#again complicated feelings over bryce in this book aside

[cassianandfenrysaremyboyos]

Are they even an otp if their "home" isn't each other

[jamespotterthefirst]

Flirt (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 2 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.1K Premise: Who would have thought that Ethan Ramsey would one day follow Bryce Lahela's romantic advice?

Author’s Note: This takes place in book 2, sometime after the attack and before the gala when Ethan and MC are in a secret relationship. Thank you anon for the request (sorry it's so late!). Thank you @aestheticartsx for the ideas!

The beginning notes of Lahela's playlist resound around the otherwise empty gym. With a groan, Ethan releases the heavy weights, the clashing metal serving as a glorious reprieve from the electronic, fast beat of the music. From beside him, the newest member of their workout entourage groans as well, with as much disdain as Ethan. He feels a surge of vindication at the fact that, though they may disagree on music preferences most of the time, they can at least agree on this.

“Bryce,” Lilac calls out over the song. Her voice fails to carry over the music and over the sound of Lahela’s sneakers hitting the belt of the treadmill. “You’re welcome to torture yourself on that treadmill but don’t torture us too with your awful music.”

Ethan fights back a grin at the quip. Lahela, meanwhile, clutches his heart with exaggerated flare.

“Ouch, Lil. You wound me.” He punches a few buttons on the dashboard, bringing the machine to a much slower pace. In spite of the exertion, his smile remains as charming as ever, not a hair on his head out of place. “I’ll have you know this is beast mode music. It’s a running remix created at 150 BPM to optimize performance—”

“It’s overproduced garbage.” Ethan interrupts the impassioned speech.

“It’s Ice, Ice Baby,” Lilac adds.

Despite himself, Ethan snorts, which in turn elicits a lovely bout of laughter from her. He sobers up at once, too preoccupied with watching how her attractive features light up the entire room. A second too late, Ethan realizes he is gaping at her, like some kind of moron.

To his dismay, the surgeon catches this. Then again, how could he not when Ethan must have looked like an entranced imbecile gawking at her. Luckily, Lahela doesn’t comment, instead choosing to hop off the treadmill with impressive agility.

“If I would have known you two would gang up on me, I would have never invited you, Lil.”

“That’s the reason you invited me and you know it,” she returns with easy charm. “To keep you two on your toes.”

Her eyes swivel to Ethan’s and his stomach swoops pleasantly.

“As fun as this has been, I have to go stretch. I have a kink in my back I really want to get out.” She announces this quite suddenly and with a rather enthralling sway of her ponytail. She turns to go, giving Ethan a deliberate view of her curves in the colorful leggings she wears. Before she makes it further than a few steps, however, she glances at Ethan over her shoulder. “I might need some help getting it out.”

Those green eyes he dreams about on most nights are heavy on his, shining bright with promise under a fringe of dark lashes. Ethan’s throat feels suddenly very dry.

“A colleague of mine is a chiropractor,” he blurts out. “I can give you his contact information if it's a persisting problem.”

Lilac's smile falters imperceptibly, nodding once before moving to the mats and out of earshot. Ethan can't help but notice there is less enthusiasm in her gait as she goes.

From beside him, Bryce lets out a low whistle.

“What?” Ethan asks, unable to keep the edge off his tone.

Bryce takes it in good stride, laughing. “You're so lucky she's already crazy about you.”

“She's—” Ethan pauses to collect the jumble of thoughts in his consciousness. His heart, meanwhile, beats with such ferocity, he can feel the echoes of his pulse in his throat. “What makes you— I can't imagine what you mean.”

The young surgeon mops the sweat off his brow with a towel, laughing. “Lilac was totally flirting with you just now.”

“She was?”

“She wasn't exactly subtle.”

Ethan cringes internally as his mind replays that encounter and his less than stellar reply.

“And all you did in return was offer to set her up with your chiro friend?”

It sounds worse when someone repeats it out loud, Ethan realizes.

“You do know chiropractors are the most attractive doctors? Aside from surgeons, of course.”

It is the most ridiculous claim Ethan has ever heard. Yet, he pauses.

“Lilac complained about her back. She could be misaligned…”

The incredulous look Bryce stabs him with makes him stop talking.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Offer to help her stretch?” Bryce offers as though it is the most obvious alternative imaginable. “Or better yet, offer to make it worse.”

Ethan opens his mouth to voice his confusion, but his mind catches the innuendo belatedly.

“Whatever you do, do it with confidence.”

As Ethan stands there, glancing at Lilac gracefully stretching a distance away, he is hit with the ridiculousness of the situation.

For starters, Ethan and Lilac are already in somewhat of an unofficial relationship. They haven't exactly defined it yet, but given that she spends most of her free time over at his place and steals kisses from him when no one is watching, Ethan is confident they are an item. It shouldn't be surprising that she is attracted to him, but somehow, Ethan finds himself unable to believe he'd ever be so lucky.

Also disconcerting is the fact that Ethan is receiving flirting advice from Bryce Lahela himself. The worst part is that said advice is sounding pretty reasonable to Ethan at that very moment.

“However you decide to play it, you better go do it now.” Bryce glances at the digital clock mounted in the wall. “Those guys from ICU always start their workout at six and that's in like ten minutes.”

With renewed confidence, Ethan starts towards Lilac. As a worrying thought occurs to him, however, he halts, frowning at Bryce.

“About Lilac and I,” he begins, but the surgeon is already shaking his head, grinning wide.

“Don't worry, Dr. Ramsey. My lips are sealed.” He follows this proclamation by pantomiming closing a zipper over his lips. “Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who's noticed you two pining for each other.”

“Sienna knows.”

This actually elicits genuine shock from him, which is as comical as it is uncharacteristic.

 “She never told me. I can’t believe she never said a word,” he says, already throwing on a shirt and heading for the exit, as though determined to find the tiny doctor and demand more information.

After he vanishes, Ethan moves over to Lilac, stopping at the foot of her mat. She is attempting to do a complicated maneuver with an arched back and tangled limbs. Despite her evident struggle, Ethan watches her fondly, thinking her the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“How's your back?”

“Stiff,” she returns, giving up on the stretch and getting to her feet. “Are you referring me to your friend?”

They are alone. Ethan celebrates that fact by wrapping his arms around her, her back pressing pleasantly against his chest.

“Not a chance in hell.”

She laughs. “So you've decided to help me after all?”

“I could,” he murmurs darkly into the shell of her ear, his hands gripping her spandex clad hips. His voice dropping lower still, he says, “Though what I have in mind might blow it out instead.”

“Ethan!”

Lilac quivers in his arms, twirling around to face him when she recovers. She gives him a surprised yet impressed look before her eyes darken.

“That was…” She trails off and Ethan is pleased to see her blushing. The way she kisses him in response, hungry and hard, forces Ethan to admit that the scalpel jockey's advice had been correct after all.

*Sorry again, anon! This is over five months late.

Anon is referring to this post.

Thank you so much for reading this!

*Tagging separately!

[alchemistc]

The Price 5/?

Summary: Killian and the Swan begin to settle into the castle together.

an: A few choice songs I listened to while writing this: “Horns” by Bryce Fox, “Hey, Brother” by Aviici and “Dauðalogn”by Sigor Ros, so, I guess, take from that what you will.

tagging @kmomof4​, @the-captains-ayebrows​, @jadeddiva​, @artielu​, and @dreadpirateemma​

Chapter List: One/Two/Three/Four

Chapter Five

Whatever small truce they’d called between them to contain the storm that night, it did nothing to stop her aggravating him at every turn, nor did it put an end to his impulse to try her patience whenever possible. There was a comfort in knowing one moment shared between them was not enough for him to grow too at ease with her.

Still, over the course of the next few weeks, they begin to grow a rapport.

They’d even begun to form a routine, of sorts.

Killian woke well before the sun, habits still unchanged despite his new and rather leisurely lifestyle, and spent a few minutes staring in annoyance at the silks and brocades and lace hanging in his wardrobe before putting on his own worn clothing.

Twice a week, instead of glaring dourly at the choice of clothing the Swan had left him with, he fashioned himself a basin and some soap from the air around him, and washed the aforementioned worn shirt and trousers, the simple, ordinary motions of the task soothing his mind. The Swan had given him a book of spells meant purely for cleansing, but he preferred the methodical action of doing them himself. The thought in his mind had exasperated her, but they’d moved on to something new the following day.

He spent an hour after that skulking the castle, surprised to find every day something he hadn’t discovered the previous day.

The kitchens held their own sort of magic - or perhaps his worked it, he was still a bit unsure - and every morning he lit the flames in the stove and the hearth, and every morning some delicacy appeared: honey glazed breads stuffed with raisins; delicate croissants, buttery and flaking against his tongue; porridge just the way his mother used to make it; sausage and fried eggs when he’d tired himself or forgotten to eat after his lessons the day before.

Very occasionally, he found dishes that were completely foreign to Misthaven, things he’d bought off street carts in distant lands, and he enjoyed those more thoroughly, losing himself in the memory of bustling bazaars and exotic spices, loud and intricate textiles and delicately crafted pottery.

The books she gave him became a bit of a game - solely for his own amusement, at first, to see the exasperation on her face every morning when he handed it to back her. At first she hadn’t believed him - couldn’t fathom how he’d grasped at the intent of the spellwork all in one night, and she’d begun to test him on it - sending hexes his way just to see if he understood the workings of defensive magic, asking him theories behind different elements, throwing up walls of spellwork just to see if he could solve their puzzle.

When she finally came to admit that he wasn’t merely being insolent, she, too, began to play at scheming, grabbing for ever more difficult tomes every evening, a challenging glint in her eye as she handed it off without a word.

She’d yet to find one he couldn’t devour by breakfast.

Killian can’t decide whether he’s begun to like her, or if he’s just been starved for company.

She’s stubborn - by the gods, she’s more stubborn even than him - and whatever vulnerability she’d shared with him the night they’d conquered the storm together had only made her more reticent since.

Still, she was surprisingly funny, once her wit was not aimed solely at wounding him, and there was a comfort in her presence, a calming stillness that felt foreign and familiar all at once.

There were days where they sat in the library together, debating the merits of using air instead of fire, or speaking of the witches and wizards whose words filled the pages around them, or he maintained small, concentrated workings, where he longed to grip her hand once more, and feel the sturdiness of her power stand rigid against the clash of his own, feel it give, just a bit, to let the rage of his storm in.

And then a moment later she’d scowl and call him a fool as whatever spell he’d been holding fell to pieces in his distraction, sifting through his fingers like sand, and he’d forget all about it.

Today he finds her pacing the library in a foul mood, muttering to herself - at least, he believes it is to herself, although she darts a glance over her shoulder once, and pins a terrible look against a wall of books behind her.

Killian makes a point of knocking his knuckles against the door as he enters, and she snaps to attention, a wild look dissipating as she takes him in.

A scornful one overtakes it. Wonderful. He does so enjoy her ever vacsillating moods.

“I have provided you an astonishing supply of clothing, Jones, have I not?”

“You have.”

“And yet, here you are, months later, still in your rags. Tell me, are you things not fine enough for you?”

Killian is in no mood to be treated like a child. Or a subordinate.

“I don’t like them. They’re stuffy, they’re overly complicated, and I’ve no use for them.”

She huffs, sullenly, and Killian wonders when it was she’d decided to drop her unflappable persona. Was it that night in the storm, when he’d felt the presence of her magic sink into his own? Or had it been earlier, while she wandered the halls of her own castle like a ghost to avoid him? Perhaps after, when he’d sat across the table from her at the dinner they occasionally shared and told her a bawdy joke he’d expected her to be annoyed with, only to get to the punchline and find her covering her mouth with a handkerchief, her eyes glittering in amusement despite her attempts at hiding her laughter.

“What, exactly, would you prefer then?”

Killian stares at her for a beat, and then raises his arms, turning his gaze pointedly downward to himself. “This.”

She sighs, impatient but surrendering, and pulls a book from the shelf behind her.

She tosses it across the room to him, ignoring his surprised yelp, and spins to a chair facing away from him, falling into it in a heave of irritation.

Killian tries, and fails, to keep his amusement hidden, but for all that he’d thought he would despise every moment of his time here, he can’t help but think no other pupil had ever managed to provoke her so. Then again, few had ever found the specific pleasure in it that he did. Few had likely ever dared. It helped that when she grew to annoyance, the veneer of her self-possessed facade fell away, and her eyes blazed, her voice changing pitch as color rose in her face.

Yes, he quite enjoyed watching her emotions play out. Perhaps, one day, he’d manage to pull out some sincerity.

The Swan snorted from her spot, hidden from his eyes, and Killian shot a glare at the back of the chair, thinking get out of my head.

He doubted the thought did much - it seemed more a reflex than anything else, as though she was so used to it she had never thought not to have her mind half in his.

The spellbook in his hands is light, barely larger than a children’s story, but when he opens it the lines of script are thin and tight, winding along the pages like threads of an embroidery. It takes him a moment to grow used to it, but after a few furious blinks he realizes it is spellwork for altering fabric.

He reads through a few pages, sitting at the chair behind her desk, until he begins to grasp the method behind it, and turns his head in search of something to try it out on.

His gaze lands on the buttery leather of the Swans jacket, but the impish thought has barely crossed his mind before she waves a hand, his wardrobe emerging from the air behind her, blocking her entirely from his view.

He pulls the most obnoxious jerkin he can find from the thing, giving it a grimace before he sets it on the desk, and begins to catch the threads of the working.

The Swan goes still and silent behind the wardrobe, something in her still curious to know his methods, eager to understand his power, but Killian ignores it, lets the magic slip nimble and soft through his fingertips, lets the memory of his own shoddy work as a young boy with a needle and a sewing palm slip into the working, the memory of mending his shirts flowing into it as well.

When he opens his eyes again, the jerkinis gone.

In it’s place is a vest - far more ornate than anything Killian has ever owned, but still somehow simple enough for his taste, with black embroidery winding on a blood red silk brocade, black piping along the edges, finely shaped brass buttons lining either side of it.

Satisfied, he lays it aside and sets upon the rest of the wardrobe.

The spell comes easier to him, this time, and soon enough he’s turned the whole thing into clothing he’ll actually wear, and feels no remorse for the loss of the ridiculous frippery. Pleased with himself, he finally returns the vest to it and slides around both the wardrobe and the chair to stare defiantly at the Swan.

She gives him an unimpressed look. “Now put the wardrobe back where it belongs and summon the other one.”

------

They dine together two or three times a week, though it’s the only time he ever sees her eat. She has an affinity for the rum he summons up, but she picks at the grand plates of food piled high, and watches him eat with a mixture of disgust and amused alarm. He’s never tasted so much good food in his life, and if not for the amount of walking he does, searching out the castles secrets every morning, he is certain he would lose his fit physique in days.

Tonight he dons his new clothing, giving himself a satisfied once over in the looking glass before he heads down to the hall where they usually meet.

It’s one of the smaller chambers in the sprawling castle, intimate enough that he is sometimes able to forget exactly how alone they are in it, and he enjoys the slide of the trousers against his legs, the new cut of his shirt, with it’s high collar lined with yet more buttons, and the way the cool evening air slides through it to his skin.

She’s already there when he turns into the chamber, staring at the roast swan with an unimpressed air, and he’s already gearing up for battle with her, ready to wave his hand over the thing and change it back to the chicken he’d had planned before she’d made him run all the way up to his chambers to ensure he’d sent the wardrobes both back to the exact spot they’d been taken from.

Instead, her breath catches in her throat when she glances up and catches sight of him.

Killian can see the effort it takes her to swallow as she stares him up and down, and he supposes he does look quite different.

He’d used a spell to slice off most of the length of his hair, a week before, annoyed to have it always in his eyes while he let his gaze sweep the pages of spellbooks, and though in theory the clothes he wore were nearly an exact replica of the one pair he’d come with, these are certainly finer, the slick leather of his trousers, the dark sheer material of his shirt, which he’d worn as usual, buttons undone until they met the opening of the vest he wore.

A word flits across his memory, one he hasn’t thought of in ages - rapscallion - and he raises an amused eyebrow.

Whatever had caused her sudden lapse of self control, it’s gone by the time he settles into the seat across from her, leaning heavily against the back of it, his legs spread wide.

She clears her throat, darts her glance to the table, and then reaches for a silver goblet decorated with fine, thin winding vinework, downing the contents of it and reaching for the bottle of rum to refill it at once.

Killian watches her in surprise as she piles her plate high with food, even pulling a leg off the bird on display in the middle of the table while she spoons vegetables out of their serving bowls.

He watches until she grows uncomfortably aware of his stare, and slows her movements before finally tilting her head up to meet his gaze. “What?”

His shoulder jumps up in a shrug. “You don’t eat, much. Usually.”

“It’s not necessary,” is all she will tell him about the matter, and most of the time, he would let it lie, but tonight he is curious, and he can tell that the murmurings of his thoughts on the matter annoy her.

“And yet, tonight you’ve loaded more on your plate at once than I’ve seen you eat in all my time here.”

“I’m hungry,” she tells him, eyeing the line of his collarbone and the way the thin shirt lies against his chest.

It’s a thought that hasn’t entered his mind before now (at least, not often, he will concede). The way she’s looking at him is curious, and new, and he feels his ears burning, but he can’t help the smirk that darts across his face, making her scowl at him and return to staring at her plate.

She’s far from unattractive, even with the strange paleness of her hair and the glittering of her skin, and he imagines that she must once have been a great beauty. The stories always made her so, a gorgeous, terrifying beast, who cared for her people by slaying their enemies.

But it is not that, exactly, that draws him to her, that makes him think of her in the dead of night when the magic is roiling under his skin and he can’t find a position that is comfortable for more than a few minutes. Trying to figure her out is maddening. There are days when their arguments about theories and methods for spellwork grow so heated they fling remnants of magic out into the room they are in, where the library grows warm enough for her to unbutton the cuffs of her shirt and roll the sleeves to her elbows, and her hair breaks from it’s bun in tendrils to curl loosely around her forehead (in the heat of the moment, he’ll watch the way her fingers brush them behind her ears with fascination, his own hands twitching with the desire to perform that action themselves).

No, it’s not that, that keeps him awake at night, wondering about her.

When he closes his eyes, he wonders what her life might have been like, before she saved Misthaven. Had she had a family? Friends, perhaps a lover? Had she known the comfort of other people, in her life, or had she always been so...alone?

He can feel the annoyed press of her magic against his skull, always moving and changing, like the spring runoff rushing to forge new paths in the ground as it makes its journey to the sea. Embarrassed by the train of his own thought, he pushes back against it, thinking of immovable boulders forcing the water to move around it, and just like that, the rush of her magic flows around him, instead of through.

She looks both impressed and disappointed.

“Stay out of my mind.”

She hums, and returns to her meal.

By the time they’ve finished, she’s eaten two full plates of food, and drank half his rum besides, and yet they are still both pent up and frustrated, the energy ringing between them. He has a vague inkling of a thought, one he hopes she hasn’t seen herself, and tries to remember what he’d done before he realized that he was charming enough to flirt his way into an easy fuck while ashore.

She shoots him a quick, frrustrated look. “It’d be far easier to stay out of your thoughts if you didn’t fling them across the room.”

He scratches behind his ear bashfully, and takes another swig of the rum, and then it comes to him. “Have you ever handled a sword before?”

The Swan had been taking a drink of her own; she coughs, her face turning a becoming shade of pink as she attempts to compose herself.

------

The yard is bathed in deep shades of red and purple as twilight sets in, shadows cast by their figures as they circle each other. Killian hadn’t thought for a moment that she’d take him up on the suggestion of sparring, but there’d been a sparkle in her eyes when he’d said the words, her gaze turning far off and distant for a moment before she turned a frankly wicked grin on him. “You couldn’t handle it.”

Surprised by the playfulness in her voice, he’d responded as though to a woman he’d met in the tavern, and not the powerful sorceress he’d disliked so fiercely only weeks before. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

While he’d been choosing himself a weapon from her collection in the armory, she’d stripped herself of her jacket, and in the low light in the yard, he watched her now as she paced back and forth.

She has good form - he can see that already, in the few parries they’ve shared as they test each other out - there is something almost familiar in the way she carries herself, the way she holds the hilt, the way she settles her weight from foot to foot.

He lets out a delighted bark of laughter when she rushes towards him, raising his own cutlass against the attack of her broadsword, and the clash of metal rings through the yard as he pushes back, using his weight to shove her away.

He presses his advantage, his shoulder rolling as the sword makes a high arc, but she defends the blow, her leg kicking out to push him back, catching him in the gut and nearly doubling him over.

He grins again. She’s no novice, at this - she has a style, knows how to use her body - knows when to fight dirty. There’s no urgency in their movements, yet, though he can sense already that it will get there - for now they are toying with each other, feeling each other out. She parries his attacks, he uses the strength of his limbs to press her backward, she spins and settles low, carrying her weight where she can use it to her best advantage.

They go on like that for a while, until the sun has sunk below the horizon and the only light above them comes from the reflection of it in the clouds above. His blood is humming in his skin, and he can already feel the delicious ache of a good fight settling into his muscles. What has delighted him most, though, is the constant stream of insults they’ve been sending back and forth at each other, nothing of true ill intent, merely a battle of wits to match the clanging of their swords, the rhythm of it almost musical as the fight goes on. It reminds him, unnervingly, of the stretch of her magic against his own.

She doesn’t tire, but he can see her losing focus, settling too easily into their steady rhythm, and there he finds his upper hand.

She goes for the kick, again, ready to let the momentum fuel her spin, but he catches her leg, instead - her eyes widen in the moment before he yanks, and she goes tumbling to the dirt with a cry of bewilderment.

The sword in his hand swings towards her as she falls against the gravel, and hers rises to meet it, but he’s won, and they both know it.

His smirk is wide and triumphant as he presses his weight into the blade, watching her arms quiver to hold him away from her.

She sighs, her breath coming in deep huffs as she struggles. “Going to stab me now, Jones?” It’s a joke, mostly, but neither of them are ignoring the fact that not very long ago, were they in this position, he would have tried.

“I assure you,” he says, voice low as he leans over her. “When I jab you with my sword, you’ll feel it.”

In the darkness descending on them, it is difficult to see her expression, but he feels the discomfort of her magic as it rushes out, sending him flying backward and away from him in a wave.

They don’t speak as they return to the armory, returning the weapons to their places, and she pulls her jacket back on, turning towards him at the doorway, her face bathed in the low light of one of her lanterns, shadows flickering across her skin.

She seems to want to say something, but is unsure what, exactly. Killian again struggles to keep the wish to see inside her own mind to himself as something indecipherable crosses her expression, and finally, she turns to leave.

“I still won!” he calls out behind her, unsure why he wants her to stay, if but for a moment more.

She glances over her shoulder, eyes rolling, mask firmly back in place, whatever she’d been feeling hidden well now. “Whatever you say, Jones.”

His lips turn up, a genuine smile lighting his features, and as she turns away he catches a wisp of her own grin.

------

The fight had done nothing to ease the tension thrumming through him - it had, in fact, made it worse, like a line pulled taught with no slack to ease it. But the spar had, at least, exhausted him, and he curls into the four poster, his eyes drifting closed as he summons up a quieter, softer version of the ocean spell outside his window, and the hushed sound of water lapping against the stone outside eases him to sleep.

The blast of cannon beats against his eardrums as he rushes up the shoreline, eyes intent on the shoddy barricade set further up the sand. There are swords clashing, and pistols firing, and all around him the sound of grunts and cries, men falling to the sand, unmoving.

He ignores it, eyes searching frantically, his heart pounding viciously against his ribcage.

Cannons blast again, and chain shot goes sailing past him, careening through the barricade, the force of it driving back two men with a wild scream.

The heat of the sun beats down on them all, and over the clatter of bullets and the screams of the men, he can hear the ocean tide whispering behind him, calling out to him, attempting to ease his mind.

He longs to turn towards it, but he is still searching, still desperate, and he moves along, further up the beach, past a man grasping at the bloodied stump of his leg, past the barricade, inland until he has to leap boulders to make it to the treeline, where the majority of the fighting is being done.

Amidst the trees, the sound of the ocean fades, and Killian ignores the clash of swords around him, eyes casting about.

The desperation seeps into his marrow, his chest tight with worry, as he watches a man slit another’s throat, only to keel over a moment later with a blade through his belly.

He crumbles to the ground, but the man who’d done the job iis already turning away, raising his sword against another attack - he sins and parries, his jacket whipping around him, and fells this attacker, too, yelling out a command Killian can’t hear over the din of battle.

His fine jacket is stained with blood, his boots caked in mud, his curling hair covered in a fine dusting of sand and soot, but he looks glorious, standing tall and firm against the onslaught. Killian moves towards him, reaching out a hand -

From his left, a man rushes towards the great warrior, but he doesn’t see the attack coming, his back towards it as he surveys the scene, and Killian feels panic rising within him as the man grows closer, raising his sword -

“Liam!”

Killian blinks away the dream, the moonlight lanterns flickering to life at the bedside as he scrambles to rid himself of the coverlet, already reaching for his boots at the bedside before he realizes where he is.

Just a dream, he whispers over the pounding of his heartbeat. It’s just a dream. Outside, the sounds of the ocean stir something inside of him, and he takes a few deep, steadying breaths, eyes closed as he leans against the serpentine carvings of vines on the headboard

He startles as the door to his rooms bangs open, reaching for a weapon, anything that might help him, and finds only the book the Swan had given him the night before, the first he’d failed to complete in a single night, and he wonders vaguely if he’ll be able to grasp it’s complexities before their meeting that morning, if only to continue their battle.

He throws it without another thought, the frenzy of the combat in his dream still driving him.

The Swan catches it with ease, his dread eased somewhat at the sight of her, but only for a moment.

She’s still in her jacket and trousers, although the vest she wears beneath it is  open, a strange sight to him, as buttoned up and crisp as her appearance usually is. There is a concerned pinch to her features, and her hands shake as she sets the book on the sideboard.

“Get up,” she tells him, her gaze sweeping over his rooms, avoiding his eye. “Something’s happened.”

[muggleriddle]

Second round barman pls! Headcanons for Feliks Ravenwood

Heheheh let’s go, now with the floppy haired doctor!

What does their bedroom look like?

It’s full of stuff. Like, aside from your usual bedroom stuff, many books and weird knicknacks (idk, the skull of an animal? or a human skull? bc why not). But like… many… books. Books pilled on the floor, on the bedside table, inside the wardrobe. Astronomy maps and world maps on the walls because he doesn’t like empty walls.

Do they have any daily rituals?

Make a cup of tea before going to bed every night. Checking his keys in his pocket every time he leaves the house (he checks at least 3 times). He tries to read a little before bed every night too.

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

He swims. And after Frank arrived, he sometimes tries to practice punching a sandbag -q

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

He’d sneak into the kitchen and steal something that he could prepare in his room. Idk, bread and cheese for a sandwich, biscuits, chocolate, etc. And then proceed to make a little picnic on his bed.

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

Even though he’s not the most organized person in the world, he’s cares a lot about cleanliness, thank you very much. He’s a doctor and a pathologist, he knows the value of a clean workplace and how not washing your hands can fuck things up. He bathes as soon as he arrives at home because ‘I’m smelling like formoldehyde and my hands are dry as fuck because of the gloves, just wait a minute and then you can tell me everything about your plants, Frank’.

Eating habits and sample daily menu

Again, he doesn’t eat much. He tries to keep track of time to have his meals on time, but sometimes it slips away from him. He doesn’t starve himself like Tom Sr, though. He usually has lunch outside and dinner at home (after Frank moved in, he was the one in charge of cooking and Feliks had to learn to eat spiced mashed potatoes, one of Bryce’s favourite dishes).

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Reading or looking at stars, the later not being possible after he moved to London. He has trouble allowing himself to waste time… He thinks he should be working most of the time.

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

Taking a train and having a trip to Scotland just for the sake of seeing a scottish landscape. And letting his accent become evident just to see someone (who most likely is irritating him) looking confused because they didn’t understand a single word that he’s said.

Makeup?

I don’t think he ever wore it? But the original Feliks, by Thams, wore kohl on his eyes and I really would like to see it in this Feliks aww yess.

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

He’s terrified of failure. He tries to hide it behind an easy going behaviour, but he’s terrified of failing in something. Maybe that’s the reason he decided to dig deeper into the Riddles’ deaths. He’s also terrified of being alone.

Intellectual pursuits?

He just really likes to learn? Anything? He’s not a Gemini, but he enjoys learning lots of new stuff. His major focus is pathology, especially forensic pathology, but he enjoys lots of stuff.

Favorite book genre?

Fantasy and crime solving stuff (Sherlock Holmes fan, that’s him).

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

Feliks’ sexual orientation is really… complicated for me? I find it difficult to put my finger on the right one. I mostly see him as asexual, but panromantic. He enjoys kissing and cuddling (he’s the king of cuddling), but for him to risk going deeper in a relationship (like, accepting having sex?), there needs to be something about the person… Idk how to explain???? He might even enjoy sex, but I don’t think he ever looked at someone and “ah, aye, I want to sleep with this person right away”. Anyway, he enjoyes the company of boys and girls and whatever you choose to call yourself.

Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

He’s short sighted. Like… really short sighted. His myopia is so bad he can’t see a thing a hand in front of his eyes. He has scars on his hands (between his pointing finger and the thumb) from a ‘accident in a forest’ from when he was 16 and he happened to break his jaw once, in his early 20s (I’m using here info from the original Feliks by Thams, but I still need to adapt this into this Feliks Ravenwood).

Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Biggest: solve the Riddles’ case

Smallest: make Frank Bryce laugh (or is it the biggest one?)

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Biggest: do something about his life in order not to feel like a background character in it

Smallest: … I can’t say without giving spoilers for three of wands.

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Pants + shirt + vest/sweater. When he’s outside, he wears a suit or a coat. When it’s cold, a scarf. He’s okay with ties or bowties. He really likes the colourful clothes of the wizarding kind. Glasses. He loves wearing labcoats because there are MORE POCKETS FOR HIM TO FILL WITH PENS AND LITTLE NOTEBOOKS AND OTHER STUFF.

Favorite beverage?

He likes whiskey, I guess. And he’ll learn to like Butterbeer.

What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Stars. He feels a little foolish, but it’s one of the things he remembers about his mum (actually, that his aunt told him about her): that she wished good night to the stars. So he does it too.

Sometimes he thinks about corpses, but hey, it’s his job.

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Chicken pox, colds, broken jaw, sun burns from rare outings during sunny days.

Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Turn on: a good talk (those chats that you have with someone and spends hours and hours talking just to notice it’s five in the morning?), cuddling and sometimes, the person’s magic, depending on how it looks to his eyes;

Turn off: anyone that makes him feel uncomfortable;

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

Doodles, random words, some stuff written in cyrillic alphabet.

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

His house is full of useless stuff, but they’re organized… for him. But his workplace is neat. Don’t you dare to move a scalpel from his table or to change the order of his histology slides.

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

Pathology, especially forensic pathology. He really enjoys learning about astronomy too.

How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

He just wants to be happy and not alone, tbh.

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

Again, I can’t give out spoilers!

What is their biggest regret?

Studying Medicine. It’s a regret and it’s not at the same time… It’s complicated. Not being able to know his mum too, and leaving Scotland.

Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Frank Bryce and another character that has not been introduced yet. And his worst enemy? I think Feliks would laugh at the thought of having a worst enemy, I mean ‘I’m not a character in a book, why would I have an enemy?’

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

He’d try to help. He’d be terrified of not managing to do so, but he’d try.

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

If the disaster can be helped, he’d try to help. If not, he wouldn’t know what to do, try not to feel bad about it just to have a emotional breakdown when he’s alone and thinking about the said disaster.

Most prized possession?

Photos of his mum and his microscope. (and a human skull he used to study anatomy when he was a student and now keeps at his house). And something else I can’t say because of spoilers.

Thoughts on material possessions in general?

He… likes to have useless stuff?

Concept of home and family?

You choose your family. He loves his mum and dad, even though he never met them, but he also loves Frank as a family that limped into his life while shouting and threatening to call the police.

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

Feliks enjoys privacy, but he also hates being alone? He was kind of used of living by himself, but once Frank moves in, he just can’t help but be near him to talk or just… be near him. You know, sharing the bed while they read just to comment a thing here and there about the book etc.

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

Going to a park just to sit in a bench and watch people who walk by him.

What makes them feel guilty?

Taking breaks and not working as a ‘regular’ physician. He’s young and a lot of people tell him that a doctor like him should be out there on the field, being a clinician or a surgeon, but he can’t do it and he feels a little guilty about choosing pathology over clinic/surgery.

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Ahm… a bit of the two? But I guess his emotional side wins.

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

B.

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

When his piano was tuned, he used to play it. But just lying down on his bed, in silence, also helps. And working with corpses, because.. they’re quiet. And he ends up talking a little with them when he needs to talk and has no one to talk with.

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

Ahm… I think neither?

How misanthropic are they?

He’s not misanthropic. Frank is a little baffled by it, because Feliks works with the results of human violence, he sees victims of murder, accidents, suicide, etc, but he keeps being a pretty positive person who can see good things in everyone and is most of the times trying to make someone smile.

Hobbies?

He draws a little, mostly anatomy or histology stuff. Plays the piano, when the piano is tuned. Reads a lot. When he was younger, back in Scotland, he used to love hiking in forests and glens.

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

Feliks has a degree in Medicine and is a especialist in Pathology and Forensic Pathology.

Religion?

Catholic.

Superstitions or views on the occult?

He wants to believe in everything you tell him… And he at least considers the possibility of it being true. He likes to test things, as he’s a scientist. I mean, this is the man who decided to investigate three deaths further because of some thing he (and only he) saw on the bodies. Once he discovers about magic… well, then the sky is the limit to his beliefs.

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

Words.

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

Someone who can keep him entertained, like, who has a good chat and is avid for knowledge like him. Someone who makes him laugh and laughs with him. Someone with a good hug kkkk.

How do they express love?

He loves cuddling and hugging. He likes to share those silent moments, where you’re doing nothing but are together. He tries to make the one he loves laugh and feel comfortable and good.

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

He knows where to hit, but he’s not that good of a fighter. Frank is teaching him, though. He’d be better off if you gave him a knife, then he’d know where to stab to make someone bleed to death -q

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

No. Death is like an old friend to him. He works with dead people and illnesses, he faces death everyday, so he has learned to see it as something natural and beyond control.

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Yankees have five big decisions to make heading into 2018

New Post has been published on http://usnewsaggregator.com/yankees-have-five-big-decisions-to-make-heading-into-2018/

Yankees have five big decisions to make heading into 2018

HOUSTON — It’s over.

The Yankees 2017 season came to a disappointing end in Game 7 of the ALCS against the Astros, but the future looks bright. And the groundwork has been set for what could potentially be a sustained run of success.

Still, there are a few significant questions that need to be answered for 2018:

Will Brian Cashman and Joe Girardi be back?

Brian Cashman rebuilt the Yankees’ roster in a hurry.

(Elsa/Getty Images)

The GM and manager are both in the final years of their respective deals, and both seem like locks to at least be asked to return. Cashman seems lock a lock to come back given that he rebuilt the roster in a hurry, allowing the Bombers to be way ahead of schedule. It features a homegrown core, and a strong farm system.

Girardi is more of a question mark, given rumblings that the family man may want to walk away after a decade at the helm, including his 2009 World Series championship. Still, regardless the criticism over his reliance on data over feel, several young players have taken massive strides forward, and he could be walking away from a potential dynasty in the making. His postseason talk with his family will be significant in determining his future.

Will Masahiro Tanaka opt out?

Masahiro Tanaka has been pitching with a partial tear in his UCL since 2014.

(Kathy Willens/AP)

It is, obviously, a three-year, $67 million question that has gotten more complicated given Tanaka’s incredible run in the playoffs, where he posted a marvelous 0.90 ERA after posting a miserable 4.74 ERA in the regular season. Still, Tanaka has been pitching with a partial tear in his UCL since 2014, granted he’s been very durable ever since. Tanaka enjoys playing in New York, which could factor into his decision, as could a very mediocre free-agent pitching market outside of Yu Darvish and Johnny Cueto.

Given that the Bombers want to get under the $197 million luxury-tax threshold in advance of the loaded 2019 free-agent class, they may elect to let Tanaka walk rather than risking paying him extra given his injury history. The 2018 rotation will presumably already include Luis Severino, Sonny Gray and Jordan Montgomery. And it’s plausible that the Yankees will try to keep CC Sabathia on a one-year deal, though it also stands to reason that money could be tight. Chance Adams, 23, was named the organization’s pitching prospect of the year, and could potentially factor into the mix as well.

Will the Yankees be able to recruit Shohei Ohtani?

He’s 23, he can pitch and hit, and, because of free-agency rules, he’d come extremely cheap relative to his real worth. That’s why the luxury-tax conscious Bombers need to wow him in what is essentially a college-like recruiting process. No financial advantage this time.

Ohtani would be extremely valuable as he could slot in at DH when he isn’t pitching, essentially one player filling two roster spots. Sounds like a guy that could sell some tickets, too. Expect the Yankees to make a serious run at Ohtani, with several other powers like the Dodgers, Cubs and Red Sox in the mix as well.

Where does Gleyber Torres fit in?

Gleyber Torres may be playing in the Yankees infield next season.

(Icon Sportswire via Getty Images)

At second? At third? The organization’s top position-player prospect recently began hitting again after undergoing season-ending Tommy John surgery on his left elbow. The 20-year-old is expected to be ready for spring training, though Cashman has suggested that he won’t start with the big club given that he hasn’t had a full season at Triple-A yet. Either way, Torres should eventually become a factor in pinstripes in 2018. He ended 2017 as MLB.com’s top prospect in all of baseball. Will the Bombers elect to keep Starlin Castro, Torres’ mentor, around, or trade him? Aside from Torres, Miguel Andujar is another top prospect that could figure in the mix.

Will the Bombers pursue a top free agent?

With them, you never want to say never. But there doesn’t really seem to be a need for Eric Hosmer or Mike Moustakas. After all, the 2019 crop of Bryce Harper and Manny Machado certainly seems worth saving for, as a year is still a very long ways away, and who knows what could happen by then. The core has been built around homegrown, cost-controllable talent like Aaron Judge, Gary Sanchez and Greg Bird. Sabathia ($25 million), Alex Rodriguez ($21 million), Matt Holliday ($13 million), Michael Pineda ($7.4 million), Todd Frazier ($5 million adjusted) and Jaime Garcia will all come off the books.

Other questions include: Will Didi Gregorius get an extension, or will the team continue to take advantage of having cost-control via arbitration? It seems likely the Yankees will shop Jacoby Ellsbury with Aaron Hicks having supplanted him in center, but what could they even get? And what do they plan to do with Dellin Betances, again arbitration-eligible, after his rough end to the year?

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