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James observed Killian’s casual confidence. The sight of Killian downing his brandy in a single go drew a soft sigh of mock disappointment from James, who shook his head lightly.

“That,” James said, lifting his glass with practiced poise, “is not how one drinks brandy, Killian. A proper gentleman—pirate or not—must savor it. Observe.”

James brought the glass to his lips, taking a sip and letting the black cherry brandy linger on his tongue before swallowing with a quiet sigh of appreciation. He arched a brow at Killian, a faint smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “It’s a drink meant to be appreciated, not inhaled like cheap rum.”

Then came the touched smile again. "Trust," James repeated, his tone almost wistful. "I suppose we both have a bit of a complicated relationship with that word, don't we? But… I do know the kind of man you are, despite the reputation, despite the ship and the crew. "

Taking another a slow sip of his brandy, savoring both the drink and the moment. "You’ve proven yourself today especially, and I can hardly ignore that. As for backstabbing, well, if there’s one thing I can say for myself, it’s that I don’t go around betraying those who show me kindness… or who don't deserve it." At least not yet…

James leaned back, cradling the brandy glass in his hand, a flicker of pride crossing his face at Killian's question. "The promotion to Commodore," he began, James leaned back, cradling the brandy glass in his hand, pride crossing his face at Killian's question. "The promotion to Commodore," he thought aloud, "was not an overnight affair. It was the culmination of years spent commanding His Majesty's ships, capturing pirate crews, and bringing order to waters you lot seemed determined to make lawless."

He swirled the brandy in his glass, as though lost in the memory for a moment. "One contributing victory was the capture of the rum runners on what you pirates have deemed Rum Runner Island. They were a particularly evasive group—masters of slipping past blockades and hiding their operations in the labyrinth of caves along the island's shores. But we anticipated their movements, and with the help of local informants, laid a trap. A few well-placed fires in their cavern stores forced them out, right into our waiting arms. Their surrender secured one of the Caribbean's most notorious smuggling rings."

James allowed a faint smile to tug at the corner of his lips, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and reflection. "The Crown was pleased, of course. Less smuggled rum meant more revenue in taxes for their coffers. But to me, it was about ensuring fewer weapons and contraband flowed into the hands of those who would destabilize the colonies."

He set the glass down, folding his arms across his chest as he continued. "My reputation grew further after a harrowing victory near the Windward Passage. We were outnumbered—three pirate vessels to our single frigate—but superior tactics and discipline won the day. It wasn’t without cost, though. Good men were lost in the fight, and yet their sacrifice solidified the Navy’s grip on those seas."

Another sip "That victory earned me both the respect of my peers and the ire of your kind. 'Scourge of Piracy,' they called me—because every captured flag, every destroyed vessel, meant fewer pirates preying on merchant ships and coastal towns."

A faint, wry smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "And then there was Port Royal. The crown took notice of my efforts when I was stationed there. Ensuring the colony’s safety and dealing with… persistent nuisances cemented my standing. Commodore was a natural step forward for me, if I aimed to follow in…. his… footsteps.”

One last sip, and he .. pushes the glass toward Killian. " I ah, don't suppose It would be too bold of me to ask for a refill? "

The young pirate exuded confidence of a sailor twice his age. The way he leaned back and kicked his feet up to prop his boots on the corner of the large mahogany charting desk. Sipping at his brandy delicately from the glass when he'd normally just drink straight out of the bottle. He felt like he owned the sea, or atleast a part of it. The fierce captain Hook had earned it with the reputation he had quickly built in just under five years. Neigh untouchable with the range his guns had.

"I have a perfect memory, of course I remember. Some things I wish I could forget..." His words trailed off to a murmur behind his glass as he took another sip. There was much in his youth he wish he could forget; his time living on the streets as a boy, then the abuse he went through as a teen in his training days. Many hardships he had tried to drown with alcohol over the years he wish he could forget.

The comment made him smirk and he lifted his hook. "I still can't tie a knot! But I'm better than ever with a sword, you were a good teacher and I perfected it." Killian grinned and felt a bit bolstered by the compliment. He felt he had come a long way. Before he was quite the shy, unsure boy that didn't believe in himself and just followed in his brother's shadow. Now he was beaming with confidence and had the strength to back it up. A captain with established leadership, he had indeed come a long way.

"Of course I trust you James. I've might've changed alot, but I'm still a good man at heart. You know this with my actions today. Pirate or not I know you'd never backstab a good man." Killian said honestly that he showed no worry of the former commodore doing something to hurt him or his crew. Though it went without saying that if he had sensed something untrustworthy, James would be dead before he could put any plan in motion. It would be quite stupid to pull a stunt on the man that was saving him from the noose.

Ocean blue orbs watched with interest as James got comfortable by removing both his hat and white powdered wig. Hair somewhat long and brown, much better to look at than the wig. Killian had long since cut off his own ponytail as keeping it short was far more manageable, though at the moment it was looking a bit shaggy with the front fringe hanging partially over his face.

He downed the rest of the brandy in his glass and grabbed the bottle to refill it, another chuckle leaving him. "Immensely so. I believe you'll provide boundless entertainment for me." Killian said with a devilishly handsome smirk as he raised his refilled glass for this toast to him. This time downing it in one go. Killian was used to drinking and this was not as strong as the usual stuff, this was the fancy nice tasting alcohol he kept for company.

"We have alot of catching up to do! I want to hear about your promotion of commodore and I'm sure you want to hear about how I became captain of a pirate ship."

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James let out an involuntary sound as the blade sliced across his left side—a peculiar mix of a pained hiss and something dangerously close to a moan. He gritted his teeth, clutching his side as blood seeped through his torn coat. Cheeks burning anew at the unintentional sound. He pressed his gloved hand to the wound, feeling the wet warmth of blood begin to soak through his pristine blue coat. Edward’s mocking sing-song voice grated in his ears as the pirate prattled on about the damage to his attire.

“You’ve ruined nothing, Teach,” James growled, straightening despite the pain. His voice carried an edge of defiance even as blood stained his side.

When the pirate's first mate gave the retreat order, James's attention snapped to Izzy, his sharp green eyes narrowing at the blatant shift in power aboard Blackbeard's crew. "Well how about that, easily summoned like a mongrel" James's lips twisted into sour, smug smile.

"Running with your tails between your legs a second time, Teach?" he called, his voice biting despite the tightness in his side. "A Devil you may claim to be, but a coward is what I see. "

Edward had swung back to the Queen Anne's Revenge, laughing like a madman, but James didn’t chase him. He clutched his side tighter, his hand sticky with blood, and turned to Groves, who was already barking orders to secure the deck.

"Groves," James said hoarsely, his voice cutting through the din. "Report." Groves hurried to his side, his face pale but resolute.” We’ve sustained losses, sir, but the merchants are alive, and the pirates are retreating. We’ll hold the ship.”

“Good.” James nodded curtly, his voice firm despite the pain gnawing at his side. His gaze lingered on the retreating pirates aboard the Queen Anne’s , his lips pressed into a thin line. “Let them run. For now.”

Groves said, his tone heavy with relief that his words had finally reached James. "Sir, You’re hurt—let the surgeon see to you."

James waved him off with a wince, glancing around to assess his men. The deck was littered with the wounded and the dead, but his Marines were rallying. He straightened up despite the pain, nodding to Groves.

"See to the men first. We’ve lost enough today," he said, his tone softening for the first time in hours. With a last glance at the retreating pirates, James took a steadying breath, this time they both drew blood, next time he was determined to make the next encounter their last.

ᒥ☠ᒧ—        Edward grin never falters, if anything it grows when James comes at him again. And then, Ed sees it, his chance. He swings his blade round, slicing down the Englishman's left side before side stepping to avoid a more deadly hit of the Commodore's blade. Being stabbed only works if it's in the left lower quadrant of the abdomen, everywhere else was most certainly death.

He's playing games, like a cat toying with a mouse. He had the chance to strike down Norrington, yet chose a simple slash. "'M sorry, mate~!" He hums, chuckling softly. "Did I go 'n ruin ya pretty blue coat~?"

"Fuckin' Ed!!" Israel Hands shouts, trying to get his Captain's attention. "Put him down or I will!!" The man steps in the direction of the Commodore. He knew it didn't look good for Blackbeard to be bossed around by his first mate, but the man were tiring now. The Marines had discipline and training on their side. Pirates had neither of those, they came into the fight too hot and now slowing down. Men were lost, they could no longer overwhelm the Marines.

Izzy is stopped when another Marine blocks his path from the Commodore, and as a skilled swordsman, he's able to hold his own and put down the Marine, but it leads to his influencing the next words he shouts. "Men, fall back!! Back to the Queen Anne!!" It was an executive decision, made without Edward's input. He was undermined by his First Mate right in front of the Commodore. This was insight into the real dynamic of Blackbeard's ship, where the First Mate was the brains and Blackbeard himself was just a big, scary puppet.

He doesn't wan to fall back, he was having too much fun. However, his men listened to Izzy's order and he was left no choice. "Well, this has been fun 'n all, Commodore, but," Edward snags a pistol from one of his men. "Got loot ta sell off. Booze and whores don't pay for themself." He points the pistol at James to keep the man standing in place and steps over to the railing to grab a rope. "'Till we meet again." Edward then swings across to the Queen Anne, laughing all the while despite his cowardly retreat with his men.

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James’s hand shot out instinctively, gripping one of the cage bars in his attempt to reach Homelander. The searing heat was immediate, biting through his unnatural resilience, and he yanked his hand back with a sharp hiss, a thin trail of smoke curling up from his palm.

“So sorry, darling” he drawled, his voice cool and sharp despite the pain. He turned his attention to Angela, who was still sprawled on the floor. “This one here—” he gestured lazily toward her, the irritation plain in his voice— “sheds her scent like a dog in heat all over town. Took me far too long to follow her trail.”

Angela glared at him, her lips parted to spit out some retort, but James’s piercing green eyes locked on hers before she could. Her body stiffened, and her mouth hung open, the words dying on her tongue. James stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, commanding tone.

“Turn it off.”

Angela’s hands trembled as if fighting against herself, but the force of James’s will overwhelmed her resistance. Her limbs moved in jerky motions as she stumbled toward the controls, her fingers fumbling with the knobs and switches. The oppressive heat began to dissipate as the machinery wound down, and James’s focus immediately shifted back to Homelander.

The sight of him—worn, battered, yet still defiantly alive—filled James with a bittersweet ache. The bond between them pulsed strong and steady again, rekindling like an ember brought back to life now that the machine was off. For a fleeting moment, he allowed relief to soften the cold edge of his expression.

But only for a moment.

With the immediate danger dealt with, James grabbed Angela by the back of her collar and pulled her sharply against him. Her back collided with his chest, and he twisted her head to the side, forcing her to face Homelander. The angle was unnatural, her neck craning painfully, and she whimpered in protest.

“You’ve caused enough trouble for me and my fledgling, you hateful trollop,” James hissed, his lips curling to reveal his fangs. “It’s time for you to learn what heat feels like.”

His grip tightened as he spoke, the venom in his tone chilling. Then, he turned his head slightly toward Homelander, his expression softening just enough to show the fondness he reserved only for him.

“What do you say, my darling?” James asked, his voice dripping with mockery and malice as he looked between the two. “How about a three-way... call?”

He wastes no time in sinking his fangs into her throat while she screamed. There was no euphoria when the bite was out of rage.

Mirrorlander drifted in and out of consciousness, fighting to stay awake. The room had fallen quiet save for the hum and sound of the cage radiating heat. His eyes tried to focus and take in the room, noting that Angela had disappeared. He was alone, left cooking in the cage. At least he had some peace and quiet, no more of her blabbering. He appreciated not having an audience either. Something Vought never gave him: privacy.

His mind drifted as memories played back in blurred visions, echos of the past. He saw him and James together, all those nights when the demon simply wanted to devour and claim his mate, stubborn to allow it to be seen as anything more. He saw himself helping John to save James from his own memories, with Commodore calling for his aid. Saw himself smiling as his eyes caught his brat from across a crowded room. Saw James’ face light up when being called leech shifted from a cruel taunt to the demon’s way of showing affection.

Each thought was filled with the vampire. Memories weaving into one another, blending together as they did. There was no him and John anymore. It was them and always would be them. His mind drifted as far back as to when they first met. James pettiness over a stolen meal being the stepping stone into what would entwine their lives forever. Their first scuffle on the beach, how Homelander had branded the vampire, at the time out of hate, unbeknownst that he had claimed the leech right then and there. Despite all the hate Mirrorlander claimed to have, he couldn’t…and wouldn’t kill James. Not then and certainly not now. He’s gone from someone the demon tolerated for John’s benefit to someone he couldn’t live without either. If he was to burn in this cage, he would do so with the memories that burned hotter than any oven. It’s what would keep him going until the end.

Mirrorlander had no clue what was going on between James and Angela. He was dazed, exhausted. Drained. So much so he had no idea how much time had passed. The heat was suffocating, skin glistening with sweat. His costume however continued to endure, able to withstand almost anything. Even though John was safely tucked away in the depths of the demon’s mind, he still held on and kept strong. For John’s sake. He did all he could to block out the pain, the trauma, and spare his other half. He just hoped it would be enough, that he could hold on enough until James got them out of here.

At some point Mirrorlander passed out without even knowing he had. The loud sound of a door being kicked open startled him as his eyes snapped open. He tried to focus on the shapes that appeared in his vision, though he already knew who it was. Of course he did. He felt it. Even before that familiar voice boomed through the room, he knew. An exhausted smile crossed his features. “B…out t…time, l-leech…” He choked out, voice barely above a whisper. It was impossible for the demon to tell whether this was real or part of his imagination. Either way, he found comfort in it. That against all odds, against everything, no matter what, James would always be there. His loyalty and love knew no bounds.

He did his best to keep his eyes opened, not wanting to miss any chance of seeing his brat. It was the distraction and focus he needed while being cooked alive, not wanting to give in to the pain. Not wanting to let Angela win. Whatever happened next would give Mirrorlander his answer as to whether this was real or imaginary. Though, nothing would change the fact that through it all, through the worst times, the only thought in the demon’s mind was of James. The only one who was braver and stronger than the world’s greatest superhero. Homelander might have that title when it comes to the public. But in his eyes, James will always have that title.

Perhaps now Angela would understand that Mirrorlander had only spoken the truth. That there were no threats, just promises. Perhaps now she would understand what he and James had went far beyond love. It was something else entirely. Something that couldn’t be explained nor shared. Nor severed. For she would bear witness to the wrath of an elder vampire, one that could be just as cold and cruel as he could be. She would learn the hard way that both men weren’t all that different from one another, especially when their mate was concerned.

Love always wins.

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James had been tracking Angela’s scent for hours, a trail laced with desperation and malice. It clung to every surface like a grimy film, leading him to this place. His instincts screamed for urgency, his connection to Mirrorlander thrumming erratically in his chest like a broken metronome. He was closing in when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Annoyed, he nearly ignored it, but something made him glance at the screen. Vought. His grip tightened as he answered, jaw set.

"Norrington," he said curtly.

The voice on the other end hesitated before spilling the information in a rush: Angela White. A former employee. Used an old Vought ID to bypass security measures. Her name and address were rattled off, and James committed it to memory before cutting the call short with a terse, "Got it."

His pace quickened. He didn’t need their help to deal with this.

As he reached the building, his preternatural hearing caught the echoes of a voice inside—hers. The words weren’t just sharp; they were dripping with venomous ignorance, and James’s anger surged.

The air around him seemed to crackle as his fury rose, his teeth gritting against the venomous bile Angela spat. It wasn’t just the homophobia that infuriated him—it was how those words were aimed at his partner. His mate. The man who trusted James with everything.

His fists clenched, and he crossed the hall in a blur of motion. The door loomed before him, a flimsy barrier between him and her. With a thunderous BOOM, he pounded on it, the frame rattling under the force.

Angela froze, startled by the sound. Gripping the weapon in her hand—a sleek pistol with a custom Vought engraving—she moved to the door, forcing herself to calm down. She opened it just a crack, enough to peer out at the man standing there.

He was taller than she remembered, his imposing frame taut with tension. His once-polite demeanor was nowhere to be found. Cold, calculating green eyes bore into hers. His usually refined appearance was unkempt, his dark coat dusted with dirt from the frantic search. The intensity of his presence was suffocating.

Angela forced a smile, aiming for nonchalance. “Oh, good evening, sir. What brings you—”

“Let. Me. In.”

The words dripped with authority, his voice a low, deadly growl that left no room for negotiation. It wasn’t a request; it was a command. His gaze pinned her in place, and she faltered.

Angela froze when her eyes met James's. She had planned to face him with cold confidence, but the moment his piercing green gaze locked onto hers, something primal gripped her. A force, heavy and unrelenting, pressed down on her mind. Her hand on the door trembled, and before she realized it, she had swung it wide open, stepping back to let him in.

As James entered, his presence filled the room, commanding and suffocating. Angela blinked hard, shaking off the strange pull. She wasn’t some weak-willed fool—she was stronger than that. Her lips twisted into a defiant smirk as she watched him scan the room.

James’s voice cut through the tension, sharp as a blade. "Where is he?"

Angela cocked her head, feigning confusion. "I don’t know who you’re talking about," she said, her voice saccharine, dripping with mock innocence.

James’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring as he took another step forward. He could smell Homelander— though almost obscured by the overwhelming heat in the room, but it was there.

Her expression shifted, and in one fluid motion, she raised the pistol in her hand, aiming directly at his chest. Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, but James didn’t even so much as flinch. The supe-bullet embedded itself harmlessly in his coat, its impact as meaningless as a pebble thrown against steel. Angela’s eyes widened in shock, her confidence faltering for a split second. “What the fuck?”

James hissed with the fury of a tiger and a serpent once more, his fangs glinting as he stepped closer, his anger barely contained. Before she could react, his hand shot out, seizing her throat in a vice-like grip. Angela gasped, her fingers clawing at his arm, but he was immovable. With a sharp twist, he wrenched the gun from her grasp and sent it clattering to the floor.

"Where. Is. He?!!" James growled, his voice low and dangerous, each word a promise of pain. "I will NOT ask again,"

Angela coughed, her bravado faltering under the sheer intensity of this man. “W-hat..a-are you?”

James didn’t answer. His cold green eyes bore into hers, and she felt a searing, invasive pressure in her mind. It was as if her thoughts were being pried open, her secrets laid bare without her consent. She struggled against his grip, but his hold on her throat was unyielding. Through the haze of her fear, James rifled through her memories. He saw it all—her smug satisfaction at capturing Homelander, her twisted schemes, the way she gloated over his suffering. It filled James with an even deeper fury, his lip curling in disdain. “Foolish MORTAL! You will RUE the day you tried to take him from ME!”

Still holding her aloft with one hand, he turned on his heel, her gasps and weak protests barely registering. He strode through the hallways with terrifying purpose, guided by the oppressive heat radiating from the room ahead. Angela clawed at his wrist, those for every slice into skin he’d instantly heal over, kicking futilely, her strength no match for his unnatural power. “S-stop! Please!” she rasped

When he reached the door, the stifling heat hit him like a wave, but he didn’t falter. With a powerful kick, the door flew open, revealing the inferno inside. His eyes immediately locked onto Homelander, slumped and barely conscious, his form outlined by the shimmering air.

James’s voice broke, a raw cry that was equal parts anger and anguish. "HOMELANDER!"

He didn’t expect her to understand. Not when she was this delusional into thinking she stood a chance with him. That he needed her, wanted her. Though her words cut deep. He was used to the hate, the way the world still looked at two men with disgust and contempt. Mirrorlander was used to having horrible things said to him, that he could tolerate. But what he couldn’t was how she viewed and spoke of James. “What does it…matter? Does it really frighten you, Angela? I’ve been…with men before. Sex is sex to me. As long as I…got off I didn’t care who it was with. …Till him. Nothing you do…or say…will ever change that. What we have…goes far beyond you mudpeople’s understanding. We…complete each other in every way. There’s no me anymore. Only us. We’re one and always…always will be.”

Mirrorlander huffed out through the haze, glad that his choice of a partner pissed Angela off as much as it did. Her words were useless, meaningless. They weren’t going to change anything. James owned John’s heart and whatever it was that the demon had in replace of one. That was never going to change. “You think…I’m that desperate to come up with a lie? To…pretend? Why? What would it get me…except on your bad side? It’s…the truth. And clearly truth you…can’t handle. Not that I…expected you to. But you’ll find out…soon enough. It’ll be the last…thing you realise before you die.”

The demon’s words weren’t a threat, but a promise. A matter of fact. He knew James would find him sooner or later. He knew the leech wouldn’t stop until he had. He knew, because he would do the exact same thing. He just had to hold out long enough, which was something he was continuously fighting for against the heat. He couldn’t afford to pass out, nor did he want to give Angela an opening. He had to remain strong and on guard, protecting John until James arrived. That was his priority. James would handle the rest. “I could…have any woman I want, you’re right. And I did for a while. But that was then…this is now, and I’ve found my mate. Regardless…of what you say or…what you think, I stand proudly by my choice.”

Mirrorlander scoffed at her plan, raising a brow. “That’s…it? That’s…your plan? Angela…I was put in the oven every single day of my life while growing up. …And I remember it clear as day. Your…pathetic little plan is only going to backfire and…burn you. I managed all…these years without you. I think I’ll be…just fine. I don’t need you. I…never did and I certainly…don’t now. There’s only one that I want. One that…I need. And it’ll never be you.” He was determined to keep hitting her where it hurt, his words the only weapon he has at his disposal. For what it was worth, it seemed to be working. Buying him time for James to get here. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer.

His gaze narrowed as he saw her hands glide over the controls. He knew what was coming. All he could do was brace himself as the heat was turned up even more, setting his nerves on fire and jolts of pain all through his body. He grunted, jaw clenched hard through the pain as he refused to scream. His brows furrowed with focus, trying to picture James through the haze. The image was weaker, blurry, as Mirrorlander panted with the remaining oxygen being eaten up by the heat. His vision grew unfocused, hearing dulled. Yet he felt the vibrations of those knocks. Despite it all a weak and tired smile crossed his features. Either he was delusional and hearing things or rescue had arrived. “J…a…me…s…”

He didn’t hear anything Angela said as his body gave in and he slid to the ground, back propped up against the wall of the cage. His lids were heavy as he stared out and saw Angela fretting, grabbing something as she headed for the door. The demon’s breathing was ragged as he fought with all the strength he had left to hold on just a bit longer.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Angela’s sharp laughter rang out, cutting through the oppressive heat of the cage like a whip. She placed a hand to her chest, feigning shock and mock offense. “He?” she repeated, her tone dripping with disgust. “Are you telling me… that Homelander— thee Homelander, the man they all worship like some kind of god—is in love with another man?”

Her face twisted in disbelief and disgust, wrinkling her nose as she leaned closer to the cage, peering at Mirrorlander as if she could unearth some hidden truth in his expression. “That’s sick. You really are a broken, snarling mess trapped in a cage. Oh, this is rich. No one is that forgiving or trusting! Especially of you!” She sneered, pacing back and forth with renewed energy. “I knew you had your… issues. But this? You didn't have to pretend to be one of those people to try and get out of this. ” She chuckled darkly. “You could have any woman in the world. Why punish yourself like that.”

Angela stopped, staring at Mirrorlander like he was a riddle she’d finally solved. “But you know what? It doesn’t matter. Love, or whatever you want to call this little delusion, isn’t going to free you. And it certainly won’t stop me.”

She folded her arms and regarded him with a cruel smile. “You asked what my plan is? It’s simple, really. I’ll wear you down. Strip away all this bravado, this so-called ‘strength.’ All those memories you cling to? I’ll burn them out of you, one by one. Until all that’s left is the truth—that I’ve been right all along. That you need me. That you’ve always needed me.” Her voice softened into a mockingly tender whisper. “Only then will I let you out, and we can finally be together. The way it was always meant to be.”

Her smile widened, cruel and triumphant, as if she’d already won. “And as for this knight in shining armor of yours.. No one’s coming for you. No one even knows where you are. Face it, baby. You’re mine. You’ll soon forget about this perverted man.. if there even is one.” She turned up the heat even more and laughed, stepping back over to her chair to watch him crumble.

But after a few minutes her self-assured confidence faltered the moment the first pounding came at the door. Angela froze, the color draining from her face. Another pound. Then another. Her expression shifted to one of alarm as the noise grew louder and more insistent. “Stay here,” she barked, reaching for a sleek black anti-supe weapon on the counter. She gripped it tightly, her knuckles white, before glancing back at Mirrorlander. “Don’t worry, baby,” she said with a strained smile, her voice trembling just slightly as the pounding grew fiercer. “I’ll take care of him.”

She strode toward the door, her every step tense. The fear in her eyes betrayed her. She didn’t know who—or what—was on the other side. And neither did she know just how much danger she was truly in.

It seemed no matter what Mirrorlander said, Angela was too far gone to listen. She couldn’t accept that he wasn’t interested in her nor anything she had to offer. The heart was…bearable for the most part. He’d dealt with warmer temperatures, though he wasn’t going to complain. Any warmer and he’d struggle to keep his composure and stand his ground. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot. He didn’t want to black out not knowing what else Angela was up to.

He let her speak, rant all she wanted. His mind was elsewhere, clinging to memories of James. Better times. Happier and comfortable times. It helped distract him, keep him focused. He was counting on the leech to save him. James would be the only one to notice anything was wrong. Their bond was a lifesaver, quite literally. Connecting them both, each knowing exactly where and how the other was. A disturbance in the bond was never a good sign, but it was a clear one that something was wrong. Mirrorlander was counting on that to lead James to him. He couldn’t do this alone…that much was obvious. The demon was now realising how important James was, understanding why John relied on him and valued him above all others. He…finally understood.

“S-…so what’s your big plan then?” Mirrorlander breathed, more and more oxygen getting eaten up by the second. “To keep me l-locked up in here? Or are you…ever planning on letting me out?” Angela was wise to keep him locked up in the cage after all. She knew the damage he was capable of, and as much as she put on theatrics, she was scared of him and knew that the moment she let him out, he’d be after her. “Another who…claims to love me…yet keeps me locked in a cage, watching…from a distance. Terrified of getting close. I now…know what love is…and this, whatever you feel…isn’t it. You…love the idea of me…that’s all.” Mirrorlander panted, that glare never leaving his eyes as he stared her down.

“You can’t…fix me, Angela. Not then and not now. I’m not even yours to fix. You really think…torturing me is the way to go? That I’ll…obey? Fall in line? No. I learned from my mistakes. From my past. I let Vought control me for…too long. Enough is…enough. I’m not blind anymore. …There’s only one who…can control me. It’s not you…nor Madelyn…Edgar…it’s none of you.” The demon huffed, feeling his energy being drained from the constant smouldering heat, yet he refused to relent. He wouldn’t give in. He wouldn’t give Angela the satisfaction.

Thankfully he struck a nerve. Seeing and hearing her jealousy made him laugh. A tired laugh, but it was loud and mocking enough. The more she ranted and raged, the more he laughed. It was the distraction he needed right now. While she rendered his powers useless, it seemed his words were a good substitute. “He is…everything.” Mirrorlander admitted with a smile. “Trusting. Caring. Loyalty incarnate. He showed me…what love is. What it means to…truly care for another. The lengths he would go for me…you could never compare. He certainly wouldn’t…torture me to get my attention. What we have is…unbreakable. Something you…could never understand. The bond we share…the connection we have…is something I’ve never had with anyone. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Words the demon never thought he’d say about the leech. But he’d had his eyes well and truly opened. James was the best thing that happened to him and John. Time and time again, he proved how much he truly cared for them both. That he could be trusted. As protective as Mirrorlander was over John, he didn’t have to be when James was concerned. He saw that now. Because deep down he knew, he felt that James would save them both. He always did. “He has seen…every side of me. He has seen how cruel I can be…how bloodthirsty. How violent. There is no hiding from him. I don’t…need to wear a mask.” Mirrorlander replied before continuing. “That’s the difference between you and him, Angela. You…look at me and see something that needs to be fixed. …He looks at me and sees perfection.”

Slowly, Mirrorlander staggered closer to the front of the cage. Despite his weakened state, there was determination in his eyes. “Do…whatever you want to me, Angela. Just know…one thing: he’s coming for you. And when he gets here…there will be no mercy. You…have no idea what you’ve done…or what you’ve messed with. And y’know what?” The demon smiled. Despite the fact that he was practically being cooked alive, he smiled. “I can’t wait…to watch.”

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James prowled the command center like a predator caged too. His movements were sharp, his eyes scanning every screen and display, his demeanor a storm barely held at bay. The techs worked feverishly, heads down to avoid his piercing gaze. Every second that passed without a lead was a second closer to disaster.

His mind raced, caught between fury and desperation. Homelander was somewhere, vulnerable, and he wasn’t there to stop it. He couldn’t feel their bond clearly, but he refused to believe it was severed. No, it was there—dim, muted. He’s alive. I’ll find him.

Forty-eight agonizing minutes passed before one of the techs, a young woman with trembling hands, called out. "Sir, I think I found something."

James was at her station in an instant, his presence looming. “Show me.”

She rewound the footage, and the screen displayed Homelander backstage at an event, a faint smile on his lips as he picked up a glass of milk from a tray. The tray’s handler wasn’t a staff member James recognized—clad in black, face obscured. Seconds later, Homelander swayed, the glass slipping from his hand. His powerful frame crumpled as the mysterious figure threw a sheet over him, then casually wheeled him away on a cart.

James's body went rigid, and from deep within his throat came an unearthly hiss-growl—half tiger, half serpent. The sound silenced the room, every tech freezing in place as primal fear clawed at their senses.

James snapped his attention back to the team. "Cross-reference every camera angle and staff list. Find out who she is and how she got past security."

The techs scrambled to obey, but James was already moving, his speed defying human comprehension. He was gone in a blur, a sharp rush of air left in his wake.

The backstage area still held traces of her scent. A sickly sweet perfume tinged with chemical sharpness. James inhaled deeply, his preternatural senses locking onto the trail. Got you.

Unaware of what was coming..

Angela tilted her head as she observed Mirrorlander. His growls and snarls would’ve been intimidating to anyone else, but she had long since become desensitized to his displays of aggression. Instead, she saw them for what they were: a wounded animal lashing out.

“You always think brute force is the answer, don’t you?” she said, her tone tinged with mockery. “You can hiss and growl all you want, baby, but it will get you nowhere. This—” she gestured to the cage and the searing heat surrounding it, “—this is your reality now. The sooner you accept it, the easier this will be for both of us.”

Mirrorlander’s attitude irritated her more than she cared to admit.

“You want answers? Fine,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “You were never supposed to be like this. You were meant to be perfect. A symbol. Untouchable. But you were corrupted—twisted by the lies of people who don’t understand you. That’s why I’m here. To fix you. To make you whole again.”

She leaned closer to the cage, the heat making her skin glisten with perspiration. “But you’re right about one thing. I do fear you. Only a fool wouldn’t. And I may have watched them break you, but I also saw you rise above it. I helped create you, John. You belong to me, no matter what delusions you’ve filled your head with.”

But Homelander made a mistake in telling her he belonged to someone else and the jealousy clearly filled her expression. Angela’s voice lowered, a venomous edge creeping in. “Who is she!?” she asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing as jealousy flared in her tone. “This… woman you keep thinking about. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve never let anyone else get close to you, so who is she?”

She straightened, her expression twisting with a toxic blend of curiosity and fury. “Does she even know what you really are? Does she know the monster you become when the mask slips?”

Mirrorlander was on edge, haunches taught as he paced within the cage. His priority was keeping John safe, protecting him as best he could until rescue arrived. While he didn’t like relying on anyone, even the demon knew that James was their only hope, the only one that would know, that would sense something was wrong. Even if they couldn’t communicate through their bond, it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Instinct would take over. At least, that’s what Mirrorlander was relying on.

He was an animal, not a man. He growled and snarled at Angela as she watched and chided him like a child. He hated it. Hated her. He wanted nothing more than to rip her to shreds, to fill the cage with her blood. Instead, he had to endure her annoying voice and equally annoying words. “I haven’t forgotten. How could I went you and the others brainwashed me, engrained it into me from the moment I can remember?!” He hissed, shaking his head. “What you consider to be for my own good, is sealing your own demise. Of course you claim to care, to love me. Yet you won’t set food inside this cage nor let me out, will you? Because you fear me and what I’m capable of.” He smirked, all teeth and fangs. “And you have right to be.”

The demon laughed then, a dark and broken laugh. “Took care of me?!?! Is that what you call it? Funny way of showing it. No. No, you’re mistaken. Always have been. It’s why you were let go. You never were good at your job, were you Angela? Always let emotions get in the way. Thinking that somehow I was yours when I belong to only one. And that is not you.” Mirrorlander didn’t realise the words he’d said until they’d been spoken. Had he…admitted to belonging to the leech? Something he swore he’d never do. It would have to wait. There were more important matters at hand.

The moment he caught Angela’s hands brushing over the dials, the demon knew what was coming. He pushed John further, deeper into the back of his mind and locked him away in a safe space. A cocoon of sorts, to spare him for what was to come. Mirrorlander glares and clenched his jaw, bracing for it. He’d been through this before, he could handle it again and spare John the pain. That’s the whole reason why he existed after all, right? He was a shield. John’s sins incarnate, getting what he deserved. The moment that dial turned and he felt the heat, the demon growled, hand pressed against the cage for support as he withstood the heat. The burn. Yet he didn’t scream. No. He wouldn’t give Angela the satisfaction.

His brows furrowed, yet that glare remained. It was evident the heat was hurting, yet Mirrorlander endured. He breathed heavily, the cage quickly growing suffocating, the heat eating up all the oxygen. He could withstand loss of air for a long time, yet it wasn’t comfortable by any means. And then…within the heat and through the haze, Mirrorlander found memories flashing through his mind. Memories and pictures of…the leech. Of James. Happier times…times of them together. Laughing and joking. Times when the demon lay his claim and how good it felt for them both…

Why…why was the demon thinking of him of all people. The brat, his toy. Nothing more. Only…the more he thought of James, the less he felt the pain. And the more he could endure.

Mirrorlander hissed and growled as he panted. Despite the heat, his skin didn’t char. “You…will get nothing from me. The moment you put me in here…was the moment you caused your own demise. The only…affection you’ll get…is death.” He panted, and despite everything going on, a smirk formed on those dangerous features.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Child of Night and Sun

James’s eyes fluttered open, and the sharp, pounding headache that greeted him was the first sign that something had gone terribly wrong. His senses were dull, a strange heaviness weighing on his limbs as if he were half-dreaming, trapped between wakefulness and unconsciousness. He groaned softly, reaching up to massage his temples, but that only seemed to make things worse.

When his vision finally cleared, he noticed immediately how off everything felt. He was no longer in the bed he had shared with Clark the night before. Instead, he was in a strange room—an unsettling mix of a home and a prison.

The walls around him were smooth and sterile, but the furnishings—an uncomfortable sofa, a coffee table, and a low bookshelf filled with neat stacks of books—felt eerily domestic. There was even a glowing hearth in the corner, crackling with a fire that didn’t seem to emit heat, merely light. It was all too perfect, too curated, like some kind of mockery of a cozy home.

But it was the wall that drew his attention.

One entire side of the room was a giant, clear window. His first instinct was to look outside, but as he stared through the glass, the truth hit him all at once. What he was seeing wasn’t the outside world. It was… more alien. Strange figures moved around in the distance—beings of various shapes and sizes, some humanoid, others completely unrecognizable. Their eyes locked onto him immediately, and their gazes were intense, cold.

The scene looked like something straight out of a zoo, but this time, they were the exhibits.

James pushed himself into a sitting position, his body sluggish, and as he glanced around, he realized that he wasn’t alone.

Across from him, slumped awkwardly against the sofa, was Clark. His bright blue suit and red cape were crumpled, his head resting on his hand as he breathed deeply in his sleep, unaware of their captors—or the very bizarre situation they found themselves in.

James’s mind raced as he pieced together what had happened. The last thing he remembered was lying beside Clark in bed. They had been together, content, comfortable. And now… here they were, trapped in some kind of glass cage, watched by who knew how many alien creatures.

“Well,” James muttered, his voice rough and dry from sleep, “I suppose our captors figured they’d try to make us feel at home. Too bad they missed a few details.” He glanced around at the unnervingly perfect room before his eyes settled back on the large window. The alien onlookers were staring at them like they were nothing more than curiosities, amusement—or something darker—in their eyes. “Homey little trap, isn’t it?” He was calm .. too calm.. he would normally have run over to Clark the moment he saw him in that state but they .. had clearly done something to them both.. whatever had kept the kryptonian out this long had affected James in a similar to make him this .. docile, this un-phased.

@notabirdnotaplane

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James watched as Killian moved with an almost effortless swagger, pulling out a bottle of brandy and corking it with his hook like it was the most natural thing in the world. His usual instinct might have been to scoff, to roll his eyes at the flamboyance, but the memory of Killian remembering his favorite drink softened him. It was such a simple detail, yet it spoke volumes.

Taking the offered glass, he swirled the dark liquid briefly before lifting it to his nose, inhaling the rich, fruity aroma. He glanced up at Killian, who was already lounging in his makeshift throne like he owned not just the ship, but the entire sea itself. James couldn’t help but shake his head, a reluctant chuckle escaping him.

"You remembered that?" he asked softly, his voice losing its usual edge. He blinked down at the glass, the rich amber liquid catching the dim light. A faint blush crept over his cheeks as he raised the glass again, taking a deliberate sip to occupy himself and mask his reaction.

Why it touched him so, he couldn’t fully understand. Perhaps it was the way Killian had said it so easily, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to remember such a detail about someone he’d parted ways with years ago. Or maybe it was that Killian’s acknowledgment of something so personal felt… kind, in a way James wasn’t used to.

James found himself watching Killian again, his sharp eyes softening as he took in the pirate’s effortless charm. The way he moved about the cabin, his confidence, his grin that was somehow both infuriating and disarming at the same time.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to break the lingering silence . “You’ve certainly come a long way from the boy who couldn’t tie a proper knot without getting it tangled.” He raised the glass in a small toast before taking a sip. The brandy was smooth, with a subtle sweetness that lingered on his tongue. He hated to admit it, but it was rather good.

Then nearly choked on it when he was offered the position. “ You’d trust me with your precious Jolly Roger?” His tone was dry but teasing, the edges of his words softened by the warmth of the brandy. “ I.. suppose that would be preferable. Than deckhand.. I mean. Thank you.“ He pauses a beat and… removes his hat and wig. Being comfortable meant shedding those constrictive hot layers. Letting longish but still well groomed hair loose. He wasn’t a Commodore right now-- or.. anymore. "But I don't believe I well ever grow accustomed to piracy. Or condone it"

James’s lips quirked into a dry smile as he swirled the brandy in his glass, the amber liquid catching the light. “Fate does have a peculiar sense of humor,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of irony and resignation. “I suppose I’ve no one to blame but myself for ending up in this... position.”

He glanced at Killian, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he added, “Though I imagine you’re finding this turn of events endlessly amusing.”

James leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the situation settle in the room. He raised his glass in a small, half-hearted toast. “To fate, then. And to the pirate who’s found himself, inexplicably, in charge of a commodore.”

"Back to judging are we?" Killian asked with a roll of his eyes. Even though they were alone once again old habits died hard, they had their moment of understanding but that wasn't going to change the mindset of a man who had hated pirates all his life. The young man understood it would take some time and some things James might never come to terms with.

He stepped away from James and kicked some of his treasure out of the way as he crossed the room to his liquor cabinet to look through it. "Brandy still your favorite? Lets see... Ooh~ I think you'll like this black cherry brandy." Killian grabbed a bottle and tucked it under his arm to hold and snagged two crystal glasses to bring over to the desk. He set them down then grabbed the bottle he used his hook to tug out the cork.

"I'm sure this'll all be a shock for you and needing some time to adjust..." Killian began as he filled the glasses for them. "You don't have to participate in any of our raiding. Just be a deckhand, or maybe my navigator! I usually do that myself but it would be nice to have some help with that." He said with some cheer as he moved around his desk to sit down in his throne. The bottle set down the pirate captain reached out to take his glass and bring it to his lips.

"I never would've thought I'd ever be in charge of you. Kinda funny how the fate works sometimes." Killian said with a chuckle. He was purposefully trying to keep the mood light because in reality he knew his former mentor's world had just been crushed. The life he had in the royal navy effectively over and all he knew was turned upside down. "Enjoy your drink, get comfortable. You can stay in here tonight and tomorrow get you a spot set up in the crews quarters."

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Edward’s taunting laughter mixed with the clash of their blades, his wild unpredictability pulling James deeper into the storm of their duel. James thrust forward, aiming to drive Blackbeard back. But Edward parried the attack easily, stepping in close and sweeping his cutlass in a cheeky arc.

The flat of the blade smacked James sharply across his rear.

James froze for a fraction of a second, his body stiffening as heat flooded his face. It wasn’t pain that struck him—it was humiliation, a sharp and foreign thrill that burned deeper than he cared to admit. His breath hitched, his grip on the hilt tightening as his stomach flipped in a way that was distinctly… distracting.

James’s ears burned as Edward’s laughter roared in his ears, that damnable grin mocking him with every second it stayed unpunished. The Commodore forced himself to breathe, his green eyes narrowing with searing intensity. He let the heat in his chest shift, feeding the fury that was already threatening to consume him.

“ENOUGH!,” James snarled, his voice loud but strained, more to himself than Ed.

When Edward left himself open, James saw red. The opening was glaring, and James, in his flustered mix of rage and heat, lunged forward with precision taking the bait. His blade sank into Edward’s abdomen, cutting through flesh and sinew .

Victory.

Or so he thought.

Edward staggered back a step, his expression twisted in pain, but instead of falling, he threw his head back and let out a mad, booming laugh. The sound was unnatural, monstrous even, as he gripped the blade lodged in his side and took a deliberate step forward, pushing himself further onto the sword.

James’s eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat.

“This… can’t be…” he whispered, his voice trembling as Edward leaned closer, his breath warm and coppery against James’s face.

It wasn’t fear but surprise a he stared at Edward’s grin widening, blood staining his teeth and dripping from the corners of his lips. "Ya can’t kill a Devil." It echoed in his mind and he thought that just perhaps he was dealing with another cursed pirate, as he had with Barbossa and his crew.

Before James could react, Edward spat blood into his face, the crimson splatter shocking him into stepping back, his sword slipping free from Edward’s body.” Augh! “

James blinked hard, clearing the blood spattered across his face with his sleeve as his breath steadied. He could only stare, his grip on his bloodied sword tightening as his heart pounded with equal parts fear and exhilaration. How could this man still be standing? How was he still grinning?

Edward raised his cutlass again and the Commodore’s composure wavered only for a moment before a sharp, sardonic grin curved his lips, the flustered heat in his cheeks now fueling his resolve. "A Devil? Please. You’re just a reckless brute with a flair for theatrics," he retorted, his voice icy but tinged with biting mockery. "And probably a terrible shot, might I add—perhaps your …cutlass… is the only thing that works reliably." Was that a taunt or a flirt? He doesn't know how to flirt and he's far too stuck up right? So it had to be a taunt.

He lunged again, his blade flashing as he aimed for Edward’s side. But in his eagerness to reassert control, James left his left flank open .

Norrington's sword was already drawn as Blackbeard charged toward him, the sounds of the battle around them fading into the background. His green eyes burned with intensity, a near-feral gleam betraying the composed facade he typically wore. Nearly as wild as Teach. For the moment, James was consumed by one singular desire: to spill the blood of Edward Teach, this menace of the seas. He didn't even bother issuing orders to his men; they were competent enough to handle the pirates. This fight—this clash—was his alone.

The shot from Blackbeard's pistol never reached him, and when the pirate cursed and discarded the weapon, James’s lips curled into a smirk, sharp and cutting. He raised his blade in a mocking salute before using his free hand to gesture with a slow, deliberate "come hither" motion.

"Ah, the infamous Blackbeard, undone by his own pistol," James taunted, his voice ringing above the cacophony of combat. "Perhaps your reputation exceeds your competence. Should I wait for you to fetch another?" He wore such a sour smile on his face.

The pirate lunged, his cutlass raised with a cry, no doubt aiming to split James in two, but the Commodore sidestepped with precision, his own blade clashing against the heavier cutlass with a metallic shriek. Sparks flew as the two men exchanged blows, each strike a meeting of opposite forces—controlled, practiced elegance against wild, feral ferocity.

“You’re not the first pirate to come at me with brute strength, Teach,” James sneered, blocking another swing and twisting his blade to lock Blackbeard’s in place for a moment. Their faces were inches apart now, and James's smirk only widened. “But brute strength, like a jammed pistol, is rather… unreliable, wouldn’t you agree?”

Around them, the intensity of the battle raged on, but to James, it was as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist. This was more than duty or reputation now—it was obsession. The rivalry had festered in his mind for weeks, and now, with Blackbeard before him, it was as if everything else melted away.

"Come on, Captain," James called, his voice dripping with derision. "Surely the legendary Blackbeard can do better than this? Or have I already bested you, and you’re simply too proud to admit it?" The words were meant to rile, to dig deep. Anger leads to mistakes.

"Commodore!" a voice broke through the din. Lieutenant Groves, bloodied but holding his ground, stood a few feet away, fending off two pirates with a desperate ferocity. "We’re outnumbered, sir! We need orders!" His voice carried a sharp edge, the plea of a man who understood the precariousness of their position.

If James heard him he didn’t respond. His green eyes, wild with adrenaline and purpose, never wavered from Teach’s. James’s lips curled in a faint smirk, his obsession with this duel drowning out all reason.

"Commodore Norrington!" Groves called again, more urgently this time, his a plea. "The men—!"

But James wasn’t listening. For the first time in his career, duty took a back seat to something rawer, something deeply personal. In this moment, it wasn’t about his crew, the merchants, or even the Crown. It was about him and Teach, and the deep, unspoken need to see the infamous pirate's blood on his sword.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James stormed through the halls of Vought Tower, his polished shoes striking the floor with the cadence of an oncoming storm. His face was a mask of icy control, but the tension in his jaw and the rigid set of his shoulders betrayed the roiling panic beneath. Homelander was missing. Not just unresponsive—missing.

When James pushed open the doors to the command center, Ashley practically jumped out of her chair. "Mr. Norrington, this is highly irregular—"

"Out," James ordered, his voice sharp as a blade. He didn’t raise his voice, but the authority in his tone froze everyone in the room. "Everyone except the tech team. Now."

Ashley sputtered, her clipboard clutched like a shield. "But—"

James turned his piercing gaze on her, his eyes gleaming with a predatory edge. "Unless you’d like to explain to Homelander why his whereabouts were delayed by bureaucratic nonsense, I suggest you leave."

Ashley swallowed hard, gave a weak nod, and scrambled out with the other assistants.

James stepped forward, his presence commanding the attention of the remaining techs. "I want every second of footage from today reviewed. Public appearances, backstage corridors, anything connected to Homelander. Something, someone, has made him disappear. I want locations, timestamps, and faces. If there’s a breach in our systems, you’ll find it. If there’s a trace of him anywhere, you’ll find that, too. You have one hour to give me a lead. Go."

The tech team moved like a well-oiled machine, fingers flying over keyboards as they tapped into security feeds, cell tower pings, and public surveillance systems. James stepped back, folding his arms as he stared at the screens, his mind racing. Hold on, Homelander. I’m coming.

Meanwhile…

The dim room pulsed with an oppressive heat, the air thick and suffocating. Angela stood outside the cage, arms crossed, a bitter smirk on her face as she watched the blonde pacing like a cornered animal.

“You always were so dramatic,” she chided, her voice carrying the scolding tone of a disappointed mother. “This is for your own good, you know. You’ve forgotten who you are—who we made you to be. But that’s okay. We’ll fix that. I’ll fix you.”

Angela sighed, shaking her head. "I don’t expect you to understand yet. You’ve been poisoned by the world, by people who only want to use you. I’m the only one who truly cared about you, John. I watched over you. Took care of you in my own way didn’t I?"

Her hand moved to the control panel, her fingers brushing over the dials. “But if you won’t listen, I’ll have to remind you how much worse it can get.” She twisted a knob, and the temperature in the cage rose sharply.

“You’re making this harder than it has to be,” Angela said, her voice sweet but edged with malice. “You can stay here and sulk like a child, or you can behave. All I want is your obedience, your affection, your gratitude. That’s not so much to ask, is it?” she giggles

She leaned closer to the cage, her eyes gleaming with warped devotion. “Don’t make me hurt you, baby. I don’t want to. But I will.”

The silence in James Norrington’s office was deafening. Normally, he welcomed the quiet—after centuries of chaos, it felt like a luxury—but tonight it clawed at his nerves. Homelander hadn’t responded to his calls, either mental or physical, for hours now. That in itself was unusual; Homelander’s ego rarely allowed him to ignore anyone, least of all James.

He leaned against his desk, fingers drumming impatiently on the polished wood as he tried once again to reach out through their bond. /Homelander?/ His mind stretched out, searching for the familiar golden thread that always connected him to his lover. /John, Darling where are you? /But instead of Homelander’s steady, overwhelming presence, there was nothing.

No response. Just a hollow void where his connection should be.

Panic threatened to take hold, but James shoved it down. He wasn’t the panicking type. Still, something was wrong. Homelander was never just unreachable, not unless…

James inhaled sharply, his mind spinning. What if someone had done something?

Elsewhere, the dim light of the red laser absorption cage flickered as a low, metallic hum filled the air. The cage—his prison—wasn’t just containment. It was punishment. Heat radiated from the walls, but at a very low temp as not to harm him-yet.

The woman outside the cage—Angela, the former Vought lab tech—watched him with an unsettling mix of adoration and malice. Her voice was almost sweet, a cruel parody of comfort.

“You won’t leave me again will you?” she cooed, running her fingers along the control panel. “I helped make you. Perfected you. You were mine first. But they took you away—she took you away.” Her tone turned bitter. Meaning Madelynn. Nor really aware of James...yet

Homelander’s glare could’ve melted steel, but it didn’t matter here. Angela knew his limits, his weaknesses. She’d helped designed him, after all—or at least, helped refine the unbreakable man everyone worshiped. And now, she had reduced him to nothing more than a trapped bird in her oven-like cage.

“Be a good boy,” she said, her voice sickly sweet again. “And I won’t turn up the heat.”

@hom3land3r

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

//I have a massive temp job file to do today. So I probably wont get many drafts tackled for a couple of days till i finish it, I need the cash desperately soooo I'm sorry all. I'll be on in the evening!

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Groves blinked at the pirate’s audacious wink, his confusion plain as his brow furrowed. He exchanged a bewildered glance with Gillette, muttering under his breath, "What on earth was that supposed to mean?" Groves was no stranger to odd behaviors from pirates, but the casual confidence of Hook unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

Meanwhile, James tested the ropes discreetly as he was guided aboard the Jolly Roger, his fingers brushing against the coarse bindings. A flicker of something unexpected stirred within him—the roughness of the rope, the firm way it constrained him, the undeniable sense of being at someone else’s mercy. It was… stimulating. He suppressed the thought immediately, willing himself to focus on the situation at hand.

As his boots hit the polished cherry wood deck, his gaze roamed over the ship’s intricate carvings and grand craftsmanship. He was forced to admit, if only internally, that it was stunning. Out loud, however, his tone was more biting. “I’m surprised she hasn’t sunk under the weight of all this stolen gold. I suppose it’s fitting for pirates to have such a flamboyant vessel. Subtlety clearly isn’t your strong suit,” he said, his sarcasm sharpened by a need to mask his awe.

James managed to pull free of his bonds when Killian removed them and rubbed at his wrists, glancing around the room once more. “A mess? That’s putting it mildly,” he muttered, though his voice lacked the usual venom.

The (former) Commodore’s gaze drifted toward the cabin door, then to the window, his expression clearly concerned. He could almost feel his crew’s judgment from afar, even without seeing them. Were they standing stoically on the deck of the Interceptor, murmuring their discontent? Perhaps Gillette and Groves were trying to maintain order, but the doubt would be there. The disappointment. He’d surrendered them to pirates, no matter his reasoning. What were they thinking of him now?

He needed a good distraction and maybe a drink , despite the fact he only drank brandy on social occasions.

The sword offered had been tucked in his belt beside his holstered one. James effort to compose himself was amusing. Was that a blush he caught? He wouldn't have guessed James had a fancy for men, or maybe it was the situation that was exciting. He might have to test those waters later. For now though he had some work to do.

Killian pretended not to pay attention to the men murmuring but when Groves said that he'd get James back the pirate shot him a wink. A subtle hint that James would be safe in his care. Continued on to the deck of the pirate ship, Jolly was something beautiful. Made of mostly cherry wood and had stunning carvings, it was more like a ship out of a fairy tale then one belonging to pirates.

"I'll give you a tour once we start sailing." He said as he brought James into his cabin that was a treasure hoard. There was gold from a hundred ships laying about, chests overflowing and jewelry hung about as decorations. Closest to them when they enter was his charting desk littered with many maps of the world and some unknown, the chair behind it looking like a throne with blush red velvet seats. There was display cabinets of trinkets from around the world and expensive alcohol, a shelf of books and a wardrobe stuffed with fine clothing. At the far back of the room was a large four post bed covered in an array of blankets, silk sheets and many pillows. Beside that in the corner a folding wall where there was a tub and some sort metal tank with part of a coal burning stove.

It was an incredible amount to take in, so while James looked on dumbfounded Killian removed the ropes. "Sorry about the mess, wasn't expecting company. I'm a bit of a pack rat when it comes to treasure. When you grew up with not a shilling to your name you tend to want to hold onto any wealth you get your hands on."

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

The silence in James Norrington’s office was deafening. Normally, he welcomed the quiet—after centuries of chaos, it felt like a luxury—but tonight it clawed at his nerves. Homelander hadn’t responded to his calls, either mental or physical, for hours now. That in itself was unusual; Homelander’s ego rarely allowed him to ignore anyone, least of all James.

He leaned against his desk, fingers drumming impatiently on the polished wood as he tried once again to reach out through their bond. /Homelander?/ His mind stretched out, searching for the familiar golden thread that always connected him to his lover. /John, Darling where are you? /But instead of Homelander’s steady, overwhelming presence, there was nothing.

No response. Just a hollow void where his connection should be.

Panic threatened to take hold, but James shoved it down. He wasn’t the panicking type. Still, something was wrong. Homelander was never just unreachable, not unless…

James inhaled sharply, his mind spinning. What if someone had done something?

Elsewhere, the dim light of the red laser absorption cage flickered as a low, metallic hum filled the air. The cage—his prison—wasn’t just containment. It was punishment. Heat radiated from the walls, but at a very low temp as not to harm him-yet.

The woman outside the cage—Angela, the former Vought lab tech—watched him with an unsettling mix of adoration and malice. Her voice was almost sweet, a cruel parody of comfort.

“You won’t leave me again will you?” she cooed, running her fingers along the control panel. “I helped make you. Perfected you. You were mine first. But they took you away—she took you away.” Her tone turned bitter. Meaning Madelynn. Nor really aware of James...yet

Homelander’s glare could’ve melted steel, but it didn’t matter here. Angela knew his limits, his weaknesses. She’d helped designed him, after all—or at least, helped refine the unbreakable man everyone worshiped. And now, she had reduced him to nothing more than a trapped bird in her oven-like cage.

“Be a good boy,” she said, her voice sickly sweet again. “And I won’t turn up the heat.”

@hom3land3r

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

“If we’re doing this,” he muttered, “then you’ll need this.” He drew his sword slowly, the blade gleaming in the cabin’s light, and handed it over to Killian. James gritted his teeth as Killian wrapped the rope around him, his sense of dignity bristling against the indignity of it all. His cheeks, however, betrayed him, flushing a faint pink. He wanted to believe it was out of humiliation of defeat.. perhaps some of it was. But.. as Killian's grin lingered in his peripheral vision.. he clears his throat and glances back down at the ropes bound around him.

When Killian made his quip about putting him to good use, James huffed sharply, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, I bet you will,” he replied dryly, trying not to let the fluster show as he fought to maintain his composure. Clearing his throat, he straightened his posture, forcing himself to lift his head high and set his jaw in that familiar steely determination. Despite the heat and weight of the ropes burning him. Whatever humiliation he felt, his men would see their commodore as strong, unbroken—if only for their sake.

As they stepped back out onto the deck, Killian’s declaration rang out, and James felt the eyes of his crew on him, burning with a mix of anger, betrayal, and confusion. Still, he held himself tall, even as the rope bit into his wrists.

Gillette , his most loyal officer, spoke over even Hook, being rather forward, his expression torn. “He surrendered… for US,” Gillette said, his voice steady but low, clearly meant for the crew. Groves was the next to speak “To ensure our safety. That’s not the action of a coward. That’s the action of a man willing to sacrifice everything for his duty.”

The murmurs began to shift among the crew, anger softening into grudging respect, though the tension was far from gone. James caught his two most loyal officer's gaze and gave them the faintest nod, a silent acknowledgment of their attempts to hold the crew together. Whatever happened next, James told himself, his choice had been the right one—his only choice to keep some dignity.

"Do you not see what that means? The Commodore has always carried the weight of our survival on his shoulders. Today is no different.” Groves paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. He then turned to James, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. “We’ll see you returned safely, sir. Whatever it takes.”

Killian arched a brow at the hesitance in James. "Duty to what? A king you've never met? A crew that wants to see you hung? Your duty is to yourself, mate." The younger man pointed out as he waited for James to come to terms with how fate was leading him. There wasn't much to choose from and the safest bet was with Killian.

When called insufferable he snickered, this was feeling like the old days. James being all uptight and Killian being a little trickster in good fun. To his delight the other agreed. "Splendid! I will put you to good use Commodore." The pirate said and he moved about the cabin and grabbed some rope toss around the taller man to wrap him up like a prisoner. Just for show when they went back out, and it wasn't like he could tie a not all that well with just one hand but he did the best he could.

"Put that serious face back on as we head over to Jolly. I'm a no good dirty pirate taking you hostage." Killian said with a smirk and brought James back out of the cabin.

"We've come to terms, men! The Commodore has surrendered himself to me to ensure your safely brought back to Port Royal. Take your cut of the loot guys then lash the Interceptor to the ship, I have my cut of the treasure right here." He nodded to James and the pirates laugh before they began plundering the ship with some still keeping watch of the captives. Killian tugged James along by the rope and they made their way onto the Jolly Roger.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James watched her with quiet amusement, his emerald eyes glowing faintly as she pressed a kiss to his fingers. Her gratitude warmed something long thought cold within him, and he couldn't help but smile, sharp fangs just barely peeking out.

Her comment about a coffin drew a low chuckle from him, a sound rich and smooth like dark velvet. "Actually"...

He turned, stepping toward the coffee table in the center of the room. The polished surface glinted faintly in the dim light, looking entirely ordinary—until James reached for the corner of the plush cover draped over it. His smirk widened as he tugged the cover off with a dramatic flourish, revealing the unmistakable shape of a coffin underneath. Its dark mahogany wood gleamed, its intricate carvings and golden inlays giving it an elegant, almost regal appearance.

“Funny you should mention that,” he said, voice dripping with amusement as he gestured to the coffin like a showman unveiling a prized possession. “I do enjoy a bit of luxury, but even I have my... traditional quirks.”

James leaned casually against the edge of the coffin, crossing his arms as he looked back at Harley, his expression smug but undeniably fond. “It’s not as bad as it looks, love. Quite comfortable, actually. But a necessity I'm afraid. "

Did they lock you in here?

@ashortdropandasuddenstop

Harley wasn’t even sure how long it had been. With no windows to the outside world she couldn’t count the hours or days she had been chained to the wall. It must have been night though, because the dark, beautiful voice of her vampire caught her attention.

She looked up at him with a weak smile, dried blood staining her usually lipstick reddened lips. “James.. I knew you’d find me.” Her head fell back against the wall as she chuckled. “I think…” Harley took in a shuddered breath and smiled. “I’d like to see ya drink some people dry.”

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

Norrington's sword was already drawn as Blackbeard charged toward him, the sounds of the battle around them fading into the background. His green eyes burned with intensity, a near-feral gleam betraying the composed facade he typically wore. Nearly as wild as Teach. For the moment, James was consumed by one singular desire: to spill the blood of Edward Teach, this menace of the seas. He didn't even bother issuing orders to his men; they were competent enough to handle the pirates. This fight—this clash—was his alone.

The shot from Blackbeard's pistol never reached him, and when the pirate cursed and discarded the weapon, James’s lips curled into a smirk, sharp and cutting. He raised his blade in a mocking salute before using his free hand to gesture with a slow, deliberate "come hither" motion.

"Ah, the infamous Blackbeard, undone by his own pistol," James taunted, his voice ringing above the cacophony of combat. "Perhaps your reputation exceeds your competence. Should I wait for you to fetch another?" He wore such a sour smile on his face.

The pirate lunged, his cutlass raised with a cry, no doubt aiming to split James in two, but the Commodore sidestepped with precision, his own blade clashing against the heavier cutlass with a metallic shriek. Sparks flew as the two men exchanged blows, each strike a meeting of opposite forces—controlled, practiced elegance against wild, feral ferocity.

“You’re not the first pirate to come at me with brute strength, Teach,” James sneered, blocking another swing and twisting his blade to lock Blackbeard’s in place for a moment. Their faces were inches apart now, and James's smirk only widened. “But brute strength, like a jammed pistol, is rather… unreliable, wouldn’t you agree?”

Around them, the intensity of the battle raged on, but to James, it was as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist. This was more than duty or reputation now—it was obsession. The rivalry had festered in his mind for weeks, and now, with Blackbeard before him, it was as if everything else melted away.

"Come on, Captain," James called, his voice dripping with derision. "Surely the legendary Blackbeard can do better than this? Or have I already bested you, and you’re simply too proud to admit it?" The words were meant to rile, to dig deep. Anger leads to mistakes.

"Commodore!" a voice broke through the din. Lieutenant Groves, bloodied but holding his ground, stood a few feet away, fending off two pirates with a desperate ferocity. "We’re outnumbered, sir! We need orders!" His voice carried a sharp edge, the plea of a man who understood the precariousness of their position.

If James heard him he didn’t respond. His green eyes, wild with adrenaline and purpose, never wavered from Teach’s. James’s lips curled in a faint smirk, his obsession with this duel drowning out all reason.

"Commodore Norrington!" Groves called again, more urgently this time, his a plea. "The men—!"

But James wasn’t listening. For the first time in his career, duty took a back seat to something rawer, something deeply personal. In this moment, it wasn’t about his crew, the merchants, or even the Crown. It was about him and Teach, and the deep, unspoken need to see the infamous pirate's blood on his sword.

ᒥ☠ᒧ—        "The Interceptor, Cap'n!!" The lookout calls, now getting a full view of the fast approaching Brig. Edward see her through his spyglass and grins with joy. "Fuckin' finally, somethin' interestin'!" He cheers, bouncing in place now.

"Edward..." Izzy knows what's going on in the man's head, he could read Edward like a book. "I'll get the boys--"

"Ya gonna do jack shit unless I say so!" Blackbeard snaps at his first mate, shoving the spyglass into his hands. "Listen up, dogs!" He calls to the crew, getting them to halt in place. "A Navy ship be upon us, the same ship that escaped us!" The group of men let out 'boos' and expletives. "We're gonna let her join us, show that smug Englishman who rules these sea! Fuck the Crown!!" He draws his cutlass and raises it high. The group of men cheer, roaring with excitement at the prospect of battle. Edward wasn't the only one that was bored of surrendering prey.

Edward prepares the canons and arms his men in the short time they have until the Interceptor reaches the merchant ship. Her men may be ready, but so are the Queen's, and they're itching for a fight. Izzy can only stand back and pray Edward's eagerness for a fight doesn't get them killed.

Edward couldn't care for the merchants, they'd just get in the way. No, he was more determined to have his fight. The merchants were strung to the main mast of the ship, safely out of the way of battle for now.

As soon as the Marines climb aboard, chaos is a good word to describe what breaks out between Edward's crew and the Commodore's men. For every one of James' men is two of Ed's, they had the upper hand with the amount of men. Blackbeard was no fool, a large crew may be unruly at times, but when it came to situations such as this, it worked in his favor.

Their eyes meet, similarly brown hues lock with Norrington's.

"Awright, mate," He grins, raising his pistol. "Let's have some fuckin' fun." Blam! It goes off, but no bullet comes out, instead the gun jams. Pistols were flimsy things like that, never knowing when they'd work or not. If he believed in God, he'd think that God was on the Commodore's side. "Fuck," He tosses the pistol away and raises his cutlass. "I'll handle this the old fashion way!"

Edward charges forward, blade up with the intention of cutting down James.

[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James stiffened at Killian’s suggestion, his brow furrowing deeply. “No, I couldn't,” he said sharply, his voice edged with the iron of years of discipline and duty. “Abandoning my ship, my men— I have a duty to—” But the words faltered, his voice cracking slightly as he thought about the truth of his situation. He glanced away, trying to maintain the rigid composure drilled into him by years of naval service. Faltering as the truth of the situation sank in. His crew was furious, their respect for him shattered, and while Groves and Gillette were loyal, even they couldn’t quell an outright mutiny if the anger grew. And if they did somehow make it to port, he’d face a court-martial at best, the noose at worst.

His chest tightened, the weight of humiliation and fear bearing down on him. He couldn’t abandon his men to such chaos, but Killian’s offer—absurd as it sounded—might be their only salvation. He could negotiate their release in exchange for his “capture,” and perhaps, in time, he could find a way to make amends.

James’s green eyes met Killian’s ocean-blue ones, and there it was again—that maddening twinkle of mischief and excitement. The pirate looked so sure of himself, so utterly pleased by his plan. And James, much to his own frustration, couldn’t deny that Killian’s unorthodox idea held merit.

“You truly are insufferable,” James muttered, his voice tinged with reluctant resignation. “But damn it all, you’re right.” He let out a weary sigh and straightened his shoulders, trying to summon the last remnants of his dignity. “I’ll do it. I’ll negotiate my capture for their freedom.”

James swallowed hard, his voice was low but steady, carrying the authority that had not yet fully deserted him despite his battered pride. “Get my crew to safety, Captain Hook,” he manages to lift his head , not so 'defeated'. “And I am yours to do with as you… see fit.” Careful James that can mean a lot of things..

Killian hadn't caught his former mentor staring, as he was too busy focusing on eavesdropping. If he had he would've been quite smug and teased James for it. Best that he didn't or they'd have a whole different sort of mess on their hands. The matter with the crew of the Interceptor, they were not happy to be surrendering to pirates and seemed to all have lost respect for their commodore.

"I'm worried about what they might do to you James." He said with a sigh as he pulled away from the door and paced the room for a moment. Hook tapping his chin with his brows knitting in thought, he sensed mutiny among this crew. It wasn't safe for James here. But it would be on the Jolly Roger.

With a grin he looked to James. "Come with me!" He said plainly with an excited twinkle in his ocean blue eyes. "I'll tell them you're my hostage while we tow them to port but then just cut them loose and steal you away." Killian chuckled at the fun idea of kidnapping James. "Think about it, this is the best option. With how your crew is acting they're either going to mutiny for this or they could report you to your superior officers and have you hung for treason. If you don't come with me you might not live much longer..."