#reckoner fic

[thisdivorce]

Chapter 16: Skylight

Chapter Summary: Ian and Mickey receive visitors.

Summary: Ian Gallagher is married, stable, happy working as a Paramedic and trying to start a family, but a chance encounter with the foul-mouthed father of one of his patients—who has more ties to Ian than either of them know—threatens to blow it all up.

Length: 4.8k

Rating: Explicit

Read here from the beginning

thanks to my forever brilliant beta @gallawitchxx and to @callivich for making the banner

[kyber-crystal]

learning to warm cold hands || ethan hunt

summary: after a particular mission, sunshine isn’t sunshine anymore, and it worries him. (aka a cliche angst to fluff fic with the following tropes: slightly sunshine and super sunshine, who did this to you, etc)

words: ~1.4k

warnings: angst, brief descriptions of violence, ethan being overly concerned for reader, but not much else asides from that 

a/n: first ethan fic (requested by a lovely anon, thank you!!) and second mission impossible fic! btw, this fic is kind of an AU? i don't have a specific timeline for when it happens, so you can squeeze it in wherever :)

“Y/N, status update?”

“Northwest exit, 430 meters. I have one on my tail. But you know I’m Usain Bolt 2.0! I can definitely outrun this doofus, I mean, I bet my mile time is way better than his. I could've gone to the Olympics, for God’s sake. The Olympics! Where are you?”

“Stay there, I’ll come find you.”

“Ethan, wait, you can't just tell me to—“ You don’t even get to finish before a an explosive sound echoes across the narrow alleyway. You make a sharp left turn but find that you’d just hit a dead end. The door was locked. Shit. You only had one bullet left and there was a guy who was definitely at least twice your weight—and over a foot taller, too—coming after you. You wouldn't even have enough time to reload.

“Y/N. Y/N—“

You don’t get to hear the rest of what he’s saying before the static fizzes out and you lose connection.

“Hey there!” You give the beefy man who’s now mere meters away from you a cheerful smile. “Lovely weather today, don’t you think? Too bad it’s going to rain tomorrow. I love the rain but I hate lightning, because I almost got struck a year ago.”

He doesn't look too happy at this, whipping his gun out without a moment’s hesitation. You squeeze your eyes shut and pray as you slide the bullet in and he pins you against the wall by your neck. 

He brings the gun to your head, and your weapon clatters to the ground. You curse under your breath. You can feel your airways constricting and there's a searing pain working its way through you. 

“You're not going anywhere, princess.”

There's a split-second; a microsecond in which he pauses. Very briefly. You don't think, just do—you knee him in the groin, hard, and quickly grab the knife that's sheathed in your boot. 

Saying one last prayer, you plunge the blade in, not even looking to see if you'd aimed right. He falls to the floor, stumbling, and you then lunge forward to disarm him. 

Another deafening gunshot rings out just as Ethan rounds the corner and finds you there, standing over the man’s dead body like the angel of death. A pool of blood surrounds your feet, and he doesn't think he wants to know if that's yours or his. 

“You made it out alive. Good job out there.”

Glancing over at him, you nod, but don't say anything. You toss him the data files without another word, and board the plane. 

“I'm proud of you.”

More strained silence. Huh, weird… he thinks. 

“Y/N, are you alright?”

No response. Ethan repeats himself again, “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

You strap yourself into your seat and tilt your head back, digging your nails into your wrist. Anything was better than being awake right now…

“Well, someone's uncharacteristically quiet.”

Still no response. Not even a snarky quip like you'd typically reply with. No nicknames, no bickering, no random fun fact you googled on the way over here. “Did you know that a pig can digest an entire human body, bones and all? That makes me think a little extra every time we pass through the European countryside and see one of them.” 

All he gets is silence from your end, and it starts to worry him. 

That’s when he follows your gaze downwards. You're clutching the left side of your abdomen, trying your best not to make a sound. 

His blood runs cold and his eyes darken. You can feel the pure rage radiating off him. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“No…shit…Sherlock…” you croak out. 

“You're hurt.”

No response again. 

“Y/N, what the hell happened out there and who did this to you?”

More silence. 

“Y/N, what did he do to you? How did he hurt you?”

After several more questions and several more failed replies, he forcefully moves your hand aside. Your shirt is stained a deep red and there's a gaping hole much bigger than Ethan wanted to see. 

“You got shot.” He sighs. “Luther, how much longer?”

“Hour and five, but we can get there in 38.”

“Hurry.”

“On it.”

Ilsa brings him a thick roll of bandages. He tries to be as careful as possible as he disinfects and wraps up your torso, but every so often, you wince in pain. 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, just a few more minutes,” Ethan hurriedly apologizes. “Hang in there for me, okay?”

Once he's done, he sits down next to you and laces your fingers together, giving your hand a squeeze. You let out a shuddering sigh and slumped against him. 

He pretends not to notice your watering eyes, or the crescent-shaped marks in your wrist. Or the way your left foot nervously taps out the rhythm to yours and his favorite song. Or the way your tears leave faint red tracks behind as they slip down your cheeks. 

“I'm so sorry,” he repeats over and over again, “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”

You don't sleep a wink that night. On any other day in Paris, you'd walk down to the farmer’s market below. You’d pick out Ethan’s favorite fruit and a new beret to have him wear jokingly, and maybe grab a croissant or two. Then you’d drag him along to the Louvre and point out each painting one by one and explain in great detail why you loved them so much. And he’d listen, because he could live purely off the sound of your voice for the rest of his life. He was never one for museums, but you loved them, and because he loved you, he started to love them, too.

But it's dark out, and after what had just happened the other day, you don't feel safe enough to leave the apartment. You tossed and turned for over half an hour before falling asleep, but jolted awake just a few minutes later, shivering violently. There was no way you were going to try and go to sleep again.  

Ethan stirs awake, rubbing his eyes to see a dark figure slipping out the door. 

He's quick to follow you up the staircase and to the rooftop. You're standing there in just a T-shirt (was that his?) and shorts, and it's freezing cold out, but you're sweating and fanning yourself. 

“Y/N?”

You turn around at the sound of his voice. “Ethan…”

“What are you doing up here? I was worried about you.” He makes his way over to you and puts a hand on your shoulder, obvious concern on his face. 

You bit your lip and started digging your nails into your wrist again. 

“Talk to me, Y/N,” he pleaded. “Tell me what's wrong.” 

You shook your head, feeling the skin of your wrist beginning to sting. 

“Y/N, please. I want to help you. But I can’t do that when you won't talk to me, so please…tell me what’s going on.” 

“I’m so tired, Ethan,” you finally spoke after a long pause, voice hoarse. “I should’ve—I shouldn’t be here right now, I should be dead because I panicked and I…I almost died. The man, he put the gun to my head and I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. I could’ve sworn to God that the whole ‘thing’ about you seeing your life flash by like a film reel was just a myth but it wasn’t. It scared the shit out of me because I kept seeing the same thing over and over. I thought…”

“What did you see?” he asked, voice gentle. 

“I kept seeing your face. All I saw was your face.” You looked away, suddenly unable to make eye contact with him. Heat spreads across your cheeks. “I know I care about the whole damn team, but you—you’re my future, Ethan.”

He doesn’t say anything in response and instead, leans down to kiss you.

The sudden rush of warmth from his lips being pressed against yours makes you want to forget everything in the world and completely drown in him. This was home, you realized, and this is where I’m supposed to be.

And as the sun rises and spreads a brilliant pale glow over the horizon, Ethan can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was also exactly where he was meant to be. Not fighting bad guys, but rather, standing on the rooftop of a tiny building in the 4th arrondissement with you in his arms and your head against his heart. He thinks he could have a lifetime of this.

“You’re my future, too.”

tags (including those who may be interested! add yourself via this form, if you’d like): @mitchellpete @voguesir @fl0ating @lady-elena-adeline @the-multiverse-of-fandoms @ilsastrenchcoat @joyfullyswimmingface​ 

[the-woman-upstairs]

Rogue Nation, Fallout, and Dead Reckoning all pointedly placing Benji and Ilsa in the most dangerous, stressful, downright torturous situations either together or separately where Ethan can’t reach/help them or is driven to the brink trying to.

[violent138]

Thinking of that first Father's Day that Dick and Bruce and Alfred must have spent together, the most solemn kind one could imagine with the early morning visit to a graveyard. Bruce slowly trying to use Alfred’s advice about imagining if he'd been sent to live with the Kanes after his parents' death, but really nothing works. So they all just sort of sit around the table, occasionally sharing stories. Alfred and Bruce let Dick do most of the talking, while Alfred’s phone burns a hole in his pocket that he ignores.

[moonisthedoor]

This is a webweave for a Gerry Keay/Michael Shelley fanfic based on The Magnus Archives

I want to be home to you: The Whispering and the Reckoning web weave

for @blasphemous-lies-and-deceit <3

Elden Ring // Elden Ring // tumblr user @/s0larize (x) // In Bed, The Kiss by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec // tumblr user @/perfectlyripeclementine // Savior by Lee Hi (music video) // Savior by Lee Hi // tumblr user @/b0nkcreat // Trista Mateer // Savior by Lee Hi (music video) // The Internet Speaks Back to the Author by Phil Kaye // The Kiss by Edvard Munch // Zhenya Katava & Neus Bermejo for V Magazine, photography by Gus & Lo // Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

Image description in ALT text and under the cut.

Image ID 1: Screenshot of a notification from Elden Ring on dark grey background. White text: You have not sinned. Text in response button: OK. The button is highlighted.

Image ID 2: Screenshot of a notification from Elden Ring on dark grey background. White text: You don't need absolution. Text in response button: OK. The button is highlighted.

Image ID 3: A photo of a person holding a bottle of purple nail polish in their hands, painting someone's nails. Their shirt is black with a red graphic print on it that includes a word "love". Their own nails are the same shade of metallic purple as the polish they're holding. You can't see their face as it's cut off.

Image ID 4: A painting of two people laying in bed. They're embracing each other and kissing. The person on the left has red hair slightly past their shoulders. The person on the right has short red hair. They're covered up to their chest by the blanket. The sheets and the blanket are white.

Image ID 5: Sccreenshot of a tumblr post from a user @perfectlyripeclementine. Black text on white background: calling my lover "mine" but not in the way that my toothbrush or notebook are mine, mine in the way my neighborhood is mine, and also everybody else's, "mine" like mine to tend to, mine to care for, mine to love. "mine" not like possession but devotion. End of text.

Image ID 6: A screenshot from a music video. A Korean man with black hair and black eyes is sitting on a low couch. He's wearing a white shirt with a red outline on the collar and black pants. His legs are slightly spread. A Korean woman with black hair and black eyes is laying on her side with her head in his lap. She's on the right side of the man. She's wearing a long white dress and her hands are clasped in her own lap. In the background you can see a church altar.

Image ID 7: Screenshot of lyrics. Black text on white background: Is there such a thing as love without despair? // Where will you be taking me? Yeah, yeah // Will you be able to stay by my side // As long as I wish you to? Hm. End of text.

Image ID 8: A screenshot of a Tumblr ask. Anonymous said: "do you think it'll all be okay?" User b0nkcreat, who has a blue and a green checkmark near their username, responds: "yeah. even if it won't i've got people to love in the meantime".

Image ID 9: Screenshot of black text on white background: In this space right here that we have made for each other, [text highlighted in light blue] you can say anything and I will not abandon you [highlighting ends]. Unwrap the worst things you have done. Watch me hold them up to the light and not even flinch.

Image ID 10: Screenshot from a music video. A Korean woman with dark hair and dark eyes is in the center of the shot, facing the camera. She's hugging a dark-haired man with her right hand, looking to her right side. The man is wearing a dark shirt with white vertical stripes in the center of the back. He's hiding his face in the woman's shoulder. In the background you can see the inside of a church, an altar and reliefs of saints on the walls.

Image ID 11: Screenshot of black text on white background: tell me what you want // [text italicized] every door you enter // I will let you in [italicized text ends]

Image ID 12: A painting of two people kissing. The person on the left is wearing a dark red suit, they have black hair. They're leaning against a green nightstand. A person on the right is wearing long black dress with red outlining the sleeves and the collar. They're hugging the other person by their neck. As the two are kissing, their faces are featurless, melting into each other.

Image ID 13: A photo of two people's hands. They're holding each other by the pinkies. The person on the left has light skin and is wearing a dark blue sleeveless dress. The person on the right is wearing a dark blue dress with buttoned cuffs on the sleeves. Nothing beyond the arms and a piece of their skirts can be seen. The arms are entangled with a red string from the middle of the forearm to the tips of the fingers of both hands. The photo is framed with a digital black frame.

Image ID 14: Screenshot of black text on white background: "We have to go home." // "I'm already home. I'm with you."

[ziskeyt]

Sorry for leaving y'all on a cliffhanger the other week, but I'm here with the resolution!

Reckon the Stars chapter 9 is live here or read from the beginning here.

In this chapter: a statue falls! What could have done this? Is everyone safe? What might be lurking in the sands?

As always, my lovely cover art is a comm from @st-hedge

[radioactivepeasant]

Surprise Snippet because I didn't get time to post a schedule this week

(Woe: Summer Reading Programs be upon me)

But because I can never resist giving Damas of Spargus a hard time, I propose the following scenario: Jak carries germs from Sandover that modern people aren't vaccinated against. Modern people like Damas. And because Jak doesn't do anything by halves, it's a disease that only effects channelers because it's a non-dark-eco eco imbalance.

In his roughly twelve years as king of Spargus, Damas had dealt with the occasional illness. In the two years before he took the throne, he'd gotten all manner of unpleasant ailments. Crane Cough, White Flu, Dust Colic, even! And that was something most Wastelanders grew out of in infancy! But vaccinations were for the elite. For everyone else it was survive or die, unless you were willing to hand over your entire artifact intake for the week.

Damas had been one of the lucky ones: being a channeler meant he recovered far more quickly than some of the other recent exiles.

He'd grown complacent since then. A germ could be dealt with in no more than a day or two with a little eco and a couple hours of rest. He could pinpoint the early warning signs of every disease common to Spargus and Haven alike.

That was, in hindsight, the first sign that Jak had not originally come from Haven. Because whatever was rattling around in that bullheaded kid's immune system was like nothing the doctor had ever seen before.

It started so innocuously. A slight pain behind his eardrums that he could ignore. Stiffness in the joints that he put down to having finally passed forty. Something sluggish in the chest, almost like anxiety.

He already had Anxiety, that didn't narrow anything down at all.

And then, without warning, the symptoms all combined and intensified. It felt like influenza, but without the respiratory distress. Worse somehow.

The boy was present when the symptoms crossed from incubation to a full manifestation of whatever hell he'd just contracted. The timing could hardly be worse: he'd just finished reprimanding two young scouts for fighting in the vehicle pit. And of course, Jak had been one of those scouts. He'd thrown the first punch, because of course he had, but at least it hadn't been unprovoked this time.

"At least". As if there being two guilty parties was somehow better.

Evidently young Kwan had proposed some kind of bet revolving around artifacts, and suggested that the loser would have to go shirtless for a day and show off their scars.

Damas didn't support Jak breaking his nose, but seeing as he was convinced that every Wastelander under twenty-five had some degree of senselessness, he supposed it was probably a valuable lesson for Kwan.

Which did, unfortunately, make it hard to rule fairly between them.

Ultimately, Kwan was given a sharp rebuke about goading non-consenting comrades into bets -- especially when some degree of their autonomy was on the line.

Jak's reprimand was more along the lines of warning him to either walk away or find an older Wastelander to handle things, blast it all-!

But seeing as Jak was the first one to throw a punch, it was Jak who had to forfeit the artifacts he'd picked up for the day in order to pay for the eco Kwan would need.

Not that this stopped Damas from adding that this hadn't been the first time Kwan's love of bets had gotten him into trouble, but by Volcan it had better be the last.

A rather shame-faced Kwan had just left the tower -- like rot was Damas going to allow them to occupy the same elevator at the same time, somebody would be dead before the ground floor -- when the lung cramps started.

"I'm...sorry," Jak was in the middle of saying, with extreme reluctance, "for fighting in the garages. I'm not sorry for hitting him, though."

When his only answer was an unnaturally wet sounding cough, he looked up to find Damas clinging to his staff for support. His other hand gripped his chest, veins standing out. He'd gone pale.

"Oh shi- Damas!" Jak ran up the stairs. "What's wrong?"

"Are you choking?" Daxter asked in loud, exaggeratedly slow words, "Do you need assistance?"

What's it look like?! Damas wanted to shout, but he could barely get his lungs to expand enough to breathe, let alone speak.

Something bitter and hot flooded his mouth on the next cough.

At least his lungs had reopened with the ejection of the fluid, but he couldn't help wondering if he'd just coughed up a vital organ. Damas spat, and something thick and colorless splattered across his boots. It wasn't bile, nor mucus. There were, on closer inspection, specks of color floating in it. Green, red, yellow, blue- the colors of eco, but far more saturated than they had any right to be.

Jak pulled his fingerless glove off and laid the back of his hand against Damas’s forehead like he was a child. Just as quickly, he removed it.

"Uh. Have you been having like...a lot of aches? Joints and jaws and stuff?" he asked nervously.

Damas glared at him, but ultimately nodded.

"Crap. Crap crap- uhhhh okay. Okay!" Jak ran his fingers through his hair.

"Damas, you gotta sit down, okay? It's Blackwater virus, so altitude is bad, right?"

"Th' rot's* Blackwater?" Damas rasped. He clenched his teeth against the ache in his jaws.

"Pal," Daxter said to Jak, with an unusual gentleness, "They don't have that here. Probably haven't for a long time, you get me?"

The ottsel hopped down from his shoulder. "You stay with Lumpy Lungs there, I'm getting a doc to rule out everything else."

Damas knew without asking that Daxter was trying to spare Jak. That boy had a debilitating fear of exam chairs that went beyond the usual childhood disdain for doctor appointments. And by now, Damas wasn't the only Spargan who had connected the dots between his fear of doctors and his refusal to let anyone see all of his scars.

Jak took hold of his arm and pushed him down to sit on the stairs. Any other day the manhandling would've gotten someone at least a good punch in the gut. But right now Damas could barely catch his breath enough to stand his ground. That was humiliating even without the unidentified fluid still lurking at the back of his throat.

"Okay, okay-" Jak was talking more to himself than to Damas. "Eco's pretty saturated so you're prooooobably right at the beginning of this. Crap.”

The boy dropped to sit beside him with a groan.

"I- crap! I'm sorry, Damas! I didn't think I was in here often enough to pass Blackwater to you! I swear, I thought I wasn't contagious anymore!"

The pinching in Damas’s lungs returned, and with it, the wrenching coughs.

"You-?" he managed to gasp.

Jak winced. He looked so strangely young when he felt guilty about something.

"Two- two weeks ago? Remember I didn't take any jobs for a couple days and you had someone go make sure I was still in the city? I was getting over Blackwater virus. I um."

He tilted his head back and blew out a breath.

"Used to only get it when I was little. But after the- after what Praxis did to me, I'm more susceptible to it than I used to be. Usually I can catch it in the incubation period before it gets bad, but I've been more focused on work than tracking symptoms."

"Why," Damas wheezed, "didn't you just get eco?"

"From the white coats? Rot no!" Jak snapped.

"From. The well." Damas bent double with another cough. "I know. You're. A channeler."

"Oh." Jak looked away and tapped his fingers together nervously. "Good point. But...no, eco doesn't work on Blackwater."

"What?"

"It's the eco that's infected."

"What?!"

* author's note: the use of "rot" as a curse word in Spargus is used as an abbreviation of an older curse. The full phrase, usually lobbed at Marauders during skirmishes, would be "Go rot with your dead gods". That's a bit of a mouthful, so Wastelanders just looking for a handy expletive will shorten it to "rot"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>

Legend said no one had ever made Damas of Spargus do anything against his will. Or at least, no one that lived to tell the tale. The previous ruler of Spargus didn't count. Just the idea of telling the king where he could and couldn't go was sacrilegious!

...unless you were the new kid, apparently.

In fairness, Damas didn't actually remember Jak talking to the doctor and that blasted moncaw. He didn't remember the moncaw reluctantly giving in to Jak’s...strongly-worded...demands to be shown where Damas slept at night. What he did remember was a ringing in his ears that blocked all sound, and a vicious ache in the front of his skull. He remembered someone slinging his arm over their shoulder, and then he was coughing too hard to actually pay any kind of attention to his surroundings whatsoever.

He didn't remember entering his rooms. But he most certainly remembered the moment he realized he was on the couch he used as a bed when he couldn't bear to unlock the room he'd shared with his wife and child. Jak was all but shouting at a monk who had apparently followed them in.

"He doesn't need eco! You give him that, he's gonna feel five times worse!"

"I hardly think a boy is qualified to tell me the ways of eco."

"It's rottin' Blackwater! You wanna help him, or you wanna poison him?!"

The monk planted his feet. "You will not stop me from treating my king, newcomer." He reached for the flask of eco all monks carried.

Daxter made a sound like a buzzer. "Brrrzt! Wrong answer! Jak, get this clown outta here."

Before Jak could oblige, Damas caught him by the wrist.

"No. Fighting," he coughed, and gave what he hoped was a stern look.

Jak softened his voice immediately. "I'm not, I'm not. Trust me, okay? I'm helping you."

"Sire!" cried the monk, clearly worried, "The scout won't listen to reason! The doctor brought me in because he couldn't identify this poison in your system! Let me give you the eco your body needs to heal, please!"

Jak shook his head firmly. "The virus will use it.”

"What virus?!" Brother Rhys exploded, "These are not the symptoms of a disease, they are the symptoms of a toxin!"

"I am aware." Jak turned away from him. "I get this about once every two months. I know what I'm talking about, okay?"

Daxter hopped up onto the couch as if he meant to intercept any eco. "It sounds counterintuitive, but you gotta go with the old ways on this one, doc. Modern medicine makes it worse."

Jak crouched in front of the couch, ignoring the monk.

"I'm gonna get you some water, okay?" he said in a low voice, "This is pretty much going to wreck your system for a couple days. You should probably cancel any meetings you got coming up."

"Probably?" Daxter sounded offended. "Try absolutely! Blackwater puts you out of commission for days, and you're you!"

"I'm not gonna tell you what to do-" Jak started.

"Yeah we are," Daxter interrupted.

"...yeah, I am," Jak sighed in resignation.

"I know it sucks, okay? But you gotta let this flush itself out."

"And how. Exactly. Will it do that?" Damas growled.

Who did this boy think he was, giving him orders like they were kin? He was barely out of puberty and he wanted to take command?

"Charcoal."

"You must be joking," Rhys complained, "We've gone back to the dark ages!"

"Why d'you think it's called Blackwater?" Daxter asked dryly. "You gotta flush the toxins the old fashioned way."

"Don't think," Damas wheezed around another chest cramp, "that there won't be a reckoning for this, boy, because there will."

"Uh-huh. After you drink the charcoal.”

[favvn]

Sometimes I wish that the episode Mirror, Mirror actually showed us how Mirror!Kirk reacted when beaming aboard the USS Enterprise because it's snippets like this that show that Mirror!Kirk has all of Kirk's skills and logic but none of the conscience to reign in his opportunism. He's hardly an emotional or barbaric loose-cannon. He's calculated, thoughtful (but not where other's lives or feelings are concerned unless they can give benefit to him), and disciplined.

In other words, yeah, Shatner chewed the scenery as always with Mirror!Kirk's outburst in the brig when it could've been acted with subtlety, and of course the Mirror landing party would have to be quickly seen as imposters so that the episode can focus on Kirk as The Good Guy, but the reality is that Mirror!Kirk could've played along just like Kirk did until he could arrange for a sneaky transport out.

[lokiified]

a world with you

summary: when you get back from a mission, and Ethan isn't there.

pairing: ethan hunt x f!agent!reader

word count: 2.8k

author's notes: descriptions of injury, mention of a python snake, anxiety over major character death, flirty banter and some suggestive stuff, reference to a Jason Mraz song, so angsty for a bit but sweet fluff i promise, established relationship, no use of y/n, taking care of ethan bc he deserves it, i imagined this with mi2 ethan bc that look is just unmatched so this takes place in like 2007

The innocent mumble of traffic below the window was starting to give you a headache. Your ears had been strained, pricked-up to the slightest of noises, for what felt like ages.

Battered and bruised from the mission, you’d stumbled into the safehouse a mere hour ago. You were running on only adrenaline and Ethan’s training playing on loop in your brain as you instinctively started undressing to clean your wounds. The haze in your mind mercifully numbed the burn of rubbing alcohol and the aches in your bones, and when you finally came-to you’d showered and changed into a clean set of clothes. It was then that you realized that you didn’t know where Ethan was.

“If I don’t make it back, please don’t come looking for me,” he’d always said, brushing gentle lines across your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, “keep yourself safe first.” He would press a soft kiss to your forehead, as if it would seal his words into your mind.

But now, now that he really wasn’t here, now that it was the fear of a dreaded possibility coming true that was clawing it’s way done your spine, it took more strength than any mission to keep yourself from throwing on your jacket and boots and marching back into the world, exhausted as you were, to find him.

The mission was simple: get in, plant a trace on a necklace in the hotel’s vault, and get out. You’d both been expecting the security in the back hallways of the hotel, but what you hadn’t prepared for was that one of the goons was an ex-agent, defected and gone rogue a few years prior; he recognized the two of you immediately. In the midst of the struggle, you’d been separated from Ethan.

Now, hands trembling as they fidgeted in your lap, you were waiting. The window in the living room was open and the apartment was dark, depriving every other sense to focus all of your attention on listening, waiting for Ethan to come back. Surely he was going to come back?

But the men were big and there were at least a dozen of them, and the memory was pierced with the crack of gunshots beneath the haze of adrenaline as you made a break for it.

You… made a break for it? Why did you run? Why didn’t you stay and fight like Ethan probably did? You were such a coward. How could you leave him there to fend for himself? Of course he’s can take care of himself, but what if he’s dead?

Then it would be your fault.

The guilt suddenly choked your lungs like a python with its prey, stifled sobs wreaking silent havoc on your body as you pulled your legs up to your chest and hugged yourself, burying your face into your knees. He was dead and it was your fault, all your fault. He had always been so selfless, so brave and so willing to do anything for you, even back when he barely knew you. You were a horrible person. You could never face Luther again; not with the knowledge that it was your fault Ethan was dead, that you had killed him—

“Agent?”

Your head snapped up from your knees, eyes locking onto the figure that had appeared in the window’s reflection. The sudden roar of blood pounding in your ears made you dizzy, and you squinted into the inky black night as you stumbled through the fog in your brain: he certainly looked like your Ethan, although the silhouette of his hair falling around his shoulders was the only detail you could make out in the darkness, but it seem impossible. He couldn’t be here. You’d left him behind, he was dead and it was all your fault. But then who was this man that had the key to the safehouse? Should you run? Suddenly the reflection was moving, then there was movement in your peripheral, and a figure that looked a whole lot like the Ethan you loved came and crouched in front of you.

“Hey,” he whispered, “I’m right here.”

His hands reached your waist but you jumped back at his touch and scrambled into the cushions, half expecting this to all be a hallucination. His hands recoiled and quickly raised in surrender, his brows twitching together with worry as he watched you, your chest beginning to heave in panic. Your heart longed to believe it was Ethan, wanted nothing more than to melt into his touch, but it didn’t make sense for him to be here.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on yours as he slowly lowered a hand. You eyed the gun on the holster around his shoulders, but he moved past it and found the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one slowly and moving to slide the shirt over his shoulders. He quickly dropped it on the floor and brought his hands up again.

“It’s me, okay? I promise. You can check, I promise it’s me.”

You inspected him from afar, noting the smattering of bruises across his ribs and the graze of a bullet on the underside of his right arm, crusted over with blood. His skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat and grime, but nowhere could you find any seams or signs of deception. You moved closer to him.

“Tell me something only my Ethan would know about me,” you said, your voice wavering in the aftermath of your panic. Ethan smiled, warming your heart with his radiance.

“Our first date was two years ago, in Rome, when our mission got called off after we’d already landed. I took you to dinner at a rooftop restaurant that overlooked the city, and we danced to that Jason Mraz song you love so much-“

“A World With You,” you finished with him, slipping off the cushion and into his open arms on the floor. His arms encircled you and squeezed gently, and your tears came spilling out of you at the comfort of his touch. He moved so his back was against the couch and you were cradled in his arms, his head resting atop yours as he stroked your arms to soothe you.

“I thought you were dead, I thought they killed you… I thought you were dead and it was my fault because I left you there, how could I leave you there?” The words tumbled out of you between sobs, your mind and body expelling all of your fears into his warm embrace.

“No, hey, I told you to run, remember?” He said, bringing a hand to lift your face and look at him. “I told you to run as soon as the guard recognized us, remember?” You shook your head, trying to recall his voice but all you could hear was the sound of gunshots and shouting fading behind you as you raced through the halls.

“I promise I told you to run, okay?” He brushed away the trail of tears on your cheeks and moved the hair out of your face as he spoke. “You were just following orders, you did the right thing.” His voice was like a balm to your wounds, soothing the guilt that gripped your chest. The rest of the night was coming back to you; Ethan’s frantic shout when he realized the situation with the guard, his promise to come find you. Your breathing evened out. You became aware of his own heart beating solidly beneath your weight, of the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

“Yeah… yeah okay,” you whispered, resting your head against his chest again. You focused on breathing, on the steady thumping of Ethan’s heart, the proof that he was alive here with you.

“We should really get you cleaned up,” you said after a while, and he sighed.

“I missed you,” he replied as he squeezed you tighter.

“I missed you too, but that doesn’t change the fact that you desperately need a shower.” His head sprung away from resting atop yours and he looked at you in disbelief.

“What are you saying, Agent?”

You pecked a kiss on his nose and grinned, “you stink.”

He broke into a grin and leaned closer to you, placing a hand on the back of your head and capturing your lips in a kiss. You moved in perfect tandem with each other, the anxieties of the day fading into the background as you poured your heart into this moment, this single moment where nothing else exists besides the two of you, kissing in the dark like two teenagers on stolen time.

Your arms draped over his shoulders and your hands moved to tangle in his hair, pressing your body against his as if you could get any closer to him. His hands moved between cupping your face and gripping your waist like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you more. His teeth caught your lower lip and you released a breathy moan, and you felt his lips curl into a smile at the sound. He broke away with heavy breathing, pushing your hair out of your face.

“I thought I smelled bad” he whispered with a smile as you caught your breath.

“Oh you do.” Ethan leaned in to kiss you again, but you pulled away and stood to your feet. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” His face melted into a pout and you laughed, causing his lips to twitch up into a smile and betray his feigned offence. You reached your hands out to him and he accepted your help, standing up slowly. You noted the way he grimaced as he stood and your eyes flicked across his body in search of the source of his pain.

“Do you need help walking to the bathroom?” you asked, then rolled your eyes when he quickly shook his head. “Let me rephrase that: I’m going to help you walk to the bathroom.” Ethan grinned at you and accepted your aid, slinging an arm around your shoulder and lending you some of his weight. Slowly, the two of you made it to the bathroom where you set him down on the closed toilet seat. His shirt stayed behind on the floor of the living room, and in the dim light and sweet aroma of the candles you found in the cupboard you helped Ethan peel off the rest of his clothes and expose the wounds underneath. Mercifully, there were no major gashes besides the bullet graze on his arm.

“Are you injured at all?”

You gave him a stern look, “you’re not allowed to ask that until I’m done taking care of you.” You finished wrapping his arm and stepped back to inspect the rest of him, then walked over to the tub and started running the hot water.

You noticed the way his eyes followed you wherever you went, his gaze warm and filled with longing, like you were the most important thing in the world.

As the tub filled up you helped Ethan to his feet and into the now ankle-deep water. You pulled two towels and a facecloth from the shelf and put them on the mat in front of the tub. You’d showered earlier, but you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to pamper Ethan after a hard day. Goodness knows he deserves it.

You shut off the water and slid out of your sweats and t-shirt, the chill of the darkened apartment hitting you suddenly before you dipped your toes in the water. It was the perfect temperature, and warmed you instantly as you submitted yourself further into its embrace. You both sat facing each other, knees to your chests, the steam of the water rising up to color your cheeks and twist Ethan’s hair into curls.

Allowing the silence to linger like the steam in the air, you motioned for Ethan to turn around so his back was to you. You cupped your hands and brought water up to his head, soaking his hair through. You smiled to yourself as you reached for the shampoo, grateful that Ethan had remembered to bring his own products. He was very passionate about his precious hair, and the IMF’s safehouse supplies were never up to his standards.

You massaged the product into his scalp, the tension that remained in his neck melting away with every press of your fingers. His head rolled back and his shoulders dropped, and you caught a glimpse of his small smile, eyes closed in bliss. I should do this more often, you thought to yourself.

When you were done with his hair you pulled the showerhead from its hook on the wall and rinsed his head, combing your fingers through the strands as you went. Once the last of the shampoo was rinsed out you took the facecloth and lathered it up with soap. Gently, you scrubbed away the sweat and grime from the day, kneading the sore muscles beneath Ethan’s battered skin.

“I remember this one,” you whispered, so as not to startle him in the sacred stillness that had settled over the room. Your ministrations had paused at a long white scar, poorly healed and puckered. You dragged your finger down it, from the top of his right shoulder blade to his waist. “You got it in Malasia, back in ’04.” Ethan turned around to face you, a serious look set into his features.

“I remember,” he said, and you could see him flipping through the memories in his head. “You were captured. I disobeyed direct orders and went to rescue you.”

Your lips twitched up into a smile; he had saved your life that day.

“That was the day I realized I loved you.”

The sound of limbs wading through water wafted up your ears in the steam as you watched Ethan’s face, his hand coming up from the water to cup your face and his head leaning forward to rest against yours. You closed your eyes, feeling the heat radiating from his body and the dew that was rising on his skin from the heat of the water.

You’d always found a way back to each other, even before everything.

After a few minutes he pulled away and pressed a kiss to the edge of your hair, inhaling to smell your shampoo and smiling against your skin. You raised yourself out of the water and his eyes grazed over your body, a hint of his playboy smirk surfacing but he seemed to think better of it; it had been a long, tiring day for the both of you. Instead of whatever had crossed his mind, he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on the front of each of your thighs. When you were both dried off, you pulled on your clothes from earlier.

“Let me go get you something, I’ll be right back.”

You returned with a soft cotton t-shirt, a deep green that complimented his tanned skin and chestnut hair beautifully, and his favorite pair of sweatpants. The sight of him in such comfortable clothes, a cheeky smile on his face, made your heart soar with joy. He deserved every comfort you could ever bring him. His hands were warm when they reached yours, fingers intertwining as you lead him into the darkened bedroom, the moon and city lights casting a gentle blue glow onto the bed.

You fell asleep almost instantly, but Ethan laid awake for hours. Despite the exhaustions of the day, he didn’t feel like he could sleep yet. He had been worried about you too; worried he would come back to the safehouse and find it empty, void of your presence which he so desperately needed. He always needed you, but after days like today he felt like he might die without you. There was no one else he felt safe enough to surrender to; no one else he could give his weakness and pain to and trust them to handle it with care.

The gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath his arm was continuously drawing him closer to sleep, but he felt the need to reflect on your time together and make sure he hasn’t taken anything for granted after being half-convinced he had lost you today.

He thought of Rome, of the way your face shone in the glow of the city lights beneath the rooftop where you danced with him. He thought of waking up beside you in countless countries that the average person could never name. He thought of the day he told you he loved you, hiding in a Russian forest while hiding for your lives. He thought of the day you were assigned to his team, your sweet and innocent face immediately lighting up his world despite the darkness that haunts him.

With your hands intertwined, your bodies as close as physically possible, and his mind filled with memories of a world with you, Ethan finally submitted himself to rest.

[greeenchrysanthemums]

Thus Always to Tyrants

Chapter 4: Bitter Bonds.

Gem is the commander of the Wintertide royal army, Grian is the leader of a resistance hell bent on taking the crown down no matter the cost. It was only natural that they would become enemies.

Beginning -> previous -> next (tba)

Read on ao3 ❀ here ❀

CW: manipulation, dubious morality, and overall poor behavior from Grian.

Words: 5,045

Pov: Grian

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

“You told me that all you were doing during the festival was meeting with that Crestian man!” Pearl hissed, her hands fisted in the front of Grian’s shirt.  Her large, silver and white wolf-dog, Tilly, growled at her side, snapping at Grian’s ankles but never actually biting.

The hold lifted him off of the ground, the tips of his talons just barely scraping the cobbled ground of the alleyway behind the M&E Tinkering Shop in downtown Capital, where he had some business to attend to. Not that he ever made it inside to take care of said business, though. She had grabbed him and dragged him into the shadows before he could so much as think of setting a talon on the threshold. 

“Joel has a name, you know.” Grian said in leu of an answer. Pearl shook him and pulled his face closer to her own, her warm breath smelling of mead where it fanned across his face. If it were anyone else manhandling him in such a way, he would have clawed their eyes out in an instant for daring to treat him like this, but because it was Pearl he let it slide for now. The two of them went way back, after all. He could hardly maim an old friend

“I don’t care about his bloody name, the point is that you lied to me!” She growled.

“I did not lie to you. I never said I would or wouldn’t be talking to Gem during the festival. If anything, I withheld the truth.” Grian defended himself. And it was true! He didn’t intend to run into her on that specific night, but it worked out nicely in the end.

“As if that is any better!” She snapped, dropping him roughly and turning away to run a hand through her long, mousey curls. “Do you have any idea how messy this is going to be now that she is involved?”

“I am failing to see why this is such a big deal, Pearl. She was already involved, all I did was make her a little more aware of things.” Grian argued, readjusting his crooked cloak and fixing her with an annoyed look.

“She may have already been involved, but now you’ve brought her closer than she ever needed to be. She’ll either ruin our entire plan or she’ll end up dead.” Pearl said. She had the edge of her thumb in her mouth, teeth tearing at the cuticle as she stared into the distance, deep in thought. Tilly remained hunched at his feet, her ruby red eyes training on him as she growled. Grian eyed both of them wearily.

“Believe it or not, I have no intention of letting Gem die, she has a vital part to play in all of this. It was always part of the plan to inform her of something stirring in the shadows. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you would be so passionate about her involvement.” Grian admitted. “I didn’t realize that the two of you were so…close.”

“We’re not!” She snapped at him, baring her teeth with a snarl. Tilly growled louder and gave him a short bark. Grian had always found it endearing that the old dog mirrored her owner's emotions so much, but he was inclined to like it a little less when she pointed those deadly teeth at him.

“You could have fooled me,” Grian said, raising his eyebrows at her, unamused. “You need to tell me immediately if you have something more going on with the commander than I know off. As far as I remembered, you were just pretending to be on her good side to smuggle information out to us. If that’s changed, you’re a liability and you're out.”

“There is nothing between us. I could care less about her,” Pearl said immediately. There was uncertainty in her voice, doubt in her eyes. There was a kind of guilt lingering in their depths as well. 

“Then why are you so bothered by all of this?” Grian asked, crossing his arms and turning his chin up to her.

“Because! This makes my job so much more difficult.” Pearl snarled before sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, “I will have to work twice as hard to keep her off of my tail now that she’s going to be looking for suspicious behavior. At the very least, I would have liked a little bit of a warning before you went and pulled a stunt like this. I did not need to be blindsided by the information and hear of it through Gem herself instead of from you, someone I am supposed to trust.”

“So you’ll have to do a little bit more work, you knew what you signed up for with the resistance. It’s not as though she suspects you of anything currently, does she?” Grian stated smugly, spreading his arms out with a smirk.

“No, she doesn’t.” Pearl bit out, a vicious anger dripping from her mouth like froth from the maw of a snarling wolf. Tilly’s lips pulled back as she bared her teeth at him a second time, appearing just moments away from pouncing. He spared the dog barely a glance, knowing with certainty that she wouldn’t attack him.

“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” Grian asked dismissively.

“Yes.” She spat, still glaring at him, her hands clenched into fists.

“Great. Now, do you mind letting me do what I came here to do?” He asked somewhat sarcastically before turning and heading inside. Just as he suspected she would, she followed after him despite not needing to, still seething as she did so. 

Pearl whistled and pointed at the ground just outside of the shop's entrance and Tilly obeyed the command, curling up in the dirt with her tail tucked around her old body. The dog’s angry eyes followed Grian until he disappeared from view, her ears flickering with annoyance.

He didn’t blame Pearl for being angry, she had every right to be, after all. He knew that it was foolish to involve Gem without informing her, but giving the commander the warning sooner rather than later had worked in their favour anyway, so it was not as though it was a big deal in the end. The streets may now be filled to the brim with guards that could catch them any moment, which meant they had to be extra careful when traversing the capital, but that made snooping around the castle so much easier!

Gem had tried her best to divide Wintertide’s forces evenly, but there were only so many knights at her disposal, and many of them were not nearly as well trained as he was sure she would like them to be, all of them far too complacent and lazy in wake of the tense peace times. They had already been able to get people inside without anyone being any wiser of it. The move had been an overall positive for the movement.

And, besides, now that he had done it, he was pleased with how Pearl had reacted. He had suspected for quite some time now that the relationship between the two women wasn’t the purely transactional one Pearl tried to make it out to be. He had his suspicions that the younger woman had let herself grow attached somewhere along the way, and this was all the confirmation that he needed to prove just that. 

He would now have to keep a close eye on her, limit how much information she was privy to. It wasn’t the most ideal situation, but he would have to make do with it. She was a valuable player in his game, he could not simply drop her like he had threatened to. He was smart enough to realize that he needed her.

The dimly lit inside of the shop was neither small nor spacious. It was the perfect medium size to house the cobbled front counter, rows of shelves against the walls, and barrels upon barrels full of scrap metal and wood, as well as some toy weapons thrown into the mix. Knick knacks of all varieties ranging from clocks to toys and music boxes all lined the hand crafted and well worn shelves.

Birds, dragons, and other flying creatures made of carefully woven precious metals were hanging from thin chains attached to the support frames in the ceiling, their jewel eyes reflecting back the dim light from the lanterns that mixed in with the ornate animals. Pearl had to duck to avoid hitting her head on some of the more low hanging ones. 

Soot and woodchips messied the floors and the counter, showing that the broom leaning against the wall at the entrance was for little more than display. There were a few customers milling about, looking on the shelves and in the barrels for what might fit their fancy, but the people Grian was seeking were nowhere in sight.

However, they were inside no more than a few minutes before a loud bang met their ears and hot air rushed towards them to singe their faces and the tips of their hair as something exploded in the back room, answering the mystery of their whereabouts in an instant.

The door behind the counter was blasted open, banging against the wall with enough force to shake the foundation of the building. Black smoke billowed out of the doorway and customers rushed out of the building with exclamations of panic. Moments later, a tall, spindly man with a mustache stumbled out of the back room coughing up a storm, his red leather apron and the clothes underneath it both thoroughly covered in black grime.

“Oh, Mumbo, when will you learn to not explode your projects?” Grian taunted as he stepped closer to his friend, his lips quirking into a genuine half-smile. The taller man pulled his soot stained goggles up and set them on top of his blown back hair. 

“Grian!” Mumbo exclaimed between coughs before ambling over to the avian and pulling him up into a hug. “We thought you were going to be coming ‘round later than this, mate! Thought I had some time to work on this before you got here.”

“I decided to come a little early.” He replied, patting Mumbo’s back. He was set down back onto his feet just as a man a little shorter than Mumbo stumbled out of the still smoking room, his usually snow white hair turned an ashy grey colour, his own leather apron and green tunic equally covered in muck. His goggles were already pushed up and must have not been covering his eyes when the explosion went off, because even his eyelids were stained black.

“Oh snappers, you’re early, boss. Sorry about the smoke.” Etho said apologetically as he made his way over to a pulley that sat against the right hand wall. He pulled on it, hand over hand, and slowly a hatch opened in the ceiling and the smoke began to clear out.

“It’s no problem.” Grian said, dusting himself off to clear away the bits of soot Mumbo had gotten on him.

Mumbo scanned the room to make sure everyone but them was cleared out before going over to the front door and locking it, waving a hand at them to follow him towards the back door. “Well, let's get to it then.”

“We’re not going to explode, as well, if we go in there, are we?” Pearl jested. Mumbo’s cheeks turned red and Etho laughed.

“No, you should be perfectly safe. It was just a little explosion anyway.” Etho replied.

“Just a little explosion, he says,” Pearl said absently with a roll of her eyes as she followed Mumbo into the back. Grian followed behind them, pulling his hood down as he went. It was pretty hot in the little shop.

Mumbo Jumbo and Etho Lab, one of Grian’s oldest friends and a Wintertide royal knight turned traitor, both of whom just so happened to be two of Grian’s most valuable resistance members. Though Etho’s inside intel has long since become obsolete, and he was now a wanted criminal who was hiding from the law in plain sight, the knowledge on explosives and combat he possessed from his time in the war was invaluable when combined with Mumbo’s keen skill for creating machines and weaponry. The two of them made a hell of a team.

The two men weren’t the most serious people he had ever met. In fact, they were both a bit laid back and goofy most of the time, and that had initially made him hesitant to pair them together in the start, but they always got the job done when push came to shove. That was all that mattered to Grian in the end. 

In the center of the back room was a long, wooden table covered in the scraps of something large, the abused oak scratched up and decorated in scorch marks. Evidently, the scraps were the cause of the mysterious explosion, smoke still coming off of them in black and grey swirls.

There was a stone hearth against the left wall, the dying embers flickering in shades of yellow and orange. Bags and barrels full of who knows what, as well as half finished projects, littered the ground and spilled off of the large shelf that covered the entire back wall.

“Alright then, let's cut right to the chase,” Grian started, “Pearl pawned it off to you two, so where is it?” 

“It’s just over here,” Etho said, walking over to a part of the expansive shelf that was occupied entirely by books. He pulled out a large, black, leather bound book with ornate royal purple detailing on the cover and spine. The front was damaged, the design that was meant to adorn it scratched off, but he knew that it was like that before his resistance member's took possession of the book. It was an intentional defacing that had to have been done centuries ago.

“In the bookcase? A little on the nose, don’t you think?” Grian said, equal parts amused and peeved.

“Well, people would assume we’d hide it, would they not? The bookcase would be the last place they think to look. Hiding in plain sight has worked out for me this far.” Etho said, the corners of his eyes scrunching up in a way that suggested he was smiling as he passed the book off to the avian.

“I can’t argue with that.” Grian barked out a laugh as he pulled the book carefully out of Etho’s grasp, delicately flipping through the aged pages that felt as though they would fall apart if he wasn't careful.

“I’m still not sure what that is or why you made me steal that dusty old thing, but it better have been worth all the effort I put into it. I have a bruise the size of Bigb’s famous cookies on my arsecheek.” Pearl said from where she was standing leant against the center table with her arms crossed.

“I also don’t understand why we had to take it after the fact. It made our jobs that night a lot harder, you know, having to worry about some dusty old book and get our task done at the same time.” Mumbo piped up as he tinkered on a new gadget on the blackened table surface, ignoring the smoking husk.

“This, my dear allies, is a grimoire. A highly valuable one at that.” Grian grinned, a deeply satisfied smiling splitting his face. “And I had Pearl hand it off to you because she is an outsider that close to someone inside of the castle. If they noticed it missing, which they miraculously haven’t as of now, she would be one of their main suspects and it would be found immediately if they searched her belongings. 

“You two, however, are nowhere on the kingdom’s radar outside of being the cause of more than a dozen noise complaints. That’s another reason I waited a few days to come here, so that it would be less likely for anyone to be looking for me, and they would be less likely to trace the book's disappearance to you.”

“So you knew that they would suspect me first and didn’t think to give me a heads up on that either?” Pearl asked, that angry upturn to her lips returning. It disturbed him just a bit how similar she and Tilly looked some of the time. It brought to mind the old magic tales about mages melding their souls together with a beast in order to strengthen their magic. He had no doubt that in another world, the two of them would have gladly joined their souls into one.

“We’ve been over this, you knew it was a risk when you agreed to be a mole. There's no need to be angry about it now.” Grian said, waving his hand at her as he continued to search for the page he was looking for.

“But, wait, a grimoire? As in, for magic?” Etho asked, wringing his gloved hands together nervously.

“Yes, Etho, for magic,” Grian said, raising his eyes to give the man a semi-manic grin.

“What use could you possibly have for that? No one in our ranks knows any magic.” Pearl stated suspiciously. Mumbo gave him a grim, knowing look and notedly avoided his eyes.

“Let’s not worry about that at this moment.” Grian said, snapping the book closed and tucking it away in the waistband of his trousers. “So, tell me, is everything coming along nicely?”

Etho still looked unsure as he shuffled over to the table to stand by Mumbo’s side, and Pearl looked annoyed more than she did angry now, so that was an improvement. Mumbo rubbed his sooty forehead and sighed.

“Everything is going according to plan for the most part,” Mumbo said. Grian waited for the ‘but’ that sat on the tip of the mustached man’s tongue. “The explosives are still unpredictable, though. There's no telling if they will work how we intend. They could cause more damage or less damage than we are anticipating.”

Mumbo gestured towards Etho, who nodded and went back over to the back wall, retrieving a rolled up tube of paper from the uppermost left part of the shelf before coming back and handing them to his partner. Mumbo unrolled the first and spread it out across the table, brushing loose debris and thick soot out of the way to avoid soiling the parchment too badly. 

“And how are we planning to counter that?” Grian asked. He hopped up to hold onto the back of Mumbo’s chair, his talons latching onto the semi-splintered wood as he peered over his shoulder at the map of the castle grounds the other man pulled out.

“In the event that it causes more damage, that will work in our favour, so we don’t have to worry about that too much. If it does less, then we’ve planted a series of explosives here” He pointed to the garden walls, “and here” He traced his finger over towards the far side of the stables.

“These are spots in the wall that we found are exceptionally weak and shouldn’t need as much force as other parts to destroy, so no matter how much damage the blasts cost we’ll be able to break in regardless. They aren’t the most defendable spots within the inner walls, though, and thus are not our first picks for entry points, which is why they've been relegated to back up. “ Etho picked up where Mumbo left off, lazily scratching at the scarred skin at the edge of his empty eye socket as he did so.

“Perfect, good work, you two.” Grian said, eyes scanning over the map and taking in all of the bold Xs that littered the surface, all indicative of explosives they’ve planted inside of the castle walls and beneath the ground where they would be undetectable.

“What of casualties?” Pearl asked suddenly. All three men looked up at her tilted head and pinched expression. “This sounds like a lot of destruction.”

“We hope to end the fighting before the innocents have the chance to get involved. That’s why we’re employing the help of Coral Crest, so that we can overwhelm them quickly and effectively. The explosions also will not touch the castle itself, and they will be set off when the least amount of people are likely to be out and about. That’s why you were asked to observe schedules over the years, we’re going to use that to avoid as many casualties as possible.” Grian soothed. It seemed to quell some of Pearl’s worries as her wrinkled brow smoothed out and she nodded before looking away.

“Have you heard from Cleo lately?” Etho asked to break the sudden tension.

“I have not, no.” Grian admitted, “Have they been trying to contact me?”

Etho nodded, “She needs to talk to you about the sword production, and they had a question for you about arrow tips or something like that. I wasn’t paying much attention, to be honest. We’re all also getting pretty antsy for news about the next group meeting.”

“The next meeting should be within the next few days or by the end of the coming fortnight. I’ll be sure to get into contact with Cleo before that; thank you for informing me of the matter.” Grian said before hopping off the back of Mumbo’s chair and landing on the ground with light feet. “Is that all there is to discuss today? Do any of you have anything to add or ask of me?”

“Just one more thing!” Mambo said before jumping to his feet and rushing over to one of the barrels. He rooted around in it before producing a handful of smoke bombs like the one he had used on Gem the day of the festival. They always made sure to have them stocked up for Grian; they were his favorite playthings.

“Thank you, I had almost forgotten to ask about them.” Grian said, gladly accepting them with a smile.

“No problem, mate.” Mambo replied cheerfully. His eyes were serious, though, as he pulled away from Grian, gaze drifting down to where he had tucked the book away with weariness. Grian met his eyes and smiled. Whether it was a reassuring smile or a dismissive one, who was to say.

With that Grian shook both men’s hands, bidding them warm farewells before he was off, leaving the shop with a promise to be in contact again soon. Pearl and Tilly followed hot on his heels as he traveled through the city before stopping just at the forest's edge.

“You better keep me better informed in the future, Grian. I don’t like being used like that.” Pearl warned. She glared at him over her shoulder, blue eyes appearing almost crimson in the waning light, far too wolf-like for his liking.

“Of course, Pearl.” He said simply. She huffed at him before turning to face forward and stalking back into the city, a growling Tilly at her side as her red cloak swayed from side to side.

He watched her go until she melted into the crowd, a cold feeling burning in his stomach where the book was resting and creeping up towards his throat. Once she was entirely out of sight, he pivoted and made his way into the thickets, wishing he could fly to get home quicker. His talon’s ached from being on them for so long.

As he walked through the forest a second pair of footsteps joined his own nimble ones, crushing the leaves and snapped branches under heavy boots, a cane thudding against the ground in beat with each step. An echoey meow filled the air and Jellie trotted up to walk beside him, her tiny legs moving fast to keep pace as she occasionally rubbed her cold head against his leg.

“Couldn’t wait for me to make it back to the hideout?” Grian asked, tilting his head up and back to meet Scar’s unnaturally green eyes. The man grinned at him, the smile all teeth and sinister, sharp edges.

“Do you finally have it?” Scar asked in place of answering Grian’s question. Grian didn’t answer and instead stopped in the middle of the forest to pull the book free and hold it out to him. Scar snatched it away with overeager hands, pulling Grian off balance in his haste to have the book in his possession. 

Grian huffed and righted himself, crossing his arms. “Are you going to be able to use it? I hope we didn’t cut it too close, getting it to you this late.”

“This is perfect, little bird,” Scar said, running his fingers down the front of the book before snapping his fingers, causing it to disappear with a flourish of pale flames. “If anything, this might have been too soon to snatch it out from under their noses. They are sure to notice it is missing, if they haven’t already… In any case, I’ve long ago mastered the art of quick learning. You have nothing to worry about when it comes to me and this little book.”

“Who is to say I was worried?” Grian asked before continuing on his way to the hideout. Jellie meowed at him and he leant down to allow her to hop onto his thin shoulders. Why she liked to perch there was beyond him, but he supposed he could relate to finding a nice perch, as uncomfortable or unconventional as some of them may actually be.

“I can see it written all over your face. Things are progressing so fast after years of slow build up and you’re not used to the pace. You’re worried about the little things and what could go wrong.” Scar said, slinking up next to him, walking with one arm folded behind his back and his torso bent at the waist so that he could meet Grian’s eyes, that infuriating, smug smile pulling his lips up.

“I have nothing to worry about,” Grian said, avoiding Scar’s eyes.

“Oh, but you do, don’t you? Pearl could turn traitor any day-”

“No, she won’t. If Pearl is anything, she’s loyal.” Grian snapped, cutting the other off. Scar stood up straight, his face sarcastically questioning.

“But you aren’t the only one she is loyal to, are you?” Scar asked with an air of faux naivety. Grian stayed silent, knowing the other was right. True as it may be, though, he knew Pearl wouldn’t betray them. She wouldn’t dare to. “And besides, she isn’t the only one you are worried about. The Crestians' also have uncertain loyalties, they could just be using us for their own gain. Not to mention our man on the inside… What has he been up to lately?”

“He’s the last person I’m worried about,” Grian stated, ignoring the taunting words about the people of Coral Crest. He knew they were probably just using the resistance as a means to an end to finally defeat their long-time enemies, but he wasn’t worried about it. They would all fall into the roles he’s picked out for them eventually. “He’s done everything I’ve asked of him with no hesitation. He’s pulling strings behind the scenes as we speak.”

“Humans really are so single minded. Once they’ve set their hearts to something they can see nothing else.” Scar said cryptically as they reached the entrance of the hideout. “I would be more cautious of this fact in the future if you really want this plan to come to fruition.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Grian said, entering the hidden cave, holding onto Jellie’s back to make sure she didn’t fall as he dipped down. 

“You really are the most amusing being I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting in my lifetime.” Scar said, his words tinged with childlike joy.

“And you are the most annoying.” Grian retorted with a huff. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go over these plans before the next meeting. You run along and get to work on learning that spell.”

Before he could move further into the cave, Scar’s hand grabbed his wrist in a tight grip, pulling him back to meet his eyes. Jellie jumped off of his shoulder with a startled cry, circling the two of them while her tail flickered back and forth. Scar maintained that easy smile of his, but there was clear annoyance in his cold eyes, which seemed to shift in colour just the faintest bit.

“You would do well to listen to what others have to say once in a while, you know.” Scar said, deceitfully calm and sweet.

Grian met his eyes with equally cold ones before wrenching his wrist away and stepping back. There was a tense silence in the cramped cave that could be cut with the swipe of a taloned hand. The air felt colder than it had before.

“This plan has both of our interests at heart, it wouldn’t do us well to fight this far into things. Don’t forget what's in it for you,” Grian snapped, straightening his sleeve where it had ridden up at the rough handling. The tense silence lasted a little longer before Scar’s strained smile smoothed out.

“Right, of course. I’ll go ahead and get to work; you do the same.” Scar said, words still sickeningly sweet like a mouthful of sugar.

Grian said nothing more, and neither did Scar, as the taller man continued on into the cave while Grian remained put, the rhythmic sound of his cane tapping on stone slowly getting fainter and fainter.

He gripped his own wrist in the same spot Scar had, the pressure slowly increasing, his nails digging onto the soft skin as he bit into his lip. He couldn’t afford to fall apart and start fights with his most valuable players like this so close to his dreams finally coming true. He wasn’t worried, he wasn’t.

Everything was going to work out fine, he desperately told himself. He would make sure it did.

Things couldn't end up the same way they had all those years ago.

[thisdivorce]

Chapter 15: Seroquel

Chapter Summary: Ian turns to Mickey for help.

Summary: Ian Gallagher is married, stable, happy working as a Paramedic and trying to start a family, but a chance encounter with the foul-mouthed father of one of his patients—who has more ties to Ian than either of them know—threatens to blow it all up.

Length: 4.3k

Rating: Explicit

Read here from the beginning

thanks to my forever brilliant beta @gallawitchxx and to @callivich for making the banner

[sssammich]

Platonic breakfast ritual (prompt)

oh what's up anon thanks for sending me this prompt

you didn't give me a ship so i just picked my own to write for so hope it's cool i wrote it for swan queen. if not, just come back and i'll do something else haha

thanks!

---

It’s temporary, this thing. This current arrangement that they have while Emma finds a new place to live away from the loft—cramped and cacophonous; too full a house with a new baby. She doesn’t think too deeply about how she feels about it, pretends her heart doesn’t throb and ache at being displaced and replaced once again. It's a noxious thought to keep, so she does her best to clear it out of her.

So, yes. The arrangement to stay at the mansion until she sorts out her affairs. Yet Emma is not exactly rushing to end it. Not when the choreography of her waking hours brings about a certain comfort that she does not want to relinquish, happening in a place that devastatingly feels more like home than she has ever felt in all the decades of her life. In a place that isn’t hers to claim, but for now she’ll pretend because the walls are present and the sheets are soft. 

It is inconveniently pleasant to wake up rested at Regina’s house in one of her massive guest bedrooms. It is even more so when she languidly makes her way down the stairs and towards the kitchen where she first gets a whiff of food being made, and the lingering scent of coffee in the air. The rest of her senses catches up to her when she hears whatever Regina is cooking just as she inevitably sees Henry already sitting in front of his breakfast plate, fork in one hand and comic book in the other as if it’s the morning newspaper. 

“Good morning, Ma,” he offers, his eyes never once straying from the page. She shakes her head, but greets him in turn. 

“Morning.” Then, she casts her eyes up at Regina and offers her a smile. “Good morning, Regina.” 

“Good morning, dear.” Regina accompanies her gentle morning greeting with an offered plate brimming with food right in front of the seat that Emma has deemed as hers during her stay. Despite Regina’s frequent comments about Emma’s abhorrent appetite and etiquette, she’s there enabling Emma with a full plate. Emma notices, of course, but doesn’t say anything for fear that Regina will change and give her one less hash brown in the stack. 

Still, even as her mind slowly eases into the morning, she doesn’t immediately take her seat at the table. Instead, she heads towards the coffee bar—which is literally just the far end of the kitchen counters where there’s one of those fancy single-serve coffee machines. She sets to brewing herself a cup since that’s the only machine she’s allowed to touch; the Italian espresso machine beside it is off limits. For the best, Emma thinks. 

Once her coffee is done, Emma lets the mug sit to the side and plucks another mug out of the cupboard, repeating the steps, waiting quietly while the machine cranks and whirrs and gurgles before the dark sea of coffee fills the new mug. It is the first full cup that Regina has in the morning, the first dose of caffeine coming from the espresso machine that Regina handles herself upon rising. Emma only skirts the edges of her thoughts at what it means to have Regina trust her to make her first cup of coffee for the day. Yet on that first morning she'd received the request, Regina only arched a brow and exasperated teasingly, "surely, you can't completely flub up making coffee."

Emma doesn’t move in place, uncharacteristically settled on her feet, her arms folded across her chest as she waits. Not wanting to break the tranquil silence, she doesn’t say anything, and neither do the others in the kitchen. It’s a quiet morning, but comfortable and companionable. Normally when things are too quiet, she gets restless as if she must fill the space herself or excuse herself entirely. But the last week at Regina’s place has given her more peace than she’d gotten in months, and she hates that by the end of this upcoming week, it’ll be gone again. Still, she doesn’t think too hard on this. 

For now, she grasps both the filled mugs and places them on their respective placemats as she’s done almost everyday this week. She sits in her chair and she waits until Regina does the same. She offers the other woman a shy grin, perhaps more tender than she’d intended (she’ll simply blame the morning hours for it if pushed) and Regina returns it, the gentle smile across Regina’s face splitting her face so beautifully.

The three of them sit like a family that Emma has always wished for and eat breakfast together.

[hawth-can-draw]

hello love nikki fandom!!!!!!!! they mean everything to me.

[justabigassnerd]

First (Official) Meeting

Pairing - Ethan Hunt x daughter!reader

Word count - 4,734

Warnings - mentions of bombs, violence, death threats, fears of abandonment

Summary - a month after catching Solomon Lane, you meet Ilsa for the first official time, this time without the bombs and threats

A/N - it took about twenty years but I'm finally here with a new Lil' Hunt fic! (did anyone cheer?) I am so sorry this took so long my motivation is all over the freaking place idk what's going on. anyways I won't ramble, as per y'all please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

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After finally catching Solomon Lane and ending the Syndicate. Ethan knew he had found someone he could trust in Ilsa. She saved his life more than once and even protected you after Lane kidnapped you and used you as a bargaining chip to get the disk he craved so much. Due to the dangers of both Ethan and Ilsa’s jobs, they weren’t able to keep in regular contact for the sake of remaining as safe as possible in between missions.

You were more than okay with that fact. You knew Ilsa had saved not only your dad but you too, but you couldn’t shake the off feeling you had about her. You just couldn’t forget what went down in the train station mere minutes before Lane’s men grabbed you and hauled you off. You heard Ilsa and your dad talking, your dad trying to get her to help the IMF out, and Ilsa had talked about how the IMF wouldn’t need him soon enough, and that he’d be discarded once they deemed fit. And after saying that you heard her asking Ethan to run away with her. It crushed you. The silence that followed hurt even more. You expected Ethan to shut Ilsa down, to say there was no way he was leaving you, Benji, and Luther behind. But his silence signalled to you that he was genuinely considering it. That he, even for a moment, thought about leaving his team behind. You knew that your dad probably didn’t want a kid while being an agent. His silence spoke volumes to you as you pulled the comm out of your ear and muttered ‘I need some air’ to Benji before walking off right into the hands of Lane’s men.

After you had been rescued and you, Ethan and the team were back stateside, Ethan had noticed a change in your demeanour. You were quiet, less involved in conversations and barely gave him a second glance. You were disappearing off to the sanctuary of your room moments after eating dinner. Ethan couldn’t blame you for your shift in behaviour. You’d been held captive and forced to have an explosive vest strapped to you while in your dad’s presence. It was natural for anyone to be shaken up in that situation, but it didn’t stop Ethan from being worried about you. It took several attempts on Ethan’s part to get you to open up about the kidnapping and the events that transpired before. It happened one night after you had a nightmare, Ethan had heard your cries and rushed into the room, gun in hand as he quickly surveyed for danger before rushing to your side, pulling you into his arms and helping you find your breath. He didn’t force you to talk, he just wiped your tears and let you recover in your own time. However, once you recovered your breath, he never could have anticipated your next words.

“Were you really going to leave us to run away with Ilsa?” Your voice was barely a whisper, thick with tears and Ethan would’ve missed it entirely had you not been curled up in his arms. At your words, Ethan was instantly shaking his head.

“No, I could never.” He says, unable to believe you’d think such a thing.

“But when she asked, you went silent. It was like you were genuinely considering it.” You argue, another wave of tears attacking you, making you curl further into your father and grab a fistful of his shirt as if it will singlehandedly keep him with you no matter what.

“The question took me off guard, sweetheart. I could never leave you, Benji, and Luther behind. Either we all go or none of us go. I promise you; I’m not leaving you, ever.” Ethan knew it was a big promise he was making, especially given his line of work and the constant danger that followed him around like an eager puppy. You spent the rest of the night before you fell back asleep, talking to your dad about everything you had been feeling since London and he did his best to comfort and support you. Talking to your dad about how you felt which led to you beginning to reintegrate back into the group which made all three men incredibly happy at getting to see you smile and involve yourself with everyone again after a month of nothing more than one-word answers and curt nods.

One day, a couple of days after you started returning to your normal self, Ethan found himself walking around the local area. There was no suspicious activity, nor any mission for him to be on, he was just overly cautious and channelled that energy into going on a walk so he could keep an eye out for anyone who may want to cause harm. As Ethan wandered around a nearby park, eyes surveying every person present in the ways only an IMF agent could before he caught a glimpse of an all-familiar face.

Ilsa was stood a way away, sunglasses sat on her face, but Ethan knew it was her. He’d always be able to recognise her in a crowd, even with the most intricate of disguises. She didn’t do any more than offer a tiny smile before Ethan began gravitating towards her. He hadn’t seen her since everything that went down with Solomon Lane in London, and he just wanted to see how she was doing.

“Ilsa.” Ethan breathed the second he reached her, embracing her in a gentle hug that she is quick to reciprocate.

“How have you been, Ethan?” Her voice is no louder than a soft whisper by his ear as she speaks, widening Ethan’s smile as he holds her.

“I’ve been okay for the most part. How are you?” Ethan admits, pulling away to look Ilsa in the eye as she removes her sunglasses, setting them atop her head.

“Still figuring things out. But I’m doing okay.” Ilsa says, nodding and keeping her small smile on her face, forever trying to be strong and not let her defences down, even in Ethan’s presence.

“You should come to the safe house, lay low with us for a while and get to know my team a little better.” Ethan offered; voice low as he briefly glanced around to make sure there was nobody mingling nearby. Everyone in the park was too busy doing their own thing, walking with a loved one, playing fetch with their dog, or playing catch with their kid. Ilsa debated Ethan’s words for a moment, thinking of what her alternative options could be until she finally reached a conclusion to the debate in her head as she nodded.

“Okay, but only for a few days. I’ll have to move on again soon.” Ilsa says, receiving a gentle nod from Ethan in return. He wasn’t overly keen on the fact that Ilsa had to keep moving around but if it kept her safer then he wouldn’t stop her, not that he could ever stop her from doing something once she’s set her mind on it. After getting the okay from Ilsa, Ethan began to lead her back to the safe house, both agents on their guard the whole walk, expecting danger to appear at any given moment. Thankfully, both agents made it back to the safe house unharmed and entered the building, hearing the sound of laughter and following it to where you, Benji, and Luther were sitting around the table, clearly laughing at something someone had said. All heads turned to look at Ethan as he walked in, and Ethan didn’t miss how you smiled at him and then your smile faltered when your eyes flicked over to Ilsa. There was a tense silence after the laughter died out which was soon replaced by the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor.

“I need the bathroom.” You mutter, quickly excusing yourself and rushing off as Benji and Luther watch you leave before exchanging a glance before Luther gets up and heads into your room, knowing that’s exactly where you will head once you’ve hidden away in the bathroom for a moment. Benji stayed put and glanced back at Ilsa.

“You alright?” Benji said, lifting his hand for the slightest wave as Ilsa nodded, immediately noting the tension filling the room. Despite that, Ethan invited her further in, inviting her to take a seat and get used to the house. As Ilsa perched on the edge of a seat, sat on guard, ready for any potential attack, Ethan pulled Benji aside.

“What was that for?” He hisses lowly, making Benji raise an eyebrow.

“I just said ‘you alright’ I didn’t know you had a problem with that. Look Ilsa’s British she’ll get it.” Benji started, defending his actions when Ethan shushed him.

“No, not that. You, Luther, and y/n gave a weird look when Ilsa walked in. What was that for?” Ethan reiterates, watching as Benji clears his throat awkwardly, glancing over Ethan’s shoulder to make sure Ilsa wasn’t eavesdropping before looking back at Ethan.

“Have you forgotten that she tried to kill me that night at the opera?” Benji says, eyes wide at the thought that Ethan might have chosen to overlook that fact.

“Didn’t she kill the guy who was trying to kill you?” Ethan asks, eyebrow raised as he counters Benji’s point.

“Well, what about when she used those shock paddles on me to get away with the disk?” Benji then argues, remembering the pain of the paddles against his back all too well, fighting back a shiver as he remembers it.

“She was being forced to do that stuff, Benji. Did you forget that she helped me rescue y/n? Or that she helped us catch Lane?” Ethan counters, watching as Benji begins to shuffle, fighting his hardest not to look awkward under Ethan’s glare.

“No I didn’t forget that… but-”

“Benji, you need to stop judging her on past actions. You trust me, right?” Ethan cuts Benji off, knowing it won’t do anyone any good to have tensions like this within the safe house. Upon hearing Ethan’s question, Benji softened.

“Of course I trust you.” He answers, watching Ethan nod before speaking again.

“I trust Ilsa. If you don’t feel ready to trust her yet, then that’s fine but at least trust my judgement here.” Ethan says, his voice low as he looks at Benji, watching as his friend nods slightly.

“Okay, Ethan.” Benji says, looking down like a child getting scolded and Ethan nods once more before backing away to join Ilsa while Benji remains where he was stood.

As Benji and Ethan were talking, you had entered your room after hiding away in the bathroom to collect your thoughts and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Luther perched on your bed.

“Jeez Luther, a little warning would be nice.” You say, a nervous laugh tagged onto the end of your sentence as you close the door behind you.

“I apologise. I just wanted to check in with you. I saw the way you reacted when Ilsa walked in.” Luther says gently as you cross to sit next to him on the bed, instantly fiddling with your hands and avoiding eye contact.

“I’m okay, Luther.” You say, barely glancing up at him as he frowns, not trusting your words.

“y/n, it’s okay to not be okay. I can help if you tell me. I won’t tell your dad if you don’t want me to.” Luther urges, watching as you think on his words, debating whether you open up to him or not.

“Promise you won’t tell dad?” You whisper, looking back up at Luther as he begins nodding instantly.

“You don’t want me to tell him, I won’t tell him.” Luther promises, his voice never straying from his gentle tone. With confirmation that this conversation won’t make its way to your father, you nod your head and begin to talk.

“You already know that Ilsa was there when I had that bomb strapped to my chest. But she said to dad’s face that her instructions after getting the disk for Lane were to kill me and him. I know she didn’t, and maybe she never would’ve even given the chance, but hearing something like that is terrifying, Luther. And even if she hadn’t done that… I don’t know Ilsa that well and I’m scared she’ll be like every other outsider who’s come to the team.” You admit quietly, looking down at your wrist and fiddling with the silver charm bracelet that sat happily on your wrist. Luther took in your words carefully nodding as he listened to you speak and understanding where you were coming from. Before replying, Luther silently asked permission to bring you in for a hug which you accepted instantly, always happy to have a hug from anyone in your family.

“You have every right to be cautious after what happened. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?” Luther starts, feeling you nod slightly against him.

“I understand why you’re so cautious about someone from outside the team coming here for a while. You have every right to feel the way you’re feeling. However, I would recommend you try and at least be civil with Ilsa. She’s on our side she was just in a bad situation.” Luther urged softly, looking down at you as you shifted slightly in his embrace to look up at him.

“I know I should. I know dad likes her a lot as well. But it’ll be so hard.” You admit, embarrassed to admit it but Luther just nods softly, no hint of judgement on his face.

“Just do your best Lil’ Hunt.”

It turned out that your best was sitting in the furthest possible corner with your head in a book and avoiding any and all conversation with Ilsa.

Over the days that Ilsa was staying at the safe house, she made significant progress in building trust between herself and Ethan’s other team members. Luther pretty much trusted her straight out of the gate, Luther had used Ilsa as a way to track down Ethan when both Ethan and Benji had disappeared to hunt for Lane. Luther had known that Ethan trusted Ilsa and since Luther trusted Ethan, he had no reason to doubt Ethan’s judgement. Benji was a tougher nut to crack, he was cautious because of the alleged two times she tried to kill him, but after a day or two Benji conversed with her a little more and they began to form a friendship of sorts.

You, however, were much more difficult to get through to. Ilsa couldn’t blame you, after all, you had heard her admitting Lane’s orders were for her to get the disk and then kill both you and Ethan. Ilsa, of course, never would’ve followed that order, despite her cover she never would’ve been able to bring herself to kill you or your father, but you didn’t know how far she’d go to maintain cover. Ilsa figured that you believed she would’ve done it for the sake of her cover. Ilsa wished to be able to prove to you that you can trust her, she knew Ethan told you multiple times a day that you could talk to her to try and build up a bond, you were just struggling with everything.

One day, Ilsa had seen you reading a book that she recognised. In mostly working alone Ilsa often fell to reading books to provide herself with comfort and gave her a way to pass the time. Taking a deep breath, Ilsa crossed the room and eased herself down on one of the other chairs around the table, keeping a good distance between you and her as she gauged your reaction. You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye briefly before turning your attention back to your book.

“Hi y/n, how’s the book?” Ilsa asks tentatively, watching as you shrug and let out a slight hum in response.

“You know that book is one of my favourites so if you ever want to talk about it, I’m more than happy to chat about it with you.” Ilsa then offers, receiving another hum and shrug. You were not playing ball and Ilsa could tell. You were trying to keep a barrier between the two of you and Ilsa didn’t want to force herself into your life if you really wanted nothing to do with her. With a small sigh, Ilsa got up from the chair and left you be, not wanting to disturb or upset you. As she crossed the room, she made eye contact with Ethan who offered her a small smile and a mouthed apology on your behalf.

Ethan, without even knowing of the conversation you had with Luther the day Ilsa arrived, knew exactly why you were shutting down and acting this way. He couldn’t fault you for being cautious. And he couldn’t blame you for worrying about how Ilsa may treat you, especially given how a lot of IMF agents have treated you in recent years.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Ethan said as he entered your room, a gentle smile on his face as he crossed the room and perched on the edge of your bed, watching you put your book down and smile at him.

“Hi, dad.” You reply, expecting him to give you a hug and ask you about your day before bidding you goodnight as he usually did each night.

“I’ve noticed you’ve not really spoken to Ilsa. Is this because of London?” He asks, noticing you tensing slightly at his words, glancing away from him before looking back at him and nodding lightly.

“And because I’m scared she’ll be like the others.” You admit meekly, fiddling with a loose thread on your duvet cover to distract yourself from seeing the potential upset in your dad’s eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart. Ilsa’s not like them I promise you that. And I know she’d never hurt you either.” Ethan says softly, he’s not the first person to tell you that but hearing it from him eased your mind slightly. He was there when you had the bomb strapped to your chest. He heard the threats yet still trusted Ilsa to help him catch Lane.

“If you give her a chance, I bet you’ll see how well the two of you will be able to get on. You trust your old man, right?” Ethan continues, moving further up the bed to pull you into his arms which you accept instantly, curling into him.

“I trust you.” You reply, head resting just above his heart as you listen to the steady thumping.

“I wouldn’t willingly encourage this if I didn’t trust Ilsa. She’s someone I care about and who I know you’ll learn to like too. Don’t tell her I said this, but she likes you already.” Ethan says gently, his chest rumbling gently under your head with each word spoken.

“She does?” You question, lifting your head slightly to look up at him as he smiles down at you.

“Oh definitely. When we went our separate ways after catching Lane, the last thing she said to me was ‘watch out for y/n, she’s a good kid’.” Ethan says, the words burned into his memory. He saw the slight smile that crossed your lips before you buried yourself back into his chest.

“I’ll try to make more of an effort with her.” You promise, beginning to realise that if Ilsa really was as bad as your mind was making her out to be, she’s had several opportunities to wipe out you and the team or steal valuable IMF information. Instead, she’s been hanging out with everyone, getting to know them that little bit more. And with your dad’s words swirling around your head, you went to bed that night with a whole new perspective.

The next day, by the time you’d rolled out of bed and showered, you entered the main room to find your dad, Ilsa, Benji, and Luther sitting around the table conversing about something that, judging by the looks on their faces, could be serious. You didn’t want to disturb them, but you were curious, so you remained where you were stood, listening to them discussing the suspicious activity Luther had picked up on and listening to them discussing how to deal with it. Everyone seemed to have different ideas, and no one was able to agree with the other.

“y/n, what do you think?” Ilsa had noticed you walk in and how you mingled nearby to listen. You were Ethan’s daughter, and she was sure you’d be able to come up with a good plan of attack. When no one shut down Ilsa trying to involve you, you spoke up as an idea came to mind.

“Since you guys don’t actually know if it’s a genuine threat or just petty crime you could just go on a walk around, have a look around. But take Ilsa with you as well. Benji and Luther can run extra surveillance from here.” You suggest, shrugging lightly as the team exchanges a look, nodding in agreement before looking back at you.

“That sounds like a pretty good plan, y/n.” Benji says with a grin, both he and Luther instantly turning their attention to their laptops and hacking into what they need to gain access to cameras in the nearby area. As Ethan and Ilsa prep to go out, Ilsa crosses to you, a nervous expression you’ve never seen on her before displayed across her face.

“You’re really okay with me going with your dad on this?” She asks softly, watching the soft smile covering your face as you nod.

“I am. I trust you and I know you’ll bring my dad back.” You say and Ilsa swore she could’ve fallen apart right then and there. She doesn’t know what happened overnight to make you trust her, but you were trusting her to go out on surveillance with Ethan and knew she’d bring him back to you.

“I won’t let you down.” Ilsa promises quietly just as Ethan calls over to her, now ready to head out and you watch her cross to your dad, the two of them sharing a smile and a nod before heading out of the door.

While Ethan and Ilsa were investigating where they’d heard of suspicious activities taking place, Ethan figured that now was a good time as any to have a private chat with Ilsa. Turning off his comm after informing Benji he’s going to do it, he motions for Ilsa to do the same and once she’s done so he speaks up.

“I noticed you talking to y/n before we left, and she was smiling. Making progress?” He asks, kicking aside a damp cardboard box to look for any evidence of the activities he’d heard of.

“A little. She was saying that she trusts me and knows I’ll get you back in one piece.” Ilsa replies with a small smile, already playing the moment back in her head.

“She’s had it rough. A lot of people from outside the team would see her and subsequently see a burden.”

“But she’s not.” Ilsa cuts in, quickly apologising to Ethan who shakes his head with a slight chuckle before sobering up to continue with what he was saying.

“Of course, she’s not. But a lot of people did think that and would treat her pretty badly. It’s why she struggles with opening up to new people. It’s only ever been me, Benji, and Luther her whole life so when she’s supposed to trust people who treat her badly… it’s hard on her.” Ethan continues, peeking around an alley corner and heading down it with Ilsa close behind.

“I’d never treat her like that.” Ilsa swears as Ethan glances at her, the smallest of smiles on his face.

“I know you won’t. And I think she’s beginning to know that too.”

Back at the safe house, you were awaiting Ethan and Ilsa’s return after both of them cut off their comms. Neither Benji or Luther could pick up on any suspicious activity and figured that the two would be back before too long. As predicted, the two came in within fifteen minutes muttering how it was a dead end that pointed to nothing more than petty crime. You hugged your dad instantly upon his arrival, which he of course reciprocated before you crossed to Ilsa.

“Thank you.” You say, looking up at her as she nods with a smile.

“I said I wouldn’t let you down.” Ilsa replies with a wink as you smile.

“You know… I’m halfway through that book you said you liked if you wanted to talk about it with me?” You offer, noticing how Ilsa’s eyes immediately lit up and you grab your book off the table before heading to the sofa with her. You both sit on the sofa as you begin to animatedly talk about the parts you’ve read, including the big midpoint plot twist. Ilsa engaged with your thoughts and shared some of her own, both of you grinning.

“Did we just get replaced? That fast?” Benji says incredulously, watching you and Ilsa interact while Ethan and Luther chuckle.

“We’re not being replaced, Benji.” Luther assures his friend, clapping him on the shoulder as all three men watch you with smiles of their own.

For the rest of the day you hung out with Ilsa, getting to know her and her getting to know you. You were so thankful that every question she asked was about getting to know you and not just your dad. Everyone who spent time with the team tried so hard to get information about Ethan from you. But Ilsa was different. She genuinely wanted to get to know you and you had so much fun getting to hang out with her. It was also nice to have another girl to talk to, being able to get advice and help about certain topics you struggled talking to your dad about. When it came time to go to bed you found yourself wishing you could stay up all night talking with her, but you didn’t want to be any more of a nuisance, so you left her be with a goodnight before heading to your room to sleep.

The next morning, you woke up eager to continue your book chat with Ilsa after reading a few more chapters before going to sleep but when you showered and changed and entered the main room you saw Ilsa slinging her back over her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” You question, looking from person to person awaiting an answer.

“I’m going somewhere else y/n. I was only planning to stay a few days anyway.” Ilsa says, speaking softly as you approach her, all sorts of emotions displayed on your face as you try to process everything.

“You can’t stay a bit longer?” You ask, fighting back a frown when she shakes her head with a gentle smile.

“It’s safer for all of us if I move on.” She explains and you understood her reasons, though it didn’t mean you liked it.

“Is there a way I can keep in contact with you?” You then ask, watching as Ilsa nods, pulling out her phone and getting her number out for you to copy down into your own phone.

“Now you can message me whenever you want.” She says as both of you tuck your phones away. As she starts to say her goodbyes to Benji, Luther, and your dad you start to regret taking so long to open up to her.

“Goodbye y/n.” Ilsa says, turning back to you when you suddenly wrap your arms around her for a hug, smiling when you feel her arms wrap around you.

“Goodbye Ilsa, I’ll miss you.” You whisper before pulling away.

“I’ll miss you too. I can’t imagine it’ll be too long until we see each other again.” Ilsa says, her smile never leaving her face as you nod, watching her bid one last goodbye to everyone before exiting the safe house.

While you were upset you hadn’t spent as much time as you now wished you had with Ilsa, her words comforted you slightly. She was right, you’d see each other again.

It was just a matter of time.

[morelikesin]

So this is love.

Mm-mm-hmm

So this is love...

So this is what makes life divine.

References below 💕

I love using my dolls for reference they're just so perfect 🥹🤧

I drew this originally for Valentine's Day a few years ago, but my style and tastes have changed since then - so I decided to revise this piece for this Valentine's Day because I've always really loved it 🩷🥺

[malavera]

Just gotta say this yall,

I love how his PR team / Social Media Team or whoever they are, are sooo active on his Social Media (I know Tom would have people for that 🌝)

Likeeee i’m so happy that his teams are adapting to nowadays social activities on the internet yknow what im saying?

I love this year’s Tom Cruise 🤓😍