#also i just realised she looks more like a cowboy than a pirate in the 1st pic

[penisbutterjellytime]

W.I.P of a Siren pirate captin for class. I don't think she's evil but she's definitely mean lol. Her crew mostly consists of other sirens and mermaids. Instead of a regular pirate though she threatens, kills, or makes a show of anyone who disturbs life underwater (sunken ships, noise pollution and just regular pollution) but ofcourse she still does the occasional looting for gold and such.

She's also bald but wears seaweed wig. She also carries a double edged sword, a one handed double barrel shotgun, and two daggers.

[demonpiratehuntress]

hi hello dearie, hope this finds you well <3 i’ve been reading some of your Ace content for DAYS cuz is ABSOLUTELY MAGNIFICENT and i have a hyperfixation for the man.

i have this oddly specific request if you’re taking requests ofc asksnakxm

ace and the reader meet each other when he saved her from potentially being killed by some random ruthless and murdering pirate, she was in that situation because he had killed some of her friends but that’s not the issue AKSNWKSB the thing is she gets mad because Ace saved her so she said sum “i was content with the fact that i was going to die, i didn’t need your saving” and he’s just stunned cuz? he just saved her???? two days later she thanks him but she tries to escape many times from the ship and those many times Ace ruined her plans so after a week of trying she gives up. THEN two years later they confess their feelings for each other after a day of Ace following her like a puppy and teasing her nonstop until she gives in

ODDLY SPECIFIC IM SO SORRY 😭😭 but it’s okay if you can’t do it <3

hi! thank you so much 😊 also im so so sorry this took so long! I've just been really busy! but i hope you enjoy this! to everyone else, i am still working on the other requests! i have much more than i realised 😂 but i will get them out...eventually

taglist - @kabloswrld

stubborn

Portgas D. Ace x F!Reader

summary - the ask above! :)

warnings - mild angst

Run.

That's all you could think of, all you could do. There was no time or space to do anything else, and your body had already kicked into the fight-or-flight response. You weren't sure how far you could get, but you were desperate to get away.

The gory images of your friends lying sprawled out on the ground, drenched in blood, made itself a home in your mind. You would never be able to forget that, no matter how hard you tried. Swallowing back a sob, you sprinted towards the town as fast as your tired legs could carry you.

"Where do you think you're going, huh?"

A solid wall of muscle slammed into you from the side and sent you flying. You hit an actual wall with a sickening crunch, pain erupting throughout your entire arm. Dislocated shoulder or broken arm, you couldn't tell which one through the blinding agony. You screamed, more so out of pain than wanting someone to hear. You already accepted your fate, the minute he found you. But that didn't make it any less painful.

"I think I'm going to enjoy this kill the most."

A large hand grabbef a fistful of your hair, yanking you upwards to meet his cold, murderous eyes. He was grinning wickedly, taking pleasure in your pain, and watched you squirm in his grip helplessly.

"If you're going to kill me, just get it over with!" You spat, not knowing where the bravery came from because of the immense pain emanating from your injured limb.

He tutted, "No, you gave me too much trouble. I'm going to make this slow and painful, just for you."

"Now that's no way to treat a lady."

A bright orange light filled your vision, but you couldn't tell what it was as you were suddenly dropped, the man who'd murdered your friends letting out a pained yelp. You lifted your head, dots swimming in your vision, but you were able to make out the familisr form of flames dancing along the man's chest.

"Judging from all the blood on your clothes, I'm gonna guess you went a little crazy tonight," another man was saying, but he sounded childishly amused. "Well, too bad it ends for you right here."

You turned to look at the owner, just as he flicked his wrist and sent more fire the murderous pirate's way. Pretty soon he was engulfed in flames, screaming and pawing at his clothes while trying to extinguish them. You couldn't care less, observing the man who'd saved your life.

He was tall and muscular, pale skin lit up by the ball of fire hovering above his palm. No, wait, his hand WAS the ball of fire. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but black shorts, black boots and a red cowboy hat.

You'd seen him somewhere before...

"Ah, good. I thought that might take a while."

You turned back to the man who'd killed your friends and had been chasing you up until now, only to see a crumpled black heap on the floor a few feet away. Your eyes widened, before you were suddenly lifted up into a pair of strong arms.

"I didn't need your help," you blurted out, "I was ready to die! I didn't want to be saved!" Tears formed in your eyes. You had nothing left. You should have died.

Ace frowned, his heart sinking. Your words brought a familiar feeling back to him, one that he hasn't forgotten but had tried to push away after finding a family in the Whitebeard pirates. He knew what it was like to feel the way you did, and it tugged at his heartstrings to find someone else like that.

Someone who didn't want saving, but desperately needed it.

He's so shocked that he almost forgets you need medical treatment. When he finally remembers, he says nothing and hurries back to the ship with you, his mind racing.

-

Two days later, your arm is in a sling and you're walking around the Moby Dick looking for the raven-haired commander that saved your life. The crew was friendly enough to you, and Marco had suggested more bedrest, but you wanted to see and thank Ace.

It was true that you wanted to die, yes, but after facing the kindness of someone you didn't even know, your mind had slowly changed. You were starting to feel grateful towards him, grateful for being alive.

"Hey! You're awake!"

You turned at the sound of the cheery man, spotting him coming your way. You relaxed slightly, not sure why you were so tense to begin with but relieved to see him.

"Yeah," you breathed out, "Your doctor works wonders."

"That he does," Ace grinned, before eyeing you up and down, "You look a lot better. I didn't get your name, though."

"Oh, it's (Name)," you told him, "You're Portgas D. Ace, right? Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates?"

"That's me. Glad to know I'm popular with pretty women," he flirted, sending you a smile that knocked the air out of your lungs.

You blushed, flustered, "Well I-I just wanted to say...thank you. I hadn't realised it before, but I didn't really want to die. Just thought I had no one left, and nowhere to go. So thank you for changing that."

Ace's smile only grew, so much so you feared it would tear his face in two, "You're welcome! If I'm being honest, I was glad to play hero for a beautiful woman."

Your blush deepened, his charms affecting you in a way that nothing else and no one else ever had. You found yourself at a loss for words, but thankfully he was called away so you didn't have to say anything else.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

-

The first time you tried to escape, you didn't realise they had a rotational watch schedule. And you hadn't realised that Ace was the one who was on watch that evening.

"Hey, (Name)! Where ya going?"

He smiled at you innocently enough, but his eyes told you he knew exactly what you were trying to do. After all, he'd done the same thing back when he joined. You were just too similar to him.

"Uh...nowhere?" You tried to lie, but you sucked at it. You couldn't even convince a potato if you tried.

"Hmm," he clicked his tongue. "This won't do. Maybe I should just tell Whitebeard, or should I keep this to myself in hopes that it doesn't happen again?"

You agreed to the latter.

The second time, Ace was actually sneaking out of the kitchen with some food when he bumped into you. He raised his eyebrow as your eyes widened, your face giving away your intentions entirely.

He tsk'ed, "Again, (Name)?" He pouted. "You promised, you know."

You sighed and went back to your room, dejected. You could hear him laughing as he walked past your room, and you rolled your eyes as you laid back down to sleep.

The third time, Ace was prepared.

And he had made a trap for you. Which you fell right into, which is why you were now wriggling around in one of the smaller boats, wrestling with a net.

"This is getting old, you know," Ace chuckled as he loomed over you. "Trust me, I know all the tricks. I was you once."

After the fourth and fifth times, you gave up. Ace wasn't going to let you leave, and as the days went by and you got closer to him and the crew, you found your will to leave slowly sapping away. You eventually realised you wanted to stay, having found a family and healed - if only a little bit - with the Whitebeard crew.

One year passed, and you had almost forgotten about the man who'd tormented you. You'd had so much fun with the Whitebeard Pirates, Ace in particular, that you hadn't thought much of the incident. It was getting easier and easier to rid your mind of the gruesome image of your deceased friends month after month. Each adventure left you happier, lighter, and you soon found yourself finding happiness once more.

The pirate life was truly meant for you.

Two years passed, and your time with the Whitebeard crew had become the best of your life. They were practically your family now, and you spoke about and to them as such. You never forgot what happened to you, but you barely thought of it anymore. Not when your head was filled with thoughts about a certain 2nd division commander, with whom you'd fallen in love.

"Ace, stop!" You giggled as he scooped up some batter from the bowl you were mixing it in. You were baking cookies, but Ace was determined to be a menace and sneak in fingerfuls of batter each time you looked away.

"Can't help it," he whined, "It already tastes so good!"

"I haven't even baked it yet!"

"Well then imagine how amazing it'll taste after that!"

You knew he was trying to flatter you to get out of trouble, but you did not care because it was working. And you hated that it always worked, especially with him, because he made your heart race and gave you butterflies.

The days following that included Ace following you around, which you found a little strange since you didn't know why. He would never tell you the reason, always saying something stupid like "you smell good" or "im your bodyguard". You knew he was doing it to tease you, but you couldn't help feeling giddy over the fact that he was choosing to gift YOU with all of his attention.

"Okay, come clean for real this time," you finally approached him one night he was on watch, sitting down next to him. "Why have you been following me around? Teasing me all day, everyday?"

He turned to you, thinking for a moment before speaking seriously for the first time in his life, "Because I'm in love with you, (Name). I didn't want to tell you because I wasn't sure how you'd react or what you'd say, but that's what it is since you wanted to know so badly."

Your eyes went wide, heart thumping like a drum in your chest, "You...you're in love with me?"

He nodded, looking down at his shorts, "I am. These past two years, getting to know you...well, I never really considered the idea of love. But finding you changed that. We're so alike, but also different in ways that complement each other. If that makes sense, I'm not sure it does."

"It does," you smiled slowly, looking out over the water. "And that's really sweet. No one's ever said something so sweet to me before."

"Really? I find that hard to believe, you're so pretty and cute."

Cue the blush, "Yeah, well, I didn't really like anyone before you," you admitted. "Never paid attention to men much, until you barged into my life." You laughed. "You've made me feel so welcome, so comfortable, so happy. You've given me a sense of peace after what happened, and I'm so thankful to you for that. You saved me in more than one way, Ace, and I'm madly in love with you for it."

Your confession took a bit of time to register in his head, but once it did he was smiling goofily and grasping your hand in his. You rested your head on his shoulder, smiling as the two of you spent the whole night holding hands, watching the ocean, and - your favourite part - sharing many heartfelt, intimate kisses.

You were eternally grateful to and for Ace, the man who'd saved you without your permission but eventually earned your heart.

[mrninjapineapple]

Fallout 4 Word Prompts - Toddy Leviathan Saloon Juniper

Here’s another 4 word prompt I did a while back. It’s a bit longer than the last one but I hope you all enjoy! :)

The Last Plank was full to bursting, every chair and table packed with people, all craning their necks to get a good look at Marcus and the Mariner. They were sat at the bar, blankets around both of their shoulders as their teeth chattered noisily in the silence.

Mitch placed two glasses of brown liquid on the counter before them, a thick layer of purple skim floating atop both.

Despite his obvious need for warmth, caution tempered Marcus’ reply as he picked up the strange brew and gave a cursory sniff.

‘What’s in this?’ he asked.

‘That’s an old family recipe,’ said Mitch proudly, nodding at the viscous liquid. ‘Whiskey, hot water, and tarberry syrup, all garnished with a couple mutfruit slices.’

The noxious potion bubbled in response.

‘Well,’ Marcus thought to himself as he eyed the glass. ‘It sounds almost like a hot toddy. Just with dirty water, weird irradiated fruit, and no honey…’

He mentally prayed to every God he knew – even mentioning Atom for good measure – before downing the entire concoction in one big gulp. His eyes began streaming as he felt the fire make its way down, his throat feeling as if he had swallowed hot shards of glass.

‘Smooth’ he managed, whispering hoarsely through gritted teeth.

As the feeling subsided, he became aware of the eyes upon him and turned to the Mariner.

‘I suppose you all want to know how it happened, then?’ he asked the room, sending a murmur through the gathered crowd. ‘How we killed the Red Death…’

Looking deep into his glass, he heard the chattering from the Harborfolk around him.

‘What happened?’

‘What was it?’

‘How big was it?’

As he sighed, about to begin his tale, the Mariner put her hand on his. She imperceptibly shook her head; a slight motion which only he saw.

‘I’ll tell you all what happened,’ she said, her expression grim. ‘What really happened…’

All eyes turned to her as the voices grew silent, the creaking wood and sloshing waves loud against the quiet.

‘We took the boat out slowly,’ she began, her tone as morose as her expression. ‘Avoiding the rocks and sunken ships, we came upon the island and saw the red light. When we finally moored the ship and got onto the island though-‘

‘We had no idea what we would actually be facing!’ Marcus interrupted, rising from his seat, all eyes shifting to him. ‘It crawled out of its cave with a great howl of rage, shaking the whole island! We saw its legs first, then its body, and finally the giant head of the great leviathan wormed its way from its burrow and we realised we were staring up at… the Red Death!’

The Mariner rolled her eyes at the melodramatic performance, but Marcus had the crowd enthralled with his story.

Continuing, he told them how the stalwart pair fended off the beast, at one point the Mariner holding it off with nothing but a broken oar whilst he danced and waved to get the creatures attention. His tale grew wilder as he went on, from utilising junk as weapons to a horde of super mutant pirates entering the fray, much to the crowd’s constant amusement.

They also played their part to perfection, their gasps and yelps punctuating the fantastic tale at just the right moments.

Marcus finished with the final breath of life of the Red Death, as it flailed wildly, broken oar handles piercing its hide and riddled with enough bullet holes to make a super mutant look away in disgust. His audience jumped to their feet, cheering triumphantly as they knocked their glasses together, laughing at their vicarious victory.

The Mariner turned to him as the crowd shouted and applauded, her narrow eyes contradicting her small grin.

‘What can I say?’ Marcus shrugged. ‘The people wanted a real story.’

‘Real?’ the Mariner laughed. ‘Like how I “fought valiantly against the foul creature, using only my wits and a rubber duck taped to the end of an oar to stay alive”?’

They both shared a real drink, laughing together as the crowd died down and dispersed.

After a few moments, they noticed that someone was behind them and turned to see that Small Bertha had joined them, hands on her hips as she gave Marcus an incredulous look.

‘Did any of that story actually happen?’ she asked, a little too loud for Marcus’ liking as a few other patrons glanced over to listen in.

He drew in close.

‘Look, Bertha, I’m going to level with you,’ he said quietly, the general bar chatter ensuring his privacy regardless. ‘We told everyone what they wanted to hear… what they needed to hear. You understand that, right?’

She eyed him for a moment before replying.

‘Of course I understand,’ she answered, nodding slowly as if realising a great truth. ‘Got any more stories?’

‘More stories?’ he said, sitting back on his stool. ‘Everything has a story to it, you just have to ask the right questions. What do you want to know?’

Her eyes went straight to the western revolver on his hip and he knew that she had approached only to learn more about it.

‘This?’ he asked, unholstering the weapon and twirling it around his finger expertly, revelling in Bertha’s awed expression.

‘Oh brother…’

The Mariner seemed less impressed.

Marcus asked the girl if she wanted to hear about how he got the revolver and chuckled at her energetic nodding as she took a stool beside him.

‘Well, it all started in Dry Rock Gulch, far away from here, in a place called Nuka-World…’

Marcus sipped the ice-cold bottle of refreshing Nuka Cola Wild as he sat in Doc Phospate’s Saloon. He raised an eyebrow at the familiar taste of the brew as it reminded him of Sunset Sarsaparilla, a popular beverage from his pre-war days, nodding in appreciation of the spicy aftertaste.

As he enjoyed a pleasant conversation with Mackenzie Bridgeman, the saloon doors swung open, the wooden clattering alerting the patrons as they all turned to face the newcomer.

Deputy Codsworth hovered in, a gun-belt tied clumsily above his thruster and a cowboy hat atop his head. A small star-shaped badge had been welded onto his front and he seemed to hold himself with more pride than usual.

‘Good aftern- I mean, howdy, sir!’ he said, his western accent quickly becoming one of the few wonders of the post-war world. ‘I’ve been runnin’ for a mighty long time to find you. Word is, there’s a no-good, yella belly just waiting to test your skill out by the ol’ livery.’

‘Buddy… I think you’ve short-circuited’ said Marcus blankly, prompting a laugh from Mackenzie.

The Mr Handy unit hovered closer and lowered himself until his eyestalk was at the same level as Marcus’ face.

‘Sir,’ he whispered. ‘That’s just my Southern accent. It’s really me… Codsworth! Sorry for the deception but I believe I’m rather taken with this whole dramatic persuasion. It’s really rather fun!’

Marcus sighed.

‘I know tha-’ he began, before pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘What did you want to tell me?’

‘Well,’ Codsworth replied, tipping his hat and speaking at a normal volume once again. ‘Some outlaw callin’ himself One-Eyed Ike has challenged you to a duel… sir.’

‘My my, Overboss,’ chimed Mackenzie from the stool beside him. ‘Looks like its pistols at dawn.’

Marcus sighed again.

‘Fine, let’s get this over with…’

They left the saloon, two on foot, one hovering in mid-air, and headed down the dusty road. As they reached the middle, a protectron slowly began to saunter out of a large wooden building to meet them.

‘There he is,’ said Codsworth, his Southern drawl still going strong. ‘Ol’ One-Eyed Ike himself! No good, yella belly varmint!’

The protectron walked into the middle of the street as they stopped, eyeing him with suspicion.

‘Howdy partner… took your time… heh heh heh,’ droned One-Eyed Ike, his mechanical voice grating. ‘You ready to… test your shootin’ skills?’

‘Sure, but can we hurry this along, I really-‘

Codsworth turned to Marcus.

‘Sir, you must indulge in the drama. I fear One-Eyed Ike will never become a deputy again at this rate,’ he said, his eyestalk zooming in on Marcus’ confused expression. ‘Allow me to explain. Sheriff Hawk felt that Dry Rock Gulch could use some drama to drum up business again, and had a cracking idea. He conferred Ike’s deputy status to me and made him an outlaw, only offering him his former position if he is able to defeat a genuine gunslinger in a duel.’

‘…And he chose me?’ Marcus said, sighing for the third and, he hoped, final time that day. He cleared his throat and remembered the time he had pretended to be the Silver Shroud, fighting crime across the Commonwealth with his sidekick, the intrepid reporter from the Great Green Jewel.

She always hated being called a sidekick.

He felt a pang of worry as he thought of her venturing around with Nick and Curie, chasing another story, but he cleared his mind and focused on the ridiculous task at hand.

‘One-Eyed Ike, I presume? They call me Mar- I mean… Butch… Butch Cassidy, and this here’s the Sundance Kid,’ he said, pointing his thumb at Codsworth. ‘Heard you been lookin’ for me?’

‘I see that iron on your hip… Butch… We draw on three… May the better man win.’

‘Oh… I intend to.’

Mackenzie and Codsworth moved to the side of the street as bystanders followed suit, everyone peering from windows and doorways, eagerly anticipating the action.

‘Knock ‘em dead, Butch’ shouted Codsworth before slipping back into the shadows beside Mackenzie.

The street grew silent.

The wind whistled through the dusty street, sending a tumbleweed rolling towards the saloon. From his position at the side of the road, Codsworth began playing a sampling of music from the Dry Rock Gulch archives, which Marcus recognised from pre-war radio spaghetti westerns.

The music continued as the pair eyed each other, Marcus’ steely gaze meeting the focused camera lens of One-Eyed Ike. As the song began to swell, Marcus unbuckled the holster to his 10mm pistol and time seemed to slow.

He watched as One-Eyed Ike drew his own revolver, as he raised his own weapon. He had the pistol aimed at Ike’s chest… but the handle slipped slightly from his grip.

As he fumbled with his pistol, he heard a shot and felt the blank round strike his shoulder.

‘Looks like I won… partner… Too bad… Now, I gotta go see the Sheriff… See you around… Butch.’

With that, One-Eyed Ike trundled away and the bystanders began to return to their normal activity. Codsworth and Mackenzie sidled up to Marcus.

‘Bad luck Butch, we’ll get that varmint some other time’ said Codsworth, before hovering close. ‘Sir, don’t forget… It’s only me, Codsworth. I’m not really the Sundance Kid.’

Mackenzie chuckled and Marcus holstered his pistol, the trio retreating into the saloon. As they entered, Deacon approached, holding out a bottle to Marcus.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘I saw what you did for Ike out there. I’ve seen you take out everything from radroaches to behemoths and you’ve never messed up a shot.’

Marcus took the bottle with a shrug, feigning ignorance. In reality, he was thankful that nobody realised that his pistol had jammed. He made a mental note to repair the battered weapon as soon as he was able.

‘Fine,’ Deacon continued, grinning. ‘But you should know by now, nobody can’t get anything past me.’

‘Really?’ asked Mackenzie, a smile growing on her face. ‘Not even me?’

Deacon’s cheeks grew hot, a crimson stain spreading across.

‘Well… obviously I… y’know…’

As Deacon floundered, Marcus examined the cold bottle of glowing, deep purple liquid. It had no markings or label but had a strangely familiar aroma as he drew it up to his nose to smell.

‘What is this?’ he asked, interrupting the awkward exchange between the couple.

‘Oh, right,’ said Deacon, thankful for the intervention. ‘That is a genuine bottle of Nuka-Gin. Only one of its kind. Apparently, Bradberton was some kind of genius with these things. Made a ton of products that never made it to the shelves.’

‘Hey Butch, I think that-’ Codsworth faltered at a stern look from Marcus. ‘Sorry, sir. It’s becoming something of a habit. I shall purge my addiction chip later. What I was trying to tell you was that Miss Sierra would want to have a look at that, I’d wager.’

Marcus eyed the Nuka-Gin, remembering the last time he had tasted genuine gin. It was back in his army days, just before his retirement. He could still remember the distinctive taste of juniper berries melded with the myriad spices added during distillation.

‘I’m sure she won’t mind if I just took a sip’ he said with a small smile.

He put the bottle to his lips, savouring the feeling of the cool liquid as it ran down his throat.

He instantly regretted his decision.

The acrid tang of burnt metal assailed his nostrils as the noxious concoction burned his tongue. He spat the drink onto the floor and stayed there, doubled over with his hands on his knees, until the retching had subsided.

‘So… you liked it?’ quipped Deacon as Marcus regained his composure. ‘Look, at least we know why Bradberton kept it off the shelves now. Silver linings.’

Marcus gave Deacon a cold stare.

‘That. Tasted. Like. Sh-’

Gunfire from outside the saloon interrupted him.

Moving to the window, he could see a group of raiders at the far end of the street, firing wildly into the air as they approached.

‘Stay here’ he said as he walked out, leaving his companions behind.

The street once again empty of bystanders, he found himself facing a small group of raiders. There were six in total, all of them in matching cowboy outfits save one, who wore a darker set, bulky with extra armour beneath.

‘You the one who cleared those lily-livered pinheads outta Nuka World, boy?’ asked the lead raider.

Marcus merely nodded, acutely aware that the group’s attention was focused solely on him.

‘Then you’s the one who’s been sayin’ Dry Rock Gulch is yours,’ continued the raider. ‘See, this here gulch is mine. Name’s Mad Mulligan, and you in my house, boy. So, I think s’only fair that you… compensate me before you leave.’

His eyes flicked to the exposed stock of Reason, still strapped to Marcus’ back. He drew the revolver from his hip and gestured to the rifle.

‘That’s a mighty fine weapon you got there. Now, I’m a reasonable man… so how’s about you throw it over to me or I take it from your cold, dead hands?’

Marcus unstrapped Reason, feeling the familiar weight in his hands. He noted the positions of the raiders, what weapons they had, any cover they could utilise, and any exits they could run to, all in a fraction of a second.

‘This old thing?’ he asked, holding up Reason. ‘No, I have an offer for you… Mad Mulligan. I like the look of that revolver of yours. How about you give it to me and you can leave… just walk away with your pals there? Or… I can take it from you?’

Mad Mulligan and his crew began to laugh, confident in their numbers.

‘You must be one duck short of a shooting range, boy! I’m gonna enjoy taking that gun!’

Marcus smiled as he flicked the safety off his rifle.

‘I’d like to see you try…’

‘No way you said that!’ exclaimed the Mariner, who had poked holes in Marcus,’ logic throughout the tale. ‘That’s something you think of afterwards and shoehorn into a story.’

Marcus began to protest but Bertha caught his attention.

‘What happened next? Did you kill Mad Mulligan? And his men? Is that how you got his gun? Why did you try ancient Nuka-Cola?’

All valid questions.

Marcus laughed, easing back on his stool as he drained the remnants of his beer.

‘Well, kid… they all saw Reason in the end.’

[pendragonfics]

Little Cosmos

Paring: Yondu Udonta/Reader

Tags: female reader, reader-centric, Parent Yondu Udonta, time travel, fix-it fic, set in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, spoilers!!, fluff, angst. 

Summary: Sometimes, to fix the hurt, you need a little miracle. Or perhaps, a stray sorcerer supreme.

Word Count: 1,426

Posting Date:  2017-06-11

Current Date: 2017-06-15

It was the hollow feeling in your chest that made it so much worse. But it couldn’t be worse, not like it was on Kraglin, or Peter. But everyone standing around, everyone flying back to their homes, everyone whispering their condolences seemed to know that you were the one who knew Yondu the most.

He was always signing himself up for things bigger than himself. That was your Yondu - the man whose whistle was a harbinger of death, who led a faction of space pirates and plundered the galaxies for treasures...the man who fell for you. You'd say it was a hard thing to do, but your husband sure insisted that it wasn't. He wasn't a man of pretty words, but he'd wax poetic about you, to you, with you whenever he could, when you were alone. God, he wasn’t a wordsmith, and butchered every word that passed through those lips, but they were words which made you feel chills, heart melt.

It was like he was two people; the rough ‘n tumble star cowboy, and the love-struck tragical blue man. He'd tell you every day that he loved you. Without fail. He’d never forget. Over coffee, between shifts, over the Comms unit. Before bed, in between sentences, in fire-fight. It drove Peter mad over the years - the young boy wasn't fond of displays of affection, but if he was on Yondu's ship, and Yondu was captain, he'd be quiet when the captain would kiss his wife. You’d let him protest, though. He was entitled to it.

Whenever you could, you'd take Peter out away from the crew onto new planets and explore the cities, never forcing him to do anything that he wasn't comfortable with, like stealing, or lying like your husband would tech him. No. To you, the young boy was almost like your own, and sometimes when you were tired, or the light was funny, you'd see him as your own child. Yondu even saw it sometimes. But Peter never called you mother and did his damnedest to rebel against Yondu, and that was that. The young man had troubles beyond your abilities as the daughter of a laundromat servicer back on Terran. You weren’t a shrink, and you weren’t a magician. But you loved your boys. With all your heart.

But that didn't mean you didn't try. Stars, you tried your best. You had been a teenager too, at some time ago (it felt like ages at times) and you felt his pain. And even though he never said anything, you suspected that Peter thought of you as a sort of guardian. An angel on his shoulder to guide him. It felt nice to be a mother. It had been something that was expected of you, from Earth – an assurance that by your gender you'd marry, you'd birth heirs to your father's business, you'd die surrounded by family.

Yondu had died with Peter. He’d always had trouble with getting words out right, yes, but always to Peter. Never found the right time to tell him what he felt about being like the young boy’s own father. But he’d died with Peter. And like all those pretty fairy stories where the children go out exploring with their fantasies and fantastic adventures led by their fathers, you had been left home, out of the fuss, unknowing to the fact that your husband had been dead. Kraglin had sent word, and you’d spaced-jumped as fast as you could to be there.

It made the feeling below your chest so, so much worse.

Sure, you were Peter’s sort-of-mother, but the lackadaisical dream of bearing offspring was long-lost back on Terran. Or, so it seemed. It wasn't until the pair of you were older, and Peter was a man grown, near eight months ago that you realised that you had missed a cycle in your monthlies. Two. Because you knew nothing of the fertility and workings of Yondu's race, you had no idea that you could be pregnant, let alone, that Yondu and you could…together. Your body couldn't deny the evidence.

You were to be a mother again.

Yondu had barely a moment spare, then, you remember; he was busy rushing around the ship, trying his best to man the thing himself, with few crew, most on shore leave. He was trying to get the ship ready for an upcoming quest, gosh, he was always signing himself up for trouble, and you loved him despite that reckless trait.

Stars, sometimes you loved him for it.

“I'm pregnant, Yondu,” you shout over the clanging and banging going on inside the hallway he'd ambled off into. The banging and clanging stopped. You could hear a thump of steps, and Yondu was back, looking at you. “I - I'm producing offspring? Is that a thing?”

His eyes had been wide, mouth agape. “You're what?” He whispers.

You had cleared your throat at that, “Pregnant. With child. Um, bearing fruit?" You try and think of more synonyms. You'd never talked about kids to one another, never in your years married to each other. It just hadn't come up at all, with no need at all. You had raced around the stars together, flying through constellations. Populating didn’t make the cut when adventuring was on the table. “Hey, baby, say something.”

"Pregnant," He had repeated the word, slowly taking a step toward you, then two more. "…is that what you Terran's call it when you're knocked up?"

You nod, biting back your laugh, “We're having a baby, Yondu. Well, that's what my body says. I don't think there are any medical professionals out here in the galaxy who know much about Terran biology, let alone hybrid genes... you prattle off, trying to distract him from the facts. "I'm - I'm not as young as I used to be."

He shakes his head, and slowly, puts his hands upon the sides of your shoulders. "You sure as hell don't look it, sweetheart.”

Peter moves to your side, and looking to him, you bury your head in the crook of his neck. He’d grown up so much, and it had happened it what seemed like a blink of an eye. You can remember the days as a young woman, the same age as he is, before you were in space. You had run away from home, and ended up somewhere in New Mexico near a small-town Puente Antiguo. Running from your fate to grow old and marry the man you sat next to all your school years, fate to be stuck in a hundred-year-old rut that your bloodline had been stuck in too, too long. You had been abducted and taken into outer space, and gladly so. You found Yondu, and he found you.

"You sure as hell don't look it, sweetheart.”

“Ma?” Peter murmured, and gazing up, you realise your eyes are wet, and not just from the funeral that had just happened. “Are you going to be okay?”

Before you can explain the new tears, or to Peter that he’s never called you ma before, there’s a pain in your belly, and there’s a tightening in your chest, and running down your leg, is liquid that had come from within you. It felt just like the old movies you used to watch, with the classic same-old cliché of the pregnant lady giving birth at the worst possible time.

“What –,” Peter sees your trousers, eyes wide. “It’s time?”

A hand on your midsection, you nod. The movies had always showed the women in pain, but you could never fathom it to be just like this. Wincing, you gasp, and almost double over. “I guess junior here’s upset they’re late to meet Papa,” you joke, and blowing hard, you motion to the med bay in the Ravager ship. “Get Kraglin. And a nurse droid.”

 ---

Thirteen hours later, and you are holding a bundle of joy that came screaming into the world. Her hair is tight, and curly, as dark a blue as her skin is. But those eyes, they’re your eyes, and looking at your child, you can see every part of Yondu and yourself in her. She’s beautiful.

Your little Cassiopeia.

She is quiet now, sucking upon your finger. Peter looks like he has truly seen magic, and his Guardians of the Galaxy stand by the door, a safe distance from the newborn. Though you know Drax had a daughter of his own, you don’t trust the weapons experts and ex-assassins near your hours-old child.

But then, everything stills, like time is frozen. Frowning, you see you, and your daughter, you are not kept still, but as you see this, you also notice the wall before you open, and a man with facial hair stepping through. He wears strange clothes, and his hands glow, but you know in your bones that this man is from Earth.

“Are you _______ Udonta?” He asks. “Born _______ _______?” You nod, mutely, almost confused as to why he is there. Is he a magician? Is this a trick of your mind? What kind of trick would make you see a man walk through the walls of the spacecraft the day your husband died? “I meant to traverse to…I suppose now I am here, I can take you to your husband.”

Your face blanches. “My husband is dead,” you gape, holding your daughter closer to your chest. “Who are you?”

He extends his hand to you, a gloved hand. “I am the man who will take you back to the time you married your husband, and allow you to raise your daughter in that timestream.” Motioning to the wall he came from, he adds, “You deserve this, _______. You will re-live your life, but you will not age until you pass to this point. You cannot change the future, as it is locked to place. Peter Quill will always defeat Ronan, rid the universe of Ego. You will be with him once more.”

“This isn’t a trick, is this?” you whisper. “I’ll see Yondu once again?”

The man before you confirms this with a nod. “I am Stephen Strange, and this I vow.”

You struggle to stand, the pain of just giving birth still taking a toll on you. But with a wave of his hand, you feel it dissipate, and your feet carrying you with the vigour of a younger you toward the portal on the wall. But before you step through and take his hand, you pause. “Will this moment…be frozen in time? Will Yondu always die? What will he think about a baby he has not made yet with me?”

The man, Stephen Strange smiles. “This moment is frozen until you return through time, and the future that is nearest to you – that is always up to you to change. And as for the baby…” He nods. “I have manipulated time to allow for you to her naturally there. He will know no different.”

You place your hand in his, your other arm firm around your newborn. “Take me to my husband.”

 ---

Yondu Udonta was not a man of pretty words, and loved to get into things bigger than himself, fight fights for treasures across galaxies and dream bigger than his body. Sure, he wasn’t a man of pretty words, but he’d wax poetic about you, to you, with you whenever he could, and he’d say the same about his daughter, the love of the both of your lives. It was like he was three people – the rough ‘n tumble star cowboy, the love-struck tragical blue man, and the father who cherished his daughter, and Peter Quill all the way to the sun and back.

“…the future that is nearest to you – that is always up to you to change.” The sorcerer Stephen Strange had told you that fateful night. You lived by this, never forgetting for a moment what your quest was. You were a mother, by all definitions of the term. And you would protect what was yours at all costs. You had already lived through this life – when you remembered what trouble would follow a consequence, you would think beyond it, doing your best to prevent the fallout the previous actions had had.

Cassiopeia and Peter grew side by side, the curly-haired half Centaurian and Terran happily exploring the world together. He grew to be the man you remembered he had turned to be, and your daughter loved her father with all her heart, and then some. You were so, so blessed that the man who had accidently appeared the night you brought her to the universe gave you a change to raise her with her father. She knew no different, knew no grief like you did.

But that passed. Because Yondu Udonta did not die on October 19. You changed the future, by simply packing a second spacesuit. Your daughter, a woman grown had her father still, and the second child that grew in your belly, was born the evening he came back from fighting Ego. It was a blessing that coincidences and instances happened in your life. It was a blessing you had found Yondu, had found Peter. Your family was a blessing. And you had to thank a sorcerer and fate’s help from the little cosmos for that.

[thepeopleihavekilled]

Gabe

An apology note for Gabe you were probably the first person i fell for and i can’t believe how stupid it made me. it was back in sixth form, i had moved to the crypt school because apparently going straight to art college wasn’t an option and i didn’t really know how to appose my parents. i had the agenda of re-creating myself there, I would wear skirts and make-up and show of my best assets, my boobs in an male dominated environment because the real objective: find myself a boyfriend, and you were perfect. in our small town you were the tan blonde American, who did acting. you had that confident swagger about you that was also humble and i don’t think i could ever forget the way you would polity smile at me. despite my re-invention i still managed to fall into the nerd categories, joining choir and stuff. i also hated sixth form, i swear i got in on a fluke, i was failing all my classes, the teachers hated me and none of the druggies i hung out round the back liked me. but you were smart, popular, liked by everyone including the teachers i could not think of a more cliche crush if i tried. sometime afterwards i will understand myself a bit more then i did then and i would tell myself it was just an extreme friend crush, but when i think back on it now i really did like you and respect you a whole lot. i’m just very good at ruining things for myself, and other people. sorry. after i had my sites set on you it was another excuse to ignore the work i hated and aim for something else i thought i wanted at the time. i made gross biscuits on valentines day (remembering that makes me cringe), and when i’d help out with your drama group after school, i would use it as an excuse to dress up too impress you, even more cringe-worthy i had timed one time of me changing clothes so you would walk in on me taking my top off (like seriously what was wrong with me).  i remember being incredibly shy around you, that was probably one of the reasons you liked me. to you i was a shy underclass man with a crush on you. you didn’t know anything about me and i liked that.  i had remembered one time you had invited me to some sort drama thing, i really don’t know what it was about but you were there and had wanted me there i was so happy it made no sense. in my eyes any girl in the school could be yours, literally anyone. i was the special breed of idiot people put up with but don’t really like, but you made me believe differently for a short while. the crypt school has a long drive way which takes about 5 mins, first you go through the small garden area we used to hang out with at break with all of our group and then the field. I have had many discussions with many people crossing that field but not as many times as i had crossed it alone and none more memorable than the first time with you.  first i had to convince myself that you must off liked me and weren’t just being nice, that was hard enough. i then waited purposely till the second years were going on study leave so that you were just being polite i would be less likely to bump into you again re-living any humiliation. all that was left was to walk to the bus stop with you and ask you out. i remember getting the kind of nerves one gets when they feel completely stupid, as in i’m-not-going-say-anything-but-i-will-squirm-awkwardly-around-the-topic-till-you-get-the-hint kind of stupid. but it worked because you had to be all terribly charming and shit. the worst part about the whole thing, around the giddy excitement, and the remarkable realisation that you liked me, i felt it. that sink in the stomach. but i didn’t say anything about it. our first date was a typical trip to the cinema, it was the first date i had been on and i remember i was still high from the other day, i remember picking a casual comfy outfit to be able to sit in. it was the new Pirates of the Caribbean starring jack sparrow and you were a sweet heart the whole time. afterwards we sat on the grass next to the river, we had small talk which i don’t remember and then we kissed. i’ll never forget what you said after. “that probably sucked, that was my first kiss” when talking to people after we split, kind of, were we really together? anyway when talking to people after we whatever i remember saying how awkward i felt with the pressure of being someones first kiss. but really, what i really felt was guilt. after being so enamoured by you for so long i couldn’t help but feel i was betraying you, i wasn’t the right one to be your first, i didn’t feel like i belonged there at all. but there i was stealing your first kiss.  there is not much else i remember from that date except you talking about how you wanted to be a policeman (whether that is still true i don’t know) and i thought the was admirable, and how you cowboy boots are cool, which i really didn’t think so at the time, but now i really want a pair off red ones. now we both can be considered to have no taste. the next date you had planned was a super romantic idea. you were taking me with you to straford-upon-avon with your family, though we would spend most of the time together. i remember being so nervous i couldn’t speak, it happens still when i become mute to people because of whatever irrational reason i can conjure. it was a beautiful day and it would of been perfect if i wasn’t there.  what feelings i’m about to express may be inaccurate but i’m trying this new expressing my feelings thing now, maybe if i knew back then how deep i was in my own head things may of worked out differently but who knows. i was sat leaning against but in the hover kind of way because i’m away of how heavy i am, and all that ran through my head was ‘why are you here?’ it was so quiet between us and all i could think was of all you reasons you thought you had made the wrong choice. i may of been cute and shy to begin with but, now i was just awkward and distant, i barely let myself get close to you and had nothing interesting to say, i was a wrong choice. and i stole your first kiss. i was such an ass, i had fucked it up so badly in my head that to me the best thing i could do was disappear. i had too. the drive home and the seed of doubt was a chocking ivy at this point, i needed to be gone, you who was so polite and sweet wanted to walk me home but i made you drop me off at the end off the carpark. you probably didn’t want to spend a second longer then you had to with me. i was walking, head down as fast as i could but i had felt so heavy trying so hard not to turn around because i knew it would kill me not to see you there. but at the end of the carpark i did. and you were still there. i couldn’t see your face because you were too far away and i’m too scared to even imagine what expression you must of had. all i know is that i had ruined it. i had ruined everything.  the last text i had gotten from you was along the lines of ‘i guess you don’t want to see me anymore’ i don’t fully remember because i deleted it straight away. just thinking about how awful i was and everything you must of felt for me, disgust, anger, hate i couldn’t bear it. i had to keep telling myself it was for the best to let you find someone better, but i know now that was just bratty reasoning to stop myself from feeling so guilty. i should of spoken to you. told you my feelings and let you decide for yourself. i know that now far too late. another selfish part of me wishes that you ran after once i turned around, maybe you could of helped me from getting to where ever the hell i am now, but to be honest, i am stubborn as i am selfish and i would probably of just kept pushing you away, and we both know i am not worth the effort to try and stay. am i. Our mutual friend Louise had helped me in my efforts to ‘woo’ you, she made her best efforts, so when she told me soon after us the you two were now an us i was happy. happy that you had moved on with a nice girl we both liked but mostly happy that i didn’t have to feel guilty anymore. that’s such a selfish things but thats how it was with me.  I guess nothing will make up for the shitfest i put you through, but i’m not really looking for forgiveness. i guess i’m still a selfish prick, but i’m doing all of this for reasoning, and understanding for myself. why am i the way i am, and where does it all come from. Maybe by the end of all this if i find out, i’ll be able to apologise more sincerely, whether you need it or not from me because let’s face it i’ll probably be the same selfish prick.