#<- I can come take fresh blood if you prefer lad

[timblrdrake]

i cannot be contained.

jason really hates that i’m double jointed. like, he makes actual gagging noises when i bend my fingers back to crack my knuckles and its SO MEAN.

dude i was born this way, if you can accept me being bi you can accept me being a little bendier than normal.

[straight-to-the-pain]

A Free Funeral and No Grave

Here it is, lads, ladles and ladies, the third and last part of the Sam recruitment arc. This is how they got their job and properly met John. Don't ask me if Horlicks is good or not, it's a malted milk beverage, try it for yourselves. Contains: discussion of death and funerals, implied transphobia and bad parenting, aftermath of torture, arguably some coercion from a government agent, brief non sexual nudity. No torture happens on screen but Sam has just been tortured on John's orders.

“John?” Sam’s eyes flash with relief, quickly followed by surprise and anger. They look like they’re about to say more, but a fit of coughing interrupts them. The agents stand back, looking to John for further instructions.

John takes his jacket off, draping it around Sam’s heaving shoulders. “It’s over, Sam,” he tells them, his soft voice in stark contrast to the harsh commands of the agents. “It was just a test, and you passed, with flying colours.”

“Who are you?” Sam asks, voice hoarse, eyeing John like a stranger. They clutch the jacket around themself with as much dignity as they can manage, which isn’t much with the way it drowns them like a greatcoat. “How do I know this isn’t all some sort of trick?”

“You’ll have to take my word for it,” John says, “but why would I need to torture you for information on my best friend? Even if we ignore the fact that torture doesn’t work, I am fairly certain I know more than you. As to who I am, we will get to that in a minute, though perhaps you would prefer to be clothed first?”

Sam considers this for a very brief moment before the desire to get their clothes back finally wins against all their doubts. “Yes, although it would have been nicer if you hadn’t taken them from me in the first place,” they mutter, then start coughing again.

“Bring them their belongings,” John tells the agents. “After that, consider yourselves dismissed.” They leave the room with quiet nods and ‘yes, Sir’s, leaving Sam alone with their boss.

“Would you like something to drink?” John asks Sam, who just stares at him in response. “Tea, coffee, hot chocolate, juice?” he adds in clarification.

“Do you have horlicks?” They’re smiling in a cheeky sort of way, like they were trying to catch him out, but he nods confidently, and promises to return shortly, leaving them to get dressed in peace.

The agents return without a word, handing Sam their clothes in silence, and not quite meeting their eyes. It’s hard to tell if they’re ashamed of what they’ve done, or if they simply don’t want to face the person they did it to. Sam glances around the room momentarily, trying to judge the likelihood of someone watching them, but they conclude that John isn’t the type of person to stare at someone getting changed, nor would they be able to do much to stop him.

They pull their clothes on as quickly as they can while still trying to look presentable. Their efforts to smooth their hair down do little to tame the tangled mess of damp curls. They’re almost done with their shirt buttons when they realise that they’ve got flecks of blood all over the fabric. It’s crusted over their nose and their lips, and when they look in the mirror, they can see the shadows of fresh bruises purpling their cheeks. John hasn’t given them anything to clean up with, so they decide to use the sleeve of his jacket. They rub and rub, but the blood doesn’t want to come off.

There’s a knock on the door, and John’s voice calling out to ask if Sam is ready for him to come in. They want to tell him to wait, to have just a bit more time to compose themself, but the desire to leave the torture chamber of a room wins out.

“Yeah, I’m done,” they reply with a note of resignation, and John holds the door open for them, beckoning them to follow. Sam wants to ask if they can wash their face, but what use is it when John has already seen them laid bare? There’s nothing left for them to hide from him, so they don’t bother asking, and he doesn’t offer. They return his jacket to him, and he puts it back on, ignoring the patches of blood on the sleeves.

They come to a room down the hall, and John opens the door with a key card, gesturing for Sam to take a seat across from him at a small metal table. There’s a metal bar, presumably for someone to be handcuffed to, and the chair is far from comfortable, but Sam isn’t restrained, and there’s a steaming drink standing in front of them. They hang their raincoat on the back of the chair, quickly checking that the contents of their pockets haven’t been tampered with. They can’t remember what was in them to begin with, but everything seems in order, safety pins, coins, travel card, and the switchblade snug in their inside pocket.

“Drink,” John tells them, and it sounds like an order, even in his soft voice. “Let me explain.”

Sam wants to resist out of spite, but they find themself taking a sip anyway, only for it to burn their tongue. They set their mug down with a wince, tasting blood from their lips. They’re not even sure they like horlicks; they hadn’t expected John to have it.

“I work for a clandestine government agency,” John says, sliding a file over to Sam. “Here’s everything you’ll need to know, but to put it simply, we deal with the biggest threats facing this country, and we do so when we need to, and how we need to, with as little outside interference as possible. I’m talking about all sorts here: terrorism, organised crime, foreign espionage. Things everyone knows about, as well as things nobody outside these walls will ever hear about.”

“Okay, okay, hang on a minute here,” Sam puts a hand out, stopping John in his tracks. “Are you telling me that you’re like, some sort of spy? And you want me to… to what, do something for you?” The thought makes them laugh until they start coughing again.

“You could put it that way,” John replies, taking a sip of tea. “And yes, we’d like you to work for us. This is a job offer.”

For the first time that day, Sam is simply taken aback. Not angry, or scared; just confused. They stare at John for a few moments, cradling their mug of horlicks and blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “Why the hell would you want me to work for you?” they finally ask.

John laughs, patting Sam’s arm from across the table in a manner that is clearly meant to be reassuring and friendly, but they flinch away from him. “You did very well on the selection exam, and you’re clearly capable of keeping your head under pressure. Plus, your chemistry knowledge could be helpful to us. And I promised Alice that I would keep an eye on you. Keep you out of trouble.”

“I thought this was a job interview, not a family intervention. I don’t need any favours from you to get a job. And I didn’t take a selection exam…” They trail off, thinking back to the questions they answered that hardly seemed relevant to their application then.

“This isn’t a favour, alright,” John sighs. “It’s simply a mutually beneficial agreement. I know you like to fight. Don’t give me that look, I know you do. I can teach you how to win.”

Sam laughs again, swallowing down the lump in their throat. “That’s definitely not in my CV.” They shake their head. “Who says I want to win?”

“What do you want to do with your life?” John gives Sam a serious look, trying to meet their eyes, but they stare down into their mug instead. “Work in a school, keep getting into petty fights over nothing until one of these days, someone who’s just a little meaner, a little quicker with their knife, puts an end to it all? Wouldn’t you rather fight for something? Have a proper cause?”

“I don’t do politics and causes. I fight for myself.” They’re trying to argue, but there’s less and less conviction in their voice. After all, isn’t John right in some ways, despite sounding like an insufferable careers counsellor? What prospects do they really have beyond perhaps one day going back to uni to become a teacher, if they don’t manage to die along the way? They don’t even like children that much.

“Well, fight for yourself then,” John tells them, “but fight to win.” “I applied for the chemistry posting,” Sam says defensively. “I didn’t want any of this, ‘getting snatched off the street with a bag over my head’ nonsense, alright? I just wanted to analyse chemicals and get paid to write useless memos to government officials who are going to disregard them entirely because they’ve already made up their minds.”

“What makes you think you’d get that job?” John raises his eyebrows, challenging them. “Is that really what you want? Looking at samples of river water or testing drugs, or maybe, if you’re really lucky, telling farmers how best to grow their strawberries? And half those jobs will ask you for a Master’s anyway, and I can tell from the look on your face right now, that you don’t want to go back to university.”

Sam opens their mouth to speak, to protest, but finds that they can say nothing to defend themself. They had hardly given their career much choice when they went to university, picking the subject they were best at in an attempt to leave home by any means possible. And they had enjoyed their degree, in the theoretical sort of way that people could only enjoy a subject when they weren’t being forced to use it for a living.

“I just.. I don’t know why you’d want me,” they mumble. “I’m not exactly the sort of person who does martial arts for fun or knows how to break into buildings or… anything, really. And I’m definitely not the smartest person you could get, so I just… I don’t want a job offer out of pity, John. Or because you fancy my sister, or something.”

“Oh I am well aware that I am not her type, thank you,” John retorts with a small smile and a sip of tea. “Neither is she mine, don’t worry. This isn’t about her Sam. It’s about you. Don’t worry about skills. Those things can be taught, and I believe you have the necessary aptitudes. Do you think I knew much about doing this job when I graduated? By the way, do you remember what I studied?”

“Linguistics and Psychology,” Sam tells him quietly and John makes a hum of approval. “I guess I know how to make poisons,” they shrug, half joking. “I could probably make something explode if I tried,” they add, “although bombs aren’t exactly my area of expertise.”

“You see, it’s always good to be confident in your own skills!” John says, beaming, and writes something in a notebook open in front of him. “Mine include picking the right people for the job. I haven’t been wrong yet.”

Sam just chuckles softly into their horlicks. “Do you ever stop to consider that the people you’re picking might not want what you’re offering? I don’t like keeping secrets, and I don’t like telling lies, and I sure as hell don’t think I’d like prying them out of people with a knife.”

“I can assure you I don’t either. I don’t enjoy watching people suffer, you included. I can assure you that this little experiment was not for my sake, nor is it one I have any desire to repeat, but you have to understand, my employers required further persuasion of your capabilities. I much prefer to talk, however, like we are now.”

Sam looks around, surveying their surroundings. Bare walls, presumably a hidden camera and a microphone somewhere. If it wasn’t for the solid certainty of the room and the very real pain still radiating from every part of their body, they would have written it all off as an elaborate practical joke.

“I get it, alright, I can’t just go to the police and tell them that I was, what, kidnapped and tortured by some masked government agents? I’d probably get thrown in the psych ward, if you didn't manage to get to me first. But I swear to god, all I want to do right now is to go home, have a proper cup of tea,” they gesture towards their horlicks with disdain, “and never think of this again.”

“You know for someone who claims not to tell lies, you’re very good at making yourself believe them,” John tells them pointedly. “Hear me out, alright. You don’t have to make the decision right now. Read the file, go home, think it over in the comfort of your own bedroom. I trust you won’t discuss the matter outside these walls. If you never want to hear from me again, so be it, but I hope that you make a decision you don’t regret.”

Sam lifts the cover of the file, skimming the words with their eyes. Get out while you still can, a voice screams in their head, but something forces them to keep reading. “What’s in it for me?”

“Well, a good, stable income for one, expenses and housing taken care of. Free training and extra education, should you want to take advantage of it. Of course, free healthcare is a given in this country but we can offer certain extra benefits, free dental care for example. And of course, a comprehensive pension plan. Really, it’s a better offer than most people your age could hope for.”

“Right, a pension plan, which I’m sure will come in handy when I’m dying slowly in a foreign prison cell,” Sam retorts, trying to shake off the clawing temptation grasping at them.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll make sure to send you somewhere they’ll kill you quickly,” John says, and there’s something so smug in his smile that Sam wonders what would happen if they just slapped him here and then.

“Fuck you,” is what they settle for instead, but they can’t muster up any real malice behind it. “I’ll take a free funeral if you promise not to let my mother speak.”

“Naturally, you can plan it yourself if it would put you at ease.” John scribbles something else in his notebook. “I understand that you don’t have the best relationship,” he says carefully.

“That’s one way to put it.” Sam laughs sharp and short. “I don’t want a grave alright. I don’t need her to have somewhere to leave flowers and cry over a version of me that died a long time ago. Burn me and scatter my ashes in the ocean. I think I’d like to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.” The horlicks is cool enough to drink now, and they find that it doesn't taste all that bad.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” John says softly, pushing his glasses up his nose with a finger, but he takes a note of what Sam tells him regardless. “Is there anything else you’d like?” he asks earnestly.

“Yeah, actually, you know what I would really appreciate,” they begin, leaning in close until they’re almost touching John’s forehead, “is some proper gender affirming healthcare. I mean, if you can’t give that to me, then who will, right?” They wait for him to laugh, to tell them to stop messing around, so they can finally shove the file back towards him and reject the offer outright, but he doesn’t.

John nods instead. “I’m sure that could be arranged,” he says, completely serious.

“Well fuck it, give me a pen before I can think better of it,” Sam declares, turning over the page to the blank space awaiting their signature. They don’t bother reading the terms and conditions, downing their mug and simply scrawling ‘free funeral, no grave, gender health care’ in a blank space. Finally, they look John straight in the eye and scribble their surname on the paper.

“Oh fuck me,” they sigh, and bury their head in their hands.

[glowinggator]

Domestic Headcanons

Summary: Domestic headcanons with your local rat man <3 

Relationship: Dastardly Danny/Reader (Established Relationship) 

Content Warnings: None! 

Word Count: 1422

Leonard’s Here // Mickey’s Here 

Like Leonard, it isn’t easy for him to exit his life of crime. He’d love to, honestly. Oh, he’s dreamed of running away with you and starting a life together thousands - if not millions - of times. But once you’re in, there’s no way out. Like Leonard, he could defect, but he knows Big Mama would catch on long before he could ever get the ball rolling. Hell, even if all three of you banded together to execute the plan, it wouldn’t work. Not only that, but a huge part of why he runs with the Mud Dogs is because of the thrill. He’ll get out of jail and immediately start planning another heist, regardless of the danger. Adrenaline courses through his blood at all hours of the day, and each waking moment is spent waiting for the next thrill. He just hides it better than Mickey does. But oh, how soft he goes when he thinks of waking up by your side and not having to worry about how he’s gonna pay rent, or when you’ll need to run again. How his heart flutters when he thinks of spending a night by your side, slow dancing in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning, without the screech of police sirens tearing through the atmosphere.

If you have a home top-side though… oh, it’s a dream come true. He knows he can’t stay there 24/7 - Big Mama would come looking for him soon enough - but it certainly is tempting. He prefers to spend most of his time at your guys’ place topside, even when it’s safe to be in the Hidden City. I was serious when I said part of him really longs for a domestic life.

The only one of the Mud Dogs who actually knows how to decorate. And oh, he’s so so good at it. He likes a lot of antique stuff, and he’ll regularly look for stuff to update your home with. He’s also the type to switch out covers, pillows, and plates throughout the seasons.

Very, very meticulous when it comes to cleaning. He’ll do a top-down clean of the house once every month or two, but he has a good routine when it comes to cleaning. He gets a little stressed if things aren’t organized. It’s funny though, because he DOES hoard cups. It always makes him chuckle when you bring it up.

Saves a lot of stuff: he always thinks it’ll come in handy later. Which means you guys have multiple junk drawers <3

He picks up so much stuff with his tail and then forgets where it is. It’s really funny to watch him spin around a room with his tail wrapped around a can of beans while he asks you if you remember where he put it.

He likes to watch It’s a Wonderful Life with you every Christmas. He’s not even Christian, it’s just tradition at this point.  

He likes to have music playing throughout the home often. Especially when cooking.

He sucks at driving. Please don’t let him drive.

It’s so fun to shop with him, genuinely. Like, he gets it all done in record time, but he’s also gonna fuck around once you guys get everything you need.

You guys have two shelves of things you guys have collected during your time together. Whether it’s a mug from a road trip or an amulet from a heist, if it has sentimental value it’s going on the shelf.

Huge fan of hanging photos and making photo albums. He’s not a scrapbooker, but he likes to save photos. Something about them just makes his heart soft, you know?

Prefers the northeastern “regular” coffee. It doesn’t matter how expensive the beans are, coffee is meant to have cream and sugar in it. He’s very sparing with the cream, though. He takes his at about paper bag color, and he won’t go any lighter than that. He’ll absolutely poke fun at you if you do, though. But he’ll make it for you anyways with a smile on his face. Speaking of which, he’s also always the first to make coffee in the morning. He prefers to make coffee in the morning, because he prefers the freshness of the grounds. Also yes, he grinds his own beans. Yes, it sucks when either of you have a hangover. But the coffee’s good, so you don’t complain.

He cooks most nights! He’s an excellent cook, honestly. He follows recipes very closely, except for spices which he guesses with. Also a great baker, but he always forgets that metal pans are hot when you take them out of the oven. Look, he’s used to magic ovens, okay?

He wants to learn how to garden, and he’s somewhat okay at it. So long as it's low maintenance, he can do it. Not a big fan of growing flowers himself, though. He thinks they’re pretty and all, but he likes to grow herbs instead. Something that’s useful and has a quick yield, you know? He has an aerogarden on the kitchen counter where he grows a bunch of herbs that he switches out regularly. The tarragon, basil, and parsley has been his favorite thus far. Leonard keeps pushing him to grow things like mint, lemon balm, and shungiku, but at this point he’s just saying “no” out of spite.

(He’s ecstatic if you grow veggies or fruits, though. Heirloom fruits and veggies are so fucking good, it’s unreal. Who can resist them? Nobody. Nobody.)

Plus it reminds him of the few good childhood memories he’s had. He gets a very soft look on his face when he talks about his Lolo and Lola, and how his Lola always had the biggest garden. He doesn’t talk about his childhood a lot, but he remembers his grandparents very fondly.

He hums around the house often. He always has a song stuck in his head, and it’s sweet.

He’s almost always on his feet, pacing around the house or running back into another room because he forgot something. He’s a little forgetful, but he just gets very in his head and he misplaces stuff. But if he passes by you, or walks through a room that you’re in, he’ll pretty much always walk past you and kiss your temple. Or fuck with your hair.

He melts if you ever fix his tie in the morning, or before a heist. It could be just how he likes it, and he’d still let you adjust it.

His fur is always super messed up in the morning: he always looks like a bat outta hell. He tries to shower in the morning to counteract that, but oftentimes, he just doesn’t have the time. And it takes hours to dry his fur off after showering, so either way, you’re both gonna be spending a lot of time messing with his fur: you just get to choose whether you do it in the morning or at night. You always help him comb down his fur in the morning: he’d be in there for hours, otherwise. It’s a nice little routine, though.

(One time the lads came in before y’all got to start detangling the absolute mop that he is, and he was mortified </3)

When you guys are laying low and there’s no hijinks to be had, he’ll still walk around the house in slacks and a button-up. Definitely a step down from his usual attire, but he feels strange if he doesn’t get dressed for the day. If you convince him to have a lazy day with you though, he’ll wear a tank top and sweats. WOOF

Funnily enough, he’d really like a cat someday! Ironic, yes, but he thinks they’re cute. He’d also be down for a dog: He likes the bigger and fluffier ones. A leonberger would probably be his first choice.

He always reads at night. He’s always down to read outloud to you if you’re interested, but he’s also content with just reading on his own. He’s an avid reader, and he always has been. It’s nice to just lean on him and count his breaths while he reads. Very slow and steady, and at some point, he’ll usually start tracing little shapes on your spine with his claws. You’re not even sure if he realizes he’s doing it, but it’s very relaxing. 

“Two more chapters, and then I’ll go to bed.” “Don’t people usually say ‘one more chapter?’” “Yeah, but that’d be a lie and we both know it.” “Fair.”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Karen.”

Sorry guys. I have to post this really quick, sorry for spelling errors. Don’t worry about the Drev translations, they arent important

The civilian transport was very lucky.

In fact it was very lucky for a couple of reasons, the first being that it was only their secondary engine which had malfunctioned, not the warp core, second because at least their life support still worked, and three that they were close enough to an outpost , that their S.O.S was received in under a day by a very bored Tesraki, and an overly-talkative Rundi.

Their last stroke of luck might have been that there just so happened to be a UNSC ship passing by, on their way to the same original destination.

In fact, the civilian transport, piloted by some kind of space cruise company, offering interstellar tours, was attached to the harbinger in under an hour opening the doors and flooding the civilians with fresh cool air.

Krill was waiting with doctor Katie on the loading ramp just in case the civilians were in need of some sort of medical attention. He didn’t exactly have much experience with civilians. The harbinger was crewed, in large part, by military personnel and the occasional government contractor, so most of them were relatively professional, and most, if not all of them , were required to go through extensive training and physical testing before leaving their planet.

As the civilian humans disembarked, Krill got a sudden taste of human tourism.

Some very, very large humans, wearing widely unmatching clothing and strangely patterned shirts toddling through the doors with so much excess weight, he wondered how the human skeleton was capable of supporting such an egregious amount without simply imploding and turning to dust. The health implications were absolutely horrendous, and made him cringe to think about.

And if they weren’t big and colorfully dressed, they were rail thin, with plastic faces and puffy lips, the mark of cosmetic surgery done poorly. And with them they brought a hoard of screaming children, and moody teenagers their heads down glowering at their implanted communication devices, though Krill could hardly blame them from their moodiness.

A few more normal humans were there of course, averaging between the two extremes, and dressed conservatively for travel looking absolutely done with the entire thing and relieved when they stepped onto the cargo deck.

“Well it is about time!”

Krill and Dr. Katie turned their heads just in time to see the last human disembark shoving past the other guests and onto the floor, dragging with her two teenagers, one young child and her apologetic looking husband “It sure did take you long enough. And I swear once I have time I am going to be complaining to customer service. I will be complaining to the travel agency, and to the transport agency and.” She turned to glower at Dr. Katie and Dr. Krill,” And I will be complaining to you, whoever you people are for taking so long to show up.”

Krill glanced up at the woman who was only growing closer and closer, ominously looming over them. From this distance Krill got a better look of her badly maintained A line haircut, and her patchy blonde dye job with layers. She had a look on her face that were to suggest she perpetually had something sour in her mouth

Dr. Katie sighed, “Sorry ma’am. I can’t help you, I am a civilian medical contractor, not a member of the UNSC. I am just here to deal with any medical issues that you may have experienced during the malfunction.”

“Of course you’re UNSC, you work on the ship don’t you?”

Katie tried to remain patient, “Yes, I work on the ship, but like I said before I am a civilian contractor and have no ability to help you with your complaints. Is there any medical issue that I can help you with.”

“I demand a refund at once.”

Dr. katie Sighed, “I am a Dr. and I do not work for your touring company either. I am a private civilian medical contractor.” 

“And that was not a medical issue.” Krill added already annoyed.

By this time, the woman hadn’t even semed to notice him, but as soon as he spoke, she turned her eyes down towards him and screamed. She made a big show of falling backwards hand over her heart as if she had been shocked, “What is that!” Dr. Katie frowned, “This is Dr. krill, our OTHER civilian medical contractor.”

“Get it out of here, Immediately! I demand it be removed.” She backed away towards her family, “How dare you do something like this, my daughter has arachnophobia. I demand he be removed immediately”

Dr. Katie was frowning openly now, “I am not going to remove him from the deck. He is our chief medical officer, and not an arachnid. That is very rude, you may not know but it is considered a very offensive slur to call Vrul by those terms.”

“I don’t care, can’t you see what it is doing to my daughter!”

Dr. Katie and Dr. Krill turned to look at the teenage daughter, who, at that very moment looked like she wished to melt through the floor. It seemed that having all blood boiled out her ears in the vacuum of space would be way more preferable to this. Her husband was hiding his face, though no one said anything.

Behind her, the other tourists were looking wildly uncomfortable.

One of the large, colorful gentlemen stepped forward, “Why don’t we all just calm down, they are only trying to do their jobs.”

“Yeah, didn’t you hear them. They are civilian contractors.”

“You mind your own business.” She snapped turning back to the two of them. Behind her, her youngest son had gotten bored of the conversation and had wandered off. As they watched he busied himself with terrorizing the cargo crew darting in front of cargo carriers and screaming at the top of his lungs once he realized he could make his voice echo back to him.

“Ma’am, could you please get your son.” Dr Katie began, but was cut off.

“He can do what he wants. Don’t your bring my baby into this.”

“Mom-” The teenager began.

“Quiet Terrance.”

The boy shut his mouth joining his sister in wanting to melt through the floor.

She jabbed a finger at Krill, “Get that bug out of here NOW before I am forced to call someone.”

Krill watched in detached awe as Dr. katie grew very still. Her lips were drawn into a thing line, and the eyes behind her glasses narrowed sharply brows plunging, “I will not.” He was worried for a moment that Katie was going to flat out deck this woman, but she kept her cool, though her hands were balled into fists.

“I demand to speak with the manager!” The woman began screaming stomping her foot like a toddler.”

“Fine.” Doctor katie growled through clenched teeth, turning to look down at her implant before sending a text. 

The woman looked very smug sitting back with her arms crossed as Dr. katie and Krill were finally allowed to begin their work, going around to the other civilians and asking if they were feeling alright. The big colorful man, with the surprisingly pleasant voice  whispered an apology to them, “She's been a nightmare the whole trip. My wife and I were just coming out to gamble in some of those Tesraki casinos, you know try the exotic food, but she insisted that her son can’t eat any of that and that it shouldn’t be served on the ship or else he'd have some horrible allergic reaction. Honestly it's probably a load of bullshit.” 

His wife placed a hand on his arm, “Herold.” She scolded quietly 

“Sorry, dear. Anyway, you two are doing a great job.” Before looking down at Krill, “Watch out, there are some real xenophobes around these parts, and she might just be one of them.” 

In the background her kid was still making a mess bringing everything in the hold to a complete standstill.

Krill was appalled and almost impressed at how horrible this all was

There was a clattering towards the end of the room, and the group of them turned to see commander Vir, Sunny and a group of other drev walk into the space..

“Zha dah nee to chatahach nehkasi.”

“Zha janaik.”

“Tsa dee.”

“Geesee zha dee.”

“Nin tsa kasish, Chalan.”

“Zha nehrekazi. Zha lad nee gengi kasat.”

The group of them stopped in their tracks cutting their conversation mid go as the kid ran past them screaming, nearly knocking a pallet of crates off balance as he went.

Commander Vir frowned, “Hey! Knock it off!” The kid paused in his tracks a defiant expression in his eyes, and looked about ready to do something stupid. However a group of three Hulking Drev, and one eyeless human was enough  to send him scurrying to his mother, who was not happy.

She marched forward, “how dare you speak to my son like that. Who exactly do you think you are.”

“And who are you?” The commander asked.

“A paying customer.”

The commander looked confused, “Paying for what?” 

“Don’t play coy with me. You now what.”

“I can honestly tell you that I don’t know.” He turned his head back to the Drev “Nijeesh”, and motioned them off knowing this was going to take a while

She screeched, “Stop speaking to them in that language, this is a human ship! Speak human!” Krill an the other Drev looked on in confusion, considering that there were a couple of human languages to choose form, making her argument extra stupid.

“I paid for this tour, and now I demand to speak with your manager.”

The commander folded his arms, “We aren’t part of the tour company, we are part of the UNSC.”

“I don’t care.”

“Ma’am I cannot help you with the tour company. THe UNSC has nothing to do with civilian tours.”

She held up a hand in front of his face, “No, I won’t be talking to you anymore, not until is see a manager.” She snapped her fingers.

A small spark of fire lit in the man’s eyes, “I AM the manager.”

She laughed, barking like a condescending seal, “Don’t lie to me boy, you are too young. Now let me talk to an adult. The REAL manager.”

Commander Vir stared at her mouth open completely nonplussed, “I’m 25.”

“Exactly, clearly not old enough.”

He just held out his hands lost for words for a long moment before, a subtle change appeared in his expression. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “My apologies, ma’am, we don’t technically have a manager aboard the ship, but this just so happens to be the UNSC Harbinger, so maybe I can get Commander Vir to speak with you.” 

Her eyes lit up hungrily at that. And Krill stared on in wonder and fascination.

“yes , I will speak with the commander.”

Her two teenagers looked up from their shame, and Krill could tell by the wide eyed expressions on their faces, they knew exactly who their mother was talking to. Both of their faces went beat red.

Commander Vir turned walked a few steps turned around and walked back standing up straighter, ‘Hello ma’am I am Fleet Commander Vir of the UNSC Harbinger, how may I be of assistance.”

The woman looked livid, “This isn’t funny! Now get me the real commander now!”

“mom/” One of her kids hissed.

She held out a finger.

“Mom!”

She turned to glare angrily at her child, “Not while the adults are speaking terrance.”

“But mom! He IS the commander!”

She turned to glower at her son, who was brandishing his implant with a picture of Adam in uniform, one of the images used for the movie.

It was time for her husband to speak up, “Dear…. He’s the one from that movie…” he trailed off.

She whirled around to face him face red with embarrassment as he stood there with a shit eating grin, but then, in her embarrassment, doubled down even harder, “Well no wonder this place is so poorly run. You’re too young to have the position you do. Is there someone ELSE more experienced I  can speak with.”

Commander Vir just stared at her, “Ma’am I am the highest power you are ever going to talk to. Even if I was god's secretary, you wouldn't get past the door. Now shut up get your crotch goblin, under contorl and keep your xenophobic agest ass quiet. I am not going to bother being polite to someone who has openly thrown speciesest slurs at my crew.” He motioned to the other passengers, “The rest of you are welcome onto the crew deck for the time being.” The rest of her family members visibly wilted, “Your two kids and your husband are allowed as well, but until you can learn a little respect, and treat my crew the way they deserve, you and your youngest can stay on the civilian transport alone.” 

From where she stood next to Krill, Dr. Katie giggled, “I love it when he gets all righteous indignation.” Krill had to agree with her.

Watching him turn and leave the woman speechless with fury behind him was extremely satisfying. 

[manicdragondreamgirl]

I haven’t had chemistry since like 2008, and I’m also an idiot who likes to make my friends upset, so I rated the periodic table in order to tilt my friends:

Hydrogen - this is like your childhood friend who has always been with you more or less and always will be down to get a drink and chill even tho you haven’t spoken in years. Solid bro imo 7.5/10

Helium - always down for a good time, even if probably created Alvin and the Chipmunks which in some places is considered a war crime. 4/10

Lithium - Gives me bitchy vibes and is flammable as fuck if I remember. Skinny bitch with an attitude 3/10

Beryllium - idk this sounds like a sailor moon villain lol for that it can have a 6/10

Boron - more like BORONG amirite ha ha wait no seriously I have no idea lol 5/10 clean neutral rating

Carbon - *screaming* 2/10 I will not be taking questions

Nitrogen - cool cool cool tight tight tight 9/10 Nitrogen just is the cool hot chick you wish you were

Oxygen - kid who takes up all the glory for the group project even tho you did all the work, 4/10 for natural charisma

Fluorine - lol what are you knockoff chlorine lmfao bitch 3/10 reminds me of the dentist

Neon - I can vibe with this boy for his contributions to signs which cause my eyes to scream 8/10 modernized Art Deco thanks you

Sodium - 10/10 this is me and I won’t be taking questions next element

Magnesium - magnesium is a close relative of magnificent and therefore I think the case is closed folks 9/10

Aluminum - 10/10 for providing a home to my Diet Coke addiction I’d be dead without you

Silicon - 6.9/10 :smirk:

Phosphorous - This has a very soundly name and it’s welcome to do that but idk, not a fan, seems like he’d be smelly, 2/10

Sulfur - 1/10 pretty sure that dog farts are purely comprised of this and as such if I was leaving negative ratings I would

Chlorine - 7.8/10 for being in pools so we could swim without brain eating amoeba in the south you a champ

Argon - he seems like a nerd jk this guy has a good color 9/10 for just being himself

Potassium - I hate bananas and this word gives me the physical sensation of biting into one but only by thinking of abstract letters and making them into something which we can nutrientise from bananas and to me that shit is bananas, b a n a n a s — 3/10 for making me sing hollaback girl thru adhd word association

Calcium - hm my brain went to mega milk so you get a 2/10 today bud I don’t make the rules

Scandium - pretty sure this is fake lol what’s next faxdium, e-Mailite and copinium? 5/10

Titanium - this song’s a banger and also is the only thing that lets me wear earrings 10/10

Vanadium - if your erection lasts for longer than like idk it’s supposed to then don’t take vanadium wait what do you mean it’s not an ED treatment 4/10

Chromium - decent bloke shame the browser eats all your memory 5/10

Manganese - if a weeb tries to tell me how to pronounce mayonnaise one more time... 1/10

Iron - excellent tool against the fey, in your blood, what a bro, 10/10 this bitch slaps

Cobalt - has a powerful energy; I respect him. 8/10

Nickel - if I had a nickel for every time someone made this joke lol 5/10 he’s doing his best

Copper - taste bad 3/10

Zinc - isn’t that the dude in the green tunic and white tights who saves premcess Lelda or something lol 7/10 those games are good

Gallium - seems like a prick 4/10

Germanium - sounds like a child pronouncing geraniums which are superior 3/10

Arsenic - bad vibes coach 1/10

Selenium - isn’t this just sailor moon lol 10/10 love this bitch

Bromine - farmine wherever you aremine - 9/10 I love a good bro

Krypton - he’s okay I guess 5/10

Rubidium - yet another Steven universe villain who will be redeemed I imagine 4/10 seems a bit dull

Strontium - I feel nothing when I see this lad’s name and that seems like a shame 1/10 I don’t like it

Yttrium - this is an atrium in Yharnam, or something 8/10 would love to sit in one and make contact with higher beings

Zirconium - oh wait THIS is the sailor moon villain from the dead moon circus! 9/10 I enjoyed that arc

Niobium - seems sassy, I like that in an element 7/10

Molybdenum - I hate this one, rancid. 1/10 for making me have flashbacks to difficult Ancient Greek vocabulary there is no fucking way that sound combination is anything but Beta and Delta borking and then Latin being like oh imma steal that

Technetium - 6/10 decent name but seems a bit forced

Ruthenium - 5/10 kindly old lady element I guess lol

Rhodium - 10/10 this ain’t my first rhodium babee this lad has good vibes what a name what a king

Palladium - 10/10 for making me think of paladins

Silver - 12/10 I’m breaking the rules for this silver is the best it is so cool and also it is the other best tool for dealing with supernatural creatures when iron has failed you highly suggest Even if I am extremely allergic to it going into my ears...wait hold on

Cadmium - 2/10 sounds like a total douche

Indium - 8/10, i just think it’s independent and neat

Tin - 10/10 good ear sounds when involving rain and roof shapes and automatically reminds me of Nora Jones’s come away with me album which is also 10/10

Antimony - 7/10 decent protagonist good name all around seems rad

Tellurium - tell ur mom what? That’s so early 2010s league of legends humor bro 2.5/10

Iodine - strikes fear in my soul from having it poured on my wounds but this is why I have more pain tolerance than god 5.3/10

Xenon - I think this is a declension of Xena warrior princess which is a win in my eyes, 8/10

Caesium - kind of has a cunty Latin name, 4.5/10

Barium - yeah boss, bury’im! 7.5/10 I love a good mobster gag

Lanthanum - A bit pretentious on the Tolkien spectrum sorry bud 3/10 sounds like you’d be the dickwad elf everyone hates

Cerium - 6.5/10 I like this one, gives me a clean vibe

Praseodymium - the fuck who sneezed all their alphabet soup onto the paperwork and called it an element Christ we can’t keep doing this 1.5/10

Neodymium - oh my god what did I just say 1/10

Promethium - thank Christ we’re back to greek 9/10 Prometheus was a Chad I could get behind

Samarium - 5/10 gives me boring wizard vibes

Europium - 4.5/10 don’t rename opium chrissake can’t take these nerds anywhere

Gadolinium - 5/10 it’s a starship knockoff but it’s trying to be bold with the G sound

Terbium - 2/10 I don’t vibe with this one

Dysprosium - sounds like an antidepressant that has a lot of shitty side effects 3/10

Holmium - sounds like someone anxious asking their beloved to hold them 8/10 I like hurt/comfort fics

Erbium - you can’t just describe something as herby you daft bastard 2/10

Thulium - sounds like a spell I like it 8.5/10

Ytterbium - macguffin in a shite sci-fi show that gets highly overrated because BBC produced it and superwholock stans emerge and go utterly feral 1/10

Lutetium - bards are an element I agree 10/10

Hafnium - sounds like a river (my dog) sound and has a cute vibe, I’d offer it head pats 7/10

Tantalum - noooo you can’t be sad yuor so sexe haha 6.9/10 tantalizing

Tungsten - 10/10 this is a lad with history

Rhenium - 5.5/10 it’s ok

Osmium - 4/10 I wasn’t a big wizard of oz fan

Iridium - 9/10 sounds like iridescent and that’s in my top 10 favorite words and concepts

Platinum - 10/10 best Pokémon game

Gold - 7.9/10 all that glitters and all but it’s still pretty on some people, silver is better tho

Mercury - yikes 8/10 so it doesn’t kill me

Thallium - sounds like the brother character in a ps4 exclusive western rpg that oddly falls under the radar in terms of reviews and gets shafted at awards for no reason 7/10 I’ll support you tho

Lead - 2/10 that’s gonna be a no from me dawg pretty sure I still have lead in my hands from stabbing myself with my mechanical pencils

Bismuth - 6/10 sounds good in mouth and reminds me of biscuits for some reason, I’ll take it

Polonium - to thine own self be true so stop trying to act like the arts don’t influence science jk pretty sure this is named for Poland but hey that’s where we get the Witcher so you get a pass 6/10

Astatine - 1/10 I don’t even know what you are

Radon - 7/10 this motherfucker knows his shit and how to party, rad is right

Francium - I bring you francium...and I bring you myrdurdium... 7/10 for a good vine

Radium - killed the video star probably 9/10 I can get behind her

Actinium - as opposed to passtinium I prefer actinium in the voice of writing 8/10

Thorium - overrated Norse god 5/10 because lightning is still cool

Protactinum - sounds like some pretentious condom brand 4/10 wouldn’t do it with a dude who bought these

Uranium - I always thought she was a hot sailor scout 10/10

Neptunium - same for her I knew they weren’t cousins you couldn’t lie to me 4kids 10/10

Plutonium - sounds like a macguffin unfortunately 5/10

Americium - I read this with a pivotal letter missing and nearly died, 7/10 for the laugh

Curium - 10/10 gives me Curie vibes and also reminds me of curiosity which reminds me of—[old yellered before the association could set in]

Berkelium - what I shout when I want Burke (fam dog) to slaughter innocents and raze territories 2/10 world was not meant to know his commands

Californium - 1/10 California is cool with geography but probs could stand to chill with the ego sorry to my friends in Cali

Einsteinium - 6/10 it’s alright but we’re really running out of ideas huh

Fermium - 3/10 this one is porny

Mendelevium - 1/10 my brain didn’t like parsing this and I stand by my earlier statement of running out of good names

Nobelium - 0/10 you didn’t name any noble gases this cowards this gas can’t be a noble oh wait it’s NOBEL I take it back 5/10 seems an alright chap

Lawrencium - fear the old blood my sorry dead hunter’s ass I’ll never get back my life from the hours I spent trying to beat this lava shitting bastard 2/10 for being a boss who eats Taco Bell specifically before being challenged to have fresh lava shit with which to punish you for having the audacity to exist in his space

Rutherfordium - my god what a snob 4.2/10 I respect him a little but only because he sounds like a right lad

Dubnium - DROP THE BASS 10/10

Seoborgium - not sure about this one but it can have a 7/10

Bohrium - as an American English speaker this sound combination makes my pathetic throat become a black hole as I try to properly create the sound of it 10/10 I love when my body becomes a massive void in the universe

Hassium - lazy 2/10

Elements 109-118 can go fuck themselves I hate them all, collective 6.66/10 for their general demonic vibe

[440mxs-wife]

Merry Ketchmas

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x reader. Other characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Word Count: 5600-ish (I seem incapable of writing anything short)

Warnings: Slight description of injuries, a kitchen mishap, a little angst but mostly fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was mid-morning, and you were partway through your to-do list for the day. You took a basket of dirty clothes to the laundry room then loaded them into the machine to be washed. You added soap and set the dial for the correct cycle, humming as you left the room.

You had returned to the library and were about to resume reading when the bunker doors flew open. Sam and Dean were trying to maneuver down the spiral staircase, carrying someone in between them.

"Sweetheart?? A little help please?" Dean called.

You ran to the bottom of the stairs to see who was wounded and the extent of the injuries. Your heart flew into your throat as you recognized the man being carried down the stairs. It's Ketch. He's been hurt. Your mind went into overdrive with worry as the trio reached the bottom stair. "What happened?" you asked.

"Werewolf's claws got Ketch in the left leg, and we think he also might have sprained his right ankle," Sam informed you.

"I certainly hope you lads have stocked up on the good anesthetic this time. Not that cheap swill you usually drink," a distinctly British-accented voice drawled.

"All right, I'll meet you guys in the infirmary," you called over your shoulder. You raced ahead of the boys to get everything ready.

"Oh, good, a pretty nurse is here to doctor me back to health. Or, is it a pretty doctor is here to nurse me back to health? Hmm? Lads?" Ketch asked as he began to chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah, pretty nurse, pretty doctor," Dean muttered. "Let's just get you to the infirmary in one piece," he grumbled. Dean was thankful that you were out of earshot before Ketch made his 'nurse/doctor' comments.

By the time the boys arrived in the infirmary, you had the medical supplies set up, such as suture kits and bandages. You also had a washcloth with a basin of warm water on standby.

When they entered the infirmary, you took a quick glance at what you could see of Ketch's injuries. Although he was wearing black pants, you could see the sheen of fresh blood splotches on them. A makeshift bandage was tied around his leg to try and reduce the blood loss.

"All right, fellas, let's get him up on this bed so I can get to work," you directed.

"Darling, shouldn't you allow me to take you out for dinner and dancing first before you get me into bed?" Ketch smirked.

You rolled your eyes at his remark, but your lips were twitching, trying to hold back a grin. You grabbed the scissors to cut his pants leg away so you could see what his wound looked like. You cleared your throat and stared straight into his ocean-blue eyes before speaking.

"Now, be still Arthur, and don't move. If you don't do as I say, I might 'accidentally' slip with these scissors and rid you of something you'd rather keep," you warned. Your voice sounded so ominous that even Sam and Dean backed away from you. "Will you two please hold him so I can cut this away and see what I'm dealing with?" you asked.

From that point on, Ketch mostly behaved himself for the rest of the time it took you to clean his wounds and stitch him up. He was quiet, except for the occasional hiss of pain, at which you mumbled your apologies. Ketch assured you he knew you were doing your best to tend to his medical needs.

You saw that his right ankle was a bit swollen, but determined that it was only lightly sprained. As a precaution, you wrapped it in a flexible bandage, then propped it up on a few pillows to keep it elevated.

As you finished, his adrenaline seemed to have worn off, because he was starting to fall asleep. He was also grumbling about being in pain, so you gave him one of the pain pills from the cabinet. Ketch popped it in his mouth and washed it down with the bottle of water you gave him. You gestured for Sam to hand you one of the extra blankets laying on the other bed. You then draped it over Ketch to keep him warm and from possibly going into shock.

Before you could completely escape, Ketch sat up a bit and caught your hand in his. "Goodnight, Love. See you in the morning," he replied with a drowsy smile, then collapsed back on to the pillow, fast asleep.

You grinned back at the handsome--now snoring--Brit and turned to lean over him. You placed a feather-light kiss to his forehead and directed your attention to Sam and Dean. They both eyed you with quizzical looks on their faces. "What? Oh, shut up," you muttered.

Dean chuckled. "We didn't say anything, did we Sam?" he asked, to which Sam shook his head in amusement.

"Let's just go see about you two idjits, hmm?" you grumbled.

Fortunately, Sam's and Dean's injuries consisted of cuts and scrapes, nothing major or requiring stitches. While they showered and changed clothes, you got to work preparing a pot of chili for dinner. As you put together the components for the chili, you thought about the man currently recovering in your infirmary.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You first met Arthur Ketch after he rescued Gabriel from Asmodeus, and had brought the archangel to the bunker. At the time, Ketch was working for the Prince of Hell as a means of survival after the final battle with the British Men of Letters. When Ketch saw what was happening to Gabriel, he felt it was worth the risk to his own safety to rescue the archangel. Although Ketch wasn't fully trusted by Sam and Dean, he was at least no longer considered an enemy. You, however, had always found him somewhat fascinating.

Arthur Ketch....certainly a handsome devil, with his dark brown, almost black hair and captivating, aqua-colored eyes. His suave and confident demeanor, not to mention that sexy accent drew women in like a magnet. You were no exception, but considering the type of women he was used to being with, you knew you didn't stand a chance. So, you settled for working with him on a few cases here and there. And you tried like hell to keep in mind that his attempts at flirting with you didn't mean a damn thing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You were so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you didn't even hear Dean come into the kitchen. He placed his hand on your shoulder, which caused you to jump a little, but you quickly recovered. "For cryin' out loud, Dean, warn a girl next time. Scared me half to death," you chided, putting your hand on your heart.

Dean chuckled a little, but apologized for scaring you. "Hey, you okay?" he asked. "You seem a bit distracted right now. Doesn't have anything to do with you having a crush on a certain British patient in the infirmary right now, does it?" he wondered with a smirk.

"I'm fine, Dean. And no, I'm not distra--wait, what are you talking about?!?" you exclaimed.

"I'm talking about your crush on Ketch. It's not like it's the first time I noticed something there, either. Remember that one time you were paired up on that siren hunt, where you were a singer in a nightclub?" he asked. "I could tell that Ketch was definitely 'intrigued' as he would say," Dean remarked.

Sam appeared in the doorway, and had heard what his brother said to you about Ketch. "Yeah, I remember that case. He seemed like he was interested in you, told me that you had the 'voice of an angel'. AND said he was a bit jealous of the guys in the audience you paid attention to during your performances," Sam added.

You continued to stir the chili, not exactly sure what to say to Sam's and Dean's remarks. You remembered the hunt they were talking about. At one point, you thought there might have been something between you and Ketch. Then as soon as it was there, it also seemed to quickly disappear, as did the man himself. Today was the first time in months that you had seen or even heard anything from Arthur Ketch.

"Guys, I hear what you're saying, but I don't think he has any 'feelings' like that for me. Anyway, he's used to being with a higher caliber of female companion. You know, more worldly and refined. I'm just....me," you finished softly.

"Sweetheart, you know--" Dean started but you interrupted.

"No, Dean. I'd really rather not talk about it anymore, so change of subject. Christmas is coming up, and I want to know, what kinds of special foods do you guys want me to make?" you asked, then held up your hand. "Before you say it, Dean, I already know you want pie. I'm asking for other ideas, because I'm starting a supply list," you said.

The boys each thought about it while you continued to work on making dinner. In the end, Sam requested chicken wings and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. In addition to pie, Dean requested meatballs with barbecue sauce and chili-cheese dip.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You wondered if you should ask Ketch about his food preferences, but you didn't want to wake him. With any luck, he was still getting that much-needed rest from his werewolf encounter. With his injuries, there was no way he was going anywhere until well after Christmas, possibly even New Years.

After some research, you found that there were some subtle differences in American vs. British traditions at Christmas. To pull this off, you would be needing supplies not only from the supermarket, but also from a craft store. You made note of these items as you worked.

Making this happen for Ketch had grown to become very important for you. Chances were, it had been a long time since he'd celebrated Christmas properly, if at all. You were determined to show him that he has a family of sorts with you and the Winchesters.

For your grocery list, you wrote down what you would need based on what Sam and Dean had told you earlier in the day. You added a few things for yourself, like for making cinnamon rolls and a breakfast quiche. Your list also included a small turkey, parsnips, Brussels sprouts and tea as items for a British Christmas meal.

In addition to the food, you needed supplies from a crafts store to make Christmas crackers. You'd seen them enough on those British rom-com TV shows and movies you love to watch. You were familiar with the concept of a paper tube covered in foil and twisted at both ends. Two people each take an end, then you both pull until it pops open. What comes out from the inside the tube is usually a small trinket and a paper crown.

After dinner, you stopped by Dean's room and gave him your list. Although he grumbled a little, he agreed to find a craft store that would have what you need. You gave him a hug and thanked him for seeing how important this was to you. He teased you a little more about your crush then got serious for a moment.

"Hey? For what it's worth? I think you are just as beautiful and worthy of Ketch's attention as any of those other type of women you talked about. You're smart, funny, caring and do an amazing job of running this place.

"You have one of the biggest hearts out of anyone I know, because you're always thinking of others first. All of that is part of what makes you beautiful, and if Ketch can't see that, he's not worth your time," Dean finished. He pulled you back for one last hug and kissed the top of your head.

"Thanks, Dean. For everything, running my errands and for everything you said. Goodnight," you replied.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he returned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After leaving Dean's door, you went back to your room to change into some pajamas. Your plan for the evening was to check on Ketch, then hang around for a while in case he woke up. You grabbed your book from your nightstand and headed for the infirmary.

You walked over to Ketch's bedside and could see that he hadn't moved much since you put in his stitches. You touched your wrist to his forehead to feel if he had a fever, which could indicate an infection, but his temp felt normal.

Your hand caressed his face as it slid down from his forehead, with your thumb gently stroking his cheek. He seemed to lean into your touch and a noise of contentment escaped his lips. You withdrew your hand, but placed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Once you were satisfied with Ketch's condition, you pulled a chair up close to the right side of his bed and sat so you were facing him. You opened your book to read, but it wasn't long before your eyelids began to droop closed from exhaustion.

Your grip on your book eventually relaxed enough to let it slip off your lap and onto the floor. Eyes still closed, you turned in your chair so that you could lean over and place your crossed elbows on the side of Ketch's bed. Then you rested your head on your left elbow and drifted back to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You woke to the feeling of someone gently running his fingers through your hair. A couple of times, you'd swear a soft pair of lips pressed themselves to your temple in a lingering kiss. You smiled then opened your eyes, gasping in surprise to find Ketch propped up on one elbow, grinning at you.

"Good morning, darling," he drawled. "I see you drew the short straw for patient watch duties," he quipped.

You giggled. "Good morning to you, Arthur. We didn't draw straws, I came down here of my own accord," you assured him. "Now that we're both conscious, what would you like for breakfast? I can make eggs, pancakes, French toast, omelets so take your pick," you remarked.

"I see this is a full-service infirmary," he chuckled. "In that case, I would love an omelet with whatever ingredients you have on hand, along with a few rashers of bacon? Perhaps a few slices of buttered toast? If I may, that is," Ketch replied.

"Absolutely, it's no problem at all. I think I have some onions, mushrooms, some diced ham and definitely cheese," you remarked, rising from your chair. "Give me a few minutes to take a shower, then I'll get all that put together for you and bring it in here," you said.

"Sounds wonderful, love. In the meantime, could you perhaps help me to the toilet facilities?" Ketch asked.

"Here, I've got it," Sam called out, much to your relief.

"Thank you, Sam," you replied. "I'll be back as soon as I can with your breakfast," you said over your shoulder as you left the infirmary.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Did she stay here all night?" Ketch asked as Sam helped him to the bathroom.

Sam shrugged. "She might have, I dunno. All I know is that after dinner, she was researching something. Next thing I knew, she had given Dean a list of stuff to get at the supermarket and a craft store today," he replied.

"A craft store?!? What on earth would she need from there?" Ketch asked incredulously.

Sam hesitated before answering. It was a perfectly normal question, but to answer it would give away your surprise of a British-style Christmas for Ketch. "She has a project she's working on, and I can't tell you any more than that right now," he answered.

Ketch eased his way back into his bed, being careful to prop up his sprained ankle. "Hmm. Certainly very mysterious, Sam. In any case, whatever it is she's working on will undoubtedly be a rousing success," he remarked.

After about 30 minutes, you reentered the infirmary, breakfast tray in hand. "Here we are, breakfast is ready!" you grinned. You waited until Ketch seemed settled and ready to be served. "We have an omelet with onions, diced ham, mushrooms and cheese, six slices of bacon and four slices of buttered toast. Let me tell you, getting six slices of bacon set aside for you with Dean around was nothing short of a miracle," you chattered.

Ketch looked at the plate of breakfast fare before him and his mouth began to water. "This looks fabulous, darling. Thank you," Ketch remarked softly.

You felt your cheeks grow warm at the compliment and the endearment. "Well," you replied shakily. "Ring when you're done or if you need anything else. I have some Christmas preparations to attend to. A surprise for you-um, I mean, ev-everyone," you stammered.

"What are you up to, my little minx?" Ketch said as he playfully narrowed his gaze.

"N-nothing, Arthur. Well, something, but you'll see when the time is right," you replied with a wink as you left the infirmary. You tried to slow your hammering heart from his flirting in the amount of time it took to walk back to the library.

While you waited for Dean to return from the errands you'd given him, you tidied up the kitchen from making breakfast. By the time you had finished the dishes, Dean had returned from the supermarket and the craft store. He assisted you with preparing the fresh turkey for roasting in the oven and helped clean and cut the vegetables.

Once dinner was in the oven, you turned your attention to making the Christmas Crackers and paper crowns. Sam popped in to check your progress, and to see if he could help you with anything. You sent him to one of the bunker's storage rooms, #12, because you had seen some Christmas decorations while snooping around one day.

What Sam had found was a tree, lights, some garland and you added your box of ornaments from your childhood. He called Dean in to the library, and the two of them got to work putting up the tree and decorating it. You continued to work on constructing the Christmas Crackers until you had a decent supply of them, all ready for popping.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You took a short break and went to your room for some packages you'd bought earlier in the week. When you returned to the library, you brought out your stocking and the ones you had purchased for each of the boys. One for Sam, one for Dean and one for Arthur, because you knew they were hunting together around the holiday. You bought Arthur a stocking in the hope that he would maybe stick around the bunker and celebrate.

After bringing out the stockings and ornaments, you went into the kitchen to check on dinner. The closer you got to the kitchen, the more something didn't smell quite right. "Oh, no no no no no," you panicked. You quickened your pace and yanked open the oven door, only to have a cloud of thick smoke come rolling out of it. “Dammit!” you shouted.

Sam must have been right behind you and reached the kitchen in time to see the cloud coming from the oven. He yelled for Dean, who gently but firmly ushered you out of the way so he could help Sam to get rid of the smoke. They brought in a couple of large industrial-sized floor fans to push the smoke from the kitchen and out the back door.

You sank into one of the chairs at the Map Table, numbly staring at the floor. Silent tears streamed steadily down your face. You couldn't understand what went wrong, how Christmas dinner was now ruined. As soon as it was safe, you were going back to the kitchen to clean up your mess and figure out what happened.

Sam and Dean walked over to you at the Map Table. Each of them laid a hand on your shoulders and knelt in front of you. You slowly lifted your head to look at them. "Are you guys okay? Anyone get burned or anything?" you asked, your voice thick with emotion.

"No, we're fine. We had to throw out dinner, pan and all. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I know what this meant to you," Dean replied softly.

You gave a half-hearted shrug. "It's not your fault, Dean, or yours Sam. It was mine. Somewhere I made a mistake, and now dinner is ruined. I really wanted this to be a special dinner. For all of us, but especially for Arthur.

"I really wanted to give him a bit of home, observe some English traditions. I doubt he's had an opportunity to celebrate many Christmases in his current and former line of work, much like us. I guess I can't even do that right," you sniffled. "If you guys don't mind, I think I want to be alone for a while," you said as you stood up from your chair, headed for your room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ketch cleared his throat as a way to announce his presence. "Lads? Is everything all right? I heard shouting and smelled smoke," he asked. Ketch had found a pair of crutches and hobbled his way into the War Room.

Sam explained to Ketch what had happened, that you had researched British Christmas traditions. He said you were trying to make a traditional British Christmas dinner for all of them, but that it somehow went wrong. "She went to check on dinner, but when she opened the oven door, a bunch of smoke came rolling out. She's pretty upset about it, too. Wanted to make this special for all of us, but especially for you," Sam finished.

"So that's what the little sweetheart was working on, with the craft store list and all," he mused. Ketch felt a warmth in his heart to know that you had gone to such lengths to try and make his Christmas special. Then, he recalled everything you'd done for him since he limped in from the last hunt. You did seem to pay particularly close attention to him and his medical care after the werewolf injuries.

Before Sam mentioned it, Ketch didn't know anything about the type of research you'd done. However, he did remember that you were a bit flustered this morning when talking about your plans for the day. When you add it up, he realized that you'd done those things because you care for him. Maybe even have feelings for him, seeing him as more than a friend.

Ketch started to examine his feelings about you. He's seen how you interact with people, how you give the best of yourself to each and every person. When he limped down the bunker stairs, he noticed how scared and worried you were for him. He saw how you pushed those thoughts to the side in favor of focusing solely on the job of healing his injuries. He knows you're tough enough to run this bunker as well as you do.

But Ketch knows you also have your softer side, with your smile and your laughter, which lighten his heart. When you talk about a particular subject that interests you, your eyes seem to sparkle like the stars in the night sky. And though your hands appear to be soft and delicate, he knows from experience that they are strong and steady. Hands that he wouldn't mind if they explored his body as his hands took their time to learn yours.

"Where is she? I need to speak with her," Ketch asked.

A grinning Sam and Dean both pointed in the direction of your room. They each took a side and escorted Ketch to your bedroom door to make sure he got there safely. Once they were at your door, Sam and Dean left Ketch to speak with you alone, because they had their own mission.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You sat on the edge of your bed for what felt like hours, going over in your mind how things had gone so wrong. The Christmas Crackers had been made, and you thought maybe you should at least share that with Ketch and the boys. You decided to end the self-pity party, and salvage what was left of your attempt at a British Christmas.

As you opened your door, you gasped when you noticed Ketch, standing at your door on his crutches, hand raised as if ready to knock. "Arthur? What are you doing out of bed? Are you all right?" you asked. You took a deep breath to keep yourself from rambling any more. "Please, come in," you said as you guided him into your room and closed the door.

There wasn't anywhere available for Ketch to sit in his current condition, so you helped him to sit up on your bed. His back was against the headboard, with the pillows you put behind him. "I'm just fine, love," Ketch affirmed as he watched you climb up onto the bed, facing him. "Well, I was fine, until I heard about dinner," he replied.

You dropped your gaze to your hands in your lap. "Yeah, me too. I'm so sorry, Arthur. I really wanted to give you a traditional British Christmas. I made Christmas Crackers, which is why Dean had to go to the craft store," you chuckled lightly.

"I confess, I was a bit curious about that when Sam mentioned it," Ketch chuckled in return.

"Well, dinner was supposed to be an oven-roasted turkey with parsnips and Brussels sprouts. That went up in smoke, and I have no idea what I did wrong," you sighed. You looked away, because tears were threatening to start again.

Ketch leaned forward and reached for you to tilt your face up with his index finger. "Maybe it wasn't anything you did, sometimes these things just happen, darling. But, do you know what the upside is?" he asked, to which you shook your head. "You get a chance to make new traditions," he replied with a wink.

"Thank you, Arthur. I appreciate your understanding," you answered shyly.

"I must say, though, I'm flattered. No woman has ever gone to such lengths to capture my attention," he started. "But then again, you've always had it, along with my heart," Ketch remarked softly.

You felt your cheeks get warm again as the meaning behind his words sunk in. "Arthur, what are you saying? That you like me, as in more than a friend?" you whispered as you shifted nearer to him on the bed.

Ketch carefully moved forward, his hand sliding around to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. With your eyes trained on Ketch's face, you inched closer until your mouths were nearly touching. "So beautiful.....," he said as he smiled softly before closing the gap and capturing your lips with his own.

You sighed into the kiss, reveling in the softness of Ketch's lips as they moved in tandem with yours. His tongue swept across your bottom lip requesting entrance, which you readily granted. Your hands moved up to cradle his face, with your thumbs caressing his cheeks. A small moan escaped your lips, which encouraged Ketch to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss broke, it left both you and Ketch trying to catch your breath. "Wow," you whispered. "That was amazing, Arthur," you remarked.

"Even better than I had imagined," Ketch murmured. "Ever since that siren case, I've been thinking what a mistake it was to have left you, my darling. I hope you can forgive me for being away so long," he said.

You shook your head. "Nothing to forgive, Arthur. I understand the nature of this life. As long as you know that there's a heart, right here, waiting for you to come home to," you affirmed.

"How fortunate I am that you have entrusted me with this heart of yours," Ketch murmured. He took your hand and held it to his chest, above his heart. "Then it is only fitting that as I have your heart, so shall you have mine," he declared.

"Sounds like a perfect arrangement. And have no fear, because I will keep it safe," you promised.

You and Ketch continued to talk in your room, with your conversation occasionally punctuated by kisses and tender touches. Some kisses long and luxurious, designed to take your breath away and succeeding in their mission.

Some kisses were hot and feverish, only going so far until you reluctantly pulled back. You were mindful that Ketch was still recuperating from injuries. However, he hinted that he was looking forward to picking up where he left off after receiving an 'all-clear' on his recovery. Ketch was pleased to see the color rise in your cheeks at his suggestion.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

While you and Ketch were sorting things out between you, Sam and Dean had run into town to replace the ruined turkey dinner. Fortunately, your favorite Chinese restaurant was still open, so they brought back a variety of entrées and appetizers to choose from.

You fixed a plate for Arthur, complete with a little of everything. You placed it in front of him and leaned down for a slow, tender kiss, which he was all too willing to give. This turn of events did not go unnoticed by Sam and Dean, though neither of them said anything. Dean, however, gave you a knowing wink and squeezed your shoulder as you fixed a plate for yourself.

After dinner was finished and the leftovers were put away, you suggested for you all to watch a Christmas movie. You helped Arthur to get situated in a corner of the couch, his right leg stretched out parallel to the back cushions.

Once he was comfortable, he held out his arms, inviting you to snuggle with him. You carefully positioned yourself between his legs, your back leaning against his chest. You covered your bottom halves with the quilt your mother had made for you. Ketch closed his arms around you and took both of your hands, intertwining your fingers with his. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, drawing a sigh of contentment from you.

For some unknown reason, Dean was allowed to pick the movie for the evening. For a moment, you thought he was going to pick Die Hard. However, he picked White Christmas, because he knew it was your favorite. From within Ketch's arms, you turned as best as you could to catch Dean's attention and sent him a silent thanks. He winked back and settled in to watch the show.

When the movie was over, Sam and Dean noticed that you and Ketch had both fallen asleep. The boys chuckled, but were happy that you'd found each other and finally confessed your feelings. "They look so cute together," Sam remarked.

"Disgustingly so," Dean agreed. He reached down and gently shook your shoulder, which was enough to wake you.

In turn, you nudged Ketch to wake him up. "Arthur?" you mumbled, still half-asleep.

"Mmm, yes darling?" he replied.

"Time to wake up, so we can go to bed," you murmured as you slowly stood. You held out your hands to assist him in getting up from the couch. Once Ketch managed to maneuver into a standing position, he wrapped his arms around you.

"Shall we, sweetheart?" Ketch asked, then he pecked your lips.

"Right this way, my love," you answered, handing him the crutches. When he had them under control, you slowly walked to your room. You nudged open the door with your foot as you guided Ketch through to the inside. "Bed's big enough for two. Unless you'd rather sleep alone in the drafty infirmary?" you questioned.

"No, no, this is fine. I know I said something about dinner and dancing before you get me into bed. But I suppose it would be all right, since we've done dinner and a movie," he quipped, a sly grin crossing his face.

You giggled, remembering his earlier attempts at flirtation while injured. "You're right, we have had dinner and a movie. Not sure you're ready for dancing quite yet, though," you replied. "Can't wait for that," you remarked huskily.

Ketch climbed back up into the bed as he had done before and waited for you to come out of the bathroom in your pajamas. You were dressed in red plaid flannel pajama pants and a rock band T-shirt. Ketch held his arm out for you to snuggle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder. Once you were settled, he curled his arm around you, holding you close to his side.

You wrapped your left arm around Ketch's midsection and tilted your head up to catch a glimpse of his ocean-blue eyes. Ketch leaned in to press his lips to your forehead, then pulled back a little to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. "What are you thinking, my love?" he asked.

"I'm thinking....we didn't get to celebrate with the Christmas Crackers I made," you pretended to pout, then broke into a shy smile. "Nah, what I'm really thinking is how happy I am to have you in my life. I love you, Arthur," you replied softly.

"Well, I was kind of anxious to see how your Christmas Crackers turned out, so I could compare them to what I remember from childhood," he remarked. His response earned him a playful swat on his chest from you, then he tightened his embrace a little. "I also am happy to have you in my life, darling. I love you too," he declared, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, sweet kiss.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags: @janicho88 @yourelivingwrong @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @jensengirl83 @supernatural-jackles @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride

[theteddy-byrne]

Biography;

THE BASICS

( Cillian Murphy, 40/178, cis-male, he/him, vampire ) It’s been a while since we’ve seen TEDDY BYRNE. I hear they’re a VAMPIRE and they reside on the WESTSIDE. They’re known to frequent THE NIGHTJAR (when they’re not busy assisting Fallon at the ELYSIUM CIRCUS) and have made a place at ELYSIUM CIRCUS, PENTHOUSE. Some may say they act CYNICAL & UNAPOLOGETIC, while others claim they are LOYAL & DRIVEN. With that being said, they’ve found the State of Calamity.

Mentions: @calcmityys​

HEADCANONS

Born in 1953 (178) in to english parents, Teddy Byrne had the typical upbringing for the time period. He, like his brother Sheldon, was a young, quick witted lad, who had an appetite for building a better world no matter the cost and making a name for himself, even amidst a tumultuous period such as the human revolution. This was why his grandparents, then alive, got involved in the ploy to create the hideout and had them be part of its beginnings. That brought on a great period of seeming peace and prosperity for Teddy, who took every right step to ensure survival.

Unfortunately, and as it happens often, another war broke...a war to end it all, they said, and so it did. In the span of days, Teddy Byrne suffered a loss he has not recovered from to this day: his brother. The only family he had then…torn apart by monsters who left him on the verge of life and death for poor, broken Teddy to find. When he did, Sheldon had lost his leg and his wounds were critical, so much so than to spare him the suffering...he had to summon the courage to do something so soul-destroying, that changed him forever: killing his own kin. Teddy was never really prepared for war or death—that much he learnt.

It was in that moment, whilst he was still grasping and clawing at his brother’s dead body, that he was interrupted by a presence. A woman by the name of Fallon –which he soon learnt to be a vampire. She turned him, and ever since then everything in Teddy changed too. He rejected his own mortality, his humanity, and became a vampire through and through in an effort to get away from the pain...and understood suffering to be a human emotion, something that time erodes, whether you like it or not, and owned every part of his new self.

He has been following in Fallon and the vampire footsteps ever since, not allowing anyone to know a thing about his past.

PERSONALITY - Teddy Byrne is a very unapologetic, calm and observant man. His biggest weapon is his uncaring, cool and distant nature.

- Undealt trauma and the inevitable surge of power that comes with being a vampire have been a dangerous mix for Teddy always. He is likely to have no regard for anyone other than himself and his sire, excluding those above his rank and sometimes escapes his trauma by harming others. He will fuck and mess with anyone if it means buying himself a few hours of peace...and you most certainly don’t want to cross him when he has a bad day.

- He hasn’t had many lovers in the past but he is known to have had both men and women, not necessarily leaning towards one or the other. To him, sex is just sex. But he can be quite intense and passionate with the right person.

-Amongst vampires, he is generally respected, but he doesn’t try to be anything that he isn’t and he respects rank and order. He will never cause a mess if he can help it, and takes the blood he needs, when he needs it, preferably fresh from the tab.

- In anything else, he is very much like his maker, who he has followed ever since. In all his skills and ways, one could say he was born to be a vampire, and he is in acceptance of it.

[not-majestic-bluenicorn]

Crescent || Chapter 4

Fandom(s): ATEEZ

AU: Treasure Hunters

Genre: Action, Fantasy, Sci-Fi

Relationship: Everyone x Everyone, Established Hongjoong x Yunho

Language: English

Status: Ongoing

Chapter WC: 6,020 words

Warnings: Character Death, Stabbing, Fighting, Blood, Aliens, War, Funerals, Kidnapping, Attempted Kidnapping, Mentions of Child Abuse / Child Work, Explosions, Murder Attempt, more will be added.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol.

Summary:

"Dear patrons, our show is about to begin." A smooth, silky voice spoke from somewhere on the stage, gathering everyone's attention. "We invite you to direct your eyes to the stage and enjoy the performance. My name is Télos, your narrator, and I hope you'll be able to enjoy this evening with me."

AO3

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Tagged: @angel0taiyo​

San quickly discovered, during the first few days in outer space, that it was more difficult than it had first seemed to find time alone. He needed to report back to his boss so he could report back to their client on his mission, but it was almost impossible to do so. Eventually, he concluded that the only way to do so was go to the restroom and hope no one else would be there so he could make his call.

A few days into the journey, he managed to find the restrooms empty and quiet, and quickly took out his communicator and initiated a call. A few seconds later, the small holograph of his boss projected and San presented himself.

"Soldier San, code CS-710-28, reporting." He saluted briefly before putting his hand down and waiting to be addressed.

"It took you a long while to report, code CS-710-28. You were supposed to inform me when the ship sailed." His boss shook his head in disapproval. "Explain why."

"Sir, yes sir." San cleared his throat. "I've been appointed as Space Artist and I've been helping the Captain, er- the target, to decipher the map. It is very difficult to find time alone, sir."

"Are you trying to give me excuses?" The man huffed.

"Sir, no sir, my apologies." San was quick to apologize, preferring not to upset his boss before he could even get a chance at completing the mission.

"Whatever," his boss shook his head. "I want a statement on the state of the target and of the voyage."

"Sir, yes sir." San gave a quick nod. "The mission is going as expected, they still haven't made much progress with the map. However, it is difficult to approach the target, as he is always in the company of First Mate Yunho, who seems more like a bodyguard than the second in charge."

"Ah yes, the lapdog." His boss laughed. "The client did warn me about him. He's basically dating the target, be careful. Report to me once you progress on the mission."

"Understood, sir." San saluted again and just as fast the call had ended and he was alone once again.

San sighed and put his communicator away. He carded his fingers through his hair and took deep breaths, willing himself to focus once again. He hated this mission. It was difficult as it was, but working by himself when the target was surrounded by some of his best soldiers was basically a suicidal mission.

He also hated the whole 'sir' thing, it made his blood boil whenever he had to refer like that to his boss, who was nothing more than an abusive asshole. Still, it was what life had tossed at him, and he had no choice but to obey, after all, he had chosen to live. He hadn't chosen this line of work but he could still make the best out of it, or so he hoped. In the meantime, he had to go back and pretend to decipher that map.

--

"This is definitely in a different code from the last one," San sighed, rubbing his temples. "It seems like the codes to reveal each part of the trajectory change each time, how did you even decipher up until here, Captain?" 

"I didn't, not all of it." Hongjoong sighed as well, leaning back. "It was given to me started, and I'm just trying to complete the work." 

"Ah..." San nodded.

"But thank you, you're doing a great job, let's continue working like this." Hongjoong smiled, patting San on the back. San tensed up and nodded, but Hongjoong didn’t seem to notice.

They spent a few hours working on the map, trying to decipher it. They had been doing this for days but their progress was slow and uneven, which didn’t help raise their spirits. Hongjoong was getting increasingly more frustrated. He knew there must be a key to how all the codes worked, but he couldn’t find it anywhere, and the more he tried, the more the map seemed to laugh on his face.

Yunho, Hwanwoong and Siyeon came often to check on him and brought him food. It was obvious he was overworking himself but none of them wanted to mention it. They knew how important it was for him to do this for his brother and the Empire, but they wished he would at least take a break to take care of himself. Eventually, they had to force it on him.

"That's it, I'll tell Yunho to come fetch you." Hwanwoong said one time he walked in and saw Hongjoong muttering curses at the poor map. San looked incredibly awkward standing next to him. "Look at our poor Space Artist, he looks so uncomfortable."

"Leave me alone, I need to work on the map." Hongjoong muttered, pushing his hair back. "I'm getting closer, I know it."

"Sorry to say it Captain, but you look pathetic and you're really not getting anywhere." Hwanwoong scoffed. He noticed how San tensed up at the insult and laughed. "Don't worry, Space Artist, we're good friends."

"I'm not pathetic." Hongjoong muttered, on the verge of pouting. The fact that San was there was the only thing keeping him from losing his dignity.

"Sure," Hwanwoong left right after.

Sure enough, Yunho came in after a few minutes and clicked his tongue in disapproval. He forced Hongjoong to stand up from where he was seated and pushed him towards the exit of his quarters. San stared at them in bewilderment. How could anyone treat their Captain like that? Especially the people who knew he was a prince. Was this all a joke on him?

"Sorry, you can take a break, he's probably kept you working almost as long as him, that isn't quite healthy." Yunho told him before he finished pushing Hongjoong out of the Captain's quarters.

"Stop pushing me," Hongjoong groaned. "I can walk for myself."

"Alright," Yunho smiled. "Come on, don't look so grumpy, the rest of the crew is looking."

Hongjoong looked around and certainly, the other crew members on the main deck were looking at him. He sighed and relaxed his expression. Maybe stepping away from the map wasn't such a bad idea, he needed a break to feel refreshed and go back to it with a new perspective. Just a little time off wouldn't hurt. And poor San needed rest too.

"Captain!" Hongjoong turned around as he was called and noticed two of the crew members Yunho had picked, Mingi and Jongho, approach him.

"Did something happen?" Hongjoong asked, already playing all the possible worst case scenarios in his mind.

"Nothing sir, we just noticed you've been working for a long time and wanted to bring you something." Jongho smiled, offering him an apple. Mingi offered him a bottle of fresh water as well.

"Don't be discouraged sir, you'll solve the map soon." Mingi added, smiling brightly at him.

"Thank you." Hongjoong smiled and accepted their little offerings, opening the water bottle and taking a long sip out of it. He hadn't drunk or eaten anything proper since he had basically locked himself and San inside his quarters to work on the map. "How's everything looking in the rest of the ship?"

"Everything is in order," Jongho explained. "I just finished doing a routine check on the artificial atmosphere and the fuel tank and they're working perfectly. Mingi helped me." Mingi nodded enthusiastically and Hongjoong chuckled.

"Heh, that's cute." He commented offhand, failing to notice the way Mingi blushed slightly. Yunho raised an eyebrow, an amused smile on his lips. "Is it your first time on board lad?"

"It is my first time working on one..." Mingi mumbled, his face growing redder. "Jongho has been helping me get used to it.”

"That's very nice of you, a crew needs to work together in order to make the most of it." Hongjoong nodded, satisfied.

These two seemed to be becoming friends just fine, and the rest of his soldiers were mingling well with the rest of the crew. It seemed like they would be able to pull the feat successfully if they didn't lose sight of their objective. Yunho tapped his shoulder and Hongjoong looked at him with a raised eyebrow. The First Mate smiled and gestured towards the Forecastle Deck, where Hwanwoong was making signs at him.

"I think they need us over there Captain." Yunho supplied. Hongjoong nodded and turned his attention back to Jongho and Mingi.

"I need to go, but do me a favor. San, our Space Artist and navigator, is inside my quarters possibly still trying to figure out the map." Hongjoong put a hand on Jongho's arm. He was taken aback by how firm it seemed, but his brief hesitation was only caught by Yunho. "Drag him out of there if necessary; if I'm going to be forced to rest, he should be too."

Jongho laughed and nodded, saluting his captain before pulling Mingi along with him. Hongjoong and Yunho made their way over to Hwanwoong, who kept exaggerating his gestures the longer they took to arrive. Hongjoong walked slower in turn, annoying his cousin.

"What was all that just now?" Yunho asked, a playful smile on his lips that widened when Hongjoong's step stuttered, as if he had been caught.

"What do you mean?" He mumbled, avoiding Yunho's gaze.

"I told you before I don't mind if you flirt with others Captain, but let's make it a little less obvious, shall we?" Yunho teased, shoulder's shaking slightly as he suppressed a chuckle.

"I was not flirting..." Hongjoong muttered. 

"If you say so." Yunho nodded. "In any case, let's see what it is that your cousin wants."

--

"Captain Hongjoong is not what I expected a Captain to be like." Mingi commented offhandedly as Jongho guided him to the quarters.

"What do you mean?" Jongho stopped to look at him.

"Well, I thought a Captain would be more strict? But he's very friendly." Mingi explained, shrugging softly, like he wasn't sure of what he was saying.

"I suppose so," Jongho hummed. "Maybe he's scary when he gets angry? Although, First Mate Yunho seems more strict than him." Jongho shrugged and proceeded to the door, opening it easily. "Whatever, let's get San."

Just like how the Captain had said, San was sitting at the table, focusing on the part of the map that reflected on it. Mingi stared at the room with his mouth agape, eyes moving frantically as if trying to devour everything on sight. Jongho looked at him and chuckled softly, confused as to why Mingi was so surprised.

"Close your mouth, had you never seen an holographic map?" Jongho asked, causing San to look up as well.

"Who are you?" San asked. His body tensed up at their appearance but he seemed to relax once he recognized them. "Ah, it's you two."

Mingi immediately closed his mouth and eyed San with distrust. He still remembered their first meeting and how cold and scary the other had seemed, plus they hadn't really interacted much the days following their departure, so Mingi didn't know how to move around him. Jongho seemed to quickly catch on on this fact and decided to do all the talking.

"Captain sent us to fetch you, he said you should take a break." Jongho explained. San looked at the map and nodded.

"I suppose I should." He closed the little box and Mingi gasped when the projection disappeared, earning himself the attention of the other two.

"Ah..." Mingi exclaimed, his voice reddening as he stammered to put out a coherent explanation. "It's not common... where I come from."

"You mean... projection maps?" San asked, showing him the box. Mingi nodded. "Would you like to look at it?" Mingi nodded again, more enthusiastic this time, but he soon stopped as he seemed to remember something.

"Ah, maybe later, you should take a break." Mingi insisted, looking at Jongho for support. Jongho was already looking intently at him, like he was trying to figure something out, but he still nodded in agreement.

"Alright?" San seemed dubious himself, but he put the box down on the table and nodded.

The silence was so uncomfortable and heavy and none of them knew how to break it, until Jongho finally suggested they went to look for something San could eat. The other two agreed and followed him silently. Mingi almost wanted to grab onto Jongho's arm, still a little bit scared of San, but managed to not embarrass himself even more as they went out to the main deck.

--

"We are getting nowhere with this!" Hongjoong exclaimed, raising his arms.

Yunho and San looked at him before looking at each other. It was obvious Hongjoong was getting fed up with the impossible to interpret map; they had already been sailing for a couple of weeks and were getting nowhere with their progress. Yunho sighed and stood up, signalling San to close the box, which he did.

"Okay, I have a suggestion." Yunho spoke, claiming the attention of the other two. "Let's anchor at the nearest planet to get more supplies. We can use the opportunity to get information about the treasure as well."

"How would that even work?" Hongjoong huffed, exasperated.

"Locals," San mentioned, quickly catching up to Yunho. "Who better to know about legends and traditions than locals, we might actually get some information." Yunho smiled, and Hongjoong's expression brightened as he understood.

"Exactly, it's good that we have someone as smart as you on board San." Yunho complimented him. San seemed a little taken aback and just nodded.

"You're right, that is an amazing idea, both of you." Hongjoong nodded. "What is the nearest planet?" He looked at San. San fumbled slightly with the map on the table, the one they used for actual navigation.

"That would be Zemia, Captain. It's part of the Kim Empire, a small planet focused on exporting entertainment." San said, showing him the map.

"That's where we're going now then, send the information to the map on the quarterdeck." He ordered San, who nodded. "Let's go." This time Hongjoong looked at Yunho, who nodded and followed him outside.

Hongjoong walked up to the quarterdeck and stood behind the wheel. He looked at the map that marked their new destination and smiled to himself. With a loud whistle, he claimed the attention of the rest of the crew present on the main deck, who looked back at him and awaited his orders.

"We're changing route to Zemia to restock the ship and look for information on the Treasure of the Seven Galaxies, prepare to anchor!" Hongjoon ordered.

"Yes sir!" Everyone replied in unison.

Hongjoong turned the wheel and the ship changed directions easily towards their new destination. The small planet was fairly close to them, so they would probably land on it within a couple of hours. They needed to establish contact first and make sure they had permission to anchor, Hongjoong didn't want problems with one of his own planets when he was trying to keep his identity hidden.

"Siyeon!" Hongjoong called, and the soldier immediately turned to him. "I have a favor to ask you." She quickly approached him.

"What is it, Captain?" Siyeon asked.

"I need you to establish contact with Zemia and make sure we're clear to anchor," he explained, pulling out a small passport from the inner pocket of his coat. "The permit we have guarantees we'll be received in any planet of the Kim Empire, but better safe than sorry." He gave it to her.

"Understood Captain, I'll take care of it." She smiled and set off to the Captain's quarters, where they had all of their communication equipment.

"Doesn't it worry you that you let people in and out of your quarters so easily?" Yunho asked him once Siyeon was gone.

"You mean our quarters." Hongjoong corrected him easily, as he looked over the ship from the quarterdeck.

"That is beyond the point." Yunho chuckled.

"I just don't have anything worth stealing other than the map, which is safely in San's hands right now, and my compass, which I always carry." Hongjoon smiled, patting his chest.

"What if someone steals me?" Yunho raised an eyebrow.

"You? They'd probably be dead before they managed anything." Hongjoong scoffed. Not for nothing had Yunho become sort of a personal guard of his when they were younger, before they began dating.

"Okay but what if someone steals my heart?" Yunho insisted. Hongjoong huffed and rolled his eyes.

"Then they better be okay with sharing with me, 'cause if not..." Hongjoong looked at Yunho. "Then they better pray we're anchored somewhere when I make them walk the plank." Yunho laughed at this.

"Are you a pirate or what?"

"Shut up, you would literally do the same..." Hongjoong smiled. "Or worse."

"You know me well." Yunho smiled.

"Of course I do," Hongjoong nodded. "I do love you, after all."

"I love you too."

--

Aside from Yunho, Hongjoong had brought San with him so he could take notes on the clues they found to deciphering the map. He also brought Hwanwoong and Siyeon, his most trustworthy crew members aside from Yunho, and Jongho and Mingi, whom he had started to like quite a lot and felt like keeping close. He had left Jaeyoung, another good soldier and friend of his, in charge of another small group that would look for the supplies. The rest of the crew had stayed aboard to guard the ship.

They didn't have an actual course of action, so at first they just wandered around the port city, trying to see if they could find anything useful. It was obvious though that just walking around hoping for something to happen wouldn't suffice. They needed to do something about it, the question was what.

"Why don't we go to a bar?" Mingi suggested after a while of walking around.

He blushed profusely once all eyes were placed on him. The suggestion had been genuine though, those were the places where the people at his hometown would gather to discuss the day's events. Whether it was another explosion at a mine or rumors on a new law that would be passed, the fastest way to obtain information was to go where the common people reunited.

"A bar?" Hongjoong asked, his interest had piqued.

"Y-Yeah, well..." Mingi's voice lowered, and he seemed hesitant to speak. San looked at him intently and nodded.

"I think it's a good idea, I'm not sure if this is the reason why he's making the suggestion, but places like that are goldmines of information." San explained. It was a risk to speak like that, but something in Mingi's fear of speaking out had prompted him to help. He should be figuring how to kill the prince instead. "The regulars and the staff will have picked up information from other patrons, it's a good place to start."

"That seems like a great idea!" Hwanwoong agreed.

"It does, thank you Mingi, that's brilliant." Hongjoong agreed, praising the other with a wide smile. Mingi just shook his head and murmured a quiet thank you. 

"I'm not sure it's a good idea." Yunho intervened, hesitant.

"Why not? I think it sounds exciting." Hongjoong insisted, already having made up his mind.

"How is going to a bar exciting, Captain?" Siyeon chuckled. The others also looked mildly entertained that their captain would find such a simple activity "exciting", it was kind of cute. They were smiling and Hongjoong couldn't help but blush.

"Do not misunderstand me!" He exclaimed. "Anything that could possibly guide us to the biggest treasure in the Universe is an exciting prospect." Hongjoong quickly excused himself.

"Fair enough, let's go then." Siyeon smiled.

Yunho still wasn't entirely convinced, but he followed them anyway. He was worried about it precisely because of Hongjoong, who didn't quite know how to act like a normal civilian. Hongjoong was certainly more down to earth than his brother Yijoong, but he was lacking in commoner experiences. Even when Yunho had grown up with him, he had still spent a lot of time with the rest of the castle's inhabitants instead of with the royalty, he knew how society worked.

After asking around for a bit, they were recommended to check the Seven Galaxies restaurant bar, which was the most popular stop in the city they had anchored at for their storytelling presentations. The sun was already setting in Zemia, which made it an ideal time to stop by and try to get some information. They walked in and grabbed a table, settling down with ease.

"The tab is on me, you can order whatever you like." Hongjoong said as a waiter offered them some menus. "I'll be right back."

Hongjoong stood up and walked towards the bar portion of the place. It was placed opposite to the scenario, where it seemed like the actors and actresses were getting ready to present that night's story. The place was only just starting to fill up, as it was still somewhat early, so they had probably arrived at a good time. 

"I'll go with him." Yunho quickly excused himself and followed Hongjoong. Hwanwoong and Siyeon both laughed.

"There he goes," Siyeon sighed. "Does he even have eyes for anyone else?"

"Are Captain Hongjoong and First Mate Yunho dating?" Mingi asked, out of pure curiosity.

"Well..." Hwanwoong gave Siyeon a knowing look and shrugged. "You should ask them about that if you're curious. One thing is for sure though," he continued as he opened the menu, "if they stay apart for more than a minute, one of them will suffer a horrible death." 

"What?!" Mingi yelled, scandalized. Jongho immediately covered his mouth and Hwanwoong broke into a laugh. Siyeon berated him and looked at Mingi apologetically.

"Don't listen to him, he's just teasing you." Siyeon pushed Hwanwoong's shoulder, who complained dramatically. "But I agree with him, if you want to know, just ask Hongjoong or Yunho."

"You refer to them by their first name only?" San wondered in a plain voice, it was the first time he had spoken since leaving the ship and everyone looked at him with a bit of surprise. "Ah, sorry, I don't mean to pry." He apologized quickly.

"No it's fine, and yes, we're close." Siyeon nodded. "The four of us are what you could call 'childhood' friends." She smiled. "Good to see our Space Artist is not mute, it would be difficult to relay information like that."

San blushed ever so slightly and pushed the menu towards Jongho and Mingi. The topic quickly morphed into a discussion of what it would be good to try at the bar and San was silently thankful for it. Jongho focused on choosing whatever sounded best before passing the menu to Mingi, who took it hesitantly.

Mingi stared at the menu for a few seconds, eyes quickly scanning the options on it before closing it and giving it to Hwanwoong. Jongho contemplated him with curiosity and wonder. How could someone so tall not be hungry after a whole day of going around the city. As he questioned this, Jongho moved his legs to re-accommodate on his spot and accidentally hit Mingi's left leg.

"Oh, sorry." Jongho apologized, briefly glancing under the table. Mingi did the same.

"It's alright." He smiled once he confirmed that the wooden pole he used as a prosthetic was alright.

Jongho had been wanting to ask him about it since day one, but he knew it wasn't appropriate to pry into other people's business. He also didn't know Mingi well enough to be wondering about his private life. He could, instead, ask him about something else though.

"Aren't you ordering anything?" Jongho asked, his head gesturing towards the menu Hwanwoong was holding as he spoke with Siyeon and San about the options.

"Ah, no," Mingi shook his head quickly. "I don't feel like eating right now." He explained vaguely, eyeing the menu once again.

"Not even a drink?" Jongho insisted.

"No, I'm fine, really." Mingi insisted back, looking clearly uncomfortable.

Jongho was quick to change the topic and ask him about something else. They talked while they waited for the food to be delivered. Still, Jongho couldn't help but wonder more and more about Mingi and his life previous to joining the Crescent. For such a sweet and helpful personality, Mingi was completely wrapped in mystery, and Jongho couldn't help but want to know.

--

Hongjoong sat at the bar and looked around with curiosity. The place was really clean and had good ambiance, which he hadn't expected. It was probably because it was also a restaurant, but he liked the place. He was only slightly surprised when Yunho sat next to him. It was almost funny how much time they were spending together now that they weren't busy fighting an invasion.

"The crew's gonna suspect we're dating and that you're only First Mate because of that." Hongjoong commented, smiling at Yunho.

"And is that a lie?" Yunho smiled back.

"Partially," Hongjoong nodded. "You're First Mate because you're the person I trust the most and also the best at everything you do, who better to be First Mate?"

"Thank you." Yunho ruffled his hair softly.

"What can I get you?" At that moment, the bartender, a beautiful dark skinned person, approached them to take their orders. Their skin glowed in a way it told Hongjoong they weren’t human, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint what they were.

"We're not from here, so could you give us a couple of mugs of your best beer?" Yunho asked.

"Right away." The bar tender nodded and returned after a little while with two mugs full of foamy beer. 

Hongjoong took a large gulp and sighed in relief after swallowing, feeling refreshed and pleased from the bitter taste. Yunho drank more calmly next to him, enjoying the flavor. They drank in silence, observing the bartender with critical eyes until they were free again. Hongjoong used the opportunity to ask them and try to gain a little more information.

"Why Seven Galaxies?" He asked, mug already halfway empty. "Is it because of the Treasure?" The bartender smiled and nodded.

"It is, Zemia is the planet of entertainment, at least one place here should have the name of the greatest lost treasure known in the story of the Universe." Their eyes lighted up as they spoke, gesturing towards the bar.

"Do you know anything about it?" Yunho asked, and the worker's sight sharpened.

"If you mean its location, no I don't." The bartender shook their head. "It is said that there was once an indecipherable map that could guide you to it, but it's been lost for decades."

"Do you think the treasure is real?" Hongjoong continued.

"I don't know if the treasure is actually hidden somewhere, but every legend has a bit of truth in it." They smiled. "This was one of the planets that Thisa stole from, there is even a statue downtown, where the battle took place."

"It happened here?" Yunho asked, slightly surprised.

"Yes, and you're both lucky to come here today, the presentation will be about the legend of the Treasure of the Seven Galaxies, you should watch it." The bartender explained. "Maybe you'll learn a thing or two."

The bartender left and both of them returned to their table, cold beers in their hands. The others were being served their food. Siyeon immediately stopped the waiter and asked Hongjoong and Yunho if they wanted to order something, but they both declined. As the rest dug into their food, Hongjoong fixed his eyes on the stage and waited, his desperation growing stronger as they seemed to be nearing another dead end.

"Mingi, you didn't order anything?" Yunho asked next to him. He was leaning over the table towards Mingi, seeming a little worried as the gunner nodded, a little overwhelmed at the attention. Hongjoong looked at him as well and clicked his tongue. 

"Why didn't you order something?" Hongjoong asked, his attention leaving the stage for a moment.

"I'm not very hungry..." Mingi mumbled, overwhelmed by the attention now that everyone was looking at him because the Captain had asked.

"Don't worry Captain, I'll share with him if he gets hungry." Jongho intervened, noticing how uncomfortable Mingi was starting to feel.

Hongjoong nodded and smiled at both of them, reaching his hand to pat Mingi's hair softly before his attention returned to the stage. Yunho also nodded, satisfied enough with the answer as his attention also returned to the stage. As Hwanwoong and Siyeong went back to talking to each other, San cleared his throat softly and looked towards Mingi, who was sitting between the Captain and Jongho.

"Mingi, can we change places? I want to talk to the Captain without disturbing the talk too much." San requested with a quiet voice.

"Ah, sure." Mingi smiled and stood up, easily changing places with San.

"Thank you," San said once he was sitting in his new place. "You can also eat from my plate if you want, by the way. Don't be shy."

"Ah, okay." Mingi nodded, once again falling into an awkward silence.

San felt the heavy eyes of Yunho on him as he leaned towards Hongjoong and talked to him about the map. He tried to pay him no mind, but it was difficult. Truth was, San had evidently not fulfilled his mission yet, and the reports were getting more difficult as there was not much for him to report on, but it was just impossible to fulfill this mission. Even disregarding the fact that half the crew were Hongjoong's most trusted soldiers, Yunho was literally always by his side.

"Dear patrons, our show is about to begin." A smooth, silky voice spoke from somewhere on the stage, gathering everyone's attention. "We invite you to direct your eyes to the stage and enjoy the performance. My name is Télos, your narrator, and I hope you'll be able to enjoy this evening with me."

Hongjoong went silent as his eyes scanned the stage and San decided they could talk after the show. He silently reprimanded himself as he found out he was working too seriously on deciphering the map, he guessed it was because Hongjoong's enthusiasm was contagious. San sighed and his eyes stumbled upon Yunho, who was still looking at him intently. There was something so unfamiliar in Yunho's look that he was forced to look away, feeling too strange about it.

The lights dimmed and the velvet red curtains opened. A single light turned on the stage, revealing the face of the narrator, who was wearing a glistening dress that resembled the look of outer space. It was breathtaking, even when all of them had been to space already. The narrator paced around the stage as they began to talk. Their expressions were controlled and their voice flowed like a calm river, captivating them all.

"Decades ago, not long after humanity joined the spacial race and began competing against other species to make a name for themselves, the most daring pirate ever known in the history of the Universe stole their first treasure." Another light appeared on the right part of the stage, illuminating a young actor dressed as a pirate.

"Their name was Thisa." The narrator walked further away, making space on the stage. "As an adolescent, Thisa became known in their town for constantly defying the authorities and tricking the rich out of their money without ever being caught." A couple of actors dressed as officers came on scene and played out a fight with Thisa, but they evaded them easily and made a fool of them, making the patrons laugh.

"Thisa was not alone. Their brave actions soon gained them a following, which rebelled against the government and started a revolution that spread through his whole country and then his planet." Around the narrator, the actors and actresses fought each other with fake weapons that glistened under the lights.

"When they won the revolution, Thisa and their crew built the legendary Týkhé, the bringer of fortune, and set sail into space." The actors disappeared and instead a replica of the Týkhé was projected into the stage, sailing across space. "The Týkhé visited countless planets, where the crew led revolutions and stole innumerable treasures all across seven different galaxies." Flashes of different planets passed by in quick succession, with images of the wars waged in them.

"Many think that the only reason Thisa and their crew didn't make it to many more galaxies was due to their mortality, because they were unstoppable." The images stopped, and once again, there was only the narrator on scene. "According to the many diaries left behind by Thisa and their crew, the treasure is hidden in Télos, 'The End', but no one knows where that is or what it even refers to.

"However, before their passing, Thisa left a map and a poem that contain the clues necessary to find the Treasure of the Seven Galaxies."  Numerous images of the diaries were projected on the back of the stage, and finally, the map in Hongjoong's possession. "The map has been lost for a very long time, but the poem goes as follows..."

I left my mark everywhere,

grotesque monsters of jagged teeth.

Under their watchful gaze

the stone-made guardians

protect the steps

that lead the way to the end.

Not long after the presentation ended, everyone finished eating and Hongjoong paid for their meal. He had become eerily silent after the presentation, and everyone was worried that he was angry for not obtaining much from their visit to Zemia. Yunho knew better though, and was quick to reassure them that things were fine once they got to the ship and everyone retired to their quarters.

"Are you okay?" He asked once they were in the privacy of his and Hongjoong's quarters, away from everyone else.

"I'm just thinking, don't worry." Hongjoong replied as he changed clothes.

"Thinking about what? The others are worried that you're angry." Yunho smiled, also changing into more comfortable clothes.

"Angry? No, not at all." Hongjoong chuckled. "I fully believe that Thisa made it so their treasure could be found, but if it has to be someone worthy, then it must be someone as clever as them to interpret the poem." Hongjoong explained. "I'm just trying to decipher it."

"Of course you are, anyone who thinks Kim Hongjoong would easily give something up is a fool." Yunho muttered. He laid down and patted the space next to him, prompting Hongjoong to join him. "Now stop thinking for a moment and go to sleep, I can hear your thoughts over here."

--

"Still no progress, code CS-710-28? You do realize this is an urgent mission, don't you?" San's boss scoffed.

San stood in the restrooms again, in complete silence, as the projection of his boss reprimanded him once again. He just had had no luck in killing Hongjoong like he had been tasked to do, and to be honest, he was starting to become fed up with the whole mission. Who had even requested such a task?

"My apologies, sir." He apologized, but didn't even attempt to excuse himself. There was no point in doing so anyway.

"I do not care for your apologies. The p-... The client is very impatient and wants you to be done with your mission as soon as possible." His boss urged him. "If you disgrace the name of our planet, code CS-710-28, I'll make sure to give them your head in return, understood?"

"Yes, sir." 

The call ended and San let out a long, deep sigh. He cursed under his breath and punched the wall, feeling nothing from it. Taking into account the situation he was in, he knew it would be impossible to kill Hongjoong without the others realizing who was the culprit and taking their revenge. Did it even make a difference? If he killed his target, the others would take revenge, if he didn't, his boss would murder him instead. How had he even gotten in this situation?

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

The Heart of a Family

You can thank @just-random-obsessions for this one. 

Summary: After the battle of Dunholm goes sideways, Sihtric is captured by Kjartan and Sven.  Trigger warning: torture, abuse, injuries, idealization of death, heavy angst.  AO3, if you prefer Sihtric can't remember how long it’s been since he's seen the sun, though he knows when night is because that's when Kjartan and Sven leave him alone. He pleads with Nott to make the night last forever. He does not think he could endure another day in Dunholm.

…..

It breaks Uhtred's heart to remember the look on Sihtric's face as they dragged him away. He hadn't even screamed, had barely flinched. He'd just looked like he'd known this was coming all along, like his taste of freedom was too good to be true.

But he and Ragnar and Brida have spent the last two weeks coming up with a plan. They have to be careful, Dunholm will not fall easily. But they know its weaknesses now, Sihtric's knowledge with their own firsthand sight. Besides, Sihtric is his man, and Uhtred can't leave him to die in Dunholm.

…..

It is fitting, Sihtric thinks, that once his mother's screams echoed through Dunholm, and now his own do, too. He did not scream at first. But when fists had no affect on him, they switched to other methods of beating.

Sihtric's forearms are covered in burns, the smell of his own sizzling flesh is thick in his nostrils, and Sven laughs as he holds the red-hot knife to Sihtric's skin once again.

"I should cut off your head and send it to Uhtred Ragnarsson," Sven taunts, his ugly face inches from Sihtric's, breath sour with ale as it hits Sihtric's nose. Sihtric strains against the leather straps around his wrists. They are the only things holding him upright, now, and he uses them to straighten his back, the whip-marks burning, and spit straight onto Sven's cheek.

Sven sinks a fist into his gut, and for the first time in his life, Sihtric hopes he will not be able to catch his breath.

…..

When Sihtric is left alone with his thoughts, he can pinpoint the exact moment the attack failed. It is his fault. He did not know Kjartan had hired mercenaries.

Every time he is left alone, he remembers the horrible tightening of his gut when the reinforcements spilled from the great hall. He remembers being surrounded, the bellow of Kjartan screaming that his son should be taken alive, to come back into the heart of his family, where he belongs.

Four sets of hands like iron bands clasped his arms, but still he nearly escaped. He had met Uhtred's eyes from across the courtyard, and he thought, for the briefest of moments, that his lord was coming for him.

But then everything went black, and he awoke in the chamber beneath the hall where Thyra had been imprisoned for so many years, his skull throbbing, a bloodied knot on the back of his head.

He does not blame Uhtred and Ragnar for leaving him behind, better to lose one useless man than a whole company of warriors.

He just wishes Uhtred had thrown an ax into his skull before he fled the fortress.

….

Sihtric is so thirsty that even his eyes feel like sandpaper. He keeps them closed as often as he can, because every blink is an agony. He focuses only on the squeaking and shuffling of nearby rats, and tries to guess how many hours it's been since Sven left. He's drifting in and out of wakefulness, though he cannot call it sleeping. It is more like dropping into oblivion, like the sun suddenly disappearing behind thunderclouds, and he hopes that soon, the corpse-goddess will embrace him with her one rotten and one living arm. He will accompany her gladly.

He opens his eyes against his will. He swears his mother is there, her edges blurry in the darkness, her hands soft on his hair, his face, his burnt arms and whipped back, the dislocated knee. Has she come to collect him? Can a pagan go to the Christian heaven if his mother has become an angel?

Sihtric uses what he thinks must be the last of his strength to reach out to her. She vanishes. He is so thirsty that he weeps without tears.

He is still weeping when Kjartan descends the ladder and hangs his lantern on a nail in the wall. Kjartan crosses his arms over his broad chest and glares down at his bastard offspring, eyes emptier and colder than winter oceans. "You are too like your mother, boy, but unlike her, I will break you."

Kjartan yanks him to his feet and binds his wrists into the leather straps.

When Sihtric can barely breathe through the blood in his nose and mouth, Kjartan cuts the straps and watches Sihtric crumble into the bloodied straw covering the dirt floor. Sihtric can't stop the groan that falls from his lips when Kjartan kicks him in the stomach.

Kjartan laughs, and this is the only time since he has been taken captive that Sihtric does not want to die. He does not want Kjartan's laughter to be the last sound he hears.

….

They will attack at dawn. They have spent a month planning and marshaling forces, and Uhted is afraid it may have been a month too long. He fears every morning that he will find Sihtric's head at the door of his tent.

But he never has, and Uhtred hopes they are not too late.

…...

He is always disappointed when he wakes up.

The sounds of a scuffle drift through the thick walls of his prison, but he does not think anything of it. Conflicts are common in the fortress of Kjartan the Cruel. His eyes drift shut again.

He wishes his mother had taken him with her.

….

Sihtric thinks, with relief, that he must finally be in Hel, or that maybe Freya has favored him and taken him to Folkvangr. He is lying on furs, and surely Kjartan and Sven would never allow such a thing to happen, not when they were so close to killing him.

His stomach sinks when he realizes what must be happening. They've ordered him nursed back to health, so they can bring him to the brink of death once more. Is this their plan for him? To keep bringing him to death and saving him from it, only to bring him to it again?

Sihtric will not allow it to happen. All of the slave-girls know him, he will plead for death. Perhaps the girl tending to him will take pity on him. Maybe he can ask it as a favor to his mother; she helped so many of them in any small way she could.  

He tries to open his eyes, to speak, to plead for death, but instead he only drops back to sleep.

…..

Sihtric is closer to death than Uhtred has ever seen a man before, but Brida has knowledge of herbs and a willing assistant in the form of Finan, so Uhtred clings to the hope that he will live.

He was barely recognizable when they carried his unconscious, emaciated body from his prison, and if not for the faint, racing pulse and the erratic rise and fall of his skinny chest, Uhtred would have thought him dead already.

It has been five days and they are still in Dunholm because Sihtric is far too frail to travel, but Uhtred can barely enjoy the relief of finally having avenged his father and freed his sister. He does not think he will breathe easy again until Sihtric's eyes open.

…..

Sunlight slants across his eyelids, and he opens them without thought. He is alone in a bedchamber, lying on clean furs. His body aches, but it is the ache of healing, and not of fresh injuries. He is no longer thirsty.

Sihtric hisses as he forces himself into a seated position, and a man that he hadn't noticed sits bolt upright from a pallet on the floor by the bed. "Take it easy, lad." The lilting accent is soothing, the voice soft.

Sihtric's throat constricts, and he can barely choke out the man's name. "Finan?"

"You didn't think we would leave ya to die in Dunholm, lad?" Finan smiles down at him, full of understanding, and Sihtric knows he does not need to say that he will never doubt again.

The Last Kingdom Masterlist

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Burned Part 4

Summary: Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there the two step into a dangerous dance together.

Chapter Summary: Alfie gets his own revenge on Louise’s husband and has to face the consequences. 

Warnings: Violence, mention of suicidal thoughts. 

         Even though Louise was prospering in Camden Town, Alfie didn’t let go of the grudge he had against her husband. He still noticed when the stitches on her stomach caused her pain. The slight wince crossing her features and the sharp gasp of discomfort. Tommy was hesitant to give the man’s name to Alfie. But he gave in as long as Alfie promised not to do anything more than just break his nose or few fingers. After all, Louise didn’t ask the Peaky Blinders to kill her husband.

           A few days passed and Alfie waited patiently, or as patiently as he could.

           One night, after everyone had gone home, sounds of a scuffle started to kick up in the warehouse. Puzzled, Alfie stood up and reached for his gun. He opened the door and saw a few of his boys. “What you doing?” He strode over to them, pocketing his gun. “Fucking go home.” His boots shuffled heavily across the concrete floor of the distillery. The metallic sounds of his cane echoing through the large warehouse.

           “We found the man you were looking for, Mr. Solomons, Kelly.” One of the boys shoved a lanky man to the floor. Offering him like a sacrificial lamb to their boss.

           “Oh…very nice. Go on, stand up.” Alfie poked at him with his cane as he tucked his gun away. He’d have to keep his finger off the trigger so he would limit himself to just physical force.

           The man staggered to his feet, clutching his stomach in pain having been jumped while staggering out of the bar. “What hell do you think you’re doin’?” He demanded.

           The man reeked of alcohol and he was disheveled. He was taller than Alfie but looked like a weed, easy to snuff out but annoying as hell. One of those gits that didn’t know when to quit. Alfie hated men like that.

           “Daniel Kelly, correct?”

           The man had dirty blonde hair sticking to his sweat covered forehead. He squinted and tried to size up the gangster boss through his gin-kaleidoscope vision. “Yeah, who’s asking?”

           “Well, that don’t matter, do it? All that matters is you’ve been a bit unkind to one of me employees, yeah?” Alfie cracked his knuckles and gripped his cane tightly.

           “Don’t know what you’re fuckin’ talking’ about.” The man was too intoxicated to see what sort of danger he was in. It was a shame what gin did to inflate the ego. Alfie had killed a lot of men who were so hopped up on liquid courage that they didn’t turn away when they had the chance. Pesky flies just begging to be smacked down by a biblical force.

           “Don’t even know who you are, mate. Where am I?”

           “Now why would a man harm his wife?” Alfie looked at his boys. “Any guesses, lads?”

           They didn’t respond, knowing their boss was just working up to the finale of caving the man’s face in. It wasn’t wise to interrupt his monologue lest they wanted to join the victim.

           “No? I’ve got one.” He raised his right hand as if he’d come to a divine epiphany. “Maybe, right, he’s a fucking lowlife and a drunk who don’t deserve someone like her. What you think, mate?”

           “Louise?” Daniel furrowed his eyebrows and his lanky body wavered, trying to stay upright. “You talkin’ ‘bout me wife?”

           Alfie didn’t answer. He was on a roll of working himself up, stroking his temper like a feral tiger ready to be unleashed. “Thing is, I like going through me day without having to come across fucking scum of the Earth, like you.” He jabbed his finger at his chest. “I also prefer women not get taking advantage of. You fucking think you're tough, yeah? Picking on a girl half your size. Think it makes you man?”

           “Bigger man than you,” Daniel smirked and looked down at the Jewish gangster. “Fucking little man.”

           Alfie just chuckled darkly. His associates knew that was the last straw and braced themselves for impact.

           “Right…” He passed his cane to his other hand and punched the man with a power that nearly caved his entire face in.

           Daniel’s nose made a sickening crack and blood poured down his face. He collapsed to his knees holding his face. “Jus’ tell me where she is, this ain’t any of your fuckin’ business!” His voice was distorted from his broken nose. Dark warmth pooling in his palms, streams slipping out between his fingers and down the front of his hand. Thick blood drops hit the concrete with a sticky sounding plunk.

           “It is me fucking business because look where you are. You’re standing in me bakery and ain’t no one gonna hear you scream, mate. You tried to kill my secretary. You dug your own fucking grave, mate, you put yourself here.” Alfie calmly wiped the blood from his knuckles. Blood spatter accenting his sleeves in a violent design. “Next time I hear about you doing something else like this, I’m gonna have me boys bring you back here, to me, and I’m going to fucking break your fucking legs!” His voice lost its frightening restraint. His shout rang loudly through the bakery, frightening a few birds from the rafters. “Yeah? Got it? Get up, and fuck off. Don’t fucking let me catch you doing this again.” Alfie turned and went to walk away. Despite the irritating nature of the man, he assumed his job was done and the message was clear. Although, Alfie had a sliver of hope that his threats didn’t get through Daniel’s thick skull. He decided he would want the pleasure of breaking a few more bones.

           He’d get the final laugh anyways.

           “Have fun with her then, she’s a fuckin’ whore, she’ll open her legs up for anyone, even a fuckin’ monster like you,” Daniel called out after him and spat at the ground. His saliva clotted with blood.

           Alfie stopped in his tracks. His hands curling into fists as his temper hit a peak. He threw his cane with a loud clang against the concrete floor. He walked over to him with the devil shaking beneath him. A storm raged in his ocean colored eyes. He reached into his waistcoat and retrieved a switchblade. It was typically for daily use but Alfie didn’t discriminate against weapons. If it could kill a man, he’d use it.

           Daniel gave him a look of confusion when he returned, trying to hold his shirt over his bleeding nose.

           “Right,” The gangster dragged Daniel to his feet and slammed him up against a nearby support beam. “Guess what I’m gonna do with this?” Alfie flipped open the blade and held it to the man’s stubble-covered jaw. “I’m gonna do the same thing you did to Miss Barnes. ‘Cept you’re not going to live. I’m sending you straight to fucking hell, you save a spot for me, yeah?” He hissed and thrust the knife into Daniel’s stomach. Dark maroon spread over the man’s white shirt, eliciting a scream from the man with every stab.

           After a frenzied vortex of time as Alfie blacked out from rage, the blade broke off in the man’s torso. So he let Daniel fall to the ground. He took out his gun, cocked it, and shot the man between the eyes.

           The gunshot echoed through the empty warehouse. Then a quiet settled as if nothing had happened. The night continued on.

           Alfie pocketed his gun and dropped the broken blade handle. Blood spattered over his shirt and soaked his arms. Painted with the aftermath of his crime. He sliced himself a bit in the fevered attack but didn’t feel the pain. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and took care of numbing his nerves.

           “Right, fucking get it outta here.” He huffed and shook blood off his hands, drops flying against nearby barrels. “Don’t care where you dump it. Then come back and clean up.” He waved the boys off and returned to his office to cleanse himself of sin.

~~~~~~~~~~~

           The next morning, Louise was unaware of her husband’s death. She walked into the bakery and found one of the men mopping up a dark, sticky puddle. Confused, she went to Alfie’s office.

           “Come in,” Alfie called after she knocked.

           Louise slipped off her coat and hung it up beside his overcoat on the hook. “What spilled outside?” She asked.

           “Just some resin, nothing too bad.” He lied through his teeth and continued reading. He should've known she'd pick up on the little things. Minor details like that didn't go over her head, she was as sharp as a whip.

           “Oh…” She sat down and took out her diary. His hands appeared in her line of vision and startled her. “What about your hands?”

           Fresh bandages covered the cuts on Alfie’s hands. “Splinters.” He muttered.

           The answer wasn’t convincing but she didn’t want to pry. That wasn’t her job. “Okay, well-” The telephone interrupted her.

           Alfie grumbled incoherently under his breath and picked up the receiver. “’Ello?”

           “What did I fucking tell you?”

           The voice on the other line was unmistakable. And it was far too early in the morning to listen to Tommy Shelby chewing him out. “Tommy, so good to hear from ya, mate, anything I can do for you?”

           “I said I’d give you his name if you didn’t kill him. Now you’re getting sloppy, couldn’t even get the body to the river to dump it?” The Blinder demanded. “Your boys dumped him on the side of the road!”

           “No fucking idea what you’re going on about.” Alfie’s eyes flicked up to see Louise patiently waiting across the desk. She had no idea.

           “Really? Right, well now you’ve got to tell his widow what happened. And you better tell her the truth, Alfie, of I will.”

           “You fucking what?” His fist fell onto the desk making his secretary flinch. He gritted his teeth and restrained himself as best he could for her sake. “You trying to back me into a corner, Tommy boy?”

           “She paid us for protection, she didn’t say anything about murdering him.” He retorted, not intimidated by his fierce opposition.

           “Had it fucking coming, didn’t he?” Alfie demanded. “Yeah? Don’t think he’s some saint, do ya?”

           “Right, I can understand, really, I can. But you need to tell her. You can’t cover this up or the police will start asking her questions. You want to save her the trouble of being a suspect?”

           The gangster looked at Louise. She appeared puzzled but not uncomfortable. “Fine.” He forcefully returned the receiver to the hook.

           “Everything alright?” She had a sinking feeling in her gut that the call from Mr. Shelby had something to do with her.

           Alfie sighed and interlocked his fingers on the desk. “Your husband was found dead.”

           Her eyes widened and a hand flew to her mouth. “What?” Her whisper muffled against her palm. “W-when? How?”

           “I uh…” He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. There wasn’t any telling what kind of reaction she would have. But he didn’t expect her to see how distraught she was. “He…”

           Louise hadn’t seen him so lost for words. The uneasiness on his face was unmistakable. Her jaw dropped in disbelief. The realization and horror spreading over her face. “You didn’t.”

           He swallowed and his eyes flicked down to betray his stoic expression. “Louise-”

           “Alfie, please tell me you didn’t. Tell me it was someone else.” She begged. The last thing she wanted was for her view of the man to be too utterly distorted to fix it.

           He shook his head. “I only meant to rough him up a bit.” He muttered. When had he ever felt shame for committing murder? Maybe his first time but it wore off soon after. He thought he was doing something chivalrous for her. But she was cut from a different cloth.

           “I told you.” Her voice shook violently as she glared at him, hints of fear behind her eyes. “I told you to leave it, didn’t I?”

           “Yes-”

           “I told you to leave in the past. You went behind my back. I didn’t ask you to do this, I didn’t want him dead!” She cried, her voice rising.

           Alfie dragged a hand over his face. “I was planning on just breaking his fucking nose-”

           “But I didn’t ask you to do even that! How did you even learn who he was?” She demanded.

           “If ya just let me finish me fucking sentence, I’ll fucking explain!” He couldn’t help but feed off her angry energy. His temper was always starving for a reason to go off. Even if it was Louise.

           “Don’t you dare,” She stood up and leaned over his desk, pressing her palms into the wood. “Don’t you fucking dare yell at me! Not after what you did!”

           He pressed back in his leather desk chair. It was the first time he’d ever heard her swear. It affected him more than he realized it possibly could. He clenched his jaw and composed himself. “I’m not trying to yell at you. But I have a reason for what I did.”

           “I can’t imagine you have a good enough reason when I explicitly told you not to get into it.” She spat. Her entire body appeared to tremble with anger.

           “He fucking wouldn’t shut his fucking mouth!” Alfie matched her volume and heaved himself up out of his chair.

           “And you’re so good at that?” She retorted. “You can’t do whatever you want, you don’t make up the rules. The world doesn’t bow down to Alfie Solomons!” She shouted.

           “He called you a whore!” He slammed his fist down on the desk making it quiver. “I ain’t fucking apologizing for giving him exactly what he deserved!”

           Louise flinched but didn’t back away from him. “I can’t believe you. I thought you were different, but people were right about. You’re heartless.” Tears formed in her eyes.

           Alfie tensed up and his heart froze over. He wanted to inform her that he cared so deeply about her and would do anything for her because he knew she deserved it.

           “I can’t even look at you.” She turned and roughly wiped her tears away with the sleeves of her blouse.

           “Louise!” He called after her but didn’t follow after she slammed the door to his office shut. “Fuck.” He mumbled and collapsed back into his chair.

           Cyril whimpered softly from his bed. The dog’s sagging cheeks resting on his front paws, his sad eyes looking up at his master.

           Alfie put his head in his hands, tugging at his hair out of frustration. “She’ll be the death of me.” He grumbled to his dog. “Mark me words.”

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

           Louise showed up at work the next day. Her face was plastered over, stuck in a stony expression. She wore a black dress as if to drive the blade further into Alfie’s chest. She didn’t ignore him; everything had to do with business though. Her voice was dull and emotionless. She wouldn’t show him any weakness.

           It crushed Alfie far more than he expected. Once the day finished, he was worn out even though he hadn’t gotten much work done. He was too preoccupied with Louise’s behavior. He wondered if he could ever make it up to her or ever have her the way he wished he could. Smiling and happy on his arm. Making him seem like a better man than he really was. Heartless. She couldn’t love a man who was heartless.

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

           “Hello?”

           “Tommy, it’s Alfie.” The gangster boss muttered. It was about eight at night and had begun to rain. Alfie didn’t want to return home, he was afraid that without any distractions he would drive himself mad.

           “Something you need?” The Shelby asked curiously.

           “I want you to come pick up the money you gave me, the half of Louise’s inheritance.”

           Tommy went quiet. He knew it had to have something with Alfie murdering Daniel. “You should give it to her if you really don’t want it, eh?”

           “Doubt she’d take it from me. Fucking hates me guts now, don’t she?” Alfie’s hand tightened around the receiver of the phone.

           “Just add it to her paycheck then.” He suggested. “I don’t want to take it.” The man didn’t think it was right to take more money from the woman.

           Alfie grunted. “I fucked up, Tom.” His voice lost some of its usual sternness.

           “I know.” He wasn’t going to sugar coat it. “Can’t take it back now though.”

           “She’ll hate me. Thinks I’m this soulless thing. Fucking evil of the Earth, exactly what everyone else thinks.” It was a rare thing for Alfie to let his outer shell crack. But he knew Tommy had been in love and could sympathize even a little bit.

           “You could try to right it. Can’t buy yourself out of it though like everything else,” He warned. “Woman can see right through that, especially women like her.”

           Alfie rested his elbow on his desk, putting his head in his hand. “She’s got my bollocks in a vice, she does. Haven’t even told her what I feel for her but she’s fucking got me wrapped ‘round her pinky like I was nothing but a toy.”

           Tommy was a little surprised he was being so honest. It showed the most humanity he’d ever seen in Alfie and it made him downright uncomfortable. “Well, you can figure it out, right? You know her better than me.”

           “Don’t know.” Alfie lifted his head and scratched the nape of his neck. “Still…you won’t take the money?”

           “No. You’ll find something to do with it if she doesn’t accept it.”

           “Don’t want the fucking money.”

           He wanted her.

~~~~~~~~~~

           That same night, rain spattered against the windowpane. Alfie had finally gone home. He sat in the parlor, trying to read. But he’d been stuck on the same paragraph for a while. His brain couldn’t absorb the information so he kept rereading.

           A banging on the door interrupted the struggle of his thoughts. Alfie set his book aside and heard Evelyn trotting down the stairs.

           “S’alright, Evelyn, I’ve got it.” He didn’t want the girl opening the door so late at night. He walked to the door and opened it.

           Louise was standing on the front step, looking like a wet cat. The rain had soaked right through her dress, her curls limp and sticking to her face. It was impossible to distinguish the raindrops from the tears on her cheeks.

           Her lower lip quivered. “Can I come in?”

           Alfie nodded. “’Course.” He said quietly and let her in. “Why’re you out there without a fucking coat?” He asked.

           She shook her head but didn’t answer.

           “Evelyn, get some towels, yeah?” He called up to the girl.

           “Yes, Mr. Solomons!” She replied.

           He led Louise to the parlor where flames blazed in the fireplace. He let her warm up a bit while Evelyn came downstairs with a heap of fluffy towels.

           “Miss Barnes, you look freezing!” She gasped and quickly helped the woman wrap up in the towels.

           “Thank you, Evelyn.” She said, her voice cracking.

           “That’s all, Lyn,” Alfie said steadily.

           The girl looked worried, not sure why Louise was there in such a state but left the parlor on his orders.

           Louise stood stock still near the fire aside from brief shivers wracking her body.

           Alfie backed up and sat down on one of the couches. He wasn’t sure what to say to her after their argument and subsequent coldness between them that day. He leaned forward, his hands clasped between his wide spread knees.

           She used one of the towels to do her best to dry her hair. “I’m sorry, I’m intruding so late.” Her voice finally came out in an ashamed tremble. The fire lit up her hazel eyes, glowing flecks of amber hidden in the irises.

           “S’not a problem.” He mumbled. “There a reason you’re here?” He didn’t want to sound cold, but he wanted to get down to the bottom of it. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to argue with her again. It hurt too much last time despite fully engaging in it without hesitation.

           She sucked in her lower lip, tugging on it between her teeth. “I have to apologize for how I treated you today and yesterday.” Her eyes were on his, holding sincerity.

           “You don’t need to apologize, yeah? Your emotions are your emotions, can’t change that.”

           “The truth is I’m not really angry with you. I don’t know what I’m really angry at.” She lowered the towel and folded it over her arm. Her chilled body slowly warming up beside the fire. “You don’t know what I went through with Daniel.”

           “You could tell me, yeah, if that would help.” He offered. “I’m all ears. I’m not angry and I’m sorry ‘bout all that yesterday. Weren’t fair for me to yell at you after what I did.”

           “No, I know.” She hugged herself close, keeping the soft towel around her shoulders. “I uh…I guess I should start from the beginning.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.

           Alfie patted the couch beside him so she would sit down.

           “I’m still damp.”

           “Don’t matter, it’ll dry, s’just water.”

           She nodded and walked over to sit on the couch. She kept her distance though, afraid he was still upset with her despite what he’d said. “My parents wanted me to marry this man that we’d known for a while, a family friend’s son. He was wealthy, Oxford graduate, with very good manners. But when I was with him...I felt like I was nothing but a little toy to tote around the events. He’d show me off and then act like I was just emotionless or nothing but a shell of a person.”

           Alfie furrowed his eyebrows and let out a grunt with a frown. He could get that impression from a lot of wealthy men.

           “I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with him, and if I married him that’s what I would have to put up with. My parents would look down on me if I tried for a divorce.” She reached up to brush her damp hair away from her face. Then she used the towel around her shoulders to try to dry her curls again. “I met Daniel, he was a driver for another family we knew. He swept me off my feet and I felt so excited knowing that there was something else to life. He’d take me out dancing and drinking. I felt like I was free. My parents hated him but I didn’t care. I eloped with him after six months. It was all right for a bit. He could never hold a job so I had to work too. I sold some jewelry, anything to keep us afloat. We had to move to Birmingham. But I was too stupid to see how things were changing. I thought he was just a down on his luck boy that would turn into my prince in shining armor. My parents would see that he was perfect for me.” She laughed bitterly. “I was such a daft teenager.”

           Alfie pursed his lips. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t her fault and that most teenagers were daft. He certainly wasn’t a wise and orderly chap. He could imagine her parents would disapprove of him as well. The teenager with an unstable temper, a penchant for stealing, and the gift of riling up police officers.

           “I guess a year or so into the marriage I couldn’t ignore everything. He rarely kept a job longer than a week. He’d take my earnings and go off.” She waved a hand in the air disgust pricking at her eyes. “Gambling, drinking, having an affair, I never knew. Kept me away from the people I loved most. Often told me that no one would care for me the way he did.”

           Cyril padded into the room after pestering Evelyn for a treat. He went over to Louise, resting his droopy face on her knees. She smiled faintly at him and began stroking his ears. The motion kept her grounded as she recounted her history.

           “After a while, he started asking why I wasn’t getting pregnant. He wouldn’t let it go and blamed me. He just kept going on about how I was damaged and worthless.” Louise’s voice caught her throat. Her late husband’s voice echoed in her mind, ranting and raving about how she wasn’t a woman if she couldn’t get pregnant. “Said I was only good for fucking.” A tear escaped down her cheek.

           Alfie’s jaw clenched as he took out a handkerchief and offered it to her. Part of him was beside himself that a woman would be told such things. The other half of him wished he had the ability to raise people from the dead so he could kill Daniel again and again.

           Since he didn’t say anything, Louise continued, unaware of his seething beneath the surface. “I got so sick of it. One day, I challenged him. I said maybe he was the infertile one, not me.” A cloud covered her face as the vivid memory resurfaced. Standing in the dark kitchen, Daniel stinking of gin, look of rage burning his face red as the fateful words left her mouth. “That’s when he first hit me.” Her eyes focused on Cyril to keep her composure. The memory kept playing because she knew Daniel didn’t just hit her. She remembered the brutal force against her cheek as he grabbed her by the back of the neck and slammed her down into the kitchen table.

           Her breathing became shallower as she scratched behind Cyril’s ears. The bullmastiff could sense something was troubling her so he leaned his body weight against her legs. The pressure was comforting and allowed Louise to pull herself out of her own memories and return to the present.

           Alfie stood stock still beside her. Everything twisted around in his stomach; his heart lunging against his ribs, Louise’s past haunted him. If only he’d known. If only he’d been there. He would put an end to it immediately so she would never see abuse. So she wouldn’t have to wake up every morning with the scars etched into her bones. He knew what it was like to open his eyes and all the traumatic memories flooding through like sunlight. Every time he wished he could wake up without remembering. It was torture enough to have gone through it. But the lingering effects were salt in the wound.

           “I kept threatening to leave but I never did.” Louise began talking again once she composed herself enough. “I was scared he would kill me. There wasn’t any way I could back to my parents either. I know they loved me so much but I defied them every step of the way and ruined my life. I never got the chance to amend. They were killed in an accident.”

           She revealed what she’d kept from him on a professional standing. And Alfie wasn’t sure how Louise had managed to be there, sitting next to him. It was as if life kept hurling rocks at her but she continued to get up every time. “Lou…”

           “Alfie, I won’t thank you for what you did.” She looked up from Cyril, her hazel eyes still blazing in the firelight. “But, I can’t judge you for it. I can forgive you.”

           “Dunno if you should.” He muttered back and reached back to run his fingers through the back of his hair. “I didn’t fucking listen to you like I should’ve…”

           “I thought about killing him.” Her voice came out in a choked gasp as if someone had been choking her but finally let her breathe again. It was something she’d kept to herself. No one around her could understand. But if anyone could it would be the man who had killed Daniel.

           Alfie blinked and almost asked if he’d heard her right. But there was no mistaking the words.

           Her eyes were hard as she nodded shakily, sensing his disbelief. “And not just like… ‘Oh, I wish he’d disappear’. No, I uh…I thought about taking a pillow and just-” She pressed her hands down on her thighs to mimic smothering someone. “But I wasn’t strong enough. So I looked for other ways out.” She looked down again in shame. She was delving into her darkest thoughts, shining a light on them. Everything looked so ugly when illuminated.

           The man beside her could think of many ways to dispatch of Daniel but he didn’t want to make her feel worse. Women like her didn’t need to hear the details of how he got rid of problems.

           “If I tried to kill him…he’d kill me. If I succeeded in killing him, I’d probably be hanged. So…” She twisted her fingers together, stray raindrops slipping between her palms. “I figured the easiest way would be to end my own life.” Louise couldn’t help but let out a small sob. She couldn’t contain it. The act of speaking those words was too painful but she felt a burdened eased off her.

           “Lou...” Alfie shifted a bit closer to her. He wasn’t the best at comforting people. Usually, he was the reason people needed comforting.

           “I know it sounds so silly. There are people who have it far worse than I-”

           “Louise.” He interrupted her sternly. “That’s ‘nough of that. Fuck the world, yeah, you have the right to feel how you like. World’s not a contest of who has it fucking worse.” He clasped his hands together. “You’re the one who went through it, not anyone else.”

           She sniffled and looked up at him. Her lashes were glossed over with tears. The very vision a painter conjured when depicting the grief of a woman. The weight of the world pressing down on her and continuing to cut pieces away from her. God always took from the ones with the best intentions. Alfie felt like he deserved his misfortunes. He personally carved out the hollowness inside him. Every action he took justified another stab to the gut. But Louise was like him. She didn’t choose to do what he did. She never fought back like him. She complacently took the pain, only dreaming of a way of out it. Alfie indulged in the sin and misery. For a brief moment, he felt full. Having a man’s life in his hand, soaking in the fear of others, adorned in jewels, and passing along high amounts of money. But it never lasted.

           Louise lasted.

           “You’re safe now, yeah, won’t let anyone hurt you. But if you ever feel like that again, you tell me, yeah?” He wouldn’t take suicide lightly. He’d seen men in the war ready to end the suffering. Some men who made it home were unable to cope. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Louise made that decision. “You don’t have to tell me. You could tell Evelyn, Ollie, fucking call up Tommy Shelby if ya need to. But promise me,” He held her gaze to ensure she knew how serious he was. “Promise you won’t keep it to yourself. Because you don’t need to.”

           Louise wiped at her eyes and nodded. “I will.” She whispered weakly.

           Alfie nodded. “Right, good. Need you around.”

           She cocked an eyebrow at him. The wording had come out a little desperately, much more than he intended.

           “Mean, who else could be my secretary?” He hurried to cover up any hints of affection towards her. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable. She didn’t want him. “I mean, fucking hell, I can actually read your writing. Ollie’s was just chicken scratch, wasn’t it?”

           It drew a smile from Louise. A sunbeam breaking through the clouds. “I’m sure it’s just fine. You’re too hard on him.”

           “Nah, you’ve got great penmanship. Lovely, innit? Like art it is.” He praised her to bring out her smile even more.

           “Who thought penmanship would be so coveted in a gangster’s world?” She sighed and shook her head. It was something she had to come to terms with. Alfie Solomons was a gangster. She worked for a gangster. “I mean I don’t know my way around a gun to save my life.”

           He chuckled. “Business ain’t all blood. Keeping books, now that’s crucial. ‘Sides, I could teach you how to shoot.” He offered. “To protect yourself.”

           Louise made a face. “I will respectfully decline.” She reached down. “I have this for protection.”

           Alfie was startled as she hiked her skirt up to her knee. If that wasn’t surprising enough, she unsheathed a knife from a thigh holster.

           “Fucking hell, do you always have that?” His eyes were wide and she allowed him to examine the knife.

           “After I left the hospital I started carrying it.” She admitted sheepishly. Every time she put on the holster she felt unlike herself. She wasn’t shielded in the bubble of her upbringing anymore though.

           “’S’good, keep it.” He gave it back to her, taking care of the sharp blade. “No one in Camden will touch you though.”

           She bent down to return the knife to its holster. “What do you mean?”

           “You’re under my protection.” He straightened up and rolled up the sleeves of his loose fitting shirt. “Anyone who knows what’s good for them will steer clear.”

           Something pinched in Louise’s stomach. He was threatening the entire Camden Town area. Letting out the news that anyone who harmed her would end up like her late husband. It was startling and comforting. Something strange to behold. She bit the tip of her tongue but couldn’t stop herself. “That’s why you left him on the street? To send a message?” Her voice warped around the unfamiliar phrase.

           He grunted and tugged at his beard. “What I do, all my misdeeds, yeah, you don’t have to hear. I won’t involve you in nothing, never intended to. But you want me to be honest, then I will.”

           Louise smoothed her damp skirt down and crossed her ankles. “I want you to be honest.”

           He nodded slowly, almost in a dazed state. He stared ahead at the fire that was starting to lose its power. “Your husband was the last man to lay his hands on you.” His voice was full of conviction. Anyone who tried to defy that would meet a gruesome fate. But Louise didn’t need to know the details. “Anyone who lays a hand on you in Birmingham will have the Peaky Blinders on them. And I’ll fucking admit I wouldn’t want those fucking animals after me. Had that happen before and can’t have that happening again. Nicer when we have an understanding.”

           Louise didn’t want to linger on the fate of foolish men. “So…how many other…families are around?” She had no idea about underground criminal syndicates. She wasn’t even sure her parents knew.

           “Depends on where you are. You got the Italians, Sabini. Got a few more in Camden, allies with them though. They know I run the Town.” He said a bit cockily. “Fuck there’s a gang of all women and I swear they’ve got she-devils in them. Wouldn’t cross them.”

           It was funny to hear the brutal man talk about people he personally wouldn’t cross. “I thought you were the tough one around here.” She tilted her head to the side. She couldn’t imagine there was someone as ruthless as Alfie.

           “Well, don’t think they’d cross me without good reason.” He rested an arm across the back of the couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “It’s about balance, can’t have one bloke have all the power. You can’t go ‘round killing everyone or you’ll have their mates coming after you. Everything’s calculated. It’s not a manner of who’s deadlier, it’s ‘bout who’s smarter, cunning, yeah?”

           The woman was starting to become a little nauseous at the idea. They were all walking a razor-thin rope. One misstep could kill them. She swallowed and gathered herself. “Well, it’s late. I ought to get home.” Her voice rambled out hurriedly.

           “You could stay the night. It don’t matter.” He offered and stood up.

           “No, I’ve pestered you long enough.” She said and cleared her throat.

           The rain was still pelting like bullets against the windows. It was pitch black and hard to see past a foot ahead.

           “Shouldn’t walk home in this.” Alfie shook his head. “Just stay the night, I’ll drive you in the morning if it’s still pouring.”

           “No, Alfie, thank you.” She patted Cyril’s head and went for the door. The cold rain wasn’t pleasant but she still needed to process a few things about it all.

           “Louise, just the night. S’fucking awful out there, don’t want ya to catch your death.” His blue eyes pled quietly.

           She sighed and nodded. “Okay, just tonight.”

           “Evelyn?” Alfie called up to the girl again. “Would you make up the spare room for Miss Barnes?”

           “Of course, Mr. Solomons, Louise, can I draw you a bath?” The girl appeared at the staircase landing.

           “No, thank you, Evelyn.” She smiled. When the girl disappeared, Louise turned to him. “Thank you for speaking with me.” She said quietly. “But, Alfie, I just want you to know that this won’t be easy for me. I will still work for you but you can imagine my…apprehension.” She didn’t want to mention her husband. She’d given him more than enough grief for that and felt like she didn’t have a leg to stand on when she realized how little she mourned the loss. But she wouldn’t become like Alfie. “I just…I wanted to apologize for yesterday and what I said. You’re not heartless. A heartless man wouldn’t let me in and listen.”

           He gazed at her, feeling more than conflicted. While he knew he could have compassion, he wasn’t sure if she still wasn’t seeing him in the correct light.

           “I think I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” Her lips pursed and she tugged at her dress sleeve. “You promised to protect me. But my trust is very small for anyone these days. I’m sure you could understand that.”

           He nodded stiffly. “Very well…I know that very well.” She was to be trusted though, even if it was blind trust. Blindly trusting her because she was something so treasured in his eyes. The key to a damaged and hellish man’s heart. Foolish.

           “Well, goodnight then.” She said and touched his arm, her fingertips grazing over the white sleeve.

           Alfie stood at the base of the staircase, watching her ascend. He put his hands in his pockets as if to hide the residual blood on his hands. All the blood from every man he’d finished off. Every heart he stopped from beating. Every last breath he’d snatched out of the air. Something Louise would never understand and never see as virtuous.

           He could never be virtuous for her. But he longed to have her anyway.

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[xxcorndogxx]

Sandor Clegane x Reader||Chapter Ten

I retreat down to the other soldiers. I take orders and do as much as I can. The Hound stands with the king as usual. The archer's fire. Tyrion says something to him and he walks away. He comes down to us.

"Let's go, Stannis is sending us fresh meat." He orders.

I follow as close behind him as I can. He's so brave. We can hear the men outside the gate. Some dying, some charging. The gates open.

"If any man dies with a clean sword." Sandor starts.

"I'll rape his fucking corpse!" He shouts.

He shoves one man forward. I slip around him. My sword drawn. A man charges at me. He moves so much all I have to do is stick my sword out to kill him. He falls. I pull my sword out and dodge another man's attack. My sword meets his. He hooks his blade under my helm. I push his blade up before he can slit my throat. In the process lightly cutting my cheek and removing my helm. It falls to the ground as my hair flows free.

"A woman." He says.

I take his moment of shock to push my blade into his skull. I continue to fight. It's much easier when you can see properly. I watch as Sandor slices a man almost completely in half. A man comes for me and I dodge his swing. I stick my blade through his gut. Sandor kicks another man down. A larger man comes at me.

"Little girl." He laughs.

He puts up a good fight. I cut the back of his leg and kick it, pushing him to his knees. I drive my sword through his chest. I place my foot on his chest and push him back off my blade. His blood splattering on my face. I look at Sandor and he's looking at me. Shit. But the sound of shouting catches his attention. He stands still as a man on fire comes running at him. The fear on his face. Before I can get to him Bronn does. He kills him. I swing my blade around dodging the two men ganging up on me. I kick one down and fight off the other. I manage to slit his throat. The other grabs my ankle and I stomp on his face. My face probably showing a look of pure anger and enjoyment as I cry out pounding my foot down repeatedly until he stops moving. I see Sandor storming over to me. He takes my arm. The men all follow back inside. He pulls me aside.

"What the fuck are you doing out here, girl?" His brows furrowed in anger.

"I wasn't going to sit in some room praying with the rest of the women to some god who couldn't give to shits about me. Let alone bring you back to me. I wanted you to come back so I decided to go out and fight for you myself!" I explain. "I wanted to fight for you. I'm not going to trust in some fucker in the sky to bring you back to me when I can get you myself."

He loosens his grip on my arm and pulls me to his chest.

"You dumb cunt. You could have gotten killed."

"You saw me, I can handle myself."

"Aye, I don't think I've ever been more turned on, watching you stomp that man's head into the ground." He growls in my ear.

"The next time I get the chance, girl. I'm going to have to fuck you so hard you'll have no choice but to beg me to carry you because your legs won't work when I'm done pounding your tight little cunt."

I almost moan at his words. He asks for a drink. He spits it out.

"Fuck the water, brings me wine."

He undoes the lid with his teeth. I follow him as he walks. Tyrion speaks up.

"Can I get you some iced milk, and a nice bowl of raspberries, too?" He taunts.

"Eat shit, dwarf." He grumbles.

"You're on the wrong side of the wall." Tyrion states.

"I lost half my men." He explains. "The Blackwater's on fire."

"Dog, I command you to go back out there and fight." Joffrey orders.

He sounds like a spoiled child. Sandor looks down at me.

"You're Kingsguard, Clegane." Tyrion starts. "You must beat them back or they're going to take this city."

I bite my lip and he looks up taking a swig from the wine.

"You're king's city."

Sandor takes a moment. I lace my fingers in his. He grips my hand.

"Fuck the Kingsguard." He states.

What is he doing?

"Fuck the city." He continues.

Is he really doing this right now? He looks up at Joffrey.

"Fuck the king."

For a moment Joffrey looks actually hurt. He drags me along behind him. We jog up the corridor stairs.

"Sandor," I speak.

"Sandor!" I shout tugging on his arm.

He stops and turns to me.

"What, girl?" He grumbles.

I say nothing only reach up pressing my lips to his. His kiss is full of so much pent up frustration. His metal hands clanking against my armor. He pulls my body close to his. He takes control and his tongue dominates my mouth. My knees feel so weak I could melt. This man. He does things to me. He stops and takes my hands. He drags me to my chambers.

"Get what you need, I'll go find Sansa." He hurries off.

I don't have much I need really. I find my handmaiden though.

"My lady!"

"I'm leaving," I explain.

"What?"

"With Sandor, we're going away, I need you to stay here. Be safe. That's my final order, Kristine."

She nods.

"Goodbye, my lady." She cries.

I hug her. I see Sandor in the doorway. I pick up my helm and follow him.

I don't remember much. Only getting shit face drunk with Sandor and passing out. Next thing I know there's a bag over my head and I'm stripped of my armor left in an off white thin shirt and trousers. I have no chest cover so I doubt my nipples are hidden. There's cheering and talking. Smells of alcohol. I'm guessing we're in a tavern.

"That's one uncommonly large person how does one manage to subdue such an uncommonly large person?"

"One waits for him to drink until he passes out."

"Poor man. You have my sympathy."

The sacks are ripped from our heads.

"Aha!" The man exclaims.

"Not a man at all. A hound!" He cries out.

Everyone howls.

"So good to see you again, Clegane." The man starts.

"Thores? The fuck you doing here?" He asks.

"Drinking and talking too much. Same as ever." He laughs.

He stops and looks at me. Sandor follows his gaze.

"And who do we have here?"

His voice scares me a little. My eyes lock with Sandors.

"The Hounds little bitch." One of the men says.

He strokes a hand down my face and his fingers graze over my cut. I bite his hand. I nearly rip his fingers off. He pulls back.

"Such a feisty little cunt."

He looks back at Sandor then at me.

"She's one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen. How in seven hells-." He starts.

He walks back to Sandor.

"Did you get such a beautiful little bitch?" He asks.

"I don't even know," Sandor grumbles.

"Why don't you come with me lass?"

"I'm not interested." I scoff.

"And why not?" He asks raising a brow.

"I prefer men, not little fucking cunts like you." I spit.

"She's got that dirty mouth of yours, Hound. You must have some cock to have this bitch wrapped so tightly around it." He says.

"She won't be an easy fuck for my men however this is a pretty prize, lads." Everyone agrees.

"Girl," Sandor calls to the short girl walking passed.

She stops and turns around. It's Arya.

"What in seven hells are you doing with the Stark bitch?" He asks.

That's a good question. How the hell did she get here?

[teamhook]

A Chapter A Day... Savage Heart CS AU

A love story between a pirate and his savior. An innocent, beautiful, selfless woman meets a man with no manners, no formal education and not even a last name. Will Emma fall in love with Killian once she discovers that beneath his tough exterior lies a heart-wild, but a heart of gold? This is a Captain Swan AU

Beta-ed by the awesome @ilovemesomekillianjones​

|AO3| |FFN| previous chapter

|AO3| |FFN| current chapter

Chapter 25: Thwarted Dashing Rescue

Killian is pacing back and forth in Emma's garden. The flower's fragrance fill his nostrils. He misses her so much, but he needs to clear his mind. Thoughts of her are so painful and distracting. So he decides to go to the only place that allows him to gain perspective, the sea.

He walks into the house and calls out to Tink. "Tink, I'm going to the docks, to the Jolly. If anyone stops by, that's where I will be."

She rushes out of her hiding place and smooths her simple green dress. "I want to go with you. I was locked up for far too long at that convent."

"Tink, I'm sorry but I would rather go alone."

"Killian, you are not the only one that needs to breathe the salty fresh air or see the waves crashing against the hull of the ships."

"Fine, you come along then. Do you mind if we walk?"

"Are you kidding me? Killian, it's really far."

"No, it's not... but I suppose we can take the carriage if you'd prefer."

"No, we can walk. I know you would rather walk. I'm still coming along. You are not getting away from me. Killian, I know you are worried about Emma and I also know for a fact that she will come home soon and torture me with studies." She scrunches her nose and bumps his shoulder with her own.

They walk towards the docks using the route opposite of Sherwood Lane, the same road his love had been taken from.

"Don't worry, I will give you the space you need to think."

Once they reach the docks they separate. Tink quickly wanders the docks as she celebrates finally being free.

Killian's brows furrow in thought. He stares at the calming waves beyond the Jolly. He feels so at peace and the solitude is welcomed. Something doesn't feel quite right. He is very perceptive and right now he knows something is amiss. Normally the lost boys' gang flocks to him; he rarely reaches the Jolly without being bombarded with their questions and requests for sailing trips. It is surprisingly quiet. His two biggest fans are nowhere to be seen. Some time back he had caught a few of them aboard the ship hoping to stow away on one of his trips. He quickly turns and walks to a small group of boys playing on the docks. He recognizes one of them. "Johnny, lad, I was wondering where I could find Rufio and Felix?"

"Captain they are gone, they left with a man."

"They are gone? What man did they leave with? Johnny, how long ago was this?"

The boy thinks of his answer before replying, "Almost a week I think, maybe less."

He's a bloody git, he had been too busy looking for clues at the taverns. Sure the docks were filled with newcomers daily, but how many of these people paid any attention to the kids that dwelled there. The short answer is none. Not unless it suits them in some way. He knows this because he has lived it. He was once a lost boy; one of the lost ones. That is one of the reasons the boys look up to him. He was one of them and he managed to survive.

"Johnny, has the man returned to the docks since Rufio and Felix left with him?"

The boy shook his head slowly. "Are they in trouble Captain?"

"No, they're not Johnny." He kneels to be at eye level with the boy. He smiles at the young boy and ruffles his hair. He knows he cannot save them all but he knows Emma will know what to do. "My boy, I need a little bit of help at the office. How would you like to be my personal messenger?" He can offer the boy a place to sleep at the office. There is a small room in the back with two bunks. He knows Michael will not mind. He is a kind, old man. The alternative is his old beach cabin but it is too far.

Tink arrives, "Hey, what is going on?"

Killian turns to her, "Felix and Rufio aren't here; they left with some man, days back."

Tink looks at Killian confused.

"It's too much of a coincidence. Some man appears and persuades two very impressionable boys to leave with him. The sea calls to those two and I cannot picture them anywhere else. Then not long after, my wife disappears."

"I don't know Killian." She looks at him with pity.

"Tink I would gladly take that wager, I know I'm right. Let's get Johnny here to the office and then we go home."

"Fine, but are you going to tell Emma's parents of your theory?"

"About my suspicions; I will tell everyone once I have figured out why she was taken. Tink, I don't know why this man, whoever he is, would target Emma?"

"Killian I don't agree with you but if you feel that strongly I will help however you see fit."

"Good, let's drop off the boy and go home. Maybe Archie and Mr. Nolan will have news."

They each grab one of Johnny's hands and head towards his office with the boy in tow.

They quickly make the drop. Thomas welcomes the boy while Smee turns up his nose. The man truly is a rat.

"Sir, before you go, is there any news of Mrs. Jones?"

"Thank you for asking, Mr. Thomas," Killian stresses the name since his first mate has not mentioned his concern for his wife's abduction. He glares at Smee who in turn cowers in the corner. "I'm sure she will be home soon. I can feel it."

"I'm happy to hear that, sir. She is a wonderful woman."

"Is there anything else?"

Smee and Thomas answer in unison. "No sir, the business is going well."

"Good. For the time being, you two will be in charge. Johnny can deliver messages to the house in case it is needed. I have to head home. Please keep an eye on the boy."

"Of course sir, it will be a pleasure." Mr. Thomas looks fondly at the boy already.

Killian and Tink leave the boy behind and head to the house.

Snow promptly arrives back home after her conversation with Cora. She knows the idea of reaching out to her was not well received, but she knows they will understand and accept her decision. The end goal is to get Emma home. Not long after her arrival David and Archie arrive.

"David, Archie how did it go? Is he going to help?"

"He wasn't thrilled with the idea, that was obvious, but he will. Especially if he knows what is good for him." Archie nods in agreement with David's words.

"I went to go see Cora. She agreed to help. Not long after I delivered the news of Emma's disappearance August left to meet with you both at the Sheriff's office."

David looks at Archie as they both respond at the same time. "We didn't see him there."

"Oh, he seemed eager to help. He cares for Emma."

"Sweetheart, he must have arrived after we left. I thought we had agreed to meet with the Sheriff first."

"This is Emma we are talking about; I'm not taking any chances."

Archie cuts in, "I'm sure things will work out."

David looks at his friend and nods in agreement. "Snow, with Cora's support, I'm sure in no time we will have our daughter back."

Archie smiles, "I should go update Killian."

Snow and David agree for him to go talk to Killian.

There is a pounding on the door and Killian rushes to answer, maybe it's news. He opened the door wide and is greeted by Sheriff Nottingham, who steps inside and makes himself at home without being invited.

"Killian Jones, oh, how you have moved up in the world. Marrying above your class; how fortunate for you."

"Nottingham, what do you want? Are you here to ask for a bribe?" Killian knows he's struck a nerve because the Sheriff goes red.

"If I was you, Captain, I would not anger the person sent to help you find your wife. Your father-in-law and your good friend Mr. Hopper came to see me, and last but not least, the all-powerful August Booth was there later. If you ask me, everyone is putting too much importance on the wife of a pirate."

"My Emma is bloody amazing and you would be lucky to breathe the same air as her. You should keep in mind that she is not only my wife. She is the daughter of Snow and David Nolan. She is close to the Booths. She is not an expendable orphan no one cares for or a simple barmaid that just disappeared."

"Oh, I've gathered that. Mr. Booth was adamant about me finding her. I do wonder why he puts such an effort in looking for his ex-betrothed. Interesting, isn't it? Do you think maybe there is more to his interest?"

"What are you getting at? Just spit it out!"

"He was betrothed to her and then he changed her for the cousin. I don't know, Captain, he may be having second thoughts."

"I don't bloody care if he is having second thoughts or not. Emma is my wife and we are very happy together."

"And yet, she is not here to confirm your story. I think she wanted to run away after she realized that she ruined her life by marrying you. Maybe she got tired of you and found a new lover or went back to an old one." Nottingham smiles and strokes his chin.

Killian laughs at his snide remark and slowly approaches the Sheriff. "I think you are confusing my wife with Lady Marian. Weren't you two to be betrothed? Oh yes, I recall now, she met the dashing Robin Locksley and married him instead. I hear they have a lovely son."

Nottingham closes his eyes as he squeezes his hands into fists so tight that they turned white. He tries to look around the house for a distraction. "I'm only here to do my job."

"Are you mate? You could have fooled me. You are here to get a rise out of me."

"If it was up to me I would let the pieces fall where they shall but in no uncertain way, I was threatened to action by your father-in-law and August Booth."

"Look around if you need to. I've got nothing to hide."

"It appears so, Jones." He tilts his head towards the interior of the house.

Killian starts to walk and is interrupted by Tink. "I will show Nottingham around." He has no doubt Tink is only giving the Sheriff the tour to avoid them from shedding any blood. So he easily makes his way once more to the garden.

After Snow's departure, Cora summons Malcolm to the office.

"Mrs. Booth, how can I be of assistance today?"

"I need Emma brought back. David and Mr. Hopper have reached out to the Sheriff. August went to assist them. Snow agreed to keep her mouth quiet. The plan was never to keep her away forever."

"Oh, so soon; I thought it would take longer for her to agree."

"Malcolm, you seem to underestimate a mother's love. It is never a wise choice."

Malcolm maintains eye contact with her. "I would never make that mistake about you."

"Bring her back, and Malcolm, make sure she is unharmed." With those final words, she leaves him in the office with doors wide open.

Malcolm stays behind trying to think of a way to break the news to the other Mrs. Booth.

He searches for Milah to give her the news. She will not be happy to find out that it is time to bring her cousin back. He will claim that with the pressure the families are applying he cannot risk getting caught.

The volatile personality of the younger Mrs. Booth has been evident to him from the start. He finally finds her walking back from her carefree walk in the gardens.

"Miss Milah, may I have a word?"

"Of course, how can I help?" She offers him her sweetest of smiles.

"I heard that your Aunt came by to request assistance in recovering Mrs. Jones. I'm just informing you that she will be returned soon. I will have to leave to retrieve her."

"Wait, we need to make the demand for her return to Killian. I cannot wait to see how easily he discards my cousin and keeps the ship. That will show everyone; especially Killian, that he doesn't love her as he claims."

"Don't worry I will have the ransom letter dropped before I leave."

"I could deliver it."

Malcolm stares at Milah. "I could go visit him feigning concern for Emma and say I saw the messenger and that he handed it to me or that it was on the floor."

"Don't you think they would question you further?"

"I could say I didn't pay attention. It doesn't matter."

"If you feel confident, I will not object. I will write it quickly. I need to leave and there will be two days for Jones to respond."

"Should I follow you?"

He looks around to see if he can spot anyone that could question their conversation and he didn't find any.

"Alright, follow me. We have to do this quickly."

"Malcolm, wait. Won't my precious mother-in-law have a problem with you leaving?"

"No, she knows I need to leave. I told her that I have some loose ends to tie-up."

"She has been very accommodating to your little excursions."

"Mrs. Booth and I are on good terms is all."

Milah can't hide the disgusted look on her face as they walk in silence to his room. He grabs stationary from the small desk and quickly composes the letter. Simple, direct and to the point.

Milah stares intently at Malcolm as he hands her the note to examine. She reads aloud, "Mr. Jones, Your wife in exchange of your ship. You have 24 hours to comply. You will sail the ship to the border of Misthaven and Port Hook. Leave the title of the ship in the Captain's Quarters to indicate compliance. Your wife will be returned within 24 hours. Let's keep this between us, the first sign of a third party will result in you never seeing your lovely wife again."

"I think this will do perfectly. Malcolm, why does he have to sail out of Misthaven?"

"That question surprises me coming from you. I don't know about you, but I don't want to be caught. It will be a quick sail for him."

"I really wish you didn't have to retrieve Emma."

"You should be happy. You have insisted that he doesn't love her. This will be proof. Now, I have to go. I had asked Dr. Hyde to check in on her. He had reluctantly agreed only because he was afraid one of my helpers might hurt her. He is concerned due to the obvious hate for Mrs. Jones. It seems like there is someone out there that dislikes her even more than you do."

"I don't dislike my cousin but I have never been one to share."

"Have you considered that perhaps this time she is the one that doesn't want to share? I have to go now."

Milah stares at him as he leaves. She has to leave to deliver the letter. She ponders if she should go look for August or Cora to inform them she is leaving and decides against it. The letter, ready to be delivered is neatly hidden from prying eyes.

Milah arrives by carriage to the Jones Residence. She smooths her dress and feels for the letter. She walks confidently toward the door and schools the expression on her face to show concern. She knocks hurriedly. The door opens after a few moments. The look on her face changes instantly as she faces an unknown woman.

"I'm here to see Mr. Jones," she stammers.

"He is not accepting visitors."

"He will see me," Milah says as she forces her way inside.

"I said he is not accepting visitors. You should leave before I force you."

"How dare you? I'm family. I have no idea where he found you but he will be very angry to know you are talking to me this way."

"You are not family. The only woman other than me that can claim to be his family is not here right now."

"I don't know who you think you are but I'm family. My cousin is his wife."

"Your cousin?" Tink repeats with recognition, "Oh, you're Milah. I know of you. Emma mentioned you. What are you doing here? You come to offer yourself when he is distraught. Wasn't it enough that you stole her betrothed now you are here to go after her husband?"

Milah turns beet red. "My cousin would never say such a thing."

"What do you truly know of your cousin or even care? If you would have cared you would have turned down a proposal you knew would break her heart."

"Oh I see, my saintly cousin only told her side of the story. What about her? She married Killian knowing that I loved him."

"What are you talking about, how do you know Killian?"

"That is none of your business, would you step out of my way. As I left my house I saw a boy headed up to the door and he just gave me this and said it was for Killian." She waves the letter in front of Tink. "It may be something important."

"Wait here and don't get any ideas. I'm not Emma; I will not hesitate in hurting you. Just so you know, I'm no lady."

"I can tell. Could you just get on with it? Go get Killian."

Tink glares at her and goes in search of Killian.

Killian had entered the house through the back door completely oblivious to the scene that is playing out inside his home.

Tink finally finds him in his and Emma's bedroom. He is reminiscing gently caressing her possessions.

"Killian" Tink whispers.

"Aye," he sniffles and gives her a smile.

"Killian, when we came back from the docks you were so sure of yourself and now you are back to the defeated man that you were in the morning."

"I know if Emma was here things would be different."

"Killian, I know you are upset but there is someone here to see you."

"I have been expecting Archie or my father-in-law. Is it them?"

"I'm afraid not, it's Milah."

"What the bloody hell does she want? Tink, I cannot deal with her."

"She has a letter with her. She said that a boy was going to deliver it but left it with her when he saw her."

"Do you think it's the ransom letter?"

"I would think so. I hope so."

"Come on Tink, let's go find out."

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?" He arches his brow as they walk toward the living room.

"You and Milah had a dalliance. That you were in love."

"Ah, I thought I was but now I know for a fact that Emma has been the only woman I have ever truly loved."

She smiles and gently reaches out for his hand. "I know, I understand now. At first, I was so angry and hurt but you never gave me false hope."

"I'm sorry love; I believe that the right man for you is out there and that you will find him."

"Just so you know, I'm not leaving you alone with that witch. Emma would kill me."

"She would kill us both."

Killian clenches his jaw as he greets his unwanted guest. "Milah, what are you doing here?"

"I came to see how you were doing only to find out you already have my cousin's replacement living with you. How would Emma feel to know that?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you but Tink is not Emma's replacement. Emma wanted her to come live with us."

"This is priceless; my cousin is more naïve than I gave her credit for."

"You will not come into my home and insult my wife. Get to the bloody point or get out!"

Milah rolls her eyes at him. "I would prefer to have this conversation alone."

"Either you start talking or leave," he demands through gritted white teeth.

Tink hisses at him under her breath, "The letter Killian."

"Milah, give me the bloody letter or was that a lie?"

She holds out the letter for him to take. He grabs the letter unceremoniously from her hand and opens it.

Tink stares at him as he reads it and mutters random words.

"Killian, is it the ransom letter?"

"Aye"

"What do they want?"

"The Jolly"

Emma is pacing in the little room, she has to get out now, she has no idea what they plan to do to her. She will not let fear thwart her plans. Suddenly there are footsteps just outside the door and she stays still and grabs her empty water cup slowly to go unnoticed and flips it. There aren't any options for weapons so she will use what she can. She sees the door knob turn slowly and then the door is open. The sunlight shines through and she can make out a silhouette of a man stepping into the cot. Before she can strike the intruder, she is stopped by the voice of her young friend. The cup drops to the floor.

"Miss Emma, it's me. Hurry, I don't know how long they will be gone. They went to town for supplies. We are lucky they left the carriage behind but they took one of the horses. The carriage will be slower with one horse but you'll have a head start."

"Rufio, thank you, I will never forget this. You are helping me get home. Come with me." Her eyes are teary and full of hope.

"I cannot come with you. I will lie and tell them you ran right before they got here."

"I will not know where to go. We have a better chance together."

"No, I hope the Captain can truly forgive me for my part in your separation. You are going to need to knock me out."

"No, come with me," she asks again, she fears for his well-being once she is gone.

"We have no time to argue. Come." He grabs her hand and pulls her out. The sun shines bright and hurts her eyes. She lifts her hand to shield her eyes as she follows him.

He abruptly stops in front of the carriage. She still can't focus her eyes as she hears the rustling and the horse neighing.

"Here, let me help you climb. You need to go. Now!" He looks so sad.

She stops suddenly. "Wait, I thought I was taking the carriage."

"No, it will be much faster if you ride the horse. The carriage will be too much weight for the lone horse and slow you down. You will surely be caught again."

Emma looks at her dress. It is dirty and rough to touch. If she is to ride the horse she cannot care for propriety. She reaches for the bottom and tears it enough to allow movement.

He helps her mount the horse, her torn garment making the climb easier. "Rufio, before I go. Do you know who is responsible?"

"I just know his last name... Peters, but I don't think he is in charge. He always said you were not to be hurt and that you would be released but I'm afraid of what Felix will do, he scares me."

"I know he doesn't like me. He blames me for losing Killian."

"I still think you should come with me."

"If they hadn't taken the other horse, I could, but two people on one horse. The horse will tire and we cannot take that risk. Please go, follow the dirt road and you will reach the crossroads, take a left turn and keep going. That will lead you back to Misthaven."

She rides the horse as fast as she can, following Rufio's instructions and disappearing into the sea of trees.

Rufio looks on as Emma gallops away to her freedom. He slowly walks back to the cot she had been held in. He grabs the cup she had in her hands and repeatedly strikes himself in the head, blow after blow until blood runs down his face. It has to look believable that Emma had assaulted him in her quest for freedom. He hopes that she has gained enough distance.

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked@profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87@snowbellewells@hollyethecurious@kymbersmith-90@branlovestowrite@thejollyroger-writer@shireness-says@ilovemesomekillianjones@thisonesatellite@thesschesthair@winterbythesea@stahlop@resident-of-storybrooke@superchocovian@lfh1226-linda@artistic-writer@thislassishooked@shardminds@winterbaby89@xhookswenchx@ultraluckycatnd@gingerchangeling@laschatzi@wellhellotragic@xemmaloveskillianx@courtorderedcake@pirateherokillian@optomisticgirl@darkcolinodonorgasm@sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426​

[wistfulcynic]

Drink the Wild Air (4/?)

IN WHICH We learn more about Lieutenant William Jones, and the ship he is now a part of, and MYSTERY IS FORESHADOWED.

SUMMARY: Once upon a time a princess fell in love with a pirate. This is their story.

A Captain Duckling high-seas adventure tale in which princesses are kidnapped (OR ARE THEY), sea battles are fought, SWASH is BUCKLED and CASTLES are STORMED.

(also EVIL is VANQUISHED and FAMILIES are REUNITED)

For @thisonesatellite​ (who is somehow more delightful in person than over the internet,) @ohmightydevviepuu​ who is the best cheerleader, and @katie-dub​ who is always the loveliest. 

@darkcolinodonorgasm​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @teamhook​ @stahlop​​ @mariakov81​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @shireness-says​ @snidgetsafan​ @xarandomdreamx @winterbaby89​​ @jennjenn615​ @facesiousbutton82​​

(please do say if you would like a tag or if you would like not a tag)

(Also on AO3) (Tumblr: Part One | Part Two | Part Three)

PART THE THIRD: LIEUTENANT WILLIAM JONES:

Lieutenant William Jones concluded, after some consideration, that he was not especially surprised to learn that life on a pirate ship was not so very different from life on a ship in service of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. A ship was a ship, after all; the same tasks needed to be performed to keep her afloat, the same command structure had to be enforced, and even the mission goals were not terribly dissimilar. The line between plunder and conquest was a very fine one, comprising delicate questions of politics in which Lt Jones took no interest. All he wanted was to sail and to see the world, and the company he kept whilst doing so mattered little. 

There were some aspects of his new pirate’s life that did surprise him. The ship they sailed was an exceptionally fine one, with impossible speed and manoeuvrability which he soon deduced could only be the result of enchantment. Once going she could maintain her momentum even without wind, and after a few weeks’ careful observation of how her captain handled her, the lieutenant began to wonder if the crew was in fact necessary at all. 

Captain Jones kept his ship in pristine order and condition, and commanded the crew with military-grade discipline. So far as he had ever considered the question, Lt Jones imagined pirates to be an unruly lot, unwashed and obstreperous and prepared at any moment to mutiny. Instead they —or at least those on the crew of the Jolly Roger— were meticulous and tidy and their respect for their captain showed in every action they took. 

There was quite a lot of carousing, however. 

And yet the only thing that truly astonished the young lieutenant was the princess. Quite apart from the extraordinary fact of a princess sailing with pirates at all, it was obvious from his earliest days among the crew that they loved her nearly as much as their captain did, and there was never any muttering about the bad luck of having a woman on board or any challenge to her authority or her place on the ship. She knew each member of the crew by name, and greeted them with a warm smile and and jest that was as effective at keeping discipline as the captain’s more traditional approach. And while Lt Jones believed that the princess’s warmth and interest were genuine, he also saw the strategy behind her actions. She needed this ship and its crew for something, some purpose far outside the usual purview of a pirate ship, and the best way to ensure the crew’s cooperation in unusual or trying circumstances would be to win their loyalty. 

~

His first few weeks aboard the ship were spent in the infirmary, definitely a surprising experience for the young lieutenant. Infirmaries on naval vessels were grim places where the stench of blood and rotting flesh was infused into the very walls and men were as like to die of disease as of any injury sustained in battle. The infirmary aboard the Jolly Roger was, by contrast, utterly pristine, with cots covered in clean linen and instruments crafted of gleaming metal and air that carried a sharp, astringent odour, not wholly pleasant but compared to the putrefaction the lieutenant was accustomed to, vastly to be preferred. It was run with an iron fist and an air of benign insanity by a man who introduced himself as “Whale” and did not amputate Lt Jones’s leg. 

Lt Jones, who had already resigned himself to the loss of his limb, found he was almost disappointed. He’d been rather enjoying the notion of himself as a proper peg-legged pirate. But Whale informed him, with a grin that exposed rather more teeth than seemed appropriate for a human head, that there was no need to waste a perfectly useful and very well-formed body part, and proceeded to hand Lt Jones a rag soaked in liquid and wafting fumes with the same pungent aroma that permeated the air and instructed him to hold it to his face. This he did, hesitantly at first and then with greater enthusiasm as the edges of his vision blurred pleasantly and his body went numb, and he he began to fancy he was floating. 

He watched with detached curiosity as Whale deftly reset the crushed bone in his leg, secured it within a splint constructed of thin and flexible slats of wood then wrapped the whole affair up with strips of fine linen dipped in a substance that looked like wet clay, watery and pale grey, mottled with specks of green. After twenty-four hours this clay had dried to form a remarkably solid and resilient cast, and Whale’s pallid face wore a pleased expression as he rapped his knuckles up and down the length of it. 

“Hmm, yes,” he said, nodding in approval and flashing a grin that raised goose pimples on Lt Jones’s arms. “That will do nicely.” 

 From the infirmary’s supply closet he produced a selection of wooden crutches, which he proceeded to measure against the lieutenant’s back until he found the one best suited to his height. This he instructed Lt Jones to use to take daily exercise on the decks, along with a regimen of lifting, bending and stretching designed to keep his muscles strong and limber and his joints flexible. Lt Jones followed these instructions to the letter and after a week or so Whale permitted him to spend several hours a day performing menial tasks alongside the crew, provided they did not result in getting his cast wet. The remainder of each day he spent in the infirmary, resting and drinking cups of bitter tea at regular intervals under Whale’s glittering and watchful eyes.

After several weeks of this routine Whale pronounced that the time had come to remove the cast. He began by making a fissure down the length of it with a hammer and a tiny chisel, then gripped it tightly on either side and wrenched the whole thing apart into two equal pieces like the shell of a walnut, revealing a perfectly healed and unscarred leg within. 

Lt Jones stared at it. “But— how?” he stammered. 

“Healing herbs in the clay,” said Whale. “Among other things.” He gave the empty teacup in Lt Jones’s hand a significant glance and grinned his jovial, manic grin, and Lt Jones reflected that perhaps the prospect of leaving the infirmary, hopefully for good, was not at all a bad thing. 

Once Whale had swabbed the clinging bits of clay from his leg with a clean linen cloth dipped in another mysterious solution, Lt Jones stood from his cot and gingerly put weight on his newly healed limb. Finding it as hale and whole and sturdy as ever, he began to walk around the room, at first cautiously then with more confidence, even capping his tour by dancing a little jig. 

“Excellent,” said Whale, his pale eyes glinting. “I’ll have to remember that formulation. Most, most excellent.” 

At that moment there was a knock on the door and the quartermaster’s mate appeared, holding a stack of fresh and neatly folded clothes for Lt Jones plus his own shoes, cleaned and shined. Gratefully abandoning the split trousers and single slipper he had worn for the duration of his convalescence, Lt Jones dressed quickly and followed the quartermaster’s mate, a man called Teynte, to the crew’s quarters where he found waiting for him his own bunk, sea chest, and leather flask. 

“Bunk t’ sleep, chest t’ keep, and flask t’ drink, said Teynte cheerfully.

Lt Jones sniffed the flask dubiously. “Drink what?” he asked. 

“Grog, o’ course,” said Teynte. “The cap’n’s right generous wi’ it.” 

“Grog? You mean rum.” 

“Aye, rum ’tis, along wi’ lemons and a touch o’ sugar. Ye’d best drink it, Navy lad, it keeps ye healthy, so it do. There be times, weeks on end as can be, when we sees no food but fish and ship’s biscuit, ye’ll be grateful fer a spot o’ grog then t’ stave off th’ scurvy.” 

“Hmmm,” said Lt Jones. “I see your point.” Scurvy was rampant in the Queen’s Navy and he had witnessed with his own eyes the suffering it caused. Raising the flask first in toast to Teynte’s good health and then to his lips he took a cautious sip. The liquid was sharp and burned down his throat, but it was not altogether unpleasant. He sipped again, more generously. “I believe I could get used to this,” he said with a grin. 

“Haha! We’ll make a pirate o’ ye yet, laddie!” cried Teynte with a clap to his back that nearly sent him reeling. “Reckon the princess be right about ye.” 

~

Lieutenant Jones had of course noticed—it hadn’t taken him long—that he was the object of particular scrutiny from both the princess and the captain. More than once he had felt their eyes upon him as he did his daily exercise on the deck, and each had—separately and, he suspected, without the other’s knowledge— stopped in to see him in the infirmary, with overly casual airs and subtle but pointed questions concerning the progress of his recovery. 

A month or so after he had fully taken up his duties aboard the ship he began to get an inkling of the purpose behind their interest. The day was a bright and sunny one, freshened by a cool, salty breeze that bore a hint of spice, and Princess Emma and Captain Jones were up on deck for one of their regular sparring sessions. The crew, though they mostly succeeded in appearing to keep their attention on their tasks, watched closely, Lt Jones among them. A very active and hotly contested betting pool on the outcomes of these sessions flourished below decks; although they nearly always ended in a draw, as Smee informed Lt Jones, the crew held out hope that some day one of the two of them would actually manage to defeat the other. And on that halcyon day one of the crew would make a killing off it. 

A pirate’s life indeed. 

Lt Jones could not help thinking that today was likely not that day. In swordplay as indeed in most things the combatants were remarkably well matched, with the captain’s greater height and strength balanced perfectly by the princess’s speed and precision. What amused him more than any speculation over who—if anyone—might win was the way they sparred with words as well as with blades, taunts and innuendoes flying fast and thick as they feinted, thrust, and parried. When the match ended—in a draw, of course—both participants were panting and dripping sweat, and eyeing each other in a way that made Lt Jones long for some shore leave. 

However on that morning rather than ushering the princess to their cabin and bolting the door behind them, Captain Jones approached his lieutenant of the same name, and offered the younger Jones his blade. 

“Care to have a go, lad?” he asked, with a quirked eyebrow and a small grin.

“Against the princess?” stammered Lt Jones. 

“Aye.” The captain’s grin widened. “Think you can handle her?” 

“Er… no, if I’m honest.” 

Captain Jones laughed. “That is the correct answer, my boy. Try anyway. Show us what you’ve got.” 

Lt Jones stared at the man, searching his face for any sign of trickery. When he detected none he cautiously accepted the proffered sword and gave it an experimental swing. Though far from an expert in sword design he could tell instantly that the balance of the blade and the hilt was perfect, the result of expert craftsmanship. He swung it again, trying to get a feel for it. Princess Emma stood watching him with an amused expression and casual posture, though it did not escape his notice that she stood on the balls of her feet with her shoulders back, prepared at any moment to spring into action. 

“Ready to go, Lieutenant?” she asked. 

He bowed. “When you are, Your Highness.” 

She attacked first, leaping smoothly into the exact move he had expected her to make, with such a speed and skill that he was only barely able to parry it. Their blades met with a clang of metal and he felt the vibrations all the way up his arm. Her slender appearance was deceptive, he realised; she was far stronger than he’d thought, with a skill that could only come from many years of training under the tutelage of a master. He was in way, way over his head. 

On the strength of that realisation, he altered his strategy. This was not a fight he could win, not through skill at any rate, but he might be able to bring it to a draw. She was tired from her earlier sparring with the captain, but he was fresh, and if he could just avert a killing blow he might be able to outlast her. 

He concentrated on deflecting her attacks, holding her off but never moving in himself, never giving her the opportunity to dart in around him as he swung his sword arm as he had seen her do to the captain. He danced around the deck, forcing her to chase him as she advanced, defending, defending, defending until finally she held up her sword. 

“All right,” she said. “I’m calling it. It’s a draw.” 

Her next words were quiet, drowned out by the cheers of the crew. They were for his ears alone. “A draw in this case means you won,” she said. “Well played.”

“Well played indeed,” said Captain Jones, clapping him on the back. “You’re quite a clever lad, aren’t you?” 

“I like to think so, sir.” 

“And one with a sound instinct for survival.” 

“Yes.” 

“Excellent.” Captain Jones squeezed his shoulder. “Excellent.” A look passed between him and the princess, one Lt Jones could not decipher. “Well, now you’ve had your fun, Lieutenant, I’m afraid it’s back to work for you!” 

“Aye, sir!” 

The captain turned away and put his arm around the princess’s shoulders. Hers slipped around his waist and they headed off to their cabin together. 

~

Three weeks later, Lt Jones received a message summoning him to the captain’s quarters. He presented himself to Mr Smee, who was standing guard outside the door and gave it a sharp knock on his behalf, and was bade enter by a curt ‘Yes’ from within. Smee opened the door to reveal the captain sitting at his desk with maps and documents strewn out around him, and the princess standing at his side with her hand on his shoulder. 

“Ah, young Jones,” said the captain. “Right on time. Come in and shut the door behind you.” 

[insane-control-room]

The Sketch

Chapter four, segment one

Full chapter on ao3 here

Previous Chapter Part One

Previous (segment) - Next 

...

But I’m stuttering.

Henry hated seeing Joey like that. Hollow eyed, jittery, harsh breathing. Still, it was a reality that had to be faced, every now and then. The way that Joey would spill his tea in shaky hands, the way his eyes welled with blazing tears. Henry wished he could just hug him and will it all away, but he could not, so there he sat in front of Joey, his thumb rubbing the back of the younger man’s hand. Joey stared directly in front of them, not looking at their hands or at Henry, rather at a black stain on the table. Henry hated that it was his fault Joey was acting like this, restless and nervous. ‘Something’s wrong in the world, I can feel it,’ Joey had told him over and over. ‘Something is very wrong.’

Joey could not sleep when something was wrong. Henry always joked that of all the members of the studio, Joey should have been the one who slept the best, but it was never so, unfortunately for the lanky chicano. Too much kept him up; stress, memories, worries, inventions, family problems, money issues, so much, too much. Henry was one of those worries, but everyone Joey met became one of his worries. He worried for those he never even met, at that. A sweetheart with the biggest soul Henry had ever met, scattered in the stars and spread through whispers and will o’ wisps, a hushed secret of immeasurable power, the most gentle giant ever. 

Anyone could see it, and yet, he still, somehow, had enemies, those sworn against him by blood. Even his own step father fell into their number. But Johan had a new family now.

Bertrum joined them in the pub room, chatting with Allison. They poured themselves coffee and sat beside the doctor, making idle conversation. Joey had not slept enough to understand the words flowing from their lips with such ease, such grace. His own words were marred by an ugly stutter that chased after his tongue, tripping his syllables and bashing his own melody of noises. So he often preferred to stay silent, though words burned at his throat, shrieking to be let out. Most of the time his will lost against his desire.

He hated the sound of his voice coming from his mouth, and would much rather hear it played back through a recording instead of himself. Not that his voice was bad, no, it was… wrong. Something about it just seemed so very wrong. He, at one point, had attempted to correct it with cigarettes and coffee. The first time he had a cigarette he was very young, what, five or six? Atabulus had offered it to him, and the young boy had taken it out of curiosity, and found he despised it. Atabulus had laughed softly, patting his head, telling him that he might like it one day. And no, he never did get used to it, nor did he ever like it, but he would rather pay twenty five cents for fifty staved off meals than two full days of work for one meal. Yet the same thing that saved him was a vice, his body craving the nicotine within the folds of tobacco, demanding it, forcing him to keep buying until he locked himself in his office for two weeks until the cravings dropped, and by then he was so hungry and sun sick that Henry had to drag him up to his garden where he absentmindedly ate nana as he lay in the heat of day until Henry brought him real food.

And so he sat there in front of his friends and family in complete and utter silence, merely staring at the table as he wished he had a cigarette between his fingers. He flinched, and took a draught of his overly sweetened tea, the honey within bringing him back to the present. He forced himself to calm, then. It was okay, nothing was wrong. Nothing at all. Nothing. At. All.

Keep telling yourself that, buddy.

Johan jolted, looking over his shoulder to see if he could catch a glimpse of… whatever that was. Henry gave him a Look, and Joey shrank back in his seat. Bad look. Questioning look. Questions were bad. They meant something was wrong. 

No, no, no, calm down there. It’s fine. Just a little nerve wracked. Just a little bit.

There was a rumbling in his chest, an ache in his hands. He had to build.

It was an insatiable urge, he had to build it. But Henry! Henry forbid him!

At the thought of Henry’s order, the rumbling in his chest turned into a shocking pain lacing through his lungs.

He calmly realized he could not breathe. 

How very interesting.

His free hand rose to his lips, under his nose, as if to check if he really was not breathing. How odd! No flow passed through them, and his eyes watered slightly. The rancid taste of bile clung to the back of his throat, and he rose, and quietly left to the bathroom, and prompt expelled the contents of his mouth and stomach into the toilet.

Ink.

Huh.

Joey’s head felt very light.

What was happening? Why was he on his knees? Did that come out of him?

Seemed like it.

He shook, but only a little, and rested his head against the rim of the toilet, lest he feel the urge to vomit again. When the need fell still, he got up again, spruced himself up in the cloudy mirror (he would remind one of the Franks to clean it), and made his way back to the conversing others. He sat heavily, Henry’s hand and his meeting silently in the middle. Henry’s expression was nearly unreadable, but Joey could see concern. Then Susie spoke up (when had she gotten there? Probably while he was in the restroom), her voice a tranquil melody. So different to Joey’s, he wondered how she even beard to pretend to date him. And Henry as well, how could he stand to hear his record scratch tones while his lovely baritone ran deep and true?

“We need an organist, Mr. Drew, Dr. Stein,” she told them, something Joey knew very well, something he knew would be addressed eventually, but he had always dreaded the moment when the topic would arise. Henry pondered it for a moment, and then spoke, “What about Johnathan Derekson agai-”

“NO!” Joey did not know when he got to his feet, eyes wide and wild, teeth bared, shoulders arched forward in defense. Those around stared at him, and he felt his neck burn with warmth as he sat back down slowly. “S-sorry. No. Not… him. Never.”

Bertrum’s rusty gold eyes pierced Johan’s skin, digging into him, silent questions asked a million times with the mere raise of a thick, dark eyebrow. Johan closed his eyes, breathed in, counted to five, and let the air out. Best not to think of him. Best to remember that… the incident never occurred. It was in the, in a past life. Not this one. Here, now, he could start fresh. No fear in his veins at the thought of going to the music department. For there was no Johnathan Derekson there to prey on him. 

‘I do not mean to interrupt,’ Jameson signed to them after tapping Henry’s shoulder for all of their attention. ‘I know this one young lad, he works at a church as an organist, and he is looking for a better job. His name is Doe. Johnny Doe. An orphan. Good natured. Gentle. Not mute like me, but very quiet. Know how to sign very well. We enjoy each other’s company.’

So, Johnny Doe was called in for an interview, and he played beautifully. Joey was smitten by his stunning melodies and he and Henry hired him on the spot, to which they received a little bow and a grin from JJ. 

Nothing happened for a week, though there was an icy bridge between himself and Henry. They bumped into each other in the hall, and Joey nodded, about to head upstairs, but Henry’s hand caught Joey’s, pulling him into a different room.

“Why didn’t you want to hire Derekson?” he asked, puzzled. Joey felt bile rise in his throat, and his hands trembled. He shook his head. “Jo, you gotta answer me. We’re a team, right? And teams talk things out, together. What’s buggin’ you?”

“N-nothin’,” Joey lied through his teeth. Henry frowned at him, teal eyes roving over him sharply, so scrutinizing, Joey felt completely bare before the angel before him. His eyes were wide as Henry examined him. Be honest, Henry’s eyes chided him. Come on. Be honest. “D-Derekson… he….”

At the gentle but confused look in Henry’s eye, Joey felt a dam in his heart shatter.

Words spilled out of him faster than he could think.

Johnny first locking him in one of the art rooms, the fear that hung around him since that encounter, the meeting before that day, the day Joey broke. The last straw being Johnny on top of him, and he fighting.

Henry listened to Joey’s spill of emotions and sounds and record scratched stories, soaking up every word without a single sound of disgust or hatred for Johan.

Joey stared at his hands as the tirade ended, looking at the scars criss crossing them. He instinctively put a hand to his belt, confirming it were there. He shuddered as he felt Henry’s hand join his on the belt. But it was flat and warming, not gripping and chill. A hand came to the underside of Joey’s face, not quite his cheek, not quite his jaw. Henry guided him to meet his eyes, those gorgeous spheres of earthly glory. 

“I’m so sorry,” Henry somberly apologized, and Joey could see the regret in his eyes. “I never should have hired him in the first place without asking you. And you paid the price. He… he tried to… God, I’m so sorry, Joey.”

Henry could not bring himself to finish the sentence, and he shivered. Joey shivered right after him, but not a full body shiver, but a shudder that ran from where Henry’s hands rested on his body and foghorned outwards.

“Honeybee,” Henry crooned, leaning to rest his forehead against Joey’s. “You work yourself far too hard, darling. Why don’t we take some time to ourselves, yeah?”

“Too much t-to do,” Joey protested, but his body betrayed him, arms wrapping around Henry’s shoulders. Henry smirked, and Joey blushed. “In all seriousness, doc, there really is a lot to do. Paperwork f-for Johnny, storyboards for the next episode, and bills to s-sort thro-ooh, oh, ah, Hen, c-cut that o-out.” 

“Cut what out?” Henry asked innocuously with a smile pressed against Joey’s neck, where he placed little nipping kisses. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You v-very well are doing something!” Joey snapped back, then a hand flew to his mouth to keep himself quiet. As low as he could manage, he hissed into Henry’s ear. “S-stop that or else!”

“Or else what?” Henry questioned, his hands roaming all over Joey’s sensitive arms, making the dark man stiffen. “You’ve got an empty threat there, Jo.”

“I will suspend you in the e-elevator shaft,” Joey seethed, red and squirming. Henry only laughed, and continued. “For three hours!”

“Better make it six,” Henry’s voice so close to his jugular  sent shockwaves through him. “So that I’ll get out when work ends. Mmm, that would be pleasant, and then I’d spend the whole night getting some sweet, delicious revenge.”

“You’re a perverted bastard,” Joey grumbled, wiggling in Henry’s tight hold. Henry chuckled again, “That may be so, but you’re my muse, my sybaritic muse.”

The door burst open, and Jack and Wally ran in. 

“What is it now?” Henry asked with annoyance. “If you broke something, don’t care.”

“No, it’s, uh,” Jack seemed at a loss, turning to Wally, who gravely said, “It’s Sammy. He’s sick.”

[marril96]

Tonight

Chapter 5: These Monstrous Things

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Characters: Rowena, reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a happy, carefree outing. After tonight, however, nothing will ever be the same for you and Rowena.

Editor: @rowenaisfabulous

EARLIER…

The nightclub, once full of life, now resembled a graveyard. Bodies were strewn everywhere. Covered every surface. Piled on top of each other. Bled. Grew colder and colder with every passing second.

Gone was the life Illuminae used to radiate with, bright as the morning sun.

All that was left was death. Cold. Unforgiving. Permanent.

Rowena shivered, skin breaking out in goosebumps. She looked at the dead around her as the hunters led you and her out of the loo. There were so many young people. So many teenagers — practically children. She shoved the realization aside, smoothened her features into a look that, she hoped, showed the bare minimum.

She would've preferred to show nothing, but she wasn't that good an actress.

Some of the corpses had their eyes wide open, forever frozen in shock. As Rowena glanced at them, over them, it felt as if were looking back.

They killed them. All of them. Just like that. Without a moment's hesitation. Just killed and killed and killed until everyone was dead.

Yet they called them monsters. They called you and her monsters.

All the people in this club did was live.

And they died for it, for their life, their living, was different. Non-human.

The bulky hunter that had attacked her earlier shoved her into one of the chairs at the bar.

"Sit," he barked.

Not wanting any trouble — yet — Rowena did as he asked.

Her breath hitched as she caught sight of one of the bodies behind the bar. The bartender's striking blue eyes stared back, open wide.

She didn't even know her name. This girl liked her, and Rowena hadn't even bothered to ask for her name.

"Here's how this is gonna go," one of the hunters, a slim, tall man dressed up like a lumberjack, said. "You tell us what we wanna know and you die quickly. You play games, and you'll beg for death."

"I don't beg," Rowena said. An automatic response, uttered before she could shut her mouth to keep the words in.

"Oh, you will," he all but purred.

She snorted. Huffed. Rolled her eyes in that signature dramatic way you always teased her about. "Think this is my first time being captured?"

She'd had her encounters with hunters in the past. Had once, centuries ago, almost been burned at the stake. Had been captured by the British Men of Letters, by that brute sadist Arthur Ketch. Had spent weeks in a dungeon, tormented by demons. Had been trampled and burned to death.

She'd survived it all. She'd survived with her head held high. Scars remained on her soul, some still aching, still fresh, but she'd survived.

And she would survive once again.

Iron didn't hold her long. Especially not now, with her magic unbound, almost limitless.

The wee cuff on her wrist would loosen sooner or later. She just had to wait. And then…

Then these hunters — these utter monsters — would beg for mercy.

And they would get none. Just as their victims hadn't.

"I know how these things go," she said, a tad too confident, but she couldn't help it. Confidence was better than fear, which she'd shoved deep within. They didn't get the satisfaction of seeing her frightened. "I don't talk, you torture me, rinse and repeat. So why don't we just get it over with? Start the torture, because I am not telling you a bloody thing."

"No!" you screamed.

You tried to run to her, to break free, but the hunter next to you captured your forearms in his iron grip and held you in place. Held you back, away from the person you loved, the person you wanted to protect.

Rowena's heart swelled up. You precious wee thing. Always fighting for her, trying your best even when there was nothing you could do. Loving her so purely, so endlessly. So recklessly. She didn't deserve you. Didn't deserve someone who put her first — not after everything she'd done, after all the pain she'd caused. After she'd destroyed and betrayed everyone she loved, everyone who loved her.

After she'd promised to keep you safe and had instead allowed these brutes to get their hands on you.

"Rowena!" you called.

"It's okay, love," she said, locking eyes with you in an intense, decisive stare. I can take it, it said. I'll live. I'll survive. "Don't worry."

But you did. You worried, and your face echoed it. Tears spilled down it like a bitter, salty river. Never ending. Unstoppable. Rowena held her own ones back. She had to be strong for you. Whatever happened, she had to take it with dignity, with pride, for that was what you needed. That was how you would survive.

The Lumberjack laughed, heartily, happily, as if he were watching a comedy. "This is hilarious," he said, and meant it. He meant it from the bottom of his wicked soul. "Nice show they got here, right boys?"

The others snickered. Chuckled. Snorted like the pigs they were.

Rowena stared them down. Each and every one of them. Shot them a deadly glare, the one that sent even the boldest, bravest to their knees.

Her weakness wouldn't last long.

Their deaths, on the other hand, would be permanent. Demons would await them with open arms, would no doubt have fun torturing their souls.

Eternal suffering. That would be her gift to them. And she would deliver it with a smile on her face.

"I'm sorry," you said through tears, voice raspy, breathy. "Rowena, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Rowena told you.

It's mine, she thought. If she hadn't said yes — if she hadn't readily agreed to go out to avoid her demons…

"It actually is," your capturer said with a grin, a wide, smug one that Rowena wanted to wipe off with her fist. He looked down at you. Brushed his hand over yours in a gesture that seemed a tad too intimate to be accidental.

Rowena's heart raced, a rush of heat flowing over her. Her knuckles turned white as sheets as her fists shut tight, nails digging into her palms, biting down almost to the point of drawing blood.

He had no right to touch you like that. No right to be that close to you.

When she killed them, she would start with him, she decided. He would be first. An example to others of what was to come.

"I enjoyed our chats," the hunter said.

Your eyes widened in shock as realization set in, cruel and unforgiving.

He chuckled, amused. Way too pleased with himself. "Yeah, I'm Lana. Nice to finally meet you in person."

For a few seconds you just stared straight ahead. Petrified. Confused. Processing what you'd just been told so casually, as if it were a game.

To him it probably was.

Toying with you, pretending to be your friend, slowly gaining your trust… It was a game of pretend, and he excelled. He played the part perfectly. Said all the right things, played on all the right emotions, and bam — you were a fly captured in his cobweb, an unwitting player.

Oh, how Rowena would enjoy killing him!

"You motherfucker!" you suddenly screamed, all the anger and rage and desperation rushing out in a fury of words. "You sick, twisted motherfucker!"

"Says a monster," he retorted.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"Ooh, I'm scared."

You ignored the remark. "I'm gonna rip your eyes out and feed them to you!"

"That how you usually kill people?"

"Fuck you!"

It wasn't. Rowena knew that, and he would have, too, if he'd bothered to learn anything about you. You killed in self-defense. In defense of others, of her. Killed to avenge. Not a single innocent had suffered at your hand.

Not that any of it mattered to hunters. You weren't human, and that was enough to warrant your death.

"If it makes you feel any better, we weren't interested in you," the hunter said. "We just wanted your girlfriend. She's quite infamous, that one!"

It was for her?

All these deaths, these lives lost and yours in danger, so they could get to her?

"You did all this just to get to me?" Rowena asked.

"Oh, no. We've been planning this raid for months," the Lumberjack said. "Getting you here was a bonus. Mike did good, don't you think?"

Mike.

Arsehole fit him so much better.

He grinned proudly.

Rowena wished she could spit on him.

"You've wasted your time, lads," she said. "You're not getting a single word from me!"

"I think you'll come to change your mind," the Lumberjack said. "Torturing you wouldn't do anything, true. Lucky for us, we've got other options."

He looked back. Rowena's eyes followed his, heart stopping as they landed on you.

The leverage.

Of course.

"Y/N's such a pretty girl, isn't she? It'd be a shame if something were to happen to her."

"You wouldn't dare!" she snarled.

But she knew he would. She'd known it from the start, but it was easier not to think about it. It was easier to pretend she would be the one getting hurt, getting beaten and broken as she kept her mouth firmly shut to every question, while you cried in the background and begged for mercy that wouldn't come.

She would gladly subject herself to it. Gladly take your place. No questions asked.

"Oh, we would," the Lumberjack said.

As if on cue, Mike caressed your arm, ran his hand up and down your skin. You shivered at the touch. A whimper escaped you, fear etching over your face, digging into your bones.

"This is low, even for the likes of you," Rowena said, pouring all her strength into keeping her voice from wavering. From revealing her weakness, the utter turmoil she was in.

The Lumberjack shrugged. Puffed out a breath. Careless, utterly indifferent. "We're professionals."

"You're cunts!"

A few "oohs" echoed through the massive room.

He chuckled. "You Scots really are liberal with your insults."

"You've heard nothing yet!"

"I bet I haven't. And I hope I won't, otherwise your little girlfriend will pay for it. So use your pretty mouth wisely, would you? I'd hate for her to break before we got to the questioning."

"What do you want?!" she snarled a tad too desperately for her liking.

"Information," he said.

Then she would give it to them, she decided, even as her heart broke and shattered and crumbled in her chest at the mere thought. Whatever they wanted, she would give. Anything for you.

If they wanted to torture her, she would keep quiet. But with the threat of harm hanging over your head, she couldn't risk it. Couldn't afford to risk it.

She'd made you a promise she'd already half broken — and she would do her best to make good on the rest of it.

"I want you to tell us about the covens," Lumberjack continued.

Rowena frowned. Heart racing. Blood running cold. "What?"

With a sneer that sent chills down her spine, he said, "Tell us everything you know about the witch covens in the United States."

And just like that, she knew she was in trouble. That you were in trouble.

For, save for the long gone and broken down Grand Coven, she knew not of a single coven.

*****

A/N: Credits to @rowenaisfabulous​ for coming up with the Lana thing. I liked her idea, so I decided to use it.

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @dropsofpetrichor @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @wayward-kaia @angel7376 @rowenaisfabulous @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @melisandre02 @a-queen-and-her-throne

[captainkurosolaire]

Getting to know : Captain Kuro Solaire

► Name ➔ “Captain Kuro Solaire of the Goldbrand, But ye can refer to me as the navigating guide of pleasure.”

► Are you single ➔ “I’m openly married and surrounded with the personifications of life unshackled.”

► Are you happy ➔ “Have ye seen how many treasures are out there in Eorzea to grab for the plucking? Leviathan! The whole Hydaelyn be awaiting and I’m not even speaking about just silver, gold and gil.” ► Are you angry? ➔ “An emotion I tend to leave caged, It’s freedom would be devastation. Might think that be odd n all since, I claim to be a spirit of the unhindered. ” ► Are your parents still married ➔ “Nah mate learned recently the ole’man and woman have been split from their voyaged ways. Though he doesn’t paddle without their wedding band, gotta give him some reputable credit to that. Shows how much she could have been cherished if she didn’t die giving up her life for me.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “The Glamorous Shite-hole side of Ul’dah” ► Hair Color ➔  "Pitch Black like some wandering Samurai that hangs around gloming up the Quicksands.” ► Eye Color ➔  “Gold, like a fountain of gils crashing into a bedded sea.” ► Birthday ➔ “ 6th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon during some Eclipsed Sun or something like that, supposedly.” ► Mood ➔  "Horned Hunger when y’ grow a savory delight for inner enriches that typically reside from the fresh petals of passion. ” ► Gender ➔ “Male.” ► Summer or winter ➔  “Summer” ► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Dawn to Dusk”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “Always, eternally.” ► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “Believe? What about see or witness, or provide it? I am certain I can bring that belief to all those landers. ” ► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “Depends what we defining as a relationship here, I typically give my greeted partings should they be better for the partied company. Though pirate life brings backstabbing and crossing romantically typically I give the steering wheel to the other one after we establish our cruise if they still waiting on shore for me, they haven’t ended anything.” ► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “Probably have a few catalogs somewhere in one of my cabinets in the cabin. Though in order for a heart to truly become greater, vigorous, ye gotta take hits. They’ve but all ascended if I’ve caused and inflicted pain to those who gave me their hearts to held. Though should trust be granted, I never leave a stray one to flutter without attention. I’d be a lousy, man.” ► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “Ye’d cross yer eyes to rise on me. Though not really afraid, I’d call it. But more careful. My path isn’t met for long periods of company beyond what my skillful touch can provide, I rush into the orbited heat of the sun, where glory rests!” ► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “Ye can call it ‘hugging’ .....but typically, it’s more like clinging during a very enticing dancing between two bodies learning their limits as they soar together to devour the stars.” ► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “If I pulled out my spyglass, I’m certain we could get a few to note.” ► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ "Infinitely, I can shape and forge and reinforce hearts of others but when comes to my own admitted, I am useless.”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “Lust is the stem of where love flourishes, I couldn’t imagine it without somewhat how can you take admiration into something without a desire? Ye be talking to a pirate. None, know treasure better than us.” ► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Disgusting though I can turn both the Ice cubes and the Lemon into something productive but not my type of thing to consume, mate.” ► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Not too far off the same thing but I got a mouth that is detestable to hear from since I am a glorified walking cat of sorts.” ► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “The best of mates” ► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ "Wild night out, I like to bring exploration in all the conceivable measurements, staying in otherwise for short periods goes rather limited.” ► Day or night ➔ "Day into Night.”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “Yes, purposefully mind ye.” ► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Few dozens of drunken times surely though always fall into an embrace of bosoms to have my face cradled in.” ► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Sort of but I am more of reaching to grab and should something be that potent to me, I must forget it. For I would be cursed and would bring another to damnation should I steal that thing, I truly... wish. Though should they not break the strings that tie, I will but collect.” ► Wanted to disappear ➔ “Disappear!? That’s rather far-stretched to what I, AM. ~ I never seek to be unseen. I wish to be seen in view even if It’s by rear or heard through tongues made of stone. Ye see! To stand taller is what I said to myself as a lad. And that, I will but give myself as a gift that keeps giving to all those who wish to sail aside the mountains to hold the clouds in their ever waking finger tips. 

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ "Both, I could not pass up a pair of lips that give me the communication that a pearl of links could never provide or the silly tomestones could attempt to replace before Truesight... As for the eyes! Ye but heard haven’t you? They are but the windows of the souls ones that I don’t leave tinted from me.” ► Shorter or Taller ➔ “I get advantages from either when it comes to others, I either get seen action shots or I get a face-full of breasts to greet me. It really doesn’t matter for knees were meant to be bent and I like battling taller opponents to give them some rare opportunities to see the same horizon as me.”   ► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “I could not choose over one so I’ll continue to cheat myself through this barrage of questions.” ► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “It’s typically better for hook-up I am a man that provides when others fall behind and then I instruct those to stand back up and treat the womanly gems of Eorzea rightfully how they should be presented. In-turn creating more radiant jewels that never stop. Currently the world is worth a half-gil whore in pearl-lane but overtime with a few seeds tossed and delicately...thoroughly... risen we will have but a meadow to all but breathe in with enjoyment meant for the endless ages.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ "Pops isn’t that bad. Get a few nice therapeutic ‘training’ sessions with him when it comes to the whole bastardization which all cycle back to me letting loose thirty cycles of frustration.” ► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ "It’s hard to sort for most but I like the unpredictable tides and what It brings! Imagine not surviving off enduring or working towards something if everything was thrown on a shitted-plate even if it was sparkling gil and diamonds! It would be nothing but the same shit ye see nobles fitted with. The workers! The chasers! The blazers those are the people who make their own dishes of riches and TO that, It’s everything. Which means more then having someone else prepare your meal for you to do everything hand and foot for ye. I steal from those plates because truly, they would not even give it a glancing care to fill quell the famish in setting.” ► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ "Seven Hells, ye! Screw that orphanage! Least we got it somewhat on the right path, geez. I wonder who out of anyone could have pulled off the care to work on actually cleaning up the city-state. Man they must be really, really, handsome. Well anyway soon the future will be springing up and I can’t wait to greet them at the big-blue!” ► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “Getting my ass-kicked and giving it is kind of an exchange you better suspect to start paying in currency, ye be doing it more than trading in gil if ye aren’t from a fancy House..”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “Hating is like getting drunk on salt-water not worth the effort to have those cramps, only worth holding for survival if necessary.” ► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “Every last word exhaled from coiled tongues! From even those who gave me a few nasty scratches, bruises, scrapes or scars I give my hat nudge too. I’ve met a lot within my tale.” ► Who is your best friend ➔ ”Anyone who boards my sail along side or on it’s decks are my cared.” ► Who knows everything about you ➔ “The Seas and the Moon who have been there with me since I first laid feet on ship and adorned the mantle of the Captain.” Tagged by : @issa-arwa  ~Thanks, lovely. Tagging : @aylamoenwyb @mai-takeda @east-to-the-sea @shur-kha-ffxiv @vayduh @yuki-yukichan @shadragonheart @shard-kilamarii @figgenbaums-best-friend @knifewaifu @kha-merc-ffxiv @jax332 @lulu-ffxiv @lulubell-vixen @wildgirlcinna @mischiefandmystics @aetheradventures @ghostlyfoxangel @under-the-blood-moonlight @jancisstuff @moonstruck-ffxiv @maheeia @healerofthefoxes @nebula1984 @morha-ffxiv @mteshi-ffxiv @enchantressoftruth @fracturedfantasia @fey-illumination @xzombiepop @savothesewercat @awatercat @thorcatte @viridian-dragoon @virghilani @liliesinmoonlight @ivyffxiv @aelathetrashcan @seinakurokiba @saintofselfinjury @sabine-ffxiv @brandt-highwind @cheche-dotharl @thelastnoukai @kyrie-silverwings @shur-kha-ffxiv @cahli-tia @skysinger-musings @zhauric @tessariel-aerlinn @sibutum @brytedarklyt @smolcatte @kyren-ffxiv @nurakitten @melodies-in-moonlight @bhaldstyr-ahtahrmsyn @fated-fallacy @marjiandco @mythrilreflections @merosmillionmains @bananawaffles12 @gal-the-violet  @kikyo-mihata @littlestcreampuff @mishivymendi @subetei-noykin @the-silent-elementalist @rina-astraea @mireille-lharan @aluray @librasmopatate @toe-ab @akh-afah @kaliheart @shroudblessings @thelionofdalmasca @z-a-n-a ~~ And ANYONE/EVERYONE that wants to take this!