#ross poldark/jim hawkins
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A Ross Poldark/Jim Hawkins story
With illustrations by the ever-wonderful @sugarsu
Read chapter 7 HERE
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DarkHawk - a Star Trek AU
Jim Hawkins, the youngest captain in Starfleet command, paired with the gruff and hardened chief security officer Ross Poldark as his second in command.
A partnership that perhaps doesn’t start out on the right foot?
Words: 832
Warnings: Inappropriate language and "flirting"
AO3
For @deanobingo, and @gatheringfiki's AUpocalypse
~
The hour was late when Commander Ross Poldark entered the Captain’s ready room unprompted, his features stern and sour – but with a hint of a color to his cheeks brought on by a recent glass of Irish whiskey. Or two.
Jim Hawkins looked up from the chair where he was sitting behind his desk. “What a pleasant surprise,” he said, showing off attentive, blue eyes, and a small dimple on his left cheek.
Ross huffed. These fake pleasantries were beneath him.
The polite smile faded from Hawkins’ lips. He carefully closed the book he had been reading, demonstratively put it aside, and asked in a serious, if not unfriendly, tone, “What is your problem with me, Mr Poldark?” After a small paus, he added. “And do speak freely.”
“You know full well what the problem is,” Ross began, heatedly. “You are too young and inexperienced to hold such a position on a ship as significant as this. Real captaining can’t be learnt in schools and textbooks.” The captain’s raised eyebrow did nothing to dissuade him from continuing to impress his disdain. “You are naive, and your insistence on overindulging in complaisant, so-called ‘diplomacy’, might very well get us killed one day.”
Hawkings sighed, looking disappointed and even amused of all things. “You mistake politeness for naïvete,” he responded calmly. “And perhaps you don’t know my background as well as you think.”
What was there to know? This was a classic case of a newly graduating officer with zero world experience, not daring to step on anyone’s foot or step one millimeter outside the starfleet’s guidelines, and all-together being either afraid or incapable of making the hard calls. How this innocent-looking, tiny sprig of a man had managed to land this position was beyond Ross’ comprehension; his slight frame looked like it would break from a bout of moderately sized turbulence.
“We should not be pandering to our inferiors,” Ross insisted, hands balling into fists. “If you continue your concept of ‘turning the other cheek’, sooner or later you will turn the wrong kind of cheek – inviting us all to get fucked.”
The coarse language did not seem to offend Hawkins in the slightest. In fact, much to Ross’ annoyance, it rather seemed to amuse him. A hint of a smile was playing on the Captain’s lips before he hid it away. “You paint a very vivid picture, Commander,” he finally commented, seemingly straight-faced. But the sparkle in his eyes betrayed him.
Ross was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected reaction, but then he pulled himself together. Linking his hands behind his back and straightening himself, he elected to stare straight ahead at the opposite wall – just looking at the insufferable boy made his temper flair.
He gritted his teeth. “This is not a joking matter. As Chief Security Officer, it is my duty to keep the ship and its crew safe. But in the end it doesn't matter what I think, only what the enemy does,” he explained, biting off his words. “And sooner or later one of them will see your ‘politeness’ as a weakness that they will take advantage of.”
“I see,” was all the so-called Captain deigned to respond with.
He had had enough. It was completely infuriating how he just sat there calm as clam, completely ignoring all of Ross’ valid criticism! He couldn’t stop himself. ”Perhaps what you need is a demonstration; something to make you realize the seriousness of our situation,” he continued heatedly, all sense of propriety thrown out the airlock. “Perhaps what you need is to be bent over and shown what it’s like to be properly screwed. It might even dislodge that rigid stick up your arse – Sir.”
The silence that followed was compact. And long enough for Ross to realize what he had just said, wondering which part it was that was gonna get him demoted and thrown off the ship. The scraping sound of the chair slowly being pushed back was deafening.
“Mr Poldark,” the Captain began somberly as he rose. “You are greatly overestimating my lack of–,” here, the corner of Hawkins' mouth twitched upwards, “experience. Both in the field and otherwise.”
Ross breathlessly held his tongue as the other man slowly rounded the desk and casually approached him. Yes, definitely a man and not a boy, Ross realized, despite the slight frame. Hawkins didn’t stop until he was close enough that he had to slightly bend his neck to look up at Ross’ flushed face.
The man was standing with his hands at his back, very at ease with himself. His voice was low and sultry when he spoke. “If you need direct proof of my prowess, Commander, all you have to do is ask.” His eyes danced with mirth and confidence.
Ross swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.Jim’s grin widened invitingly as he took half a step closer – a feline ready to pounce. “But perhaps it is you who could benefit from something stiff up your backside?”
#I apologize for any blatant inaccuracies#my actual star trek knowledge is very slim 😅#jim hawkins#ross poldark#darkhawk#star trek au#silvermoon writes#silvermoon art#GF AUpocalypse 2024#deanobingo2024
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An Unexpected Treasure… coming soon
#aideans event 2024#darkhawk#jim hawkins#ross poldark#return to treasure island#poldark#prompt: A finds B unconscious behind a dumpster in the alley behind his business
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Six Sentence Sunday
So I have this fanfic that I keep going back to every once in a while. No title yet. Definitely a work in progress.
*******
Lt. Ross Poldark of Her Majesty’s Royal Army was having another busy day in the hospital at the British base in Afghanistan. He was working triage and had seen a variety of cases on local civilians that had been injured by shelling. Since his specialty was paediatrics, he was given the younger patients to work on first, then he would see any leftover adult cases. He was usually the first face that the patients saw once they entered the triage. Ross had learned a few words in the local language, but phrases like “where is the nearest bar” wasn’t of much help. Luckily there was a translator that worked closely with Ross so he could treat the patients. On this day, Ross had seen a total of 15 children, mainly with shrapnel wounds. He did have to send two kids to surgery to care for partially amputated limbs. He hated to see those mainly because of complications from infections.
He had just come back from lunch and sat down in the nurses station when he was told of another civilian patient to work on, only this time it was an adult. One of the nurses handed him the man’s chart. “What do we have Captain Preston?”
“He’s an American photographer. He has an open broomstick fracture of the left femur. He’s on bed three.”
“Was he part of the shelling that the kids were mixed up in?”
“Nooo I don’t think so. I really couldn’t get out of him what happened. Do you want me to go over with you?”
Ross smiled at the blonde nurse, “Nah, go to lunch. I’m going to start with an x-ray anyway.”
*******
Ross pulled back the curtain to find a blondish red haired man, with blue eyes laying on the bed with his left arm in a sling.
“Hello Mr. Hawkins, I’m Lt Poldark.” He reached across to shake the patient’s hand. “It sounds like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a mess there. Were you involved with the shelling that some of the civilians caught themselves in?”
Jim’s eyes flashed when the physician introduced himself. “Nice to meet you Lt. Umm no nothing that exciting. I’m afraid there won't be a purple heart for me.”
The doctor raised a dark eyebrow at the patient, “Right. What happened?” He could tell the patient really didn’t want to fess up to what happened. “I really need to know for the purpose of charting.”
The patient sighed, “Right doc. See, I’m a pretty bad clutz. It’s a bit embarrassing.” A Midwest American accent started to come through. “I was looking through my lens on a tripod, and this mangy cat came up and kept walking around my legs, rubbing up against me. I couldn’t get it to leave me alone, so I gave it a little push with my foot and it attacked my leg and the little fucker dug in with it’s claws!!! I was hopping around trying to get rid of it and I tripped on something and fell on some equipment. Luckily I was able to save the camera before it landed on the ground. The little fucker is probably full of lice and fleas!”
Ross’s eyes got wider as he listened to the story, and was biting on his lower lip trying really hard not to laugh at the patient.
“It’s okay doc, you can laugh at me if you want. I can take it.”
“No, no I’m not going to laugh. Wow, I have to say that is the best war story that I’ve ever heard! I just have to ask if you landed on the cat? For charting purposes of course.”
“No, the damn cat ran off. So, can I have something for pain?”
“First we’re going to get some x-rays. This is an obvious fracture, but we have to see if there are any other fractures. Do you have any allergies?”
“No, no allergies.”
“Good. That type of fracture we can’t just put it back together with a cast. You’re going to have to have surgery on that arm. While you’re getting the pictures done, I’ll call surgery and let them in on what’s going on and see if it’s alright if I can give you some pain medicine. It probably is, but I just want to make sure.” Ross caught himself staring into Jim’s eyes but hopefully the patient didn’t notice.
“Are you from Cornwall, Lieutenant?”
Ross raised his eyebrows in surprise and smiled, “Very good Mr. Hawkins, I’m impressed. I didn’t think I had that much of a Cornish accent anymore.”
Jim gave a side smile, “Eh I’ve been around.”
Ross cleared his throat at that remark, “And your accent… is that from Wisconsin?” Ross was relieved when an orderly came to push his bed to the radiology department. “Here’s your ride Mr. Hawkins.”
Jim offered his hand for a handshake. “Please call me Jim. And it’s Ohio.” Ross caught a twinkle in Jim’s eyes when they shook hands. As he left the department, Jim yelled, ‘O.H.I.OOOOO!’ but Ross had no clue why!
#six sentence sunday#work in progress#Ross Poldark#Jim Hawkins#aidan turner#modernpoldark#dean o'gorman
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The following ficlet was written by @marigoldvance based on this photoset.
DarkHawk, R, Mafia-Implied AU
You might also be able to read this story on AO3.
If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)
Owned.
—
“But…that’s not a real Christmas.”
That single complaint had been the catalyst that changed the entire trajectory of Ross’ life. His goals, his dreams, his aspirations; how he’d viewed the accomplishments he’d made up to that point. Everything, suddenly dismal and grey and unimportant as he’d watched Jim’s expression crumple, crestfallen at the thought of a wet, green Christmas.
Ross had intended for their arrangement to remain strictly transactional, unable (or unwilling) to support anything more meaningful given the nature of his position as head of the Poldark empire.
The arrangement itself had started due to an encounter at a gallery Ross owned in midtown. Jim had been a nobody artist who’d enhanced the emotion in his photographs by tearing them apart and gluing them back together in odd shapes or slashing and smudging paint across the images. Ross hadn’t been drawn to the look of Jim’s work so much as the unbridled passion and intensity that had created it.
Passion and intensity that Ross had intended to have under him as soon as he’d set eyes on Jim Hawkins.
Jim had intrigued Ross from the moment they’d been introduced by his gallery’s curator, Demelza. Apparently, she and Jim had studied together at the Royal College of Art. He was exactly Ross’ type, but more. Sharp, steely blue eyes and a dimpled smile. His blond hair had been fluffed and swept back, as though Jim had spent the day running his hands through it. He was short, shorter than Ross anyway, standing at just about Ross’ chin; perfect to bend over the back of a couch and have his way with.
They’d shared a heated look, Jim just as interested in what Ross had hidden beneath his expensive three-piece suit as Ross had been in Jim.
It had been a long and frustrating three months before they would encounter each other again. Ross hadn’t been used to not getting what he wanted when he wanted it, and Jim had been an elusive, slippery little thing, ducking in and out of Ross’ sight.
(Presently, Ross was very used to not having his way and having to exercise a godly amount of centering techniques in order to maintain composure.)
After what Jim had considered an unfortunate incident, but that Ross had deemed divine intervention, Jim had requested Ross’ help, had implore Ross to use the long reach of his family’s empire to find and return his stepfather who had gone missing along with his vessel in the Gulf of Guinea.
What Jim had failed to understand was that Ross hadn’t been a charitable man. He hadn’t done things out of the kindness of his heart. He’d presented Jim with an offer Jim had no choice but to accept.
At first, Ross had expected to tire of Jim as he’d tired of all of his other playthings within a month. That hadn’t happened. In fact, Ross had developed an insatiable appetite for Jim that would never be sated. The young man had turned Ross’ understanding of pleasure on its head immediately. Lain across Ross’ office desk, shirt torn open at the front and jeans in a puddle at Ross’ feet, Jim had received Ross’ desire with an indecent amount of responsiveness. Like dark, liquid lust, rolling and arcing and clawing his way under Ross’ skin.
Ross had wanted more as soon as he’s spilled himself inside Jim, moved by the blush coloring Jim’s cheeks and chest, by the glossy, dazed look slackening Jim’s expression into something placid and sweet.
Christ, but he’d been a work of art, a master’s epic beauty in the afterglow; sprawled, arms above his head and legs splayed open, one dangling over the desk while the other had been bent, foot propped on Ross’ hip. The morning sun painted him bright gold, catching his hair and eyes and teeth, shining the wet that had clumped his lashes and stained his temples.
Ross had known then that whatever hope he’d had to get Jim out of his system had been the dumbest idea he’d ever concocted.
The countdown to Christmas had already been underway when Jim had signed away his freedom. It had been a matter of weeks away when the weatherman announced that there wouldn’t be snow that year due to unseasonably warm temperatures. Still cold enough to need a coat, but not enough to turn rain into snow.
“But…that’s not a real Christmas.” Jim had looked so deflated, utterly lost at the prospect of a green Christmas that Ross had suddenly found himself buying first class plane tickets to Oslo and then train tickets to Tromsø.
Within forty-five minutes, Ross had had Francis organize security details and local transportation and hotel suites. Francis had been left with a mountain of details to straighten out, guffawing when he’d been told of Ross’ plan to surprise Jim—
“Your flavor of the month?” He’d said, incredulous, “You’re doing this for a twink you told me, and I quote, ‘is just something I need to fuck out of my system.’”
“Make it happen.”
—with a magical, snowy Christmas. The best Jim had ever undoubtedly experienced. He’d even instructed Francis to invite Demezla as she and Jim had been thick as thieves; best friends denied their usual inseparable time spent together since Ross had imposed himself in Jim’s life.
Francis, though practically apoplectic, had made it happen.
Jim had been quick to point out the men who claim to be disinterested in more than just sex don’t usually buy their playthings trips to Norway, Ross had pinned him to the wall, stripped him from the wait down, and hoisted Jim into his arms, fucked him until he had been wailing, pleading with Ross to let him come, promising never to look a gift horse in the mouth.
That had been a year ago. Ross was just as broody and stubborn as he had been then, but he’d accepted that he was deeply, irrevocably, unshakably in love with Jim Hawkins, the artist who’d warmed him from the inside out and absolutely ruined him for anyone else.
Ross reached across the king-size bed, fingers tickling along the dips and rises of Jim’s torso. He rolled onto his side, edged closer to Jim’s prone form—arms shoved under the pillows, legs spread, eyes fluttering as they chased dream—and trailed his hand beneath the sheet that covered Jim from the waist down.
Jim stirred, lids squeezing then blinking open to reveal sleepy, unfocused clearwater eyes. A lazy smile spread across his face as Ross leaned over him, Ross’ hand continuing to stroke and touch everywhere but where Jim was starting to need him to.
“You’re the devil.” Jim accused, voice sleep-soft and raspy.
“Perhaps.” Ross said, watching Jim’s eyes flutter whenever he tickled close to Jim’s crotch.
They were in Oslo, avoiding another green Christmas back home, although Jim had insisted he hadn’t minded celebrating at Nampara. Ross had seen right through him, so there they were, with three hours to spare before their train up north.
“You know I love you,” Ross said, startling Jim into full awareness.
It wasn’t something Ross said. He knew Jim understood that Ross felt that way toward Jim, but Ross had never uttered the words, choosing to keep them close to his chest just in case anyone decided to take advantage of the fact and use Jim as leverage against him.
Silly, really, to be so paranoid. Given that he and Jim couldn’t keep hands of each other and had been spotted in public together a few times, Ross had felt the words held a power within them that would signal to his enemies that he had something to lose.
Here, in Oslo, he felt safe to finally say it.
Jim’s breath caught, eyes searching Ross’ face for any sign of insincerity. He wouldn’t find it. Ross meant it with his whole chest.
“I—” Jim brought his hands out from under the pillows, one settling on Ross’ jaw, the other over Ross’ heart. “I love you, too.” Jim confessed. He looked equal parts scared to have shared the sentiment and relieved to at last be able to say it openly.
Ross dipped in low for a gentle kiss, just the barest hint of lips brushing lips.
“I knew I loved you from the moment I saw you.” Ross admitted, kissing Jim harder. “I knew I’d never have enough of you.” He licked into Jim’s mouth and swallowed Jim’s moan, “I knew, after the first day you stayed with me that I’d never want to let you go.” He rolled on top of Jim, insinuating himself between Jim’s thighs.
“You mean it.” Jim said, a statement, not a question.
“Every word.” Ross kissed him again, rolled his hips and nipped Jim’s bottom lip when he gasped.
Ross had never meant anything more in his life. He didn’t care about Nampara, his legend or his legacy, as much as he cared about Jim. He’d had to accept that as soon as the idea to make Jim’s Christmas come true last year had taken root. He’d had to accept it every day since.
As he fucked into Jim—still sloppy and loose from earlier that morning—Ross accepted that he belonged to Jim just as much as Jim belonged to him. There was nothing in the world that would or could ever keep Ross away.
And that was exactly how he wanted it.
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Born from Storm (a darkhawk story set in the original time era)
Chapter 3
Ross has lost sleep, and he knows all too well who the culprit is.
This is a Christmas present for my dear friend @brandywinebridge-twentymiles , but im putting it out there in case some of you would enjoy it.
READ IT HERE
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AUpocalypse Week Two: Action or Adventure
Curfew, DarkHawk, M Lite
[drabble under cut]
It’s cramped and the angle is a little awkward, but they make it work. Apparently, ambulances weren’t designed to accommodate feats of vigorous, near-acrobatic hate sex. A shame since this ambulance is gonna be home for the next, oh, however the fuck long they last in this race, and Ross predicts there will be a lot of hate they’ll need to sex out between now and the finish line. Which, according to the GPS, is at the very tippity-top of the country.
“There, there, there—ah!!!”
Jim is panting, his skin slippery with sweat, one foot planted on the floor to support him as he rides Ross like a mechanical bull. He throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, mouth dropping open when he finds the perfect angle, his sobs goading the mooks outside to bang and rock the ambulance. The commotion only serves to drive Ross in deeper, gives Jim more momentum while he bounces in Ross’ lap.
“Fuck, Ross!!”
This is dangerous and stupid and altogether insane, but when has Ross ever been smart when it comes to Jim? Hell, that’s how Jim ended up in Dwight’s bed in the first place, isn’t it? Because Ross was the stupid git who thought he was doing the right fucking thing getting Jim away from Charles. Ross’ hips punch up harder as he tries to dispel the thought of his ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend shagging. Still, not before the thought of who Jim prefers pops to mind.
Propelled by rage and jealousy, Ross surges up, keeps Jim from toppling back with a firm and greedy grip on Jim’s arse. He swings his legs over the side of the gurney and crashes forward, slamming Jim into the wall separating the cab from the patient compartment and landing on his knees in one clumsy, overzealous movement.
“Jesus Christ,” Jim shouts, nails cutting lines into Ross’ shoulders and back. Their eyes meet, then Jim licks his lips and laughs, a giddy sound, legs hooking around Ross’ waist and dragging Ross into motion again. “C’mon, is that the best you’ve got?”
Ross sinks his teeth into Jim’s neck, leaves a distinct imprint that he hopes will bruise before Dwight quits sulking and rejoins their team.
“Why him?” Ross wants to know, lifting and dropping Jim onto his cock, mildly aware that now probably isn’t the best time to get answers while also being completely unable to muster a single shit.
“Why’d you leave me?” Jim counters, pushing against the wall behind him and forcing Ross onto his haunches. The new position allows Jim to get the balls of his feet on the ground, uses the purchase to roll himself forward and back with more ease.
In retaliation, Ross grips a fistful of Jim’s hair and yanks. “I didn’t leave you,” He insists, pulling Jim to arch backwards so he can get his teeth on Jim’s nipple. He nips and sucks, laps the sting away and repeats until Jim is gasping on every moan and the mooks outside are getting more energetic. “I was protecting you.”
Jim licks the palm of his hand, brings it between their bodies to wrap tightly around his cock and start jerking. “You didn’t come back.”
“I couldn’t come back.” Ross corrects, forehead on Jim’s collar, eyes glued to Jim’s crotch as Jim works himself, cockhead wet and dribbly with precome.
“I—fuck, I thought you were dead.” Jim manages, strangled.
Three, four more thrusts and Jim screams his release, Ross following quickly with a much quieter grunt. Both out of breath, they untangle themselves, collapsing side by side on the ambulance’s cold floor. The mooks shriek and smack and clamour, climbing the cage fixed to the exterior of the ambulance, desperate to find a way in. Slowly, Ross tilts his head to the side, raises an eyebrow at Jim who responds with a breathless wink.
Reaching blindly to the side, Ross collects the fallen box-switch, flips it open and presses the first button with his thumb. A zap-buzz of electrical charge and the sound of frying flesh tells Ross the cage is up and running again. Jim was right, they just needed to wait ten minutes.
“We should go.” Jim says at last, grabbing his discarded jeans and wiggling into them.
“Yeah.”
Suddenly, it’s awkward.
“This…I mean—”
Ross feels his expression darken. “Yeah.” He says before Jim can finish, not eager to hear how much of a mistake this was. Together, they climb into the cab and buckle in, Ross behind the wheel, Jim at the radio, already fiddling with the frequency to get Team Eleven on the line. To get Dwight.
Ross carefully maneuvers around the husks of charred, still-smoking mooks, rolling over those he can’t avoid slowly. The radio crackles and the kid from Team Eleven speaks, informing them that, by some miracle, the ambulance is in eighth place despite the detour.
“We’ll meet you outside the city.” The kid says, “Stay safe.”
Jim clears his throat, responds, “Yeah, you too.” Jim glances at Ross, an apology on his face, then adds, “Tell Dwight I’m sorry?”
The reply is almost immediate, “He says it’s cool.”
Ross stomps on the gas pedal and promises himself that once this dumb fucking race is over, he’s gonna leave the cure – Jim – in someone else’s capable hands and find himself somewhere to relax, alone, no one for miles but trees and animals and maybe a bottle or two of whiskey.
ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 🧟
#GF AUpocalypse 2021#GatheringFiKi#AUpocalypse#Week 2#DarkHawk#Ross Poldark/Jim Hawkins#Ross/Jim#Ross Poldark#Ross#Jim Hawkins#Jim#AO3#writing#my writing#photoset#photoset by MarigoldVance#short story#snack fic#AU - Curfew (2019)
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@vennor
"SPOILER ALERT": KARAKORAM
aka: when the Muses manage to irk the Creator into a low-simmering rage because they refuse to stick around long enough to get Words done 😑
×××
(raw)
#DarkHawk#parody#Karakoram#AO3#@vennor#Im_a_huge_fan_of_coffee#Ross Poldark#Jim Hawkins#Ross/Jim#Ross Poldark/Jim Hawkins#return to treasure island#Poldark#Dwight Enys#doodles#DarkHawk art by MarigoldVance#scrap art#this is what happens when the muses abandon me#this vacation is extended#bring on the cabana boys and mojitos
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Gathering FiKi's Trick or Treat - Trick #01
Trick #01 - Something wicked this way comes... but oh, he's hot. (Sentenced 'verse)
Two days off and shit's hitting the fan yet again. Just great.
Jim had been back to work for the morning shift, first and foremost hearing about what had happened two days prior during the shift handover. There had barely been another topic than the brutal fight between some convicts in the prison's laundry. Normally those weren't uncommon, but this one had reached worrying levels, according to his colleagues. Only John Silver had kept quiet about the events while his colleagues depicted the incident, which aroused Jim's suspicion.
Of course, it all had started with the black sheep of their block, Poldark. For whatever reason he had picked one of the most violent inmates to stoke up a feud with, and two days ago, there had been a clash again. As always, no one knew how it had started, but this time it had escalated quickly into a brawl, involving half of the laundry including the officers on watch.
In the end, several convicts had been hurt, a few of the officers too. Wilson, Jim had learned, had to go right between the two initiators and had received a broken nose from Poldark himself. He couldn't help but feel a little satisfaction at this, knowing Wilson was the most tyrannical, corrupt and wrongful man staff had to offer. He shouldn't be surprised at all if Wilson himself had paid Myers to make Poldark's life a living hell, just out of spite. As if lifetime-imprisonment wasn't bad enough. But he kept those thoughts to himself, knowing no one would believe him; or wanted to.
For Poldark though, things hadn't gone very well ever since, as he had been condemned to solitary confinement again.
Again.
Inwardly, Jim wanted to scream and punch his fist into a wall. This appalling tract had been barely used until Poldark had arrived. By now, he was spending some time there at least once a month; mostly a few hours, but he had been set up for the maximum of 24 hours as well quite a few times. This had never happened before and the blond was now highly alarmed, as he knew the man was awfully claustrophobic and panicked alone at the thought of the tiny dark cell.
He wondered if he had been hurt as well, then quickly shook his head. The man was a sentenced murderer, his second name was trouble, and he had never met someone more stubborn. And yet, it were those moments in between that made Jim question the background and truth of Poldark's story altogether. The stoic silence in which he bore his days, while everybody else was shouting at him, smacking his head or spitting in his food. The sadness in his eyes, when he thought no one was looking at him, or the outright terror in his face, when he was brought back from the solitary cell. He just wasn't murderer material. And he was… well, he was special. How could he, Jim, know after all? They had never talked more than three words in a row, nor had they ever been alone, not even for a minute. But yet, he just knew.
~~~
Two hours later, when both of them were overseeing the courtyard, he finally had the opportunity to talk to John Silver. The man had been quiet all day, apparently lost in thought about something obviously troubling him.
“So, since you held your tongue during handover, would you tell me now, what really happened in the laundry? Must've been really bad.”
John was quiet for a moment and shifted from one foot to the other, clearly tensed-up and still deep in thought. Then he opened his mouth to answer, but at this moment the gate opened and another inmate was brought into the yard, handcuffed and with his eyes downcast, dark curls covering his face. Poldark. Without exception, everybody in the yard turned silent, which was strange, given the fact that there were about 100 criminals out there. For a moment, Jim thought he was just looking as wicked as people wanted to see him, all dark, brooding and bruised. A textbook example of an outlaw.
“Withworth himself extended the maximum penalty of 24 hours solitary confinement to 48.”
Jim's jaw dropped in shock.
”He what?”
“They reasoned with the extreme violence against an officer. But, in the end, they took him down, as you can see.”
John's voice was bitter and he had his lips pressed together.
The two men were looking at the dark figure, when he slowly raised his head, back straight and face unreadable; as always. The guard behind Poldark motioned to him to move, then followed close while he slowly made his way over the yard to the section allocated to block C. All hell broke loose when the entire yard started to yell at once, the deafening noise accompanied by the rattling of the chain-wire fences jarred by countless hands.
The man was limping and his left eye was swollen shut, there was dried blood under his nose, a split lip and countless bruises on his arms; some of them of the particular shape only an officer's billy club could leave. For Jim, it was a heartbreaking sight, but he tried to keep his face straight.
“And, was it like this? Extremely violent against an officer? Wilson, I suppose?”
Silver snorted scornfully.
“What do you think? Of course, it was him. The situation was extremely chaotic, and it's hard to say what really happened. But for me, it looked very much like Poldark's been held by some henchmen while Myers punched his stomach. Wilson was standing in front of them, doing nothing but talking shit. Poldark freed himself for a second and landed one hell of a blow to his face. After that they beat him to pulp, inmates and officers. I tried to do something, but I didn't have a chance to even reach them in the tumult.”
“What the fuck? I mean, this is insane!”
“ 'Course it is. But I'm afraid Poldark has enemies up until the highest ranks, the governor included.”
Now it was on Jim to snort.
“Withworth that sadistic arsehole!”
The guard arrived to hand over the convict and Jim was about to open the handcuffs, when he stopped him.
“There's a strict order to keep him handcuffed outside. He's suspended from work and yard exercise is shortened to 10 minutes a day. You better keep to that, Hawkins.”
Jim wanted to explode, but knew better. He looked the dark-haired man over, whose eyes were glued to the ground again.
“For how long?”
“A month.”
“He could've needed a wash, don't you think?”
“Maybe he should have thought about that before he attacked one of us.”
He spit on the ground in obvious disdain, then turned around and left. Jim was fuming, biting the inside of his cheeks to not retort with anything he would regret later.
Now, he observed Poldark closely. His hair was caked with dried blood too, and he wondered if there had been a laceration on his head which would have needed stitching or at least medical attention. Well, two days after the incident, there was probably nothing that could be done for him.
Banged-up as he was, it did nothing to the man's unbreakable composure, which had captivated Jim from the beginning. Even sticky with blood, grime and sweat, for him, Poldark was the epitome of sex appeal and desire. His dark and indifferent attitude was touching something deep inside Jim, he hadn't even known it was there. He bit his lip and tried desperately to pull himself together, hiding his darkest secret from the world. No one must ever know. Why of all things had he fallen for one of his charges? Let alone, the one being sentenced to life-imprisonment due to murder.
Murder!
He maintained a neutral expression and asked, “Shall I bring you inside?”
The battered inmate shook his head, still avoiding Jim's eyes.
“I have seven more minutes of yard exercise, and I really need a smoke.”
Jim nodded and left the man alone, sensing his distress of being forced to talk. It would also help to clear his head.
~~~
The coffee machine was running while the two officers waited for the evening shift to take over. Jim had been awfully quiet during the rest of their shift, pondering back and forth whether to talk to John about what he had witnessed in the laundry. In the end, he decided to do so. If there was one officer to rely on in this matter, it was John Silver. Still, it was a difficult topic.
“About that fight in the laundry. Did you…I mean, will you…”
Silver had been sensing the question coming, as well as the struggle it had given Jim. Now he grinned.
“I will. I already filed a report, yes. But since it will only reach Withworth's desk, whose decision alone it is, which reports are reaching the state secretary and which not, it will probably be in vain. Besides getting me fired, it won't do anything, I suppose. He's the prison's governor, after all. But I will hand it in anyway.”
“Thanks mate.”
They stood there in silence, overseeing the corridor of block C with all the cells lined up.
“It was good of you, allowing him a shower out of the usual time.” After half a minute he added, “and alone.”
“Thought it might spare the colleagues another brawl in the common shower this evening.”
John grinned, then was quiet again. It took him five more minutes to muster up the courage to voice what was on his mind for some weeks now.
“I know you care for him. In a way, you probably care for everybody in here. But you should not forget what he is.”
“A criminal?”
“Not only that. He'll be in prison for the rest of his life. You just shouldn't throw yourself into it.”
“I do not….”
Silver laughed, and winked.
“Sure!”
The conversation came to an abrupt end, when the evening shift entered the room.
~~~
Down in the hall, one man was sitting on the cot in his cell, C34, trying to figure out the events of the last two days. It had felt good to be allowed an extra shower, especially while being alone. He got up and slowly walked to the cross-barred front of his cell, glancing surreptitiously up to the glass front of the officers' room.
There he was, eyes bright and smile wide with deep dimples showing on his cheeks. He poured coffee into a mug and laughed at some joke another man was telling.
Since the other inmates were still at work, he allowed himself a moment of weakness, dropping his facade for only one moment. In the shadows of his cell he stood there, huge brown eyes drawn to the blond man in uniform. A sadness, deeper than the Atlantic Ocean flickered over his face, if only for a second.
Absolutely. Out. Of. Reach.
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A Ross Poldark / Jim Hawkins story, set in the original late-18th century setting
Chapter 6
In this chapter, Ross finds out he's not the only stubborn arse in Cornwall, Jim experiments with drugs (but not really), and I’m still terrible at summaries.
Read it here.
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Masterlist
Sunrise
Under the Vines, Gus x Griff, 1500 words
Movie Night
Brokenwood Mysteries, Barnaby, 100 word drabble
Before Love Comes
When Love Comes, Mark x Stephen, 190 words
Bed Tied
Anders Johnson x John Mitchell, Explicit, 3000 words
No improving on perfection
Anders Johnson x John Mitchell, Teen, 1200 words
Catsitting
Anders Johnson x John Mitchell, 800 words
Bloody Harvest
Fili x Kili (AU), Spooky season, 600 words
DarkHawk - a Star Trek AU
Jim Hawkins x Ross Poldark, sexual innuendo, 800 words
Snacker Bar kid
Wholesome slice of life. Based on a commercial staring Dean O'Gorman, 700 words
I mostly write for (Young/) Hercules, and those stories can be found here.
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Zombies
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Six or Ten Sentence Sunday
This is possibly the start of something rolling around in my empty head. I have a few scenes down, but nothing is put together yet.
“Hello Mr. Hawkins, I’m Lt Poldark. It sounds like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a mess there. Were you involved with the shelling that some of the civilians caught themselves in?”
Jim’s eyes flashed when the physician introduced himself. “Nice to meet you Lt. Umm no nothing that exciting. I’m afraid no purple heart for me.”
The doctor raised a dark eyebrow at the patient, “Right. What happened?” He could tell the patient really didn’t want to fess up to what happened. “I really need to know for the purpose of charting.”
The patient sighed, “Alright doc.” A midwestern American accent was now evident in the patient. “I’m a pretty bad clutz. I was looking through my lens on a tripod, and this mangy cat came up and kept walking around my legs. I couldn’t get it to leave me alone, so I gave it a little push with my foot and it attacked my leg and the little fucker dug in with it’s claws!!! I was hopping around trying to get rid of it and I tripped on something and fell on some equipment. Luckily I was able to save the camera before it landed on the ground.”
Ross’s eyes got wider as he listened to the story, and was biting on his lower lip trying really hard not to laugh at the patient.
“It’s okay doc, you can laugh at me if you want. I can take it.”
“No, no I’m not going to laugh. I just have to ask if you landed on the cat? For charting purposes of course.”
“No, the damn cat ran off. So, can I have something for pain?”
“First we’re going to get some x-rays. This is an obvious fracture, but we have to see if there are any other fractures. Do you have any allergies?”
“No, no allergies.”
“Good. That type of fracture we can’t just put it back together with a cast. You’re going to have to have surgery on that arm. While you’re getting the pictures done, I’ll call surgery and let them in on what’s going on and see if it’s alright if I can give you some pain medicine. It probably is, but I just want to make sure.” Ross caught himself staring into Jim’s eyes but hopefully the patient didn’t notice.
“Are you from Cornwall, Lieutenant?”
Ross raised his eyebrows in surprise and smiled, “Very good Mr. Hawkins, I’m impressed. I didn’t think I had that much of a Cornish accent anymore.”
Jim gave a side smile, “Eh I’ve been around.”
Ross cleared his throat at that remark, “And your accent… is that from Wisconsin?” Ross was relieved when an orderly came to push his bed to the radiology department. “Here’s your ride Mr. Hawkins.”
Jim offered his hand for a handshake.” Please call me Jim. And it’s Ohio.” Ross caught a twinkle in ’s eyes when they shook hands. Jim yelled ‘O. H. I. OOOO!’ as he left the department, but Ross had no clue why!
Ross smirked at him, “See you when you’re done .”
Ross walked back into the nurse’s station and sat down to start charting. Captain Preston sat down next to him. “He’s a little hottie,” she said with a knowing smirk.
Ross knew she was talking to him, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of biting and kept charting. “Hmmm. Are you talking to me?”
“Well I’m not talking to Prince Wills! Your new patient on bed three! He’s got beautiful eyes!”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Like hell you hadn’t noticed Ross! I know you better than that!”
Ross was losing his patience with his friend, “Shhh keep your bloody voice down! I don’t need the entire hospital hearing you!”
“What are you afraid of! People don’t care that you’re gay!”
“Billie stop! Just because you have no problem flaunting your girlfriend around, doesn’t mean that I don’t. I prefer to keep my private life private. So please respect that!”
“Take it fuckin easy Ross! You don’t have to go all barmy on me. I won’t bring it up again.”
“Good. Thank you.”
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Gathering FiKi’s Trick or Treat 2021 - Day 6
Trick
Yarn Shop AU with a twist: the owner has the ability to weave the threads of destiny of whoever wears the garments made out of their yarn, but only while they wear it.
A/N: This idea popped into my head the second I read the prompt. I also got an idea for Erebor Castle, but that’s not one of my chosen children, so that idea goes on the back burner. I’d like to devote more time to this idea and polish it up more, so there may be a re-write in its future.
-
Jim was a sailor.
This means that he was very familiar with superstitions. He’d once seen Silver nearly have a conniption when a woman stepped onto their cargo ship. The captain had hired her. Silver had managed to contain himself. But he had marched off to see the captain and gave the captain a piece of his mind. The captain had returned the favor and Silver had been duly chastened.
“It’ll bring you good luck,” Silver insisted. They are sitting in a pub in Queenstown. Silver insisted on a farewell pint even though he said he knew that Jim would come back. He said Jim would not like America, that Jim would miss him too much. Jim laughed, “As much as I’d miss a wart.” But it was said with affection. Jim had been working on ships with Silver for over half his life.
“I managed to win a ticket to America on the largest ship ever built playing a card game. I think I’m set on luck.”
Silver shook his head. “You can always do with more luck. Buy the sweater.”
“I need the money I have for when I land in New York. I won’t have you or anyone else looking after me.”
“You have Flint’s address? He’ll do right by you.”
Jim looked into his dark beer. “I like to be prepared for the worse. Best laid plans and all that.”
“Then you certainly can’t refuse a little more luck.”
Jim rolled his eyes and steered the conversation in a different direction.
—
Silver pushed open the door to a small yarn shop. It was off a small alley that was not labeled.
“I need a sweater.”
The woman behind the counter looked up from her knitting. She tugged her shawl into place where it had slipped. “An already finished one? If that’s all you’ll be wanting there’s a shop just down…”
Silver interrupted her. “No. I need one made by you. It’s for my friend… well, he’s as good as a son. He’s going to America and I’d like to make sure that he gets there alright.”
She nodded. “I see. It will cost a goodly amount.”
“Better spent on this than on beer,” Silver shot back.
—
“I thought you weren’t going to make it,” Jim said accusatorially.
“Not on your life,” Silver said. “I was getting you something.” He shoved the brown paper parcel at Jim.
Jim started untying the string. “Is this… It is.” He holds up the soft, dark blue sweater with intricate cables.
“More luck is never a miss. And you’ll still have your money when you get to New York.”
Jim’s eyes are soft, “But…”
“I don’t need the money, boy,” Silver said gruffly. “Just take the damn sweater and wear it. It should keep you safe.”
Jim dropped the paper and pulled the sweater over his head. It fit better than it had any right to given that he had not been measured for it. “Thank you.” Silver was too serious for Jim to tease him about superstitions.
Silver roughly rubbed his nose. “Just make sure you make it an adventure, even if you end up coming back here to me.”
Jim nodded. “I will.”
He looked up to the ship. On the upper deck he noticed a pair of men arguing. One stormed off and the one left leaned against the railing. He looked angry and like he would rather be anywhere else than the first class deck of a luxury ship. The man was staring into the crowd. His eyes meet Jim’s. Jim grinned and the man looked away.
“I think the ride over will be an adventure all of its own.” Jim laughed.
Silver followed Jim’s gaze. He ran a hand through his greying hair and said something about the recklessness of youth. He would have said more, but the whistle sounded and it was time to say goodbye.
#gf’s trick or treat 2021#bb writes#gatheringfiki#darkhawk#Jim Hawkins/ross poldark#Jim/Ross#Titanic AU
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