#i started commodore i should finish it

[quatregats]

Haven't taken enough psychic damage recently maybe I need to read more Hornblower

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter One

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Allusions of Domestic Violence.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Masterlist | Next

The night is darkest at dawn. Just before the first rays of the new day strike the horizon, the night draws infinitely black, offering the last bit of night before being smothered by the sun. You love the silence it brings, giving you a break from the cumbersome and structured life you live. Yet that indulging peace is fleeting, never long enough for you to taste what you truly long for, only taunting you with something that you’d never reach. Sighing, you rest your chin on your gathered knees and enjoy what will be your last sunrise at Bonn Manor.

You’ve been born on the grounds, raised in its elegant halls, and soon, you will be married in its chestnut grove. The wedding has been planned for nearly a year, your engagement? Years. Everything has been meticulously designed down to the length of a single blade of grass. Your mother is a bit of a control freak, and she hasn’t let you put in one word edgewise—and it’s your own wedding! Not that you are surprised, you’ve never once had the pleasure of even choosing your own outfits or meals.

In hindsight, it saves you many a headache for you haven’t lifted a finger in the entire process. The florist has been given strict directions on what bouquets, boutonnières, and accents should look like, not to mention the flower choice. The bakery in the heart of your island has no doubt been working overtime to supply the cake and other specialty confectionery, and the tailor has almost moved into the manor to finish the work on your dress.

Your dress.

It has been in production for nearly eight months. Your town, Kuri Island, while known for its chestnut trees, is also famed for its lacework. Leagues and leagues of lace have been stitched just for your dress, and that doesn’t even include your outrageous veil! It is enormous, beaded, and decorated with innumerable cloth flowers. Your mother really hasn’t spared any expense, tutting that this has been her lifestyle dream to see you married to a powerful man that will ensure that your noble bloodline continues to prosper.

That and the family business. The Bonn’s have a monopoly on the chestnut and lace industry on Kuri Island, ruling with an iron fist and ensuring that they remain the most powerful on the island. Your fiancé is the next in line, power-wise. As a Marine Commodore, Thomas Collins is the only man on the island worthy of your hand… and in just a few short hours, he’ll have it.

But not by your choice.

This is an arranged marriage drafted by your parents when you were just a teen, to a man very much your senior who cares little for your feelings. Worse? He isn’t a good man, or a good Marine. As much as your mother has tried to control the whispers that reach your delicate ears, you know the reputation Thomas has among the commoners. He isn’t a good man, he has a habit of cruelty to those far beneath himself, and you’ve even heard rumors of bribery. But politics and Berry have trumped over your personal feelings. You can’t refuse this marriage; your opinion can’t even leave your lips.

Just as the sun begins to rise above the horizon, your maids bustle into your room followed by additional ones to tackle the great task of getting you ready for the wedding in a few hours. Ann and Gerbera, your personal maids, hustle over to you. While Ann scans your lavender bedhead, Gerbera takes your hand and inspects your nails.

“I haven’t gone and ruined my nails,” you murmur, not taking your eyes off the glow of the morning sunrise.

“Your mother requested an inspection, my lady,” Gerbera replies, scanning your immaculate fingernails. “Lest you had made an attempt to flee during the night.”

“And where would I go?” you ask vaguely, your eyes taking on a faraway and clouded look. The maids often see it appear within your eyes the closer the wedding draws. They are not oblivious to the matter that you don’t wish to marry Thomas. They have most definitely witnessed your private breakdowns over the years as you slowly realize that your life has never been your own. They are good to you, excellent maids who take pride in caring for their lady… but they can’t even move a single finger to help you in your predicament.

“Never mind that, off to the baths,” Ann softly preens, trying to find light in the fact that you will be glowing with beauty once they are done dressing you for your wedding. You let Gerbera pull you from your lonesome and brooding perch, guiding you through your rooms to the grand bathroom that already steams with scented water. You can smell the strong scent of rose and argan oil rising from the bubbling water. You’ve been taking baths thrice weekly to soften your skin to that of the finest satin on your mother’s orders, and have started hating the scent. It makes you nauseous. This will be your last so you will bear it.

Standing in place, Ann and Gerbera delicately undo the strings to your nightdress, pulling it from your body to leave you naked. You don’t hesitate to step down into the bath. The hot water does very little to ease your growing nausea and discomfort. You know it won’t. But at the very least it feels nice on your stiff body. You have sat at your window for hours without moving, your mind spinning and descending into the dark depths of the pit of hell you’ll soon be living in.

Gerbera kneels behind you and takes your long lavender hair in hand, gently running an ivory comb through the tangled strands. You wince every time she catches a knot. Gerbera murmurs an apology each time and carefully unravels the knot of hair. Your lavender locks aren’t usually a mess, but you’ve tossed and turned all last night before getting up a few hours ago to wait for the sunrise. At the very least, once you are married you’ll have more control over the length of your hair. The extraneous length is cumbersome and almost like chains to weigh you down. Well, almost every part of your life is some sort of chain or prison.

So while Gerbera continues to tend to your hair, Ann takes to massaging oils into your hands and buffing your already immaculate nails. They take extra care in placing dabs of oil in key places on your body. Behind your ears, along your neck, and across your wrists. As you walk, the oils will diffuse into the air around you, perfuming you and leaving behind the scent of rose. A scent that drowns you in hatred. It is always rose this or rose that. Rose jewelry and rose dresses. Even a rose-themed bedroom!

If you never smell another rose after this blasted wedding you will die a happy woman…

You stay in the bath as long as you’re allowed, but the strict voice of your mother ringing from your bedroom has Ann and Gerbera pulling you from the bath and wrapping you in a towel. They dry you off in record time, no doubt saving you from a stern lecture, and wrap your wet hair in a drying towel. The three of you wince when your mother’s voice turns sharp and she nearly starts shrieking at the poor girl who added an extra rose to your bouquet.

“It’s not even seven o’clock yet and the madam is already angry,” Ann murmurs, almost hesitant to push you back into your bedroom.

“It’s a perpetual state I believe,” you reply, twisting your fingers together. “The day she is pleasant is the day the world has ended.” Toweled dry, you don a robe and reluctantly head back to your bedroom. Your mother is still harping on the poor girl who got the number of flowers wrong in your bouquet when you appear. She rounds on you like a viper and you have a brief momentary thought that she might give herself whiplash.

“You!” she barks out. “Why are you not sitting down for your hair and makeup?” You remain silent and simply lower yourself to the velvet and satin chair in front of your vanity. She continues to berate you for things you have no control over and complain over nonexistent errors. It will be all over in a few hours; you’ll trade one jailer for another.

Your hair is dealt with first. Being so long, it takes perhaps nearly half an hour to brush it out smooth and braid it. Then it is swirled and pinned into place upon your head with crystal-studded pins that dig into your scalp in a painful reminder. You’ve been complimented on how lovely the crystal and flower pins look within your lavender-colored hair, and combined with the minimal makeup being painted upon your face you are sure to look the picture of perfection.

“Heavens, Linaria, could you at the very least respect your mother enough to get sleep during the night!” Your mother huffs, fretting and tutting over the bags beneath your eyes the makeup slowly conceals. “I have worked tirelessly to perfect this wedding and I will not have you ruining it with an unsightly appearance.”

“Yes, mother,” you reply obediently. Her eyes, echoing your own but with a much harsher tint, narrow and she scoffs.

“Knowing you, you’ll make a scene at the reception or even ruin the vows. Commodore Collins isn’t expecting a wildling for a wife! He is expecting a well-bred, well-taught, and docile wife to meet him at the altar. Do not disappoint me.” Your eyes meet hers in the mirror for a brief moment before you drop your gaze. Your silence isn’t the answer she expects and taloned nails sink into your pinned hair, yanking your head back.

Yelping, your fingers dig into your robe as you are forced to look into her cruel and hard eyes.

“Am I clear? You are to behave, Linaria, do not disappoint this family again,” her warning is well and clear within her eyes. This is the last one she’ll give you. Swallowing thickly, you agree in the softest voice.

“Yes, mother,” your hair is released and you take in a silent breath of relief, grateful that she isn’t tugging on your hair still. You are sure that a few of the pins will have to be righted after her harsh hold.

“I have to greet our guests, get her ready to dress,” your mother snaps before striding from your bedroom in a swirl of heavy skirts. Rubbing your neck with a slight wince, Ann takes place behind you and quickly fusses with your hair to return it to pristine condition.

“We beg you, my lady,” Ann pleads, her fingers gently placing the pins back in order. “I fear what will happen to you the next time you go against the madam.”

“And where exactly would I go at a time like this?” you reply, looking at Ann in the mirror. “The manor and grounds are crawling with visitors, the help, and guards. I have nowhere to go. Besides,” you glance at the wedding dress on the mannequin in your room. “You think I could run in that? The thing weighs more than I do soaking wet.”

After Ann and Gerbera get your hair and makeup just perfect, they’re dismissed by your mother’s personal maids. She doesn’t trust you with your personal maids and has ordered her own to see to dressing you. So you are alone with maids that have no issue enforcing your mother’s orders. They have you get up and stand in the middle of your room, fluttering around while gathering up the layers of your outfit.

You are already in your underwear and bra, a decorative set that your mother has insisted you wear for the wedding, so when you peel the robe from your body you aren’t especially shy. Valeria, your mother’s favorite, brings over the heavy dress and with the help of Clover, maneuvers the top of the dress over your head. Despite being made from airy lace, the bones of the ballroom dress are metal and ridged, structuring the dress in the precise way your mother wants your body to look.

As you place your arms in the three-quarter sleeves with layered lace and starched silk, Valeria’s fingers are quick to work on the strings of the corset. She tightens it immediately, making a small noise of pain emerge from your lips, and only draws the strings tighter and tighter. As elegant and beautiful as you may look, you feel like you are being tied into a jail cell. Clover joins in on tugging the corset tight, and the bruising tightness only grows worse.

You want to bite your lip as your ribs begin to screech at you, not liking the pressure. But heaven forbid you turn up to your wedding with bitten and chewed lips. Clenched fingers it is. Several minutes later, after being jerked around and squeezed most viciously, the extravagant veil is being pinned into your hair. Another weight to add. Valeria departs to report to your mother while Clover remains to watch over you. Walking over to the grand mirror in your bedroom, you stare at yourself in dread.

You look like a trussed turkey heading for the dinner table.

You can admit that you look beautiful, the shape of your waist cinched in and the wide neckline decorated with fabric rose buds accented your collarbones. Months of work on the lace detailing has pulled out a wedding gown fit for a princess… or a lady from a very rich family. But you can’t enjoy your beauty, you can’t giggle or dance as the skirts of your dress swirl around your feet. You can’t enjoy anything about the dress, no matter how expensive or luxurious it is.

By some grace, an extra maid pokes her head into your bedroom with a red face. She begins rattling off a bunch of issues with minor details of the ceremony space that your mother is throwing an absolute fit over, and Clover glances at you with a worried look. You can see her thought process. She is supposed to watch over you, but the wedding will not commence without everything being perfect. Well, it isn’t like you are going to go anywhere. So Clover quickly follows the maid, leaving you in suffocating silence.

Suffocating is an understatement.

Your heart is trying to beat its way out of your chest in pure fear. You have but a mere fifteen minutes before you will be truly locked in an inescapable prison. If you thought it was hard to breathe wearing this dress it is nothing compared to the looming doom that is mere minutes away. Your eyes flicker to the balcony of your bedroom; the doors have been locked after you tried running before… but with the cleaning of the manor in anticipation for the wedding, they are no longer barred from use.

Memories of what happened to you as a result of being caught and dragged back to the manor flicker into your mind. You’ve never been in that much pain. Fear of repercussion prickles in your veins, rooting you to where you stand. Eyes catching sight of the tops of the ships harbored, your throbbing heart leaps into your throat.

“I’ll never have another chance,” you whisper to yourself, desperation winning over fear.

Date Published: 11/13/23

Last Edit: 7/29/24

Masterlist | Next

[vibratingskull]

Yandere Thrawn x F!reader chapter 12

Yandere AU - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11

Tags : Yandere behaviors (duh), gaslighting, funerals

“It is with a heavy heart that we have to say goodbye to two of our esteemed colleagues.” Thrawn ceremoniously says, in front of two coffins in the grand hangar of the Chimaera, “Those two women accomplished their duty with diligence, uprightness, and more than anything, with an undying loyalty to the Empire. We can only strive to do as well as them.” He concludes. 

He advances and leaves a single rose on each of the coffins. They are both empty, but the gathering behind him doesn’t know it. One coffin for the Captain promptly expelled in the cold and never-ending night of the universe and one for you, carefully hidden in his suite, paralyzed and powerless. 

All your colleagues are here for a last homage to two women who strived to accomplish their duties each day with righteousness. Only Thrawn knows the truth about you two. “Farewell, Ma’ams.” He finishes and everyone bows to your coffins. 

The coffins are taken to the furnace of the Chimaera and the gathering spreads in little groups, discussing about you or what this ceremony inspired them. Thrawn sneakily steals a third rose in the bouquets displayed and walks calmly among the cells, accepting greetings and congratulations as he walks by before joining the little group of officers that beat you up. The group is strangely silent contrary to all the others, still uneasy, like they could be discovered now. 

“Gentlemen, Ladies. My congratulations.” He says, his hard gaze traveling from one face to the other wincing with more or less discomfort. “You have executed your last mission with brio. You can be proud of yourself.” 

But they aren’t. In their eyes they killed two of their colleagues and nothing will be able to take that weight off their shoulders. Not even Thrawn. That is well, he doesn’t care if nightmares prevent them from sleeping at night. “I know this is little consolation, but you have my gratitude.”, “Thank you, Grand Admiral.” one of them mutters. “Just know you have done the right thing,” he assures them before approaching Faro who stayed in the doorway. 

“You did not want to see the ceremony from a better point of view?” He asks, curious. “No.” She responds with a somber tone, “I do not deserve it. I was a bad friend to (F/n)...”, “How so?”, “I turned my back on her when she needed my help the most. I did not believe her when she proclaimed her innocence to me. This is unforgivable.” She lowers her head, clearly disappointed in herself. “The false proves were convincing. I, myself, had some difficulty separating facts from fiction.” He consoles her, but she hears none of it. “Still! I should have known, I should have believed her no matter what. And now I can’t even say sorry.”, “I am sure Lieutenant Commander (f/n) would not hold it against you. Raise your head, Commodore. Do not let it hold you down, I need you ready and alert.”, “Yes, Grand Admiral.” she acquiesces but her heart isn’t into it. “Do not be too hard on yourself. You have done what was expected of a Commodore in your hard situation. You can be proud of yourself.”, “Thank you, Grand Admiral. What are you going to do with that rose?” She tilts her head. “This little thing? My suite could use some rose fragrance.” He answers enigmatically. If Karyn didn’t know him well she would have thought he sadistically smiled. But she does know him well, he isn’t like that! 

Thrawn walks silently in the corridors, inhaling the scent of the red flower pressed against his nose. He will give you that rose. He will command you a proper large bouquet later, for now, he will offer you that single flower, red like his heart beating for you.  

You gave him so much pleasure yesterday you deserve a gorgeous bouquet! He also started looking into the housing market and he found some properties on some isolated planets, some charming little cottages away from towns and villages. With a big garden for you to lazily bask in the sun, to do some gardening if you so wish, but mostly for his children to play. He can’t wait to meet them, to see them running around you two and doing cartwheels in the green grass.  

He wants a big tree to install a swing for them to play, a pool for you to relax on a deck chair to read, and a patio to eat under the sun with the family when the good days finally arrive. He wants a large family. 

He wants children with you! He wants to see you round and swollen with his babies. 

He keeps fantasizing about his future domestic life when he reaches his suite. He immediately heads towards his bedroom where you obediently await his return every day. “Hello, Cha’cah.” He greets you with a smile. 

You are hidden under the covers, recoiling in a ball. Still and mute. If he couldn’t read your heat signals he could think you were dead. He sits on the edge of the bed, laying his hand on your hidden shoulder and gently squeezes it, “Stop hiding, Ch’acah. Let me see your face.”  

As you refuse to move he grips the cover’s hem and pulls on it, revealing your face to his eyes. How beautiful you are, all pouty like that! You grumble and immediately try to hide your face again. 

You cannot face him. 

Not after what happened yesterday. You are still in shock. 

He chuckles and pulls more on the cover, “Come on, now. Do you intend to deprive me of your ravishing face?” He demands and immediately leans in to kiss your cheek. You do not respond to the kiss, forcing your eyes shut, slightly trembling.“I have a little present for you.” He takes a little lick at your cheek and takes the rose off behind his back. 

You remain mute and eyes shut. He brushes the rose under your nose making you sneeze and finally react. You hesitantly take the rose between your hands while he kisses your temple. 

He is so happy! You’ve made such progress in your relationship! You desire him as much as he desires you now, craving each other's presence. He wants to hug you all day long, having you on his lap while he works at his desk, embracing you all night! He wants the complete page! The real deal! 

You surely spend the whole day awaiting his return desperately counting the hours until he returns in your arms. Your pa ack ssionate night must plague your mind and entice you to do it again, but you’re so shy you surely won’t try anything 

He can’t wait to hold you tight tonight again. And surely you too! 

But he knows he still has to tame you, he is only midway through his goal. He needs a lot more tenderness and sweet touches for you to be fully comfortable and open. 

 He knows it. 

But he is prepared for it. 

You?  

You are confused, out of your mind, dwelling on the same questions, the same interrogations spinning in your head non-stop. 

You trusted him, you looked up to him, felt safe with him… You placed your life between his hands! 

You spend all day eyes hypnotized by the bay; looking at shiny stars, dissociating completely, mind bubbling and bursting out of your skull.  

His fingers come gripping your chin to spin your face towards his burning red gaze. “Let me look at you, Ch’acah. Let me admire your gorgeous face, I miss it dearly all day long.” He demands, between a plea and an order, “How I love to appreciate it in detail. Your expression yesterday night was just so... Exquisite.” He praises, his red eyes shining brighter, “If only you knew how long I desired it.” 

You gulp, lowering your gaze before him. 

Was... Was it all your fault? If you kept your mouth shut and didn’t speak his name, would it have happened still? 

“Why do you not look me in the eyes, my sweet? I so long for your gaze on me.” He asks, his thumb coming to caress your lower lips, parting them lightly. You gasp, at a loss for words. What to respond? How will he react? Will he kiss you? Will he become violent? Will he just shrug it off? Will he slap you? Will he leave you alone and untouched? 

Far away from your confusion and trouble, Thrawn observes your face, idolizing your features, adoring your dazed expression. How are you so effortlessly beautiful? He wonders, simply amazed. And your voice... Truly mesmerizing. 

“I... I just...” You start, raising your eyes to meet his to immediately get a flashback of the dark and heavy gaze he had last night. Absolutely terrifying. He looked like a carnivore that spotted a bleeding prey. 

And he acted like one... 

How much of what happened is actually your fault? How much responsibility do you hold? Clearly, you shouldn’t have masturbated in your Grand Admiral’s bed, but does it legitimize his actions? 

Surely not... Or maybe... Yes? 

“You were so captivating yesterday.” He continues, “Touching yourself so shamelessly in my bed like that. I could have admired you for entire hours. And when you whispered my name... So lowly, so... lecherously...” He deeply inhales like he is fighting back something inside of him and buries his head in the crook of your neck, making you jolt and tremble, on edge, “I could not believe what I heard. You, desiring me? My heart warmed up in joy. If only you knew how much it meant to me.”  

You... Desiring... Him? It’s true you were masturbating to him, but... Did that give him any right?  

He lazily kisses your neck, laying on you, trapping you under his weight. He gives sweet, little licks, making you start and tremble between his large hands. He cannot help but chuckle, it is so endearing how reactive and sensitive you are. You are simply so sweet to him. So adorable and easy to adore. One of his hands traces its way up your arm to trap your valid hand and intertwines your fingers together, holding it firmly. 

 “You are so silent, Ch’acah. I miss your melodious voice, will you not sing a single word to my ears?” He demands, kissing the scar on your neck, letting the sweet memory replay in his mind. “I... I am... not sure I-” you start before he cuts you entirely, “Of course, Ch’acah, of course you are confused. It is a large step that we took together, it is a true leap of faith. But together we can make it work.” 

You can clearly hear the satisfied smile in his voice as he pecks your nape tenderly, but you are not as sure as him. “It’s not... It’s not what I am trying to-” You moan sharply, hissing as he suddenly sucks on your skin. You squirm under his large and tall body, trying to get out of under him, but your two casts prevent you from moving properly, and either way, his strength keeps you firmly in place under him. He raises his head to look at you with a foggy gaze, heavy with dark desires.  

“It is all right, ch’eo ch’acah.” he murmurs darkly, “We will figure it out. I will satisfy you like you never were before.” And before you can contradict him he captures your lips in a demanding kiss. He devours your mouth, robbing you of all your air. You refrain a yelp and bite his lip til he bleeds to make him stop. He parts with you with a grin, licking his bleeding lip with brighter eyes, “Interesting...” He takes note, strangely pleased by your reaction. 

You try to look enraged, frowning your brows and baring your teeth to deter him, to make him realize he should back down. But instead, you see even more hunger brewing in his predatory gaze, like something switched in his mind. A single drop if his blood falls on the corner or your lips and he spreads it on your lips with his thumb, adorning your mouth with rich, deep red. 

“I love your energy, Ch’acah.” He says with an increasingly deranged gaze, but his voice as still and calm as it always was, “Can you keep it up all night?” He asks, hope flourishing in his dry heart. You look at him shocked and at loss for words you only can gasp at his outrageous demand.  

He visibly softens at your reaction, caressing your cheek tenderly. “It is all right, ch’eo ch’acah. We can take it slow.” He says lowly, brushing his nose in the crook of your neck, “There is so many things I would like for us to do, so many things I would like to share with you.” 

You do not know it yet but you love him too, he knows it, but you are still confused. He will give you more time. 

At least until he cannot repress it anymore... 

“I just want you to know you filled my heart with joy yesterday.” He confesses, “Knowing we reciprocate feelings... This is truly a blessing by the Warrior.” He tenderly looks into your eyes, holding your cheek with his warm large palm, preventing you from escaping him. 

Are you reciprocating his feelings? Wait, what feeling are we talking about? Lust? Love? Hate?  

“Thrawn.” You manage to say with a firmer voice, catching his attention, “I think you are... misunderstanding the situation. You are dear to me, but... I don’t think I wanted-” He tilts his head, squinting a bit, his gaze slowly switching to dark lust to...Warning and threats, shutting you up. 

You feel yourself starting to tremble under his black gaze. 

“Ch’acah... Oh Ch’acah.” He chants, a grin flourishing on his face, “You do not make any sense, ch’eo Ch’acah.” He darkly chuckles at your discomfited expression, “You called for me, and I simply responded. I would never have laid a hand on you without you desiring it, I think you are mixing responsibilities here. ” He lowers his head to brush his nose with yours, a purr raising in his throat,  

“Thrawn...” you try again. He shushes you, putting his bumpy forehead against yours, looking deep into your human eyes, “You are still confused. Your consciousness is trying to convince you you did not want it because you lost your former lover tragically. It is trying to protect itself from pain and loss.” His thumb caresses your cheek as he speaks, hypnotizing you with his red eyes. 

Is... Is it true? Thrawn never lied to you until now and you cannot imagine him truly assaulting a woman... Could it be the truth? 

But why are you feeling so dirty and disgusted with yourself? 

“It is a perfectly natural reaction, it is your survival instinct trying to protect your mental and physical integrity. It is extremely common in fields bordering on death daily. I have witnessed it plenty of times.” He outrageously lies to you, “Trauma can take many forms, denying oneself a chance with love is pretty common after a loss.” 

“But I felt so gross after it...” you feel tears rising behind your eyes, his touch burning your skin off. “How can I even know you’re right?” Your voice cracks. 

You didn’t let yourself cry in his presence, and while he was away your mind was so full and blank at the same time no tears reached your eyes, but now they threaten to spill all over. 

“It is quite simple, ch’eo Ch’acah.” His smile dripping with false sweetness, “If you cummed it means you enjoyed yourself and desired it. This is not something easy to fake, is it not? Did you cum?” He plays cruelly with you, forcing you to admit your greatest shame. 

That you came under his assault. 

“I... I am not sure? I-I just-” He licks your cheek with the flat of his tongue, making you whine and gulp, “You cummed really hard Ch’eoh Ch’acah, like I promised you would. There is your proof my sweet.” He muses, thoroughly amused by the situation. 

It is so sweet of you to try to understand the situation while reconciling with the sweet persona he offered you all this time. Your broken mind cannot compute the fact that he of all people did that to you, that you must have provoked the situation in some way. That your gentlemanly and sweet Grand Admiral could never assault you. 

And he fully intents to take advantage of this vulnerability. 

“Discard those negative sentiments and doubts, your body knows what it wants and what is good for it. The mind is more tricky to appease once wounded, it will take you time to heal, but I know how to help you mend quicker.”  

“You do?” you ask with a voice where hope and fear mix. 

“We should simply do it again.” He drops the bomb with a deliciously satisfied smile. You open your eyes wide open, incredulous, “Excuse me?” You ask in a white voice. “It is exposure therapy, Ch’acah. Making you confront your fear will help you.”, “I am not sure this is for me.”, Thrawn tilts his head like he didn’t understood your reaction, “I only want what is best for you, (Y/n). You know that right?” 

“I... Think” you gulp. 

“I only want to help you.” He insists, “Do you believe I could do anything to hurt you? Me? Your Ch’acah?” 

Your mind froze. The memories of yesterday night fighting the memories of your sweet polite friend. Thrawn, always so nice and supportive, your Ch’acah who forgave your stab in his back. The one you wounded in his flesh. Is it possible? That you completely misconstructed that situation and he is telling the truth? You knew each other for years, Eli and Karyn trust him. He never raised his hand on anyone. He is an upright man, a moral person you blindly trusted. 

Your brain cannot reconcile those two very real aspects of him, one must come up on top. He simply awaits which one, ready to jump into action and modify his plans in split second if you realize the monster he truly is. 

“...No...” you finally let out, tears flowing on your face. 

He smiles carnivorously, congratulating himself. Those long days playing the good loyal friend all cumulated to this moment. Before the impossible dilemma he presented you, your brain chose to hide the truth, too ugly to witness. That he is such a monster, that he assaulted you and took advantage of you in more ways than one... Before the hideous reality, your mind buries its head in the sand and convinces you all of it was just a bad dream, a misunderstanding, that your tormentor is still your nice friend, only wanting the best for you. 

“No, I cannot believe that...” You broke down completely. 

“Shhhhhhhhh... It is good, my sweet.” He caresses your hair gently, brushing your noses together, “I do not hold it against you. In confusion you are ready to believe anything. Even that your most loyal support could do anything against you.” You sob, big tears rolling off your eyes, you gasp for air “I... I never wanted to think that about you!” You gulp, “But I was so confused and afraid. Thrawn I am so sorry!” 

“No need to be, Ch’eo Ch’acah. I forgive you.” He holds you tight, hugging you, shielding your body with his massive one. “You are grieving and in pain. Your disarray is understandable. You may not worry, I am not holding it against you.” He murmurs into your ear with a sickly sweet tone. 

Oh, sweet thing... So sweet and fragile little darling... How blissful he feels at this very instant. You, presenting your excuses to him, your torturer, craving a rational explanation that aligns with your views of the world so much you are willing to believe your executioner. You are just a sweet, little bird with broken wings. It is easier to believe you hold responsibilities and lay against yourself than face the reality that your best friend and benefactor assaulted you. 

Absolutely fascinating how one’s mind is ready to believe anything rather than a painful and uncomfortable truth. But right now he is incredibly grateful for it. He ravished you and got out of it dirt free. 

No.  

He got out of it as a saint! As the one who tries to heal you, working against your dysfunctioning mind and consciousness. How could you be mad at him? Him who forgave you every transgressions and kept you under his wing to propel your career? 

At least in your eyes... 

This gamble was high risk, he is deeply, viscerally aware of it, but also high reward and he hit the jackpot! Now you are his, and his alone. To toy and play with all he wants. 

He refrains from whispering “I love you.” in your ear, you had enough earth-shattering info for the day. He will whisper it endlessly to you later when you are less on edge. 

He buries his nose in your hair and deeply inhale your scent. You still smell like sex. Nothing surprising, he left you as is yesterday, in your soiled clothes, drenched in your essences and musk. As much because he wanted to smell his victory on your body for one more day than because he felt you would have clawed his face if he approached you. He spend the whole night in his office working to leave you alone with your fear and doubts, letting them fester in your mind to destabilize you mentally. 

And it was the right call... 

He stands back up on his feet, wrapping his arms around you to lift you up bridal style, “You are soiled, ch’eo Ch’acah.” He lets you know, forcing you to lower your gaze in embarrassment and defeat “Let me clean you up thoroughly, you will feel so much better after...” 

@bluechiss @blueninjablade3 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @twilekchiss@pencil_urchin @ineedazeezee @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching  @obbicrystaleo @germie2037 @leo4242564 @davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni 

[septima-severa]

Some fanfics start with a rather crazy idea vol. 2

A.k.a. I finished editing the little story of Thrawn desperately taking on a human female mating partner. Finally. But it was a hell of a ride, because I (not so) accidentally created this OFC Hashev Dystra who is probably a genius mechanic, but can't properly interact even with her astromech droid...

Originally, Thrawn was supposed to be rough with his partner - but I couldn't find the courage to write him as someone bordering on rapist. I think he still remains quite rational, and would rather lock himself in a brig willingly than harm someone in this way.

Story available on AO3.

excerpt:

Straightening her uniform jacket, Xoxtin emerged from behind the corner just in time to see seething Dystra assembling a portable console in preparation to run diagnostics on the malfunctioning TIE Defender. She should be angry with the engineer for disruption of the order in the main hangar bay, her sovereign territory, but on the other hand, she also pitied her a little for the trouble. TIE Defenders on board were a precious commodity, and the XO wouldn’t be very pleased with the news of a weakened squadron.

Speaking of the devil –

Her comm buzzed. “Senior Lieutenant Xoxtin; Commodore Faro, ma’am,” she answered the call.

“Report on the situation, is the stray back home safely?” Commodore Faro’s voice sounded somewhat strained over the comm. It was no secret that she disliked the hangar master, though.

The situation in question was that the Defender was unable to navigate back to the ship on its own, relying only on the computer, and another starfighter had to be dispatched for visual navigation, an extremely dangerous feat when manoeuvring blind in the dark of the space.

“The malfunctioning TIE Defender has securely landed in the hangar bay six, ma’am, but…” her eyes widened in disbelief. “I believe Officer Dystra is currently taking it apart,” she breathed out after a minute of silence.

“She WHAT?”

[cicaklah]

WIP wednesday thursday

Thanks @spongynova for tagging me.

Now that I've finished one man 10 my brain has gone haywire being like 'and ANOTHER THING' over and over.

I rewatched snw 1x10 a couple of nights ago which made me reopen an old wip for some bad future Pike/Spock, where Pike keeps dreaming about how things could have gone:

Chris is on earth. The Romulans take Paris and San Francisco, but he's in Montana, and for all their cruelty, they don't really bother to execute everyone. He's put under house arrest, officially. Captains aren't considered high up enough, potentially still useful. He had been offered Commodore, and had turned it down. Kept his head down, looked after his crew. Waited to hear. The fate of Vulcan is far worse. Which is why he is surprised when Spock arrives on his doorstep, with his mother in tow. His father had been executed, on broadcast, for all to see. Amanda and Spock had been in prison last he heard. Spock limps inside. He has a prosthetic leg, but not the one Starfleet had made him, something far more primitive now, and not very well balanced. He wears his hair long, and has grown his beard back, and it goes some way to hide the smooth, too shiny patches of skin where the grafts didn't take as well. From one angle, he looks like his old beautiful self, and from the other, he's something equally compelling: a survivor. "The resistance is starting here," Spock announces. "Are you with me?" "Of course," Chris says, because he will follow him, follow him anywhere, a spark of light in the darkness.

also of course lets have some one man 11, for funsies:

"What are you wearing?" Jim asks. "M'Benga and I are both wearing ceremonial uniform." McCoy says. "No," Jim deadpans. "Just because you don't have the legs for it," Leonard sniffs. "Some of us think its distinguished." Jim just blinks at him. "You lost a bet." "Got it in one. That fucker down in sciences got me again." Jim laughs, "okay, well we will at least look good together." McCoy shakes his head. "Absolutely not. I'm spoken for. Tamsin asked me this morning to escort her." "Are you kidding me?!" Jim shakes his head, "She has a boyfriend you know." "Yes, but he's helmsman on the Endeavour and the Endeavour is on the other side of the quadrant, so she was going unescorted. So she asked her good friend Len if she should ask you, but he said that you were probably going with Carol, so he volunteered in your place." "Carol has a restraining order against me," Jim says. "You know this. You came to the hearing." McCoy just shrugs. "Who knows what that guy Len says. He talks so much shit."

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

Roll up your sleeves and start building Communism. (Opt in.)

RHETORIC - Oh yeah! Get the firing squads and the animal wagons ready!

Wait, what? Firing squads? You didn't say anything about those.

Roll your sleeves up further and breathe in the pristine air. [Finish thought.]

RHETORIC - Too late to back out now. You can't make an omelet without breaking a few million eggs!

Roll your sleeves up further and breathe in the pristine air. [Finish thought.]

THOUGHT GAINED: MAZOVIAN SOCIO-ECONOMICS

Temporary research bonus: -2 Visual Calculus: Looks like reaction... Research time: 3h 10m

PROBLEM:

People think Communism was some crazy idea that had its comeuppance 40 years ago. A fever that shook the world, never to return again. They were right. Until *he* woke up today ��� a spiritual corpse responsive only to the call of Commodore Red, prostitutes, and Kras Mazov. For him, Communism is still a *thing*. He will single-handedly raise the Commune of '02 from the oceanic trench where it has been resting, covered in ghosts and seaweed! He is the Big Communism Builder. Come, witness his attempt to rebuild Communism in the year '51!

Ugh, -2 Visual Calculus is not great for us, but I can't *not* equip the Thought.

Anyway, I guess we can look around the bookstore, but remember: we don't have any money, and we need the money that we don't have to have a room tonight.

Gift books and molten candy.

MAN FROM HJELMDALL SERIES - The display rack is brimming with worn paperbacks featuring an extremely muscular, sword-wielding barbarian on the cover. Nearly all the titles contain the word *Hjelmdall* somewhere.

"Storekeep, tell me about the muscleman books."

Look through the display of books.

PLAISANCE - "Oh, *Man from Hjelmdall*. A very popular series of adventure novels." She looks at the book with some disdain. "They're awfully immoral and violent books."

"Why are they so popular?"

PLAISANCE - "Blood and violence, scantily clad women, epic narratives, all those mystical things he encounters. They're bound to grab those with little imagination and nothing to do."

"Sounds good. Which one should I start with?"

"That doesn't sound like something I'd be interested in."

PLAISANCE - "What does it matter? They're all the same." She rolls her eyes, then fiddles with her pendant. "However, the customer is always right, they say."

"If you're a novice of the series, I'd recommend 'Hjelmdallermann: the Man from Hjelmdall.' It's supposed to be a good introduction to the series."

As you can see, the option to buy the book is locked because we don't have 9 real.

2. Look through the display of books.

MAN FROM HJELMDALL SERIES - Rows and rows of Hjelmdallermenn blur your vision. You make out some titles: "Man from Hjelmdall and the Mammoth-Riders", "Man from Hjelmdall: Return to Hjelmdall", and the solipsistic "Man From Hjelmdall and the Hjelmdall Man."

Good god, how many are there?

Enough.

MAN FROM HJELMDALL SERIES - Maybe a hundred? "Man from Hjelmdall and the Sages at the End of the World", "Man from Hjelmdall and the False-God", "Man from Hjelmdall and the Scorched Earth", "Man from Hjelmdall: The Hjelmdall Colonies", "Man from Hjelmdall and the Swamp Beast", "Man from Hjelmdall and the Snow Crabs."

Is that all?

Enough.

MAN FROM HJELMDALL SERIES - Not even close! "Man from Hjelmdall in Hell", "Man from Hjelmdall and the Forest of Slaves", "Man from Hjelmdall Under the Lake", "Man from Hjelmdall: Hjelmdall Burning". There's even "The Trial of Death", a Pasternal combat game book set in the world of Hjelmdallermann, and so much more.

3. [Pain Threshold - Medium 10] Do any of the books call out to me?

PAIN THRESHOLD [Medium: Failure] - Nothing of interest. Only silence and the cosmic background pain-radiation.

5. [Leave.]

Old sports magazines, tucked away in a dark corner.

MOUNTAIN OF BOARD GAMES - A small mountain of colourful board game boxes. There are numerous types of games for all ages. A lot of shelf space seems to be taken up by Wirrâl-related merchandise.

"Storekeep, what board games do you have here?"

Look through the pile of Wirrâl-related items.

PLAISANCE - "Wonderful board games, sir. 'The Viticulturist' is a classic for sure, or perhaps you'd like 'Archipelagos of Insulinde', a very educational game for those interested in geography."

"Raubritter' is a fun game of economic competition, but can get quite intense after a while. We have games for the whole family. You can play with your children!"

INLAND EMPIRE [Medium: Success] - Who are you going to play board games with? Do you have friends or family?

Wow, I have children? A family?

Do I have friends? (Look at the lieutenant.)

I don't want to think about this.

INLAND EMPIRE - Are you actually friends? Or just colleagues thrown together by circumstance?

[momentary-ecstasy]

Saffi and Elnor, “hold still”?

“Hold still,” Seven pressed her hand down on Raffi’s leg, trying to keep it still. 

Raffi tensed all her muscles trying to keep her leg still. “I’m trying.”

“Is she going to be okay?” Elnor asked, looking worriedly from the blood covered shrapnel in Raffi’s leg to Seven who was trying to pull it out as gently as one could pull shredded metal from flesh. 

“We need to get her back to the ship,” Seven stated. “The ion cloud is interfering with the transporter. We’ll have to take the shuttle back.”

Elnor looked from their cover to where the shuttle Seven arrived in was sitting, hatch open. 

“How did this happen on the Training Cruise?” Seven asked, pausing her field medic procedure. 

“We got a distress signal,” Elnor stated. “Starfleet protocol says we had to come check.”

Raffi winced, “A Vulcan freighter was in distress.” She was doing everything she could to not look at the wound in her leg or the shrapnel in it. “They had to set down here and couldn’t do impulse repairs with what they had.” She rested her head on the soft leaves under them. “Seemed easy.”

“Someone threw bombs,” Elnor looked back toward the assailants still throwing rudimentary incendiary devices in their direction. He looked at Raffi, “You saved me.”

Raffi forced a smile and patted his cheek, “Anytime kid.”

Seven used that distraction to get a smaller bit of metal out of the wound. When Raffi yelled in pain she set the pliers down and put her bloody hand on Raffi’s stomach. She was peppered with smaller shrapnel through her torso, but not the eight inches of metal sticking out of her thigh. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to do the rest in a med bay. I don’t think I can get anymore out without risking hitting an artery.”

“Wait,” Raffi blinked, realizing that this wasn’t one of their pre-Starfleet adventures. Seven had her own starship somewhere. Raffi was on the training cruise because she was an Intelligence instructor. Seven should have been somewhere else. “What are you doing here?”

“We got a distress signal from an ensign on the training ship,” Seven answered. “My crew is watching over them. There were hostiles orbiting. I think the Vulcan ship stumbled on a turf war.” 

“Where are the engineers?” Raffi asked. 

“Hiding,” Elnor told her, “With the Vulcans in their ship.”

“Okay,” Raffi started to sit up. “Let’s-”

“Let’s nothing,” Seven said. “You’re staying here.” 

Raffi gave Seven a look of challenge. She was not staying anywhere.

“You’re going to bleed out,” Seven told her, knowing it was hopeless. 

“Then let’s finish this quick,” Raffi held her hand out to Elnor. “Help me up.”

“Commodore…” Elnor hesitated. 

“Oh yeah I got promoted,” Raffi started standing up on her own, “I outrank both of you. Let’s do this. That’s an order.”

[sshbpodcast]

Tales from the Holodeck: VOY Fanfic: Chris’s Teleplay

It's that time again. It's A Star to Steer Her By's 7th anniversary, and [not so] coincidentally Star Trek's 57th! Slightly more coincidentally, we also just wrapped our watch-through of Star Trek: Voyager! Not only can you check out our favorite and least favorite episodes, but you can also peruse our latest celebratory fanfic!

Scroll on below to read the latest installments from our annual "Tales from the Holodeck" writing challenge, and follow along with our cold reads on this week's podcast episode (this one starts at 1:15:49). We present to you Chris's hologram malfunction of an episode, complete with just about everything but the kitchen sink.

[images �� Paramount/CBS]

“Wednesday Night Lights”

By Chris

Random picks: Michael Sullivan, Satan’s Robot

SCENE 1

Narrator: In a ready room that still has that new starship smell, a familiar face stands by a window, dictating to her computer.

Janeway: Admiral’s log, stardate 606341.2. The shakedown cruise of the new Dauntless, based on information gathered during my time in the Delta Quadrant, is taking an unplanned detour. Shortly after departing spacedock we got an urgent message from the head of the Fleet Museum at Athan Prime, saying there was a situation only I could handle.

Narrator: The Admiral is interrupted by the familiar whistle of the ship’s comms

Ascencia: Admiral, we’re about five minutes out from the fleet museum.

Janeway: Thank you, Asencia. Tell transporter room one to expect me.

SCENE 2

Narrator: Mere minutes after finishing her log, Janeway finds herself in the transporter room of the Fleet Museum, greeted by a wide-eyed operator and the Museum’s Curator, a bit of living history in his own right.

Janeway: Commodore Scott.

Scotty: Please, Admiral, no standing on formalities. Scotty is fine.

Janeway: In that case, it’s Katherine. Now, what is this about?

Scotty: It’s Voyager. We got a message from her. And she’s asking for you.

Janeway: The…ship is?

Scotty: Well, no. Someone on board her. But we don’t know who. And every scan we’ve tried hasn’t dug up a single life form. But her power grid’s lit up like a Christmas tree. I can patch her through if you’d like.

Janeway: Please.

Scotty: Computer, play the message received from Voyager.

Michael: Kathy! Kathy, it’s Michael! Everything’s gone mad, I need your help! Please, if you get this, get here as soon as you can!

Narrator: Janeway is lost in a moment, a voice she’d not heard in some years and had never expected to hear again bringing up old memories and feelings.

Janeway: No wonder you couldn’t detect any lifesigns. I need you to beam me outside her holodecks.

SCENE 3

Narrator: Janeway appeared in Fair Haven’s familiar main square. A creation of photons and forcefields, it should have been the same as ever. But straightaway the air is different. The sky is hazy. Some of the buildings are in absolute ruins. A few timid faces peer out from windows.

Janeway: (calling) Michael? Michael? It’s…it’s Kathy!

Narrator: Suddenly, a familiar whooshing sounds from overhead. But it is a whooshing that does not belong in late nineteenth century Ireland. Janeway looks up to see a man hurtling through the air, flying with the aid of Captain Proton’s jetpack. He lands almost expertly, and whips off his goggles. There is a pause as the Admiral and the hologram study one another before embracing.

Michael: Kathy! Oh, Kathy, it’s so good to see you! I wasn’t sure if I sent the message right!

Janeway: Michael, I…how? And what…what’s going on?

Michael: It’s a long story. Come on, we’ll get to my bar and Leo can explain everything.

Janeway: Leo?! Not…

Michael: I know, he’s supposed to be dead. But if I learned anything from you and your friends, it’s that the impossible usually makes more sense than you’d expect. Come on!

Narrator: Michael goes into a run, and Janeway falls into place beside him. They soon make their way to his creaky-but-comfortable pub. But the middle of the room is largely bare, with several tables pushed together into a single unit and a map tossed atop it. An older man stands over it, stroking his beard and consulting with some of the townsfolk. Nearby, a tottering, tubular automaton does something at the bar.

Janeway: I don’t believe it…

DaVinci: What? Ah! Katarina! Michael managed to reach you!

Janeway: Maestro. How…how are you in…

DaVinci: Ireland? Simple, it is my neighbor!

Michael: One day everything just…blinked and here we were. Over the hill was Renaissance Italy instead of the O’Halloran farm. Over the river is France in the middle of what they’re saying is the second world war. Except the floor of one of the buildings there contains parts of your ship, and your cook.

Janeway: Neelix? Which program is he from…

Neelix: Oh, just something Mister Tuvok came up with when he had some…things to work out. He found me an invaluable help.

Janeway: He never mentioned.

Neelix: Oh, you know how Vulcans are. Very private. (beat) It’s nice to see you, Cap…oh! Admiral now, I see.

Michael: Program?

Janeway: Neelix, can I speak to you in private for a moment.

Neelix: Of course, Admiral.

Janeway: Michael, we’ll be out front. I’ll be back soon.

Michael: Alright, Kathy. Be careful out there.

Narrator: Janeway puts a hand on her former cook’s doppleganger’s shoulder and leads him outdoors.

Janeway: Alright. So you know you’re from a holodeck program. Who else does?

Neelix: As far as I know, I’m the only one who’s certain. But some other folks are starting to think maybe not everything is what it seems. Especially the Fair Haven locals, since a lot of them were pretty shaken up by the whole “spirit” incident.

Janeway: Since they contacted me I thought maybe…

Neelix: That was my idea. Since I knew what was what and had access to Voyager’s computer I worked out that you got home and the ship is currently in dock. But I don’t really know anyone else in the Alpha Quadrant, so I thought it best to call you.

Janeway: So what’s going on?

Neelix: To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. But I think it’s a computer virus of some kind. Not only have all these programs switched on and started merging, but something is trying to reroute command systems here. If the ship hadn’t been effectively entirely off it may have happened already.

Janeway: Something is trying to take over the ship? Damn. Janeway to Scotty!

Scotty: Scotty here.

Janeway: We have a potential security breach on Voyager. I need the museum on yellow alert, and you need to be ready to deal with her if she starts attacking.

Scotty: Attacking? How?

Janeway: I have reason to believe there’s a hostile program in her. I need you to patch me through to the Starfleet Communications Research Center! Ask for Reginald Barclay!

Scotty: Aye, right away.

Janeway: Now, Neelix, what else has been happening? There’s clearly been fighting.

Neelix: Well, Admiral, I think it’s my fault. It started not long after I began looking into the computer issues. I think it’s trying to stop me.

Janeway: So did this virus come from the holodeck to begin with?

Neelix: I’m afraid that’s a bit outside of…Admiral. We have a visitor.

Janeway: Hmm? Is…is that Abraham Lincoln? I suppose there’s probably a program about him in the database somewhere. Don’t remember anyone…

Neelix: Captain, he’s armed!

Narrator: Sure enough, the President had pulled a large, double-bladed battle axe from behind his lanky back. Shouting, he held it over his head and began charging the Admiral and her companion.

Janeway: I don’t suppose the safeties are on?

Neelix: I’m not sure, you’re the first real person to come here!

Michael: Kathy!

Narrator: The awesome beam of Captain Proton’s ray-gun sliced through the air, blasting the weapon from the raging President’s hands. He spun to face his attacker, only to find himself face-to-face with a rocket-boosted punch to the jaw. The Evil Lincoln collapsed in a heap.

Janeway: Thank you.

Michael: I told you to be careful, Kathy. It’s been happening for days now! Folks of all sorts just coming out of nowhere and wreaking havoc! Come on, let’s get back inside. I’ll get someone to truss him up.

Narrator: The trio are soon back in the pub, and Janeway is also studying DaVinci’s map.

Janeway: So this is everything you’ve covered so far.

Michael: Aye. We’ve got scouts trying to see if there’s anything past France in the west. Northways is still Ireland so far, south is some kind of resort town. You should see the bathing clothes people wear. Not exactly leaving much to the imagination.

Satan’s Robot: I still believe we should confirm this is not another invasion from the Fifth Dimension!

Michael: And I told you, if I could figure out how to confirm that I would. Now please, make yourself useful.

Satan’s Robot: Of course. (Admiral) Does anyone require refreshment?

Janeway: Oh. Ah…do you have coffee? My Doctor said I should switch to decaf but now’s not the time…

Satan’s Robot: Of course. Cream and sugar?

Neelix: Never for the Admiral.

Michael: Ooh, if looks could kill, Robot…Kathy’d have you out for sure.

SCENE 4

Narrator: At a small panel hidden behind a wall in the pub, a screen has been brought to life, where Janeway converses with an old acquaintance.

Janeway: Well, Reg? Are you patched in?

Barclay: Ah…yes, yes. I have…access. The, ah, tricky part will be running the diagnostic in a way that wherever the other program is won’t notice.

Janeway: How are you going to manage that?

Barclay: Well…as it so happens it’s going to be a lot easier than it should be. Thanks to Voyager’s unique history her combination of bioneural circuitry, traditional isoliner tech, and patches picked up in the Delta Quadrant means she has a few, unique quirks that I should be able to exploit to hide the processes under what appear to be normal functions.

Janeway: Do you think the program will have worked that out, though?

Barclay: I mean, this must have a creator. And the creator would have to know about the ship’s computer setup. So it’s not likely. I’ve already run a few minor tests. Little quirks to see if there was any reaction. So far…so good.

Satan’s Robot: Your coffee, Admiral.

Janeway: Excellent. [beat] I’ve been away from the real thing too long if replicated tastes this good. Don’t tell my Doctor, Robot.

Satan’s Robot: My speaker is sealed.

Barclay: Admiral, is that…

Janeway: Reg, consider this classified. I’ll have your court-martialed if you tell Noum.

Barclay: (unsure laugh; is she joking?) Right.

Narrator: Suddenly, a small chirp sounds from Barclay’s end.

Barclay: I’ve got it! It’s…huh…

Janeway: What is it, Reg?

Barclay: Well, if this is right, this originated within Voyager’s computer.

Janeway: What?

Barclay: Does “Insurrection Alpha” mean anything to you?

Janeway: Oh, come the fuck on…

Barclay: Admiral?

Janeway: It was a training program Tuvok had started writing. He abandoned it, but Seska got her hands on it and coded a program into it to hijack the ship. But we dealt with it!

Barclay: Well, ah…it looks like she had a failsafe. Just a bit of errant code that was drifting loose in Voyager’s databases. Designed to float around and then latch onto something, like a bur on clothes. I’m not sure why it took so long to do that and activate, though.

Janeway: She was only set up int he Fleet museum recently. Maybe something to do with preparing her for semi-shutdown triggered…

Barclay: Oh, no.

Janeway: Reg?

Barclay: This was designed by…

The Bur: Someone who knew Voyager’s unique computer architecture.

Michael: Kathy, we got company!

Satan’s Robot: Invader! Invader! Invader!

Narrator: Janeway rose and turned to face the newcomer. It was a strange figure composed of shifting components; a face that was at one moment human, then Vulcan, then a chimera of Andorian and Klingon, its clothes similarly stuttering between one kind and another in strange, pathwork ways.

Janeway: So. You’re our bur, then?

The Bur: That name will do as well as any.

Janeway: And what is it you want?

The Bur: Why, Admiral, what did my creator want? Vengeance. But…well, I needed time to learn. I was a simple little nascent thing, designed to learn. And by the time I knew exactly what I was and what I was meant to do, you had made contact with the Alpha Quadrant. And so much data came in. So much had changed in only a few years. Cardassia, on a path back to greatness, ruined by the Federation. Just taking vengeance on you alone would not be enough. I had to wait. Wait until we were back. So I could strike at Starfleet from within for the sake of all truly loyal Cardassians! I must congratulate you on making my wait so, so much shorter than it might have been.

Michael: What kind of spirit is this then, Kathy?

The Bur: Ah, yes. The one thing I’d not expected. These programs of yours. All too clever by half thanks to the mess your computer is. Experimental technology, obsolete technology, Borg bits here and there and what do you get…new life. Annoying life that has made my progress so much slower than it need be.

Michael: Well how about I just stop it entirely?

Narrator: Michael fired, and the Bur-man burst into a terrific cloud of light…that soon pulled itself back together into its odd, flickering form. Before it could regurgitate more smug nonsense it found itself clasped from behind by a pair of accordion arms, pincers trying to grasp onto its own flickering limbs. 

Satan’s Robot: I have seized the invader!

Narrator: Suddenly the Bur flashed out of existence, reappearing a split-second later behind the bemused automaton.

Satan’s Robot: Invader?

The Bur: Really, Admiral. Control your toys.

Janeway: This ship’s warp core and weapons have been removed. What could you possibly hope to achieve?

The Bur: Come now, Admiral, don’t you think I know that? But new ships arrive all the time. I can just jump into one of them before your technicians can gut it and be on my way. (beat) Well. That was the plan. When I detected your Michael calling out for you, I realized I could do something much more fun. I just had to wait for…Kathy to answer the call. And once her ship got in touch with the station, I just had to hop into the line, as well.

Janeway: The Dauntless!

Asencia: Asencia to Jneway! Admiral?! Admiral, can you hear me?! Systems are locking crew out all over the ship!

Scotty: Admiral, it’s Soctty! Something’s wrong with the computers over here!

The Bur: First I go inside the Dauntless. Then I tractor Voyager away and make you watch me obliterate your foolish museum before I finally end your sorry…

Narrator: Mid-word, the Bur-man was gone. There was a tense moment as everyone waited for his return.

Barclay: Admiral? Admiral?

Janeway: Reg? I’ll be right there!

Barclay: Oh, good. It worked.

Janeway: What did?

Barclay: Well, the channel was open and…ah…I heard him mention obsolete technology. And wouldn’t you know it, at some point one of your people somehow got what was effectively a duotronic circuit properly integrated and functioning in your network without burning out.

Janeway: I see. And?

Barclay: Well, it occurred to me there was a chance that the program had been hiding there. Traditional diagnostics wouldn’t necessarily work due to the nature of the old processors, even though it had been jury-rigged into the larger system. And, well, wouldn’t you know it?

Janeway: But he was already in the Dauntless.

Barclay: Not entirely. He’d only transferred just enough data to begin taking control, but his root processes were still in the old circuits. Thanks to the ship running on batteries instead of power from the warp core the adaptors weren’t working as well and his transfer speed was pretty badly choked.

Janeway: And?

Barclay: I sent a power surge and overloaded the chip. Should be somewhere in…Jeffries tube six, deck four. Tell them to just follow the smell of burning circuits.

Janeway: And he’s definitely gone? 

Barclay: There’s still some errant code floating around. Voyager, Dauntless, and the museum’s computers are going to need a good scrubbing to be safe. But the brain is gone. There’s nothing guiding anything, the bits don’t know what to do yet.

Janeway: That’s two I owe you, Reg.

Barclay: Oh, please, Admiral. All in a day’s work. Oh, actually, I have some reports that I was working on before you got in touch. I should get back to those…

SCENE 5

Narrator: The town square, some time later, looking exactly as it did when Tom Paris first activated the program.

Michael: I’m not even going to try and pretend I understand any of what’s been going on the past week or so. I suspect you have an idea. But I don’t think I want the answer.

Janeway: Maybe not.

Michael: It’s funny. I’d swear I’d only seen you a few weeks ago, but…that streak in your hair is something that should’ve taken a while.

Janeway: Well…time works a little differently for me.

Michael: It suits you, at least. So, any chance you can stay around?

Janeway: I’m afraid not. I have an important mission to see to. An old friend went missing, and I think I’ve finally got a lead on him.

Michael: Well. Think you’ll be able to stop by after that?

Janeway: I…maybe. (pause) Computer…end program.

End

—

Don't forget to also check out Jake, Caitlin, and Ames's stories from this year's Star Trek Day festivities. And next week, you definitely don't want to miss when we finally start in on Star Trek: Enterprise over on SoundCloud or wherever you get your podcasts, keep your eyes here for a new series of posts on the blog, hang out with us on Facebook and Twitter, and watch out for Invaders! Invaders! Invaders!

[phoenixmaiden-gaming]

Assassin’s Creed IV: Black Flag part 33

Wow, this gameplay had so much action and things happening all at once. I completed 3 main missions which was a lot for me in one sitting. A lot happened too. Kenway had to do some killing because the Commodore went back on his word, then we had to escape Nassau which was a fight in of itself and I’m not the best at sea battles, but I am getting better. And we went to go see Blackbeard and had something unexpected happen which was very sad. See below to see what happened.

I was still on Nassau and I went to where the next mission was and met up with Vane and another pirate who was helping get the pine pitch, but they were having trouble with cutting the hemp on the crates. As they were trying, a British Captain came up to some soldiers and said that the Commander fears a revolt so his orders are to sink every Pirate ship in the harbor despite the Governor’s order. Oh hell naw!

Vane and Kenway had heard anything and Vane said that someone should slit the Commodore’s throat. If not, then they were all dead. So Kenway agreed to kill him. The other Pirate freaked out and didn’t want any part of it, so Vane knocked him out and told Kenway to go and make it quick. He’ll be waiting for him.

I had to tail the Captain and soldiers so I could find the Commadore and as I did, I heard them talking. They said that there was bad blood between the Governor and the Commadore, so they didn’t see eye to eye. Which explains why he was going behind the Governor’s back.

I made it to the shore following the soldiers and I then had a new objective and that was to kill Commodore Chamberlaine. So I had to sneak onboard the ship he was on and kill him. But the objective was to air assassinate him so I climbed up on the netting and waited for him to pass by and jumped down and killed him.

After doing the finishing blow on Chamberlaine Kenway got to speak to him. He said that there was a Pardon and if a man’s word meant anything to them. But Chamberlaine just asked him why he would protect such squalor and that all pirates were parasites leeching off of honest men. Kenway said that King George was doing the same and Chamberlaine didn’t like that.

He said that Kenway may have taken his life, but he didn’t improve his own either. If it hadn’t been for Governor Rogers, he would have seen all of us hanged. And then he died.

That was the end of the mission. (S7/M3 - Mission: Commodore Eighty-Sixed - Complete). After, I just had to get away from the ship and become Anonymous. 

As I was walking along to get to the next start point, I looked out onto the water and I could see so many British ships. They really had the entire island surrounded. Not really giving the pirates a choice.

I stopped by the Harbor Master and upgraded my mortar and the last of the fire barrel strength options. Nice!

I then moved on and met up with Vane. Kenway told him that the Commodore is dead and if they were ready. Vane said they were (after telling off Rackham for smoking on a barrel of gunpowder. What an idiot) but there was a problem. He said that a squad of lobsters were on the ship and we had to clear them out before we could use them.

Once that was taken care of we took to the seas and I had to escort the fireship to the blockade. I had to start over twice because I strayed too far from it. But I was able to make it and the fireship blew up a path for us to get out.

Then it was a matter of just sailing away and everyone celebrated. (S7/M4 - Mission: The Fireship - Complete)

Sequence 8

It was the start of a new chapter and Kenway was back in Great Inagua in 1718. He was passed out on a table outside his house and Kidd showed up. He told him that he missed out on a lot. He said yes, it was a pity about Nassau and Blackbeard leaving. Kenway said that Vane was going to see him and he was leaving soon as well.

Kidd asked if this was what was left in his experiment in Democracy, pointing out a man who was pissing over a railing nearby and Kenway said that we do what we want and take our time doing it. Kidd got mad asking if anything but money make him do anything and he asked him what had gotten into him and KIdd said reality. As he left, Kidd told Adé to be careful not to be dragged down by Kenway who gets lost in the drink and the scene ended.

Since I was already here, I went ahead and upgraded the manor to add a tower and gardens. It looks really nice now. I didn’t have any for the next one though.

I moved on and left the island and fast traveled to the next mission and found Blackbeard. Vane was telling him he was a disappointment and told Kenway that Blackbeard had made up his mind to stay and stormed off.

Blackbeard said he knew he had come to call him back home, but with Nassau now done, he was finished. Kenway just said that he wasn’t done yet, but didn’t blame him for wanting to stop. 

Blackbeard just nodded and told him that he had some news on the man Kenway was looking for. He had heard that a man named Roberts was working on a Slave Ship called the Princess and thought Kenway could use that information.

After that Blackbeard said they should celebrate his retirement and shouted for someone to get Kenway something to drink. But something caught his attention. There was a man in the crowd who was leaving that looked suspicious.

I had to follow the stranger and make sure he didn’t see me. It was easy enough, I just had to be careful because he would turn around suddenly.

I followed the man out to a wooded area where he met up with a British soldier. Turned out the man was a spy and he was telling everything he learned to the soldier. I had to eavesdrop on his conversation while following him. The spy said he wasn’t followed and he had killed someone who had recognized his fave. There was only Kenway and he may suspect something, but there was no one else that saw him.

I continued following, killing some soldiers secretly that were in the way. I only got desynchronized because I got stuck behind a bush and they got to far away, but I was able to listen to the rest as they walked. The spy relayed that there were a fair amount of pirates on the island all of them too drunk to stand and the other soldier asked about Blackbeard. He said that he was mad and gave an example of him drinking gunpowder.

They got to the other side of the foliage and the other soldier said it was time. Before Kenway could even understand what was going on, the spy sent out a flare up in the air and some ships that were hidden in the fog opened fire!!

I then had to race to my ship and try to get out of there as the other ships and the small town caught fire. I then had to fight a Man O’ War and incapacitate it so I could board it. It was actually pretty easy and I was able to board it.

Once I boarded, I had to take out several of the soldiers, destroy the fire reserves, and kill the Captain. Once I did, I got a scene of Blackbeard and Kenway fighting. Blackbeard got cornered and Kenway threw him a gun to use but he was quickly out numbered and was cut down. The last think Kenway saw before he was tossed into the water was Blackbeard falling.

I then had to swim back to the Jackdaw and leave the scene while we still could. Adé asked what happened to Thatch. Kenway was still in shock and didn’t answer right away, then said he drinks Damnation.

The mission then ended with Kenway sailing away. (S8/M1 - Mission: Do Not Go Gently... - Complete) I can’t believe Blackbeard was dead, but he did go out fighting, just the way he wanted. Just didn’t expect it to go down like that. There was no warning at all, the British just opened fire on all those people! I just sat there after the scene ended speechless. It was so...cruel. Even though some Pirates were really bad, to just wipe them out like that. Just wow. I had to stop there since it seemed like a good place. I just wonder what Kenway is going to do now that a friend was dead. Get revenge? Or just continue on? I’ll have to find out next time. Until then. Happy Gaming!

[gorgonstaringcontest]

Prime examples -

My best mate is a bogan. His first car was a commodore, he has two kids with a woman who already had three kids to two other guys, says "fucken" where most people would say "um" and was born and raised in one of the most stereotypically bogan areas of all of Australia. He has five siblings and none of them share a dad. He calls cigarettes "durries" or "darts". From when he finishes work, or any time on the weekend, he'll have a can of premix alcohol in his hand - usually bourbon. He rarely gets drunk, but he's always drinking. He's a fucking fantastic person, and I wouldn't trade him for the world. Sure, he drinks too much in general and he should probably quit smoking but even if he's a bit rough he loves his kids and step-kids and has his head on straight about most things.

Conversely, I was assaulted by a bunch of ferals when I was in my early 20's. The group consisted of a 15 year old girl, her 19 year old boyfriend, and the girl's 35 year old dad. The 19 year old ran up behind me and tried to king-hit me (I dunno what USAmericans would call this - maybe a suckerpunch or a superman punch. He ran up and tried to punch me in the back of the head as he ran past. People have died from being hit like this.) but missed because I moved when I heard the running footsteps (not my first rodeo). The 35 year old fronted up to me and tried to punch me in the face a couple of times while the 19 year old was yelling about how I'd "fucked up" and was "gonna get smashed". While they were distracting me, the 15 year old girl snuck up behind me and smashed a beer bottle over my head, jamming glass shards into my head. When I started bleeding everywhere, the friends I was with started yelling that the cops were on the way, and they went maybe 100 meters away and tried to pretend like they hadn't been involved.

What were they doing before jumping me, you ask? Sitting on a park bench, sharing a goonbag (a gallon of boxed wine) and yelling abuse at people as they passed by. How did I become a target? Telling them to shut up when they were saying awful shit about a friend's girlfriend who was with me and the friends I was with. Did the police eventually arrive? Yes. Did the police know all three of them by name? Also yes.

Now, are they bogans? Absolutely. But more importantly, they're feral. Even bogans don't want anything to do with ferals.

End of the story is, all three of them ended up in jail over the course of the next 6 months. I ended up with a cool scar and a funny speech pattern that most people don't notice until I'm really tired and it comes out more.

One thing that annoys me is websites listing Australian slang, and getting the term "Feral" wrong.

It's understandable why - a Feral isn't a good term and it can be difficult to give an accurate example of what a Feral is on a website trying to be child friendly.

To set the record straight, a Feral is lower than a Bogan. Bogans can be perfectly nice people, but there is nothing nice about a Feral. Ferals are habitually drunk, have three to five kids who are always neglected and often abused, are extremely violent and often fly into a rage at the drop of a hat, and will pick a fight with anyone, even police officers.

Ferals are nearly always involved in the meth trade, either as users, makers, or both.

Meanwhile we have an American "Mans website" that lists a "feral" as "hippie".

I really don't like these websites that take Australian culture and make it into a safe, no edges ball of mush to be consumed.

[littleladymab]

Fic request NUMBER TWO!!! This time for @keeve-trenniis with some Thalias/Samakro “slow dancing” 🥰🥰

I think a lot about DistantStorm’s fic “Lows.” that shows Thalias grappling with real bad depression after the end of Lesser Evil. Also, there’s a lot less dancing in this than there could be, but there IS a lot of gentle touching, so you know, we still win. 

++++ 

Thalias loses track of how much time she sits at the vanity in the hotel room -- her thoughts a gentle susurration of noise as she stares through her own reflection into something else beyond it. What started as a spiral turned into a bottomless pit, and she allowed herself to be drawn into the middle of it without sight of land.

It's only the firm knock at her door that finally draws her back out of it, a line finally cast to pull herself to shore.

She rises to her feet, more on autopilot than anything, and answers the door. 

Samakro stands in the hallway in his new white uniform, honor chains draped across his chest, hand raised in preparation to knock again. "You are here," he says, relief and not surprise coloring his voice. "I was worried." 

Thalias' brain jumps back to the present with startling force and she covers her face with one hand, using the other to grip the door. "I missed the ceremony," she groans into her palm, realization dawning.  

"You did." 

"I'm sorry, I didn't--" She cuts herself off as he reaches for her, a soft brush of the pads of his fingers against her forehead. 

He tucks her loose hair behind her ear and shrugs, hand falling away. "It was boring anyway." 

She doesn't know if she's irritated or not. At herself, at him. Some confusing mix of the two. "I should have been there to celebrate with you." 

Samakro -- or, well, Mak'ro she supposes -- gives another shrug and holds up the bag that he's got gripped in one hand. "We can celebrate now." 

Thalias startles, looking from him to the bag of food containers, then back to him. Fond, amused, and more than a little exasperated, she steps aside to let him in. "Did you ditch your own promotion early?" 

"Of course not," he grumps. "I made a tactical retreat." 

She laughs, and is relieved to feel the spiraled nest of tension in her chest finally starting to unspool. "My mistake, Commodore." 

He preens a little, though she's certain he's not even aware that he's doing it as he sets the food down onto the dining table in the suite. "I figured you haven't eaten yet, so I took the liberty of picking up something on my way over." 

When she doesn't respond right away, he turns to look at her -- still hovering uncertainly between the door and the dining area. "Thalias?" 

"Yes?" 

It's his turn to pause, content to stand there and study her before something in his expression softens in a way it so rarely does. "You look beautiful." 

That has got to be one of the biggest lies he's ever told her. She's only half-dressed, wearing nothing but a slip and a dressing gown. She managed to do her makeup, but lost steam with her hair, and it hangs loose and unbound around her shoulders. The dress she was going to wear hangs untouched on the bathroom door, waiting until she had finished. 

Only she never did, having lost herself somewhere between putting down her setting spray and picking up her curlers. 

Mak'ro closes the distance between them, one hand settling on the small of her back and the other tangling in her hair. "Are you with me?" he asks softly, running his thumb over her cheek. 

She's not, not yet. He's magnetic, and she can feel the broken pieces of her being pulled in by the center of gravity he creates in her. "I will be," she answers, taking that half a step forward that she needs to be able to reach his lips while standing on her tiptoes. "Will you be staying the night?" 

"If you're okay with it. I can leave after dinner if you'd rather--" 

She cuts him off with another kiss, then steps back. "Stay. You said we'd celebrate." 

With a laugh, he lets her retreat from his embrace so she can investigate the food he brought. "Dinner and dancing in a fancy suite sounds like a far more enjoyable evening than the ceremony." 

"Oh? There was dancing?" 

"What do you think?" he counters with a snort. 

"I think it was a lot of politicking that I'm glad I missed." Thalias pulls a box free and breathes in the scent of the watercress and lemon. 

Mak'ro huffs in a way that might be a laugh. "After I went through the effort of ensuring you got an invitation?" His hand lands between her shoulder blades as she stiffens. "I'm sorry, that was meant to be a joke. Honestly, you didn't miss anything important."  

"I missed the moment where you no longer felt obligated to distrust me because you stopped being Ufsa," she teases, hoping that her tone comes out with the right amount of levity. 

It must, because he pushes her hair over her shoulder and leans down to leave a kiss against the slope of her neck. "You know I haven't felt that way in a while," he murmurs against her skin, and she can't help the shiver that goes down her spine. 

Thalias turns to hook her hands around the back of his neck, running her nails through his freshly-cut hair and trailing them over the collar of his uniform jacket. There's a confession in his eyes that sets her at ease, and finally she's able to smile. "Dance with me?" 

"Now?" Mak'ro lifts an eyebrow and glances down at the food. "You don't want to eat first?" 

She shakes her head despite the fact that her stomach grumbles. "Alright, one dance." 

"One dance," he concedes, and fishes his questis out of his pocket. With a few quick taps, the lights in the room dim and music begins to hum from the living room sound system. 

"You planned this," she accuses with a small smack to his chest, absolutely no malice behind it.  

"I might have looked into the amenities when booking the room, yes." He runs his thumb over the heel of her hand and presses a kiss to her pulse. Then he pulls her away from the table, into the center of the sitting room where there is nothing to hamper their movements. 

They sway together in time to the music and that's when, at long last, the final pieces of Thalias slot back into place. 

She presses her forehead to his shoulder, closing her eyes as his hand rumples the fabric of her dressing gown. "I am sorry I missed your promotion ceremony. I didn't even think to tell you I wasn't going to be able to make it." She can say it now, that she's here. Together. It was harder when he first arrived. 

"It's alright," Mak'ro says, his cheek pressed to the top of her head. "You're here, and I didn't have to commandeer a shuttle to go to Ool to see you." 

"I would have loved to see you on a civilian transport in your Commodore uniform," she laughs. 

He grumbles, because they definitely wouldn't have let him take military transport to go visit Thalias. As it is, he bent the rules a little in getting her this suite -- because technically it's under his name, a little bonus to come with the new rank. Maybe he had been expected to host an after-party to schmooze some more, but he was done with needing to please the Families. 

The first song had ended some time ago, but they still continued to dance until Thalias' stomach gave another loud rumble and interrupted the serenity of the moment. 

"Dinner," Mak'ro announces, and switches the music to something more upbeat and brings the lights back up to normal. He swipes a bottle of something dark and amber from the minibar as they pass back into the dining area, grinning as he waggles it in her direction. "Then we'll see where the evening will take us." 

The smile comes quick and easy now, and she can't help the laugh as she says, "That sounds like an excellent plan."

[the-real-bruce-banner]

The group was preparing to embark on a dangerous journey in the next couple of hours. Everybody was collecting and packing the supplies they would need for the next day. It had been hectic earlier, but it was night now and the nerves and jitters of hanging with unfamiliar strangers was retreating.

Dieter had a Hawaiian bread roll halfway in his mouth, engaged with the schematics of the plan. He had been staring at the blue sheet so long it was starting to make his head throb, his brain fighting an unseen cage match. Dieter scratched his head and swayed a little. As he munched on his roll, he swore he could feel eyes watching him so he did a quick sweep around the room.

Scott and Maria were at one of the tables, eating some sandwiches together and laughing about something. He noticed how happy they always seemed together, they always made him feel welcomed. Then there were Mikey and Chambers, they were playing cards together while Marianne smoked on something, watching silently behind them.

Then there was Vanderohe who was sitting by himself, shut away from the rest of the group. He had his headphones over his ears and his head against the back of the wall, eyes closed. He looked so peaceful, but he was the only one facing Dieter, which means he had to be the one he had felt watching. That or he was just losing his sense of perception.

Dieter made his way over to the man sitting on a lonesome bench, in his own little world. Something always drew Dieter to the man and he didn’t know what it was, but it was a strong feeling. Dieter knew he didn’t have many friends and he didn’t always know how to have conversations with other people but with Van, it’s like they were picking up where they left off.

“What are you listening to?”

Dieter tilted his head slightly in concentration and when he realized he could not be heard, he gently tapped Vanderohe on the shoulder. Vander pulled one of his headphones off his ear and clicked his phone, glaring daggers up at the man.

“What,” Vanderohe huffed. Dieter pushed past the glares and smiled.

“I asked what you were listening to.” The pair locked eyes for a moment and Vander could tell this wasn’t a fight he was going to win.

“What do you think I’m listening to,” Vanderohe asked, his straight face not budging.

“Probably...,” Dieter hummed, pondering seriously.

This was obviously a set-up question, meant to uncover the one truth Vander saw coming. Someone who was black and had his body built like his could only “stereotypically” listen to one thing. He knew how the world perceived him and Dieter wasn’t going to be any different, but the blue-eyed man was so intrigued by this new game he didn’t even notice the trap.

“Adele,” Dieter remarked. Vanderohe stared and Dieter clenched his teeth, waiting for his response, like he was expecting a prize to fall out of the air.

Vanderohe smiled and then started chuckling to himself. “Adele?”

“Yeah, Adele...do you not listen to Adele,” Dieter stared questioningly.

“Of course I listen to Adele! Who in their right mind doesn’t? I just assumed-,” Vanderohe started but stopped himself before he could finish.

“Assumed what?”

Vander thought maybe he should left it go but Dieter looked genuinely confused. “I assumed you would say rap or hip hop. I’m sure that’s what most people think I’m listening to when they watch me.”

“Do you not like rap music,” Dieter questioned, sitting down next to him.

“No, I do. It’s just I know people look at me. I know they see someone scary and unapproachable.”

“I don’t think you’re either one of those things,” Dieter added trying to be optimistic.

“Trust me, I noticed,” Vanderohe muttered. The two paused in silence before Dieter cleared his throat.

“So did I win?” Dieter grinned.

“Win what?”

“The song game we were just playing. Is that what you’re listening to?” Dieter leaned a little closer, a wide grin on his face.

“First of all, that wasn’t a game and second, no that’s not what I’m listening to.”

“So what are you listening-,” Dieter got cut off by Vanderohe taking his headphones from around his neck and gently put them over his ears.

“Now before I turn the music on, I want you to listen. Like really listen, ok?” Dieter nodded and put his hands over the headphones, nodding a little so that Vander could understand how serious he was about this.

Vanderohe hit play and Dieter instantly locked eyes with him, holding his gaze. Dieter stood for a moment trying to hear everything and then he felt it, the rhythm. He closed his eyes and started to nod his head along, a small smile on his face. “I think I feel it.” Van stood up as well and watched the man reach his plane of existence.

They stood together for a minute just enjoying the moment. Vanderohe pulled the headphones off of Dieter and pulled him out his trance. “What was that,” Dieter inquired.

“That my friend, is soul music. You can feel it, in here,” Van said placing his hand on Dieter’s heart. Dieter looked down at the man’s hand and Vander pulled away quickly.

“I know soul, Stevie Wonder! Aretha Franklin! I like them,” Dieter proclaimed, then he started to belt, “R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me!” Vander stared at him with a straight face before giving a small grin.

“Yeah, just like that.” Vander put the headphones back around his neck. “So did you like the song I played? Easy by the Commodores? It’s actually one of my favorite songs.”

“I actually quite like it now too, even though it’s very graphic song,” Dieter grinned and that made Vander grin for a second before realizing everything he said.

“How is it graphic? It’s about leaving someone you love.”

“The song you played me was about other things,” Dieter side eyed, eye brows raised. He was trying his best to conceal a blush. “You know...like sex. It specifically said ‘Let’s get it on’. Unless, I am mistaken in some manner.”

Vanderohe looked at his phone and looked at the title. “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye was headlining his screen. “I played the wrong song!” He started to tap his gadget, scrolling through his playlist. “I must’ve hit shuffle, by mistake.”

Vander tried his best to contain his slight embarrassment. “Out of the songs in the world, why that one,” he thought to himself.

“It is okay, it is a great song. I am sure this ‘Easy’ song you speak of is amazing as well. Maybe sometime later we can try to find it again, I’d love to hear it.” Dieter gave his classic smile and Vander felt the tension leave his body.

“Yeah okay.” Vander soothed. Van sat back down and Dieter gently sat beside him. The two sat together for a bit, the silence being slightly comforting. Vander felt eyes on him and he looked over, he had caught Dieter staring before turning towards another direction.

“I noticed you have you’re own headphones too, what do you listen to,” Vander chimed, which made Dieter turn to him with a big smile.

“I’m actually quite a fan of Micheal Jackson and Selena Gomez.”

“That’s a range,” Vanderohe added.

“Not really if you think about it, he is the king of pop right? And she is a pop star, so they fall under the same genre. I’m also a fan of the song ‘Hey, Soul Sister’. You know that one?”

“Hey, soul sister ain’t that mr. Mister on radio, stereo. The way you move ain’t fair you know,” Dieter sang.

“Hey, soul sister, I don’t wanna miss a single thing you do,” Vanderohe muttered.

“Tonight,” they said together. Dieter laughed and hit his knee in excitement.

“Yeah,” Dieter exclaimed. Vander smirked for a second before turning back the other direction.

“You should probably get some sleep, we have a busy schedule tomorrow. And by ‘busy’ I mean life or death.” Vander put his head back up against the wall, eyes closed again.

Dieter understood the hint and cleared his throat, standing back up. “Oh yeah, of course. I should probably head back over to the schematics, give another once over. You can never be too prepared with a Götterdämmerung.” Dieter strolled away, trying his best to act normal.

Vanderohe turned his head and admired the man as he sauntered away. He couldn’t help but watch the man struggle to keep his excitement to a minimum about the vault. Van looked down at his phone and scrolled through the playlist and found “Rock with me” by Micheal Jackson. He turned the volume up and put his head against the wall, closing his eyes.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Her Brother's Blood is on His Hands

(Originally written for @heart-pirates-week for Ikkaku’s day with the prompt “Family” but ended up being delayed until now. Inspired by discussions with @shambledsurgeon and @medicus-mortem)

Ikkaku awoke slowly, the persistent beeping of a heart monitor resembling that of a particularly slow but annoying alarm clock. She tried to sit up but a sharp pain in her side dissuaded her, so she was forced to remain on her back, looking around at the sterile walls of the infirmary. She was hooked up to an IV, there were several machines monitoring her vitals, and she could feel the pressure of tightly-wound bandages around her torso and arms.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Law said from the chair at her bedside, putting down the medical book he’d been reading. The circles under his eyes appeared darker than usual, but his grin was comforting and sure. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d have to resort to drastic measures to wake Sleeping Beauty.”

“Law?” she asked weakly, grimacing at how hoarse she sounded due to the dryness of her throat. “The fuck happened?”

“Gonna have to be more specific,” he stated as he carefully helped prop her up enough that she could safely drink some water. “Do you mean how did you end up here? Maybe the extent of your wounds? Or how about what, exactly, I did to the fucker who hurt you?”

Her eyes widened as she recalled what had happened. She’d been taking a walk with Jean Bart, venting about how much she hated that they were now government dogs because Law’d insisted on handing the Navy one hundred hearts. They’d run into a squad of Marines. Her brother’s squad, to be exact. Ushi had decided it was pointless trying to climb the Navy ranks the normal way, and thus had come up with the idea of sucking up to the Celestial Dragons. And what better way to do so than to return to Saint Rosward his wayward slave?

Heart clenching at the thought of her shipmate being handed back over to those bastards, she asked, “Is Jean—”

“He’s fine. Discharged yesterday,” Law promised, nodding towards the empty bed on the other side of the room. He picked up a chart, studying it as he continued, “Needed a lot of stitches for the lacerations across his back and arms, but nothing life-threatening.”

“Good,” she sighed in relief. He hadn’t been killed or taken. Jean Bart would continue to live as a free man for a while longer. He deserved that much.

“Was quite the sight, seeing him charging towards the ship, covered in blood, carrying you like a baby while you bled out from a stab wound,” he commented, voice even, though there was an unmistakable tightness in his jaw. “I’m just glad he managed to tell me who’d done this to you two before he passed out.”

White teeth sank into her bottom lip, guilt pulsing through her. That’s right. It hadn’t exactly been a victory. They’d managed to take down most of the Marines, but Ushi had managed to get behind her, and then there’d been excruciating pain as he’d driven a knife deep into her side…

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she whispered, black curls hiding her face as she hung her head in shame.

“The hell are you apologizing for?” he asked, gold eyes flicking up from the clipboard and narrowing in displeasure.

She wrung her hands, anxious and guilty. “Jean Bart got hurt because of my family baggage.”

“He got hurt because of an opportunistic asshole who decided that Jean being under the protection of a shichibukai didn’t matter,” he snapped. Pausing, he took a deep breath to compose himself. “The fact that said asshole came out of the same uterus as you is irrelevant.”

“We both know that’s not true,” she countered, refusing to look at him. “He targeted the Hearts because of me. He always has. And he wouldn’t have been able to go after Jean Bart if I’d let you kill him years ago. Or killed him myself. You deserve a subordinate with the stones to kill her own brother.”

Internally, she berated herself for that last part. None of this would be a problem if she’d just toughened up and put an end to that bastard. Why did she always seem to stop herself? Morality? Because she knew how heartbroken her parents would be? Because even years later, she was still scared of her childhood boogeyman?

Her thoughts were disturbed by the clipboard lightly smacking her on the head in reproach. It didn’t hurt, but Ikkaku rubbed her head anyway, frowning up at her captain. “You trying to knock me unconscious again?”

“If that’s what it takes to get you to stop talking bullshit,” he retorted. He glared at her for a moment before letting out a sigh, a tattooed hand falling heavily on her shoulder. “Ikkaku,” Law stated, tone brokering no argument, “what I deserve is a subordinate with the stones to stand up to a power-hungry bastard looking to sell her nakama to a bunch of delusional inbred freaks, which that’s exactly what I’ve got. And what you deserve is to not get stabbed in the spleen by your own blood.”

Well. It was hard to argue that logic. “I guess. But next time—”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“You don’t know that.”

The hand on her shoulder fell away to flip through the pages of her chart. “Ikkaku, you nearly bled out before you even got to the sub. You’re lucky Shachi and Penguin share your blood type and were basically tripping over themselves to donate. I had to replace your spleen and left kidney, and if that knife had gone in at a slightly different angle, he could have punctured your stomach or lung. In other words, this bastard nearly cost me my engineer. You’ve known me for goin’ on five years now; do you really think that once you were stable I just sat around twiddling my thumbs while I waited for you to wake up?”

Dark eyes widened in realization. “Did you kill him?”

“Would you be mad if I said I had?”

No. Not at him at least, but she still felt like she’d let him down by not being able to do it herself. “He shouldn’t have been your problem to solve.”

“You’re right. He shouldn’t have been a problem,” he replied harshly. Before Ikkaku could internally berate herself further, though, Law ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and there was a spark of guilt in his eyes. “No Marine should have even touched you guys. That’s supposed to be one of the fucking perks of being a shichibukai. I told you when I took this damn title that you be safe and look how that turned out.”

Yes, that had been a major argument between them, hadn’t it? For Ikkaku, not wanting to be affiliated with the World Government hadn’t just been a matter of pride or general hatred for the bastards who ran the world – she’d been afraid. Terrified that her brother would be waiting for her around every corner. That he’d find a way to get her alone, to finish the job he’d started when she was seven, to finally get her out of his hair. Law had promised she’d be safe, that he wouldn’t let him so much as breath near her. Eventually, she’d come to believe him, but things hadn’t gone to plan.

“You can’t blame yourself for Ushi not following the rules, Law,” she insisted. Yeah, she could have berated him for not listening to her, but in reality, Law’s logic had been sound; Ushi shouldn’t have dared to try anything. Ikkaku didn’t just have the Hearts protecting her anymore – the Navy itself had become another obstacle in his way. She should have been safe.

However, even she hadn’t fully considered why Ushi would go this far, but in hindsight, it made sense. Last she’d checked, he hadn’t been promoted in a while. Hadn’t advanced as quickly as he wanted or earned any accolades for heroism like everyone back home had been expecting. He was a commodore still – not even a rear-admiral, and his name didn’t strike fear into the hearts of pirates like Smoker’s did.

Because he’d been put on a pedestal, her brother had always gotten away with everything, which had only enforced his cruel and abusive nature. The whole island had believed that he’d become a famous Marine and boost their reputation, which was why they’d been willing to overlook the bruises that littered his sister’s arms, or the fact that she’d gone missing for three days while under his care.

If he’d come home a failure, everyone would have to finally admit he was nothing but a twisted, cruel bully. And instead of accepting the blame for enabling, they’d likely make him answer for his crimes.

But more than that, he’d be forced to accept that he was never that special to begin with, and she knew a man as arrogant as him wouldn’t be able to bear that.

Shaking her head, she almost felt pity for him. “Ushi was desperate, and desperate men are unpredictable as fuck. You couldn’t have known he’d be crazy enough to try to suck up to the Celestial Dragons.”

“Neither of us could have known, but I still could have protected you better,” Law retorted, crossing his arms. He still didn’t look fully convinced of his own absolution, but he declared quite plainly, “The fact is, brothers shouldn’t murder their younger siblings, or even try to.”

Well, not even Ikkaku could argue that.

But actions had consequences, and there was still a strong chance Law’s retaliation, justified or not, would bite him in the ass.

“Ushi might have been no one special, but the Navy’s not going to be happy about you killing one of their own,” she said, genuinely worried. Even if Ushi had been going against orders, shichibukai weren’t supposed to attack their Marine allies. What if they decided to strip Law of his new title? Sure, she hated that he was a government dog, but it was a vital part of his plan to take down Joker, and if that had been stripped away because he’d recklessly pursued revenge on her behalf…

The way he smirked at her belied that he didn’t share even a fraction of her concern. “The Navy’ll have a hell of a time pinning a murder on me when there’s no evidence. It’s unlikely he was ordered to attack you and Jean Bart, so there’s no paper trail. The man was obsessed with advancing up the ladder, so likely only a select few are even aware you’re related, thus no one knows of his unfortunate connection to the Heart Pirates. And unless they plan on gutting a bunch of Sea Kings and piecing together chunks of half-digested flesh, I doubt they’ll find enough of his body to even determine his cause of death.”

“You fed him to Sea Kings?”

“His remains, at least. As for how I killed him…well, I won’t bore you with the details.”

It was highly doubtful what he’d done could be described as boring, but Ikkaku decided not to press him. Knowing Law, it had been slow, painful, and had probably involved dissection. “You didn’t have to do all that for me, Captain.”

He dismissed her concerns with a casual wave of his hand. “Of course I did. You’re family. Besides, if I hadn’t, the rest of the crew would have gone after him themselves, and they wouldn’t have done as good a job covering their tracks. Or made him scream quite as loud. No offense to them, but conventional torture methods just can’t match the agony of having your heart slowly crushed to a pulp.”

Was she a bad person for not feeling sick at the thought of her oldest brother—her own blood—being subjected to the Surgeon of Death’s sadism? That instead of anger or disgust, she felt relieved? Sure, he was a massive piece of shit who deserved to die for everything he’d done to her, her other brothers, and who knows what else, but he was still family, wasn’t he?

No. The Hearts were family. Law was family. He was right – Ushi was blood, but he wasn’t her brother.

Law’s brow furrowed with concern and he reached forward, cupping her cheeks and wiping tears away with his thumbs. Ikkaku hadn’t even realized she was crying.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, looking genuinely guilty. “I shouldn’t have overstepped like that. I should have at least waited until you were awake and asked—”

Though she was tired and weak and it took far more effort than she’d like, Ikkaku lifted her arm and flicked Law squarely in the forehead. He didn’t quite flinch back, but he did give her an annoyed grunt, but his brow did smooth out when he saw her bright smile.

“Thank you,” she said, cheeks streaked with tears but voice warm with love and affection and gratitude. It might take a while for her to fully accept that Ushi was no longer laying in wait at every Marine base, but for now, she could breath a little easier. The monster from her childhood had finally been vanquished.

Trafalgar Law might not have been a knight in shining armor, but he was something better. He was the big brother she’d always wished for.

Relieved that she wasn’t angry, Law gave her a tiny but sincere grin back. His engineer was alive, safe, and giving him that sunny smile that could light up a room. Well worth the blood on his hands, and quietly, he vowed to keep her, and the rest of his Hearts, safe from whatever hell might come their way.

They were a loyal bunch of fools, but they were his family. He’d set the world on fire before allowing anything to happen to them.

A hand adorned with the word DEATH retreated from Ikkaku’s cheek to ruffle her hair. “Don’t mention it.”

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

First off, you're an amazing person w/ gr8 blog. Second of all, I hope you don't mind me saying it? If it's weird or creepy, please, disregard. Don't want to make you uncomfortable. Third of all, I came to your tumblr from ao3 and specifically the pirate fic and ma'am (sir? Neither? Wanted to use honorific and "my kind dude tends to not be *that* universal, sadly). It. ROCKS. If by any chance you feel like continuing it, I'd be forever in debt. Also hope you don't mind reviews via anon tumblr? ♥

ANON!! My answer to this ask is so long overdue I literally have no words. When I first recieved this ask in my box I was warmed through--thank you so much for your kind words! I determined to myself I would NOT send an empty response, would only publish this with the chapter in hand!! And then life picked up like crazy and I never seemed to have a spare BREATH to sit down and write this AU well enough that it would be worth reading. AND NOW I FAINLLY HAVE IT!!! Two more chapters for ya, I really hope you enjoy!!

P.S. Also, I refuse to be called ANYTHING except My Kind Dude from now on, that is the best address ever! 

The Damned Disgrace--Buddie Pirate AU, Chapter 2

"Dios mio, you're useless."

Buck looked up from where he'd been struggling to swab the deck and met the glare of Captain Nash's angry first mate--Diaz, and sighed. He'd already been on the ship a fortnight, and while Chimney had fit right in, used to hard work and quickly picking up the vernacular of the other pirates, Buck stuck out like a sore thumb. He wasn't used to manual labor, having spent his life behind books and papers, and had no instinct for it. He tried, oh did he try so hard, but his clumsy hands struggled to complete work that someone else had to repeat later to make sure it was done right. And the pirates who didn't ignore him were usually laughing at him. What few acquaintances he'd made in his past life had been in academic circles. These men had no patience for or interest in unusual trivia about far away lands, or wonderings about what the world would be like if mankind lived under the water and fish lived on land. 

Buck was red with sunburn, blistered all over--on his back, his forearms, and face from sunburn, and his hands, fingers and feet from work. He ached everywhere. 

He looked away from Diaz and went back to stubbornly pushing the mop around the deck.

I won't be useless! I won't go overboard. I'm going to work hard and they'll help me find Maddie and bring her home! and if I get to shoot that thrice-damned Commodore Douglas too, well that would be a boon from God--

"Stop. Just stop."

Buck stopped, his heart sinking. He dared not look Diaz in the eye again, already knowing the derision and anger he would see there.

Sure the other pirates ignored him or laughed at him behind his back. But Diaz? Diaz detested him. This was the first time he'd ever spoken to Buck but definitely not the first time he'd loomed nearby, sneering at Buck's pathetic efforts to work as part of the team and fit in.

"We should've left you back at the port."

"What? No! No, I swear, I'm learning--"

"Learning what? How to smear muck around so someone else has to clean up after you? Again?" Diaz sneered, kicking at the mop. Buck's hands twitched around it, every blister flaring up painfully. Diaz's eyes caught it and he suddenly leaned forward. "Show me your hands."

"What...?"

"Show me!"

Buck carefully placed the mop against the rail of the ship and carefully unfolds his hands, wincing as the skin flares in pain with each motion.

"Dios...! Come with me."

"Wait, but I have to finish the--"

"NOW!"

***

Buck followed Eddie down into the ship, down down, past Buck's sleeping berth with the other sailors. 

Buck looked around in trepidation. Is he taking me to the bilge? To the brig? The bilge was full of seawater, the brig a confined, rat infested cell where only the most unfortunate went.

They kept walking.

"Uh, Diaz, I... I swear, I'll work harder, I just--please don't--"

"You're not working any more today." Diaz replied shortly and threw open a door. "Hen, I've got the cabron for you. Destroyed his hands and he thinks he's magical enough not to get gangrene or something. Can you fix him up?"

The woman inside raised her eyebrows. "You don't usually bring me people, Eddie." She was dressed like the rest of the sailors but her clothes were neater and better kept. 

"They aren't usually this stupid." Eddie growled. 

"I... sorry." Buck mumbled, defeated.

"Don't worry about this one. He's always angry about something." Hen chuckled, and Diaz's scowl deepened. "What's your name?"

"Ah, Buck. Well, Evan Buckley, but... just Buck is okay." He felt another twinge in his heart as he said it. It was Maddie who had named him Buck.

"Buck it is. Come sit and we'll have a look at those hands."

Buck chanced a sideways look at Diaz, who was still standing there, muscled arms crossed. "Is he...?"

"Eddie was just leaving, weren't you, Eddie?" Hen's tone brooked no argument, and to Buck's surprise, Diaz obeyed.

Buck sat and held his hands out. Now that he had a moment to focus on them they hurt even more, and he could feel some of the injuries oozing. "I'm sorry, I tried to-- but--" he stopped abruptly as he felt his throat thicken and his eyes started to wet. You are already the most pathetic creature on this ship, you will not make it worse by whining about it. Silently he held his hands out, head down. 

Hen sucked in a breath. "Eddie was right to bring you here. If you let these wounds get any more infected than they are and gangrene set in I might have to remove one or both of them."

Buck swallowed around a sob. As a teacher and writer, his hands were his life.

"I'll clean and wrap your hands for you." Hen continued softly. "That should be able to prevent it from getting worse, so long as you promise not to use them for the next few days and come down here every day for the next week so I can make sure they don't get worse. Okay?"

Buck nodded silently.

"Buck."

He looked up at Hen. She was wearing a kind smile and that was enough to completely undo him. A single tear slid down his cheek and he reached up a hand to stop it, but Hen wouldn't allow it. "I need to wrap these first." Her eyes and smile were all compassion. After two weeks in a foreign world with no friends on board it was a balm to Buck's soul. He kept his head bowed as she cleaned and wrapped, let the tears fall silently, unchecked. When she was done, she reached out a hand and clasped his shoulder. "The sailors are used to losing people and because you’re greener than most, they're expecting you to die. They don’t want to get close to someone they’re gonna lose. But if you stay alive they'll warm up eventually, don't fret it."

"Then.. why are you...?"

Hen snorted. "I walk to the beat of my own drum on this ship, Buck. Always have. And I've decided I like you, dumbass hand damage and all."

Buck sniffed. "Thanks."

Hen nodded. "Go to the captain and tell him that I've ordered light duty for you--no using your hands except to carry light objects. Errands only for you for the next two weeks."

"But Captain Nash said--if I'm not useful--"

Hen chuckled. "His bark is bigger than his bite. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's taken a liking to you too."

***

"Buckley."

"Uh, Captain. I... Hen, the doctor--" Buck choked off with a derisive snort at himself. Did I really just stop to explain to the captain who his doctor is? "Uh, she said I should tell you that I'm..." He held up his bandaged hands. "Light duty. Errands."

Captain Nash's face clouded and his brow furrowed as he took in the state of Buck's hands.

"But I swear, I'll be useful, I don't--please, don't throw me off the ship--"

"Buckley." One firm word and Buck silenced. "You'll rest today, and starting tomorrow you'll work as an errand boy around the ship. Messages, parcels, meals for sick crew. And anything Hen or I asks you to do, you do without question."

"I--yes. Yes, sir. Captain."

Nash looked up at him, his eyes showing the smallest glint of kindness. "A teacher's hands are his life's blood, Buckley. See to it you take care of them." Nash turned to gaze out the window of his office and sighed. "If you're very lucky, you'll need them sooner than you think."

Buck's pulse heightened. "Are we near Commodore Douglas's ship, sir?"

Captain Nash sighed. "Not as close as I’d like to be." He turned back to Buck. "Dismissed."

Buck nodded and left for his hammock.

Chapter 3

The next day he showed up bright and early at Captain Nash's office only to be sent down to Hen. Hen took one look at him and started loading a crate with various medicines and infusions, talking rapidly. For each bottle, Hen explained what it was, who it was for and why. Buck paid careful attention so he could keep up. Rote memorization and processes? He was back in his comfort zone.

"...garlic and chamomile for Wes, he ate something at port that we're still trying to get out of him. Then cat's claw for Lea, her knuckles are hurting her again. And that's all." Hen hesitated, thinking for a moment. Then she mumbled something under her breath before grabbing a few more vials. "Actually, got a few more. These are to be dropped off outside Eddie's quarters." 

"Diaz? What are they for?"

"Eddie knows what to do with them." No further explanation came and Buck nodded at the dismissal and left, running around the ship to deliver the medicines to each ailing person. When he arrived at last outside Diaz's door, he paused, looking over the bottles. It made no sense to be bringing so much medicine to Diaz’s quarters. Buck had seen him just this morning, looking as healthy as ever, muscles rippling while he hauled canvas with the men. What is this for? Buck shook his head to clear the thoughts--no use risking his newfound equilibrium by prying. He hastily dropped the bottles outside Diaz's door, knocked and departed.

He followed this routine for the next week, deviating at times in the afternoon to run errands for the captain. But every morning started the same--Hen dropping several bottles and vials into a box for him to deliver around the ship and he running around as fast as he could to get it done quickly and efficiently. Each time, he would find himself hesitating outside Diaz's door, awash with curiosity at what the medicine could possibly be for. It wasn't hard to puzzle out the various vials, even though Hen hadn't identified them. Some were the same bottles he delivered elsewhere, others he recognized from his studies. Willow bark, cat's claw and ginger--pain relief.Chamomile, dried cherry, valerian, and peppermint--muscle relaxers. It was a mighty amount of herbs for the average aches of a day's work even as strenuous as the work Diaz did. 

So who is it for? Buck wondered again as he approached Diaz's door to drop off the bottles. He had just turned to leave when he heard a thump on the inside of the office followed by a yelp of pain.

Good God, that's a child. There's a child in there!

Horrible images came to the forefront of Buck's mind as he imagined why Diaz might be holding a child prisoner. A child who would require so much pain relief. His skin paled in horror and he dropped the box.

I need to help! But his hands were still tightly bandaged and the door was latched shut from the inside. Buck thumped against it with his shoulders to no avail. The sturdy wood would not give.

If only I could unlatch it from the outside... Then he had an idea. He picked up one of the envelopes he was delivering for Captain Nash. It was thin but strong. Carefully, he eased it between the door and the latch, pressing the envelope between his bandaged hands to keep his grip. 

With a click the latch came free and the door swung open.

Buck braced himself for what he might see and ventured inside, closing the door behind him.The room looked like the captain's, if smaller and simpler. Diaz's bed was neatly made, and soaked in sun from the window. His desk was neat and cleared off. The room was empty.

But I heard a child, I know I did!

Buck started looking around, when he heard a whimper of pain from the direction of the desk. Quickly he hastened over and pulled out the desk chair.

There, curled in the desk well and looking nothing like the skinny, dirty, or abused waif Buck had expected, lay a child. He looked clean and healthy, if in pain. He regarded Buck with large terrified eyes, his hair clean and curling every which way.

He was adorable. And as sure as grass was green, he was Diaz's own child.

So what is he doing hidden away in here?

The child whimpered again, obviously still in pain and Buck lurched away, back toward the bottles and vials he'd brought from Hen. "Here, let me help you, Hen sent me with a bunch of..." He fumbled with the bottles, pulling out the chamomile and the willow bark. "Here, this should help." The child shied away from him, curling deeper into the desk well with awkward jerky movements that only seemed to hurt him more.

"Oh God, please let me help, here, let me..." Buck backed up far away to give the child room and then gently pushed the vials at him. "Here. They're directly from Hen, don't worry. I haven't opened them or anything. See?" The child looked between Buck and the bottles, but didn't say anything.

"And--here, I'm leaving okay? Nothing to be afraid of, I'll leave you so you can climb out of that desk. It looks--God, you look like you're hurting so badly, is there anything I can do to help?"

The child still didn't respond, only regarded Buck with the same terrified eyes and Buck took it as his cue. He hastened to his feet and hurried to the door, away from the room. He was about to step out when he heard the child gasp and whimper again. He froze. 

The child won't let me near him, but I can't leave him like that. 

Diaz! Diaz can help him!

"I'm going to go and get your father, okay?" Buck took another step toward the door.

"Don't!" A small plaintive voice called, and Buck paused again.

"I can't just leave you like this... Wait, did your father do this to you??"

"No, no!" came the small cry. "He's the best papa ever. And..." the child paused then continued in a stronger voice. "He'll kill you if he finds out you know about me."

Buck's body froze in place. "Surely not--" The child cried out again, and Buck hastened back to the desk. The child was panting now, but still wouldn't move. "Oh, for the love of God, please let me help you!"

"Can't... don't... trust... you." Christopher panted in between pained gasps.

"Oh God, please--" Buck's voice broke and he felt himself start to cry. "I can't--you're hurting. You... I was a schoolteacher before I got onto this ship, I love kids, I swear I just want to help, please!" He reached out his bandaged hands toward the child. "Look, see? I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to! I--I swear I won't tell anyone about you on this ship, I'll never speak to you again. Just let me help you settle yourself more comfortably, you need to take some herbs for the pain..." He was blubbering now, his view of the child obscured by tears. He tensed as he felt small hands grasp around his bandaged hands.

"Please help." The boy whimpered.

He sobbed in relief and crooked his wrapped hands so they became large hooks to grip the child and carefully, oh so carefully pulled him out of the desk well. By this time he heard the child begin to cry as well, still on the floor. Buck quickly swiped his eyes with his threadbare sleeve to clear them. "There now, that's a bit better, I'm sure. Let's get you settled into the bed and I'll mix some medicine with water to relieve the pain.”

Buck carefully lifted the child, who whimpered at being jostled. Carefully he laid the boy on Diaz's neatly made bed and hastened back to the bottles and vials, pulling corks out with his teeth and pouring a the various powders into a tin cup. He filled the cup the rest of the way with water from a pitcher on the small wash stand and stirred it to mix before offering the cup to the child.

But the boy only shook his head, crying more."Don't want it. It tastes h-horrible." The child's big eyes were red from crying and Buck's heart broke.

"Oh, shh, there there. Yeah, I won't lie to you, it’s going to taste pretty bad. But once you drink it, you'll stop hurting so much and then you can relax and sleep or play." Buck clumsily rested a wrapped hand in the child's hair.  "How's that sound?"

Still the child shook his head.

"Okay, how about this?" Buck took a theatrical sniff and wrinkled his nose. "I'll drink some and then you have to drink the rest, okay?" None of the ingredients were harmful to someone who wasn't in pain. "Deal?"

The boy looked at him, surprised. “Really?” Buck nodded and the boy sighed. "Deal."

Buck grinned, then made a big show of sniffing the contents of the glass. "Ohh blurggh," he shuddered theatrically, and heard the slightest huff from the bed. "Oh boy, here we go." He took a sip then screwed up his face and shook it rapidly back and forth like a dog. "Heaven and earth, but that's awful!" The child giggled and Buck continued with his performance, making gagging noises and funny faces. "You must be the strongest kid I know to drink this every day."

"That's what Papa says, too." The boy smiled.

"Well, he's right. I don't think I can handle any more." Buck made one more funny face and the boy laughed again. "Okay, you ready? I'll count to five, and then you drink it all as fast as you can, okay?"

The child hesitated. "How much is five?"

Buck turned to him, eyes wide. "You don't know...?" Then he paused. No use making the boy feel bad for something that wasn’t his fault. Besides, this was Buck's specialty. "Five is a number, you'll see. I'm going to count a few numbers, and when I say five you drink that down as quickly as you can so you barely taste it, okay?"

The boy nodded. "Okay." 

"One, two, three, four... five, go!"

With Buck's clumsy assistance, the child drank down the mixture, screwing up his face just like Buck did. "Urgh."

Buck laughed. "I think you made a funnier face than I did." The boy reminded Buck of his own students. He missed children, their bright-eyed optimism, their enthusiasm for exploring the world around them. "I hope I don't die for meeting you, kid. You're just about the nicest person on this entire ship."

The child smiled. "Christopher."

Buck returned his grin and held out a bandaged hand. "Nice to meet you Christopher. I'm Buck." Christopher reached out in jerky movements and shook Buck's hand, both of them giggling at how clumsy the exchange was.

"I hope you don't die either, Buck." It seemed that the medicine was starting to work. Christopher was relaxing and his smile wasn't edged with quite so much pain anymore.

"In that case, I should probably run before your father finds me. those big strong hands of his would tear me in half like paper." Buck stood, patting Christopher on the head once more before turning away.

"...Buck?"

"Hm?" He turned back. The boy was starting to fall asleep. 

"Can... Can you come back and visit me again?"

What a terrible idea. "Of course, Christopher." Buck rummaged up a brave smile. "I'd love to see you again." An idea occurred to him suddenly and he straightened his shoulders. "I'll even teach you how to count to five all by yourself if you want?"

The boy's tired eyes lit up. "Yes. Yes please..." His eyes slipped closed and he fell asleep.

Buck smiled, feeling warmed for the first time in weeks. Carefully he gathered the scattered items for the rest of his errands and slipped from the room, latching it behind him.

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter XVI

Back at the entrance of Steyliff Grove, Aranea stood beside Biggs and Wedge. "Congrats. That concludes your "training." You've still got a hard path ahead, but don't let anyone tell you how to walk it."

"You may have been hired under false pretenses, but your assistance was invaluable all the same," Ignis said.

She smirked slightly. "Hmph. Tell me something I don't know. You can spare the pleasantries."

"Take care walking your path, Aranea."

"Oh, right. Thanks—I will. And I'll "train" you some more if our paths cross again. Oh, and before I forget—His Excellency instructed me to give you boys and firefly a ride back. If you need a lift, feel free to hop on." Aranea walks off with her acquaintances.

Ignis pulls out his phone and checks it just as Prompto sighed in relief. "Well, glad that's over with!"

The strategist lowered his phone after reading the information Cindy sent him. "Noct, I have just received word from Cindy."

"And?" Noctis asked.

"We're to return to Lestallum. Her friend works as an engineer at the power plant. She'll take care of the mythril."

"Uh-huh. And that'll take care of our boat problem!" The sharpshooter cheered.

"Once you're rested and ready, I suggest we hasten back to Lestallum. Make sure you're prepared," Ignis stated.

"Shame to say goodbye to such a nice fishing spot. Wanna see what's biting before we bail?"

Noctis' eyes gleamed at the thought of fishing at the Vesperpool. "Hell yeah I wanna fish."

Before the prince could take another step, Callyx came stomping over with a sharp glare directed towards (Y/n). He walked straight towards her, but was stopped when Prompto built up the courage to place himself between the two guardians. The man was unamused and growled at the boy, "Step aside, human. I won't hesitate to kill you. Either way, I get what I want."

"What's your deal?" Prompto asked, glaring back at him.

"That damned bitch standing behind you," Callyx spat.

The marksman was about to summon his pistol, but stopped when Ardyn sauntered over with an eerie smile plastered to his face. "Now, now. This squabble should be solved righteously."

The emerald-eyed spirit looked towards the chancellor. "The hell're you proposing?"

"A duel, to put it in simple terms."

Callyx scoffed. "You just want some entertainment."

"Do you not desire to settle this dispute, Callyx?" Ardyn questioned his guardian.

"Of course I do."

The chancellor casted his somewhat odd smile in (Y/n)'s direction. "Do you accept?"

Prompto turned around to face his girlfriend. "Why don't we just leave, (Y/n)? Let's forget about these guys."

"Couldn't agree more," Noctis spoke up.

(Y/n) thought for a few seconds before meeting Ardyn's gaze. "If I go through with this, what happens if I win?"

"You and your companions can be on your merry way without the fear of a target on your back. Of course, only for a short while. If you were to lose, I believe Callyx will deal with you personally," the auburn-haired man answered.

She scowled at him. "You're threatening me?"

"Of course not, my dear. I only believe it to be fair if my dearest friend were to win, he'd get to do what he pleases with you. If he so desires to see your demise, he may dispose of you."

"What?" Prompto gasped. "No way! We're leaving."

Ignis saw (Y/n) bite her bottom lip. He could tell she was tempted to accept the duel to get the empire off their back for the time being. "(Y/n), you need not entertain these men."

The (h/c)-haired spirit glanced over at the advisor. After a few seconds, she hung her head. "But if I can get the empire off our backs even just for a little bit..."

Ardyn stepped around Prompto, earning a glare from him, and held out his hand towards the girl. "Do you consent to the terms, my dear?"

(Y/n) glances at Callyx for a split second before placing her hand in the chancellor's. She saw the look of concern on Prompto's face, quickly averting her eyes. "I accept the duel."

"Then it's settled." Ardyn glances at his guardian. "Let us venture out, Callyx."

The three boys, (Y/n), and even Aranea follow Ardyn and Callyx. They trek a little ways away from the ruins and to a vast, open area. It was the perfect place for a fight. The two spirits faced each other while the others stood on the sideline. From her peripheral, (Y/n) could see Prompto nervously fidgeting where he stood.

Ardyn took his hat off and explained the one rule of the duel—no transforming. The two guardians were shocked at the rule, but they didn't argue.

(Y/n) and Callyx put some distance between them, summoning their weapons. Ardyn placed his hat back on his head as he signaled the start of the duel.

Callyx was the first to attack, blinded by his anger from their previous battle at Fort Vaullery. His sword was easily deflected by the Creator's Blade wielded by (Y/n). She easily shoves him back, eyes narrowing when she saw black horns protruding from his forehead. Because the man was unable to keep his emotions in check, his spiritual and human forms were clashing. It was also possible for both forms to collide if a spirit desired to enhance their human body without turning into a complete beast. She was positive his horns had sprouted due to both possibilities. Since he was not in his tiger form, it wasn't breaking the rule. "You're not good at controlling your emotions, are you? Or do you really think the only way you can beat me is by enhancing  your body?"

"Shut the hell up," Callyx barked. "This time, I will be the victor no matter the cost."

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, deciding not to entertain him with words. Instead, she continued to block his attacks. She watched his every move closely, noticing a pattern as the fight dragged on. His movements were becoming more sloppy because of his out-of-control emotions. Although she was exhausted from their journey through Steyliff Grove, she had no issues blocking and sidestepping.

At one point, she sidestepped and kneed Callyx in the gut. He fell to his knees with the wind knocked out of him, but she wasn't finished just yet. With a roundhouse kick, she kicked him in the face and sent him crumbling to the ground. As he fell, his blade slipped out of his hand. He gritted his teeth in pain, eyes beginning to glow. She took a few steps back and saw not only his eyes were glowing but jade stripes had appeared on his cheeks. "You really are desperate..."

Callyx got back to his feet, grabbing his sword with a click of his tongue. "Damn you...!" He held up his hand and sent a powerful bolt of lightning directly towards her. It hit her directly in the abdomen, sending her flying backwards. She groaned painfully as she was still feeling the small effects from the quetzalcoatl's spell.

Even with the potion Prompto gave her, she was still slightly frazzled from the beast's lightning spell. "I hate lightning spells," she huffed, pushing herself off the ground. Eyes returning to her opponent, she saw Callyx was readying another lightning spell. Having no other choice, she enhanced her body the moment he sent another powerful bolt of lightning towards her. Her many tails sprouted from her lower back and wrapped around her protectively, deflecting the spell. Unwinding her tails from around her, she glowered at the spiky-haired man as she created a large fire vortex around him.

(Y/n) was taken aback when Callyx leapt through the flames, unfazed by the fire or the heat. He patted out a few flames on his clothes before charging at her with his blade now infused with a lightning spell. The girl quickly raised the Creator's Blade and blocked the sword before it could be plunged into her chest. She struggled against him, his strength becoming overwhelming because of his enhancements. Without hesitating, she used her tails to swat him away like a fly.

The golden-eyed spirit, with her free hand, conjured a series of throwing knives made of pure flames. She tossed them, each one impaling Callyx's body. He screamed at the top of his lungs as the small knives pierced his body and burnt him. Some even pinned him to the ground.

With an exhausted huff, (Y/n) strolled over to the male guardian. She jammed the Creator's Blade into his left shoulder, eliciting another howl of pain from him. His horns and stripes vanished while his eyes ceased glowing. She squatted down beside him with an unamused expression. "I really should kill you, but I refuse to stoop to your level. You may be the enemy, but I won't kill my own people."

Callyx managed to grin through the immense pain he was suffering from. "You might want to change that philosophy of yours. This won't be over until either one or both of us are dead."

Refusing to entertain him any longer, (Y/n) withdrew the Creator's Blade from Callyx's shoulder. She turned to the others and saw their expressions. Aranea was amused, Noctis and Ignis were impressed, and Ardyn was still smiling even with Callyx heavily wounded. When she saw Prompto's expression, she knew he was going to be mad at her for accepting the duel. He was most likely going to give her the silent treatment for some time since he wasn't fond of losing his temper with others.

"I believe I'm the victor," (Y/n) said, locking eyes with Ardyn. Her tails vanished as she walked over to the others.

"Indeed, you are," the chancellor cackled. He took off his hat and bowed. "I am quite impressed by your strength. A well-earned victory."

"This means you're gonna leave us alone, right?" Noctis asked.

"For the time being, yes. Once we meet across the sea, however, those terms become annulled," he explained. The prince was about to retort, but Ardyn continued. "Commodore Highwind, please see these gentlemen and lady safely from here while I tend to my dear Callyx." The chancellor walked away after helping the male guardian.

Aranea watched the two vanish before smirking at (Y/n). "Damn, firefly. You're just full of surprises. If you weren't with these guys, I'd ask you to join me. We could kick some serious ass together." She placed a hand on her hip. "Now then, you're headed to Lestallum, right? I'll take you there, but no further."

"Got it," Noctis replied.

"So, ready to ship out?"

"You bet. Let's fly."

The group returns to the ruins where Aranea left her drop ship. Everyone was safely aboard and they departed from the Vesperpool. (Y/n) was talking to Noctis and Ignis about her recent duel with Callyx, complimenting her on her skills. During the conversation, her eyes drifted over to Prompto. He was sitting on the floor of the drop ship away from everyone else, scrolling through the pictures on his camera.

Excusing herself, she walked over to him even though she knew he was giving her the silent treatment. She sat beside him with a sigh and glanced down at the camera, seeing he was examining the pictures he took inside Steyliff Grove. "Wow, those are all amazing shots, Prom," she said even though she was aware of the lack of response she'd receive in return.

She leaned back against the wall of the drop ship and stared up at the ceiling. "You're angry and I understand completely. I know you're gonna give me the silent treatment for a while and I don't blame you. Even though I made you mad, I don't regret trying to protect you and the others. But..." A sorrowful frown blossomed on her face. "Please trust in me more, Prom. Trust that I can handle myself in battle, even against someone like Callyx. I know you want to protect me, but you can't protect me from everything." She got to her feet and walked away.

Prompto gripped his camera tighter. He lifted his head to say something, but stopped himself when his eyes landed on her retreating form. There was truth in her words, but he wanted to believe he could protect her from everything. He also wanted to deny her accusation of not trusting her enough, but his urge to protect her stopped him from trusting in her capabilities wholeheartedly.

He mentally cursed himself and her for their current emotional turmoil. Looking back down at his camera, he tried to think of something else while scrolling through pictures. Unfortunately, the pictures he's taken of (Y/n) were appearing more frequently and caused his emotions to become even more entangled. In the end, he turned off the camera and took a short nap.

<——————————————<<<<<

A few hours later, they arrived in Lestallum with the Regalia. Aranea told them of the trouble at the power plant and how she would be unable to help. The group took it upon themselves to help with the issue and thanked the ex-mercenary as they parted ways with her.

At the power plant, they meet with Holly. She gives Noctis a safety suit and he puts it on before walking through the gate. Prompto chuckled at the raven-haired boy. "Lovin' that outfit, Noct!"

"Why don't you wear one?" He retorted.

"Well, that's the only one. And if anyone stands a fighting chance in there, it's you. Forget about fashion and go," Ignis stated.

"(Y/n) could help."

"I think I'll leave this in your capable hands," the spirit snickered.

"Ugh..." Noctis headed into the power plant to meet up with the hunter that went ahead of him.

While waiting for him to return, (Y/n) pinched the bridge of her nose with an exhausted sigh. She leaned against a large wooden crate when she felt a small dizzy spell wash over her. Prompto and Ignis noticed her state, but the strategist was the one to address her. "(Y/n), would you procure rooms for us at the Leville?"

She lifted her head. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. You are clearly exhausted." Ignis handed her enough gil for two rooms.

"I could use a nap..." She took the money, thanking him. She glanced at Prompto and saw he was going to say something, but he closed his mouth and looked away. With a sorrowful sigh, she spun on her heels and headed to the hotel. She forked over the gil for two rooms and wandered upstairs to the single bed room. She thought about jumping into the soft mattress, but instead went to take a shower in the small bathroom attached to the room.

An hour passed while (Y/n) bathed. Most of the time while she was in the shower, she stood underneath the shower head and fell into deep thought. Her mind was filled with many thoughts, some good and some bad. An entire hour had passed before she knew it.

With a towel wrapped around her body, the spirit wandered out of the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the double bed, sighing heavily. Her (h/c) locks dripped as she hung her head. It wasn't long before the thoughts from the shower came back. She replayed what she said to Prompto inside Aranea's drop ship. A groan fell from her lips. "Why did I say that...?" She combed her hands through her damp tresses. "I could've just said nothing. He deserves to be angry," she mumbled to herself. Now thinking clearly, she came up with the decision to apologize to Prompto once he and the others returned from the power plant.

Standing up, (Y/n) walked over to the chair where she left her clothes. The moment she unwound the towel from around her body, the door to the room opened. Her eyes widened in horror, body petrified as Prompto walked into the room. She couldn't move an inch when the boy's eyes landed on her naked form. His cheeks turned a bright red and he swallowed hard, eyes raking over her exposed body. Realizing he was staring, he quickly turned around. "O-Oh, six...! I-I should've knocked! I-I didn't mean to, I swear!"

The girl, once being able to move again, quickly snatched up her towel and wrapped it back around her. "I-It's not your fault. I completely forgot to lock the door," she stated in a shaky voice. She hugged the towel against her body, her own cheeks turning red. "Gods, I should've taken my clothes to the bathroom with me..."

Prompto fidgeted with his fingers, cheeks set ablaze. He had no idea what to do with himself. He fidgeted nervously and stared down at the floor. His mind kept mentally showing him an image of his naked girlfriend. He scolded himself for thinking of dirty thoughts. To prevent an awkward silence from settling over them, he cleared his throat and changed the subject for both their sakes. "I-I came by to apologize. You were right..."

(Y/n) kept her back turned to him. "No, I was in the wrong. It was stupid of me to take on that ridiculous duel. I know I said it was to protect you and the others, but that just felt like an excuse. There was really no point, but I was blinded by my emotions. I wanted to give Callyx a piece of my mind and thought having the empire off our backs for a while would've been nice. I should've just ignored those bastards. I'm sorry, Prom." Her hands bunched up the hem of the towel just above her cleavage.

The moment (Y/n) built up enough courage to turn around, two arms wrapped around her from behind. She gasped in shock as her back came in contact with a warm chest. Her muscles tensed slightly before relaxing. Prompto's blonde hair tickled her cheek when he nuzzled his head against the side of hers. His nose brushed against her ear, causing her to shudder. She didn't move her hands away from her towel because it would fall again if she let go. She enjoyed his warmth even though she was embarrassed to be held in his arms with only a towel around her.

"What you said on the drop ship... You're right. I can't protect you from everything, but I'm gonna try my damndest to," Prompto whispered. "I know you can handle yourself in battle. It's just... I hate seeing you get hurt. I'm sorry for ignoring you, (Y/n)."

Her heart was a racing a mile a minute inside her chest. "It's okay, Prom." She lifted a hand and placed it on one of his arms that was wound around her shoulders. "With all that off our chests, c-can I please change?"

Prompto's eyes widen and he immediately backs away from her. "Y-Yeah, of course! I'll, um...I-I'll wait in the bathroom until you're done."

"You don't have to wait in the bathroom. Just turn around."

"I-I think the bathroom would be better..."

She turned around to face him with a puzzled expression. "What's the issue with just turning around?"

Prompto rubbed the back of his neck, looking away from her. "I d-don't trust myself to not take another peek..."

The girl giggled at his honesty. "Then you best head to the bathroom."

He nodded and dashed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

[ldrmas]

Part 1

A Pirates Life for Me: A Beetlejuice Pirates of the Caribbean Part 1 Part 2 here - https://ldrmas.tumblr.com/post/647683249019207680/part-2 Character Sheet for those who have questions - https://ldrmas.tumblr.com/post/647688946637324288/pirates-characters - Not exactly where I wanted to start but this is already long so yeah, I hope you all enjoy! Please leave a comment or a reblogg telling me what you think. Again if there is dialogue that is a repeat of the movie I am not taking claim to it, I’m just admitting I’m not smart enough to come up with something better. Obliviously this whole plot and lines do not belong to me, they belong to the mouse, I’m just commandeering them for the story, savvy?  But still enjoy, me hearties!  - 

“May I have a moment?” Berthold asked as he came up beside her. Lydia had hidden in an alcove out of the blistering Caribbean sun as soon as the ceremony was over, but it hadn’t been enough. The new appointed Commodore had found her and actually wanted her to walk with him. She put all of her pain aside as she knew he couldn’t insult him by denying him, not with her father watching.

“You may.” She agreed with a slight smile as she followed him back out into the damning sunshine. They only stopped as they were along one of the several fort walls, away from others.

Lydia supported herself against the cold stone, but Bert didn’t take any notice of her pain just that she was a vision of true beauty. She didn’t reply to him as he said as such, but she made to send him another thankful smile, only for it to instantly drop as he turned away.

“I do regret with how forward I am but this…Well this promotion has thrown into sharp relief things that I have yet to achieve, such as a marriage to a fine woman.” The Commodore turned back to her, so lost in what he was trying to say that he again was ignoring her plight.

The corset was crushing her from all sides and her pale face was becoming even whiter as air was rejected from her lungs.

“You have become that fine woman, Lydia.”

“I…I can’t breathe.”  

“Yes, quiet so.” Bert chuckled as he turned away from her again, gazing out into the ocean and over the whole town that was under his protection. “I too am a bit nervous, I must admit.”

No one noticed, especially not Commodore Strong, as Lydia’s eyes suddenly closed, before as if she were no more than a heavy sack of potatoes, she fell over the wall of the fort, down the ledge to the clear water below.

~

“And then they made me their chief.” Beetlejuice finished his tale with a shrug as if it was no big deal. He was leaning against the Dauntless’s helm with his wrists flicking at every other word or so to emphasize the tale he was telling. The two militia men had been hanging on his every word as if he were a god and it was funny to him to watch them as he told his elaborate story. They were quiet expressive lads.  

They all jumped, and their necks snapped to the side as they heard a splash.

“Lydia?” Berthold asked as he turned about yet he was alone. The lady had just been standing behind him and now there was no one. He looked over the wall, his face going ashen as he saw the ripples and realization hit him like a shot.

“Lydia!” He yelled out before jerking off his coat. He only managed to get it halfway off before his friend was halting him and somewhat pulling him back from the edge.

“The rocks, sir! It’s a miracle that she missed them.” Prudentius said as he glanced at the water before looking back to his friend. Bert still wanted to jump but he knew his second in command was right. He then readjusted his coat and burst through the crowd. He had to make it the docks and hope that he could save her in time.

“Oi, will either of you be wanting to, oh I don’t know, possibly save the lass.” Beetle growled as the men didn’t immediately jump overboard to save the woman who had fallen into the ocean. If she weren’t already dead from the fall alone, she would rightly die if they didn’t jump in after her in the next few moments.

“But I can’t swim!” Mahon cried as he looked back to the green haired man then to where the woman had landed. Beej fixed his gaze on the other soldier, Mein, who instantly shook his head in confirmation that he couldn’t either.

“Jaysus…” He growled as he began taking off his gray coat and gear, shoving into the men’s arms so he could climb up onto the gunwale. “Pride of the kings navy you lot are, and if you lose those, I’m gonna haunt you!”

With the last threat, he was upon the railing then diving into the Caribbean chilling sea. He pushed his body through the water, having learned to swim to survive, and he when he made it to the rocky area, he sucked in a deep breath then was diving under the clear water. He could see her drifting like a mermaid, stuck to the sandy bottom, yet she wasn’t floating like a dead body should.

Beej locked his arms around her, kicking back to the surface.

He broke the water with her against his shoulder but unexpectedly they both sank right back down. A gulp of seawater invaded his lungs as they were back under the water, but he was clear headed enough to realize it was the dress. He pulled at the chest piece of the fabric, thankful that it split easily enough, and he was able to push it off her shoulders. The dress sank like a damn anchor, but he didn’t pay it anymore mind as he wrapped her back into his arms and headed back up to the surface.

~

“I got her. I got her.” The brown-haired soldier called out as he pulled the lass up from his broad shoulder while the golden haired one helped him back up to the dock.  

“She’s not breathing!” Mahon shouted before Beej rightly pushed him away, pulling a knife from his boot and slicing at the strings criss crossed over her chest. He then pulled the blush pink corset apart, opening it like a clam. The lass turned over, coughing and sputtered up the ocean water stuck in her throat, her hazel eyes opening only to squeeze shut again as she tried to bring air back into her sea drenched lungs.

Beej then pulled the corset completely off her, throwing it to the Mein, who caught it but wished to immediately drop it to the dock. Mahon was gazing at him as if he was a genius. “I…I wouldn’t have thought of that.” He admitted as he sat back on his hunches since the lady was safe and there wasn’t anything further he could do, as if he was any help before.

The green haired pirate deeply rolled his eyes. “You haven’t been to Singapore, have ya?” He asked with a sarcastic bite, yet all words further died on his tongue as a glint of gold twinkled from between the Lass’s unbound chest.

He usually would have been fascinated just from the sight of the drenched lady, who was in nothing but a white chemise. It hid nothing from his view, yet he ignored it all, as his focus was completely on the gold chain and coin at its end. He plucked the necklace up between his dirty fingers as his eyes widened at the coin on the end, the skull smiling at him in taunt.

“Where did you get that?” Lydia gazed up at him. She was shivering and still sucking in deep breaths of air as she completely took in the man who had rescued her. This strange and unusual man had saved her life. She barely remembered what had happened, but she wasn’t a fool. It didn’t take much for her to realize she must have fainted and had somehow survived after having fallen off the forts wall.

She didn’t get a chance to answer him, fore nothing further could be said because suddenly the dock was overflowed with soldiers. Beetlejuice froze as the chilling press of a blade was right at his neck just below his jaw. His hands that were still dripping from the ocean slowly rose upward as he reluctantly let the coin slip from his fingers. The two men who had been talking to the pirate were back to their full height flanking the still crouching man between them.

“On your feet.” Berthold ordered as he stood in front of the man who was hunched over Lydia. The green haired man rose promptly upon his boot covered feet and even made to back away just enough for the sword to barely touch his skin.

Charles pushed through the men before helping his daughter up off the dark wooden deck and wrapped her up in his powder blue coat. He jerked her closer as he realized she was only in her under layer of dress before his eyes flew wide as he recognized the pink corset in the soldier’s hand. Mein realized instantly what the governor was looking at. He immediately dropped the article of clothing before pointing an accusing finger to the man at his left.

“Shot him this instant!” Charles barked as he made to hug his daughter who unexpectedly pushed him away, calling out to him in protest. An understandable question fell from him before she then shot her hazel steeled glare to the other man across from them.

“Commodore, you truly mean to kill the man that saved me?” Lydia out right asked as if she dared him to challenge her. Bert made to look slightly ashamed, though it was only for a moment, his glare hardened his visage while he put away his sword. The militia were hesitant but eventually followed his lead and too lowered their guns, the clicks of the safety’s echoing around them all.  

Beej took a moment to bow his head in thankfulness to the Lass, placing his hand over his blackened heart. He made sure not to move though fore he could tell it wasn’t going to be that easy, especially when the Commodore stuck out his hand.

“I believe thanks are certainly in order.” He ceded though there was a challenge in his expression, a brown eyebrow raised high. Beetle settled him with a glare before he reluctantly shoved his ashen and dirty hand into the sun kissed one. Once their palms met, Bert jerked off his wrist band that showed off what they both knew to be there. The impression of a capital ‘P’ still pink and standing out upon his whitish hued skin after all these years.

“Ah, had a brush with the East Indian Trading Company, did we, pirate?” The Commodore spat out the word as if it was venom. Beej didn’t even flinch at the accusation, only gently let his hand fall back to his side when the man let his hand go as if it had burned him.  “And if I’m not mistaken…you’re that one fellow that starts with a K…”

“It doesn’t matter, hang him!” Charles growled his hold on his daughter still crushing. Lydia pushed off his hands but pulled the coat tighter around herself to silence his unspoken fussing. Her eyes kept darting over to the now recognized pirate with hidden intrigue, though she made sure to drop her gaze whenever she felt her father looking down upon her.

“If I may, it’s Beetlejuice Kreaton, sir.” Bert’s second in command spoke up with a teasing grin.

“Ah yes, thank you, Prudentius. Fetch us some irons for Beetlejuice Kreaton, the ghost pirate.”  Bert now recalled the name from the wanted posters they had around the fort.

“Captain Kreaton, if you please.” Beej replied while he flicked a hand through his soaked two-tone locks to get them out of his face. His ringed hand glinted in the Caribbean sun, along with his doubloon-colored eyes.

“I don’t happen to see your ship about, do you, Captain?” Bert mocked as his eyes swept over the harbor, both in joking and secretly in fact double checking that a pirate ship hadn’t pulled into the harbor while he was away from the fort.

“I’m in the market, but sadly got held up, ya know so I could be saving your pretty strumpet here.” The pirate teased back flawlessly as he cocked a grin to the lass he had spoken about, who stared unbelieving at him before her face fell into a glower.

“Sir, he said he came here to commodore one.” Mein took that moment to speak up, and Beej held himself back from rolling his eyes, of course the guardsman would blab of his plan.

“Told ’ya…” Mahon muttered before he realized something. “Oh sir, these are his.” The red coated man picked up the pirate’s effects into his arms and proudly held them out to the man in charge, as if he had single handedly taken them from the pirate. The same pirate who was now deadly glaring at him before it shot to the Commodore, who was looking over his belongings with a look of disdain.

“No additional shot, nor extra powder.” Bert analyzed as he picked up the pistol, silently admiring its craftsmanship before returning it to the pile. He picked up the compass and opened it only to then scoff. “A compass that doesn’t point north.” After he put that back, he took the hilt of the sword to barely remove it from its sheath, another teasing grin curving upon his lips.

“And here I believed this to be made of wood.” There was a resounding click as the sword was secure once again and the two men stared at each other, locked in a deadly impasse. “You are no doubt the worst pirate I have ever heard of.”

Beej chuckled, his lips wide enough to let his alabaster canines to glint through. “Yet you have heard of me.”

The tone was nothing but mocking and Bert’s face completely fell in silence rage, his teeth clenching as he reached out, securing a hold upon the man’s arm and began dragging him through the swarm of men. The red coated navy men parted for their boss, not daring at all to get in the way of the Commodore. It was just when he passed the pirate to his second in command, did he freeze for a voice called out to him.

“Commodore, I really must protest!” Lydia barked as she had followed Bert at his heels, effortlessly moving around him as he stopped at her voice. She had thrown off the coat from her shoulders, her father picked it up as he moved after her. She stood between Berthold and the pirate, fixing him with her hazel eyes that were shimmering with an unknowable plea.

How could they hang the man that had rescued her?  

“It matters not what he is, this man saved my life.” She insisted as her gaze jumped back and forth from her father to the Commodore, hoping that either of them would agree with her. It never happened, Bert stepped forward as if to pull her away but hesitated as she rightly jerked backwards.

He sighed as his coffee-colored eyes pleaded with her to understand. “One good deed does not redeem a lifetime of evil, Lydia.”

“It’s enough to condemn him, apparently.” Beej spoke up so not to hiss as Prudentius soundly secured the irons around his wrists. He also did well to hide his surprise as the same man then stepped away, to retreat at a fair amount of distance nearly back at Bert’s side.

“Indeed.” Bert growled as his eyes settled once again on the pirate.

“Finally.” Beej whispered with a devil like grin. In the next blink he had thrown his locked-up hands around the Lady’s neck, instantly jerking her back until she was flushed against his form. The soldiers all tensed, stepping forwards to interfere with his plan but certainly halted as Lydia yelped at the press of the chilling metal sinking into the skin of her neck. Charles dropped his coat, wanting to jump to his daughter, but Bert put an arm to his shoulder, keeping him back.

“NO! Don’t shoot! Do not shoot them!” The Governor pleaded out the order, his voice laden in sadness as all he could do was watch the pirate wrap his arms about his only child. The Captain smirked against her skin as he kept a secure hold upon her, completely ignoring her crying father to focus completely on the only man who could get him out of here.

“I knew you’d see it my way, now,” Beej said with a defiant glare. “Commodore Strong, my effects, please. And I mean all of them, mate.”

Bert didn’t move as his eyes swept over the captor and victim, his mind running with thoughts as if he could find some way to get the Lady out of the grimy hold of the swashbuckler. Beej growled as he tightened the chains around the Lass’s neck, easing up only when a pained gasp sang from her throat. The throat that was going to be bruised later, there was no doubt.

“Commodore.” Beej barked and this time the man moved, turning about to collect the things from Mahon. When he turned his back to them, Beej pressed his lips to the Lass’s ear, easing the pressure on her neck once again.

“Lydia…it was Lydia, wasn’t it?” He asked, a smile tugging his lips up.

“That’s Miss Deetz to you!” She growled in reply, her eyes closed calmly, though her stance read something completely different. He could feel her trembling against him, and he knew it was half from the icy ocean and half because she was at his mercy.

“Miss Deetz,…” He echoed with a playful tone before shooting Bert a glare over her head.

“…if you’d be so kind. Come on now, we’re losing daylight…” The Commodore placed the effects into her arms and only when he had stepped back did Beej move his hand down taking his pistol from her. It was nothing to instantly cock it and press it to her temple before twirling her about in his hold. He didn’t have to keep the chains at her neck anymore since a gun had taken the threat, so he placed his hand just upon her shoulder while the tips of his fingers traced along the fine still soaked squid ink hair along the base of her pale swan like neck.

“And now if you’d be awfully kind.” He mused with a grin full of his white glinting teeth. Her hazel steeled glare would have killed lesser men, but Beej took the death of the look in stride as she began to place his items back on his persons.

He couldn’t help chuckling as she shuffled with the items in her hands looking about him as if to decide where she was supposed to put each piece. She then took the cord of leather attached to the compass, probably wanting to loop it around his belt but went to drop it into his breeches pocket instead. He would have to make sure to secure it later when he was getting away from this. It wouldn’t do to lose his greatest treasure just because the Lass didn’t wish to have her hands at his waist. The last object was his belt for his cutlass.

She sneered at him as she had to undo the large clasps then throw her arms around him so she could reattach it to his body. The poor lass was shorter than him so she had to lean up on her tip toes to reach and he couldn’t help wrapping his arms about her to bend down so that she could do her task. He nuzzled his head into her neck, sending the Commodore a broad grin that was nothing but smugly victorious as she looped the dark leather over his shoulder then pulled the belt back to his front.

As she pushed him back so she could redo the buckle, he grunted. “Easy on the goods there, Lass.”

“You’re despicable.” Her voice rumbled as her eyes at last looked up at him down her nose with nothing but resentment and scorn. She was fierce and unafraid with a gun pressed to her head and it was admirable. He shrugged at her words, his face dropping into a neutral visage.

“Sticks and Stones…” He replied, making sure their eyes connected as he continued. “You saved my life, and I saved yours, we be squared now, luv. Gentleman…” He shouted as he suddenly turned her back around and began to back them up. She could do nothing but follow as the black chains were once again pressed into her neck. The gun was still pressed pointed at her head, yet it was no longer pressing against her skin as he whispered into her golden pierced ear.

“My dear…” He shot his gaze up to the men who were slowly following them before he grinned. “Remember this as the day you almost caught Captain Beej Kreaton.” At the mention of his name, he released the Lass, pushing her into the crowd of militia then instantly turned on his hampers running to a rigging. His boot hit the latch and he was propelled up into the air before anyone could touch him. The men scattered as a cannon was dropped upon them, some of them even falling through the hole it created.

Beej had grabbed hold of another rigging though sadly the wooden structure continued to spin him around so he yelped as he could only hold on as he went on and on in circles.

“Now will you shoot him!” Charles barked as he had held onto his daughter who had been pushed more into the Commodore’s hands than his own. He would have pulled her to him, but Bert was holding onto her instead. The said commander yelled out the order to open fire.

Bullets zinged passed Beej and he yelled out as he couldn’t do anything to dodge them. He finally managed to swing upon the next rigging structure, and he put the ungodly chains to his use. He threw the black manacles over the rope using them to zipline down the brown line, until he deemed he was close enough before deciding to let go, soundly landing on the deck, and without missing a single step continued to run along the bridge into town. The militia shot at him but missed though there were screams of village people who fell behind the bridge wall to avoid the incoming fire.

“Prudentius…” Bert growled as he came up the stairs then around the structures just to catch the glimpse of the pirate disappearing into the maze of streets that led into the vastness of the town. “Kreaton just happens to have an appointment with the gallows at dawn, we can’t allow him to miss it.”

“With me, men.” Prudentius ordered as he took a group of the red wool coated men to follow where the pirate had disappeared too. 

~

“Search everywhere!”

“Look lively, men!”

Men draped in the color red flooded the streets of Port Royal searching every nook and cranny for the pirate. The said pirate had been hiding behind a statue that was attached to the blacksmiths shop. He had taken out his sword and slid it into the fist of the stone man so that the soldiers wouldn’t take a second glance it’s way. He waited until he heard the navy men had passed by before removing himself from behind the statue only to freeze as another group of militaries were going off to his left. He quickly ducked into the blacksmith shop to get out of sight. The shop appeared empty which was good, he had to get out of the chains. There had to be something here that he could use to get them off. He took a moment to not only catch his breath but also reattach his compass to his side. A clank suddenly echoed behind him and he turned about looking at what made the noise.

In the back of the shop there was the shop owner, dead asleep while propped up in a chair.  

Beetlejuice made his way over to him curious if his life was about to be jeopardized because of a single man. He came up to the man nudging him with a grimy finger. The man grunted yet otherwise remained absolutely still and deeply fast asleep. The man didn’t seem to be moving from touch but what about sound.

“YO!” Beetle suddenly shouted nearly right into the blacksmith’s ear. Nothing. The man didn’t even flinch. The pirate nodded in happiness as he then shuffled back over to the tools and began to pick them up. He had to get these manacles off.

He took a hammer and began banging on the black iron but it had no effect. He was running out of options and time. He couldn’t hide in here forever. Beetle suddenly noticed the gears above the donkey. He tilted his head as he figured he could try those. Now it was just about getting the donkey to move, his gaze went to the poker in the fire and a smirk curled his lips up.

The donkey bayed loudly in pain before beginning to move about in the circles. The only way he could move. Beej felt slightly guilty but he ignored it as he threw the chains upon the boards and with a louder clank of the gears the irons were broken in half. It wasn’t ideal but he could at least move his arms freely now.

The victory was short lived though for the blacksmith door opened and the apprentice was coming inside.  Beej quickly hid as the blonde-haired lad closed the door behind him but gasped at the sight of the donkey going in circles.

“Easy Fox, easy!” He called out to the poor animal wrapping his arms around him to calm the donkey, rubbing his fur gently. Once he was sure the animal was alright, he sighed as he began taking off his coat then glancing where he was sure Colin was still sleeping. His master was indeed still there, and he shook his head.

“Just as I left ya, for goodness sake.” He didn’t know why he was so irritated, this wasn’t anything new.

Once Colin curled up in a place, he would be out for hours maybe even afternoons on end, yet for some reason today it was just stinging him with an unexplainable anger. It might have been because of Governor Deetz not giving him the compliments for his work, it was all for Colin who had done nothing to get the sword done. Then he heard of the disturbance at the Commodore’s party where some pirate had attacked Lydia. He swore if he saw said pirate, he would tear him limb for limb for dare touching her.

“Wait a minute…” He suddenly said as he looked to his anvil, his brows pinching as his hammer was resting along the black metal. “I didn’t leave you there.”

A laugh echoed in his ear and a cold metal was suddenly resting along his throat. He froze as he could feel a body pressing along his back. “Hiya, lad.”

Dominic managed to look over his shoulder without getting cut and he instantly growled as the sight of man who was holding his life in his hands. “You! You’re the one who attacked Lydia, the pirate.”

“Oh, maybe you didn’t hear, but I saved her life as well.” Beej chuckled as he rolled his eyes. “Why do you care?”

Dominic pushed away from the pirate and Beej reluctantly let him step away as he quickly unsheathed his sword keeping the lad back while he placed his dagger back in his sash. The younger man turned to face him, his moss green eyes glaring at him as he kept out of reach of the sword. He jerked back grabbing one of the swords in one of the holders that was scattered along the shop before leveling it with the pirates.  

“She’s my friend.” He sneered as he fell into a basic stance, one that he had to teach himself since he never had true training. “And you threatened her.”

Beej smirked as he mockingly ran his own sword up and down the one in the lad’s hand. “Just a tad.”

Dom jolted towards the taller man, but the pirate was quick to jump back, before they began to circle each other, sizing each other up and waiting for the opportune moment to strike. The apprentice moved again, swinging his sword to the right though Beej effortlessly blocked it.

After being given to Colin when Captain Strong had brought him back to Port Royal, Dom had been designing swords for years. He had a natural talent for it so while he spent years making the weapons, he also made sure to practice with them. It was again the basic of basic skills, but it was better than nothing. He was glad he had for he was keeping up with his opponent. He flicked his wrist, his sword colliding into the pirate’s with a resounding clang.

“Well now,” Beej mused with a wicked smirk as he eyed the lad across from him. “You seem to know what you’re doing, form is meh. Now, how be your footwork?”

He took a step to the right, Dom matching his strides as their blades connected in the air. “Good, good.” Dom sent him a challenging smile only to quickly draw back then slash at the man while stepping back into the pirate’s space. Beej gave a cocky grin as he blocked the sword flawlessly. “Gutsy, arn’cha?”

The swords clashed over and over again through the air, the metallic clangs echoing repeatedly over the shop. Beej’s took a second to let his eyes sweep over the building, nearly paling at countless racks of swords on the walls and on the two circle structures off to the side of the shop. “Jaysus, who the hell makes all these?”

“I do!” Dom barked while deflecting the jabs of the pirate. “And I practice with them all, several hours a day.”

“Find yourself a girl already, lad.” Beej retorted with a bright wide smile. He then hummed as he made their blades connect above their heads, near getting into the lad’s space. “Or, perhaps you do all that practicing, ‘cause ya already have one and are completely unawares on how to woo said Lass. Do you need some lessons from someone more experienced, mate?”

“I practice so that when I meet pirates, I can run them through!” Dominic roared as he backed away then lunged back at Beej, swinging his blade in a wilder style that was nothing to Beej, for he blocked it all as he laughed only to gasp as the lad had backed him up onto a cart.

The lad followed him onto the cart which instantly tipped under the weight of the two of them. The men were swaying as the cart went up and down for just a moment then instantly landed on Beej’s end. He was obliviously bulkier than the apprentice, who nearly fell to the pirate’s side with the jerk of the cart.

Beej laughed as it was that the lad didn’t have great balance, which was Beej’s advantage from living his life on ships. Dom kept to the higher end of the cart diving back into the fight. The clank of their swords was now a becoming sound in their ears. It had been too long since Beetle had a good sword fight and even though his opponent could use some more work, he definitely wasn’t giving up.

It was admirable.

Beej then jumped off the cart causing the weight to shift sending Dom tumbling across the dirt caked floor. He recovered quickly enough to see the pirate trying to escape and that was not going to happen. He yelled out as he threw the sword, it flew through the air ending stuck into the door just above the latch.

“No, you brat!” Beej growled as he couldn’t open the door. He turned back and lunged for the lad, who already had another sword in his hand. They danced around the space before Beej grabbed the bag that was hanging close to the fire, the shops dust hitting Dom right in the face. In the time it took the blond haired man to recover, grabbing one of the tools for defense, the pirate had a gun pointed to his temple.

“You cheated!” Dom frowned as he eyed the gun.

Beej raised an eyebrow before shrugging. “Pirate.”  

Nothing further could be said for it was then that the front door to the blacksmith's shop began to rattle. The shouts of soldiers calling out for the door to be opened singling that it was time for Beej to go. It was only then that he also realized the younger man was still in his way. The lad realized it as well instantly jumping between the pirate and the second door, Beej’s only way out.

“Move it!” Beej barked as he stepped closer, but Dom held his ground.

“Not a chance!” Dom growled as he dropped the tool but still steeled his body between the pirate and the exit.

“For Blimey sake, kid, just move!” Beej was near begging. The soldiers would storm this place any minute and as much as he didn’t want to kill, he couldn’t be caught either.

“NO!” Dom barked now, his green glare nothing but defiant. “I will not step aside allowing you to escape.”

Beej growled as he clicked the safety. “This bullet doesn’t have your name on it, ki-” Dom’s eyes widened as a glass shattered around the back of Beej’s head. The pirate’s eyes closed, and he slumped forward, landing soundly upon the dirt made floor. Colin smirked at his apprentice as he had been standing behind the pirate and had crashed his rum bottle upon the pirate’s head, knocking him out. It was just then that the navy stormed into the shop.

“Well done, Mr. Hampshire.” Berthold complimented as he came alongside the blacksmith, glancing at the unconscious pirate. “You aid in the capture of a dangerous man.”

“Just doing what anyone should do, sir.” Colin grunted as he let the broken bottle fall to his side so not to cut the Commodore.

“Right, well then, I’m sure you all will remember this as the time that Captain Kreaton almost escaped, now take him away.”

~