#and she fixes it with scrap & spare parts and she & her crew run away

[caterjunes]

uh oh uh oh gundam oc activated

[arrantsnowdrop]

Early Morning Mayhem - Poe Dameron x reader (fluff)

Warnings: some mentions of anxiety, other than that it's pretty fluffy, 2,735 words

A/N: This was not requested but I've had this idea since I watched TROS (which was literally months ago at this point). I haven't written for the Star Wars fandom before but I'd love to write some stuff for characters from any of the three trilogies, Rogue 1, or the several tv series-es! Request away if you have any ideas/concepts I could make into some oneshots, and enjoy this fun little Poe fic :)

When Snap Wexley joined the Resistance, he begged you to come with him. You had been neighbors since you were children growing up on Akiva, and were nearly inseparable by the time you were five. When you were ten, Nora Wexley taught you both how to fly, and when you were twelve, you helped him cope with her sudden departure. You collected scrap metal and spare parts for him to sell when he opened his small business, and when his mother finally returned, you kept the shop open while he helped her hunt down Imperial fugitives.

You were blatantly displeased when he told you he’d been recruited as a fighter pilot, and rightfully so. The last thing you wanted was for your best friend to get blown up into a million tiny pieces. Naturally, your concerns sparked a heated debate about the soundness of his decision:

“I’m just worried, that’s all,” you said exasperatedly.

“(Y/n), I’m literally the best pilot you know,” Snap joked. You rolled your eyes.

“The First Order isn’t going to give a damn about how great you are while they’re trying to kill you!” A pause. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Snap. I wouldn’t be able to deal with it if you did,” you said softly.

“So come with me then,” Snap replied instantly. You blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Come with me, join the Resistance. You’ll be able to know where I am and what I’m doing all the time, so you’ll be less worried,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Yea, but what will I do?” you asked. “I’m not gonna enlist as a pilot, we both know I can’t fly under pressure.” Snap chuckled and nodded.

“True, but you’re also the best mechanic I know. I’m sure the Resistance is gonna need someone to fix all the X-wings I’m bound to break.”

You laughed quietly, then looked around at the stacks of broken machinery piled high in Snap’s home.

“What about the shop?” you asked.

“(Y/n),” Snap said seriously, “the Resistance is going to support you way more than any profits from this place ever will.” He gestured wildly to the store around him. “This isn’t important. You’d be stupid to stay if you’re thinking about the money.”

You nodded, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully (a nervous habit). Finally you looked back up at him.

“I’ll do it,” you stated firmly.

“Really?”

“Really.”

When you arrived at the Resistance base on D’Qar, Snap had eagerly introduced you to Goss Toowers, one of the senior starship mechanics for the Resistance’s fleet. Goss had been thrilled you wanted to join the technical crew, and offered you a position as a mechanic right away (“This is so exciting, we love getting new members on tech crew,” he had gushed happily. You couldn’t help but smile).

You found that the Resistance’s fleet of T-70 X-wings were quite similar to the T-65 models you had learned to fly with Snap back home, just with slightly different engines and weapons pods. It didn’t take you long to establish yourself as one of the most skilled mechanics on the tech crew, with the most severely damaged X-wings going directly to your station after battles.

You had to admit, you understood why Snap had been so eager to join the Resistance. You felt like you had become a part of something much bigger and more important than yourself, and you truly enjoyed every moment of your job.

You also enjoyed getting to know the many technicians and pilots you worked with. You’d always been more reserved with people you didn’t know well, but it had only taken you a few days to become close friends with Jess Pava.

Jess had also made it her mission to introduce you to as many of the fighter pilots as she could (“Then you can know whose X-wing you’re fixing,” she’d pointed out). While it was certainly overwhelming at first, you were more than grateful for the new friendships you had formed.

That being said, there were many pilots you had yet to meet, including the famed Poe Dameron.

It wasn't like you didn’t know who he was, everyone knew about Commander Dameron and his seemingly endless list of accomplishments - you’d even performed repairs on his distinct X-wing once or twice . Still, the closest you had gotten to meeting him was when you watched him climb out of his slightly damaged cockpit after a narrow victory over the First Order; he’d disappeared into a sea of celebrating rebels before you’d gotten the chance to say hello.

That’s why it was startling when he ran up to you in the cafeteria in the middle of the night, asking you to fix his ship.

There had been a small skirmish the day before that had escalated into a larger fight, resulting in many casualties. The mechanic team had spent the entire day fixing up the X-wing fleet, which had proved to be quite exhausting. 

By midnight, most of your fellow mechanics had gone to bed, saving the rest of the repairs for the next day. You’d finally decided that your lack of energy was inhibiting your ability to work, so you’d decided to get a few hours of sleep before resuming the repairs.

You were just grabbing a cup of tea on the way to your room when you heard someone frantically yelling your name.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)!”

You turned around quickly, seeing none other than Poe Dameron sprinting towards you, his well-known orange BB unit following behind him.

You blinked twice in confusion, honestly thinking you were so tired you had begun to hallucinate. No, you concluded, watching as Poe came to a stop in front of you, hunched over slightly and panting to catch his breath; the man in front of you was very real, and seemed very concerned.

“Uh, yes?” you replied slowly, absolutely bewildered as to why a Resistance Commander would be looking for you at two in the morning.

“X-wing, needs repairs,” Poe managed breathlessly, still recovering from his intense running stint. The droid beside him beeped twice in agreement, wobbling quickly from side to side.

“Yea, I’m so sorry I didn’t get to fixing it today, but it’ll definitely be done some time tomorrow-” you started, but Poe quickly cut you off.

“Leia needs me to go on a mission in two hours,” he interrupted, “and with the upper left wing mostly detached, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it out of the hangar, let alone to Onderon.” 

You felt your heart drop, realizing the gravity of the situation. His brows furrowed, seeming to sense your nervousness.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, concern laced in his voice. “You just got super pale.”

“Yea, yea I’m fine,” you reassured softly, though he did not seem convinced. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go and fix it up right now.”

You bit your lip as you turned to go, realizing it was going to be nearly impossible to fix his ship in two hours. The wing wasn’t the only thing that was damaged - Goss had said something about a problem with both the engine and the flight computer. While you were definitely capable of fixing them, you knew it was going to take a significant amount of time, and you were already so tired.

“Wait, (Y/n),” Poe said, grabbing your arm and gently turning you back to face him. You blushed, immediately moving out of his grip. If Poe noticed he didn’t say anything.

“BB-8 and I can help you if you want, I know I fucked up my ship pretty bad,” he chuckled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. You smiled a little and nodded.

“Yea, you definitely did,” you joked softly. Poe smiled, and you blushed again, looking down at the floor. “Um, if you’d like to help I’d appreciate that very much.”

“Alright then, off to the hangar!” he exclaimed, jogging out of the hangar and taking off down the hall.

“Does he run everywhere?” you asked BB-8, who beeped a quick ‘yes’ before rushing out of the room to follow Poe.

~~~~~

An hour later, you’d managed to reattach the wing and had started to rewire the flight computer. It seemed like enemy fire had severed the connection between the computer and the rest of the ship, so you’d have to reconnect it before doing anything else.

Poe had been working on the damaged part of the left split-engine. The upper engine had been damaged along with the wing - nothing too serious, and Poe had assured you that he’d done similar repairs many times before.

“I think the engine is all set,” he called. You looked over your shoulder to where he was straddling the engine, mindlessly tossing a wrench he’d borrowed from you between his hands.

“Do you want me to check it?” you asked from where you were perched on the front part of the ship. He looked up at you and nodded, groaning as the wrench he’d been playing with dropped to the floor.

You laughed and jumped onto the ground, picking the metal tool up off the ground on your way over to him. You peered into the engine, carefully inspecting his work.

“Looks great!” you smiled as you looked up at him, setting the metal tool down next to him.

“Thank you very much, miss mechanic,” he replied with a grin. You rolled your eyes as he picked the wrench up and began to toss it again - Jess was right, Poe Dameron truly was a five year old trapped in a thirty-two year old’s body.

You stretched your arms over your head and sighed. You were still very tired, but Poe’s relentless chatter had woken you up somewhat.

“How’s the computer looking?” he asked.

“Alright,” you replied, climbing up the ladder you’d set against the ship earlier. “I’m almost done reconnecting the computer system to the ship, and then I have to turn it on and see if I need to reprogram anything.”

“Sounds very technical,” Poe said thoughtfully. You laughed and nodded, picking up a stray black wire and beginning to feed it into its designated port.

“This part is mostly just putting the right wires in the right spot, so not super complicated,” you said. “It’s basically a puzzle.”

“Well, it looks pretty complicated to me,” Poe said, hopping down from the top of the engine to put the wrench back in your toolbox. You grinned as you snapped the final wire into place.

“BB-8, can you turn the ship on?” you called to the small droid sitting in the astromech socket. BB-8 chirped happily, and after a few seconds you felt the X-wing rumble to life. From where you were sitting, you could see the panels in the cockpit begin to light up.

“The flight computer is officially reconnected,” you stated, getting up and doing a small happy dance as you walked over to the cockpit.

Poe laughed as you hopped in, squinting at the dashboard in front of you.

“Can you hand me the little red case in my toolbox?” you asked Poe.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, saluting you jokingly as he grabbed the toolbox and reached up into the cockpit to hand it to you.

You mumbled a thank you and grabbed the case, covering your mouth with your free hand as you stifled a yawn. 

“You tired?” he asked, folding his arms across the edge of the cockpit and using his hand to prop his head up.

You nodded, opening the case and grabbing a thin metal rod. Some of the lights on the dash were flickering, and a few hadn’t turned on at all. You figured some of the integrated circuits inside the dashboard had come loose during the fighting.

“I’ve been up since five,” you said, pressing a button on the dashboard and removing the control panel.

“In the afternoon?” Poe said, grabbing hold of the control panel as you passed it to him.

“This morning,” you clarified, reaching into the now exposed circuit board of the ship. You grinned, your theory having been right, and used the metal rod to jostle some of the computer chips back into place.

“So you’ve been working all day then?” Poe asked. You nodded, looking back at him and frowning at the guilty look on his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, taking the dashboard back into your own hands.

“I’m so sorry for asking you to do this,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I should’ve asked Goss or someone else.”

“Poe, it’s fine,” you said reassuringly, sliding the panel back into place.

“No, it’s not,” he said bluntly. “I bet you were going back to your room when I found you, right?”

You bit your lip and nodded slowly, grimacing as Poe cursed and jumped back onto the ground.

“I’m such an asshole!” he groaned.

“Poe, look at me,” you called, waiting until he finally met your gaze to continue talking. “I agreed to do this, remember? This isn’t your fault at all.”

“I still feel bad,” he muttered.

“An all-nighter every once in a while doesn’t do any harm,” you said nonchalantly, sliding out of the cockpit. “And I wasn’t going to sleep much anyways.”

He looked at you softly as you set your tools back down on your work table and wiped your hands on your pants. You looked up at him and grinned, then gestured to his ship.

“She’s ready for flying, Dameron,” you beamed. He chuckled walking over to you and pulling you into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much, (Y/n),” he said, voice slightly muffled by your hair.

“You’re very welcome, Poe,” you replied, relishing in the feeling of his strong arms and chest under his flight suit. “You can ask me to fix your ship anytime.”

“I will definitely take advantage of that,” he said, pulling back and looking down at you. “It always flies better after you fix it.” You gasped, grinning in pleasant surprise.

“You notice when I fix your X-wing?” you asked. He nodded.

“Of course I do, half the time I make sure it goes directly to you after I get back from skirmishes and the like,” he added. You bit your lip and looked down at your feet.

“I didn’t know you knew who I was,” you admitted softly. He laughed, using his hand to tilt your head back up. You blushed, a little lost in his dark brown eyes.

“(Y/n), everyone knows who you are, you’re like the best mechanic in the Resistance,” he said genuinely. You smiled bashfully at his compliment.

“Thank you,” you said softly. He nodded and stepped back, grabbing his helmet from the table next to you.

“Well, duty calls,” he said, a grin on his face as he put his helmet on. You giggled.

“Be safe,” you said.

“Anything for my favorite mechanic,” he replied with a wink. You blushed again and looked down at your shoes.

“You ready, bud?” Poe called to BB-8, who beeped excitedly. He laughed and climbed into the cockpit, looking back at you before he shut it.

“Would you like to go out for dinner when I get back?” he asked, a smile on his face. You grinned, setting your hand on your hip.

“Are you asking me on a date, Dameron?” you asked. He bit his lip and nodded.

“I do believe I am.”

“Well,” you replied, “if you don’t unintentionally snap another wing off your X-wing, I’ll most definitely be available.” Poe laughed.

“See you tonight then!” he called as he closed the cockpit.

You backed up and waved as he made his way out of the hangar and onto the runway outside. You were still grinning as he took off, and you didn’t stop watching him until his ship was just a speck against the dark sky.

Two hours ago, you were sitting in the cafeteria with your cup of tea, and now you had been invited to dinner by the Poe Dameron, who apparently both knew who you were and admired your work. It was a lot to take in.

You grabbed your toolbox and headed over to the next ship awaiting repairs; you still had a lot of work to finish if you wanted to sneak in a nap before going on a date with the best pilot in the Resistance.

[overwatchworks]

Ooo I have a McGenji prompt! ((It sounds kinda dumb though)) Maybe some sort of apocalypse-wasteland like Au where Genji and McCree both got separated for years. But, the way the reunite is through some sort of brutal injury Genji receives when scavenging by himself. ((Oh god I am legit cringe, I’m so sorry-))

Okay, I have a few things to say about this first:

1.) Nonnie, you are enjoying a harmless, if a bit more rare, AU for a pairing you like. Do not talk yourself down for liking it. Don’t call your little joys or things that make you excited dumb, because if they make you happy, then that’s all that matters. It’s not cringy to enjoy things, and it’s not cringy to be excited about an idea. Don’t let yourself be the person that talks down on your own interests, rather, be the one to encourage yourself to enjoy them to their fullest! So what if no one else really talks about it or you’ve never seen it before? Enjoy it anyways! Offer the idea anyways—there is no harm in it whatsoever! And you’re not cringy for enjoying it!

2.) When I first saw this prompt, I in no way, shape, or form thought it was cringe. I was simply intrigued by an idea I have never seen before for a McGen AU. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it happen, or how I would make it work, but when I sat down to actually write it, I had a blast. Your idea is fun and creative and I had a really good time figuring out what to make from it! You absolutely do not need to apologize. Which leads me to my last point.

3.) This is a no judgement zone. You shoot me an idea, I will do my best to make it happen. You have nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to be afraid of. The worst anyone can tell you for this is “no thanks”. And I’m telling you now, this was fun. This was great, and I’m glad you asked for it.

Now, with that out of the way; Nonnie, here is your Apocalypse-Wasteland AU McGenji!

Genji knew he should not have gone in to that airship carrier alone. Knew he should have brought some of his crew with him for back up in case something went wrong. Hana had said she would come with him in the morning. Said she needed parts for her mech and that Jamison would be with her as well. 

But Genji had not wanted to wait. 

There would be too many scavengers like them looking in such a prize overnight. All the good metals and wiring and fuel cells would be gone by morning. Precious materials he needed to keep his systems functioning and the joints of most of his limbs still working. So Genji had gone in alone, even when he knew he should not have, when he knew there was so much that could go wrong. 

And of course, of course, it all went wrong. 

The wires he had been using as a rope to climb to a communications room of some sort were frayed. They had snapped when he was half way up, suspended forty feet in the air. Vertigo, and then static when he hit the ground. Fell through some of the debris and down even further into the wreckage. Somewhere he would not be found, even by luck, buried too deep for any of his comm signals to work. 

He could feel the parts of him that were broken. The synthetic parts. Wiring exposed and sparking at the ends, lighting up his nerves with fire that had only subsided slightly with time. Half of his vision was gone, sensors pinging in the peripheral of what he had left in bright red warning. 

System failure. 

Ruptures in his prosthetics. 

Something puncturing his chest. 

He couldn’t move his legs, they were trapped beneath something. The dull thudding of his heart—one of the few human accessories he had left—was a constant throbbing in his ears, high-pitched ringing beneath that. 

Genji was dying. 

Could feel the mix of biofluids and blood dribbling out of him slowly. Everything that was supposed to keep him working and healthy failing him. He had been too reckless—this carrier was huge, there would have been plenty left over for them in the morning. He should have just waited, he should have judged the wiring better, he had done this his whole life, was built to be the best at it. 

And yet here he was. Bitterly, there was a thought that at least if someone did eventually find him, he would be quite the treasure to scavenge. Long after he had died and the human parts of him rotted away, of course. 

Genji was dying, and all he could do was wait.

-

He had almost drifted to the point of no return. Had almost let go and not been able to come back. There was the sounds of scraping and clattering, someone grunting. Underwater. Muted to his ears, like he was underwater. 

Genji blinked slowly, eyes barely able to open. A flash of red greeted him, glowing hellish in the darkness. Heavy breathing. From him or whatever it was in front of him, Genji could not tell. 

And then he was being lifted from the rubble, body dangling limply from the strong grip he was held in. A familiar voice swam to him through the darkness.

“Hang on, Genji. Just hang on.”

-

Laughter. Something sweet and innocent. Childish. Because they were children. Children running through a scavenger’s yard, a workshop of sorts. 

There were creatures made of metal and what they had thought was a little bit of magic; sentient, in a sense, but simply run by mechanics. By cybernetics. A tinker’s shop. 

Genji was hiding behind a piece of sheet metal leaning against a pile of scraps, hand pressed to his mouth to quiet his giggles. Someone grabbed him from behind, and he squealed in delight as Jesse lifted him off his feet.

“Caught you!”

“That’s not fair, you grew up here so you know all the good hiding spots!”

“Even when we play at your place I still win,” Jesse shot back playfully, Genji sticking out his tongue.

“You do not always win.”

“Do too! You’re too easy to find! I’ll always find you.”

Genji smiled, and so did Jesse. And they were happy, in a time where it was okay to be happy and carefree. In a world where it was still safe to be children.

-

Genji woke to quiet whirring. His sensors were offline, he could not feel the right side of his body from the neck down. His cybernetics were not connecting to his conscious nervous system. 

Manual override: system shutdown, they blinked at him in green beneath his eyelids. 

Alarm shot through him, fear a tangible thing in his mouth, sharp and tangy like iron. Something began to beep, Genji turning his head to look around frantically, snapping awake. Both his eyes worked, and clearly his auditory sensors were back online as well. At least there was that.

“Woah, woah there. You’re okay. I didn’t scavenge you or anythin’. You were pretty beat up as it was, not much worth takin’.”

The accent was odd. Not quite because it was out of place, but because it was so familiar. Like traces of a dream still clinging after waking up. The source of the voice was a man wrapped up in a metal chestplate and a gauntlet on one arm, a tattered cloak of some sort hanging from his shoulders. He had a hat, too, and a cigar. Something old school. 

One of his eyes was glowing red, brighter than the lit end of that which was hanging from his lips. Heavy boots, metal around his waist, chains hooked to his belts. He stepped closer, into the light, hand raising to tip his hat back from his eyes. On closer inspection, Genji saw that it was a prosthetic, not a gauntlet. 

And those eyes were strikingly familiar. That face was one he could never forget. 

Old memories that Genji had thought were lost came back to him. Laughter. Something sweet and innocent. Childish. Jesse grinning underneath the blazing sun, both of them sweating. Jesse playing in the dirt, drawing a poor rendition of Genji’s face in it. Jesse chasing one of the cybernetic dogs after it took off with part of their lunch, Genji laughing until the dog came back and stole more of his. 

Jesse, Jesse, Jesse.

“Sorry, had to shut you down to fix you up. It would have killed you otherwise, trying to keep all of you functioning at once and keeping up with pinging your sensors. Would’a been in agony. I kept your most important systems up and runnin’, but gave the rest of you a break,” he continued lightly, walking over and unplugging some of the wiring that had been hooked up to Genji’s body. 

All he could do was stare wide eyed as Jesse reached down and connected the rest of Genji’s ports, clasping his prosthetics back on for him. Each one shocked back to life, Genji feeling the nerves burn for a moment before they connected and resynchronized with the rest of him. He flexed his toes, stretched his legs and shook out his arm. It was muscle memory more than him actually being aware of doing it.

“Now, I’m trustin’ you not to immediately jump me here. I saved your life, you spare mine, yeah?”

“Jesse,” Genji finally breathed. Jesse blinked, brows raising slightly.

“Oh. So you do remember...”

“Of course I remember.”

“They said you would lose all your early memories with the modifications and whatnot. Figured that’d mean me too, especially after I had to leave. You had no chance to relearn who I was.”

Genji took him in, simply stared and recalled as much as he could about them. Childhood friends. His best friend. All the mischief they would get into. Jesse building things in the night and showing Genji how to bring them to life. Their first scavenge together, gathering materials to make some of the very first models of what eventually became Genji’s modifications. 

Jesse leaving before they were finished.

“I...Know who you are. I remember. There are gaps and places that are static,” Genji grimaced, fingertips brushing against his temple. Sometimes remembering was hard. Certain things were hard to recall, others impossible. But sometimes it wasn’t.

“But I know one thing for certain; you’re my Jesse.”

Jesse’s face softened, a smile gracing his lips. It was not as big or as carefree as it once was, weighed down by the harsh reality of their world. But it was familiar. Something Genji could never forget.

“It’s good to see you again, Genji. It’s real good to see you.”

Genji smiled back, something warm in him that was definitely human making him feel light in a way he had not been since the world had broken more than it already was.

“It is good to see you too, Jesse. Perhaps we can take some time to catch up while my systems reset.”

Jesse sat with a grunt, taking off his hat, running a hand through his hair. Genji watched the movements, eyes scrunching slightly with his grin.

“I’d like that,” Jesse nodded.

~~

[stillyourprussianblue]

libations and burnt offerings;

under the moon, long shadows are cast Part III of III

Author: feuillemort [AO3] / stillyourprussianblue [tumblr]

Rating: T

Pairing: 5986 (Gokudera/Haru), 1896 (Hibari/Chrome), DS (Dino/Squalo), 10088 (Byakuran/Bianchi), 8027 (Yamamoto/Tsuna), Lampin (Lambo/I-Pin)

Event: KHRWeen2020

Prompts: Graveyard | Costumes

A broken fourth wall and ramen deliveries on the spookiest night of the year.

[AO3] [image] [Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

“So he’s supposed to be loosely based on a kappa, but throwing a komodo dragon in there with an idol is so wrong!”

“Well at least the animal handler is on standby so Chrome-chan is safe,” Haru responded. “Same with her security team,” she added, eyeing the idol’s bodyguards lining the edges of the set.

Gokudera scoffed. “That airhead’s no use,” he grumbled. “He’s probably playing with the dogs again.”

He kept his back to the rows of grave markers that Haru gazed out over. He’d turned away from the set uncomfortably as his half-sister had thrown off her robes for the scene, Haru keeping watch to let him know when it was safe for his eyes to resume his post. “I meant that’s a sorry excuse for a kappa, even if they use CGI on it later. And those dogs are way too friendly to pass as werewolves.”

“You want them to release aggressive dogs onto set with this celebrity cast?” Haru gave him a look. “There’s a pop idol, a famous youtuber, and supermodels out there and you want to use dogs that are less friendly?”

He returned the look. “No, I’m saying that their cryptids are unrealistic! I’m a fan of the director’s work but no professional would half-ass their research like this!”

“I heard that it’s based on a dream his godson had,” Haru said, frowning slightly as she saw Tsuna chatting with Yamamoto, a leashed cat held in his arms. They shared a laugh over something they were too far away to hear. Sure enough, a bunch of dogs stuck close to his side, tails wagging.

Chrome’s bodyguard stood up from his relaxed perch on a spare tombstone just off the set and moved quickly through the fake cemetery, ducking under boom mics and low hanging branches. The sudden movement caught Haru’s attention.

“Hey!”

“What do you want? Gokudera growled as the back of Haru’s arm smacked into his side. He turned to her furiously, but saw that she was already running out into the graveyard. It only took him a moment longer to process what was happening as more thundering explosions rocked the movie set and he ran to catch up to the costume designer.

“Shit! Oi! Stay off the set, it’s dangerous, you idiot!”

___

Chrome stared up at the dark haired man that was the head of her security detail as he casually tossed aside the explosive he’d snatched in midflight as it had rocketed towards her. It blew up somewhere behind him but all it did was silhouette him for a moment, ruffling his hair and untucking the hem of his shirt. Hibari’s eyes remained locked with hers as she stared up in awe at the cold steel of his gaze that cut through the mayhem and promised murder to anything that dared to cause her harm.

All around them, fire crews were rushing to the scene to put out the minor disaster that was threatening to take over the set. Chrome pushed herself to her feet in the shallow grave.

“Cut! Cut! Cut!” Reborn’s voice boomed through the megaphone.

There was a sharp whistle and the dog actor that had accompanied her into the hole they dug was bounding away. Yamamoto whistled again. “Hey, hellhounds! Come back!”

The rest of the runaway pack was slobbering over a laughing man on the ground. She could only make out blond hair and flailing limbs before he was completely overrun with dogs.

Hibari turned to leave, but paused when Chrome called out. “Wait.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see her looking down at the huge lizard, knowing what she intended to do.

“He can’t get out,” she said, kneeling down beside the Komodo dragon, at least twice her size. She put her whole weight behind it, but couldn’t heave it out of the hole like she wanted to. She was well suited to the role she played despite what critics were saying –he knew she had the heart of a warrior inside such a small body.

The disgruntled lizard turned towards her and his eyes narrowed as its venomous maw reached for her exposed leg.

Before Hibari could jump into the pit and likely incite the wrath of dozens of animal welfare groups the world over, Yamamoto leapt in to wrangle the lizard back into what looked like an elaborate harness, a pack of dogs at his heels.

“Now, now, be good,” he chastised the lizard as he wrestled it into a harness.

Chrome climbed out of the hole to join Hibari, taking in the scene of destruction around them and the loose perimeter of security around the set. If this had happened years ago, the paparazzi would have been waiting to greet her with their dizzying flashes and intrusive lines of questioning. Now the only one waiting for her was her personal bodyguard, his presence enough of a warning for them all to stay back and give her the space she needed.

Hibari gave her a quick once-over.

“I’m okay,” she answered.

Satisfied, he turned away and she followed.

She was joined by Fran who seemed to materialize beside her, but because she didn’t react in alarm, Hibari did nothing. Over the months of filming, Fran had taken a shine to his co-star despite not knowing the idol prior to meeting on set, and Hibari had grown to accept that he would follow Chrome around though neither of them acknowledged the others’ existence.

“You have to stop breaking the fourth wall when we’re filming,” Chrome chastised lightly, referencing their takes from earlier in the day.

But Fran was staring off into space. “Huh?”

“You can’t just start listing off everything you see when you forget your lines,” she continued as they walked side by side.

“Oh, I’m narrating,” Fran replied airily.

“The film already has a narrator,” Chrome replied, looking ahead at Hibari’s retreating back.

“That creepy prophecy girl,” Fran said.

“Oh... mmhm,” she agreed softly.

“I mean she’s here.”

Chrome looked over with an owlish gaze. Hibari stopped a ways away but cast a watchful glance over his shoulder when he sensed her hesitation. He regarded the newcomer curiously.

Yuni approached with a bright smile. “Chrome-chan! Could I get your autograph?”

After a pause, the popstar nodded and accepted the poster and pen that Yuni held to her.

“What do you do after filming?” Yuni asked, hands clasped in front of her, leaning in with inquisitive politesse as Chrome signed the poster.

“Go back to my trailer and review my lines for tomorrow,” Chrome responded, handing the items back.

“I always knew you were dedicated!” Yuni smiled, holding the poster as if it were a treasure.

“We never do anything fun,” Fran complained.

“Can I join you?” Yuni asked. “We can order dinner and go over our lines together! It’ll be fun!”

Fran looked over at Chrome, thinking she would decline, tilting his head curiously when she nodded. “Ohh?”

Yuni fell into step beside them. “Chrome-chan, don’t you ever get lonely when you’re touring?” Yuni asked.

“Ah! Well...” She averted her eye, looking at Hibari’s retreating back. He had gotten bored and decided to go on ahead by himself. “No,” she replied, “not lonely.”

___

“He’s going to tear you apart later,” Haru said as Gokudera ran past them, shooting a glare at Yamamoto. She had collected Bianchi’s robe from the centre of the set and was holding it tightly to her chest until she could more carefully examine it at her workdesk.

Pushing the lizard into its cage, Yamamoto laughed sheepishly. “You think so?”

“Especially when he finds out you weren’t paying attention.”

Yamamoto laughed again. “What do you mean?” But his laugh had given him away and Haru raised an eyebrow at him.

But before she could say anything about how he had been chatting up the director’s godson who had come to visit him, he went on the offensive, his smile charmingly disarming. The pack of dogs milled about around his legs, bumping him this way and that, and he reached down to ruffle their fluffy heads as their tongues lolled out. “You’ve been spending too much time together if you’re making that face!”

Haru’s cheeks coloured immediately but she couldn’t hide the brief scowl that had preceded it. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

He didn’t spare her. “You know, Gokudera!” he replied, leaving her fuming as he ran off, followed by chorus of happily barking mutts. “Put in a good word for me, thanks!”

___

“Luckily Hibari-san saved most of Chrome-chan’s outfit,” Haru said, letting the light material of Chrome’s dress flow between her fingers as she inspected the fabric.

“You mean luckily she’s unhurt right?” Gokudera corrected with a raised eyebrow.

Haru plowed on as if she hadn’t heard him, pretending she wasn’t very aware of the way his eyebrow arched after Yamamoto had pointed out the habit she had picked up. “But Bianchi’s dress is completely ruined! That was our last set for the take before we went onto the scene where she destroys the dress in the lake with the selkies!”

He looked over at the scraps of white material that Haru held onto. It didn’t look like there was much left of the robe; she would have to make another one from scratch. “Yeah well just make another one or something.” He wondered if she would be able to find a replacement in time.

Her head whipped around and she finally fixed her attention on him. If only she wasn’t glaring daggers. “Excuse me! I can’t just make another one like you replace your fireworks.”

He glowered right back. “They’re not fireworks, they’re pyrotechnics. You know this; I’ve explained it to you a million times.”

“And I’ve explained it to you ten million times –these costumes take time!” Haru huffed and laid the pieces of fabric down on the table between them. He could still see the pieces of golden thread wound through the white material, frayed where his devices had torn through them, scorched like the earth on the set that was still smouldering.

She didn’t say anything else, turning her attention back to the work that needed to be done, only noticing that he had walked out after he was gone. He came and went, and she continued with her spot checks on Chrome’s skirt, only giving him a cursory glance when he entered and exited, collecting more objects each time until the table between them filled with flammable compounds all labelled in Gokudera’s neat script, various accelerants, and an assortment of casings and ignitors.

But she paused to look up from her sewing machine when his last trip had him kicking the door shut behind him. He wouldn’t meet her eyes as he deposited in front of her a few bolts of white fabric and golden thread.

“They all look the same,” he grumbled. “I brought them all so you won’t lecture me on the difference between them again.”

“Thanks,” Haru said slowly, turning over the bolts in her hands; there wasn’t much left so she had no margin for error, but what he had brought her was enough. She could make it work.

She pulled a bottle of milk tea from her yellow-polka-dotted lunchbag sitting on the ground next to her, followed by a can that she had grabbed as an afterthought from the convenience store the other day. She placed them both on the table and slid the canned coffee over to him, avoiding the minefield spread out between them.

Gokudera took his seat across from her and accepted the drink, cracking it open with one hand while he swept his hair back out of his face with the other. “Thanks,” he said quietly but she had already turned her attention back to her work. He took a drink of the coffee – she had managed to keep it cold in her insulated lunchbag for him.

The first time they had had to put in overtime like this, there had been a large accident and all spaces on set were being used by the production team and crew members and the two of them had ended up crammed into an abandoned cast member’s room that was purported to be haunted.

She had been anxious to share a crammed workspace with him at first, worried about the potential of something going wrong or of an accidental misfire. But then she had seen how precise his movements were, how carefully he measured out each component and assembled the explosives. His hands were steady as he wired each device, each component meticulously labelled and accounted for.

This night was no different. Gokudera worked in silence, headphones on, expression focused and serene, goggles secured, sitting crookedly on his chair. His usually prickly personality evened out his aura was almost peaceful as he ran his fingers over a length of magnesium ribbon thoughtfully. He reconsidered and picked up the firefly aluminum instead, pushing aside a container of iron oxide to make more space for it.

Haru always grew too engrossed in her work to notice how he observed her in return; the subtle way her brow furrowed as her eyes roved over her work to ensure perfection in each detail, whether it be correcting a crooked stitch or dyeing a slight discolouration in raw materials she received. Her fingers worked nimbly as she straightened out the large pins that kept her creation in place, each movement deliberate and careful as gold ran through her hands and became something more.

They looked up at each other when their stomachs growled, faces aglow from the flickering lights of the jack-o-lanterns that lined the edges of their shared workbench.

Haru smiled and did a quick back stitch to hold her place before she picked up her cellphone. “It’s going to be a long night. I’ll order us some ramen!”

___

“So you didn’t go on?” Dino asked.

“No we couldn’t shoot any of the selkie scenes because you started a fire on set,” Squalo replied as they walked down the dark street, unevenly lit by streetlights. He kicked an empty can down the road as they walked.

“Aww it was an accident! I thought I’d be able to catch you in your mermaid suit today,” Dino said, bending down to pick the can up when they reached it. “I didn’t think that there would be so many cute dogs on the set to play with.”

“It’s not a mermaid suit! It takes fucking forever to get the selkie makeup and prosthetics on in the morning. It’s heavy as shit.” He glowered. “I thought a supermodel would get it.”

Dino tossed the can up and down in his hand, chuckling softly. “Nothing super here, just a model,” he replied. “How’s Reborn treating you?”

“The man’s tough. I can see why you gave up on acting,” Squalo answered.

“Yeah he said I’ve got the charisma but couldn’t act to save my life. Then he shot at me!”

Squalo threw his head back, laughing uproariously. “Fucking kills me every time you tell that story. They say he’s unorthodox but they’ve got no fucking idea.”

The can slipped from Dino’s fingers and hit him in the head before bouncing over the pavement. He sighed before leaning over to pick it up, only to be yanked backwards by his friend.  A motor scooter zipped by right where Dino had been standing moments earlier.

“Lambo, step on it!” a voice commanded as they flew past. “Halloween’s a busy night for delivery requests!”

“VOI!” Squalo took off after them, yelling obscenities. He scooped up the can that Dino had dropped and whipped it at their retreating backs. “Watch where you’re going!”

When he realized that Dino wasn’t following, he retraced his steps only to find him crouched on the sidewalk with two children at his side. The older one had red hair and was dressed as a storm trooper. The only reason that Squalo could tell that he had red hair was because his helmet lay on the ground. The younger child was clinging onto Dino’s back, yelling at a group of teenagers across the street.

“I’m the mighty Skull! You can’t talk to me like that!”

The trio of bullies laughed and jeered.

“Give us our candy back!” Skull yelled. “O-or you’ll pay the consequences! Enma! Show them!”

“Oh yeah?” they jeered. “What’s going to happen? Are you going to get your stormtrooper to shoot us?”

Enma turned red and looked down at his shoes.

“That’s enough!” Dino said sternly. “Give them their candy back.”

But Squalo had enough experience dealing with Dino’s bullies during their school days to know that wouldn’t work. So he loomed over behind them. “VOI! What are you shitheads doing?”

His sudden appearance and shouting startled them and they jumped in surprise, spinning around to face him. His smile was sinister as he cracked his knuckles.

“Squalo! You can’t hit kids!” Dino exclaimed, putting his hand over Skull’s eyes, or at least where he assumed his eyes to be under his visor.

“I don’t see any brats here,” Squalo said, smirking down at them. “I see a shitty vampire, a half-assed wizard, and a... what the hell are you supposed to be?”

The teen responded indignantly through the furry mask covering his face. “A werewolf!”

Squalo squinted. “And crackhead bigfoot here.”

He unsheathed the sword he had at his side that Dino had told him not to take off the set.

“Oh shit he’s insane!”

“Yo let’s dip!”

The teens turned to run, and Squalo followed in pursuit.

Dino sighed and turned his attention to the two kids that stayed with him. Enma watched in silent dismay as Squalo chased down the bullies, catching them by the end of the block.

“What are you dressed as?” Dino asked.

“I’m Skull! The World’s Greatest Hitman!” he answered as if that didn’t leave Dino with more questions than he had started with. “And this is my brother Enma!”

Dino picked up Enma’s stormtrooper helmet and brushed off the scuffs and leaves as best as he could before giving it back to him. He thanked Dino so quietly that he thought the child had mouthed the words.

Squalo returned to their side, sheathing the prop sword and shoving the pillowcases full of candy at Enma. He stuttered a surprised thank you, gathering the superman and Mickey Mouse pillowcases into his arms, grimacing a little as some candy spilled out.

Dino scooped them into his hand and pressed a lollipop into Skull’s fingers before straightening up and putting the rest of the candy back into the pillowcases that Enma held tightly.

“Hey, I know a place that hands out jumbo-sized candy bars,” Dino said.

“Really!?” Skull’s face was obscured by the oversized biker helmet that he wore, but Dino could tell his eyes had widened by the way his voice jumped an octave.

“Haha yeah!” Dino assured. “It’s where we’re headed now if you want to come along?”

“Hey! Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to follow strange men that offer you candy?” Squalo shouted.

Enma looked between apprehensively but nodded. “Stay close,” he murmured, holding his hand out to Skull who ignored it and ran ahead.

“I’ll lead the way!”

“You don’t know where you’re going!” Enma ran after him across the street.

“Look both ways!” Dino called, starting after them, but tripped halfway through the crosswalk.

Squalo caught his arm and righted him gruffly. “Watch it.”

“Thanks Squalo!” Dino grinned.

“Yeah, yeah.” Squalo waved him off. “There’s idiots out here on their shitty vespas; if you got killed by one it’d be pathetic as fuck.”

___

“Thank you!” Yuni called from within the trailer.

“Ah, yeah, thanks,” Fran mumbled, already digging into their order.

Chrome thanked I-Pin as she stepped away from the door.

“That extra order won’t last until a midnight snack,” I-Pin warned.

“There’s no extra order,” Chrome replied, a little confusion bleeding into her tone.

“There were four orders,” I-Pin said, quickly checking the order ticket on her phone. “But three people.”

Chrome placed the fourth order of ramen on at the top of the stairs and looked up. “It’s not an extra.” I-Pin followed her gaze up to the moon. Seeing nothing, she shrugged and wished her a good night before bounding down the stairs to return to where Lambo sat waiting on the vespa.

“Ready?” she asked, putting her helmet on.

“W-w-what’s that?!”

I-Pin looked back at Lambo’s whimper to see him pointing up above the moonlit trailer with a trembling finger.

A silhouetted figure sat on top of the trailer, reclined comfortably with one leg bent in perfect repose. The moon was too bright to see the features of the figure’s face but she could tell they were being watched with lazy predation.

“I-Pin, let’s go!”

The waver in his voice made her trailer and hop on the back of the vespa again, knowing he wouldn’t drive off without her, but that he would cry if they stayed any longer with the spooky atmosphere.

Sitting in reverse with her back against Lambo’s, holding the rest of their deliveries close to her chest, she kept her eyes on the spirit that watched over Chrome until the trees grew so tall they obscured the moon, folding themselves over between them until she could no longer see the trailer or Chrome’s protector as they sped away through the night.

Only when Chrome went back inside did Hibari leap down gracefully to eat the dinner she had left for him.

___

She heard his approach but did not acknowledge it. Byakuran stayed in the entryway of the greenhouse, just watching her care for the toadflax that was a stand-in for the fantasy silk sage. He thought it ironic that she dedicated her attention to a plant that symbolized the desire for the recipient to notice of the giver’s love.

“You noticed the plants were dry when we were filming?”

Bianchi lowered the watering can from the silk sage plant and set it down beside the pot.

“You did too,” she replied. “And you almost broke character.”

“Not all of us perfectly embody our personas,” he said a little plaintively.

She registered his petulant pout and exaggerated expression and thought he fit the bill of a self-indulgent demon rather well.

“Oh?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” he repeated a little more softly.

They lapsed into silence as she ran her fingers over the soft leaves that the fictional plant was named for.

She looked up when he approached, painfully aware of his proximity like they had been over the last months of filming together, in a weighted and measured dance with the other, like the gravity of stars drawn together, or the certainty of waves to the shore.

He held up a cluster of flowers to her that looked to be what they used in place of the blood blossoms on set, except the rich colour was much more pigmented and there was an enigmatic scent emanating from them. “What do you think?”

She leaned towards the flowers he offered, holding a strand of hair away from her face; her eyes closed slowly and she inhaled deeply.

“An amaranth.” Bianchi pulled back slightly, the strand of hair slipping over her shoulder to trace lightly over his forearm. She looked up through her thick lashes at him, eyes lidded and lips parted in a small smile. “Decadent.”

He smiled back, pulling away entirely, that strand of her hair trailing down his arm. He let it slip through his fingers. “An amaranth,” he agreed. “For immortality.”

“Immortality?” she repeated breathily, stepping over to close the distance he had created between them.

Byakuran took another step back with a teasing laugh. “For an undying love.”

He seemed to float out of her reach even without the animatronic wings and the wires he wore during filming, but she kept pace with him, used to his movements from the time they spent on set together, with him as her shadow. They were very familiar with each others’ bodies.

“Now why would you give me such a flower?” she asked, her voice low.

He pulled the flower close to his chest before lifting it to his nose to breathe in its scent. “I didn’t give you anything!”

She continued her approach until he found himself with his back against the wall, the moonlight slanting through the glass panels of the ceiling.

“Maybe I’ll take it,” she murmured, plucking it from his fingers and placing it in his breast pocket.

“Should I keep calling you by pet names?”

“Well, it’s gauche to ask a witch for her true name.” He played along; it was hard not to recognize her as the face of the perfume industry, from magazine covers and red carpet events.

“You may continue to call me Byakuran; after all, you named me, witch.”

She played along too; she knew him from his youtube channel, avidly watching his every dessert mukbang video, every unboxing, and every sweet shop review.

“Is that right, demon?” She purred against his lips. He could feel the warmth emanating from her as her body pinned his to the wall, dizzy from that citrus scent wafting from her skin.

“Hurry! The noodles are getting soggy!”

Byakuran pulled the woman further into the shadows, whispering a quiet shhh in her ear, and Bianchi pressed closer still as two people rushed through the greenhouse, one in a red uniform and the other in a cowprint shirt. They darted through the set without so much as a glance around them and then they were gone out the other end.

“Okay, okay, there’s a shortcut through here... Geez, It’s not like Haru will let Gokudera kill us if we’re late again.”

“I’ll kill you if we’re late again!”

Bianchi didn’t even so much as glance over at them, taking the opportunity to pin him against the wall with her gaze. He watched their exit over her shoulder with a dispassionate smile. She wanted to make him feel something.

Wearing her shroud of night, she pulled him under, but the angel wasn’t as unmoved as he seemed. She leaned in to test the waters, just simmering below the surface, and he closed the distance himself to have a taste.

___

“Take care!” Tsuna waved to Enma and Skull as Yamamoto put the bowl of candy down on the side table. The green paint on Yamamoto’s neck and face was starting to rub off on the collar of his shirt, and Tsuna tried not to worry about the staining it would cause in the laundry.

Leave it to his boyfriend to use stage makeup taken from the film set to turn himself into a classic zombie.

Dino hovered just behind them, staring out down the path after them. “You think they’ll be okay?” he asked.

Tsuna shut the front door as Squalo laughed, having already made himself comfortable on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. “Go trick-or-treating with them if you’re that worried,” he called.

Yamamoto put a jumbo chocolate bar in Dino’s hands before leading him over to take a seat beside Squalo. “They’ll be fine!” His flippant tone was somehow reassuring and Dino allowed Yamamoto to take his coat. “They’ve got enough candy in their pillowcases to use them like clubs now!”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Tsuna said, making a face.

An orange tabby cat immediately jumped onto Dino’s lap.

“Even the cat loves you,” Squalo remarked as Natsu settled in and curled up on him, purring up a storm. “Just like the dogs today,” he finished, inclining his head towards Yamamoto who only smiled up at Tsuna, perched on the armrest.

Remembering the hours it had taken to get the prosthetics on only for it to have been wasted and then taken off, Squalo frowned at Yamamoto’s feigned innocence and Tsuna’s flustered guilt.

“Dino and I wanted to visit everyone,” Tsuna began.

“We wanted to get a sneak peek,” Dino said. “Especially since Reborn was making a movie based on Tsuna’s dream!”

“And you got distracted!” Squalo reprimanded, not letting Yamamoto off the hook even though he just laughed it off.

“Tsuna told me I forgot to buy the Halloween candy!” Yamamoto recounted. “But he forgot to prepare dinner for us, so we’re even!”

The doorbell rang again and Tsuna turned away from Dino and Squalo lounging on the couch to answer it, but Yamamoto beat him to it, jogging over with firm hand on Tsuna’s shoulder to tell him to stay put and enjoy his chat, and a quick kiss pressed to his cheek in passing to casually remind him he was adored.

“You said there would be dinner!” Squalo shouted after him.

“Yes, yes,” he called back as he scooped up the bowl of candy and answered the door.

On the other side of the doorframe, Lambo jumped in surprise as a zombie opened the door.

“Delivery!” I-Pin said brightly.

“Oh! I-Pin! Lambo!” he greeted. “That was fast!”

I-Pin rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to be nice, Yamamoto-san. Lambo took his time today. I would’ve driven like you taught me.”

Yamamoto laughed as she handed over his order of ramen. He held the bowl of candy out to I-Pin and she selected a few lollipops for Lambo.

“Yeah, but Lambo,” Yamamoto asked. “I thought you had a Halloween party to go to tonight?” He hesitated when Lambo flapped his hands and began waving his arms, giving him a panicked look.

I-Pin looked between the two of them confusedly.

“Ahh!” Yamamoto smiled knowingly. “I know! You’re helping her out on the scariest night of the year instead of going to the party!”

“VOI!”

Lambo and I-Pin jumped at the voice of the man that had pursued them doggedly earlier in the night. Squalo stalked over to the door to confirm that they were also the one and the same.

“It’s you on that shitty vespa!” Squalo growled.

“Um, trick or treat?” Lambo squeaked, backing away.

I-Pin was one step ahead of him, running back to the motor scooter. “Lambo, let’s go!”

He stumbled away from the door, jumping onto the back of the scooter and grabbing onto the seat for dear life as she took off without warning.

“I-Pin, slow down!” Lambo screamed.

“We gotta’ get to your party!” she called back.

He held his helmet to his head as the chinstrap flapped in the wind, staring at her back. “Don’t we have more deliveries to do?”

“I’ve only got one more for the night,” she replied, “and it’s me getting you to your Halloween party!”

“Oh no you don’t!”

Lambo shrieked as he saw that Squalo and his fury were gaining ground on them. He spun around in the seat, throwing his arms around her waist. “I-Pin, speed up!”

“That, I can do! Hold on tight!” she called back as they raced off into the night, or at least as quickly as the scooter would allow. Lambo held her tightly and hoped that they would arrive unscathed; but also that maybe when they did, she would accept his invitation to join him.

___

The sky was a bright grey, with golden rays filtering through. The full moon had cast long shadows in the night and it would soon pass the torch to the sun’s radiance. Daybreak was eminent over the graveyard, and the night was almost over, but not just yet.

Haru stretched and yawned, uncurling from the position she had held over her sewing machine through the night. She laid out Chrome’s repaired garments and the new robe that she had worked ceaselessly on for Bianchi. After the work was done, she was left with about a yard of material – too small to do anything with besides being used as scrap. She shook it out to remove loose threads and then folded it neatly at her side.

Gokudera had put his head down to rest hours earlier. Haru had noticed when he did not get back up. His back was rising and falling evenly with each breath, his goggles discarded beside his sleeping face. Crates of neatly stacked sticks of dynamite sat around him, carefully prepared and ready to be set off at a moment’s notice.

She stood to clear the empty takeout boxes overturned on the table between them, the disposable chopsticks unbalancing the empty Styrofoam containers. She hoped he liked the ramen she had ordered more than the instant noodles he would have made for them with the electric kettle he had kicked into the corner a few days back; she knew he would not have easily allowed himself the luxury of ordering food if he could find a quicker alternative on his own.

But then again, he was unused to someone else caring for his needs.

Smiling, Haru fluffed out the scrap of fabric again; it wasn’t large enough to be useful in any other way, but it would serve well enough to keep him warm. She settled the small white sheet over his shoulders and reached down to touch his cheek, but paused with her fingers hovering just over his face. Reconsidering, she picked up his can of coffee, swished it around, and finished it. He would wake soon and grumble about the makeshift blanket, but not just yet.

___

[AO3] [Part I] [Part II] [Part III]

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Mother Rey, little sunshine; Rey x child reader

*Author’s note*

Okay so this request has been on hold for literally months so I hope the anon who finds this I APOLOGIZE FOR KEEPING U WAITING FOR SO LONG. And also I apologize in advance if this feels rushed or if it ends up bad, I tried my best with this fic but I hope you all still like it in the end. And please no hating on this character, if you don’t like Rey fics then DON’T BOTHER READING THEM. 

Not really any warnings per-say but maybe some swearing? Other than that it’s just some fluff.

______________________________________________________

*Rey’s POV*

I don’t really know how it all began.  I guess it must’ve happened while I was in the market selling what I had collected when I first took notice of her. She was hiding behind a stand just watching me clean a scrap of old machinery before I went to sell it to Plutt for some food.

As I was heading back to my small home in an old AT-AT walker, I could hear footsteps behind me.  I turned around and there she was.  She stopped and looked at me with big (e/c) eyes.  Feeling annoyed with her following me and always watching me I asked her.

“Why do you keep following me?”

“I—I don’t know…..”

“You can’t keep following me. Where are you parents?” I asked her.

“They—they didn’t wake up.” She said sadly as she looked down and played with her fingers.  I kept looking at her and she reminded me of me when my family left me here, except unlike me, her parents are dead.  Probably couldn’t afford to have enough portions in order to keep themselves alive, they gave it all to this little girl.

“What’s your name?” I said as I knelt down in front of her.

“(Y/n).” she shyly said.  I looked toward the sun and saw that it was beginning to set. Knowing that it would be dark soon and that’s when all the dangerous dealers and thieves come out to try and catch whatever they can sell, Jakku holds no bounds for dangerous smugglers and slave-dealers.  

“Do you have a place to stay (y/n)?” She then pointed towards the old garbage ship that was covered under a tarp that Plutt once stole several years back and had it kept in his storage.  “Okay, how about you come with me? Just for tonight so that you can at least get a proper meal and at least something more comfortable than sand to sleep on.” She looked up at me with hopeful eyes and I picked up my staff and urged her to follow me and she did.

When we got to my place, she ate some of my portions that I had gotten from my scavenging.  As she ate, I told her as I took out a spare blanket as I set up a small bed for her.

“It’s not much but it should keep you warm.”

“Th—thank you.” She shyly said.  After she was done, it was starting to get dark so I thought it was best to get some sleep.  I got into my cot while (y/n) got into hers and soon I fell asleep.

As the night went on, I felt something shake my shoulder as well as small whimpering.  I groaned and tried to dismiss it but it kept happening and that’s when I saw (y/n) standing over me.  I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and said to her.

“(Y/n), what’s wrong? It’s not even sunrise yet.”

“I—I had a bad dream Miss.” She said ashamed for waking me up.  I looked at her and again I saw myself in her through her sad eyes.  When I was young, I had nightmares all the time about my family, hoping they’d come back and wondering why they left me.

“C’mere.” I muttered as I opened up my blanket and she cautiously crawled into my cot and I hugged her close to me.

“What’s your name?” she asked me.  I softly smiled at her and answered.

“Rey.” I stroked the hair out of her face and said to her, “Try to go back to sleep, the bad dreams usually don’t come twice in the same night.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” She yawned softly and then she fell back asleep cuddled up close to me.  As I held her in my arms, I knew that I couldn’t just throw her out by morning. She wouldn’t survive without someone taking care of her, but no one would because all they care about is their own survival.

So I decided that I would take care of her and protect her no matter what.

For the next few weeks, I taught (y/n) everything I knew about scavenging, how to find the best parts and how to even make things out of spare parts that are functional.  She was a fast learner much like myself and she quickly began to understand the language of all the other people here on Jakku.

After another low trade from Plutt after scavenging for hours for parts that looked valuable.  I gave the last of my food to (y/n) so that she would be able to eat when I picked up an old pilot’s helmet and placed it on my head.  I looked down at (y/n) and softly smiled at her and decided to place the helmet on top of her.  She looked up at me and smiled innocently.

“Now you’re an official pilot.” I said to her. Suddenly we heard the sound of a droid close by.  It sounded like it was in distress, I grabbed my staff and told (y/n) to stay put until I came back as I ran up the hill.

There I saw Tito with what looked like a BB unit in a net.  I called out to Tito as I raced down and freed the droid before bashing Tito in telling him what for before he moved on.  The droid then began to mouth off at Tito and I shushed it as I said to him.

“That’s just Tito. Wants you for parts, he has no respect for anyone.” I knelt down in front of it and said, “Your antennas bent,” it moved its head downward so that I could take off the antenna and straighten it up and fix it up as I asked it where it came from.

The BB unit gave me a few beeps and I said skeptically.

“Classified really? Me too, big secret.” Once its antenna was back in its proper place, I told it where to go and what to be aware of as it would go into town to hopefully find its master.  As I headed back toward (y/n), the BB unit followed behind me beeping asking me to come with me.  I turned towards it and said, “Don’t follow me, town is that way.”

It beeped again as it said that since I was alone, it could be of use but I told him no which led him to making sad beeps. I turned towards it and just stared at it.

Krif this was my problem; I was just too nice. I then gestured with my head and the droid happily beeped as it rolled up by my side.

“In the morning you go.” It beeped out a thank you and I said, “You’re welcome.”

Little did I know just what crossing this droid meant for me and (y/n).

The two of us were soon swept up into the Resistance against the First Order when we came across as Resistance fighter named Finn. Together we’ve been chased by stormtroopers, smugglers, and even came face to face with the legendary Han Solo and Chewbacca.  Now that (y/n) and I were swept into getting BB-8 back to the resistance since he carries a map that leads to the legendary Luke Skywalker, we made it our vow together to help BB-8 get back to the Resistance base that Finn is stationed at.

We had finally arrived at the planet of Takodana where a supposed ally of Han Solo, Maz Kanata could help us get to the Resistance as fast as possible since Han knew that if his scanners could find us, then the First Order wouldn’t be too far behind.

(Y/n) and I were observing all the greenery this planet had to offer.  Never did I know there was this much green in the entire galaxy.  All my life I had ever known was miles and miles of sand.

“This is so pretty.” I heard her say.  I looked down at her and softly smiled and said.

“Yes it is.”

“I wish I could live here.”  I wish I could give her what she wants but I knew that once all of this was done; I knew my family had to have come back by now. Heck they could be there now, it’s already been too long already and I promised myself that I would stay there.  It was then Han came up to us and he handed me a small blaster and said

“Here,”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know that’s why I’m giving it to you.” I took the blaster and aimed it ahead as he asked me, “You do know how to use that thing right?”

“Yeah you pull the trigger.”

“Well there’s a lot more to it than that. You’ve got a lot to learn.” He then walked away for a bit telling Chewy to see what repairs he could do.  And it was then Han began to offer me a spot, actually two spots for a couple of crew members since both (y/n) and I have done some work on getting the Millennium Falcon up and running and Han even saw (y/n) bypass the compressor so that we wouldn’t be torn apart while in hyper speed.

I thanked him for the offer but declined the offer telling him that we had to get home back to Jakku since we had been away for too long.  Han accepted my answer and didn’t press on and that’s when we went into the town and met up with Maz.

After doing some talking and suddenly having getting these strange visions as I had gone down to the basement of what looked like a storage room after touching a lightsaber.  After Maz had told me that the lightsaber had belong to Luke and his father before him and that now it was calling to me, she told me that my path now lied ahead of me, and not in the past.

This was way beyond what I had wanted. She’s asking me to basically become a Jedi, but I know nothing of that world.  I’m just a scavenger whose parents abandoned me and left me there on Jakku to die.  All I wanted now was to just go back and get as far away from all this as possible with (y/n) at my side.

But of course life has a funny way of making things go from bad to worse in the snap of a finger.  Before we knew it, the First Order arrived and started attacking the city.  I told (y/n) and BB-8 to stay together and keep out of sight while I tried to drive off any stormtroopers or First Order fighters.

“But Rey…..” she started off.

“No buts (y/n). BB-8 needs you right now. Promise me you’ll keep him safe.” I cupped her face and she looked up at me with sad, worried eyes but nodded.  I hugged her and whispered to her, “I promise I’ll come find you when all of this is over.” She nodded and I felt her kiss my cheek and she said something that I never thought I would be called.

“I love you mommy.” My face turned to shock but I hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head and said.

“I love you too my sunshine, now go.” She then ran ahead with BB-8 behind her telling him to follow her.  I looked on ahead and whispered, “Please me safe.”  I then ran in the opposite direction to do as I said I would do; give them some time to hide and if I ended up getting captured then so be it.

As long as (y/n) was safe.

I fired and shot at any stormtrooper I could find but when my blaster suddenly decided to lock up on me, I hide behind a tree to try and get it to work again and that’s when I heard one of the stormtroopers say.

‘Pull back in retreat. We’ve got what we’ve wanted. Repeat back to the ships and pull back in retreat. We have what we’ve wanted.’ Oh no. Did they find BB-8? Did they hurt (y/n). Cause I swear if they’ve laid one finger on her….. I ran a shortcut way back toward the city which was now in complete ruins.

All around me I saw not only First Order ships and troops, but also Resistance fighter pilots flying in the air.

“Rey!”

“Finn!” We ran up towards each other and embraced each other.

“Are you okay?” he asked me.

“I’m fine. Where are Han and Chewy?”

“They’re fine, where’s (y/n) and BB-8?”

“Somewhere in the jungle. We had to split up, you mean she didn’t come back here?” He shook his head no and that’s when I saw a horrifying sight.

A man cloaked in all black robes was carrying in his arms an unconscious (y/n).  My heart stopped as I raced on ahead crying out with Finn running and calling out my name behind me.

“No! No! Let her go, stop! (Y/N)!!!!!” But it was too late, the ships took off and I collapsed onto my knees weeping brokenheartedly.  “They took her…..they took her!”  I felt Finn’s arms wrap around me and he said as he rocked me back and forth.

“Don’t worry Rey, we’ll get her back. I promise.”

After awhile we arrived at the Resistance base and had gone over the battle plans for bringing down the First Order’s base once and for all, but all my mind was on was (y/n).  I feared that she had either been hurt or worse……

“You okay Rey?” I heard Han say.

“It all started with just one night. One night that was all, never did I think she’d have me wrapped around her finger the way she does today. I want her back, and I swear if anything happens to her—”

“Hey, listen kid,” I felt his hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him and he continued, “From what I’ve seen that child’s got some spunk in her. Sorta reminds me of me at her age. She’s not helpless, and if she’s anything like you, she’ll figure a way out. We’ll get her back, alive and unharmed.” I smiled softly and we then headed towards the Falcon.

As we took off I thought to myself.

‘Hang on (y/n), I’m coming for you.’

*(Y/n)’s POV*

When I woke up I found myself strapped into some sort of chair by my arms and legs.  I looked around to see that I was in some sort of room with no windows and a steel reinforced probably blaster-resistant door.  It soon opened up and entering inside was the masked man who kidnapped me after trapping me and BB-8.  The last thing I remember him telling me was that I had seen the map that they were looking for and the next minute I blacked out.

“Where am I?” I demanded.

“You’re my guest.” He simply stated.

“If this is how you treat your guests, I’d hate to see how you treat your real prisoners.” I sassed back at him.

“The only reason why you are being kept alive child is because you have valuable information I need. The map to Skywalker.”

“I don’t give information to creeps in masks. Especially creeps like you.” It was then he removed his mask and once his face was revealed to me I saw that he had black hair that went to about his shoulders and deep brown eyes.  He set the mask down on a table and came up towards me and said.

“The fact that the droid would even show the map to someone like you, a lost orphan girl with no family is beyond me. But yet it has. Now give it to me.” He then held up his hand just like before and I once again felt this picking at my brain.

This aching feeling almost like a hammer jacking away at my head repeatedly as I felt him trying to get the information out of me.  I tried to resist and pull back but it was like a tug of war between us.

“There’s no point in resisting child, I always get what I want in the end.”  I grunted and groaned in pain trying to push him out of my head.

When suddenly something snapped.  Now I could see and feel his thoughts inside his head. I don’t know how it happened but it did so I decided to pull a string at him because one name kept coming up in his head.

“Vader.” I whispered.  His eyes shows a bit of shock on how I knew that name.  “You’re afraid…..” his face grew from stoic to shock as I continued, “that you’ll never be strong as Darth Vader!” He soon released me and his eyes were full blown with shock and horror.  I panted heavily and soon he just left me there in the room, with a stormtrooper to guard my room.

*Rey’s POV*

We finally arrived on Star killer base and after going over the plan one last time with Han and Finn.  They along with Chewy would go and find  way to disable the shields so that the Resistance pilots can go in and disarm the base and finally destroy it before it would drain the sun’s energy, while I would handle the rescue mission for (y/n).

I snuck through the corridors and hide from any stormtroopers that came by when I reached a room that read PRISONER CHAMBERS overhead.  I looked around to make sure no one would see me, then I maneuvered across from one side of the corridor to the chamber doors and tried to open them.

As soon as they opened a stormtrooper caught my line of vision and he called out.

“Halt!” Before he could fire his blaster at me, I knocked his arm with my staff, spun it around and whacked him hard against the head knocking him off his feet before stabbing the bulge end of it into his gut making him groan before I whacked him over the head again to render him unconscious.

It was then in the chair with dark circles under her eyes and strapped onto the chair was (y/n).

“Oh kriff, (y/n)!” I raced up to her and cupped her face in my hands as I tried to gently wake her up.  I heard a faint moan as she opened her eyes and as soon as she saw me, she faintly said.

“Rey?”

“I’m here my sunshine, I’m here.” I began to look around for a way to free her from her bonds.  I typed in various codes but none of them seemed to be working.  Until finally one seemed to work and soon her wrists and ankles were free.  I picked her up and we both hugged each other tightly and she whispered.

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’ll always find you my sunshine, always. Now c’mon let’s find Han, Chewy and Finn and get the hell out of here.” She nodded and we both raced out of the room.

As we raced out of the base to where we had the Falcon at, suddenly we both heard the sound of a lightsaber activating and there stood Han and Leia’s son, Ben or how he is now known as Kylo Ren.

“We’re not done yet. Both of you.”

“(Y/n), get to the Falcon.”

“But Rey—”

“Now (y/n)!” I snapped at her feeling this rage towards Kylo Ren, not just for what he’s done for the First Order but taking (y/n) crosses a whole other line.  And I already said that I would make whomever it was behind the mask pay for taking her.

I saw her run towards the forest and towards the direction of where I had told her the Falcon was.  Once I knew she was safe, I turned back towards Kylo and glared down at him.

“The girl I’ve heard so much about.” He said to me as he stared me down.  My breathing was shallow as my anger began to take over as I faintly touched the blaster at my hip.

“Why did you take her?!” I demanded.

“She was one of the people to see the map, her memories were the key I needed to find out where Skywalker was located. But then something else came about from her, she is strong with the force. Untrained but able to tap into its source.”

(Y/n)……was force-sensitive? How is she…..maybe her parents were descendants of one of the old Jedi’s.  She never really spoke much about her parents, so maybe she didn’t know.

“With some training of the ways of the force, she can become unstoppable. With the right teacher.”

“Over my dead body.” I sneered as I fired my blaster but the blast was caught in midair and I felt myself being paralyzed. I tried to free my arm but it was stuck behind me.  He walked up towards me and pointed his lightsaber at me, the heat of it bouncing off onto my skin when we both heard.

“HEY!!” Another lightsaber activated and at the corner of my eye I could see Finn holding Luke’s lightsaber.

“That lightsaber belongs to me. Give it to me.” Kylo Ren demanded.

“Come get it!” The two of them soon began to battle and I was suddenly dropped out of my paralyzed state but my muscles were like jelly.  It was like I had ran around the entire planet of Jakku five times, I could barely stand up.

I watched as Finn managed to strike Kylo Ren a couple of times in the leg and shoulder but soon Kylo Ren had Finn pinned to a tree and touched the cross-point of his lightsaber onto Finn’s shoulder which caused him to cry out in agony.

“Finn!” I cried out.  Kylo then disarmed Finn and slashed him across the back which caused Finn to fall to the ground unconscious.

I then watched as Kylo Ren tried to take Luke’s lightsaber that had landed a few yards away from him.  I saw it shake so I reached out my hand hoping that somehow it would come to me.  It shot out from the snow and zoomed past Kylo Ren and landed in my hand.

I was shocked.  So all those visions back at Takodana, everything that has happened in my life from saving Finn from the rathtar, to even sensing (y/n) when I first met her before I would even see her.  Maz was right, I was meant for this. This was my destiny.

I stood up and activated the lightsaber glaring straight at Kylo Ren and he reactivated his lightsaber before the two of us met in combat.  Leaping over cliff sides, jumping over logs and fallen tree branches, blocking his attacks, trying to get an attack of my own, Kylo Ren and I performed a continuous battle with our lightsabers till finally we crossed our lightsabers together and he began to get the upper hand as the ground began to quake and crack underneath me.

Both lightsabers coming down towards me as I tried to push back but his strength was still stronger than mine.  I wasn’t a train Jedi and plus my muscles were still weak from earlier.

“You need a teacher; you and the child can learn the ways of the Force. I can teach it to you.” I looked at him and muttered.

“The Force.” Then what Maz had told me began to ring in my ear as well as what all came in through my vision as I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths before finally feeling the Force course through me.  I opened my eyes up and pushed Kylo Ren backward and instead of unskilled, rapid attacks, my strikes became more precise and flowed more in balance and strength.  I managed to strike him in the leg as well as the shoulder.

As he tried to send a thrust toward me, I grabbed his wrist and managed to send his lightsaber into the snow.  I kept a firm grip on his wrist as I pulled it downward so that he couldn’t pull back until finally I slammed my saber against his breaking the connection before finally striking him across the face, leaving him a nasty scar.  I panted as I deactivated my lightsaber and I said to him.

“Never, go near her again.” And with that I raced back to find Finn, praying that he was still alive.

Once I found him, I called out his name and tried to wake him up but he didn’t respond.  I placed my fingers to his neck trying to get a pulse but I couldn’t find one. Thinking that he was dead, I lay my head against his chest and wept softly.

Suddenly a light shined down on us and I looked up to see Chewy and (y/n) flying the Falcon.  They landed it and Chewy came out and helped carry Finn inside and placed him on the bed and soon Chewy and I took the controls while (y/n) went to work on Finn’s wounds as we now went into hyperjump as Starkiller base exploded behind us.

With a victory like this, there also came loss. I had been told from Finn that Kylo Ren had killed Han back at the base while I was trying to get (y/n).  But in a stroke of this untimely sorrow, there was a light to this tragic day, Luke’s old droid R2D2 activated and he showed us the complete map of where Luke was, then combining the map that BB-8 had been keeping, the full map was complete.

As we watched over Finn who was now in recovery after finding out that he had a heartbeat.

“Will he be okay?” (y/n) asked me.  I looked down at her and said.

“I believe he will.”

“Rey, (y/n) the Falcon’s ready and the coordinates are locked in for you both.” General Leia said.  We both looked at her and we both nodded.  I turned back to Finn and whispered.

“We’ll see each other again, I believe that.” I kissed his forehead and continued, “Thank you, our friend.”

“See you when we come back Finn, thank you for everything you’ve done.” (y/n) said to him as she kissed his cheek and the two of us walked towards the Falcon.

“Rey, (y/n).” General Leia said.  We both turned around and she said to us with a warm smile, “May the force be with you.” We then looked down at BB-8 who stood beside her and he beeped at us a goodbye and thank you.  We smiled down at him and nodded to Leia before boarding the Millennium Falcon.  

I sat in Han’s seat and Chewy sat at my side as (y/n) came up and I held her in my lap as the final coordinates were being punched in.  Then finally we took off to find Luke Skywalker.

“Do you think he’ll help us?” asked (y/n) as she looked up at me.

“We’ll find out. But no matter what happens, we’ll face it together.” She nodded and hugged me and I hugged her back as I kissed the top of her head.

[moonblooch]

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)

Relationships: Fjord & Jester Lavorre, Fjord & Caleb Widogast

Characters: Fjord (Critical Role), Caleb Widogast, Nott (Critical Role), Mollymauk Tealeaf, Yasha (Critical Role), Jester Lavorre

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, minor conflict between characters, Misunderstanding, but its all cool, mentions of Fjord's backstory, references to Caleb's backstory

Language:English

Series:← Previous Work Part 2 of the Hits off the Cosmic Deck series

Some secrets are shared and the problem with the engine that probably definitely wasn't caused by this weird glowing thing.

“Was zum teufel?!”

Caleb’s voice echoed down the corridor to Beau’s room, where Fjord was trying to find some robes that she probably wouldn’t mind losing, just in case the person he sent to deliver them (because he’d be doshed if he was leaving his ship alone with a bunch of strangers) decided to take anything for themselves.

“What’s up in there Caleb?” he called back, praying for a good answer as he made his way into the corridor clutching a robe in hand.

The first thing Caleb had done was take a screwdriver to Beau’s goggles, claiming that they were not working properly. When he was satisfied with those, he had lifted Nott onto his shoulders to fix the lights, which required them powering down the entire engine room, which could only be done from the bridge, which now had all of its breadboards on display and several disconnected. Thankfully the lights had seemed to be a loose connection in the wiring as opposed to a fault with the cells and when the lights had flickered back to life, they had unveiled the sheer mess that the engine room was actually in.

Aside from the splatter of tar-fuel (thankfully only from a spare canister, not from the engine itself) which Beau had left close to the entrance, the engine itself was nearly incomprehensible. Fjord was no mechanic by any means, but he had assisted in maintaining the engines of the cargo vessels he had worked on in the past. And yet none of the engine of The Mistake seemed even vaguely recognisable to him. He was certain he would have given it a look over when they bought it (bought being a fairly generous description for the transaction which had brought the ship into their hands), perhaps he had been in too much of a rush.

Either way, Caleb at least seemed to recognise its components, though his comment on the “unconventional layout” was far from encouraging. He had stowed his pack in the little space available in the engineer’s quarters before opening his other bag and affixing a device that seemed to be a small collar light wired to a pair of goggles to Frumpkin and sending him into the depths of the engine room.

He had removed Beau’s goggles, replacing them with a pair of his own which he explained were connected to Frumpkin’s, so that he would be able to see what his cat could. Fjord had left the room, intending on sending Nott to find Beau and Jester with the spare clothes, but Caleb’s latest exclamation led him back into the corridor.

“Why in the name of everything sacred does this thing run on rhydonium?” Caleb yelled back.

“Should it not?” Fjord asked, already knowing the answer as he rounded the corner into the engine room. Caleb’s goggles were glowing blue, presumably an indicator that they were connected to Frumpkins.

“Nein! Nothing this small should.”

“Then, uh, can you make it so that it runs on something else?”

“Not without taking the entire ship to pieces. Every pipe would have to be treated, the cost would be enormous. That and you would attract a lot of attention; these kinds of mods are usually only found on pirate ships.”

Scrutiny was not something Fjord was looking for at that time. The thing in his arm was difficult enough to hide, and travelling with more people was a risk as well. Taking The Mistake to a proper workshop for any extended amount of time could just be the final bolt in the sarcophagus.

“Is there any good news?” he asked.

“Yes, the good news is that I know what your problem is. It is a two person problem to fix, but it mostly requires somebody else to hold things in place while I work. I have made a list of the tools and materials it will need, the ones that I do not already have.” He indicated a clunky looking data-pad which sat on top of his tool bag.

“Right,” Fjord said, looking at the clearly extensive list, “and what is the problem exactly?”

“There are a host of minor issues, but this ship must be at least twenty standard years old by now and I am going to assume it has worked hard in that time so those are to be expected. You will want to get them fixed eventually as they will hamper the functionality if left, but they are not urgent. Your problem is the acceleration compensator.”

“Well dag.”

“I am astounded you even made it to dirt.” Caleb told him, lifting his goggles for a moment to make eye contact. “If you take off in this state you will be flat as a panna cake before you hit the big L.”

“Beau’s not going to like that.” Fjord mused, mostly to himself.

“She is your pilot?” Caleb asked.

“Yeah, a good one at that. She’s done her best with the engine as well, but she’s more of the ‘hit it ‘til it works’ type. Never failed us before, but I guess it had to at some point.”

The look that Caleb gave him before he pulled the goggles back over his eyes could only be described as horrified.

“I will send Frumpkin on a bit more of a look around, if I find anything else important you will hear my yelling. Could you send someone to purchase the items on that list please?”

Fjord picked up the data pad and scanned the list as he walked back to the galley, where he had last seen the others. He could still hear the slightly muffled sound of voices as he approached.

“All I’m saying is that you can’t just go around waving those glowsticks wherever you want to.” Nott was saying. “That sort of thing can get you killed.”

“Well if it’s my life at risk then I’ll wave them wherever I please.” Molly’s voice replied as Fjord came to the door. He had hovered for a moment, debating whether or not to interrupt, when Nott made a guttural growling sound and he decided that it would be best to step in.

“Hey there folks, apologies for interrupting here but I’m afraid I’ve got a couple errands I need taking care of.” He said proffering the robe. “Nott, could you take this to Beau please? I’m guessing she’ll be nearly done.”

Nott shot Molly one foul look before taking the robe and leaving, her feet clicking against metal as she scurried down the steps outside. Fjord turned to Molly and Yasha.

“There going to be any trouble?�� he asked “because this is a small ship, I don’t want any scraps breaking out.”

“Not at all.” Molly sighed. “Nott’s just a little agitated about me showing off the lightsabres in public, not that it’s any of her business.”

“Well,” Fjord replied, “I’d take it as a favour if you listened to her in this case. Just to keep the peace a bit. Particularly since anything to do with Jedi only ever leads to trouble in my experience.”

“Whoever said anything about Jedi?” Molly asked with a grin.

“I’m sure you’re just being wise-mouthed, but for the love of the First Light don’t say that sort of thing around Beau. If she thinks you’re Sith she will kill you, and I’ll be in no place to stop her.”

Whilst Molly’s expression didn’t change, something in Yasha’s face twitched. Fjord decided not to comment on this; Yasha looked like she might be able to snap him in half and he was hardly keen to test that theory.

“Look, I’m sorry to come down on y’all like this, I’ll have a word with Nott when I have a chance. Could you maybe have a look around for some of these things?” he held out the data pad. “As many as you can find, maybe some food as well, and I’ll consider the cost your fee for the trip.”

“What if it costs more than a trip to the next planet?” Yasha asked.

“Then we’ll take you further, as long as The Mistake can handle it. That’s what the parts are for.”

“Well, she’s living up to her name if this list is anything to go by.” Yasha said, looking it over. “We will see what we can do.”

Once they had left, Fjord took a moment to breathe. Letting this number of strangers onto his ship all at once was laserbrained, but he had no choice. He had to find out what had happened to Vandren’s starship, and how he had found himself on a beach halfway to the other side of the galaxy after the apparent explosion. In order to keep following the trail of information, he needed a crew. Beau and Jester had been doing a fine job, but a crew of three could only move slowly, and forget about getting any work.

He returned to his quarters, sat on his bunk and at last removed his glove. He had not been missing a hand when he had lost his last crew, but he had woken up on that beach with a hand made of metal, a crystal embedded in the palm. He had examined it many times since, but now he curled the fingers experimentally, trying to parse how the joints moved against each other and the tiny pistons slid into place. Plenty of freighter workers were missing limbs or had enhancements, but Fjord had never seen a hand quite like his before.

He had never seen one that could do what his could either.

Holding his arm a safe distance in front of him, Fjord closed his fist entirely.

A bolt of light shot out from it, quickly solidifying into a shape he had come to both recognise and learn to use as a blade. He turned it this way and that, allowing the blueish glow to chase away the shadows of his perpetually gloomy room. The edges of his vision gradually darkened until it was just him and the light. The sensation of the bunk and the floor beneath his feet faded until he was floating, hypnotized by the crackling bolt in front of him. He must have been breathing, but he could not recall the last time he had actually taken a breath.

LEARN

Fjord’s hand sprung open out of instinct, fear clawing at his throat. He looked frantically about his room but no source for the voice made itself evident. Legs shaking he stood.

LEARN

There it was again, more insistent. Fjord clenched his hand, allowing the blade to form again as he strode from his room, stumbling through the entrance bay then the galley and into the main corridor, towards the one person he knew to still be on the ship.

“Zurück!” came the cry from the engine room, Caleb swung into view, sending Fjord to a stop immediately. He was clutching a weapon his hands, one that Fjord didn’t quite recognise but which he had seen half a dozen variations of in his brief time as part of a hunting party to the Xorhassian Sector.

“Is that a flame thrower?” he asked, dropping his blade and raising his hands. He could hold his own in a fight, but against a ranged weapon with nowhere to run he barely stood a chance. “Ferglutz Caleb, why do you have a flame thrower?”

“Are you with them? The order?” Caleb asked, voice shaking and all but a yell.

“Who?” Fjord asked

Caleb appeared to physically deflate.

“I am sorry Fjord, I heard the noise of a lightsabre and I panicked.” He holstered the barrel of the flame thrower, which Fjord could now see was attached to the mysterious pack which he had stowed in the engineer’s quarters, and held his hands out.

“You’ve had a bad past with some Jedi then?” Fjord asked. The last thing he needed was someone else that Beau might be inclined to start a fight with.

Caleb’s face grew dark.

“Not with Jedi, but yes. All sabres make a very distinctive sound when they are activated, so when I heard yours my first assumption was that someone had hunted me down. Clearly that was incorrect, and I am very sorry for trying to kill you. Your hand looks very much like something that they would create, which is why I did not drop my weapon when I saw you.”

LEARN

The voice came again, and Fjord did his best not to flinch, instead keeping his eyes on Caleb who did not appear to have heard it. The message was clear; Caleb knew someone who could have done this to him. He needed to learn who that was.

“Hey, no hard feelings alright?” he said, taking a tentative step forward. When Caleb did not retreat or grab for the flamethrower again he continued to walk forward until they were almost too close to touch. “I’ve met guys who spent their whole lives at light speed trying to get away from Sith, if you’ve had a bad past with them you being a little jumpy’s understandable.”

He held out his metal hand, open a silent offer for Caleb to take it, and did his best to exude as calming an air as possible. Caleb eyed the hand nervously before reaching out with both hands to examine it.

“Truly, this is a faszinierend piece of hardware you have here.” He remarked, turning the hand gently in the light. “Forgive me for asking, but who gave you this, please?”

“Honestly Caleb, I wish I could tell you. I was in a freighter accident, about a standard year ago I think, and when I woke up I had that thing.” He left out the fact that his hand had not been damaged when his escape pod was deployed, that he could only remember the snippets of darkness and glowing eyes which came to him in his dreams.

Instead he said “I’d appreciate it if we could keep this incident between the two of us Caleb.”

Caleb looked surprised, but nodded in agreement.

“Yes, likewise. Nott will worry if she believes that I have had an, er, an episode I suppose. I take it that you do not want the others to know about your hand?”

“That’d be great. I’ll extend the same courtesy to your flame thrower for now, but it might be better if the others knew about it in case we get into a scuffle.”

“Is that likely?” Caleb asked, releasing Fjord’s hand.

“I’d hope not, but if this is a pirate starship like you suggested then I can’t guarantee we won’t be mistaken for enemies by some shipjackers.”

Caleb nodded slowly.

“I can make some tweaks to the hyperdrive, in something like this we should be able to outrun almost anything that is not an imperial model.”

Fjord desperately hoped that was not a possibility.

The awkward ticks slid past one by one until Fjord finally spoke up again.

“So, did you find any other problems? With the engine I mean.”

“Hm, oh, yes, ah, I – there was nothing major,” Caleb seemed to be grateful for a topic he could speak about comfortably, “all mostly standard for a rhydonium engine, which you should not have. Most of the strangeness that I encountered can be put down to the down-sizing; this appears to be based off the old Venator class and I am certain that you do not need me to tell you how insane that is.”

He shook his head, a strange smile creeping onto his face.

“Apart from that, the only unusual item which I found, well, Frumpkin found, was this glowing – I think that it was a crystal of some sort, but no kind that I recognise. About this big.” He indicated with his hands. “I put it in the engineer’s quarters, hold on.”

He opened the door to the small side room, an action shortly followed by a long, low meow.

“I know, I know.” Fjord heard Caleb mutter. “It was just to keep you safe, yes?”

He emerged barely a tick later, holding something glowing in his gloved hands. As it got closer, Fjord had to admit that crystal was probably the best word for the dodecahedron-shaped object, even if his vision swam every time he tried to look directly at it. It was the colour of a blue sky in a partial eclipse, a strange, swirling, not-quite-silver that could have been a different colour entirely from another angle.

“I am aware that some ships use crystals, but I have never seen any like this. Do not worry,” Caleb said, immediately causing worry to curl in Fjord’s gut, “it was not attached to anything, and it did not appear to have been at any point. It was tucked away in a corner.”

“Huh.” Was all that Fjord could offer in response.

“I am happy to take a closer look at it when I have fixed the acceleration compensator, but it does not seem to do anything apart from make your eyes water.”

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that. It’d be a nice thing to keep, but it might be worth a fair number of credits to the right buyer, maybe one of those collector types?”

“I doubt that I could guess the value my friend, but I can certainly study it when we are moving.” Caleb returned the object to his room.

“I would advise that you move quickly if you do not want the others to know about your hand, Nott has just informed me that they are on their way back.” He said as he was walking back over to Fjord, briefly lifting his hair to display a small contraption made of copper wire which hooked over the top of his ear.

“Right, thanks for the heads up.” Fjord answered. “If you want any help clearing that room of yours out just shout for me or the others, right? I’m sure Beau and Jester would be happy to help.”

“Of course, thank you.” Caleb called after him as he retreated once again to his room. He had barely got his glove back on when he heard the thunder of footsteps in the entrance bay.

“We’re back!” cried Jester’s voice. “Fjord, where are you? We found this really cute shop on the way back and I got you something.”

“I’m just in my room.” He called back, bracing himself as his door slammed open.

“So check this out, okay, we were walking back from the cantina and we took a slightly different route back because Nott saw something shiny and cool looking, and Nott’s really, really cool by the way I think we might be like best friends now. Not better friends than you and me and Beau, but still, like, really, really good friends. Oh, and maybe not as good friends as with the Traveller, but like, you get the idea.”

Fjord couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling.

“So anyway, we went down this little alleyway and there was this little trinket shop and we bought this.” She held up a small, glittering device on a short chain. “And look, it does this if you spin it.” She flicked it with one finger and it spun, undulating into a number of different shapes and colours. “And I thought it would be good for your room, because it’s really boring in here right now. I mean that’s cool if you like that, but it’s not very fun for anyone visiting you, you know?”

“Thank you Jester, I really like it.” Fjord replied, taking the device from her and holding it up to the little light which his room had. “I’ll find somewhere real nice to hang it, I promise.”

“You had better.” She said, crossing her lekku twice behind her back. “So what’s up with the ship, did you ask Caleb to take a look at the engine yet? How soon can we go?”

“We ain’t going anywhere in this state Jester.” Fjord sighed before continuing, “Caleb says the acceleration compensator’s out of commission. He says he can fix it, but it sounds like it’ll take a while.”

“Aw frang!” Jester exclaimed. “Did he say how long exactly?”

“I didn’t ask.” Fjord paused for a beat before blurting out “Jester, he knows about my hand.”

“Oh.”

“He found out by accident but it sounded like he might know who did it.”

“That’s really good Fjord!” Jester beamed at him. “You can finally find out what happened to Vandren, I’m really happy for you. With me and Beau’s help of course.”

“I certainly hope so Jess.”

They were interrupted by a klang from the general direction of the entrance bay.

“Can someone get out here?” Molly’s voice sounded strained through the wall between them. “We’re about to drop this thing.”

Yasha murmured something indiscernible from due to the distance between them.

“Alright, I’m about to drop this thing. A little help here please?”

Notes: Hi again folks, second update today because the feedback on The Saga Begins was so amazing. Speaking of, the lovely jmercedesd asked for a bit of a species breakdown for everyone so here we are:

Caleb & Beau: Still Human, but that might have slightly different connotations in Star Wars canon than real life so link to wiki included here.

Fjord: Falleen, although he can just about pass for a few other spiecies with the right sort of disguise.

Jester: Twi'lek, because even though there is a species in the Star Wars universe that is basically Tieflings just making her that would feel like a bit of a cheat.

Molly: Chiss. There are actually plot reasons for him being a different species to Jester, but that's spoiler territory.

Yasha: Probably Diathim but I'm still considering that one.

Nott: Yoda's Species because Star Wars handed me a goblin on a platter and I wasn't going to ignore that.

I'll reveal Caduceus when he shows up, although I do know what he is.

As ever I do not own any of the characters or concepts contained within this fic.

[special-agent-fiction]

Hoist The Colours

One-Shot, Prequel to COTB - Jack Sparrow x OFC

The plan had been to sail the Caribbean together until they the deck of their beloved Wicked Wench splintered beneath their feet from old age. But the Wench had splintered early and now Jack was out for blood; he'd summon the Pirate Lords himself if it meant getting Her out of Beckett's clutches and back at his side, where she belonged.

The King and his men stole the Queen from her bed, And bound her in her bones. The seas be ours and by the powers, Where we will, we'll roam.

Yo, Ho, haul together, hoist the colours high, Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die.

Now some have died and some are alive, And others sail on sea. With the keys to the cage, and a Queen to save, We lay to Fiddler's Green.

Yo, Ho, haul together, hoist the colours high, Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die.

The pearl has been raised, from its watery grave Its Captain searches the seas. A call to all; pay heed the squall, Let it blow you home.

Yo, Ho, haul together, hoist the colours high, Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die.

The King and his men, stole the Queen from her bed, And bound her in her bones. The seas rose up to take her back, And sat her on her throne.

The rope was burning the once soft palm of her hand as she used it to lean over the side of the ship she was currently stood on. The water was awash with debris from the decks of both ships as cannons blazed back and forth between them with men on both sides running to-and-fro securing cargo and reloading cannons.

This conflict had been on the cards for days and it had only been a matter of time until the ship that had stayed largely on the horizon came into full view and started firing on them.

There was little chance they’d all walk away from this but she didn’t care; her only concern was for the row-boat that had departed from them yesterday and whether or not it had reached safety.

“They’re blowing us to smithereens, Captain!” She turned from the enemy ship to glance down to her first mate and the terror in his eyes. “What do we do?!”

“Give ‘em everything we’ve got!” She called down to him, her hair whipping about behind her as another blow rocked them all. “Jones!” She shouted for the man again as he turned to scurry away. “Our masts are looking a little bare up there.” She nodded upwards. “Let’s make sure they remember who holds this ship.”

He flashed her a grin before turning and striding to the front of the helmsman’s station and bellowing down to the crew.

“Hoist the colours!”

The black flag inching its way up towards the azure sky above them was one of the most glorious sights she’d ever seen and clearly her opposing Captain agreed judging by the increased curses resonating over to her.

The cannons were giving them all they had and she’d never been more proud of her crew; they were all going to die here and they knew it but not one had abandoned ship. This was a cause they would all fight for; the East India Trading Company be dammed.

She winced as a particularly nasty hole was suddenly blown into the side of them and wondered how much longer they were going to be able to hold out until water began pouring in and dragging them down.

Just a little longer. She urged the wood beneath her feet. C’mon girl; just long enough for him to get away.

The ship seemed to respond to her as a cacophony of cannon fire rang out and the opposite ship almost toppled. They recovered quick enough through and the sight that greeted her was enough to make her want to vomit over the side.

“Ready the wat-” The order died on her tongue as a single flaming arrow soared across the small gap of water and embedded into their main sail; its tip dragging all the way through, spreading the fire until it hit the deck with a clunk.

The flames were everywhere in a mere heartbeat.

The sails were being ravaged and fire slithered down the rigging as it spread across the ship. The deck was now bursting apart with screams and the scent of burning flesh reaching her.

The arrow had done its job and the distraction it had caused was enough for a few well-placed shots to breach them completely. They were lurching and there was little she could do to stop it.

The rope slipped from her fingers as another shot sent the ship shuddering and then she was falling, falling from her ledge and into the waters below; limbs splayed as her beloved ship was gradually being consumed with fire.

She hit the water with a back-cracking thud and her last sight was of a ship turning to spill its contents on the other side of the ocean. Everything was too warm as she sank further into the depths of the sea she had never believed would betray her in this way. Her eyes flickered closed as the underwater pressure consumed her.

And with that, the Wicked Wench was lost.

Memories of hands wrapping roughly around the tops of her arms and dragging her from the depths she had sunk to, were fuzzy. But, as her eyes fought against the crusted flecks of salt coating her face, she knew they had to have happened.

The cell she’d been slung into was dismal to say the least. A single lantern hung opposite her bars and cast only a mere shadow of light into the square room, though no light would have surely been preferable as when her eyes finally snapped fully open, all that surrounded her was a dusting of straw acting as a carpet and a threadbare mattress which she promptly recoiled from once she realised that it wasn’t a shadow under her cheek, but a stain.

The salt had dried on her skin and was now tearing her apart with every move as she scrambled from the scrap of fabric and curled into herself on the opposite wall. Her hair continued to drip down her back, further soaking the flimsy white shirt that had been so good at keeping her cool in the baking heat on deck but was now chilling her to her bones thanks to the sliver of wind smoking its way through the cracks in the walls.

She let her eyes flicker back closed as a whirlwind of memories bombarded her all at once. She could still smell the plumes of smoke rising up from the alight sails of her beloved Wicked Wench. Another shiver rolled down her spine as she realised that she was likely the only survivor.

Head bowed in prayer, she whispered a thanks to all the men now at the bottom of the ocean for their sacrifice before whispering a plea for the safety of their departed leader – god, she hoped he’d made it.

She let a small sniffle escape her before resting her head back against the wall and letting her eyes flicker closed in a desperate attempt to escape this dreary cell and her likely execution if only through her dreams.

They say that Shipwreck Island is one of those places that’s very hard to find, unless you know exactly where it is. With no fixed plot on any map, the secret isle was a guaranteed safe-haven for all who sailed under a jolly-roger.

But, to those who were more than mere residents on the island; those who knew the twists and turns of the Devil’s Throat and the wonder that the long-dead volcano at the heart of the island held, it was the epicentre of piracy itself.

“Takes my breath away every time.”

She hummed her agreement; eyes fixed on the magnificence at the centre of the secret cove high above sea level. The wrecked hulls of long retired ships was a glowing, living mass as they sailed through the mouth of the Devil’s Throat and towards the ships docking at the hidden city.

“C’mon love.” Jack nudged her as she once again lost herself in the beauty before them. “Thought you’d be more excited to come home.”

A slow smile stretched across her lips as his words: home. While many called the island itself home, only a handful could lay claim to the cove.

“I am.” She assured him. “But I’m far more concerned about what my father will say when he sees us sailing in together.”

“He doesn’t scare me.” He promised, a hand sneaking around her back to pull her closer.

“He should.” She whispered, laughter dancing in her eyes as her hands slid up his chest to rest either side of his neck. “Because he’ll definitely take your breath away.” Thumbs either side of his Adam’s Apple as she splayed her hands around his throat, she emphasised her point with a light squeeze.

“I’d like to see him try.” He pried her hands away with his spare and gave her a dashing grin. “After all…” He let his hand drag up and down the soft cotton sleeve of her shirt. “…you can’t steal what is already stolen every time I look at you.”

“That’s a sickening sentiment.” She told him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping out of his arms and turning back to the fast approaching city.

“You know, you’re just like an oyster.”

“Cold, hard and grey?” She snorted. “How charming, Sparrow.”

“You hide yourself under this shell; afraid to show vulnerability.” He said, waving a hand at her as she wrapped her arms around herself and refused to meet his eye. “Because inside…” He leant closer, his breath tingling as it blew across the column of her throat. “…there’s a shiny pearl needing protection.”

“I assure you, Jack…” She turned her head slightly to meet his eye. “…if there is a pearl hiding under all of this…” She leant in and whispered. “…it’s most definitely a black one.”

“That it is my sweet.” He agreed, pride clear in his voice. “And I am proud to have played a part in its sullying.” His hand curled at her hip again as they stood side by side on the bow of the Wicked Wench.

“I think simply growing up here played a bigger part than you did, Sparrow.”

“Ay, but there’s one thing I can do that the cove can’t.”

“Which is?”

“Piss off your father.”

He gave her no time to reply as his hands turned her fully towards him and pulled her into a searing kiss just as their anchor dropped and the ship docked with her waiting father scowling on the makeshift dock.

“He’s going to kill you.” She whispered against his lips before breaking into a laugh as he did further damage to his tumultuous relationship with Captain Harrier by dropping her into a dip and stealing another kiss.

There were hands on her again; shaking her awake as she was hoisted from the damp floor and forced to kneel with her arms outstretched. Her indignant cried were ignored as red-coats blocked her view and a pair of manacles were clamped around her wrists. It was only when they were fully secure was she hauled up to her feet and forced from the cell.

“Where are we going?” She ground out as she was pushed forward through the dungeon of cells and around corner after corner. “I said: where are we going?” She growled at the British soldiers; their stoic faces doing their King proud as they led her up through the layers of the dungeons. “Are you all deaf?”

“The Director wants to see you.”

“Director?” She asked, swallowing a curse as she was nudged up a set of stone stairs and almost tumbled into the pair of red-coats at her front. “Such a strange way to source actors for a play; destroying ships and drowning a crew.”

“Not that type of director.” A red-coat at her back drawled.

“Pity.” She sighed as they reached the entrance to the dungeon and she was thrust into daylight and forced to cross the stone courtyard of the fort. “I do a magnificent Juliet.”

She fell silent as they re-entered the fort and moved through its labyrinth of corridors until they reached a set of particularly opulent doors.

The red-coats in front separated to open the doors and with a quick nudge from behind, she entered the room.

“Apparently you put up quite the fight.”

Her eyes snapped from the tables of trinkets that filled the room and settled on a figure stood behind a hulking desk; arms folded behind his back as he stared out to the ocean. She felt her stomach roll at the voice of the man she had being doing her utmost to out-sail since his arrival in the Bahamas.

“I can’t take all the credit.” She replied, swallowing any nerves and letting her manacles clang as she stepped further into the room, eyeing a few items that would no doubt bring a small fortune when sold on. “My crew were magnificent.”

“And yet, not magnificent enough to save their lives.”

“Maybe if they’d been given a fair chance…”  The man laughed. “A flaming arrow was cheating and we both know it.”

“But it did its job and now the Wicked Wench is little more than a pile of ashes floating on the waves.”

“You always have been the type to carry a grudge, Beckett.” He turned to fully face her at the sound of his name; the endless blue behind him framing his opulent clothes. “Pity you couldn’t reach us in time to claim your actual target.”

“Yes, my men did report that Jack wasn’t among the crew; congratulations on the promotion, Captain Harrier.” She offered a mock curtsey at his words. “Tell me where he is and I promise your execution will be quick.”

“I’ll take slow and painful, thanks; at least it’ll be memorable.”

“Where is Jack Sparrow?”  She shrugged and turned to the map covering an entire wall of the office; squinting at the small flags adorning it. “Where is he?” Beckett asked again, slamming his hands onto the surface of the desk as she shrugged again. “I will have you flogged.”

“I don’t care.”

He let out a low growl at her indifference and she watched from the corner of her eyes as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

“Then I will steal you from your bed every night and bombard you with questions until you crumple from exhaustion.”

“Wasn’t sinking the Wench enough?” She spat. “Wasn’t killing all those men enough for you?”

“Jack Sparrow is a thief; he deserves to be punished.”

“They. Were. People.” She ground out; rage filling her as memories of finding men, women and children chained up below the deck of Jack’s beloved ship. “If anyone deserves to be punished it’s you. All we did was set them free.”

“Jack Sparrow stole from me; my cargo, my ship and my good name.” Beckett rounded the desk to stand in front of her; eye to eye. “And so, I intend to steal from him.”

“You already sank-”

“He calls you his Queen, does he not?” Her spine stiffened and her chin lifted as he smirked at her. “News will reach him wherever he is, and I will take pleasure in knowing that I have stolen his most treasured possession…you.”

She couldn’t breathe. Every intake of air she took was met with a steel trap preventing it from reaching her lungs.

“Just a little tighter, Miss, and you’ll be perfect.”

She let out a whimper at the words and dug her nails deeper into the chair back she was holding onto for dear life as two women wrestled her into the most restricting corset Beckett had presented to her.

“How does that feel, Miss?”

She straightened, or at least tried to, and ran her hands down the sides of her boned figure. She sneered at the sight of her impossibly small waist in the floor length mirror; it was sick that this torture device was considered not only fashionable but a necessity for every woman in ‘civilised society’. Give her breeches and one of Jack’s old shirts any day.

“You’ll look just like a princess with that waist.”

All she could do was nod to the women as they scuttled off to collect the next layer of her outfit.

She’d been Cutler Beckett’s prisoner for almost a fortnight now and ever since their reunion in his office overlooking the bay of Nassau, everyday had been the same; wake, have lungs restricted in the latest boned cage, try and figure out how to move in a horrendously petticoated dress and then try ignore the two guards constantly at her back as Beckett paraded her around as his newest trophy.

“The East India Trading Company will revolutionise the Caribbean and with a known pirate, who has sought my forgiveness for her wrongdoings and pleaded for a second chance, at my side; there’ll be no stopping me.”

News had to have reached Jack by now, wherever he was, and she just hoped to God that he would stay away from here and get back to the cove where he can lay low for a while. But she knew better, and Beckett knew better so with every shift of the wind she begged whatever cruel God that watched over them to detain Jack for as long as possible.

“Director Beckett had this made specifically for you, Miss.” Eyes fixed on the horizon she hadn’t even noticed the women return. “You’ll be the talk of the Caribbean in this.”

The layers of frills and unnecessary skirts were on her in an instant with the dress’ three-quarter length sleeves encasing her arms in silks dotted with pearls. The women kept ‘ohhing’ and ‘ahhing’ as each new design element was revealed to them but she couldn’t focus on any of it, couldn’t give her usual nod of agreement because her prayers had not been answered; for breaking the horizon was ship with no naval marking on it and a figure practically hanging from the main mast as it stood high above the decks among the sails.

She didn’t know the ship; didn’t recognise the dark wood or the dyed sails, but she knew that figure; knew the pose and the steely determination that would be in his eyes as they settled on the white mansion high above the bustling port town.

“I hope I’ll look as pretty as you when my time comes, Miss.”

“Hmm.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him; her heart was thumping uncontrollably as her corset continued to constrict her and fear gripped every bone in her body. She wanted to knock him off that mast and force the ship around – he couldn’t be here; Beckett would kill him.

“You’re so lucky, Miss, to have man such as Director Beckett.”

Another hum of agreement left her at the words.

“You make such a beautiful bride.”

That one caught her attention and her eyes snapped from the incoming ship to the woman stood before her.

“What did you say?”

“You make such a beautiful bride.” She repeated, a light smile on her lips as she straightened the lace cuffs of her sleeves.

“Bride.” She repeated. “I’m no…” She trailed off as the woman stepped aside and left her staring at her reflection in the floor length mirror. “…bride.”

She was resplendent in ivory; the silk flowed over the copious amounts of skirts like water running down a sail and her bodice was a tapestry of pearls coming together to make intricate shapes and patterns. There was lace trimming her sleeves and the line of her bust and her hair had been coiled into an elaborate bun with curls falling everywhere to emphasise the undisturbed fall of the sheer veil cascading down her back.

“I…I…”

“Don’t you like it?” They asked. “I don’t know how you couldn’t; I’ve never seen such a beautiful wedding dress.”

“Wedding dress.” She repeated; her mouth dry, breaths shallow and mind spinning.

“Mrs Olivia Beckett; doesn’t that sound splendid?”

They’d had to drag her from the house. She’d refused to move from the room once her mind had caught up with Beckett’s plan. The maids had been confused at her refusal and then her shouts and kicks as two red-coats barged into her room, clasped her by the arms and hauled her down the staircase.

She was still protesting now; her arms fighting the hold of the man who’d been forced in beside her to stop her from trying to make a break for it, even as her carriage rolled through the streets.

She felt sick; everything was churning and it was only getting worse as the noise of the streets increased as everyone tried to get a peek at the bride of the benevolent Director of West African Imports and Exports for the East India Trading Company.

“Let me go.” She tried again, wrenching her sideways. But his hold remained strong despite her maids warning to treat her gently lest they ruin the dress. “Please.” She whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want this.”

“And His Majesty doesn’t want pirates roaming the seas.” The guard snapped. “Anyone else would have been hung but you’ve been saved.” He reminded her. “This��” He sneered at the dress and the cheering citizens. “…is far more than you deserve, pirate.”

She fell silent at that. it was true; she’d been spared the gallows but this was as much of a death sentence. To be cut off from the sea, from Jack, was like cutting out her heart. She belonged on the deck of a creaking ship with one hand on the wheel and the other keeping the sun from her eyes; it was in her blood and in her soul and Cutler Beckett knew that keeping her here with the sea so close but so far away, was better torture than any.

“The seas are ours.” The guard said as the port’s church came into view. “And this is a reminder to anyone who sails under that dammed flag that no matter where they go; we’ll find them.”

Apparently, the church was full; there wasn’t a single empty spot in the rows of pews as men and their wives had flooded in from all over the Caribbean to attend the wedding with some of Beckett’s former Calabar colleagues having made the crossing too.

It made her feel sicker. How hadn’t she realised this was his plan? How hadn’t she heard anything about a wedding? With people travelling from so far, this had to have been planned well in advance and yet it had still been a heart-stopping shock to her.

“Get out.”

She threw the guard a glare before taking the outstretched hand of the soldier stood outside the carriage and allowed him to help her down. The crowd broke into cheers at the sight of her; glistening in the mid-morning sun with her veil dancing behind her on the ocean breeze rolling in from the port.

“Move.” The order was low as she was once again taken by the arm and led inside, the man careful to not show the people that she was being dragged here against her will.

The church’s antechamber was cold as she was forced to face the sealed double doors that when opened would reveal a packed room and an empty aisle.

“Shouldn’t my father be the one doing this?” She asked, glancing to the man who had appeared from nowhere to take her arm. “We can contact him and postpone this until he arrives – it would be the proper thing to do.”

“I doubt your father would be displeased with your stand in.” He said, eyes twinkling slightly as he dropped her arm and held out a hand. “Governor Weatherby Swann.” He introduced himself.

“Olivia Harrier.” She said, accepting his hand and letting him place a kiss to the back of it.

“My dear…” He began as he re-took their position. “…we all know who you are.” He laughed softly. “I was delighted to receive your invitation; I’m on my way home to England after visiting Port Royal ahead of my public appointment and a quick respite here is much appreciated before I continue on to collect my daughter Elizabeth.”

She forced a smile onto her face as she realised that he didn’t know this wasn’t what she wanted; that no one likely knew that Beckett was forcing her into this as his prisoner.

“She does love a wedding and is most put out to be missing one so high profile as this; a reformed pirate and an East India Trading Company Director? Well, it’s the talk of England let alone the Caribbean, or so her letters tell me.” He continued.

“I’m glad you could make it, Governor.” She murmured as music began to play from inside the church. “But you see, this isn’t-”

She was silenced as the double doors swung open and the congregation turned to watch them. Governor Swann gave a gentle tug on her arm and then her feet were moving of their own accord; taking her further into the building and away from the open doors through which the civilians would watch.

She reached the end of the aisle far too soon and with a fatherly pat on the shoulder from Governor Swann she was forced to turn to the priest and try and ignore the smug smile on Beckett’s lips.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church…”

She tuned out after that; not willing to pay attention to the endless rules of marriage that he was setting out before them. She couldn’t believe this was happening; it had to be a nightmare…or was this hell? Had she drowned that day on the Wench and this was her hell? Her eternal punishment for turning her back on God was Beckett. Yes, that sounded about right.

She was forced back into attention as Beckett took her hands and turned her to him.

“Wilt thou, Cutler Beckett, have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will.”

“And wilt thou, Olivia Harrier, have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

She couldn’t speak. She had completely lost the ability to speak.

The church was silent as they waited for her answer but she couldn’t do it; she couldn’t pledge her life to this man under duress. She opened her mouth to turn to the priest and tell him everything; that yes, she was a pirate, but he was forcing her into this against her will and without permission and she didn’t love him! She loved the man with kohl around his eyes and gold in his teeth.

“She will.”

Her head snapped back to Beckett as he stared at her, the priest nodding solemnly and explaining to the congregation that she was simply nervous. They tittered in reply and the Bible was lowered to reveal a single gold band sat upon its pages.

“I, Cutler Beckett, take thee Olivia Harrier to be my wedded wife; to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.” He recited reaching out for the band as her left hand was left suspended in the air. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” He slid the band onto her finger and smirked. “Amen.”

The hearty applause of the congregation was cut through by cries of shock emanating into the church from outside. Everyone turned, even her, as the commotion grew closer.

“What is-”

“I object.” The two words reached them clearly even though their speaker was stood far away at the entrance to the church. “We are at the objecting part, aren’t we?”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. She laughed hard with her head thrown back and relief filling her body.

“I missed it didn’t I?” The man asked, sauntering into the main chamber and leaning against a pew. “She’s always telling me I need to work on my timing.” He said, nodding to Olivia. “I’m always the last to…arrive.”

Her laugh intensified as the woman he’d been directing his words too blushed a scandalised red.

“How did you get out?” Beckett asked, her laughter dying in her throat at his tone and the tightened hold on her hands.

“Really got to work on your security, mate.” Jack said, pushing from the pew and making his way down the aisle. “With everyone making sure she didn’t do a runner…” He flashed her a grin. “…no one was keeping an eye on poor old Jack.”

“Get him.” Beckett’s order was low as he glared at Jack, the pirate having come to a stop at the very end of the aisle with her outstretched arms still in Beckett’s tight hold being his only barrier. “Guards…” He called out again, Jack’s eyebrow arching as no one came rushing in. “GUARDS!”

“Amazing what a quick tap on the back of the head can do.” Jack mused, picking at his fingernails boredly. “Not seeing the butt of a pistol coming? Doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence in His Majesty’s men.” He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He reached out and pried Beckett’s fingers from her own, sliding the gold band from its place on her left hand and dropping it back onto the priest’s open Bible. “…I really must get on with this rescue; timing is everything you see.”

She needed no encouragement to take his hand and let him lead her from the church, the congregation and her groom too stunned to move.

“Jack.” His name was a whisper on her lips as they stepped out into the sunshine. “How-”

“No time for explaining, love.” He told her, nodding to the unconscious guards dotted around the place. “We’re not out of the woods yet.” He made to pull her forward, through the gaping crowd but she stopped him.

“Thank you.” She breathed, her free hand pulling him close by his shirt to press their lips together.

“Anytime, love.” He mumbled against her lips before letting out a groan at the sight over her shoulder.

“Not so fast, pirates.” She echoed Jack’s groan as Beckett’s voice neared them; the man clearly having found his courage as he watched them lock lips from his spot at the altar.  

The still assembled crowd of civilians gasped at the sight of the pistol clutched in his hand and its barrel wavering between the pair. They must be sight, she mused. Her, in all her finery clutching to Jack; an undeniable pirate with his red bandanna tied around his forehead and a belt full of weapons at his waist.

“I was willing to overlook your criminal past, Miss Harrier.” Beckett continued as he too stepped out into the sunshine, the congregation all twisted in their seats with necks craning to get a view of what would no doubt be the most talked about wedding for years to come. “I was willing to raise you above your station and into a symbol of the East India Trading Company’s generosity.” The pistol steadied and focused directly on her. “I see now that you deserved none of it; that you are and always will be a pirate.”

“I wouldn’t do that, mate.” The tip of a sword was at Beckett’s throat immediately as the Director’s thumb pulled back his pistol’s hammer.

“You’re right.” She released her hold on Jack’s shirt and stepped out of the comfort his arm around her waist promised. “I am a pirate.” She told Beckett. “Always have been, always will be.”

She stepped forward and with a quick tug on the pistol’s barrel pulled it from his hold, leaving him completely vulnerable to the steel at the column of his throat. Her finger was quick on the trigger and the cries and shouts from the crowd as the gun went off, shooting upwards into the open air, filled the quiet space as she turned to address the gathered people both within and outside of the church.

“So, let this be the day you all remember as the day you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow…” the sword retracted from Beckett’s neck with a small nip at the underside of his jaw. “…and Olivia Harrier.” She dropped into another mock curtsey, the pistol between her fingers a stark contrast to the ivory of her gown.

Their hands intertwined instantly as she rose and then they were off, barrelling through the streets of Nassau and down towards the port.

When Cutler Beckett eventually stopped staring at the smudge of red coating is fingers as he pulled them from the thin line under his chin he would no doubt release a particularly wonderful strain of curses and all but kick awake his fallen men.

Olivia grinned at the thought.

And when they regained enough consciousness to follow after the fleeing pirates, they’d find nothing but a pile of sheer material that had once been a veil laying in a puddle of mud halfway to the ocean that she’d victoriously ripped from her hair as they ran and let fall behind her.

Obey and serve? Not likely.

“You’re late.”

They came to a skidding stop at the docks of Nassau. Jack was barely out of breath as he greeted the frowning man waiting for them at the wooden planks raised slightly above the water level but she was gasping for air, one hand clutching at her corseted waist; fingers poking around for some sort of relief from the cage, as her eyes landed on the older man pointing to a hastily tied up row boat nearby.

“Who are you?”

The man’s gruff demeanour changed as his eyes landed on her; hair slightly matted from the ripping out of her veil but otherwise still picture perfect in her wedding dress.

“Joshamee Gibbs, at your service.” He lifted the worn top-hat from his head and fell into a slight bow.

“A pleasure.” She replied, her smile strained as her eyes lingered on his clothes, specifically the insignia of His Majesty’s Royal Navy partially hidden under his heavy coat. She turned to Jack. “You trust him?”

“Gibbs saved my neck before.” He told her as the man straightened, his posture one of pride as Jack spoke. “Years ago; on a voyage with Teague.” She nodded but eyed the man carefully. “And he’s the best rum smuggler in the Caribbean.”

“Well in that case…” She held out her hand to him. “Olivia Harrier.” He shook it once, a smile on his lips. “Now, please tell me your plan doesn’t include me getting into that…” She nodded to the row boat. “…in this.” She gestured to her dress and watched their smiles fade. “I’ll be little more than a beacon for them to shoot at!”

“Not to worry.” Gibbs assured her as Jack moved to untie the boat. “You’ll be fine; once you get to the Pearl, no ship will catch up.” He slid his coat from his body and wrapped it around her; the dark material hiding just enough of her.

“The Pearl?” She asked, letting him push her towards the row boat. “Where did you get another ship from?”

“Long story.” Jack said, hand outstretched to help her down. “Gibbs…” He turned to the man once she was seated; the coat gripped around her. “…take what you can.”

“Give nothing back.” The man concluded, hand raised in salute as Jack pushed off from the dock.

“I like him.” Olivia noted, watching as he took off from the docks to no doubt relay misleading information to whoever came looking for them. “He seems a good man…for a pirate.”

They were cutting through the waves of Nassau with ease as Jack’s arms pushed and pulled at the oars in a well-practised rhythm honed from years on the ocean.

“What ship is this?” She asked, neck craned as the small row-boat turned and revealed the side of a magnificent ebony hull. “I’ve never seen one like it.”

“It’s more familiar than you’d think.” He told her, grinning at her confused frown as he gave a final pull of the oars and lined them up alongside the ship.

She let her hand skim the surface of the worn wood, the grain seeing strangely familiar to her as a rope ladder unfurled from the deck to reach them. Her hands gripped the coarse rope and she let a smile bloom on her painted lips at the familiar feeling of a ship beneath her palms. She pulled herself upwards with ease letting the hands of the waiting crew pull her up and onto the deck as she craned her neck to take in the array of the tied-up sails blowing in the slight breeze.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Harrier.”

“Thank you.” She brushed at the material of her dress, legs reacclimatising to the gentle rock of the ship as she glanced around crew. “Whose ship is this?” She asked again, hearing Jack’s boots land on the deck behind her.

“Mine.”

“Yours?” She turned to him, a crease between her brows.

“Well…” He took her hand and led her across the deck, the crew parting to let them through before scuttling off to their positions and jobs. “…ours.” He led her up, onto the helm and placed her hands on the ornate wheel. “Feel familiar?”

“The Wench.” She breathed, the grooves in the wood too familiar to be anything but those of her beloved ship. “But she was lost; burned to a crisp.”

“And now she’s here; returned to us.”

“Gibbs called her ‘The Pearl’.” She reminded him.

“Aye, felt she needed a re-name, what, with all the bad blood.” He stroked the wheel, his hand covering hers as he stood behind her. “And so I welcome you, Olivia Harrier, aboard the Black Pearl.”

The ship sprang to life instantly; the sails unfurled and caught the breeze perfectly, letting it push them outwards as the sound of an anchor retracting filled the air. The move from stationary to sailing was seamless, not even a judder rocked the deck as the anchor fully retracted and they began to drift from the cove that had hidden them from the whole of Nassau.

“Now…” Jack breathed, his voice filling the shell of her ear as their fingers intertwined atop the wheel. “Show me that horizon.”

[black-strike-otp]

part 33

Ver short and uneventful thing-a-ma-doober. Yeee.

Silence greeted Novastrike as she stirred from her slumber. The tang of energon still lay upon her glossia as she smacked her lips and sat up on the empty berth, searching around. Memories betrayed her; foggy, giving little information as to what happened last night after they’d returned.

There was one thing she noticed most obviously though, even before her optics began to flicker online. The smell of death appeared less strong. Blackout was no longer close by.

Sure enough as she scanned the room, there was no sign of the dark-armored mech. The medic seemed to be her only company, and she was in the opposite corner of the room tinkering with something.

Glancing down at her chassis, Nova examined the missing armor plating and the mended sections of her frame that were still intact. A cover had been sealed temporarily over her while she healed to keep out debris and for modesty’s sake.

How was Blackout fairing, she wondered.

Memories began to surface in the forefront of her helm, and Novastrike swiftly pushed them back down with gritted derma. Not now.

“You’re awake,” a chiming voice spoke up with delight.

Nova glanced towards the medic, her vision bleary. The larger femme approached her and sat down what appeared to be pieces of armor. Her armor, in fact, Novastrike noted.

“Here we are, freshly repaired. This section here,” she indicated with her digit, “That I’ll be adding is a completely new replacement. Guard made sure it was crafted according to my specs exactly. We’re lucky that the workers that droid brought had the equipment necessary to smelt the proper ores we had to make it.”

“Oh, thank you,” Novastrike murmured. “Do you know where Blackout is?”

A mixture of understanding and sympathy grew on the medic’s faceplate. It made Nova feel acutely nervous and vulnerable.

“He left the room about half a jour ago. I assume he went to speak with Guard, but he hasn’t returned since.”

“Is he repaired already?”

The medic snorted. “Hardly; his protoform still is healing from the initial battlefield we rescued him from and now he has fresh wounds to tend to. I assume he’ll return later. It’s hard to keep a hound down, I suppose.”

Novastrike knitted her optic ridges unhappily. “He’s not a dog,” she sniffed.

“It’s an expression because of his nickname, Novastrike. I don’t mean it literally.”

“He’s. Not. A. Dog,” she repeated, her voice a hiss of anger.

A vent escaped the medic. “Certainly, Nova, my apologies,” she breathed. “Now, can you do me a favor and sit up fully so that I may examine your chassis and energon levels?”

Obediently, the small femme straightened her posture.

As the medic got to work on scanning her frame, Novastrike’s thoughts drifted. Slowly creeping into her memory banks, she began to replay the image of that mech’s face as she fired upon him. The holes in his chassis, the ones that tore into his helm.

The gaping mouth he had staring at her as his optics flickered offline as he died.

She shuddered violently, getting both a biting remark from the medic as well as a look of concern as she was reminded to sit still.

By her own servos, that mech had died. The one thing, the single most important thing she never wanted to happen in this war and she’d failed.

Her tail moved to tuck closer to her frame and ears drooped slightly. There was a thrumming pain in her spark filled with guilt and misery. It felt like she would never be able to let this go.

~

“Engines are reading just fine, looks like we’ll be ready to go by nightfall,” Blackout reported, scanning his optics over the datapad information he’d retrieved.

“Thank you, Blackout,” the rogue femme stated, accepting the datapad as it was offered to her. “But shouldn’t you be at the medic’s? What are you doing wandering around?”

Blackout offered a waned smile. “Just offering my services,” he rumbled.

The femme didn’t appear impressed. “Whatever,” she stated, “But if the medic comes searching for you, I’m not going to lie to her. Primus knows I don’t want to put on a medic’s bad side.”

A few humored notes escaped Blackout’s throat in response. He watched as the femme turned to join some of the other Rising Star occupants that were in the room, showing the datapad as she spoke.

With the femme gone, he went back to work on checking the ship’s diagnostics. The ship was fueled. Someone would need to examine the Thrusters before they took off. Readings from the stabilizers were in fine working condition from the readings and the gravity simulator had taken no damage and was still functional as per normal when tested.

“Blackout.”

Slowly, he turned his helm to look at the mech who’d hailed him. He didn’t particularly want to face the mech right now, not yet.

He turned to face Guard, and that usual twinkling grin of someone who was way too happy to be real was upon his face. There was a spark of life in his optics that shone. Clearly he was in good spirits at the moment, or hiding how he was feeling well.

“Shouldn’t you still be in the ward on recovery?” the elder mech inquired in his usual chipper tone.

“I plan on going there later,” Blackout grumbled, “Once I’ve helped make sure that we’re good for launch.”

Guard’s optics judged him intensely. After a few moments, he nodded. “Very well. Carry on.”

Slightly surprised by the placid response, Blackout watched as Guard turned to hobble away.

It was really hard to understand that guy. Just the other night he’d be threatening to kill him, and now he was lumbering around like someone had put some circuit boosters in him.

Wait, was he on circuit boosters?

Blackout squinted slightly as he watched the mech leave. Nah, still too aware of his pain to be drugged. His limp was still pronounced and dragged alongside him. It was likely a drugged bot wouldn’t care or realize the pain of their appendage. He’d probably be trying to bound around more than take the precaution he took when he walked.

Crazy old mech, Blackout thought to himself as he turned back to examining the scanners.

~

Bidding a final farewell to the droids that had aided in repairing the ship, the Rising Star took off as dusk fell and the stars just began to twinkle over the horizon. Behind sand dunes, the Autobot’s watched as they took off with displeased expressions.

Freshly fueled and with the ship in nearly prime working condition (minus the still fragged missing upper deck, but there was no salvaging that so most of its remains had been salvaged to aid in repairs), there were few worries on board for the crew. They had energon, tools, replacement parts, and more. The automaton’s didn’t put up too much of a fuss about losing some of their equipment and spare parts after they’d realized just how much of a pay grade they were going to be making. Even with the extra jours put in of manual labor and strenuous working conditions that day, they’d still come out way ahead.

Which is exactly how Guard felt, funny enough. Credits or no credits, they were off on a much lighter note than they’d been in months.

~

The medic glanced up from her tray of tools she’d been organizing to look to the door. Just as she’d suspected to be entering, a shadow loomed in the doorway and crept into the room quietly.

“About time you showed up,” the medic scolded.

Blackout ignored her, nervously scanning the room first and foremost. He spotted Novastrike on the same berth they’d been recharging on earlier. She appeared to be recharging again now.

“Is she...?”

“Resting? Yes,” the medic stated, “as you should have been doing today. I had all day to patch her up, she should be just fine. She’s tough. Now, lets get you on another berth and get to work, shall we?”

The femme picked up a rotary drill, a devilish grin on her faceplate.

Blackout’s optics grew supremely bright in contrast as he stared at her.

A snicker escaped the medic. “Just kidding. I won’t be needing this at all.”

Grimacing, Blackout growled out his next words with annoyance: “I’ve met Decepticons less nefarious than you.”

“Than me?” the medic asked, placing a servo to her chassis. “My, that is surprising. Now come, sit. Lets see about fixing up the rest of your junk yard of a big hulking frame.”

Grunting in response, Blackout stepped as quietly as his frame would allow towards a free berth. Which, to anyone’s surprise who knew the mech, was remarkably quiet for a bot his size and class.

Scooting around the counters and sets of tools, the femme approached Blackout and sat down a medical grade energon cube. He made a face like he wasn’t too pleased with the idea of drinking the foul tasting slag, but accepted it without comment.

Without missing a beat, the femme pivoted on heel and stepped over to gather some supplies. She sat them down in a specific order alongside the edge of the berth and shoo’d Satan’s arms so that he raised them for her to inspect his wound.

Casually as she began to work, the femme spoke up: “Running away from your problems today, mm?”

“What problems?” Blackout questioned suspiciously.

A quiet ‘hmm’ escaped the medic. She didn’t reply, and instead continued to pry at his chest for a while, allowing him to drink in peace.

Shifting his armor and position as requested, Blackout allowed the femme to poke and prod where necessary to review the extent of his injuries. Slowly she began removing armor that would need to be reworked overnight, and then started fixing damaged energon lines and circuits with extra sealant.

More sections of metal were removed and scrap metal fragments that were sitting in his frame or embedded in his protoform were pulled free. Blackout winced just slightly as they’d tear out of his body.

“She missed you today, you know.”

Blackout narrowed his optics slightly at the comment. “I was around,” he stiffly commented, feeling irked at the femme’s remark. As if he cared.

When the medic didn’t answer, he added on, “I was helping to make sure we were ready for evacuation of Epads.”

“How considerate of you,” the medic stated. “Perhaps next time though, you’ll remember you’re a patient. I did not discharge you; you were not ready to be in service.”

“I was only-”

Blackout snarled as the femme seemed to purposefully jab her scalpel a bit too deep into his frame. The blade skimmed over interior sections, a clear threat.

“You aren’t to leave the med-bay without my permission, is that understood?” the medic snapped quietly, not wishing to wake the smaller patient in the room. “You’re not helping yourself when you go wandering around like a hard-helmed fool. We could have easily comm’d in the day the Autobot’s tried attacking us to let Guard know what was going on, and today the crew could have worked just fine without your assistance. From now on, if for any reason you’re put under my care, you stay put. I don’t care if it’s an emergency, I don’t care if Cybertron is resurrected and we’re going home, I don’t care if you’re scared out of your processor of being in the same room as that delightful femme, you stay. Do you understand?”

Slightly baffled, Blackout glared daggers at the medic as she spoke. Whatever retort he may have been building up in his thoughts evaporated as she mentioned the other femme in the room.

Scared? Why would he be scared of being in the same room as Novastrike? She was hardly a problem.

“Delusional femme-” Blackout threatened.

The scalpel lightly jabbed his insides.

Wincing, Blackout growled furiously. “Fine. Yes. Alright.”

Frag, it was like everyone on board this slagging ship was ganging up on him all at once.

“Good,” the medic breathed pleasantly. The swift change in her attitude was just as shocking as Guard’s was.

As the medic got back to work, Blackout turned his optics off to the side. Partly because the last thing he wanted to do was look down at the insulting, threatening, slightly crazy medic and partly because he was furiously running over what she’d said in his helm.

Scared of being in the same room as Nova? Preposterous. What in Primus’ name would frighten him about that femme?

< Losing her? Hurting her? Letting her down? Thinking she might consider you a monster after witnessing you destroy all those Autobots right in front of her and after she’d done it she realized just how evil and- >

Blackout slammed the door in Scorponok’s face, scowling off into the distance. Nobody asked the damn scorpion his opinions anyway.

[3wishes-rpg]

Time Management

I drafted this out this past Saturday, and I think I’ve broken a personal record for the past few years for the sheer number of WORDS put out in a day. Submitted for your approval, an unsuspecting mechanic discovers she has a destiny, and is summarily displeased by it.

It had been one of those days in the shop. Those days, Meg thought with a sardonic grin to herself, had been coming fast and furious lately. She knew a big contributor was the big race next week - there were more racers than usual coming in looking for new modifications or upgrades to their gear or wanting a long-standing problem to finally be fixed. Those were usually requests that took up a lot more of her crew's time, and backed up the more normal orders they got on a daily basis - the run-of-the-mill general maintenance requests and repairs to everyday mecha, the merchant carts and family vehicles that her shop lived on. Everyone had been working overtime to keep up the pace, and it showed. There were fewer shouted jokes across the floor, fewer challenges over who could remove wheels faster, fewer arguments over who could take a break when. While she admired her crew's stamina, it worried her. Too much work was where you started to see mistakes crop up.

Meg was on her back under a racer, one of the sleek new X79 models. It belonged to an old friend of her father's, and it had some of the most stubborn nuts she had ever dealt with. Twice now she had rolled back out to get a wrench with more torque just to get the damned things to budge. She would have gotten the steam wrench a long time ago if it hadn't been for the tight space she was working in. It was not the day for difficult hardware, not with the backlog of requests they had.

"Come on you sorry excuse for scrap," she muttered, struggling with one of the larger nuts, "I swear you are going to move or I'm going to take a torch to you and you're not gonna like it.  I don't have time for this. Who the hell thought putting this many bolts on a steam panel was a good idea? Damned new designers, think they can jack the price up by adding more metal wherever they can get away with it. Should really trim down on the weight or this thing's gonna suck water like a drain. Come on...come on..."

With a grunt, the nut gave, loosening enough that Meg could get it off the rest of the way. She let out a sigh of relief and took the moment to collapse back onto her creeper, giving her arms a rest. "This is gonna take me all damn day," she sighed. Looks like it was going to be another late night.

Around her, the normal sounds of the shop buzzed, the buzzes and whirs and clanks and rumbles and the occasional human discussion between mechanics or with a customer that had dropped by to see how their mech was doing. She allowed herself a moment to take the sounds in, the sound of ratcheting as engines were hoisted, the steady hiss of a steam line being tested, the gentle but persistent click of the gears of their more clockwork charges. Even in the midst of chaos, those sounds brought her a certain sense of peace, of things being right, even if they were a little hectic.

"Oh, shit."

That, however, was not a good sound. Meg started to roll herself out from under the racer as voices came in rapid fire succession.

"Tell me you locked the racthet."

"I did, but that bump wasn't the ratchet. It was the chain!"

"Okay, undo the ratchet."

"Got it? Hold it steady, please don't break before we get you down...shit I think it's getting worse."

"Oh fuck, Naveen, what are you doing? Get your ass out of the way!"

Meg sat up and froze at the sight that greeted her on the other side of the floor. Ranjit and Sakshi had been working on one of the larger fighting mechs, including its equally large engine block, which had been extracted from the body and was now suspended twenty feet in the air with a chain that was trying very hard to break one of its links. Even from the distance she was at she could tell the chain they had chosen was too weak for the job. Ranjit and Sakshi were struggling to bring the block down gently before its weight did the job for them. This in and of itself would have been bad enough without Naveen frozen in fear below it, clutching a box of parts. Staring at the mass of metal swaying above his head, he had the look of a cow in the headlight of an oncoming train.

"NAVEEN!" Meg bellowed, "MOVE IT!" The engine jolted as the broken link slipped more, causing Naveen to flinch, but do no more to escape the metallic spectre looming over him. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck..." Meg broke into a flat run towards Naveen, racing to get to him before the engine did. By now the other mechanics had heard the commotion, and were watching in various states of horror at the scene unfolding.

The engine slipped again, dangling by the barest bit of metal. One more swing, and she knew it would come crashing down on top of him. She couldn't get to him in time.

Not today.

It would crush Naveen. Small, sweet Naveen. He was barely fifteen, wanted to learn how to be a mechanic. She initially was skeptical about him, but he was eager and bright and willing to learn. Figured he could help with the simpler jobs while he got some training.

Not today.

She would have to tell his mother what happened, that her only boy had been killed in a horrible accident. She would have to watch the look on the poor woman's face as she crumpled in grief. Meg knew all too well that feeling, of someone ripping your life out from under you. First her mother, then her father. Both times it felt like someone had stomped her soul flat, like someone was killing her over and over again. She wouldn't wish that on anyone.

NOT FUCKING TODAY.

She spared the shortest of glances up at the engine. Listen to me you fucker. Wait.  In the name of everydamnthing, WAIT.

For a moment, she felt...something...shift. Her chest felt hot, and not from the sudden burst of exertion. This was deeper, more basal, as certain as the shift of seasons and the persistent ticking of a clock. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but it seemed like the sway of the engine slowed, just for a moment, its groans growing deeper in pitch, even as the chain finally gave up and snapped. The engine hovered in the air, just for a moment, maybe even for a moment longer than it should have under the relentless pull of gravity.

It was enough.

Meg took a flying leap into the air to cross the final few feet, letting out a roar of determination as she grabbed hold of Naveen, her momentum dragging him out of the path of the engine as the moment passed and it fell to the ground, the crash deafening. Meg clutched the boy to her, shielding him from the debris as bits of metal flew off the destroyed engine.

A stillness hung in the air, just for a moment, as everyone stared in shock at what just happened. Then came the rush to Meg and Naveen.

Shaking, Meg the released the trembling boy, who seemed to come to his senses as he focused on her. "You okay?" she asked.

"Y-y-yes..."

Meg breathed a sigh of relief as she backed up and stood. "Good, because that was THE FUCKING STUPIDEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE. Did you NOT see that thing was about to fall? Did you NOT hear us all yelling at you to get out of the way? That thing would have KILLED you and I was not about to clean up that mess!"

"I-I'm sorry--"

"You'd better be sorry! Your mother would have been heartbroken! What were you even doing walking under that thing? You know better than to walk under hoisted equipment! Because things like this can happen, and then we'd have to explain to everyone, 'yes, he was squashed flatter than naan because HE WASN'T PAYING ATTENTION.'"

"Hey, Meg, lay off the kid," Sakshi said, keeping her distance from the raging mechanic, "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time--"

"He WOULDN'T have been if he had been paying attention!" Meg turned to the wreck of the engine, picking up one end of the broken chain. She glared at Sakshi and Ranjit. "And you two, what in the name of last night's dinner were you doing using a number 20 chain when it needed at LEAST a 30! I'm surprised the damn thing didn't snap the second you lifted it out of the mech. Now we have a broken engine and a client who's going to be looking for it, and you're going to have to rebuild the damn thing! You're fucking lucky we don't have a broken mechanic too!"

Ranjit stared at the ground, "We know," he said, "It's just that the 30 was being used and we thought the 20 would hold--"

"Oh for the love of--use the right chain for the right job and we won't have this problem! You can wait 15 damn minutes for the chain to free up! It's not like there's a dearth of work around here!" She whirled on the engine. "And YOU, you fucking worthless piece of scrap, I have half a mind to turn you into slag right now! You nearly killed my mechanic!"

"Meg--"

"You're not worth turning into spoons! You're a fucking piece of junk!"

"Meg--"

"YOU'RE JUNK, YOU HEAR ME! A BUCKET OF BOLTS NOT FIT FOR MONKEYS TO LIVE IN! MURDEROUS JUNK!"

"Meghana!"

"WHAT!?!"

Meg felt strong hands grab her firmly by the shoulders and spin her around. She found herself staring down Kavi, the older man's gaze stern, but concerned. "Meghana, calm down. This was a horrible accident, and we're all grateful that no one was hurt. We were all scared for Naveen, but you're flying off the rails. Take a breath."

Kavi was using his Fatherly Mentor voice and her full name, and it cut through the firestorm of emotion boiling over in Meg's head. With him steadying her, she realized how badly she was shaking. She took an uneasy breath, fighting to regain control of herself before the mixture of fear and relief and anger and guilt threatened to overrun her.

"Look, we're all a little overworked, and we're incredibly lucky we didn't get off worse than we did. Perhaps it would be best to close up and let everyone rest for today."

"But the jobs--"

"Will still be there in the morning. This has disturbed everyone. We'll all do a lot better with a decent night's rest."

Meg frowned. She didn't like it,  but Kavi was right. Things were so chaotic that more mistakes were bound to happen if they didn't regroup, and next time they might not be so lucky. She nodded. "All right," she said, her voice calmer. Kavi released her, and she turned to the rest of the mechanics. "But first thing tomorrow, before anyone starts work. Safety meeting. It's clear we need it. Now let's get this mess cleaned up."

"Correction, we'll get this mess cleaned up," Kavi said, "You and Naveen need to rest. You've both had more than enough excitement for one day."

"I'm fine, I'm perfectly capable of helping," Meg said, straightening.

"Except for the fact that you keep threatening to tremble apart. That was quite a stunt you pulled." Kavi smiled, a little twinkle in his eye. "Best not make a habit of it. Go upstairs, give yourself a chance to calm down. And don't protest! The best thing you can do right now is get some rest. I can handle things here. We'll be ready to go tomorrow morning, Captain."

Meg sighed. Much to her chagrin, she mentally admitted he was probably right. Everyone needed a reset. "I'll be upstairs if anything's needed."

She turned and left the workroom floor, leaning against the door after it shut behind her. With the adrenaline beginning to clear, Meg suddenly realized how completely exhausted she was, her muscles screaming in agony. Her dive hadn't been that straining, had it?

Through the door, she could hear her mechanics as they began to clear away the debris.

"I--I'm really sorry, everyone. I just--those parts were needed up front and I was rushing and then I saw the engine over me and--"

"It's okay, Navi, really it is. Don't let the Captain's fit get to you. She's just worried about you, is all. Sometimes chewing you out is how she shows she cares. Just how she is. Go home and get some rest. Might want to have someone look you over too, just to make sure nothing's broken, okay?"

"Okay...thanks everyone. See you tomorrow."

"Damn, guys, you're lucky she didn't bite your heads clean off. That was one major screw up."

"Oh, lay off! We feel shitty about it too. I had no idea the chain would snap like that."

"Either way, you're lucky she was able to get to ol' Navi in time, or he'd be a smear on the floor."

"No kidding. I swear, it really is true what they say about catastrophes. It was like that damn engine was moving in slow motion. I'm just glad she was able to get to him. We were so busy trying to keep the damn thing from falling, we couldn't move."

Their voices faded as Meg made her way up the stairs. She was definitely feeling it now, right down to her core. Her chest still burned, undoubtedly leftovers from her mad leap. She felt like she could sleep for a thousand years, and that still wouldn't be enough to compensate. First item on the list, though, was getting out of her work clothes, covered in sweat and dirt and dust from the crash.

She shut the door to her room and began to peel off layers. She wasn't even entirely sure she wanted to worry about washing, the call of sleep being much too strong. Nidhi wasn't going to be home for another couple of hours. She could catch a nap to take the edge off, and do a quick rub down with a cloth before dinner.

Meg sighed with relief as she got the last layer off, the skin around her breasts free to breathe at last and no longer uncomfortably pinched into place. She made a mental note to look for a new seamstress on her next day off. Somebody out there surely knew how to make comfortable underthings for people with more than a lime's worth of breast flesh. Her skin bare to the waist, she crossed the room to where her favorite post-work tunic lay.

She passed in front of her mirror, catching a glance of herself.

She stopped.

For a moment, Meg was certain she was just seeing things. There was no logical explanation for why there would be a light coming from her chest. She stared at her reflection, turning this way and that. No, it wasn't a trick of the light outside. The glow was definitely from her skin.

She looked down. The mark on her breast glowed a soft white, but the strokes of the symbol were clearly visible. Gingerly, she touched the skin. It felt like the rest of her. This was utterly impossible.

She stared at her reflection again, dumbfounded. There were stories...rumors she remembered people whispering at school, of people blessed by gods long forgotten, with marks on their skin and extraordinary, downright magical abilities. People who would come forth to help the world in times of need. People who were pursued by agents of the Empress.

Extraordinary abilities.

Like willing an engine to slow its descent.

Meg's trembling worsened and her legs finally gave way. She collapsed onto her blankets, her gaze still locked on the mirror. This wasn't happening. This couldn't happen. There was too much at stake. There was Nidhi to think about, and the mechanics, and the shop. What would happen to them if someone found out? What would happen to her?

"Oh...shit," she breathed, "I don't have fucking TIME for this."

[sleepy-apricot]

Of the Highest Security

Voltron fic. Post Season One (Not taking into account the Season 2 Trailer or clips. Written 3 months ago). Plot- driven. Lot’s of sub-textual Klance. Genre: Adventure/Scifi. 10 Chapters total. 20k.

Description: This fic follows Lance as he’s launched into an unknown region of the Galaxy to a solar system that hasn’t been invaded by Galra yet. However the natives have also heard of Voltron and don’t want to be associated with it either. The authorities get suspicious enough about an unknown species (Lance) taking scrap metal from the junk yard for the past three months on one of their planets, Cortaalis, to put him in a maximum security prison. Now that he’s the talk of the solar system, he runs the risk of the Galra finding out where he is. (Keith will wiggle his way into the story early on too tho)

There’s swearing, some angst, and some violence, but that should be it.

Hope you enjoy!!!

Chapter 1/10: Split

He missed Blue the most. If anyone had asked him three months ago he would've said he missed his crew, Shiro, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Coran the most... hell, even Mullet floated into his mind with great frequency. But that was three months ago. Three months since the Wormhole Incident.

And it had only been a week and a half since he's been forcefully separated from Blue. Her easy and smooth tone had been the only thing to remind him to be hopeful at times like this. He dug his head into his hands and pressed his knees closer to his chest. He remembered everything so clearly...

...

The moment he went through the blue swirling vortex the feed on his helmet was cut off. No more teammates by his side. He was all alone. The starry scene in front of him, while serene, panicked him. Everything was silent for just a second, save for the soft hum of Blue's engines he had grown accustomed to, like being in an airplane. The way he could hear her breathe even though she was technically a machine. He gasped for air, fogging up the inside of his helmet.

"Guys?"His voice was a sharp contrast to the dead silence of space. But no one responded.

He tried again, feeling his stomach twist. "Can any- AGH!" He was interrupted by a loud jarring crash. His head reeled as he was jerked around, the only thing keeping him from becoming a human pinball being his seat belt. His head smacked against the back of the seat, sending an intense wave of pain through his rattled skull. Something had collided with Blue. Something big. There was a loud metallic lurch deep inside Blue's chest.

"What was that!?" He asked her, one eye closed. Every light and every color had intensified to the point of nearly blinding him. Blue's head turned and he jumped. It was a giant asteroid. She kicked, trying to get her engines working again, but they were failing. And now the two were being rocketed away, incapable of changing direction. Blue's control room was creaking and shaking, giving away to intense nausea that threatened to soil his armor and anything else that happened to be in the vicinity.

Land. Blue's voice echoed in his mind. Find land.

Lance rubbed his eyes, but his vision would not clear back up. His hands flailed around him trying to locate the familiar grips of the controls. Her engines may be damaged, but he could at least try to steady themselves. He blinked several times and then let out a curse. He could see nothing. Too many sounds, too much light. One of his ears muted out all other sounds except a high pitched ringing noise. One of his hands found a grip.

He pulled with all of his might on the single control. Lance could not tell by sight whether it was working, but the turning in his stomach calmed down and alleviated the nausea somewhat. Good good. She's steadying. With the other hand he checked his head. His elevated heart rate sent a new wave of adrenaline through his body with every pulse, each beat causing an explosion in his brain. He wrenched his helmet off his head, sending a spray of sweat across the deck. "Ooww..." He chocked out through gritted teeth.

Land. There's a planet. Lance took a few deep breaths, trying to block out the pain. If he could connect with Blue he could in theory see what she could see. He knew how much trouble he'd had connecting with his lion like Shiro could do. And he was not in the best head space to try it now. Nonetheless a fuzzy image came through. I did it! Yes! I guess it only takes a concussion and free floating through space. Blue was still spinning. The stars were still a blur. But she was right, there was a greenish planet not too far off. In fact, a whole solar system of six or seven planets of various sizes lay out in front of them, with an enormous sun right in the middle.

He wanted to worry about his teammates so badly, but the situation would not allow it. Lance only hoped that they hadn't had the misfortune of colliding with a giant space rock like he had.

"Okay Blue. Let's make this landing as easy as it can be." He tightened his grip on the control, and untensed his body. She guided him to the second control, and he prepared for a tough impact. The planet should have been far enough away that it would have taken a long time to get pulled into its atmosphere. No, but we're going fast enough we'll get there in a couple seconds. Here comes the hard part Blue. He felt her nod in wordless agreement.

Lance hoped the little he'd retained in high school about physics would save his life. His lion's velocity increased as they were pulled into the planet's atmosphere. The stars were replaced with the first clouds under the thin outer layer of life sustaining gases. Time to pull up. He pulled on the controls, hands trembling and knuckles white under his now uncomfortably warm armor. It's gonna get hot, I'm sorry girl. He apologized to his lion. Some of her would burn up on their way down. But he planned to minimize that as much as he could. By pulling up every time they gained too much speed, he could slow the heating process, and maybe they could live when they reached the ground.

Each time he pulled up he felt the slight relief of gravity putting a strain on his bones and his limbs. It was hard enough holding on to the controls when the entire deck was rattling non stop from the turbulence of actually free falling, but when gravity applied, it was a whole new story. His fingers were numb. He was squeezing all of the blood out of his clenched fists. His eyes hurt from squeezing them shut too.

When he got close enough to the ground to see it, a new rush of fear seeped into his mind. The land was much less land as it was a green blur. We're going so fast. Blue...

We will live. She replied curtly. She extended all four limbs.

Ha. Cats always land on their feet, huh? He forced a smile. He may have felt humor on the inside, but his body was devoid of any discernible emotion. She did not reply, but he could feel her cold hard glare burning through him. Just like old times. Still got it. He let one eye open to test his sight. The colors were still bright as hell, but the ringing in his ear had subsided and he was able to see what was in front of him. They were close now. Lance was above a forest, about three hundred feet up still. Blue's body was smoking, Lance's own armor searing. They were flying nearly parallel to the ground. His grip loosened. Just a few more seconds and they would have impact. The lion wavered side to side. She was attempting to land on her feet, even though her back two legs were mangled. This is it.

Put your helmet back on. She ordered, and he did. They braced for impact.

...

He was brought back to reality. The dull repetitive thunk of a prisoner's giant fist one cell to his right had been droning on for hours. He did this a lot. Others near him shouted and complained, some even going so far as to insult the guard every time she walked past, and trying to bypass the light green electrified energy shield, only to be shocked and howl in pain. Lance had only ever tried it once. And the scar left on his right hand was, he had to admit, a powerful deterrent.

Lance didn't belong here. The only reason he'd been put here was because some had gotten suspicious about who he was.

He understood why they were wary of his identity. Apparently this solar system was not yet part of the Galra Empire, and their leaders were not happy about the idea of joining them. But at the same time they despised Voltron, and wanted nothing to do with them either. Any association meant being noticed by the Galra, putting their planets at risk. That made sense.

Throughout the last two and a half months he'd been living as a regular citizen of the green planet known as Cortaalis. He spent his days wandering around the nearby cities trying to find the parts to repair his lion. Her chest was split wide open, and massive dents and slashes scarred her. He knew very little about mechanics (that was Hunk's department), but no one knew Blue better than Blue, and she'd been walking him through it. The problem was it was incredibly slow- going. After every long day he slept in the control deck. He could understand why people would get suspicious of the same guy desperately looking for spare junk metal and various different reactors. Lance had made some acquaintances along the way, those who would help him find what he needed, or a close proximity to it. That was a plus. He had to admit it was a pretty nice place to live, too. The cities were large and they were advanced enough for him to find what he needed for Blue."When I fix you up, we'll be outta here and we'll find our team." He kept telling himself then.

His fatal mistake was when he was interrogated by some officials, some strange orange tinted aliens, he'd accidentally used the name "Blue". That was enough for him to be shipped off to the highest security prison on the planet of Cortaalis. This was the place they sent the baddest of the bad.

"'We'll find our team'. Yeah right." He muttered to himself now. He'd overheard from the guards the other day that news had gotten out about a paladin being discovered on Cortaalis, and the entire solar system was in an uproar now because of him. They'd all been ordered by whoever was in charge to keep quiet while they decided what to do. Some argued that they should just hand him over, others wanted him killed, and still others were in favor of simply shipping him out in a space pod to fend for himself.

His only comfort was that to his knowledge, they had not found Blue yet.

"Hey, keep it down over there!" The guy on the other side of the guy banging his fist against the wall yelled at Lance.

"It's not me Dreks, it's the other guy again." He replied, voice muffled by his arms.

"Oh! My apologies Lance." He sputtered. Dreks was his only ally. A giant dark green alien with some humanoid features about his like his face and hands, but everything else was a wide array of different limbs and spikes. His shoulders were always hunched, and he was missing an eye and many teeth. Dreks was arguably the scariest person locked up here. And yet he was probably also the nicest. I mean, he's still pretty screwed up in the brain. I heard in the mess hall that he'd stabbed four other prisoners with one of his own spikes he'd torn off of himself to use as a shiv. But Dreks been sympathetic toward him. And plus, making friends with the scariest guy there guaranteed his safety.

"It's cool bro." He said unenthusiastically. Lance was just tired. he wanted to sleep. All of this noise made that damn near impossible too.

[itsworn]

Take 5: Leah Pritchett – Full NHRA Winternationals Interview

Leah Pritchett has made a name for herself with a hard-knock but fun-loving perspective on drag racing. The day she turned eight years old, she began racing Jr. Dragsters with her older sister under the eye of her father (a Bonneville 200 MPH Club Member) before claiming Division 7 championships in 2000 and 2001. She eventually moved into a family-built, 7-second altered Bantam. The family sold it and built their own nostalgia Funny Car, in which Leah earned her fuel license, before she stumbled into Steve Plueger’s 1972 Mustang Mach I, a bodacious and nitro-thirsty vintage Funny Car that gave the Redmonds, California-native an addiction she couldn’t shake (winning the 2010 March Meet and NHRA Hot Rod Heritage Series) until she had found a seat in Top Fuel. That chance would come down from Don Schumacher himself, who incidentally signed off on her nitro Funny Car license a decade prior before piloting the NHRA’s purest and most maniacal machines. Since then, she’s set records in several nitro burners, claimed world championships (in NHRA Factory Stock), and has laid it all on the line to get there while grinding her knuckles to the bone to make ends meet.

HRM] New Year, new season; what are some of the things you wanted to work on? What’s new, any kind of resolutions for this season?

LP] I would say for sure our resolution is to have a better 2019 than we had in 2018, which is pretty difficult to do. We set a couple of track records. We had two national event wins, and we finished fourth in the world. We always strive to be better, but there are a couple of things that are new this year. One would be our new co-crew chief Neal Strausbaugh. [Former co-crew chief] Joe Barlam was with us — I’ve been with him for three years and he moved back to Vandergrift, and we got to adopt Neal. [He’s] a proven world champion with two world championships to Tony Schumacher, and he’s been working with Guido and [John] Medlen over on the Infinite Hero car. So he’s back on a dragster, and I’ll tell you what, there’s nothing like the first day of school. That’s what I would consider today- the first time back in the car for the first time ever.

We entered the race season without going to a test session, and I know we love to make everything sound like it’s roses and daisies, but ultimately it’s no secret, the sport’s extremely expensive to run and a test session is actually more expensive to run than an actual race. So we weren’t able to test in the off season. So, Mopar has had a ton of involvement with Funny Cars and brought body designs and aerodynamics, and, in this off season, we worked with aero and in CAD and through engineering. We think that we’ve come up with the best chassis for flex. Additionally, we had changed our fuel system to cut weight and have better flow, and on top of that, we designed a new throttle pedal for geometry to open butterflies quicker for a better reaction time.

Those are three major things that we did in the off-season with our car that we decided, within 72 hours of starting the Winternationals, not to move forward with. What we decided to do was take our tried and true spare car, that we have right up here, that we knew. We know what it’s about; we’re familiar with it. We’re familiar with that fuel system, and we know last year that we had a hot rod with it. The question is asked all the time, “How important is momentum from one season to the other? We had awesome momentum in Vegas and were low qualifiers in 2018 and [we] want to take that momentum into 2019. So wrapping all that up, we did a lot in the off season, but that doesn’t mean that we started off 2019 with it. What we’re going to do is bring those changes out when we need to.

HRM] You have an awesome relationship with your crew. You’re mixing nitro, you’re with boxing each other while pulling pins on parachutes and everything else, but you’re also one of most hands on drivers we’ve seen in any motorsport. Where does that come from with you?

LP] So the reason I’m as hands on as I am is because I don’t know any different coming from junior drag racing to nostalgia cars, and then into Pro Mod. I did not go racing if I didn’t load the trailer, if I didn’t tie the car down, if I didn’t service the transmission. So I had to do all those things just to race. As I progressed into the professional driver category, there are times when I don’t need to do those things, but I feel like I feel like I’m not racing anymore. Like if I’m just driving that race car, that is a small portion of why I love racing. It is the camaraderie, and I feel if I’m not progressing then I’m plateauing, and nobody in this extreme sport plateaus. So for me, being hands-on is important so that I can continue to learn, so I can continue to be a better driver and actually understand.

From a fuel perspective, one of the reasons I love it is it has a ton to do with timing. Not just the scientific factors of dialing in a tenth of a percent and how it fluctuates with temperature. It’s how much fuel you put in the car based on who you’re going to run, how much fuel you burn idling, and how much weight that takes away the distribution of your launch. All of those are factors that I’m at the nucleus of; all of those pieces I get to communicate with and understand. If we’ve got a fresh new pair of slicks,  we may need a half-gallon more fuel, I’ve got to do a longer burn out. Since that’s going to take more time, we’re going to burn more fuel, so that way you stay consistent with your minimum weight — car and driver — at the end of the run, so you don’t get disqualified. They’re just all the little tiny pieces I enjoy because I’m not able to do any large jobs here, from a time perspective. I maximize the ones that: A) I understand [laughing] and B), contribute to and feel like I’m feel like a cohesive part of the team more than just the driver.

HRM] When you make such a big change, like a co-crewchief — especially with someone who was prevalent during the last three years which were very turbulent, but ultimately successful — how do you kind of re-approach a situation? You mentioned it was going back to Day 1 at school — what was that like?

LP] Literally we have our huddle team and everyone figures out, ‘What position are you, what position are you?’ When it comes to starting line procedure, communication throughout the day, who’s doing just the smallest, mundane things like who’s wiping the tire, or who’s going to the top end? We have one less crew guy than last year, so that means every one of us picks up a job that was otherwise done by somebody else, but you all have to do it in the same amount time. When you work with a team for a certain amount of time, you understand their communication style, so our new co-crew chief is behind the car, communicates to the person in front of my car of how to maneuver back enough to make sure we’re on the right tracks. There’s a lot of different ways that you could do that- from quick little hand gestures, to all the way over the head. So you actually have to predict what the driver’s going to do, to give that signal so that the delayed to the driver is actually on time. These are things you can’t do until you’ve learned somebody’s style. And today was about learning that style and everybody got an A-plus.

HRM] The background that a lot of people don’t know is that your family was prevalent out at Bonneville Salt Flats. What were some of the memories that kind of hooked you on racing with your time out there on the salt?

LP] One of my very first memories is being two years old and having salt water up to my knees. I’m like scratching and itching it, and there’s nowhere to go. I mean, when it rains- it’s the salt flats, right? You know it’s not going anywhere. Watching my dad work a whole year for one event, Speed Week, the dedication… it was almost like the Olympics. I would drive with him, it’d be 16 hours one-way, and then you go race that one run- a five-mile run. Then, the car needed to go to impound and be turned around and make that backup run to get that record. That’s what we spent that week doing. Then you have another whole year to prepare for that very next week.

That’s like the extended version of drag racing to me. People don’t understand why so much work goes into 3.6 second runs. I look at it and I think, ‘Man, I saw the most important man in my life working entire year for one week. So we get the better end of the deal.’ Yes, my daddy’s a 13-time land speed world record holder, a world’s fastest Ford-powered Thunderbird, naturally aspirated and that thing’s heavy. It’s 7,500 pounds. I had made it a dream to eventually find that car, get it back, and race it myself, retrofitted. That would be a cool, close connection. I know where it is, Jim Han has it. We tried to hook up and make it happen, but there’s only so many hours in the day. Hopefully,someday, I get to go back out in the salt and actually beat one of my dad’s records.

HRM] Were there any particular cars he had or that you worked on that stuck out to you?

LP] Yes, for sure. So I grew up with 1978 Ford truck. It was a mustard yellow, and I love them to death now. My Dad said that he had 18 Mustangs throughout his life. He just found them at a junkyard, bought them as scrap, fixed them up, and sold them. One thing he told me that I remember for life is, ‘Don’t ever get connected to a car.’ You hear people all the time: “That’s my Suzy, that’s my girl, that’s whatever.’ He was able to get past that and either find a better one, or build a better one, but Mustangs were his jam. I grew up in a Ford world, but actually, I never really latched onto them. I felt like that was my dad’s thing and people would make fun of us because he had a Chevy dually pulling his Ford race car. I think one of my- I don’t want to say dream sports cars, but a car I have special feelings for is the De Tomaso Pantera.

HRM] Young racers learn the hard way that racing is really expensive, and that never changes. So with your career, coming up from grassroots, what kind of advice would you pass along to a young racer seeking sponsorship?

LP] I wish I would’ve learned more about business-to-business earlier. In this sport you become a business person and you become a race car driver. So learning to create marketing budgets for a company is a very specialized job. It’s not just about slapping a sticker on the side of a car and being like, ‘Sponsor me!’ There’s way too much noise in advertisement for that to really stand out. Go to a company, ask them what their needs are, where are they hurting in business, or where would they like to grow. Then reflect on your own network and how you can put two companies together to do business: benefit from each other, create a marketing budget and boom- you have some cash to go racing.

HRM] In motorsports you always have different kinds of characters, so we’ll ask about three different characters who may have had an influence on you. The first person is: Who would you always want to bring good news too- who you don’t want to disappoint?

LP] Don Schumacher. Yeah, the person that I always want to break good news to and I don’t want to disappoint is by far Don Schumacher. Not just because he’s my boss. He’s like the dad I never had. So yeah, I don’t want to disappoint him because he will let you know, he’s not shy to let you know when you mess up. To impress somebody who has done so much, so many great things- it’s hard to impress him. It’s hard to impress Schumacher, so if you impress him, you’re having a good day.

HRM] Next up, who is the person who gave you a chance you think you may not have deserved?

LP] That’s a great question. I would give Roger Burgess the credit for giving me an opportunity I probably didn’t deserve- to have that elite of a team and operation, because I was an unproven driver, and also because there were so many other people at that time [who were] deserving. So they say don’t compare yourself to everybody else. No, that’s, that’s exactly what you do. I felt I wasn’t mechanically knowledgeable enough, yet I’m racing that car knowing that there were people who probably deserved to be in that car more than I did. That drove me then to be that person who deserved to be in that car. So Roger Burgess is probably not ever going to see this, but thank you for that opportunity, and I definitely would not be here without you.

HRM] And last, especially since you were so involved in sport so young, who is a role model that you looked up to?

LP] So that’s always a super difficult question to answer because there was not. I saw the void. I was here at this race, at the Winternationals, and looking around and I think, ‘There’s not a young female professional driver that’s out here winning and somebody that I can relate to.’ So I saw a void and I thought I could fill that void. It wasn’t six months later that Ashley Force came out, and what Ashley did was exactly what I wanted to do. I was heartbroken — and I mean, I was young. I was like 14 years old and she was 18 or 19, and I thought, ‘I’m done, like she is filling this void that this sport really, desperately needed. My opportunity is now going to be gone.’ And I let that get me down, until I thought more about it and decided, ‘Well, you know, not really. She has a much different path than I have. I can get there on my path, and we can inspire people two different ways.’

HRM] Do you have any advice for other females in your position, coming up through the ranks?

LP] I wish I would’ve known more about street cars. I mean I was with my dad and I’m in the garage and I know race cars, but I didn’t have my own hot rod growing up because I knew that I would be in trouble with it. And if I got in trouble, I wasn’t allowed to race- plain and simple, that was it. My dad didn’t want me to be like him and get 18 tickets and be in jail. So he made sure that I wasn’t that, and then that means I also missed out on a really awesome car culture as a young. So I would say if you want to do something, do it responsibly. I was afraid to ask questions to my dad about cars, like how turbos work, and the differences of superchargers, because I felt stupid. I don’t ever want a little girl out there who has interest in cars to not further her interest because she’s was afraid to ask questions. That is one thing I’ll tell a little girl: ask questions. Don’t be afraid to sound stupid, because you know what you think you sound stupid now, just wait until you’re 10 years down the road and you wish that you knew more. Thats what I love about that guy, Todd Okuhara, my crew chief: he doesn’t make me sound stupid. I have learned more in the last 28 months, being Todd Okuhara’s driver, than I think I ever have in any of my career, because he educates me and I don’t feel stupid. I don’t want to say it’s a gender thing, but it kind of is a little bit in the sense that girls feel like they’re not operating in the same sphere of understanding and afraid of rejection by guys. When you have a super alpha leader, that’s when everybody grows.

HRM] You know, something people don’t explain a lot is that this kind of racing career comes with a lot of failure and hard lessons learned. How have you learned to deal with it?

LP] So I’m not the most outgoing person in the world, so I had to teach myself to be one in order to get to that next step. What I mean by that is when I raced with my family until I was 17 years old, we built a nostalgia funny car, partnered with somebody else and we got to a stopping point because we ran out of money. We didn’t realize how much money it took to run a nostalgia funny car, and we were dead broke. That’s when I learned, ‘Leah, if you really want to race, you’re going to have to learn how to market what you’re doing with partners that want to help.’ So I put myself out there, found Dickies Girl, my first major partner ever. And from there, I failed them. I mean we did a great job, but I didn’t really know how to do major media, and that was a failure because they didn’t renew for 2010.

At that point, I looked at myself in the mirror and reassessed. I was in my last year of college, I was working for a law firm, and I was racing, like I know nothing else in life. I put it out there, thanked everybody for racing, to that point, 10 to 12 years? I thought, ‘I’m going to focus on school and focus on business, and either build a business or learn how to do business for other companies so we can go racing.’ And at that point in 2010, I wasn’t able to race with my family anymore, but I had developed a great rapport with the racing team and paid to drive Steve Plueger’s car. Like that’s how it worked. Right? We hauled ass with it, did great. I was totally hooked and addicted, and I thought, ‘I want to drive for you, Steve, for 2010.’ But I wasn’t able to secure sponsorship, and, oh man, we were like eight days away from the March Meet! Should I call Steve and say, ‘I don’t have the money. I thank you for hanging on with me this far?’ I didn’t know what to do.’

Literally, a phone book had just been dropped off- you know, slamming against the door like once a year. I started thumbing through it and thinking who’s got cash? Who’d be down; what’s the fit? I was like Deja Vu Showgirls- that’s a great fit. We’re fast cars, I’m a young, pretty chick who knows how to work on cars, and we have a great male demographic that likes to have a good time. I literally cold-called them and asked for the manager. I said, ‘Hey, we’ve got the March Meet coming up. We’ve got 30,000 people coming out. What do you think about sponsoring me for this one race? So I drove up to Bakersfield, met them on my own. I’m a 19 year-old girl going to a strip club, in the middle of the day, to meet with these executives.

They were all-in and we won that race. From there I’m thought, ‘Hey, you know, there’s a whole series, and every spot we go in the nostalgia circuit, there’s basically a club there.’ I was able to put my first major deal together based on Larry Flynt’s Hustler Deja Vu clubs. What I loved is it was super classy, super tasteful. They didn’t make us run the logo, just ‘Deja Vu.’ If you didn’t know what Deja Vu was, you didn’t know [that it was a club]. From there, I learned to put myself out there. That was very uncomfortable for me to do, but I said, screw it, that’s all I’ve got, you know what I mean? That’s all the cards I was dealt. So I owned it.

So from trials and tribulations, I was able to progress with help from many people, and by not being too proud to ask for help. A perfect example is when Vandergriff shut the doors in April- I think April 9th, 2016. People in that room literally got up in the middle of the phone call, walked out the door. Other people sat there with their hands in their face. We’re trying to figure out how to feed their families. I thought ‘ My guys are going to keep a job somehow, I’m going to find us a race car to race.’ And we won our first race. Dom Laganda, a small time independent fuel team, said, ‘I entered Charlotte. Leah, you can drive my car, it costs this amount of money.’ And I had eight days — again, magic number eight — eight days to basically raise $45,000.

I took my guys who were unemployed. We worked on that car and we qualified it because we had the hope and dream of keeping in the points. At that race I was able to work with FireAide. [They] said, ‘Leah, we got dropped too. You know, we planned to run a Vandergriff at Atlanta.’ I had also been talking with Don Schumacher, who I’ve been dying to drive for [during] my whole career. I’m like, ‘Don think I’ve got a sponsor for one race for Atlanta.’ And he said, ‘You know, I just ordered two new trailers. They get delivered next week. We can put a team together and in about two weeks. We can make it happen.’ And it was Don believing in me because I believed in my team and myself, and we made it happen.

We threw it together and qualified in Atlanta. It was my first race in a canopy car- I had never even tested [in one]. The first time I hit the throttle, my helmet was actually too loose. What a lot of people don’t know is, in these cars, you don’t go back with the G-forces, you go back, and you go up. With my chin restraints tight like I like to have it, I went back and I went up, and my helmet came down over my eyes, down to my nose, and I couldn’t see. So at this point we’re at the 330 — and it was Atlanta, so the sun was glaring in your face — and about half-track, I’m just like, ‘This is not going to be good!’ There’s so many really cool stories, but the trials and tribulations…

I have to give credit to the Lord for giving me opportunities. Give credit to my dad for showing me how to take advantage of opportunities or see them through, and I guess I’m just really stupid and I don’t give up. Honestly, I think that’s what it is.

After we won the championship in 2010 with Plueger in Nostalgia Funny Car, I put out a Facebook post and said, ‘Thank you to everybody for this amazing support. We won a championship, and I really need to finish school. I really need to get my degree, so I’m not going to be racing anymore. I ran out of stripper money.”

That’s when Roger Burgess contacted me and said, ‘Leah, would you be interested in driving a Pro Mod? I have a company that’s interested in a female driver.’ I kid you not, I was so scared. I’ve been around a lot of Pro Mods in Sacramento they’d always be so squirrelly, and I’d think, ‘Man, those guys are insane. These guys are crazy!’ I decided, ‘Yeah, I’ll go drive a door car with suspension. I don’t know what it’s going to do but I’m going to learn how to do that.’

From there, Roger gave me an opportunity to then work for him as a liaison between ProCare RX and the NHRA; at that time they were a sponsor in the series. So I learned business development while developing my skills to drive a Pro Mod, and I felt like I was on top of the world. It was my first job outside of the law firm or any automotive repair shop, and I packed up, moved to Atlanta by myself, and put all my eggs in that basket of being that pro race car driver. I remember picking Roger up from the airport on the way to the track one day, and he told me, ‘Leah, this is my last race. I’m gonna shut the door on the Funny Car team, on the three Pro Mods, everything.’ I thought, ‘Okay, well everybody out here knows I had been wanting to drive a fuel car. I had my nitro license. It reverts back to: don’t be afraid to let people know what your dreams are, because they have an opportunity you might not know about. That’s when Dotes [Racing] said, ‘Hey, we’re looking for new female racer, would you be interested in crossing over Funny Car license to Top Fuel? I said, ‘Yeah, absolutely, but I don’t have any money.’ Dote Racing said, we can do six races a year. So I learned to grow a program from six races a year and in three years’ time to 18 races a year.

HRM] At least for us, learning from failure comes from: prior-you wasn’t going to fit into what future-you has to be to make something succeed.

LP] Those are the exact words. Yes! The prior you isn’t good enough to get you to where you want to be. So you need to mold into what you think will take you there. At the end of the day, if you get there and you’re not really you, is that really success? I think one cool saying that we had for this team was that we don’t need all the fans in the world, we just need the right ones. I think that should apply to everybody. You just need the right ones that think the same way that you do, and enjoy the same things and grow together.

So, talking about that, I hate the fact that this is so money driven that when you come to the races and you’re thinking about how is it even going to sustain? You’re focusing on sustaining and not thriving. How do you thrive and survive at the same time? That is what 2019 for us is going to be. It will be super challenging; it won’t be like, ‘Hey, we’ve got everything in the world. Let’s go kick everyone’s butt and go get a championship!’ We need to stay here and beat them on a lower budget. When we pull this off, and I’m telling you we will, it’s going to be one hell of a season, and it’s probably going to be the most proud, honored, and humbling season, but this is probably going to be the hardest working season.

HRM] A lot of people have these moments in life where you’re hanging on by a thread- short term planning for survival with the vision of the long term safety net? I don’t know if it’s right word, but…

LP] Security. The thing that doesn’t exist out here. So in the pillars of life, the foundation starts with food, water, and basically the second or the third one up is security. That means a roof over your head. Those are things that, by nature, you need. In almost every industry, everyone’s after that security, that long-term commitment. So if you don’t have that sense of security, that’s uh, that’s what makes you crazy. All the uncertainties and question marks in the off season — I don’t know how it was for anybody else out here — but coming here to Pomona, the rigs had made it. We made it, I have a sponsor for that first race. We are racing for a living and putting on one of the baddest shows in the world. Like it’s literally [taking] a pencil, and erasing that question mark from a feeling standpoint. I don’t know how to explain it. I was so happy to be here. You could have all the trials and tribulations, but the end of the day, we get to do one of the coolest jobs in the world. That’s why we fight so hard to try and keep it that way.

HRM] I’ll leave you on this simple question. What’s on your mind: People to thank, any kind of closure on that.

LP] Things that are on my mind: Our team, who has stuck with me through those question marks. My crew chief, who hasn’t left because he believes in this team, Don Schumacher, the partners that have stayed with us and grown with us. Also, thanks to Mopar, Pennzoil, Dodge, and Sparkling Ice- those are the ones that we had that we are thriving. And my mom because she thinks I can do anything. And I can’t leave out the competition, which would be my husband over there on Torrance’s team. In the off season, I spent more time in the chassis shop than I ever had before. Our big changes were developed there, and those are the guys who don’t get to go to the track- they are the shop-based crew. I feel like I’m doing this for us, like there’s literally eight of us and our partners. The amount of excitement and success I guess that they feel, even though they’re not at the track, it’s like we’re doing it for that. We’re doing it for us, but we’re doing it for them too, like the team is so big. I’d like to thank the fans for being like the coolest. Wwe don’t fit for everybody, but the ones that like what we’re doing, that gather at the ropes when we’re mixing fuel and wait to the end of the night. It’s the Mopar fans. I guess that makes me more proud to represent them — for the people that live, breathe, eat, die, and tattoo them — to win for them. For parents and my fans and my husband. And that’s not even including the factory car! That’s another planet too.

The post Take 5: Leah Pritchett – Full NHRA Winternationals Interview appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network https://www.hotrod.com/articles/take-5-leah-pritchett-full-nhra-winternationals-interview/ via IFTTT

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Skyelark Sample

A little section of my current work in progress! Hopefully in a few months I’ll be submitting it to publishers!

Wind whipped her dark red dreadlocks around her face, occasionally pelting her cheeks. She inhaled deeply, drinking in the slight salt tang of a long dried ocean and the smell of hot sand. She could smell the oil of her skiff and very faintly, the tin scent of her own prosthetic. Skyelark opened the throttle, guiding her skiff closer to the cargo hold of the Second Wind. Rust colored sand whipped below the small hovercraft’s thrusters, stirring up tiny dust devils.

The Second Wind loomed closer, the cargo hold’s main door slowly sliding open at her approach. The dark metal was sandblasted, obscuring the name on the hull. The bow bore battle scars from run ins with rock formations, rival ships, and errant cacti. As worn as she was, the Second Wind was home. Skyelark slowed until she was able to coast up the ramp. The door slid shut behind her with a solid bang. Overhead lights slowly flickered into life.

Skyelark leaned back, stretching out her spine as she surveyed the cargo hold. Four skiffs were moored in their docks, which left one spot open for her craft. Electromagnets guided the hovercraft into place, locking it into dock. She disembarked, throwing over cargo ties as she crossed the walkway. She was a little taken aback when no one came to greet her. That no one came to fuss over her cargo delivery. Normally there would be a small swarm of women desperate for their cut of the medicines and foods she’d bring back from port.

She tapped the communicator in her ear. There was no response. Skyelark leaned over a control panel, dialing in a command for a helper ‘bot to carry the supplies to a cooler room. The small helper bot, caught halfway between an oblong and a rectangle weaved its way up the ramp. At some point it had blown its axle and as much as she tried to fix it, the bot would power back on and run away. Jerking her chin, she pointed to the supplies in the back of her skiff.

“Take that to the kitchen. There’s another box that needs to go to the infirmary.”

The robot’s single glowing optic was focused on the pile of scrap. The dull green light reflected off of a particularly shiny panel.

“No, you don’t get new parts unless you do your bloody job.”

The robot made a little grumbling noise, its best approximation to human speech. Skyelark shifted stances, holding up her boot menacingly.

“Hurry up. If I come back and find out you didn’t do a thing I will disengage your sensors. And before you ask, yes, those sensors.”

The tiny robot engaged its energy arms, attaching magnetic like grips on the steel cargo boxes. Skyelark didn’t bother watching it. She had her pistol in hand as she made her way into the bowels of the ship. She took the corners at a good clip after a brief survey of the hallways. The monitor she kept with her at all times showed that most of the activity was on deck. She didn’t recognize a handful of biosignatures listed among the crew. Skyelark redoubled her pace, her grip deathly tight on the butt of her pistol. She took the last flight of stairs leading to the deck two at a time.

A loud bang echoed into the open air as Skyelark slammed her hand on the latch. The door smashed into the side of the wall, leaving a dent in old metal. She kept her gun level, ready to fire. A low gurgle of pain caught her attention, she spun, training her pistol on the source of the noise. Blood spattered across the deck, splashing her cheek. She cringed at the sight of a freshly gutted man hanging from the rigging. Her cringe only got worse when she made eye contact with her captain.

“It’s about bloody time you got back.”

“Erm, things going alright here, Cap’n?”

The captain turned, her lips drawn in a tight scowl. Normally the sight of her would send Skyelark’s heart fluttering, this time it just filled her gut with dread, particularly when her eyes landed on the wicked blade her captain held aloft. Skyelark quickly holstered her gun, offering up placating palms. She took a half-step back for good measure.

Skyelark risked a look at the deck. There were a few black-clad bodies littering the deck. Joanna, the quartermaster was busily pitching corpses off the side of the ship. She turned back to her captain, feeling a tight pang of guilt.

“I’m assuming there’s a reason why Yanno’s men decided to attack us today?”

“You mean aside from the obvious, right?”

“Skyelark! There had best be a damn good reason why I just had to kill a few men myself.”

Skyelark opened her mouth to reply only to have her captain gesture toward the helm. She groaned softly. The crew members on deck all stared at her, a few making snide comments. Joanna looked up from her grim duty, offering a wan smile. Skyelark envied the big woman; she never got the tail end of one of the captain’s tirades.

Lucky bitch.

The door to the bridge slammed shut in her face. Skyelark grunted in annoyance as she took her seat on a rickety metal chair. The chair was scorchingly hot; it burned her through her thick cargo pants. She had heard stories of people waiting outside headmasters’ offices and she could say she had a good idea of what it felt like. Every now and then she’d hear the soft ‘oooh’ of one of her crewmates as she waited. She told a few to piss off. At one point even Joanna came up to her. A large hand settled on her shoulder.

“If it helps, she only does this because she likes you.”

“Your idea of liking is very bizarre, Joanna.”

Joanna flashed a megawatt smile. Skyelark rolled her eyes as she idly fanned herself.

“Eh, cheer up, love. I doubt you’ll get anything worse than a stern talking-to.”

“The whole Yanno business wasn’t my fault.”

Joanna’s features darkened. Her nose wrinkled at the mention of Yanno’s name. “I know that, she knows that. Honestly, she’s probably just concerned, that’s all.”

The door opened. Skyelark uttered a soft prayer in her native tongue; it was a sailor’s prayer for safe passage. Joanna snorted, waving listlessly as she returned to her duties. Skyelark rose from her chair, hands dangling in front of her. She let out a soft sigh as she entered the bridge.

The helm was not a very large room. It held a display of wafer-thin monitors, a large wood and steel desk covered in maps, and two chairs. The wheel stood on its solemn pedestal, its surface bedecked in brass tones. The captain sat at the table, legs primly crossed. She had changed shirts and washed the blood off of her hands and face. Skyelark dropped into the chair across from her, her palms resting along her inner thighs in a very unladylike slouch.

“Before you start, can we just cut to the chase? I’d like to get some rest before my watch.”

At that point the cabin girl appeared, holding a tray. There were two cups and a teapot. She gave them both a curt nod as she set the tray on the table. The cabin girl was called Lily mostly due to her pale skin. Skyelark had long since forgotten the girl’s actual name. The captain poured them both a cup, hers in delicate china, while Skyelark was given a heavy copper mug. There were small dents from where her metal fingers warped the mug. The captain took a sip of tea. Skyelark waited for the other boot to drop.

“I would ask you what you were bloody well thinking, but I believe that is out of the question judging by the report I got from Joanna. However, I would very much like to know why in the world they decided that now was an opportune time to attack.”

“Yanno probably got real cocky again. He picked a fight with me in the bar. I shot him. He’s dead, Cap’n.”

“I’ll send someone to scour his ship later. I managed to capture some of their tech. Perhaps he had another lead?”

“Doubtful. I think he just had a burr up his--”

The captain cleared her throat. Skyelark sipped at her tea, momentarily chided. She took a moment to sneak a peek at her captain. The captain had a girlish face and thick, curly black hair. A jagged scar ran across her right cheek, but it gave her face a little more character. Skyelark refused to admit that she was quite smitten.

“So he just wanted revenge?”

“My best guess, Cap’n.”

“You can stop calling me captain all the time. You’ve known me five years now, you may as well call me Amelia.”

“I don’t want the other girls thinkin’ I’m gettin’ too familiar with you.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. She brushed her jet black bangs out of her eyes, squinting as she surveyed Skyelark’s face.

“As if they don’t already talk about how many times I’ve had to pull you aside for your nonsense.”

“Err…” Skyelark broke eye contact, smiling guiltily. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.

“Exactly. Now fill me in on what happened in town. Were you able to gather everything I sent you for?”

“Got all the supplies, ca-- Amelia. Picked Yanno’s hopper dry. I might finally be able to get the spare up to snuff.”

“Any news from the town?”

“Nothing to really report. The apothecarist thought I was a man, the old bastard. Beer’s piss water. And there is neither a brothel nor a scrapyard.”

“How did he mistake you of all people for a man?”

Skyelark glanced down at her leather vest. It concealed her chest a little, but not enough to hide the rather obvious fact that she was a woman.

“Guess he never saw a real woman before.”

“What is it that you say? ‘A good handful is more than enough’?”

Skyelark snorted. She wasn’t entirely sure where Amelia heard her say that, but it was obvious she had at some point. She held up her palms, frowning down at her chest.

“Well, for you they’d be a good fit.”

Amelia snorted into her teacup. She fumbled on her desk until she got her hands on handkerchief. She mopped up the mess with a few precise swipes. Once she was content with her work, she held up her hand, gesturing for Skyelark to do the same. Skyelark let Amelia press their hands together. Despite their mere three inch height gap, Skyelark could almost wrap the tips of her fingers over her captain’s.

“Well it’s because you have such bloody big man hands.”

“You didn’t deny that they’d be a good fit.”

Amelia pulled her palm away. Skyelark had a hard time not smiling when she rolled her eyes.

“You’re only fiesty because two of your favourite hobbies were out.”

“I have other hobbies.”

“The last time I loaned you a book, you threw it on my desk complaining that the best character died and you sulked for a week.”

“It was only two days.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”