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undiscovered-horizon · 11 months

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Sparring - Nikolai Lantsov x Reader

[suggestive themes, nothing explicit + vulgar language + awful descriptions of fight scenes]

SUMMARY: To train and relieve some of the tension, First Army soldiers organize sparring matches. When Nikolai decides to take part in the tradition, the infantry throws their best at him. Who knew that a king can be such an inappropriate flirt?

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.6k

A/N: I'm replaying Mass Effect (for the millionth time) and that one conversation with Garrus has so much potential.

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

Everyone’s been in an awful mood for the past couple of days. Shoving and bad-mouthing always happened but rarely to this extent. A mere misstep could end with a broken nose and fractured ribs. Something is stirring like a maddening poison hanging in the air. There’s only so much time until frustrated scowls turn into a friendly-fire bloodbath.

But the First Army, or rather Dominik Vertov himself, is ready for such instances. For itchy fists the best remedy is to give in to the violent urges, although not without certain rules being put in place first, rendering the name “Lawless Night” more of a pseudonym rather than a visualization of what takes place. No one ever misses the sparring matches. Even those unable to fight, wounded and sick, find some way to be part of the tradition. Their friends would often help them stand up for the entirety of the violent matches.

The one thing that is different about tonight is the presence of the king. If Nikolai just stood somewhere to the side or even spent the night elsewhere, pretending that he’s oblivious to the custom, the soldiers would still feel unsure about indulging in this ‘bonding activity’. The Lantsov boy, to the dread of the infantry, decided to take part in the “Lawless Night”. As he said it himself: he’s their brother in arms. That means, he should be allowed to be involved in the sparring but on the other hand - who in their right mind would try to tell the king he can’t?

For the longest time, Vertov’s been against that. He appreciates Nikolai presenting himself as someone relatable - a man and a soldier before a king - but getting thrown into the mud by some roach is a little too far. As much as befriending soldiers on a personal level increases the army’s morale, seeing their king and leader losing to one of them would cause collective depression and should Kirigan strike them, the Ravkans will simply give their land away to him.

But Vertov also knows Nikolai a little too well and so after he had voiced his doubts, he knew there’s not much else to be done - the Lantsov boy will do whatever he pleases. As always.

“So,” Dominik sighs in defeat, only partially prepared for what he will have to witness, “Who wants to face king Nikolai?”

The crowd falls silent but only for a second. Energetic whispering erupts between soldiers, necks crane in search of someone particular - there is but one person in the infantry that’s reckless enough to actually get into fisticuffs with a nobleman and not spare him.

Your friends begin nudging you, pushing you out of the crowd. There’s no point in lying that you’re surprised by the collective search for the one corporal who’s yet to lose a sparring match.

A sigh leaves your lips but your friends recognize that it’s not irritation - it’s compliance. Your raise a fist over your head. “I will!”

The soldiers surrounding you take a step back, letting you comfortably enter the marked arena. Wolf whistles cut through the night air. “Зайка!” someone yells from the crowd.

With a scoff, you shout back: “Иди на хуй!”

Rumbling laughter erupts from the infantrymen. They’re a ‘tough love’ kind of bunch but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Some say “there’s no love like soldiers’ hate” and you find it hard to disagree with the sentiment.

Dominik chuckles to himself. He pats Nikolai on his shoulder before leaning in and whispering:

“Good luck winning with that one.”

Lantsov looks at his friend with pretend offence. “That’s an astounding lack of faith in me on your part.”

“See that behemoth with a hare lip?” Dominik nods his head towards the soldiers standing in a half-circle. The man in question is hard to miss: he towers over the others by at least a head, a deep scar running across his face. “He sparred her once. The fight ended with a draw when both of them collapsed, too tired to continue. You may have the reach and strength but she has speed and flexibility.”

But Nikolai is not looking at the so-called behemoth. Instead, he’s watching you from afar as you’re tightly wrapping bandages around your knuckles and wrist. “And here I thought the strategy was to distract me with her face,” he slowly says in an inattentive voice. Tactic or not, it seems to be working.

Dominik nudges Nikolai and the king, willingly demoted for this one evening, enters the circle marked by bags of sand meant for floods. He feels the nervous and thrilled stares following him but he enjoys that. Even overlooking the attention aspect of his decision to mingle with the little people, for a moment he can pretend that he’s back in the army or sailing the seas as Sturmhond; for one evening, he can drop the noble weight from his shoulders.

The cold, night air is tugging on your cotton shirt. In warmer months you’d be standing inside the circle without it but perhaps it’s better that summer is still long weeks away - meeting the king for the first time half-naked just doesn’t sound like great idea in any way, shape or form. There is courage, even stupid bravery that brought you into the army, but that would just be distasteful.

Up close you’re even prettier than he previously thought. You’re looking at him with a cocky half-smile, silently challenging Nikolai to do his worst, maybe even expecting him to lose after the first round. The fire from the torches placed around the make-shift arena reflect inside your eyes, painting you more of a temptress or a demon rather than a corporal.

"I won't go easy on you, moy tsar,” you warn him.

Although it’s a word of caution, Nikolai seems to read it as encouragement.

"I'm counting on that.” He scrunches his nose jokingly. “I like it a little rough."

His words make you scoff but you find yourself thoroughly amused with him. Despite his noble titles, regal clothing and head-spinning responsibilities, there’s a refreshing hint of dreariness to him - brass that balances out marble and gold.

Sergei, the seargent making sure that all sparrs are kept civil, raises the flag, although it should be noted that ‘the flag’ is an old shirt tied to a stick. It’s a sign to prepare for the upcoming fight, share pleasantries with the opponent and fix the protective wrapping around your hands.

Despite Nikolai being physically well-built, you don’t expect much from him. You’ve heard that he had served in the army but his noble aura makes you put your guard down - after all, what good in a fight could a spoiled prince be? You can give a baby a knife but that won’t make it a soldier.

“May the best one win,” you say shaking his hand.

Nikolai winks at you. “Oh, I will.”

Both of you turn around and walk a few steps away. You look at your friends, crouched right at the border of the circle and shaking their fists in an encouraging gesture. Whether you win or lose, they’re still going to make fun of you at breakfast, critisizing all the chances you didn’t take. After all those years of facing death by their side, you’ve learned to see unimaganble amount of love in their teasing and jests - each mistake you’re aware of increases your chance of survival in the battlefield. And that, in turn, makes retirement with them a little more probable.

As a good luck charm, you blow softly on your clenched fists. Sergei’s voice resounds in your head: “Tooth and nail, tie a noose around your fate.” He never did disclose that but being a rather simple man, you’ve just assumed he read that quote in a book rather than coming up with it on his own. In any event, it always works, getting you into the ‘die kicking and screaming’ mindset. Not that you’re expecting anyone to actually pass on tonight. No, the “Lawless Night” is about relentless survival.

You turn around to face Nikolai standing just a few meters away from you. Both of you are fixed on Sergei and his provisory flag. The sergeant looks between you, checking whether your ready. Then, he swings the stick downwards and deafening cheers immediately fill your ears. Your eyes study Nikolai’s posture - his guard is high and knees are bent but not in the way one would expect from a soldier. He remembers his training, although visibly lacks practice.

He does the first move, throwing a half-hearted punch that you know is more of a reconnaissance than an honest strike. You only lean to the side. From then on, the offence only gets more bitter.

Left hook. Knee kick. Duck. Low punch on the ribs. Grabbing wrist and hitting the underarm. Right hook. Straight punch. Lean to the side. Slide under his swinging arm. Back kick. Fall. A handful of dirt thrown in the king’s face.

The crowd roars. Sergei rings a cowbell - round break.

Nikolai spits out soil between coughs and you can’t help the cocky smile creeping back unto your face. He looks at you with a hint of both amusement and disbelief in his eyes. Soon, his own grin is matching yours - he just got a mouthful of dirt from some girl and he’s liking it.

“A dirty trick,” he says in awe.

You only give him a shrug of faux innocence. “What can I say, I’m a dirty girl.”

The king laughs in response. This is something he’s definitely missed about being in the army. Or, perhaps, he’s enjoying this moment of tame humiliation because it’s coming from you.

Sergei lifts his flag once more but this time around he’s not waiting for you to create proper distance between each other. Nikolai is within your arms’ reach. That self-assured expression he wears is simply begging you to push some boundaries.

“Whenever you’re ready, батюшка,” you coax him.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Батюшка?” he repeats with amusement. It’s obvious he likes your choice of words. “Will you kneel for me?”

You shrug, giving him a lopsided grin. “If you ask nicely.”

The sergeant once again drops the flag and the night air fills with cheers even louder and livelier than before.

“I’m begging,” Nikolai answers you before pulling the first punch.

But you’re swift and quickly push his arm away. Then, he bends slightly, directing his fist at your ribs but you manage to kick his exposed thigh. Lantsov loses his balance for a second. His arm swings at your head. Ducking, you get the perfect angle to punch his abdomen. Grunt.

Nikolai suddenly recalls Dominik’s words - he should go hard rather than fast. Before you’re able to get out of his way, he lunges at you, pinning you to the ground. The sudden impact renders you breathless for a moment, giving Nikolai a chance to settle on top of your pelvis.

He grabs a fistful of your shirt. “Lovely view, don’t you think?”

A strangely exciting tension appears in your abdomen, something you’ve never felt for a man of his kind. The arousal, however, is quickly dismissed - he’s a king, you’re corporal.

You loop your leg around his arm and straighten your knee, forcing his head away. With all the power you can gather, you punch his ribs. Nikolai grunts again, rolling off of you.

Cowbell resounds once again.

Panting, you get up from the ground. To be honest, you’re quite surprised that he’s not completely useless in combat. You ran your hand up and down your back, still feeling the impact with the cold, hard ground on your spine. He’s got some strength, you have to give him that.

Sergei, busier with putting the audience back in line rather than keeping his eye on the fight, raises the shirt on the stick and drops it immediately after, never checking whether the participants are ready.

Nikolai and you are eyeing each other like famished wolves, strolling in circles in anticipation for the opponent’s first strike. Something primal has awakened inside you and, looking into Nikolai’s clouded eyes, you know he’s feeling the same thing - a wholly devouring, yet uncomfortable itch that pushes people to conquer, to dominate. Head on a spike or a head between legs, all of it is quite the same to this ravenous instinct.

“I must admit, sweat and exhaustion looks marvelous on you,” Nikolai says between pants.

You entertain him with a chuckle. “You should see me in the morning.”

“Now that’s an invitation I simply can’t turn down,” he answers in a low tone. Your breath hitches, no matter how much you don’t want to admit that.

When he’s preparing to strike, you grab his underarm and roll him over your shoulder but Nikolai is smart enough to hold on to you, causing both of you to hit the ground once more. Quickly, you get back up on your feet.

He’s barely standing up when you attempt a high kick, your foot almost hitting the side of his head but Lantsov is fast enough to grab your ankle. His other hand grabs your shirt and soon you’re the one being tossed. Your sore spine hits the hard ground for the third time, the pain great enough to render you unable to stifle a loud groan.

Then come the fisticuffs - measured blows at anything your arms can reach. You may be nimble enough to duck them most of the time but Nikolai’s limbs are significantly longer than yours, forcing you to make bigger dodges that expose you to more of his strikes.

Your hand is about to make contact with his side when the cowbell resounds for the third time. But now Sergei is ringing it in short intervals - end of match.

An impressive draw. Yet the audience is unsatisfied as the excited cheers turn to grumbles and booing. Between winning and losing, ties are the worst - bland results that only prove someone met their equal. No fun in that, is there? It doesn’t affect the inner hierarchy or morale. It’s just… dull.

Breathing heavily, you leave the ring, passing by another participant bravely getting themself into a few minutes of subsisting. Your evening of tossing the king around is done, so it’s better to get over it immediately and definitely not ponder the suggestive remarks he was so eager to share. I’m a corporal, you remind yourself, I have to act like it.

You’re unwrapping the bandages around your wrists when you feel someone’s chest touching your shoulderblades, an unnamed hand hesitantly resting on your hip. The stranger smells like sweat, dirt and soap - Nikolai, without a doubt. You don’t even notice that you’re holding your breath.

"How about a private rematch?" he whispers in your ear. You feel his finger dragging up your arm. "I have reach, you have flexibility…" he ponders aloud.

A shiver runs down your spine, goosebumps sprout on your skin but disappear shortly after. You turn your head to look at him. Nikolai’s face is a lot closer to yours than you had expected, making you gasp quietly at the obscene lack of space. "You like getting manhandled, don't you?"

"I may be a king but I'm definitely not a saint.” His breathy whisper brushes against your flushed face.

Your eyes drop to his lips, as you’re saying those fateful words: "I won't go easy on you this time either."

Nikolai’s mouth curves into a grin. "By the Saints, please don't."

#shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone x you #nikolai x reader #nikolai x you #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov #nikolai imagines #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you

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reality-detective · 7 months

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Watch 👀

How accurately the movie Armageddon talks about population control. 👇

Connect the Dots 👇

You will continually hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not frightened, for those things must take place, but that is not yet the end [of the age]. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places. But all these things are merely the beginning of birth pangs [of the intolerable anguish and the time of unprecedented trouble].

“Then they will hand you over to [endure] tribulation, and will put you to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of My name. At that time many will be offended and repelled [by their association with Me] and will fall away [from the One whom they should trust] and will betray one another [handing over believers to their persecutors] and they will hate one another.

Many false prophets will appear and mislead many. Because lawlessness is increased, the love of most people will grow cold. But the one who endures and bears up [under suffering] to the end will be saved.

This good news of the kingdom [the gospel] will be preached throughout the whole world as a testimony to all the nations, and then the end [of the age] will come. “So when you see the ABOMINATION OF DESOLATION [the appalling sacrilege that astonishes and makes desolate], spoken of by the prophet Daniel, standing in the Holy Place (let the reader understand), then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains [for refuge].

Matthew 24: 6 - 14

Let that sink in!!! 🤔

#pay attention #educate yourselves #educate yourself #knowledge is power #reeducate yourself #reeducate yourselves #think for yourselves #think about it #think for yourself #do your homework #do some research #do your own research #ask yourself questions #question everything #bible #bible study #bible lesson #connect the dots

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allmythologies · 1 year

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greek mythology: astraea

astraea was the virgin goddess of justice, innocence, purity, and precision. during the golden age she dwelt upon the earth with mankind but was driven away by the increasing lawlessness of the subsequent bronze age. zeus then set her amongst the stars as the constellation virgo.

#greek mythology #astraea #gods & goddesses #greek myth #mythedit #*mine*#requested

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kirbyskisses · 2 years

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kirby’s kinktober (twelve)

sex while high//soul eater evans

this is fiction. irl high people can’t consent. y’all be safe. 🌿

soul likes to be cool.

he never quite gives the full definition of what that means to anyone, not even black star or maka but he thinks this moment fits it, equisitely.

lounging down against the couch with his best girl on his lap, mind overtaken by the hazy clarity provided by the brownies you had shared earlier.

even though death city had made everyone’s favorite delightful green leaf legal for decades now - fitting for such a lawless desert of souls and reapers - maka hated the smell and the loopiness that weed gave him.

in his 20s he finds it far easier to sneak away to your apartment, his second home.

he made a habit of only getting high with you, his trusted and gorgeous girlfriend. the last time he smoked it around maka ended with a rant and a chop to the head. he really didn’t want that, it was uncool as hell.

not like being with you. you were the epitome of cool - the ultimate example. the feeling of you was the blue-green coolness of a miles davis album.

the way your sighs of pleasure and kisses made him harden and filled him with a need be inside your precious cunt - his love for you and your body was only comparable to the sensual feeling of music running through his body.

while he had arrived dripped out in his usual punk-influenced fashion, all of his clothes and yours had been shed as you ride him slowly.

his dilated red eyes adore your form as he - feeling his high increase with each passing minute - kisses you, both unable to stop giggling.

“feel good, baby?”

“hella. your lips…are so…amazing.” he snickers, tasting the drug-tinged chocolate on you on your lips.

he’s to entranced in the smell of baked sweets, the wetness and warmth of your walls on his length, the sound of your skin rubbing and patting against his to the tune of the low trumpet croons that his phone had shuffled to in the background.

“you’re so tight. and pretty. and tight…”

“you already said that, soul.~” you giggle as he gives a nonchalant shrug, either too lost in his high to realize he’s repeated himself or too focused on matching your measured grinding to care.

“you make me wanna cum so bad, baby. g’nna nut.”

“gotta hold it then, baby…” your high moves much slower than his, which is fine because it make you laugh to see him slowly and hilariously mellow out under you. “we’ll both be too out of it to clean up…”

“yeah?” he pouts as you climb off.

“yeah.”

his glazed eyes are still a bit lustful but more than satisfied with the idea of jazz-scored, naked, weed-filled cuddles.

“okay. but ‘m gonna fuck you brainless later then, right?”

you kiss his cheek, a mess of giggles because he’ll absolutely fall asleep before that happens. or during. once, he’d crashed mid-sex once and you were more humored than you were annoyed - his sleeping, drooling expression was too adorable.

“yeah baby. of course you will.”

his sharp teeth show as his lips curl into a hungry smirk.

“cool.”

#smut #soul eater x reader #soul evans #soul x reader #soul eater evans #soul eater #October #kirby’s kinktober #kinktober #great Halloween anime. if you couldn’t tell be the pfp #tw weed

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beardedmrbean · 11 months

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Lawmakers in California are hoping to push through controversial legislation that would ban retail staff from stopping thieves stealing from their stores.

Senate Bill 553, which was submitted by Senator Dave Cortese, has been passed by the State Senate and will now progress to policy committees in the State Assembly. Cortese hopes the proposed law will prevent workplace violence and protect staff from being forced by their employers to step-in during robberies. But some store bosses are furious about the plans, with the California Retailers Association mocking the move as an open invitation for thieves "to come in and steal."

The political wrangling in California comes just weeks after Home Depot security guard Blake Mohs, 26, was shot to death during an attempted robbery in Pleasanton, California. Other cities in the state are also facing their own problems as they attempt to deal with lawlessness.

San Francisco has been gripped by a crimewave that has seen Whole Foods close its downtown location after just a year of business, with bosses saying they were unable to "ensure the safety" of their staff in the city. Nordstrom followed suit by leaving the city this month, but many smaller businesses have had no choice but to remain, despite attacks on their premises.

The proposed new laws come as stores have blamed shoplifting for hitting their businesses, with Target issuing a statement in November blaming "organized retail crime" for an eye-watering $400 million loss in its profits in 2022.

Cortese, a Democrat representing Santa Clara County, told Fox 2/KTVU: "More recently, we've seen another spike in retail violence; [At] Safeways, Home Depots, it just seems to be happening every other day... What we're saying in the bill is it's not ok for employers to take a rank-and-file worker, somebody whose job is really something else... and say, 'Hey, you know, if there's an intruder we're going to deputize you to intervene.' People get hurt and often killed that way."

A statement issued by Cortese's office noted that assaults in stores rose during the pandemic, citing 2022 analysis by the New York Times, which found that assaults in grocery stores increased by 63 percent from 2018 to 2020, and assaults in convenience stores grew by 75 percent. The statement added that workplace violence is the second leading cause of fatal occupational injury.

The Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) estimates that workplace violence affects nearly 2 million workers each year, with female staff suffering from higher rates of nonfatal injuries than their male counterparts.

A retail security survey published in 2022 by the National Retail Federal (NRF) also suggested the issue may be getting worse. The annual survey of the retail industry's loss prevention professionals found that "retail shrink is an almost $100 billion problem."

According to the survey, retailers blamed "external theft" for the greatest portion of "shrink" at 37 percent, while 28.5 percent was deemed to be the result of "employee/internal theft." The difference was made up by various factors, including processing and control failures. The survey found that 37.9 percent of respondents replied that no associates were allowed to apprehend shoplifters in their organizations.

The California bill, if enacted in law, would require employers to provide active-shooter training to workers, keep a log of any violent incidents, and allow companies to apply for workplace violence restraining orders.

But Rachel Michelin, president of the California Retailers Association, told Fox 2/KTVU: "This bill goes way too far, number one, where I think it will open the doors even wider for people to come in and steal from our stores."

And she added that most stores already prevent ordinary workers from confronting shoplifters, saying that most hire employees specifically trained in theft prevention for that purpose. "It [the bill] says no employee can approach someone who's shoplifting, so even if someone is trained on how to deter someone from doing that, now they're not allowed to approach someone. So what does that mean? We are opening up the doors to allow people to just walk into stores, steal, and walk out."

Newsweek is attempting to seek clarification on how the law applies to staff such as trained security guards.

Newsweek has also reached out to Senator Cortese and the California Retailers Association for further information and comment. Several large retailers, including Target and Walmart, have also been approached for comment about the proposed law.

The bill is currently subject to adjustments as it progresses through the State Assembly's policy committees.

#nunyas news #most companies have that rule already #this is a waste of resources imho

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kdramaspace · 9 months

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🔁 please consider reblogging to increase our sample size

as always, if you’d like to submit a potential POTW question, you may send in your submissions here.

#potw #potw: poll #potw: results #potw: 230724 #kdramaedit

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schraubd · 11 months

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Being Perpetually at the Mercy of the Arbitrary Negligence of the State is a Punishment

At the moment, we're seeing two somewhat orthogonal trends developing in conservative legal jurisprudence, both lawless, but in distinctive ways.

The first is an increasing indifference to textualism -- being perfectly happy to manipulate or flatly ignore statutory or constitutional language in order to achieve desired results. Yesterday's Clean Water Act ruling, where the Court held 5-4 that "adjacent" doesn't mean "adjacent" because, well, they don't want it to, is a prominent example. The "major questions" doctrine is another, including the invalidation of OSHA's COVID vaccine-or-test mandate despite the fact that it fell cleanly into the clear statutory language, is another. The Court's recent voting rights jurisprudence, featuring Shelby County's entirely-invented "equal sovereignty of the states" rule, is another. The Court's recent Second Amendment jurisprudence, which has functionally decided the first half of the Second Amendment's text may as well not exist, is a yet another.

The second, by contrast, is a sort of hyper-literal textualism that zooms in so tightly on individual words that it ends up blitzing past how people actually read texts. The opinion striking down mask mandates on planes is one example here; some of the opinions striking down the eviction moratorium fit as well. Though styled as "textualism", this sort of analysis really is a dangerous confluence of putative textualists being bad at reading texts.

Slotting into the latter category is a concurring opinion by 11th Circuit Judge Kevin Newsom in Wade v. McDade, arguing that the Eighth Amendment does not forbid any level of "negligent" treatment of prisoners by prison staff -- not negligent, not gross negligence, not even criminal recklessness. Judge Newsom's argument is deceptively simple: the Eighth Amendment forbids cruel and unusual punishments. But a punishment, he says, can by definition only be imposed intentionally. There's no such thing as a non-intentional punishment. And negligence, in all of its species, is something less than intentional. Hence:

The undeniable linguistic fact that the term “punishment” entails an intentionality element would seem to preclude any legal standard that imposes Eighth Amendment liability for unintentional conduct, no matter how negligent—whether it be only “mere[ly]” so or even “gross[ly]” so.... So on a plain reading, the Cruel and Unusual Punishments Clause applies only to penalties that are imposed intentionally and purposefully.

At one level, I appreciate Judge Newsom for saying the quiet part out loud here, because normally I'd spend time pointing out that Judge Newsom's position would warrant even the most grotesque acts of wanton disregard for the lives and wellbeing of prisoners. But Judge Newsom is quite happy to endorse (further) converting our prison system into a miniature gulag archipelago, so I guess I can skip that part and move to the textual question: is Judge Newsom's interpretation an "undeniable" inference from the term "punishment"?

And the answer, I think, is clearly "no".

At the outset of his opinion, Judge Newsom analogizes the negligent treatment of prisoners to that of parents and children: "Just as a parent can’t accidently punish his or her child, a prison official can’t accidentally—or even recklessly—'punish[]' an inmate." But in law, "accidental" and "intentional" are not an exhaustive binary. The whole purpose of the negligence and recklessness categories is to account for cases that lie between the pure accident and the specifically envisioned and desired consequence. And that makes sense, because while law contains different levels of "intent", legal fact patterns nearly always blend several of them together.

Take a case where a speeding driver strikes a pedestrian with his car. Did the driver act "intentionally"? On one level, he was likely intentionally speeding (his foot wasn't literally glued to the gas pedal). On another level, he likely did not intend to hit the pedestrian (he did not seek to mow him down). Negligence captures the interstitial position where the driver intentionally acted in a fashion which foreseeably placed the pedestrian in danger (even if converting the danger into reality was not the driver's motivation). In this, negligence is very different from the pure accident not because it lacks intention, but precisely because of its intentionality.

Swap back to punishment. Imagine a more pre-modern society where we outsource punishment to private actors. I catch you stealing tools from my garage. As a consequence, I strip you of your clothes, take all the possessions you have on you (to make sure you have nothing you could attack me with), and drop you off in the middle of the woods without food or water which I can't be bothered to acquire for you, safely away from my house. You tell me "my pills are in my bag; if I don't take them each evening I might die!" I say "I don't care if you live or die. Oh, and watch out for the forest-dwellers -- they aren't always friendly." You do, in fact, have a seizure overnight and die. Are the actions I took "punishing" you?

Plainly, it seems the answer is yes. And this is so even if I genuinely was apathetic to whether you lived or died. Like the driver striking the pedestrian, my conduct is a mix of the purely intentional (I took your possessions, I dropped you off in the woods) and negligent/reckless (I do not care whether you have a stroke, I do not care if the forest-dwellers attack you). Being intentionally placed in a position where one's custodians do not care whether you live or die is obviously a punishment. Indeed, the fact that it's a "punishment" is the only thing that distinguishes it from pure sadism, abuse, or kidnapping. The fact that the seizure was not specifically intended doesn't change the fact that what happened to you in no way could be described as an "accident". It was the result of intentional actions, and the reason I acted in the way that I did -- with reckless disregard for your life or safety -- was very much tied to my desire to punish you.

In most prison litigation cases, there is similar "intent". The failure to, e.g., give a prisoner necessary medication isn't a wholly-accidental whoopsie-doodle (and if it is, then there isn't even negligence). It is an intentional choice. Indeed, a large part of what prison is, and what makes it such a terrifying prospect, is that it is a place the state sends you where the people who have control of your life do not and perhaps need not care if you live or die. Everything about that is intentional. Or put another way, the pervasive, heartless lack of intention is the intention -- being placed in such a situation is entirely the product of intentional choices at every step of the process.

There's a lot to dislike about the "deliberate indifference" standard which has taken over prison abuse litigation, but one thing it gets right is that indifference is absolutely a choice, not an accident. To fail to treat a person in your custody with requisite care is a choice, and it doesn't stop being a choice just because its foreseeable consequences were not expressly desired.

So what makes Judge Newsom go astray here? He seems to think we should chop up "punishment" into each potential negative experience one might have in prison. Being locked up, and being restricted from the yard, and being deprived of medication, and being placed in solitary, and being put into a cellblock with white supremacists liable to stab you -- each of these are separate (potential) "punishments" whose status as a "punishment" must be assessed atomistically. But this approach defies common sense. When someone is sentenced to prison for a crime, we don't think of it as a loose cluster of twenty or so discrete "punishments". It's one punishment. The punishment is being a prisoner and being subjected to the prison experience. Everything that happens in prison is part of the overall context of being punished. There is no need to parcel out individual moments and ask "but is this particular action a separate punishment", any more than we need to ask whether swinging bats in the on-deck circle or jogging out into the outfield is part of "playing a baseball game." It's all part of the game, and the hyper-zoomed-in focus on each discrete moment misses the forest for the trees.

In other words, while it may be true that something must be a "punishment" to fall under the auspices of the Eighth Amendment, all prisoners by definition are being punished. They pass that threshold categorically; none of them have been placed in jail by accident. At that point, the relevant question is whether the set of challenged actions or behaviors or what have you suffices to make that punishment into a "cruel and unusual" one. And certainly, being put in an Arkham City terrordome should qualify even (especially!) if the overseers assiduously do not care if you live or die. Perpetual, ongoing, systematic negligence (to say nothing of recklessness) towards persons who are helpless and in your care is one of the cruelest acts imaginable. Where that is part of the punishment, the punishment is cruel and unusual.

Judge Newsom concludes his opinion with the following:

Maybe it makes sense to hold prison officials liable for negligently or recklessly denying inmates appropriate medical care. Maybe not. But any such liability, should we choose to recognize it, must find a home somewhere other than the Eighth Amendment. We—by which I mean the courts generally—have been ignoring that provision’s text long enough. Whether we like it or not, the Cruel and Unusual Punishments Clause applies, as its moniker suggests, only to “punishments.” And whether we like it or not, “punishment[]” occurs only when a government official acts intentionally and with a specific purpose to discipline or deter.

This "whether we like or not" language is reminiscent of my Sadomasochistic Judging article. Judge Newsom seems to recognize the cruelty inherent in his position. But he leverages that cruelty into an argument for textual fidelity; the avoidance of cruelty is the hint that his colleagues have been led astray from the strictures of law. As I've demonstrated above, this isn't true; the text does not demand the cruelty Judge Newsom ascribes to it. But the pleasure of the pain of causing pain is too tempting to pass up. It's not good textualism that's motivating Judge Newsom. It's the ecstasy of bad textualism leading to bad results, whose badness is paradoxically metabolized as the purest and most faithful instantiation of textual loyalty.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/JxhXtDy

#abuse #constitution #crime #prison

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hollyethecurious · 9 months

Text

CS AU: The Law of Surprise (2/3)

Summary: The Law of Surprise: a custom as old as humanity itself. The Law dictates that a man saved by another is expected to offer to his savior a boon whose nature is unknown to one or both parties. In most cases, the boon takes the form of the saved man's firstborn child, conceived or born without the father's knowledge.

A/N: This is NOT a Witcher AU. The idea for this fic WAS inspired by the show, however. I’m not sure if the Law of Surprise was a show/game creation or if it existed before. Regardless, this fic is my spin on the concept and will be posted in three parts.

Much love and thanks to the @cssns mods for keeping this event going year after year! A HUGE shout out to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the AMAZING pieces she made to accompany my fic. Go give her ALL the flails! Finally, all the hot chocolate, rum, and grilled cheese sandwiches for my amazing betas @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4. LOVE YOU LADIES TO BITS!

Rated T (for now) / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Part One

Part Two

Ten years later…

Hook trudged his way through the Neverland jungle, the humidity dampening the ends of his hair - long overdue for a barber’s hand - and collecting along the bones of his collar and the hollow of his throat. He grumbled beneath his breath as he sidestepped booby traps left by the Lost Boys. Most of them had probably been forgotten and left abandoned when the miscreants’ whims had shifted from whatever depraved game they’d been playing to some new nefarious venture.

During his decade of service, Hook had been tasked a dozen times or more to ferry boys from the accursed realm where Pleasure Island existed. An island that lured boys to their doom with promises of wild frivolity, their fate sealed when they found themselves aboard the Jolly Roger, never to be seen or heard from again once they set foot on the new island of hellish delights. Most didn’t seem to mind, giving themselves over to the feral, lawless ways of the island, following in Pan’s deviant footsteps. Others, however… Well, Hook did not make it a habit of spending time thinking of the others, or their nightly woes that were carried to him by the vindictive Neverland winds as he attempted to find some measure of peace on his ship. Besides, after tonight, he would never have to endure those sobs, or the whoops and war cries, or the perils of the island, or the dangers of its master ever again.

After tonight, he’d be leaving the island of nightmares behind him for good. Too bad the same could not be said of the nightmarish reputation his years of service had crafted.

Pirate. Villain. Void of pity or compassion. Callous. Heartless. Merciless. Barbarous. Cruel.

These were the words he’d seen splashed across countless wanted posters, all demanding his capture - dead or alive - with bounties that had increased exponentially over the years. Posters and decrees that hung in every port, every tavern, displayed on every ship he’d waylaid, and carried in the pockets of every officer or crewmen he’d crossed blades with. Even those from a kingdom in which he’d never committed his crimes. A kingdom he had avoided at all costs, hoping that when his time was up he might still find himself a safe harbour upon her shores of refuge; a place he still might belong, despite his dastardly deeds and fearsome reputation.

Misthaven. His adopted homeland. A place to which he had sworn vows of fealty and devotion, not simply to its sovereigns, but the kingdom as a whole. He had done all he could to maintain his oath, even to the point of waging his own war in allyship as he fulfilled Pan’s ruthless commands by targeting King George’s ships and cargos, even if easier pickings had been available to him, protected by the Misthavian coat-of-arms.

The deck of the Jolly Roger had been bathed in the blood of King George’s men numerous times over the course of the war, which had waged on for the better part of these ten years. It was only in these last few months that peace had finally been achieved. Some sort of deal struck with a sorcerer who ruled a far off kingdom, his dark magic laying waste to George’s forces and ending the king’s reign in, what Hook had been told was, a resounding display of brutality that rivaled his own.

Though he shuddered to think of the deal his sovereigns had willingly made with a madman of such dark proclivities, Hook understood the necessity of desperate measures during such desperate times when those you loved and served were on the brink of death and destruction. Who was he to judge them? They had done what they felt they must in order to safeguard their people. A task made more complex by the fact that the entire conflict had begun with the atrocity of robbing Queen Snow of the ability to conceive an heir. Without a progeny to pass the throne to, Misthaven could have found itself under George’s rule had anything happened to Their Majesties. Hook knew they could not risk their subjects’ futures to such a fate, though he did wonder what the future held for a kingdom with no heir.

He supposed he’d find out for himself once he returned. Assuming he was not killed on sight when he made berth, feeling relatively certain, given the bounty King David himself had set upon his head, that neither his sovereigns nor his brother knew of his true identity. He did not relish the idea of revealing that truth, and could only pray he would find pardon once their shock and disgust subsided. That is… if he even found the courage to return at all.

There was no use denying that he’d considered, on many occasions, leaving the island and sailing as far from the realm as he could. Starting anew in some foreign destination where the names Killian Jones and Captain Hook held no meaning. He could not do that to Liam, though. Could not leave his brother to wonder after his fate, or worse, come looking for him on the island of nightmares where last they saw one another. Plus, he’d made a vow to honor his accords so long as they were honored in kind. He owed it to his sovereigns to return. If the king and queen chose to sever the ties that bound them, by both his oath and the unfilled Law of Surprise, then so be it, but he would not break his oath, not when he’d gone to such lengths to preserve it.

Skull Rock held the same oppressive and imposing heaviness it always did as he marched up the damp stone steps, each bootfall echoing the dread that pounded in his chest. Every time he’d presented himself here, Hook wondered how much more of himself he’d lose while implementing Pan’s bidding. This time was different, though. This time there would be no bidding. No demands. No nefarious schemes or dark dealings. This time, he was being summoned because their deal had finally come to an end. Ten long years of torment would be fulfilled this night and by dawn he would once again taste that which had eluded him for most of his life.

Freedom.

The same, however, could not be said for the poor unfortunate sat cowered in the dark corner of the cavern. A new toy for Pan’s amusement, no doubt. With no sign of Pan just yet, Hook casually glanced back at the small figure who appeared to be trapped in one of Pan’s giant hourglass prisons and was startled to realize it was no boy sitting with their knees curled into their chest, tears streaming down their cheeks, but was in fact… a girl.

Curious. Pan only ever wanted boys to join his little tribe of miscreants. What possible reason could he have for bringing a girl to--

“Ah, Captain! I do hope you have not been waiting long.”

“Only ten insufferable years,” Hook muttered under his breath, though he knew Pan heard him. Pan heard everything. “So we can dispense with the pleasantries if it’s all the same to you.”

They were squared off with one another, each taking on the posture that had become habit. Hook’s stance was always casual yet formidable, his thumb tucked behind his belt buckle with his weight shifted to one side, while Pan leaned against the craggy interior of the cave, his arms and ankles crossed as though he had not a care in the world. However, there was something off about Pan’s comportment this time. Hook could only surmise the change in demeanor was due to the ending of their arrangement and the little bastard’s loss of an errand boy.

A summation that proved wrong when Pan narrowed his gaze and hissed, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Hook’s brow pulled together and his head cocked to one side. “Find out… what?”

Pushing off from the wall, Pan slithered his way towards Hook, circling him in a way that made the pirate’s skin crawl, inquiring again, “Did you really think you could keep it from me?”

“Pan,” Hook sighed. He was so tired of the brat’s games. “I’ve no clue what you’re on about.”

Coming to a halt right in front of Hook, Pan crossed his arms over his chest, and though his feet were in a wide stance, exaggerating their difference in height, he somehow leveled his eyes with Hook’s.

“Did you think I would not discover the boon you were entitled to by King David himself?” Pan asked in a casual but dangerous tone. “The Law of Surprise you were promised for saving the man’s life?”

It took all of Hook’s composure not to react, though his jaw did betray him when the muscle beneath twitched. How could he possibly know about--

“Did you really think I would not keep tabs on your brother? On those whom you had served before me? It was part of our original arrangement that they would not interfere, and I had to make sure they made good on that promise. Imagine my surprise when my Shadow returned from his most recent reconnaissance with the news. The Law of Surprise bestowed upon you long ago.”

Trepidation filled him as Pan set off circling again, his mind spinning even as it tried to comprehend the words that followed.

“You never did find out what that surprise entailed, did you?” Pan made his way to stand next to the golden haired girl who was still trapped, her cries for help unable to penetrate the glass as he practically crowed, “Surprise! It’s a girl!”

“What?” Hook exhaled on an incredulous breath. “No, that’s… that’s impossible. She’s--”

“Princess Emma of Misthaven,” Pan stated. “Her existence was kept secret all these years for her own safety. Of course, now that Misthaven’s war with George is at an end the truth was finally revealed to its subjects. Although, I’m pretty sure only their Majesties and your brother are aware of her special connection to you. Well… and now me, of course.”

Hook’s gaze had been fixed on the young girl throughout Pan’s crowing. Her hair was a bit lighter than the king’s, her complexion not quite as porcelain as the queen’s, yet there was no denying her parentage. Her nose, her chin, her eyes… all features he could attribute back to King David or Queen Snow. She was theirs. Their child. But how? The Queen was barren. George had seen to it that she be unable to conceive and produce an heir, which made her existence a surprise indeed.

His surprise. His Child of Surprise according to magical law. She was his.

Drawing his sword, Hook advanced on Pan, thundering, “Let her go!”

With a flick of his wrist Pan immobilized Hook, leaving him virtually paralyzed in place and unable to move.

“I think not,” Pan sneered. “She’s my keepsake. A little token to remember you by… unless…”

“Unless what?” Hook spat through clenched teeth.

“Unless,” Pan drawled, “You agree to stay… indefinitely.”

Hook’s eyes cut to the princess - his princess - and the fear he saw shadowing her face tore his heart. Had Pan ripped her from her bed? Had his monstrous spectre dragged her here through the night sky with the potential horror of falling to her death whipping over her as they sliced their way through the air? How long had she been trapped in that corner, encased in a glass prison? What must she think of the scene playing out before her? How desperate must she be to return to her parents? Her parents. The King and Queen must be frantic. Almost as frantic as he was over the prospect of her being trapped here. Forever.

Over his dead body.

“Deal,” Hook agreed, casting his gaze once more on the demon boy. “On one condition.”

“What condition?”

“You let me take her back,” Hook demanded. “You let me ensure she gets home safe, tucked away once more in her bed. You let me reassure Their Majesties and inform my brother of our new deal. Give me that at least.”

Pan gave him a bored look, an almost disgusted sneer pulling at his lips as though he were disappointed by the sentimentality of the request. “Very well,” he said, dismissively. “I’ll have my Shadow ready the sail, but you best be headed back here before dawn,” he warned, pointing a bony finger towards the pirate. “And remind that brother of yours, he’s not to interfere. Him and your… sovereigns.”

Pan vanished before Hook’s eyes and the weight of what he’d just agreed to fell heavy within his stomach. The glitter of magic pulled his attention towards the hourglass, its walls dissipating, allowing freedom to its captive, but the princess shrank back further into the corner. Clearly fearful, but doing her best to put on a brave face, she stiffened her posture and lifted her chin, her eyes fixed on him as he tentatively approached.

“Have you come to ransom me to my parents?” she demanded, a quiver of fear trembling in her voice and manifesting in her bottom lip.

“No, Princess,” he assured her in a calm and soothing tone, dropping the timbre of his voice as he extended his hand towards her. “I’ve already paid your ransom. I’m taking you home.”

“You? You paid the ransom?” she asked incredulously. “Why?”

He tightened his jaw, making the muscles twitch, and contemplated how much to divulge to her. “Because I… I once served your parents, and between us there is a debt owed. It is my duty to see to your safe keeping.”

“You owe my parents a debt?” she said, taking a step forward.

He said nothing, letting her keep her wrong assumptions, and beckoned her forward with a quick gesture of his hand. “Come,” he said, taking her hand once she was clear of the opening within the glass. “We have a rather long journey ahead of us, and your parents must be worried sick.”

The princess followed along beside him, her little hand tucked tightly in his as they made their way to the cove where the Jolly Roger awaited them. The main sail was already darkened by the Shadow, and Hook wasted no time casting off once he and the princess were safe aboard. As soon as they were far enough away from the island Hook felt the ship begin to lift out of the waters and take flight. He curved his hook around a spoke of the wheel, bracing himself for the transition from sea to air as he held firm to Emma’s hand. The turbulent ascent and the way it made his belly fall was expected, but the arms frantically wrapping around his middle, attempting to squeeze the life out of him was not.

Looking down, he chuckled at the way the little princess buried her face in his leather coat, barely able to discern her muffled, “Tell me when it's over,” as she held on for dear life.

“You’ve nothing to fear, Princess,” he assured her, stroking his hand over her hair. “We can go below if it’ll make you feel better.”

Tilting her face upward, she stared at him with concern and apprehension swirling in her bright green gaze, and if there had been any doubt before, Hook knew in that moment there was not a thing in any and all the realms he would not do to ensure her safety and happiness.

“Don’t you have to man the helm?” she asked.

“No,” he told her, already leading the way towards his quarters. “The ship can manage without me.”

He hovered in the corner by the hatch steps as she perused the room, giving her space to grow comfortable with her surroundings..

“I’ve never been on a pirate ship before.”

“I should think not,” he responded to her off-handed comment, unable to keep the appalled tone from underpinning his words.

“Actually,” she said, studying the maps and charts that littered his desk. “I’ve never been on any ship. I’ve never even left the castle until yesterday.”

“Aye. Pan mentioned you’d been kept a secret all these years.”

“Mama and Papa said it was for my protection. They said King George could never know or else…”

She let the statement trail off and busied herself with inspecting his books, obviously uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed.

“Forgive my curiosity,” Hook began tentatively, the need for answers gnawing at him and waging war against the instinct to keep her from having to recount anything unpleasant. “I was under the impression that Queen Snow was barren. How is it… that is. How did you…”

“The waters of Lake Nostos,” she informed him, making her way to his bunk and plopping herself down to sit on its edge with a small bounce.

“The what?” He crossed his arms and ankles, reclining further into the corner, heartened by the way she seemed to be relaxing in his presence and unwilling to make any sudden movement that might put her on edge once more.

“Lake Nostos,” she repeated, fidgeting with something in her hands. A seashell, Hook realized. She must have plundered it from his desk without his notice. She’d make a hell of a pirate someday, he thought wryly.

“My father acquired a barrel of it, hoping its powers might restore what King George’s poison took from my mother,” she went on to explain. “That’s what the legend says it does, anyway.”

Hook’s brows furrowed as a long forgotten piece of knowledge made its way from the recesses of his mind. “Its waters were said to have magical properties that could return something that was once lost.” The princess nodded, but Hook’s skepticism deepend. “I thought those waters had dried up.”

“They had,” she continued, turning the seashell over in her hands, “But Papa found a merchant that had one remaining barrel of its waters, and was able to acquire it. Although, his search for a cure was almost for naught.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because Papa’s ship was ambushed by King George, with the barrel still aboard, and it sank to the bottom of the sea during the battle. Papa himself almost perished.”

Flashes of that battle erupted within Hook's mind. The smell of the gunpowder, the coppery taste of blood in the air, the excruciating pain in his wrist, the frigid bite of the dark waters, and those last moments just beyond death’s cold grip before he…

“Fortunately, a sailor hooked himself to the barrel and used it to keep afloat. Otherwise… I wouldn’t be here.”

All the air whooshed from Hook’s lungs, but he barely had time to process that astonishing twist of fate before the ship lurched and a tell-tale shade of green began to colour the princess’ features.

“There, there, lass,” he cooed softly, managing to get the basin to her in time and rubbing soothing circles over her back as she retched. Leaving the basin in her lap, he crossed the cabin and mixed up a tonic that would help settle her stomach, as well as put her to sleep for the duration of their journey.

“Here,” he offered, giving her a soft, encouraging smile as she brought the cup to her lips. “This will help with the queasiness, but it’ll also make you drowsy.”

Hook was humbled by the trust she showed him, swallowing every last drop of the tonic before handing the empty cup back to him.

“How long will it take before we get back to Misthaven?”

“A few hours,” he replied, grabbing a soft blanket from the chest at the foot of his bunk and encouraging her to lay back.

She yawned as he covered her, seemingly unaware as he removed the seashell from her grasp and placed it in his pocket, then she turned onto her side and tucked her hand beneath her head, her eyes following him as he settled into the chair behind his desk.

“You know… Papa doesn’t care for pirates much.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” she uttered wearily, the tonic already taking effect. “Make sure to wake me when we get there, so I can ensure your safety when you bring me back to the castle.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Hook’s mouth, and he couldn’t deny the warm feeling seeping through his chest at her insistence that she would protect him. Him. The fearsome Captain Hook.

“Do you believe your father would have me in irons the moment I set foot within the castle walls?”

“Yes,” she yawned. “Unless Uncle Liam gets to you first.”

The warm feeling turned to ice at the mention of his brother’s name. Uncle Liam. She’d been raised to regard his brother as her kin. It should not have surprised him. Of course his brother would have filled the void and stepped into the gap his absence had left behind. The Law of Surprise was dictated by the fates - and if he’d ever held any doubts over just how destiny driven that ancient magic was, the princess had all but wiped them away with her confirmation that her very existence would not have been possible had he not tethered himself to that barrel with the very hook her mother had later gifted him. The one still affixed to the brace on his left arm - it stood to reason that providence would provide a surrogate until such a time that destiny could be fulfilled.

Hook wondered what the fates might have in store for her now that he’d bound himself once more to Pan, this time… indefinitely. Perhaps that was fate's design as well. Who else but his brother could best help prepare her for the path that lay ahead as heir and future queen of Misthaven. Liam was a much better candidate than he, even before they’d sailed to Neverland. Before he’d failed to protect his captain from harm. Before he’d made the deal. Before Pan made him a pirate. Before he’d succumbed to the persona of Hook and, at times, many more times than he’d care to admit, had reveled in it.

Aye. This must have been the fates plan all along. A way to correct the error of the Law of Surprise ever being bestowed upon him in the first place. A way to ensure Emma’s safety and protection, her happiness and contentment. A way to set her on the right course so she could reign and rule her people with love and patience, mercy and justice. Virtues he’d long buried until they’d suffocated under the weight of his vices.

The fates were right. What use was a filthy, murderous, villainous pirate to one such as her? She was better off being looked after by his brother. Better off without him tarnishing her life and legacy, corrupting whatever goodness the fates had in store for her.

Hook left the little princess sleeping contentedly in his bunk, making his way back to the helm with his flask unstoppered in his hand. With each long pull of rum he took his eyes scanned the stars until he saw the two familiar flickering lights that signaled their passage from one realm to the next. The ship steered towards the star on the left and new heavens opened above him, revealing constellations he’d spent many a night in recovery mapping from one of the castle’s towers.

The Jolly Roger set down in the Misthavian waters several leagues from port and Hook moored her in a small cove not far from the castle. Gathering the still slumbering princess in his arms, he secured her to his person then swung down from the deck with the aid of the rigging. The sleeping draught he’d added to the tonic was proving quite effective, and Hook pushed away the guilt he felt over drugging her, knowing it had not been only for her own comfort that he’d added the sedative.

It was an arduous trek to the castle with very little of the waning moon’s beams to help guide him. Its illumination proved enough to alert the tower guards of his approach, however, for no sooner had he stepped onto the path that led to the back gate than a voice cried out a commanding order.

“Halt! Unhand the princess!”

“I have come in peace,” Hook told them, adjusting the princess’ weight in his arms.

“Not likely,” the guard scoffed. “You were spotted the moment your ship, with its unnatural black sail, descended. Since when does Captain Hook ever do anything in the name of peace?”

Hook sighed and leveled his gaze at the young knight, all the while clocking the other guards that were beginning to surround him. “Since he is here, not as Hook, but as the man he once was before becoming a pirate.” Swallowing heavily, he announced himself by the name he’d abandoned long ago. A name that felt more like a moniker than the one he’d earned wielding the weapon that had become his namesake. “Killian Jones.”

A few of the guards balked. “Jones? As in Admiral Liam--”

“I demand an audience with Their Majesties and my brother,” Hook barked. “I will only turn the princess over to their care. No one else.”

“Now see here, pirate! Who do you think you are to make dem-”

“Let him pass!” a familiar voice called out from behind the line of knights and guards. Pushing her way through the assembly, Tink emerged, a stunned and elated expression beaming from her features.

“Lady Bell,” Hook murmured in greeting, a wash of something like shame cascading over him as her eyes took him in and her expression soured into something more like shocked horror than pleasant surprise.

Whatever her final estimations of him, she shook off her stupefaction and rounded on the guards once more. “Did you not hear me? I said let him pass. Captain Jones is a faithful servant to the crown, evident by the fact that he has returned the princess to us. Escort him to the throne room and awaken Their Majesties at once!”

Hook had no idea what power Tink had carved out for herself within the Misthaven court this past decade, but that did not keep him from enjoying the spectacle of knights and guards tripping over themselves to carry out her orders as he was ushered to the throne room.

“Wait here,” his escort instructed, securing the doors behind him as he exited to stand guard until Their Majesties’ arrival. Hook was astonished that the man had left him alone with the princess, though he was grateful for the solitude, knowing he’d need these few moments to collect his thoughts and figure out how he would tell them about the new deal he’d struck… and because he knew these were the final moments he’d have with the princess - his princess - before he’d have to say goodbye to her.

Potentially forever.

He did not wish to linger on that thought.

Hook lowered himself onto the edge of the dais and cradled the princess in his lap while he waited for the king and queen to arrive. It felt strange to be back in this room. Not much had changed, based on the cursory perusal he gave the space upon entering. He wondered how much he would find King David and Queen Snow changed, to say nothing of his brother. They would be older, no doubt. Bits of gray peppering their temples, a few wrinkles beginning to etch themselves around the eyes and across their foreheads, but despite their outward appearance, Hook doubted very much that the years would have altered them as they had him.

No. If anyone was different, if anyone had undergone a drastic change to the point they might find themselves unrecognizable to those who had once known them best, it was him. Glancing down at himself, bedecked in his typical black leather and adorned with all manner of accessories unbecoming an officer, Hook wondered very much if any of them would recognize him at all.

The throne room doors banged open, causing Hook’s head to shoot up. The king and queen rushed in, hand-in-hand, followed closely by his brother. The three of them, darned in their nightclothes with their chests heaving from the exertion of sprinting from their respective bedchambers, stopped short at the sight of him sitting there with the princess wrapped in his arms. Gently, Hook laid Emma down beside him, then moved away, averting his eyes so as to not see their shocked expressions.

“She is well,” he assured them. “I gave her a sleeping draught to help calm her nerves on the journey home. It will wear off in due course.”

Stepping further back when he heard the stampede of footfalls coming towards him, Hook watched with a pained sort of contentment as the king and queen dashed to their daughter’s side. His meticulously honed skills, developed from years of having to navigate past dangers lurking within the Neverland jungle, alerted him to the soft pads making their way, not to the princess, but to him, and Hook braced himself to face his brother.

“Killian?” Liam's tone of pure exhilaration tore right through Hook. “Little brother, is it really you?”

“Aye,” Hook replied, his gaze, growing misty from the emotion welling beneath his lashes, still cast downward as he felt the weight of his brother’s hand upon his shoulder.

“After all this time,” Liam began, a sob choking his words. His hands cupped Hook’s face and he tilted his head upwards so he could look fully at his brother’s features. “You look just the same and yet, I hardly recognize you. Whatever are you wearing?”

Hook could not help the amused huff that left his lungs, matching his brother’s cheeky smile before allowing Liam to pull him into a tight embrace. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he desperately clung to his brother, wishing with all his might this didn’t have to be another good-bye.

“Oh, Killian!” Snow wailed, launching herself into his arms after Liam had released him, and he soon found himself in the bear-like grip of the king as his arms wound around both he and the queen.

“You found her? You brought her home? But how?” King David inquired, prompting their assembly back towards the dais so he and Snow could sit with Emma as they waited for answers. “She went missing only yesterday, when her maids found her bed empty. We hadn’t even sent word to other kingdoms yet, so how did you--”

“Charming,” Snow interjected, her eyes scrutinizing Hook with the practiced eye of a caring mother. “The tale can wait until Killian has had a chance to rest.” A warm smile graced her lips as she lovingly admonished, “You look dead on your feet. Allow us to have a room made up for you.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, but I am afraid I must decline,” Hook responded heavily. “I only have until dawn before I must return.”

“Return?” Liam exclaimed. “No! Your years of service to Pan expired yesterday! I thought… I thought that’s why you were here. Because you are now free.”

“It’s true, my original agreement with Pan ended yesterday,” Hook said, his eyes cast back down towards the floor once more. “But… I made a new deal with the demon boy, and I must get back before dawn or else it becomes void.”

“Let it!” Liam shouted. “Whatever reason you made this deal, surely it is not worth another decade of suffering under that vile imp’s rule.”

Hook flicked his gaze up to Liam’s, then over to the still slumbering princess and imparted, “It is, actually.”

Snow gasped and David balked when they both realized the meaning and gravity of Hook’s words, and three sets of horrified and anguish filled eyes turned upon him.

“You mean--”

“It was Pan,” Hook confirmed with a somber nod. “Somehow, he discovered the boon I earned in saving your life all those years ago. The Law of Surprise I was not even aware I had received until it sat caged in Pan’s lair. The price of Princess Emma’s freedom was for me to agree to stay, and it is a deal I would make a thousand times over.”

“For how long?” David demanded. “How long is this new deal for?”

Hook’s jaw tightened and once again he found himself unable to look any of them in the eye as he confessed, “Indefinitely. Likely, until one of our deaths sets me free.”

Shouts of outrage erupted around him, both the king and his brother insisting he stay, assuring him they would be willing to go to war with Pan if need be.

“No!” Hook hollered back, a flash of fury burning in his eyes as he drew himself up to full captain’s height and stepped into the persona he’d fashioned for himself over these many years. “You don’t know Pan as I do. He is a formidable foe, one you can not hope to defeat with conventional means. You’ve only just found peace for your kingdom now the war with George is at an end. I will not see you enter into another. I will not risk any of your lives just to try and save mine.” Each of them flinched under his hardened gaze as it snapped from one to the other until it landed with a softened hint of affection upon the princess. “I will not risk hers,” he murmured gruffly. “She is too important, and I… I am nothing more than a filthy pirate.”

“That’s not true, little broth--”

“It is true!” Hook growled menacingly, raising his namesake. “I am none other than Captain Hook, who you yourself have issued countless bounties for, dead or alive,” he told them as the full realization of his identity hit them. “And that is only for the crimes you know I have committed. You cannot even fathom the atrocities of which I am truly guilty.”

“Killian, none of that mat--”

“That is no longer my name!” Hook roared. His eyes flashed again and David instinctually pulled his wife behind him. The protective action cut Hook to the quick, and he quickly deflated as he swept his hand through his hair while filling his lungs with a calming breath. Running his tongue over his lips, he swallowed past the shame gurgling up from his belly, and set contrite eyes upon his sovereigns. “My apologies,” he said in earnest. “Killian Jones may have been a man worthy of such sacrifice, but I assure you, Captain Hook is not. Regardless,” he paused and set his eyes upon Emma once more. “For better or worse, the fates entrusted her to my keeping, and I would see that duty met. But that won’t be possible once I leave here, which means…” he cast his eyes upon his brother and began to decree, “Into your keeping, brother, I bestow the rights and duty of the Law of-”

“Stop!” Liam commanded, placing his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t. Don’t you do that. Don't you give up.” Gesturing towards the princess, Liam vowed, “I will look after her in your stead, but she will remain your Child of Surprise. If only to give you some reason to keep on fighting. You said you would do your duty towards her, and we will hold you to that, brother. None of us can know why the fates chose you, all we can do is trust in some greater plan that has yet to come to fruition.”

“Liam is right,” the king added in agreement. “The honor, privilege, and responsibility of my child’s life rests with you, Killian. It always has. Will you continue to safeguard it?”

Eyes once more fixed on the sleeping child resting in her mother’s lap, Hook took in a deep and shuddering breath. “Aye,” he exhaled. “Even to my last breath.”

The force of the king’s slap to his back nearly knocked him over. “Good. Then come and sit with us. You said we only had until dawn, and we have much to catch up on.”

The next few hours were spent in camaraderie and merriment, with only the occasional melancholy or remorse. Hook had forgotten what it felt like: fellowship, the use of his given name, the occasion to laugh, to tease, to bond. All too soon the roosters began to crow from the yard outside the castle walls, announcing the coming of the dawn that would begin creeping over the horizon within the hour.

Hook would never know where he found the fortitude to not break down when the time came to bid a final farewell to Their Majesties - his friends - and brother. David gave him his word that he would have pardon within Misthaven, that the kingdom would be a refuge and sanctuary to him whenever he might have need of it. Liam made his little brother promise to keep fighting, to keep searching for a way to defeat Pan so he could come home once and for all. When the time came to say good-bye to Snow, Hook’s words got caught in his throat. Not because this was a more difficult farewell, but because it meant the one he was truly dreading would be next.

“Would you…” Snow began, hesitantly. Perhaps sensing his turmoil in that intuitive way she had about her. “Would you mind helping me get Emma back to her room?” she asked, glancing over at the cushioned bench where the princess had continued to sleep throughout their reunion. “I had hoped she might wake up so you could tell her good-bye, but perhaps tucking her in and knowing she is safe and sound would be the next best thing?”

“Aye, thank you, Your Majes… I mean. Thank you, Snow,” Hook corrected when she raised her brows at him, reminding him they had agreed to dispense with the honorifics, as good friends were wont to do.

Gathering the princess in his arms, Hook gave David and Liam one last look and resolved nod before following Snow out of the throne room and through the corridors until they reached Emma’s chambers. Snow opened the doors and gestured Hook inside, hovering just beyond the threshold as Hook deposited the princess in bed.

The child groaned and stretched, momentarily opening her eyes and fighting the effects of the draught as she wearily gazed up at the pirate kneeling beside the bed.

“Shhh, princess,” he soothed. “Everything is well now. You’re home.”

“I told you to wake me,” she mumbled. “Papa didn’t arrest you, did he?”

Hook chuckled. “No, lass. Your Papa has been most hospitable, but I have worn out my welcome and must go now.”

“Must you?”

“Aye, princess. I’m afraid so.”

“Will I ever see you again?”

Hook threaded his fingers through her hair, stroking the long, silken strands with a gentle touch before tucking them behind her ear. “I hope so, princess. Most assuredly.”

“Me, too.”

Her eyes fluttered shut and her breathing began to even back out. Hoping she had not fully succumbed to the abyss of sleep once more, Hook pulled the seashell she’d taken from his desk and placed it back in her palm. “Here,” he murmured softly, “A little something to remember me by, and… a promise.” Stroking her hair once more, Hook leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead, sending up a silent prayer to all the gods and fates that she be kept safe and only know happiness in her life before vowing, “Not a day will go by I won’t think of you.”

He knelt there for a moment more before making his way back towards the door, pausing at the threshold when he heard a quiet, “good” murmured from her bed. Tears stung his eyes, a halting breath escaping from his chest as he tried to maintain his composure in Snow’s presence.

Wrapping her arms around him, Snow gave him sanctuary to pour out his anguish. The despair and injustice. Everything he’d been suppressing since he’d discovered the truth and learned of Emma’s existence. Everything that was boiling over within him now, having to leave behind all he held dear, all that was precious to him.

It wasn’t fair.

Not because he felt he deserved better, he knew he didn’t. No. It wasn’t fair to Emma. Surely she must have felt it? The bond that had been created between them through the Law of Surprise. The feeling of being incomplete, as though he were leaving parts of himself behind, would she feel that loss as well? Would she ache for something she sensed missing as the deep recesses within him were now beginning to ache for her? Would she endeavor to fill the void his absence would create? Would she come looking for him?

“She can’t ever know,” Hook declared desperately.

“What?”

“Emma,” Hook clarified. “She can’t ever know about me. About the Law of Surprise. Please, Snow. Promise me you won’t burden her with that knowledge. Have the fairies help her forget me, if necessary.”

“Killian, what are you saying?” Snow inquired, her brow frightfully furrowed at his frantic demeanor.

“I’m saying, if she doesn’t know about me, then she won’t… she won’t be tempted to come find me. She’ll stay here. She’ll stay safe. Promise me.”

“I… I promise,” Snow agreed, though Hook could tell it was begrudgingly. “I promise that if she is ever to know the truth, it will only come from your lips.”

“Thank you,” he exhaled on a relieved breath, before pulling her into a final embrace. “For everything. I…”

“I know,” she assured him. “You must go,” she insisted, releasing him and taking a step back while wiping away her tears. “Dawn approaches.”

“Aye,” Killian replied, reaching out and giving her hand a squeeze. “Take care of yourself, Your Majesty.”

“Take care of yourself… Captain.”

With only minutes to spare, Hook made it back to the Jolly Roger and set sail back to Neverland. He was halfway back to the island of horrors when a sound from the hold sparked his curiosity. A quick search revealed… a stowaway.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing here, Tink?!”

“Shhh,” she admonished. “Keep your voice down or that spectre will hear you.”

“How do you know that spectre doesn’t already know you’re on board?”

“Because it was asleep when I snuck on.”

Hook balked. “It sleeps?”

“Yup,” she replied with a dramatic pop of the p. “Ten years and you never realized Pan’s shadow sleeps? I was right. You do need my help.”

“Your help?” Hook questioned, his head cocked to one side as he looked upon the fairy with confusion. “Help with what?”

“Why… killing Pan, of course. You and I both know that’s the only way out of your new deal with him.”

“How did you-”

“I was eavesdropping from the second floor gallery.”

“You what?!”

Tink held up her hand to stay his indignation. “Do you want to admonish me, or do you want to hear my plan?”

“You have a plan?” he repeated, with a heavy dose of skepticism. “To kill Pan?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Tink rocked back on her heels. “Mhmm. Wanna hear it or not?”

She was serious. She actually had a plan, and from the resolve he could see set within her shoulders and the way her eyes gleamed, Hook could tell it was a good one.

“I’m listening.”

Hook had to give it to the fairy, she was brilliant. Her plan had merit. Real merit. But it would take time, and cunning, and a fair amount of luck, and they’d be putting themselves at great risk if they failed.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why are you doing this? Risking everything. Your very life. Just to help me go free?”

“For one,” she said, taking his hand. “You deserve it.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. “And the other?”

Tink wet her lips and swallowed. “I’m doing it for her. For Emma. She needs you. Her life will never be… complete, never be fulfilled, never be what it's meant to be. Not without you in it.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, pulling his hand away. “She’s far better off without me in her life.”

A smirk lifted the corner of her lips, and they were both jolted by the jarring impact of the ship’s return to the waters of Neverland.

“We’ll see about that.”

Part Three - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

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