a moment to get his bearings, and decide which direction he thinks they took Ben in.

“B- back soon,” he calls down before heading off down the ventilation shaft.

And as he leaves, he desperately hopes he won’t be made a liar.

~*~

Ben’s never been interrogated before, but he can already tell this is off to a poor start.

The chair they’ve tied him to isn’t in great condition. It’s a metal folding chair that’s badly rusted around the joints, probably because it wasn’t being properly maintained and the salty air got to it. He can feel the chair sway beneath him as the boat rocks and his weight shifts; one well-placed blow would likely be enough to take the whole thing apart.

And the tying up isn’t great, either. They’ve just tied some rope around his arms and chest, securing him to the back of the chair. The whole length of it can just be slipped off over his head, once he has the chance to wiggle out of it. If they were smart, they would’ve tied his legs, too.

Ben’s glad for their sloppiness, of course, because that’ll make his escape easier. It’s just a little insulting, is all.

After restraining him, the two mercenaries have backed off to flank the door, leaving Wheatley alone before him. Instead of pulling up another chair, the man has opted to remain standing- probably because he knows that looming over Ben makes him more intimidating. Ben hates that it’s working; he doesn’t like feeling cornered like this.

“So. Ben, was it?” Wheatley asks, his voice slightly too pointed to be completely conversational.

Ben doesn’t reply, simply quirking a brow. He’s not in the mood to exchange pleasantries. Especially not with Wheatley. He’d gotten a bad feeling about the man from the start, but now that all pretenses have been dropped, he just doesn’t have the patience for it.

Wheatley folds his arms, inclining his head. “You wanna tell me how you managed to stow away? Did you have help?”

Ben stares at him impassively. He doesn’t intend to give anything away, and the longer he can keep Wheatley preoccupied, the better the chances of their plan succeeding.

“Well?” Wheatley prompts. “I’m gonna find out sooner or later, so you might as well save yourself the trouble and tell me now.”

Ben barely manages not to roll his eyes, instead taking the chance to look around the room. It’s quite small and sparsely decorated; the simple cabin bed shoved against one wall is the only indication that this is someone’s personal quarters. The captain’s, perhaps. There’s just one door, the one guarded by the mercenaries, and no windows. The only features on the plaster ceiling are fluorescent lights, the security camera in the corner, and a ventilation shaft. It’s a bit too tall for him to reach, but he might be able to push the bed over as soon as he’s left alone and can escape his shoddy restraints-

“Hey!” Wheatley snaps his fingers in Ben’s face to get his attention. “Maybe you didn’t hear me.”

A sharp backhand makes Ben’s head snap to the side.

“How did you get onto this boat?” Wheatley demands, raising his voice. “Your little friend help you?”

Ben’s cheek is stinging, but the pain is small and easily ignored. He remains silent.

This time, Wheatley punches him- a quick jab to the side of his face. “Which one of you sabotaged the engine room, huh? Six pipes were cut, that’s no accident.”

Despite the throbbing pain at his temple, Ben’s quite pleased. He knew the sabotage was successful the moment the ship stopped moving, but it pissed Wheatley off more than he’d thought.

Meeting Wheately’s gaze again, he lifts his chin defiantly. This is a battle of wills, now, and he doesn’t intend to lose. Wheatley can do what he likes; Ben is going to do everything he can to make sure their plan is successful, and his herd can go home.

Wheatley eyes him for a moment before glancing over his shoulder to address one of the mercenaries. “Go find that kid, Darius, and bring him to me,” he orders. “Little guy, talks with a stutter. Should find him in the raptor’s trailer. And while you’re at it, see if there are any more stowaways.”

“Yes, sir,” the thug says, slipping out of the room.

Wheatley turns back to Ben with a grin. “Maybe you’ll feel more talkative with your friend here.”

The hollow threat does nothing to Ben’s resolve. Darius is nowhere near the trailer- none of the herd is. A small part of him worries for Claire’s group, though. But it’ll be one versus four, and Owen might be able to talk his way out of a fight entirely with his disguise.

In any case, Ben can’t help them. They’re on their own.

“You know,” Wheatley drawls, “you really had me going for a while there. Pretending to be poor, clueless kids. Acting like you’re just innocent victims.” He gives Ben a calculating look. “But I know there’s something else going on, here.”

Well, now Ben’s curious. Might as well keep Wheately talking. “Oh, really?” he asks flatly. “If that’s the case, this is the first I’ve heard of it. Care to enlighten me?”

Wheatley snorts, putting his hands on his hips. “You seriously expect me to believe that six random teenagers were able to undermine my whole operation?”

“I mean, it wasn’t hard.” Ben shrugs. “A dog could do it. Or a particularly dedicated duck. Or a slight wind-”

Wheatley slaps him again. “Cut the bullshit, son,” he hisses. “You weren’t stranded on that island, you were planted there so you could intercept this mission. And you’re gonna tell me why.”

“You’re delusional,” Ben says, with dawning realization. “You can’t accept that you got outsmarted by a bunch of teenagers, so you’ve invented a whole conspiracy theory.” He tilts his head. “You know, insecurities like that often stem from childhood feelings of inadequacy. Is it daddy issues? You can tell me if it’s daddy issues-”

That one earns him a punch to the stomach, unsurprisingly. Ben holds back his cry of pain, not wanting to give Wheatley the satisfaction. Good thing he hasn’t eaten since this morning, cause it’d be embarrassing to throw up.

“Who do you work for?” Wheatley shouts, clearly losing his temper. “BioSyn? Mantah Corp?”

Mantah Corp. Ben’s heart jolts, but he doesn’t let his surprise show. “Hey, this is your crazy theory,” he deadpans, “you tell me. Whoever’s more likely to take a bunch of stranded campers and turn them into super spies, I guess.”

Ironically, part of him realizes that Mantah Corp isn’t above using children to do their corporate espionage. After all, that’s what brought Sammy to Camp Cretaceous in the first place. But Wheatley doesn’t know that; he’s making assumptions fueled solely by his stubborn denial.

“You weren’t stranded,” Wheatley insists angrily. “There’s no way you kids survived on that island for three years.”

“Is that what this is about?” Ben asks mildly, raising his eyebrows. “I really don’t know why it’s so hard to believe.”

There’s a bit of pride in that, he supposes. The fact that this man, who clearly has some sort of military background, can’t seem to fathom how they’ve managed to survive as long as they have… that’s an achievement as far as Ben’s concerned.

Wheatley’s jaw clenches, but before he can reply, there’s a sudden crackle from the radio clipped to his belt.

“Sir, come in!”

Wheatley scowls, snatching his radio and backing up a few steps. “This’d better be important,” he growls into the radio. Ben can’t make out the response, too garbled with static, but Wheatley blinks in surprise. “A containment breach? You don’t say.” He looks at Ben out of the corner of his eye. “Let me guess. An Ankylosaurus?”

Ben has to stop himself from grinning. Of course Bumpy managed to free herself- he’s never been so proud in all his life.

“I’m busy,” Wheatley says dismissively, “handle it yourself.” He listens for another moment before sighing. “Fine, I’ll send help. But I want that animal taken alive, understand? It’s just one herbivore, for god’s sake.”

He hangs up his radio and turns to the mercenary at the door. “Go get a team together and report to the hold,” he orders, waving a hand. “Bring tranqs, nets, whatever you need, just get it done.”

The mercenary puffs his chest out self-importantly. “Yes, sir!” he replies, ducking out of the room.

Ben keeps his expression carefully neutral, lest Wheatley realize the mistake he’s just made. It’s just the two of them, now. Ben’s no longer outnumbered. Even though his part of the plan has gone a bit off course, the distraction ended up helping after all.

“Now,” Wheatley says, turning back to Ben with a knowing look. “You wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would ya?”

Ben remains silent.

“That’s a special creature you’ve got, you know,” Wheatley continues, his tone musing. “Unique coloring, well-mannered. Almost like it was specifically trained for this.”

This time, Ben can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Wheatley’s theory about them being spies is getting more and more ridiculous. If a rival genetics company had the technology to create weaponized dinosaurs all on their own, they wouldn’t be bothering with this little smuggling operation in the first place!

“Should fetch a hefty price on the black market.” Wheatley reaches into his pocket, pulling out a bundle of cloth. “Course, I had to keep a little souvenir.”

He unfolds the cloth, holding it close enough for Ben to see, and Ben’s stomach drops.

Nestled in the cloth are teeth. Dinosaur teeth, of all shapes and sizes. But one of them in particular stands out- one that’s still got fresh blood stains on it, and is immediately recognizable as belonging to an Ankylosaurus.

Ben sees red.

“Son of a bitch!” he snarls, surging against his restraints.

Wheatley backs out of reach, a malicious grin splitting his mouth. “There we go,” he chuckles, tucking the pouch of teeth back into his pocket. “Knew something would get to you. Now, you’re gonna start answering my questions, or else…” He withdraws a pair of pliers from the same pocket, eyes glinting with malice. “I’ll have another one for my collection.”

Ben is too angry to fully comprehend the threat, barely hearing Wheatley over the blood rushing in his ears. “Go to hell!” he roars.

Wheatley huffs a laugh. With the pliers in one hand, he advances, shooting his other hand out to grab Ben’s jaw. “Have it your way-”

Without thinking, Ben twists his head and sinks his teeth into Wheatley’s hand. He bites down hard, blood filling his mouth as his teeth scrape against bone.

The pliers clatter to the ground as Wheatley screams. He rips his hand away, staggering backwards against the wall. Blood drips down his arm in rivulets, and he gapes at Ben, wide-eyed and red-faced.

“You fucking animal,” he spits, almost sounding incredulous.

Ben spits his mouthful of blood at Wheatley’s feet in response.

“Fine,” Wheatley grits out, his expression murderous. Cradling his injured hand to his chest, he uses his other hand to draw his gun. “If you’re gonna act like a mad animal, I’ll put you down like one.”

Suddenly, Ben finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Then Darius drops down from the ceiling vent, and all hell breaks loose.

~*~

Owen strokes Blue’s head absentmindedly, watching with bated breath.

When they’d returned with the blood, Zia wasted no time hooking it up to Blue. The raptor hadn’t appreciated the additional needle stick, but settled back down soon enough. Zia has said very little during the transfusion. Her sharp gaze is constantly sweeping over Blue as she performs frequent assessments, checking and rechecking Blue’s pulse.

Owen’s no expert when it comes to this kind of thing, but it seems to him like Blue is doing better than she was. She’s more relaxed and her breathing is less labored. Hopefully that counts for something.

The tension in the air is palpable. Claire is pacing the length of the trailer, chewing on her fingernails, while Franklin watches anxiously from the corner. Part of Owen knows they should be strategizing, figuring out their next course of action. But he can’t focus on anything else until he knows Blue is going to pull through.

After what feels like a lifetime, Zia finally sets her stethoscope down. “It’s still early, but she’s responding well.” She looks up at them, offering a smile. “I think she’s gonna be okay.”

A weight falls off Owen’s shoulders. He knows they’re far from being out of the woods, but if they’d lost Blue, he never would’ve forgiven himself. Despite his best efforts, he’d gotten quite attached to his raptors. More than he’d realized. It was hard enough losing Delta, Charlie, and Echo, but this would’ve been a direct result of his actions, and that would’ve stuck with him forever.

“Thank you,” he tells Zia.

Zia shrugs a shoulder, but he sees his happiness and relief mirrored in her eyes. “Hey, couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

Claire smiles even as she wipes away a tear. “All we did was get some blood.”

“Hey,” Owen huffs with amusement, “I was almost crushed while getting that blood.”

Zia snorts, starting to clean up. “Put it on your resume.”

Suddenly, the floor jolts beneath them. Owen throws a hand against the wall to brace himself, the fluorescent light swinging wildly above them. It passes just as quickly as it had come, the trailer now abruptly still.

“What was that?” Franklin cries, looking around frantically.

Owen blinks. “I think the ship’s stopped moving,” he says. He’s spent enough time on ships like this to know the difference between riding with waves and riding on them.

Claire’s eyes widen. “You don’t think…?”

“That those kids had something to do with this?” Owen finishes. “Absolutely.”

Zia raises her eyebrows. “Damn. They aren’t playing around.”

“So uh,” Franklin chimes in nervously, “what do we do now?”

Owen exchanges a glance with Claire. “I think the kids might need our help,” he says. “On our way back, we saw Ben. He’s been captured.”

“What?” Zia demands, rounding on Owen. “Why didn’t you help him?”

Owen holds his hands up. “Hey, I wanted to, but Claire wouldn’t let me!”

“Because I didn’t want to accidentally ruin their plan!” Claire says pointedly. “They made it pretty clear they don’t want us getting involved. Plus, we had Blue to think about, and there wasn’t anything we could’ve done.” She folds her arms, glancing away. “There were three of them, all armed. They had a gun to his back.”

“Oh god,” Franklin breathes, his face paling.

Zia exhales slowly, running her hands through her hair. “Okay, okay… but what if it wasn’t part of their plan?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Owen says, throwing his hands up.

Claire shoots him a look before turning to Zia. “What do you suggest we do?” she asks, sounding a little exasperated.

Zia makes a noncommittal noise. “Hey, I’m not the plan guy here!” she defends, returning her focus to Blue. She closes the fluid line and slips the needle out of Blue’s skin. “This one’s all you, Owen.”

Owen pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to think through their options. There’s not a lot of them, considering they don’t even know what the kids’ plan is- aside from cutting the ship’s engines, apparently. It’s a tricky position to be in, because if they take action on their own they might get in the way. But at the same time, Owen can’t just sit here and let them do it all on their own.

“Look,” he says, “I’ve got this disguise, right? Maybe I could go do a little recon, see where they’ve taken Ben?”

Claire nods hesitantly. “Alright, and then what?”

“Well…” Owen scratches the back of his head. “That depends on what I find, doesn’t it?”

“Improvising isn’t a plan!” Franklin protests.

“Have to agree with him on that one,” Zia says, taping a bit of gauze over Blue’s needle prick.

Owen sighs. “C’mon, guys, we don’t have a lot of options here. We’re unarmed, outnumbered-”

“And busted,” a new voice announces.

Owen whirls around to see a man standing in the trailer’s doorway, having pushed aside the flap with the barrel of the rifle he’s aiming at them. He’s clearly a mercenary- and potentially one of the men who they saw with Ben, if his bloodstained arm is any indication.

“... hey there.” Owen tries for a smile. “What brings you to-”

“Hands up,” the man snaps.

Owen puts his hands up, quickly followed by the others. Blue snarls from her place on the table, thrashing against her restraints. The mercenary eyes her warily before his gaze drifts over the rest of them, finally landing on Franklin.

“What’s your name?” he demands.

Franklin jolts in alarm. “Uh, Franklin?”

The mercenary squints at him. “Huh. You don’t look like a kid.”

Owen catches Claire’s eye. He doesn’t know which kid this man was sent to find, but clearly, Wheatley is onto them. Does that mean Darius’s plan failed?

“Um.” Franklin blinks, taken aback. “I’m twenty-two.”

The mercenary scowls. “Shut up!”

Blue hisses from behind her muzzle, her tail lashing from side to side. Owen can tell she’s highly agitated by the mercenary’s presence- which makes sense, considering she was shot by another man wearing the same gear. She’s displaying signs of aggression that she hasn’t displayed this entire time in the trailer, even when she was in pain. Owen knows how smart she is; it’s not completely impossible to think that she might recognize when people are trying to help her, and when they’re trying to hurt her.

Something akin to a plan starts to take root in Owen’s mind.

“I heard you talking,” the mercenary continues, stepping fully into the trailer despite Blue’s warning growl. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re coming with me.”

“Okay,” Owen says calmly, “you got us. We’re not part of the crew. But Zia here, she has to take care of Blue.” He puts the slightest bit of emphasis on his words, hoping Zia will catch his meaning as his eyes dart to Blue’s restraints.

Zia follows his gaze. Her eyes widen.

“Blue?” The mercenary frowns. “You mean the raptor?”

“Yeah,” Owen says. “The raptor.”

Zia nods. “Right. I actually need to check her bleeding, so if you guys could just take this outside, that’d be great.” As she speaks, she kneels next to Blue, moving her hands over to the bandage- which happens to be right next to the strap’s buckle.

“Fine.” The mercenary jerks his head at exit. “The rest of you, come with me. And keep your hands up.”

But before they can move, a roar sounds from elsewhere in the hold. Right away Owen can tell it’s some kind of herbivore, but the roar is far louder and angrier than any sedated dinosaur should be able to make. More concerning are the shouts of alarm that follow- as well as the unmistakable sound of crashing metal. Either a dinosaur has gotten loose, or it’s about to be.

The mercenary glances over his shoulder, and Owen takes his chance.

Lunging forward, he grabs the barrel of the rifle and points it up, towards the ceiling. At the same moment, Zia yanks the straps through their buckles, undoing Blue’s restraints. The instant her claws are free, Blue tears away her muzzle before Zia can do it for her.

The raptor, now freed, springs to her feet and lets out a furious shriek.

The mercenary stops struggling against Owen, horror flashing across his face. He opens his mouth to shout, but Blue tackles him, knocking him backwards and out of the trailer. The canvas flaps fall shut behind them, obscuring the spray of blood as the screaming starts.

Owen turns and motions for everyone to back up. They press themselves against the back of the trailer, Owen standing in front in case Blue comes back inside. Heart pounding, he waits with bated breath as the reality of the situation catches up to him.

They just set a raptor free on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

… not his best idea, admittedly.

The screaming stops as a final, sickening crunch rings out. Owen can hear Blue panting, right outside the trailer. None of them dare to move or speak.

Another roar echoes through the ship. Blue rumbles an inquisitive noise and then darts off, her footsteps quickly fading. The shouting in the distance starts anew, quickly morphing from surprise to bloodcurdling terror. Blue’s roars join the mix, along with more crashing and screeching metal.

They stand there for a moment in stunned silence.

“… I need to go find a tranq gun,” Owen realizes.

Claire jerks her head in a nod. “Yep,” she says faintly.

God help them.

~*~

#jurassic world camp cretaceous #jwcc #jurassic world fallen kingdom #my writing

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satashiiwrites · 2 years

Text

Accountability post: June/July writing goals:

1. Post something every Tuesday….

2. Chapter of FFO—(20,342 words) posted 23.07.2022 ✅

3. Death, Rebirth and the Jackal:

IV: Reyes (4,734 words)—posted 22.06.2022 ✅

V: Drack (3,128 words)—posted 28.06.2022 ✅

VI: Sara or Scott (0 words)

4. Reinventing Scott ch 4 (645 words)

5. Andromeda 5-0 chapter 2 (0 words)

6. Cousin Harvey (Moon Knight/Suits) One Shot (2,677 words)

7. An Andromeda Tale ch 60 (888 words)

8. Sterek Stardust fall fic (1,884 words)

9. Promise Me You Won’t Let me Chapter V (568 words)

10. Searching for Absolution (Pre Series Derek Hale Character study, Firefighter!Derek AU with random pre series TK and Owen Strand guest appearances) one shot, ( 7,105 words)—aka the fic that is rotting my brain. Posted 17.07.2022. ✅

A) Suspicions (Noah Stillinski POV one shot) (246 words)

B) Untitled Connie the Librarian POV one shot

11. A New Version of Foreplay

A) Chapter one (1723 words) posted 24.07.2022 ✅

B) Chapter Two

#wip update #accountability #writing goals for summer

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wwasted · 4 years

Photo

"he's an impressive guy" - 1x01 vs 1x10

#911lonestaredit #911 lone star #owen strand #tk strand #carlos reyes #mine: edits #ch: owen strand #ch: carlos reyes #ch: tk strand #tv: 911 lone star #WE LOVE A FATHER SON DUO WHO LOVES EACH OTHER SO MUCH #AND A SUPPORTIVE BF #1k

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buckieys · 4 years

Text

things i’d like to see in season two: (feel free to add your own)

- more carlos scenes in general

- gillian and rosewater being fucking hilarious

- judd & grace content, plEase

- iris getting the help she needs

- tk + carlos + healthy communication

- tk going through something Rough™ and trying to fight the urge to relapse and ending up relapsing and getting saved by carlos and tk is convinced that carlos wants to break up but carlos just wants to help

- OR tk’s mum shows up and that triggers something in tk and he confides in carlos

- marjan and mateo best friend content

- paul getting a goddamn girlfriend because it’s what he deserves

- the goddamn dream team!!

- owen & buttercup beat cancer together

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rafael-silva · 3 years

Text

you light me up: a tarlos fic

Carlos goes to visit TK when he’s home from the hospital and helps to calm the storm of thoughts raging inside the firefighter’s head. Carlos’s presence grounds TK and anchors him, as they navigate their developing relationship and dynamic with a few realizations along the way.

Missing scene from 1.09

missing scene, hurt tk strand, worried carlos reyes, hurt/comfort, whump, emotional hurt/comfort, developing relationship, comfort, tk needs a hug, carlos gives him hugs

whumptober 2021: day 10 - flare up

2.3k | rated T | on ao3

*****

TK’s been in the same position on the couch for the past thirty minutes since he finally managed to get Owen out of the house to make it to his shift on time. The fire captain hesitated in the living room for a good ten minutes before TK reassured him that he’s fine, totally, completely okay on his own. But TK could tell his father was starting to reconsider going to work.

“You know, I think it would be okay if I take one more shift off, Judd is in charge and everything is fine at the firehouse.”

“Dad,” TK pressed while his eyebrows traveled up his forehead. “Go, I’ve got everything I need.”

“Take it easy, TK. I mean that, you’re still in the early stages of healing and any—”

“Any effort or wrong movement can cause more damage,” TK had continued for him. “I got it, dad, I promise.”

A moment later, Owen sighed and nodded. “Okay, but if anything changes…”

“I’ll call,” TK concludes.

He decided to play a random comedy movie after surfing Netflix for a few minutes. He just needed some background noise to hopefully quieten the storm of thoughts raging inside his head. And maybe the movie can get a laugh or two out of him, that wouldn’t hurt either.

He was still wrapping his head around it, getting shot and the prognosis. The doctors were hopeful about his recovery, his initial tests after he woke up showed promise and they said PT would guarantee that TK’s shoulder would be back to a hundred percent. It would take some time to get there, but they assured him he would be able to go back to work with no complications once he was cleared.

But the question currently bouncing inside his head, did he want to go back to being a firefighter?

The doorbell ringing brings him back from his thoughts, and he gently puts the cushion he was hugging down and gets to his feet.

TK opens the door and a smile spreads on his face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Carlos replies, reciprocating the smile.

Carlos quickly surveys TK’s form and his facial expressions morphs into one of concern at how TK is holding up his injured arm in midair across his stomach and then moves to cradle it.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be wearing a sling?” Carlos asks as he steps into the house.

TK shrugs his good shoulder but the movement still slightly aggravates his other one. “Probably, but I’ve been sitting down all day and I had it resting on a pillow.”

TK leads Carlos into the living room and slowly sits back on the couch again, Carlos following him.

“You sure you’re okay?”

TK nods around a wince. “Yeah, the pain comes and goes, it’s fine.”

Carlos wants to say you’re not fine, TK, you have a hole in your chest, but refrains from doing that because TK is pretty aware of said fact. So Carlos nods, not wanting to push. He settles for keeping a close eye on the younger man.

They lapse into comfortable silence, and TK feels lighter in Carlos’s presence as they both watch the TV screen. Carlos easily emits comfort, the man’s been there for a few minutes and TK already feels better. And even in silence, there’s a sense of calm and tranquillity that radiates off of Carlos, and it’s infectious. And if TK is being completely honest, he’s starting to long for it.

He directs his gaze to the officer and Carlos returns it with a smile, the silver sparkle shimmers in his beautiful brown eyes and TK can willingly get lost in those irises forever. If he chooses to.

He deliberates with himself for a few seconds before speaking a statement that makes his heart beat faster in his chest.

“I’m glad you could make it before your shift,” TK says, his eyes not leaving Carlos’s.

And the way Carlos’s smile widens and his eyes get even more captivating, the leap was worth it.

“Me too, I was happy to get your text this morning,” Carlos replies.

They’ve been exchanging texts on and off since TK woke up. Well, more off than on, and they had slowed down a bit once TK got home, TK trying to find his footing amid the curveball life had tossed his way, but he always longed for the officer when they weren’t talking. Carlos never pushed, was always responsive and easy going and TK wanted to keep the conversation going for hours, but found himself pulling back every while.

He and Carlos have been in uncharged territory for some time now, more than friends but not quite a couple. They were heading towards something, something bubbling between them in the weeks prior to TK getting shot, and they both felt it, but then said curveball happened and knocked TK off balance.

It took him by surprise, how quickly and easily he started falling for Carlos. It had never occurred to him, nor was he ready for it to happen, when he first moved to Austin. But it feels natural with Carlos, it feels right, even if it’s terrifying for TK. It’s a constant tug of war inside him, wanting to be close to Carlos and feeling that pull between them, the pull that feels so genuine and so organic, yet on the other side, TK is still reeling from what happened in New York, and his walls still built high and thick.

But he also knows that slowly, Carlos has been helping him bring those walls down. TK realizes he wants to bring down those walls when he’s with Carlos, and maybe that’s what scares him the most.

But with the way Carlos is looking at him now, the amount of genuine care and affection drawn on his face and flickering in his eyes, TK feels that fear start to trickle away.

“How was your morning?” TK asks, a small smile on his face.

“It was good,” Carlos replies. “I went for a run and then had an orange juice. It’s a pretty nice spot, that juice bar. I think you’d like it,” he says easily.

TK’s smile widens a little. “I’m sure I would. You know all the best juice bars in Austin.”

“I do,” Carlos confirms. “We can stop by this one when you’re feeling better,” he suggests.

TK nods after a moment. “I’d love that.”

A few moments tick by and TK takes a deep breath, thinking, just a few seconds of bravery and then he’s reaching for Carlos’s hand.

“Thank you for being here,” TK voices, his eyes not leaving Carlos’s.

Carlos’s expression softens even more and he gently squeezes TK’s hand. “Of course.”

Carlos’s relaxed expression changes into one of tension and concern when TK starts wincing and closes his eyes, clamping his jaw shut and Carlos can see the way his teeth are pressed harshly against each other.

“TK?” Carlos speaks, worry coating his tone.

TK wants to reply, to reassure Carlos that he’s okay, but he currently can’t utter a single word, the fire in his veins and the pain pulsating in his shoulder and down his arm are the only things he can focus on.

He tells himself to breathe through it, that it will pass, but all he can do is push out a throaty groan. He feels Carlos stiffen even more next to him, unsure of what to do, but his weight on the cushion next to him gives TK something to focus on aside from the burning in his shoulder. But it hurts, it hurts so much, the pain throbbing and TK wants to scream.

He must have let out a strained noise because a few moments later, through the haze of hot agony, he can hear Carlos’s words filtering into his ears, his comforting and soothing words.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Carlos repeats. “It will pass, just squeeze my hand if you need to. You’re okay.”

And TK does. He squeezes Carlos’s hand and the pain, finally, starts to lessen until he can draw in a full breath. He shakily exhales and when he opens his eyes, he’s much closer to Carlos than he remembers. In fact, he’s so close to Carlos there’s no doubt the other man can feel the pants he’s currently puffing out colliding with his neck.

He unconsciously gravitated towards Carlos.

The realization sends heat crawling up TK’s neck and face, settling into his cheeks and painting them pink. He slowly lifts his gaze to meet Carlos’s but Carlos doesn’t comment on their sudden close proximity and he doesn’t pull back. TK is met with wide, worried brown eyes, and he’s so close he can see the speaks of light brown swimming in Carlos’s dark brown irises. They’re breathtaking.

Carlos’s eyes roam over TK’s face, intently studying him with a slight crease engraved in his forehead.

“Hey, TK, you with me?” Carlos asks a moment later.

TK clears his throat and pulls back a little. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Sorry, that was a bad flare up.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Carlos replies kindly, a hand going to rest on TK’s uninjured shoulder. “Do they usually get this bad?”

“This has been the worst one so far,” TK says. “But the doctor said the flare ups will range in intensity, but knowing that doesn’t make being ready for them any easier,” he sighs.

“Do you need anything?” Carlos follows up. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Maybe some water?” TK answers. “The glasses are in the top left cabinet and the fridge has a water dispenser.”

Carlos nods and gets up, returning with the glass of water less than a minute later.

“Here,” he hands it to TK, who accepts it with a slightly trembling hand.

“Thank you,” TK breathes before taking a sip and then letting Carlos help him place it on the table in front of them. “Carlos, I’m okay,” he adds when he still observes the worry lines on his face.

Carlos gives TK’s hand another squeeze and runs the pad of his thumb across TK’s skin.

It’s intimate and grounding, the gesture sending a silent message between them as they keep their eye contact, peering into each other through brown and green gates.

TK feels bare, like Carlos can read him inside out, can read him like an open book, and he feels his walls crumble a little more. He swallows and doesn’t shy away, because it also feels safe.

Carlos feels safe, and TK lets himself soak up that safety, he lets is engulf him.

There’s a lot bouncing around in TK’s head, a lot he needs to work through and figure out, but for the first time since he woke up in the hospital, he feels a weight has been lifted off his chest, and he attributes that to Carlos being close.

Yeah, Carlos is safety.

He gives Carlos another smile before he hesitantly starts to pull back and untangles their connected hands, immediately missing Carlos’s touch and warmth.

He leans back against the couch, his eyes drifting back to the television.

“This movie has some good laughs,” TK says with a smile.

Carlos follows TK’s line of sight. “Yes, it does.”

They sit in silence for a while, TK zoning out every now and then and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos.

“What are you thinking about?” Carlos asks in a low tone.

Too much, TK wants to say. But it’s all a jumbled mess in his head right now and he’s not sure he can even voice it in proper words or thoughts yet, so instead, he answers with the thought he can properly voice.

“I’ve been thinking about that little boy,” he eventually replies. “What he must be going through.”

Carlos nods. “It’s tough.”

“He just wanted to protect his family,” TK says.

“Do you know how he’s doing?”

“Dad told me he’s getting help and seeing a counselor,” TK nods. “But it must be so much for a child to carry.”

“He’s got his family looking out for him and helping him, that’s the most important thing,” Carlos says with empathy.

“I was thinking maybe there’s something I could do to help,” TK states.

Carlos waits for him to elaborate.

“Maybe I can go visit him, if his parents would be okay with that, of course,” TK continues. “I’m still wrapping my head around what happened, I don't even remember it, but I’ll be fine. I’ll go through recovery and some PT and I’ll be fine, but what about that boy? Thinking about what he’s going through, I want to help and maybe seeing me will help him.”

A soft smile spreads on Carlos’s face. “That’s very thoughtful, TK. I think they would appreciate the gesture.”

“I just want to make sure he knows I know that it was an accident and that I’m fine and I don’t blame him. I think that would make a difference.”

“I think it would, too,” Carlos agrees. “And I think that would help you feel better, too.”

Butterflies flutter in TK’s stomach at Carlos’s reassurance and support, and he feels a warmth settling in his core.

When it’s inevitably time for Carlos to leave for his shift, he tries stalling a little, not wanting to leave TK. TK notices and reassures him he’s fine, and Carlos makes absolute sure that TK doesn’t need anything before he steps out.

And when TK leans in for a soft hug, Carlos gently wraps his arms around TK, mindful of his injury and TK once again, gravities towards the officer and closer into his arms.

“I’ll text you,” TK promises when they separate.

Carlos smiles and nods. He studies TK a little more for any signs of lingering pain or discomfort. Assured that TK is okay, and after a moment of consideration, he leans down and brushes a kiss to the corner of TK’s mouth.

TK’s eyes light up.

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kaimelia · 3 years

Text

Paper Rings (Ch. 7)

a/n: hi! I hope you enjoy this chapter! thank you to everyone who has sent messages and things, you’re all too kind and I appreciate the support so so so much <33

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“You promise to call me more?” Link rolled his eyes sarcastically, taking his mother’s suitcase out of the car. “And you too, Amelia.”

“Of course, mom,” Link responded, setting the suitcase down. Amelia grinned from the sidewalk and nodded her head in agreeance. Maureen pulled the neurosurgeon into a quick hug, telling her something about texting and pictures. “You’re gonna miss your flight, mom.” She turned to face him, pulling her son into a quick hug.

“Tell her that you love her,” Maureen whispered, “Don’t let her get away.” She stepped back and grabbed her suitcase. “Alright, I’m going.” Amelia moved to stand next to Link as they waved goodbye, watching as his mom walked into the airport.

“What’d she say to you?” Amelia asked, looking up at him once she had entered the airport. “She made me promise to send her of us when you stop responding to her,” she laughed, placing her hand on Link’s chest. He froze for a moment while trying to think of what to say, his eyes avoiding hers and darting around their surroundings.

“Oh, uh, she just said something about my dad, not a big deal.” Amelia raised her eyebrows at him, and he knew she could tell that he was lying. “We should get going,” he muttered, walking over to the driver’s side of the car.

“Speaking of your dad, when do I get to meet him?” Link placed his hands on the wheel.

“Whenever he comes to visit. He lives in Massachusetts, not as easy of a trip.” The brunette hummed, reaching over to turn on the radio as he began to drive away. “Am I taking you back to Meredith’s?” She shook her head.

“No, Zola had a sleepover last night, and I don’t want to be in the house with a bunch of her friends. They just scream the whole time.” She glanced out the window. “Why don’t we go back to your place, and I can make us waffles?”

“Sounds like a plan.” The ride back to his apartment was quiet, Amelia wanting to ask about what his mom said, yet not wanting to push him. Her brain ran through every possibility, that his mom hated her, that she found out they met on Tinder and didn’t approve, that she didn’t think Amelia was good enough for her son. “You okay?” She sat up, realizing they had arrived in the parking lot.

“Yeah, just thinking.” She followed him into the elevator, quiet between them as they headed into his apartment. Amelia threw her coat onto the couch before pulling out the waffle maker along with various ingredients to start cooking.

“When do I get to meet your mom?” He asked, leaning back against the island in the kitchen.

“I don’t know. I don’t really talk to her.” Her back was to him as she spoke, stirring things together. “It’s not you. She never met Owen, either. She just hasn’t ever been supportive of my relationships, or frankly the life I live, so I don’t involve her in it.”

“Do you want her to be involved?”

“I guess? I used to care more, but now I’m almost used to it. It hurts sometimes. Especially because I know she’s involved in my sisters’ lives. She talks to Meredith, too.”

“And not you?” Amelia shook her head. “That just sounds-”

“Cruel? Selfish? Trust me. I’ve said it all before.” He noticed as her motions became more aggressive. “It’s whatever. I don’t care. I don’t need her, anyway.” Link took a step towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.

“My mom likes you. So, anytime you need a mom, you can call her.” She was silent as she poured the batter into the machine, closing the lid and turning around to face him. “I’m serious.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. He grinned down at her.

“How about we have our waffles and then go take a shower? I know a good way to make you feel better,” Link teased, wrapping a strand of her hair around his finger. She smiled, leaning up to kiss him quickly.

“That sounds amazing.”

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“You washed my clothes?” Amelia asked, holding a stack of folded clothes in her hand, a towel wrapped around her body. Link was standing in front of the sink washing dishes, his hair still damp from the shower.

“Yeah, you left them here a while ago. Figured you’d want them back sometime.” She raised her eyebrows, stepping back into the bedroom to change. She came out a minute later, scrunching her wet hair with the towel to dry it. “There are some of your other clothes on top of the dresser. You leave them here and take my clothes instead,” he joked, drying his hands with a towel.

“I was looking for this shirt,” she motioned down, “thought I lost it.”

“Yeah, you keep leaving your stuff around here. I just pick it up and put it on the dresser in case you need it some other time.”

“I can bring it back today, clear some space for you.” He shrugged, crossing his arms across his chest.

“It’s okay, it’ll just end up back here, right?” Amelia laughed nervously. “You practically live here, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“You come here after every shift. I think you’ve only been at Meredith’s once this past week.” He noticed the slight bit of panic on her face. “It’s fine, though. I don’t mind. I like having you here.”

“I just didn’t realize I’d spent so much time here,” she laughed nervously.

“Move in with me.”

“What?”

“Move in with me, Amelia. You already spend most of your time here, just like you said.” She was silent, her eyes wide in surprise. “You can say no, but I want to take the next step with you.” Her stomach rolled, and she felt the urge to scream yes.

“I-”

“Okay, why don’t you take some time to think about it. Go home and talk with Meredith and Maggie. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret, I realize asking you on the spot was probably not the best idea.” She smiled softly, looking down. “Take some time to think. Not too long, though.” Amelia nodded, even though she already knew what her answer was.

“I’ll call you soon.”

#amelia shepherd #amelink #Atticus Lincoln #amelia x link #amelink fanfic #amelink fanfiction #grey's anatomy #greys abc #greys fanfic #my fics

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hisquccn · 6 years

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Spoils of War ch. 9

Summary: The prince used to love his gifts from his knights as they conquered new lands, until he realized the blood that was spilled for each new object. As he grew unhappy with material possessions, the knights resorted to bringing him less willing spoils of battle. He has to put an end to their capturing of innocent people… Hopefully his new prize, a blonde with a temper larger than his kingdom, can help him set the country free…

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8 AO3

Roy wasn't sure how long it would take before his father's throne and crown would feel like his own. The seat felt too large, and the crown far too heavy upon his head. The moment it was placed, all eyes in the kingdom landing on him, he felt he'd sink into the marble beneath his feet. Nevertheless, he held himself high, withstanding the weight with all the strength he could muster.

The crowd of people at his feet, bowing to their new king, included some of the most well known figures in the kingdom, as well as those from allied neighboring countries. Dukes and duchesses, even other kings, bringing along princesses to, hopefully, strengthen the relationship between their countries. He met with each of them politely shaking their hands, smiling his warm smile.

In the mist of it all, he'd lost track of his adviser. He searched for the head of blond hair among the mass of people, begging for their chance to congratulate the young king, throwing their names into his good graces. It was unfortunate for them, however, that their names would be quickly forgotten as he continue sifting through the crowd.

As the afternoon wound to a close, the newly crowned king had given up his search, submitting to the celebratory greetings of his visitors. Roy counted his blessings as his night and friend came to his side, escorting him away from the coronation ceremony and out of the main hall. “I'm so glad I could kiss you...” He mumbled, smiling as he made his exit.

“That'd be a sight.” Maes laughed, his expression lost beneath his helmet. “As if the country didn't have enough to talk about. They are already making bets on the next queen.”

Roy rolled his eyes, releasing a breath as the doors closed behind him. “I've met so many women today whose father's were practically pushing them into my bed, I'm not sure there won't be at least three waiting for me in my chambers.”

“That doesn't seem like something to complain about.” The knight chuckled. “Unless you had a woman like Gracia waiting on you at home.” He added, the smile, though not visible through his armor, heard through his voice. “Or maybe a Hawkeye.”

A halfhearted glare fell to the king's eyes as he dropped into a chair. “I'm not even sure she was at the coronation. Maybe it's about time the pressure of all this actually ran her off, after all.”

“You really think she's that easy to scare away, Roy?”

The young lord chuckled lightly. “Not a chance. Though, I do wonder where she went.”

“The coronation ball is tonight. Maybe she's getting all dolled up for you.”

Roy shook his head. “A pleasant thought, but also unlikely.” He mumbled. “I only hope she'll be there to distract me from all the hopeful young ladies.”

With a pat on his friend's back, Maes pushed the king to his feet. “You should be getting ready as well. No time for pining and hoping, your majesty.”

The young king couldn't have prepared himself for the number of dancers pushed into his arms. Each shy young noblewoman, stepping with the music, eyed him with blind affection, falling for his warm smiles and honey-sweet words. It was unfortunate for each young maiden, however, that his eyes were filtering through the dancers, even scanning the back walls, for a familiar head of blonde hair.

The night was halfway over, and his feet stung from the steps he'd made with each over willing partner on the ballroom floor. He'd given up on finding her, eyes now vaguely taking in the redhead that stared at her own feet while she danced.

“King Roy?”

He did all he could to hide the sigh of relief in his voice as the dance with the redhead came to a halt. “Lady Owens, please excuse me.” He let go of the young lady's hand as he spoke, watching her bow politely before turning to his aunt. “Madam, have you come to ask me to dance?” He mused.

“No. Of course not. I'm worth more than a dance with a cocky young king. I only came to present you with a gift.” With a hand on his back, she pushed him towards the wall, through the crowd. “I hope you enjoy it. It wasn't easy.”

He laughed, moving as directed. “Of course I will.” As he slipped from the mass of dancing couples, he realized how true his words were as his eyes landed on his “gift.”

Blonde hair was pinned neatly at the sides, but the length of it cascaded over the adviser's shoulders. Her gold strands accented the emerald fabric of her dress, fitting close to her form over the bodice, and a high collar covering the back of her neck. “It seems...” he started, his voice soft and low as he stepped forward, “that you've been given to me once again.”

Riza laughed lightly. “It would appear so.

He held his hand out to her, feet aching for one more dance. “I hope you came to me willingly this time.”

She placed her palm in his, fingers wrapping gently around as he led her away from the shadows. “I won't be punching you this time, at least. Although, I still feel like I'm bound in this clothing your aunt put me in.”

His free hand went to her waist, hers to his shoulder. “Perhaps you'd allow me to unbind you again?”

Her brown eyes set him aflame as they met his. He felt as though he'd lose his footing in her sly smile. “And perhaps I'll take back what I said about punching you, sire.”

The pain in his feet had faded as he moved in time with her, enjoying her snide remarks and playful smiles as they talked. She'd been at the coronation, and was swept away by his aunt while he was accepting his greetings. Placing her in her dress and having her perfectly preened for the ball seemed to be an all evening affair. Roy questioned why she even agreed to it, but she didn't really have an answer. “If this was what you wanted, it'd be all I could give. I'm a noble in name only, and only by your doing. That doesn't mean I have the money to buy you anything in celebration.”

He pulled her closer, too close for the eyes of their company, he was sure. “This is perfect. Thank you, but I hope you aren't too uncomfortable.” He added, gently. “I'd much prefer you comfortable than unable to breathe, milady.”

“I'm breathing fine, my king.” It wasn't until the title slipped from her lips that he at last felt pride in it. Her king... it was all he needed to hear.

His smile widened as he turned them to the music. The onlookers were lost to him as his eyes locked onto the girl in his arms. “I danced too long before you got here.” He told her, gently.

“I advise you take a break then.” The blonde teased, stopping with him in the middle of the ballroom floor. “I do have a gift for you...besides this.”

His hand left her hip, but the other kept her hand, leading her now off the dance floor once more. “Oh? And where is it?” His voice was light and gentle. He was as tired as he was excited after the day's events, and it was beginning to show.

“Call the evening to a close, your majesty.” She told him, taking her hand from his at last. “And I'll bring it to your chambers.” Her voice was quiet, whispering the words like a secret.

She disappeared once more, then, leaving him light-hearted and drunk on her words. With a bright smile, he stood at his throne, calling the party-goers to attention. His 'goodnight' was short and sweet, but poised and polite. The knights took their places, ushering all the men and women from the ballroom, Maes taking his place by Roy's side to escort him away from the final attempts of those trying to win the king's favor.

Roy was silent as he walked at his friend's side, but he couldn't tear the smile from his lips. As they stepped to the hall to his room, Maes gave him a pat on the back. “Congratulations. Enjoy your evening, sire.” There was a laugh to his voice that couldn't be ignored, but Roy let it pass, simply nodding his head in thanks as he walked to his chambers.

His room was empty, much to his disappointment, but he took the time to take off his coat, laying on the back of a chair. He considered removing his boots, or even his shirt, leaving him in just his undershirt, but chose against it. He set the crown on his dresser, hoping the title would stay with it when she finally arrived.

“Your majesty.” She spoke instead of knocked, and he felt his nerves turn to ice. She'd come to his chambers. She'd dressed up for him and she had a gift for him.

With a deep breath he went for the door, smiling at the woman who waited for him. She'd abandoned the corset for a robe, hair now completely loose down her back. She'd pulled her robe tightly around her, as if the chill of the hallway could be kept out. “Come in.” He invited, trying not to pull her in on his own. He held the door, watching as she passed him by, closing the door behind her. The brunette stepped towards her, watching as her face lit up by the fireplace. “So you brought my gift...”

Riza nodded gently, turning to him. “It's not much. Not even sure you'll want it...” She started slowly, looking away from him.

“I want it.” His hand pulled her chin up as he moved in closer. There was nothing he wanted more than the woman who'd brought herself to his chambers. He leaned in, taking her lips with his slowly, his free hand finding her hip. Her hand went to his, and her slow response caused him to freeze, knowing he'd read the situation wrong. Just as he started to pull away, however, he felt her step against him, pressing up into the kiss.

She'd given him all the invitation he'd needed. His hand moved to the small of her back, pulling her to him as he let his mouth explore hers. Feeling her tongue against his was more than he could bear, as he moaned low into her. He pulled from her lips to trail his down her jawline, kissing and nipping a line to her ear. “Sire...” Her voice was breathless, and her one hand still held his.

“Mm-mm...” He mumbled in disagreement as he gently bit her ear. “My name, Riza...”

“Roy...” She let her other hand slip into his hair, stepping back gently, pulling him with her. “It's... a bad idea...” She warned, but did nothing to stop his attack on her neck, or his hands leading her to the bed. “We shouldn't.” She said again, but fell against the blankets as her robe slipped open.

He couldn't help but laugh against her as he pushed her up on the bed, easing her sleeves from her shoulders, untying the back of her gown with nimble hands. “You give wonderful advice...” He purred, kissing her once more. “I'm glad I hired you...” As he pulled away, he met her eyes, cupping her face in one hand, supporting himself over her with the other. “I know we shouldn't. I know it's a bad idea, but, Riza...” He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closing as if he were pleading gently. “If I said I loved you, would you allow it?”

Her arms draped themselves over his neck, her lips pressing to his softly. “Yes, my king.” She whispered. “I am yours.”

#royai fanfiction #riza x roy #riza hawkeye #roy mustang #royai

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cometladyicarus-blog · 7 years

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Goodnight, Darth Vader, Don’t Let the Wampas Bite Chapter 5

Ch. 0

Ch.1

Ch. 2

Ch. 3

Ch. 4

Ch. 5

Ch. 6

Ch. 7

Ch. 8

He frowned as attacks on Imperial bases diminished after he ordered the strike on Dantooine two weeks ago. This was not how things were supposed to go. They were supposed to increase their attacks to avenge the loss of their Dantooine base.

“Dad! It’s bedtime!”

He sighed. Galactic peacekeeping and Imperial political manipulations would have to wait for later tonight.

Luke and Leia sat in their beds, whisper-chanting, “Sto-ry! Sto-ry! Sto-ry!”

He used the Force to pull down a new book, as the night before saw the end of Revan’s story. Opening it, he took his seat between the beds and turned off the lights, using the red light filters of his helmet to see.

“Aww, Dad! Use your lightsaber too!”

Smiling, he indulged the small whim, lighting the room with the red blade in a sharp contrast to the soft green stars and planets that decorated the ceiling and the hallway outside the room. He cleared his throat and began to read.

“A long, long time ago, on a planet far away, a mining colony in a zone between the Sith Empire and the Elder Galactic Republic to be specific, there was a young man who was very good at pazzaak. He was called Bane by his father…”

The children had fallen asleep and didn’t seem to suffer from poor dreams, or possible prophetic dreams. He envied them their peaceful sleep, his own has been tormented with memories and possible nightmare futures. But they deserve their peaceful dreams, childhood was not a time to be haunted by the concerns of adults.

He left the room as quietly as he could, returning to his chambers to sort through the dwindling reports of rebel activities.

He needed the rebels now. No, he needed the rebels as they were before, rebellious bands of seemingly disorganized … rebels. He pulled up a report of a hit on the scrapyard world of Raxus Prime. Apparently the only things taken were Separatist ships from the war.

The Separatist ships.

Of course. He laughed to himself. Of course the rebels would be backed by the former Confederacy of Independent Systems worlds. Those worlds wanted to leave the Republic, now they want to leave the Empire. They would still be wealthy enough worlds to back a network of cells that the rebels seemed to be set up in by design or opportunity.

If the rebels were using Separatist ships, then the Empire already knew the main weaknesses of each model, and he could slice into their communications network and get ears into a cell. Maybe enough to work out who was in command, eventually.

The next report he touched was of yet another prisoner riot Moff Tarkin had to deal with. Thirty-five troopers, four officers, and the Moff’s executive officer, dead. Four thousand dead prisoners slaves of varying races, mostly Wookiee. He shook his head. Slaves and prisoners may not need to be paid, but they knew every weakness of where they worked. And Wookiees made terrible slaves with their strength.

Construction droids would be faster to work, and very unlikely to build hidey holes for tools, weapons, food, or whatever else. Memory wipes were much faster with droids than organics as well.

“Used to be, I put droids together. Now I cut them apart.”

The memory of words he said to Padme made him smile. He turned off the speakers of his suit. “And now, I am putting droids back together again. And I am a slave to the Emperor’s whims, bound to him by technology more deadly to me than an explosive chip.”

He wrote a short message to the Moff, recommending construction droids as being a more viable option, considering they could survive in the vacuum of space better than slaves and prisoners. As he hit send, the comms lit up.

He turned on his speakers and picked up the signal. And Imperial General saluted when the connection was confirmed.

“My Lord Vader, you wanted the Lars homestead watched?”

The Dark Lord of the Sith frowned at the mention of his mother’s husband’s family.

“It was attacked by the uh…” The Imperial leaned back, presumably to hear someone out of side. “Tusken Sand People?”

“Sand People or Tusken Raiders.”

“Ah, yes, my lord. I’m sorry to report, our troops didn’t arrive in time. Owen Lars is in life-support, but he isn’t going to make it. Beru Lars is dead. Among the marks of the Raiders, were dead raiders that were cut. With a blade that cauterized.” The General paused again, as if unsure what the reaction of the helmeted man would be.

He made a motion to continue.

“Before Owen Lars was put into an induced coma, he said something about a ‘Kin-Oh-bee.’ We have been searching our records for any droid with those-”

“Not a droid, General. Thank you for the report. Give Lars a peaceful death, but you do not need to investigate further.”

“Yes, my lord. If you do not mind my asking, why watch this farm?”

He paused for a moment, thinking of all the possible reasons that would still conceal his past enough, but still seem plausible. He found the one he wanted.

“The Lars family was related to General Anakin Skywalker, who saved the Emperor from the Jedi assassins. I was seeing if the Lars would be made a target by the rebels for being related to someone who clearly supported the Empire.”

“Sky-- those children of yours, sir? Then they are in your care for the same reason?”

“That is classified.” He held up a hand and made a small motion with it, reinforcing his words through the Force, lightyears away from the General. “And none of this needs to be repeated. Resume your standard duties.”

“No, none of this needs to be repeated. We will be resuming our standard duties, my lord. Thank you for indulging my curiosity.” The call ended with Vader steepling his fingers before his helmet.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi. You chose to live on Tatooine to hide from me. I should have paid the rumors of a maybe-Jedi in the desert, then, and not have been distracted by the other mad old men.”

He could use his former master. Drive him from Tatooine and to take refuge somewhere else. Somewhere more likely, maybe, to get him in contact with the rebels. Obi-Wan always did have a bit of a soft spot for people fighting impossible odds in the name of Jedi Justice. The rebels would jump at the chance to have a real Jedi Master, and not some half-trained stranded and abandoned Padawan, or green Knight who got lucky.

He sent in new orders to send pilots over the skies of the desert world in search patterns. Officially to practice search tactics. Orders to keep an eye on anyone looking to leave the planet, discreetly being smuggled, or by purchasing a ticket.

Sitting back from sending orders, he frowned. He never was close with Owen and Beru Lars. He tried to distance himself from them during the war, hoping that his tie to them - or rather the farm that housed his mother’s remains- would be buried enough to keep them safe. After the war, he looked at his left hand and closed it with a frown as one finger stuttered in its motion.

He did hope to introduce Luke and Leia to them, once the kids were old enough to not call him Dad. Owen and Beru would know who he used to be in an instant, where the rest of galaxy assumed he had just adopted the war hero’s children and they just called him Dad because he raised them.

And now they lost their step-aunt and step-uncle. And he lost a step-brother he barely knew. He leaned forward and issued orders to hit the Sand People camps by ‘accidentally’ marking them as training targets. They should have learned to avoid that farm almost a decade ago.

He started up the sanitation process and brought a toolkit out to where he sat. The glove was easily removed to showcase the mechanical nature of his left arm that matched his right arm and legs. Pulling off the other glove, he twitched the droid-like fingers to check their functionality. The left hand joints looked clear of obstructions, but he opened up the casing to look it over anyway.

And found a sequin had worked its way deep into the wiring and equipment.

He smiled as he counted his worries of the day.

Rebels, the Emperor, the safety of his children, stupid Imperials, sand raiders, not-dead-yet Jedi Masters, and sequins in his hand.

He spared the brave sequin.

#Chapter 5 #Dad Vader #Goodnight Darth Vader Don’t Let the Wampas Bite #Star Wars Fanfic

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wwasted · 4 years

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TK + his family waiting for him to wake up.

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wwasted · 4 years

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I got a ninety-two percent!

#911lonestaredit #911 lone star #911 lone star spoilers #mateo chavez #tk strand #owen strand #marjan marwani #judd ryder #paul strickland #mine: edits #tv: 911 lone star #ch: mateo chavez #ch: tk strand #ch: owen strand #ch: marjan marwani #ch: judd ryder #ch: paul strickland #HE DID IT

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buckieys · 4 years

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am i the only one that got mad when billy called owen ‘tiger’ ????

like, that’s carlos and tk’s thing. pick a different thing that isn’t that specific thing

#billy tyson #captain billy tyson #owen strand #tk strand #tyler kennedy strand #carlos reyes #carlos reyes/tk strand #carlos/tk #tarlos #911 #911: lone star #9 1 1: lone star #ch: owen strand #ch: carlos reyes #ch: tk strand #rs: carlos/tk #my posts

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buckieys · 4 years

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been too long (tarlos)

so, i wrote a lil fic... uh... features TK making bad decisions and Carlos being amazing but also hating himself. hope you like it, but please be safe reading it. it features overdose, abuse, angst, abduction, non-descriptive non-con, and is just generally not light-hearted At All.

you can read it on AO3 here.

here’s a lil sneak peak:

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, no. It better not be T.K.,” Carlos pulled into the neighbourhood that he frequented constantly. The GPS in his patrol car only spoke the the address twice - once when he got in, but he never heard it over the blaring sounds of the sirens. The second time was when he arrived at his destination, which was directly outside of T.K.'s home. T.K. was the only one inside the house, his car was in the driveway, but Owen’s was not. That was enough to set Carlos off.

“T.K., where are you?” Carlos could be heard screaming over the sirens blaring outside of T.K. and Owen’s home. There was a firetruck, an ambulance - and one on the way, and five police cars outside the home, but no one was making an attempt to enter. Carlos took out his phone and opened up T.K.’s contact information, clicking the ‘call’ button repeatedly.

Inside the house T.K. was laying on the hardwood floor, his phone seemingly miles away. He could hear the rings, but they were faint, his head was pounding. Was it the door? Was someone pounding on the door?

“No, no, no, no, nobody can know. Nobody should know, but now everyone knows,” T.K. tried to sit up, gritting his teeth in pain as broken glass dug into his palms. He tried to call out to Carlos or to his dad, but he couldn’t force the words out. His throat was dry, considering the amount of alcohol he consumed.

“Tyler? Tyler Kennedy Strand, fucking answer me, please!” Carlos had tears in his eyes, his hands were shaking as he pressed the ‘end call’ button for the sixth time. T.K. hadn’t responded to any of his calls and he was progressively getting more and more anxious. Michelle walked up next to Carlos, just getting to the scene. She put a hand on Carlos’ shoulder, not noticing the way Carlos was shaking. He attempted to stifle the sobs that he desperately needed to let out, but didn’t want Michelle or anyone else to worry about him when T.K. was possibly dead in the house.

“Dispatch says it’s a possible overdose, do we know a name or story?” Michelle asked. “All we got from Judd was possible OD and we needed to head out immediately, said the person asked specifically for the 126 and a specific officer in the APD. Weird, right?” All Carlos could do was nod, unable to tell Michelle to shut up or answer her questions. He could barely keep his breathing steady at this point and he was ready to break. He wanted to go into that house as a friend, not an officer, but he couldn’t and that was killing him.

“Reyes, we’re going in, we’ve got the okay to use the battering ram and to use any means necessary to save the kid,” Carlos’ sergeant turned to Carlos, seeing the man holding his phone in a vice-like grip, his knuckles white.

“Who’s in there, Carlos?” Michelle asked, stepping in front of Carlos, blocking him from sprinting up to the front door.

“T.K.,” Carlos managed to choke out, tears streaming down his face as Michelle held him in her arms. “He, he promised me. He promised he would tell me,” Carlos could barely hold himself up at this point. Michelle helped him sit against his patrol car before trying to talk to him.

“Your sergeant is going to break down the door, we’re going to go in there and save him, okay? He’s going to be okay. Are you going to be okay out here?” Michelle’s voice was quiet as she spoke. Carlos shook his head, trying to stand up on shaky legs.

“I’m going in.”

Michelle gave him a dry chuckle, pushing him back to the patrol car. declaring, “No, you’re staying here and waiting until we come out,” she stood up and looked over towards the front door just in time to see the door get busted open. “We’re going in now, we’ll be out soon.”

------

AO3 LINK

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buckieys · 4 years

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why didn’t we get a mateo and tk hug? huh? COWARDS!

#ch: mateo chavez #ps: mateo/tk #ch: tk strand #9 1 1: lone star #lone star #911 #911: lone star #tk strand #tyler kennedy strand #mateo chavez #s1ep6 #judd ryder #marjan marwani #owen strand #carlos reyes #michelle blake #paul strickland #dream team #my posts

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rafael-silva · 3 years

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catching fire: a multichapter tarlos fic

general summary:

“Dispatch, we have a 10-33 at our location. Fire has ignited, we need Fire and Rescue, Medical and back up. Three individuals trapped, two officers and one civilian.” “Fire, Medical and back up is on route to you now,” comes the quick reply. “Officer Reyes, report.” Radio static. “Officer Reyes, report.” Silence. “Carlos!” Nothing.

Where Carlos and his partner respond to a noise complaint that quickly escalates into a blazing fire, putting their lives in danger. The 126 are called to the scene and TK’s heart drops into his knees when he learns that Carlos is trapped inside the burning apartment. The 126 frantically work to save the officers, and they deal with the aftermath together, as a family.

chapters: 4/?

established tk strand/carlos reyes, major character injury, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, angst, whump, fluff, team as family, worried tk strand, hurt carlos reyes, angst with a happy ending, on call injury

word count: 8.6k

on ao3 | ch. 1 - ch. 2 - ch. 3 - ch. 4

*****

chapter 4 snippet:

All TK could do was wait as the minutes and hours pass by. He tries reading in the book his father brought him, the one that’s been on his nightstand for weeks, but he keeps reading the same line over and over again. He eventually gives up, tossing the book back into the duffel bag and settles in the chair by Carlos’s bed, watching the officer sleep with nothing but the steady beeping of the heart monitor for company.

Sometime after, his phone pings with a text from his dad, asking if everything is okay. TK quickly replies back, telling his dad there has been no change and noticing his phone has less than ten percent power, he plugs it into the charger his dad also packed for him.

TK falls asleep sitting by Carlos’s bed, and he’s woken up some hours later by aches echoing through his body from the position. He brushes a soft kiss to Carlos’s forehead and then lies down on the cot that was set for him. He sleeps for a couple of hours until he senses a nurse come in to check on Carlos, as it happens a few times throughout the night.

Sleep didn’t find TK during the night. Both his worry and the nurses checking in on Carlos every couple of hours combined together didn’t make sleeping an easy feat. He gave up on getting some shut eye, and started going through the side effects of smoke inhalation in his mind.

He himself had gone through it before, however, not as severely as his boyfriend. And quite frankly, it was a bitch to deal with. Uncomfortable, unpleasant and downright irritating. And as much as TK wants Carlos to wake up and to see his boyfriend’s captivating brown eyes, a part of him is glad Carlos is sleeping through the worst of it. Carlos will be feeling much better once he wakes up. He’ll be sore for a while, but the worst will be behind him.

TK is woken up by sunlight shining into the hospital room. He yawns, stretching his tired muscles and his eyes quickly land on Carlos. He wasn’t woken up by the nurse’s last visit and he momentarily worries that something had happened while he was asleep. He sits up, his eyes moving from Carlos to the heart monitor that is still beeping steadily. He’s so caught in his panic that he hasn’t noticed the nurse standing at the end of Carlos’s bed.

She moves her attention from the clipboard where she’s recording Carlos’s vitals to TK. She smiles sweetly at the younger man. “Oh, good morning. Sorry if I woke you.”

“No, no, you didn’t. Haven’t been able to sleep well anyway. Good morning,” TK replies.

“Not comfortable?” She points to the mattress.

“Oh no, it’s fine, I’m just…worried,” TK points to Carlos.

She nods.

“He’s my boyfriend. Best thing to happen to me in well…as long as I can remember,” TK continues, a small smile forming on his face.

“Injuries like his have a very high recovery rate, and he’s young, strong and healthy, he’ll be back on his feet in no time,” she reassures TK.

He nods. “Yeah, thank you. I’m a firefighter, went through this a couple of times myself but not severe enough for hospitalization. I know he’ll be fine, I just wish he’d open his eyes,” TK sighs.

“The doctor will be here soon to give you an update on when he can be weaned off the sedation and extubated.”

TK nods again. “Thank you.”

“I’m Olivia, by the way,” she smiles at TK.

“I’m TK,” he replies.

“I’m in charge of this floor, so if you need anything, anything at all, you can find me at the Nurse’s Station down the hall,” Olivia says.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” he smiles back.

“I’ll be back to check on him later,” Olivia informs TK before she’s turning on her heels and exiting the room.

And then it’s back to silence, the only sounds coming from the machines attached to Carlos.

TK sighs, leaning forward and clasps Carlos’s hand with his own.

“Hey, babe. It’s just me and you,” TK whispers.

Carlos remains unresponsive.

An hour later, TK’s still holding onto Carlos’s hand and using his other to reply to messages from his team. He had received messages throughout the night and well into the morning, but had just gathered enough energy to start responding.

A knock on the door gets his attention, and he turns to see his father pushing it open and stepping into the room, two cups sitting in a holder in his grip.

The smell of coffee immediately hits TK’s senses.

“Morning,” Owen smiles at his son.

“Hey, dad,” TK replies, mustering a small smile himself.

Wordlessly, Owen pulls out one of the cups and hands it to TK, who gratefully accepts it with a nod.

“How’s he doing?”

“The same, nothing changed overnight,” TK shrugs. “The nurse said the doctor will come by later to give an update and to see when we can wake him up and remove the breathing tube.”

Owen nods. “That sounds promising.” “Yeah,” TK agrees.

“He’s gonna be fine, son.”

“Yeah, I know,” TK says, not fixating much on how his voice still cracks with those words.

He lifts the cup to his mouth and takes a sip of the hot beverage.

“I got you some time off,” Owen tells TK.

TK’s about to say something, as much as he would want nothing more than to spend time with Carlos and help him recover, he still doesn’t want to leave his team shorthanded. But it seems Owen can read his son’s mind, because he’s speaking before TK has the chance to.

“And we’ll be fine in your absence,” Owen reassures him. “Besides, if you do show up to the firehouse, the crew will be the first to tell you to go home to Carlos.”

TK chuckles, knowing that’s true. He’s beyond grateful for his team. His team who became his family.

“How’s your chest? Everything okay?” Owen asks, his voice laced with concern after TK pushes out a small cough.

TK nods. “Yeah, they gave me some oxygen last night after you left, but no trouble since.”

“That’s good to hear, but I still want you to go get your chest checked out again now to be certain there aren’t any problems or late onset complications.”

TK hesitates, his eyes landing on Carlos before moving back to his father.

“It’s okay, I’ll stay with him until you come back. Shift doesn’t start for a while anyway.”

After a moment of consideration, TK nods and gets to his feet. He brushes a kiss to Carlos’s forehead and watches him for a few seconds before leaving the room.

Owen falls into the chair that was occupied by TK. He reaches out and gently pats the officer’s shoulder.

“Hey, Carlos, it’s Owen,” the Captain breaks the silence. “TK is gonna be right back. Everything’s okay, and we’re all here for you. For both of you. You just work on getting better and don’t worry about anything else.”

Owen is leaning back in the chair, going through his phone when TK returns. He looks up as TK steps into the room.

“Hey, how did everything check out?”

“Everything’s fine, nothing out of the ordinary,” TK reports.

“That’s good,” Owen smiles. “No change here,” his smile turns sad.

TK nods, moving forward as his father gets out of the chair, vacating it for him.

“I gotta get to the firehouse, but if you need anything or anything changes, call.”

“I will, dad,” TK promises. “Thanks.”

After sharing a hug, Owen pats TK’s shoulder and with a final look at Carlos, he exists the room.

*****

Andrea stops by the hospital a little after noon. TK hasn’t really moved since Owen had left, he’d get up every now and then to stretch his legs around the room, but always finds himself returning to Carlos’s side after a few minutes had passed by.

He looks up and a smile spreads on his face when Andrea pushes the door open and walks in, holding a brown bag in one hand.

“Hola, Tyler,” she steps closer to TK, glancing at her still-asleep son.

“Hi,” he steps into her arms when she opens them, wrapping an arm around her but keeping his hold on Carlos’s hand with his other.

“How are you doing?” Andrea asks as they pull apart.

TK shrugs. “I’m okay.”

“You haven’t eaten,” she states, not a question. And from the way TK ducks his head, she knows she’s right.

She’s seen this play out endless times before with Carlos, especially during his Academy days. When he’d be so focused on studying, he’d forget to eat.

Andrea chuckles. “Don’t worry, I figured as much.”

She gestures to the brown bag, and the delicious smell of tacos surround TK and his stomach rumbles. A flush colors his cheek as he realizes just how hungry he is.

“Thank you,” TK says. “But you really didn’t have to—”

“Hush now,” Andrea interrupts TK. “You’ll need your strength to take care of Carlitos. I know he’ll want to go back to his own home, no matter how much his father and I would try to convince him to stay with us for a few days, and I know you’ll be with him at home. So let me help you keep your energy, that way I’m helping you both.”

Overwhelmed with emotion at Andrea’s words, he nods, accepting the food and her blessing. He always sensed it was a Reyes thing, giving all you got to the people you care about, and after hearing Andrea’s intentions and receiving her support, TK knows it’s most definitely a Reyes thing.

He excuses himself and slips into the bathroom, both to freshen up before eating and to give Andrea a few minutes alone with her son.

She’s smiling down at Carlos and running her fingers through his curls when TK emerges from the bathroom. They share a quick look before TK makes his way towards the small table placed near the wall where the food is waiting for him.

The room is silent take for the steady beeping of the heart monitor as TK eats, indulging in the bold flavors of the tacos, feeling satisfied as he takes one bite after the other. He cleans up once he’s done, throwing away the now-empty container and foil wrap. He washes his hands and then grabs the chair he was sitting on while eating, placing it on the other side of Carlos’s bed.

He reaches out, taking a hold of Carlos’s hand and running his thumb over the officer’s knuckles.

“His father and sisters should be here tomorrow.” TK looks up, momentarily putting the pieces together.

“They’re out of town for an event,” Andrea explains. “They know what happened, they’ll be back in Austin by tonight but their plane is landing after visiting hours.”

TK nods.

Carlos often spoke about his sisters, TK’s never met them in person (he did get introduced to them during one of the family video chats with Carlos) and he and Carlos had been planning a big dinner with Carlos’s parents and sisters where TK would get to meet said sisters, but then all this happened and well, life had other plans.

TK finds himself getting nervous at learning that he’s going to be meeting Carlos’s sisters in less than a day. Carlos had always reassured him that his sisters like him already and that there isn’t any reason to be anxious, but still, TK can’t help it.

Andrea’s saying something else then, bringing TK back from his thoughts.

“I’m sure Carlos will be awake before they get here.”

“Yeah,” TK agrees.

She studies him for a moment. “What’s on your mind, Tyler?”

“Hm?”

“You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Andrea gives TK an empathetic smile.

TK sighs, running his free hand through his messy hair.

“It was just,” he pauses, gathering his voice. “It was a really rough call. On any day, it was bad but this one…”

“Carlos was in that burning apartment,” she continues for him, understanding.

“Yeah,” TK whispers. “And I was terrified. I didn’t want to believe it at first, when they said he was in there…but then I saw his cruiser and he was no where to be found outside. I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared in my life.”

“I can’t begin to imagine being there,” Andrea says. “My heart breaks just hearing about it. But you have to remember, Tyler, you got him out of there, alive.”

“I can’t lose him,” TK’s voice breaks, his eyes filling with tears as he looks up at Andrea.

“You won’t,” she shakes her head. “He’s going to come back to us. Come back to you. You saved him, amor.”

From the way Andrea is looking at him, TK immediately reads into her words. The meaning of her words are oceans-deep, which he catches on through the soft look on her face. She doesn’t mean TK saved Carlos just from the fire. She means that he saved him.

“He saved me, too. In so many ways. I can’t even begin to explain,” a small smile spreads on TK’s face. “I had my walls up when we first got here, I didn’t want to be here. I felt numb all the time, got through the days and they all blended together. But then Carlos walked into my life, with his charm, kind heart and those beautiful, expressive brown eyes,” he lets out a wet chuckle. “I could get lost in them for days.”

Andrea chuckles the same, her own eyes now glistening with unshed tears.

“And slowly, those walls started coming down, and it scared me. It scared me to bits. Opening up in the past almost destroyed me, and I was so adamant about not opening up again anytime soon. I tried running away but I couldn’t stay away from him. There was this invisible string, pulling us back together. There were so many reasons for him to walk away if he wanted to, and I wouldn’t have blamed him. But he didn’t. He stayed, through it all. And I remember the moment I realized I wanted him to stay, and then it didn’t scare me anymore. Opening up didn’t scare me anymore. I knew we were meant to be together. It felt safe. He felt safe. I can’t put it into any other words except that he saved me, in every way a person can be saved,” TK pours his heart out, a tear slips and rolls down his cheek as he looks at Carlos, a gentle smile adorning his face, eyes radiating love and warmth it takes Andrea’s breath away.

“I didn’t know what it was at first,” she speaks after a few moments of silence.

TK turns his gaze to her.

“I noticed a difference in my son,” she continues. “He seemed…happier, lighter. We would see him on Sundays at his Tia Lucy’s place every week, sometimes he wouldn’t stay for long, other days he would stay, but he’d be quiet. But then one Sunday, I looked at his face and saw light. His eyes were brighter, smile wider. It felt like I got my son back. I didn’t know what had happened, and I didn’t ask, but it uplifted my heart. Knowing what I know now, I can tell that that change happened when you decided you wanted him to stay. When you let him in. You breathed fresh air into my Carlitos.”

Andrea gets up and walks around the bed. She carefully sits on the edge of the mattress so she’s facing TK.

She reaches out, taking the young man’s hands into her own and squeezes and her voice is filled with tenderness and joy. “Thank you for bringing my son back to me, Tyler.”

TK’s smile widens, more tears flowing down his cheeks. He looks at Carlos when he says his next words: “We saved each other.”

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