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heliads · 8 months ago

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Aaaaah so glad I made it in time x3 your writing is godsent and being able to request something fills my cold heart with joy!

Okay so I rewachted Descendants and just... imagine if Carlos has to live together/spend time with a villain kid that got adopted and raised by the big bad wolf (I checked and yes that is a Disney villain!).

For some plot... (my mind comes up with something funny so do not expect too much lol) maybe taking place during Descendants 2 (with Uma) and somehow the crew has taken Carlos and Little Bad Wolf has to keep an eye on him? Except that little bad wolf gets seasick "Dude this ship isnt even on open sea, how are you feeling sick?" "shut up!"

'get him back' - carlos de vil

masterlist

The pirates never should have taken Carlos.

It was a stupid move, really. Stupid to get Mal on their bad side, but even worse to kidnap Carlos. As if Mal wouldn’t do anything in this world or the next to get her friend back. As if anyone who dared to stand in her way would not find themselves lost to the salt of the sea if they didn’t immediately back down.

Uma didn’t learn that lesson soon enough, but she will. It doesn’t matter that she was a formidable foe, the moment she made the fight personal by kidnapping Carlos, it was all over. Mal’s got an unsettling edge to her voice, the sort of dark and twisted tone that makes you follow her orders without question. Villain kids don’t like doing what they’re told, but in this case, you’re all of the same mind. What matters the most is getting Carlos back. Your egos can wait until after your friend is back by your side.

Uma’s ship came by in the dead of night and took Carlos when he was walking around unawares. They must have all attacked at once, half a dozen pirates against one boy, because there’s no way Carlos would go down without a fight. There are clear signs of a scuffle on the roads where they took him away, obviously not the clean abduction Uma was hoping for, but the facts remain. Carlos is gone, and you need to get him back as soon as possible.

Mal has already drawn up a rescue plan. She’s enchanted a small boat to be silent and almost invisible in the dark waters; once night falls, you’ll sneak up to Uma’s ship and get your boy back. One of you will sneak on board and find Carlos, then dodge the pirates meant to be guarding him and bring him back to your ship. You’ll have to wait until the right time to make your escape, though, so you can immediately land at a local deck and make your getaway. Uma can beat you in water, but you’re faster on land, so everything has to be timed perfectly.

You’re the one who’s been assigned to the difficult task of slipping onto Uma’s ship. As the adoptive child of the Big Bad Wolf, you’re well trained in the art of sneaking around and blending in. You’re the perfect spy, so to speak, so you’re the best bet the VKs have at going unnoticed by the pirates on that ship.

Even though you know the official reason for your selection is simply that you’re the best among Mal’s VKs at staying under the radar, you can’t help a rush of pride at being the one selected for the task. When Carlos looks up to see his savior, you’re glad it’s going to be you. You want to be the one on his mind when he thinks of safety. You, not Evie or someone else. Just you.

The credit for this rescue, though, should rightly be shared among all members of your friend group. Right now, Mal, Ben, Jay, and Evie are on Mal’s cloaked boat, drawing close to Uma’s ship. It slides by before you, cresting the indigo waves, so close you could reach out and touch it with one hand. Right under it, you’re struck by the size of the ship. Carlos could be anywhere. This might take longer than you thought.

Mal nods at you. “It’s time.”

You nod back, standing up carefully and reaching for the rope ladder one of the pirates forgot to pull up on the side of the ship. Tugging it quietly to test its strength, you pull yourself up slowly hand over hand, pausing just before you reach the top so you can survey the deck and see how many pirates are there.

Not expecting an attack this late at night, Uma’s crew has left the deck mostly unmanned. Two pirates are idly chatting near the helm, keeping the ship on its course, and there’s a guy up in the crow’s nest, although he’s nodded off instead of keeping a good watch on any possible intruders. You crawl over the railing as quietly as you dare, sticking to the shadows to avoid notice. Oil lamps cast pools of sticky yellow light on the ground, and you skirt them as best you can, all the while making for the stairs leading to the lower parts of the ship. Your steps are silent, each taken with the fear of causing a loose board to creak and alert the crew to your presence.

Once belowdecks, you can breathe a little easier. Most of the sounds you hear are of snoring and sleeping pirates, although a few still remain awake even despite the late hour. Without the stars and moon bleeding white light overhead, the halls are darker, giving you more room to bleed into the shadows and avoid detection. A few times, someone pokes their head out of their door or shifts around a little, causing you to freeze in your tracks, heart hammering in your chest, but you still manage to come out of each close shave without getting caught.

The further you go into the ship, though, the worse you feel. Despite living on an island for most of your life, you never really had a chance to get on a boat before, and you can say decisively that you don’t enjoy the feeling. You like solid ground, a floor that doesn’t rock, and the stability of knowing there isn’t empty water under your feet at any moment. Uma’s ship lilts and turns every few seconds as it crosses the waves, and it leaves you feeling drained of all strength before you’ve even spent ten minutes inside.

You’re not here to complain, though, you’re here to rescue Carlos. You push past your growing nausea and keep peering in doors, searching for the room holding your friend. Before long, you spot it– a locked door at the end of the hall, a flash of white hair inside. It’s meant to be guarded by two pirates, but they’ve obviously grown bored of their post and settled in for a game of cards a few paces away. Perfect. You cause a small distraction by knocking a can to the ground down the hall, and hurriedly pick the lock while they go rushing off in the opposite direction.

You swing yourself inside the cell and shut the door again just before they look back. Grinning, you allow yourself one moment of quiet victory before you’re engulfed in a rush of red and black and white.

Instantly, your body is on high alert, but you manage to calm down when you realize you’re not being attacked by a pirate but one of Carlos’ fierce hugs. He pulls back a second later, beaming ear to ear. “Y/N! What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

You laugh quietly. “You can thank Mal for that, she dropped everything to come rescue you once we found out you’d been kidnapped.”

Carlos punches the air triumphantly. “Perfect! Let’s get out of here. Pirates stink.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple, unfortunately. We have to wait an hour or so for Uma’s ship to pass by land. That way, we can escape onto the peninsula without trying to sail back or she’d catch us.”

Carlos’ face falls. “You’re telling me I have to stay in this rat’s nest even longer?”

You frown sympathetically. “I know, trust me, but we have no choice. She’d catch us if we tried to just sail away. And believe me, I’d like nothing more than to get out of here. I hate this ship.”

As if proving your point, the ship hits a sudden burst of waves and you nearly lose your balance and your dinner along with it. Carlos catches you before you fall, hurriedly bringing you over to a small, hard looking couch along the side of the cell.

“Hey, easy there. Don’t go getting sick on my watch. You can lie down and try to regain your spirits while we wait for Mal, alright?” He says.

You close your eyes gratefully. “Thanks, Carlos.”

He giggles. “No problem. Although I can’t believe you feel this bad already, we’re not even out of the bay. This ship isn’t in the open ocean, how are you seasick? The water is practically dead still.”

“Shut up,” you mutter under your breath, fighting another bout of nausea.

Carlos laughs again, but thankfully remains silent. You have no doubt that he’ll be bringing it up again soon, though, probably to win an argument about which VK is the toughest.

You’d like to clear your good name, of course, but the rocking of the ship silences you again, keeping you absolutely still and silent on the tough couch. Carlos, sensing your obvious discomfort, tries to distract you by talking. He keeps his voice quiet so he doesn’t attract the attention of the guards outside, and the soft lull of his words spilling out into the darkness of your lidded eyes makes you wish for sleep.

Carlos talks about how surprised he was when he was kidnapped, how glad he was to see you, what he plans on doing after you break him out of here, what he was supposed to be doing when Uma and her pirates took him in the first place. Carlos has always been a good talker, but you’re extra glad for it now.

When he pauses for breath, you laugh quietly and say, “I thought I was supposed to be the one saving you, but it looks like it might be the other way around.”

Eyes still closed, you can tell Carlos is smiling by the soft exhale he lets out. “I’d say freeing me from a pirate ship is a bigger deal than distracting you from seasickness. I’ll still give you this win.”

“That’s awfully generous of you,” you hum.

“Yeah, well, I’m a generous guy,” Carlos tells you. “It’s no problem when it’s you, though. I’d do anything for you.”

When you dare to crack open your eyelids, he looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him. All of a sudden, the breath is low and careful in your lungs not because of the churning waters beneath you, but because of him. Always because of him.

“Carlos,” you begin quietly.

“No,” he says, more determinedly, “I’m serious. I like you, Y/N. I really do. Seasick or not. I’ve liked you for a while, and if I was going to be stuck in a cell in a pirate ship with anyone, I’d want it to be you. You were the best part about the Isle of the Lost and the best part of Auradon. I can go anywhere if you’re with me. You don’t have to feel the same, I just– I thought you should know.”

You sit up carefully. “I do feel the same way.”

Carlos’ mouth drops. “Really?”

“Is that so much of a surprise?” You ask, laughing slightly. “I’ve followed you everywhere since we first met. We’re practically inseparable. The only reason I wasn’t kidnapped along with you is because I got distracted by Evie needing help finding a pair of matching shoes. You’re my home too, Carlos. You always have been.”

His smile is brilliant in the darkness. “I couldn’t be happier to hear it. Except maybe when we get off this ship.” He extends a hand to you. “How about we make our escape?”

You take it, letting Carlos pull you up. “I’d like nothing more.”

It feels like your entire life has opened up before you. If it takes a kidnapping, a pirate ship, and terrible storms for the two of you to finally confess your feelings, it might just be worth it after all. You’ve got Carlos, and that’s worth more than all the treasure in the world.

requested by @reinekes-fox, i hope you enjoy!

disney tag list: @blondsauduun, @lovesanimals0000, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @faerieroyal, @goldfish4403

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#carlos de vil #carlos de vil imagines #carlos de vil x reader #carlos de vil oneshot #descendants #descendants imagines #descendants x reader #descendants oneshot #descendants carlos #descendants carlos imagines #descendants carlos x reader #descendants carlos oneshot #disney #disney imagines #disney x reader #disney oneshot

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kirain · 15 days ago

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How I imagine the conversation between Anya and Swansea went.

The dull, scarlet light of the cockpit flickered, the sound of retching echoing off the metal panels. Swansea paused in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. The acrid stench of bile mingled with the sterile tang of burnt wires and coolant stung his nostrils, but he didn't seem to care. He simply watched, waiting for her to finish.

After a moment, Anya wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her body hunched over the waste bin. The fit didn't last long, but it was rough, her heart racing, her mind reeling. When it was over, the large, unsteady man finally approached, and Anya tensed, casting him a fearful glance.

"Swansea?" she wheezed, as if expecting someone else.

"You good?" he asked, his tone flat.

"Y-yeah," she choked, dismissively. "I'm fine. Just a bit too much stress."

"You don't gotta pretend," he muttered, lowering himself into the seat across from her. "Not the brightest guy in space, but I've had enough kids to know prenatal puke when I see it."

Anya's head snapped up, her expression shocked and pale. Her lips parted to deny it, but no sound came out. The silence between them thickened, pressing down like the crushing gravity of the moon they were stranded on.

Then, Swansea leaned back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a half-empty bottle of mouthwash. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig, the minty burn doing little to ease the sourness in his gut. He swirled the liquid in his mouth before swallowing and murmured, "It's Curly's, right?"

Anya's shoulders bucked. She began to cry, a sound so quiet it could've been mistaken for the wind outside—and Swansea flinched. He lowered the bottle, his weathered face softening unexpectedly.

"Aw, hell," he sighed, his voice gravelly but not unkind. "Don't cry. Even a burnt up wreck like him can manage to be a decent dad. You know we got all kinds of medical shit back home, enough to make him... somewhat functional. He can definitely afford the surgeries. It's not the end of the—"

"It's not Curly's," she whispered, cutting him off.

Her voice cracked as she wrapped her arms around herself, desperate for comfort, and Swansea froze, the weight of her words sinking into his chest like a stone. As the bottle of mouthwash dangled in his hand, his gaze sharpened. He studied her, taking in the way her body curled inward, how it shuddered, how her cheeks flushed an almost greenish hue, disgusted and sickly.

A dreadful understanding crept over him.

"Jimmy," he growled, the name heavy with venom. He shot to his feet, his fists clenched. "You mean he—?"

Anya's sobs deepened; louder, exacerbated, despite her best effort to contain them.

"That bastard!" he shrieked. "I'll kill him!"

"No!" Anya panicked, blocking his path. "Don't. Please."

"Why the fuck not?!"

She cringed, her fingers curling. "If you fight him, he might... he might get the upper hand. I don't want anyone else to get hurt. I... I can't handle it."

"But he—!"

"We don't have enough supplies for any more injuries. Swansea, please."

He stared at her, his body trembling with rage, but he suppressed it. Slowly, he forced himself to breathe, then rubbed a hand over his face.

All if his anger gave way to despair.

"We're dead anyway," he said bitterly. "No one's comin' for us. No rescue crew's gonna find us out here before we run out of supplies. Might as well face facts."

Anya didn't respond. She stared at the floor, her tears leaving dark spots on the dusty metal. He was right, and she knew it. They all knew it. For a long while, neither of them spoke, the silence filled only by the distant hum of failing systems, until Swansea broke it with a heavy groan.

"I've been keeping somethin' from you," he said. "Well, not just you. From everyone."

Anya looked up, her red-rimmed eyes meeting his. "What?"

"One of the cryopods survived the crash," he admitted. He gave her a chance to react, but she didn't. "One. The rest are either fried or buried under foam. I've been saving it for Daisuke."

Anya blinked, her confusion palpable. "Why for Daisuke and not yourself?"

"He's the youngest. The strongest. Got the best chance of makin' it." His voice lowered, a mix of envy and compersion. "And he's got a good life to go back to. A mom that loves him, money out the wazoo. We ain't got none of that. Seemed... seemed right. Whatever the fuck 'right' means, anyway."

Anya frowned, her brow furrowing. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Dunno," Swansea shrugged, the motion almost helpless. "Just felt like I should, given the circumstances."

"I see." Anya swayed, processing his words.

Then he chuckled dryly, though there was no humour in it. "If you wanna fight me for it, you can. You'd probably win. Like you said, upper hand and all that. My back's shit. My knees are shot. I'm too old and too broken to—"

"I have nothing to fight for," Anya interrupted, her hand subconsciously moving to her stomach. "Nothing."

Swansea's eyes followed her movements, wincing as her nails pierced her skin through her suit. He said nothing, only nodding as he reached out, offering his bottle of mouthwash.

She shook her head. "There's not enough alcohol," she said hollowly. "I'd throw it up before it could do any damage."

He pulled the bottle away, and again they stood in silence, the unspoken hanging heavy between them. After a while, he took another swig, his throat tightening against the burn.

"What about Jimmy?" he asked, his teeth bared.

Anya hesitated, cupping her chin. "He'll destroy himself eventually. People like him always do."

Swansea scoffed in agreement, though his jaw remained tight. "If he tries anything with you again—or Daisuke—he's done. I don't care what he does to me."

Anya nodded, her expression grim but grateful. "No. I understand completely. If that's how it has to be—"

Suddenly, the doors slid open with a shiver, and Jimmy entered, taken aback by the sight of them.

"Hm? Oh, it's you," Swansea huffed, crossing his arms.

"Jimmy!" Anya squeaked, wiping her eyes. She was startled, but quickly composed herself. "Not able to sleep either?"

"It's 'nighttime'," he groused. "Why are you talking this late?" His tone was acerbic, his eyes drifting to the woman. "...Anya. Are you crying?"

"No, don't worry. I'm okay," she sniffed, her only solace Swansea's watchful presence.

"We all need to keep it together," he hissed, oblivious to their schemes.

"Oh, I'm keepin' it together," Swansea said, his voice as sober as it had ever been. "Don't you worry, Captain."

#mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #captain curly #curly mouthwashing #anya #swansea #curly #Jimmy #daisuke #tw rap3 #wrong organ

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stellanslashgeode · 3 months ago

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Work in Progress Wednesday

Here's another snippet from Way of the Mynock. I like the fact that since the canon divergence I've turned Han and Chewie from drug smugglers to Air America running ops for spies. And Saw and Barriss should have been best buds.

Chewbacca greeted her warmy at the top of the ramp. She made light conversation about the success of the mission on their way to the cockpit. Han was leaning against the threshold giving her his usual put-upon look. He’d matured a little over the years but insisted on maintaining a detached sarcasm in their relationship.

“Well, Sister; we goin back to Aldera?”

“We have a stop to make first, I’ll input the coordinates in the navcomputer.” She took a seat in the navigator’s station.

Han grunted. “This have something to do with that cargo you haven’t offloaded yet?”

“Yes. Let’s get it into good hands.”

Once they reached the rendezvous point at a lonely hyperspace junction they powered down and waited. A far larger bulk freighter docked with them, and Benthic “Two-Tubes” of the Partisans entered first via the airlock. He patted down each crew member (even Chewbacca for some reason). Barriss then took a seat in the galley while he diligently searched every cabin and hatch before reporting back to his people.

That’s new. Barriss thought to herself. He’s usually cautious, but this is far more thorough than usual.

It was only once the sweep was complete that Saw boarded, along with a few of his captains. His crew lingered to talk shop with Han and Chewie, but Saw went straight to sit with Barriss in the galley. He set down two glasses which he filled with his homemade hootch. After they had clinked the rims of their glasses and downed the first shot Barriss broke the silence. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.”

Saw frowned and nodded. “Same here.”

There was something different about him. His appearance was constantly changing, he was wearing more armor than usual, for instance. His hair was starting to grow out. Barriss suspects he shaves it before big missions. He had more scars where his skin was visible, and two green eyes this time. Moreover Barriss sensed a heightened paranoia tinged with a certain sadness. She looked around at his crew in an attempt to grasp what else had changed.

“Where’s your little protégé?”

He shifted in his seat and there was a brief stir of emotions, letting Barriss know she’d tapped the vein of sadness. Regret. “I had to let her go her own way, it was getting too dangerous for her. There are traitors and informants everywhere.”

“It pains me to hear that, old friend. She was good for you, being a teacher and guardian. She forced a gentleness in you. I’m sure she’ll go far, relying on your tutelage.”

He grunted and refilled their glasses, subtly inferring he had no further comment on the matter. “What have you got for me this time?”

She sipped the powerful brew this time and gave him a subtle smile. “It’s in the cargo hold. Several crates of explosive nano-droids.”

Gererra’s eyes went wide. “You finally trust me with your recipe?”

“I would have sooner, but I had to completely redesign and reprogram them from scratch. It has been a side project or hobby for me all these years, scraping together what I could when a project came in under-budget. I regret that it took so long. But at least the Empire has no countermeasures against this recipe.”

She tried to meet with Gererra two or three times a year, though sometimes a year or two would go by without an appropriate window. She of course kept tabs on his activities and remained in contact at all times. It pleased her to provide this long-requested boon.

“What’s my intended target?” He refilled his glass a third time.

“No target this time.”

He raised an eyebrow, pausing his raised beverage. “What targets are off the table, then?”

“Nothing is forbidden.” She spoke softly and sweetly. “Just make them howl.”

He set down his glass and studied her expression. “Really? That’s not how this usually works.” He squinted at her. “Something has changed.”

“I am giving you munitions, it is my hope that you use them at your discretion.”

He grunted again. “What’s going on at that HQ of yours?”

Barriss’s expression soured and she took another delicate sip to cover it up. “The Alliance is maturing. In the scrappy and threadbare old days they set me free to do as I wished. And what we could afford was targeted bombings and assassinations. Asymmetric insurgency. Injection of a little chaos into the New Order the Emperor was forming. Now that we have assembled a proper fighting force they want to fight a proper war. It is as you predicted, use of force edicts. Clearance from military intelligence for my missions. I’ve got people who supposedly are my peers but wear general’s pips looking over my shoulder.”

She drained her cup so it appeared she was more bitter about the taste than her situation. “For instance, one of my agents has gone missing. He got obsessed with Imperial prison labor camps, and wanted to ascertain what they were building. I’m worried that he’s gone and gotten himself captured under an assumed name. I have been forbidden from sending a rescue.” It took effort for Barriss to tamp down her expression. “I just want to give this bounty to someone I can trust to use it well.”

He laughed, a little of the old Saw peeking out. “There’s still a bit of the young radical in you yet!”

She smiled, lowered her head, and looked at him from under her eyelashes. “Perhaps there is. I’ve been reflecting more and more on our conversations, my friend.”

“Have you now?” He leaned back in his chair and sipped.

“On your reasoning for maintaining your relative independence in the movement. On your warnings to me. On what sort of galaxy the Organas wish to create upon our success.” She no longer had to hide her patron’s identity now that Saw was sworn in.

“Have you doubts, comrade?”

She made a bitter face. “Since departing the Jedi Order in shame I have leaned into my Mirialan heritage, to ground myself. And in our history we are so often subjugated in galactic conflicts. Invaded and enslaved by the Sith. Raided by the Mandalorians. Blockaded and economically exploited by the Trade Federation. Occupied by the Separatists. It made us survivors, it forced us to be strong and resilient. But once the Empire’s yolk is off our necks, I am not sure if being another small voice in a huge senate dome is our best fate. Perhaps it is time for Mirial to stand alone, dictating interplanetary affairs and contracts in their local group.”

“Perhaps so.” Saw agreed. “ Ironic that the Empire would turn us into Separatists. Overthrowing the Empire shall be a vast endeavor, but we should not overlook the opportunity to go back to first principles once they are defeated. Create something new, something better.”

“That’s why I need you around, old friend.” She leaned closer. “One of these days one of these former senators is going to be uncomfortable sharing a bargaining table with you. They won’t force you out, but you’ll be handed your hat and patted on the shoulder. Saw, I need you. I need you in. I’ll do my best to keep you at the table.”

A little of the previous melancholy settled around his shoulders. “Why? Why stick your neck out for a fellow Clone War vet like me? One so broken down and set in his ways?”

Barriss leaned further forward, a little steel settling into her gaze. “Because these people want reestablishment of the status quo and we want utopia. Let’s face it, the ones that were there, they capitulated. Who’s to say it won’t happen again, then we’d be forced to fight this same war over again.” She refilled her own glass and topped off Saw’s. “It’s past time to break the cycle.”

He laughed. “I knew there was something I liked about you at the start! You’ve got spine, Offee.” He raised his glass for a second toast and they both drank. “They’re not going to like that. You’ll not gain friends with this strategy.”

“When has that stopped me before?” She grumbled. “Power only respects immovable objects. And immovable objections. I’ll go into imprisonment again, if need be.”

“Not if I can help it!”

She gently set her hand on his forearm. “Then stay alive, old friend. Do as much dirt as you like, harming the Empire. But stay ahead of the troopers, stay alive. And stay engaged with the brass.”

He suddenly looked very sober. “I am more apt to make enemies than friends, Barriss. Even amongst those who would be allies.”

“It’s a good thing they relegated me away from insurgency and towards counterintelligence, then. I have eyes everywhere. I’ll intercept any daggers pointing at your back. I swear to you.”

Saw stood, looking like his knees ached with the effort. He extended an arm towards her. “Let us seal our vow, then.”

She rose and they grasped forearms. “Go out and cleanse the Empire’s works with fire, and come back safely.”

“May the Force be with us.”

#barriss offee #saw gerrera #star wars fanfiction #work in progress #work in progress wednesday #star wars fanfic #saw gerrera and barriss offee #they're like against me! and run the jewels

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chicgeekgirl89 · 2 years ago

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Love is Sitting on the Bathroom Floor

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes, Nancy Gillian, Mateo Chavez, Judd Ryder, Paul Strickland, Marjan Marwani

Summary: Firefighters and paramedics rarely turn down a free meal, something the 126 is about the regret as a violent case of food poisoning takes out *almost* the entire team. For the @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Food Poisoning.

CW: Heavy emeto warning on this one!

Read on AO3

The first gurgle in T.K.’s stomach is not a cause for concern. In fact, he barely notices it. They’re bringing a patient into the hospital, an elderly woman who took a spill, so his focus is on driving, not a stray growl from his abdomen.

“Patient is a seventy-five year old female, complaining of hip and lower back pain,” T.K. tells the ER team as they roll her inside on the gurney.

“Vital signs?” the doctor asks.

T.K. waits for Nancy to answer since she’d been riding in the back with the patient, but she doesn’t say anything. When he looks over she’s just standing there, eyes slightly glazed. “Nance?” he prompts.

She shakes her head and seems to come back to herself. “Sorry, yeah,” she says and then rattles off the vitals for the team.

“You good?” T.K. asks a few minutes later as they grab some supplies to restock the rig. “You look kind of pale.”

Pale and slightly green with an odd glassiness in her eyes that definitely wasn’t there when they started this run.

“Yeah,” she says, flashing him a strained looking smile. “Totally cool partner. All good to go.”

It’s quiet as they drive back to the station. The growl in T.K.’s stomach is intensifying, a pinching pain now accompanying it, and he unconsciously moves one hand off the wheel to press it against his abdomen, as if that will somehow alleviate his symptoms. He hopes they have Pepto Bismol or something stocked at the firehouse, because he’s growing more and more uncomfortable by the second.

“Pull over.”

Nancy’s hoarse request catches him off-guard, temporarily distracting him from the burbling in his intestines. “What?” he asks in confusion.

She makes a choked sound, clamping a hand over her mouth as her eyes go wide with panic and T.K. quickly steers them onto the shoulder without further questions.

Nancy opens her door and practically falls to the ground, the sound of retching filling the air. T.K. grimaces as the contents of her stomach empty out onto the pavement. It’s a very long minute before she climbs back into the rig, her hands shaking as she wipes at her mouth.

“Are you okay?” T.K. asks, slightly horrified.

She shakes her head, eyes closed, breathing deeply through her nose. “Just get us back to the station.”

If she’d looked pale before, she looks like a ghost by the time they pull into their bay. He doesn’t even have the rig in park before she shoves the passenger door wide open and makes a run for the locker room.

His own feet hit the apparatus floor and his stomach gives an extremely unpleasant lurch. He pauses, swallowing hard. What the hell?

Rooting around in the back of the rig he finds a couple antacid pills, swallowing them down and hoping they work fast. They still have six hours of their shift left. Hopefully there’s some ginger ale or something in the fridge, he thinks as he wanders back into the station. Or maybe he’ll raid his dad’s secret stash of tea…

He’s nearly knocked off his feet when someone comes barging past him. “Mateo!” T.K. calls after him, throwing up his hands in annoyance. “Where’s the fire?”

He doesn’t get an answer, just yet another disappearance into the locker room. “What the hell?” he mutters to himself. “Guys, what’s up with Mate—“

He cuts himself off as he rounds the corner and finds what looks to be most of the 126 crew sprawled out across their common area. Every one of them looks like they’re dying.

“What is going on here?” T.K. asks.

“Sick,” Judd grunts from where he’s leaned back in a recliner, one hand resting on his stomach, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Everyone?” T.K. asks as he takes in the general malaise of the crew.

He gets small nods and grunts of agreement from around the room. “Everyone except Cap,” Marjan manages to tell him, her voice small and weak. She’s curled up on the floor next to the sofa, a trash can positioned by her head.

“Bout fifteen minutes after you left.” Paul is slumped over at the table, head pillowed on his arms. “First Mateo, then Marj, then all of us.”

How is that possible? They’d been fine before T.K. and Nancy had left on their call. T.K. racks his brain, trying to figure out how they’ve all fallen ill so quickly. “Lunch,” he finally says with dawning horror.

“Seems like,” Judd tells him with a shudder.

The department had catered for them today, a thank you for a massive fire they’d all worked for hours the week before. They’d had soup and sandwiches from a local deli. Everyone except…

“Where’s my dad?” he asks.

“Calling in the other shift,” Paul grunts out, not moving from his position on the table. He cracks one eyelid. “You’re not sick?”

“No,” T.K. says, although his stomach does choose that moment to give a massive lurch that has him wondering if he’ll be next in line for the toilet. “Nancy puked on our way back in though.”

“Do NOT say puked,” Marjan growls from her position on the floor, gagging dangerously after she does so.

Mateo slinks back into the room, eyes bloodshot and heavy as he curls up onto the couch. “I’m never eating again,” he moans into a throw pillow.

“Are we out of service then?” T.K. asks.

“Engine is. And if Nancy’s down, then ambo will have to be too,” Judd says.

He’s right. With Tommy out for the twins’ Girl Scouts event, they’re already a man down. He can’t run calls by himself.

Nancy returns and collapses onto the couch, half on top of Mateo. “Move over,” she grunts.

“Hey, get your own couch,” he shoots back, but she glares daggers at him and he grudgingly makes room.

“All right,” Owen says as he strides into the room in a way that seems to flaunt his good health. “I’ve officially taken us out of service and A Shift is on their way in.” He catches a glimpse of Nancy and his face falls. “Oh no. Not you too.”

“Sorry Cap,” she croaks, curling up into the fetal position.

“I guess I will call dispatch back,” he says with a sigh before he look at T.K. “What about you? You’re still standing?”

“So far,” T.K. says.

His dad claps him on the shoulder. “It’s that good Strand constitution. Takes more than a little salmonella to take us down!”

“How come you’re not sick, Cap?” Mateo asks.

“Oh, I didn’t eat the department lunch,” Owen tells them as he walks to the fridge. “All that processed meat and packaged sugar? No thank you. Besides, I’m on a cleanse.” He grabs several bottles of water and places them next to each of his fallen team members. “Now the most important thing for food poisoning is to hydrate. We don’t want anyone going to the ER.”

His dad’s not wrong, but his insistence that everyone needs to drink something results in a round of vomiting so intense T.K. thinks he might do it too out of sympathy. The bubbling in his stomach is becoming more of a roiling snakes situation, but he ignores it. His dad can’t be the only working pair of hands right now.

“All right,” Owen says after everyone seems to be settling back down. “Time for you all to go home. This is a firehouse, not an emergency room.”

Grace arrives fifteen minutes later to take Judd home and Nancy’s roommate comes to pick up her and Mateo. Marjan pours herself into a friends’ car right after that, while Paul insists that he’s well enough to drive himself. T.K. wonders if he makes it all the way home without puking or if he has to stop every two minutes.

“Well kid, looks like it’s just you and me,” Owen tells him once the common room has emptied out.

“Mhm,” T.K. says, pressing his lips together firmly and swallowing hard as his stomach clenches threateningly.

“Oh no,” Owen says sadly. “Not you too.”

“Sorry,” T.K. manages before he has to turn and make a run for it.

He spends an extremely unpleasant twenty minutes on the bathroom floor, thankful that his dad insists on such a rigid cleaning regimen, before he drags himself back to the bunk room and gingerly lays himself out on his bed. He should feel better after emptying his stomach, but somehow he feels worse.

He’s shaky and sweaty and it’s like someone is repeatedly jabbing him with a knife in his gut. It’s not good and it’s probably going to get worse before it gets better.

“T.K.?”

Owen’s voice filters timidly through the haze of pain that T.K. is in. “I’m going to leave this herbal tea here for you. It’s got lots of antioxidants.”

“Thanks,” T.K. groans.

“Do you need anything? Another pillow or a blanket? I can see if we have some plain chicken broth or something. Oh! You know, I think I have some raw ginger around somewhere, maybe I can—“

“I’m fine Dad,” he grinds out.

“Okay, well, I’ll just, leave you be then. Try and…get some rest.”

T.K. would roll his eyes if he didn’t think the motion would make him puke. His dad’s bedside manner has always left a lot to be desired. When he was a kid, if T.K. got sick on his dad’s weekend, he was sent straight back to Gwyn’s apartment. He’s only gotten worse now that T.K. is an adult.

He’s not sure how much time passes before he has to run to the bathroom again, probably fifteen minutes or so. Then it’s back to his bunk, praying that maybe he’ll fall asleep so some of the pain will go away.

He’s just collapsed back into bed when his dad returns. “Son, I’ve brought you some crackers,” he says. “The internet says to stay away from spicy foods, and these are pretty bland, so I think they’re okay. Also some ice chips. You should try just one at a time.”

“Anything I eat will come right back up,” T.K. croaks, burying his face in his pillow.

Owen looks him over. “Maybe I should feed them to you…”

T.K.’s stomach clenches and he lets out an involuntary moan, struggling to keep whatever’s still in there in place.

“Okay, never mind, clearly you know best, paramedic and all that. Holler if you need anything!” his dad says, backing out of the room.

A small part of T.K. wonders if he should try to get himself home, but even the thought of moving makes him nauseous. There’s no way he can drive.

The bed shifts as someone sits down on the edge of the mattress and then gentle fingers card through his hair. “Dad, go away,” he croaks, eyes still closed. Everything hurts and he doesn’t want anymore weird tea or unhelpful advice from WebMD.

“It’s me.”

He cracks an eyelid to find worried chocolate brown eyes looking down at him. “Carlos?” he says weakly. “What are you doing here?”

“Your dad texted. Something about it looking bad for him if a paramedic dies inside his firehouse,” he says, a soft smile on his lips. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Getting to his feet is a struggle, even with Carlos’ strong, supportive arms. He’s dizzy and nauseated and he’s pretty sure he has a fever now too considering the chill that’s settled into his bones.

“Is everyone else this bad?” Carlos asks as they slowly walk to the car.

“Worse,” T.K. tells him and he can feel Carlos’ sympathetic grimace. “Wait, why do you have your dad’s truck instead of the Camaro?” he asks when they stop in front of a vehicle that is definitely not Carlos’.

“We traded for the day,” Carlos says casually, but T.K. knows a fib when he hears one.

“Did you make your dad switch cars because you were afraid I would throw up in the Camaro?” T.K. asks, glaring at him with watery eyes as Carlos settles into the driver’s seat and hands him an emesis bag he clearly swiped from the station.

“Shh, you’re sick, don’t worry about the details,” Carlos says, a little too quickly, and it’s enough to confirm T.K.’s theory. His fiancé might be able to fool the bad guys he deals with every day, but he’s actually a pretty terrible liar. He decides that just to spite Carlos he won’t throw up for the entire ride home.

He makes it five minutes before his stomach clenches so painfully that he has to bend over and put his head between his knees to try and dull the pain. Carlos’ hand comes to rest on his back, a comforting, familiar weight. “You need me to pull over?” he asks, worry coloring his tone.

T.K. shakes his head. He just wants to get home. Also if he talks, he’s going to lose the battle with his stomach.

He makes it the entire ride and narrowly escapes barfing all over the hallway, taking himself straight to the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. There’s nothing left to come up, but that doesn’t stop him from retching over the toilet until every muscle in his body is screaming at him.

When he’s done he curls into a ball on the bathroom tile, wishing that memories of being in similar positions on significantly less clean floors and in far sketchier locations weren’t coming to mind.

The door creaks open. “Do you want me to help you to bed or to the couch?” Carlos asks, his sneakers the only thing visible from T.K.’s position.

T.K. shakes his head. He can’t move. He’ll just end up back here again.

“T.K. you can’t stay here on the floor.”

“It’s fine,” he manages.

Carlos sighs and then his feet disappear. T.K. rests his cheek against the tile, its chill making him shudder. This is going to be a miserable twenty-four hours.

Carlos’ footsteps return and something drops to the floor near T.K.’s head. He cranes his neck a little bit to see a couple pillows and a blanket and the next thing he knows, Carlos is sitting next to him on the floor, back resting against the wall.

“What are you doing?” T.K. asks, his voice raspy from so much gagging.

Carlos puts the pillow in his lap and pats it invitingly. “If you’re going to be in here then I’ll be in here with you,” he says.

T.K. squints up at him. “Are you serious?”

Carlos raises his eyebrows. “Do you really think I’d be sitting on the bathroom floor if I wasn’t?”

“You don’t have to. You should go Scotch Guard the couch or reorganize the spice cabinet again,” T.K. tells him.

“Is…that what you think I do when I’m home by myself? Never mind, don’t answer that,” Carlos tells him. “I’m not leaving you here alone. Come on.”

He gently takes hold of T.K.’s arm and tugs until he finally moves, sliding himself across the floor and resting his head on the pillow in Carlos’ lap. He has to admit, it’s definitely more comfortable than lying on the floor by himself.

Carlos’ hand touches his forehead as he brushes his fingers through T.K.’s hair, and it makes him frown. “You feel warm.”

“I think I have a fever,” T.K. says with a shiver. “I might be dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

“I feel like I am,” he says miserably.

“How is that you’re more of a baby about a little food poisoning than you are about being shot?” Carlos asks, a wry smile on his face.

“Why are you being mean to me on my death bed?” T.K. asks him with a squinty eyed glare.

“I’m sorry, is me sitting on our bathroom floor with you in your time of need not showing you enough love?”

“Your bedside manner sucks,” T.K. grumbles, but he cuddles more deeply into Carlos’ lap anyway.

“I’ll try to work on it.” Carlos’ fingers drift over T.K.’s ear and down his cheek. “Let’s give it a half hour and then see if you can keep anything down, okay?”

That sounds like a terrible and painful idea, but T.K. nods in agreement. If he doesn’t start getting some fluids back into his body soon, he’s going to be in trouble.

“Thanks for coming to get me today,” he says as Carlos pulls a blanket over him, tucking it gently into place.

“I’ll always come get you,” Carlos promises. “And hold your hand, and clean up your barf…”

T.K. chuckles then groans in pain. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry,” Carlos says with a soft chuckle of his own. “You guys should sue the department. They could have killed an entire shift.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” T.K. says between gritted teeth as his stomach clenches again.

“Well at least we get to spend some quality time together,” Carlos says, his voice soft and soothing.

Despite the pain in his gut and the acrid taste in his mouth T.K. feels himself being lulled toward sleep by Carlos’ gentle care. “Are you going to stay here with me forever?” he mumbles as his eyes grow heavy.

Carlos presses a kiss to his hair. “Absolutely.”

#911 Lone Star #911lsfic #Tarlos Fic #TK Strand #Sick TK Strand #Vomiting #Puking #Carlos Reyes #Nancy Gillian #Mateo Chavez #Judd Ryder #Marjan Marwani #Paul Strickland #Owen Strand #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Food Poisoning

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corsair-ffxiv · 4 months ago

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FFXIVWrite2024 - Day 18: Hackneyed

Ramshackle, roughshod - none of them were kind descriptors as Sal kept his head down, fingers and hands working the sea-salt ropes as he helped pull the rig in. He'd slipped into the crew a moon back when there was a call of hands on the long sail and a desperate cry for help. The Corsair had grabbed the bulky gun from his hammock and dove over the side with a rope on his own waist, calling for the crew to give him slack while he fished. And then, praying to the Deeps as he'd rocketed down, the young man had grabbed the fallen crew mate and then tugged, the pair of them hoisted back to the boat.

That one act had taken him from a man cribbing the smallest berth in the ship to someone known by the hands. And then, after a port call where they'd needed to grab more supplies, a quiet offer that if his legs were holding to fill a spot they didn't want to hire at the docks.

The crew of the Swells were tight but slowly they'd made room for Sal in their jokes though now that he was inside of their teams the crew had started to notice - old eyes in a young face, one said. Another called him cursed to the seas, and too beloved to leave them. One quiet night the slippery miqo'te who held the nest in good weather asked if he was gods-cursed with the sharpest of eyes, staring at him too long when Sal refused to answer.

With the job accepted over a handshake Sal's things had gone from passenger berth to crew berth and that was where the comments came in - the whispers about the sea chest looking like a water logged footlocker, the fact he had two good coats in dark brown and red, the joke that for someone who loved the sea so much he wore not a drop of its hue. The captain once joined the crew's ribbing until he'd paused and Sal realized he was staring at the heavy six-shot loaded barrel of the gun Sal carried with a look of wonder - but in that instant the captain met his eyes and after a second of study told the crew that the young lad clearly liked to wear blood for the sea over the sea's tears.

And older phrase but one that got a keen-eyed look.

It didn't make them stop joking about the fact he darned his hammock like a pair of socks since he didn't carry the coins to spend when they hit port. But when they were in the water Sal felt it was all right to lean in to the waves with the crew and lose himself in the soothing, haunting melody of the ocean instead of focus on what he lost.

Sometimes in the deeps he heard the call of the Underworld, waiting for him to slip up.

#salzaar luzaf #ffxiv corsair #ffxivwrite2024

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exhaustedpirate · 1 year ago

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parent for hire

Ready for the third chapter? hope so 'cause here it is! Again, if you'd like to be included in the tag list, let me know! And again, let us do the wave for @kmomof4 for being an angel sent from the skies!

Chapter Three - Oz

word count: 7,867 words

rating: Teen and Up

tag list: @cocohook38 ; @bluewildcatfanatic ; @piraterefrigerator

read on AO3 | prologue | one | two

"Killian, Killian, look!"

Henry's enthusiastic whisper, and subsequent shaking, woke Killian up in the gray light of dawn. He had fallen asleep! However, when his eyes fell on Emma, he felt a smirk grow on his face. She seemed to be waking up as well.

Her eyes went through the same surprise-to-chagrined expression he had. When her gaze caught on his, he flashed her a victorious grin. She rolled her eyes and he couldn't help the widening of his smile.

"Killian!" Henry's repeated whisper brought Killian's attention back to him.

The boy hadn't witnessed the interaction between them as he seemed to be focused on something else. Something worthy of waking everyone up.

A deer.

Since all of them had been asleep, the animal obviously hadn't considered them a threat and felt comfortable enough to pasture a scant few feet across from them. Even Henry's light steps didn't seem to startle the animal.

"I see, lad. It seems we'll have a feast today." He grinned. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Emma quietly nocking an arrow in the small bow on her wrist.

Henry's eyes moved between the two of them before they widened in alarm.

"No!"

His shout alerted the deer who took off running as Emma's arrow embedded itself in the tree trunk near where his head would have been. They both turned to the boy.

"Henry!" Emma sounded indignant.

"We couldn't eat her!" Henry's tone matched hers.

"Well, we certainly can't now!" Emma replied.

He sent a glare to the new addition to their crew before turning back to the boy.

"At some point, we might have to, Henry." Killian chastised lightly. His tone was calmer, confident in the fact that they still had rations in the satchel, even with the extra mouth to feed, but that wouldn’t last forever.

Henry's eyes seemed to shine and he could see the innocence and wonder behind them. That had been ripped from his eyes decades ago. It would be a tragedy to see that happen to the boy as well. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Emma's indignation deflated - perhaps thinking the same thing he was.

"We should keep going." Emma's voice was softer than it had been before and Henry seemed to take a deep breath.

"We need water. Do you want to go fill the canteens, lad?"

Henry nodded, filling his arms with the three canteens and making his way to the river.

"Don't start with your self-righteous bullshit, you were thinking the same." Emma had barely waited for the boy to make it past the treeline before she turned to him with crossed arms.

"I'm not starting anything," Killian started, matching her posture. "We know how the world works, Henry doesn't." He watched as her arms softened their hold. "We need to be gentle with him."

"You're not the boy's father, you know? You are just the navigator, he's going to leave." She paused for a moment. "They always do." Her voice was soft at the end, and Killian didn’t know how he knew, but he knew that while her words were harsh, there was something else she was holding back.

He took a deep breath, hoping his eyes reflected his feelings. He didn't know why it mattered to him that she knew but it felt like the same reason he wanted to protect Henry.

"I am aware. I simply don't want him to go through the same things I have." Killian watched as Emma's eyes widened a fraction proving him right. "If there's anything I can do to protect him, I will. I won't let some prophecy get in the way of that."

Her arms lowered to her sides as he spoke. Her eyes were shuttered, even if he had already seen the recognition, the sameness he expected to see.

"I've got them!" Henry's voice calling through the treeline broke through the tension between them. Killian helped the boy store the waterskins in their satchels.

"Let's keep going," Emma finally said, preparing her own things for the journey.

---

It was interesting. It should have been an awkward journey - two people who, just the day before, had been about to kill each other and a child who was very much not theirs. It should have been a silent journey full of tension.

Yet, Henry had all this charm, all this kindness and so much of his childish, innocent energy. And, despite their previous tension, he seemed to have already put it behind them.

"I thought I would fly, you know? All of the fairies flew, it made sense that I could, too." It was lucky that they were keeping such a calm pace or else Henry's animated gestures would have caused him to fall from atop Roger.

"I'm assuming you were unable to fly?" Emma's amused tone was a sight to see. For someone who appeared to be so single-minded - mostly toward killing him - it was clear that Henry brought out this new side to her.

"Oh, not at all! I tried jumping from a tree and if it wasn't for Silvermist, I would have gotten really hurt." Henry frowned. "She kept me under close eye for a whole moon. She was really angry."

"She was only trying to keep you safe, lad," Killian explained from the other side of the horse, where he held the reins.

"I know, I know." The boy sighed. "That whole time, there was fog and rain and-"

Killian paused, pausing Henry's story as well, Roger stopping along with him as he still held the reins. It took a moment before Emma noticed that they were stopped.

"Why did we stop?" Henry asked, leaning down to the horse's head to pet it.

He could feel Emma's questioning glance as well, but he wanted to be sure. Removing his map and compass from the satchel, he checked them. And checked them again. Confusedly satisfied, he looked at his companions.

"It seems we've reached Oz," Killian announced with a frown that the others matched.

Killian put away his tools before he urged them forward. He explained - he had heard stories of Oz's gleaming fields, grass like gemstones and a constant shining rainbow in the sky. What they were seeing, however, was not anywhere near that description. The skies were dark, clouds overshadowing the land. The fields were dulled, no life able to survive in it.

The only source of color in the overwhelming gray landscape came from the large castle far in the distance. It looked as he had heard from the stories he had been told, the ones he recounted to his companions, a castle made of the purest green stones. A beacon of light and hope. Now, it looked ominous in the oppressive foreground.

But Oz wasn't deserted, as they soon found out. Instead of the animated, singing Munchkins however, the people were quiet, functioning mechanically.

"Hi!" Henry called to the closest worker, Killian and Emma standing protectively on both sides of the horse.

Together, they watched as the Munchkin raised his head to look at them, alarm clear in his expression. He looked up to the sky as the other workers alternated between doing the same and looking at each other, whispering at the same time, making the trio uneasy.

The Munchkins contemplated them. Before Killian could make the decision to leave this uneasy situation, a screech a few miles away caught all their attention. Some of the Munchkins yelped in fear, all of them but the closest one resuming their work automatically as if they had never stopped.

"Follow the yellow brick road!" The words fell from his lips in a rushed whisper as he pointed with his head towards the beginning of a once golden brick road, but was now only a sickly, pale yellow with many bricks broken or missing completely. "Hurry!"

They watched as the worker focused back on the land. The screeches grew louder and, in the distance, they saw a large winged beast flying fast towards them.

"Come on, let's go." Killian pulled the reins towards the beginning of the road, Emma following.

As they made their way toward the road, they heard the workers begin singing. Their voices were far from the happy working song Killian expected from the tales he’d heard. It sounded more like a plea to anyone who would listen than anything else. Henry kept his eyes on the workers for a while until they were no longer visible. The creature didn't follow them but that didn't erase the eerie feeling Oz gave them. They made sure to keep a steady but rushed pace.

"Is it safe to assume that this road leads directly to that castle?" Emma asked from the other side of the horse, voicing Killian's thoughts. "I don't expect the royalty of a place like that to be particularly benevolent…" she added, pointing towards the castle in the distance.

"Cygnus directed us this way," Killian answered as if that was enough and not just a way to justify that they were headed towards danger.

"And these people need help," Henry voiced from atop the horse. "You saw how scared that Munchkin was."

Killian and Emma's eyes caught each other. A moment of understanding passed between them regardless of their animosity. It was unavoidable and they knew it. All they could do was make sure that they would leave victorious.

The landscape didn't improve the longer they followed the road. Houses began appearing - some abandoned, others trying to create some semblance of home in the depressing countryside. Most were a reflection of the fall of Oz.

As they continued walking, more Munchkins appeared in the fields and homes. All told them the same thing, to follow the yellow brick road. There was fear, worry, and yet, an overwhelming hope in their eyes. That seemed to make Henry more determined to save them all. Killian felt the weight of the responsibility for so many people's fates and he could feel Emma's discomfort as well.

The closer they got to the castle, the clearer he was able to see that what he thought had been birds flying around the castle's high towers were in fact the same winged beasts that had gone after the Munchkins in the field.

Halfway up the road's path, they heard a much closer screech. Instinctively, Killian grabbed Henry off Roger, holding him close to his chest. He heard a swish and a closer screech. Looking up, he saw the beast retreat.

"Are you alright, lad?" Killian asked after setting Henry down.

The child nodded, seemingly even more determined now.

"The welcoming party wasn't too welcoming," Emma huffed, closing the crossbow for a more comfortable fit on her wrist.

"What were they?" Henry asked, Killian's hand on his shoulder keeping him close.

"They had the bodies of monkeys but with wings," Emma answered.

"Bloody fantastic," Killian mumbled, handing the reins to Henry, hoping to keep both the boy close and his hand free in case of any more attacks. "Let's carry on before more of them decide to welcome us as well."

Out of some eerie luck, no more flying monkeys crossed their path even if their screeches could be heard close by. It seemed that whoever reigned in Oz now, had them under surveillance. A look towards Emma told him that she agreed with him - they were most likely heading towards a trap.

The shiny emerald castle rose ahead of them, making it clear to them that it was untouched by the destruction around it. As expected, the yellow brick road continued through ominous and suspiciously opened large emerald gates.

It was enough to have Killian and Emma slow their steps but Henry, unaware, pulled Roger forward. Killian placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, and noticed Emma do the same, before following the boy.

Killian looked around them. The courtyard seemed deserted but that wasn't any relief. He could still see the beasts flying around the tallest tower clearly waiting for the signal to attack. There was an itch at the back of his neck. He felt watched.

"What is that?" Henry's question brought his attention back to the ground.

Someone had removed the bricks from the ground of the courtyard, a wide circle made of dirt instead of bricks in the center. They had carved a symbol on that circle, what looked like a strange compass.

Following Henry's pointed finger, he saw a large metal bowl sitting on one of the symbol’s points. There was a baby's rattle inside it, looking much too small for the big bowl.

"Another one, there." Emma pointed this time.

They noticed, then, that in three other points, the same type of bowls were placed. In one, there was a book - leather-bound, cracked and clearly aging. In the other, a broken bow and a bloodied arrow. And the last one, completely empty.

“That doesn’t bode well,” Emma murmured.

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

"I see you're admiring my masterpiece." A voice sounded from the gemstone pillars startling them into action.

Emma unsheathed her sword at the same time as Killian, both turning to the voice and standing closer to Henry. A woman stood against the pillar, her nonchalant posture belied by the wicked grin on her face. She had vibrant red hair and her skin matched the green surrounding her.

"Who are you?" Emma asks.

"I should be asking you that, since you're the ones invading my castle." The woman was casual in her accusation, strutting a few steps forward.

"Your gates were wide open, I assumed it was an invitation." Killian hoped his unconcerned tone disguised the disconcerting feeling her unexpected presence gave him.

"As you can see, I'm not particularly welcoming." Her arm gestured towards the empty courtyard with a wide grin. "You don't become the Great Witch of the West by letting just anyone in."

"More like ‘Wicked Witch of the West’," Henry mumbled from behind the two adults.

But with the empty courtyard and the screeching flying beasts so high in the sky, his words were easily heard by the witch who cackled amusedly. Her eyes sparked as they settled on Henry. There was something about the predatory glint in them that disturbed Emma and Killian and they moved closer together, attempting to shield him.

"Don't hide now, dear." Zelena's grin widened as she took a few steps closer to the three of them. "I have been waiting for you."

It shouldn't have surprised any of them. Killian had been preparing for the possibility that they were heading towards a trap, regardless of the desperation in the Munchkin’s face and bolstered by the confidence that they would be victorious. But to stand face-to-face with it, knowing that he would have to fight against a self-proclaimed witch to protect the young child, unsure whether he could trust Emma in this situation, was an all-together different trouble.

"You'll find that getting to him won't be as easy as you think," Killian threatened, keeping his hooked arm in front of Henry.

"And here I was, worried that it would be." For a moment, Killian thought the witch's face would split in half from the wideness of her grin. "Let's spice things up, shall we?"

The witch raised her arms towards the sky and the circling beasts suddenly descended towards them. Their screeches quickly became deafening as they approached.

Focusing on the flying monkeys for only an instant, Killian saw the witch's hand twist and before they knew it, Henry had disappeared from their side in a cloud of green smoke.

"Henry!" Emma shouted, the worry in her voice matching the fear blooming in his chest. A moment later, her cry was overwhelmed by the noise from the beasts as they reached them.

Killian's focus was split - he was desperately worried for Henry but the onslaught of the flying monsters stopped them from making any sort of offensive move.

With a sword swipe at the beast closest to him, Killian stopped its charge at Emma. As soon as there was a break in the attacks, he focused on Henry, the witch holding his face in her hand, speaking close. Before he could make a move in his defense, a ball of white light struck close enough to the witch that she released Henry.

Killian turned towards Emma, her eyes ablaze with her hands held out. The air sparked around her, and he could see the same desperation to protect Henry in her eyes that he felt within himself. Perhaps he really could trust her.

The moment he was free, Henry ran towards Emma and Killian, dodging the attacks from the flying monkeys the entire way. Killian tried to make his way towards the child only to find his way blocked by more of the beasts.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emma finally reach Henry. He was too occupied trying to protect himself from the monster’s aggression to help her, but he could just see her holding him close as she used her magic to defend him from the witch's magic.

A loud groan from his two companions distracted him from a flying monkey rushing at him. Before he could defend himself, the beast turned to dust in front of him. Once the dust settled, he saw a dark-haired woman where the creature had been with a sword in her hand. Not in attack, however, and he quickly realized that she had just saved him.

With a nod at his rescuer - that she returned - Killian focused his attention on Henry and Emma. They were both wielding their magic defensively against the witch. As much as he wanted to rush towards them, there was no respite from the flying beasts.

"Zelena!" The newcomer called out to the witch.

A wide wicked grin bloomed on Zelena's face, even as her attacks stopped, when her gaze landed on the young woman. "Miss Dorothy Gale has decided to join the party!" she cackled.

Clearly, they were at a disadvantage. The witch was easily blocking the bursts of magic from Henry and Emma - who had now abandoned her own in favor of her weapons - and there were still about a dozen flying monkeys hovering around the courtyard. Henry's eyes were tired, but Dorothy's unexpected presence brought an air of confidence to Killian and his companions that might just give them the drive they needed to win.

An arrow swished through the air, seemingly out of nowhere, turning a flying monkey to dust. "I'm not the only one wanting to end your reign of terror, Zelena." Dorothy grinned as another arrow found its target.

Before they could even take a breath, Zelena let out a shout of rage. A green blast from the witch threw everyone out of balance, the screeches of the flying monkeys becoming deafening.

"Oz is mine!" Zelena's scream rose over the cacophony.

Killian rushed towards Emma and Henry to protect them from the flying beasts, his sword cutting a path through his adversaries. Dorothy stood beside them, all their efforts in sync to defeat the witch and protect their little party.

He heard it before he saw it, one of the flying creatures dodging the arrows from Dorothy's archers was flying directly towards their new ally. He felt Emma at his back, her sword focused on the flying monkey hovering over Henry, who was using his magic to protect them against Zelena. Killian’s hand quickly reached for her free wrist, where she carried a crossbow. As if he knew exactly how to use it, he activated the mechanism, shooting an arrow right between the eyes of the flying monkey attacking Dorothy.

The screech behind him told him that Emma, despite the distraction, disposed of her own attacker. She shot him a glare at his action and he grinned right back at her.

"It seems we make quite the team."

"Watch out!" Emma's eyes widened as she pushed him away.

It all happened too fast. A green blast of energy flew inches away from his head, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Emma's arm in the talons of one of the beasts.

"Emma!" Henry cried, panic in his voice.

Emma's sword swiped back and forth, hoping to catch the animal. Killian moved toward where the beast was trying to fly away with her still in its clutches only to have to move back and protect Henry when another blast of energy nearly caught the both of them.

Both Killian and Henry let out a sigh of relief when Emma's sword finally caught its target and the creature dropped her to the ground.

"You all will regret this!"

Dorothy ran toward the witch, but his attention moved quickly to Henry when Zelena's attack was aimed directly at him. Without a second thought, Killian grabbed the boy in his arms and pulled him away, the blast catching his leg and making them both fall to the ground. Henry looked up at him, fear hidden behind determination, and nodded, silently telling him that he was okay.

A screeching yell called all their attention to the witch. For a moment, Killian expected to see her dead body on the ground, a feeling of regret in his chest at the thought that he wouldn't be the one to kill her. But instead, Dorothy stood over Zelena's kneeled form with what looked to be a necklace in her hand. Without hesitation, she punched the witch's face, toppling her to the floor.

With a victorious smile, Dorothy turned to the rest of the courtyard, fist raised high over her head. "The witch is gone!"

They might not have been able to see their hidden allies, but they could certainly hear the cheers from the castle's walls. With the witch defeated, what was left of her flying army fell one by one to the ground.

Killian helped Henry to his feet as he called out to Emma, rushing towards her as soon as he could. Killian followed, telling himself that he didn’t want to let the boy out of his sight, but the image of her being dragged away still replayed in his mind.

His leg was tender, making him limp to where Henry helped Emma to her knees. She held the boy's hands for a moment before running her own over his face.

"Are you alright, Henry? Did she get you?" Desperation colored her words and fear filled her eyes.

He couldn’t help but relate.

"I'm alright. I'm not hurt, just tired." Henry seemed to think that wrapping his arms around Emma's neck in a comforting hug would help. And, despite her initial shock and stillness, it did, her arms wrapping around him, too. "You both kept me safe."

Killian placed his hand on the boy's head when the hug ended. "It's as I said, we seem to make quite the team." He smiled at Henry before his eyes settled on Emma's.

They may not have known each other for long, but he thought he was beginning to understand her. Perhaps even understand each other. Relief, joy, and fear filled her eyes. He didn’t know what Emma had gone through in her past, but it seemed that whatever it was made her wary, afraid to trust. He knew it because he felt it, too. He never thought he would trust her, but as he watched her fight against this common enemy with the same determination that filled his chest, he now knew that he could.

"Thank you so much for your help." Dorothy's voice broke through their moment, Emma rising to her feet even as she kept close to Henry.

"We should probably be thanking you," Emma said, sincerely. Killian nodded in agreement.

"We've been waiting for the right moment to get to her and you guys provided it for us,” Dorothy explained. “Zelena's tyrannical reign is finally over."

"What will happen to her?" Henry asked with a concerned look towards the still unconscious witch.

Dorothy seemed to finally take notice of Henry, her eyes widening slightly.

"Oh, well, Glinda, the Good Witch, told us we needed to take Zelena's necklace since it was the source of her power," she explained as she held out the now-dull emerald gem for them to see. "Now that she's powerless, we'll keep her in the dungeons."

"And her magic?" Emma asked, nodding towards the necklace.

"I'm going to take this back to Glinda. She'll keep it safe."

The wariness Killian felt was obviously shared by his companions as they looked at each other. Dorothy noticed.

"This magic, for better or worse, is Zelena's alone. No one else can use it. Glinda and the other witches will keep it safe," their new friend and ally assured them.

It didn't exactly satisfy Killian to know that it wasn't going to be destroyed. Henry reached for the necklace as Dorothy pulled her hand away slightly. He didn’t take it, or even try to, his hand hovering over it. His nose wrinkled in disgust. "She's right, the magic can't get out without Zelena taking it." Killian's hand squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. "Her magic feels funny."

"Who is he?" Dorothy asked, looking at Killian and Emma as if they were insane for bringing a child to a battle, as if they had had the choice.

"I'm Henry," the child answered with a bright grin towards Dorothy, pushing past the unpleasant experience of the necklace's magic.

Dorothy frowned, her eyes drifting to the adults perhaps hoping for a better answer. Killian and Emma shrugged with a grin.

"He's Henry," Killian confirmed, ruffling the boy's hair who grinned up at him. "I'm Killian," he continued, extending his hand to her.

Dorothy took his hand and gave it a firm shake. Killian worried that their insistence on mystery might cause them to lose an ally but they needed to keep Henry safe. Dorothy seemed to understand that. She turned to Emma expectantly.

"Emma," she answered, extending her hand to shake the other woman's but the movement made her wince. Pushing back her torn sleeve, they saw the deep scratches from the beast's talons.

"You guys are hurt, let us help." The young woman looked around, where Munchkins had begun to spread around the courtyard in celebration. She pointed towards two Munchkins who were disinfecting another one's wound by the gates. "Boq and Jinjur can help you guys." She paused for a moment as she turned her attention back to them. "We'll be having a celebration tonight. We want to thank you for your help."

"I think we should carry on our journey as soon as possible," Emma explained, looking around at the surprising amount of Munchkins warily.

"There will be food and drinks, you'll have fun. It's the least we could do."

"Food?" Henry's ears perked up from where he had been looking at all the newcomers. He turned towards the two adults with a wide grin and pleading eyes. "Please, can we stay? Please?"

Killian tried to hide his smirk as he turned to Emma who sighed in defeat. She turned to him as if asking for help, but he could only shrug.

"I would enjoy food that hasn't been in my horse's satchel for days," Killian answered, gesturing towards where Roger was being petted by Munchkin children.

"Alright, we'll stay," Emma acquiesced, turning to Henry.

Henry's cheers were echoed by the rest of the Munchkins and Killian could see that Emma smiled by the shape of her eyes, her care for the boy clear among the green.

---

"There seems to be some sort of disturbance in Oz, Your Majesty."

The voice from the circular mirror was enough to break the silence. The tall dark haired woman's attention stayed on the view from the balcony, the empty and destroyed landscape more interesting than the mirror's news.

"The whole place is disturbed, what's new?"

"It seems Zelena has been defeated."

That finally got the Queen's attention.

"Interesting… By who?"

The face in the mirror disappeared only to be replaced by an enraged Zelena sending a blast towards her adversaries. The green ball of magic was aimed at a dark-haired boy who escaped it with the help of an adult all in black. Regina watched as a brunette used Zelena's distraction to remove the glowing green pendant from her neck. Without her power, the screeches of the flying monkeys ceased and she fell to her knees, defeated.

"The peasant girl finally defeated the witch, I see."

The masculine face in the mirror nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"And who was the boy? And the man?"

There was a swirling motion on the mirror's surface. It finally settled on a better view of the man's face with a wide grin as he drug a handcuffed and ragged man into a building.

"Killian Jones, as I live and breathe."

"You need to give me more interesting bounties, Smee."

With that exchange, the mirror returned to its original state.

"I see. But why would a bounty hunter have such an interest in a boy's life?"

The situation was getting more and more intriguing.

"Zelena seemed to have an interest in the boy as well, Your Majesty."

"Oh?"

The mirror's surface focused on Zelena's deranged face inches from the frightened face of the child. The screeches of the flying monkeys almost impeded Regina from hearing what Zelena said to the boy. Almost.

"Finally, my spell will be complete."

"Let go of me!"

"The Heart of the Truest Believer… so close, within my grasp."

"You'll never win, villains never do."

Regina watched as the boy faked bravery in the face of such malice.

"The boy certainly has spunk," Regina said with an amused chuckle. "So that filthy pirate was speaking the truth, I almost feel bad about throwing him in the dungeons." Her faux-guilty pout was short-lived as she laughed.

The mirror laughed with her until a look from her silenced him.

"Just as well that she is gone, it would be a waste to have her hold that much power."

"The power should be yours, Your Majesty."

"You're damn right! But why worry about a one-handed bounty hunter when I can just be rid of him?" She shrugged as a mischievous grin widened her lips.

"Excellent idea, my Queen," the mirror bolstered.

With a twirl of her wrist, a puff of purple smoke revealed a glowing red heart in her hand. "Huntsman!" she called, her lips close to the organ.

It wasn’t long before a rugged-looking man appeared in the room with a reluctant bow towards the Queen.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" His voice was monotone, defeated, tired.

"I'm going to need you to get rid of someone for me." Regina pointed towards the mirror which showed a static image of the bounty hunter.

"How do you wish for me to do that?"

"A little gift from Wonderland." A jar appeared in her hand at her words. "Aim for the heart. It's a slow and painful poison and we want results, right?"

The Huntsman was silent as he tried to rebel against his captor. He was, however, brought to his knees when Regina tightened her grip around his heart. "Right, Huntsman?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." He spoke through clenched teeth before he grabbed the jar from the Queen's hands.

"Very good." She grinned at him, grabbing his chin to force his gaze upon her. "Make me proud. And bring me the boy."

The Huntsman averted his eyes as he stood up and left the room, Regina's sadistic laughter following him through the door.

---

Killian and Emma settled down on the edge of the courtyard with the Munchkins tasked with seeing to their wounds from the battle.

He noticed while they were being treated that Emma’s shoulders didn’t relax, despite their victory. Boq tapped at the scratches on her hand and arm with a soft cloth, both uncovered before him for the first time since he'd known her. Her sharp intake of breath brought his attention to her face.

She was in pain, unsurprisingly, but behind the pain, he saw apprehension. She was exposed - however limited - defenseless, a position she was clearly not used to. Her eyes found his when he too winced with pain at the treatment the other Munchkin applied on him.

"It seems gratitude is in order, Swan," he said, hoping to distract them both from the situation.

"For what?"

"For helping me protect Henry." The frown disappeared from her face.

"I told you that my job is to protect him. So that's what I was going to do." Her eyebrow rose as amusement filled her eyes.

"My apologies for not promptly trusting the person who had had her blade at my neck," he replied sarcastically, no accusation in it.

"I hope now we can learn to trust each other," she said, her eyes pensive and clearly wanting to follow her own advice. He couldn't help but agree with it.

Once the healers were done with them, they turned their attention back out to the courtyard. For all that Zelena's reign of tyranny had drained the life of many of the Munchkins, they put together their celebration quickly. There was no trace of the witch's hand on the courtyard. Or even the witch herself, for that matter.

There was a large fire where the strange carvings had been, warming up the clear and cool night. A few Munchkins were gathered between two emerald pillars, strange musical instruments spouting a tune of merriment and revelry. A large table was filled to the brim with sweet and savory food and drinks of all kinds - every Munchkin donating their efforts to their celebration.

The Munchkins called Dorothy to the fire and expressed their desire to make her their leader since she had saved them and also considered Oz her home. Her discomfort with all the attention was clear when she accepted to the loud cheers of the Munchkins, even as she looked upon all of them with affection.

Dorothy then extended her gratitude towards the trio who received their own round of cheers. Henry seemed to take it all in stride, smiling and waving at the surrounding Munchkins - his exhaustion after the strenuous magic use far from his mind after the short nap he had been able to take. Killian had simply nodded in recognition while Emma seemed to want to hide.

They got separated afterwards, Killian moving to Henry's side to make sure he was okay, while Emma was pulled into conversation with Dorothy. Conversation that both women seemed to enjoy. He watched as Dorothy spoke animatedly with her hands and Emma’s shoulders finally relaxed enough that she appeared to be enjoying the evening. Dorothy seemed to be a tenacious woman, hardened by her past. He had felt the same kinship with her as he had with Emma and Henry - it seemed orphans stuck together.

Killian couldn't help but feel this warm feeling in his chest at seeing Emma acclimating to their surroundings, at seeing her finding friendship with someone else. He tried to ignore the voice in his head that wanted her attention, that wanted to discover more about her.

His thoughts were interrupted by Henry sitting by his side.

"Nimmie gave me this for you." Henry held a warm beverage out to him, noticing how he had another, half-full, in his hand. "She says she made this one specially for you."

With a confused frown, Killian set down the cup he held and grabbed Henry’s, bringing it to his nose. A chuckle escaped him as he noticed the stinging smell of alcohol - not enough to overwhelm the taste of the chocolate drink but enough to warm his bones.

"Thank you, Henry." Killian smiled at the boy before catching Nimmie's eyes and raising the drink towards her. The Munchkin blushed with a smile towards him. "Cheers, lad." Turning back to Henry, they clinked their drinks together.

Taking a sip, the warmth filled him completely, fortifying him for the cooling weather. A sigh of satisfaction escaped him and then a chuckle as he saw Henry copying his action. When their eyes met, they both laughed.

A flash around Henry's neck from the firelight caught his eye at their shared mirth.

"What's that, lad?" he asked, pointing toward it with the hand still holding the cup.

Henry grasped the chain and blushed. "Oh," he said, a note of trepidation in his voice. "I, umm, I found it in your satchel…" Putting his drink down, Henry removed the chain from around his neck.

Killian put down his own drink and looked at the chain, now curled around Henry's small hand, the ring at the end almost glowing in the light from the fire. His breath hitched in his throat as he held out his hand for Henry to pass the ring to him.

"I'm sorry…" Henry said as Killian silently inspected the ring. "I just thought… it was so beautiful and it felt so warm and-"

"This was my mother's," Killian interrupted him quietly. He didn’t need the boy's apologies. He wasn’t angry. "I thought I'd lost it."

It had been missing since they started their journey to Oz. He thought he had lost it on the way.

"I'm sorry…" he repeated.

Killian couldn't handle Henry's guilt, not when he didn’t need to feel guilty in the first place. So he flashed the boy a weak reassuring smile, his emotions raging under the surface, hopefully not showing on his face. The boy quieted, hands fidgeting as he tried to still them between his knees.

"My brother gave it to me before he died,” he murmured. “It was the only thing we had of our mother… of our family." Killian could feel the emotions rolling off of the boy, if only because the air felt like it sparked. "He used to say that it would protect us… Our good luck charm."

The image of Henry in Zelena's grasp flooded his brain. He remembered how he had felt such crippling fear and the urge overtaking him to just hold the boy, making sure he was safe, once the witch was defeated.

He couldn't help but remember the storm. The one that took his only family away from him, and freed him from his owners. The one that ended up giving him his last shot at a family.

"Kil-" Henry interrupted himself as Killian held the chain in his hand and hook and threaded it over Henry's head.

"Keep it. It's yours."

Killian placed his hand on top of the ring where it lay on Henry's chest, looking at it with a longing smile. Henry's hand joined his.

"I'll protect it with my life."

A watery chuckle rose up in Killian's throat as he looked at the boy. He shook his head, the smile still on his lips.

"No, my boy. It's the other way around."

Killian moved away, intending to break the heavy moment, when Henry stopped him by wrapping his arms around his waist, his head buried in his chest. Killian's heart clenched as he wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulders.

"Thank you, Killian."

"You're quite welcome, Henry," he whispered.

Killian turned his head away from the boy, trying to get a hold of his overwhelming emotions. As he did, he noticed Emma turn her head back towards Dorothy. Had she been looking at them? Dorothy looked at him then and he certainly hoped that they wouldn't be able to see the wreck of emotions he tried to control. She seemed to say something to Emma causing her to look away. What were they saying?

Henry straightened up, effectively bringing his attention back to the boy, sitting back on his side.

He mimicked the boy by grabbing his drink again. Henry held out his drink this time and they clinked their cups together with an amused smile. It was a time for celebration, not heavy emotions. Regardless, his heart stuttered in his chest every time he noticed Henry's reverent hand on the ring.

The celebration continued long into the night, the moon rising higher and higher in the sky. After the years of Zelena’s dominance over the land, he could hardly begrudge the citizens their revelry, and he determined to enjoy himself as well.

---

"Where is the Swan taking us now?"

The map was familiar in his hands, the parchment folded and unfolded dozens of times already. Killian had checked and double-checked their route last night. He barely needed a proper look to know their newest trajectory.

"It's taking us Northeast."

Once more, he folded the map to store it in his satchel at Roger's side.

"Why is it always changing?" Henry asked as he patted the horse's muzzle, receiving a nicker in response.

"Nemo said that Cygnus would take anyone to where they need to be. I have to believe that it's all for a reason."

Henry seemed thoughtful as Killian stashed all their belongings back in the satchel. Rustling from the forest leaves caught Killian's attention. Assuming it was Emma, he turned towards it, unable to stop himself from searching for her presence.

There was nothing there. Not a shadow. No dark green hood emerging from the trees. Killian frowned.

"I believe, too." Henry's statement called his attention back and he smiled.

He would say afterwards that it all happened too fast, but in truth, it felt as if time slowed down, almost dragging its feet. Rushed footsteps echoed through the clearing at the same time the release of a bow string twanged.

A panicked call for his name had him turn his head in time to see a small arrow whizzing through the air towards him. A green figure flashed across his line of sight. There was a thud on the ground and a gasp.

"Emma!" Henry's cry drew his attention and allowed time to resume.

Emma lay on the ground, Henry’s hand on her shoulder.

"Swan!" Killian's tone matched Henry's as he knelt beside them.

The arrow stuck out from her back, a small thing. His eyes flew to the dense forest surrounding them. He could just see a figure, their armor reflecting the morning sun, before they ran away. He wanted to follow them, make them pay, but Emma's groan of pain pierced the fog of vengeance clouding his mind.

"It's gonna be okay, Swan, we’ve got you."

Looking towards Henry, the boy nodded and held onto her arms, keeping her still. The arrow came out easily. It was more stick than arrow - a hastily fashioned weapon. But it wasn't the craftsmanship behind the weapon that worried him, it was the yellow liquid that had stained the tip.

Emma seemed to take stabilizing breaths on the ground now that the arrow had been removed.

"Are you okay?" Henry's small voice caused Emma to smile reassuringly, a poor attempt regardless.

"It's going to take more than a little arrow to bring me down."

Her eyes found his and he could easily read her questioning look. He raised the arrow to her eyesight and her eyes closed in resignation. Yes, yellow viscous liquids weren't ever good news.

"We need to keep going," she said, trying to stand up with difficulty.

He dropped the arrow and held on to her arm, receiving a grateful look in response.

"Swan, we need to get you some help."

"Yeah! The quest can wait!" Henry's voice was worried, matching Killian's, his hands quickly latching onto Emma's free hand and arm.

"No, it can't." Her voice was breathless, determination sparking in her eyes.

Stubbornness, of course. Perhaps some resignation to her fate and lack of hope. They might not have known Emma for long but they certainly already knew that about her. Luckily for her, Henry and Killian were brimming with determination. And as for hope, Henry had more than enough to go around. Safe to say, Killian was receptive to it.

Killian and Henry’s eyes met, a stealthy nod shared between them.

"Alright," Killian said. That seemed to surprise Emma. She probably expected more of a fight. "We'll carry on, but you're taking Roger."

Killian could tell she wanted to argue but he could see the tiredness in her eyes, this poison, whatever it was, already taking effect. With a nod, she moved towards the horse.

"Henry, help me put our things away."

If the boy noticed that Killian clearly didn't need help with the one blanket that was still on the ground, he didn’t mention it. They huddled around it, keeping their voices low.

"I've heard tales of magical beings, healers that reside in a valley," Killian whispered.

"Where is it?"

"North. Cygnus is taking us close by." Henry seemed to frown at that, looking up at the blue sky. "What do you think, lad?"

"We need to keep it a secret, Emma's not going to like it."

"Aye." With another discreet nod and a determined look, they rose and made their way back to Roger and to an oblivious Emma.

---

"Swan!"

"What?!" Regina's grip on the Huntsman's heart was deadly, almost enough to crush it. "Get back here, now!"

She watched as the forest began to move quickly in the mirror - thanks to the reflective surface on the Huntsman's armor - before it returned to its natural state.

"Who was that?!"

The man in the mirror was baffled as he stuttered. "I-I…"

"Figure it out, now!"

"Th-They were wearing the Lost Ones armor, Your Majesty."

The mirror's surface rippled to reflect a dark sky with a verdant jungle below. Just on the bottom half of it, Regina could see a blonde figure standing on alert and a hooded figure desperately packing their belongings.

"Hurry, we need to leave." A feminine frantic whisper broke the natural silence.

"Yes, yes, I know," the hooded figure whispered back, a feminine voice as well.

The standing figure handed over a knitted blanket. "Don't forget this."

"Stop!" Regina's command was swiftly obeyed as the mirror's surface froze on the blanket's embroidered section. The name "Emma" was knitted in purple yarn.

"Emma…Where have I seen that before?"

"Your Majesty," The man in the mirror's face suddenly returned. "I believe I know."

"Then what are you waiting for?!"

Wanting to escape the Queen's wrath, the mirror once again swirled to reveal the backs of two familiar figures. Much to the Queen's distaste.

"Thank you for joining us in welcoming our daughter, Princess Emma!"

The crowd gathered below the castle window erupted into a loud cheer. Regina watched as the two rulers waved at their subjects. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before they turned and approached the middle of the room, the bundle in Snow White's arms more visible as her Prince Charming adjusted the blanket surrounding her. Regina could finally see that the blanket surrounding the newborn princess and the blanket the hooded figure packed away were the same.

The daughter of Snow White and her Prince Charming was, as her parents were before her, a thorn in Regina’s side.

"Will those pests never be gone for good?" Regina took a deep breath, a manic smile taking over her features. "Very well, let the poison take her on a painful trip to her mommy's arms."

#cssns23 #parent for hire #carolina writes #killian jones #captain hook #henry mills #emma swan #captaincobra #captainswan #captaincobraswan #zelena mills #dorothy gale #oz #munchkins #those damn flying monkeys

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pure-garbage · 5 months ago

Text

Long Awaited Reunion! The Second Straw Hat Arrives

"Where will you go?" Lana asked, glancing back at the schooner where her brother still stood.

"Not sure yet," he admitted. "This place looks fun though, maybe I'll stick around here for a while just to have a look."

"I wouldn't recommend it," Lana tsked. "Sabaody looks appealing, but this place has one hell of a dark underbelly."

Alan just laughed at her and waved her off.

"Take care, big sis! Don't be a stranger!"

"Stay out of trouble, Alan!" Lana smirked back. "I'll be seeing you."

As Lana descended through the groves of Sabaody, her heart overflowed with conflicting emotions. She moved with barely restrained disdain, swallowing snarls as the bright, bubbly, charade tested her stoic front. Her disgust with the 'island' was as deep-rooted as the mangroves that made up the so-called archipelago. It was moored in the despicable practices of its inhabitants and bolstered by the lingering trauma of being sent away so violently from all her friends.

'Separated for two years and I never even got to say good-bye,' she thought bitterly.

Zoro was still the only one she'd seen since and the allotted two years had passed since they parted ways. The thought of him brought a smile to her lips, excitement overcoming negativity as her anticipation built. She reached up to touch the earring he'd left with her, the only visible mark she carried of their shared devotion.

Grove thirteen was in sight, spurring her heart to a pounding tempo as she approached. She hated this place, but how she'd longed to see it again! That fateful, terrible day came back to her in flashes, blood and bruises she shared with her friends fresh in her mind as though the wounds were still open. Their faces and the prospect of seeing their smiles again drove her forward, past the grief and closer to the looming present as she neared Shakky's Rip-Off Bar.

'Am I the first one here?' she wondered. She couldn't dismiss the possibility. She'd wasted no time in setting sail when the appointed time came. The memory of her lover's smile beckoned her like the brightest ray of sunlight, calling to a flower at the end of the longest night she'd ever endured. The spring in her step threatened to become a skip as she crossed the grove, evening her pace with crushing force of will.

'Keep it together. There's still a lot to worry about. If anyone outside the crew somehow learned of this rendezvous, the place could be swarming with marines and bounty hunters in the blink of an eye.'

Lana paused at the threshold of the bar, reaching out with her perception. Despite her carefully concealed presence, she felt a powerful aura react to hers from inside. She grinned, pausing to wait with her hand on the door while she watched a quick scene play out seconds ahead. Her smile only widened further at what the future held. She knew Zoro knew she had arrived, and he knew that she knew. The exchange went their haki met was almost telepathic, intentions already known, actions made predictable by familiarity.

"Well? Are you coming in or what?" Zoro demanded from within.

Lana threw the door open, striding through with the brilliance of the setting sun at her back. Zoro sat at the bar, turning to his right on his stool to take in her visage. She knew she'd taken his breath away and that fact filled her with unspeakable joy.

'Was she always this beautiful?' Zoro wondered silently.

Lana closed the distance between them in three bounding steps, flying into an embrace that became a breathless kiss. There were two others in the room with them, but the audience was invisible to the reunited lovers. Zoro's back hit the bar, shaking glasses and forcing a short grunt that passed from his lips to Lana's. His hands swept over her body greedily while her fingers traveled up his bared chest, past its scar, following the trail of his strong pulse until they lost themselves in his hair. It was longer than she remembered.

Lana would have left her lips lost on his until eternity burned out, but his thumb on her chin urged her back, putting enough space between them that he could look at her.

"You cut your hair," Zoro noted, bringing his hands up to stroke over the short buzz on either side of her longer, braided crown.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"Do you?" he retorted.

"Of course."

"Then I love it."

Lana's brow creased, her fingers falling with her expression to caress the scar over his closed left eye. The wound was old, long since healed.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he assured her. Lana pursed her lips and contained her alarm with care.

"Hm. I suppose it could have been worse. Better than a hit to the back, at least."

There was the grin of the demon who'd consumed her soul.

"Less shameful, definitely," he agreed.

"Are the others already here somewhere?" Lana asked while his fingers slipped under her collar to trace spirals on her skin.

"Not yet. It's just us for now."

"Hm. Then that means the ship..."

"Empty, but extremely soapy."

"Soapy?"

"The coating," Shaky broke in at last. She greeted Lana with a small wave.

"Shaky. Long time no see."

Lana knew the second person with them as well.

"Rayleigh! It's been two years... I'm ashamed that this is the first chance I've had to thank you for saving my life. I haven't forgotten what our crew owes you."

"Think nothing of it," Rayleigh smiled. "If you're interested in paying me back, just be sure to keep the news from getting too boring, eh?"

"Too easy."

"Speaking of news..."

Zoro's eyebrow crept up as his hands dropped to touch the blade hanging at Lana's side.

"You made the front page about a year ago. Something about you terrorizing the Lofton Nobles, blowing up their port, sinking a bunch of navy ships... I saw your bounty went up."

Lana knew it had, but couldn't resist the chance to play it cool.

"Oh, did it?" she asked casually.

"115 mil?" Zoro teased slyly.

Lana huffed, annoyed at his cleverness.

"125," she corrected him. "Guess those rich old coots had more pull in the government than I gave them credit for."

"Well, well, someone's grown into a big fish out on their own. So, is this the weapon you made off with?"

Lana frowned a little. Among the items stolen that were made public, Anyorith had been notably excluded.

"How do you know about my knife?" she pressed.

"Hawk-eye commented on it. Said you'd gotten your hands on some ancient treasure."

Zoro's fingers lingered on the hilt of the knife longingly.

"Go on," Lana said with a smile, giving him the consent he'd been waiting for.

He unsheathed the blade, examining the polished bronze body. Since obtaining it, Lana had taken care to return some its luster. One of the gray stone tips was attached and Zoro ran his thumb over the fine seam that separated the materials.

"Sea prism stone?" he asked.

"Mm-hm."

"How can you handle it?"

"Gloves and care."

"It's well-crafted."

"Well-crafted? It's an irreplicable artifact," Lana corrected him. "I don't know where it originated, but whoever made it, they were masters of working with sea prism stone. It's not an easy material to work with, and to fabricate such beautiful tips from it, with such precision..."

"Impressive," Rayleigh admitted, looking the weapon over as Zoro turned it around in his hands. "This is a formidable weapon you've gotten your hands on, Avariya."

"Fit for a formidable woman," Zoro announced, sheathing the blade with a satisfied smirk. He turned long enough to knock back the rest of his drink, a few drops escaping from the corners of his mouth in his haste.

"Sloppy," Lana tutted, pulling him down to lick his chin clean unabashedly. "You shouldn't waste good sake, you know."

Her lips chased a drop down his neck, teeth grazing his collarbone, sucking at the hollow of his neck even though no liquid had made it that far. His hands clamped around her waist, forcing their bodies flush. His head dipped, nose nudging her cheek until she answered his wordless call, raising her face so his mouth could devour hers. The world fell away, forgotten by the long separated lovers.

Lana's hands slid into Zoro's loose robe, fingers settling over the grooves of his ribs. Her nails bit his skin while his teeth grazed her lip.

"Ah, that takes me back," Shakky sighed, reminding the two straw hats that they weren't alone.

"The vigors of youth are so delightful," Rayleigh chuckled in accord.

"Neither of us mind watching if you kids feel like putting on a show," Shakky laughed lightly. "If you want a little privacy though, I keep a room down the hall. It's not free, but it's not too shabby either."

"Mm."

Lana hummed, whispering in Zoro's ear so only he could hear.

"You'd take me right here on the counter if I let you, wouldn't you? You beast..."

"You'd drive me to it," he growled, breath catching as her tongue traced the shell of his ear. "Minx..."

"Fair. I've driven you to worse."

Lana stepped back, pulling her man along by the arm.

"We'll take the room. Trust we're good for it?" she asked.

"I never trust a pirate, but we've got your ship for collateral on the off-chance you decide not to pay up," Shakky teased as they passed her by. "Last door on the left. Don't break my stuff!"

"Zoro! She said left!"

"This side is left!"

"That's the wrong left!"

"Huh. That's a lot of apples."

"Zorooo!" Lana groaned.

"Right! Left is this side... I knew that," he grumbled back gruffly.

"Shut up and kiss me again."

"'Kay."

Shakky sighed as they disappeared from view.

"All that energy... makes me frisky just seeing those two go at it," she commented.

"Like a pair of cats in heat," Rayleigh agreed. "Such raw passion... does it make you feel like fooling around too?"

"It does, but they've got the room now."

"So? Go lock the front door."

They shared a devilish grin.

_____________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

#one piece #fanfic #oc #sandbox adventures #roronoa zoro #pure garbage #zoro #silvers rayleigh #shaky

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piratesgiftexchange · 1 year ago

Text

A Moment for Music

by beemovieerotica, for @depressedvillainobsession

PROMPT: “ Davy Jones teaches Maccus how to play the pipe organ (Can just be him learning a few basic things or have skips overtime where he meets with the captain and progresses)”

WORD COUNT: 3,868

Lightning carved up the sky like fingers tearing through parchment. The distant, churning storm clouds filled the horizon at their bow, igniting violet with every strike.

The crew of the Flying Dutchman dragged themselves about the deck beneath an unabiding sun, specters without purpose. Their eyes—those that remained—were empty and haunted.

It had been fifty years since the betrayal that tore the goddess from her throne, and no soul lost at sea had been ferried to the afterlife since. Not a day passed in which the ferryman considered the duty he had been bound to perform, the precarious balancing of the scale between life and death for which he had been granted immortal life. They would leave the dead to fester and the living to grieve. The seas were ill, and so were they.

It was the first mate Maccus, his face stretched into the grim aspect of a blood-seeking shark, who sought the captain at the bow. He drew his tongue across razor teeth, pausing for a breath.

“Orders, captain?” he asked.

Davy Jones, his humanity long since wrenched from him, both invisibly and not, did not turn to face the other man. His cold blue eyes remained on the maelstrom ahead, in them flashing the spectacle of the sea’s unrelenting violence. Here was the man who could not die, circling a great dark nothing.

“Stay the course,” Jones murmured.

Maccus nodded, and his gaze flickered over the man’s tattered coat. Upon him writhed the arms and claws of a hundred hungry creatures—claiming him, like a sunken whale, but long before he fell.

The first mate retreated to the helm and waited for the storm to take them.

——

“Do your hands still hurt?”

Maccus and Jones sat side-by-side upon the bench before the great musical organ. The beast of an instrument, its gleaming brass almost golden in the light coming in through the clear cabin windows, let out a low, reverberating hum as Jones laid a single finger upon the keys.

The weather was clear, the Dutchman cutting through steady waters, her bright sails mingling with the clouds above.

The question had come from Maccus, who watched his captain’s tense left hand keep the steady note. Jones’ lip curled up in a smirk, and he removed his finger to scratch an itch beside the little braids in his long beard.

“Still is an interesting suggestion,” Jones said. He rested his hand on the sheet music shelf, and his last three digits began to curl in tightly of their own accord. He struggled, visibly, the knuckles turning white. The two watched his hand, the air between them still, until Jones finally relented. “It is a progressive affliction, and it will always be so,” he finished, letting his hand go tight.

Maccus nodded slowly, his chest tense. He never knew what to say of such things. But Jones carried on.

“I am not so blessed with a body that obeys me,” the captain said. “Perhaps I might be…in another life.”

Jones’ detached wooden leg lay against the base of the organ, his cane propped up beside it. Maccus managed a slow, sympathetic smile—no matter injury and illness, the captain kept any lamentations on these facts close to his chest.

“But I can teach you, yet,” Jones said.

The captain reached out and took Maccus’s hand from where it was folded in his lap, and he brought it to the keys with a careful intention. The first mate’s breath slowed in his throat. Jones placed his hand down, his fingers lingering beneath Maccus’s wrist, in a way he couldn’t quite be sure was the illness or not.

“You don’t have to teach me,” Maccus said, forcing a laugh through the uncomfortable tension of it all.

“You are doing this for me,” Jones replied sternly. And then, a ripple of hopeless, dark amusement went through him. “The Lord knows I have only a few years of playing left, and I’ll be damned before I allow this beauty to pass into an eternal sleep, with nary a tender touch to wake her.”

Maccus snorted in reply, and his gaze wandered up the colossal instrument. She was nearly as tall as the ceiling itself. “You’ve got to be the only captain on the nine seas to drag something like this on board just for the sheer pleasure of it all,” he said.

“Come now, we couldn’t very well let her rust away in that poor Englishman’s manor, could we?”

The two let out bellowing laughs, their voices filling the bright cabin. Maccus’s body grew warm—it was the height of the Caribbean summer, he reasoned—and Jones finally turned his attention back to Maccus’s hand upon the keys. “Begin, then, just as we practiced.”

Maccus settled and cleared his throat, narrowing his brows in concentration. His other hand lay balled in a fist upon his lap, and he resisted the urge to bring it up to scratch at his wild beard. He had been growing it out long—like Jones—but it was not so compliant to tender care.

His right hand played slowly across the keys, and he heard a deep sigh come from the captain.

He had wondered often where Jones came from. Where this man, versed in classical languages and poetry, gifted with a musical ear, and possessing the most intractable desire to sail the seas and escape the bonds of land, had first come into this world. The captain never spoke freely of such things. The crew had only the vaguest allusions to his origin, filling in the gaps with wild-minded fantasy.

On some nights, when his imagination took him, Maccus liked to imagine the captain as the lord of his own kingdom, who gave it all up for an impossible love.

Maccus brought his other hand up to accompany the first, his eyes never leaving his own fingers lest he fumble. But he could imagine—no, he knew—that the captain had closed his eyes.

Another long sigh, carrying all the worries and burdens of the fate-filled life of a pirate, escaped Jones’ lips. Maccus could feel the man’s body sink into the seat beside him, his shoulders shifting, a great and unknowable tension leaving him.

Maccus’s heart suddenly gave a tremor, and his fingers slipped upon an errant key. But Jones did not stir, did not move at all, his good leg remaining on the seat an inch from Maccus’s own. Maccus drew a deep breath.

The kindness and trust it took to bring this nobody of a sailor onto his ship, into his cabin, into his life, to make a paltry imitation of the melodic chords that had flown from the captain’s once-capable fingers, sent a pang of shame through Maccus’s body.

“Sorry,” Maccus murmured as he continued on.

It was Jones who caught Maccus’s hand upon the keys and stilled it there, and so too did Maccus’s breath stop in his chest. He could feel the captain’s fingers struggling to remain loosened and gentle, against the inescapable pull of his hand inward, the instinct to curl them tightly like the vice of a claw. He wished the captain knew he didn’t have to hide it—didn’t have to be so delicate with him.

“Don’t apologize,” Jones said softly. He brought his other quivering hand over to hold Maccus’s steady, one thumb tracing the rough pads of Maccus’s fingers. “We’ll keep going.”

——

Maccus felt the world slip out from beneath his feet. He was pitched forward as the Dutchman descended over the top of a towering wave, and plunged like a falling diver across the deck through empty space. His hands flung out on instinct, to grasp, to reach, to save himself. Of course, he couldn’t die—but the pain of hitting icy cold waters, his neck crunching at an unfathomable angle, was a memory far too fresh.

His hands caught rope on the way down, and he latched on like a small bird clinging to its nest.

The rain, the winds, and the tumultuous rocking of the ship through the endless hurricane wrenched his body to and fro. His fingers gripped tight, burning and searing as he clung to the line, but his cursed gray skin was too hardened now to ever bleed from such a thing. His muscles ached beneath the deluge, the water washing over him, cleansing him, stripping him bare of any thought save his own survival in this moment—his allegiance to the ship—his need, sworn and promised, to stay with her captain.

He looked to the bow, squinting through the whirling, inhospitable darkness, and saw the captain framed in a flash of lighting. Jones had bound himself to the railing at the bow, his body lashed tight, facing the storm ahead with the devilish bowsprit of the grim reaper like the steed upon which he rode. Maccus could not see the captain’s expression—could not perceive what he thought.

But he knew. This was the only thing that made the captain feel alive.

——

The crew of the Dutchman stumbled around the deck after the battering from the storm, their bodies aching and cold. Strips of seaweed and rotting boards littered the ship in the misty gray air, the whole vessel like a great leviathan shedding its skin. The crew picked their way among the refuse, sweeping the pieces over the edge into the sea and leaving the scarred, monstrous ship to heal for herself—she always would.

Maccus flexed his stinging hands and looked down at his palms, pausing in the shadow of the fluttering mainsail. He was fortunate, he believed, for still maintaining so much of his dexterity. Where some men had lost entire arms—their limbs melding into iron blades or forking splinters, no more than walking weapons as their memories faded to naught—he still had all ten digits.

He turned his hands over, and in his exhaustion and the emptying of his brain, his fingers began to move slowly, creakingly, along to some old memory. His heart stopped. The tune he had learned upon the pipe organ.

His left hand was encased in a hardened crab shell, and the segments clicked inhumanly as they moved, but they were still, gratefully, his. After all these years…

He stopped abruptly, aware of the strangeness of it all, and he brought his fists to his side. Penrod and Koleniko had come up beside him and were peering at him in curiosity, the latter’s prickled face puffed out.

“You have to wonder how much more of this anyone can take before we throw ourselves into the sea,” Koleniko said.

Maccus shook his head and gave a great sigh. “Two storms more, and I think even old Wyvern will pry himself loose and step off into the waves,” he said.

Penrod let out a low chuckle, and then a flash of knowing mischief crossed his crustacean face. “Unless,” he began, and he raised a brow, and one of his antennae followed along, “you were to speak with the captain.”

A hot flush went through Maccus’s body: dread and nerves all in one. He endeavored to remain as impassive as possible as the other men studied his face. “Why me?” Maccus snapped.It was Koleniko’s turn to tilt his head, now with an expression of cutting pity. He let out a tut-tut from his spiny lips. “Need it be said?”

It was not the weather that had made his skin grow heated beside Jones, he knew that now. Nor some unknowable machination within his monstrous gut. He had learned, through the decades, through the organ lessons, and through the countless other lessons in Jones’ cabin before the mortal fell for the goddess, that his was a love not meant to be shared. Not to be returned, fully. Not beyond the fleeting moments in which Jones had acquiesced to knowing his first mate more than any other man had.

His sharp teeth bit his tongue within his own mouth.

And despite it all—the decades of knowing—Jones was not his. He was no one’s. And yet they belonged, jointly, to the endless service that was ferrying the souls of the dead, from here until the end of time. He would forever be bound to Jones. Their souls entwined as one. Whether Jones realized it or not.

No secrets survived among the crew, and any reminder of what he and Jones were—once were—brought a searing resentment to his cold heart. “Clean up this mess,” Maccus hissed, and the claws upon his spine crackled in a warning. Koleniko let out an unimpressed huff and the two left to tend to the ship.

Maccus cast his gaze over the other men gathered on deck, and he found that they were all looking to him in expectation. Each man’s cursed face, no matter how changed, was still visibly, deeply mired in a persistent sorrow. For all Maccus’s bluster and gruff posturing to maintain that wedge between himself and the rest of the crew, they relied on him beyond his station of first mate. They turned to him as an ally when the senseless whims of the captain grew too much to weather.

It had to be done.

Maccus sniffed and walked toward the main cabin, his left hand prickling at his side.

How different it all was now. Maccus stepped inside after a quick knock and closed the door quietly behind him. The towering glass windows, once clear and radiant, were coated in a perpetual fog—like the eyes of a dying whale before its soul departed for good. The brass pipes of that colossal musical instrument had been subsumed by curving coral, the boundary between ship and beast, living and unliving perpetually blurred aboard the Dutchman. And there in the cold and dripping dark sat Jones before the organ, his back to Maccus and the door.

“Captain, a word,” Maccus began.

Jones did not immediately stir. He often slept sitting upright like that, hunched over the keys after wringing his soul free of every echo of a feeling that remained, even with his heart buried under distant sands. Maccus knew—he’d watched through the fogged windows on difficult nights, when he couldn’t sleep, when the sounds of the thrumming organ came down through the deck into the gallery like a muffled memory. Jones had never seen him, as Maccus brought his eyes to the glass and let the music wash over him.

Maccus cleared his throat and spoke louder. “The crew asked me to speak with you—”

He was interrupted by Jones’ head whipping around to cast his piercing gaze over his shoulder. Like a wounded wolf, cornered, dangerous. “And you took it upon yourself to enter my quarters, unbeckoned?” he snapped.

Maccus did not reply for a moment as his throat seized up. His mouth twisted in a frown, and he spoke more softly now. “Come now, Jones…”

“Captain.”

That singular word struck him like a blow, and he flinched, taking a sharp inhale. The stupid, miserable man. With a hopeless snort, Maccus shook his head, Jones’ glowering face not moving.

“Captain,” Maccus repeated, his teeth showing.

“Why are you here?”

“To speak for the crew.”

Jones let out an amused huff. “I have not petitioned you for their insight nor opinion on any matter aboard this ship, so there is no reason for you to speak on their behalf, and therefore no reason for you to be here. You may leave.”

Maccus blinked hard. His fingers twitched at his side, and he felt his blood beginning to rise.

“What do you hope to gain by this, hm?” Maccus said, tempering the frustration in his tone. “This…pretended insistence on formality—on some imaginary unfamiliarity between us?”

Jones remained still as the ship rocked slowly back and forth, the long strands of seaweed on the walls swaying like dark curtains. Maccus licked his lips and went on.

“Pretending as if we never—”

“Maccus.”

“—as if I never walked unbidden to your room where you welcomed me, years ago,” he said. He had gone too far to come back now. “Why insist that I remain on this ship at all—is it for your amusement? My punishment? Why not end my service and be rid of me if you are now so deeply repulsed by my presence—”

“Maccus!”

Jones stood abruptly, the bench scraping back against the floor as he wheeled around to face Maccus. His chest was heaving, his horrible beard writhing in an indignant fury.

“I have never,” Jones began, his voice like a serpent’s hiss, “ever regarded you that way.”

Maccus scoffed, the weight in his chest unbearable. “Right. Never regarded me as anything more than a diversion. A poor, illiterate bloke—just something to pass the time before someone truly magnificent came along. I understand that very clearly now—”

“I have never been repelled by you,” Jones spat the correction.

His tone was still nothing less than deeply furious. Maccus paused, opening his mouth to speak, reconsidered, and fell quiet. A gut-wrenching silence passed before Jones spoke again.

“Do not cast me as some unfeeling, high-born man who scorned you for who you were.”

“You cut out your bloody heart!” The words flew from Maccus’s mouth, unchecked. “You are nothing but unfeeling at this very time!”

With his hard crab leg, Jones kicked out against the bench to send it sliding to the side, clearing a path for him to Maccus. He strode across the space—no cane in hand now, moving like a predator through cold waters, to arrive with his eyes inches from the other man’s, a terrible icy rage within them.

Maccus could not be cowed, and he stared back, baring his teeth. “Your stupidity is costing you the loyalty of the crew,” Maccus snarled, the words like steel. “They are purposeless, slipping away from this world—every day their minds grow weaker. They’re becoming empty, useless husks of who they once were. Half can barely remember how to tie down a fucking line!”

The words echoed around the dim cabin. Jones did not move, his eyes fixed upon Maccus’s, but neither did he speak. He was listening.

“The storms batter them, beat them senseless, and their minds unravel more and more each day,” Maccus said. “They’re still sailors, they’re still people—people needing something more to do with their hands than cling to the walls in horror every time you want to sail through a hurricane!” He threw up his clawed hand in a hopeless gesture. “You chase these tempests, and for what? A brush with divinity, the memory of her blessing—but it’s not her, and it will never be her, because you made it so.”

In a fit of confidence, or brashness, Maccus pointed the tip of his finger to Jones’ chest.

Jones did not look down, his gaze still upon Maccus’s one good eye, and the frightful rage in his demeanor had suddenly stilled.

“Give them purpose,” Maccus urged. His voice caught in his throat, and his eyes darted away toward the foggy windows. “Give me purpose,” he mumbled.

Neither spoke for a very long time. Maccus’s finger slowly lowered back to his side, and he flexed his clawed hand uncomfortably. The sounds clicked out through the quiet cabin like a creature scuttling across the floor.

Jones had been leaning toward him, willing the immensity of his sheer presence to be enough to humble Maccus into silence. Too long had passed since he had ever been capable of that. Jones drew back, his eyes lowering to the floor.

“I apologize,” Jones mumbled.

Maccus reeled his head back, his eyes going wide. “What?”

“I said, I apologize,” Jones hissed. There it was.

Before Maccus could pursue this once-in-a-century admission, Jones turned back around and walked slowly to the organ. His claw leg thumped heavily against the floor, all posturing and bluster gone, and only a deep, unabiding weariness remained. Maccus carefully crossed the floor after him, a good few paces behind, and watched as Jones sat back down at the instrument’s keys.

“I will give the men work,” he muttered.

He did not bring his hands up to the keys, and instead, the tendrils of his beard descended to rest lightly on the surface. No note yet played, and with a sudden, apparent realization, he cleared his throat and spoke to Maccus.

“I have…adapted, in spite of all this,” Jones said quietly. His right and left hands lay in his lap, both without purpose, but in a way he had never anticipated. The appendages of his beard curled over the borders between the keys. “It is…unsightly,” he murmured.

He had never seen Maccus watching him. For all he knew, Maccus had not witnessed the new way in which Jones had, against his will, by the goddess’s spite, overcome the very thing for which he had first invited Maccus into his cabin. A gift and a curse, bound as one. He would never know how much Maccus knew.

“We hear it down in the gallery,” Maccus said, and he now leaned against the side of the instrument, looking across the keys and Jones’ still face. “It’s a good sound.”

He waited. But Jones did not play.

Here was a man who had gone beyond simply being healed and had been granted all dexterity in the world. Mastery of the instrument, to play whatever tune he pleased, with the ability of three virtuosos seated side-by-side. Jones stared at the keys, his eyes empty, and then slowly, they wandered up to Maccus.

After an unbearable moment in which Maccus felt his heart begin to pound, Jones’ beard withdrew from the keys. He sat back, shifted slightly, and his eyes flicked down to Maccus’s hands.

“Do you remember…the one?” he asked.

A smile alighted on Maccus’s face, and he flashed his sharp teeth before tempering his mood. “I do,” he replied simply.

Jones looked to the keys, then to Maccus, as if the words would manifest on their own.

Maccus curled in his lips. “Does it pain you to ask me?”

Jones let out a low hm and jerked his tentacled chin toward the keys. “I would like to hear it,” he said.That would be as close to any ‘please’ the man might ever muster.

“Make room for me, then,” Maccus said.

The two men settled in beside each other, slipping back into the past, to the place before it had all come undone. Maccus’s hands poised to play—changed though they were, and a grin of satisfaction crossed his face. Still got all ten.

And as his fingers came down to grace the room once again with that old, familiar song, he paused to look out the foggy windows, to the gray light, where he had lingered in waiting. And when he finally played, he felt Jones unravel beside him: worries and miseries dissipated like fine mist in the close space between them.

Jones sank into the bench, his eyes closed to the slow, halting notes of a tune decades out of practice, letting it envelop him like the most beautiful chords he might ever hear again.

#pirates of the caribbean #potc #fanfiction #round 5 #davy jones #maccus

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bleeding-star-heart · 1 year ago

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Well, Prince Cassian was four, Revan supposed. It made sense that the little prince wouldn't quite understand what was going on. That he would think this was some sort of game. Revan wasn't even sure he had the heart to correct the boy. To inform the prince that he had, in fact, been kidnapped. More to the point, would the little prince even understand? Was he old enough to? "Well?" Prince Cassian demanded, frowning petulantly. "What happens next?" Revan summoned his most soothing, fatherly tone of voice and decided: "You stay here, with us. Until sundown. That's when your mother's supposed to come. If she comes, or one of her servants does, you win. If she doesn't, you lose." Prince Cassian frowned. "So, it's like hide-and-seek," he said, suddenly seeming less enamored with the situation. Well, he should be, Revan supposed. The boy was sitting in a dingy basement with a bunch of armed thugs. Although technically he couldn't see that through the blindfold. But doubtless the little prince could hear the grumbling of the gruff, burly men under Revan's command. "Yes," Revan replied, staring at his crew as they sat around drinking and gambled at cards. Perfect role models for a child, truly. "Like hide-and-seek." A very deadly kind of hide-and-seek, one which could end with the little boy's death.

"Okay!" Prince Cassian exclaimed, flashing Revan a smile filled with first teeth. And with that, they all waited; Revan, his crew, and the prince. The latter, being a little boy, of course needed bathroom breaks, but otherwise it went without a hitch. Until sundown rolled around, and the queen had not arrived. Revan sighed and unsheathed his dagger. Well, it was time. He had done many distasteful things in his life but killing a four-year-old had to take the cake. Just as he was about to put his dagger at Prince Cassian's throat, however, there was the sound of someone walking down the stairs. Everyone paused and turned towards the sound. Was it the queen after all? The basement door opened, and it was not the queen who walked through it. Instead, it was the sorceress who had hired Revan to kidnap Prince Cassian in the first place: Lady Rhaella. She waved her hand, and instantly the ropes and blindfold fell off of the little prince. The boy stared at his surroundings in wonder, before finally finding the sorceress. "Aunt Rhaella!" he cried, his face lighting up as he ran towards her. Rhaella's tawny orange eyes softened lovingly as she bent down to hug Prince Cassian. "Yes, dear nephew," she replied. "And it's time to go now." That was not what the men wanted to hear. They immediately glowered at Rhaella, hands flying to their weapons. Then Rotty, always the hothead, protested: "That wasn't the agreement! Boss, tell her-" Revan held up a finger to silence Rotty; clearly there was something going on here. And he was right; for after she stood up, Rhaella immediately withdrew a pouch of coins from the folds of her dress and tossed it at Revan. "The ransom, as expected," she explained. "The queen would gladly have paid it, but alas, she is...indisposed." Indisposed, my ass. As if the queen was 'too busy' to pay, or something. Oh, there were parents like that, to be sure-cruel ones. Queen Madrigal was, as far as Revan knew, not a cruel mother. "Really? I thought the queen was rather enamored with her son," he snarked, stooping to pick up the coin purse. Rather than be offended, Rhaella simply nodded. "She is. But even the most loving parents cannot overcome being held at sword point themselves." Revan's men all stared blankly at the sorceress, utterly uncertain of where this was going. Sword point? Shit. Had something happened in the palace? "Mama isn't supposed to hide," Prince Cassian whined. "She's supposed to seek. That's the rules." The little prince glanced back at Revan, clearly wanting him to chime in. And Revan was certainly tempted to. After all, Rhaella had arranged this whole kidnapping in the first place-she ought to know what that entailed! Unless... "I'm afraid it wasn't really a game, sweetheart," Rhaella explained softly. "Something bad happened in the palace today, and I hired these men to keep you safe." Yep, Revan thought to himself, because whatever it was, you were part of it. Or at the very least, knew of it ahead of time. Prince Cassian blinked in confusion. "Couldn't the guards have done that?" he asked. Revan sighed and shook his head. "The guards were probably part of it," he told the boy. "Whatever it was." Rhaella nodded. "They were," she said, and it was then that Revan knew that Rhaella had planned whatever befell the queen. She then scooped up the little prince in her arms and said to him, "And that's why we can't immediately go home. We have to go away for a while, until it's safe." "When will that be?" Prince Cassian whined, pouting. Who knows? Depending on what had befallen his mother, it could very well be forever. Rather than answer her nephew, Rhaella gave Revan one last look. "Thank you," she said softly, "For keeping him safe." And with that, she exited the basement with the little prince, leaving Revan and his men to wonder what fresh new world they'd helped to bring about.

The young heir to the throne gets kidnapped. They’re gagged, blindfolded and tied to a chair in a basement. They’re not even nervous, on the contrary they’re curious and intrigued by the situation.

#writing prompt #evil promptverse

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silkendandelion · 2 months ago

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Million Dollar Baby (completed), A One Piece fanfiction

Sir Crocodile x OC (male) Words: 40.8k Genre: Comedy, drama, smut, fluff

Summary: With some time passed, autumn reaches the coast, and Vivi's play come to relevance.

Rated Teen and Up Audiences for suggestive content and fluffy happy ending. <3 You were warned. <33

Chapter 15 - Four Months Later

Nefertari Shipping shone in the autumn sun, bustling with machinery and hard-hatted crew on every level. Between the parking lot filled with cars and buses to bring in the rest, they had all existing positions filled, including a significant number of new jobs at their newest consultant’s insistence. If they kept up this pace, his proposal for Christmas bonuses wouldn’t be a next-year plan after all.

Coming in from the yard, River exchanged his hard hat for a sigh of relief in the air-conditioned office.

“Mr. Faustina?” His receptionist, a new hire, called from behind her desk. “Um, perhaps it’s a bit late to ask but, are you expecting anyone?”

He dabbed at the sweat on his hairline with his handkerchief before answering. “I don’t think so… Wait, what day is it—”

“River!” Vivi suddenly threw open his office door. “We made ourselves at home, we didn’t know when you would be coming back.”

“Whatever you like, Miss Vivi,” he smiled back. At his desk, assessing the comfortability of his chair and the quality of the cafeteria coffee, sat a woman almost sixty, with long, graying hair combed over one shoulder and a familiar sparkle in her smirk.

“So, this is where my son works.”

“You’re early.” He rounded the desk to hug her anyway, and place a kiss on her cheek.

“We came straight from lunch. I wanted to wait until you got back to give her the tour.” Vivi grinned from the other chair. Her long, pale blue hair laid over her shoulders, held back from her face by a flattering pastel headband, one that matched her youthful, buttoned dress.

“Who drove?” He looked between them.

“She did,” Claudia chuckled into her cup. “I’m still not ready to drive around this city yet.”

“Well, I can see Vivi already showed you where the coffee maker is. What else would you like to see?”

“Actually, we—” The opening of the door interrupted her. A bright-eyed Koza poked his head in, seemingly to speak but was easily scooted aside by a shorter man, completely gray and held up by his cane. Koza hovered by the stranger’s elbow everywhere he wandered, even when he paused to browse River’s bookshelves, just before he remembered to come back to the conversation.

“I heard we were taking up space in River’s office today. I didn’t miss it, did I?” He said.

Vivi rose to offer him her seat. “Claudia, this is Koza and his father, Mr. Toto. He’s just come back from medical leave but he’s already causing an appropriate amount of ruckus.”

“There wasn’t nearly enough going on when I got here. But we’re working on it.” He winked, putting his elbow into River’s side just to watch him grin.

“If I know my River—and I do—he’s not happy unless he’s getting up something or other. I’m glad he’s found a place that encourages him to do so,” said Claudia.

After deciding his father was, in fact, seated comfortably in the plush chair, Koza met Claudia’s smirk with a cool smile. “We will treat him well, I promise.”

“Hey,” Mr. Toto clapped his hands together. “Didn’t I also hear something about dessert being served? Specifically, the rumor was ‘whatever Claudia wants she should have on her special visit’.”

“Where are you getting these rumors from?” Vivi chortled at him. “Though that can certainly be arranged.”

“Well, I suppose anything strawberry, verdad?” Claudia looked to River.

“I know just the place,” he smiled.

~*~

Even after escorting Claudia to her taxi and insisting the paper bakery box with the leftovers made it into her lap (despite her protests), River knew his day still wasn’t over, though he was used to Vivi popping in and out at all hours. While Cobra came down from his office less and less with age, Vivi had slipped easily into his role of shaking hands and talking anyone blue who had the good fortune to meet her.

“One more thing, River. If you’ve got a second.” She hurried to his side. By now, the sky was dark, and the security lights flickered on above them.

“For you, always.” He loosened his tie as they climbed the steps to the now mostly empty office.

“I never told you—well, it wasn’t really relevant until now. All those months ago, Crocodile’s rescinding of his offer came with a condition. At our suggestion, actually.”

“Condition?”

“To put him further at ease, we agreed that a representative from the New York branch could inspect us as often as they liked. We have nothing to hide, and everything to show off lately. I want you to show them around tomorrow.”

“That’s awfully short notice… but of course I will. Can I ask why me?”

The smile that didn’t quite reach the rest of her face said her next words were as much the whole truth as either of them could be led to believe. “It has to be you.”

“I can’t argue with that.” His smile, softer and awash in his patient eyes, coaxed her to speak her mind, but only after she had the courage to release her bottom lip from her teeth.

“You haven’t spoken to him since he went back to New York, have you?”

“Who?” As soon as the word left his mouth, the foolishness of trying to play dumb burned across his cheeks and the twist of his frown. “No, I haven’t.”

He managed to spare her all his rehearsed excuses, that he was busy, that Crocodile was no longer his client. That having Claudia at home left him so relieved, at the same time he had little opportunities to have lovers in the new apartment they shared, or that the number of lovers he wanted to see had dwindled to just one.

“He tried to stop it, you know?”

“Stop what?” River lifted his head from where he had been studying the scuff marks on the linoleum. This time, she left her lip alone, and instead reached for his hand where he had tried to avoid her gaze by fidgeting with his ruby cuff-links.

“My father found a counter-proposal inside his files. Crocodile must have been looking for an opportunity to bring it up without isolating the rest of his team… His mind was already changed.”

River’s eyes prickled, hot where he scrubbed away the tears beginning to pool on his lashes. With a deep breath, he steeled, and managed to give her a genuine smile, melancholy in it’s edges. “I miss him.”

“I know. Go home, River. Get some sleep, we have plenty of work to do tomorrow.”

With a quiet goodbye and the swing of the front door, he stood alone in the lobby. On his receptionist’s desk sat his new business cards and, as he opened his wallet to replace the ones he kept for clients, he instead removed a single card, yellowed and rubbed round at the edges from holding it whenever he couldn’t find the courage to dial the numbers.

Ring, ring ring.

The receiver rang in his ear long enough for him to both gather his nerve and lose it, slamming the line closed with the excuse that the time change put his sulking at well beyond business hours. Maybe trying his cellphone would be a better option—

“I had hoped you wouldn’t be here,” came a voice behind him.

The familiar rumble should have frozen him. But the sight of Crocodile standing in his doorway, the want in his eyes and the restraint in his grip around a white gift bag shocked River to his feet, nearly into his arms.

“What are you… Why?” He struggled to breathe beyond his disbelief, the tightness behind his ribs, and the tears in his throat.

“I dislike flying overnight. To be here for my appointment in the morning, of course I would arrive early.”

How eloquent, for a half-truth. “So, you’re an inspector now?”

“I’m overseeing my investment. Vivi already informed me you would be my escort for the day.”

“… She’s become awfully sneaky. I think Mr. Toto’s influencing her too much,” River said, hoping that fiddling with his business cards could hide his blooming smile.

“I had hoped you would have already left the office by now but, on the off chance you were overworking yourself exactly as much as I assumed…” Crocodile set the gift bag on the desk, pristine and with a familiar, golden label that made River’s bottom lip quiver.

“I’ve—actually had strawberries today already.”

“Spoiling yourself on a work day? Well, I suppose if you don’t want them, then—”

River snatched the bag, struck by a teary chuckle. “No no, that’s not what I meant, I just…”

Crocodile’s gentle palm on his cheek broke the dam on his tears, and he relinquished the strawberries only so his arms were free to return his embrace. Tobacco and fennel flooded his senses, crashing over him in a wave that fell from his eyes to dampen the silk of Crocodile’s suit, right below his cravat.

“I didn’t know that—that you—why didn’t you tell me?” River’s back shook with quiet sobs.

“…because I knew you would follow me.”

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“You’ve done so well.” Crocodile’s arms tightened around him as he caught the name plate beside the door, ‘R. J. Faustina’ on shiny brass. “That brings me back to my earlier statement, why are you here so late? Didn’t I teach you about enjoying your spoils?”

“I’m—,” he replied around his haphazard tearing open the box to get at the chocolate-covered comfort faster, shoving a black-and-white berry whole between his lips. “I’m doing half days a few times a week for school, and staying late to catch up on days I don’t have class. With Claudia at home now, it gives her some extra privacy so—”

“Your mother’s here?”

He nodded with a swallow. “So it’s convenient… I’m on track to graduate in the spring.”

Crocodile intercepted his want for another berry with a hand on his cheek, beckoning him to meet his eyes. “You’re the only man I know who has never given up something for his dream. Never allowed himself to settle.”

“What did you give up?”

His silence, and the warmth in his gaze, bloomed between them. To River, it hardly mattered his questioned went unanswered for another. “Will you have dinner with me?”

“Actually,” River said quietly, as the tip of his boot bumped Crocodile’s loafer. Between their faces, the smell of chocolate threatened to tempt them beyond their gentlemanly sensibilities, right here on the desk. “I’d rather have room service.”

Crocodile simpered, at least he tried to, under a series of hurried kisses. “I know just the place.”

~*~

By the time the weather had turned cold, business had been slow for weeks. Until they were closer to the holidays, it would stay that way, and Sanji just hoped he could see River one more time before he left for New York. They saw each other sparingly since he moved, and the quiet dining room only exacerbated the loneliness.

“I’ll only be gone for two weeks. Expect me after New Years, I want to celebrate being back in California with your cooking,” was what River had said, moments ago at dinner with his boyfriend. That was a phrase Sanji wasn’t used to saying, he had never known River to date for a myriad of acceptable reasons.

Through the window, he could see them waiting for a cab, smiling from a conversation he couldn’t gleam. The boyfriend, Crocodile, Sanji recalled, looked more gangster than businessman, with a frighteningly flat affect and cold, golden eyes. An icy stare that had melted when River slid into the booth across from him, hastily apologizing for his lateness with a flap of the rainwater from his coat.

Now, on the curb, they huddled under the same umbrella, and Sanji watched River lean up to accept a chaste kiss to his cheek and some whispered, cheeky secret that made him grin.

He looks so happy… I suppose that’s all it takes.

At that moment, the mosshead beat cop slid himself into a bar stool after neatly depositing his folded coat onto the seat adjacent. His large, calloused hands fidgeted with the starched cuffs on his uniform.

“Well, what do you want?” Sanji snipped, one hand on his hip, the other on the counter.

“Can I… have the special? And a beer. Whatever’s tapped. Please.”

“You’re ordering food. And you said please.”

“Yeah well, I’ve been told I need to be nicer to the locals or I’m off this beat.” His words suggested he was miffed at that fact, but the pull of his frown, sheepish and soft like a scolded child, spoke of regret.

Sanji smiled, hoping it passed for a smirk around the wick of his cigarette. “One special, coming right up.”

END.

Thank you for making it to the end, love you <3

#one piece #sir crocodile #sir crocodile x oc #x oc #oc fanfiction #mlm fanfic #long fic #movie fic #pretty woman au #ao3 fanfic #silkenspeaks #million dollar baby

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